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Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 107. August 4, 1894.
Author: Various
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 107. August 4, 1894." ***

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

VOL. 107.
AUGUST 4, 1894.

                               * * * * *

                         SPORT FOR RATEPAYERS.

_August 1st._--Deer-shooting in Victoria Park commences.

_2nd._--Distribution of venison to "Progressive" County Councillors and
their families--especially to Aldermen.

_3rd._--Stalking American bison in the Marylebone disused grave-yard is
permitted from this day. A staff of competent surgeons will be outside
the palings.

_4th._--Chamois-coursing in Brockwell Park.

_5th._--A few rogue elephants having been imported (at considerable
expense to the rates), and located in the Regent's Park, the Chairman of
the L. C. C., assisted by the Park-keepers, will give an exhibition of
the method employed in snaring them. The elephants in the Zoological
Gardens will be expected to assist.

_6th._--_Bank Holiday._--Popular festival on Hampstead Heath. Two herds
of red deer will be turned on to the Heath at different points, and
three or four specially procured man-eating Bengal tigers will be let
loose at the Flag-staff to pursue them. Visitors may hunt the deer or
the tigers, whichever they prefer. Express rifles recommended, also the
use of bullet-proof coats. No dynamite to be employed against the
tigers. Ambulances in the Vale of Health. The Council's Band, up some of
the tallest trees, will perform musical selections.

_7th._--Races at Wormwood Scrubbs between the Council's own ostriches
and leading cyclists. A force of the A1 Division of the Metropolitan
Police, mounted on some of the reindeer from the enclosure at Spring
Gardens, will be stationed round the ground to prevent the ostriches
escaping into the adjoining country.

_8th._--Sale of ostrich feathers (dropped in the contests) to West-End
bonnet-makers at Union prices.

_9th._--Grand review of all the Council's animals on Clapham Common.
Procession through streets (also at Union rate). Banquet on municipal
venison, tiger chops, elephant steaks, and ostrich wings at Spring
Gardens. Progressive fireworks.

                               * * * * *

[Illustration: GENEROSITY.

_Andrew (preparing to divide the orange)._ "WILL YOU CHOOSE THE BIG


_Andrew (with resignation)._ "THEN I'LL JUST HAVE TO MAKE 'EM EVEN."]

                               * * * * *

RATHER A CHANGE--FOR THE BETTER.--They (the dockers) wouldn't listen to
BEN TILLETT. They cried out to him, "We keep you and starve ourselves."
Hullo! the revolt of the sheep! are they beginning to think that their
leaders and instigators are after all _not_ their best friends? "O
TILLETT not in Gath!" And Little BEN may say to himself, "I'll wait
TILL-ETT's over."

                               * * * * *

                       LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES.

                     V.--SCHOOL. "A DISTANT VIEW."

  "Distance lends enchantment"--kindly Distance!
    Wiping out all troubles and disgraces,
  How we seem to cast, with your assistance,
    All our boyish lines in pleasant places!

  Greek and Latin, struggles mathematic,
    These were worries leaving slender traces;
  Now we tell the boys (we wax emphatic)
    How our lines fell all in pleasant places.

  How we used to draw (immortal _Wackford_!)
    EUCLID's figures, more resembling faces,
  Surreptitiously upon the black-board,
    Crude yet telling lines in pleasant places.

  Pleasant places! That was no misnomer.
    Impositions?--little heed scape-graces;
  Writing out a book or so of HOMER,
    Even those were lines in pleasant places!

  How we scampered o'er the country, leading
    Apoplectic farmers pretty chases,
  Over crops, through fences all unheeding,
    Stiff cross-country lines in pleasant places.

  Yes, and how--too soon youth's early day flies--
    In the purling brook which seaward races
  _How_ we used to poach with luscious May-flies,
    Casting furtive lines in pleasant places.

  Then the lickings! How we took them, scorning
    Girlish outcry, though we made grimaces;
  Only smiled to find ourselves next morning
    Somewhat marked with lines in pleasant places!

  Alma Mater, whether young or olden,
    Thanks to you for hosts of friendly faces,
  Treasured memories, days of boyhood golden,
    Lines that fell in none but pleasant places!

                               * * * * *

                           LONDON BICYCLISTS.

    ["Mr. ASQUITH said that he was informed by the Chief
    Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police that undoubtedly
    numerous accidents were caused by bicycles and tricycles, though
    he was not prepared to say from the cause of the machines
    passing on the near instead of the off side of the road.
    Bicycles and tricycles were carriages, and should conform to the
    rules of the road, and the police, as far as possible, enforced
    the law as to riding to the common danger."--_Daily Graphic,
    July 25._]

  Round the omnibus, past the van,
    Rushing on with a reckless reel,
  Darts that horrible nuisance, an
    Ardent cyclist resolved that he'll
  Ride past everything he can,
  Heed not woman, or child, or man,
  Beat some record, some ride from Dan
  To Beersheba; that seems his plan.
  Why does not the Home Office ban
    London fiends of the whirling wheel?

  Let them ride in the country so,
    Dart from Duncansbay Head to Deal,
  Shoot as straight as the flight of crow,
    Sweep as swallow that seeks a meal,
  We don't care how the deuce they go,
  But in thoroughfares where we know
  Cyclists, hurrying to and fro,
  Make each peaceable man their foe,
  Riders, walkers alike cry "Whoa!
    Stop these fiends of the whirling wheel!"

                               * * * * *

                           ODE ON SACRIFICE.

  Amid the glowing pageant of the year
  There comes too soon th' inevitable shock,
  That token of the season sere,
  To the unthinking fair so cheaply dear,
  Who, like to shipwreck'd seamen, do it hail,
  And cry, "A Sale! a Sale!
  A Sale! a Summer Sale of Surplus Stock!"

  See, how, like busy-humming bees
  Around the ineffable fragrance of the lime,
  Woman, unsparing of the salesman's time,
  Reviews the stock, and chaffers at her ease,
  Nor yet, for all her talking, purchases,
  But takes away, with copper-bulgèd purse,
  The textile harvest of a quiet eye,
  Great bargains still unbought, and power to buy.

  Or she, her daylong, garrulous labour done,
  Some victory o'er reluctant remnants won,
  Fresh from the trophies of her skill,
  Things that she needed not, nor ever will,
  She takes the well-earned bun;
  Ambrosial food, DEMETER erst design'd
  As the appropriate food of womankind,
  Plain, or with comfits deck'd and spice;
  Or, daintier, dallies with an ice.
  Nor feels in heart the worse
  Because the haberdashers thus disperse
  Their surplus stock at an astounding sacrifice!

  Yet Contemplation pauses to review
  The destinies that meet the silkworm's care,
  The fate of fabrics whose materials grew
  In the same fields of cotton or of flax,
  Or waved on fellow-flockmen's fleecy backs,
  And the same mill, loom, case, emporium, shelf, did share.

                               * * * * *

[Illustration: "ADDING INSULT," &c.

SCENE--_Hunters cantering round Show Ring._

_Youth on hard-mouthed Grey (having just cannoned against old

                               * * * * *

                        THE RIDER'S VADE MECUM.

                       (_For Use in Rotten Row._)

_Question._ What part of London do you consider the most dangerous for
an equestrian?

_Answer._ That part of the Park known as Rotten Row.

_Q._ Why is it so dangerous?

_A._ Because it is overcrowded in the Season, and at all times
imperfectly kept.

_Q._ What do you mean by "imperfectly kept"?

_A._ I mean that the soil is not free from bricks and other impediments
to comfortable and safe riding.

_Q._ Why do you go to Rotten Row?

_A._ Because it is the most convenient place in London for the residents
of the West End.

_Q._ But would not Battersea Park do as well?

_A._ It is farther afield, and at present, so far as the rides are
concerned, given over to the charms of solitude.

_Q._ And is not the Regent's Park also available for equestrians?

_A._ To some extent; but the roads in that rather distant pleasaunce are
not comparable for a moment with the ride within view of the Serpentine.

_Q._ Would a ride in Kensington Gardens be an advantage?

_A._ Yes, to some extent; still it would scarcely be as convenient as
the present exercising ground.

_Q._ Then you admit that there are (and might be) pleasant rides other
than Rotten Row?

_A._ Certainly; but that fact does not dispense with the necessity of
reform in existing institutions.

_Q._ Then you consider the raising of other issues is merely a plan to
confuse and obliterate the original contention?

_A._ Assuredly; and it is a policy that has been tried before with
success to obstructors and failure to the grievance-mongers.

_Q._ So as two blacks do not make one white you and all believe that
Rotten Row should be carefully inspected and the causes of the recent
accidents ascertained and remedied?

_A._ I do; and, further, am convinced that such a course would be for
the benefit of the public in general and riders in Rotten Row in

                               * * * * *


                               * * * * *

                        "PERSONALLY CONDUCTED."

  'Tis a norrible tale I'm a-going to narrate;
  It happened--vell, each vone can fill in the date!
  It's a heartrending tale of three babbies so fine.
  Whom to spifflicate promptly their foes did incline.
  Ven they vos qvite infants they lost their mamma;
  They vos left all alone in the vorld vith their pa.
  But to vatch o'er his babbies vos always _his_ plan--
  'Cos their daddy he vos sich a keerful old man!

  He took those three kiddies all into his charge,
  And kep them together so they shouldn't "go large."
  Two hung to his coat-tails along the hard track.
  And the third one, he clung to his neck pick-a-back.
  The foes of those kiddies they longed for their bleed,
  And they swore that to carry 'em _he_ shouldn't succeed,
  But to save them poor babbies he hit on a plan--
  'Cos their dadda he vos sich a artful old man!

  Some hoped, from exposure, the kids would ketch cold,
  And that croup or rheumatics would lay 'em in the mould;
  But they seemed to survive every babbyish disease,
  Vich their venomous enemies did not qvite please.
  But, in course, sich hard lines did the kiddies no good;
  They got vet in the storm, they got lost in the vood,
  But their dad cried, "I'll yet save these kids if I can!"--
  'Cos their feyther he vos sich a dogged old man!

  Foes hoped he'd go out of his depth,--or his mind,--
  Or, cutting his stick, leave his babbies behind,
  Ven they came to the margin of a vide roaring stream.
  And the kids, being frightened, began for to scream.
  But he cries, cheery like, "Stash that hullabulloo!
  _Keep your eye on your father, and HE'll pull you through!!_"--
  Vich some thinks he _vill_ do--if any von can--
  'Cos Sir VILLYUM he is sich a walliant old man!

                               * * * * *

                            LYRE AND LANCET.

                         (_A Story in Scenes._)

                        PART V.--CROSS-PURPOSES.

                  SCENE VI.--_A First-Class Compartment._

_Lady Maisie_ (_to herself_). Poets don't seem to have much
self-possession. He seems perfectly overcome by hearing my name like
that. If only he doesn't lose his head completely and say something
about my wretched letter!

_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). I'd better tell 'em before they find out for
themselves. (_Aloud; desperately._) My lady, I--I feel I ought to
explain at once how I come to be going down to Wyvern like this.

            [Lady MAISIE _only just suppresses a terrified protest_.

_Lady Cantire_ (_benignly amused_). My good Sir, there's not the
slightest necessity, I am perfectly aware of who you are, and everything
about you!

_Spurr._ (_incredulously_). But really I don't see _how_ your
ladyship----Why, I haven't said a _word_ that----

_Lady Cant._ (_with a solemn waggishness_). Celebrities who mean to
preserve their _incognito_ shouldn't allow their friends to see them
off. I happened to hear a certain _Andromeda_ mentioned, and that was
quite enough for Me!

_Spurr._ (_to himself, relieved_). She knows; seen the sketch of me in
the _Dog Fancier_, I expect; goes in for breeding bulls herself, very
likely. Well, that's a load off my mind! (_Aloud._) You don't say so, my
lady. I'd no idea your ladyship would have any taste that way; most
agreeable surprise to me, I can assure you!

_Lady Cant._ I see no reason for _surprise_ in the matter. I have always
endeavoured to cultivate my taste in all directions; to keep in touch
with every modern development. I make it a rule to read and see
_everything_. Of course, I have no time to give more than a rapid glance
at most things; but I hope some day to be able to have another look at
your _Andromeda_. I hear the most glowing accounts from all the judges.

_Spurr._ (_to himself_). She knows all the judges! She _must_ be in the
fancy! (_Aloud._) Any time your ladyship likes to name I shall be proud
and happy to bring her round for your inspection.

_Lady Cant._ (_with condescension_). If you are kind enough to offer me
a copy of _Andromeda_, I shall be _most_ pleased to possess one.

_Spurr._ (_to himself_). Sharp old customer, this; trying to rush me for
a pup. _I_ never offered her one! (_Aloud._) Well, as to _that_, my
lady, I've promised so many already, that really I don't--but
there--I'll see what I can _do_ for you. I'll make a note of it; you
mustn't mind having to _wait_ a bit.

_Lady Cant._ (_raising her eyebrows_). I will make an effort to support
existence in the meantime.

_Lady Maisie_ (_to herself_). I couldn't have believed that the man who
could write such lovely verses should be so--well, not _exactly_ a
gentleman! How _petty_ of me to have such thoughts. Perhaps geniuses
never _are_. And as if it _mattered_! And I'm sure he's very natural and
simple, and I shall like him when I know him.

                                              [_The train slackens._

_Lady Cant._ What station is this? Oh, it _is_ Shuntingbridge. (_To_
SPURRELL, _as they get out._) Now, if you'll kindly take charge of these
bags, and go and see whether there's anything from Wyvern to meet
us--you will find us here when you come back.

SCENE VII.--_On the Platform at Shuntingbridge._

_Lady Cant._ Ah, _there_ you are, PHILLIPSON! Yes, you can take the
jewel-case; and now you had better go and see after the trunks.
(PHILLIPSON _hurries back to the luggage-van_; SPURRELL _returns._)
Well, Mr.--I always forget names, so shall call you "ANDROMEDA"--have
you found----The omnibus, is it? Very well, take us to it, and we'll get

                                                 [_They go outside._

_Undershell_ (_at another part of the platform--to himself_). Where has
Miss MULL disappeared to? Oh, there she is, pointing out her luggage.
What a quantity she travels with! Can't be such a _very_ poor relation.
How graceful and collected she is, and how she orders the porters about!
I really believe I shall enjoy this visit. (_To a porter._) That's
mine--the brown one with a white star. I want it to go to Wyvern

_Porter_ (_shouldering it_). Right, Sir. Follow me, if you please.

                                           [_He disappears with it._

_Und._ (_to  himself_). I mustn't leave Miss MULL alone. (_Advancing to
her._) Can I be of any assistance?

_Phillipson._ It's all done now. But you might try and find out how
we're to get to the Court.

    [UNDERSHELL _departs; is requested to produce his ticket, and
    spends several minutes in searching every pocket but the right

[Illustration: "Searching every pocket but the right one."]

SCENE VIII.--_The Station Yard at Shuntingbridge._

_Lady Cant._ (_from the interior of the Wyvern omnibus, testily, to_
Footman). What are we waiting for _now_? Is my maid coming with us--or

_Footman._ There's a fly ordered to take her, my lady.

_Lady Cant._ (_to_ SPURRELL, _who is standing below_). Then it's _you_
who are keeping us!

_Spurr._ If your ladyship will excuse me, I'll just go and see if
they've put out my bag.

_Lady Cant._ (_impatiently_). Never mind about your bag. (_To_ Footman.)
What have you done with this gentleman's luggage?

_Footman._ Everything for the Court is on top now, my lady.

                                  [_He opens the door for_ SPURRELL.

_Lady Cant._ (_to_ SPURRELL, _who is still irresolute_). For goodness'
sake don't hop about on that step! Come in, and let us start.

_Lady Maisie._ _Please_ get in--there's _plenty_ of room!

_Spurr._ (_to himself_). They _are_ chummy, and no mistake! (_Aloud, as
he gets in._) I do hope it won't be considered any intrusion--my coming
up along with your ladyships, I mean!

_Lady Cant._ (_snappishly_). Intrusion! I never heard such nonsense! Did
you expect to be asked to _run behind_? You really mustn't be so
ridiculously modest. As if your _Andromeda_ hadn't procured you the
_entrée_ everywhere!

                                          [_The omnibus starts._

_Spurr._ (_to himself_). Good old Drummy! No idea I was such a swell.
I'll keep my tail up. Shyness ain't one of _my_ failings. (_Aloud to an
indistinct mass at the further end of the omnibus, which is unlighted._)
Er--hum--pitch dark night, my lady, don't get much idea of the country!
(_The mass makes no response._) I was saying, my lady, it's too dark
to----(_The mass snores peacefully._) Her ladyship seems to be taking a
snooze on the quiet, my lady. (_To_ Lady MAISIE.) (_To himself._) Not
that _that_'s the word for it!

_Lady Maisie_ (_distantly_). My Mother gets tired rather easily. (_To
herself._) It's really too dreadful; he makes me hot all over! If he's
going to do this kind of thing at Wyvern! And I'm more or less
_responsible_ for him, too! I _must_ see if I can't----It will be only
kind. (_Aloud, nervously._) Mr.--Mr. BLAIR!

_Spurr._ Excuse me, my lady, not _BLAIR_--SPURRELL.

_Lady Maisie._ Of course, _how_ stupid of me. I knew it wasn't _really_
your name. Mr. _SPURRELL_, then, you--you won't mind if I give you just
one little hint, _will_ you?

_Spurr._ I shall take it kindly of your ladyship, whatever it is.

_Lady Maisie_ (_more nervously still_). It's really such a trifle,
but--but, in speaking to Mamma or me, it isn't at all necessary to say
'my lady' or 'your ladyship.' I--I mean, it sounds rather,
well--_formal_, don't you know!

_Spurr._ (_to himself_). She's going to be chummy now! (_Aloud._) I
thought, on a first acquaintance, it was only manners.

_Lady Maisie._ Oh--manners? yes, I--I daresay--but still--but
still--_not_ at Wyvern, don't you know. If you like, you can call Mamma
'Lady CANTIRE,' and me 'Lady MAISIE,' and, of course, my Aunt will be
'Lady CULVERIN,' but--but if there are other people staying in the
house, you needn't call them _anything_, do you see?

_Spurr._ (_to himself_). I'm not likely to have the chance! (_Aloud._)
Well, if you're sure they won't _mind_ it, because I'm not used to this
sort of thing, so I put myself in your hands,--for, of course, _you_
know what brought me down here?

_Lady Maisie_ (_to herself_). He means my foolish letter! Oh, I must put
a stop to _that_ at once! (_In a hurried undertone._) Yes--yes; I--I
think I do. I mean, I _do_ know--but--but _please_ forget it--_indeed_
you must!

_Spurr._ (_to himself_). Forget I've come down as a vet? The CULVERINS
will take care I don't forget that! (_Aloud._) But, I say, it's all very
well; but how _can_ I? Why, look here; I was told I was to come down
here on purpose to----.

_Lady Maisie_ (_on thorns_). I know--you needn't tell me! And _don't_
speak so loud! _Mamma_ might hear!

_Spurr._ (_puzzled_). What if she did? Why, I thought her la--your
Mother _knew_!

_Lady Maisie_ (_to herself_). He actually thinks I should tell Mamma!
Oh, how _dense_ he is! (_Aloud._) Yes--yes--of _course_ she
knows--but--but you might _wake_ her! And--and please don't allude to it
again--to me or--or anyone. (_To herself._) That I should have to beg
him to be silent like this! But what can I _do_? Goodness only knows
_what_ he mightn't say, if I don't warn him!

_Spurr._ (_nettled_). I don't mind _who_ knows. _I'm_ not ashamed of it,
Lady MAISIE--whatever you may be!

_Lady Maisie_ (_to herself, exasperated_). He dares to imply that _I_'ve
done something to be ashamed of! (_Aloud; haughtily._) I'm _not_
ashamed--why _should_ I be? Only--oh, can't you _really_ understand
that--that one may do things which one wouldn't care to be reminded of
publicly? I don't _wish_ it--isn't _that_ enough?

_Spurr._ (_to himself_). I see what she's at now--doesn't want it to
come out that she's travelled down here with a vet! (_Aloud, stiffly._)
A lady's wish is enough for _me_ at anytime. If you're sorry for having
gone out of your way to be friendly, why, I'm not the person to take
advantage of it. I hope I know how to behave.

                             [_He takes refuge in offended silence._

_Lady Maisie_ (_to herself_). Why did I say anything at all! I've only
made things worse--I've let him see that he _has_ an advantage. And he's
certain to use it sooner or later--unless I am civil to him. I've
offended him now--and I shall _have_ to make it up with him!

_Spurr._ (_to himself_). I thought all along she didn't seem as chummy
as her mother--but to turn round on me like this!

_Lady Cant._ (_waking up_). Well, Mr. ANDROMEDA, I should have thought
you and my daughter might have found _some_ subject in common; but I
haven't heard a word from either of you since we left the station.

_Lady Maisie_ (_to herself_). That's _some_ comfort! (_Aloud._) You must
have had a nap, Mamma. We--we _have_ been talking.

_Spurr._ Oh yes, we _have_ been talking, I can assure you--er--Lady

_Lady Cant._ Dear me. Well, MAISIE, I hope the conversation was

_Lady Maisie._ M-most entertaining, Mamma!

_Lady Cant._ I'm quite sorry I missed it. (_The omnibus stops._) Wyvern
at last! But _what_ a journey it's been, to be sure!

_Spurr._ (_to himself_). I should just think it had. I've never been so
taken up and put down in all my life! But it's over now; and, thank
goodness, I'm not likely to see any more of 'em!

                                       [_He gets out with alacrity._

                               * * * * *


_She_ (_engaged to another_). "WE DON'T SEEM TO BE GETTING ON VERY WELL;


                               * * * * *

MRS. R. has often had a cup of tea in a storm, but she cannot for the
life of her see how there can possibly be a storm in a tea-cup.

                               * * * * *




                               * * * * *



                               * * * * *

                         THE COREAN COCK-FIGHT.

    ["Russia's love of peace is outweighed by her duty to safeguard
    her vital interests, which would seriously suffer were Japan or
    China to modify the present state of things in
    Corea."--_Official Russian view of the Corean situation, given
    by "Daily Telegraph" Correspondent at St. Petersburg._]

                           BRUIN, _loquitur_.

  "Duty to safeguard my interests?" Quite so!
    Nice way of putting it, yes, and so _moral_!
  Yet I love Peace! Pity game-cocks will fight so!
    Disfigures their plumes and their combs' healthy "coral."
  Big Cochin-China and Bantam of Jap
  Feel at each other they _must_ have a slap.
  Humph! I must keep a sharp eye on the two!

  Peace, now! She _is_ such a loveable darling!
    Goddess I worship in rapt contemplation.
  Spurring and crowing, and snapping and snarling,
    Wholly unworthy a bird--or a nation!
  Still there is Duty! I have an idea
  Mine lies in watching this fight in Corea.
  BULL yonder looks in a bit of a stew!

  Some say my destiny pointeth due North,
    Ice-caves are all very well--for a winter-rest.
  But BRUIN'S fond of adventuring forth;
    In the "Far East" he feels quite a warm interest;
  BULL doesn't like it at all. But then BULL
    Fancies that no one should feed when _he_'s full!
  I am still hungry, and love chicken-stew!

  To make the Corea a cock-pit, young Jappy,
    May suit you, or even that huge Cochin-China;
  But--fighting you know always makes _me_ unhappy.
    I feel, like poor _Villikins_ robbed of his _Dinah_,
  As if I could swallow a cup of "cold pison."--
  But--still--these antagonists I _must_ keep eyes on.
  Cockfighting _is_ cruel,--but stirring fun, too!

  _Duty_, dear boys! Ah! there's nothing like Duty.
    Gives one "repose"--like that Blacksmith of LONGFELLOW!
  Go it, young Jap! That last drive was a beauty.
    But--your opponent's an awfully strong fellow.
  Little bit slow at first, sluggish and lumbering,
  But when he makes a fair start there's no slumbering.
  Sakes! How his new steel spurs shone as he flew!

  Now, should I stop it, or should I take sides?
    BULL and the other onlookers seem fidgety!
  Cochin strikes hard, but indulges in "wides";
    Game-cock _is_ game--though a little mite midgety.
  Well, whate'er the end be, and whichever win,
  I _think_ the game's mine, when I choose to cut in.
  I'm safe for a dinner--off _one_ of the two!

                                  [_Left considering and chortling._

                               * * * * *

                              THE WAR CRY.

            (_Dedicated (without permission) to the Pioneer

  Rouse ye, ye women, and flock to your banners!
    War is declared on the enemy, Man!
  If we can't teach him to better his manners,
    We'll copy the creature as close as we can!
  No longer the heel of the tyrant shall grind us.
    Rouse ye and rally! The despot defy!
  And the false craven shall tremble to find us
    Resolved to a woman to do or to die.


  Then hey! for the latchkey, sweet liberty's symbol!
    Greet it, ye girls, with your lustiest cheer!
  Away with the scissors! Away with the thimble!
    And hey nonny no for the gay Pioneer!

  Why should we writhe on a clumsy side-saddle
    Designed on a most diabolical plan?
  Women! submit ye no longer! Ride straddle,
    And jump on the corns of your enemy, Man!
  Storm the iniquitous haunts of his pleasure,
    Leave him to nurse the dear babes when they fret,
  Dine at St. James' in luxurious leisure,
    And woo the delights of the sweet cigarette!

  Look to your latchkeys! The whole situation
    Upon the possession of these will depend.
  Use them, ye women, without hesitation,
    And dine when ye will with a gentleman friend.
  Man's a concoction of sin and of knavery--
    Women of India, China, Japan!
  Rouse ye, and end this inglorious slavery!
    Down with the tyrant! Down, down with the Man!

                               * * * * *

                            THE BANK HOLIDAY
                              DREAM BOOK.

                   (_Compiled by our Pet Pessimist._)

If you imagine that it will be fine, and consequently that you can don
the lightest of attire, you may be sure that it will be cold and wet,
and absolutely unsuitable to travelling.

If you fancy that you will enjoy a delightful visit to some intimate
friends, you will find that you have had your journey to a spot "ten
miles from anywhere" for nothing, as your intended hosts have gone
abroad for the season.

If you believe that you are seeing a favourite piece being played
admirably at a West End theatre, you will discover that the programme
was altered four days ago, and that the temple of the drama will not
reopen until the autumn.

If you arrange to go abroad with a friend, you will quarrel with your
acquaintance on the following morning, and disarrange your plans for a

Lastly, if you dream that you have decided to give up gadding about on a
bank holiday to remain at home, you will see that it is better to follow
your fancy, and avoid the risk of making a mistake by adventuring to
strange places and pastures new.

                               * * * * *




                               * * * * *

                           IN SHEER DELIGHT.

                          (_A Surrey Rondel._)

  In sheer delight I sing the country's praise.
    The town no longer takes me day or night.
  'Mid scented roses one should loll and laze
          In sheer delight.

  The corn fields unto harvest glisten white,
    In pastures lowing kine contented graze.
  _Per_ train (South-Eastern) now to wing his flight
    No lover of the Surrey side delays.
  My own case you suggest? Of course you're right.
    Which p'r'aps explains why I to spend my days
          In Shere delight!

                               * * * * *

rattling race with KILBY of Staines (who was worn to a standstill), and
COHEN of Maidenhead (who pitched overboard), VERITY of Weybridge easily
retained the Upper Thames Single Punting Championship. Why, cert'n'ly!
What says the old Latin saw? _Magna est Veritas, et prævalebit!_ Which
(obviously) means:--Great is VERITY, and he shall prevail!

                               * * * * *


                          BY G***GE M*R*D*TH.

                               VOLUME II.

The die was now a-casting. Hurtled though devious windings far from
ordered realms where the Syntax Queen holds sway, spinning this way and
that like the whipped box-wood beloved of youth but deadly to the
gout-ridden toes of the home-faring Alderman, now sinking to a fall, now
impetuously whirled on a devil-dance, clamorous as Cocytus, the lost
souls filling it to the brink, at last the meaning glimmered to the
eye--not that wherein dead time hung just above the underlids, but the
common reading eye a-thirst for meanings, baffled again and again and
drooping a soporific lid slowly, nose a-snore, and indolent mind lapped
in slumber. They discussed it.

"Am I a Literary Causerie?" breathed AMINTA.

"No, but food for such."

"And if I am?" she said.

"Turgidity masquerading as depth. Was ever cavalry general so tortured
into symbolism?"

"I remain," she insisted.

"I go to Paris," was his retort.

"My aunt stays with me."

"Thank Heaven!" he muttered.

The design was manifest. Who should mistake it? For a fencer plays you
the acrobat, a measure he, poised on a plum-box with jargon-mouth agape
for what shall come to it. Is the man unconscious? The worse his fate.
For the fact is this. All are Meredithians in dialogue, tarred with one
brush abysmally plunged in the hot and steaming tank, a general tarred,
a tarred tutor, a tarred sister, aunt reeking of the tar and General's
Doubtful Lady chin-deep in the compound, and no distinction.

Clatter, crash, bang. Helter-skelter comes dashing Lady CHARLOTTE, a
forest at her heels dragged in chains for all a neighbour may pout and
fret and ride to hounds. She switched him a brat-face patter-down of an
apology tamed to the net-ponds of a busk-madder, blue nose vermilion,
mannish to the outside, breathing flames and scattering apish hop-poles
like a parachute blown into space by the bellows of a hugger-mugger
conformity. "I can mew," she said. "Old women can; it's a way they have.
The person you call ... but no--I pass it. Was ever such folly in a man?
And that man my brother ROWSLEY. But you have seen her you say--a
Spaniard--_Ay de mi; Señorita_, and the rest of the gibberish. What is
her colour?"

The question flicked him like a hansom's whip, that plucks you out an
optic, policeman in helmet looking on, stolid on the mumchance. Out it
goes at whip-end and no remedy, blue, green, brown or bloodshot. Glass
can imitate or porcelain, and a pretty trade's a-doing in these, making
a man like two light-houses, one fixed as fate, the other revolving like
the earth on its axis.

"BROWN," he answered, humbly.

"MORSFIELD's after her," said Lady CHARLOTTE.

"Let him."

"But he's dangerous."

"I can trounce such. Did it at school, and can remember the trick."

A lady came moving onward. She had that in her gait which showed
command, her bonnet puckered to the front, a fat aunt trailing behind.
They came steadily. It was AMINTA with her aunt.

Lord ORMONT, his temper ablaze like his manuscript, thirty-four pages,
neither more nor less, fortifications planned, advice given gratis to
the loutish neglecting nation, stepped forward.

"You must remove her," he declared to WEYBURN.

"But the aunt?" questioned MATEY.

"She must go too. See to it quickly!" He fell back, the irrevocable
quivering in his eyeball, destiny mocking with careless glee, while
MORSFIELD and a bully-captain saw their chances and just missed the

Away they clattered, MATEY and AMINTA, leaving the PAGNELL to her
passion-breathing MORSFIELD.


                               * * * * *

                      THE END OF THE OPERA SEASON.

                           _Solo and Chorus._

  The Opera time began in May,
  And ended but last Satur_day_.
  We hope it has been made to pay
    _Solo._ Not in the days of MARIO
  Was there an _Impresario_,
  Arranger of _scenario_,
  Who knew so "where he are!" he o-
  peratical campaign can plan
  With sure success! no better man
  For operatic venture than
    _Chorus (in unison)._ AUGUSTUS DRURIOLANUS!


  The Opera time, &c. (_as above_).

                               * * * * *

MAXIM FOR CYCLISTS.--"_Try_-cycle before you _Buy_-cycle."

                               * * * * *


(_A Seasonable Suggestion._)

"It is proposed to establish Baths at the Houses of Parliament for the
use of Members."--_Daily Press._]

                               * * * * *

[Illustration: REAL ENJOYMENT.

_Non-Golfer (middle-aged, rather stout, who would like to play, and has
been recommended it as healthy and amusing)._ "WELL, I CANNOT SEE WHERE


                               * * * * *

                         ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.


_House of Commons, Monday, July 23._--Quite like old times to hear TIM
HEALY saying a few plain things about landlords; PRINCE ARTHUR replying;
TIM growling out occasional contradiction; whilst O'BRIEN hotly
interrupts. To make the reminiscence complete JOSEPH contributes a
speech in which he heaps contumely and scorn on representatives of Irish
nationality. TIM reminds him how different was his attitude, how varied
his voice, at epoch of Kilmainham Treaty.

TIM has a rough but effective way of fastening upon a name or phrase,
and even blatantly reiterating it. Thus, when OLD MORALITY, in his
kindly manner, once alluded to a visit paid to him at a critical time by
his "old friend Mr. WALTER," TIM leaped down upon it, and,
characteristically leaving out the customary appellation, filled the air
with scornful reference to "my old friend WALTER." To-night, desiring to
bring into sharp contrast JOSEPH'S present attitude towards Ireland and
the landlord party with that assumed by him twelve years ago, he
insisted upon calling the Arrears Bill of 1882 "the Chamberlain Act." It
wasn't JOSEPH'S personal possession or invention any more than it was
the SQUIRE OF MALWOOD'S. But that way of putting it doubly suited TIM'S
purpose. It permitted him, without breach of order, to allude by name to
the member for West Birmingham; there's a good deal in a name when the
syllables are hissed forth with infinite hate and scorn. Also it
accentuated the changed position _vis-à-vis_ Ireland to which further
reflection and honest conviction have brought the prime mover in the
Kilmainham Treaty.

Irish Members, forgetting their own quarrels with TIM as he fustigated
the common enemy, roared with delight. A broad smile lighted up the
serried ranks of the Liberals. PRINCE ARTHUR wore a decorous look of
sympathy with his wronged right hon. friend. The Duke of
DEVONSHIRE,--"late the Leader of the Liberal Party,"--from the Peers'
Gallery surveyed the scene with stolid countenance. JOSEPH,
orchid-decked, sat in his corner seat below the gangway, staring
straight before him as one who saw not neither did he hear.

_Business done._--TIM HEALY goes on the rampage. Evicted Tenants Bill
read second time.

_Tuesday._--As has been noted on an earlier occasion, Britannia has no
bulwarks, no towers along her steep. It is, consequently, the more
comforting to know that ELLIS ASHMEAD-BARTLETT (Knight) keeps his eye on
things abroad as they affect the interests of British citizens. The
Member for SARK tells me he has a faded copy of the _Skibbereen Eagle_
containing its famous note of warning to NAPOLEON THE THIRD. Was
published at time of the irruption of Colonels. These gentlemen, sitting
on boulevards sipping absinthe, used to twirl their moustache
and--_sacrrée!_--growl hints of what they would do when they as
conquerors walked down Piccadillee, and rioted in the riches of Leestar

NAPOLEON THE THIRD did not escape suspicion of fanning this flame.
Howbeit the _Skibbereen Eagle_ came out one Saturday morning with a
leading article commencing: "We have our eye on NAPOLEON THE THIRD,
Emperor of the French."

Thus ELLIS ASHMEAD-BARTLETT (Knight) digs eagle claws into the aerie
heights of the Clock Tower, and watches over the interests and cares of
an Empire on which the sun rarely sets.

"All the kinder of him," SARK says, "since they cannot be said directly
to concern him. In an effort to redress the balance between the Old
World and the New, United States has lent us ASHMEAD. The temporary
character of the arrangement makes only the more generous his concern
for the interests of the Empire in which he lodges."

In the peculiar circumstances of the case those able young men, EDWARD
GREY and SYDNEY BUXTON, might be a little less openly contemptuous in
their treatment of the Patriotic Emigrant. Hard to say at which office
door, Foreign or Colonial, ASHMEAD bangs his head with more distressful
result. He takes them in succession, with dogged courage that would in
anyone else excite admiration. Of the two janitors, perhaps EDWARD
GREY'S touch is the lightest. He replies with a solemn gravity that
puzzles ASHMEAD, and keeps him brooding till SPEAKER stays the merry
laughter of the House by calling on the next question. BUXTON is more
openly contemptuous, more severely sarcastic, and sometimes, when
ASHMEAD'S prattling, of no consequence in the House, might possibly have
serious effect when cabled to the Transvaal where they think all Members
of Parliament are responsible men, he smartly raps out. Between the two
the Patriot--made in Brooklyn, plated in Sheffield--has a bad time of
it. Has long learned how much sharper than a serpent's tooth is the
tongue of an Under Secretary of State.

_Business done._--Second Reading of Equalisation of London Rates Bill

_Thursday._--Lords took Budget Bill in hand to-night. MARKISS asked for
week's interval. This looked like fighting. At least there would be a
reconnaissance in force led by the MARKISS. House full; peerless
Peeresses looked down from side gallery; MARKISS in his place;
DEVONSHIRE in his--not Chatsworth; that going to be shut up; but corner
seat below gangway; ROSEBERY hovering about, settled down at length in
seat of Leader. Clerk read Orders of the Day. "Finance Bill second
reading." "I move the Bill be read a second time," said ROSEBERY,
politely taking his hat off to lady in gallery immediately opposite.
Then he sat down.

Here was a pretty go! Expected PREMIER would make brilliant speech in
support of Bill; the MARKISS would reply; fireworks would fizz all
round, and, though perhaps Budget Bill might be saved, SQUIRE OF MALWOOD
would be pummelled. ROSEBERY takes oddest, most unparliamentary view of
his duty. The Lords, he said, when last week subject was mooted, have
nothing to do with Budget Bill, unless indeed they are prepared to throw
it out. "Will you do that?" he asked. "No," said MARKISS, looking as if
he would much rather say "Yes." "Very well then," said ROSEBERY, "all
speeches on the subject must be barren."

This to the Barons seemed lamentably personal.

ROSEBERY illustrated his point by declining for his own part to make a
speech. Still there was talk; barren speeches for three hours; audience
gradually dwindling: only a few left to witness spectacle of HALSBURY'S
blue blood boiling over with indignation at sacrilegious assault on
landed aristocracy.

"If you want to make your flesh creep," says SARK, "you should hear
HALSBURY, raising to full height his majestic figure, throwing the
shadow of his proudly aquiline profile fiercely on the steps of the
Throne where some minions of the Government cowered, exclaim, 'My Lords,
I detect in this Bill a hostile spirit towards the landed aristocracy.'"

"A HALSBURY! a HALSBURY!" menacingly muttered FEVERSHAM and some other
fiery crusaders.

For the moment, so deeply was the assembly stirred, a conflict between
the two Houses seemed imminent. But Black Rod coming to take away the
Mace the tumult subsided, and Lord HALSBURY went home in a four-wheeler.

_Business done._--Budget read second time in Lords.

_Friday._--Scene in Commons quite changed; properties remain but leading
characters altered. After unprecedented run, Budget Bill withdrawn;
Irish Evicted Tenants Bill now underlined on bills. JOHN MORLEY succeeds
the SQUIRE; Irish Members take up the buzzing of the no longer Busy B's.

As for the SQUIRE, he takes well-earned, though only comparative rest;
preparing for congratulatory feast spread for him next Wednesday. Like
good boy whose work is done is now going to have his dinner. Also RIGBY
and BOB REID, who bore with him the heat and burden of the day. It's a
sort of Parliamentary Millennium. The CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER sits
down with the ATTORNEY-GENERAL; the SOLICITOR-GENERAL puts his hand on
the cockatrice's den (situate in the neighbourhood of TOMMY BOWLES); and
FRANK LOCKWOOD has drawn them.

[Illustration: Three Good Boys, who, having done their Work, get their

_Business done._--In Committee on Evicted Tenants Bill.

                               * * * * *

Mrs. R. observes in a newspaper that a man was summoned for "illegal
distress." She is much puzzled at this, as she thought England was a
free country, where people might be as unhappy as they liked!

                               * * * * *

                           OUR CHARITY FÊTE.

[Illustration: Private Box. W]ell, my dear _Mr. Punch_, you, who hear
everything, will be glad to receive from me the particulars of our
Annual Farewell Charity Fête, given this year at the Grafton Gallery for
the excellent object of providing the undeserving with pink carnations.
It was a bazaar, a concert, and a fancy-dress ball, all in one; everyone
who is anyone was there, and as they were all in costume, nobody could
tell who was who. It was indeed a very brilliant scene.

I refused to hold a stall, for I had enough to do writing out autographs
of celebrities (they sell splendidly), but it was hard work, and there
was an absurd fuss just because I made the trifling mistake of signing
"Yours truly, GEORGE MEREDITH" across a photograph of ARTHUR ROBERTS.
What did it matter? I really cannot see that it made the slightest
difference; the person had asked for an autograph of MEREDITH and he got
it, _and_ a portrait of ROBERTS into the bargain! so he ought to have
been satisfied; but some people are strangely exacting! There was a
great run on the autograph of SARAH BERNHARDT and I grew quite tired of
signing YVETTE, ROSEBERY, and CISSIE LOFTUS, however, it was all for the
charity. I went as a Perfect Gentleman, and it was quite a good
disguise--hardly anyone knew me! I saw SIR BRUCE SKENE dressed as a
Temperance Lecturer; GRINGOIRE was there as the _Enemy of the People_
with a bunch of violets in his button-hole; the NEW BOY went as
_Becket_, and CHARLEY'S AUNT as the _Yellow Aster_. THE GENTLEMAN OF
FRANCE looked well as _The Prisoner of Zenda_. I recognised our old
friend DORIAN GRAY in a gorgeous costume of purple and pearls, with a
crown on his head of crimson roses. He said he had come as a Prose Poem,
and he was selling Prose Poem-granates for the good of the charity.

Here are some scraps of conversation I overheard in the crowd:--

_Enemy of the People_ (_to_ Sir BRUCE SKENE). Been having a good time

_Sir Bruce._ Rather! Tremendous! I've been doing nothing but backing
winners, and, what's more--(_chuckling_)--I've at last got that
astronomer fellow to take my wife and child off my hands. Isn't that

_Enemy of the People._ Ah, really? She is coming to us in the autumn,
you know.

_Vivien, the Modern Eve_ (_to the_ New Boy). I cannot stay here any
longer. They never dust the drawing-room, the geraniums are planted all
wrong, and I do not like the anti-macassars. Will you come with me?

_New Boy._ What a lark it would be! But I'm afraid I must stay and look
after my white mice. You see, BULLOCK MAJOR----

_Lady Belton_ (_after her marriage_, _to_ Charley's Aunt, _tearfully_).
He doesn't understand me, Aunty.

_Charley's Aunt._ Never mind, my dear. Don't cry! You shall come with me
to Brazil; you've heard me mention, perhaps, it's the place where the
nuts come from; and we'll get up an amateur performance of the
_Pantomime Rehearsal_!

We had all sorts of amusements. Under a palm, a palmist was prophesying
long journeys, second marriages, and affairs of the heart to the white
hand of giggling incredulity. Beautiful musicians, in blue uniforms,
with gold Hungarian bands round their waists, were discoursing the
sweetest strain that ever encouraged the conversation of the unmusical.
A feature of the bazaar, that I invented, was a mechanical Sphinx behind
a curtain. They asked it questions--chiefly, what would win the
Leger--and put a penny in the slot. There never was any answer, and that
was the great joke!

The whole thing was undoubtedly a wonderful success--and I knew it would
be. I believed in my _Fête_, having always been rather a fatalist.

And, in the rush of a worldly, frivolous existence, how great a pleasure
it is to think we should have aided--if ever so little--in brightening
the lives of the poor young fellows, kept, perhaps, all the season
through, in or near the hot pavement of Piccadilly, and with not so much
as a buttercup to remind them of the green fields, the golden sunlight,
the blue sky of the glorious country. To have helped in so noble a cause
as ours is a privilege that made us leave the bazaar with tears of
sympathy in our eyes, feeling better and purer men and women. Long, long
may the button-hole of improvidence be filled by the wired carnation of
judicious charity.

        Believe me, dear _Mr. Punch_,
            Yours very truly,                 "JEMIMA THE PENWOMAN."

P.S.--An absurd name they gave me on account of the autograph incident.
You remember what "JIM THE PENMAN" was? Of course, but there's no chance
of my becoming the PEN-"WIPER" in the bosom of a family. _Au revoir!_

Transcriber Notes:

Passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_.

Passages in bold were indicated by =equal signs=.

Small caps were replaced with ALL CAPS.

Throughout the document, the oe ligature was replaced with "oe".

Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of
the speakers. Those words were retained as-is.

The illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up
paragraphs and so that they are next to the text they illustrate.

Errors in punctuations and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected
unless otherwise noted.

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