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Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 105, July 15th 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 105, July 15th 1893" ***

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


VOLUME 105, JULY 15TH 1893

_edited by Sir Francis Burnand_


... "The room is full of celebrities. Do you see that tall woman in
black, talking to the little old lady? That is Mrs. ARBUTHNOT--a
woman of some importance--and the other is CHARLEY'S Aunt. The
sporting-looking young man is Captain CODDINGTON, who is 'in town' for
the season."

"And who are the two men, exactly alike, tall and dark, who are
smoking gold-tipped cigarettes, and talking epigrams?" I asked. I like
to know who people are, and the person in the silver domino seemed

"Those are Lord ILLINGWORTH, and Lord HENRY WOTTON. They always say
exactly the same things. They are awfully clever, and cynical. Those
two ladies talking together are known as NORA and DORA. There's rather
a curious story about each of them."

"There seems to be one about everyone here," I said.

"Well, it seems that NORA and her husband did not get on very well.
He thought skirt-dancing morbid. Also, he forgave her for forging
his name--in type-writing--to a letter refusing to subscribe to a
wedding-present for Princess MAY. She said a man who would forgive a
thing like that would forgive anything. So she left the Dolls' House."

"Quite right. Is that not the Comtesse ZICKA? I seem to recognise the

"It is--and the beautiful Italian lady is Madame SANTUZZA. One
meets all sorts of people here, you know; by the way, there's Mrs.

"Princess SALOMÉ!" announced the servant. A little murmur of surprise
seemed to go round the room as the lovely Princess entered.

"What _has_ she got on?" asked PORTIA.

"Oh, it's nothing," replied Mr. WALKER, London.

"I thought she was not received in English society," said Lady
WINDERMERE, puritanically.

"I can assure you, my dears, that she would not be tolerated in
Brazil, where the nuts come from," exclaimed CHARLEY'S Aunt.

"There's no harm in her. She's only a little peculiar. She is
particularly fond of boar's head. It's nothing," said Mr. WALKER.

"The uninvitable in pursuit of the indigestible," murmured Lord
ILLINGWORTH, as he lighted a cigarette.

"Is that mayonnaise?'" asked the Princess SALOMÉ of Captain
CODDINGTON, who had taken her to the buffet. "I think it is
mayonnaise. I am sure it is mayonnaise. It is mayonnaise of salmon,
pink as a branch of coral which fishermen find in the twilight of
the sea, and which they keep for the King. It is pinker than the pink
roses that bloom in the Queen's garden. The pink roses that bloom in
the garden of the Queen of Arabia are not so pink."

"Who's the jaded-looking Anglo-Indian, drinking brandy-and-soda?" I

"That is a Plain young man. From the Hills. Which is curious. I am
much attached to him. By the way, I know who I am. And why I wear a
silver domino. You don't."

"That's another story," I said. "Let's go to the smoking-room.
We shall find the Eminent Person, the Ordinary Man, the Poet, the
Journalist, and the Mere Boy, and they will all say delightful things
on painful subjects."

"Barry Paynful," suggested the Mere Boy, with his usual impossibility.
They were trying to "draw" Lord ILLINGWORTH.

"What is a good woman?" asked the Journalist.

"A woman who admires bad men," answered Lord ILLINGWORTH.

"What is a bad man?"

"A man who smokes gold-tipped cigarettes."

"Which would you rather, or go fishing?" inquired the Mere Boy,

"Because it's a jar, of course. There are two kinds of women, the
plain and the coloured. But all art is quite useless."

"I say!" exclaimed Lord HENRY, taking from his friend's pocket a
gold match-box, curiously carved, and wrought with his initials in
chrysoprases and peridots. "I say, you know, ILLINGWORTH--come--that's
mine. I said it to DORIAN only the other evening. You're always saying
my things."

"Well, what then? It is only the obvious and the tedious who object to
quotations. When a man says life has exhausted him----"

"We know that he has exhausted life."

"Women are secrets, not sphinxes."

"Mine again," exclaimed Lord HENRY.

"It would be useful to carry a little book to note down your good

"Very useful. And I can forgive a man for making a useful thing as
long as he does not admire it."

"That's New Humour, isn't it? And you're a New Humourist?" said
WALKER, satirically. "Why, it's a contradiction in itself! The very
essence of a joke is, that it should be old. Where would you find
anything funnier than the riddle, 'When is a door not a door?' and,
'Why does a miller wear a white hat?' Ah! it won't last--we're bound
to go back to the 'Old Humour'--there's nothing like it--what is that

"A dispute has arisen in the ladies' cloak-room about a shawl. It's
frightfully thrilling!" said HILDA WANGEL.

"They seem to be going on anyhow. It's nothing," said WALKER.

It appears that CHARLEY'S Aunt had accused Princess SALOMÉ of taking
her shawl. The Princess had indignantly thrown it at her, and was
making rather rude personal remarks about it.

"I don't want your shawl. Your shawl is hideous. It is covered with
dust. It is a tartan shawl. It is like the shawl worn in melodrama by
the injured heroine who is about to throw herself over the bridge by
moonlight. It is the shawl of a betrayed heroine in melodrama. There
never was anything so hideous as your shawl!"

"Impertinence! To dare to speak to me like this! I'm the success of
the season, and _you_ were forbidden the country," said CHARLEY'S
Aunt, furiously.

[Illustration: "The uninvitable in pursuit of the indigestible,"
murmured Lord Illingworth.]

The second Mrs. TANQUERAY here chimed in, giving her opinion, which
did not add to the harmony of the gathering, and a secondary quarrel
was going on, because Captain CODDINGTON had said that the scent
Comtesse ZICKA used "was not quite up to date," and the latter was
offended. In fact, there was a regular row all round. NORA banged her
tambourine, and WALKER playfully pretended to hide his head behind

At last, however, we managed to calm the indignant ladies, and the
party began to break up.

"The fact is," I said, "Society is getting a great deal too mixed.
Now, I like to go away from an afternoon party feeling a purer and
better man, my eyes filled with tears of honest English sentiment----"

"Great Scott! don't go on like that. Come and have a drink," said the

"Valour is the better part of indiscretion," murmured Lord
ILLINGWORTH. "Good-bye, HENRY. It has been a most interesting

       *       *       *       *       *


    ["The Eclipse Stakes of 10,000 sovs., to be run at Sandown
    Park on Friday, July 14, is looked upon as practically a match
    between Baron DE HIRSCH'S filly, _La Flèche_, and the Duke
    of WESTMINSTER'S colt, _Orme_."--_Illustrated Sporting and
    Dramatic News._]

  The match between Eton and Harrow at Lord's
    This week, which commences on Friday,
  Because of the sport that it always affords,
    Will draw a large crowd on that high-day.
  But the interest taken in drive, cut, or catch,
    Or as to which school will be beaten,
  Will be nothing to that in the other great match,
    The same day, 'tween The Arrow and Eaton.



       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE ART OF WAR.

_Inspecting-General (galloping up to Mounted Yeoman, placed on Vedette
duty)._ "NOW, SIR, WHAT ARE YOU?"


       *       *       *       *       *


_Or, the Young Squire, the Unjust Steward, and the Grateful Ratepayer.
An Urban Drama, as lately performed at the County Hall, Spring

(_Enter_ Steward, _bearing plans of a splendid, and expensive,

_Steward (looking lovingly upon plan)._ Aha! Now shall I triumph,
despite mean Moderates, and cheese-paring Economists, and reluctant
Ratepayers. GR-R-R! how I hate the whole penurious brood! Housed
appropriately I must and will be, though Rate Incidence be as yet
ill-adjusted, and that blessed word Betterment be but an ear-soothing
sound. But hold!--she comes!

_Enter_ Injured, but Beauteous, Ratepayer, _wringing her hands_.

_I. but B. R. (aside)._ Hah! Whom have we here? Merciless Master
D-CK-NS-N, as I'm a living woman! Was't not enough that Vestries
should vex me, Boards o'erburden me, Pedagogues oppress, and Precepts
perplex, but _he_ too must turn against me? (_Aloud._) Give you good
den, Master D.! Hast news of comfort for me?

_Steward (harshly)._ Woman, I know not what _thou_ wilt deem news of
comfort. But if a superb site and a splendid structure (_pointing to
Plan_) have charms for thy something straitened and sordid soul, then,

_I. but B. R. (shrieking as she catches sight of the Plan, and the
fair round Figures attached thereto)._ Alas, Mr. Steward! 'tis,
as thou sayst, superb--splendid--and, what is more, prodigiously
_expensive_ withal! It is _magnifique_, but it is _not_--Economy!

_Steward (scornfully)._ Expensive? Pooh! What matters a Million or
twain so London's Guardians be well housed?

_I. but B. R._ But, in the words of the old game, where's the money
to come from? Moreover, is it not understood that _all_ Metropolitan
Improvements be postponed till such time as those ghouls of
ground-renters, those ogres of property-owners, are compelled
proportionally to disgorge?

_Steward._ Ahem! Truly so! But verily _this_ matter is exceptional
and urgent. "Who drives fat oxen should himself be fat;" and they
who superintend the People's housing should surely themselves be
adequately, not to say magnificently, housed. As to the money--why,
fear not for thy pockets Dame, which are not yet utterly depleted by
that Briarean blood-sucker, BUMBLE. Why, we shall right soon save the
money in cab-fares, and--ahem!--other comforts and conveniences
for our committees, not to mention the purchasing of supplementary
tenements "at the rate of two houses a year." Oh, be content, Dame;
pay up, and look pleasant! (_Imperatively._)

_I. but B. R. (frantically)._ Alas! Is there, then, no hope? Will _no_
one bring a rescue or two? "Oh, where is County (Council) Guy?"

_Enter the_ Young Squire, _hastily_.

_Young Squire (hurriedly arrived from heavy business and urgent
elsewhere, but impelled by a sense of public duty to intervene on
this occasion)._ HERE!! (_Chord._) Be consoled, Dame--_I_ will protect
thee! And for thee, Sir Steward, what the mischief art up to, with thy
Aladdin Palaces, and thine Odd Millions?

_Steward (confused, and displaying Plan)._ Why, my lord--deeming
it befitting--that so illustrious and important and ubiquitously
influential a Body--as--Ourselves--should have a Local Habitation--as
well as a Name--I have prepared--this little Plan--which, with the
aid--of "a little cheque"--say for a trifle of Two Millions----

_Young Squire (snatching Plan from his grasp and gazing angrily
thereon)._ Aha! A veritable Castle in the Air! An Arabian Nights'
Phantom Palace!! The House that Jack (in Office) _would have_ built!!!
(_Tears it, and treads it under foot._) Nay, Sir Steward, thou hast
much misunderstood thy trust. The housing of the poor, rather than of
the rich, is thy prime function. Attend first to this little list of
Metropolitan Improvements, which cannot be unfamiliar to thine ears
and eyes. Or if _they_ must perforce be postponed until the attainment
of "a fairer adjustment of the incidence of taxation," prythee, _à
fortiori_, postpone also until that uncertain date this precious
scheme for an expensive Municipal Palace, and this premature and
impudent assault upon an already sufficiently depleted Pocket!

_I. but B. R. (clasping her hands in gratitude)._ Ah, thanks, noble
youth! Heaven reward thee for thy magnanimous championship of the poor
gyurl's purse!

_Steward (aside)._ Foiled!!! But no mattah! a time will come!!!


       *       *       *       *       *

"M. G." AND "G. M."--The first whispered proposal is, we believe,
generally formulated thus, "May I then hope? May I?" But H.R.H. the
Duke of YORK'S proposal must have been even more simple than this,
for hope being changed into certainty, there was only the whispered
question, "MAY GEORGE?" and the gentle answer, "GEORGE MAY." Then--all
ended happily.

       *       *       *       *       *



I have no time to answer questions.

The slightest protest will mean arrest.

You will cause me to draw my sword.

I have a loaded revolver.

We must take that barricade.

We must obtain the help of the army.

We can assist bayonets with bullets.

We have no cause to succour the wounded.

We must preserve order.

And, to do this, we cry, "Long live France! Fire upon any one!


The first turning to the left. Sir, and then keep straight on until
you meet another constable--then ask again.

You have taken too much; you had better go home quietly. Shall I call
a cab?

Now don't forget you are a gentleman, Sir, but help me to do my duty.

Now, coachman, wait a moment. Must let these pass before you can come.

We don't want any help, Sir. Why the crowd's as meek as sheep and as
good natured as sandboys.

Here, Sir, you have had an awkward tumble. Let me hold you up while my
mate goes for an ambulance.

We must preserve order.

And to do this we have only to observe "move on."

       *       *       *       *       *

PARLIAMENTARY.--Change of name. Mr. CONYBEARE henceforth to be known
as "CONYBORE," with the accent on the "_bore_."

       *       *       *       *       *


_A Confidence. After the Garden Party_.


       *       *       *       *       *


(_For the Next Ten Years._)

1894. Scheme accepted for building Hôtel de Ville at a cost of

1895. Purchase of Kensington Gardens as a Recreation-ground for the
Improvement Committee.

1896. The Council buys St. Paul's Cathedral as a Private Chapel for
the marriage of its members and their families.

1897. Completion of _The Bumble_ Steam-yacht of the L. C. C., costing

1898. Uniforms for the Members ordered at an expense of £500,000.

1899. Purchase of a Crown and other Jewels for the Chairman on State

1900. The Palaces erected for occupation by the Members in Eaton,
Belgrave, Grosvenor, and Berkeley Squares acquired and taken into use.

1901. A sum not exceeding £5,000,000 voted by the L. C. C. for statues
commemorating themselves, their wives, and their families.

1902. Resolution carried by acclamation confiscating the entire sum
received from the ratepayers for the L. C. C. Secret Service Fund.

1903. Petition for Metropolitan Improvement unanimously rejected.

1904. Act abolishing the L. C. C. passed in Parliament at a single

       *       *       *       *       *

"COMMONS PRESERVATION SOCIETY."--A most useful body, no doubt. "But,"
asks Lord T. NODDIE, "as our Upper House is so often threatened, why
isn't there a "Lords Preservation Society?"

       *       *       *       *       *


  Charming maidens, smiling brightly,
  Moving gracefully and lightly
                      As the fawn,
  Linger still, let me invite you,
  Surely on this short June night you
                      Dance till dawn.

  Till the early bird will get the
  Worm, and seaside shrimpers net the
                      Shrimp or prawn.
  Whilst they print the morning paper,
  Let us glide and whirl and caper
                      Till the dawn.

  Till, with waking chirp of sparrows,
  Early costermongers' barrows
                      Forth are drawn.
  Till the candles flare and gutter.
  And the daylight, through the shutter,
                      Peeps at dawn;

  Till the cock is crowing; listen!
  And the dainty dewdrops glisten
                      On the lawn;
  Till my pretty partner's posies,
  Made of June's delightful roses,
                      Droop at dawn;

  Till my collar's limp and flabby--
  Then I hail the sleepy cabby,
                      As I yawn;
  Home, to dream of sweet cheeks blushing
  Like the sky, now rosy flushing
                      At the dawn.

       *       *       *       *       *

TRÈS BEAU-TANICAL.--An Aladdin-like Magic-Lamp and Magic-Lantern
Night at the Botanical Gardens on Wednesday. A thousand additional
traditional lamps. The Flower of the Aristocracy, being at the State
Ball, is represented by the Aristocracy of Flowers (in the absence
of Lord and Lady BATTERSEA, without whom no Floral _Fête_ can be
absolutely perfect) in every part of these beautiful gardens. Bands
playing; but not sufficient distance between them, so that when they
performed, simultaneously, entirely different tunes, the effect was
far from soothing to the listeners' nerves. Why not adopt the plan
admirably carried out at the Marlborough House Garden Party, where one
band having finished, another, at a distance, commenced? Why among the
harmony of colours at the Botanical should there be produced by the
conflict of two tunes, taken in different times, but played at the
same moment, an inharmonious whole?

       *       *       *       *       *

LADIES' FASHIONS.--Extremes: _Minimum_--Bonnet; a ribbon and rosette.
_Maximum_--Hat; a Flower Garden on a Yard of Straw.

       *       *       *       *       *


  If times were as when time was young,
  And reason ruled each shepherd's tongue,
  Thy pretty speeches might me move,
  To live with thee, and be thy love.

  But times are changed in field and fold,
  At shocking prices sheep are sold,
  And farmers look exceeding glum,
  Foreboding darker days to come.

  The weeds do choke the thriftless fields,
  No profit now the harvest yields;
  Honey is sought, but only gall
  Is found, for still the prices fall.

  Thy pinks, thy stocks, thy Provence roses,
  Are pretty, and I'm fond of posies;
  But wages may not long be gotten
  When folly's rife, and business rotten.

  A man of straw thy master seems,
  No grain of sense is in thy dreams,
  And my Papa would not approve
  Even if I would be thy love.

  But, when times mend, sheep-farms succeed,
  And all on English mutton feed,
  Ask me again, and thou may'st move,
  To live with thee, and be thy love.

       *       *       *       *       *


_Tuesday, July 4. State Visit to the Opera._--Yes, "TODGERS'S could do
it when it liked," as CHARLES DICKENS remarked in _Martin Chuzzlewit_,
and Sir COVENTGARDENSIS DRURIOLANUS can do it when _he_ likes, rather!
The front of the house is quite a "mask of flowers," which the
Master of the Gray's Inn Revels, himself present in a gorgeous and
awe-inspiring uniform, regards with a benign and appreciative smile.
Interesting to note a number of ordinarily quiet and unobtrusive
individuals, personally known to me as the mildest-mannered men,
who now appear as the fiercest, and, on such a night, the hottest of
warriors; seeing that if it is 98 in the shade, the temperature must
be ten degrees higher to those who are buttoned up to the chin in a
military uniform, with straps, belts, buckles, boots, weighted
too with a dangling, clattering sword, and having to carry about a
thickly-furred hat, with a plume in it like a shaving-brush, that
obstinately refuses to be hung up, or sat upon, or put out of sight,
in any sort of way whatever, and which, like a baby in arms, must be
carried,--or dropped. The Venetians on the stage in all their mediæval
bravery are not arrayed like one of these simple English yeomen, for,
as I am given to understand, to that glorious body of our country's
agricultural defenders do these dashing Hussars, in their Hessian-fly
boots, belong! Ah! with such warriors England is safe!

[Illustration: "Pas de Druriolanus; or, All among the Roses."]

Then there are what _Mr. Weller_ would have termed "My Prooshan
Blues," and likewise the diplomatic Muscovite, in hard-looking cap,
blue, naval-looking coat, and (apparently) flannel boating trousers,
falling, rather short, on to ordinary boots, with plain unornamental
spurs; a costume which, on the whole, suggests that its wearer, at
the command of the Autocrat of all the Russias, must be ready at a
second's notice to execute a forced march, dance a hornpipe, run as
a footman, take somebody up as a policeman, head a cavalry charge, or
(still in spurs) steer a torpedo boat on its dangerous errand. Opera
going strong, with the DE FRISKY Bros. & Co. The Last Act (by Royal
Command) is omitted, and so for the first time in dramatic history the
story of _Romeo and Juliet_ ends as happily as possible. The lovers
are only interrupted by the fall of the curtain, and there are no
sleeping draughts, poisonings, or burials. It is a realisation of the
line in _The Critic_, "In the Queen's name I charge you all to drop
your swords and daggers!" Only the order is given in the Princess's
name, and the swords, daggers, and deadly draughts are all dropped
accordingly. Greatest possible success. _Gloria_ DRURIOLANO!

_Friday Night._--First performance of _I Rantzau_, and first-rate
performance, too. The Plot is simply a Plot of Land. Scene laid--laid
for seven _dramatis personæ_--in a Vague Village of the Vosges; time,
present century. The Rantzaus are the Capulets and Montagues of this
district; the son of one faction is in love with the daughter of the
other; but it doesn't end tragically, and the lovers marry. That's
all. It was played as a Drama at the Français, with GOT in it; when
subsequently it was turned into an Opera, it had the "Go" taken out of
best, as do also the lamplighter and his assistant, who deftly perform
their "Wagnerian watchman" "business" to characteristic music. Mlle.
BAUERMEISTER great in a small part; and Madame MELBA does her very
best with the singularly uninteresting part of _Luisa_, who is a very
"Limited Loo." Signor MASCAGNI conducted the Opera, and was himself
conducted on to the stage as often as possible in order to receive
the congratulations of his "friends in front." _I Rantzau_ not "in it"
with MASCAGNI'S _Cavalleria_, which, like the Rantzau family at the
end of the piece, "still holds the field." Thermometer 95° in the
stalls. House animated and appreciative.

_Saturday._--_Les Huguenots._ Grand Cast. Thermometer down again.

       *       *       *       *       *


  Ninety-one in the shade, by NEGRETTI and ZAMBRA!
      'Tis O that I dwelt in an ice-crevasse,
      Or rented a share in the _Mer de Glace_,
      Or hired (ere I melt and resolve to gas)
  That _patio_ cool in the chill Alhambra
    (Not "Lei-ces-ter Squarr," but Granada far),
    Where fountains sprinkle and plash and tinkle--
      Ay me! that my dream can ne'er come to pass!
  "Fourteen hours of the sun!" says the "Jordan Recorder"--
      Each day it grows hotter in London town!
      The plane-trees are withered and burnt and brown;
      Ere Lammas has come the leaves are down!
  The months have been mixed--they're out of order;
    We'd the weather of June six weeks too soon;
    And now we swelter and gasp for shelter--
      We're grilled alive from toe to crown!
  There's drought in the fields, and drought in my gullet!
      I would that I sat in a boundless tank
      Of claret and soda, and drank and drank!
      My thirst with PANTAGRUEL'S own would rank--
  Gargantuan draughts alone may lull it!
    A shandygaff "chute" _à la_ BOYTON would suit,
    Or of Pilsener lager a Nile or Niagara--
      Would that it through my [oe]sophagus sank!
  I'd long to be NANSEN, that bold Norwegian,
      Who's off to the north like a sailor-troll;
      Dry land I prefer in my inmost soul,
      And his tub-like _Fram_ will pitch and roll,
  But she's bound at least for a glacial region!
    Or stay, to be sure! here's Professor D----R
    To cold can consign us untold degrees _minus_--
      There's no need to visit the Northern Pole!
  With this decuman "heat-wave" I grow delirious,
      And babble a prayer to the Maid who sways
      The Weather-department (on working-days)
      Of the _Daily Graphic_--in crazy phrase--
  The bale-fire to quench of far-distant Sirius!
    To the Man in the Moon at noon I croon
    For a lunatic boon, if that lone buffoon
    Can stay this canicular, perpendicular,
    Bang-on-my-forehead, horrid, torrid,
    Beaming, gleaming, and ever-streaming
      Blaze of rays that maze and daze!!

       *       *       *       *       *


I have long nown as how as the present LORD MARE was one of the werry
nicest, as well as one of the werry liberallists, of Lord Mares as we
has had for many years, but I most suttenly did not kno, till larst
Saturday, that, noticing, as he must have done, how shamefoolly
the County Counsellors is a trying for to destroy the grand old
Copperation, and take pusession of Gildhal and the Manshun House, he
had the courage to assemble round his ospiterbel Table all the most
princiblest of the great writers of our wunderful and powerful Press,
and let them judge for theirselves whether sich a hinstitootion as he
represented was worth preserwin or not! Ah, that was sumthink like a
Bankwet that was! Why amost eweryboddy was there as was anyboddy. And
the ony trubble as that caused was, that they was all so jolly glad
to meet each other, under sitch unusual suckemstances, that nothink on
airth coud keep em quiet, no, not ewen when the Amerrycan Embassader
torked to em for about arf a nour!

One of the most distinguist of the skollars as I was waiting on told
one of the most butiful Painters, in my hearing, as how he thort
it wood be rayther a wise thing of all future Lord Mares if they
himmitated the present LORD MARE'S exampel; and I wentur, with all
umility, to say Ditto to the distinguisht Skoller. ROBERT.

       *       *       *       *       *

GE-O-M-ETRICALLY CONSIDERED.--The illuminations were as good as they
could be everywhere. The brilliant initials, "G. M.," wanted nothing
to render them perfect. If that want had been supplied, then,
as "nothing" is represented by a cipher, the initials would have
commemorated the G. _O._ M.

       *       *       *       *       *

and rare were the gems they wore;" and two ladies, with magnificent
tiaras, if they had only shown up at Henley, would have won the prize
for "_The Diamond Skulls_."

       *       *       *       *       *

Mrs. R. caught sight of a heading in a daily paper--"Board of Trade
Returns." Our old friend at once exclaimed. "Then where has the Board
of Trade been to? Where is it returning from? I really don't call this
attending to business."

       *       *       *       *       *


_Tommy_ (_on his way to the Browns' Juvenile Garden Party_). "NOW,

       *       *       *       *       *


(_Latest Anglo-Teutonic Version, as repeated to the Caterpillar of
State by Alice, in Blunderland, from vague and mixed reminiscences of
Southey, Lewis Carroll, and the Reports of the Debates in the British
Parliament and the German Reichstag, concerning the Home-Rule Bill and
the Army Bill respectively._)

"I'm afraid I am changed, Sir." said ALICE; "I can't remember things
as I used--and I don't keep to the same author for ten minutes

"Can't remember _what_ things?" said the Caterpillar of State.

"Well, I've tried to sing '_Rule, Britannia_', but it all came
different, and got mixed up with '_The Watch on the Rhine_!'" ALICE
replied, in a very melancholy voice.

"Repeat '_You are old, Father William_,'" said the Caterpillar of

ALICE folded her hands, and began:--

  "Good-morrow!" the youth to the Woodcutter cried;
    "Father WILLIAM, you're 'sniggling,' I see!"
  With a smile of bland 'cuteness the Old Man replied,
    "Master WILLIAM, good morrow! I _be_!"

    "You are old, Father WILLIAM," the young KAISER said,
  "And your hair, what there is of it, 's white;
  And yet you still stand at the Government's head--
    Do you think, at your age, it is right?"

  "Some twenty years since," Father WILLIAM replied,
    "I'd a passionate wish to retire;
  But as I grow younger each year, I have tried
    To subdue that untimely desire."

  "You are old," said the youth, "yet your seat appears firm,
    You are still pretty good over timber;
  Your double back somersaults make your foes squirm.
    What keeps you so nimble and limber?"

  "In my youth," said the Senior, "I kept all my limbs--
    And some say my principles--supple;
  And that's why old age neither stiffens nor dims,
    And years with alertness I couple."

  "You are old," said the youth, "and your 'jaw' should be weak,
    I've often heard BIZZY pooh-pooh it.
  Yet you polish off JOE, and tap GOSCHEN'S big beak;
    Pray, how do you manage to do it?"

  "In _my_ youth," said the Sage, "Fair Debate was the law,
    And genuine Eloquence rife;
  And so in an age of mere Brummagem 'jaw'
    I can still hold my own in the strife."

  "You are old," said the youth; "one would hardly suppose
    That your eye was as steady as ever;
  Yet you balance that eel on the end of your nose--
    What makes you so awfully clever?"

  "_You_ are young," smiled old WILL; "you don't yet understand.
    The point--of the eel--you'd be missing;
  But when you're an Old Parliamentary Hand
    You will find it as easy as kissing!"

  "I've caught an eel, also," observed the young 'sniggler,'
    "_I_'m not, like you, beaked _à la_ Toucan;
  Mine's still smaller than yours, and a terrible wriggler;
    I wish I could work it as _you_ can!"

  "The equilibrist's art," the Old Juggler replied,
    "Is not to be learned in a jiffy.
  With the help of your Eyes (_Ayes_), and your Nose (_Noes_), and good 'side,'
    You _may_ win--if you do not turn 'squiffy.'"

"That is not said right," said the Caterpillar of State.

"Not _quite_ right, I'm afraid," said ALICE, timidly; "some of the
words have got altered."

"It is wrong from beginning to end," said the Caterpillar, decidedly;
and there was silence for some minutes.

[Illustration: "FATHER WILLIAM."


       *       *       *       *       *



_The Scene is that Forum for Fadmongers--the angle of the Park
fronting Cumberland Gate. A large and utterly irreverent crowd is
listening with cheerful intolerance to a Persevering Gentleman, of a
highly respectable and almost scholarly appearance, who is addressing
them from a three-legged stool on nothing in particular, though he has
apparently committed himself by charging a certain Statesman with at
least two political murders._

_The Orator_ (_haltingly_). We who are fighting the
battle--(_uproarious laughter from_ Crowd, _which he endures with
dignified resignation_)--I say--we who are fighting the battle!

_The Crowd._ 'Oo's talking about fightin' a battle?... _You_ wouldn't
be 'ere if there was any battles about! 'E's a fair ole fraud, 'e
is--that's about 'is sort! Shet up, you idiotic ole ass, do! (&c.,

_The Orator_ (_patiently_). I say once more--we who are fighting
the----(_Howls of derision, at which he smiles, but perceives,
regretfully, that the battle must be abandoned._) One of my friends
here has seen fit to describe me as an idiotic old ass. ("_So you
are!_") Well, I am glad, at least, that he pronounced it _ass_ with
the vowel short, and not ass, for it shows that he has at least a
certain regard for the Queen's English (_The_ Crowd _hasten to
give the vowel sound all the breadth in their power_). I think I
was--(_here he consults a sheaf of notes_)--offering some remarks upon
Mr. WILLIAM WOBLER. Now we are told, "Speak evil of no man!"

_The Crowd._ That's a good un! 'Oo spoke evil of Mr. BAGWIND jest now?

_The Orator_ (_mildly hurt_). I never said a single unkind word about

_The Crowd._ Yer lie! Why, didn't you say as he murdered JETTISON and
SCAPEGOAT? Wot yer call _that_, eh?

_The Orator._ I may have made some such observation--but far be it
from me to speak evil of any man. If I spoke evil, it was on public
grounds. I should scorn to attack any individual in his private
character. I think I have satisfactorily answered _that_ matter. And I
tell you this--it is largely owing to me that Mr. WILLIAM WOBLER owes
his seat in Parliament to-day! (_His hearers receive this with frank
incredulity._) Ah, but it _is_, though, and I denounce him, as I have
denounced him before, and _shall_ denounce him while I have power to
raise my voice, as a man who has proved himself utterly unworthy of
the efforts I have made on his behalf. Some people are saying they
want THOMAS TIDDLER in North Paddington. I say--_Never!_ Not as long
as I've breath in my body shall THOMAS TIDDLER be returned for any
constituency! No, gentlemen: here I stand before you, with no money,
and only one lung. I have rich and high relations, to whom I might
apply for relief if I condescended to do so; but I scorn to abase
myself in any such manner. I prefer to appeal to you, the people of
London. It's a disgrace--a public disgrace--that you people should
allow such a man as myself to walk the streets without food! (_A
voice._ "Why don't yer _work_?") Work? Am I _not_ working? Am I not in
my proper place here to-night?

_The Crowd_ (_with hearty unanimity_). No!

_The Orator_ (_with exultation_). Then support me in the name of all
you hold dear! I have my work to accomplish, and I _shall_ accomplish
it by the aid of the People's pence, by the aid of the People's
sixpences,--aye, and by the aid of the People's _shillings_! _Will_
you help me?

_The Crowd_ (_more heartily than ever_). No!

_The Orator._ Then I will now proceed to make a collection.

[_He descends from his stool, and circulates among the crowd
proffering a highly respectable hat. A_ Rival Orator _mounts the
stool; he has a straw hat, side whiskers, and a style of concentrated
and withering invective_.

_The Rival Orator_ (_fluently, and with much enjoyment of his own
eloquence_). I shall preface what I have to say by protesting in the
strongest terms at my disposal against the most disgraceful attack we
have had the pain of listening to to-night, against the character of
a Statesman we all revere, by the unspeakably offensive and degraded
individual with a black coat, a clean collar, and only one lung,
who has just concluded his contemptible remarks, and is now debasing
himself, if possible, still further by going round cringing, actually
cringing, for the miserable halfpence which he hopes his foul-mouthed
virulence will extract from the more foolish among his hearers!
(_Applause at this spirited opening; the_ First Orator _imperturbably
continues to protrude his hat_.) I have no hesitation in saying that
if such language as he has favoured us with was uttered against a
public man in any other community, in any other country, in any other
hemisphere in the civilized globe, the audience would have risen in
righteous indignation, and chased the cowardly aggressor back to
the vile den from whose obscurity he would have done better never to
emerge! Gentlemen, he has appealed to your sympathy on the ground,
forsooth, that he has only one lung! I venture to assert that it is
nothing short of a public calamity that he _is_ the possessor of
one lung; for had he none at all, he would have been incapable of
outraging the general intelligence by the utterance of such sentiments
as he has disgusted you by this evening. When I first became
acquainted with this man, before he had sunk into the besotted state
in which he now wallows, he used, I remember, to condemn the practice
of making a public collection. Now I've never been against that
practice myself. _I_ hold that a man who is capable of attracting
an audience by such gifts of oratory as he may possess, is perfectly
justified in making a collection afterwards, whether he requires the
money or not. But this person has become so degraded, so destitute of
any sense of honour, so soaked and sodden with gin, that he now turns
round on the principles he once professed, and is to be seen going
round with a hat laden with the coppers of those who are infinitely
worse off than--judging from his dress and prosperous appearance--he
evidently is himself!

_The First Orator_ (_exhibiting his empty hat_). It don't look much
like it at present, GABBITT!

_Mr. Gabbitt._ He has boasted to you of having rich relations, and
said he scorned to apply to them. I want to know why, instead of
coming here begging to you, he _don't_ go to them?

_The First Orator._ I've _been_, GABBITT.

_Mr. G._ (_triumphantly_). You hear? he's been to them. That proves
they've found him out; they know him for the grovelling soaker he is,
a wretch tottering on the verge of delirium tremens, and, rightly,
they'll have nothing to do with him. It's very possible, gentlemen,
that he _may_ have rich relations in the place where most of us have
rich relations--I refer to the workhouse! (_Cheers and laughter._)
And it is this wretch, this indescribable mixture of meanness and
malignity, who has dared to come here and charge Mr. BAGWIND with
crime! He asked you--and let him not deny it now--"What about Mr.
SCAPEGOAT?" Well, there may be a good many things about Mr. SCAPEGOAT,
but what I tell _you_ is--an observation like that is one that doesn't
convey any concrete idea whatever; in short, it is the observation of
a drivelling and confirmed lunatic!

[Illustration: "I say--_Never!_"]

_Voice in the Crowd._ With on'y one lung; don't forgit that, ole man!

_Mr. G._ (_magnanimously_). No, I've done with his lung, now; it
doesn't do to carry personalities too far, and I've disposed of that
already, and have no desire to return to it. And, as I observe that
the wretched object of the strictures which I have felt it my duty
to express, has concluded his efforts with the hat, and met with the
freezing contempt and indifference which are only to be expected from
intelligent and fair-minded men like yourselves, I will now bring my
exposure of the sophistries, the base insinuations, and the
incoherent maunderings which he had the effrontery to impose upon your
understandings as argument, to a premature close, and proceed to make
a collection on my own account, and thereby afford you the opportunity
of showing on which side your real sympathies and your confidence are

[_He goes round with the straw hat, which his delighted audience fill
liberally with the coppers that the previous speaker has ignominiously
failed to extract from them. But the tender-hearted Reader may be
relieved to hear that, as soon as the crowd has dispersed, the victor
shares the proceeds of his eloquence in the handsomest manner with his
adversary, who shows a true elevation of mind in betraying no
abiding resentment at his oratorical defeat. So may all such contests
terminate--as, for that matter, they generally do._

       *       *       *       *       *


(_A Farce which is running in most of the London Theatres, but which
should not be tolerated for a single Night._)

SCENE--_Auditorium of the T. R.----during the performance of a Modern
Comedy. Enter a party of four_ Playgoers _into private box_.

_First Playgoer._ Rather a pity it has begun! I always like to see a
play from first to last. Don't you?

_Second P._ Quite. So much more interesting. Of course if you don't
catch what they say at first, how on earth can you catch the idea of
the plot?

_Third P._ Not that the plot matters much nowadays. All dialogue,
don't you know? Smart hits at somebody, and all that sort of thing.

_Fourth P._ Quite. Really better fun than the other sort of thing.
Much better fun to have to listen to epigrams and all that sort of
thing, than to have to follow something or other with interest.

_Second P._ Quite. In fact, nowadays, you can come in when you like,
and listen to what you like.

_Third P._ Yes, much better plan, than having to take it all in. Think
it a first-rate idea to allow talking all through, instead of keeping
that sort of thing until between the Acts.

_Second P._ Quite. Between the Acts a fellow wants to smoke. Much
jollier to talk when the other fellows are talking too. Divide the
labour with them--half the conversation on one side the Curtain, half
on the other.

_Fourth P._ Capital idea, and much less fatiguing than the old style.
Fancy having to take it all in! Why, ten years ago, one had to get up
a play as if one had to pass an examination in it next morning! Awful

_Second P._ Quite. No, it's much jollier to chat. Is there anyone in
the house you know?

_First P._ Only that Johnnie over there! The fellow in the
dinner-jacket, who's gone to sleep. He's rather a sportsman.
(_Applause._) Hallo! What's that row about?

_Third P._ End of the First Act. I say, you fellows, I don't think
there's much in the piece, so far.

_Fourth P._ I am blest if I know what it's all about.

_First P._ More do I.

_Second P._ And I. Why should we stay any longer? Seems awful rot.

_Fourth P._ Quite. Let's go to a Music-Hall, where we can smoke and

_First P._ Quite.

[_Exeunt the party, to the great relief of the remainder of the


       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: PESSIMISM v. OPTIMISM.

(_From the City._)




       *       *       *       *       *

proposed to make a _détour_ from Piccadilly by way of Park Lane,
Stanhope Street, and so forth, round again to Piccadilly. But as H. R.
H. the Duke of YORK pointed out, there was no necessity for specially
visiting May Fair, as from start to finish he took MAY Fair with him.

       *       *       *       *       *


    [Dr. FRIDTJOF NANSEN'S Arctic Expedition sailed from
    Christiania in the _Fram_ on June 24.]

  Cynics will chuckle, and pessimists scoff.
  What a noodle, that Norroway chap,
  Who'd drift to the Pole to--complete our map!
  Year after year in the broad-beam'd _Fram_,
  Far from Society's "Real Jam,"
  Away from the fjords, and Five o'Clock Tea,
  Amidst the ice of the Kara Sea;
  Certain of darkness, discomfort, and frost,
  With an excellent prospect of getting lost,
  Crunched in the ice-pack, frozen, or starved,
  Whilst Mansion-House Banquets are being carved;
  Over the snow like pale ghosts flitting,
  Missing the sweets of an All-Night Sitting!
  Alone in a canvas-bottom'd bunk,
  When gossip is gabbled, and toasts are drunk,
  Where Good Society's geese gregarious,
  Hiss malignant, or cackle hilarious!
  Well, who knows? Those Arctic snows
  May bore _men_ less than our Social Shows;
  And utter aridity starve the soul
  More in the House than the Northern Pole!
  Here's to NANSEN! Here's to his crew!
  We know they'll venture what men may do.
  Good luck and good cheer be Heaven's gift
  To the _Fram_ and her men on that long, long drift!
  And if they win through the Polar pack,
  May _Punch_ be foremost to welcome them back.

       *       *       *       *       *



_House of Commons, Monday, July 3._--The fat in the fire again. Who
put it there? "I," said JOEY C., "with my ready ladle; I swooped it
in." So he did, lighting up with sudden flame embers that seemed
quite dead. At end of speech on WOLMER'S Amendment, seeing JOHN DILLON
sitting opposite, asked him what about few remarks made at Castlerea,
in which he had threatened, when Irishmen came to their own on College
Green, they would have police, sheriffs, and bailiffs, under their
control, and would "remember" their enemies? DILLON, amid scene of
tumultuous excitement, admitted that phrase not in itself defensible,
but pleaded that words had been spoken amid great provocation. The
massacre at Mitchelstown had taken place just before; its memories
were hot within him, and, out of the indignation of his heart, his
tongue had spoken.

As DILLON urged this plea, T. W. RUSSELL made a hurried remark in
JOSEPH'S ear. J. smiled grimly; the Lord had delivered the enemy into
his hand. Some men would have maimed their chance, if not spoiled the
game, by jumping up with hot interruption, and hurriedly exposed the
blunder upon which DILLON had stumbled. JOSEPH never loses his head.
He lay low, sayin' nuffin', but regarding the unconscious victim
opposite with dangerously smiling face. When DILLON sat down, the
crowded House plainly moved by his effective speech, JOSEPH literally
leaped to his feet, and flung across the floor the most complete
and dramatic blow ever dealt at a man in House of Commons. It was
Mitchelstown, was it, that had rankled in DILLON'S breast when he
uttered the phrase he now regretted? Would the House believe that the
massacre at Mitchelstown took place on September 9, 1887, and this
speech at Castlerea was made on December 5, 1886?

"Remember Mitchelstown!" JOHN DILLON had remembered it nine months
and four days before it had taken place. Several moments the Unionists
cheered, JOSEPH standing with accusatory finger pointed at JOHN DILLON,
who sat silent with folded arms, the habitual pallor of his face changed
to a ghastlier white.

[Illustration: THE WEEK OF THE YEAR.]

"My dear JOHN," I said to him later, "how on earth could you make such
a terrible mistake? The only amelioration it has is that it was so
stupendous and obvious that it was plainly stumbled upon without
intent or purport to deceive."

"Thank you, TOBY," said JOHN DILLON. "I suppose that is clear enough
to the generous mind. But I know a blunder is sometimes worse than a
crime. The fact is, about the time I spoke at Castlerea, things were
so bad in Ireland, the police so little hesitating to shoot, that
I got mixed up in my dates, and remembered Mitchelstown when I was
thinking about something else."

_Business done._--Home-Rule Bill in Committee.

_Tuesday._--TRITTON descending amongst the minnows has brought up
CONYBEARE. Not much heard of late of that eminent legislator. Seems
he's been compensating enforced silence in House by "saying things"
of SPEAKER in letter to newspaper. More than hints SPEAKER, moved by
political motives, has acted unfairly in Chair. Perhaps TRITTON had
done better to leave him alone. Comparatively few were aware of the
little excursion into print. Now blazoned forth to all the world.
Since 'twas done 'twas well 'twas done admirably. SPEAKER moved to one
of those outbursts of passionate though restrained eloquence of
which, upon occasion, he shows himself capable. As Baron FERDY
remarks:--"Since G.P.R. JAMES was sent as Consul to Venice, the only
city in the world where the solitary horseman of his many novels could
not be 'observed,' nothing so quaint as condemning one of the few
parliamentary orators of the day to the silence of the Chair."

Mr. G. delivered brief but magnificent speech, instinct with the true
spirit of Parliamentarian. PRINCE ARTHUR said a few words; everybody
looked round for CURSE OF CAMBORNE but unwonted access of modesty had
seized him. Here was opportunity with crowded House waiting on his
words. And where was he? Not in his place; so episode closed.

Though CONYBEARE'S intention probably not kindly meant, SPEAKER
certainly under considerable obligation to him. Opportunity afforded
House of enthusiastically applauding the most capable, dignified,
upright SPEAKER that ever faced the fierce light that beats upon the
Chair of the House of Commons.

Came across HERBERT MAXWELL just now; haven't seen him since Saturday;
met at dinner to Art and Literature given at Mansion House by Lord
Mayor KNILL. "BAYARD finished his speech yet?" I asked.

"Not sure," said MAXWELL; "fancy not. When I was carried out, in state
approaching coma, I observed on table before him two or three other
volumes of manuscript, containing further passages of the prodigious

BAYARD is the new American Minister, doncha; made his first public
appearance at the Mansion House on Saturday; felt he must rise to
occasion; and did.

"Yours is a mere speck of a country, TOBY," he said, before we went
in to dinner. "Your public speeches are, very properly, planned in
proportion. Now America, as you may have heard, is a vast Continent,
and I've got up a little thing to scale."

"Otherwise a very pleasant dinner," said MAXWELL. "I sat next to a
Citizen and Loriner. Don't know what a Loriner is, but fancy, from
look in my friend's eyes, it's something to do with fish. When turtle
soup appeared on table there was phosphorescent gleam in the worthy
Loriner's eyes. He prodded me genially in ribs with a fat elbow, and
said with ungent chuckle, 'Ah, I s'pose you writing fellows don't
often sit down to a dinner like _this_?'"

_Business done._--In Committee on Home-Rule Bill. Much cry and few

_Thursday._--At ten o'clock to-night guillotine descended;
simultaneously Opposition lost their head; for hour and half there
raged succession of angry scenes that beat a gorgeous record. Mr. G.
and PRINCE ARTHUR, coming and going from division lobbies, were made
objects of rival ovations. Liberals and the Irish leaped to their
feet, madly cheering when PREMIER dropped in. Few minutes earlier or
later came PRINCE ARTHUR; instantly Unionists on their feet wildly
cheering. Outside all London making holiday. Here hon. gentlemen
almost clutching at each other's throats across the beneficently wide
floor. Instead of wedding festivities and national holiday depleting
House it was fuller than ever. VILLIERS came down to give his vote
against Closure; Unionists rapturous round their Grand Old Man. The
other side had Mr. G. with his fourscore years and four. VILLIERS
of Wolverhampton topped him by seven years. Nearly carried him into
division lobby shoulder high; beat hasty retreat after doing this last
service to his country.

"Fact is, you know, TOBY," he said, "I'm not quite the young fellow
I used to be; can't stand the racket as was easy enough some sixty
or seventy years ago. If they'll kindly excuse me, I'll go and take a
walk with the crowd to see the illuminations in Piccadilly. That will
be delightfully quiet after this turmoil."

[Illustration: "THE ANGEL IN THE HOUSE."]

On Clause 6 SAGE OF QUEEN ANNE'S GATE, accompanied by half-a-dozen
unpurchaseable Radicals, voted in Opposition lobby; brought Government
majority down to 15; crowd, streaming by Palace Yard, clearly heard
terrific cheers that welcomed this falling off. Proposed to bring back
the SAGE and his merry men in triumph. Floral decoration being order
of day, why not let them enter rose-garlanded, led by PRINCE ARTHUR on
one side, and JOEY C. on the other? Guaranteed a noble reception from
grateful and gratified Opposition. But some difference of opinion
arose within little circle of Stalwarts, and proposal abandoned.
Drifted in one by one, amid stream of Opposition.

_Business done._--Clauses 5, 6, 7, and 8 added to Home-Rule Bill.

_Friday Night._--CONYBEARE went out a-shearing, and came home shorn.
Asked leave to make personal explanation; House naturally thought this
would assume form of apology for attack on SPEAKER, of which note was
taken on Tuesday. Permission accordingly given. Turned out nothing
further from CONYBEARE'S thoughts. First began by scolding unnamed
persons for not rising in his defence on Tuesday; then proceeded
to argue with Mr. G. and SPEAKER on point of order involved in his
earlier attack. Incidentally, as the SPEAKER, in indignant tones,
pointed out, he repeated the charges embodied in his letter. House
long listened, with amazing patience. But there are limits to
forbearance; at end of quarter of an hour the CURSE OF CAMBORNE had
reached these; his letter declared by unanimous vote to be a breach of
privilege; a lame apology wrung from his unwilling lips, under penalty
of a week's suspension. "Curses," said the Member for Sark, "come home
to roost, no exception being made in the case of CAMBORNE." _Business

       *       *       *       *       *

MRS. R.'S LATEST OBSERVATION.--Our excellent friend was disappointed
with the Royal Bridal Procession. Finding the King and Queen of
DENMARK in the procession, she naturally looked out for _Hamlet_, and
does not, to this hour, see why he should have been left out of the

       *       *       *       *       *

Transcriber's Note:

This issue contains some dialect. (Specifically page 17, in 'Robert at
the Manshun House').

Page 13: 'A' corrected to 'At'. "At last, however, we managed to calm
the indignant ladies,..."

*** End of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 105, July 15th 1893" ***

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