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Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 105, September 30th 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, September 30th 1893" ***

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

       *       *       *       *       *

Punch, or the London Charivari

Volume 105, September 30th 1893

_edited by Sir Francis Burnand_

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: BETWEEN FRIENDS.

_Mr. Spooner, Q.C. (a Neophyte)._ "THIS IS MY BALL, I THINK?"

_Colonel Bunting (an Adept)._ "BY JOVE, THAT'S A JOLLY GOOD 'LIE'!"


       *       *       *       *       *


Concerning the houses on the East Cliff of "P'm'th" I cannot speak
from residential experience. They appear to me to have been built with
a view to using P'm'th as a winter resort only, and are consequently
protected from the four winds of Heaven by fairly-grown firs, whose
appearance is very suggestive of Christmas festivities on a gigantic
scale, when they might be decorated with coloured lamps, flags, toys,
and bonbons, all of which could be raffled for by the children at home
for the holidays. Here in a still more sheltered spot, and standing,
as the auctioneers and estate agents say, "in its own park-like
grounds," of at least three acres and a half (more or less), is the
Hot-and-Cold-Bath Hotel, which from its having entertained several
crowned and half-crowned heads has fairly earned the right to the
style and title "Royal" as a distinguishing prefix.

The interior of this excellent hostelrie is, as far as my experience
goes, absolutely unique. It is crammed full of works of art of all
sorts, sizes, and varieties, so that the stranger within the hotel
gates may spend a happy day should it rain, as it sometimes does even
at P'm'th, in walking through the galleries, into the various rooms
(by permission of the occupiers), and if there be no catalogue (I do
not remember to have seen one), then he might do worse than make the
acquaintance of the amiable Bric-à-bracketing and Peculiarly Polite
Proprietor, Mr. WYTE WESCOTES, who, if the occasion be opportune, will
with pleasure become his _cicerone_, and show him all the treasures
of this unique establishment. Or he may entrust himself to the
other _genius loci_ of the place, represented by the acting manager
rejoicing in a foreign name not to be mastered all at once by the
sharpest British ear. To my mind, full of many early theatrical
reminiscences, it is immediately associated with the name of a Chinese
Princess in an ancient extravaganza entitled _The Willow-Pattern
Plate_, where Her Royal Highness is thus mentioned in the prologue:--

  "And this is the room of his daughter KOONG-SEE,
  Who's shut up, as she's found in the first scene to be,
  Whence she looks on the gardens and looks on the trees,
  That wibbledy wobbledy go in the breeze,
  Whose verdure and shade such a paradise made
  Of the house of the Mandarin HEE-SING."

All which description can be adapted to present circumstances, and be
applied to the interior and exterior of the Royal Hot-and-Cold-Bath
Hotel, Pinemouth, where the fare is excellent, and the price moderate;
and, if there are, here and there, in the three hundred and sixty-five
days some bad ones, what of that? Is there any establishment, however
perfect, which, open all the year round, is not open to cavil and also
to improvement?

_Trip to Lulworth Cove._--By new L. and S. W. line. This line, like
the stitch in time, saves nine, or it saves at least seven miles
formerly traversed in prehistoric times of quite six months ago. We
are _en route_ for Lulworth. Soothing name Lulworth! Drowsy murmur of
a Sleepy-Hollow sort drones about the name of Lulworth.

Delightful drive of five or six miles from station to Lulworth Cove.
Expect of course to be received by "The Cove" himself in person. As
the road thither is occasionally steep, stout persons are requested to
get out and walk up the hills, which they do with as good a grace as
is possible under the circumstances on a broiling September mid-day.

In our shandradan there is a modern version of Miss BIFFIN, who can't
possibly walk, but not for the physical reasons which prevented the
above-mentioned "abbreviated form" from pedestrianising; and there
is also with us the usual genial, stout, elderly dissembler, who,
affecting to be troubled with a touch of highly respectable gout,
feigns the deepest regret at being unable to descend from the car and
join the pedestrians in their delightful toil up the hard and stony
hill. At the summit we are refreshed by a gentle breeze, and between
the heights, about three miles distant, obtaining a view of the deep
blue sea, we feel invigorated.

"_Thalatta! Thalatta!_" exclaims a youth of our party, who is home
for the holidays. No one understands him except the stout man with the
gout, who smiles approvingly, and asks the lad some recondite question
concerning XENOPHON and the Anabasis, whereat the schoolboy shakes
his head, and murmurs something about "not having got quite so far as
that." No schoolboy home for the holidays ever has got as far as the
question you put to him. All our schoolboy knows has been exhausted in
that one quotation, and perhaps the stout gentleman with the touch of
gout is not sorry that the boy's knowledge of Greek is limited. It
is a venturesome thing for a man over fifty, who has not "kept up his
classics," to tackle a boy fresh from school.

We lose sight of the sea, and descend into the little sleepy fishing
village of Lulworth. An out-of-the-way place, with an excellent inn
(the name of which escapes my memory, but it is the only inn near the
bay), where there is good accommodation for man and beast. Here the
lobsters belong to precisely the same family as do those caught at
Swanage, and no higher praise can be bestowed on any lobsters, those
of Cromer, in Norfolk, included, than this. "Show me your lobster,
and I'll show you the man to eat it!" This is my sentiment down
South-West, or due North. The stout and gouty hero, who might have
failed to tackle the boy "fresh from school," now shows himself an
adept at tackling a lobster fresh from the sea. But more about Lunch,
Lobsters, and the Legend of Durdle Door "in our next."

       *       *       *       *       *

GOOD NEWS FOR FIZZIONOMISTS.--To quote _The Merchant of Venice_, "_The
World_ says, and I say so too," (_i.e._ _The World_ of last week,)
that "the quality of the Champagne (the writer is speaking of Moët and
Chandon and Pommery and Greno) will be good." The crop is to be "six
times that of last year." Excellent--if only it be six times superior!
And oh! if it would only be just one-third less in price!! As the poet
(which word rhymes with "Moët") of the Champagne country sings,--

  "To keep a _mens sana in corpore sano_,
  Give me in plenty my Pommery Greno."

But, at all events, so far as they are professionally judging from the
face of the country about Epernay and Rheims, the Fizzionomists are
more than likely to be right. _Ainsi soit-il._

       *       *       *       *       *

"DOLLARS AND SENSE."--According to all accounts, Mr. DALY has shown
his "sense" in reviving this piece (for a short run), so we hope he'll
pull in "the dollars."

       *       *       *       *       *

MRS. R. WANTS TO KNOW.--"Who was the celebrated Scotchman," she asks,
"who took 'the Cameroons' to East Africa?"

       *       *       *       *       *


_Or, The Valiant Knight of the Watering Pot, and the Laidly Dragon of


    ["The Report of the Royal Commission appointed for the purpose
    of ascertaining whether the sources available within the
    watersheds of the Thames and Lea are adequate in quantity and
    quality for the water supply of the metropolis, has been laid
    upon the table of the House of Commons.... The Commissioners
    are convinced that much filth of various kinds is discharged
    unnecessarily and illegally into the rivers.... They insist
    upon the necessity for frequent inspection by an authority
    appointed for the purpose.... The treatment of the water
    after abstraction from the river is a subject to which the
    Commissioners have devoted a good deal of attention ... they
    suggest that regulations should be drawn up after competent
    inquiry, and strictly enforced, the enforcement being
    entrusted to a Public Water Examiner, who should have the
    legal right of entry to all the waterworks."--_The Times._]

AIR--"_The Dragon of Wantley._"

  Old stories tell how Hercules
    A dragon slew at Lerna,
  With seven heads and fourteen eyes,
    To see and well discern-a.
  But our Laidly worm, who can wriggle and squirm,
    Our health long time hath _un_done;
  And it's oh! for a knight, or some man of might,
    To demolish the Dragon of London!

  This dragon hath two horrid heads,
    For forage and for foison;
  The one's all jaw, and devouring maw,
    Whilst the other breathes forth poison.
  Monopolist Greed is the one, indeed,
    Whilst the other means Pollution;
  And a hide of iron doth environ
    Each scaly convolution.

  You've heard, of course, of the Trojan horse;
    Well, this Dragon is thrice as big, Sir!
  With the mouth of a hog, or a Pollywog,
    Or Egyptian Porcupig, Sir!
  Like the Snapping Turtle he'll hustle and hurtle,
    And gulp like the Gobbling Grampus;
  And smite and shock, like the Jabberwock,
    Or the Chawsome Catta-Wampus!

  On the river's banks he plays his pranks,
    An Amphibious Amphisbæna;
  By the Thames and the Lea his coils you'll see,
    A-stretch--like a concertina.
  For the Thames to him, from brim to brim,
    Is a sort of a private Pactolus,
  In whose sands of gold this Dragon bold
    Can roll and wallow--_solus!_

  With one head he grabs L. S. D.
    (Like a Nibelungen Treasure),
  With t'other, whose breath means disease and death,
    He befouls it beyond measure.
  And those two heads o'er the watersheds
    Of the Thames and Lea do hover,
  Till a noxious brewage of slime and sewage
    Is the draught of the water-lover.

  Where's the "More of More Hall with nothing at all,"
    To bring swift retribution,
  And put the gag on this two-headed Dragon
    Of Greed and of Pollution?
  Hurroo! Hooray! Some have had their say
    (And their counsels have been various).
  But there looms in sight a "peerless knight,"
    Which his name is "Sir AQUARIUS."

  This Public Water Examiner,
    "With legal right of entry,"
  Should right the wrong of this Dragon strong,
    And o'er river-rights stand sentry.
  More of More Hall was nothing at all
    For a balladist to brag on,
  Compared with our Knight of the Watering Pot--
    _If he'll slay our River Dragon!_

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "QUITE AT HOME."

_Podgers (who is somehow managing to spend his holiday at a Country
House for the shooting)._ "WELL, SPEAKING OF BOOTS, SIR JOHN, YOU SEE

       *       *       *       *       *

STRICTLY ENTRE NOUS (_communicated by Sir Ben Trovato_).--Quite
recently Mr. CONDIE STEPHEN had the honour of dining with Her Majesty
at Balmoral. He expressed himself highly pleased with a certain port
wine at dessert. Sir ALGERNON "of that ilk" suggested that a bin of
it should be put by in the Royal cellars, to be kept specially for Mr.
STEPHEN'S visits, and labelled "_Condie's Fluid_."

       *       *       *       *       *


Railway travelling in Chicago must be pleasant. "The express train to
New York," says Dalziel's Express in the _Times_ of the 13th, "on
the Lake Shore Railway was stopped by robbers about 140 miles east of
Chicago." Twenty robbers, masked, did the business, killing the engine
driver, and blowing open the express compartment of the car with
dynamite! When travelling by steam was introduced we congratulated
ourselves on our roads being freed from DICK TURPIN, PAUL CLIFFORD,
and Co.; and with steamers, Atlantic liners, and so forth, it was
presumed that the last had been heard of PAUL JONES and the Red Rover.
But can this immunity be any longer guaranteed? May we not in due
course expect to hear of "A P. and O. steamer robbed on the High Seas
by a Pirate Craft," or "The Bath Express stopped soon after leaving
Swindon by PAUL CLIFFORD, jun., and his gang of desperadoes"?

       *       *       *       *       *

SOMETHING LIKE A CENTENARIAN.--The _Daily Chronicle_ gives a most
useful summary of notable events for every day in the week. Here is
one to be quoted as ever memorable, which appeared on Wednesday, Sept.

    "Battle of Newbury. Lord Falkland killed, 1643. Bishop John
    Gauden died, 1662. Battle of Valmy, 1792. _Sir Edward James
    Reed, K.C.B., born, 1630!!_ Battle of the Alma, 1854."

We congratulate Sir EDWARD on having attained his
Two-hundred-and-sixty-third birthday!! The oldest inhabitant isn't in
it with him.

       *       *       *       *       *


(_A Story in Scenes._)

SCENE V.--_A General Waiting-room at Clapham Junction._ CURPHEW _is
leaning against the mantelpiece_. Mr. TOOVEY _is seated on one of the
horsehair chairs against the wall_.

_Mr. Toovey (to himself)._ I do wish he'd sit down, and not look at me
in that austere way! (_Aloud._) Won't you take a chair? It would be so
much more comfortable.

  [_He shifts his seat uneasily._

_Curphew (stiffly)._ Thanks, Mr. TOOVEY, but I'd rather stand--for so
short a time. (_A pause._) Well, Sir, you have something to say to me,
I believe?

_Mr. Toov. (to himself)._ Oh dear, I'm almost sorry now I--he won't
make sufficient allowances for me. (_Aloud, after another pause._) The
fact is, Mr. CURPHEW, I--I've just made a--a very painful discovery,
which--is there any water in that decanter? because I--I feel a little

  [CURPHEW _pours him out a glass of water, which he sips_.

_Curph._ Come, Sir, we needn't beat about the bush. I think I
can spare you the preliminaries. I suppose you've heard about the

_Mr. Toov. (to himself)._ He knows already! These journalists find out
everything. (_Aloud._) I--I have indeed, but I assure you that, up to
the very moment my nephew informed me, I had no more suspicion----

_Curph._ You naturally consider that I ought to have told you at once,
but the fact is, I--well, I had some reason to doubt whether Mrs.

_Mr. Toov._ Oh, you were quite right, it would never have done--never
have done. I haven't breathed a word to Mrs. TOOVEY myself as yet.
I was afraid I might be obliged to this morning. She discovered that
dreadful Eldorado programme in one of my pockets, and was curious,
very naturally curious, as to why I had kept it, but I passed it
off--I managed to pass it off. I--I thought it better, at all events,
till--till I had talked it over with you.

_Curph. (to himself, relieved)._ He takes it wonderfully well. I
shouldn't be surprised if I could talk him over. (_Aloud._) Oh,
decidedly, Sir. And may I ask you what your own views are?

_Mr. Toov._ I--I don't know what to think. For a man in my position
to have even the remotest connection with--with a London music-hall!
Wouldn't it be considered scandalous, or at least indecorous, if it
were to leak out now? Shouldn't I be regarded as--as inconsistent, for

_Curph._ Oh, no one could reproach _you_, at all events, Sir!

_Mr. Toov. (to himself)._ And I thought he was going to be so hard
on me! (_Aloud._) I am glad you take that view of it--yes, I can't be
held responsible for what I did in absolute ignorance; but, now that I
_do_ know, I can't go on, can I?--after a lifetime spent in condemning
such entertainments!

_Curph._ But are you quite sure, Sir, that your condemnation was based
on any real foundation; mayn't you have been too ready to think the
worst? Have you ever troubled yourself to inquire into the way they
were conducted?

_Mr. Toov. (to himself, in astonishment)._ Why, he's actually making
excuses for them! (_Aloud._) I have always been given to understand
that they were most improper places, Sir; that was sufficient for
me--quite sufficient!

_Curph._ I daresay I have no right to speak; but you may not be aware
that all music-halls are now subject to the strictest supervision. And
a body like the London County Council is not likely to sanction any
impropriety in the entertainments.

_Mr. Toov. (to himself)._ If I could only persuade myself that I might
keep the shares with a good conscience! To give up three hundred
and fifty a year, without necessity! I wonder what he would say.
(_Aloud._) True, that didn't occur to me before; and the London County
Council, they wouldn't encourage anything really----If I could only
be sure--and I'm open to conviction--I hope I'm always open to

[Illustration: "I drop into a music-hall?"]

_Curph. (to himself)._ He's coming round; he's not such a pig-headed
old Pharisee as I thought. (_Aloud._) I am sure you are. You are not
the man to condemn any form of amusement, however harmless, merely
because you find no attraction in it yourself.

_Mr. Toov._ No, no. And I see the force of what you say; and if I
could only once satisfy myself that the entertainment was really

_Curph. (to himself)._ He couldn't very well object to _my_ part
of it--it's an idea, and worth trying. (_Aloud._) My dear Sir, why
_shouldn't_ you? In any case I should terminate my connection with the
music-hall as soon as possible.

_Mr. Toov. (disappointed)._ Would you? Then you _do_ think----? But
the sacrifice, my dear young friend, it--it's a great deal of money to
give up!

_Curph. (lightly)._ Oh, that's of no consequence. I shouldn't think of
that, for a moment!

_Mr. Toov. (to himself, annoyed)._ It's all very well for him to talk
like that, but it's _my_ sacrifice, and I _do_ think of it! (_Aloud._)
But--but wouldn't it be a little Quixotic to withdraw from this
Eldorado, supposing I found there was no moral objection to it, eh?

_Curph._ I thought you would be the first to insist that the Eldorado
should be given up! Surely, Sir, when I tell you that I love your
daughter; that I hope, though I have not spoken as yet, to enter your
family some day as your son-in-law, you will look at it differently?

_Mr. Toov. (to himself)._ He does want to marry our THEA? CORNELIA
will he delighted--delighted, but I really can't allow him to dictate
to me whether to sell the shares or not! (_Aloud, with dignity._) My
good young friend, I have lived longer than you in the world, and you
will permit me to say that if, after investigation, I see no cause to
disapprove of the Eldorado, there is no reason that I can discover
why _you_ should hesitate to enter my family. I--I must act on my own
judgment--entirely on my own judgment!

_Curph. (to himself)._ He _is_ an old trump! Who would have thought
he'd be so reasonable. (_Aloud, overjoyed._) My dear Sir, how can
I thank you? That is all I ask--more than I could possibly have
expected. And I was about to suggest that you might drop into the
Eldorado some evening this week and judge for yourself.

_Mr. Toov. (recoiling in consternation)._ I? I drop into a music-hall?
Oh, I couldn't, indeed! Why, I never was in such a place in all my
life. And if anybody were to see me there!

_Curph._ You need not be seen at all. There are private boxes where no
one would notice you, I could easily get them to send you one, if you

_Mr. Toov. (to himself)._ What a power the Press is, to be sure!
I remember CHARLES said that newspaper writers could get seats for
everything. (_Aloud._) Really, I hardly know what to say; it's so very
contrary to all my habits, and then--to go alone. Now if _you_ would
only accompany me----

_Curph._ You forget, Sir, that's quite impossible. _I_ can't come in
the box with you!

_Mr. Toov. (to himself)._ There it is--it's against his principles to
go himself, and yet he expects _me_ to! (_Aloud, peevishly._) Then why
are you so anxious to have _me_ go, eh?

_Curph._ Why? Because there are Mrs. TOOVEY'S prejudices to be
considered, and I'm anxious that you should be in a position to assure
her from your own personal experience that----

_Mr. Toov._ Oh, my dear young friend, if I did go, I don't think I
could ever mention such an experience as that to Mrs. TOOVEY. She--she
might fail to understand that I merely went for the satisfaction of my
own conscience.

_Curph._ She might, of course. So long as you satisfy yourself, then.
And--what night will suit you best?

_Mr. Toov._ You're in such a hurry, young man. I--I never said I
should go. I'm not at all sure that I _can_ go; but if I did allow
myself to venture, it would have to be some evening when my wife--let
me see, on Saturday she's going out to some special meeting of her
Zenana Mission Committee, I know. It had better be Saturday, if at
all--if at all.

_Curph. (making a note)._ Very well. I will see you have a box for
that evening, and I hope you will manage to go. But there's a train
coming in--I must really be off. Good-bye, Sir, and very many thanks
for the kind and generous way in which you have treated me. I am
very glad we have had this explanation, and thoroughly understand one
another. Good-bye--good-bye!

  [_He shakes_ Mr. TOOVEY'S _hand with cordial gratitude, and rushes out_.

_Mr. Toov. (looking after him in some mystification)._ A most
high-minded young man, but a little too officious. And I don't
understand why he makes such a point of my going to this Eldorado
_now_. But, if I do go, I mayn't see anything to disapprove of; and,
if I don't, I shall keep the shares--whether he likes it or not. He
may be a very worthy young man, but I doubt whether he's quite a man
of the world!


       *       *       *       *       *


(_An Actuality, in one short Scene, at the service of the Institute of

SCENE--_An Editor's Room._ Editor _discovered in conversation with_
Would-be Reporter.

_Editor (preparing to resume his work)._ Well, from all you tell me, I
imagine you must be a most accomplished person.

_Would-be Reporter (smiling)._ Well, I believe I am up to the standard
required by the Institute of Journalists. My classics are fairly good,
but I do not know as much as I should of mixed mathematics. However,
I took a double first at Oxford; but then I had a particularly easy
year. All the men against me were practically duffers.

_Ed. (slightly interested)._ Do you know anything of modern languages?

_W.-be Rep._ Well, yes. I can speak and write European in all its
branches, including Swedish and Norwegian _patois_, and the _argot_
used on the borders of Turkey and Greece. I am fairly well up in
Chinese, but have only a general idea of the grammar of Afghanistan.
But I may add that I am spending four hours a day in completing this
part of my training.

_Ed._ I think you said that you have passed in engineering,
orchestra-playing, astronomy, naval and military tactics, and the
history of the world, and the other components of the planetary

_W.-be Rep._ Certainly; I have in every way (save that I have still
to pass in Roman Law) satisfied the requirements of the Institute
of Journalists. I am all but qualified for the reception of an
Associate's degree.

_Ed. (with a view to closing the interview)._ Very well, then; we
shall be glad to use anything you may be good enough to send us--of
course, at the customary rate.

_W.-be Rep. (gratefully)._ A thousand thanks. I know; three-half-pence
a line, with a minimum of three shillings.

_Ed._ Precisely. (_Taking up his pen._) And now, as my Sub-editor
told me that there was a fire somewhere in the neighbourhood, you had
better look after it.

_W.-be Rep._ Thank you so much. But as I have forgotten to bring my
reporter's-book, perhaps you will kindly lend me some copy-paper?

_Ed._ Certainly; you will find some in that corner. (_He approaches
speaking-tube, to which he has been summoned by a whistle._) Ah! You
need not trouble after the fire, for I find we have already received a
report from someone on the spot.

_W.-be Rep. (in a tone of disappointment)._ What a bore! just as I was
going to report it myself! However, better luck next time.

_Ed. (courteously)._ I hope so; good morning. (_Exit_ Would-be
Reporter.) What a nuisance these fellows are! Highly educated,
of course, and all that sort of thing; but I am not sure that the
rough-and-ready school was not the better.

_W.-be Rep. (re-entering hurriedly)._ My good Sir! Fancy! the man
who has sent you the report of the local fire was educated at a small
grammar-school, and never even entered a university!

_Ed._ Well, what of that?

_W.-be Rep. (surprised)._ You surely won't use his copy?

_Ed. (decisively)._ I surely shall. First come, first served. And now
you must allow me. (_Returns to his work, to the surprise and disgust
of_ Would-be Reporter. _Curtain._)

       *       *       *       *       *


"Victory sits on our helms!" cries Sir DRURIOLANUS AUCTOR to HENRICUS
PARVUS ETIAM AUCTOR, as they drive back to "The Helms, Regent's Park,"
after the curtain has descended on the last scene of the last act of
_A Life of Pleasure_ at Drury Lane. Twice has Sir DRURIOLANUS appeared
before the footlights at the end of the Fourth Act, when some battle
in Burmah is gallantly won by the united dramatic forces under the
heroic but comic Captain HARRY NICHOLLS, Colonel Lord FRANK FENTON
AVONDALE, Sergeant CLARENCE HOLT, and a handful of the bravest
soldiers that ever marched to glory over the boards of old Drury Lane.
What the story is, and how these heroes got into the jungle and out
again, and how the right man married the right woman, and how the
wronged woman would have saved the villain from the vengeance of HENRY
DESMOND O'NEVILLE,--who, alas, had to stay in the green-room while
the others were distinguishing themselves in Burmah,--is known to the
clever collaborators and a few of their trusted confidants. Of that
strange history I, a mere civilian, had every detail blown clean out
of my head by the din of the great battle. In fact, never have I heard
of any "theatrical engagement" equal to this.

[Illustration: "The Action of the Piece."]

That Miss LILY HANBURY looked lovely, and touched my heart; that Mrs.
BERNARD-BEERE suddenly developed a brogue that, on occasion, betrayed
her nationality; that Miss LE THIÈRE was a villainous matron; that
Miss LAURA LINDEN was sprightly and pretty; that Mr. ARTHUR DACRE was
the best representative of lop-sided villainy ever seen on the stage;
and that Mr. ROBERT SOUTAR reappeared as an elderly masher about town;
all this, I am ready to admit, would have been good enough for
me, without any attempt on my part at stringing them together in a
consecutive story. Didn't I know from the very moment she appeared
in deep black, and with a very pale face, that Miss LE THIÈRE was a
villain of the deepest dye in petticoats? Could I have trusted Mr.
ARTHUR DACRE, in his neat grey suit, with a sixpence, much less
with my life? As for Mr. ELTON, representing the Hebraic
money-lender--indispensable of late years to all Drury Lane
dramas--wasn't I well aware that he was to be the comic villain, only
set up to be knocked down again, and to be finally bowled out by
the apparently simple HARRY NICHOLLS? Then there is the scene at the
Empire, admirably stage-managed, but the ladies should try to take
just a trifle more interest in the strange proceedings of that
eventful night, as they should also do when re-appearing as wedding
guests in the last act. But these fair ladies are heartless; all's
one to them, happen what may. Then there was the House-boat, equally
well-arranged; but everything is entirely eclipsed by the Military
Act, in three scenes, which contains "the action of the piece," and
leaves the audience half-deafened by mitrailleuses, and half-choked by
the gunpowder. But as the smoke gradually cleared away, the stalwart
figure of the Commander-in-Chief, yclept DRURIOLANUS himself, was seen
bowing his acknowledgments.

But what was it all about? "'Why, that I cannot tell,' quoth Old
CASPAR, 'but 'twas a famous victory!'" And if you, my non-combatant
readers, wish to know how the Burmese War was undertaken for the
special benefit of HARRY NICHOLLS, you just go and see for yourself
the new drama, mysteriously entitled _A Life of Pleasure_, at T. R.
Drury Lane, and for this advice you will thank


       *       *       *       *       *

A MOOT POINT.--The G. O. M. is reported to have been engaged in
translating _Horace_. Is this a picturesque way of referring to the
recent elevation of Sir HORACE DAVEY?






       *       *       *       *       *


    ["It is understood (says the _Daily News_) that Mr. GLADSTONE
    will speak in Edinburgh on Wednesday, September 27, on the
    action of the House of Lords in rejecting the Home-Rule Bill.
    His followers are expecting him to give the word of command
    for an attack on the Upper House."]

  "_CHILDE ROLAND to the Dark Tower came!_" So runs
    The boding refrain BROWNING visioned out.
    CHILDE ROLAND valiant was, and wondrous stout;
  But that Dark Tower, which never noonday suns,
  Full-garrisoned by feudal myrmidons,
    Might strike to ROLAND'S heart the chill of doubt.

  Four-square to the four winds the fortress stands,
    Pinnacled high upon a frowning rock.
    It hath survived the many-centuried shock
  Of elements, the assault of myriad hands,
  And to the attack will you now lead your _bands_,
    Whose rage crag-crowning battlements seem to mock?

  True from those battlements they've hung, in scorn,
    Your herald, whose torn trappings wildly wave
    In the rough wind. Though 'tis too late to save
  You'd fain avenge. Such flouts are hardly borne
  By Leaders whilst old lips can sound a horn
    And hands, though ancient, yet can lift a glaive.

  Sound an alarm! Let the fierce war-cry sound!
    Your followers listen for it. They will cheer
    When its defiant shrill salutes their ear.
  Down with the Fortress! Raze it to the ground!
  End it, not mend it! So they rattle round,
    The shoutings and the floutings far and near.

  And you, the new CHILDE ROLAND, what think you,
    At heart, behind that bold and fluent tongue?
    Lead a Forlorn Hope? Yes, though Death's self flung
  Its form of bony shape and grisly hue
  Athwart your path! But--is here aught to do
    That's _worth_ the venture, when all's said and sung?

  "_If, at their counsel, I should turn aside
    Into that ominous tract which all agree
    Hides the Dark Tower? If acquiescingly
  I do turn as they've pointed! Neither pride
  Nor hope rekindling at the end descried
    So much in gladness that some end should be._

  "_Thus, I have so long suffered in this quest
    Heard failure prophesied so oft, been writ
    So many times among 'The Band'--to wit
  The knights who to the Dark Tower's search addressed
  Their steps--that just to fail as they, seemed best
    And all the doubt is now--shall I be fit?_

  "_What in the mist lies but the Tower itself?
    The square squat turrets, blind as the fool's heart,
    Built of grey stone, without a counterpart
  In the whole world. The tempest's mocking elf
  Points to the shipman thus the unseen shelf
    He strikes on, only when the timbers start._"

  So mused CHILDE ROLAND! Chief of the white crest,
    With thine adventure doth the strain not fit
    Most strangely? Looms the Dark Tower turret-lit
  By autumn rays low, chilly, from the west,
  So waterishly wan. Oh! crowning test
    Of mortal valour and of human wit!

  Lead the Forlorn Hope on! E'en Hopes Forlorn
    Do not fail always. Scale the craggy height!
    Cheer on your clamorous followers to the fight.
  Citadels deemed impregnable, in scorn
  _Have_ mocked their rash beleaguerers at morn
    To see them swarm their battlements ere night.

  And you, your courage seems to master Fate
    And mock at Time. Yet Time and Fate, at last,
    In the greatest life-game have the latest cast.
  Heroic 'tis to see you, strong, elate,
  Heading the onset, and in _Punch's_ pate
    Rings the old rhyme of the romantic past.

  "There they stood, ranged along the hillsides--met
    To view the last of me, a living frame
    For one more picture! in a sheet of flame
  I saw them and I knew them all. And yet
  Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set
    And blew. '_CHILDE ROLAND to the Dark Tower came._'"

       *       *       *       *       *

expected in Egypt. It is said that a certain well-known oculist,
no, we beg his pardon, we should have described him as "Ophthalmic
Surgeon," whose name is something between "Crotchet" and "Cricket,"
and whose recent evidence in a police-court was quite "an eye-opener"
to the worthy magistrate and the prisoners, is going out to remove
the First Cataract. We wish him every possible success. He will be
returned for the next Parliament as the Member for Eye.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE "FORLORN HOPE."]

       *       *       *       *       *



  --_in the "Daily Graphic" Office!!_

That "Weather Young Person" has been caught out in a piece of
barefaced duplicity of which _Mr. Punch_ would not have suspected her
capable. From a sense of professional duty, no doubt, she has
been surreptitiously attending the meetings of the "Congress of
Journalists," leaving a plausible substitute in her place! Climatic
disturbances have revealed the fraud!!

  _Storm Cone hoisted!!_]

       *       *       *       *       *


(_A Study Translated into English from Zolaesque._)

EMILE was triumphant. The arm-chair of the Academy was still vacant.
He did not yet fill it. But, for all that, he was triumphant, for he
had performed a brave action. He had achieved a veritable success. It
was more than thousands from the coffers of the publishers, more
than pages of praises of the papers. It was a great event at length
wonderfully accomplished.

EMILE sat in his London lodgings satisfied with all his surroundings.
Of course, he was interviewed. He had been followed from France to
England, and had seen in an evening paper an account of the temporary
indisposition of one very dear to him on board the boat. He was
prepared for his visitor.

"I am very comfortable. I think England charming; love its fog, and am
deeply impressed with the LORD MAYOR. I soon had enough of the first
meeting of the Congress of the Institute, but thought the ball at
Guildhall excellent. I really have no more to say. Next please." But
his Interviewer was not to be discarded hurriedly. He stood to his
guns, or, rather, his reporter's book.

"Are you not proud of all your volumes? Do you not think that by
writing them you have achieved the success of the century?"

"I am certainly proud of my work. But my work is not my greatest
achievement. No, a thousand times no, it is not my greatest

"Well what is?" asked the Interviewer; and then he added, "Please
look sharp about it, as I have to do the Archbishop of CANTERBURY, Mr.
MONTE CARLO WELLS, and Mr. BALFOUR, before I return to the office."

"Yes, I am prouder of this last feat," pursued the Master, ignoring
the presence of the Reporter, "than the rest put together. It has
taken me all my life to make up my mind to do it; but it is done at

"Of what are you speaking?"

"Yes, what are my novels compared to the heroism of those sixty-five
minutes! That hour has been a bar to my compatriots. It has kept them
in France. And now I am their superior. I have at length the right to
boast a triumph!"

The Interviewer made an entry in his note-book, then he asked for
further explanation.

"And so you are prouder of this event than all your hard-earned fame.
And now tell me what event has so greatly moved you?"

"With pleasure. But listen. For twenty years I have laboured to
write the history of France in romance. And when I say the history of
France, I mean that part of the nation's story which has sprung from
the Third Empire."

"Yes, yes," interrupted the Interviewer; "and you have done it well.
But pardon me, I am pressed for time. His Grace of CANTERBURY awaits
me at Lambeth. Out with it! What is your special cause for pride?"

"Yes, I have been maligned, misunderstood, insulted, hated. But
men must now call me a man of great courage, a man of infinite
determination. For I have done it. Yes, after a lifetime of careful
consideration I have done it!"

"Done what?" asked the Interviewer, who was growing impatient.

Then came the reply, uttered in a tone of indescribable emotion:

"I have crossed the Channel!"

       *       *       *       *       *


_Sunday._--At Club. Conversation (learned) about epidemics. Heard
somebody (an authority of course on the subject) say, "Oh, rub plenty
of camphor into your cummerbund." Replied, "Yes; good idea." Wrote
it down. Was going to question him as to details, but found he had
quitted the club. Know what camphor is, not quite certain as to
"cummerbund." Think it's Indian. Called in at Oriental Club. Old
Oriental says, "Only natives wear cummerbunds." Oh, then "cummerbund"
is not something to eat or drink? "No; it's a kind of cloth. Get 'em
anywhere now." Anywhere? It appears I am behind the age. Everyone,
except myself apparently, knows all about a "cummerbund." It sounds a
bit Scotch; also German. "Cummer" Scotch; "Bund" German. German Bund.
To be obtained at hosier's, or at any emporium for Indian clothing.

_Monday._--Bought cummerbund. Bright colour; neat. Bought also large
bottle of camphor. Rubbed it in. Strong smell--more than strong. But
self-preservation is first law, &c., &c., so get accustomed to it.
After one day's wearing, don't notice saturated cummerbund. Quite
accustomed to it.

_Tuesday._--Went to see SMITH. "Hullo, old fellow," he says, "afraid
of moths in your clothes, eh?" Ask what he means. He mentions strong
smell of camphor. I explain my preventive measures. "Oh, that's all
very well!" he returns; "but the very best thing is to soak your shirt
in turpentine. I'm sure of it." Sure he is right, because he is a
student at Guy's. Thank him warmly for this life-saving hint. Rush
home; follow his advice. Beastly smell at first, but soon cease to
notice it. Continue wearing camphorated cummerbund also, as an extra
precaution. Call on Mrs. MONTGOMERY-MUMBY. Sweet girl her niece!
Somehow she seems to avoid me, a thing she never did before. So they
all do, and I have no one to talk to but a crippled uncle of
theirs, who apparently has a bad cold in his head, for he holds his
handkerchief to his nose all the time. JONES called. Says he has seen
SMITH. "By Jove!" he exclaims, "you've been going in for oil painting,
or chemistry, or something. There's a tremendous smell of turpentine."
I explain. "Oh, there's no harm in that," he says; "but a far better
thing is to wet your waistcoat with carbolic acid. Antiseptic, you
know." Now he is a student at Bart's, and probably knows as much as
SMITH. Thank him, and resolve to try his preventive in addition to
the other. Down to Eastbourne. Everyone clears out of railway carriage
soon after I get in, except one old man, who says he is a medical man,
and that a plentiful use of disinfectants is no doubt advisable.

_Wednesday._--Meet ROBINSON on the Parade. Says he saw SMITH on
Tuesday. Asks me what I think of the epidemic scare. Explain my
precautions. "Thought I noticed an awful smell," he says. "Hope
it's all right. As for me, I believe there's nothing like pouring
sulphuretted hydrogen all over the inside of your coat. Had it from
my uncle, who was Medical Officer of Health at Benares." An invaluable
suggestion; buy a bottle, and follow his directions when dressing
for dinner. Horrible stench, like rotten eggs! However, soon get
accustomed to it. To a dance at the CHOLMONDELEY-CHICKS'S. Never more
annoyed in my life. Every girl says she has no dance left. What
can have offended them all? The only partner I have is
CHOLMONDELEY-CHICK'S maiden aunt, and she faints in my arms after
going once round the room. However, I have a good supper, for the
dining-room is quite empty all the time I am in it, so I can get as
much as I like.

_Thursday._--Back to town. TOMKINS looks in. Says he saw SMITH the other
day. Then looks curiously all round room. "Do you keep eggs in this room?"
he asks; "hot weather turned 'em bad, eh?" Explain that I have used
sulphuretted hydrogen. "Those chemical things," he says, holding his nose,
"are not half so good as plain, homely preparations. The finest thing of
all is to soak all your clothes in gin and peppermint. Had it from a man
who ought to know, for he spent last autumn in Hamburg and used bottles
full." Thank him with sincere gratitude, and as soon as possible try this
new precaution. To theatre. People near me begin a great talking.
Commissionaire asks me to leave. Says "money will be returned." Hanged
if I go! I've paid for this seat. Then a fearful uproar starts. Do not
remember details of fight, but find myself "chucked" into the roadway.
Policeman picks me up as drunk and incapable. Spend night in police-cell.
* * * * Explanations magisterially accepted.... Apology given and taken.
Off (with the cummerbund), and away for a tour in the North.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A VERY GREAT MAN.

(_Cub Hunting._)



       *       *       *       *       *


CHATTO AND WINDUS have just issued a new edition of OUIDA'S _Dog of
Flanders_. The well-got-up and cheaply-priced volume contains three
other Stories, nearly as charming. In the quartette OUIDA, my Baronite
says, will be found at her best--OUIDA, without the weeds of grossness
and comical classicality that sometimes grow in her pastures. Of this
volume of her works it may be said that, happily, LEMPRIÈRE is not in

To those about to travel, whether there and back, or there or back,
is immaterial, the Baron strongly recommends _The Great Shadow_ and
_Beyond the City_, two stories in one volume by CONAN DOYLE, published
in ARROWSMITH'S three and sixpenny series. It is a long time since the
Baron has read a more dramatically told story than that of _The Great
Shadow_. Truly, if his opinion had been asked, he would have seriously
advised any novelist against attempting, in any form, a description of
the Battle of Waterloo. Yet, though CONAN DOYLE has done it admirably,
there is, thinks the Baron, just one chapter too much of this work. No
one, since CHARLES LEVER wrote, has achieved anything like it, though
there is just a smack of _Orthis Mulcaney & Co._ about it which--"but
that is another story." The Baron finding no fault with the
illustrations as illustrations, wishes that the tales had been left
to themselves, and that they had been told without these superfluous
aids. It is a pleasure to recommend such a book, and it _is_
recommended by everybody's trusted Literary Adviser, THE BARON DE

       *       *       *       *       *

What the Vicar of Amesbury Inclines to Say.

(_Judging from his Letter in the "Standard," September 22, on the
Desecration or Preservation of Stonehenge Question._)

  My friends, for goodness' sake forbear
  From fussy interference here.
  Blest be the man who "makes no bones,",
  And blamed be he who stirs these stones!

       *       *       *       *       *


(_A Thought at the Haymarket Theatre._)

  The first appearance "of the Personal Devil"
  Was nigh the Tree of Knowledge, good and evil;
  And so the Tempter's latest _rôle_ we see
  Is still associated with a TREE.

       *       *       *       *       *



_House of Commons, Wednesday, September 20._--Met WOODALL, V.C.,
crossing Lobby just now on the way to his battlemented tower.
Shouldn't have known him--indeed, had passed him, when I recognised
his voice hailing me. It had an unusually tinny sound, due to fact
that it made its way through the interstices of a closed visor.

"Good gracious, WOODALL!" I said; "is that you? I thought it was one
of the figures from the Tower taking an airing."

"Yes," said the Financial Secretary to the War Office with same
vibrating, tinny intonation, "by my halidome (so to speak) it's me:
and precious hot and generally uncomfortable it is, too, I can tell
you. The things don't fit, you see; borrowed them from the Tower;
some a size too large, which is bad; others a turn too small, which,
considering they are made in metal, is worse."

WOODALL got up, regardless of expense, in helmet, breastplate, things
like kneecaps, and a piece of sheet-iron fitted to the small of his

"What do you do it for, then?"

With difficulty WOODALL, V.C., unhooked something in his visor, and,
after cautiously looking round, took it off.

"Haven't you heard," he said, as he mopped his forehead, "of the
Secret Society, sworn to decimate us fellows of the War Office? Began
with ST. JOHN BRODRICK, who narrowly escaped assassination in the
streets; went on to CAMPBELL-BANNERMAN, who was threatened with sudden
death. Now they've turned their attention on me. Every post brings
an anonymous letter, advising me that my end approaches. They are
in different handwriting, but the note-paper enjoys in common the
adornment of a death's-head and cross-bones. Sometimes there's a
coffin underneath; occasionally this accessory is omitted; it is made
up for in the added ferocity of the communication. This makes one very
uneasy. I daresay you have observed how stout CAMPBELL-BANNERMAN looks
of late. It's only his shirt of mail, worn under his ordinary linen.
He says he's going to Marienbad to get rid of it; that's only his
joke. As for me, I don't think it's worth mincing matters. I, as you
see, go the whole animal; but it's very wearing. SANDHURST told me
it was a case of armour or assassination. Having tried the armour
for three days, am not quite sure I should not prefer assassination.
Excuse me, there's a strange man lingering in the corner."

[Illustration: Woodall, V.C.]

And WOODALL, shutting his head up in the helmet, warily walked off.

[Illustration: WHO WOULD BE AN M.P.?

_A Warning to Aspiring Legislators._]

_Business done._--Appropriation Bill read a Second time.

_Friday._--All over. Royal Assent given to Appropriation Bill. Curtain
falls on last scene in Act I. of Session 1893; a play in two Acts.

"And whose Session should you say it has been, TOBY?" asked ROWTON, a
man of universal sympathies, and an insatiable thirst for knowledge.

"Mr. G.'s, I suppose. At least, that will be the general verdict. He
has outshone himself. Whether you like what he has done or detest it,
you must pay homage to the tireless energy, the infinite skill, and
the matchless eloquence with which it has been accomplished. JOSEPH
has excelled himself as a Parliamentary force; PRINCE ARTHUR has taken
a long stride in the direction of establishing himself in position
of Leader. These things are obvious, and will be said everywhere. But
since you ask me whose Session it has been, I should say it has been
MARJORIBANKS'. It's all very well to have a supreme Parliamentarian
leading majority, small but compact. If you haven't got a Whip that
can keep them together, who not only has them there on big field
night, but always on the spot to repel surprises, where are you? In
ordinary times it's comparatively easy to keep the Conservatives in
hand, whether in office or out. Out or in the Liberals are skittish.
This Session things have been peculiarly critical, as is shown in the
a majority safe and steady at such times requires in a Whip a rare
combination of gifts and graces. With the assistance of an excellent
team, MARJORIBANKS has done this. It is a minor Ministerial post,
but the service rendered is incalculable. So if you want to name the
Session, call it MAJORITYBANKS'."

[Illustration: Expiring Law Continuance Bill passing through

_Business done._--Parliament adjourned till November 2.

       *       *       *       *       *

PERSONAL COURAGE.--A Reuter's telegram last week states that "The
Brazilian Minister here refuses to be interviewed."

       *       *       *       *       *



  And have you not read of eight jolly young watermaids,
    Lately at Cookham accustomed to ply
  And feather their oars with a deal of dexterity,
    Pleasing the critical masculine eye?
  They swing so truly and pull so steadily,
  Multitudes flock to the river-side readily;--
  It's not the eighth wonder that all the world's there,
  But this watermaid eight, ne'er in want of a stare.
  What sights of white costumes! What ties and what hatbands,
    "Leander cerise!" We don't wish to offend,
  But are these first thoughts with the dashing young women
    Who don't dash too much in a spurt off Bourne End?
  Mere nonsense, of course! There's no "giggling and leering"--
  Complete ruination to rowing and steering;--
  "All eyes in the boat" is their coach's first care,
  And "a spin of twelve miles" is as naught to the fair.

       *       *       *       *       *

THEATRICAL NEWS.--During the absence of _Beckett_ from London, and
_The Second Mrs. Tanqueray_ having left town, _The Tempter_ in the
Haymarket tried to entice _Charley's Aunt_ from the Globe to go in for
_A Life of Pleasure_ at Drury Lane, but _The Other Fellow_ from the
Court induced her to go for _A Trip to Chicago_ in The Vaudeville,
where he cruelly abandoned her, to take up with _La Fille de Madame
Angot_, at the Criterion. But she soon let him know what _A
Woman's Revenge_ at the Adelphi was like, and he sailed away in
the Shaftesbury, _Morocco Bound_, pursued by _Don Quixote_, who had
watched the proceedings from the Strand. The lady who in the meantime
had obtained the fortunate talisman of _La Mascotte_ from the Gaiety,
was provided by DALY'S Company with _Dollars and Sense_, and is now
doing uncommonly well. But the villain, who would have made her his
victim, will soon experience the result of _Sowing the Wind_ at the

       *       *       *       *       *

"SUBGRADUATUS INDIGNANS" writes.--"SIR,--Within the last fortnight on
one day I find in the _Standard_ that '_seventy degrees were recorded
at Cambridge_!' How's this? During Long Vacation!! Who conferred these
degrees? What degrees? Who got 'em? Where's the Vice-Chancellor? I
pause for a reply. P S.--Beg pardon! Find I have overlooked head of
paragraph, '_The falling barometer_,' &c., &c., so that _perhaps_ I
may be in error."

       *       *       *       *       *

Transcriber's Note

Page 149: 'orchesta' corrected to 'orchestra' "orchestra-playing,
astronomy, naval and military tactics,"

'just as I was going to it report myself!' corrected to 'just as I was
going to report it myself!'

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