Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 108, June 1, 1895
Author: Various
Language: English
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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 108. JUNE 1, 1895.

_edited by Sir Francis Burnand_



"LONDON AND LIVERPOOL--LITTLE AND GOOD."

It appears that the very excellent proposal of amalgamating all
the local branches of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to
Children in one national association is meeting with some opposition
in Liverpool. Says the _Courier_ of that important locality, "It was
Liverpool which educated London in the matter of child-protection, and
probably the Londoners could still learn in Liverpool many practical
lessons. And just when Liverpool is about to be trebled in extent,
and have its population largely increased, seems a singularly
inappropriate time to subordinate the city to London." From this
it would appear that Liverpool in its growth is becoming, to use a
colloquialism, "too big for its boots." Surely the benefit of the
children should be the first consideration. What the size of either
Liverpool or London has to do with that matter, it is difficult
to say. No doubt Londoners could learn much from their Liverpool
brothers. But the lesson for the moment is to discover how to best
protect the little ones. And that subject can only be mastered by a
display of goodwill and unselfishness on both sides.

       *       *       *       *       *

SIR JOHN FRANKLIN.

    [May 20, 1895: Fiftieth Anniversary of the Day when the
    Franklin Expedition set Sail.]

  The North returned thee not to British earth.
    Whence on that splendid quest thou didst go forth;
  But when our British hearts, in sordid dearth
  Of pride, forget thy valour and thy worth,
    Those hearts must be yet colder than the North.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: TURF CUTTINGS.

"Taken and Off"

"Getting on" at 6 to 4.]

       *       *       *       *       *

A BAS "THE CLUB SWEEP."

DEAR MR. PUNCH,--Although you are a humorist, there is a serious side
to your character. I want to appeal to that serious side. I wish to
complain of the prevalence in all our West-End Co-operative Palaces of
that annual pest, appropriately called "the Club Sweep." Why should it
be allowed to prosper? It is a disgrace to civilisation. I know of
no more painful sight than the picture of old CR[OE]SUS paying the
hall-porter to put him down for a dozen places. I am delighted when
those twelve positions end in blanks, or starters out of the running.
And nearly as unpleasant an incident is the tableau of young JONES
taking a pound chance at the same fatal lottery. Put it down, _Mr.
Punch_; put it down. I repeat, "the Club Sweep" is unworthy of the
civilisation of the close of the nineteenth century. Once more, Sir,
put it down.

  Yours, most truly,

  AN OLD MEMBER OF THE HERCULES CLUB.

P.S.--I am sure the thing is a mistake. Will you believe it, I have
put into my own sweep for the last thirty-five years, and have never
drawn a starter! Same luck this season!

       *       *       *       *       *

From the New Sarum Note-Book.

    [Lord SALISBURY "believes the SULTAN to be a humane
    man."--_Speech at Bradford._]

LORD SALISBURY believes--

That RICHARD THE THIRD was a remarkably amiable man; especially kind
to children.

That NERO was the gentlest creature that ever breathed, except
CALIGULA.

That HENRY THE EIGHTH was a gentle, unassuming person; most religious
and domesticated; in fact, a model husband, and the sort of man that
"wouldn't harm a biby."

       *       *       *       *       *

ROUNDABOUT READINGS.

The Hon. GEORGE CURZON and Miss LEITER (U.S.A.) have been married.
The State of Illinois is indignant. The two facts are more intimately
connected than might be supposed. Four days after the wedding a
resolution was introduced into the State Legislature of Illinois by a
Mr. MCCARTHY, requesting the daughters of Illinois "not to accept
the hand in marriage of any person who is not a citizen of the United
States, as we are of opinion that the daughters of Illinois should
be patriotic in their views, and should disregard the title of any
foreigner, and marry none but a citizen of the United States." It is
stated that the resolution "was referred to the Committee on Federal
Relations." Surely a Committee on domestic relations or on titled
relations would have been more appropriate.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Illinois State Legislature obviously has novel ideas of its
legislative duties. Imagine an English County Council treating
seriously such fantastic rubbish as Mr. MCCARTHY brought before the
law-makers of his State. Would it not be more to the point to look
after the sons of Illinois, and to keep the hue of their resolution up
to the mark? If they are laggards in love, who shall blame the British
aristocrat for wooing with success the daughters of Illinois,
whom their compatriot suitors abandon? Or again, if titles are so
irresistible an attraction to the fair, why not establish titles in
Illinois, and thus give the Earl of BANGS or the Marquis SALTONTALE
that seductive influence which is apparently lacking to plain ZEDEKIAH
B. BANGS, and to the unadorned JONATHAN K. SALTONTALE. For it is
obviously better that the daughters of Illinois should marry than
that they should waste away with an unbridaled (let the spelling pass)
desire for a title.

       *       *       *       *       *

At Oxford on Wednesday last the University beat Somerset by one
wicket, mainly owing to the admirable batting of Mr. H. D. G. LEVESON
GOWER, popularly known as "The Shrimp."

  To the batsmen of Oxford, who looked very limp,
  Father Neptune was kind when he gave them a Shrimp:
  For a Shrimp on the grass is most worthy of rhyme,
  When he makes a firm stand, but gets runs all the time.

       *       *       *       *       *

The inhabitants of Christmas Street in Bristol want to have their
thoroughfare laid with wood paving. At present, according to an
indignant correspondent, "the pitching in the street is so bad that it
is positively dangerous for vehicular traffic ... but the risk to life
and limb are entirely subservient to the parsimonious policy of
our Bristol Sanitary Authority." Might I suggest Yule logs as an
appropriate pavement for Christmas Street? Certainly this accident
policy of the Bristol Sanitary Authority ought to be allowed to lapse.

       *       *       *       *       *

I gather from a letter in the _Freeman's Journal_ that Bray is not
being well treated by the Bray Township Commissioners. "If Bray is
to march with the times," says the writer, "and keep pace with the
laudable efforts of our Tourist Development Association," something
must be done to improve the walk round Bray Head. The picture of Bray
keeping pace and marching with the times by walking round its own head
is too confusing for the intelligence of the dense Saxon.

       *       *       *       *       *

An article in the _Scotsman_ declares that "a great laxity of costume
is characteristic of modern Oxford." Straw hats and brown boots appear
to abound everywhere. It is added that "Bowlers are already beginning
to be preserved as relics of a bygone race." This will be glorious
news for the Cambridge Eleven, for a merely preserved bowler cannot be
very dangerous.

       *       *       *       *       *

From a recent issue of the _Freeman's Journal_ I extract the following
letter, which, it must be admitted, "makes both sides right" with a
clearness that leaves nothing to be desired. Note, too, the writer's
natural vexation at the idea that he "assisted the constable":--

    TO THE EDITOR Of THE FREEMAN.

    _114, Lower Clanbrassil Street, Dublin, May 14, 1895._

    SIR,--With reference to your issue of the 13th inst., and the
    stolen tea from one of the London and Northern-Western vans, I
    beg leave to state that I in no way assisted the constable in
    the arrest of the prisoner, as you state; neither was there
    any necessity for me doing so, as he had sufficient help along
    with him at the time. But I did help the driver of the waggon
    when on the ground to recover his feet and get back to his
    waggon with the tea in question. My reasons for doing so were
    as follows--first, being a van driver myself, and I might say
    has been such all my lifetime, and knowing that when goods are
    stolen from any van in nine cases out of every ten the driver
    of such a van has to make good the same and be put under
    stoppages although no fault of his. Secondly, when I came on
    the scene the driver of the waggon seemed to be getting the
    worst of it, as the offender had two others helping him.
    If someone did not interfere, therefore, under those
    circumstances and to protect the interest of my
    fellow-workers, as I am always ready to do, I interfered, and
    under no other.--Hoping you will kindly insert this in your
    next issue and make both sides right, and thanking you for the
    same, I remain your humble servant,

    HENRY PRENDERGAST.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: ALL THE COMFORTS OF A HOME.

_Britannia_ (_to His Highness Nasrulla Khan_). "DELIGHTED TO SEE YOU,
FOR YOUR DEAR FATHER'S SAKE!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE BOULD SOGER BOYS AT ISLINGTON.

STAGE-MANAGERS Lieut.-Col. TULLY with Lieut.-Col. TILLOTSON and
Colonel ONSLOW, not to mention their talented assistants headed by
Captain DANN, Master of Ring, have given us a real good show. The
Olympian BOSSY KIRALFY must be anxiously awaiting the return of the
natives from Islington to Kensington, and Sir DRURIOLANUS must have
owned that the military managers have run him very close as a master
of crowds and of thrilling dramatic situations. Who would not rush
out to fight Zulus, or any other savages, to stirring sounds of First
Horse Guards' band, and cheered by all sorts and kinds of inspiriting
music? You march to a popular song, you build bridge to polka, you
make zerebas to the lilt of a waltz, you charge to a galop, and you
return victorious to the National Anthem! Hurrah for the life of a
soldier, at Islington!

[Illustration]

Here the Art of Artillery Driving can be seen to perfection: three
times round, clear posts and out again to deafening cheers. Bayonet
exercise of Second Battalion Scots Guards is full of point; while
the display made by Gymnastic Staff of Egyptian Army shows how our
soldiers can advance by leaps and bounds. Excellent device! Enemy
dumbfounded and bothered to see our athletic warriors jumping over one
another's heads, turning somersaults, and finally heaping themselves
up into pyramids--a real Egyptian puzzle this--with hero at apex
waving flag. Why, a whole army of fiercest enemies would take to their
heels rather than fight with these dancing dragoons, and hosts of
Mussulmans would flee before such men of muscle. For these tactics no
arms required except those already naturally belonging to the corps.
So inexpensive! Yet to these merry infants-in-arms the art of war is
no child's-play.

The new effects, and one among the numerous attractions, is the Grand
Historical Military Pageant, performed with the greatest success by
the 3rd King's Own Hussars and the Buffs. Nothing buffo about the
Buffs. They appear as Cavalier cavalry and infantry pikemen of JAMES
THE SECOND'S time, and as cavalry and infantry from that date down
through the Georgian period to the present day. The great change is
noticeable in the hair, from long flowing curls and periwigs to the
short crop of THOMAS ATKINS. Altogether a brilliant success, and
should bring in a handsome amount for the benefit of the Military
Charities, to whose funds this show makes an invaluable contribution.

[Illustration]

       *       *       *       *       *

"HONOURS EASY."--The _St. James's Gazette_ suggests that if leading
play-actors are to be knighted, why not principal music-hall
singers? Well, not yet; as the chief music-hall singer is already "A
CHEVALIER."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Youngster_ (_who has just had a Penny given to him_)
"'OW MUCH IS THEM GRAPES, MISTER?"

_Shopkeeper_ (_amused_). "THEY ARE FOUR SHILLINGS AND SIXPENCE A
POUND, MY LAD."

_Youngster._ "WELL, THEN, GIVE US A 'A'PORTH O' _CARROTS_. I'M A
_DEMON_ FOR _FRUIT!_"]

       *       *       *       *       *

A DERBY DIALOGUE.

SCENE--_In Town._ JONES _meets_ BROWN.

_Jones._ Going to Epsom?

_Brown._ No, I think not. Fact is, the place gets duller year by year.
The train has knocked the fun out of the road.

_Jones._ Such a waste of time. Why go in a crowd to see some horses
race, when you can read all about it in evening papers?

_Brown._ Just so. No fun. No excitement. And the Downs are wretched if
it rains or snows.

_Jones._ Certainly. The luncheon, too, is all very well; but, after
all, it spoils one's dinner.

_Brown._ Distinctly. And champagne at two o'clock is premature.

_Jones._ And lobster-salad undoubtedly indigestible. So it's much
better not to go to the Derby--in spite of the luncheon.

_Brown._ Yes,--in spite of the luncheon.

_Two hours pass. Scene changes to Epsom._

_Jones._ Hullo! You here?

_Brown._ Hullo! And if it comes to that, you here, too?

_Jones._ Well, I really found so little doing in town that I thought I
might be here as well as anywhere else.

_Brown._ Just my case. Not that there's much to see or do. Silly as
usual.

_Jones._ Quite. Always said the Derby was a fraud. But I am afraid, my
dear fellow, I must hurry away, as I have got to get back to my party
for luncheon.

_Brown._ So have I.

    [_Exeunt severally._

       *       *       *       *       *

GREAT AND DESERVED SUCCESS.--LYCEUM.--The First Knight!! Sir
HENRY IRVING in an entirely new character. _Mr. Punch's_ sincere
congratulations.

       *       *       *       *       *

BOOKMAKERS ON THE BEACH.

(_A Sketch at a Sea-side Race-Meeting._)

    SCENE--_The Sands at Baymouth, where some pony and horse races
    are being run. By the Grand Stand, and under the wall of
    the esplanade, about a dozen bookmakers, perched on old
    packing-cases, are clamouring with their customary energy. The
    public, however, for some reason seems unusually deaf to
    their blandishments and disinclined for speculation, and the
    bookmakers, after shouting themselves hoarse with little or no
    result, are beginning to feel discouraged._

_Bookmakers_ (_antiphonally_). Evens on the field! Three to one bar
one! Five to one bar two! Six to one bar one! Even money _Beeswing!_
Six to one _Popgun!_ Come on 'ere. Two to one on the field! What do
you want to _do?_

    [_The public apparently want to look another way._

_First Bookmaker_ (_to_ Second Bookmaker). Not much 'ere to-day!
Shawn't get no roast baked and biled this journey, eh?

_Second B._ (_with deep disgust_). They ain't _got_ no money!
Baymouth's going down. Why, this might be a bloomin' Sunday-school
treat! Blest if I believe they know what we're 'ere _for!_

_Third B._ (_after pausing to refresh himself, sardonically to_ Fourth
Bookmaker). De-lightful weather, WILLIAM!

_William_ (_in a similar tone of irony_). What a glorious day, PERCY!
Sech a treat to see all the people enjoyin' theirselves without any o'
the silly speculation yer _do_ find sometimes on occasions like this!
(_He accepts the bottle his friend passes, and drinks._) 'Ere's better
luck to us all!

_Fifth B._ (_pathetically_). Don't leave your little FREDDY out!
(_They DON'T leave their little FREDDY out._) Cheer up, WILLIAM, there
's 'appier days in store; there'll be Jersey comin' soon. We'll be orf
to the sunny south! (_To a stranger who comes up to him._) Why, Uncle,
you don't say it's you! How _well_ you're looking! Shake 'ands and
'ave a bit on, jest for ole sake's sake! (_The stranger proceeds to
introduce himself as the_ Secretary, _and to demand a fee._) What!
pay you five shillins for standin' 'ere wastin' my time and voice like
this? Not me! Why, I aint took two blessed sorcepans since I bin
'ere! (_The_ Secretary _remains firm._) I won't do it, my boy. Not on
_prinserple_, I won't. I wouldn't give you five shillins not if your
tongue was 'anging down on to your boots--so there! (_The_ Secretary
_does not attempt so violent an appeal to his better nature, but calls
a police-inspector._) 'Ere, I'd sooner git down and chuck the show
altogether; jest to mark my contempt for such goings on! (_He descends
from his box; takes down his sign, unscrews his pole, folds up his
professional triptych, and departs in a state of virtuous indignation
only to be expressed by extreme profanity, while the_ Secretary
_proceeds unmoved to collect payments from the others; who eventually
compromise the claims for half-a-crown._)

_Mr. Sam Satchell_ (_"from Southampton"_). Now then, you gentlemen
and aristocratic tradesmen, where _are_ you all? Don't any o' you know
_anything?_ Come on 'ere. (_He stops an elderly rustic._) You've got a
fancy, I can see! (_The rustic denies the impeachment, grinning._) Git
along with yer, yer artful ole puss, then, and don't keep gentlemen
away as wants to bet! (_To a Yeomanry trooper._) Come along, my ole
soldier-boy, give it a name! (_His old soldier-boy declines to give it
any name, and passes on._) Call yerself a warrior bold, and afraid o'
riskin' 'alf-a-crown! Why, yer Queen and country orter be ashamed o'
yer! (_As a young farmer in riding-gaiters come up, with the evident
intention of business._) Ah, _you_ don't forget the old firm, I
see.... What, four to one not good enough for you? You won't get no
better odds, go where you _like!_ I suppose you expeck me to make you
a present o' the money? (_The farmer moves on._) I dunno what's _come_
to 'em all. _I_ never see nothing like it in all _my_ life!

IN THE GRAND STAND.

_A Glib Person, in a tall hat_ (_as he picks his way up and down
the benches, the occupants of which treat him with tolerant
indifference_). I'm not a bookmaker, ladies and gentlemen; don't have
that impression of me for a moment! I'm simply an amateur, and an
independent gentleman o' means, like any of yourselves. You all know
more than _I_ do. I don't come 'ere with any intention o' winning your
money--far from it. I'm wishful to settle and live among you. I may
eventually put up as your member; and, if so, when I take my place
in Parliament I shall be in a position to testify that the Baymouth
people are extremely cautious as to the manner in which they invest
their money on 'orse-racin'! Yes, I'm 'ere on beyarf of the Sporting
League, just to prove how free a meeting like this is from the evils
o' gambling. I don't come 'ere to _rob_ yer. I want yer all to win.
I like to see yer bright and shining faces around me; I like the
friverolity and reckereation and the conviverality of the thing,
that's all. I'll tell yer how it is. I've a rich ole aunt, and she
puts fifty pound into my 'ands, and sez, "Jacky," she sez, "I love
those dear Baymouth people, and I want you to take this 'ere money and
lay it out among 'em in moieties, and make 'em rich and 'appy." You
can see for yourselves. I've no tickets and no parryfernalia, excep'
this little pocket-book, where I enter any bets you honour me
with. Come, Miss, win a pair o' those three-and-sixpenny gloves at
CHICKERELL'S, the ex-Mayor's, to oblige _me!_ Did I tread on your
corn, Sir? I assure you it was the last thing I intended.... "You
knew I'd do it afore I'd done?" ... Well, Sir, if you've sech a gift
o' seeing into futoority as that, why not make something out of it
now? Three to one bar one. _Kitty_ _I_'m barring. Thank _you_,
Sir; 'alf-a-crown to seven and six on _Sportsman_. I tell you
candidly--you've got the winner. The favourite won't win. Now, then,
all you others, where's your Baymouth pluck? I orfered you thirty to
one _Beeswing_ last race; and you wouldn't take it. And _Beeswing_
won, and you lost the chance o' making yer fortunes. Don't blame _me_
if the same thing 'appens again. I'm on'y bettin', as I told you, for
my own amusement, and to get rid o' the money! (_&c., &c._)

[Illustration: "Why the blazes don't ye take it?"]

_Mr. Sam Satchell_ (_whom the apathy of the public has apparently
reduced to a state of defiant buffoonery_). Even money _Daredevil_,
you rascals! And why the blazes don't ye take it? Come on. I'll take
two little bits o' twos that _Kitty_ don't win! Four to one against
ole bread-and-butter _Tommy_, over there in the corner! Eleven and
a 'alf to three quarters to two against _Kitty_. "What har the Wild
Waves say-hay-ing?" Two _Kitties_ to three _Daredevils_ against a
bloomin' goat-chaise! On the Baymouth Durby I'm bettin'!

AT THE CLOSE OF THE LAST RACE.

    _Three horses have started; the favourite has led to the turn
    and then bolted up the shingle, but, as the tide has come in
    and almost covered the course, and the other two horses by
    declining to face the water have let him in again, he wins
    after an exciting finish, up to the girths in sea-water; and
    such bookmakers as have succeeded in obtaining patronage are
    paying up with as much cheerfulness as they can command._

_First Bookmaker_ (_to eager backer_). Wait a bit, my boy, wait
a _bit_, the number hasn't gone up yet, my son. Where's your
ticket--forty-two? (_His clerk refers to book._) That's _Squibbs_.
I pay over _winners_--not losers. (_To the public._) Come along and
fetch your money, the bullion's 'ere! (_To another backer._) What was
yours--threes? ("Fours _I_'ve got," _from his clerk_.) Why don't yer
arst for what you're entitled to, instead o' makin' me arst my clurk
what your bet was? There's your money--take it and go!

    [_The backer departs wealthier but abashed._

_Second B._ I'm payin' over that 'ard-run race, gentlemen, men and
'orses exhorsted! I'm payin' over _Susan_--dear ole Suseyhanner! who
wants their money? The Bank o' England's 'ere, gentlemen, Mr. FRANKIE
FAIRPRICE and his ole friend, who's always by his side and never
looses 'im!

_Third B._ (_who has had to borrow largely from his brethren to meet
his engagements_). Are you all done now? (_To the crowd._) Then I'll
wish yer good afternoon, thank ye all for yer comp'ny, but you've bin
bloomin' bad fun to-day, and you don't ketch me playin' Patience on a
monument at any more o' yer blanky sand'oppin' 'andicaps, that's all!

    [_However, the local newspaper reports next day that "A number
    of the sporting fraternity were in attendance to do business,
    and apparently carried on a brisk and profitable trade"--which
    only shows how difficult it is for the casual observer to form
    an accurate opinion._

       *       *       *       *       *

OPERATIC NOTES.

_Monday._--Crowded house: all charmed with everything and everybody in
_Fra Diavolo_. Somebody in grand tier so ecstatically pleased, that,
unable any longer to control impulsive movement, he (or she) hurls
into the air leather lorgnette case, which, descending at an angle,
clears the Prince of WALES'S elbow by a few inches, and startles
musical enthusiast who, seated at corner of third row of stalls, is at
that moment wrapped up in the opera, and thus protected against most
external dangers. A thrill went through the house! is it a "B-o-m-b"
bomb? BEVIGNANI, pausing, _bâton_ in air, gives the horrorstruck
singers and concealed orchestra (to whom pause is inexplicable) a
few notes rest. Then corner (stall) man picks up lorgnette case,
fortunately empty; whereupon the Bold BEVIGNANI'S _bâton_ is once more
in motion, and everyone is "as they were." ARIMONDI and PINI-CORSI
earn a big encore for duet and dance. Mr. DAVID BISPHAM with Madame
AMADI, as _Milor'_ and _Miladi_, speaking English and queer Italian,
do good service. _Fra Diavolo-Lucia_ excellent, and Miss MARIE ENGLE
(who naturally quite understood _Milor'_ and _Miladi_ when speaking
Engelish) a charming, sprightly _Zerlina_. Revival decided hit.

[Illustration]

_Wednesday._--VERDI'S opera, _Falstaff_. Some charming music in it;
otherwise dull opera. Impossible to put _Falstaff_ himself, singing
or speaking, on any stage. Actor or singer invariably over-weighted.
ZELIE DE LUSSAN, looking like _Jessica_, sings _Anne Page's_ music
charmingly. SHAKSPEARE created "sweet ANNE PAGE" the daughter of _Mrs.
Page_. Why then, in the opera, is she put into the FORD family? I
refer to the "Characters" in the book of the opera, where I find
"_Mistress Ford_," and "_Anne, her daughter_." GIULIA RAVOGLI a
sprightly _Dame Quickly_; PAULINE JORAN a lively _Mistress Ford_; and
Signor DE LUCIA an amiable _Fenton_, "with a song."

_Friday._--House not absolutely crowded to hear _Carmen_. Is _Carmen_
a bit "off"? Yet nothing better than performance of ZELIE DE LUSSAN
as gay and wicked heroine. Little _Don José de Lucia_ first-rate, and
ANCONA winning encore for old friend _Toréador_. MARIE ENGLE
excellent goody-goody contrast to bold, bad _Carmen_. Police-constable
BEVIGNANI, _bâton_ in hand, severe when on the beat. In honour of
QUEEN'S Birthday, Sir DRURIOLANUS troupe-ing _Il Trovatore's_ operatic
colours at Windsor Castle. It ought to have been, appropriately,
_Falstaff_.

_Saturday._--_Faust._ "House full." _The_ Princess and Princesses
present. MELBA'S "Jewel song" a gem. M. PLANÇON, whose name, Britishly
pronounced, suggests "Mr. PLAIN-SONG," rather ecclesiastical
than diabolical, a highly-coloured but generally effective
_Mephistopheles_. Mdlle. BRAZZI appears to-night as "the new woman"
in the part of _Siebel_. "She rouses enthusiasm," quoth WAGSTAFF, "no
Siebil-lation." _Exeunt omnes._

       *       *       *       *       *

THE DISCOVERY OF LONDON.

_Interviewer._ As a keen student of your fascinating works, permit me
to render to you my respectful homage.

_Distinguished Foreigner in London._ Certainly. I observe that you
speak the French of the capital with fluency.

_Int._ You flatter me. I am only an ordinary journalist. Possibly you
prefer to converse in our local language?

[Illustration]

_D. F._ On the contrary, I have only recently acquired the English
word, "Yes." Curiously enough, this is my first voyage of discovery
to your shores. I had, of course, often heard of England, and your
literature is not unfamiliar to me. My secretary reads to me the works
of your popular poet, ROBERT BROWNING.

_Int._ Do you not, with your--er--limited knowledge, if I may so say,
of our language, find that writer's meaning somewhat obscure?

_D. F._ Oh no; for my secretary translates him into idiomatic French
verse at sight.

_Int._ M. ZOLA has also only recently discovered us. How do your
novelists find the necessary models for their English types?

_D. F._ Nothing simpler. Tradition, _voilà tout_. The Englishwoman,
with her large feet, projecting teeth, and execrable French--we know
her because we have always known her. It is not necessary to have seen
her in the flesh. Indeed, it is only a marvel to me that I find the
type so rare in its own country.

_Int._ Might I dare to ascribe such traditional views to the prejudice
of ignorance? Your Press, I believe, does not educate itself by
foreign travel.

_D. F._ I cannot speak for others, but personally, if I do not offend
the laws of courtesy by saying this in the city whose hospitality I
now enjoy, I detest your race. I regard you as insular.

_Int._ We cannot, of course, help being born on an island. But we
correct this defect by constant visits to the mainland, and from these
we have learnt a profound respect for the tastes of our neighbours.

_D. F._ I am greatly gratified by this. Nothing has impressed me so
favourably here as your cordial appreciation of our people. I met a
distinguished British novelist who was actually acquainted with the
literature of my own Provence!

_Int._ May I ask what other features of our comparatively inaccessible
island have attracted your notice?

_D. F._ Above all things else, the sinister silence of your city. On
the Stock Exchange, down Cheapside, among vendors of journals, you can
hear a pin drop. Everywhere the taciturnity of the tomb.

_Int._ And what of our institutions and types?

_D. F._ Nothing has impressed me so deeply as the Great Wheel at
Earl's Court. It is a monument of national ardour and aspiration.
This, and Mr. STANLEY, and your guardsmen, and your way of cooking
meat, have left the most indelible impression upon my sentiment and
constitution. I dislike the last two of them.

_Int._ In cooking, we freely yield you the saucepan. But how has our
military given you offence?

_D. F._ I object to the size of its chest, and its manner of occupying
the pavement. I have seen a guardsman in Whitehall against whom, in
the heyday of my youth, I should indubitably have projected my person.

_Int._ It would have been a rash and perhaps irreparable act. But tell
me more. Kindly hold up once again the veracious mirror, that we may
see ourselves as others see us. We are so apt to be blind to our own
national defects, unless the impartial observer, like yourself, throws
a flood of light upon our idiosyncrasies.

_D. F._ I should like a few more days in which to complete my study,
and verify my anticipations, of your interesting city. Meanwhile, let
me refer you to M. GABRIEL MOUREY'S new work--_Passé le Détroit_. The
Ulysses of our century, he has gained a wide knowledge of your race,
having been a fearless traveller in _L'Underground_, and seen some
of your most typical fogs. You may learn much from him. He is read
eagerly at home, where the thirst for books of romantic travel and
exploration grows hourly. I wish you the good day. _Yes._

       *       *       *       *       *

A TEETOTAL TIP.--How to Live Long--Never take "something short."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: SCENE--_A Restaurant near Leicester Square._

_Jones._ "OH--ER--GARSONG, REGARDEZ EECEE--ER--APPORTEZ-VOO
LE--LA----"

_Waiter._ "BEG PARDON, SIR. I DON'T KNOW FRENCH!"

_Jones._ "THEN, FOR GOODNESS' SAKE, SEND ME SOMEBODY WHO _DOES!_"]

       *       *       *       *       *

'ARRY ON DERBY DAY.

  DEAR CHARLIE,--Are _you_ going down? What a pooty blarmed world
          this 'as got,
  With its CHANTS, and its Anti-Sport Leagues, Local Hoption, and
          other dashed rot.
  Wot _is_ Libberty comin' to, CHARLIE? 'Ere's 'ARRY leg-lagged to
          his stool,
  Because his new Gaffer's a Hawkeite, as means a old-fossilised fool.

  The young 'un whose crib I succeeded to skinned the old bloke's
          petty cash
  In backing of wrong 'uns last year, as of course was most reckless
          and rash.
  But wy should _I_ suffer along of it? Wy must he drop upon _me_
  Who wanted the Derby Day off--for cremating my poor uncle G.?

  Smelt a rat, the old Smelfungus did, and he lectured me, too, like
          old boots,
  Saying, Sport wos a Youpass tree, CHARLIE, and lying wos one of
          its fruits.
  He's a reglar front-row Anti-Gambler, a foe of Mirth, Music, and
          Malt,
  As would 'ave them lay Tattersall's level, and sow Hepsom
          race-course with salt.

  I'd arranged with a sporting greengrocer, and BOODLE a smart local
          Bung,
  To tool down by road with a trotter. Us three would 'ave gone a
          rare splung,
  And _I_ ain't missed a Derby this five year. And now all along of
          old hunks
  Instead of sweepstaking for winners, I'm making out bills for
          hair-trunks.

  It's beastly, dear boy, and no bottles. I landed on _Ladas_ last
          year,
  And I've got such a cert. for to-day, as I _couldn't_ go wrong
          on--no fear!
  Oh, laylocks and lemonade, CHARLIE! it do give yours truly the 'ump
  To think I must miss such a treat, all along of that precious old
          pump.

  The whizz o' the wheels makes mad music, old man, in this dingy
          old den,
  Where only the tick of the clock, and the scrape of my spiky steel
          pen,
  Measure hout the monotonous 'ours, while friend Bung and young
          Greens are agog.
  'Midst the clatter and clink of the course, and the yelp of the
          old Derby Dog.

  I can smell the sweet whiff of their baccy, can taste the cold
          chickin' an' 'am,
  And see the fine salmon-hued sparkle of Bung's Jerryboam of Cham.
  I _know_ Greens will do it to rights; I am _sure_ a safe winner
          I'd spot,
  And my anti-gambling old Gaffer 'as spiled the whole splurge!
          _Ain't_ it rot?

  Them plaguey philanterpists, CHARLIE, are turning the world
          upsidown!
  A cove musn't lap arf-a-pint, and a cove mustn't lay arf-a-crown!
  It's Weto all over the shop, CHARLIE! But wot _I_ always remarks,--
  Philanterpy seems to shine mostly in Wetoing _other_ folks larks!

  Well, I'm off down the road, mate, to Clapham, or wot not, to see
          'em return.
  My cert. 'asn't come off, I 'ear, so I've dropped arf the screw as
          I earn
  By my six days of nose-to-the-grinstone of Gaffer. He'd larf if he
          knowed.
  But if it ain't _his_ bloomin' fault for his sport-'ating 'umbug,
          I'm blowed.

  _Sport?_ Sport's in the blood of a gentleman! Cocktails ain't fly
          to the fun
  Of landing a bit off a pal. Lor! a bet, on a 'orse or a gun,
  Mykes friendship and life reglar flavoursome! 'Ow could your true
          sportsman care
  For a drive through green lanes to the Derby without a small
          flutter when there?

  Too late for the flutter to-night, but the Clapham laburnums are
          out;
  There are plenty of pubs on that road, to the Wetoist's 'orror, no
          doubt.
  I am sure to meet lots of old pals, full of fun and good stuff as
          they'll carry,
  And if we don't 'ave Derby larks, spite o' Gaffers and HAWKES, I
          ain't, 'ARRY.

       *       *       *       *       *

Derby Dampers.

Having no invitation to join a company on a drag. Having no money to
pay for a railway ticket to the course. Having no friends rich enough
or rash enough to advance a trifle on account. Having no notion of
the betting and no knowledge of the horses engaged. Having no time, no
money, and last, but not least, no inclination.

       *       *       *       *       *

"ALL NODDIN'."--The _Western Daily Mercury_ records that the New Woman
has broken out in a new place--as A Lady Auctioneer. Woman at all
times has known how to go it hammer and tongs. Advanced Femininity
drops the tongs, but sticks to the hammer. Formerly man was often gone
on fair woman--rather expected of him. The lady now prefers to do the
"Going, going, gone," herself. Awful vistas opened up. Will a wink be
as good as a nod to the Lady Auctioneer? Will "dinner eyes" have to
yield to "auction winks"? A for-bidding prospect.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A DOUBTFUL "STAYER."

L-BBY. "YOU AIN'T GOT MUCH OF A MOUNT, GUV'NOR!"

R-S-B-RY. "P'R'APS NOT,--BUT I'LL RIDE HIM FOR ALL HE'S WORTH!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE SCARLET PARASOL.

SCENE II.--_Drawing-room. Windows opening on to Terrace. Ladies
alone._

_Muriel_ (_to_ VIOLA). CLAUDE MIGNON has been saying that I am the
only woman he has ever loved!

_Viola._ Exactly what he says to me!

_Muriel._ Is it a boast--or a confession?

_Viola_ (_quietly_). It is a lie, that's all. But what did ALAN ROY
say? He didn't speak to me.

_Muriel._ He says you have a far-away look in your eyes.

_Viola_ (_eagerly_). Yes? I did my best!

_Muriel_ (_simply_). So I told him you wanted to have a secret in your
life--a romance. He seemed very much interested.

_Viola._ Oh, MURIEL! How could you? _How_ silly of you! I am very
angry indeed.

_Muriel_ (_calmly_). Why, VIOLA? ALBERT is getting accustomed to his
being grown-up, and CLAUDE to his being so young. They all like him
immensely. But I think they will be glad when he goes away.

    [_Enter gentlemen._

_Claude_ (_talking to_ ALAN). Yes, I felt I had something to say--and
I said it--in one volume.

_Alan._ There is no mistake so fatal as to write because one has
something to say.

_Claude._ How about _Robinson Crusoe_, _Don Quixote_----

_Alan._ I am afraid I never read them. I couldn't read till I was
ten--and then I read dear HERBERT SPENCER.

    [_He tries to join_ VIOLA _and passes_ Mrs. AVERIDGE, _who
    moves to leave room for him on the sofa, and smiles_.

_Alan_ (_standing by the sofa_). Weren't the flowers quite sweet on
the table to-night, Mrs. AVERIDGE?

_Mrs. Averidge_ (_trying to be original_). I can't bear flowers.

_Alan._ What _do_ you like, Mrs. AVERIDGE?

_Mrs. Averidge_ (_looking out of the window_). Oh--trees, I think.

_Alan._ What! on the table! (_He escapes, and joins_ VIOLA.) Is that
the moon outside, Mrs. TRAVERS?

_Viola_ (_gazing at it intensely_). I think it is.

_Alan._ Shall we go and see?

    [_They move out on to the terrace._

_Muriel_ (_sitting next to_ Mrs. AVERIDGE). Isn't ALAN ROY a little
dear?

_Mrs. Averidge_ (_spitefully_). So your sister seems to think. I had
no idea she was so fond of children.

_Muriel._ He has such pretty ways! That new shade of blue is very
fashionable, Mrs. AVERIDGE. But it's a little _trying_ to you, do you
know? You don't mind my saying so, do you? [_Amenities continue._

_Mr. Averidge._ It's perfectly amazing! That boy knows everything. He
talks politics----

_Claude._ He's a staunch Tory!

_Mr. Averidge._ Literature----

_Claude._ He tells me he's not a Romanticist; he cares only for the
Classics.

_Mr. Averidge._ Art----

_Claude_ (_resigned_). He dismisses Symbolism with a word, smiles at
Impressionism as old-fashioned, but speaks most kindly both of MILLAIS
and WHISTLER. He calls them "poor dears." I _think_ that was the
phrase. I won't be sure, but I think so.

_Mr. Averidge._ Yes, he's astounding.

    [_Ponders._

_Claude_ (_to_ MURIEL). Aren't we going to have some music? How I
should like you to play those chants to me again! Won't you, Miss
VANE? I _love_ sacred music so.

_Muriel._ Yes; with pleasure. VIOLA has had my organ put in the
billiard-room, to be out of the way.

    [_Rises._

_Claude_ (_as he and_ MURIEL _go into the billiard-room_). The
worst point about these clever boys is that they are so cynical! No
sentiment--no heart!

    [_Continues ad lib._

    _On the Terrace._

_Alan_ (_to_ VIOLA). You have very wonderful eyes, Mrs. TRAVERS,
haven't you?

_Viola._ Have I?

_Alan._ You know you have. Do you believe in palmistry?

_Viola._ I think I do. Do you?

_Alan._ I don't know whether I believe in it, I _like_ it.... Your
line of life....

    [_Continues ad lib._

    _In the Drawing-room._

_Albert._ That boy is bewildering! He flits over every subject under
the sun! Have a game of piquet, AVERIDGE?

    [_They play piquet._

    _In the Billiard-room._ MURIEL _playing the organ_. CLAUDE _by
    her side trying to look like_ DICKSEE'S _picture, "Harmony."_

_Claude._ Do you ever have that curious feeling that you are doing
exactly what you have done before, hearing--seeing something for the
second time?

_Muriel._ Oh, yes! continually! I felt it during the whole of dinner!

_Claude._ Do you think it shows we knew each other in a previous
existence, Miss VANE?

_Muriel._ No. I am afraid it only shows that you sometimes repeat
yourself.

    [_She smiles._

_Claude._ How can you be so unkind, and yet look such a perfect angel!

_Muriel._ I feel exactly like St. Cecilia when I am playing the organ.

_Claude._ And _I_ feel like St. Anthony, Miss VANE.

    _On the Terrace._

_Alan._ To get right away from people, to take a drive together, and
bathe our heads in the golden sunlight! In secret! Do--_do_ let us,
Mrs. TRAVERS!

[Illustration: "Bathing her head in the golden sunlight."]

_Viola._ It _would_ be nice! ALBERT is going to town for the day, and
the AVERIDGES are going for an excursion.... But what could we drive
in?

_Alan._ Oh, _I_ will arrange that. I will hire a dog-cart in the
village; and we must meet in a lane, or a field, or something. And you
must say you have been to teach the orphan boy to sew or something. It
would be too sweet!

_Viola._ But--Master ROY----

_Alan._ _Don't_ call me Master ROY. Call me ALAN--when no one is
listening.

_Viola._ ALAN--wouldn't it be much simpler, merely to say we were
going for a drive, and to order the carriage?

_Alan._ Then where's your mystery?

_Viola._ Very well! Then _mind_ you don't tell anyone!

_Alan._ Not tell anyone, Mrs. TRAVERS! But what's the use of a secret
if one doesn't tell it to everyone?

_Viola._ Oh!

_Alan._ I was only joking, dear Mrs. TRAVERS. At three, then....
Sh-sh! (_He picks up her fan with the air of a conspirator._) If I
think of anything else, I'll write a little note, and put it under the
clock on that mantelpiece. Shall I?

_Viola._ What fun! But would it be safe?

_Alan._ Would you rather we corresponded in the _Times_ about it, Mrs.
TRAVERS?

_Viola._ You're making fun of the whole thing.

    [_She pouts, &c. He shows by her Line of Fate that all will be
    well._

_Mrs. Averidge_ (_to herself_). Well of all the dull houses I ever
stayed at!... Piquet in the drawing-room, chants in the billiard-room,
palmistry with Infant Phenomenons on the Terrace!... It's quite
true, too, what that affected little VANE girl said--the colour _is_
trying.... I'll never come here again!

    [_Retires to her room in disgust._

       *       *       *       *       *

"HECKLING."--At a meeting of the supporters of Mr. MURRAY, Master
of Elibank, the Liberal candidate for West Edinburgh, the following
"heckle" took place:--

    "_Mr. Guy._ Seeing you approve of Home Rule all round, what
    is the smallest number of Parliaments the United Kingdom would
    require? (_Laughter and a Voice:_ 'Send it back to Parliament
    Square.')

    _The Master of Elibank._ I think that is a question which
    can be settled by an ordinary addition sum. (_Cheers and
    laughter._)"

Which shows that the Master is a real Master of Arts as well as of
Elibank, and, as regards platform difficulties, good at getting out.
But whether he is equally good at "getting in" the future must decide.
A slippery customer, evidently, is Mr. MURRAY, and his title ought to
be "the Master of Eely-bank!"

       *       *       *       *       *

A REAL "MAN OF THE TIMES."--_Mr. Punch_ congratulates Dr. W. H.
RUSSELL, endeared to his friends and companions-in-arms as "BILLY
RUSSELL," on his becoming Sir WILLIAM HOWARD RUSSELL, Knight of the
Pen. _Prosit!_

       *       *       *       *       *

SCOTCH JUNKETING.--A "Curd Fair" has been held, as usual, at
Kilmarnock, and the number of excursionists who left the town, both by
road and rail, is said to have been very large. Well, of course a Curd
Fair naturally leads to a number of whey-farers!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: ANIMAL SPIRITS ON DERBY DAY.

(_With Apologies to W. Frith._)]

       *       *       *       *       *

AFTER THE PLAY.

_Junior Playgoer._ Why is it called _The Prude's Progress_. I didn't
see any Prude, did you?

_Elderly Playgoer._ No; and no Progress. Slow. CYRIL MAUDE and FANNY
BROUGH quite the life and soul of the piece.

_Jun. P._ High premium wanted to insure its life, eh? RIGHTON good all
round man?

_Eld. P._ Very much all round. PLAYFAIR'S part recalled WYNDHAM
jotting down mems. on shirt-cuff.

_Jun. P._ Yes; somehow it all reminded me of various pieces I've seen.

_Eld. P._ Quite so. Remember old pantomime song?--

  "A little piece here, and a little piece there,
  Here a piece, and there a piece,
  And everywhere a piece."

_Jun. P._ And it might finish with author--no (_refers to
programme_)--authors, JEROME and PHILPOTT, singing--

  "We are two merry, merry men,
  Nobody precisely can find us out."

_Eld. P._ Exactly. Good night old boy. Better luck next time.

    [_Exeunt severally._

       *       *       *       *       *

THAT TELEGRAM.

(_Some Yildiz Comments on a Recent Editorial Exploit._)

_Mashallah!_ Am I, the Full Moon That Blazeth in Heaven Like Anything,
to be bested by a Penny Journalist, a Feringhee Writer of the Thing
that is Not, a Gazetteer who is Ac-cust? Shall I, the Padishah Whose
Piano-playing Edifieth the Distant Constellations, submit to be
out-man[oe]uvred in my own particular line by an Unbelieving Dog, a
Giaour of Giaours? What though he be Lord of Lo Ben and of a Hundred
Press-carts, he shall learn that a Concocter of Copy is no match for
The Unspeakable One! _Inshallah!..._ What ho! Summon the Grand Vizier,
and let the Chief Bowstringer be in attendance! Bring in the medicated
coffee for one, and _rahat lakoum_ for two!...

What saith the dog of a dragoman? The Infidel Frank refuseth the mark
of My very distinguished Favour, the Medjidieh of the Fourth Class?
Will not _that_ stop his accursed inquisitiveness? Or doth he wish for
an Osmanieh, set in brilliants? Ingleez though he be, he must have his
price!... No? He will _not_ take an Osmanieh, not even of the First
Class!!

Ah, perhaps he will _give_, if he will not take? Times are hard, and
there is that Russian indemnity. Nay, it need but take the form of an
Irredeemable _Loan_, or a Mortgage on the flourishing revenues of
Our most prosperous province of Arabia Felix. We sorely need a new
ironclad or two, for Our boilers are rusting badly, and Our keels are
rotting beyond repair at their anchorage in the Bosphorus....

_What!?_ The alien unbeliever neither giveth nor taketh? And doth
not care one "snuff" (whatever that may mean) whether his telegram to
Europe in general, and the _P-ll M-ll G-z-tte_ in particular, goeth
or not? Verily, he knoweth not the rules of Oriental diplomacy. But
though the telegram shall not go, if we know it, the Sublime Porte
shall yet give the quill-driving outcast a lesson in shilly-shally and
hanky-panky. He shall know that the Commander of the Faithful is not
to be called an impotent Potentate (with a big P) in vain. We will sit
up all night, pretending to re-draft his telegram, and really
enjoying his discomfiture! "Impotent Potentate," indeed! Let the chief
telegraph-clerk be beheaded on the spot!...

       *       *       *       *       *

"WHEEL AND WOE."--"A Word of Warning" to women bicyclists appeared
in the _St. James's Gazette_ last Friday, by "A Medical Man." Quite
right. This Round of Wheel is overdone. Instead of "Wheel," the Medico
cries "Woa!"

       *       *       *       *       *

THE LOSS OF RICHMOND HILL.

AIR--"_The Lass of Richmond Hill._"

  From Richmond Hill there is a view
    As fair as Tempe's morn;
  Its charms are such that sure by few
    Their loss were calmly borne.
  This view so sweet, no "Jerry" street
    Must intercept or kill;
  We all decline thus to resign,
    The view from Richmond Hill!

  How happy would that builder be
    Who'd call that plot his own!
  His heart is fixed on lease and fee,
    Ours on the view alone.
  This view so sweet must rest complete,
    For not with our good will
  For villas fine will we resign
    That view from Richmond Hill!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: FELINE AMENITIES.

"ARE YOU GOING TO THE BROWNS' DANCE?"

"NO. I HAVEN'T BEEN ASKED."

"OH--I SUPPOSE IT'S QUITE A _YOUNG_ PEOPLE'S DANCE, YOU KNOW!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

_House of Commons, Monday, May 20._--JAMES GALLOWAY WEIR is a sore man
the night. Ross and Cromarty hide their diminished head--or should it
be heads?--before the illuminated mountain tops of Inverness-shire.
THE MACGREGOR has done him at last, done him hopelessly. Since the
present Parliament met, he and THE MACGREGOR have run pretty evenly,
neck and neck in race to show what Scotland can do in this way when
it concentrates its mighty mind on the effort. In former times Ireland
had monopoly of the Crank as he was returned to Parliament. Scotch
Members preserved traditional reputation of their country as the
home of dour-headed businesslike men. WEIR standing alone would have
sufficed to tear this fable to tatters. THE MACGREGOR unaided
would have confounded the tradition. The combination of talent was
irresistible, overpowering in its force of conviction.

Between these eminent men there has been, from the first, a feeling
of generous rivalry. THE MACGREGOR, as befitted the riper genius, has
been more successful in concealing it. Whenever he has put a question
about the Crofters, WEIR has managed to drop in with supplementary
inquiry. His name appearing in the report, watchful Scotia would take
note that THE MACGREGOR was not the only one of her sons who, in a
foreign land, cared for her interests. THE MACGREGOR, on the contrary,
not less loftily because without apparent design, ignored WEIR.
There is reason to believe he did not regard with fullest measure of
appreciation his intellectual capacity, his business aptitude, or his
parliamentary manner.

"A puir creature!" he said, one night, staring straight up at the
gaslit roof. There was no one up there at the moment, and as this
happened to be the night when WEIR had eleven questions on the paper,
by way of showing his want of confidence in the Government, and was
approaching the ninth with ever deepening chest notes, there is too
much reason to fear that at that moment the Member for Inverness-shire
was not unconscious of the existence of the Member for Ross and
Cromarty.

JAMES GALLOWAY'S boot-issuing and blood-curdling tones; his tragic
reiteration of the phrase, "Is the right hon. gentleman a Weir?" The
solemn sweep of his arm as he places the reluctant _pince-nez_ on
his disputatious nose; his stare of haughty surprise when Lowlanders
opposite titter at his inquiry about the lost handle of the parish
pump in outraged Pitlochrie; his habit of turning up at unexpected
places on either side of the House below the Gangway--these things
are unique in their way. In the aggregate they would, save for THE
MACGREGOR, have placed him on an unapproachable pinnacle. After
to-night he will reign alone. The other King of the Bedlam Brentford
has abdicated. But evermore there will rest over JAMES GALLOWAY the
chill shadow of the mighty triumph with which his rival closed his
public career.

Nothing in the parliamentary life of THE MACGREGOR became him so well
as its quittance. The artful way in which he led the SQUIRE OF MALWOOD
up to confession of intent with respect to the Crofters Bill; the
SQUIRE'S humble plea to wait till Thursday; the MACGREGOR'S stern
response, "That is not good enough for me;" then his swinging march
down the Gangway (almost you could hear the pibroch playing); his halt
before the Mace; his stately bow to the SPEAKER; the march resumed;
the fresh halt at the Bar; another sweeping obeisance (again fancy
feigned the faint sound of the distant pibroch), and the MACGREGOR was
o'er the border, and awa'.

"A puir daft body," said JAMES GALLOWAY WEIR, his musing sight, by
strange coincidence, also fixed on the ceiling.

_Business done._--THE MACGREGOR shakes the dust of the House of
Commons from off his feet. In disordered state of things that
followed, paralysed Government escaped defeat in Committee on Welsh
Disestablishment Bill by narrow majority of nine.

_Tuesday._--Surely never was such a place in the world as House of
Commons for bifurcations. Within memory of man there was a time
when, of two sides of the political highway, Liberals trod one,
Conservatives paced the other. Now House is broken up into half a
dozen parties, each with its infinitude of sections. Most depressing
and disappointing development of this tendency appears to-night. The
Eldest-Son Party is just bereft of one of its most active members by
WOLMER'S accession to Earldom. General GEORGE CURZON, whose forces,
on full muster, counted two, is now reduced, on Queen's Birthdays and
other State occasions, to reviewing ST. JOHN BRODRICK, _seul._ Force
of habit still strong, and, when speaking to-night, he made House
acquainted with the views on constitutional question which "I and my
friends hold."

[Illustration: THE MACGREGOR RETIRES TO HIS CAVE.

_Mr. W-r._ "Mon, if I hadna thocht he was jokin', I wad ha' gone
mysel',--to be even wi' 'im!"]

It may be singular, but so is the number of the friends. CRANBORNE, in
one of his fiery speeches, made it clear just now that the Eldest
Sons are divided on the question which General GEORGE CURZON,
Quartermaster-General ST. JOHN BRODRICK, and the late Army (now gone
to another place) made their own. This defection from within not made
up by sustentation from without. JOSEPH, having got a little mixed
between what he said on Coleridge peerage case, and the exact reverse
put forward by him with equal confidence on the Selborne case,
judiciously absented himself to-night. COURTNEY also absent. PRINCE
ARTHUR sat ominously silent on Front Bench, whilst DICK WEBSTER backed
up SQUIRE OF MALWOOD in denouncing position assumed by General GEORGE
and Quartermaster-General ST. JOHN. As for the Army, multitudinously
alluded to as "the Hon. WILLIAM WALDEGRAVE PALMER, commonly called
Viscount WOLMER, now Earl of SELBORNE," it was withdrawn, interned as
garrisons are at particular crises of civic life. House gladly ordered
issue of new writ for West Edinburgh. Constitution remains unreformed,
and WILLIAM WALDEGRAVE--to quote with slight variation from the
appropriate source of tombstone literature--

  Called hence by early doom,
  Lives but to show how sweet an Earl
  In House of Lords may bloom.

_Business done._--Clause III. added to Welsh Disestablishment Bill.

_Thursday._--The Bashful BARTLEY, temporarily overcoming a
constitutional weakness that is the despair of his friends, and has
proved a serious block in the way of his public advancement, put
himself forward just now. Is disturbed by dalliance of Lord BRASSEY,
sometime ago appointed Governor of Victoria. BARTLEY has conviction
that if, in good time coming, his party should acknowledge faithful
service by appointing him to Governorship, he would lose no time in
entering upon his new sphere of usefulness. That course Lord BRASSEY
might be expected to follow. "Instead of which, he goes about the
country--stealing ducks," BARTLEY, impelled by swing of the quotation,
was about to add. Pulling himself up in time, he added, "making party
political speeches in favour of candidates at elections."

SYDNEY BUXTON, in his most Severe-Young-Man-manner, informed the not
quite Blameless BARTLEY that BRASSEY not yet set out to undertake
Governorship of Victoria because he is not yet Governor. HOPETOUN'S
term does not expire till September, and unless it were desired to run
the risk of a sort of colonial _Box and Cox_ scene, it would be well
he should await the due date of his succession.

BARTLEY blushed, said nothing--at least, not aloud. To himself
muttered, "They may say what they like; but, after all, bashfulness is
the best policy."

The TIRESOME TOMLINSON so affected by this repulse of an esteemed
friend and neighbour that when, later in sitting, BARTLEY, forgetting
his pious resolve, moved amendment to Budget Bill exempting a wife's
revenues from income-tax, T. T., rushing out to support him in
division lobby, lost the way. When he arrived at lobby door, found it
locked. Rattled at handle; kicked panel. For only reply came whisper
through keyhole, in voice he recognised as TOMMY BOWLES': "Too late.
Go away, you foolish virgin."

"Bad enough," said T. T., "to lose chance of voting against the
Government. But why TOMMY BOWLES should call me a foolish virgin, I
don't know. Do I look like one?"

_Business done._--Scotch Grand Committee set up. Opposition
straightway go and gather sticks wherewith to knock it down.

_Friday._--Came across little group in lobby just now steeped in
brackish waters of tribulation. Only three of them, but they seemed to
have all the trouble of the world divided amongst them.

"What's the matter?" I asked. "Been listening to two hours' debate on
Budget Bill in Committee?"

"Worse than that," said HART DYKE. "Haven't you heard? CARMARTHEN,
riding out on his bicycle, came by sudden turn on steam-roller.
Bicycle shied; pitched DOLLY off."

"Poor DOLLY!" said JOHN PENN, mopping his eye with a J pen-wiper. "He
fell on his head."

HART DYKE and MARK LOCKWOOD (together)--"Oh, then he's not hurt."
Sudden brightening of faces as load of apprehension removed from mind;
walked off quite cheerfully.

Gracious, kind-hearted comrades! So pleasant, amid turmoil of
political warfare, to come upon idyllic scene like this, and learn how
sweet a thing is friendship.

_Business done._--Budget Bill through Committee.

[Illustration: "NOT FOR JO-ACHIM!"

["The CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER said that the right hon. member for
St. George's had referred to the fact that this was leap year, and
they all knew that in leap year proposals could be made that would be
considered rather extraordinary in ordinary times. (_Laughter._) To
accept the right hon. gentleman's proposal would not be consistent
with his duty."--_Times._]]

       *       *       *       *       *



Transcriber's Note:

Sundry missing or damaged puctuation has been repaired.

This book contains dialect, some deliberately fractured English words,
and the occasional French word. All have been retained; it's Punch!





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 108, June 1, 1895" ***

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