Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 104, April 22, 1893
Author: Various
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.


*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 104, April 22, 1893" ***


PUNCH, or the LONDON CHARIVARI

Volume 104, April 22nd 1893

edited by Sir Francis Burnand



OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

[Illustration: "The strange sea-creatures which made their
appearance."]

Two gentlemen of artistic and literary attainments, having studied the
romances of VICTOR HUGO for the sake of being inspired by that Grand
Old Master's style, determined to essay a "thriller" of most tragic
type. These two single authors, Messrs. WYATT and ROSS, being rolled
into one, wanted, like the Pickwickian Fat Boy, "to make our flesh
creep." In their one-volume Hugoesque romance, _The Earth Girl_,
bound in pale grass-green, with blood-red title, they have most
unequivocally succeeded. The heroine, The Earth Girl, who, at
the last, is sent back whence she came, and so ends by being the
"Earth-to-Earth" Girl, is named _Terra_; she commences by being _Terra
Incognita_, she is never _Terra Firma_, but her existence, in its
consequences to all who come within her influence, is quite a reign of
_Terra_. The authors are to be congratulated on not having yielded
to a great temptation by styling their story _The Earth Girl;
or, Terra-ra-ra-Boom!_ The scene is laid chiefly in the Island of
Breke--but to give too many details would spoil the intending-reader's
pleasure. So, as _Hamlet_ observes, "Breke, Breke my heart, for I must
hold my tongue!" The Earth Girl first sees the light, such as it is,
in a cavern, and is brought up on raw eggs fresh from the sea-bird's
nest, uncooked herbs, and raw fish. No tea, coffee, milk, or liquors
of any description, were within reach of this unhappy family of three,
consisting of Pa, Ma, and the Infant Phenomenon. How they slaked their
thirst is not clearly stated, unless a sort of aquarium, in which some
amiable sharks reposed, was a fresh-water tank. This wild girl
was elegantly brought up, as far as their somewhat straitened
circumstances would permit, for she learned songs and ballads, French,
English, and the Norman _patois_ of the Channel Islands. In these
peculiar troglodytian surroundings she had never learned the use of
parasol or umbrella, and was entirely ignorant of harp, piano, and
the "use of the globes." Coming up out of the caves and breathing once
more the upper air, we naturally find ourselves in higher society, and
are introduced to a handsome old Peer, _Lord Netherdale_, who has two
sons, the half-brothers _Royallet_, one of whom gaily addresses his
respected parent as "The Paladin of Paters," and is not at once locked
up in Colney Hatch. The old Peer is as eccentric as he is handsome,
and he takes up his residence on the Island of Breke, where "the
fruit, the vegetables, the strange sea-creatures" (odd fish?), "which
made their appearance on his table," (this sounds as if the strange
sea-creatures walked in unasked. Queer place this Breke for a
Breke-fast party!) "pleased him." He was easily pleased. Then "he
began to think the island cider preferable to Pommery. In short, the
eccentric Peer fell in love with Breke." Well! he must have been an
eccentric Peer to prefer Channel Island cider, even from the best
orchards, to the '84, '80, and '74--the last still existing in some
exceptionally favoured spots--from the vinevards of Pommery. This
eccentric nobleman on seeing the Island of Breke, observed the absence
of a landing-stage, and jocosely remarked to himself, "They're in want
of a _pier; I_ will fix myself there." And so he did. But of all that
happened to him there and elsewhere, and to the Earth-to-Earth Girl,
and to the two sons, is it not to be read by the purchaser in the book
itself, which, the Baron is pleased to add, will well repay perusal,
and will hold the reader's attention to the very last line. At least,
this was its effect on the not always easily pleased.

BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

       *       *       *       *       *

A NEW "ARNOLD'S EXERCISE."

MY DEAR MR. DACRE,

I have seen your Play, and, since then, I have not seen any other like
it. "When will I come again?" To see it twice within a week would be
too ecstatic a joy for a dweller--may I say a Liver--in London, who
is more at home as one of the Lights of Asia. So, for the present--to
paraphrase what I believe were the words of a popular poet whose name
has passed from my memory--such, alas! is popularity--I will say to
you, "Not to-day. DACRE"--(I fancy the last word was "Baker" in the
original Syriac)--but, some other day, when, as one of the Lights
aforementioned, I shall, at a _Matinée_ be day-lighted to re-witness
your admirable performance.

Yours ever most sincerely sincere,

EDWIN TAILS-LOSE, C.B.

P.S.--"C.B." is not "Commander of the Bath," but stands for "_Cox
and Box_," in which piece (have you ever played it? I forget--but how
perfect you would be as _Sergeant_ or _Corporal Bouncer!_) you will
find the immortal quotation which precedes these descriptive initial
letters.

       *       *       *       *       *

MY DOCTOR.

  When Influenza pangs attack
  My tortured head and limbs and back,
  You soothe me, stretched upon the rack,
                      My Doctor.

  When, convalescent, I'm too weak
  To stand, or sit, or see, or speak,
  Your tonics make me tough as teak,
                      My Doctor.

  No symptoms seem to cause surprise;
  Though I turn green or blue, your eyes
  Are still impenetrably wise,
                      My Doctor.

  If grave or slight the case, you still
  Awe folks with look of learned skill;
  You cure them, whether well or ill,
                      My Doctor.

  One needs trepanning of the head,
  Another just one pill--of bread,
  And neither, thanks to you, is dead,
                      My Doctor.

  Long may you live to see the tongue,
  To listen to the wheezy lung,
  To feel the pulse of old and young,
                      My Doctor!

       *       *       *       *       *

A BUTTON-HOLE FOR MR. CHAMBERLAIN.--At the sale of the Quorn House
Orchids, Mr. G. HARDY purchased a _Cattleyn Mendelli_ for 220 _guas_.
Perhaps Mr. CHAMBERLAIN wouldn't bid, having mistaken "Mendelli" for
"Mundella." But to have entered the house in a careless fashion, with
a "glass (with care)" in his eye, and a two-hundred-and-twenty-guinea
Orchid in his button-hole, would have been a great sight for "JOEY
B"-IRMINGHAM.

       *       *       *       *       *

EARLY AND LATE.--A telegram in the _Times_, Wednesday 12, was
headed--"Japan: Yokohama, March 30 (_viâ_ Victoria, B.C., April 11)."
This met the eye of our old friend, Mrs. R., who forthwith exclaimed,
"'April 11, B.C.!' and only arrived here now--April 12, A.D.!"

       *       *       *       *       *

CHANGE OF NAME.--All congratulations to the Duke and Duchess of Fife.
Great alterations and improvements are, it is said, being made at
Mar Lodge. The name also is to be altered, and henceforth it is to be
known as "_Mar and Pa' Lodge_."

       *       *       *       *       *

THE MOAN OF THE TWO (EXCHEQUER) MISERS.

(_After Quintin Matsys._)

[Illustration]

_First Exchequer Miser._ Oh dear me! I desired to shape a Democratic
      Budget!
      But I fear 'twill be a fizzle, howsoe'er I fake and fudge it!
_Second E. M._ Don't talk like that, my H-RC-T, for such cynic slang is
      shocking!
      But--the Revenue Returns, no doubt, our dearest hopes are mocking.
_First E. M._ Oh, I know you ape the casuist, and love the pleonastic,
      But how tackle our taxation in a manner really drastic
  With a Revenue declining! From the task my courage blenches,
  But--what will be the consequence on those clamorous Rad Benches?
  They want Free Breakfast Tables, and are hot on Members' Payment,
  And if they cannot get 'em, will they curse and rend our raiment?
  The Death Duties, too! The failure to touch them might be the death of
      us!
_Second R. M._ Yet we've been economical; it is the very breath of us.
_First E. M._ Humph! How about your Home-Rule Bill's Finance
      Proposals--drat'em!
  Which e'en the Irish threaten to tear up--when they get at 'em!
_Second E. M._ The Rads, of course, will want to eat their cake and have
      it, also.
  No, a Democratic Budget,--at least one the Rads would call so,--
  I fear's not on the cards, H., but--humph! listen!
      (_Whispers in his ear._)
  For the rest of it
  I'll trust your ingenuity, and--we must make the best of it!
                                                    [_Left working it out._

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "A PRIVATE VIEW."

_Pat._ "WHAT D'YE THINK OF THE HOME-RULE BILL, MURPHY?"

_Murphy_ (_puzzled_). "BEGORRA, IF IT MEANS STAYING AT HOME WITH THE
OULD WOMAN EVERY BLESSED DAY, HOME RULE WON'T DO FOR ME AT ALL, AT
ALL!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

"PER DAMNA, PER CÆDES," PERAMBULATOR.

[See Mr. ASQUITH'S Speech on the "Temperance" demonstration.]

  When Trafalgar Square is with human geese full,
    And fiercely fights the daft declamator,
  Undisturbed the nursemaid can push the peaceful
                       Perambulator.

  The wild teetotaller hurts not her,
    Nor does the publican's justificator.
  Unharmed she can push the peaceful Per-
                       ambulator.

  The Working Man, whether true or sham,
    Whether honest worker, or rough spectator,
  Leaves her to push the peaceful Peram-
                       bulator.

  Though in hostile faces and chests he ram beau--
    Tiful bright banners, the demonstrator
  Still lets her push the peaceful Perambu-
                       lator.

  Thus always, whoever may block the way,
    Though bones be broken and skulls be sore
  May she push the peaceful Perambula-
                       tor.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Still a _Non Est_ Man!"--J-B-Z SP-NC-R B-LF-R.

       *       *       *       *       *

To Mr. John Davitt.

(_On his Maiden Speech in the House._)

"O si sic omnes!"

  Surely sincerer speaker never talked!
  Surely a purer patriot never walked!
    Surely a fairer fighter never took field!
  The man who heard your speech on Ireland's cause
  Without warm sympathy, and frank applause,
          Must be a--BROOKFIELD!

       *       *       *       *       *

CHEAP AT ANY PRICE.

_Mrs. Britannia_ (_effusively_). And now, my dear children, do you
know the meaning of Imperial Federation?

_Australia_ (_promptly_). Yes, dear Mamma. We are all to live as a
happy family.

_Mrs. Brit._ (_fondly_). Quite right, sweetest. And can you tell me
how this is to be managed?

_Canada_ (_with decision_). By mutual defence, dear Mamma.

_Mrs. Brit._ (_smilingly_). My love, your answer is quite correct. And
how shall we manage this mutual defence?

_Cape Colony_ (_in a business-like manner_). By providing all sorts of
things, dear Mamma.

_Mrs. Brit._ (_proudly_). Very good, little HOPE; you are always ready
with an answer. And now, can any of you tell me what those things will
be?

_India_ (_without hesitation_). Money, and coal and gunpowder, dear
Mamma.

_Mrs. Brit._ (_affectionately_). Certainly, darling; you have given
exactly the proper reply. And now, will not all this cost a large sum
of money?

_Tasmania_ (_with much decision_). A very large sum of money, dear
Mamma--an immense sum, dear Mamma.

_Mrs. Brit._ (_kindly_). Yes, my child, you are perfectly right. And
now, my cherished daughters, one more question. Who will have to pay
for all this expense? (_A pause._) Why, surely you know? (_Continued
silence._) Who will have to find the money to secure this Imperial
Federation?

_All Britannia's Daughters_ (_together_). Why you, dear Mamma!

_Mrs. Brit._ (_fondling them_). Darlings!

[_Scene closes in upon a picture very dear to Tax-payers._

       *       *       *       *       *

The Heathen Chinee in the House.

(_New Nursery Rhyme for Unionists._)

[Mr. LABOUCHERE recently presented a petition in the Chinese
characters.]

LAB-BI, the cynic and cold,
  Was blackest sheep in the Liberal fold.
  He mocked the Old Man's eloquent tags,
  And let the cats out of all his bags;
  And when the cats ran loose, said he
  "I wonder how _that_ suits dear G!"

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "To-night is ours!"]

ELEVATING THE MASSES.

(_A Purely Imaginary Sketch._)

ARGUMENT--Mrs. FLITTERMOUSE, _having got up a party to assist her in
giving an Entertainment at the East End, has called a meeting for the
purpose of settling the items in the programme._

SCENE--Mrs. FLITTERMOUSE'S _Drawing-room in Park Lane. Everybody
discovered drinking tea, and chatting on matters totally unconnected
with Philanthropy._

_Mrs. Flittermouse_ (_imploringly_). Now, _please_, everybody, _do_
attend! It's quite impossible to settle anything while you're all
talking about something else. (_Apologies, protests, constrained
silence._) SELINA, dear, what do you think it would be best to begin
with?

_The Dowager Lady Dampier._ My dear FRITILLA, I have no suggestion
to offer. You know my opinion about the whole thing. The people don't
want to be elevated, and--if they did--entertaining them is not the
proper means to set about it. But I don't wish to discourage you.

_Mrs. Flitt._ Oh, but I think we could do so _much_ to give them a
taste for more rational and refined amusements, poor things, to wean
them from the coarse pleasures which are all they have at present.
Only we must really decide what each of us is going to do.

_Mrs. Perse-Weaver._ A violin solo is always popular. And my daughter
CECILIA will be delighted to play for you. She has been taught by the
best----

_Cecilia._ Oh, Mother, I couldn't, really! I've never played in
public. I _know_ I should break down!

_Lady Damp._ In that case, my dear, it would be certainly unwise on
your part to attempt it.

_Mrs. P.-W._ Nonsense, CECILIA, nonsense. You _won't_ break down, and
it wouldn't matter in the least if you did. _They_ wouldn't notice
anything. And it will be such excellent practice for you to get
accustomed to a platform, too. Of _course_ she will play for you, dear
Mrs. FLITTERMOUSE!

_Mrs. Flitt._ It will be _so_ good of you, Miss WEAVER. And it won't
be like playing to a _real_ audience, you know--poor people are so
easily pleased, poor dears. Then I will put that down to begin with.
(_She makes a note._) Now we must have something quite different for
the next--a reading or something.

_Lady Honor Hyndleggs._ A--nothin' _humorous_, I hope. I do think
we ought to avoid anythin' like descendin' to their level, don't you
know.

_Mr. Lovegroove._ Might try something out of _Pickwick_. "_Bob
Sawyer's Party_," you know. Can't go far wrong with anything out of
DICKENS.

_Miss Diova Rose._ Can't endure him myself. All his characters are
so fearfully common; still--(_tolerantly_) I daresay it might
amuse--a--that class of persons.

_Mrs. Flitt._ I must say I agree with Lady HONOR. We should try and
aim as high as possible--and well, I think _not_ DICKENS, dear Mr.
LOVEGROOVE. _TENNYSON_ might do perhaps; he's written some charmin'
pieces.

_Mr. Lovegr._ Well, fact is, I don't go in for poetry much myself. But
I'll read anythin' of his you think I'm equal to.

_Mrs. Flitt._ Why--a--really, it's so long since I--and I'm afraid
I haven't one of his poems in the house. I suppose they are down at
Barn-end. But I could send to CUTT AND HAWTHORN'S. I daresay _they_
would have a copy somewhere.

_Miss Sibson-Gabler._ Surely TENNYSON is rather--a--retrograde?
Why not read them something to set them _thinking_? It would be an
interesting experiment to try the effect of that marvellous Last Scene
in the _Doll's House_. I'd love to read it. It would be like a breath
of fresh air to them!

_Mrs. P.-W._ Oh! I've seen that at the Langham Hall. You remember,
CECILIA, my taking you there? And CORNEY GRAIN played _Noah_. To be
sure--we were _quite_ amused by it all.

_Miss S.-G._ (_coldly_). This is _not_ amusing--it's a play of
IBSEN'S.

_Mrs. Flitt._ Is that the man who wrote the piece at the
Criterion--what is it, _The Toy Shop_? WYNDHAM acted in it.

_Lady Damp._ No, no; IBSEN is the person there's been all this fuss
about in the papers--he goes in for unconventionality and all that.
I may be wrong, but I think it is _such_ a mistake to have anything
unconventional in an Entertainment for the People.

_Mrs. Flitt._ But if he's being _talked_ about, dear Lady DAMPIER,
people might like to know something about him. But perhaps we'd better
leave IBSEN open, then. Now, what shall we have next?

_Miss Skipworth._ I tell you what would fetch them--a skirt-dance.
I'll dance for you--like a shot. It would be no end of fun doin' it on
a regular platform, and I've been studyin' FLOSSIE FRILLINGTON, at the
Inanity, till I've caught her style exactly.

_Mr. Kempton._ Oh, I say, you can give her a stone and a beatin' any
day, give you my word you can. She doesn't put anythin' like the go
into it you do.

[_Miss S. accepts this tribute with complacency._

_Mrs. Flitt._ A skirt-dance will be the very thing. It's sure to
please the people we shall bring over for it--and of course they'll
be in the front rows. Yes, I must put _that_ down. We ought to have
a song next. Mrs. TUBEROSE, you promised to come and sing for us--you
will, won't you?

_Mrs. Tuberose._ Delighted! I rather thought of doing a dear little
song STEPHAN OTIS has just brought out. It's called "_Forbidden
Fruit_," and he wrote it expressly for me. It goes like this.

[_She sits down at the piano, and sings, with infinite expression and
tenderness._

  "Only the moon espies our bliss,
  Through the conscious clusters of clematis,
    Shedding star-sweet showers.
  To-morrow the world will have gone amiss--
  Now we are face by face, love, I thrill to your kiss--
  So let us remember naught but this:
      That To-night is ours!
  Yes, this passionate, perilous, exquisite night--is Ours!"

_Several Voices._ Charmin'.... OTIS puts so much real feeling into all
his songs ... quite a little gem! &c., &c.

_Lady Damp._ I should have thought myself that it was rather
advanced--for an East-End audience----

_Mrs. Tuberose_ (_nettled_). Really, dear Lady DAMPIER, if people see
nothing to object in it _here_, I don't see why they should be more
particular at the East-End!

_Mrs. Flitt._ Oh no,--and as if it matters what the _words_ are in
a song. I daresay if one heard _their_ songs----Now we want another
song--something as different as possible.

_Mr. Gardinier._ Heard a capital song at the "Pav." the other
night--something about a Cock-eyed Kipper. Just suit my voice. I could
easily get the words and music, and do that for you--if you like.

_Several Voices._ A Cock-eyed Kipper! It sounds too killing! Oh, we
must have that!

_Lady Damp._ Might I ask what kind of creature a--a "Cock-eyed Kipper"
may be?

_Mr. Gard._ Oh, well, I suppose it's a sort of a dried herring--with a
squint, don't you know.

_Lady Damp._ I see no humour in making light of a personal deformity,
I must say.

_Mr. Gard._ Oh, don't you? _They_ will--it'll go with a scream there!

_Miss Diova Rose._ Yes, poor dears--and we mustn't mind being just a
little vulgar for once--to cheer them up.

_Lady Honor._ I have been to the Pavilion and the Tivoli myself, and I
heard nothing to object to. I know I was much more amused than I ever
am at theatres--_they_ bore me to death.

_Mr. Bagotrix._ We might finish up with _Mrs. Jarley's Waxworks_ you
know. Some of you can be the figures, and I'll come on in a bonnet and
shawl as _Mrs. Jarley_, and wind you up and describe you. I've done
it at lots of places in the country; brought in personal allusions and
all that sort of thing, and made everybody roar.

_Lady Damp._ But will the East-Enders understand your personal
allusions?

_Mr. Bag._ Well, you see, the people in the front rows will, which is
all _I_ want.

_Lady Honor_ (_suspiciously_). Isn't _Mrs. Jarley_ out of _Pickwick_,
though? That's DICKENS surely!

_Mr. Bag._ (_reassuringly_). Nothing but the name, Lady HONOR. I make
up all the patter myself, so that'll be all right--just good-natured
chaff, you know; if any body's a offended--as I've known them to
be--it's no fault of mine.

_Mrs. Flitt._ Oh! I'm sure you will make it funny,--and about getting
someone to preside--I suppose we ought to ask the Vicar of the nearest
church?

_Lady Honor._ Wouldn't it be better to get somebody--a--more in
Society, don't you know?

_Mrs. Flitt._ Yes; and he might offer to pay for hiring the Hall, and
the other expenses. I never thought of that. I'll see whom I can
get. Really I think it ought to be great fun, and we shall have
the satisfaction of feeling we are doing real good, which is such a
comfort!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A GENTLE SNUB.

"HERE, WAITER, QUICK! SOMETHING TO EAT--AND LOOK SHARP!"

"YESSIR. WHAT'LL YOU 'AVE, SIR?"

"OH--ANYTHING--I DON'T CARE. CHOP OR STEAK--WHATEVER YOU LIKE."

"YOU MUST EXCUSE ME, SIR; BUT I DON'T FEEL CALLED UPON TO DECIDE!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

A Tip to Teetotallers.

  TEMPERANCE is good--but not alone in Drink!
Good causes are not won, whate'er you think,
    By bullying indulgence in bad manners.
  A total abstinence from aught unfair
  Will serve you best. Your Standard raise in air,
But Banners of Intemperance should not tear
    Passions to rags--_nor Banners_!

       *       *       *       *       *

THE _Times_ of April 12 says:--"The Kachin (or Katchin) rising is
stated to be serious, and likely to spread." Not to be wondered at, as
it's "Katchin."

       *       *       *       *       *

A TELEGRAM from Fez ought to be considered as coming from
Head-quarters.

       *       *       *       *       *

CLERICAL OUTCOMES.

_To the Editor of "The St-nd-rd."_

SIR,--Allow me to mention, under all reserve, that I _frequently_
preach a sermon of JEREMY TAYLOR'S, or the Judicious HOOKER'S, to
my congregation, with excellent effect, and hitherto without any
discovery on their part of the origin of the discourse. I, of course,
alter the old-fashioned phrases, and bring the sermons up to date,
so to speak. This plan saves the inconvenience of having to _pay_
for sermons, which I could not do in cash in these days of clerical
destitution, only in sermon paper, which I fear would not be accepted.
If I am accused of "cribbing sermons," I deny the charge with
indignation. I don't crib JEREMY, I _adapt_ him. Does every dramatist,
who adapts from the French, acknowledge the fact? Not at all! Neither
does--

Yours unblushingly,

BORROWED PLUME-AGE.


SIR,--My congregation is a rustic one. I have tried them with my own
sermons, but my pewrents suffered so severely in consequence, that I
have been obliged to give them up. Last Sunday (following the advice
of a lay friend of mine in Town, in whom I have much confidence) I
preached one of Prebendary SHEEPSHANKS' "Crampton Lectures" to them,
and the farmers and labourers seemed much impressed. There was, in
fact, hardly an open eye in Church during the hour and a half that the
delivery lasted. The Charity-School children, too, who sat through
the whole of it, only had to be physically admonished by their teacher
about once in every half-minute. When an old village dame
afterwards assured me that "she didn't know I was that larned," I
felt--momentarily--rather like a wolf in SHEEPSHANKS' clothes. But I
intend going through the course.

Yours, &c., PASTOR IGNOTUS.

       *       *       *       *       *

SPORTING ANSWERS.

COUNTRY HOUSE.

TYRO.--You are quite right--a four-in-hand is worth two in the bush,
which, as you justly observe, no good wine needs. To handle the reins
correctly, proceed as follows. Divide the sum-total of all the reins
measured to a _millimètre_ by half a forefinger, no allowance being
made for chalk-stones, or stiff knuckles. Multiply the quotient by the
off-wheel-rein, and add the near leader's blinkers to the result. Then
pass your left thumb under your right middle finger, taking care
at the same time to tie the off-leading-rein round your neck in
a sailor's knot. Add six yards of whipcord to the near leader's
shoulders, subtract yourself from the box, and send us your doctor's
bill, for purposes of comparison.

WHO'S WHO?--(1) _Roundabout Sammy_ is a very promising horse, by
_Engineer_, out of _Little Joker_. He was not bred in France, for,
though there is a Parisian accent about some of his neighs, there is
a distinctly British look about his nose. He is a trifle cobby, no
doubt, but he is a capital feeder, and should go well in a double
harness, with 84 '_Pommery_, his constant stable companion. (2.) Peat
Moss Litter is not generally used for soup, or table decorations. (3.)
The appearance you refer to is probably _rubinosis brandiginiata_. It
is due to the absorption of _liquor per haustum_. The snakes you sent
us are indigenous to the hill-country of Del Trementi.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: HOW RAPID CONVERSIONS ARE MADE.

_Lady Circe._ "WHAT, YOU DON'T APPRECIATE _WAGNER_, MR. JONES? YOU
MUST LET ME PLAY YOU A LITTLE OF _PARSIFAL_."

[_Does so, and Jones, who has no ear for Music whatever, becomes an
ardent and aggressive Wagnerite on the spot, and remains so for the
rest of his life!_
]

       *       *       *       *       *

UNCLE TOBY AND WIDOW WADMAN.

(MODERN ULSTER VERSION.)

_A Fragment after the Fashion of Sterne._

_Uncle Toby_ Mr. J-HN B-LL. _Widow Wadman_ Mrs. ULST-R.

"I AM half distracted, Captain SHANDY," said Mrs. WADMAN, holding up
her cambric handkerchief to her left eye, as she approached the door
of my Uncle TOBY'S Sentry-Box--"a mote, or sand, or small fly,
or something, I know not what, has got into this eye of mine. The
Gardener declares it is one of those Green Flies which are the pest of
this Distressful Country. I refuse to believe _that_. There never was,
never will, never can, never _shall_ be any Green in _my_ eye. But
whatever it is, mote or beam, it is awfully irritating. Do look
into it; it is not in the white, or perhaps I should say--for I am a
brunette of olive complexion, you know--in the Yellow----"

In saying which, Mrs. WADMAN edged herself close in beside my Uncle
TOBY, and squeezing herself down upon the corner of his bench, she
gave him an opportunity of doing it without rising up "_Do_ look into
it!" said she.

Honest soul! Thou wast ever being adjured to "look into" things, all
sorts of things, from Widow's eyes to matters of far wider scope, and
infinitely less simplicity and clarity. And thou didst look into it
with as much innocency and simple good-will as ever child looked into
a raree show-box.

If a man will be prying, of his own accord, into things of such
ticklish and troublesome, not to say perilous nature--I've nothing to
say to it.

My Uncle TOBY never did, being naturally of an unobservant and
easy-going nature; and I will answer for him, that he would have sat
quietly in his seat in that Sentry Box or the House from February
to September (which you know were his favourite months for serious
Session) with an eye as fine and soft as the Thracian Rhodope's, or
as threatening and commanding as that of Mars--even a hectoring fiery
thrasonic Hibernian Mars--himself, without being able to tell whether
it was a black or a blue one, or even a Green or a Yellow.

The difficulty was to get my Uncle TOBY to look into things at all.

'Tis surmounted. And----

I see him yonder, with his pipe pendulous in his hand, and the ashes
falling out of it, looking, and looking, then rubbing his eyes and
looking again, with twice the good-nature that ever GALILEO looked for
a spot in the sun.

In vain! For by all the powers which animate the organ, Widow WADMAN'S
left eye shines this moment as lucid as her right. 'Tis true the
unfortunate, and something irate lady--and what lady would _not_ be
irate at the charge of having aught of Green in her eye?--hath with
her cambric handkerchief rubbed the sinister orb into a state of
roseate irritation--externally--but there is neither mote, nor sand,
nor dust, nor chaff, nor speck, nor fly,--Green or otherwise--nor
particle of solid opaque matter floating in it. 'Tis, indeed, pure
optic illusion on the Widow's part, illusion born, perchance, partly
of fear, partly of pique. There is nothing, my dear paternal Uncle,
but one lambent, feverish fire, deliciously attractive, even in its
angry heat, fascinating even whilst phlogistic, shooting out from
every part of it, in all directions, into thine----

----If thou lookest, Uncle TOBY, in search of this imaginary mote one
moment longer--thou art undone.

An eye is, for all the world, exactly like a cannon in this respect;
that it is not so much the eye or the cannon, in themselves, as it is
the carriage of the eye--and the carriage of the cannon, by which both
the one and the other are enabled to do so much execution. The Widow's
eye, owing mainly to the militant and menacing carriage thereof,
_looked_ as formidable as a whole park of artillery, ranged up to
defend a final fortification, or, as it might be, Last Ditch of
defence. Whether it were exactly as fierce or formidable as it
seemed--well, that was a question which my Uncle TOBY had not yet
fully "looked into"--as he was now doing into Widow WADMAN'S left eye.

"I protest, Madam," said my Uncle TOBY, "I can see nothing whatever in
your eye!"

[Illustration: UNCLE TOBY AND WIDOW WADMAN.

(_Modern Ulster Version. After C. R. Leslie, R.A.'s celebrated
picture._)

MRS. ULSTER. "NOW, MR. BULL, DO YOU SEE ANY '_GREEN_' IN MY EYE?"]

But this was not what the Widow wanted.

"It is not in the white, or yellow," said Mrs. WADMAN. My Uncle TOBY
looked with might and main into the pupil.

Now there never, surely, was an eye so fitted to rob my Uncle TOBY of
his repose as the very eye at which he was looking. It was not, Madam,
a rolling eye, a dissatisfied or a revolutionary one--nor was it an
eye wicked, wanton, or wandering--but it _was_ an eye sparkling,
petulant, and imperious, of high claims, and large exactions--an eye
full of brisk challenges and sharp responses, an eye of satisfied
strength and confident ascendancy--speaking, not like the dulcet
appeal of a mellow flute, but like the trumpet stop of some powerful
party organ. The cornea was perhaps a shade sallow or so, even verging
on the Widow's favourite Yellow--(for the Widow, like some modern
decorative artists, was sweet upon all tawny tints, from the most
delicate buff to the most _flamboyant_ Orange)--but as to any touch,
tint, or tone of her chromatic antipathy, Green----!!!

"Now, _dear_ Mr. SHANDY," cried the Widow, edging nearer, and opening
the optic to its widest, "tell me--tell me truly, _do_ you, _can_ you
detect the slightest suspicion of Green in _my_ eye----?"

"I protest, Madam," said my Uncle TOBY, "I can see nothing whatever of
the sort!"

       *       *       *       *       *

THE B. AND S. DRAMA AT THE ADELPHI.

"SOME one has blundered!" Who? The Messrs. GATTI, in sending to
Messrs. BUCHANAN and SIMS ("B. & S.") for an Adelphi melodrama? Surely
not! These two might have been trusted to turn out the right article.
So the GATTIS leave the Court without a stain on their managerial
character. Therefore, 'tis the brother-authors, "_hoi Adelphoi_,"
who have blundered. Undoubtedly. An Adelphi audience is not to be
satisfied with a one-scene piece, when that scene is without any
incident in it worth a melodramatic father's cuss. A fancy-dress ball
at Covent Garden, however well put on the stage,--and, after all, it
has not beaten the record of the Masked Ball at the Opera House
in Paris, as given in Mr. IRVING'S revival of _The Corsican
Brothers_,--will not carry a piece of far stronger calibre than _The
Black Domino_, and it won't carry this. Neither will a charming "set,"
representing the terrace of the "Star and Garter," at Richmond, carry
a piece to a successful finale, if the audience has lost all interest
in the characters, and does not very much care what becomes of any one
of them, male or female. To the play-goer it is not attractive; he has
seen it all before. "He knows that man and that woman,--they come from
Sheffield;" _i.e._, the persons and the incidents are taken out of a
lot of dramas which dwell in his memory, from BOUCICAULT'S _Formosa_
at Drury Lane, up to OSCAR'S _Lady Windermere's Fan_ at the St.
James's. Of course, my imaginary play-goer is the Bill of the play,
who has "matured," and is not a junior member of the Play-goer's
Club. Then, in the old blind German, there is a touch of TOM TAYLOR'S
_Helping Hands_, and, as for all the rest of the characters, well,
they can be found in the common stock-pot of the melodramatic authors
of the last half-century, for, like SHAKSPEARE himself, these wicked
lawyers and gamblers--the aiders and a-betters--are "not for an age"
(would they were, and that age passed!) "but for all time!"

[Illustration: _B-ch-n-n._ "The prize from the lucky-bag"----

_S-ms._ "A blank?"]

Nothing saves the piece from being absolutely dull, except the
admirable acting, and, I may add, the scenery. It is impossible to
count upon renewing such effects as those in _Formosa, The Flying
Scud,_ and in the _Prodigal Daughter_ at Drury Lane, wherein the wrong
horse was poisoned (in a really dramatic scene), and LEONARD BOYNE,
riding the winner, cleared the brook, thus causing part-author
DRURIOLANUS to clear--any amount of money. There are no two exciting
scenes like these in this Adelphi drama. Its comic relief is "poor
relief," and would go for nothing at all, were it not in the hands
of Mr. DALE, who played and sang so well in _Miss Decima_ at the
Criterion, and of the vivacious Miss CLARA JECKS.

Mr. W. DENNIS, as the _Earl of Arlington_, is own brother to the
old Peer in _The Bauble Shop_. Perhaps this is a tribute to the
representative of the aristocracy at the Criterion, or it indicates
with great subtlety that, like Members of Parliament, "Peers are,
after all, human--very human," and that one old Peer is uncommonly
like another old Peer. Miss EVELYN MILLARD, as the soprano heroine,
and Mrs. PATRICK CAMPBELL as the base heroine, look handsome, and act
excellently. They take the audience with them as far as the audience
will go. As good as they possibly can be in such conventional
puppet-parts are Messrs. GLENNY and ABINGDON, the first as the
well-intentioned but weak-willed _Lord Dashwood_, and the second as
that old-fashioned scoundrel, _Captain Greville_. Mr. ARTHUR WILLIAMS
rather suggests Mr. BLAKELEY as the oily, scoundrelly lawyer, _Joshua
Honybun_; and Mr. LE HAY gives variety to the entertainment (which is
his special line) in the entirely new and original character part
of _an Irish Major_, with nothing particularly humorous to say, and
nothing at all, humorous, or otherwise, to do.

[Illustration: GOOD OLD MELODRAMA MODERNISED.

_Lord Glenny Dashwood_ (_to Captain Abingdon Greville._) "Liar and
slave!"

[_Strikes him. They fight with fists._]

Something new in Melodrama is wanted, and Melodrama "all of the modern
time" is played out, unless a genius can hit on a new sensation.
The Adelphi piece, however, has its advantages, and among these its
chiefest is, that it necessitates the taking of light refreshment
immediately afterwards. Fortunately, the Adelphi is close to our old
friend RULE'S in Maiden Lane, and for this hospitable shelter
our party made in haste; and, before the arrival of the crowd
of supper-numeraries, gained a table, on which were soon placed
appetising and drinkatising oysters, followed by the grateful stout.
"Pretty to see," as PEPYS hath it, at the very next table to us, the
good hero of the drama welcoming the double-dyed villain, chiding
him for being a few minutes late, and then drowning all past dramatic
animosities in the flowing bowl. "See how these players love one
another!" So have I seen politicians, mortal enemies in the House,
hob-nobbing together at the dinner-table of some hospitable Impartial.
"And thus it is," said I to myself, said I, "that 'all the world's a
stage, and men and women' like to have supper after the play and enjoy
themselves generally." So philosophising, we, my companion and I,
lighted the pipe of peace--I should say a cigar a-piece--and returned
home satisfied with our excellent supper. _Vive_ BAYLISS! BRITANNIA
rules the waves, and this is the last month for oysters till the
arrival of another month with an "r" in it; but, _en attendant_, there
will appear some very small, very sweet, and very digestible lobsters!
"_Le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle?_" But an indifferent play is well
worth a first-rate supper, which may be a shell-fish view, but at all
events, if (like the jest) it be "a poor thing," yet 'tis mine own
(for the time being), and thereto I sign my hand.

PRIVATE BOX.

       *       *       *       *       *

SIR JOHN GILBERT, R.A., has given his pictures to Liverpool to be
arranged in "The Walker Gallery." This is rather like saying "Walker"
to any Gallery, London. Great opportunity for advertisement to
J. L. T. of T**LE'S Theatre.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "ULSTERIA"----THE PREVAILING EPIDEMIC.

_Chorus of the Colonel's Daughters_ (_Irish_) _to English Visitor._
"OH YES, WE'RE GOING TO HAVE TERRIBLE TIMES! AND IT'S SUCH FUN, YOU
KNOW--WE'RE ALL LEARNING SHOOTING!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

_House of Commons, Monday, April_ 10.--"Quite refreshing," murmured
GRANDOLPH, looking round at the Party, to which, as he said at
Liverpool the other day, he is thoroughly attached, "to see how good
Conservatives enjoy CHAMBERLAIN'S Speech. They are as jubilant now as
they were a few years ago, when I attacked JOSEPH in connection with
Aston-Park Riots. A topsy-turvy world; most of us where we never
thought to find ourselves, or be found; oddest of all, surely, is to
hear CHAMBERLAIN of Birmingham enthusiastically cheered in House of
Commons by great Conservative Party. They mean it, too," GRANDOLPH
added, still scanning the beaming faces on the Benches behind. "It is
almost an intellectual delight to them."

"Yes," said PLUNKET, "they are acutely pleased to hear so smartly said
what they think they thought."

Truly a stirring of the sluggish pool during hour and half that
CHAMBERLAIN stepped in. Speech full of bitterness; effect immeasurably
increased by perfect equability of manner, and the utterance of a
voice ever soft and low--a beautiful thing in a man who says nasty
things of parted friends. If one stone deaf had sat in Gallery and
watched JOSEPH, as he gracefully bent over towards Treasury Bench,
whereon sat his one-time revered Leader and the still faithful band of
followers, he would naturally have imagined JOSEPH was complimenting
him and them upon the perfectness of their measure, and the prospect
of the Irish wilderness, under its beneficent influence, blossoming
like the rose. Deaf man would have been mistaken; JOSEPH saying
nothing of the kind; indeed, quite the reverse, as deaf man, turning
his eyes on Mr. G., would begin to suspect.

Wide differences between Mr. G. and J. C.; none so marked as their
demeanour throughout debate. The wilder the storm of interruption
rages round JOSEPH, the more urbane he becomes, and the more
dangerous. Mr. G., standing on the commanding eminence he has
built for himself in the House of Commons, is the sport of most
inconsiderable Member. Anyone, with whatever bungling hand, can "draw"
him. To-night, whilst JOSEPH smiled his way through all the spiteful
things he had stored up for gratification of old friends, Mr. G. sat
restless, with clouded brow, face pale with anger, every now and then
springing up with hot correction. Which was just what JOSEPH wanted to
achieve.

_Business done._--Third Day Debate on Second Reading Home-Rule Bill.

_Tuesday._--ELLIS ASHMEAD-BARTLETT (Knight) back again. "He's Knight
and Morning," said leal TOM SUTHERLAND, of the P. & O., looking on
admiringly from the starboard poop. In a sense this is true, for
ASHMEAD gave us a full hour's discourse last night, and here in broad
day, on threshold of another sitting, proposes to add another forty
minutes. PRINCE ARTHUR had quite a time with him last night. He was,
so to speak, the Boy left on the Burning Deck whence all but he
Had Fled. Right Hon. Gentlemen on Front Opposition Bench, following
example set in other parts of House, cleared out when ASHMEAD appeared
at table with prodigious roll of manuscript in red right hand. PRINCE
ARTHUR looked wistfully towards door, but, remembering leading precept
of OLD MORALITY, determined to stay, and do duty to QUEEN and Country.
So sat it out till midnight struck; Debate automatically closed, and
SPEAKER called on next Order of the Day.

ASHMEAD, pleased with his success, and pondering on fresh delights
in store for House when it met again, remained standing at table,
reflectively arranging his papers. Horrible thought suddenly struck
him; froze his veins, and paled his brow. With generous desire that
country should fully share advantages of House, he had his speech
printed in advance. Copies sent to newspapers. Suppose they printed it
all, whereas he had not found opportunity to deliver more than half of
it! Awakened from reverie by violent tugging at coat-tails. This was
PRINCE ARTHUR, signalling him to sit down, with perhaps unnecessary
vigour. But PRINCE ARTHUR had a long score (fully an hour long) to pay
off.

Great speech finished at to-day's sitting; another hour saw it
through. "I think I had _my_ hour last night," said PRINCE ARTHUR, as,
on rising of his esteemed colleague, he hastily passed out. Example
again contagious; Benches emptied; but ELLIS ASHMEAD pounded
along. There was the speech reproachfully facing him in its
portentous-printed length; must be reeled off, though the glass roof
fell. Did it at last; sat down, flushed, and triumphant. Members,
warily assuring themselves speech really finished, began to stream
back again, till all the Benches filled to hear DAVITT. Excellent
speech; full of human nature; illumined by gleams of grim, humour;
better if it had been shorter by a third; but quality so good, that
House, now crowded, sat it all out.

[Illustration: POLITICAL ECONOMY-AND THE REFORMERS' IDEA OF HOW THE
OFFICIALS SHOULD BE TREATED.]

[Illustration: A Nasty One for Joseph; or, a Gentle Reminder from
Just-in Time McC-rthy.]

"Curious to think," said the _Squire of Malwood_, who just now has
unusually full opportunities for reflection, "that a few years
ago DAVITT was working out the Irish Question with a rope over his
shoulder, dragging a cart of stones through the court-yard of one of
Her Majesty's prisons. No one, casually coming across him at Portland,
would have ventured to forecast the hour when, standing up, the centre
of interest in an applauding House of Commons, he should have had
an opportunity of reasoning with the only occasionally DUM BARTON,
warning him against the practice of treason-felony, and reminding
him that the pathway to the Bench does not lie by way of the dock.
No parallel in politics to the Irish Question. Some of us have our
earlier studies interrupted by a sentence of imprisonment; others, I
daresay, will, later on, find in similar chaste repose opportunity of
reviewing our connection with it."

[Illustration: Mr. D-v-tt says no British Bill can pass while the
Irish Bill blocks the way.]

Involuntarily the eye of the Great Philosopher rested on the graceful
figure of PRINCE ARTHUR, whose speech at Belfast, on the Philosophy
of Rebellion, DAVITT just now cited in justification of the overt acts
that led him to Portland.

_Business done._--Fourth Night Home-Rule Debate.

_Thursday._--"In spite of all temptation, I have hitherto remained a
Member of House of Commons," CHAPLIN said to me just now. "I might
by this time, had I pleased, been a Duke, and my most unscrupulous
detractor will not deny that is a position I could fill with pictorial
effect; but I've stuck to the Commons, and this is my reward."

Truly a striking episode. CHAPLIN delivered oration on Home-Rule Bill
hour and half long. Had sat up night and day with it, polishing its
rotund periods, till, as PRINCE ARTHUR whispers, "CHAPLIN, gazing upon
their surface, saw not himself, but DEMOSTHENES." Fortune favoured
him in opportunity. Member for Sunderland had secured privilege of
resuming Debate after Questions. Resolved to make long STOREY short,
he sacrificed his position. CHAPLIN nimbly stepped in, and reasonably
looked forward to crowning epoch in shining Parliamentary career. To
open or resume Debate between four and five in afternoon is a prized
opportunity; accident had placed it within CHAPLIN'S grasp; the hour
had struck, and here, at the table, was the Man.

Alack, for the instability of human prospects! When the House, fairly
full, beheld the sunny presence at the table, watched it produce the
vaporous folds of manuscript, noted the shrug of satisfaction with
which it set about its self-appointed task, it folded its tent like
the Arab, and, though not as silently, stole away. Trundled and
bundled out, with ostentatious indifference to great orator, the fund
of information he had garnered, the counsel with which he was charged.
CHAPLIN had brought statesmanship and literature of Europe into
review, picking out from encyclopædic stores testimony to destruction
of Mr. G.'s pet scheme. The very names quoted were a liberal
education--Mr. LECKY, Count BEUST, CAVOUR, Dr. GEFFCKEN, M. DE
MOLINARIS. And then interposes the SAGE OF QUEEN ANNE'S GATE with
bland deferential inquiry--

"I beg the Right Hon. Gentleman's pardon, I did not catch the name. Was
it M. APOLLINARIS?"

[Illustration: _M. L-b-ch-re_ (_thinking of Welsh Disestablishment,
asks Mr. Ch-pl-n_). "Did you say 'Mr. Ap Ollinaris?'"]

CHAPLIN stared haughtily over SAGE'S head, and went on. So did
fragments of audience, the latter towards the door, till, almost in
solitude, there rolled forth the treasured peroration. This bad, but
worse followed, when immediately succeeded an obscure Irishman, whom
CHAPLIN vaguely remembers a few years back as a Committee Clerk, or
something of that kind. Benches swiftly filled up, and an assembly
that vaunts itself most critical audience in the world followed,
with rapt attention, the simple sentences of obscure JOHN REDMOND,
Ex-Committee Clerk--this same audience that had scornfully treated the
portentous periods of the Right Hon. HENRY CHAPLIN, sometime Cabinet
Minister.

_Business done._--Fifth Night's Debate.

_Friday._--Prince ARTHUR, enumerating Statesmen anxious to speak
in Debate, doling them out at the rate of one a day, omitted Cousin
CRANBORNE. Doubtless accidental; Noble Lord has his revenge; worked
off his speech to-night whilst ASQUITH addressing House. Consisted
of only single word; effect instantaneous, startling. Into ASQUITH'S
fervent eulogium on DAVITT, CRANBORNE dropped the additional
description, "Murderer." Was only thinking aloud as he explained to
House; just talking genially to himself; regretted he was overheard,
and begged to apologise.

"It's the principle of heredity," said TIM HEALY; "the father calls us
all Hottentots; the son accuses one of us of murder."

_Business done._--Sixth Night's Debate on Home-Rule Bill.

       *       *       *       *       *





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 104, April 22, 1893" ***

Copyright 2023 LibraryBlog. All rights reserved.