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Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 104, March 4, 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, Volume 104, March 4, 1893" ***

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

Transcriber's Note: The short pieces "Suppositious" and "Quite Another
Thing" were moved from their original positions accompanying the
illustration "The Political Fancy Dress Ball at Covent Gardent" to the end,
to prevent the "Essence of Parliament" article from being broken in the



VOL. 104.

March 4, 1893.


  Ah, why, my Love, receive me
    With such tip-tilted scorn?
  Self-love can scarce retrieve me
    From obloquy forlorn;
  'Twas not my fault, believe me,
    That wealthy I was born.
  Of Nature's gifts invidious
    I'd choose I know not which;
  One might as well be hideous
    As shunn'd because he's rich.
      O Love, if thou art bitter,
        Then death must pleasant be;
      I know not which is fitter,
        Not I--(or is't "not me"?)

  'Tis not that thou abhorrest,
    Oh, maid of dainty mould!
  The foison of the florist,
    The goldsmith's craft of gold;
  Nor less than others storest
    Rare pelts by furriers sold;
  But knowing I adore thee,
    And deem all graces thine,
  My choicest offerings bore
    Just because they are mine.
      Then, smile not, dear deceiver,
        Keep no kind word for me,
      Enough that the receiver
        Is thou--(or is it "thee"?)

  When others come, how trimly
    Thou sett'st thy chatty sail!
  For me alone all dimly
    Seemeth the sun to fail.
  Young FRANK he frowneth grimly,
    And thou turn'st haughty pale.
  'Tis not the taint of "City,"
    For here be scores who sport
  Their Mayfair manners pretty
    In Cop-the-Needle Court.
      Ah, chill me not so coolly,
        A Croesus though I be--
      The one who loveth truly
        I swear is I--(or "me"?)

  But what availeth grammar
    As taught in straitest schools--
  The hammer of the Crammer
    Forging Bellona's tools--
  Or words that humbly stammer
    Regardless of the rules?
  And what availeth fretting,
    Deep sighs, and dwindling waist,
  And what the sad forgetting
    Of culinary taste,
      Since still thou fondly spurnest
        Five hundred thou. (or "thee."?)
      And on young STONEY turnest
        Love's eye--(or _is_ it "me"?)

       *       *       *       *       *

SAD CONCLUSION.--To be virtuous for virtue's sake, without prospect of
reward, this is to be good for nothing!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: BYE-ELECTION-OLOGY.


_Sibyl_ (_who has had more experience_). "OH, IT MEANS--WELL, THAT WE ARE

       *       *       *       *       *


"I do not wish to make a joke," Mr. INDERWICK, Q.C., is reported to have
observed in the course of examining the plaintiff in a divorce case, but,
in spite of this pathetic announcement, which passed without any comment
from the Judge, the ruling passion was too strong for him, and he
continued, "but Artists' models are not always models of virtue, are they?"
Not new, not by any means new, of course, but he had apologised beforehand,
and he couldn't help it; as the weak heroine, who yields to strong
temptation in a French novel or play, usually acknowledges "_C'était plus
fort que moi_." The inflammable materials being in close contact, there was
nothing to 'inder-wick from catching fire when in proximity to a spark of
genius. Yet so powerfully had the eminent Queen's Counsel's prefatial
apology affected the court and the audience, that his saucy sally--(for
there is life in the old sally yet, whether in our alley or in this
Court)--was not followed by the usually reported "laughter." How was it
received? Doubtless with decorous silence and downcast eyes, expressive of
sweet memories of dear old jokes made long ago, in happier and brighter
times, "when all the world was young."

When a good old joke is again brought into Court with or without apology,
instead of its being received with respectful silence, we should like to
read that it was greeted with "tears" or "sobs." It would, indeed, not be
unbecoming on the part of the Judge if, unable to control his emotion, he
had immediately arisen, and, in broken judicial utterances, had adjourned
the Court for the day, out of respect to the memory (for old jokes) of the
Leader or Junior who had apologetically perpetrated one. Should Mr.
INDERWICK try this again, the new effect, as above suggested, may be
obtained to the satisfaction of all parties, except, maybe, those to the
suit, "whom," as one learned brother might say with another, and still
profounder apology, "such a proceeding would not _suit_ at all."

       *       *       *       *       *


(_After Waller's "On a Girdle._")

     ["According to the evidence of the only two witnesses who sailed with
     her, no Life-belts were forthcoming, when the Life-belts might have
     given many of those on board a last chance of life."--_The "Times" on
     the Inquiry into the Wreck of the "Roumania."_]

_Shipwrecked Passenger loquitur_:--

  That which would give me ease of mind,
  And hope of life, I cannot find.
  No monarch but would give his crown
  For a Life-belt, when ships go down.

  It would relieve extremest fear,
  That circlet light, that cork-lined sphere;
  But in dark nooks below above,
  The careless crew such trifles shove!

  A narrow compass, and yet there
  Dwells safety, but for want of care.
  Give me the Belt, which can't be found,
  And I might live, who must be drowned!

       *       *       *       *       *

A certain noble Lord was supposed to have somewhat disparaged one of his
horses on sale by describing him as "a Whistler." JAMES MCNEILL, "of that
ilk," was of opinion that this description, supposing the animal to have
been "a genuine Whistler," ought to have increased its value considerably.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Musical Coster Craze.

_Customer._ Have you a copy of COSTA'S _Eli_?

_Shopman._ No, Sir; we have none of CHEVALIER'S songs.

       *       *       *       *       *

SUPERLATIVE!--The appointment of Mr. DUFF, M.P., to be Governor of New
South Wales is a "positive" good, seeing that they might have appointed "a
comparative Duffer."

       *       *       *       *       *



AIR--_"Lovely Night." Dissenting Anti-Church Mice sing_:--

  Lovely Cheese! Lovely Cheese!
    To Church Mice thou art most dear,
  But _do_ please, but _do_ please
    Let _us_ also share thy cheer:
  For though our "freedom" gladsome seems,
    Too oft it brings poor fare alone;
  But aided by what haunts our dreams,
    How many joys Church Mice have known!
      Lovely Cheese! Lovely Cheese!
        Long we've yearned to draw more near
      To the ease, toothsome ease,
        Of the dwellers in thy sphere!

  Lovely cheese! Lovely cheese!
    When a mouse thy cover nears,
  Growling fit his heart to freeze,
    Some keen-claw'd (Church) cat appears.
  But now--that knife portends a boon;
    Monopoly slice by slice 'twill slay.
  We, too, may get--let it be soon!--
    Our bit of cheese, some day, some day!
      Lovely Cheese! Lovely Cheese!
        When that cover's lifted clear,
      With what ease, with what ease
        We poor mice may share Church cheer!

       *       *       *       *       *

There was a feeling of uncertainty in the House of Commons last Wednesday,
as to what should be taken to constitute "A Religious Body." Not to go
harking back to the Rev. SYDNEY SMITH'S definition of "a
Corporation"--which, without speaking it profanely, cannot be here quoted
without offending eyes polite,--one may say that "A Religious Body" is a
contradiction in terms. It is simply "A Soul-less Thing."

       *       *       *       *       *

"What's the name of that German Beer?" asked Mrs. R., "I rather think it is
Pil-sen-ner. It sounds to me more like medicine."

       *       *       *       *       *



     SCENE XI.--_The Drawing-room._ Mrs. GILWATTLE _is still unable to
     express her feelings by more than a contemptuous glare._

_Uncle Gabriel._ My--ah--love, you didn't hear me. I was saying I've almost
prevailed on his Lordship----

_Mrs. Gilwattle_ (_becoming articulate_). His Lordship, indeed! If _that's_
a Lord, I don't wonder you're such a Radical!

_Uncle Gab._ Why--why--what's _come_ to you, JOANNA? My Lord, I hope you'll
excuse her--she's a little----

_Mrs. Gil._ Fiddlesticks! You've been made a fool of, GABRIEL! Can't you
see for yourself that he's neither the manners nor yet the appearance of a
_real_ nobleman--or anything but what he _is_?

_Uncle Gab._ (_dropping_ Lord S.'s _arm_). Eh? If you're not a Lord, Sir,
what else _are_ you?

_Lord Strath._ (_wavering between wrath and amusement_). Afraid I can't
enlighten you--I'm extremely curious to know myself.

_Mrs. Tid._ (_distractedly_). Oh, Aunt, it wasn't my fault, really!
MONTAGUE _would_ have him! And--and we _sent_ round to say he wouldn't be
required--we did indeed! Please, _please_ don't tell anybody!

_Mrs. Gil._ (_rigidly_). It is my _duty_ to let everyone here know how
disgracefully we have been insulted to-night, MARIA, and might have gone
away in ignorance, but for that innocent child--who has done nothing, that
_I_ can see, to deserve being shaken like that! _I_'m not going to sit by
in silence and see a man passed off as a Lord who is nothing more nor less
than one of the assistants out of BLANKLEY'S shop, hired to come and fill a
vacant seat! Yes, GABRIEL, if you doubt my word, look at MARIA--and _now_
ask that young man to dine!

     [_Profound sensation among the company._

_Uncle Gab._ I--ah--withdraw the invitation, of course--it is cancelled,
Sir, cancelled!

_Feminine Murmur._ I had a feeling, the moment he came in, as if--so
thankful now I didn't commit myself by so much as--ah, my dear, it all
comes from a desire to make a show!--&c., &c.

_Uncle Gab._ It's the bare-faced impudence of coming here on false
pretences, that _I_ can't get over. Come, Mr. SHOPWALKER, COUNTERJUMPER, or
whatever you really are, what have _you_ got to say for yourself?

_Lord Strath._ Say? Why----

     [_He struggles to control his countenance for a moment, until he is
     convulsed at last by irrepressible laughter._

_All_ (_except the_ TIDMARSHES). He's laughing--positively _laughing_ at
Us! The brazenness of it!

_Lord Strath._ (_regaining composure_). I--I'm awfully sorry, but it struck
me suddenly as so----After all, the joke is only against myself. (_To
himself._) Must try and get my unfortunate hostess out of this fix--not
that she deserves it! (_Aloud._) If you will kindly let me explain, I think
I can----

_Mr. Tid._ (_suddenly_). Oh, hang explaining! It's all out now, and you'd
better leave it there!

_Lord Strath._ I can't, indeed. I must make you all understand that this
well-meaning lady with the highly-developed sense of duty has done our host
and hostess a grave injustice, besides paying me a compliment I don't
deserve. I'm sorry to say I can't claim to be half as useful a member of
the community as any of the very obliging and attentive gentlemen in Mr.
BLANKLEY'S employment. If I'm anything, I'm a--an Egyptologist, in an
amateur sort of way, you know. A--in fact, I'm writing a book on Ancient

_The Others._ A _literary_ man! As if _that_ made it any better!

_Lord Strath._ I merely mention it because it led me to write to Mr.
CARTOUCHE--whom I happened to hear of as a famous collector--and ask to be
allowed to call and inspect his collection. Mr. CARTOUCHE (who lives, I
believe, at No. 92, next door) very kindly wrote, giving me leave, and
inviting me to dine at the same time, and--I know it was unpardonably
careless of me--but somehow I came here instead, and, Mr. and Mrs. TIDMARSH
being both too--er--hospitable to undeceive me, I never found my mistake
out till too late to put it right, without inconveniencing everybody.
That's really all.

     [_Uneasy reaction in the company._

_Uncle Gab._ (_pompously_). Ha--hum--no doubt that puts a somewhat
different complexion on the case, but it doesn't explain your conduct in
calling yourself Lord STRATHFOOZLEUM, or whatever it was.

_Lord Strath._ I think you mean STRATHSPORRAN. I did call myself that,
because it happens to be my name.

_Mrs. Tid._ (_passionately_). I don't believe it.... I _can't_. If it is,
why did Miss SEATON call you "Mr. CLAYPOLE"?

_Lord Strath._ I beg your pardon--CLAYMORE. Because, when we last met, I
was DOUGLAS CLAYMORE, with no prospect whatever, as it seemed then, of
being anything else.

_Mrs. Tid._ (_faintly_). Then he really is--_Oh_!

     [_She sinks on the couch, crushed._

_Uncle Gab._ Ha, well, my Lord, I'm glad this little misunderstanding is so
satisfactorily cleared up, and if I may venture to hope for the honour of
your company,--shall we say Friday wee----(Lord S. _looks at him
steadily._) Oh, if your Lordship has some better engagement, well and good.
Makes no difference to _me_ I assure you. JOANNA, our carriage must be here
by now, say good-bye and have done with it! Good-night, MARIA, I'll see you
don't expose me to _this_ again!

     SCENE XII.--_The guests have all taken leave with extremely frosty
     farewells_; Mr. TIDMARSH _is downstairs superintending their
     departure._ GWENNIE _has been pardoned on_ Lord S.'s _intercession,
     and dismissed, in much bewilderment, to bed._ Mrs. TIDMARSH _and_ Lord
     STRATHSPORRAN _are alone._

_Mrs. Tid._ (_hysterically_). Oh, Lord STRATHSPORRAN, when I think how
I----What can I _ever_ say to you?

_Lord Strath._ Only, I hope, that you forgive my stupidity in blundering in
here as I did, Mrs. TIDMARSH.

_Mrs. Tid._ It _was_ a good deal your fault. If you had only said who you
really were--if my husband had not been idiot enough to misunderstand--if
Miss SEATON had been more straightforward, all this would never----!

[Illustration: "Sitting down heavily on a Settee."]

_Lord Strath._ We were all the victims of circumstances, weren't we? But I,
at least, have no reason to regret it. And, if I may ask one last
indulgence, will you--a--let me have an opportunity of saying good-bye to

_Mrs. Tid._ She, she doesn't _deserve_--Oh, I don't know _what_ I'm saying.
Of _course_, Lord STRATHSPORRAN, anything, _anything_ I can do to----I will
send her down to you, if you will only wait. She shall not keep you long!

_Lord Strath._ (_alone, to himself_). It's an ill wind, &c. I shall have
MARJORY all to myself, now! To think that--but for a lucky blunder--I
should be spelling out scarabs and things on the wrong side of that wall at
this moment, and never dreaming that MARJORY was so----Ah, she's coming!
(Miss SEATON _enters, looking pale and disconsolate._) MARJORY, you've no
idea what you've missed! I _must_ tell you--it's too good to lose. What
_do_ you think all these good people have been taking me for? You'll never
guess! They actually believed I was hired from BLANKLEY'S! Give you my word
they did!... Why don't you _laugh_, MARJORY?

_Miss Seaton_ (_faintly_). I--I _am_ laughing. No, DOUGLAS, I'm not. I
can't; I haven't the conscience to. Oh, I never meant you to know--but I
must tell you, whatever comes of it! _I_ believed it too, at first.
(_Tragically._) I _did_, DOUGLAS!

_Lord Strath._ _Did_ you though, MARJORY? Then, by Jove, I _must_ have
looked the character!

_Miss Seaton_ (_timidly_). I knew you--you weren't very well off, DOUGLAS,
and so I fancied you might----Oh, I know it was hateful of me ever to think
such a thing, but I did. And you can never _really_ forgive me!

_Lord Strath._ Couldn't think of it! Shall I tell you something else,
MARJORY? I've a strong impression that you will not be an inmate of this
happy English household _much_ longer.

_Miss Seaton._ I'm _sure_ I shan't, from Mrs. TIDMARSH'S expression just
now. But I don't care!

_Lord Strath._ Don't be reckless. How do you know there isn't a moral lion
about? And where will you go next, MARJORY?

_Miss Seaton_ (_with a shrug_). I don't know. I suppose to anybody who
wants a Governess, and doesn't mind taking her without a reference, if
there _is_ such a person!

_Lord Strath._ Well, oddly enough, I fancy I know somebody who has been
trying for a long time to find a young person of just your age and
appearance, and might be induced to waive a reference on a personal
interview. (Miss SEATON _looks incredulous._)... MARJORY, don't you
understand? If I hadn't been such a pauper, I'd have spoken long ago, when
we were up in Scotland together, only it didn't seem fair then. I--I
daresay I've no better chance now; but, at least, I've more right to speak
than I had, and--and--will you have me, MARJORY? (_She turns away._) I--I
won't worry you, dear, if you really can't care about me in that way;
but--but if you only _could_, MARJORY, even a little!

_Miss Seaton._ DOUGLAS!...

     _Same Scene--somewhat later._

_Lord Strath._ Not yet, MARJORY--I can't let you go just yet!... Must I,
really? Before I've said half what I wanted!... Well--in one minute, then.
And you're coming to my people as soon as you can get out of this, MARJORY;
and I shall see you every day, till--till we shall never be separated
any----Confound it!--who's that? [Mr. TIDMARSH _enters suddenly._

_Mr. Tid._ Oh--er--Lord STRATHSPORRAN, sorry to interrupt you, but--hem--my
wife, who's feeling too unwell to come down again, desires me to say that,
in her opinion, Miss SEATON has been here quite long enough. [Miss SEATON
_escapes by the back drawing-room._

_Lord Strath._ I entirely agree with Mrs. TIDMARSH; but I am happy to say
that Miss SEATON will not remain here very much longer, as she has just
done me the honour of consenting to be my wife. Good night, Sir, and many
thanks for a most er--eventful evening.

     [_He goes out._

_Mr. Tid._ (_making an effort to escort him downstairs, but giving it up,
and sitting down heavily on a settee instead_). She'll be Lady
STRATHSPORRAN! And I shall have to break it to MARIA--after she's just gone
in and stuck a month's salary and immediate notice on her pincushion! Oh,
lor--as if my poor wife hadn't trouble enough to bear as it was!


       *       *       *       *       *


As I have already conveyed, in a short note last week, the first night of
the revival of _Diplomacy_, viz., Saturday, Feb. 18th, will be for ever
memorable in the annals of the English stage in general, and in the
reminiscences of Mr. JOHN HARE in particular, whenever he may choose to
give them to the public. It will also afford matter for a brilliant chapter
in the second or third series of Mr. and Mrs. BANCROFT'S _On and Off the
Stage_. A great night, too, for the eminent adapters Messrs. SCOTT and
STEPHENSON, once known as "the Brothers ROWE," who rowed in the same boat.

Never, at any time, has this version of the French play been so well cast
as it is now at Garrick Theatre, though nervousness told on all the actors,
especially on the elder ones, except, apparently, Mrs. BANCROFT, in whose
performance there was hardly any trace of it, though once she nearly missed
her cue while resting awhile at the back of the stage.

The part of _Lady Henry Fairfax_ has literally nothing whatever to do with
the plot, and were it not played as it is now, and played so capitally by
Mrs. BANCROFT, it would be better, for an English audience at least, if
omitted entirely, or reduced to a few appropriate lines in pleasant places.
An English audience wants the story, when once begun, to go on without any
break or interruption; and indeed, but for dramatic effect, an English
audience is inclined to resent even the division of a piece into Acts,
unless such arrangement is evidently necessitated by some heavy mechanical
change of scenery.

So our audiences would decidedly prefer to have the _rôles_ of _Lady Henry_
and _The Marquise de Rio Zarès_ (with her wearisome iteration about "Don
ALVA," and played with rather too much accentuation by Lady MONCKTON)
reduced to the smallest possible algebraic expression. Mr. BANCROFT was the
same _Count Orloff_ as he was years ago on the little stage of the old
Prince of Wales's Theatre; his action more deliberate than when he was
younger and more impetuous; his pauses for meditation longer by a thought
or so than of yore; while in his tone and manner there was just a
delicately-deepened colouring of the genuine original Bancroftian "Old
Master." To Mr. BANCROFT, resuscitating our old courtly friend _Count
Orloff_ (now _Count Orl-on-again_), I would address the once well-known
line from "_Woodman, spare that Tree_"--

"Touch not a single _bow_!"

[Illustration: "Three Men in a boat."]

ARTHUR CECIL, too, as _Baron Stein_, excellent, _cela va sans dire_; yet,
somehow, his effects now seem to me to be laid on with too broad a brush,
especially in the scene of his last appearance, where he makes a sly, and,
for the _Baron Stein_, a rather over-elaborated and farcical attempt to
recapture the letter he has just given up. FORBES ROBERTSON is good from
first to last as the very weak-knee'd _Julian Beauelere_, sufficiently
emotional in the strong situations, and never better than when the
character itself is at its weakest; that is, in the one great scene with
his wife.

The _Algie Fairfax_, of Mr. GILBERT HARE, was natural where the authors
have allowed him to be natural, and best, therefore, in the last Act, where
he has become a responsible personage in a diplomatic office. The
"three-men-in-a-difficulty" scene went as well as ever, though, on the
whole, played far too slowly, and with so much "suppressed force," that the
celebrated "_Monsieur! à vos ordres!_" when _Orloff_ suddenly breaks out
into "the language of diplomacy," did not electrify the house. On the
contrary, the audience took it very quietly, awaiting with some curiosity
the interference of _Henry Beauclerc_. And it was at this point that the
services of Mr. JOHN HARE in this character were invaluable. Never had his
crisp incisive style produced more marked effect. It is a pity that in the
Third Act, which being the weak point of the play requires all the strength
of the actor to be seriously employed, Mr. HARE should have given a very
light comedy, nay, even a farcical touch to his treatment of the "business"
of sniffing the perfume--when he is literally "on the scent"--and to the
momentous situation of his interview with _Zicka_. "_Maintenant à nos
deux!_" Odd that, in his treatment of the strength of the scent, SARDOU
should have shown the feebleness of his methods. Yet so it is. The play, at
this point, being practically played out, he carelessly chucks the puppets
into a corner. He has made his great scenes, and there's an end of it; let
the weakest go to the wall.

[Illustration: DUET--_Baron Cecil Stein and Lady Henry Bancroft Fairfax_
(_with original model of Strasbourg Clock_)--"Here we are again!"]

[Illustration: SCENT ZICKA--from a (guilt)-stained-glass Russian window.]

Last of all to be mentioned with unstinted praise is Miss KATE RORKE. It is
as well to remember throughout that we are witnessing a play of
semi-French, not purely domestic English life, and the essence of the play
could not be adapted to ordinary English notions. _Julian Beauclerc_, for
example, in England, would never have challenged _Count Orloff_; he might
have had "a deuce of a row with him"; _et voilà tout_. _Dora_, as a young
Irish girl, and not, as she is here, a half-breed, would never have
threatened to suicide herself out of the window, though all else she, as a
not particularly well-educated, but certainly very impulsive girl, might
probably have done. Her great scene, where she bangs her fists against the
looked doors, shrieking to her husband to return--an effect to be led up to
and made within the space of a minute--was, if I may be allowed to say so,
without being suspected of exaggeration, "just perfect." That some
considerable time will elapse before the enthusiasm aroused by this revival
dies out among the patrons and lovers of the Drama-at-its-best is the
private opinion, publicly expressed, of Yours, truly, "THE ONE MAN SEEN" IN

P.S.--When _Diplomacy_ shall have accomplished its Hundred Nights, Mr. HARE
can announce its Scentenary.

       *       *       *       *       *


(_By One who has to Make Bricks with It._)

     ["... It is rumoured that a measure will shortly be introduced for
     transferring the duties of Revising Barristers to Magistrates."]

  Go, tell the budding blooms they'll ne'er have dew more,
    Go, doom the summer trees to languish leafless--
  A like effect this ultra-fiendish rumour
    Works in the drooping bosoms of the Briefless.

  No more Reviserships! No paltry pittance
    For Themis' harvesters, too often sheafless!
  Is this the Constitution, once Great Britain's;
    _This_, your provision for the meekly Briefless?

  As well proclaim to such as slave at Sessions,
    A world unburglarised and wholly thiefless,
  As rob the least rewarded of professions
    Of its ancestral comfort for the Briefless.

  What's to become of us?--I speak for many,
    Idle and "Unemployed," but oh! not griefless;
  Please, please kind Government to spare a penny,
    Or yet Trafalgar Square shall rouse the Briefless.

  Yes! Don't imagine, uncomplaining creatures
    Are quite disorganised and limp, and chiefless;
  Our jaw is one of our most drastic features,
    And Art is long, though Life perforce be Briefless.

       *       *       *       *       *


       *       *       *       *       *

"'BEN' TROVATO."--Odd that the French author of such truly Parisian stories
as _Coeur d'Actrice_, _L'Amour pour Rire_, _Flirtage_, and others _du même
genre_, should be named "TILLET." There is a "du" before the French
author's name, and it is of course proverbial that even a certain person in
the Lower House shall have his "due." 'Tis just this, that, as far as name
goes, differentiates him from t'other TILLET, "which his Christian name is

       *       *       *       *       *

Further Fall in Irish Stocks.

(_Vide Daily Papers, Feb. 24, 1893._)

  Though mongers of panic, with malice satanic,
    The credit of Ireland be troublin',
  Home Rule cannot shake her, nor severance break her,
    So long as her _capital's D(o)ublin_.'

       *       *       *       *       *

WEATHER FORECAST BY MRS. R.--"After this cold snowy weather," she observed,
oracularly, "we may expect what they call 'equally obnoxious gales.'"

       *       *       *       *       *


ATTIRE. [_Vide "Punch" for Nov. 21, 1857._]

       *       *       *       *       *


     [Mr. FOWLER announced the Government's willingness to appoint "a small
     Commission" to consider how the City could be amalgamated with the
     rest of London.]

  "Dilly, Dilly, come and be killed!"
    Cried good _Mrs. Bond_ to the ducks, in the story.
  Conceive with what rapture the victims were thrilled,
  And then picture the joy of our Turtle friends, filled
        With sweet premonitions of glory!

  No little testudinate triflers are these,
    Unmindful of doom unforbodingly playing.
  The cook's charming manners are likely to please,
  But the flash of that knife Snapping Turtles might freeze,
        'Tis so strangely suggestive of--slaying.

  The civic Brer Terrapin certainly seems
    Extremely content with its time-honoured station.
  Our "young men" may dream highly optimist dreams,
  But Turtledom feareth what Turtledom deems
        The perils of--Unification!

  "No compulsion, of course, only, darlings, you must!"
    That's their reading _au fond_ of the C. C. Cook's attitude.
  "'Amalgamate' Us? Doosed cool, most unjust!
  Your offer inspires us with dismal distrust,
        Your 'Commission' won't move us to gratitude.

  "We love the traditions of Old London Town,
    We Turtles. Pray leave us alone, and don't bother!
  Amalgamate? Nay, on the notion we frown!
  Like the lion and lamb we'll together lie down----
        When the one is safe inside the other!"

  Alack and alas! But the new _Mrs. Bond_
    Means mischief, we fear, with her kind "Dilly, Dilly!"
  And well may the Turtles droop fins and despond.
  When the snug isolation of which they're so fond,
        They must part with at last, willy-nilly!

       *       *       *       *       *


(_A long way after Lord Tennyson._)

     ["Lord WOLMER ... pointed out that Mr. GLADSTONE'S majority of forty
     would be wiped out if the 'paid mercenaries' of the Irish-American
     factions were withdrawn, or were even unable to keep up a steady
     attendance in the House of Commons."--_The Times._

     "The proposed Bill to Provide for the Payment of Members of Parliament
     ... is a bold attempt to transfer to the tax-payers of Great Britain
     the burden of supporting at Westminster the Irish Nationalist

  Glory of Irishman, glory of orator, going it strong,
    Paid by his countrymen's mites from across the Atlantic Sea--
  Glory of PAT, to spout, to struggle, right Ireland's old wrong!
    Nay, but they aim not at glory, or Home Rule (swears WOLMER, swears
  Give 'em the glory of living on _us_ and our L. S. D.!

  The wages of swells are high; if high wage to a Minister's just.
    Shall we have the heart low wages to hard-worked M.P.'s to deny?
  _Mercenaries?_ What then are those toffs in high places of trust,
    Who live on our golden largess? Will WOLMER inform us just why
  We _may_ give wages to Wealth, and _not_ unto Poverty?

       *       *       *       *       *

"Down Among the Dead Men."

_Ebriosus loquitur_:--

  Silly spook-hunters show a wish to learn
  If (_hic!_) departed spiritsh e'er return!
  _Did_ they, I should not have so dry a throttle,
  Nor would it cost so mush to--passh the bottle!
  Thersh no returning (_hic!_) of Spiritsh fled,
  And (_hic!_) "dead men"--_worsh luck!_--continue dead!

       *       *       *       *       *

WANTED BADLY.--A "close time" for Autograph-hunting. Alas! the great--and
even the not-so-very-great--are "made game of" all the year round.

       *       *       *       *       *



       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A TRUSTY KNIGHT.

_Tommy_ (_who has undertaken to escort his fair Cousin to see the Hounds

       *       *       *       *       *


_Question._ What is a holiday?

_Answer._ The hard work of that wearisome pursuit known as "pleasure."

_Q._ To whom are holidays profitable?

_A._ To the butchers, the pastry-cooks, and last, but certainly not least,
the doctors.

_Q._ What are the ends of holidays?

_A._ Pills and Bills.

_Q._ What are pills?

_A._ The means by which fortunes are made, and in another sense Clubs kept

_Q._ And Bills?

_A._ Necessary evils laid on the table in the House of Commons, and thrown
into the waste-paper basket in the domestic circle.

_Q._ What is Parliament?

_A._ An assembly of men in which hats are worn when the Members don't want
to talk, and removed when they wish to show what amount of brains they may

_Q._ What is a hat?

_A._ Generally a nuisance.

_Q._ What is cover?

_A._ The profit made by an Outside Broker out of his too confiding

_Q._ What is the difference between an Outside Broker and an Inside Broker?

_A._ One is associated with the Stock Exchange, and the other is usually
made comfortable with a pot of beer and a penny paper in the kitchen.

_Q._ What is a kitchen?

_A._ The source from which happiness or misery flows under the
superintendence of a cook.

_Q._ Describe a cook.

_A._ As a food-preparer he, or she, is often an executioner.

_Q._ What is a century?

_A._ When obtained by a cricketer, an honour; when achieved by an
individual, a distinction that must be shortly followed by extinction.

       *       *       *       *       *

UNWIN'S charming Pseudonym Library is well named _A Study in Temptations_.
It is not in itself an attractive title, but it accurately indicates the
style of the book. It is a study for a novel rather than an accomplished
work. One expects, my Baronite says, that in some leisure time the author
will come back and finish it. It is well worth the labour, being full of
living characters. _Lady Warbeck_ in particular, is excellent, reminiscent
of, and worthy of THACKERAY. The temptingly arranged pages glitter with
shrewd thoughts admirably phrased. BARON DE B.-W.

       *       *       *       *       *

NO DOUBT AS TO THE ANSWER.--In the list of "Noblemen and Gentlemen"
(invidious distinction, by the way) attending the _Levée_ at St. James's
Palace, whose name would be always found?--Why that of "JAMES O. FORBES,
_of Corse_."

       *       *       *       *       *


(_After seeing Ibsen's Dramas._)

  There was a young female in Norway,
  Who fancied herself in a poor way,
        Because she felt that
        Her sweet sex was squeezed flat,
  As though caught in cold Destiny's doorway.

  This rebellious young woman of Norway
  Cried, "Man, in his coarse, brutal boor-way,
        Would wipe his big feet
        On my sex soft and sweet;
  But _I_'ll be no mere mat in Man's doorway!"

  And so this young woman of Norway
  Got IBSEN to write, in cock-sure way,
        Concerning her woes,
        And tip-tilted her nose,
  Crying, "_Now_ womankind will have more way!"

  But alas! this young woman of Norway
  _Still_ feels that her soul's in a poor way,
        Because, in a play,
        She won't charm (so they say)
  Or draw crowds through the theatre's doorway.

       *       *       *       *       *

observed Mrs. R., "as ladies do not want to be recognised, they simply go
in dummy noses."

       *       *       *       *       *

LEGAL QUERY.--When a leading Barrister gets someone to "devil" for him, may
the latter's occupation be correctly described as "devilry"?

       *       *       *       *       *




       *       *       *       *       *

AN ORLEANS PLUM.--Prince HENRI D'ORLÉANS (says the _Times_) has just been
rebuking the British people for the Chauvinism of their Oriental policy.
Like the late M. MASSIE, whose shade he invokes, the young Prince seems to
object to us, not because we commit any specific acts of hostility, but
"because we look on in a most aggravating fashion." This is truly funny!
One country may steal a--Tonkin, but another may not look over a boundary!
Prince HENRY presents a peculiarly close parallel to KEENE'S infuriated
(and incoherent) Paterfamilias, who angrily commanded his silent son "not
to look at him in _that_ tone of voice!"

       *       *       *       *       *

OPERA AND DISESTABLISHMENT.--_La Damnation de Faust_ was produced most
successfully at the Theatre at Monte Carlo. According to some stern
moralists, who regard the Principality as a gambling-hell upon earth, this
particular Opera was in a quite congenial atmosphere. Odd that in the two
Principalities, Monte Carlo and Wales, the objects for Disestablishment
should be so diametrically opposite. In Wales it is the particular Church,
and at Monte Carlo it is the not-at-all-particular t'other word,
unmentionable twice in the same paragraph to ears polite.

       *       *       *       *       *

NEW READING.--(_By a Musical Lady Latinist._)--"Amor et melle et KELLIE est

       *       *       *       *       *



_House of Commons, Monday, February 20._--New Chairman to-day; dropped in
in most casual way. Wondered to see MELLOR wandering about Library and
corridors at three o'clock in afternoon in full evening dress. "Going out
to tea?" I asked, in my genial way.

"Order! order!" said MELLOR; "the Hon. Member will please give notice of
that question." And he stalked off, trying to convey to the mind of his
astonished interlocutor as near an approach to back view of COURTNEY as
could be attained, without loan of late Chairman's famous summer

Everything explained later. Soon as questions over, Mr. G., rising and
fixing glittering eye on SPEAKER, observed, "I beg to move that you, Sir,
do now leave the Chair." Strangers in Gallery pricked up their ears;
thought SPEAKER been doing something, and was now in for it. Right Hon.
Gentleman offered no defence, but meekly left Chair. Mr. G. up again like a
shot. "I beg to move that Mr. MELLOR do take the Chair," he said. Then
MELLOR (fortuitously on spot in evening dress) stepped into Chair, where
through six Sessions, COURTNEY has sat ruling the whirlwind out of order,
and riding on the storm. All done in moment. Before you knew where you
were, there was new Chairman of Committees proposing vote of £2,000 for
rearrangement of rooms in Houses of Parliament. ALPHEUS CLEOPHAS rose, with
evident intent of wanting to know "about these rooms," when irrepressible
Mr. G. on his feet again. "I beg to move," he said, addressing Chairman,
"that you do report progress, and ask leave to sit again."

Rather hard this on MELLOR. Just got into Chair; beginning to feel
comfortable. Had proposed subject that might have agreeably occupied
Committee for half an hour, when here comes the untameable, irresistible,
peremptory Mr. G., and bundles him off. At first some signs of inclination
to resist. New Chairman, having put question and declared it carried,
should forthwith have stepped away from the table. MELLOR dropped into
Chair again.

A moment of embarrassment. COURTNEY, looking critically on form below
Gangway, grimly smiled. Members under Gallery tittered. Clerk nudged new
Chairman in ribs. MELLOR sat on till, lifting his eyes, discovered Mr. G.
meaningly regarding him. Knew he'd be up again if he didn't go; so with
promising alacrity, hopped out of Chair, and disappeared from ken of House.

"Well, I don't know," said honest BILL CREMER. "Of course I don't hold with
COURTNEY'S goings-on in the political field, and he can scarcely have
expected us to keep him on in a snug berth. But this I will say, the
manners of the new Chairman may, so to speak, be more MELLOR, but, as
Chairman of Committees, COURTNEY'll be hard to beat."

_Business done._--"Ban, ban, Caliban, got a new Premier, get a new man"--in
Chairman of Committees.

_Tuesday._--"The life of Her Majesty's Ministers," said the GRAND YOUNG
GARDNER, moodily contemplating his spats, "is not an entirely happy one. I
think I may add that is peculiarly the case with the MINISTER for
AGRICULTURE. I must say, if the language, be not regarded as too

"The MINISTER for AGRICULTURE," I said, desiring to put GARDNER at his
ease, "would be fully justified in using cauliflowery language."

"Thank you. Then I'll say I go to bed with tuberculosis, and get up with
HARRY CHAPLIN. The casual observer is, doubtless, aware that CHAPLIN has an
eye. He sees it gleaming through the eyeglass. I feel it ever upon me. It
is no slight thing to have succeeded a statesman of the calibre of CHAPLIN.
But when he persistently sits opposite you, critically observing all your
movements with that air of supreme intelligence which more than hints that,
as MINISTER for AGRICULTURE, he was personally acquainted with every one of
the cattle on a thousand hills, it is an ordeal that calls into play all
the higher faculties of Man. As to the tuberculosis, it is always breaking
out in unexpected places; people concerned insist upon regarding me as
personally responsible for the visitation."


"But," I said, "you have your little holiday, Saturday to Monday, and get
out to dinner on off-nights?"

"No," he sighed, "the MINISTER for AGRICULTURE has no off-nights; and if I
go to church at the seaside on a Sunday, the Church-warden in passing round
the collection-plate, is sure to steal into my hand a telegram, announcing
a fresh outbreak of tuberculosis. As to going out to dinner----"

[Illustration: Harry'd H-rry Ch-pl-n, as he appeared when meditating on
Bimetallistic and Agricultural Distress.]

"Ministers," CAUSTON here observed, "never dine out when the House is
sitting, unless commanded by the QUEEN, and Whips can't be spared even to
dine with HER MAJESTY."

"As to going out to dinner," continued the GRAND YOUNG GARDNER, ignoring
the interruption of his genial colleague, "it is impossible. It was said, I
believe by one of themselves, 'The Guard dies, but never surrenders.' I may
add, the MINISTER for AGRICULTURE lunches but never dines. What would
become of the Government if a division-bell rang and he was found out of
the way? Now to-night, you would say, looking at the business, I might well
be spared. We commence with KIMBER on disparities in the representation of
constituencies. ROLLIT will follow in the interests of undersized
flat-fish. What has the MINISTER for AGRICULTURE to do with flat-fish of
whatever size? you might ask. To the casual observer, nothing. But, looking
ahead, as the responsibilities of my position make it necessary I should
habitually do, I recall the fact that sometimes the placid pilchard is cast
upon our shores in such quantities as to be carted away for manurial
purposes. I am not intimately acquainted with the pilchard. It is not like
the terrapin a land fish. I am not sure it is flat. Still I have a strong
impression it is undersized. Therefore it might come within the purview of
the discussion on ROLLIT'S motion. MUNDELLA, as you say, is in charge of
the debate, and I might comfortably go to dinner. But what does MUNDELLA
know of manure? No; the MINISTER for AGRICULTURE remains, and will
dine,--if necessary die, at his post."

_Business done._--8:10 P.M., House Counted Out, whilst GRAND YOUNG GARDNER
is explaining how it was he couldn't go out to dinner.

[Illustration: "THE WESTMINSTER PLAY."

_Young Grandolphus_ (_in costume, with appropriate action_). "Hæc recinunt
Juvenes dictata senesque!"]

_Friday_, 12:30 A.M.--Storm subsided. Magnificent whilst it lasted.
GRANDOLPH in fine form. Mr. G., under his influence, renewed his youth like
the eagle. At same time, though Welsh Church may be doomed, supply of cabs
on night like this inadequate. Better be put in yard in good time. KENYON
lingers on scene, still asking for Bill to be "taken _de die in diem_." "As
if he were giving a prescription," said WILFRID LAWSON, back from Mansion
House, where he has seen his portrait presented to Lady LAWSON. KENYON,
with eye on Bishop of ST. ASAPH, up in Peers' Gallery, made desperate
resistance to attack on Church. Bishop looked a little grave when KENYON
dropped into metaphor.


_M-nd-lla._ À cause de mon nom suis-je "alien"?

_J. L-wth-r_ (_heard but not seen_). Non, Monsieur! Mais vous _n'osez_ pas
dire le contraire.]

"Bill like bagged fox, don't you know," said KENYON, nodding confidentially
to SPEAKER. "Meant to run any way you like. What I mean to say is--" and
here he turned for approval to Lord Bishop, consorting in Gallery with his
fighting Dean, "this fox is so tainted with insincerity, or aniseed, that
the hounds may just as well shut up their noses, and have nothing to do
with it."

With this sage remark, and, something horribly like a wink at the Bishop,
KENYON sat down. Up again later, when Closure moved. HICKS-BEACH, in
temporary command of Opposition, deprecated resistance. But KENYON'S blood
up. With strong effort of self-restraint he stopped himself midway in
stentorian shout, "Yoicks!" dexterously turned the "Yo" into "No," and so
saved himself from reproof of SPEAKER. Having got the "No!" he made most of
it. Nothing left but to clear House for Division. Members near entreated
KENYON to desist from further opposition. No use fighting Closure; only
meant another Division and twenty minutes' prolongation of sitting. KENYON,
with eye reverently fixed on Bishop, immovable. Others might falter on the
way; might palter with the truth; might parlay with the enemy. KENYON would
have no compromise, no surrender. "Yoic----" he meant "No! no!" and he
shouted it too.

"Will the Hon. Member name another teller?" said the wary SPEAKER, when
House cleared for Division. KENYON, evidently still seeing the fox steal
away, Aniseed at the Helm and Insincerity at the Prow, almost stumbled on
the name "YOICKS!" Again stopped himself just in time, and looked forlornly
round; eye finally resting on Peers' Gallery. If only the Bishop could
"tell" with him! That evidently out of order. Bishop belonged, to other
House. No one volunteering to stand with him in the breach, and two tellers
being a necessary preliminary to Division, KENYON bent his head in silent
grief, and leave given to bring in Bill which ASQUITH remorselessly
admitted was first step towards Disestablishment of Welsh Church.

_Business done._--Welsh Church Suspensory Bill read First Time, by majority
of 56, in excited House of 546 Members.

_Friday Night._--After the storm, the customary calm. Spent night in
discussing tempting themes of Local Taxation in London, and Superannuation
of School-teachers. On latter subject that _preux Chevalier_, TEMPLE,
laying down the lute, and leaving Amaryllis in the shade, delivered
luminous speech; convinced CHANCELLOR of the EXCHEQUER; made him promise to
fork out.

_Business done._--Much of useful kind.

       *       *       *       *       *

"SUPPOSITIOUS."--"Well," observed our old friend, who was discussing a
recent case that had been headed "Romance in the Court of Chancery," "this
all comes from bringing up a child that they pretended was their own. I
mean what they call 'A Superstitious Child.'"

       *       *       *       *       *

QUITE ANOTHER THING.--With reference to a recent burglary at Sir THOMAS
PIGOT'S, it is stated that "thieves were known to be in the neighbourhood,
and the police have the matter in hand." Wouldn't it be better if they had
the thieves there?

       *       *       *       *       *

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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