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Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 104, March 11, 1893
Author: Various
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 104, March 11, 1893" ***

This book is indexed by ISYS Web Indexing system to allow the reader find any word or number within the document.

VOL. 104, MARCH 11, 1893***


VOL. 104

MARCH 11, 1893.



(_Scene and Persons as Usual._)

_First Well-Informed Man_ (_bristling with indignation, as he lays down his
newspaper_). Well, I'm dashed!

_Inquirer_ (_nervously_). What's up?

_First W. I. M._ _What's up!_ Everything's up. Up the spout, that's where
this blessed country will be if this kind of thing's going on.

_Inquirer._ What kind of thing?

_First W. I. M._ Why, all this gerrymandering kind of business.

_Inquirer._ Oh, by the way, that reminds me. I came on that word the other
day. Can any of you chaps tell me what it means?

_First W. I. M._ It's as plain as a pikestaff. It means playing ducks and
drakes with things all round, and letting the whole business go thoroughly

_Inquirer._ Has it got anything to do with jerry-builders?

_First W. I. M._ It's the same thing precisely.

_Inquirer_ (_insisting_). But what's the point of calling 'em jerry? Where
does that come in?

_First W. I. M._ It's a French word.

_Second W. I. M._ It isn't. It's German.

_First W. I. M._ Bosh, it's French.

_Second W. I. M._ I bet you a dollar it's German.

_First W. I. M._ And I bet you a dollar it's French. (_To Average Man._)
Here, you decide. Which is it?

_Average Man._ Well, I'm sure it isn't French----

_Second W. I. M._ (_interrupting_). Of course it isn't. Pay up, my boy!

_Average Man_ (_continuing_). But, on the other hand, it isn't German.

_First W. I. M._ Oh, rot! It must be one or the other, you know.
(_Scornfully._) You'll be telling us it's Greek next.

_Average Man._ Well, of course, it _might_ be; but, as a matter of fact, I
fancy it's English.

_First W. I. M._, _Second W. I. M._ (_together_). Oh, you tell that to the
Marines! It won't wash here.

_Inquirer_ (_doubtfully_). Perhaps it's American.

_Average Man_ (_resignedly_). Well I daresay it is. Any way, you can have
it so if you like, It may be Sanskrit for all I care.

     [_Retires to his paper. A pause._

_Inquirer_ (_to First W. I. M._). But, look here, what made you lose your
hair, just now? You looked as angry as blazes about something.

_First W. I. M._ (_with dignity_). Did I? Well, isn't it enough to make
anybody, who loves his country, angry when he sees what's going on. Why,
the Government's going to turn everything inside out, with some blessed new
law about elections. Registration Bill, they call it, or something of that
sort. Just as if we hadn't had enough tinkering and pottering lately. It's
all through this confounded County Council interfering with everything.

_Second W. I. M._ (_aggressive_). What the dickens has the County Council
got to do with it? You're always dropping on the County Council.

_First W. I. M._ Oh, they've got their finger in every pie. I'm pretty
certain this is their job.

_Second W. I. M._ Well, you're wrong this time, that's all. You're thinking
of the Employers' Liability Bill.

_First W. I. M._ No, I'm not. I never even heard of it. So that's where
_you're_ wrong. What has the Employers' Liabill got----I mean the
Employers' (_steadily, and with determination_) Li-a-bil-ity Bill got to do
with the County Council?

_Second W. I. M._ Everything. Didn't you read JOHN BURNS'S speech about it?

_First W. I. M._ No--and I don't mean to. Ask me another.

_Second W. I. M._ All right--I will. Do you mean to deny that our present
Registration System is a ridiculous one?

_First W. I. M._ (_hotly_). Yes, I do.

_Second W. I. M._ (_with triumph_). Ah, I've got you now. You said, only
yesterday, that any system by which a Government like this got into power
must be ridiculous. (_To_ Inquirer.) Didn't he?

_Inquirer_ (_hesitating_). Well, I'm not quite sure. I rather fancy he did
say something of that kind. But--(_deprecatingly_)--perhaps he meant
something else.

_First W. I. M._ No, I didn't. I meant what I said--and I stick to it. But
that isn't the same thing as the Registration System.

_Second W. I. M._ Perhaps you'll tell us, then, what the Registration
System is?

_Inquirer_ (_eagerly_). Yes, do. I should like to get to the bottom of it,
because I'm constantly meeting a sort of third cousin of mine, who's a
Registrar of something or other, and I never quite know what he does. All I
know is, that he isn't a Registrar in Bankruptcy.

_First W. I. M._ Let me see--how can I put it shortly? It's just this--you
chaps have got votes.

_Inquirer_ (_decisively_). No, I haven't.

_First W. I. M._ (_put out_). Ah, but you ought to have.

_Second W. I. M._ (_cutting in_). There you are again. That's just what
I've been saying all along. He ought to have--but he hasn't; so where's
your beautiful system now?

_First W. I. M._ (_retreating strategically_). I never said it was
_perfect_, did I? But I'll come to that afterwards. (_To_ Inquirer.) Now
why haven't you got a vote?

_Inquirer_ (_with a painful sense of inferiority_). I'm sure I don't know.
I suppose the old Johnny, whoever he is, didn't chalk me down when he went
round last time.

_First W. I. M._ Probably you haven't lived in your house long enough. You
haven't got a qualifying period.

_Inquirer._ Haven't I? How long ought I to have lived there?

_First W. I. M._ (_vaguely_). Oh, it's something between three and four
years. I can't tell you the exact number; they alter it every year.

_Second W. I. M._ Who alter it?

_First W. I. M._ The Revising Barristers, or somebody.

_Second W. I. M._ Well, my brother-in-law's a Revising Barrister, and I
never heard of him doing that.

_First W. I. M._ (_sarcastic_). But you don't suppose he'd tell _you_
everything he does, do you?

_Inquirer._ But I've lived in my house six years.

_First W. I. M._ Ah! but aren't you a lodger?

_Second W. I. M._ What's the odds if he is? My brother's a lodger, and I
know he's got a vote.

_First W. I. M._ But that's a different franchise altogether.

_Second W. I. M._ How do you mean? They're both lodgers.

_First W. I. M._ But they don't live in the same district. Perhaps they
don't give him a latch-key.

_Inquirer_ (_producing it_). Yes they do. Here it is. (_Chuckles._) I think
I jolly well see myself without a latch-key. But, I say, about this vote. I
don't half like not having got one. What shall I do about it?

_First W. I. M._ You'd better see somebody about it.

_Inquirer._ Somebody was talking about Leasehold Franchise the other day.
Perhaps I could get in on that.

_First W. I. M._ Ah! I daresay that _might_ help you. [_Terminus._

       *       *       *       *       *




       *       *       *       *       *

NEW NOVEL BY Mr. G.--_The Art of Midlothian._

       *       *       *       *       *

_Previous to Starring Tour in Scotland and Ireland respectively_.]

       *       *       *       *       *


_Time and the Woman._ By RICHARD PRYCE. Not by any means a pearl of Pryce,
and certainly not likely to make so great noise in the novel-reading world
as did _The Quiet Mrs. Fleming_, by the same author. METHUEN & CO. publish

The Baron heartily recommends FRANK BARRETT'S novel, in three vols.,
entitled, _Kitty's Father_. A thoroughly absorbing plot, well worked out,
and interesting right up to the last page. _Kitty's_ father is a mysterious
person, and she, not being a wise child, for she doesn't know him, does
several foolish things, and says several wise ones. _Kitty's_ uncle is a
necessary nuisance, but a cleverly and consistently drawn character, while
_Kitty_ herself is delightfully made out of good home-spun material. But
the villanous Curate is just a bit too grotesque, too Uriah-Heepish for the
awfully tragic situation in which he is placed. When the imaginative author
shifts the scene to Dublin, why did he not represent an Irish
Cardinal-Archbishop as waiting at the stage-door to escort home the
light-and-leading lady? But "for a' that and a' that," most decidedly "read
it," quoth the Baron, and on he goes again.

MARION CRAUFORD'S _Children of the King_, published by MACMILLAN, is a
tragic story, told in most simple and most fascinating style. It is all
colour and character: the colours and the characters being those of
Southern Italy.

Out of regard to the importunities of numerous correspondents, the Baron
has read IBSEN'S _Master Builder_, translated by two of the Ibsenitish
cult. "Only fancy!" Of all the weak-knee'd, wandering, effeminate,
unwholesome, immoral, dashed "rot," to quote _Lord Arthur_ in the
_Pantomime Rehearsal_, this is the weak-knee'dest, effeminatest, and all
the epithets as above superlatived. Read it by all means, and see it, too,
if you will, but if the honest English play-goer's verdict is worth a "big,
big, D" (I thank thee, W. S. G., for teaching me that abbreviated form of
dashed expressiveness!) he will give IBSEN'S _Master Builder_ the benefit
of the "D," and "D" it once and for ever. And that, at your service, my
masters, is the rough-and-ready opinion expressed by,

Yours truly, THE BARON DE B.-W.

       *       *       *       *       *


(_Suggested by Burns._)

  "My foot is on Newmarket Heath!
  My name, JEM LOWTHER!"

       *       *       *       *       *

The benefits that Sir JOHN LAWES has been able and will yet be able to
confer on agriculturists everywhere, including those in his immediate
neighbourhood, cause him to be regarded as a living exception to the rule
about a prophet in his own country. So, in that part of England, "Profit
and LAWES" are synonymous terms, meaning the same person.

       *       *       *       *       *


["He said, 'Go and be----' I accordingly went and stayed at Folkestone."

_See last Thursday's "Daily News;" Evidence in the De Walden Case._]

  Thrice happy Town Council! when pestered to pave,
    Remember this fact that her Ladyship mentions.
  Intend, but do nothing; your rates you can save
    By paving your streets with the best of intentions.

       *       *       *       *       *

HITHERTO UNREPORTED.--Mr. GLADSTONE and Mr. ASQUITH received deputations on
the Eight Hours' Question last Friday. The chief speakers were Mr. PARROT
and Mr. ONIONS. Mr. G. observed that in all his vast experience, frequently
as he had tasted a savoury dish of rabbit and onions, yet the combination
of Parrot with Onions was something really novel. Perhaps Mr. PARROT would
be useful at any bye-election, and would give them the state of the poll.
As to Mr. ONIONS, well, he (Mr. G.) hadn't words of welcome sufficiently
strong for him. Why hadn't he brought "BRER RABBIT" with him? In
approaching the Eight Hours' Question, no time must be lost, so he would at
once proceed to business.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: FROM OUR VILLAGE.

_Mrs. Sharply_ (_to the Doctor, who has looked in, having heard that her
"good man" is ailing_). "NO, I THANK YE, SIR. YOU SEE I'VE HEERD OF YOU,

       *       *       *       *       *

At a recent Monday Pop Concert, Mr. BORWICK put any amount of
powder--everyone has seen or heard of Borwick's Powder--into his
performance of "_Suite Anglaise_." As a pretty lady observed, "He might
just as well, or better, have put the name in English, and called it, '_The
Sweet English Girl_.'" Messrs. JOACHIM, RIES, STRAUSS, and PIATTI, played a
string-quartette in C Sharp Minor, and out of respect to the Ecclesiastical
Season of the year, they gave marked prominence to the "_Lento_" in G.

       *       *       *       *       *

A GENUINE BUILDING SOCIETY.--The Birds, just now. And its members are not
even waiting for a Re-leaf Fund, which will, however, soon come, with "the
flowers that bloom in the Spring, tra-la!"

       *       *       *       *       *

THE G. O. M. FROM A MUSICAL POINT OF VIEW.--When preternaturally alert, he
is "Mr. G. Sharp." When depressed, he is "Mr. G. Flat." When himself again,
he is "Mr. G. Natural." As being second son, he is "G. Minor." He is also
_hors ligne_. But he refuses to be musically translated to the House of
Lords, and become "The Upper G."

       *       *       *       *       *

_Q._ What is the difference between a lover asking the object of his
affections to marry him, and a guest who ventures to hint to his host that
the Pommery '80 is rather corked?

_A._ The one pops the question, the other questions the pop.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mrs. R. saw the heading of a paragraph in the _Times_, of Monday. Feb. 27,
"Jade in Upper Burmah." She laid the paper down, and exclaimed, "Dear me! I
wonder who she is!"

       *       *       *       *       *

If we ever do adopt Bimetallism, it is evident, from Mr. GLADSTONE'S
masterly speech, that holders of Consols will obtain very little

       *       *       *       *       *


(_Translated from the Original Norwegian by Mr. Punch_)

     [PREFATORY NOTE. The original title, _Mester-Pijl-drögster Herdal_,
     would sound a trifle too uncouth to the Philistine ear, and is
     therefore modified as above, although the term "drögster," strictly
     speaking, denotes a practitioner who has not received a regular


     _An elegantly furnished Drawing-room at_ Dr. HERDAL'S. _In front, on
     the left, a Console-table, on which is a large round bottle full of
     coloured water. On the right a stove, with a banner-screen made out of
     a richly-embroidered chest-protector. On the stove, a stethoscope and
     a small galvanic battery. In one corner, a hat and umbrella stand; in
     another, a desk, at which stands_ SENNA BLAKDRAF, _making out the
     quarterly accounts. Through a glass-door at the back is seen the
     Dispensary, where_ RÜBUB KALOMEL _is seated, occupied in rolling a
     pill. Both go on working in perfect silence for four minutes and a

_Dr. Haustus Herdal_ (_enters through hall-door; he is elderly, with a
plain sensible countenance, but slightly weak hair and expression_). Come
here, Miss BLAKDRAF. (_Hangs up hat, and throws his mackintosh on a
divan._) Have you made out all those bills yet? [_Looks sternly at her._

_Senna_ (_in a low hesitating voice_). Almost. I have charged each patient
with three attendances daily. Even when you only dropped in for a cup of
tea and a chat. (_Passionately._) I felt I _must_--I _must_!

_Dr. Herd._ (_alters his tone, clasps her head in his hands, and
whispers_). I wish you could make out the bills for me, _always_.

_Senna_ (_in nervous exaltation_). How lovely that would be! Oh, you are so
unspeakably good to me! It is too enthralling to be here!

     [_Sinks down and embraces his knees._

_Dr. Herd._ So I've understood. (_With suppressed irritation._) For
goodness' sake, let go my legs! I do _wish_ you wouldn't be so confoundedly

[Illustration: "For goodness' sake, let go my legs!"]

_Rübub_ (_has risen, and comes in through glass-door, breathing with
difficulty; he is a prematurely bald young man of fifty-five, with a
harelip and squints slightly_). I beg pardon, Dr. HERDAL, I see I interrupt
you. (_As SENNA rises._) I have just completed this pill. Have you looked
at it?

     [_He offers it for inspection diffidently._

_Dr. Herd._ (_evasively_). It appears to be a pill of the usual dimensions.

_Rübub_ (_cast down_). All these years you have never given me one
encouraging word! _Can't_ you praise my pill?

_Dr. Herd._ (_struggles with himself_). I--I cannot. You should not attempt
to compound pills on your own account.

_Rübub_ (_breathing laboriously_). And yet there was a time when _you_,

_Dr. Herd._ (_complacently_). Yes, it was certainly a pill that came as a
lucky stepping-stone--but not a pill like that!

_Rübub_ (_vehemently_). Listen! Is that your last word? _Is_ my aged mother
to pass out of this world without ever knowing whether I am competent to
construct an effective pill or not?

_Dr. Herd._ (_as if in desperation_). You had better try it upon your
mother--it will enable her to form an opinion. Only mind--I will not be
responsible for the result.

_Rübub._ I understand. Exactly as you tried _your_ pill, all those years
ago, upon Dr. RYVAL. [_He bows, and goes out._

_Dr. Herd._ (_uneasily_). He said that so strangely, SENNA. But tell me
now--when are you going to marry him?

_Senna_ (_starts--half glancing up at him_). I--I don't know. This
year--next-year--now--_never_! I cannot marry him ... I cannot--I
_cannot_--it is so utterly impossible to leave you!

_Dr. Herd._ Yes, I can understand _that_. But, my poor SENNA, hadn't you
better take a little walk?

_Senna_ (_clasps her hands gratefully_). How sweet and thoughtful you are
to me! I _will_ take a walk.

_Dr. Herd._ (_with a suppressed smile_). Do! And--h'm!--you needn't trouble
to come back. I have advertised for a male book-keeper--they are less
emotional. Good-night, my little SENNA!

_Senna_ (_softly, and quiveringly_). Good-night, Dr. HERDAL!

     [_Staggers out of the hall-door, blowing kisses._

_Mrs. Herdal_ (_enters through the window, plaintively_). Quite an
acquisition for you, HAUSTUS, this Miss BLAKDRAF!

_Dr. Herd._ She's--h'm!--extremely civil and obliging. But I am parting
with her, ALINE--mainly on _your_ account.

_Mrs. Herd._ (_evades him_). Was it on my account, indeed, HAUSTUS? You
have parted with so many young persons on my account--so you tell me!

_Dr. Herd._ (_depressed_). Oh, but this is hopeless! When I have tried so
hard to bring a ray of sunlight into your desolate life! I must give RÜBUB
KALOMEL notice too--his pill is really too preposterous!

_Mrs. Herd._ (_feels gropingly for a chair, and sits down on the floor_).
Him, _too_! Ah, HAUSTUS, you will never make my home a real home for me. My
poor first husband, HALVARD SOLNESS, tried--and _he_ couldn't! When one has
had such misfortunes as I have--all the family portraits burnt, and the
silk dresses, too, and a pair of twins, and nine lovely dolls.

     [_Chokes with tears._

_Dr. Herd._ (_as if to lead her away from the subject_). Yes, yes, yes,
that must have been a heavy blow for you, my poor ALINE. I can understand
that your spirits can never be really high again. And then for poor Master
Builder SOLNESS to be so taken up with that Miss WANGEL as he was--that,
too, was so wretched for you. To see him topple off the tower, as he did
that day ten years ago----

_Mrs. Herd._ Yes, that too, HAUSTUS. But I did not mind it so much--it all
seemed so perfectly natural in both of them.

_Dr. Herd._ Natural! For a girl of twenty-three to taunt a middle-aged
architect, whom she knew to be constitutionally liable to giddiness, never
to let him have any peace till he had climbed a spire as dizzy as
himself--and all for the fun of seeing him fall off--how in the world----!

_Mrs. Herd._ (_laying the table for supper with dried fish and punch_). The
younger generation have a keener sense of humour than we elder ones,
HAUSTUS, and perhaps, after all, she was only a perplexing sort of

_Dr. Herd._ Yes, that would explain her to some extent, no doubt. But how
_he_ could be such an old fool!

_Mrs. Herd._ That Miss WANGEL was a strangely fascinating type of girl.
Why, even I myself----

_Dr. Herd._ (_sits down and takes some fish_). Fascinating? Well, goodness
knows, I couldn't see _that_ at all. (_Seriously._) Has it never struck
you, ALINE, that elderly Norwegians are so deucedly impressionable--mere
bundles of overstrained nerves, hypersensitive ganglia. Except, of course,
the Medical Profession.

_Mrs. Herd._ Yes, of course; those in that profession are not so inclined
to gangle. And when one has succeeded by such a stroke of luck as you

_Dr. Herd._ (_drinks a glass of punch_). You're right enough there. If I
had not been called in to prescribe for Dr. RYVAL, who used to have the
leading practice here, I should never have stepped so wonderfully into his
shoes as I did. (_Changes to a tone of quiet chuckling merriment._) Let me
tell you a funny story, ALINE; it sounds a ludicrous thing--but all my good
fortune here was based upon a simple little pill. For if Dr. RYVAL had
never taken it----

_Mrs. Herd._ (_anxiously_). Then you _do_ think it was the pill that caused
him to----?

_Dr. Herd._ On the contrary; I am perfectly sure the pill had nothing
whatever to do with it--the inquest made it quite clear that it was really
the liniment. But don't you see, ALINE, what tortures me night and day is
the thought that it _might_ unconsciously have been the pill which----Never
to be free from _that_! To have such a thought gnawing and burning
always--always, like a moral mustard poultice! (_He takes more punch._)

_Mrs. Herd._ Yes; I suppose there is a poultice of that sort burning on
every breast--and we must never take it off either--it is our simple duty
to keep it on. I too, HAUSTUS, am haunted by a fancy that if this Miss
WANGEL were to ring at our bell now----

_Dr. Herd._ After she has been lost sight of for ten years? She is safe
enough in some Sanatorium, depend upon it. And what if she _did_ come? Do
you think, my dear good woman, that I--a sensible clear-headed general
practitioner, who have found out all I know for myself--would let her play
the deuce with me as she did with poor HALVARD? No, general practitioners
don't _do_ such things--even in Norway!

_Mrs. Herd._ Don't they indeed, HAUSTUS? (_The Surgery-bell rings loudly._)
Did you hear _that_? There she is! I will go and put on my best cap. It is
my duty to show her _that_ small attention.

_Dr. Herd._ (_laughing nervously_). Why, what on earth!----It's the
night-bell. It is most probably the new book-keeper! (Mrs. HERDAL _goes
out_; Dr. HERDAL _rises with difficulty, and opens the door_.) Goodness
gracious!--it _is_ that girl, after all!

_Hilda Wangel_ (_enters through the Dispensary door. She wears a divided
skirt, thick boots, and a Tam o'Shanter, with an eagle's wing in it.
Somewhat freckled. Carries a green tin cylinder slung round her, and a rug
in a strap. Goes straight up to_ HERDAL, _her eyes sparkling with
happiness_). How are you? I've run you down, you see! The ten years are up.
Isn't it scrumptiously thrilling, to see me like this?

_Dr. Herd._ (_politely retreating_). It is--very much so--but still I don't
in the least understand----

_Hilda_ (_measures him with a glance_). Oh, you _will_. I have come to be
of use to you. I've no luggage, and no money. Not that _that_ makes any
difference. I never _have_. And I've been allured and attracted here. You
surely know how these things come about? [_Throws her arms round him._

_Dr. Herd._ What the deuce! Miss WANGEL, you _mustn't_. I'm a married man!
There's my wife! [Mrs. HERD. _enters_.

_Hilda._ As if _that_ mattered--it's only dear, sweet Mrs. SOLNESS. _She_
doesn't mind--_do_ you, dear Mrs. SOLNESS?

_Mrs. Herd._ It does not seem to be of much _use_ minding, Miss WANGEL. I
presume you have come to stay?

_Hilda_ (_in amused surprise_). Why, of course--what else should I come
for? I _always_ come to stay, until--h'm!

     [_Nods slowly, and sits down at table._

_Dr. Herd._ (_involuntarily_). She's drinking my punch! If she thinks I'm
going to stand this sort of thing, she's mistaken. I'll soon show her a
Pill-Doctor is a very different kind of person from a mere Master Builder!

     [HILDA _finishes the punch with an indefinable expression in her eyes,
     and_ Dr. HERDAL _looks on gloomily as the Curtain falls. End of First

       *       *       *       *       *

published (_per_ LONGMANS) his _York_, as one of the series of Historic
Towns. The proofs of RAINE on _York_ of course came very moist from the
press. Is there a frontispiece to it of "RAINE poring over his own book?"
The work is highly spoken of,--so _disons_, "_Vive le Raine!_"

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. WILSON BARRETT is to appear in a play called _Pharaoh_--"What the
plague!"--Is he coming out as an Egyptian Mummer? Will the drama prove
interesting to plague-goers?

       *       *       *       *       *


(_According to the Modern Method._)

     SCENE--_The Old Bailey._ Judge _seated on the Bench, thoroughly
     enjoying himself_. Prisoner _in the Dock_. Jurymen _in the Box_.
     Counsel, Solicitors, _and_ Public, _in attendance_.

_Judge._ Now I will swear the Jury.

_Officer of the Court._ I beg your Lordship's pardon, but I have always
been accustomed to----

_Judge_ (_interrupting_). Not at all; I will do it myself. You can't give
_me_ too much work. (_Swears the_ Jury.) And now, Prisoner, what do you
plead, guilty or not guilty?

_Prisoner._ Well, my Lord, I should say----


_Judge._ Not guilty. Quite right, always give yourself the benefit of the
doubt. You can't imagine what stupid Jurymen we have sometimes. Quite right
to say Not guilty. And now who appears for the prosecution?

_Counsel._ I do, my Lord, I----

_Judge._ Glad to see the eminent counsel here, and I know of no one who can
better conduct a case. Still, with my learned friend's or rather my learned
brother's, I should say the learned Counsel's permission, I will just open
for the Crown myself. (_Opens for the Crown with brilliant effect.
Applause._) No; I cannot allow any demonstration of that sort. By the way
(_to_ Counsel for the Prosecution), Have we any witnesses?

_Counsel._ Yes, my Lord, a Police Sergeant.

_Judge._ Oh, indeed, I will soon settle him. (Witness _enters box and is
sworn_.) And now, you Sir, I am not going to allow any speeches--so be on
your guard. (_Examines and cross-examines him._) Have we any more

_Counsel._ No, my Lord--that is our case.

_Judge._ Quite so. The face of the learned Counsel, who is retained for the
defence, is new to me, but if he has no objection, I will open for him.

_Counsel._ As your Lordship pleases.

_Judge._ Thank you. (_Addresses the Jury._) And now, if we have no
witnesses, I think I will sum up. (_To_ Counsel for the Defence.) Have we
any witnesses?

_Counsel._ As your Lordship pleases.

_Judge._ Well, I think we won't call any witnesses, because then the
Prosecution won't have a reply.

_Counsel._ As your Lordship pleases.

_Judge._ Quite so. And now, Gentlemen of the Jury, I have now my own
special functions to perform. I will sum up the case in my judicial
capacity. You must know then----(_Sums up._) And now I will leave you to
decide upon your verdict. (_Jury consults._) Or perhaps you would like to
leave the matter to me?

_Foreman of the Jury._ As your Lordship pleases.

_Judge._ Thank you. Then I think we may say "Guilty." Prisoner at the Bar,
it is now my duty to sentence you. I think, under all the circumstances of
the case, that I need not treat you too harshly. There is no doubt that the
prosecution has been conducted in a very able manner; and this remark is
equally applicable to the manner in which the defence has been carried out.
I think a month's imprisonment will be sufficient. Prisoner, you are
sentenced to a month's imprisonment.

_Prisoner._ As your Lordship pleases.

_Judge._ But, as I have had a good deal to do with this case, I think I may
as well remain in it to the end. So, with the consent of the convict, the
Counsel, and the Jury, I will go to prison myself.

_The Entire Court._ As your Lordship pleases.

_Judge._ Thank you all very much. I hope, after a month's retirement, to
have the pleasure of meeting you again.

     [_Exit, in custody. Curtain._

       *       *       *       *       *

FOR A FEW NIGHTS OHNET.--Mr. and Mrs. KENDAL have revived _The Ironmaster_.
As may be imagined, the dialogue is full of irony.

       *       *       *       *       *


_Mr. Jonah P. Skeggs, from Chicago (with his family) suddenly bursts on
Jones, who keeps at Letter A in the Cloisters._


       *       *       *       *       *


     ["The record of the Opposition, so far, is one of wasted opportunities
     and ill-conceived tactics. They have been beaten, out-manoeuvred and
     discredited by a foe on whom, with proper management, they might often
     have turned the tables.... These are no days for punctilious or
     overstrained courtesy in dealing with political opponents....
     Conservatives and Unionists may be tolerably certain that they will
     gain nothing by this misplaced delicacy."--_The Standard._]

_Perturbed Old Party loquitur_:--

  Wich, ARTHUR, I'm puffeck aweer as a fighter you're truly tip-top,
  Our party's pecooliar pride, and our cause's particular prop!
  _You_ can "pop in a slommacking wunner," if ever a lad could, dear boy:
  But--well, there, you ain't scored _this_ round; and yer foes is
          a-chortling with joy!
  'Ow is it, my ARTHUR, 'ow is it! I've nurriged you up from a kid,
  And if ever a lathy young scrapper showed pluck and fair promidge, boy,
          _you_ did;
  Wich I've cheridged and cracked you up constant, and backed you in all of
          your fights.
  And I've swore it was you, right as rain, as would do the Grand Ould 'Un
          to rights!
  But he's turned up more younger than ever--O drabbit him; 'ow he do
  I thought he'd be knocked out at once, the fust round, and he ain't
          turned a hair!
  He hits hard and fast as the "TINMAN," he's nimble as poor "Young
  And now this round's over, _where are we_? I'm jiggered, dear boy, if _I_
  Look at 'im! As perky as pickles! Weaves in like a young 'un, he do,
  Jest as limber of limb as a kitten; pops in that perdigious one--two,
  Like a new Eighty-tonner. Good gracious, the wetterun's all over the
  He can mill you, or throw you a burster; feint, parry, duck, counter, or
  Reglar mixture of MACE, Young DUTCH SAM, and a Old Pugilistical 'And!
  'Ow the dooce does he do it, I wonder? I don't mind admitting it's grand.
  But--wot price our Party, my ARTHUR? He's scoring two points to our one;
  And I don't see the fun of it, ARTHUR, I certinly _don't_ see the fun.

  Mustn't take it to heart overmuch, 'ARTY! 'Taint as I wants for to scold;
  But--you play him too light--_entry noo_! 'Taint acos you are young, and
          he's old.
  As you need be so precious "punctilious." Delicate 'andling of _him_
  Won't pay; it's misplaced altogether. Go at him, lad! Lam the old limb!
  His bellows can't be as they used to wos. Youth will be served--that's
          your chance;
  But, if you play light with Old Shifty, he'll lead you no end of a dance.
  Think of BENJY, dear boy, my old champion, bless his black curls! _He_
          wired in,
  Never thinking of manners or taste, wich is muck when you're fighting to
  Look at GRANDOLPH, the Marlborough Midget, as often reminds me of BEN!
  There--there! Don't turn touchy, and tiff; we all need a straight tip now
          and then.
  You can do him, next round, I've no doubt, if you'll only fight up to
          your form.
  Pull yourself well together, 'it 'ard, bustle up the old boy, make it
  Remember wot JOHNNY BROOME'S mother once wrote to her boy--mark, and
  "Be sure you make use of your left; keep away from your man till you find
  You can reach him in safety, and _then_--give him pepper. Avoid being
  But give 'im all the bursters you can!" Wich that Ammyzon, who is beknown
  To the fistical world, gave her son--as you're mine--werry proper advice.
  When time's called, my ARTHUR, wire in; and wotever you do, _don't be
  No "overstrained courtesy" _this_ time! It's blessed nigh bunnicked your
  Let me fan you, dear boy, let me fan you! And when it is time to hadvance
  Go at 'im for all you are wuth! Bless yer, him and his low Irish lot
  Won't be in it with GENTLEMAN ARTHUR--_if only you'll give it him hot_!

     [_Left fanning and fuming._

       *       *       *       *       *

Daughter_ is going all over the shop. She is coming out in France, in
Germany, also, of course, in the Horse-tryin' capital, and will appear, as
a matter-of-Corso, in Rome. This for the original English authors is a
dramatic triumph which for the universality of their work is second only to

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: BETWEEN THE ROUNDS.


       *       *       *       *       *



AIR--"_The Man that broke the Bank at Monte Carlo._"


     [_Pardon, good_ GILBERT, _pardon, genial_ COBORN, _That from the Bois
     Boolong. Unto the Cockney purlieus of 'Igh 'Olborn, We shift your
     famous song._]

  I'm just "all there," no 'ARRY; I've the money, so I score!
    To a Race last week I went,
    And there staked a quarter's rent.
  Dame Fortune smiled upon me as she never done before:
    And now I've copped the ochre I'm a gent!
    Yus, now I've piled the pieces, I'm a gent!


    As I mash and lark in Finsbury Park,
      With a free an' heasy hair,
      You can twig the donahs stare.
      "BOB must be a millionnaire!"
        You can 'ear 'em cry,
        "Oh, ain't _'e_ fly?
    And carn't 'e wink the hother heye?"
  The man wot smokes the prime Two-D cigar, oh!

  I've chucked my crib, and two-quid-screw, for betting's now _my_ walk;
      I do my mornin' march
      Down to the Marble Arch.
  I'm bound to spot more winners; I've a eye that's like a 'awk;
      I'm a mass of oof and 'air-oil, shine and starch;
      Yus, a reg'lar mass of ochre, shine and starch.


    As I walk along, still "going strong,"
      With my Tuppenny all a-flare,
      You can 'ear old buffers swear,
      As my baccy scents the air.
        You can hear 'em sigh,
        And moan, "Oh my!"
    You can see 'em choke, and blink the heye
  At "the man wot smokes the rank Two-D cigar, oh!"

  I paternise the Promenards on a Sunday, with the Swells,
    With my topper on the skew,
    And my cloud a-blowin' blue;
  For a tuppenny smoke and a leary joke they nobble the mam'selles,
    And if they're nuts on me, wot can _I_ do?
    Yus, if they're arter me, wot can _I_ do?


    As I swagger and swell along Pell-Mell,
      With a reg'lar oof-bird air,
      You can 'ear sour swells declare,
      "A Whitechapel weed!"--and swear.
        But their narsty cry
    So I puff, and wink the hother heye--
  "The man wot smokes the rank Two-D Cigar, oh!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Nuts for Knutsford.

In the City Article of last Saturday's _Times_, we read that Lord KNUTSFORD
has joined the London Board of "CHAFFEY, BROS., Limited." What a festive
board! What a rivalry must exist among the CHAFFEY Brothers as to who shall
be the chaffiest and the wheatiest of the family!

       *       *       *       *       *


     [The new Japanese Press Bill prohibits women from becoming Publishers
     or Editors.--_Daily Graphic._]


  A Land of flowers and of Art,
  Which lived for centuries apart,
  Some years ago woke with a start;
    Folks, simply dressed by wrappin' knees
  In silken robes of dainty hue,
  Began to long for something new
  The good, the beautiful, the true
    No longer charmed the Japanese.

  So Western Art improved their lot;
  A House of Commons grew. Each got
  Boots, trousers, frock-coat, chimney-pot.
    "Art? 'E don't care a rap, an' 'e's,"
  Saus 'ARRY, "sich a swell! I'm blowed
  'E'd knock 'em in the Old Kent Road."
  You are a sight, dressed _à la mode_
    O too-progressive Japanese!

  And yet, to _Madame Chrysanthème_,
  Divided Skirter, Primrose Dame,
  And all the rest, are but a name;
    It therefore cannot happen ease
  Is yours, although men dress like frights,
  And even have election fights;
  One thing is wanting--Women's Rights,
    O _fin-de-siècle_ Japanese!

       *       *       *       *       *



  Sweet Maiden, what is this you wear,
    This most eccentric sort of bonnet,
  That stands erect upon your hair
    As though a coal-scoop fixed upon it?

  A very funny shape it seems,
    Flat, oval, rather like a shuttle,
  Or, like some Statesmen's foreign schemes,
    A sort of undecided scuttle.

  And yet not wholly of the kind
    Beloved by loud Salvation lasses,
  Which brings the coal-box to one's mind--
    BOOTH'S fashions would not suit the Classes.

  There's some resemblance to a spoon,
    But you are not considered "spooney"--
  Word coined by some low buffoon,
    Romantic, quite, as "_Annie Rooney_."

  It's rather like the ace of spades,
    And yet it plays the deuce with features,
  O Queen of hearts, of pretty maids,
    So say we knaves of clubs, male creatures;

  Who look askance at what may shade--
    When larger grown--the face that charms us.
  If scoop or scuttle, spoon or spade,
    No matter; each of them alarms us.

       *       *       *       *       *

A POSSIBLE BUNGLER.--Through REUTER'S Agency last Friday, we learn that
"BUNGLE KHAN is in Afghan territory." Capital man to be opposed to us. We
shall be ready to take any advantage of him, as, if BUNGLE KHAN _can
bungle_, he will of course do so.

       *       *       *       *       *

ONE FOR THE OTHER SIDE.--Mrs. R. cannot understand how Mr. GLADSTONE can
advocate Monometallism in the House of Commons, as, she says, she has
always heard that "Words are silver, and silence is gold."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: EMBARRASSING.


_Regie_ (_who, as the Son of our M.F.H., has all the Hunting-Man's horror

       *       *       *       *       *



_House of Commons, Monday, February 27._--"Am thinking, TOBY," said RIGBY,
just now, "of applying for Chiltern Hundreds. Parliament isn't quite the
place I pictured to myself when I fought for a seat. Of course I've done
pretty well. To be made SOLICITOR-GENERAL right off, with WADDY around, and
WILLIS still in prime of life and energy, was a fine thing. But House seems
perversely inclined to accept me as a joke, and that's not the sort of
thing I'm accustomed to at Chancery Bar. Look what happened the other
night, when, in my learned brother RUSSELL'S absence, I answered questions.
Did it in my best, most imposing, and conclusive style. Kept my eye on
SPEAKER throughout, to see how he'd take it. Effect most satisfactory. You
know I make CHITTY sit up, and NORTH tremble. They, to certain extent, used
to it; all new to SPEAKER, and told accordingly. Was really fascinated
myself. I frowned at him, pursed my mouth, wrinkled my forehead, squared my
jaw, sometimes lowered my voice into my boots, anon uplifted it above where
my wig ought to have been. Being my first appearance at table, thought it
worth while to make an effort. Judging from SPEAKER'S limp appearance
towards conclusion of my remarks, felt I had done it. Suddenly curious
noise, that I'm told is known as a titter, interrupted me, and, before I
had quite finished, there was a boisterous roar of laughter."

"Oh, come," I said, "you mustn't take that too much to heart. House will
have its joke, and, if you won't make it, it sometimes makes it round you,
using you as lay-figure. Your voice and manner in answering simple
matter-of-fact question, were perhaps a size or so too large. But you'll
get the hang of the place by-and-by, and will be all right."

"I don't think so," said SOLICITOR-GENERAL, sadly. "Look again what
happened just now. House unexpectedly goes into Committee. Can't find
MELLOR. 'You take the Chair,' says the SQUIRE; 'you'll fill it admirably.'
No time for hesitation; I take the Chair; Clerk claps Bill into my hand. I
say, 'Question is, that I do report progress, and ask leave to sit again.'
Shouts of 'Aye,' and 'No.' 'I think the Ayes have it,' I say, in deep
chest-notes, with persuasive fall of eyebrows. 'The Noes have it!' they
shout. Very well; first duty of Chairman is to be impartial; so _I_ say,
'The Noes have it.' Again they roar with laughter. WOODALL, in charge of
Bill, feels for sword of Financial Secretary to War Office. Fortunately,
can't find it. Otherwise, Chair of Committees might have been steepled with
my gore. What shall I do next? 'Put question again,' Clerk hoarsely
whispered. 'Question is, that I do report progress, and ask leave to sit
again. Those who are of that opinion say Aye; the contrary, No. I think the
Ayes have it.' That would at least get me out of the Chair, and you
certainly won't find me asking for leave to sit again. But what follows? In
all parts of the House, just now opposing progress, hilarious shout of 'No!
No!' rises up. That means I'm to go on with the Bill; but I know if I
declare 'the Noes have it,' they'll turn round to the 'Ayes.' So, after
standing for moment irresolutely, Bill in hand, I'm not ashamed to say I
bolted from table, taking Bill with me. House roared louder than ever. Seem
to have discovered excellent joke. But I don't see it, TOBY. If this is
House of Commons life, give me the dignity and quiet of the Chancery Bar."

Quite a procession of new Members took their seats on election. Honours of
the day with HARRY LAWSON, who, after stubborn fight, has won Cirencester.
As young HARRY, with his beaver on, marched to table, Liberals temporarily
relieved themselves from imputation that they don't know how to cheer.

_Business done._--Local Veto Bill brought in.

       *       *       *       *       *


_Tuesday Night._--"It's a natural temptation," said CHARLES RUSSELL, "for
the human mind to believe that Mr. G.'s latest performance at table of
House of Commons excels all he has done before. There is a phrase--you are
probably familiar with it in HORACE--which speaks of the _Laudator temporis
acti_. But the other impulse is certainly, in this connection, quite as
strong, I, therefore, hesitate to affirm that that's the best speech Mr. G.
ever made; but certainly it's among the best."

[Illustration: Young Harry obtaining his Majority on Coming of Age in the
Parliamentary Time.]

It was on Bimetallism. Like olives and claret, Bimetallism quite an
acquired taste; ordinary Member will have none of it; flees House when
subject announced. In the Parliamentary world, Bimetallism supplies part of
the BROWNING or IBSEN cult known out-of-doors. Analogy accurate inasmuch,
that whilst mass of mankind are averse to contemplation of topic, the few
faithful pass all ordinary bounds in the enthusiasm of their worship. Thus,
for upwards of hour to-night, MEYSEY-THOMPSON handled it as if he loved it.
MONTAGU, whilst musically jingling in trowser-pocket handful of
newly-minted sovereigns, equally adulatory. Then Mr. G. walked in. It was
reasonably thought in advance that Bimetallism would prove too much even
for the charm of his oratory. Had evidently come down unprepared for
special effort; neither sheaf of notes nor pomatum-pot. He listened to
mover and seconder, and then just talked to entranced House, crowding up in
every corner. Quite surprised, as Mr. G. was himself when he sat down, to
find he'd been talking for an hour.

_Business done._--House declares by 229 votes against 148, will have
nothing to do with Bimetallism.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Wednesday._--Hear a very pleasant thing in connection with an old friend.
Am told that as soon as Local Veto Bill passes into law, WILFRID LAWSON is
to be raised to the Peerage.

"Why not?" asks SQUIRE OF MALWOOD. "On the principle that the Devil
shouldn't have all the good tunes suitable for WESLEY'S hymns, why should
the Trade have the monopoly of the Peerage? Why shouldn't there be a
Viscount APPOLINARIS as well as a Baron BASS, a Lord BARLEYWATER to pair
off with a Baron BARLEYCORN? Let us drink (in toast-and-water), health and
long life to Lord BARLEYWATER of Brayton!"

_Business done._--In discussion on Irish National Education Bill GRANDOLPH
effects little surprise. Been running admirably in double harness with
Prince ARTHUR. This afternoon suddenly jibs; nearly upsets coach.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Friday_, 1 A.M.--"Begin to think, TOBY," said Prince ARTHUR, as we walked
home together in the moonlight, "that we shall scotch this Home-Rule Bill
yet. Expectation only just dawned on me. When I went down to House in the
afternoon, was of different opinion. Had philosophically settled down to
acceptance of inevitable. Might maim it a bit in Committee; play with it so
as to block off other business, and send it up to Lords at so late period
of Session that they would seem justified in throwing it out, on score of
inadequate time to discuss it. Now I think we shall go one better. COURTNEY
thought he could serve Unionist cause better from standpoint below Gangway.
The supremest service he could render to that cause was effected when he
created vacancy in Chair."

"Don't you think," I said, "they were a little hard on MELLOR? Wasn't the
sport something after the fashion of the gallant emprise in Windsor Park
with the carted stag? And then the merry sportsmen didn't give the new
Chairman the ordinary courtesy of a fair start and a little run."

"Oh," said Prince ARTHUR, "if you put it in that way, of course there's
something to be said. But all is fair in hate and war. Mr. G. should have
thought of that before he got rid of COURTNEY. Our business is to stop
Home-Rule Bill from passing, and after to-night the way is clear, and the
goal certain."

_Business done._--New Chairman baited for an hour by Westminster Clock.
Before the lawless, disorderly squabble about Law and Order in County
Clare, regular foot-ball scrimmage, in which SAUNDERSON naturally turned
up. In one of the pauses the Colonel dropped into poetry? could hear him
crooning to himself:--

  There's Justice O'BRIEN of Clare,
          How rare!
  'Tis little for justice they care
          Down there!

  They're choke full of crimes,
  (So at least says the _Times_),
  And they've got no policemen to spare,
          How quare!
  They've got no policemen to spare.

_Friday Night._--Seems, after all, MELLOR quite right in his ruling
yesterday. Point was that, on supplementary Estimate, you may not debate
questions of policy settled when original vote agreed to. Prince ARTHUR
denounced this as absolutely novel principle. CHAMBERLAIN kept game up from
other side, and for full hour conviction borne in upon new Chairman that
life not worth living. SPEAKER, appealed to to-day, declares MELLOR to have
been in the right. Report of Select Committee on Estimates. Procedure cited
to show COURTNEY categorically laid down the principle challenged, and
systematically acted upon it.

[Illustration: Irish National Football Match.]

"Yes," said SQUIRE OF MALWOOD, reflectively stroking his chin, "and
COURTNEY might have got up and said so last night. Only his fatal
bashfulness, his irreclaimably retiring disposition, could have kept him
silent in such circumstances. True, his interposition would have spoiled
the little game of his friends. It would not have been War, but it would
have been Magnanimous."

_Business done._--ALBERT ROLLIT, and Ex-Lord Mayor WHITEHEAD, carry
Resolution declaring Revised Railway Rates prejudicial to commercial
interests of country.

*** End of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 104, March 11, 1893" ***

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