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Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 103, July 16, 1892
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, Volume 103, July 16, 1892" ***

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VOL. 103.

July 16, 1892.



  O blank new-comer! I have seen,
    I see thee with a start:
  So gentle looking a Machine,
    Infernal one thou art!

  When first the sun feels rather hot,
    Or even rather warm,
  From some dim, hibernating spot
    Rolls forth thy clumsy form.

  Perhaps thou babblest to the sea
    Of sunshine and of flowers;
  Thou bringest but a thought to me
    Of such bad quarter hours.

  I, grasping tightly, pale with fear,
    Thy very narrow bench,
  Thou, bounding on in wild career,
    All shake, and jolt, and wrench.

  Till comes an unexpected stop;
    My forehead hits the door,
  And I, with cataclysmic flop,
    Lie on thy sandy floor.

  Then, dressed in Nature's simplest style,
    I, blushing, venture out;
  And find the sea is still a mile
    Away, or thereabout.

  Blithe little children on the sand
    Laugh out with childish glee;
  Their nurses, sitting near at hand,
    All giggling, stare at me.

  Unnerved, unwashed, I rush again
    Within thy tranquil shade,
  And wait until the rising main
    Shall banish child and maid.

  Thy doors I dare not open now,
    Thy windows give no view;
  'Tis late; I will not bathe, I vow:
    I dress myself anew.

  Set wide the door. All round is sea!
    "Hold tight, Sir!" voices call,
  And in the water, jerked from thee,
    I tumble, clothes and all!

  O blessed thing! this earth we pace
    Thy haunt should never be,
  A quite unmentionable place
    That is fit home for thee!

       *       *       *       *       *


_Brilliant Elector_ (_at the Polling Station_). "IT'S A STOUTISH

       *       *       *       *       *



It is with the greatest possible pleasure that _Mr. Punch_ presents
to his readers the following example of the New Poetry. It is taken
from a collection entitled "_Rhymes of the Ropes_" These Rhymes are
intended to illustrate the everyday life of the British prize-fighter,
his simple joys, his manly sorrows, his conversational excellences,
and his indomitable pluck. The author has never been a prize-fighter
himself, but he claims for these Rhymes the merit of absolute truth
in every detail. In any case it is quite certain that every critic
who reviews the volume will say of it, that no previous book has
ever presented to us, with such complete fidelity, the British
prize-fighter as he lives and moves, and has his being--not the gaudy,
over-dressed and over-jewelled creature whom the imagination of the
public pictures as haunting the giddy palaces of pleasure, and adored
by the fairest of the fair, but the rough, uncouth, simple creature
to whom we Britons owe our reputation for pluck and stamina. How the
critic knows this, never having been a prize-fighter himself, and
never having associated with them, is a question which it might be
difficult to answer. But, nevertheless, the critic will guarantee the
"_Rhymes of the Ropes_."

If some of _Mr. Punch's_ readers, while recognising the force and go
of the lines, shall think them _tant soit peu_ coarse and brutal, the
fault must not be ascribed to _Mr. Punch_, but to the brilliant young
author. Moreover, _Mr. Punch_ begs leave to say, that squeamishness
of that kind is becoming more and more absurd every day under the
influence of the New Poetry and its professors. Here then is--



  Oh it's bully when I land 'em with a counter on the jaw,
  When the ruby's all a drippin' and the conks are red and raw;
  And it's bully when I've downed 'em, and the lords are standin'
  Them lords with shiny shirt-fronts, and their patent-leather shoes.
        But you'd best look jolly meek
        When you're up afore the beak,
  For they hustle you, and bustle you, and treat you like a dog.
        And its 'Olloway for you
        For a month or may be two,
  Where the Widow keeps a mansion and purvides you with your prog.

  It was 'ero 'ere and 'ero there, I might 'ave been a King,
  For to 'ear 'em 'ip 'urraying as I stepped into the ring,
  When I faced the Tipton Slasher, me and 'im in four-ounce gloves,
  Just to make us look as 'armless as a pair o' bloomin' doves.
        Then I bruises 'im and batters,
        And 'e cuts my lips to tatters,
  And I gives 'im 'alf a dozen where 'is peepers ought to be.
        And 'e flattens out my nose
        With a brace of bally blows,
  Which I 'ardly 'ad expected from a pug as couldn't see.

  Next round the Slasher's groggy, 'e 'angs 'is 'ands and gropes
  (I'd knocked him orf 'is legs at last) a-feelin' for the ropes.
  And, lor, 'e looked so cheerful with 'is face a mask of red
  That I bust myself with laughin' when I bashed 'im on the 'ead.
        Then they counted up to ten,
        But 'e couldn't rise again;
  'E gasped a bit, and puffed a bit, and laid there in a 'eap.
        And I copped a thousand pounds
        For a fight of seven rounds,
  Which was all the time it took me for to put my man to sleep.

  Ah, the soft uns call it brutal; there's Mr. H.P. COBB,
  And 'is talk, which isn't pretty, about ruffians (meanin' us).
  I'd like to tap _'is_ claret when 'e's up and on the job,
  And send 'im 'ome a 'owlin' to 'is mammy or 'is nuss.
        But I'd rather take the chuck
        For a show of British pluck,
  And do my month in chockee, and eat my skilly free;
        And I'll leave the curs to snivel
        With their 'Ouse o' Commons drivel,
  Which may suit a pack of jaw-pots, but, by gosh, it don't suit me.

       *       *       *       *       *

"What I suffer from, at this time of year, when I go into the
country," says Mrs. R., "is 'Flybites.'" She pronounced it as a word
of three syllables, and then added, "I rather think the learned way of
spelling it is 'Phlybites.'"

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: CORIOLANUS.

  THE NOBLE KNOT HE MADE."--_Coriolanus_, Act. IV., Scene 2.]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: HENGENIOUS IDEA.



       *       *       *       *       *


  "I would he had continu'd to his country
  As he began, and not unknit, himself,
  The noble knot he made."

_Coriolanus_, Act IV., Scene 2.

"His Majesty discriminates between the Prince BISMARCK of former
times, and of to-day, and is anxious that his Government should avoid
everything which might tend to diminish, in the eyes of the German
nation, the familiar figure of its greatest Statesman."--_Instructions
to Imperial German Representatives abroad:_--

  Can this be he who "At the Gates"[1]
    Of Janus' Temple stood of old,
    Protective, vigilant, and bold,
  As one who calmly dares--and waits?

  "_So fancy limns him, who'll not cease
    To watch o'er what his brain upbuilt_,"
    _Punch_ sang. And now he lifts the hilt,
  Warlike, against a Patriot Peace.

  Calm warder then, challenger now.
    The tower he reared would he attack,
    Because--they have not called him back
  Like CINCINNATUS from the plough?

  "The wounds that he doth bear for Rome,"
    Should speak wide-lipped against the change.
    The new _Coriolanus_! Strange,
  So great a past to _this_ should come!

  The imperious Roman, banished, bared
    Against Rome's walls a traitor blade.
    But _you_--revenge is scarce your trade,
  Hero, in faction's mazes snared.

  The shirt of Nessus poisoned not,
    Nor angered Hercules as you
    Seem angered, poisoned. Yet you knew
  On ARNIM's shield to bare the blot.

  What should it say, Count HARRY's ghost,
    Could it beside your couch appear,
    And whisper in his foeman's ear?
  Share you not that which shamed him most?

  _You_ flaunt the Press against the Throne?
    _You_ bare State secrets to the crowd?
    You who against the Mob were loud,
  With mockery MARCIUS well might own?

  It doth not fit a splendid past.
    The Sentinel in arms arrayed
    Against the Citadel, a shade
  Of gloom o'er glory's sheen will cast.

  The illustrious name of BISMARCK blot
    With no such treason as could dim
    The Roman's glory, nor, like him.
  Yourself unknit _your_ "noble knot"!

[Footnote 1: _See_ Cartoon "At the Gates," p. 151, vol. 85, year

       *       *       *       *       *



    [J.J.K. OOMS, an amateur sculler from Amsterdam, won easily
    the "Diamond Sculls" at Henley this year, beating V. NICKALS,
    and others of our crack oars.]

  Oh, OOMS was a champion brave and bold,
    The Dutchman's pride was he;
  And he cried, "I can row on the Thames, I know,
    As well as the Zuyder Zee,
            As well as the Zuyder Zee!"
  And as his boat he set afloat,
    And looked o'er the Henley tide,
  He saw all England taking note,
    And he trimmed his sculls and cried:--(_Bis._)
      "I'll win those 'Sculls!'" said he,
      "The 'Diamond Sculls' for me!
  That the world may know, wherever I go
  Thames yields to the Zuyder Zee!" (_Bis._)

  Cried JOHN BULL, "Here! You Dutchman queer.
    To-day you must row with me;
  For while I ride Thames' silver tide,
    I'll be second to none," said he;
        "I'll be second to none," said he.
  So they blazed away at that Dutchman gay,
    Stout NICKALS, brave BOYD, and all--
  _But_ the Dutchman's ship our best did whip,
    And BULL cried to his merry men all, (_bis_)
      "We're whipped, boys, for once," said he,
      "It's a whip that's a licker to me."
  Right well OOMS pulls, and the 'Diamond Sculls'
      Are gone to the Zuyder Zee!
      VAN TROMP with his broom made free,
      But this OOMS has "swept" Hen-ley.
  Here's his health! But oh! those Sculls, you know,
    Must come back from the Zuyder Zee."

       *       *       *       *       *

SOME COMFORT.--Harrow beat Eton at Lords' last week. The Etonians have
some consolation in the fact of the Head-Master of Harrow being an
Etonian. Without doing violence to their feelings, they can simply
pronounce the Head-Master's name, and say, "_Well done, Harrow!_"

       *       *       *       *       *

NEW READING OF AN OLD GREEK PROVERB (_by a disappointed Author, whose
Work has been recently cut up in the Press_).--"[Greek: Krêtai aei
Pseustai]." _I.e._, "Critics are always liars."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: UNFAIR ADVANTAGE.

_Gladstonian Dentist_ (_to Tory Patient_). "I HAVE THE MOST PROFOUND

       *       *       *       *       *


  It's long been loose; at last it's quite
  Come out--the very thing to write
  My laundry list on. Think what might
            Have been upon it!
  Some lines by GOLDSMITH, neatly planned,
  A verse by BYRON, mighty grand,
  Or even, penned by SHAKSPEARE's hand,
            A song or sonnet;

  DA VINCI might have made a sketch,
  Or REMBRANDT drawn a head to etch,
  Or TURNER dashed some tints--'twould fetch
            A thousand guineas.
  Here might have been some notes, compiled
  On how some writers have beguiled
            Some simple ninnies;

  Some words on Cooks, by RANDOLPH C.,
  Or Greek Home Rule, by Grand Old G.,
  Some Irish notes by A.J.B.,
            A cheque from DILLON.
  How useless now to think what might
  Have been, for I have blacked the white!
  It is not even fit to write
            A washing-bill on!

       *       *       *       *       *

CHURCH AND BOOTH.--The Archbishop of CANTERBURY was recently a guest
at the Munching House on the occasion of an Undenominational Banquet.
His Grace, in a post-prandial speech, observed that the Salvation
Army came "fluting" among us, but he thought that the Army's success
would be as "fleeting" as it was "fluting." Neat this for his
Grace-after-dinner. This was a nice after-dinner way of giving
"_caviare_ to the General." No "laughter" appears to have followed,
so the _caviare_ was not generally taken.

       *       *       *       *       *

LITERARY NOTE AND QUERY.--First volume of _Tacitus_ translated into
English by A.W. QUILL. Judging from a review in the _Times_ of this
instalment, it is the work of neither a soft nor hard Quill, but
a medium Quill. With such a suggestive name, this author will show
himself a Goose Quill if he does not at once turn his attention to
the History of PENN.

       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration: (Lady Gay.)]

_The Bobolink, Henley._


The Election at Sheepsdoor being regarded as a "moral" for our
Candidate--(what a delightful change from the _im-moral_ way in which
elections _used_ to be conducted!)--I felt it was safe for me to
wing my flight to fresh scenes and pastures new!--not that I wanted
any "new pastures," having been a _grass_-widow for some time;--but
having had enough of the "rolling billow"--(by the way, the rolling
"_Billow_" at Stockbridge didn't roll fast enough)--I yearned for the
silvery smoothness of Father Thames, so started for Henley with my
faithful _Eulalie_--(I really must change her name, it sounds like
a Swiss jödel); but, oh! my goodness!--talk about _billows_--the
Channel passage is a fool to what we found at Henley! Waves mountain
high!--(This of course is an exaggeration, but I've read it so often
in sea-novels, that I've almost come to believe it possible--it would
be nearer the truth, as dear Mrs. RAMSBOTHAM would pronounce it, I
fancy--waves "mounting high.") I had to sit all day on the roof of the
_Bobolink_, with a lifebelt or _something_ round my waist!--and having
made me acquaintance of a sweet youth who could swim, I implored him
not to leave me!--and he didn't--the whole day long. Ah! he was _very_
nice!--I need not tell you I didn't notice the racing _much_, but I
did take an interest in _two_ of the contests; viz.--(I don't know
what "viz." means--but I _do_ know I am using it correctly)--The
Diamond Sculls, and The Ladies' Challenge. The Diamonds were
walked off, or rowed off to Holland--(great place, I'm told, for
diamonds)--by Mr. K. OOMS (who evidently "kooms" of an athletic
stock), amid the generous cheers of our defeated Englishmen! The
other--and naturally, from its title, the most important event--was
competed for by two boat-loads from Cambridge University--_Crews_,
I believe, they call them, but I always thought it was a sign of
contempt to allude to any party of people as "a crew." However
that may be, I was informed that "First Trinity had carried off the
Ladies!" (just as if they were a pack of Sabine women), and I suppose
it was true; though, in counting up the Ladies in sight, I only missed
_one_--and she, I found, had fallen into the river, and been gallantly
rescued by a spectator, who, I presume, was determined to have _his_
share, in spite of the First Trinity Men!

Back to town, after all was over on Thursday, to find everybody
wild with "election fever." A large group surrounding the "tape" at
the Club (I belong to the "Amazon," of course), and ordering lemon
squashes when a seat was lost, and whiskey and seltzer when the
reverse was the case! Oh, this Election! Thank goodness, I'm off to
Newmarket, to spend the week with Sir NEWMAN and Lady GATESHEAD, with
a distinct feeling of relief at getting back to business after this
fortnight of exciting relaxation!

Next week's racing furnishes quite a lengthy _menu_, with several
attractive _entrées_, and some good "made-up-overnight" dishes; in
fact, a programme which appeals strongly to every racy palate. I do
not propose to work my way through the entire _menu_ (not being an
Alderman), and will only hint at a few of the side-dishes, which
may be worth attention reserving my great effort for the "_plat de
résistance_" at Sandown; so, at Newmarket--try just a mouthful of July
Handicap _à la_ Duke of DEVONSHIRE's "Selected;" should it choke you,
have a pat on the "Bach" when attacking the Beaufort _Stakes_; and to
wind up with dessert, worthy of a CHESTERFIELD, take a "Meddler." If
this conglomeration of good things is not too much for you, travel
back to town in time for the great race of the week; but, _if_ upset,
don't blame,

Yours devotedly, LADY GAY.


  With _Gouverneur_, _Orme_, and such giants to run,
    It needs the cool calm of a PLATO
  To fix on the horse that will "capture the bun!"
    But I think it will be "_Orvieto_."

       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration: Fancy Sketch for a Brazen Statue of a Composer notable
for his "Horns and Brass."]

_Tuesday._--_Première_ of _Elaine_. BEMBERG Composer, LÉON-JEHIN
Conductor, and Sir DRURIOLANUS Producer. Full House, determined to
give New Opera a fair hearing, and sit it out. Don't get a new Opera
every day. Congratulations to BEMBERG in a general way. "In a first
Opera" (if this be his first), to quote the Composer of the recent
De-La-ra-Boom Buddha, who was complacently listening to the other
Composer's new Opera, "originality breeds contempt." So a little
bit here, and a little bit there, here a bit, and there a bit, and
everywhere a bit, gets rid of all superfluity in the Composer's
brain, and saves the listening critic much trouble. Then his next
Opera--Ah!--_that_ ought to be all genuinely new and original
Sparkling BEMBERG Cabinet. "_Elaine_," observed a lady critic,
"is graceful and airy"--which, in the lady's presence, the present
listener was not prepared to deny.

Contented must have been Composer BEMBERG with such a cast as was made
and provided for him by Sir DRURIOLANUS. MELBA, as the "Lily Maid of
Astolat," charming, with a charming song, "_L'Amour est pur_." The
audience was in an encoring humour, but, thank goodness, only a few
encores were taken, and the others left, otherwise none of us would
have been home till sunrise. In the swan-like dying scene the Composer
wrings our heart-strings with his harp-strings, reminding everyone
forcibly that, as _Mr. Guppy_ observed, "There _are_ chords!"
Wagnerian, sometimes, is our BEMBERG, with his horns and brass. Fine
chorus at beginning of Act II.--the Tournament Act--which shows, as
a foolish person observed, "a Rummy lot at Camelot." At end of Third
Act MELBA and JEAN DE RESZKÉ (who must have joined the Salvation
Army, as he was, apparently, "saving himself" all the evening) were
enthusiastically called. Engaged in curtseying her thanks, MELBA
didn't notice--as, how should she?--property steps behind her, on
which, at about her tenth curtsey, she suddenly sat down about two
seconds before she could possibly realise that there was any chance of
sitting down. But JEAN LAUNCELOT DE RESZKÉ was there, and rescued her!
Good Knight! JEAN DE RESCUE! Then EDWARD, as _Hermit_, own brother to
_Friar Laurence_, excellent. But so were they all, and the Opera will
well repay several re-hearings.

_Thursday._--_Aïda_. Generally considered rather a heavy Opera by
VERDI. "But to-night," says WAGSTAFF, "the Verdi-ict quite t'other
way." MAUREL excellent as _Amonasro_, and MAGGIE MACINTYRE looked,
acted, and sang Maggie-nificently. Uncommonly good was GIULIA RAVOGLI
as _Amneris_, _Aïda's_ rival for the love of the small-sized _Radamès
Dimitresco_, or Dimi-nutive-Tresco (comparatively speaking), to whom
EDWARD DE RESZKÉ, being quite _a Ned_ and shoulders taller, might
spare some of his superfluous inches.

EDWARD uncommonly good as _Ramfis_, which name, considering the
peculiar make-up, might be appropriately changed to _Rum Phiz_, and
nobody be any the worse. BEVIGNANI conducted himself and the orchestra
admirably; M. PLANÇON, in English Plain Song, did all well that as _Il
Re_ he had to do, looking every inch a _Re_, and not a bit _Il_. Mlle.
BAUERMEISTER was _Una Sacerdotissa_, but she would be anything and
do everything well. Signer RINALDINI was _Un Messagiero_. His costume
might have been more effective had Sir AUGUSTUS brought him up to
date as a Messenger Boy for the Telephonie-sol-fa Company. This can be
amended. House good.

_Friday_.--Covent Garden, _Elaine_ expected, but didn't appear. JOHN
THE RISKY, the _Launcelot_ of the Opera, unwell. "Not _Launcelot_,
but another!" cried Sir DRURIOLANUS, only there wasn't another. So
_Carmen_ was played. "Not this _Elaine_," continued Sir AUGUSTUS, "but
Drur-e-lane." So away! to hear the Trumpeter of the German Band. This
_Trompeter_ might be played as a trump in a small house, but 'tis
trumpery for Drury Lane. One phrase of an old music-hall ditty, the
words of which were, "She walked forward, _I_ followed on, tra la
la!" constantly recur. Who originated it? Unwonted excitement of
going to two Operas told on shattered frame, so staggered to Maiden
Lane, which, on account of its being the home for oysters, crabs,
and lobsters, should be renamed Mer-maiden Lane. Behold! good Dr.
BAYLIS "within the Rules" making up his evening prescriptions.
"_Quis supperabit?_" asked the learned Dr. B. "_Ego_," replied I,
like JEAMES, knowing the language. And "supper-a-bit" it was. "'84
_wachterum unum pintum frigidum sumendum cum_ '92 _chickeno_," &c. "My
benizon on thee!" said CRITICUS REDIVIVUS. "Dr. BAYLIS, I bay-_liss_
thee!" with the accent on the "_liss_." So home. After all the chops
and changes of this operatic life, I am with "chicken and champagne"
content. _Finis coronat opus._

       *       *       *       *       *



[Illustration: "'Neat' Handed Phyllis."

"A contribution to the Alcohol Question."]

1. Inebriates should be shut up in Alcoholloway Prison.

2. "_Food-accessory_" is a very pretty name for drink. Henceforth let
the butler go round as "the merry toast goes round." Let butlers and
footmen, in dining-rooms and places where they have various liquors,
be instructed to inquire of each and every guest "What food-accessory
will you take, Sir?"

3. "_The use of Alcohol dates from very early times._" But it is not
recommended by the faculty as a good thing to be taken at 7 A.M., or
at any time in the morning immediately on awaking.

As to when any one has had enough "alcohol," the old test first
put forward many years ago by _Mr. Punch_, still holds good. If
you can say "British Constitution" distinctly, and without effort,
so that it shall not be all in one composite word sounding like
"Bri'sh-conshushun," then, perhaps, you may go up-stairs (if you can)
and join the ladies.

4. "_The liver is very prone to become affected._" The question is,
first, Is "an evil liver" or "a good liver" here intended? But, apart
from this, any affectation in a liver, good or bad, is objectionable.
It must be taken for granted, in a serious discussion on the subject,
that "a slave to his liver" is a synonym for "a livery servant." The
one objection to a livery servant lies in this very fact; for a slave
to liver is rarely in a good humour, and is generally sulky, lazy, and

5. "_Wine comes in, rubs off the acerbities, and brings all down to
the same level of good humour._" The end of such a happy party is, of
course, all under the table, smiling, but speechless.

  Smiling, but beautiful they lay,
  A gleam was in their half-closed eye,
  But still they murmured with a sigh,

Dr. ROBERTS, as quoted by his _confrère_, ROBSON ROOSETEM PASHA,
appears to be a very sensible person. Dr. ROBERTS--he is not Dr.
ARTHUR ROBERTS, we believe--recommends the liqueur to be judiciously
taken at meal-times. And, by the way, as the knowledge of when to
cry, "Hold, enough!" is most useful, here is another test of sobriety
in this very word "judicious," which some, after a couple of glasses
(or more) of fine old cognac, will pronounce as though 'twere spelt
"seducious," and some will swear it ought to be "jusidious." When
nobody can pronounce "judicious" correctly, the _arbiter bibendi_,
if himself absolutely sober as a judge ought to be,--a man quite
"above-board," i.e., not yet under it,--such a one may pronounce that
the guests have had quite enough. It is a pity that so excellent
a writer on temperance should have the singular disadvantage of a
plural name. If, after dinner, a worthy convivialist observed, "I see
ROBERTS," would not the question naturally be, "How many of 'em?"
The Doctor can omit the "s," and, as perhaps he is already a little
singular in his carefully-advanced theories, why should he not
de-pluralise his surname? Do the Doctors R.R. and R. differ on this?
Then we must decide. In the meantime, to show our approval of this
particular article of Dr. ROBSON ROOSTEM PASHA's faith, we, as a
jovial company, drink his health, and then depart for our annual
Alcoholiday trip.

       *       *       *       *       *


       *       *       *       *       *


(_Lady Festus At Home_--2 A.M.)


       *       *       *       *       *



  Then a warm-faced functionary read the "Declaration"--when
  A sort of sinking sickness took SMITH in the abdomen;
  And he smiled a sickly sort of smile, and stalked out at the door,
  And the subsequent proceedings interested _him_ no more!

          _Bret Harte adapted._

  Pheugh! His poll was taken early (it was _not_ on Saturday),
  And he lost by seven hundred, and is out of the fierce fray;
  And whether he rejoices, or internally repines,
  May be clear to the wiseacres who can "read between the lines."

  It was hot, too, while it lasted, and of epidemic ills
  The Election Fever "takes the cake." 'Tis true it seldom kills,
  But for far and wide contagion, and for agony acute,
  Its supremacy is certain as its sway is absolute.

  And he had it very badly. He looks convalescent now,
  But the frenzy of the meeting brought the crimson to his brow,
  And his thorax is still husky with his eloquent appeal
  To the mustered working-men at the hour of mid-day meal.

  How they swarmed about his waggon! How their oily fustian filled
  The summer air with fragrance that his fine olfactories thrilled!
  How very loud their shouts were, and how very rude their jeers,
  And how very strong the _bouquet_ of clay pipes and bitter beers!

  His arguments amused them, and his peroration fine,
  About "standing for old England stoutly all along the line,"
  Would have surely proved impressive, but for some sardonic ass,
  Who produced an anti-climax with the shouted comment "Gas!"

  Then the mob broke up in laughter, to return to pipe and can,
  And--plumped for his opponent pretty nearly to a man;
  For of all ungrateful cynics, and of all impervious clowns,
  Commend me (says our wanderer), to the workmen of our towns.

  Well, _experientia docet_. That confounded "local Club"
  (Blend of Institute and Chapel with a savour of the pub.)
  Where the pallid-faced cheesemongers, and the clammy-handed snobs,
  Swarmed around to "patronise" him, was the toughest of tough jobs.

  Its rooms were wondrous stuffy and its members scarce "good form,"
  For they mostly dropped their aitches, and they always looked _so_
  Why political enthusiasts so run to noise and heat,
  And crude manners, and bad grammar, is a _crux_ that's hard to beat.

  But he bore it,--yes, he bore it; he shook heaps of 'orny 'ands,
  Heard the shindy of their shoutings, and the braying of their bands;
  Stood their "heckling," which was trying, and their praises, which
          were worse,
  All the claims upon his time, and taste, his patience, and his

  Then they "chucked" him by three figures! Well, he's "out of it,"
          thanks be!
  And he "offs it by the Special" to the river or the sea.
  He heard the "Declaration," _and_ the rival Party's roar,
  And--"the subsequent proceedings interested him no more."

  "'_Latest Results! Helections!!_' Oh, confound the boy! Get out!
  Let the winners sum their winnings, let their blatant backers shout.
  What have I to do with pollings? Cease, cacophonous urchin, cease!
  I am going to read _The Wrecker_, and possess my soul in peace!"

       *       *       *       *       *

"D.G." and MRS. R.--_Mr. Punch_ begs to congratulate the _Daily
Graphic_ on the electioneering ladder showing every day the position
of the Parties. Very "Happy Thought." His ancient friend, Mrs. RAM,
in speaking of this journal, observed, that "_Daily Graphic_ was not
by any means a new name, and the paper ought to have been purely
theatrical, as the person after whom it is evidently called was the
celebrated actor, you know, my dear, in the last century, whom Dr.
JOHNSON used to call 'Little Daily Graphic.'"

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: OUT OF IT!

(_"And the subsequent Proceedings interested him no more._")



       *       *       *       *       *



       *       *       *       *       *




It was shortly after the middle of July, 1892, that the Great
Representative of the British Race stood upon the Victoria Embankment,
watching the river-steamers as they passed to and fro. There were few
persons about, for the General Election was over, and civilised London
was out of Town. Some of civilised London had gone abroad, some were
in Scotland, some by the Sea. So the Great Representative expected to
see no one.

"_Mr. Punch_, I believe!" said some one, approaching the Great
Representative. The speaker was a person who wore a garb peculiarly
suitable to the autumnal sultriness of the weather. He had about a
couple of yards of calico, and one good coating of serviceable paint.
The Great Representative bowed his head, and by a gesture, invited
further explanation.

"I am connected with the literary world, and am a Colonist. I am
known, or used to be known (for I am getting a trifle out of date), as
Lord MACAULAY's New-Zealander."

Again the Great Representative bowed. He knew his visitor, and bade
him welcome. Then he asked him the cause of his visit.

"Well, I really don't know," replied the New-Zealander, with a short
laugh. "I am afraid I must have been hoaxed. I was told that England
was absolutely ruined, and was looking for a comfortable seat amongst
the remains of London Bridge."

"You see you are slightly premature," returned the Great
Representative, pointing towards a more or less majestic pile in the
offing. "There was some talk of rebuilding the structure some short
while ago, but a viaduct near the Tower was considered preferable.
When it is opened, there will be Knighthoods for the Sheriffs, and a
Baronetcy for the Lord MAYOR."

"And yet," pondered the New-Zealander, "I was certainly informed by
wire, that the glory of Britain had vanished for ever."

"Very likely an Election cry," observed _Mr. Punch_, "In the midst of
a contested polling, both sides think the success of their rivals must
be followed by immediate disaster. But somehow or other, things settle
down afterwards, and nothing comes of it. Whichever side wins, the old
flag floats in the wind as gaily and as prosperously as ever."

"And yet I was certainly told that the sun of England had set never
to rise again," persisted the Aboriginal, who seemed to be of an
obstinate turn of mind. "Now I remember--the cause was something to
do with Diamonds and Henley. Stay, the bright brains of the nation had
disappeared. I recollect, the Diamond Sculls of the nation (once so
great) had passed to foreigners."

"Ah, now I take your meaning." said the National Representative, with
a smile, "and you must have heard of the result of the race for the
Diamond Sculls at Henley."

"That must be it," acquiesced the New-Zealander. "I had forgotten to
take into account possible errors in transmission. But tell me, has
there been a national defeat?"

"Well, yes," admitted _Mr. Punch_, with a sigh--"we did not
come out altogether satisfactorily. Even the second man was a
Frenchman--albeit, his name was suggestive of dear old Scotland."

"And do you mean to say," said the New-Zealander, "that the best
scullers of England were beaten by a boating-man from the Seine?"

"It is too true, and the Frenchman himself succumbed to a
Dutchman--yes, we confess it, and with shame."

"I don't see why you should," returned the other, changing his tone
to one of greater satisfaction. "As a New-Zealander, I observe nothing
degrading in the superiority of Old Holland." And considering the
prowess of VAN TROMP in the past, there was perhaps nothing so strange
in the triumph of OOMS in the present.

       *       *       *       *       *


MY DEAR MR. PUNCH,--I see that the receipts of the National Rifle
Association have fallen off, and that there is a proposal to make the
Bisley Meeting this year rather more attractive than its predecessors.
The Camp is to be open, and there are to be Concerts and other
distractions. But is this enough? Once confess that Rifle-shooting
is not the sole business of the gathering, and the way is cleared for
more amusing items. All that is wanted to convert a semi-failure into
a triumphant success, is a Manager who could combine entertainment
with instruction, thus:--

6 A.M.--Gun-fire. The Camp awakes, and, to the music of the band, gets
up. Reserved seats in band-enclosure, sixpence extra.

7 A.M.--Balloon Ascent. Firing at the sun with revolvers by trained
aëronauts. Seats in parachutes, five shillings a-piece.

8 A.M.--Early performance of BUFFALO BILL before his departure for
Earl's Court. Prices as usual.

9 A.M.--Sham Fight, augmented by Menagerie from Travelling Circus.
Cards to visit the stables, half-a-crown.

10 A.M.--Representation of Siege Scene from Venice in London, under
the title of "The Bridge of Sighs within measuring distance of Woking
Cemetery." Season tickets, half-a-guinea.

11 A.M.--Performance of the Battle of Waterloo by veterans, late of
Astley's Theatre. Families and schools half-price.

12 NOON.--Visit of Royalty, and Presentation of Purses. No Purse
accepted containing less than two pounds ten.

1 P.M.--Grand Luncheon, with speeches by the leading Military
Authorities, followed by a Smoking Concert. One-and-sixpence.

2 P.M.--Variety Show, including several of the best Lion Comiques,
and the astounding performances of the Bounding Brothers of Bohemia.
Stalls, ten shillings. Soldiers in uniform admitted at a considerable

3 P.M.--Cricket Match between the famous Clown Eleven _versus_ the
Ladies' Sixteen. Grand Stand, three-and-six.

4 P.M.--Comic Carnival, entitled, "Rollicksome Riflemen, or the
Vicissitudes of the Volunteers." Reserved Seats, ninepence.

There, my dear Sir, I think I have written enough. If there was any
time to spare, the shooting programme might still be carried out; but
business is business, and only by the means I have indicated (in my
opinion) can Bisley be made to pay. Trusting that my suggestion may be
accepted in the spirit in which it is offered, I remain,

Yours truly, DIVIDEND BEFORE DEFENCE. _The Money Grubberies, the
Twenty of Shillingsworth-in-the-Pound._

       *       *       *       *       *


(_A Sketch in the New Law Courts in anticipation of the very
next "Cause Célèbre" that may have the good fortune to enlist the
sympathies of the British Public._)

    SCENE--_A Corridor outside the Courts appropriated to the
    Common Law Division of the High Court of Justice. At each of
    the doors of the Court where the Great Trial of Arkass v.
    Arkass and Ambo--which abounds in "scandalous revelations in
    High Life"--is proceeding, a group of would-be auditors has
    collected, waiting with the patience of respectable Peris for
    a chance of admission to the forensic Paradise within. The
    Paradise, at present, is full to overflowing, and the doors
    are guarded by a couple of particularly stern and stolid
    attendants. Each Peri is trying to wear out the endurance
    of the rest, and to propitiate the doorkeepers by exemplary

[Illustration: No--but look _here_. I _know_ the Criminals.]

_A Meek Man_ (_to Doorkeeper, after standing in hopeful silence for
three-quarters of an hour_). I suppose there'll be a chance of getting
in presently, eh?

_The Doorkeeper_ (_placidly_). None whatever, Sir.

_The M.M._ But they'll be rising for luncheon in an hour or so, and
some will be coming out then, surely?

_Doork._ Not many; them as _are_ in stays in, mostly.

_The M.M._ (_with a sudden recollection that he is acquainted with one
of the Counsel engaged in the case_). Couldn't you take in my card to
Mr. TANFIELD? I'm sure he'll do anything he could for me.

    [_The rest regard him with extreme disfavour, as one guilty of
    unsportsmanlike behaviour._

_Doork._ It won't be no use--there ain't room in there as it is for a
billiard-cue--leastwise (_conscientiously_), a stoutish one--but I'll
get it taken in for you, if you _like_.

    [_He opens the door a very little, and passes the card to an
    attendant within._

_Junior Members of the Junior Bar_ (_in very clean white wigs, with
hauteur_). Thought you had orders to let Counsel in before the general
public? There _ought_ to be some rule about that, if there isn't.

_Doork._ So we do, Sir; but if this gentleman's a friend of Mr.
TANFIELD's, and he _arsks_ me to admit him, why you see--

_Junior Junior_ (_witheringly_). The convenience of mere Members of
the _Bar_ must give way, naturally!

    [_The inside Attendant returns with card, which the
    Doorkeeper unlocks the door to receive, and then shuts it to
    with a sharp click, like a wild-beast-tamer._

_Doork._ (_to the M.M., after perusing card by the dim light_). I
_told_ you it wouldn't be no use, Sir. "Please wait," it says.

    [_General movement of virtuous satisfaction at this
    well-merited rebuke._

_The M.M._ (_wishing he had not put his trust in TANFIELD_). I--I
_have_ waited--but it don't matter. (_Addressing First White Wig,
from a timid social impulse_). The--er--Plaintiff made some remarkable
admissions in the box yesterday--his cross-examination seemed pretty

_First White Wig_ (_after a stare at his audacity_). Cross-examination
not unfrequently _is_. (_To the other W.W._) See that extraordinary
decision of old JUBBER's in _Biling_ v. _Bulgin_? Of course they'll

    [_The couple converse in highly technical terms for some

_The M.M._ (_at the next pause_). It struck me that Colonel ARKASS
rather contradicted himself on one or two points.

_Second W.W._ Very likely. (_To First W.W._) What do _you_ do when
you're before one of these confounded Common Law Judges, and see he's
looking up a point of Equity in a text-book during your argument? Do
you wait for him?

_First W.W._ (_with all the decision of a Counsel who was called the
Term before last_). Wait for him? No--go on talking about anything you
like, till he's ready to listen to you again. That's what _I_ always

_An Important Stranger_ (_bustling up; to Doorkeepers_). Here, I say,
let _me_ in, will you!

_Doork._ You a Witness in this case, Sir?

_The Imp. S._ (_after a tell-tale pause_). Er--yes--in a sort of way,

_Doork._ Then _your_ entrance is down below, Sir, in the Central
'All--you'll see it written up there.

_The I.S._ Haw--well, I'm not _exactly_ a witness, but I'm interested
in the case, y'know.

_Doork._ So are all these Gentlemen, Sir--but they can't get in.

_The I.S._ No--but look _here_. I _know_ the criminals--'tleast I
don't mean to call 'em _that_, y'know--hope they're all innocent, I'm
sure. I like 'em all; _danced_ with 'em, and all that, lots of times.

_Doork._ Ah, well, you see they ain't dancin' to-day, Sir. (_The I.S.
bustles away; there is a stir within; the portion of the crowd in
Court that is visible through the glass-doors heaves convulsively,
and presently produces a stout and struggling Q.C._). Make way there!
Stand aside, gentlemen, please. Counsel coming out!

    [_Q.C. comes out, puffing, followed by his Clerk and a

_First W.W._ (_as the chasm in the crowd closes again_). _Now_ you can
let us in!

_Doork._ (_stolidly_). Not yet, Sir. (_To other Doork._) I see that
party agen last night--_you_ know--him as was here making all that
shindy day afore yesterday. I went and 'ad a drink with 'im.

_Second Doork._ (_interested_). Ah, and 'ow _was_ he?

_First Doork._ Oh, same as usual--boozed. Told me he'd come up from
Glasgow for a week's spree--and he seems to be _'aving_ it, too. Going
'ome Saturday, so he sez.

_Second Doork._ (_grimly_). He'll be lucky if he gets there Saturday

[Illustration: IN HIS CLUTCHES.


_Murmurs_ (_from the lucky Peris who can just see the witness-box
through the glass panel_). Who's that in the box? That's Colonel
ARKASS--finishing his cross-examination.... Doesn't seem to be
enjoying himself.... See how he's tugging at his moustache.... Got a
nasty one just then, I expect.... I'd as soon believe 'im as I would
'er--_now_.... She ain't been in the _box_ yet.... No, but she's a
reg'lar bad lot, from what was said in the opening speech. They won't
change my opinion of _'er_, whichever way the case goes! Well, I
'aven't followed it closely myself.... Oh, no more have I--but still
I've made up _my_ mind long ago about it, (&c., &c.)

_The I.S._ (_suddenly returning, indignant_). I say, they're letting
in all _sorts_ of people--barristers, and so on--at that _other_ door!

_Doork._ Can't 'elp that, Sir; _this_ ain't the other door--you should
speak to _them_ about it!

_The I.S._ (_naïvely_). Well, I _have_--and they told me to come here!

    [_General snigger, amidst which he departs in disgust._

_A Small Office-Boy_ (_with a strip of paper, tied with red tape_).
Kin I see Sir HALFRID ALLABYE a moment?

_Doork._ Sir ALFRED ain't in this Court--he's engaged in another case.

_The O.B._ 'Is Clurk'll do--it's 'ighly important--you better lemme
_in_, I tell yer!

_Doork._ Send in a message for yer, if that'll do. (_The O.B. says
it doesn't signify, and bolts._) Young Artful! thinks he'll sneak in,
and spend his dinner-hour there--but he _don't_!

_The M.M._ (_who has been examining his card under a gaslight_).
I say, I've just found out that it wasn't "Please _wait_" that Mr.
TANFIELD wrote on my card--it's "Please _Admit_!"

    [_A general titter of incredulity._

_First W.W._ (_to Second W.W._). Ingenious--but a trifle transparent
that, eh?

    [_His friend smiles knowingly._

_The M.M._ (_roused_). Do you mean to suggest that I--

    [_He chokes._

_First W.W._ Oh, not at all--I was speaking to my friend here. But you
really must allow that, if any preference is shown at all, it should
be given--equitably, and of right--to Members of the Bar!

_Chorus from the other Peris._ Yes, they've stood here nearly as
long as you have. You must wait your turn, like the rest of us! No
preferences _'ere_! We've got as much right to go in as you.... If Mr.
TANFIELD wants you admitted over our heads, let him come and let you
in himself! If _any_ one goes in first, it ought to be Barristers!
(&c., &c.)

_Doork._ (_impartially_). Well, it ain't o' much consequence,
Gentlemen, for I can't let _none_ of you in at present!

    [_The M.M. simmers with suppressed rage; wonders if it is
    worth while to mention that he happens to be a Barrister
    himself, and wishes to enter for the serious and legitimate
    purpose of collecting material for an Essay he is contributing
    on "The Abuse of Cross-Examination" to the "Nineteenth
    Century." On reflection, he thinks he had better not._

_Doork._ (_as the crowd in Court is again convulsed_). Clear the way
there! Court rising--Counsel coming out! Ah, this _is_ Mr. TANFIELD.

_The Peris_ (_White Wigs and all_). Now we shall _see_!

    [_They regard the M.M. with anticipatory triumph._

_Mr. Tanfield_ (_passing out, and recognising the M.M._). Why, my dear
MUTTON, won't they let you in? Here, come along with me!

    [_He passes his arm through the M.M.'s, walks with him to
    the other door, murmurs a request for his admission, and the
    next moment the M.M. is safe in the haven of his desire._

_The other Peris_ (_looking after him enviously_). Well, of all the
brazen impudence!

    [_They are swept aside by the current of emerging Counsel,
    Spectators, &c. and re-assemble, to find the doors as
    pitilessly closed against them as ever. The White Wigs
    threaten to write to the "Law Times" on the subject, and are
    regarded with admiration by the rest as Champions of Popular

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: OLD TIMES REVIVED.

_Portrait of Candidate making his Third Speech on same day._]

       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration: On his Hobby.]

Baffled by official prudery in the production of his poetic episode
from Holy Writ, yet resolved that the names of SARAH and OSCAR shall
be bracketted together on the muster-roll of genius, Mr. WILDE has
undertaken to re-write RACINE's _Phèdre_ for that distinguished
actress. In his version the smoothly-chaste and insipidly-correct
verses which our grandmothers learnt to recite, and our grandfathers
pretended to admire on the lips of the classic RACHEL, will give place
to the school of BAUDELAIRE and VALLES. We have been fortunate in
obtaining an _échantillon_ of this great work.


  _Phèdre._ Je me meurs d'ennuie. Mon éventail, et vite!

  _Oenone._ Madame, je devine votre mal. Vous aimez HIPPOLYTE!

  _Phèdre._ HIPPOLYTE! Imbécile, ce que j'aime est le vice,
      La rime sans raison, l'audace, l'immondice,
      L'horrible, l'eccentrique, le sens-dessus-dessous,
      La fanfaronnade, la réclame, le sang, et la boue;
      La bave fétide des bouches empoisonnées;
      L'horreur, le meurtre, et le "ta-ra-boum-de-ay!"
      Crois-tu que pour HIPPOLYTE j'ai le moindre estime?
      Du tout! C'est mon beau fils, et l'aimer est un crime,
      C'est un fat odieux, OENONE. Homme je le déteste,
      Mais comme fils de mon mari l'aimer c'est l'in--

  _Oenone._                                  Peste!
      Que veut dire Madame?

  _Phèdre._        L'inconnu l'inconvenable.[2]
      Tu me coupe la parole d'une façon exécrable--
      Le vice, OENONE, sais-tu ce que c'est que le vice?
      Que la rose n'est pas rose avant qu'elle pourrisse?
      Esprit terre-à-terre, âme bornée d'épicier,
      Non, tu ne les connais pas, les délices du fumier.
      Tu ne sais pas trouver tes étoiles dans l'égout,
      Tes ivresses dans la fange, ton amour dans la boue.

  _Oenone._ Madame radote. C'est Vénus à sa proie attachée.

  _Phèdre._ Vénus fin de siècle, qui se nomme Astarté,
      Diablesse gigantesque, aux boyaux d'airain,
      Trou rouge où l'on jette des monceaux d'êtres humains.
      Grille de fer où la chair fume, les cheveux pétillent,
      Choses claires qui noircissent, sombres choses qui brillent,
      Choses qu'on aime le plus pour ce qu'elles n'existent pas,
      Choses basses qui s'élèvent, hautes choses qu'on mettent bas,
      Paradis de paradoxes--

This brief sample of Mr. WILDE's muse may be less erudite than the
play tabooed by the LORD CHAMBERLAIN, and may show a bolder disregard
of the stringent laws which govern French versification; but it is
assuredly in harmony with the spirit of the age, and goes far to bring
RACINE up to date.

[Footnote 2: The fact that this word is not to be found in the
dictionary must be set down as the fault of the language rather than
of the poet. If "convenable," why not "inconvenable"?]

       *       *       *       *       *

NOTICE.--Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS.,
Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no
case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed
Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.

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