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Title: Punch, or, the London Charivari, Volume 98, March 8, 1890.
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 98, March 8, 1890." ***

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  VOLUME 98.

  MARCH 8, 1890.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "This is what the County Council's Licensing Bill for
Places of Entertainment did _not_ intend, as, according to the latest
authoritative explanation, the L. C. C. does not consider Theatres as
coming under the head of "places of entertainment". Rather hard on the

       *       *       *       *       *



(_A not impossible Extract from Next Year's Morning Papers._)

Yesterday, before the Theatres Committee of the London County Council,
the appeal of MR. HENRY IRVING (the well-known actor and manager) against
the decision of the Sub-Committee to refuse a licence to the Lyceum
Theatre, came on for hearing.

After MR. HENRY IRVING (who appeared in person) had addressed the
Committee at some length, dwelling upon the character of the pieces he
had produced during his management, and the care and expense with which
they had been mounted, several members of the Committee expressed a wish
to put questions to him, which MR. IRVING promised to answer to the best
of his ability.

MR. HECKLEBURY. I think you told us that _Hamlet_ was one of your
favourite parts? Is it not the fact that the chief character in the play
drives his _fiancée_ to madness and suicide by his cruelty, slays her
father and brother, together with his own step-father, and procures the
death of two of his school-fellows?

MR. IRVING admitted that this was so. (_Sensation._)

MR. HECKLEBURY. That is all I wanted to ask you.

MR. FUSSLER. I understand that you have produced a play called _Othello_
on more than one occasion; perhaps you will inform us whether the
following passages are in your opinion suitable for public declamation?
(Mr. FUSSLER _then proceeded to read several extracts to which he
objected on account of their offensive signification_.)

MR. IRVING protested that SHAKSPEARE, and not himself, was responsible
for such passages.

MR. FUSSLER. Unfortunately, SHAKSPEARE is not before us--and you are.
You admit that you have produced a play containing lines such as
I have just read? That is enough for Us.

MR. MEDLAM. Unless I am mistaken, the hero in _Othello_ is not only a
murderer but a suicide?

MR. IRVING. Undoubtedly. (_Sensation._)

MR. MEDLAM. We have heard something of a piece called _The Bells_. I
seldom attend theatres myself, except in the exercise of my public
functions, but I do happen to have seen that particular play on one
occasion. Does my memory mislead me in saying, that you committed a
brutal and savage murder in the course of the drama?

MR. IRVING said that, as a matter of fact, the murder took place many
years before the curtain rose--otherwise, the Member's memory was
entirely accurate.

MR. MEDLAM. Whenever the murder was committed, it remains undetected,
and the criminal escapes all penalty--is not that the case?

MR. IRVING urged that the Nemesis was worked out by the murderer's own

MR. MEDLAM said that was all nonsense; a person's conscience could not
be made visible on the stage, and here a murderer was represented as
dying several years after his crime, in his own bedroom, respected by
all who knew him. Did MR. IRVING intend to tell them that such a
spectacle was calculated to deter an intending murderer, or did he not?
That was the plain question.

MR. IRVING thought that intending murderers formed so inappreciable an
element in his usual audiences, that they might safely be left out of
the calculation.

MR. MEDLAM. But you might have an intending murderer among your
audience, I suppose?

MR. IRVING'S reply was not audible in the reporters' gallery.

MR. PARSEEKER. I should like to hear what you have to say about
duelling, MR. IRVING--I mean, is it, or is it not, a practice sanctioned
by the laws of this country?

MR. IRVING said that he did not quite understand the drift of such a
question; but, since they asked him, he should say that duelling was
distinctly illegal.

MR. PARSEEKER. You will understand the drift of my question directly,
MR. IRVING. I have made it my business to acquaint myself with your
dramatic career, and I find that you have played as hero at various
times in _Romeo and Juliet_, _Hamlet_, _The Corsican Brothers_, and _The
Dead Heart_, besides _Macbeth_. Am I wrong in saying that in each of
these pieces you fight a duel?

MR. IRVING. No. I fight a duel in each of them, except _Macbeth_, in
which there is no duel, only a hand-to-hand combat. I do commit a murder
in _Macbeth_.

A MEMBER. MR. IRVING'S tastes seem rather to run in the direction of
murders. (_Laughter._)

After the report of the Official Censor upon the general tone of the
Lyceum plays during the last fifteen years had been read a second time
and adopted, the Chairman, without more than a formal consultation with
his colleagues, proceeded to announce the decision of the Committee. He
said that they had not come to their present conclusion without long and
anxious deliberation. They were now the constituted guardians of the
public morals, and must fulfil their functions without fear or favour.
(_Applause._) They must look at the character of the performances at
each theatre, considering only whether they were or were not beneficial
to morality. In the past, under a _régime_ happily now at an end, public
opinion had been shamefully lax, and official control purely nominal;
plays had been repeatedly performed, and even welcomed as classics,
which he did not hesitate to say were full of incidents that were
revolting to all well-regulated minds. SHAKSPEARE, who, with his
undoubted talents, should have known better, was, so far from being an
exception, one of the worst offenders. The Council must free themselves
from the shackles of conventional tolerance. (_Applause._) Evil was
evil--murder was murder--coarseness was coarseness--whether treated by
SHAKSPEARE or anybody else. Nor could the Committee shut their eyes to
the fact that Mr. IRVING'S histrionic ability, and his popularity with
those who attended his exhibitions could only intensify the injurious
effect which such representations must have upon young and
impressionable minds. In his opinion, much as he regretted having to say
so, the Lyceum was nothing less than a School of Murder. It aggravated
rather than extenuated the evil to be told, as they had been told, that
all these deeds of violence had been represented on the stage with every
aid which money, art and research could give. Again, was it desirable
that the Democracy should derive their ideas of the family life of
crowned heads from being admitted into the scandalous secrets of the
household of _Hamlet_? Or did they wish to see an injured husband
following the example of _Othello_? A thousand times no. These things
must be stopped. The Council was very far from taking a Puritanical view
of the question--(_applause_)--they fully recognised that the stage was
a necessary social evil, and, as such, must be tolerated until the
public taste was sufficiently purified to refuse it further countenance;
but, in the meantime, the Council must insure that such exhibitions as
they were prepared to sanction were of a kind consistent with the
preservation of good manners, decorum, and of the public
peace--(_applause_)--none of which conditions, in the unanimous opinion
of the Committee, was fulfilled by the class of entertainment which the
appellant IRVING had, by his own admission, persisted in providing. On
those grounds alone the Committee dismissed the Appeal, and declared the
Lyceum Theatre closed till further notice. He might say, however, that
they might possibly be induced, after a certain interval, to reconsider
the question, and allow the theatre to be reopened on MR. IRVING'S
undertaking to produce dramas of an entirely unobjectionable character
in future. (MR. IRVING begged for some more definite leading as to the
dramas alluded to.) The Chairman said that he had been informed that an
illustrated periodical called _Punch_ was publishing a series of Moral
Dramas, in which the sentiments and incidents were alike irreproachable.
Let MR. IRVING promise to confine himself to these, and the Council would
see about it. ( MR. IRVING then withdrew, without, however, having given
any definite undertaking, and the Committee adjourned.)

       *       *       *       *       *


_Engineering (to Little Tour Eiffel)._ "WHERE ARE YOU, NOW, MY LITTLE

    "The Eiffel Tower is 1000 feet high; if the Forth Bridge were put up
    on end, it would be 5280 feet in height. The tower has in its
    construction 7500 tons of iron; the bridge has 53,000 tons of the
    best steel. The tower was made in about six months; the bridge has
    required seven years. The Eiffel Tower is a wonderful thing; but,
    then, how much more wonderful is the Forth Bridge!"--_Illustrated
    London News._

  _The Bridge._ You took lots of beating, my sky-scraping friend,
          But  BENJAMIN BAKER has compassed _that_ end;
          I am sure Monsieur  EIFFEL himself would allow
          That the Bridge licks the Tower; so where are you _now_?

  _The Tower._ _J'y suis et j'y reste_, my big friend and great rival,
          I hope for a long and a glorious survival;
          But don't mind admitting--all great souls are frank--
          That you--for the present at least--take first rank
          'Midst the mighty achievements adorning our sphere
          Of our latest of Titans, the Great Engineer.

  _The Bridge._ All hail, Engineering! No wonder you're proud
          Of a work in whose honour all praises are loud;
          No wonder 'tis opened by princes and peers
          Amidst technical triumph and popular cheers;
          No wonder that  BENJAMIN BAKER feels glad,
          Sir  JOHN FOWLER and  COOPER quite other than sad.
          'Twas a very big job, 'tis a very big day,
          And the whole country joins in the Scotchmen's Hooray!

       *       *       *       *       *


What train of thought was it that led the indefatigable PERCY FITZGERALD
to write, _The Story of Bradshaw's Guide_, which appears in one of the
most striking wrappers that can be seen on a railway book-stall? How
pleasant if we could obtain a real outside coat-pocket railway guide
just this size. It is a pity that the Indefatigable and Percy-vering One
did not apply to _Mr. Punch_ for permission to reprint the page of
Bradshaw which appeared in _Mr. Punch's Bradshaw's Guide_, marvellously
illustrated by BENNETT, many years ago. This _magnum opus in parvo_ is
really interesting and amusing, but if there is one thing more than
another which he who runs and reads desiderates of an author writing of
time-tables and guides, it is accuracy. Now, in one particular instance,
our PERCY is inaccurate. He writes: "Close on fifty years have passed
by, and the guide with every year has continued, like _Mr. Stiggins_, to
be a 'swellin' wisibly.'" The Brave Baron challenges PERCY to mortal
combat on this issue, defying him to prove that _Mr. Stiggins_ was ever
described within the limits of _Pickwick_, as "swellin' wisibly." Will
the erudite biographer of _Bradshaw_ be surprised to learn, that, in the
first place, the description "swellin' wisibly" was never applied to
_Mr. Stiggins_ at all, but was used by _Mr. Weller_ senior, as
illustrating the condition of a "young 'ooman on the next form but two"
from where he was sitting, who had "drank nine breakfast cups and a
half, and," he goes on to whisper to _Sam_, "_She's a swellin' wisibly
before my wery eyes._" In the second place, the expression was employed
at a time when _Mr. Stiggins_ was not present, but, in his official
character, as "a deligate from the Dorking branch of our society,
Brother _Stiggins_" was in attendance downstairs. With these two
exceptions, one mistake of omission, and one of commission, the Baron
confers his _imprimatur_ on the _Story of Bradshaw's Guide_, and
recommends it to the public.

For a first-rate, short, well-constructed, and sensationally interesting
story, let me recommend my readers to _The Peril of Richard Pardon_.
Only one possible objection do I see to it, and that is a matter of my
own private opinion, which is, that _Richard Pardon_ is the most
irritating idiot ever created by an author. For the sake of the story,
it was necessary that he should be weak; but he is such a very
backboneless man, and yet quite strong enough to support the fabric of
the plot. Then one is cleverly put off the scent by a certain _Richard
Mortlock_, from whom the reader expects much more than ever comes out.
The sequel of this capital novelette must be _Richard Mortlock_. I have
quite forgotten to say that _The Peril of Richard Pardon_ is by Mr. B.
L. FARJEON, whom I have to thank for making time pass too rapidly on
many a previous occasion. The Hour Before Dinner Series--not that this
is the genuine title, but it might be, and is a suggestion--is a real
"boon and a blessing" to those who, like _Podgers_, in JOHN
HOLLINGSHEAD'S immortal farce, "only have a 'our," not for "their
dinner," but for their novel-reading throughout the day. FARJEON _soit
béni!_ (Signed) _The Baron de Book-Worms._

       *       *       *       *       *


(_From a Prophetic Journal of Events, looming possibly somewhere

_Monday._--London, having now been without coal for sixteen weeks, and
people having kept their kitchen-fires alight by burning their banisters
and bedroom furniture, several noted West-end houses undertake to
deliver the arms and legs of drawing-room chairs ("best screened"), at
£26 5s. a ton for cash.

_Tuesday._--All the petroleum in the country having now been exhausted
for heating purposes, and Piccadilly being, in consequence, illuminated
by a night-light in one lamp-post in every three, a "Discontented
Ratepayer" commences a correspondence in the _Times_, commenting on the
matter in a severe temper.

_Wednesday._--Several Colliery Owners, in despair, descend into their
own mines for the purpose of trying to raise some coal themselves, but
their _employés_, declining to assist in hauling them up again, they are
left to their fate, and nothing more is heard of them.

_Thursday._--A Syndicate of Noblemen determine to try for coal on the
spot, by sinking a mine in the middle of Belgrave Square, when, on
arriving at a depth of 2500 feet, they come across an active volcano,
which proves such a nuisance to the neighbourhood, that the Vestry is
applied to by several parishioners to put a stop to it. On their sending
the Sanitary Inspector to investigate the matter, he orders the mine to
be closed. On this being done, the scheme collapses, several of the
Syndicate, as a consequence, in despair emigrating to Tierra del Fuego.

_Friday._--A set of studs and a drawing-room tiara of "Best Wallsend,"
are shown in a window of a jeweller's in Bond Street, and attract such
crowds that the Police have to be called in to prevent a block in the
traffic, and keep the pavement clear for foot passengers.

_Saturday._--Furious street riots commenced by a noble Duke in Grosvenor
Place pulling up the wood pavement in front of his house, and having it
carted rapidly into his coal-cellars. The move becoming popular, spreads
in all directions, with the result of leading to serious collisions with
the local Vestry Authorities, who call in the aid of the Police.

_Sunday._--The Archbishop of CANTERBURY preaches to an enormous
congregation in Westminster Abbey, on the "Plague of Darkness" in Egypt
by the light of a one-farthing candle. This being, by some misadventure,
inadvertently knocked over, the assembled multitude are enabled to
realise, to some extent, the gloomy horrors of the situation as
described by the reverend preacher, and, stumbling over each other,
retire to unlighted streets and fireless hearths, to face another week
of the consequences of the "Trade Problem," with the solution of which
they have been brought face to face.

       *       *       *       *       *


    "It is stated that the captaincy of Deal Castle ... is to be offered
    to Mr. GLADSTONE, the captaincy being in the gift of the Lord Warden
    of the Cinque Ports."--_Daily News._


  There were three sailors of London city
    Who found their (Party) ship at sea,
  Although with programmes, authorised and unauthorised,
    Most carefully they had loaded she.

  There was greedy JOE and glosing JIMMY,
    And the third was named Grand Old BILLEE;
  And they were reduced to the piteous prospect
    Of grubbing on one split (Party) pea.

  Says greedy  JOE to glosing JIMMY,
    "For captaincy I am hungaree."
  To greedy JOE says glosing JIMMY,
    "Then you and I must get rid of _he_."

  Says greedy JOE to glosing JIMMY,
    "With one another _we_ should agree.
  With me as Captain, and you as First Mate,
    If it wasn't for Grand Old BILLEE."

  "Oh, BILLEE, we're going to chuck you over,
    So prepare for a bath in the Irish Sea."
  When BILL received this information,
    His dexter optic winked he.

  "First let me take an observation
    From the main-top over the Irish Sea!"
  "Make haste, make haste," says glosing JIMMY,
    Whilst  JOE he fumbled his snickersnee.

  So BILLY went up to the main-top-gallant mast,
    And began to count o'er the Irish Sea;
  And he scarce had come to eighty-six, or so,
    When up he jumps. "Land Ho!" shouts he.

  "I can see Ould Ireland! There's the Bay of Dublin;
    With a distant glimpse of Amerikee.
  And the Parliament upon College Green, bhoys,
    With a right good glass I can (almost) see."

  So they went ashore, and the crew when mustered
    Kicked Guzzling  JOE, and cashiered JIMMEE.
  But as for Grand Old BILLEE, they gave him
    Of the old "Deal Castle" the captaincy!

[Footnote A: As various versions of the popular song of _"Little
Billee"_ have been set to music and sung, no apology is needed for the
insertion in these pages of the version most up to date.]

       *       *       *       *       *



_House of Commons, Monday, February 24._--"Look here, TOBY, M.P.," said
ARTHUR BALFOUR, almost fiercely; "if you suppose that I enjoy this sort
of thing, you're quite mistaken." Hadn't supposed any such thing;
hadn't, indeed, referred to the matter. Only looked at him inquiringly,
as ATTORNEY-GENERAL for IRELAND, trudging stolidly through the mire,
attempted to answer CHARLES RUSSELL. "If I _am_ Irish Secretary, as
TREVELYAN once said, I'm an English gentleman, and if you suppose I have
any sympathy with the sort of thing that goes on at Clongorey, you're
mistaken. But I am answerable for law and order, and law and order I

Thus ARTHUR, quite querulous. Have noticed sometimes, when a man
hopelessly in the wrong, he is inclined to turn on his best friend and
rend him. This Clongorey business, truly, a bad one. When, just now,
SEXTON moved adjournment of House, in order to call attention to it,
Conservatives rose with one accord and went forth. They know WINDBAG
SEXTON of old, and thought he was probably going to favour them with one
of his usual exercises. Better this once have stopped and listened.
Interesting to see how two hundred English gentlemen would have voted
had they learned all about Clongorey. Happily less, far less, than usual
of the windbag about SEXTON. His story, in truth, needed no assistance
from wind instrument. Farms at Clongorey simply strips of reclaimed bog
land, on which struggling tenants had built miserable shanties; got
along in good times; just managed to keep body and soul together, and
pay the rent--rent on land they had literally created, and for huts they
had actually built. Two years ago came a flood; swamped them. Asked
landlord to make temporary reduction on rent, to tide over troublesome
times. Landlord offered a pitiful trifle. What was thought of this shown
by County Court Judge, who, on cases that came before him, permanently
reduced rent by thrice amount of temporary reduction proffered. Judge
further suggested that arrears should be wiped out. Landlord declined to
listen to suggestion. Tenants drowned out by the cruel river, dragged
out by the relentless landlord. Stood by whilst the emergency men
wrenched roofs off their huts, and set fire to the ruins. A neighbour
offered them shelter, enlarging out-buildings on her farm. Down came the
police on workmen engaged in this act of charity. A hundred police, paid
for by tax-payer, swooped down with fixed bayonets on Clongorey,
arrested labourers, handcuffed them, marched them off to police

This is the simple Story of Clongorey, reduced to facts not denied by
BALFOUR or ATTORNEY-GENERAL, divested of all incidental matters alleged,
such as the parading of the handcuffed prisoners through the crowded
streets of the town, the police making raids among the crowd, naturally
gathered to see the sight. "One man had his eyeball burst, another his
skull broken." CHARLES RUSSELL, not given to exaggerated views, somewhat
reputable as a legal authority, with law-books in hand stated his
opinion that, apart from incidents of the foray, magistrates and police
were acting illegally.

"Well," said LONG LAWRANCE, turning his back on House of Commons, "I'm
glad they've made me a Judge. Have ever been what is called a good
Party-man; believe in BALFOUR; always ready to back him up with my vote;
but, dash my wig (now that I'm going to wear a full-bottomed one) if I
like voting to render possible the repetition of a business like this at
Clongorey. Must begin to cultivate a judicial frame of mind; so I'll go
for a walk on the terrace." LAWRANCE'S view evidently taken in other
quarters of Conservative camp, for, after diligent whipping up,
Ministerial majority reduced to 42. _Business done._--Address agreed to.

_Tuesday._--Midst a mass of Notices of Motion, a sea of troublous words,
GEORGE TREVELYAN drops in a score which shines forth with light of common
sense. "Why," he asks, "does not Parliament rise at beginning of July,
sitting through winter months for whatsoever longer period may be
necessary for the due transaction of public business?"

Why not? On Friday, the 14th March, TREVELYAN will put the question in
formal way before House, so that they may vote on it. Conservative
majority may well be expected to support it. No new thing; simply
revival of older fashion. Our great grandfathers knew better than to
swelter in London through July, pass the Twelfth of August at
Westminster, and go off forlorn and jaded in the early days of
September. Hunting men may have objections to raise; but then hunting
men, though eminently respectable class, are not everybody, not even a
majority; may even be spared to go hunting as usual. WALPOLE hunted like
anything, yet in WALPOLE'S day Parliament oftener met in November than
at any other time of year, and with due provision for Christmas
holidays, sat into early summer. The thing can be done, and ought to be
done--will be done if TREVELYAN sticks to it. Not nearly such a
revolution in Procedure as that which, only a couple of years ago,
established the automatic close of Debate at midnight. Who is there
would like to go back to the old order of things in this respect?

Got into Committee of Supply to-night on Vote for Houses of Parliament.
TONY LUMPKIN turned up again. Last Session, in moment of inspiration,
TONY spluttered forth a joke; likened new staircase in Westminster Hall
to SPURGEON'S Pulpit. It is just as like the River Thames or Finsbury
Park; but that's where the fun lies. Incongruity is the soul of wit.
Everybody laughed last Session when TONY, with much gurgling, produced
this bantling; brings it out again to-night.

"Can't have too much of a good thing, TOBY," he says, wrestling with his
exuberant shirt-front, and rubbing his hair the wrong way. "Always had
my joke, you know, down in the country. Remember the little affair of
the circuitous drive? This is what you may call my urban class of
humour. SPURGEON'S Pulpit, Ha, ha!"--and TONY walked off delighted with

_Business done._--Supplementary Estimates.

[Illustration: "Spurgeon's Pulpit, Ha, ha!"]

_Thursday._--Pity that prejudice should be allowed to stand in way of
doing the best thing. Talk just now of pending vacancies on the Bench;
such talk recurrent; sometimes more talk than vacancy. "But I pass from
that," as ARTHUR BALFOUR says, when gliding over knotty points of
question put from Irish Benches. If not vacancy to-morrow, sure to be
within week, or month, or year. Why not make JEMMY LOWTHER a Judge? It
is true he has no practice at the Bar; but he was "called," and, I
believe, went. That is a detail; what we desire in our Judges are, a
certain impressive air, a striking presence, and an art of rotund
speech. JAMES has played many parts in his time--Parliamentary Secretary
to the Poor-Law Board, Under-Secretary for the Colonies, Chief Secretary
for Ireland, and Steward of the Jockey Club. In this last capacity he, a
year ago, temporarily assumed judicial functions. How well he bore
himself! with what dignity! with what awful suavity! with what
irreproachable integrity!

That this manner is ingrained, is testified to on the occasions, too
infrequent, when JEMMY rises in House. To-night BUCHANAN asked HOME
SECRETARY a question, involving disrespect of rabbit-coursing. JAMES,
the great patron of British sport in all developments, slowly rose, and
impressively interposed. Was his Right Hon. friend, the HOME SECRETARY,
aware that rabbit-coursing, conducted under recognised and established
regulations, affords pastime to large masses of the industrious
population who are unable, from their pecuniary circumstances, to
indulge in the more expensive forms of sport? Those were JEMMY'S words,
each syllable deliberately enunciated. What a study for the aspirant to
Parliamentary style!

Kindly Earl of RAVENSWORTH, who still haunts the Chamber in which Lord
ESLINGTON once had a place, chanced to hear this question. Delighted
with it. Wished he could introduce something of that sort in House of
Lords. Went about Lobby with his faithful umbrella (companion of his
daily life, wet or shine) murmuring the musical phrases. "Recognised and
established regulations," "afford pastime to large masses of industrious
population," "unable from pecuniary circumstances," "the more expensive
forms of sport." That all very well, but not quite all. Easy enough to
catch the trick of speech; who but JEMMY LOWTHER can add the indefinable
personal gifts which invest even the commonplace with impressiveness?

_Business done._--Lots. Ministers bring in Bills by the half-dozen.

[Illustration: Earl and Umbrella.]

_Friday._--Such _alouettes_! SAGE OF QUEEN ANNE'S GATE, who can't abear
scandals, brought on alleged iniquity of Government in connection with
Cleveland Street affair. Got off his speech; ATTORNEY-GENERAL replied;
then SAGE proposed to offer few supplementary remarks. In course of
these appeared frank declaration of his private opinion that everything
the MARKISS says must be taken _cum grano Salis_-BURY; only the way he
put it was much worse than that. COURTNEY asked him to withdraw.
"Shan't!" said the SAGE. Then COURTNEY named him (calling him, by the
way, "Mr. HENRY LABOUCHERE.") OLD MORALITY, rising to height of duty and
occasion, moved that SAGE be suspended.

"Oh, hang it!" cried Opposition--"can't agree to that."

Divided on proposal; beaten, and SAGE hung up for a week. "He'll be
pretty well dried by that time," grimly muttered the ATTORNEY-GENERAL,
whom the SAGE had stroked the wrong way.

_Business done._--Vote on Account agreed to.

[Illustration: Grand Historical Picture. Mr. Labouchere struggling with
his Conscience.]

       *       *       *       *       *


It is some time since I have tasted a dramatic mixture so much to my
liking as Mr. GRUNDY'S Gregory's Mixture, known to the public, and
likely to be highly popular with the public too, as _A Pair of
Spectacles_. Art more refined than Mr. HARE'S, as _Benjamin Goldfinch_
in this piece, has not been seen on the stage for many a long day; nor,
except in _A Quiet Rubber_, do I remember Mr. HARE having had anything
like this particular chance of displaying his rare skill as a genuine
comedian of the very first rank.

[Illustration: The Ruffled Hare. "This is your umbrella!"]

Everyone remembers, or ought to remember, DICKENS'S "_Brothers
Cheeryble_." Well, _Benjamin Goldfinch_ has all the milk of human
kindness which characterised these philanthropic Gemini. As to moral
characteristics, he is these two single gentlemen rolled into one, while
physically, his exterior rather conjures up the picture of _Harold
Skimpole_, though his eyes beam with the youthful impetuosity of old
_Martin Chuzzlewit_ when he caned _Pecksniff_. To this delightfully
guileless good Samaritan, the rough, nay brutal, _Uncle Gregory_ from
Sheffield, with a heart apparently as hard as his own ware, is a
contrast most skilfully brought out by Mr. CHARLES GROVE. Though the
part of _Uncle Gregory_ does not require the delicate treatment demanded
by that of _Goldfinch_, yet it might very easily be overdone; but never
once does Mr. GROVE overshoot the mark, although the author has
imperilled its success by too frequent repetition of a catch-phrase, "I
know that man," "I know that father," "I know that friend," and so
forth, which is sometimes on the verge of becoming wearisome. Indeed,
even now, I should be inclined to cut out at least half a dozen of these
variations of the original phrase. His short but sufficient
representation of the effects of too much lunch on _Uncle Gregory_ is
masterly. So realistic, in the best sense of the word, is the
impersonation of these two characters, that one is inclined to resent
the brutality of _Uncle Gregory_, when one sees the change suddenly
effected in the sweet and sympathetic nature of _Benjamin Goldfinch_,
and when we see him suspicious of everybody, and even of his young wife,
whom he loves so dearly, we murmur, "Oh, what a noble mind is here
o'erthrown!" And, indeed, but that it is impossible to help laughing
from first to last, the final scenes of this charming piece, replete
with touches of real human nature, would send an audience away crying
with joy, to think of the possible goodness existent in the world, of
which one occasionally hears, but so seldom sees, except on the stage.

[Illustration: Mr. Grove as Gregory the Grater.]

Not a part in this piece is even indifferently played. The two young
men, Mr. RUDGE HARDING, and Mr. SYDNEY BROUGH, both very good, the
latter having better dramatic opportunities, and making the most of
them. Mr. DODSWORTH just the very man for _Friend Lorimer_; Mr. CATHCART
is _Joyce_, the Butler; and of the two Shoemakers, respectively played
by Mr. KNIGHT and Mr. BYRON, I can only say, "I know those shoemakers."

As for the Ladies, Miss KATE RORKE looks very pretty, and acts
charmingly as young _Mrs. Goldfinch_; Miss HORLOCK is very nice as _Lucy
Lorimer_, delivering herself of a little bit of picturesque sentiment
about feeding the birds (_Les Petits Oiseaux_ is the title of the old
French piece, if I remember rightly) in a rather too forcedly ingenuous
manner, but behaving most naturally in the interrupted courtship scene,
and being generally very sympathetic. I mustn't omit Miss HUNTER, pink
of parlour-maids, not the conventional flirty soubrette nor the
low-comedy waiting-woman, but a self-respecting, responsible young
person, conscious of her own and her young man's moral rectitude, and
satisfied with quarter-day and the Post-Office Savings Bank.

Only one single fault have I to find with the piece, and as it cannot be
entirely remedied, though it might be modified, I will mention it. The
title is a mistake; that can't be altered now: but the attempt at
illustrating the double-meaning conveyed in the title by the practical
"business" of changing the material glasses and thus hampering the actor
by the necessity of altering his expression and his manner in accordance
with his deposition or his resumption of these spectacles, seems to me
to be childish to a degree, and tends towards turning this simple tale
into a kind of fairy story, in which the spectacles play the part of a
magic potion or charm, such as Mr. W. S. GILBERT would use in his
_Creatures of Impulse_, his _Fogarty's Fairy_, and his _Sorcerer_,
whenever he wishes to bring about a sudden and otherwise inexplicable
transition from one mental attitude to another, and entirely opposite.
But for the earnestness of the actors, this _reductio ad Fairydum_ would
have imparted an air of unreality to the characters and incidents which
does not belong to them. The plot is a model of neat construction; and,
to everyone at all in doubt as to where to pass an agreeable evening, I
say, "Go to the Garrick Theatre." By the way, a Correspondent suggests
that _A Pair of Spectacles_ is an illustration of "The Hares
Preservation Bill,"


       *       *       *       *       *

A DISCLAIMER.--The Right Hon. Mr. HENRY CHAPLIN, M.P., Anti-muzzle-man
and Minister of Agriculture, wishes to deny explicitly that, when, by a
_lapsus calami_, he was made to describe Mr. TAY PAY O'CONNOR as
"peeping from behind the Speaker's chair," he ever intended to fix upon
that honourable gentleman the _sobriquet_ of "Peeping Tom"; nor had he
any idea of sending him to Coventry. What he _did_ say was----but it
doesn't much matter what "he _did_ say," what he _didn't_ say is so much
more to the point.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE STANLEY AND AFRICAN EXHIBITION.--One of the largest contributors
will be Mr. BONNY. This sounds well; at all events, it's BONNY. The
French, who are now welcoming their own private African hero, _le
Capitaine_ TRIVIER, back to his native land, may be induced to place
their trophies under Mr. BONNY'S care, as, if Imperialists, they can
then say they have a BONNY-part in this Exhibition.

       *       *       *       *       *

FROM AN INDIGNANT CORRESPONDENT.--"Sir,--I sent you a joke three months
ago, which you have not used. Since then I have made arrangements for
the joke to appear elsewhere." [What a chance we have lost!--ED.]

       *       *       *       *       *



_She._ "_WHICH?_"]

       *       *       *       *       *


_Grand Old Gunner loquitur:--_

  'Tis a regular "Mons Meg" of a cannon!
    The swabs, they have been every one,
  Very hard the Grand Old (Gunner) Man on,
    But what will they think of _this_ gun?
  Double shotted, and charged to the muzzle,
    And trained by my hands and my eye,
  The foes I conceive it will puzzle,
              And tempt them to fly.

  Mere skirmishing, up to the present,
    With pop-guns, and flint-locks, and such;
  But now! They will not find it pleasant,
    When once this huge touch-hole I touch.
  Mighty CÆSAR! I guess they won't like it;
    Great SCOTT! won't it just raise a din?
  And don't they just wish they could spike it
              Before we begin?

  The fun of it is, they have furnished
    The filling themselves, unaware.
  The shot they've cast, polished, and burnished,
    The powder were prompt to prepare.
  It's pitiful, quite, their position,
    To see, the unfortunate elves!
  Their carefully-stored ammunition
              Thus turned on themselves.

  Their batteries big it should batter,
    Their trenches should burst and blow up,
  Their forces allied it should scatter,
    It's worse than an Armstrong or Krupp.
  Chain-shot for swift slaughter's not in it,
    For spreading it's better than grape,
  They'll all be smashed up in a minute,
              Scarce one can escape.

  Now, MORLEY, my boy, and brave PARNELL,
    _I'll_ lay it; just follow my hand.
  That plain will soon look like a charnel,
    With all that remains of their band;
  The "fragments of him called McCARTY"
    (Referred to, I think, in the song)
  Were huge chunks to the scraps that their Party
              Will show before long.

  They shall see what I can do, when ready,
    As Grand Old (Artillery) Man.
  Right, PARNELL! left, MORLEY! Now, steady!!!
    Stop! Just one last peep, whilst I can!
  I _do_ hope, dear boys, there's no blunder;
    I _think_ it is loaded all right.
  Are they horribly frightened, I wonder?
              Well, now for a sight!!!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "THE BIG GUN!"


       *       *       *       *       *


Our old friend MADDISON MORTON'S _Box and Cox_ runs SHAKSPEARE'S works
generally very near in the matter of daily application. But fancy its
being quoted as an authority by Sir HORACE DAVEY, in his masterly reply
to t'other side in the Bishop of LINCOLN'S case. Yet so it was. "Bishop
COSIN," said Sir HORACE, "had erroneously assumed that a letter had been
written by CALVIN to KNOX, whereas it had been really written to an
Englishman named Cox." So it was a mistake of the postman, after all,
and it only wants the introduction of the name of Box to make the whole
thing perfect and satisfactory. "It will be within the recollection of
the Court," Sir HORACE might have continued, "that Cox was prevented
from becoming the husband of PENELOPE ANNE, relict of WILLIAM WIGGINS,
Proprietor of Bathing Machines at Margate and Ramsgate, by the sudden
and totally unforeseen union of the lady in question with one KNOX,
whose residence, as the Musical Revised Version has it, was usually 'in
the Docks'; and with this marriage of PENELOPE ANNE WIGGINS with Mr.
KNOX of the Docks, Messrs. BOX AND COX professed themselves entirely and
completely satisfied, as it is my earnest hope that Your Grace, and My
Lords the Bishops, will also be. And should this be the result, then I
assure Your Grace that there will not be a happier party sit down this
night to supper than 'READ and others,' of which fact you may take your

On the Learned Counsel resuming his seat, there would have been
considerable applause, which, of course, would have been instantly

       *       *       *       *       *

NOTES "IN GLOBO."--_Dorothy_ was long ago taken off the stage of the
Prince of Wales's to make room for _Paul Jones_. But another DOROTHY has
recently reappeared at the Globe Theatre in the pretty Shakspearian
fairy-play entitled, _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, wherein DOROTHY DENE
enacts the part of _Hippolyta_. By the way, the lady who used to speak
of that immortal work, _Dixon's Johnsonary_, the other day referred to
SHAKSPEARE as being "contemporaneous with that great wit--dear me--what
was his name?--who wrote _Every Man in his own Humour_--oh, I
remember--JOHN BENSON." Eminently satisfactory.

       *       *       *       *       *



    "The St. Petersburgh tailors have hit upon an effectual device for
    obtaining payment of their bills. Immense black-boards are hung up
    in the most conspicuous place in the reception-room; thereon are
    chalked, in letters as big as arrow-headed inscriptions, the names
    of their hopelessly-indebted clients, and the amount of their

_Daily Paper._

  Who always seemed serene and bland;
  Who never asked for "cash in hand,"
  Quite pleased that my account should "stand"?
                           My Tailor!

  Who catered for the gilded throng,
  Who chid me when my taste was wrong,
  Whose credit--and whose price--was long?--
                           My Tailor!

  Who chatted when I felt depressed,
  Who proffered wine with friendly zest,
  Whose weeds were ever of the best?--
                           My Tailor!

  Who with sartorial oil anoints
  My vanity, who pads my joints,
  And fortifies my weakest points?--
                           My Tailor!

  But who in future, much I fear,
  Will greet me with no words of cheer,
  But talk of "settling"--language queer?--
                           My Tailor!

  Who silently will point his hand
  To figures white on black-board grand.
  Where all my unpaid "items" stand?--
                           My Tailor!

  Who'll thus expose me to my peers,
  Bring on me jibes, and flouts, and sneers,
  Male sniggerings, and female tears?--
                           My Tailor!

  Who'll frown when I suggest a loan,
  And ne'er produce Clicquot or Beaune,
  But for his "checks" demand my own?--
                           My Tailor!

  Who'll take my "measures" when he wills,
  But only if I take his "bills,"
  And add one more to human ills?--
                           My Tailor!

       *       *       *       *       *



It was most kind of you to ask me to go to the St. James's Theatre, the
other evening, to see Mrs. LANGTRY, after I had told you that since my
recovery from the influenza, I had unfortunately lost my memory. "Don't
you know anything about _As You Like It_?" you asked. I pondered deeply,
and then replied, that I half fancied it was a GERMAN REED'S
Entertainment, that would have gone better had it included a part for
Mr. CORNEY GRAIN. You told me I was wrong, but intimated that my
ignorance on the subject would make my notice the more impartial. So I

As to the play--was I pleased with _As You Like It_? Well, I have known
worse, but I have seen better. It seemed a mixture of prose and verse,
with several topical allusions that appeared, somehow or other, to have
lost their point. For instance, a dull dog of a jester (played in a
funereal fashion by Mr. SUGDEN) stopped the action of the piece, for
what seemed to me (no doubt the time was actually less) some
three-quarters of an hour, while he explained the difference between the
"retort courteous" and "the reproof valiant." The plot was as thin as a
wafer, but as it is, no doubt, generally known, I need not further refer
to it. Mrs. LANGTRY was a most graceful and pleasing _Rosalind_. She
acted with an earnestness worthy of a better cause, and afforded not a
trace of the amateur. Of Miss VIOLET ARMBRUSTER as _Hymen_, I might say,
with a friend who spent several hours in knocking off the impromptu--


  Had always Hymen
    Such mien, such carriage,
  You ne'er would fly, men,
    The state of marriage!

[Illustration: A New Piece.]

Mr. LAWRENCE CAUTLEY, as _Orlando_, had an uphill part. At times (thanks
to the author) he appeared in situations that were absolutely
ridiculous. For instance, he leaves an old retainer (capitally played by
that soundest of sound actors, Mr. EVERILL) dying of starvation, and,
sword in hand, appears at a pic-nic of the banished _Duke_, to demand
refreshment. "I almost die for food, and let me have it," says
_Orlando_, and is welcomed by the _Duke_ to his table. And what does
_Orlando_ do? Does he seize the boar's head, or something equally
attractive, and rush back to his fainting servitor with the prize? Not a
bit of it! He leisurely delivers fourteen lines of blank verse about the
"shade of melancholy boughs," "the creeping hours of time," and
"blushing, hides his sword!" In my neighbourhood happened to be one of
the greatest advocates of our generation, and I heard this legal
luminary whisper, "while that fellow is talking, the old servant will
die of starvation," and the legal luminary was entirely and absolutely
right. _Adam would_ have died of starvation while his garrulous master
was posturing. A country wench called _Audrey_ was admirably
impersonated by Miss MARION LEA, and the remainder of the cast was, on
the whole, satisfactory. Stay, it is only just that I should single out
for special commendation Mr. ARTHUR BOURCHIER, who played a character,
to whom reference was frequently made as "the melancholy _Jaques_,"
faultlessly. Here again the author committed an indiscretion. _Jaques_
(by the way, why was not Mr. SUGDEN'S _rôle_ described as, "the more
melancholy _Touchstone_?") is permitted to stop the action of the piece
to deliver some thirty lines commencing with the trite truism, "all the
world's a stage." Mr. BOURCHIER spoke his words with excellent
discretion, but I cannot help thinking that, in the cause of Art, the
speech should have been cut out, and I have no doubt, that Mr.
BOURCHIER, as a true artist, will cordially agree with me.

And so, to quote Mrs. LANGTRY in the Epilogue, "farewell;" but in spite
of what you have said to the contrary, I am still of opinion, my dear
Editor, that _As You Like It_ must have been originally intended for Mr.
and Mrs. GERMAN REED'S Entertainment, minus Mr. CORNEY GRAIN.

  Sincerely Yours,

       *       *       *       *       *


       *       *       *       *       *



  In periods of sleep, despair,
    Of aberration, we have guessed
  We were not altogether there,
    But seldom known where was the rest.

  Our Astral Bodies wander far,
    Whenever they will not be missed.
  Strange things in earth and heaven are
    For the devout theosophist.

  Young  WILFRID wooed the wealth of  CLARE;
    But ah, in spite of golden dearth,
  His mind and heart approved more fair
     KATE'S intellect and moral worth.

  "Prudence my steps inspire!" he said;
    And automatically to
  The residence of  CLARE he sped,
    And gained an instant's interview.

  "Fairest," he cried, "my homage deep
    Ah, not your rank, your wealth command!
  These idle baubles, lady, keep.
    Give me alone this lily hand!"

  "I will," she said. (The dinner gong
    That moment sounded.) "Haste away;
  But meet me in the social throng
    To-morrow--that is, Saturday."

  That self-same hour--the clock struck eight--
    In Holloway began to muse
  The charming and the gifted  KATE
    On logarithms most abstruse.

  Her door stood wide! Who entered there?
    'Twas WILFRID spoke in hollow tone.
  "With me life's logarithms share,
    KATE, that I cannot solve alone!"

  "I will," she answered. "But begone!
    Strange chaperons inspect, explore.
  The Principal, the stairs is on!"
    He sighed, and vanished from the door.

  Next eve, amid the social throng,
    Serene stood CLARE at WILFRID'S side;
  And dreaming not that aught was wrong,
    She gaily questioned and replied.

  Till WILFRID suddenly was 'ware,
    Close by, of a familiar face,
  And realised with wild despair
    All, all the horror of the case!

  "Oh, what is wrong?" cried CLARE in awe.
    Calmly, he answered. "It was He,
  My Astral Body, that she saw.
    Oh, which am I? Oh, woe is me!"

       *       *       *       *       *

EAST-ERN ART IN BOND STREET.--"So let the world jog along as it will,
I'll be Japanese-y still! Japanese-y, Japanese-y. I'll be Japanese-y
still!" Can't help singing when we see Mr. EAST'S pictures of Japan at
the Fine Art Society's Gallery. This clever artist sojourned in that
country from March to September. He kept his eyes open and his hand ever
busy, and has brought back more than a hundred pictures--fresh,
brilliant, and original. Such marvellous aspects of scenery, such wealth
of colour, such novelty do we behold, that we long to start off at once
to Yokohama, to Nikkô, to Hakone, to Tôkiyo, or any one of these
delightful places--singing. "Let's quit this cold climate so dull and
Britannical, And revel in sunshine and colour Japanical!"

       *       *       *       *       *

PROBABLE PUBLICATION.--Companion work to _Sardine and the Sardes_, by
the same author, to be entitled _Sardinia and the Sardines_, illustrated
in oils, and sold in tincases. Great reduction (at lunch time) on taking
a quantity.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. Punch's Artist in a Fog._)]

       *       *       *       *       *


Lambeth is in darkness. A Policeman with a bull's-eye prevents my
driver's energetic endeavours to drive through the Palace wall. I
stumble into the large hall known as the Library. "Here," said I to
myself, "is taking place the historic trial of the Bishop of LINCOLN."
The weird scene strongly resembles the Dream Trial in _The Bells_, where
the judges, counsel, and all concerned, are in a fog. Will the limelight
flash suddenly upon the chief actor, the Bishop of LINCOLN, as he takes
the stage and re-acts the part that has caused the trial? Archbishop
BANCROFT founded this library, so theatrical associations are natural.
The only lights in the long and lofty library (excepting the clerical
and legal) are a dozen or two wax candles and a few oil-lamps, but of
daylight, gaslight, or electric, nothing. I can hear the voice of JEUNE,
Q.C., the JEUNE _premier_ of this ecclesiastical drama.

They have commenced proceedings. In this, the Archbishop's Court, they,
very properly, begin with prayer. So does the House of Commons. "Any
special form of orison?" I ask in a whisper of the JEUNE _premier_, Q.C.
"Yes," he answers in a subdued tone. "Look in your prayer-book for 'form
of prayer to be used by those at sea.' That's it." Then he has to
continue his argument.

At the further end of the library we have the Church, represented by an
Archbishop and five Bishops; also a Judge, in a full-bottomed wig, who
has evidently got in by mistake. Then we have the Law, represented by a
row of Q.C.'s, their juniors, and attendants; and then a chorus of
ordinary people, and common, or Thames Policemen. But where's the Bishop
of LINCOLN? Not among the Thames Policemen? Not in the Dock? Where? Aha!
I see him. I focus him. I sketch him. _Veni, vidi, vici!_ I show result
on paper to Official. "Oh, no," he says; "that's not the Bishop, that's
THINGUMMY," a Clerk of the Court, or something. Hang THINGUMMY! Official
disappears. Lights, ho! a link on Lincoln! I determine to find him. The
Bishops sit round three tables, on a raised platform. The Archbishop of
CANTERBURY sits in the centre; on his right is the mysterious Judge, in
full wig, and red robes; this is the Vicar-General, Sir JAMES PARKER
DEANE, Q.C.; next to him sits Assessor Dr. ATLAY, Bishop of HEREFORD,
who looks anything but happy; his hair has the appearance of being
impelled by a strong draught, and his hand is to his face, as if the
draught had produced toothache. The portly Bishop of OXFORD is on his
right, and like the other corner man, the Bishop of SALISBURY, he
scribbles away at a great rate in a huge manuscript book, or roll of
foolscap. On the left of the Archbishop sits the Bishop of LONDON, who
severely questions the Counsel, and evidently relishes acting the
school-master over again. The Bishop of ROCHESTER sitting on LONDON'S
left, supplies the comedy element, so far as facial expression goes; his
mouth is wide open, and he holds some papers in front of him in an
attitude which suggests that he will presently break forth into song.
But where, oh where, is the Bishop of LINCOLN? Ah, I see him. I sketch
him. I write his name under sketch, and show it to one of the Reporters.
He scribbles across it, "Wrong." I write, "Where is he?" He waves me
away. I believe the Bishop is at the other side of the long table, by
his Counsel. There is a candle in front of him. I make my way to the
other side. I find the Bishop is an old lady! I write, "Where does the
Bishop of LINCOLN sit?" on a piece of paper, and take it to an Official.
He cannot see to read it, so some time is lost while he finds a
convenient candle. He looks towards me, and points to a corner.

Good! At last! There is an old gentleman, in plain clothes it is true,
but still otherwise every inch a Bishop or a Butler, or perhaps both in
one,--say Bishop BUTLER. I have just finished a careful study of him,
when he turns round and whispers, "Please, Sir, can you tell me which is
the Bishop of LINCOLN?" I shake my head angrily, and move away. I'll
bide my time. JEUNE _premier_ is answering the hundred-and-seventh
question of the Bishop of LONDON, and is being "supported" by Sir WALTER
PHILLIMORE. It amuses me to hear these two clever Counsel, in this
natural and ecclesiastical fog, carrying on an animated legal
conversation with each other, ignoring the Bishops; not that the latter
seem to mind, as they scribble merrily away at their folios. Are their
Right Reverend Lordships engaged in writing their Sunday sermons?

But where is _the_ Bishop? He ought to be near his Counsel. The severe
Sir HORACE DAVEY sits writing letters; next to him the affable Dr.
TRISTRAM, then the rubicund Mr. DANKWERTS, but no Bishop. One o'clock!
The Bishops rise for Lunch and Levée. "Where, oh where! is the Bishop of
LINCOLN?" I ask JEUNE _premier_. "Quick--I want to sketch him before he

"The Bishop!" returns the First Ecclesiastical Young Man, smiling. "Oh,
he never comes near the place." _Exit_ JEUNE _premier_. I appeal to the
austere Sir HORACE DAVEY. "I can't tell you," says sir HORACE--"DAVEY
_sum, non OEdipus_." And off he goes, to argue another sort of a case
about Baird language and the Pelican Club. He will say no more. On this
occasion only, HORACE is TACITUS. I do not find the Bishop, and quit

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: LIKELY--VERY!


       *       *       *       *       *


The _restaurateur_ evidently considered that he "didn't kill a pig every
day," when he stuck _Le Petit Duc_ for this now historic bill, which, as
given in full by the _Figaro_, _Mr. Punch_ reproduces here for general

    Un artichaut barigoule   12fr.
    Un châteaubriand         16 "
    1 sole                   10 "
    1 noix de veau           10 "
    1 homard                 25 "
    1 salade                  3 "
    1 caneton aux navets     25 "
    6 écrevisses             15 "
    Hors d'oeuvre             5 "
    Une assiette de fruits   16 "

Whenever it may be the lot of any distinguished Member of the Upper
House to be sent to the Tower of London, or a Member of the Lower to be
shut up in the Clock Tower, the Provisional Government for the time
being will know what to charge for its provisions. The _restaurateur_
addressed his little account, "_À Sa Magesté (sic) Louis
Philippe-Robert_ ('ROBERT' was in it) _Duc d'Orléans_." In styling _Le
Petit Duc_ "His Majesty" the artful _restaurateur_ evidently had in view
a future _restauration_. The _restaurateur_, who expected to provide the
young Duke of ORLEANS with a second dinner, of course quoted SHAKSPEARE,
and exclaimed enthusiastically--

    "I must go victual Orleans forthwith!"

_Henry V., Part I., Act I., Sc. 5._

But the youthful Duc or Duckling wasn't to be caught and stuffed a
second time.

       *       *       *       *       *

A SATURDAY SERIES.--"Hunters' Dams" was the heading of an article in
last week's _Saturday Review_. As the counter-jumper politely says,
"What will be the next article?" We look forward with interest to
"Shooters' Swearings," "Anglers' Affirmations," "Coursers' Curses," and
a few others that may suggest themselves.

       *       *       *       *       *

ROYAL SOCIETY OF PAINTER-ETCHERS.--At the pleasant Gallery, 5A, Pall
Mall East, is a good show of needle-work. One of the most prolific
contributors is a certain clever gentleman whose name may possibly be
familiar to some of our readers, one REMBRANDT VAN RHYN, who sends no
less than a hundred works.

       *       *       *       *       *


(_By Mr. Punch's Own Type-Writer._)



For the proper production of the young M.P. there are many receipts, but
only one is genuine. Take a rickety boy, and provide him with a wealthy
father, slightly flavoured with a good social position and political
tastes. Send him to a public school, having first eliminated as much
youthfulness as is compatible with continued existence. Add some
flattering masters, and a distaste for games. Season with the idea that
he is born for a great career. Let him be, if possible, verbose and
argumentative, and inclined to contradict his elders. Eliminate more
youth and transfer hot to a University. Add more verbosity, and a strong
extract of priggishness. Throw in a degree, and two speeches at the
Union. Set him to simmer for two years in a popular constituency, and
serve him up, a chattering pedant of twenty-four, at Westminster.

In the course of the contest which resulted in his return to the House
of Commons, the young M.P. will have tasted the sweets of advertisement
by seeing his name constantly placarded in huge letters on coloured
posters. He will have been constantly referred to as "Our popular young
Candidate," and he will thus have become convinced that the welfare of
his country imperatively demands his immediate presence and permanent
continuance in Parliament. When the genial butcher who, besides
retailing the carcases of sheep and oxen, sits in the Town Council, and
presides over one of the local political associations, declared, as he
often has at other contests and of other candidates, that never, in the
course of his political career, had he listened to more mature wisdom,
adorned with nobler eloquence, than that which had fallen from "Our
young and popular Candidate," he was merely satisfying a burning desire
for rhetorical expansion, without any particular regard to accuracy of
statement. But the candidate himself greedily gulps that lump of
flattery, and all the praise which is the conventional sauce for every
political gander. On this he grows fat, and being, in addition, puffed
up by a very considerable conceit of his own, he eventually presents an
aspect which is not pleasing, and assumes (towards those who are not
voters in the Constituency) a manner which can scarcely be described as

The majority of his Constituents regard him simply as an automatic
machine for the regular distribution of large subscriptions. He regards
himself as a being of great importance and capacity, and endowed with
the power of acting as he likes, whilst the local wirepullers look upon
him as a convenient mask, behind which they may the more effectively
carry on their own petty schemes of personal ambition.

As a Candidate, moreover, the young M.P. will have discovered that the
triumph of his party depends not merely or even chiefly upon the due
exposition of those political principles with which he may have lately
crammed himself by the aid of a stray volume of MILL, and a _Compendium
of Political History_, but rather upon the careful observance of local
custom and local etiquette, and the ceaseless effort to trump his
adversary's every trick. He will thus have become the President of the
local Glee Club, the Patron of a Scientific Association, and a local Dog
Show, the Vice-President of four Cricket Clubs and of five Football
Clubs, a Member of the Committee of the Hospital Ball, and of the
Society for Improving the breed of Grey Parrots; to say nothing of the
Guild for Promoting the happiness of Middle-aged Housemaids, and the
local Association for the Distribution of Penny Buns, at cheap prices,
to the deserving poor. Moreover, before he has discovered the true
relation of benefit societies to politics, he will find himself a Member
of the Odd Fellows, the Foresters, the Hearts of Oak, the Druids, and
the Loyal and Ancient Order of Free and Accepted Buffaloes, with the
right, conferred by the last-named Society, of being addressed on lodge
nights as if he were a Baronet, or, at least, a Knight.

Having thus met and shaken hands with the working-man during his hours
of festive relaxation, the young M.P. will be properly qualified for
discussing those social questions which form the chief part of every
aspirant's political baggage. Being gifted with a happy power of
enunciating pompous platitudes with an air of profound conviction, and
of spreading butter churned from the speeches of his leaders on the
bread of political economy, he will be highly thought of at meetings of
political leagues of either sex, or of both combined. It is necessary
that he should catch the eye of the Speaker during his first Session. He
will afterwards talk to his Constituents of the forms of the House in
the tone of one who is familiar with mysteries, and is accustomed to
mingle on terms of equality with the great and famous. He will bring in
a Bill which an M.P. who was once young, has abandoned, and, finding his
measure blocked, will discourse with extreme bitterness of the
obstruction by which the efforts of rising political genius are

In London Society the young M.P. may be recognised by an air of
conscious importance as of one who carries the burden of the State upon
his shoulders, and desires to impress the fact upon others. He may be
flattered by being consulted as to the secret intentions of foreign
Cabinets or the prospects of party divisions. He will then speak at
length of his leaders as "we," and will probably announce, in a voice
intended not so much for his immediate neighbours as for the thoughtless
crowd beyond, that "we shall smash them in Committee," and that
"AKERS-DOUGLAS" (or ARNOLD MORLEY, as the case may be) "has asked me to
answer the fellows on the other side to-morrow. I am not sure I shall
speak," the MS. of his speech being already complete. On the following
day he will speak during the dinner-hour to an audience of four, and,
having escaped being counted out, will be greatly admired by his
Constituents. He will assiduously attend all social functions, and will
not object to seeing his name in the paragraphs of Society papers. It is
not absolutely necessary that the young M.P. should be bald, but it is
essential that he should wear a frock-coat. It is well, also, that his
dress should be neat, but not ostentatiously spruce, lest the more
horny-handed of his supporters should take umbrage at an offensive
assumption of superiority over those whose votes keep him in place.

Custom demands that the young M.P. should travel extensively, and that
he should enlighten his home-staying Constituents as to the designs of
Barataria, the labour question in Lilliput, and the prospects of
federation in Laputa, by means of letters addressed to the local
newspaper. He will also interview foreign potentates and statesmen, and
cause the fact to be published through the medium of REUTER. On his
return, he will write a book, and deliver a lecture before the Mutual
Improvement Society of the town he represents. He will then marry, in
order that he may attend Mothers' meetings by deputy, and cause his wife
to make lavish purchases at a local bazaar, which he will have opened.
Shortly afterwards he will select an unpopular fad, which certain
members of his own party approve, and will take a vigorous stand against
it on principle, thus earning the commendation of all parties as a man
of independent views, and unswerving rectitude.

If, at a subsequent election, he should chance to be rejected at the
poll, he will publicly profess that he is delighted to be relieved of an
uncongenial burden, whilst assuring his friends in private that the
country in which able and honest men are neglected must be in a very bad
way. He will, however, publish an address to the electors, in which he
will claim a moral victory, and will assure them that it will ever be
one of his proudest memories to have been connected with their
constituency. He will spend his period of retirement on the stump, and,
unless he be speedily furnished with another Constituency, will
entertain doubts as to the sanity of his party leaders. Subsequently he
will find himself again in the House of Commons, and, having been spoken
of as a young man for about a quarter of a century, will at last become
an Under-Secretary of State, and a grandfather, in the same year.

       *       *       *       *       *

MASTER SINGERS.--Sir,--In accordance with your request, I visited the
Meistersingers' Club (an institution which, seemingly from its name, has
been established as a memorial to WAGNER), where a "dramatic
performance" was given last week that had many points of interest to the
languid pleasure-seeker, wearily thirsting for fresh sources of
amusement. The evening's entertainment commenced with a play obligingly
described by the author as a farce, which was followed by a new and
original operetta, containing some very pretty music by Mr. PERCY REEVE,
with the exquisitely droll title of _The Crusader and the Craven_. The
one lady and two gentlemen who took part in this were, from a prompter's
point of view, nearly perfect. Mr. R. HENDON as _Sir Rupert de
Malvoisie_ (the Crusader) suggested, by his accent and gestures, that he
must have come from the East--how far East, it boots not to inquire.
Miss FLORENCE DARLEY was a good _Lady Alice_, and Mr. J. A. SHALE an
efficient "Craven." Later on an operatic performance is threatened. If
the thrilling series of arrangements on the back of the Programme is to
be accepted as authentic, the members of the Club will be invited to
have _Patience_. It would be difficult to find a more appropriate
accessory to a Night with the Meistersingers. No one asked me to have
any supper, Yours, A HAND AT CLUBS.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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