Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 109, July 20, 1895
Author: Various
Language: English
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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 109.

JULY 20, 1895.



TO A LADY HUMORIST.

  Your laugh would chase away the blues,
    Your smile is always sunny,
  One must be gay--who could refuse?
  Your "mission" is just to amuse;
  Discarding all blue-stocking views,
    You fancy what is funny.

  You have no fads on Man's Descent
    From something quite atomic,
  On Diet, Disestablishment,
  On Dress, Diminishing of Rent,
  Divorce or Dockyard Discontent--
    You seek for something comic.

  You wear no hygienic shoe,
    Your dress is never frightful,
  Your sense of humour makes you too
  Alive to what you should not do,
  You laugh at folks, not they at you,
    You write what's quite delightful.

  So laugh, and always make us gay;
    Stern women are alarming,
  The boldest men, I need not say,
  Are simply scared by such as they,
  You do not bore us, anyway.
    Your conversation's charming.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Unmetrical Adaptation of Robbie Burns' celebrated Line to the "New
Woman," whether in male attire on or off Bicycle, in her Club, driving
her trap, &c., &c._--"A woman's a woman for a' that."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: SPORTING EVENT--A RECORD.

SHE WON THE SWEEP!]

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

Of Mr. ATHOL MAYHEW'S _History of Punch_ the Baron can
at present say nothing, no copy of this work having as yet been
brought to Our Booking Office, and without a ticket-of-leave, or
ticket-for-leaves, granted by _Mr. Punch_ himself, per the Baron de
B.-W., the book of MAHU ("MODO he is called and
MAHU," as SHIRLEY BROOKS used to quote from _King
Lear_) will not have received _the_ "imprimatur." Already it appears,
as we read in a letter from Mr. HENRY SPIELMANN (who, if any
man living knows anything about _Mr. Punch's_ history, is the Punchian
Biographer and Historian _par excellence_ and "by appointment") to the
_Daily Chronicle_, Friday, July 12, that in Mr. MAYHEW'S book
there are numerous errors on important matters. "_Mayhew-manum est
errare._" But "Herr VON SPIELMANN will put him right in his
forthcoming book," says

  THE JUDICIOUS
  BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

       *       *       *       *       *

COVENT GARDEN OPERA PROVERB.--"When in doubt play _Faust_."

       *       *       *       *       *

"HAPPY THOUGHT!" (_Apropos of a recent case in the Marylebone
Police Court_).--What a good title for an old-fashioned pantomime in
the East End (where _the_ real pantomimes used to be): "_Harlequin and
the Mysterious Manx Mannikins; or, Snapshot and the Demon Camera!_"

       *       *       *       *       *

BRIGGS, OF BALLIOL.

PART II.

Two years passed, and never a syllable could I learn of
BRIGGS. Then I met TROTTER of Trinity at Piccadilly
Circus. "By the way," said he, "I suppose you have heard about poor
old BRIGGS?" "No!" I cried. "What of him?" "Oh, I thought you
would be sure to know, or I would have broken it to you more gently."
"Why?" I asked, with apprehension. "Has anything happened to him?"
"Well," he replied, with some hesitation, "I--er--I hardly like to tell
you. You were such a friend of his." "You don't mean to say that he
is----?" "Dead? No, poor fellow, not dead exactly, but worse than that,
I fear. He has become a New Man, you see." I looked at TROTTER
in bewilderment. "Why, you see, he is married--yes, he married the
O'GRESS, you know. Poor BRIGGS! I saw him yesterday,
and, upon my word, I should scarcely have known him. But go and see him
yourself; you will never believe my story."

TROTTER wrote me the address on a card, and the next day
I called. The maid looked somewhat surprised when I asked for Mr.
BRIGGS. He was at home, oh, yes, he was at home, but she
didn't know whether he could see me or not, as he was feeding the
baby. This announcement rather staggered me, but I pulled myself
together sufficiently to assure her that I was an old friend of Mr.
BRIGGS; and, on learning this, she asked me to walk upstairs.
"This is the nursery," she said, when we had reached the topmost
storey. "You will find Mr. BRIGGS inside."

I opened the door, and what a scene greeted me! There was
BRIGGS, my old friend BRIGGS, the gallant
BRIGGS of Balliol, rocking ceaselessly to and fro the while
he crooned in a low monotone to a bundle of pins and flannel that
lay cradled in his arms. I sprang forward to grip him by the hand.
He laid his finger on his lips, and in an agonised whisper murmured,
"Sh!--You'll wake the baby!" I controlled myself, and sank into a
chair, to which he motioned me. BRIGGS hushed the infant
anxiously for a minute or two until it was well asleep; then he turned
to me, and with a sickly smile whispered, "I'm glad to see you,
ROBINSON, but please talk very gently, for fear of waking the
Cutsababoo."

It grieved me to hear poor BRIGGS talk in this fashion, but
there were a thousand questions I was burning to ask him.

"Oh, BRIGGS, why did you leave Balliol so suddenly?" "Sh!"
he answered, looking nervously round him. "_She_ took me away." "And
why did you never write to anyone?" "Sh! _She_ forbade me." "Forbade
you?" "Yes, yes, indeed. Oh, ROBINSON, you do not know my
wife!" I was inwardly thanking my stars that I had not this honour when
BRIGGS, overcome with his emotion, suddenly flung up his arms
and covered his face with his hands. The action upset the equilibrium
of the baby, which rolled off his lap, fell on the floor, and awoke
with a scream. With a cry of dismay BRIGGS caught up the
bundle, and tossed it violently up and down, addressing it the while in
such intelligible terms as these--"And did it wake its darling ducky
Cutsababoo, it did! It was a naughty cruel Dada, it was!"

It would be hard to say which made the greater noise, BRIGGS
or the baby; but BRIGGS had the staying power, and after
a fight the baby gave it up. BRIGGS gazed at it as it lay
exhausted in his arms, then turning to me, he said, "I think the
Cutsababoo has done crying now, ROBINSON. Will you excuse me
if I sing him to by-byes?" In olden days BRIGGS had a glorious
baritone voice, and to hear him sing the Balliol Boating Song was a
musical treat. I therefore readily agreed to stay and listen. "The
Duckydoo is very particular," explained BRIGGS. "He will only
go to sleep to his own ickle tune, _The New Lullaby_."

  "Mummy has gone to the city,
    Cutsaba--Cutsababoo!
  But Mummy will think of her Pretty,
    And buy him a little toy too.
  Daddy will dandle the Darling,
    And show him his beautiful toy.
  Hushaby, Pet! Baby, don't fret!
    Sleepery, Peepery Boy!

  "Mummy is making the money,
    Cutsaba--Cutsababoo!
  To buy a new bonnet for sonny,
    A jacket for Daddykins too.
  Daddy will dandle the Darling,
    And show him his beautiful toy.
  Hushaby, Pet! Baby, don't fret!
    Sleepery, Peepery Boy!"

BRIGGS had just reached the end of the second verse when his
keenly sensitive ear caught the sound of a latchkey turning in the
door. A look of terror crossed his face. "It's _she!_ It's _she!_" he
cried. "Oh, ROBINSON, if she finds you here! Oh, if you love
me, fly!" I needed no second bidding. With a hasty grip of the hand I
bade my friend farewell, and this is the last that has been seen of
BRIGGS of Balliol.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE MODERN MAID OF ATHENS.

_John Bull_ (_hesitatingly_). "MAID OF ATHENS, ERE WE
'PART'----"

_Maid of Athens_ (_interrupting_). "THINK WHAT YOU OWE TO ATTIC
ART?."

[ the invitation of H.R.H. the Prince of WALES, a large
meeting of these interested in the British School of Art at Athens was
held on July 9 in St. James's Palace. The Prince of WALES
said: "I sincerely hope we may soon hear that the School has been
placed in an assured position for ever."--_Times Report._]]

       *       *       *       *       *

CUE FOR CANVASSERS.

(_By a Cynic._)

["In all the doubtful constituencies the result may be regarded as
depending largely upon the persuasion and argument brought to bear upon
individual electors."--_The Yorkshire Post._]

  Persuasion? Argument? Very nice names
  For Radical Caucusites, Primrose Dames,
  And other retailers of party riddles,
  _Ex parte_ statements, and taradiddles!
  Gregarious voters, of old bribes did you all;
  Now argument deals with the "individual."
  With the man--or his wife--you must seek occasion,
  Canvasser clever, to try "persuasion."
  To "argue" that BLOGGS is the likeliest chap
  To pour prosperity into your lap;
  To "persuade" the Missus that that MCQUIRK
  Will deprive her "man" of his beer _and_ work!
  Oh, sweet are the virtues, upon occasion,
  Of moral (or even _im_moral) 'suasion!
  When blankets run out and when money's all spent,
  Then, then comes the value of "argument."
  And if the "argument" takes the form
  Of orders and jobs in a perfect storm;
  And when "persuasion" the future gauges
  A promise of liquor and higher wages;
  Why, then the result is the same almost,
  'Twixt you and me, and the (_Yorkshire_) _Post!_

       *       *       *       *       *

A DALY SACRIFICE TO SHAKSPEARE.--Again, thanks to the
enterprise of Mr. AUGUSTIN DALY, one of SHAKSPEARE'S
comedies is rendered resplendent with appropriate accessories. _A
Midsummer Night's Dream_, furnished with new illustrations, and
sparingly curtailed by necessary "cuts," becomes more poetical than
ever. Miss ADA REHAN is a "dream" in herself, and Mr.
LEWIS, as an American playing in England, becomes "translated"
every evening to the complete satisfaction of an appreciating and
crowded audience. The play should run from Midsummer into Michaelmas.

       *       *       *       *       *

A HENLEY BARCAROLLE.

(_By a Parasyllabic Swain._)

  My lovylade, I peg and bray
  That you will pun my joint to-day;
  And we will, dreaming o'er the stodge,
  In some remote lackwater bodge.

  We'll take a man JOE, bandoline,
  And hick-cup, as we slop between
  The bangled tanks--we'll sink and drip,
  And strum the things on board our ship.

  List to my lovesick, mew, and come
  Far from the giddy, higgling gum!
  Relaying hearses, we will croon,
  And through each glowering hide we'll _spoon!_

       *       *       *       *       *

Advertisement (_in "Standard"_).--"_Great Yarmouth. Small House. Close
Aquarium and sea. Servant left._" Who was there when "servant left"?
Also why "close Aquarium and sea"? Perhaps easy but unwise to close the
former, but quite impossible to shut up the latter.

       *       *       *       *       *

"GOOD BIS"-LEY. "TELL THAT TO THE MARINES."--The United
Services Cup was adjudged to the Marines at Bisley. In this competition
the Marines were the best, "all told."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A LABOUR OF LOVE!

_Benevolent Lady_ (_who has with infinite trouble organised a Country
Excursion for some overworked London Dressmakers_). "THEN MIND
YOU'RE AT THE STATION AT NINE TO-MORROW, ELIZA. I DO HOPE IT WON'T
RAIN!"

"_RINE_, MISS! I 'OWP NOT, TO BE SURE! THE COUNTRY'S BAD ENOUGH
WHEN IT'S _FOINE_, YN'T IT, MISS?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

A SMOKING CHRISTIAN CONCERT.--In these smoking hot July days a
Smoking Mission seems a good notion. Yet the Baccy-nalian missionaries
may probably have to say, "We have pipe'd unto you, and you have not
responded," except as long as the supply held out. Will there be
distributed tracts entitled _A Bird's Eye View of Heaven_, _A Short Cut
to Truth_, _Returns to Virtue_, _What is Life?_--_A Mixture!_

       *       *       *       *       *

PROVERB À PROPOS OF LATEST NEW WALTZ, "KING GRETCHEN."--"It's
the last STRAUSS that breaks the record."

       *       *       *       *       *

BAWBEES ACROSS THE BORDER.--The _Dundee Advertiser_ has
recently published a table showing the distribution of Ministerial
salaries amongst Peers, Liberal Unionists, and Scotchmen. According
to our canny contemporary, "Scotland fares badly in the new
Administration." The reason for this lament is found in the fact
that the share of Caledonia--"the spoil is taken chiefly by the Clan
Balfour," remarks the _D. A._--amounts only to £12,425. And yet this
sum represents the "banging" of a good many "saxpences." North Britain
is unreasonable!

       *       *       *       *       *

WASTING HER SWEETNESS.

(_An Electioneering Study._)

 ARGUMENT.--Mrs. HORACE HONEYBALL, wife of the
 Liberal Candidate for a Metropolitan Working-class Constituency, has
 undertaken in her husband's interests a house-to-house canvass in
 Bodgers' Buildings.

_Mrs. H. H._ (_to herself, as she threads her way through a grove
of drying linen_). "I do _wish_ they would hang out their washing
somewhere else--it's absolute ruin to one's hat! What a depressing
place--but then they're all the more likely to be on our side. Have
I got my canvassing cards and the bundle of leaflets? Yes--then I'd
better begin.... How do you _do_, Mr. DOLLOP?... No, _please_
don't move--I see I've come upon you all at your tea. So refreshing
on a warm afternoon like this!... No, not any for me, thanks, I never
touch it--and besides, I had some before I came out, you know....
Oh, never mind about wiping a chair for me, Mrs. DOLLOP....
Yes, _quite_ comfortable, I assure you. What a delightful home you
have, with all those charming coloured pictures on the wall, and so
_beautifully_ clean, too!... Ah, if you only knew the trouble and worry
of a great house and a whole tribe of servants.... But you mustn't
say that; _no_ one need despair of getting on nowadays, you know. And
this is your little boy and girl? such bright, intelligent little
faces. Jam _is_ so wholesome for them, isn't it?... HALBUT and
HALICE? Really! such pretty names _I_ always think; and both
beginning with--er--H.... Well, yes, _I have_ called on some particular
business. I daresay, now, Mr. DOLLOP, you're quite a
politician.... A plasterer? Now, _how_ delightful! Because I must tell
you that my husband.... No, I'm afraid _not_. You see, we've only just
had the whole house thoroughly done up. I was only going to say that my
husband has such a respect for plasterers as a class, you know. Haven't
I mentioned who he is? _How_ stupid of me! He's Mr. HONEYBALL,
the Radical Candidate for this place.... Yes, I've come about the
elections, of course. Oh, but you _ought_ to care; I'm sure you're far
too intelligent a man to be really indifferent who represents you in
Parliament! And my husband is so devoted to the working-classes; it's
been quite the aim of his life to do something for them. His motto is,
'Trust the People.'... Oh, _dear_ me, no--he's not a _shopkeeper_--he's
at the Bar.... Certainly _not_. He's in favour of doing away with
public-houses. He's a barrister--a _lawyer_, you know.... Ah, but
perhaps you haven't been fortunate in such lawyers as you've _met_....
Well, but you wouldn't like the _Tories_ to get in, _would_ you?... But
they've _had_ their 'innings,' as you call it; they've been in a whole
fortnight--and what have they _done_?... And if the Liberal Government
is kept out, what will become of all the great reforms they've been
trying to give you?... Well, there's Home Rule, for _one_.... Surely
you're in favour of letting the Irish manage their own affairs?... No,
that's _such_ a mistake; they _won't_ want to manage ours--at least,
except Imperial matters--and why _shouldn't_ they?... All that can so
easily be settled afterwards.... Don't you call 'One man one vote' a
great reform?... Isn't it monstrous that some people should have five
or six votes, while you only have one?... It's foolish to say they're
'welcome to them,' like that, when they only use them to deprive you
of your rights.... Then there's Welsh Disestablishment.... Oh, if you
really can't see the immense importance of it, all I can say is, I'm
extremely sorry.... Yes, I'm going now, and I hope, before the election
day comes, you will have learnt to take a more enlightened----_Good_
afternoon."

"I'm so glad to have found you at home, Mr. BILGER. I'm
Mrs. HONEYBALL, and I want you to support my husband at the
election--he's standing as a Liberal, you know.... Oh, yes, I think
I can tell you his views on the Liquor Traffic. He's anxious to see
the curse of drinking thoroughly stamped out.... No, I'm sure you're
no friend to publicans--you look _far_ too respectable.... Yes, as you
say, they get rich on the earnings of the poor, and it's high time
they were done away with.... _Certainly_ you may ask me a question....
No, of course my husband would not _dream_ of putting down Clubs: he
belongs to several himself.... Oh, you meant _Working-men's_ Clubs. You
belong to one yourself? So _sensible_ of you!--and of course there can
be no possible objection, so long as no intoxicating liquor----_Not_
conducted on Teetotal principles? I'm afraid that _would_ make a
difference.... Why? Because, don't you _see_, if people can go and
join Clubs, and get drink there, there would be no use in closing the
public-houses, _would_ there? We must be _logical_.... No _doubt_
intoxicating drinks are supplied in Clubs, but I don't see what _that_
has to do with it.... My husband? No, he's not a total abstainer, but
still----... No, no; it's not a question of one law for the Rich and
another for the Poor at _all_. You don't quite _understand_.... If
you _really_ have heard enough, I'll go, of course.... Not at all. If
anything I've said has helped you in making up your mind, I'm only
too----Don't trouble to come to the door!"

"Mrs. MANGLES, I think? Your husband _not_ at home, I
see. It doesn't matter--you will do _quite_ as well. I'm Mrs.
HONEYBALL.... Oh, you _have_ heard the name.... Seen my
husband's picture on the placards? Oh, you're not taking a liberty in
the very _least_. I shall be only too _delighted_ to give you one. He
_is_ rather nice-looking, isn't he? I'll tell you what I'll do--when
I get home, I'll send you one of his photographs to put on your
mantelpiece.... Oh, I _don't_ think I should have it coloured, if I
were you.... But his hair and moustache aren't _auburn_, and what _do_
you want to put him in a red tunic for?... Really? The living image of
your first young man? He _will_ be flattered!... You've had several
since? I can quite believe _that_.... Well, if you will promise to get
your husband to give me his vote, perhaps----_Why_ should I have to go
to the--er--'Cimingtery' for it?... Last Christmas?--_dear_ me! I'm
very sorry I----Good-bye, Mrs. MANGLES; and--er--if I _do_
find I have a photograph to spare----but the portrait of him on that
leaflet is really more _like_, you know!"

[Illustration: "I _love_ the smell of tobacco!"]

"No, don't put _down_ your pipe, Mr. GOWLES; I--I _love_
the smell of tobacco!... You weren't _intending_ to--how friendly of
you!... I daresay you don't know who _I_ am?... Perhaps not, but you'll
let me _tell_ you, won't you?... I've come to ask you to vote for my
husband, Mr. HONEYBALL; he's not a _Tory_, you know, he's a
thorough-going Radical.... Not going to vote for either of them?--Now
_why_?... Oh, no, I'm _sure_ you're not--you're _much_ too pleasant
and gentlemanly to be a horrid Socialist!... You want everything done
away with? Well, the Liberals _are_ going to abolish a lot of things.
There's the House of Lords, for instance, you're against _them_,
I'm sure.... Not more than you are against the House of Commons?
Oh, but you don't _really_ want to destroy one of our most ancient
institutions!... Capitalists? oh, they're sharks and bloodsuckers and
landgrabbers and all that, I _quite_ agree with you there--only they're
all _Tories_, you know.... Why shouldn't you share in all the wealth
you're assisting to produce? Why are you to be robbed of the product
of your brain and hands?--I really don't know--it's very wrong, no
doubt--what _do_ you produce?... Oh, you're a bill-poster? I _see_.
Now don't get excited.... Your only hope is in the Gospel of Hate?...
Now _really_, such a _disagreeable_ thing to say!... If I could only
bring you to see that by voting for the Liberals----... I'm _not_
a smooth-tongued humbug, and it's extremely rude of you to call me
anything of the kind.... I never said you hadn't a perfect right to
vote as you pleased.... Very _well_, then, _keep_ your horrible vote,
I'm sure _I_ don't want it! (_To herself, as she departs._) I shall go
home. If I see any more of these people, I shall find I've turned into
a rabid Tory--and I'm sure HORACE wouldn't like that!"

       *       *       *       *       *

OPERATIC NOTES.

_Monday_ memorable for MELBA. Never sang better than as
mad-as-a-hatter heroine of DONIZETTI'S _Lucia di Lammermoor_.
Three hearty, deafening, unanimous encores for the brilliant
fireworky Hanwellian vocalisation in LUCY'S (not "H.
W. LUCY'S," of the _D. N._, but Miss LUCIA'S) great
_de lunatico inquirendo_ scena. After encore, inevitable gigantic
basket of flowers handed up to triumphant cantatrice by Beaming
BEVIGNANI and talented assistants in orchestra. Conductor and
musicians ought not to be used as agents for delivery of bouquets to
_prime donne_. If somebody among audience wishes to publicly present
singer with floral testimonial, why not let that Somebody step forward
(as the person in church who would "forbid the banns" is invited to do)
and hand it to her himself on a stick? Or if he be in some other part
of the house, DULCISSIMUS DRURIOLANUS would himself introduce
him and his basket of flowers on to, and off, the stage. The encores
and the floral testimonial quite turned mad heroine's head.

[Illustration: alvé à la "'Ria."]

That is, so turned it round again that she became quite sane and
chatted amicably with two or three of the leading chorus "up stage"
until it suddenly occurred to her that she must go mad again, which she
did at once, most effectively. After this "_Fra poco_," the swan-like
(if swan a tenor) death-song of _Edgardo_, cannot go for its value
unless sung by a most popular and highly-gifted tenor. So it stands
to the credit of Signor DASH-MY-VIGNAS that, in this, he was
enthusiastically applauded, and soon after "laid him down and dee'd"
in the midst of an admiring and more-or-less sympathetic Chorus.
Great opera for Chorus giving expression to their feelings. How they
cry or laugh, and point and gesticulate and threaten and sympathise
as guests in low dresses without anything distinctively Scotch about
them, except in the case of one lady over whose shoulder I fancy I
detected a tartan scarf of clannish pattern. _Normanno_, played by, I
think, IGINIO CORSI (which name, in compliment to the national
Scotch liquor, ought to have been changed to "IWISKIO CORSI"),
bore remarkable resemblance to Markis o' SALISBURY. I do
not remember ever having seen or heard Lord SALISBURY as
a vocalist. To be remembered as _The_ MELBA Night of the
Season--up to now.

_Wednesday._--CALVÉ as _Carmen_ simply perfect. That is
all I have to say; like the Raven (not _Barnaby Rudge's_, but
EDGAR A. POE'S), I announce "Only this, and Nothing More."
And ALVAREZ as _José_, "Gentleman JOE," who does
not drive, but is driven to madness, first-rate; in last scene,
struggle and assassination most thrilling, dramatically: even
stall-by-the-season'd opera-goers holding breath, and clutching at
backs of seats. Audience, ordinarily indifferent to fate of heroine
in last act, wait till bitter end. They only quit when quite sure
_Carmen_ cannot possibly sing any more. Madame MELBA,
who, "_by request of the Management_"--how modestly is this put,
O DRURIOLANUS OPERATICUS!--"_has kindly consented to play
Michaela_," exceeded the terms of her amiable contract, as she not only
"played" _Michaela_, but sang the music superbly, her singing being
faultless, which her "playing" was not. Mossoo ALBERS rather
out of it as _Escamillo_, and _Toréador_ was not an Encoreador, whereat
_Toréador non contento_. All the principals sang in French, "knowing
the language," but clever Chorus stuck to Italian. _Benissimo!_
BEVIGNANI beaming, and beating time. House crowded; elections
and political parties disturb not the harmony of Covent Garden. Yet
"last week but one" announced, and end in view. WAGSTAFF,
seeing CALVÉ in first act with scarf or belt round waist,
suggests riddle, "Why is CALVÉ a perfect _Carmen?_" Before
you can break away from him, without damage to your button-hole,
he answers, "Because she plays the part with _a-band-on_." _Exit_
WAGSTAFF.

_Friday._--_Pagliacci._--A new _Nedda_ in Mlle. ZÉLIE DE
LUSSAN. _Nedda_ is rather a Loose'un, and Mlle. ZÉLIE
is as good a _Nedda_ as you can get "when t'other dear charmer's
away." Then to follow, CALVÉ in _Calvé-'lleria Rusticana_
admirably dramatic. Can't believe this Magdalenish saint-like woman can
possibly be that deuce of a young woman, _Carmen_, of t'other night.
But "_F[oe]mina varium et mutabile_ (also _cantabile_) _semper_." All
the others good as ever, specially GIULIA RAVOGLI, as the gay
_Lo-la-li-ety_.

       *       *       *       *       *

SCRAPS FROM CHAPS.

The hedgehog is sometimes accused of helping himself to a drink from
a recumbent cow, but his larger relative, the domestic pig, is to be
even still more commended for his enterprise. According to the _Western
Daily Mercury_, in a farmyard in the parish of Uffculme a pig was
observed to rear on his hind legs and suck milk from a cow. This sight
must have enormously impressed the spectator. But it ought to have been
a dog.

       *       *       *       *       *

Surely a Radical Unionist is a new departure in politics. Mr.
STRAUSS, who is opposing Mr. CONYBEARE, M.P. for
the Camborne division of Cornwall, in reply to a question at Cusgarne
said that he was a Radical Unionist, but the name Liberal was good
enough for him. Mr. STRAUSS is to be congratulated on his
new political "Doctrinen"; but, if he should succeed in defeating Mr.
CONYBEARE, he seems likely to lead the Whips a pretty dance.

       *       *       *       *       *

It seems a little hard on a Parliamentary candidate when he is
seriously misrepresented by his own friends. This is what Mr.
MICHAEL WILLIAMS has suffered in the St. Austell division of
Cornwall at the hands of his friend Canon BUSH. With every
intention of doing Mr. WILLIAMS a good turn, the worthy Canon
fired off a letter in the local press containing a serious misquotation
of a speech said to have been made by Mr. WILLIAMS about the
false doctrines of the Nonconformists. The explosion of this shell in
the Nonconformist camp has not improved Mr. WILLIAMS'S chance
of success, and he probably believes in the truth of the old saying,
that "Good wine needs no Bush."

       *       *       *       *       *

A PULL ALL TOGETHER.--What our forefathers would have called
"seeking an explanation from one's representative," is now, in these
days of political slang, known as "pulling your member's leg!" Witness
what happened in West Fife:

 "Mr. WEMYSS said, that if they returned him they would have
 the advantage of being able to run down to WEMYSS when he did
 anything wrong and pull his leg at the cost of a sixpence in train
 money, whereas, if they wanted to pull Mr. BIRRELL over the
 coals, it would cost them £3 to go to London."

The electors would certainly seem to "have the pull" by Mr.
WEMYSS'S proximity; but why didn't some heckler retort by
saying that in pulling a candidate's leg voters must be careful not to
get hold of a calf?

       *       *       *       *       *

SLOW TRAINING.--The Cork County National Teachers' Association
has passed a resolution that "for the sixth class" the geography of
the British Isles is enough, and "that the British Colonies be held
over till the examination in the second year." But how will the British
Colonies like being held over? And is not Ireland itself going to be
a self-governing British Colony--some day? But that idea, too, seems
"held over" for the present. The National Teachers, however, are true
Nationalists, because they also resolved that "Professors of Irish
should be appointed in all the Training Colleges." If females, they
will be expected to wear the Celtic fringe, of course.

       *       *       *       *       *

READY AND WILLING (_in the Cornell-Leander Fiasco_).--One crew
wasn't "ready," but the starter was "WILLAN"--like _Barkis_.
The Cornell crew was ready and willin'. So they had the starter with
them at all events; and, they started. Angry partisans described the
proceeding as "Willanous." So it was,--from one point of view.

       *       *       *       *       *

ELECTION PARADOXES.--Standing for a seat, and running against
a sitting Member.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE GENERAL ELECTION CRY.--"Take your seats, Gentlemen!"

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: AGGRAVATING FLIPPANCY.

_The Professor_ (_who has just come back from the North Pole_).
"----AND THE FAUNA OF THESE INHOSPITABLE REGIONS IS AS POOR AS THE
FLORA! YOU COULDN'T NAME A DOZEN ANIMALS WHO MANAGE TO LIVE THERE."

_Mrs. Malapert._ "OH--I DARE SAY I COULD!"

_The Professor._ "REALLY--WHAT _ARE_ THEY?"

_Mrs. Malapert._ "WELL, NOW--FIVE POLAR BEARS, LET US SAY, AND--AND
SEVEN SEALS!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

IL "TRUE BLUE" INGLESE.

_All' illustrissimo Signor Punch._

ILLUSTRIOUSEST SIR,--I feel myself in duty of to write to
her these few lines for to tell to her the my opinion of the of her
country. Ah, the beautiful England! One speaks in Italy of the _cielo
inglese_, when the sky is grey and overcast. For the first time I come
now in the my ship to the of her country. _Ecco_, the sky is blue! In
the our country so many things are blue--the sky, the sea, the lakes,
the distant mountains, but in the our language not there is the word
"blue." One says "azure" or "turquoise," but not the general term
"blue." Therefore before I come to England I think, "We Italians see
the colour blue, but not can say it, and these english have the word,
but see never the colour." And _ecco_ I arrive, and the sky is blue!
Not it is the blue of Napoli, not it is the blue of Geneva, and perhaps
it is to-day only, but _veramente_ it is blue. It is much curious.

Also I have found other things blue. Some time the sea is pale blue.
Some time the milk is pale blue. And one english says to me, "The
sea was rough and the wind blue," but this not can I understand. The
his friends say he likes chaff. _Diavolo_, what taste! But perhaps
the chaff is much helpful for the digestion, like the english brown
bread, which some brave men eat. The his friends say also, "He chaffs
till all is blue." Perhaps when one eats the chaff the eyesight is
altered. It is much curious. There are other things blue in England.
There are "the blues." One my friend says to me that this phrase is the
french _ennui_. Then I have not it seen yet, for it is always _festa_
since our arrival. I have heard that the blues are at Oxford and at
Cambridge, above all at the College of Girton. But the evening past
I saw the blue the most beautiful. Ah, the exquisite eyes! Ah, _la
bellissima signorina inglese!_ so graceful, so courteous, so beautiful!
And the her eyes were blue, so blue! Never have I seen a colour so
sweet. The sea at Napoli, the sky at Palermo, the lake at Bellagio--it
seems to me that they are grey and ugly when I think to the her eyes.

Ah, Signor _Punch_, Her is a man, Her can love, Her, I know it, admires
the beauty of the women! So to her I tell that those blue eyes have hit
the heart of the italian. Not in Italy, but in England, one sees the
blue the most divine.

Her I beg to accept the my compliments and I have the honour to say
myself.

  Her Devotedest Servant,

  ANDREA DORIA DANDOLO VESPUCCI-COLOMBO.

       *       *       *       *       *

ORDER! ORDER!

 ["Colonel NORTH bases his appeal for support on the plea that
 he will see to it that West Leeds gets its full share of whatever work
 may be going."--_Leeds Mercury._]

  O "dark and true and tender is the NORTH!"
    And wondrous service to West Leeds he'll render;
  _He_'ll see, when Government work is going forth,
    West Leeds shall have its chance--at least to tender.
  "Orders are heaven's first law." That is the kernel
    Of the "dear Colonel's" creed; and it contents
  Those who to Governments raise the cry eternal
    Of "Give your orders, Gents!"

       *       *       *       *       *

ECHOES FROM THE POLLS.

Elected am I? Well, I am really much obliged.

Oh, certainly, shall be truly delighted to do anything in my power.

Fancy in these hard times that it is a little difficult to increase a
subscription list.

Only too pleased, but must be rather careful not to infringe the
Bribery Acts.

Truly intend to live up to my opinions. Would not alter them for worlds.

Cannot recall everything I said during the heat of the election, and
probably was imperfectly reported.

Do not claim any more liberty of action than to obey the dictates of my
conscience.

Afraid cannot adequately represent every phase of political opinion.

Will give as much satisfaction in Westminster as practicable.

Party arguments are rather superfluous after the contest, and therefore
have to be avoided.

Sorry cannot stay longer in the Division itself, as my presence is
required within the precincts of St. Stephen's.

Would have the greatest pleasure in life to discuss all these matters
of controversy at another time.

Sorry cannot give exact date, but why not say just before the next
General Election?

       *       *       *       *       *

MEMORABLE.--Wednesday, July 10th. Evening Fête at Botanical
Gardens. _No Rain!!_

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: OLD WARDER WILLIAM.

THE VETERAN (_loquitur_). "DEAR ME! WHAT _HAS_ BECOME OF
HARCOURT?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

EX-HON. PRIVATE A. BRIEFLESS, JUN., ON THE I. O. C. R. V. C. AT BISLEY.

It is scarcely necessary to say that during the sitting of the Courts I
have little time for what may be termed recreation. So when I visited
Bisley on the occasion of the competition for the Ashburnham Shield,
it was in a semi-military and semi-forensic capacity. It was no doubt
pleasing to see one's schoolfellows of a later generation maintaining
the _prestige_ of a common _Alma Mater_; but the chief attraction in
my eyes of the successor to Wimbledon was the presence under canvas of
much that is left of the "Devil's Own." And here let me pause for a
moment to discuss the traditional derivation of the alternative title
of the Inns of Court Rifle Volunteer Corps. I believe His late Majesty
King WILLIAM THE FOURTH (of marine memory) is usually believed
to have been the first to call his lawyer warriors by the name that,
to certain minds, has had since an unsympathetic significance. I am
of opinion that the Sailor Sovereign merely confirmed a title that
had already been obtained by usage. It is more than possible that the
initial supporters of the I. O. C. R. V. C. were counsel seldom holding
briefs of their own, but frequently appearing as "learned" but absent
"friends." It is needless to hint to the Bench and Bar that I refer to
"devils." If my assumption is correct, then indeed would the Battalion
be justly known to fame as "the Devil's Own."

[Illustration: The Skeleton of a Regiment.]

I wish I could deny the reports that have found their way into the
papers that the I. O. C. R. V. C. is less prosperous than it was of
yore. Personally, I have it on my conscience that I have not for many
years appeared on parade. To the best of my belief I have only once
joined the ranks. The occasion was a prize distribution in Lincoln's
Inn Hall. As an honorary member I was posted in the front rank of "A"
Company. Then came the perplexing command, "Fours right," which, so
far as I was concerned, ended in disaster. A little later I retired
from all active military service, and have remained in retreat ever
since. Still, at the sound of the bugle my pulse quickens, and I
feel that had I chosen the Tented Field instead of the Forum for the
exercise of my professional duties my career would not have suffered
in prosperity from the alteration. In fact, I believe that with the
conditions changed I should have had just as good a chance of becoming
Commander-in-Chief as Lord Chancellor. But these are regrets that are
out of place in the columns of a periodical that guards the interests
of the universe in general, while fostering the loftiest aspirations of
the legal profession in particular. So I cast them aside as unworthy
the attention of a counsel, a soldier, and a gentleman.

Let me return to the I. O. C. R. V. C. at Bisley. I found "those of the
faithful who have been true to their trust" defending themselves--there
was no trace of defiance in the action--from the fierce fire of the
noonday sun by wearing straw hats and sporting flannels. It was a
pretty picture, that made by the martial lawyers at their mid-day
parade. The tents, the tubs, the kitchen utensils, and last, but not
least, the mess-house, with its dining saloon and ante-room. Alas, that
the stability of the latter should be inappropriate! Alas, that the
corps, once the pride of the Volunteer Service, should be reduced to
four companies, and (so I believe) have lost its adjutant! Ichabod! How
the mighty have fallen!

As I watched the sad and yet impressive tableau old memories flocked
upon me. Where was the private who caricatured his Colonel, and showed
how a shako could be combined with a horse-hair wig, and yet look
military and forensic? Where was the lance corporal who invariably
confirmed his captain's commands with an "as your Lordship pleases?"
Where was the rear-rank wag who, on being told to charge, said he "must
leave that sort of thing to his clerk, who kept his fee-book?" Where
was the vocalist who would sing the songs of J. L. MOLLOY,
Barrister-at-Law, and knew the ins and outs of "The Maske of Flowers?"
All of them gone, and their places scarcely filled by new comers!
And, as I gazed upon an energetic private of the I. O. C. R. V. C.,
apparently preparing to meet the demands of an expected detachment of
hungry lunchers, I wondered whether anything could be done to revive
the fortunes of the Grand Old Battalion. Could the hours of leisure of
the warriors be occupied by regimental trips down the river, regimental
drags to the races, regimental dinners to one another, regimental
visits to the play, regimental strolls in the Row, regimental bicycles
in Battersea Park? I fancy something of this kind has already been
suggested. Then, if Barristers do not flock in sufficient numbers to
the banners of the Lamb, the Horse, and the Griffin, why not throw
open the ranks to wealthy persons--so to speak--fond of the leaders
of litigation? Again I imagine some such plan has already been under
consideration.

And, as I thought the matter over, I became gloomier and gloomier. So
sad was I that I had to visit the adjacent cemetery, to revive, under
the modified merriment of the place, into comparative cheerfulness. The
mere recollection of the I. O. C. R. V. C. unmans me. It is better that
I should pause, for I can write no more.

  _Pump Handle Court, July 12, 1895._

  A. BRIEFLESS, JUN.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE CRY OF THE COUNTER.

(_By a Shopkeeper who had hoped better things of the Season._)

  Great Scott! Sold again! It's all up with the Season,
    Though Summer _is_ Summer, and Goodwood's not gone!
  We Shopkeepers hoped for good luck, and with reason,
    For things did look bright. But once more we are done;
  Done, clean as a whistle! A General Election!
    Sprung on us, through BRODRICK, and cordite, and stuff!
  A plague on both parties, a curse on each section!
    Your M.P.'s a mooncalf, a muddler, a muff!

  The weather was stunning; Death had not been busy
    With Royalties--bless 'em!--and London was full;
  And though of course ROSEBERY is not a DIZZY,
    He _did_ win the Derby, which gave him some pull.
  The Parties kept wrangling,--but nobody bothered;
    They didn't make progress,--but none of us cared;
  Though LABBY played tricks, or SILOM o pothered,
    We stuck to our counters, unshocked and unscared.

  And now, betwixt grass-time and harvest, the duffers
    Fight over sheer fudge and kick over the show.
  And so once again the poor Shopkeeper suffers.
    A murrain on HARCOURT, a plague upon JOE!
  For policy BALFOUR sets forth "Dissolution,"
    And thinks he has scored. Had I temper, and breath,
  _And_ his ear, I could smash up his smart elocution,
    _His_ game's Dissolution,--to us it means death.

  The fat's in the fire, and the spark's in the powder,
    We're in for a long spell of wigs on the green.
  Our clients will scatter, and louder and louder
    Will swell the fool-chorus of partisan spleen.
  Sir BOTTLEBY SNIPE must be off beyond Humber,
    And sweet Lady SPENDWELL goes Primrosing, south,
  And I, poor shopkeeper, may just as well slumber,
    With rage in my heart and my thumb in my mouth.

  Oh, slaves of the shop, from Pall Mall to far Peckham,
    Say, is it not time that _you_ rose and rebelled?
  The parties just play with us. Can we not check 'em?
    By Jove, if one chorus of shopdom but swelled,
  Like the working man's howl, on those Westminster wobblers,
    The sweet little game they all play it might stop.
  For Socialist dockers and Radical cobblers
    They've ears; but they're deaf to the Cry of the Shop.

  The rents, rates and taxes pile higher and higher,
    The Stores undersell us--and cop ready cash!
  The Hebrew monopolist, fiercer and slyer
    Than tiger-cat, schemeth to send us to smash.
  The landlord rack-rents us, and then pops the profit
    He draws out of us into syndicate Stores!
  I tell you the shopkeeper's life is a Tophet,
    M.P.'s play at "Progress," and _we_ pay all scores.

  And then they ask me for my vote!!! Why, what guerdon
    Have I for my votings these twenty years past?
  Continual addition to back-breaking burden!
    I say the last straw has been laid on, at last;
  At least upon this individual camel.
    To forward true Progress I don't think I'm loth,
  But sick of prolonged Party trick, trap, and trammel,
    If I had my wish, I would--_vote against both!_

       *       *       *       *       *

THE MODERN IXION.--This mythological character finds his
present representative in a shareholder Bound to the Great Wheel at
Earl's Court. However, Ixion and his wheel went on for ever! In which
case Modern Ixion ought to be an exceptionally lucky person.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "I SAY, OLD MAN, WHAT'S THAT AWFUL ROW GOING ON NEXT
DOOR?"

"OH, THAT'S THE OMPHALE CLUB. THE LADIES ARE HAVING THEIR FIRST
WHIST PARTY OF THE SEASON!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE NEW NORRIBLE TALE.

(_From a Philistinish Point of View._)

AIR--"_The Norrible Tale._"

  'Tis a norrible tale I'm going to tell
  Of the frightful fortunes which befel
  A family who late resided
  In the same suburban street that I did.
    O it is a norrible tale!
    'Twould make a Maëterlinck turn pale,
    With its frightful blend of the grim and glum,
    Of fiddle-de-dee, and fi-fo-fum!

  O they were a decent Philistine lot
  Till they caught the contagion of "Tommy-Rot,"
  That kind of mental, malarial fever,
  Which floors the foolish and foils the clever.
    O it is a norrible tale, &c.

  This Influenza of the Soul
  Haunted their house like some gruesome "troll."
  (The family--which their name was GIBSON--
  Knew all about such from the works of IBSEN.)

  The father first felt the spell unholy,
  And the man's demeanour grew truly "trolly."
  He was--in Peckham--a Master Builder,
  And he "carried on" with a drudge named 'TILDER.

  The slavey said it was truly thrilling,
  But struck for another--weekly--shilling.
  "She was ready to thrill till all was blue,
  But it _must_ be reckenised in her 'screw!'"

  His wife declared he was most inhuman,
  And, for her part, she should turn New Woman!
  So she grew--to him--an emotional icicle,
  And mounted knickers, and rode a bicycle.

  The eldest son, an athletic young fellow,
  Who had gained his "Blue," took at once to Yellow.
  "Muscle," he said, in a tone despotic,
  "Is beastly vulgaw; good form's Neurotic!"

  The youngest daughter, a blue-eyed fairy--
  (Her pies were prime, and her name was MARY--)
  Now took to cricket, and cigarette-smoking,
  And manly manners in togs--and joking.

  The eldest one, of a statelier carriage,
  Conceived quaint notions about "Group-marriage:"
  "Since man's a satyr, and brings satiety,
  The only virtue is--in _variety!_"

  Another girl took to writing novels
  On dirt in "dosses," and vice in hovels;
  Varying the same with Kiplingy verses,
  With ingenious rhymes to street-slang and curses.

  The youngest boy, who was "only a nipper,"
  Contributed "Art" to the "Sixpenny Snipper,"
  Which his sisters said was "supremely delicious,
  As a blend of the infantile and vicious."

         *       *       *       *       *

  The father died of his drudge and drink,
  The wife broke her back at a skating rink;
  And as to the slavey, whose name was 'TILDER,
  She "thrilled"--on street-preaching and rum--till they killed her.

  The eldest son read NORDAU and LOMBROSO,
  Till his brain went shaky--'twas always so-so--
  He imagines himself a pot of mustard,
  Of which egomaniacs are making a custard.

  The youngest daughter's an "Amazon Queen"
  At the East-end Halls, and she's loud and lean;
  The eldest--whose freedom all bonds would sully--
  Is tied to--and thrashed by--a pugilist bully.

  The writer of sensuous snippety novels,
  In Grub Street gutters forlornly grovels;
  The "Boy Genius of Gehenna," of the babbling boasters,
  Turns a very poor penny by Stygian Posters!
    O it _is_ a norrible tale!
    And what do New Women and New Art avail?
    Egomania-Tommyrotica is all a hum,
    Half fiddle-de-dee, and half fi-fo-fum!

       *       *       *       *       *

BANDS AND BOMBS.--How many Hungarian Bands are there about?
There's a "Real Blue Hungarian" (does this mean a "True Blue," good old
Tory, Band?)--there's an "Anglo-Hungarian," and a "White Hungarian." In
fact, Hungarian Band "with variations." The Real Hung'ry-an'-Thirsty
Bands are to be seen every night in the Feeding Places of the Indian
Exhibition, Earl's Court, where, specially within the bowers of the al
fresco Welcome Club, _can_ be served a very good dinner which _may_ be
bettered; and, if you are a Lucullus, you _comme gourmet_ will have to
Look-ullus-where for it. [N.B.--To get this jest well received give
the dinner yourself, and towards the middle of the feast try the jape.
They'll all laugh _en--mais après?_]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "AYE! BUT HOW?"

_Squire_ (_in dog-cart_). "HERE! YOU FOOL! HOLD HIS HEAD!!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

MISONEOGYNY.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,--New Woman dead? Not a bit of it. Don't
believe she ever existed. Never met her anywhere myself, and never met
anybody who has. It's my belief there "ain't no sich person." Merely
an idea or an influence, don't you know; and you can't shake hands, go
into dinner, dance, or flirt with a poisonous influence, any more than
you can with a bad smell. Whatever she is, though, afraid she's driven
me into evil courses--rhymes. Here they are:--

[Illustration]

  Oh, where is that horrible modern monstrosity,
    Where is the woman whom people call "New,"
  Who thinks, speaks, and acts with such utter atrocity,
    Tell me, oh where are the "women who do"?
  Half angry, half sad (upon grounds sentimental) man
    Begs the New Woman to stoutly proclaim--
  "No longer a lady, and not yet a gentleman"--
    Where are the creatures who own to the name?
  This monster has, surely, no lasting vitality,
   Only existing in fancy and print;
  It is just an unlovely abstract personality,
    Coin from the end-of-the-century mint.
  And, therefore, in physical prowess and mental, man
    Owns her supremacy, calm and serene,
  Because the New Woman is like the "Old Gentleman,"
    Heard of more often--thank heaven--than seen.

Shouldn't worry if I were "Misoneogynist." New woman fad nearly played
out, only a black cloud floating across the blue sky of common sense.
Nice idea, isn't it? Till cloud rolls by shall remain,

  Yours cheerily,

  A. BACHELOR.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE "BOGEY-LAND OF SCIENCE."--From the _Glasgow Herald_:--

 "The fourth meeting of the eleventh session of the Andersonian
 Naturalists Society was held at 204, George Street, Professor G.
 BELL TODD, M.B., C.M., President, in the chair. After the minutes
 of last meeting had been read, Mr. ARCHIBALD SHANKS exhibited
 an Ichthyodorulite of Gyracanthus."

Plucky of Mr. SHANKS, that! As the Gyracanthus is an animal
with both a fin and a spine, and it was captured in Ayr, it must be a
sort of flying shark. How on earth did Mr. SHANKS get it to
George Street? It ought to be called "By George Street!" in future.

       *       *       *       *       *

"THE COLONEL'S" PARADOXICAL PURPOSE.--To convert West Leeds
into "NORTH Leads."

       *       *       *       *       *

A TRUE SPORTSMAN'S TIP.

  At anti-gambling "spoil-sports," loudly
    The "sportsmen" they would spoil are fretting.
  Good friends, though you protest so proudly,
      The _true_ spoil-sport is--Betting!
  Although it suit the baser sort,
  What's sport to them is death to Sport!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration]

"Piccadilly Sports" is a headline conjuring up pleasant visions
of races, and other jinks unconducive to the peace and comfort of
law-abiding citizens--only authorised race in Piccadilly, the "purblind
race of miserable men." Yet let no irate old gentleman storm the
columns of the _Times_ with a tirade against the police and County
Council on this account. Because there happens to be another Piccadilly
up north. _Hinc (Piccad) illi ludi._ We shall expect to be reading
shortly of "Holborn miners out on strike," "Heroic rescue by the Pall
Mall lifeboat," or "A serious affray with poachers at Paddington."

       *       *       *       *       *

ELECTION INTELLIGENCE.

TOBY ONCE MORE M.P.

On Monday the Electors of Barkshire assembled in the great hall
of their county town to elect a Member to serve in the Fourteenth
Parliament of Queen VICTORIA. The High Sheriff presided.
Owing to the constitutional rule which forbids Peers to take part
in Parliamentary electoral proceedings, the Lord Lieutenant of the
county was precluded from showing himself on the platform. It was said
that, indisposed to be entirely out of so interesting and popular
an event, his lordship was present disguised as a tide-waiter. Our
representative, however, did not observe in the throng any person in
nautical dress.

[Illustration: "Carried unanimously."]

The hall, which was crowded to its utmost capacity, was gaily decorated
with flags. Across the full length of the hall was suspended a banner
bearing the proud device "BARKS'S IS WILLIN'."

Our esteemed ex-Member was accompanied on the platform by the principal
county gentry of all shades of political opinion. On taking his seat in
the front row of chairs, he was received with rounds of Kentish fire,
made in Barkshire. Having been proposed and seconded in eulogistic
terms, report of which he has expressed a desire we should suppress,
the High Sheriff inquired if any elector desired to propose another
candidate?

"I should think not," said a burly Barkshire farmer, ominously grasping
a stout blackthorn.

After this no one seemed disposed to move, and the High Sheriff
declared TOBY, M.P., duly elected. There were loud cries for
the Member, who, overcoming natural and usually insuperable diffidence,
got on his hind legs.

"Brother electors," he said, "it is an old saying, 'What Barkshire
thinks to-day, England will do to-morrow.' Obviously some inaccuracy
underlies the aphorism, since whilst you have to-day thought me
worthy of being elected your Member, it's no use England coming
round to-morrow and asking me to represent it in the Commons House
of Parliament. This is the fourth time Barkshire has done me this
honour; and base indeed is the man--(_A Voice, 'Who pays'_)--who could
be insensible to such testimony of confidence and esteem. Brother
electors--(_A Voice, 'Who stole the Emperor William's uniform?'
Disturbance at the end of the hall. Another Voice, 'Chuck him out.'_)
No, electors of Barkshire, let him stay. If he is put outside, he
loses the opportunity of observing your behaviour, and learning how
gentlemen comport themselves when publicly assembled in discharge of
a solemn duty. (_Loud cheers. A Voice, 'That fetches 'em!'_) I was
about to observe, when our friend's feelings temporarily overcame him,
that since I entered the room I have had a number of questions handed
up to me. They are a little late, since I am no longer a candidate
but am duly elected. That, however unusual the case may be, makes no
difference. The first question is: 'Will you, if elected, see that
every man in Barkshire over fifty years of age has three acres of
the best land in the parish, with a cow for every adult child and a
calf a-piece for each infant in arms?' Certainly; I hope I may live
to see established those desirable conditions as between man and man.
(_Cheers._) Another esteemed friend asks: 'Do you understand Local Veto
to mean that a man may go into the public-house, take his noggin or
what not, and when asked to pay may refuse?' I could not if I tried put
my views on the situation more clearly. The Veto, as you all know, is
a Latin word meaning to _vete_, or, as we say in English, to refuse to
stump up. A public-house is, according to 19 Vict. c. 190, a locality.
Local Veto is, therefore, the inalienable right of the English citizen
as defined by my friend. (_Loud cheers._) 'Are you in favour of
Equalisation of the Rates?' To be frank with you, my idea of rates is
that they should be equalised to the extent that makes them absolutely
impalpable. (_'No, no.' 'Yes, yes.' Uproar under the gallery. Cries
of_ 'JUDAS!' _A free fight, during which a man was ejected,
omitting to take his coat with him._) Don't put him out; don't put
anyone out. If there's a renewal of the interruption, form a ring round
the man; then we will see where we are. Here's another question: 'Do
you approve of Ice Creams made in foreign prisons smuggled over here in
barrel-organs and ground out in our streets, ruining the digestion of
our working men?' That is a question which hardly seems to need reply
from a patriotic Englishman. But I will say--and you observe I say it
emphatically--No. (_Loud cheering._) 'Are you in favour of a Second
Chamber, or do you go the length of Tenification?' That is a very nice
question. It shows how deeply and intelligently the men of Barkshire
study the questions of the day. It is not a matter on which I, for one,
care to dogmatize; I will therefore content myself with saying, that
between two and ten we might find the happy medium. (_More cheering,
the audience rising to their feet, waving hats and handkerchiefs._)
Now, gentlemen, that's all the questions I have, and I hope you'll
agree that I have answered them frankly. Ah! here's another one coming
up. (_A dirty piece of paper is passed from hand to hand till it
reached the hon. Member._) 'Could you lend me five bob till Saturday
night?' (_Laughter, in which the hon. Member heartily joined._) I
think, gentlemen, it is time we now proposed a vote of thanks to the
High Sheriff." (_This was carried unanimously, and the meeting broke
up. A torch-light procession conducted the popular member to his family
seat, The Kennel, Barks._)

       *       *       *       *       *

A LITERARY TURN.

There was a case in the Edinburgh Court of Session the other day,
which shows what is thought of authors north of the Tweed--and not by
publishers, either. A witness remarked of a "defender" that "he was of
a literary turn of mind, and he thought that spoiled him." Many persons
have had similar thoughts, but they have generally refrained from
uttering them quite so bluntly.

  Mistress HATHAWAY rejoiced in a daughter christened ANNE,
    Whose proceedings she regarded with concern;
  Quoth she--"That WILLUM SHAKSPEARE as a son-in-law I ban.
    Why? Because he has a literary turn."

  Growled Sir W-LL-M, on perusal of a certain _Life of Pitt_--
    "Well, we all unquestionably live and learn;
  But, in spite of DIZZY'S precedent, I don't believe one bit
    In a Premier with a literary turn."

  Said W-LS-L-Y, when a recent work he blankly had surveyed--
    "To answer this biography I yearn.
  What an admirable soldier H-ML-Y might, perhaps, have made,
    If he had not had a literary turn!"

       *       *       *       *       *

"JUST ON THE CARDS."--Herr IFF'S orchestra. In how
uncertain a state of mind would a telegram from Herr IFF leave
the giver of the entertainment who, having requested wire informing
him whether Herr IFF and his band could come, should receive
this reply: "_If can come will be there at hour stated._" This supposes
that some well-informed, grammatical, telegraphic young lady-clerk has
corrected the spelling of "IFF." _À propos_ of IFF, a
complete entertainment would be a recital by the Veteran HOWE
of WATTS' poems, accompanied by IFF'S band; and a
reading from _Le Château d'If_.

       *       *       *       *       *

INTELLIGIBLE, BUT NOT CLEAR.--"I think," said Mrs. R.'s
married niece, "that good singing is quite wasted on an ordinary
evening party. Now I remember an evening when SANTLEY sang in
a crowded drawing-room at our house, and _a pin might have dropped!_"

       *       *       *       *       *

A DECISION. THE DR. G. TESTIMONIAL.--The _D. T._ is a good
judge of popular sentiment, and, attired as a Judge, is _D. T. ermined_
that '95 shall be remembered as "_the_ Year of GRACE."





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 109, July 20, 1895" ***

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