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Title: Punch or the London Charivari, Vol. 104, May 27, 1893
Author: Various
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Punch or the London Charivari, Vol. 104, May 27, 1893" ***

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


VOLUME 104, MAY 27TH 1893

edited by Sir Francis Burnand


    [Mr. LEWIS MORRIS has been requested to write an ode
    on the approaching Royal Marriage.]

  AWAKE my Muse, inspire your LEWIS MORRIS
  To pen an ode! to be another Horris!
  "HORACE" I should have written, but in place of it
  You see the word--well, I'm within an _ace_ of it.
  Awake my muse! strike up! your bard inspire
  To write this--"by particular desire."
  Wet towels! Midnight oil! Here! Everything
  That can induce the singing bard to sing.
  Shake me, Ye Nine! I'm resolute, I'm bold!
  Come, Inspiration, lend thy furious hold!
  MORRIS on Pegasus! Plank money down!
  I'll back myself to win the Laureate's Crown!

       *       *       *       *       *

--Mr. JOHN MORLEY arrived last Friday at Kingston. He went to Bray.
He was "accompanied" by the Under Secretary. Surely the Leader of the
Opposition, now at Belfast, won't lose such a chance as this item of
news offers.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE "WATER-CARNIVAL."--Good idea! But a very large proportion of those
whom the show attracts would be all the better for a Soap-and-Water
Carnival. Old Father Thames might be considerably improved by the

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A RESERVED SEAT.



_Mistress (surprised)._ "INDEED!--WHERE WAS THAT?"


       *       *       *       *       *


    (_The Rajah of Bobbili arrived by P.& O. at Marseilles, where he
    was received by Col. Humphrey on behalf of the Queen._)

  There was a gay Rajah of Bobbili
  Who felt when a steamer on wobblely,
    "Delighted," says he,
    "Colonel HUMPHREY to see,"
  So they dined and they drank hobby-nobbeley.

       *       *       *       *       *

IS THE _TIMES_ ALSO AMONG THE PUNSTERS?--In its masterly, or rather
school-masterly, article last Saturday, on "The Divisions on the
Home-Rule Bill," written with the special intention of whipping up the
Unionist absentees, the _Times_ said, "There is an opinion that, with
a measure so far-reaching in its character as the Home-Rule Bill,
pairing should be resorted to as sparingly as possible." The eye
gifted with a three-thousand-joke-search-light power sees the pun at
once, and reproduces it italicised, to be read aloud, thus--"_Pairing_
should be resorted to _as pairingly_ as possible." What shall he have
who makes a pun in the _Times_? Our congratulations. Henceforth, to
the jest-detectors this new development may prove most interesting.

       *       *       *       *       *

their wraps and _Head Coverings_." Evidently no bald men admitted.

       *       *       *       *       *

--"_I Know a Bank!_"

       *       *       *       *       *


    ["Marriage is daily becoming a more commercial affair."
    --_A Society Paper._]

  DEAR FRED,--Your favour of the 3rd,
    Has had my very best attention,
  But yet I cannot, in a word,
    Accept you on the terms you mention;
  Indeed, wherever you may try,
    According to the last advices
  You'll meet, I fear, the same reply--
    "It can't be done, at current prices!"

  In vain an ancient name you show,
    In vain for intellect are noted,
  Blue blood and brains, you surely know,
    At nominal amounts are quoted;
  And then, I see, you're weak enough
    To offer "love, sincere, unstudied,"--
  Why, Sir, with such Quixotic stuff
    The market's absolutely flooded!

  But--every day this fact confirms--
    The time is over for romances,
  And whether we can come to terms
    Depends alone on your finances.
  So, would you think me over-bold
    If I, with deference, requested
  A statement of what funds you hold?
    In what securities invested?

  For, candidly, in such affairs
    A speedy bid your only chance is,
  A boom in Yankee millionnaires
    May soon result in marked advances;
  With you I'd willingly be wed,
    To like you well enough I'm able,
  But first submit your bank-book, FRED,
    To your (perhaps) devoted MABEL!

       *       *       *       *       *


(_By a Fogey._)

      I would I were a boy!
  Not for the tarts we once were fain to eat,
  The penny ice, the jumble sticky-sweet,
      The tip's deciduous joy--

      Not; for the keen delight
  Of break-neck 'scapes, the charm of getting wet,
  The joy of battle (strongest when you get
      Two other chaps to fight).

      No! times have changed since then.
  The social whirlpool has engulfed the boys;
  Robb'd of their simple, hardy, rowdy joys,
      They start from scratch as men.

      The winners in the race!
  Secure of worship, each his triumphs tells,
  Weighing with faintly-praising syllables
      The fairest form and face.

      Once, in the mazy crush,
  Ingenuous youth, half timid, and half proud,
  By girlhood's pity had its claims allow'd,
      And worshipp'd with a blush.

      Time was when tender years
  Would hug sweet sorrow to the heart, and blur
  The cross-barr'd bliss of the confectioner
      With crushed affection's tears.

      That humbleness is sped,
  The vivid blazon of self-conscious youth,
  The unwilling witness to whole-hearted truth,
      Ne'er troubles boyhood's head.

      Now with a solemn pride,
  Lord of the future's limitless expanse,
  The Stoic stripling tolerates the dance
      Weary, yet dignified.

      Propping the mirror'd wall,
  No joy of motion, no desire to please,
  Thaws those high-collar'd Caryatides,
      Inane, imperial.

      Girls, with their collars too,
  Their mannish maskings, and their unveil'd eyes,
  Would feel, if girls can be surprised, surprise
      Should courteous worship woo.

      From their exalted place
  The boys their favours dole, as seems them well,
  Woman's calm tyrants, showing, truth to tell,
      More tolerance than grace.

       *       *       *       *       *

DOUBLE RIDDLE.--Why is a whist-player, fast asleep after his fifth
game, like one of the latest-patented cabs? Because he can be briefly
alluded to as "Rubber Tires." (_Riddle adaptable also to exhausted
manipulator in Turkish Bath after a hard day's work._)

       *       *       *       *       *

(_Knocked-Out--for the Time!_)]

  Pity the sorrows of a poor "Old Man,"
    Whose pouch is emptied of its golden store;
  Whose girth seems dwindling to its shortest span,
    Who needs relief, and needs it more and more.

  _Punch's_ appeal for the marsupial martyr
    Is based upon an ancient nursery model;
  But he will find that he has caught a Tartar,
    Who hints that _Punch_ is talking heartless twaddle.

  Knocked out this round, and verily no wonder!
    The Money-boxing Kangaroo is plucky:
  But when a chance-blow smites the jaw like thunder,
    A champion may succumb to fluke unlucky.

  The Australian Cricketers in their first game
    Went down; but BLACKHAM'S bhoys high hopes still foster;
  Duffers who think 'twill always be the same,
    Reckoned without their GIFFEN! Just ask GLO'STER!

  So our pouched pugilist, though his chance _looks_ poor,
    Will come up smiling soon, surviving failure;
  And an admiring ring will shout once more,
    (_Pardon the Cockney rhyme!_) "Advance, Australia!!!"

       *       *       *       *       *

THE ARMS (AND LEGS) OF THE ISLE OF MAN.--At a discussion on
Sunday-trading, one day last month, there was an attempt made to raise
a question as to breach of privilege. The Speaker, however, stopped
this at the outset, advising them that they "hadn't a leg to stand
upon." Very little advantage in having three legs on such an occasion.
The odd part of these Manx-men's legs is that they are their arms.
It was originally selected as pictorially exhibiting the innocent
character of the Manx Islanders. For their greatest enemy must own
that "the strange device" of the three legs is utterly 'armless.

       *       *       *       *       *


(_By a Cab-horse._)

  Don't talk to us in praise of rain!
  When we are slipping once again;
            This beastly shower
  Has made wood-pavements thick with slime.
  Suppose you try another time,
            By mile or hour;

  See how you'd like to trot and trip,
  To stop and stagger, slide and slip,
            Pulled up affrighted,
  Urged madly on, then checked once more,
  Whilst from some omnibus's door
            Some lout alighted.

  You would not find much cause to laugh,
  Like us, you would not care for chaff
            Were you such draggers;
  Your shoes would soon be off, or worn,
  You'd get, what we don't often, corn,
            And end with staggers.

  You'd long to be put out to grass,
  Infrequent so far with your class--
  Was quite an isolated case--
  You would be tired of life's long-race;
            Slaves who in Fez are,

  On the Sahara could not bear
  Such toil as falleth to our share,
            For death would free them.
  You say the farmer wants the wet
  For meadows; pray do not forget
            We never see them.

  Philanthropists, why don't you walk?
  Of slaves' hard lives you blandly talk,
            Like "Uncle TOM"--nay,
  You think what your own horses do,
  But we--there, get along with you!
            _Allez vous promener!_

       *       *       *       *       *

CHANGE ITS NAME!--An estate in the Island of Fowlness, Essex, of 382
acres, was put up to auction last week, and, according to the _Daily
News_ there was only one bid at a little short of eight pounds per
acre. "The property was withdrawn." This step was judicious and
correct. It was an act of fairness to Fowlness. But then, does it
sound nice for anyone to say, "I'm living in the midst of Fowlness"?
It may be a Paradise, but it doesn't sound like it.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: MISUNDERSTOOD.



       *       *       *       *       *

The Mellor of the C.

AIR--_"The Miller of the Dee."_

  There was a jolly MELLOR,
    The Chairman of Com-mit_tee_;
  They worried him from noon till night--
    "No lark is this!" sighed he;
  And this the burden of his song
    For ever seems to be,
  "I care for e-ve-rybody,--why
    Does nobody care for me?"

       *       *       *       *       *

VESTRIES, PLEASE COPY!--Sir RICHARD TEMPLE has announced a reduction
of the School-Board Rate by a farthing in the pound. May he never
become a ruined Temple owing to such economies! The Rate-payers will
be grateful for even a fraction of a penny, so long as it is not an
improper fraction. This sort of saving is far better than squabbling
over Theology. Says _Mr. Punch_ to Schoolboardmen, "Rate the public
lightly, and don't rate each other at all!"

       *       *       *       *       *

NEW SARUM VERSION OF "_DERRY DOWN_."--"Derry _up!_ up! Up, Derry, up!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Poor Letter H.

SCENE--_Undergraduate's Room in St. Boniface's College, Oxford.
Breakfast time._

_Servant._ I see, Sir, you don't like the butter. Summer _h_air will
get to it this 'ot weather.

_Testy Undergrad._ Confound it, LUKER, I don't mind the--ahem--hair,
but kindly let me have my butter bald the next time!

  [_He had swallowed a hair._

       *       *       *       *       *

_Under the Great Seal_ is a new work by Mr. JOSEPH HATTON. The Busy
Baron hath not yet had time to read it, but, from answers given to his
"fishing interrogatories," he gathers that international piscatorial
questions are ably discussed in the work. JOSEPH has lost a chance in
not dedicating it to SEALE-HAYNE, M.P., and, instead of being brought
out by HUTCHINSON & Co., it ought to have been published by SEELEY.
However, even JOSEPHUS HATTONENSIS can't think of everything, though
he does write on most things.

       *       *       *       *       *



_A Potential Purchaser (meeting a friend)._ Ha--just come in to take a
look round, eh? So did I. Fact is--(_with a mixture of importance
and apology_) I rather thought of _buying_ a picture here, if I see
anything that takes my _fancy_--y' know.

_His Friend (impressed)._ Not many who can afford to throw money away
on pictures, these hard times!

_The P. P. (anxious to disclaim any idea of recklessness)._ Just the
time to pick 'em up cheap, if you know what you're about. And you see,
we've had the drawing-room done up, and the wife wants something to
fill up the space over her writing-table, between the fireplace and
one of the windows. She was to have met me here, but she couldn't turn
up, so I shall have to do it all myself--unless you'll come and help
me through with it?

_His Friend._ Oh, if I can be of any use--What sort of thing do you

_The P. P._ Well, that's the difficulty. She says it must match the
new paper. I've brought a bit in my pocket with me. His Friend. Then
you can't go _very_ far wrong!

_The P. P._ I don't know. It's a sort of paper that--here, I'd better
show it you. (_He produces a sample of fiery and untamed colour._)
That'll give you an _idea_ of it.

_His Friend (inspecting it dubiously)._ Um--yes. I see you'll have to
be _careful_.

_The P. P._ Careful, my dear fellow! I assure you I've been all
through the Academy, and there wasn't a thing there that could stand
it for a single moment--not even the R.A.'s!

  [_They enter the West Room._


_An Insipid Young Person (before_ Mr. TADEMA'S "_Unconscious
Rivals_"). Yes, that's _marble_, isn't it?

  [_Smiles with pleasure at her own penetration._

_Her Mother (cautiously)._ I _imagine_ so. (_She refers to
Catalogue._) Oh! I see it's a Tadema, so of _course_ it's marble. He's
the great _man_ for it, you know!

_First Painter (who had nothing ready to send in this year)._ H'm,
yes. Can't say I care about the way he's placed his azalea. I should
have kept it more to the left, myself.

_Second Painter (who sent in, but is not exhibiting)._ Composition
wants bringing together, and the colour scheme is a little
unfortunate, but--(_generously_) I shouldn't call it altogether _bad_.

_First Painter (more grudgingly)._ Oh, you can see what he was
_trying_ for--only--well, it's not the way _I_ should have gone about

  [_They pass on tolerantly._

_The I. Y. P._ Can you make this picture out, Mamma? "_The Track of
the Strayed?_" The Strayed _what_?

_Her Mother._ Sheep, I should suppose, my dear--but it would have
been more satisfactory certainly if the animal had been shown _in_ the

_The I. Y. P._ Yes, ever so much. Oh, here's a portrait of Mr.
GLADSTONE reading the Lessons in Hawarden Church. I _do_ like
that--don't you?

_Her Mother._ I'm not sure that I do, my dear. I wonder they permitted
the Artist to paint any portrait--even Mr. GLADSTONE'S--during

_The P. P. (before another canvas)._ Now that's about the size I want;
but I'm not sure that my wife would quite care about the _subject_.

_His Friend._ I'm rather fond of these allegorical affairs myself--for
a drawing-room, you know.

_The P. P._ Well, I'll just try the paper against it. (_He applies
the test, and shakes his head._) "There, you _see_--knocks it all to
pieces at once!"

[Illustration: "There, you _see_--knocks it all to pieces at once!"]

_His Friend._ I was afraid it would, y' know. How will _this_ do
you--_"A Naiad"?_

_The P. P._ I shouldn't object to it myself, but there's the Wife to
be considered--and then, a _Naiad_--eh?

_His friend._ She's half _in_ the water.

_The P. P._ Yes, but then--those lily-leaves in her hair, you know,
and--and coming up all dripping like that--no, it's hardly worth while
bringing out the paper again!

_The I. Y. P._ Isn't this queer--"_Neptune's Horses_"?--They _can't_
be intended to represent _waves_, surely!

_Her Mother._ It's impossible to tell what the Painter intended, my
dear, but I never saw waves so like horses as that.


_The I. Y. P. "Cain's First Crime."_ Why, he's only feeding a stork! I
don't see any crime in that.

_Her Mother._ He's giving it a live lizard, my dear.

_The I. Y. P._ But storks _like_ live lizards, don't they? And ADAM
and EVE are looking on, and don't seem to mind.

_Her Mother._ I expect that's the moral of it. If they'd taken it away
from him, and punished him at the time, he wouldn't have turned out so
badly as he did--but it's too late to think of that _now_!

_A Matter-of-fact Person (behind)._ I wonder, now, where he got his
_authority_ for that incident. It's new to _me_.


_The Mother of the I. Y. P._ Oh, CAROLINE, _you_'ve got the
Catalogue--just see what No. 288 is, there's a dear. It seems to be
a country-house, and they're having dinner in the garden, and some
of the guests have come late, and without dressing, and there's the
hostess telling them it's of no consequence. What's the title--"_The
Uninvited Guests_," or "_Putting them at their Ease_," or what?

_The I. Y. P._ It only says, _"The Rose-Garden at Ashridge_
(containing portraits of the Earls of PEMBROKE and BROWNLOW, the
Countesses of ----").

  [_She reads out the list to the end._

_Her Mother._ What a _nice_ picture! Though one would have thought
such smart folks wouldn't have come to dinner in riding-boots,
and shawls, and things--but of course they can afford to be less
particular. And the dessert is beautifully done!


_The I. Y. P._ Why, here are "_Neptune's Horses" again!_ Don't you
remember we saw a picture of them before? But I like this better,
because here you get Neptune and his chariot.

_Her Mother._ He's made his horses a little too like fish, for my

_The I. Y. P._ I suppose they _were_ a sort of fish--and after all,
one isn't expected to believe in all that nowadays, is one? So it
doesn't really matter.

_First Horsey Man._ Tell you what, Old Neptune'll come to awful grief
with that turn-out of his in another second.

_Second H. M._ Rather--regular bolt--and no ribbons to hold 'em by,

_First H. M._ Rummy idea, having cockleshells on the traces.

_Second H. M._ Oh, I don't know--one of the Hussar regiments has 'em.

_First H. M._ Ah, so they have. I suppose that's where he got the

  [_They go out, feeling that the picture is satisfactorily
    accounted for._

_The P. P. (before a small canvas)._ Yes, this is the right thing at
last. The paper doesn't seem to put it out in the least, and the sort
of subject, you know, that _no_ one can object to. I've quite fallen
in love with it. I don't care what it costs--I positively _must_ have
it. I'm sure the wife will be as fond of it as I am. I only hope it's
not sold--here, let's go and see.

  [_They go._


_The P. P. (turning over the priced Catalogue)._ Ah, here it is!
It's unsold--it's marked down at--(_his face falls_)--eleven--eleven
--that's _rather_ over my limit. (_To his Friend._) Do you mind
waiting while I try the paper on it once more? (_His Friend consents;
the P. P. returning, after an interval_.) No, I had my doubts from
the beginning--it _won't_ do, after all!

_His Friend._ But I thought you said the paper didn't put it out?

_The P. P._ It doesn't--but the picture takes all the shine out of the

_His Friend._ I suppose you couldn't very well change the paper--eh?

_The P. P._ Change the paper?--when it's only been up a week, and cost
seven-and-six the piece! My _dear_ fellow, what are you talking about?
No, no--I must see if I can't get a picture to match it at MAPLE'S,
that's all.

_His Friend (vaguely)._ Yes, I suppose they understand all that sort
of thing there.

  [_They go out, relieved at having arrived at a decision._

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: CARNIVOROUS.

(_On Hospitable Thoughts intent._)



       *       *       *       *       *


TO MR. PUNCH, SIRR,--You're a patriot, divil a less.

Is it fair, I ask you, Sirr, is it fair to quote the Universal Bard
against us Ulster, _et ne plus_ Ulster, Loyalists? Yet this is the
line which a man who used to call himself "a friend of mine" sends
me, and he puts a drawing with it, which I can't, and won't reproduce,
representing a moon up in the sky, labelled "Home Rule," and a pack
of wolves (a pack of idiots, for all they're like wolves, for that
matter), on which he writes "Ulster," with their mouths open,
looking up at it. And this, he says, is an illustration of a line in

    "The howling of Irish wolves against the moon,"

which you'll find in _As You Like It_ (whether you like it or not),
Act V., Sc. 2. If the O'CHAMBERLAIN, or the O'SAUNDERSON, or any of
'em, can make use of this, they're welcome to it.


       *       *       *       *       *

  HOOK-Y SAILOR.--"_Inauguration of a New Service to the Continent_
  vià _Harwich and the Hook of Holland._"

This sounds as if it ought to catch on. Is the Hook of Holland any
relation to the THEODORE HOOK family of England? Were that eminent
wit now alive, he would be the first to ask such a question. The
route sounds a pleasant one.

    _Advice to Tourists_,--Keep your Eye on the Hook.

       *       *       *       *       *


MY DEAR MR. PUNCH,--I observe that in a preliminary notice that has
been sent round to the Press by the Executive Council (I suppose that
that is the proper title of the Governing Body of the forthcoming
Royal Military Tournament), it is said that there is likely to be
some novelty in the mimic warfare known as the Combined Display of
all Arms. The circular informs those whom it may concern, that "it is
intended that, so far as space will allow, the scene shall be that of
one of the more recent conflicts in which British troops were actually
engaged, and special information from those present on such occasions
has been invited, so that the result is likely to be of more than
ordinary interest."

Quite so. I call your particular attention to the last few words
in the above sentence, in which reference is made to "the special
information from those present on such occasions." I thought the idea
so good, that I immediately prepared a scheme for the adoption of
the Royal Military Tournament, founded upon my acquaintance with
the manners and customs of the English army when at Islington and
elsewhere. I give it for what it is worth--not much, but (to quote the
once popular song) "better than nothing at all."


A dozen Infantry privates saunter leisurely into their places,
half-way across the arena, and await events.

Enter Bridging Battalion, Royal Engineers. They bridge over an
old cloth river. The dozen Infantry men wait until the erection is
completed, and then fire a volley. The Sappers return the compliment.
No one hurt, and the dozen retire to the tower-like gateway in the
background. The Artillery at this point rush in and trot over the
newly-erected bridge. They then fire in the direction of the dozen
heroes, but without any apparent result.

Grand charge of Colonial Cavalry, with and without additional men.
They act as Mounted Infantry. They are fired upon--in a half-hearted
sort of way--by the dozen of Infantry seeking shelter in the gateway.
The fire seems to agree with them.

Enter an Ambulance Corps to pick up one of the colonists who has
obligingly been wounded by the blank cartridges of the dozen Infantry.

Sudden appearance of the strength of the entire company. The gateway
is stormed, and the dozen Infantry men are overpowered. Music on the
band--"_Rule Britannia!_" and the _National Anthem_. Great cheering
while some one waves the Union Jack. End of the performances.

There, my dear _Mr. Punch_, that is what I have sent to the "powers
that are" at Islington. Whether it has been accepted or rejected I do
not know. You will be able to see for yourself when the proper time

But then, I can assure you, my sketch is _exactly like the real
thing_. It is not unsuggestive of the Battle of Waterloo, the siege of
Sebastopol, or the taking of Pekin. This is my "special information,
as one present on such occasions," and it is heartily at the service
of the Executive. To be worthy of my title, I would beg you to send
me, say, a fiver, or even a sov, or (if that is too much) a dollar.

I do not ask for the money as a gift, but as a loan. I prefer the
latter to the former, although a long experience has taught me that
gift and loan have much the same meaning.

  Yours truly,

       *       *       *       *       *

Funny Frenchman" over here, at the Albambra, and now we have "The
Calculating Frenchman," M. JACQUES INAUDI, who, last week, at a
_séance_, exhibited his marvellous powers of addition, multiplication,
subtraction, and division. It is an error to suppose that he was
educated for the French Navy, and has been appointed to a ship, which
he was to have adorned as a "wonderful Figure-head." By the side of
this Figure-head the "Calculating Buoy" would have been quite at sea.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: DOWN A PEG.

_Mr. Gifted Hopkins (Minor Poet, Essayist, Critic, Golfer,
Fin-de-Siècle Idol, &c.)._ "OH, MRS. SMART--A--I'VE BEEN THINKING, FOR

_Mrs. Smart (cheerfully)._ "PLEASE GO ON THINKING, MR. HOPKINS,--AND

       *       *       *       *       *


(_Latest Ulsterical Version._)

  The Minstrel-boy to the war is gone,
    By the Belfast road he's coming;
  His Party sword he has girded on
    And his wild harp loud he's thrumming.
  "Land of bulls!" said the warrior bard,
    "Though GLADSTONE'S gang betrays thee,
  _One_ sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,
    _One_ faithful harp shall praise thee!"

  The Minstrel's loud--though a little late;
    What he hopes to gain some wonder;
  But he swears that harp shall preserve the State,
    Which his foes would rend asunder.
  He shouts, "Home Rule shall not sully thee,
    Ulster, thou soul of bravery!
  I'll harp wild war, aye, from sea to sea,
    Ere the Loyalists stoop to slavery!"


(_For use in Clubs and other places where men--and minstrels--are

  The Minstrel's hot, and a trifle tired,
    For his Whitsun task is a torrid one;
  Such holiday-fervour _must_ be admired,
    But the precedent's rather a horrid one.
  E'en Minstrel-boys of Ulsterical zeal,
    Might now and then like a jolly-day;
  And the brave bard's harp, and the warrior's steel,
    Take, together, occasional holiday.

       *       *       *       *       *


(_By Professor H-xl-y._)

_Question._ What is rest?

_Answer._ Unperceived activity.

_Q._ Which is the best way of keeping awake?

_A._ By falling off to sleep.

_Q._ What is sleep?

_A._ Concealed consciousness.

_Q._ What is strength?

_A._ Weakness in excess.

_Q._ What is pessimism?

_A._ Optimism developed to its utmost possibilities.

_Q._ What are possibilities?

_A._ Impossibilities carried into action.

_Q._ What is selfishness?

_A._ Pity in the concrete.

_Q._ What is the summit of civilisation?

_A._ The commencement of barbarism.

_Q._ What is nature?

_A._ Art in its initial form.

_Q._ What is the survival of the fittest?

_A._ The Romanes Lecture.

_Q._ What was its comparative commencement?


_Q._ And what has been its absolute end?

_A._ Positive ... bosh.

       *       *       *       *       *

"THE WORLD'S FAIR."--Yes, so it is, perhaps, occasionally, to some
people; but "The World's _Un_fair" to those on whom it chooses to sit
in judgment.

       *       *       *       *       *


    [Some indignation has been expressed at the manners of many of
    the "well-dressed mob" at the Prince of WALES's Reception
    at the Imperial Institute on Wednesday night last, manners
    displayed in rudely "mobbing" the Royal party, and hissing,
    hooting, and shouting "Traitor!" at Mr. GLADSTONE, one of the
    Prince's guests.]

  EH? Indignation? Why _such_ passion waste?
  Gladstoneophobia has destroyed Good Taste;
  And rowdy rudeness does not shock, but please,
  "The mob of gentlemen who _hoot_ with ease.
  As for the ladies, bless their angry hearts!
  They've Primrosed into playing fish-wife parts;
  And now 'tis one of Patriotism's tests
  That you should hiss and hoot your fellow-guests.
  Should they dare don a rival party vesture;
  Billingsgate rhetoric and Borough gesture
  Invade the (party) precincts of Mayfair--
  To express the vulgar wrath now raging there.
  We are Mob-ruled indeed--when Courtly Nob
  Apes, near his Prince, the manners of the Mob!
  The hoot is owlish; there are just two things
  That hiss--one venom-fanged, one graced with wings.
  Anserine or serpentine, ye well-dressed rowdies?
  Dainty-draped dames, or duffel-skirted dowdies,
  They who in rudeness thus their spite would slake,
  Have plainly head of goose, and heart of snake!
  So why indulge in indignation blind
  'Gainst those who hiss or hoot--after their kind?

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "THE MINSTREL BOY."


       *       *       *       *       *




  O SINO SAN! O SINO SAN! Who waketh me at morn!
  Why is it that I feel of thee unutterable scorn?

  When I behold thy greasy poll and little piggy eyes,
  I fear that they have told of thee unwarrantable lies!
  They told me when I wandered forth to seek thee in Japan,
  That I should find a priceless girl, too beautiful for man.

  They told me of thy cherry cheeks, thy hair of night-dark sable,
  And how you squatted on the floor--the Japanese for table;
  They gushed about your merry ways, your manners without flaw,
  In thee, the girl idealised, you little fraud, we saw.

  But now in wind-swept bleak Japan as our sore throats we muffle,
  We see thy senseless pudding face and irritating shuffle;
  As you go slopping thro' the streets of your foul-smelling city,
  You're far too common to be rare, too brainless to be witty.

  Your senseless, everlasting grin, your squatting monkey shape,
  Proclaim your Ma marsupial, your ancestor an ape!

  A curio they promised us to drive a lover crazy,
  With little soft canoodling ways, and sweetness of a daisy.
  We read of thee in tea-house neat, in cherry-blossomed pages,
  But find a girl of gin-saloon and Yoshiwara cages.

  You lure the European on, admire his rings and collars,
  But never really love his lips, invariably his dollars;
  We'd all forgive thy grin, guffaw, and rancid-smelling tresses,
  If we could trace thy fraud, O SAN, in half-a-dozen guesses.
  It's lasted long, it's lasted strong, it cannot last much longer,
  For if the crank be competent, my common sense is stronger.

  The English woman flashes scorn from all her comely features,
  To be compared by any man with such "disgusting creatures."
  And all the fair Americans, who roam the wide world over,
  Will trample down this windy chaff and Japaneesy clover.
  'Tis not thy fault, O SINO SAN--we find the truth and strike it,
  Farewell, thou AUDREY of the East--grin on then "As you Like It!"
  But never more by writer bold be canonised or sainted,
  Deluded Doll! O SINO SAN, you're blacker than you're painted!

  _Yokohama, April 1, 1893._

       *       *       *       *       *


_Monday, May 15._--First Night of Italian-Opera Season no longer
exclusively Italian. A great deal, though not everything, in a good
start, so Sir DRURIOLANUS leads off with Warbling WAGNER'S _Lohengrin_,
Signor VIGNAS for first time being White Knight. Crowded House at
once takes to VIGNAS; applauds, and recalls him to bow before the
curtain. So, as the now popular song might have it,

    "Tenor came and made us a bow-wow!"

Madame MELBA good as ever as _Elsa_, and Mlle. MEISSLINGER most
dramatic as Somebody Elser, _i.e., Ortruda_, the Intruder. Mons.
DUFRICHE'S style is exactly suited to the light and airy part of
_Federico di Telramondo_, while CASTELMARY is quite the gay _Enrico_.
Treat to see VASCHETTI as smiling Herald, with a lot to say for
somebody else, and pleasant to note that the last person in the
_dramatis personæ_ included in the cast of the Opera is "Conductor,
Signor MANCINELLI," who beats time, winning easily. BEVIGNANI conducts
_National Anthem_, and all conduct themselves loyally on the occasion.
Delightful, in _Lohengrin_, Act II., to observe how four players
of trumps, each with one trump in his hand,--quite a pleasant whist
party--(have they the other trumps up their sleeves?)--arouse the
guests in the early morning, and marvellous is the rapidity with which
all the gentlemen sleeping in the Castle are up and dressed in full
armour, freshly burnished,--"gents suit complete,"--within the space
of a couple of minutes!

General excellence of performance greatly assisted by Duke of TECK
enthusiastically beating time with his dexter band. Such auxiliary
conducting must be of unspeakable service to Signor MANCINELLI.

_Tuesday Night._--_Orfeo_, with GIULIA RAVOGLI charming as ever in
her representation of "_Orpheus_ with his _loot_,"--his "loot" being
_Eurydice_, who had become the private property of that infernal
monarch Pluto. Welcome to Mlle. BAUERMEISTER as the Meister of Cupid's
Bower, Cupid himself. _Cavalleria Rusticana_ to follow, with Madame
CALVÉ'S grand impersonation of the simple and sad _Santuzza_. Notably
good is VIGNAS as the Rustic Swell, with the comic-chorus name of
_Turiddu_. Beautiful _intermezzo_ heartily encored. The thanks of
Signors BEVIGNANI and MANCINELLI again due to the dexterous assistance
rendered to them by the Duke of TECK, who is evidently well up in the
Teck-nique of the musical craft. Crowded House. _Forecast of season_,
full of promise and performance.

[Illustration: Signor Vignas as Turiddu,--so called because he tells
Lola, "I should like _Turid-you_ of your husband." But he didn't.]

[Illustration: Santuzza, Madame Calvé. Grand tragédienne: gloomy as an
Operatic Calvé-nist.]

_Thursday.--Carmen._ Always "good BIZET-ness." But on this occasion
Madame CALVÉ being indisposed, Mlle. SIGRID ARNOLDSON appears as
heroine. A most captivating _Carmen_, but so deftly does she dissemble
her wickedness that the audience do not realise how heartless is this
artful little cigarette-maker. Mons. ALVAREZ a fine _Don José_. The
_premières danseuses_ lively and picturesque in Act II., with dresses
long and dance short; but in Last Act, when reverse of this is the
case, a pretty general feeling that skirts might have been longer, and
dance shorter. Chorus and Orchestra all that could be desired; absence
of the musical Duke much regretted.

_Friday._--First, GOUNOD'S charming burletta of _Philemon et Baucis_.
Mlle. SIGRID ARNOLDSON charming and childlike as _Baucis_--evidently
the classic original of Bo-peep--and Mons. PLANÇON excellent as
_Jupiter Amans_. At first afraid lest crowded house had expended
all its enthusiasm before quarter past ten, when _the_ event of the
evening was to come off. "Not a bit of it," says Sir DRURIOLANUS, who
knows his operatic public; "they've just warmed up for LEONCAVALLO'S
_Pagliacci_. LEONCAVALLO," he continues, "is the composer for my
money; and my advice is, LAY-ON-CAVALLO'S _Pagliacci_." So saying, the
Musical Manager lightly touches his nasal organ with the index finger
of his right hand, and, at the same time "winking the other eye," he
marches in a procession of one down the lobby and disappears.

Great as is the success to-night of new Opera, I feel sure that
_Cavalleria_, with its simple story, and its marvellous _intermezzo_,
is still at the head of the poll. Yet is _Pagliacci_ melodious and
dramatic. Madame MELBA at her best in _Nedda_, and the dramatic
power, specially of Signor DE LUCIA as _Canio_ and of Mons. ANCONA as
_Tonio_, would have carried the piece, as a piece, even without the
musical setting. To-night _De Lucia_ shows himself a great actor.
There were _encores_ in plenty. _Ancona Tonio_ interrupts the overture
in order to sing a prologue. This he does admirably, both vocally and
histrionically. But _cui bono_? It is as pointless as is nowadays the
prologue of CHRISTOPHER SLY to the _Taming of the Shrew_. It seems as
if LEONCAVALLO said to himself, "_Mascagni_ gave 'em a novelty in his
_intermezzo_; I'll give 'em something new in the shape of a prologue."
_Pagliacci_ and _Cavalleria_ will assist each other, and Sir
DRURIOLANUS is fortunate in being able to run two winners. The new
Opera is admirably rendered in every respect, and when Mr. RICHARD
GREEN, as the gallant young farmer, is matured--that is, has less
of the GREEN about him and more of the ripeness of artistic
perfection--there will not be a single fault to find with the
representation. To-night second Opera didn't end till just on
twelve. Too late; but the hospitable RULE'S in Maiden Lane is open to
exceptions for half an hour or so, and, "after the Opera is over," a
little supper _chez_ BAYLISS is a B(ay)lissful idea.

_Saturday.--Faust_ to finish. MELBA as _Marguerite_. First week augurs
well for the season.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: DELIGHTFUL!

_Smithson, having read and heard much of the pleasures of a Driving
Tour, determines to indulge in that luxury during his Whitsuntide
Holidays. He therefore engages a Trap, with a Horse that can "get over
the ground," and securing the services of an experienced Driver, he
sets forth._


       *       *       *       *       *


_Q._ What is your opinion about Chancery?

_A._ That, thanks to work being given to Solicitors in preference to
Barristers, litigation is more expensive in that branch of the science
than in any other.

_Q._ How comes it that this should be so?

_A._ A Barrister is forced to do his best for his client, but a
Solicitor is not. As a rule the Solicitor deputes to his Chief Clerk
if he has one, or somebody in the office if he has not, the duties of
conducting a suit through Chambers.

_Q._ What is the practical result of this arrangement?

_A._ That a suit when it once gets into Chambers takes a precious long
time in coming out.

_Q._ But making allowance for these little drawbacks, what is your
opinion of the Law in England?

_A._ That emphatically it consists of the best forensic regulations in
the universe.

       *       *       *       *       *

A NEW CLAUSE IN THE HOME-RULE BILL.--Instead of a Parliament in
Dublin, let the Governing Body be called "A Diet," as it is in
Bohemia. There would be a First House, to be called the "High Diet,"
and a Second House, to be called "Short Commons, or Low Diet." There
would be no "Parliamentary Rules," but everything would be ordered
according to a "Dietary." Perhaps Dr. ROBSON ROOSE might be induced
to take a leading part in suggesting some of these arrangements.
The "Orders of the Day" would be "Prescriptions," the Bills
"Dinner-Bills," or "_Menus_." A Chairman, not a Speaker, would
preside, and the subordinates--such as Clerks, Sergeant-at-Arms,
and Assistants--would be Stewards, Head Waiters, and other Waiters.
Prayers would be said by "The Ordinary."

       *       *       *       *       *

ODDS in favour of Australian Cricketing Team--"GIFFEN" and taken.

       *       *       *       *       *



_Home of Commons, Monday, May 15._--Mr. G. reminded of advance of time
by appearance on Parliamentary scene of new generations. All remember
when JOEY C. arrived from Birmingham, and have watched his meteoric
flight from level of Provincial Mayor to loftiest height of
Parliamentary position. Only the other week Mr. G. was paying
well-deserved compliment to a younger CHAMBERLAIN making his maiden
speech; to-day he has a kindly, fatherly word of friendly recognition
of maiden speech of youngest CAVENDISH. No mere compliment this,
extorted by old associations and personal predilections. Young VICTOR
went about his work in style reminiscent of middle-aged HARTINGTON.
Abstained from oratorical effort. Neither exordium nor peroration.
Got some business in hand, and plodded on till it was finished. Modest
mien, simple, unaffected manner, instantly won friendly attention of
crowded House.

"_Ay de mi!_ TOBY," said Mr. G. "These things make me think I'm not so
young as I was."

"Younger Sir," I said. "Pup and dog, I've known you twenty years;
heard most of your speeches in that time; honestly declare that for
lightness of touch, swiftness of attack, wariness of defence, not to
speak of eloquence, I've never heard you excel some of your speeches
this Session."

"Well, well, TOBY," said Mr. G., blushing in fashion never learned by
youth of to-day, "that's due to your too friendly way of looking at
things. What I was about to say is, that ever since I entered public
life I have always known a CAVENDISH to the fore. Ministries may rise
and fall; the CAVENDISHES remain. Curious thing is they have not--at
least in recent times--personally a passion for politics, as PITT had,
or such as, in some degree, influences me. They would, if they had
their own way, be out of it.


But the CAVENDISHES have had their place in English public life
throughout the Century, and, it being their duty to fill it, they fill
it. Young VICTOR'S speech on Friday night carried me back over space
of thirty-four years. I remember another CAVENDISH coming out. He
moved resolution which defeated DERBY'S Government in 1859. I remember
the difficulty we had in bringing him up to the scratch. It was BRIGHT
who finally succeeded. BRIGHT always had great opinion of HARTINGTON'S
ability, a view, as we have seen, amply justified. A great deal has
happened since 1859, and now here's another CAVENDISH moving another
Amendment, and, oddly enough"--here Mr. G.'s face wrinkled into smile
of delighted humour--"it's ME who would be turned out of office if the
Amendment were carried."

[Illustration: Victor, or Vig-Tory-ish, Cavendish.

In the Spring Unionist Time of his Youth.]

Being thus in melting mood, Mr. G. suddenly turned upon inoffensive
JESSE COLLINGS, who had been saying a few words, and almost literally
rent him into, fragments. Scarcely anything left of him but benevolent
though feeble smile.

_Business Done._--Very little in Committee on Home-Rule Bill.

_Tuesday Night._--AMBROSE, Q.C., roused at last. House known him for
eight years; only to-night learned that it has been cherishing upon
its bosom a sleeping volcano. Following fortunes of Conservative
leaders, AMBROSE has crossed and re-crossed floor, always taking
up seat about centre of Bench immediately behind PRINCE ARTHUR;
has occasionally risen thence and offered a few observations.
Characteristic of him that he was born in a Cathedral town; is a
Bencher of the Middle Temple.

  Persuasion tips his tongue whene'er he'll talk,
  And he has Chambers near the King's Bench Walk.

These things we knew; but not till to-night came discovery how
persuasive AMBROSE can be.

It was the Tenth Clause of the Home-Rule Bill that roused the
(attorney's) devil in him. Fact that Clause II. was under discussion,
and consequently out of order to debate Clause X., an incident of
no consequence, except that it indirectly supplied incentive to his
passionate eloquence, and led to disclosure of the true AMBROSE. When
he approached Clause X., cries of "Order! Order!" interrupted. The
Chairman recalled him to consideration of Clause II. He came back,
said a few words on amendment, then was off again at Clause X.,
pursued by howls. Had got a start, and kept it through some moments of
thunderous excitement. Waved his arms, thumped his papers; shouted
at top of voice; House still howling; Chairman on feet ineffectually
protesting. "Glad to see the SOLICITOR-GENTLEMAN in his place," he
observed, in one of the temporary pauses, (RIGBY usually alluded to as
the SOLICITOR-GENERAL, but AMBROSE, once started in new character, was
lavish in originality.) "Need I go further?" he asked, a few moments
later. House, with one accord, shouted "No!" "Now Sir," he added,
waving his notes in face of Chairman, "I've done with the Tenth
Clause." But he hadn't; its mastery over him was irresistible, even
uncanny. "I should like to know what the SOLICITOR-GENERAL" (got
it right this time) "if he were at liberty to speak" (this with a
withering glance at Mr. G.), "would say about the Tenth Clause?"

A roar angrier than ever burst forth; shouts of "Name! Name!"
persistently heard above uproar; Chairman on his feet, with hands
outstretched; crisis evidently arrived; AMBROSE will be named to a
dead certainty; suspended, and, perhaps, in addition to his bench
at the Middle Temple, will have one provided for him in Clock Tower.
Would like to have said few more words on Tenth Clause, but numbers
against him overwhelming. So wildly waved his notes in sort of forlorn
despairing farewell, and resumed his seat. Incident created profound

"It's all very well CHAMBERLAIN insisting on keeping this
thing going," said PRINCE ARTHUR, anxiously; "but I have my
responsibilities. If Debate at this comparatively early stage thus
affects a man like AMBROSE, where shall we all be in another week?"

_Business done._--Still on Clause II.

_Wednesday._--Pretty to see GORST just now balancing MACARTNEY'S hat
by brim on tip of his nose. Looks easy enough when done by an
expert; those inclined to scoff at the accomplishment should try it
themselves. Opportunity came suddenly, and unexpectedly. No ground for
supposing GORST had been practising the trick in the Cloak-room before
entering House. No collusion; all fair and above-board--or, rather,
above nose. Came about as incident in Committee on Home-Rule Bill.
JOKIM, taking part in game of Chairman-baiting, challenged MELLOR'S
ruling on putting Motion to Report Progress. House being cleared for a
Division, rules of debate require Member to address Chair seated, and
wearing his hat. What would happen to British Constitution if, in
such circumstances, Member rose and addressed SPEAKER or Chairman in
ordinary fashion, Heaven only knows. No mere man bold enough to try
it. Even Mr. G., who has Disestablished a Church, and now tampers with
Unity of the Empire, shrinks before this temptation.

JOKIM, making his complaint, got along all right. Performed task
in due form; MELLOR justified his action; GORST proposed to follow.
Hadn't got his hat with him; but that of no consequence, since JOKIM
was at hand. "Lend me one of your hats," he whispered hurriedly to his
Right Hon. Friend.

"What do you mean?" said JOKIM. "I've only one."

"Oh!" said GORST, raising his eyebrows with polite incredulity.
MACARTNEY, sitting behind, proffered his. GORST planted it on his
head; found it three sizes too small; still, if he held on to it,
he might manage. "Mr. MELLOR," he commenced, but got no further
with projected speech. Attention of House drawn to him his dilemma
discovered: shout of laughter burst forth as hat gradually tilted
forward, and GORST, deftly catching it by brim on tip of his nose,
balanced it for fifteen seconds by Westminster Clock. Chairman seized
opportunity of abstracted attention to put question, and when GORST,
recapturing MACARTNEY'S hat, had fixed it again on summit of his head,
division was called; too late for him to speak.

_Business done._--Second Clause Home Rule Bill added.

[Illustration: Mr. G.'s "Table-Talk."]

_Friday._--Treasury Chest Bill on for Third Reading. Has since
introduction wrought singular effect upon HANBURY. Nobody knows what
Bill is about, least of all HANBURY; but he has opposed it at every
stage. Yesterday divided Committee on First Clause; returns to attack
to-day. "Better let us get away for our hardly-earned holiday," I

"That's very well for you, TOBY," said HANBURY, beating his chest
in default of getting at the Treasury's; "but there's a dark mystery
under this business which I mean to fathom. You remember the case of
another chest and its weird associations?

  'Fifteen men on a dead man's chest--
      Ho! Ho! Ho! and a bottle of rum.'

HARCOURT may, or may not, have been one of the fifteen. I'm not quite
clear on that point. Indeed I'm somewhat muddled in the main; but I
suspect the SQUIRE is up to some deed of infamy, and I have done my
best to plumb its slimy depths."

Bill passed nevertheless; other business wound up, and so off for
holidays. _Business done._--House adjourned for Whitsun Recess.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE REAL "REJECTED ADDRESSES."--Those that cannot be deciphered at the
General Post Office.

       *       *       *       *       *

*** End of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Punch or the London Charivari, Vol. 104, May 27, 1893" ***

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