By Author [ A  B  C  D  E  F  G  H  I  J  K  L  M  N  O  P  Q  R  S  T  U  V  W  X  Y  Z |  Other Symbols ]
  By Title [ A  B  C  D  E  F  G  H  I  J  K  L  M  N  O  P  Q  R  S  T  U  V  W  X  Y  Z |  Other Symbols ]
  By Language
all Classics books content using ISYS

Download this book: [ ASCII | HTML | PDF ]

Look for this book on Amazon

We have new books nearly every day.
If you would like a news letter once a week or once a month
fill out this form and we will give you a summary of the books for that week or month by email.

Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 108, April 27, 1895
Author: Various
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 108, April 27, 1895" ***

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


VOL. 108, APRIL 27, 1895.

_edited by Sir Francis Burnand_


(_For the Use of Schools._)


       *       *       *       *       *


(_A Dramatic Study of Cause and Effect._)

SCENE--_Interior of a Private Box at a Popular Theatre._

_Enter_ ANGELINA _and her people_.

_Paterfamilias._ Well, now that we are here, I hope you are satisfied.
As for myself, I hate these problem plays.

_Materfamilias._ They are entirely the vogue just now, and we must see
them. What everybody does we must do.

_Angelina._ So I told EDWIN--I should say, Mr. DOMUM--when he
complained of our going.

_Mater._ Of course. We have to follow the fashion.

_Pater._ Hush! You must not talk any more, see the curtain has risen.

    (_Five minutes pass._)

_First Heroine_ (_on the stage_). And so, my dear, my marriage was
an utter failure. The monotony of the life was terrible. My husband
anticipated my every wish. The tameness was too awful for words, and
so I left him.

    [_Loud applause._

_Mater._ (_to her husband_). Ah, I never left you, RICHARD!

_Pater._ (_to his wife_). Nor I you, BRIDGET!

_Angelina_ (_aside_). I suppose married life must be very wearisome.

    (_Ten minutes pass._)

_Second Heroine_ (_on the stage_). And now I will tell you the secret
of my life. I never loved my husband. He gave me all I required--fine
clothes, sparkling jewels, an opera box. But his presents were insults
in disguise, and I left him.

    [_Loud applause._

_Pater._ I did not insult you by handing you too many gifts, BRIDGET?

_Mater._ Indeed you did not, RICHARD. In fact, I think you carried
your abstention too far.

_Pater._ Not at all. See, after these many years, we are devoted to
one another!

_Angelina_ (_aside_). Failure of Marriage Number Two! Weddings seem to
be mistake!

    (_Two hours pass._)

_Third Heroine._ I tell you, my Lord Bishop, that I have never
regretted leaving you. Twenty years ago you were a young curate,
and you spoilt our married life by your indulgence. You let me have
everything I wanted. No, my Lord, I will hear no more.

_Angelina_ (_aside_). Another matrimonial failure! I really must have
a good think over it.

_Pater._ (_to_ Mater.). Well, I hope you are satisfied!

_Mater._ (_to_ Pater.). Awfully depressing, but I don't see what harm
it can do to anyone.

    (_An hour passes._)

_Angelina_ (_writing in her own room_). "Dear EDWIN, I call you by
your christian name, for the last time. I can never be yours. I am
convinced from all I have heard that marriage is a failure. Sincerely
yours, ANGELINA."

    [_Scene closes in upon a flood of tears._

       *       *       *       *       *


    [Mr. FLINDERS PETRIE has just excavated the city of Ombi on
    the Nile, and vindicated JUVENAL'S geographical reputation.]

  _ECCE novi'st aliquid_ (_per FLINDERS PETRIE Magistrum_)
  _Ex Africâ semper!_ Quite like some arch-humourist rum,
  Playing with tombs and skulls, he unearths fresh funny surprises,
  Scandals of Athor's "past," or long-veiled secrets of Isis.
  Now this gravedigger-_Yorick_, this Egypt's new ABERCROMBY,
  Scores yet another conquest--he's found out JUVENAL'S Ombi,
  Found out the next-door neighbours of Nile-washed Tentyra (you will
  See in the Fifteenth Satire their truceless, truculent duel).
  Thus they lived some ages B.C. (in the thirtieth cent'ry),
  Cannibals, six feet high, and long-legged Libyan gentry,
  Buried _à la_ trussed fowl, with heads on which wavy brown hair
  These were the folk who once made things pretty hot for the
  Dig then, PETRIE, away 'mid potsherds, mummies, and cinders,
  Delve on, and add fresh towns to the underground kingdom of

       *       *       *       *       *


Hearty congratulations from the Baron and his assistants to Mr. H. W.
LUCY on his delightful life of Mr. GLADSTONE (W. H. ALLEN & Co).
No one certainly has had better opportunities than TOBY, M.P., for
studying the great statesman in all his varying moods; and it may be
affirmed with equal certainty that no other man (or dog) could have
used his opportunities to greater advantage for the benefit of the
public. There are in this little volume a tone of easy yet scholarly
courtesy, a fine literary touch, and a marvellous power of condensing
details into one vividly descriptive sentence. It is an admirable
piece of work, which, seeing that it only costs a shilling, ought to
be sure of a popularity fully equal to its high merits.

"Bravo TOBY!" says

[Illustration: THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.]

       *       *       *       *       *

CHANGE OF DESCRIPTIVE TITLE.--In the Egyptian explorations, the
results of which, so far, have been recently given in Professor
PETRIE'S lecture, reported in the _Times_ of Thursday, April 18, the
lecturer tells us how he was accompanied in his researches by Mr.
GRENFELL, "The Craven Fellow." How doubly plucky of Professor PETRIE
to proceed with such a companion so extraordinarily timorous as is
expressed in such a _sobriquet_ as "The Craven Fellow." However, he
belied his name by showing such pluck and perseverance in rendering
assistance to the Professor as will entitle him to explain himself
as "_Late_ the Craven Fellow," but _now_ "the C. F., or Courageous

       *       *       *       *       *


_Master of the Situation_ (_loq._). "NOW THEN, YOU PIG-HEADED OLD

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: SCORCHING.

_First Countryman_ (_to third-rate Amateur Jock, whose mount won't


       *       *       *       *       *


    ["China, properly opened up, would be an El Dorado for
    mankind.... The true conquest effected by the war is the
    conquest of the right to a market, and that apparently on an
    enormous scale."

  _"Daily News" on the terms of Peace between China and Japan._]

_Little Jap loquitur_:--

  Come, wake up, old chap! I'm the go-ahead Jap.
    _Open Sesame!_ Yes, that's the word, JOHN!
  In your den you would stop, or e'en shut up your shop,
    Your proceedings are highly absurd, JOHN!
  Spite your bounce and your boast, I have got you on toast,
    And thereby, friend JOHN, hangs a _big_ tale.
  When your carcase I'd wake, I have only to take
    A sailor's round turn at your pigtail!
      Your notion of shopkeeping's shutter and key.
      Since you don't know their use, hand 'em over to _Me_!

  For thousands of years your pride and your fears
    Have muddled your market completely.
  Ah! would you, old slug? But a twist and a tug
    Bring you up to your bearings most sweetly.
  'Tis no use to kick! You will have to move slick,
    Now you've got in the hands of Young Jappy;
  Don't you get in a scare for your crockery ware.
    Rouse up, open shop, and be happy!
      Afraid? Superstitious? Oh, fiddle-de-dee!
      Throw open your markets, and leave it to _Me_!

  For ever so long you've been going all wrong.
    Your Empire is under a shadow;
  But well opened up, by ships, railways, and KRUPP,
    It will turn out a true El Dorado.
  _Don't_ fly to your door! Eh? your pigtail is sore?
    You think me a cocky invader?
  Why you'll find in the end I'm your very best friend,
    When I force you to be a free trader.
      Blow your grandfather's bunkum, you Heathen Chinee!
      Take down all your shutters, and hand _me_ the key!

  For _my_ use alone? you inquire with a groan.
    Oh, dear! you _must_ be an old duffer!
  Excuse me this wink,--but what do _you_ think?
    Do you hold "Outside Devils" will suffer
  The Flowery Land to be locked by my hand,
    Any more than by yours, in their faces?
  Pig-headed old Pigtail, I fancy I know
    How to get into Europe's good graces.
      So pay up my millions, you Heathen Chinee!
      Throw open your market, and _hand me the key_!

       *       *       *       *       *


The four strangers were gathered together in the all-but-deserted
inn. They were forced to enter into conversation, because the solitary
periodical taken in by the landlord had been read from title to
imprint by everyone of them.

"A strange article," said the first, as he laid down the _Lancet_.
"And so men disappear entirely for awhile, and then come back to their
homes and profession as if nothing had happened."

"Extraordinary," murmured the second. "I see that the scientific
publication you have just relinquished suggests that the cause
of these hurried exits partake of the nature of post-epileptic
phenomena." And then the talk went on. The four strangers dined
together, supped together, and on the following morning partook in
company of breakfast. The waiter, at about eleven o'clock, presented
each of them with a note. It came from the landlord, and was full of
figures. A weird look appeared on their faces.

"We must move on," said one of the quartette; "but as the staircase is
steep, let us descend by the window."

The no-longer-perplexed strangers adopted the suggestion, and gently
sliding down a rope, were soon quit of the inn. They walked together
for about a quarter of a mile, and then coming to four cross-roads,

"Dear me," said the landlord of the inn, when he once again found
himself alone. "Their disappearance is most strange. I am inclined
to agree with the _Lancet_, 'that the phenomenon remains striking
and mysterious, interesting in its psychological aspect, but in its
concrete form full of practical and medico-legal difficulties;' and,
believing this, I must write to the proper authorities." And he sat
down and composed two letters. One he addressed to the President of
the Royal College of Physicians, and the other to the Editor of _Hue
and Cry_.

       *       *       *       *       *



(_Translated from the original Lappish by Mr. Punch's own Hyperborean


The sky was darkened by swart birds, with tufted tails, and a look in
their clay-coloured eyes as of millions of stifled croaks; the rain
fell in grizzled sheets like the streaming hair and beard of some
Titanic lunatic, and the thunder boomed over the town as if it had
just discovered another epoch-making novel.

Night fell; I lit my lamp and closed the shutters, drew my curtains,
so as to shut out any gleaming cats' eyes that might be peering at me
through the chinks, and mixed myself a tumbler of hot punch.

As I finished it, a wild piercing shriek rose from the universe, as
though someone had run a pin into the Great Unknown, and a shining
blue-white ball came down the chimney and burnt a hole in the
yellow-green gloom of my hearthrug.

I looked up; a strange man was sitting right in front of me. His
crested hair had a blue-white gleam, like the electric light in a
mountain hotel when the storm is nearly ended; it stuck out in a
spiral fringe round his cheeks and chin; his mouth was prim like a
purse; but his spectacles twinkled with laughter like the new ferrule
on a gingham umbrella.

"I am the Shaker of Society's Pillars, I have discovered that the Tree
of Knowledge of Good and Evil bears nothing but rotten apples. There
are milestones on the Bergen road--but I can see through most of them.
I am the New Generation knocking at the old stage-door. I am also
the Dramatiser of Social Conundrums to which there will never be any

Time passed--a second or an hour. I began to wish he would go.

"I am the great Wizard that has ennobled and purified Humanity by
showing that they are all the morbid victims of a diseased heredity.
The great fire at Christiania was _not_ the fire in which _Mrs.
Solness's_ nine dolls were burnt. I am he who has emancipated Woman by
convincing her that she has the _right_ to be hysterical."

Again time passed--an hour or a second. I fancy I must have dropped
off to sleep.

[Illustration: "I fancy I must have dropped off to sleep."]

"I am he who has broken through the conventions of the
well-constructed drama. When we lived at Drontheim, BERNICK'S gander
was stolen by tinkers. I am the original eld, and also the child who
instructs the grandmotherly critic in the art of sucking problematic
eggs; but I, too, am a master-builder of magnificent bathos."

And again time passed--a second or an hour. I wondered whether he had
come to stay the night.

"Read, I am called 'dramatic'; acted, I am called 'impossible.'"

With that the cock crew. The stranger had flown before I had an
opportunity of asking him his name or asking him to look in again some

I was rather sorry, for he seemed to have a flow of agreeable small
talk, though it was perhaps a little egotistic.

       *       *       *       *       *


_Question._ Why did you become a member of a Volunteer corps?

_Answer._ With the intention of strengthening our national defences.

_Q._ Then you think such a proceeding patriotic?

_A._ Not only patriotic, but necessary.


_Q._ You probably have some recollection of the French collapse in

_A._ Yes; but I have been chiefly influenced by considerations of a
mathematical character.

_Q._ Make your meaning plainer.

_A._ I mean that it stands to reason that as only a small percentage
of our people are trained to arms, and ninety-six per cent of our
neighbours are converted into soldiers, the latter, in the case of a
quarrel with us, would have the upper hand.

_Q._ And you think a quarrel entailing the arbitration of the sword
might be sprung upon us at any moment?

_A._ Precisely; that is entirely my opinion.

_Q._ And, consequently, you take a serious view of Volunteering?

_A._ Assuredly, or I would not give up most of my leisure time to
master drill in all its branches.

_Q._ Do you obtain any social advantages by wearing the uniform of a

_A._ No; on the contrary, the grade of a private in the long run
causes considerable expense; and the commission of an officer is
inseparable from large expenditure and a loss of self-respect.

_Q._ Why is the holding of a commission of a Volunteer officer
"inseparable from a loss of self-respect"?

_A._ Because, in the general estimation, the holder of a commission in
the Volunteers is worthy of ridicule, pity, or contempt.

_Q._ Can you give the reason for this impression?

_A._ It is probable that it has been created by the consideration
that a Volunteer officer is chaffed by his friends, sneered at by his
enemies, and mulcted of much money by his comrades.

_Q._ Then a Volunteer officer or private usually joins the force from
the most patriotic of motives?

_A._ Certainly. Nine-tenths of the rank and file and their commanding
officers wish to qualify as soldiers capable of repelling a foreign

_Q._ And this being so, they do not wish to spend three or four days
of training in practising "marches past" and other man[oe]uvres of a
more or less ornamental character?

_A._ Quite so; not even when the practice terminates with a review in
a royal park, and a salute performed to the strains of the National

_Q._ Nor do the Volunteers desire to be made into a raree show?

_A._ Not even to make a cockney Bank Holiday.

_Q._ And if you are told that this is the sort of thing that the
Volunteers want, what do you reply?

_A._ Nonsense.

_Q._ And if it were added that more serious work would be unpopular,
what would be your suggestion?

_A._ Try and see.

       *       *       *       *       *

MEM. FOR VETOISTS.--It is the question of "tied" houses which makes
the compensation question so knotty.

       *       *       *       *       *



  A gruesome tale I tell of the
  West-Eastern Railway Companee.
    "Its virtues few, its faults a score"--
    (I quote the view held heretofore).

  The chief among its faults, you see,
  Is sad unpunctualitee.
    Now, gentles all, list what befel
    AUGUSTUS HALL, of Camberwell.

  The Fates were stern, the world unkind;
  And this, I learn, unhinged his mind.
    _Che sarà, sarà!_ Think how sad!
    His evil star it drove him mad!

  "If life has no more joy to give,"
  Quoth he, "I'll go and cease to live.
    Nor yet delay an hour to dine,
    But straightway lay me on the line.

  "The train now due will end distress--
  So haste thee, Two o'clock Express!"
    With that he'd gone, nor stayed to snack;
    But climbed upon the railway-track.

  He waited now two hours--not less;
  And yet, I vow, came no express!
    And he had nought his pangs to ease.
    He wished he'd brought some bread and cheese.

  He had to fast. He fain would sup.
  The hours flew past. He sate him up.
    "'Tis strangely late. I should not mind--
    I'd gladly wait--if I had dined.

  "If I'd a joint that I could carve,
  I'd strain a point; but here to starve!!
    May I be hung if e'er I see
    Such gross unpunctualitee!

  "No gentleman can now depend
  On any plan to plan his end."
    Twelve hours or more he waited thus.
    "A train?" he swore; "an _omnibus!_

  "It tarries yet all through the night,
  And helps to whet my appetite!"
    His hunger grew inside his chest;
    With nought to chew, he was--_non est_.

  Two days pass by, and then we find
  The train draw nigh, three days behind!
    Directors sigh, deplore, and frown;
    And fine the driver half-a-crown.

  "But had I been on time," JACK said,
  "HALL'S death, I ween, were on my head."
    "Quite true, good JACK! Our conscience pricks.
    We hand you back your two-and-six!"


  Now that is all I have to tell
  Of Mr. HALL, of Camberwell.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THESE DULL TIMES.

_Lady Gushton_ (_always so agreeable_). "AND THE MAGNIFICENT PICTURES

_Mr. Flake Whyte_ (_sadly_). "YES; I HAVE THEM ALL."


_Mr. Flake Whyte_ (_with much feeling_). "AWFULLY, AWFULLY HARD!

       *       *       *       *       *


BROWN and me has been a having sum rare good fun lately. We has
managed to see and hear a good deal about the County Counsellers, and
werry emusing we finds em to be. They suttenly does manage to quarrell
among each other more than I shood have thort posserbel. There's
a depperty Counseller among em who will tork whenever he gets a
hoppertunity, yes and keeps the pot a biling, as BROWN says, for
nearly arf a nour at a time, and then finds hisself beaten into a
cocked at, and so has to sit down, while the others has a jolly larf.


Ever so many on em belongs to the Tems Conserwancy, and so we are
offen hearing of their going up the River, when there's two much water
there, and hoffering to show the poor natives how to get a lot of
it away, but from what I hears they don't seem for to be werry

Too or three on em went to the Boat Race the other day and took ever
so many Ladies with em, and jolly nice dinners they had on bord after
the Race was over and there wasn't no more fear of no more rane, which
had rayther spylt the morning.

It's reel good fun to hear the Counsellors tork about the Copperation
nowadays! such a difference to what it was about a year ago! Then it
was all bragging and boasting, now it's all begging your pardon, and
arsking your grace, and it shant occur again! I never thort to see
such a change, and it's really werry emusing. The two places where
they speshally seems not at all at their ease are the Court of Common
Counsel and the Manshun House; and in both of these honnerd places
the few as wenters in do look uncumferal indeed! and the reel natives
don't show them no pitty! not a bit of it, but takes a quiet larf
whenever they gits a good chance.

I've herd as one of the Counsellors has been herd to say as there are
no less than three on em in the House of Commons, each of em quite
equal to the late Speaker, if not shuperior to him, and that it was
only beggarly jealousy as prewented them giving them a fare chance!

The same honorable Gent has been herd to say that the County
Counsellors was much shuperior to the City Copperation, for it was
only last Toosday as they agreed, without a word of remonsterance, to
raise no less than two millions of money from next year's rates!

I wunder if it's all trew!


       *       *       *       *       *

THE NEWEST NUISANCE.--The woman with a past before her.

       *       *       *       *       *





       *       *       *       *       *


["You have been elected by a majority of the House. You are the
representative of the whole House."--_Report of the Right Hon. Arthur
Balfour's speech on the election of Mr. Gully as Speaker._]

_Mr. Punch to Mr. Speaker._

  If the Second Fiddle's satisfied, you're all right with the First!
    The Harp may heed your _bâton_, and as for the Big Drum,
  When it booms out on the night with a loud sonorous burst,
    That makes the whole proscenium shake and hum;
  What matter if the clatter, and the bang and bump and batter,
                          Keep but time?
  If they're docile to your nod, and obedient to your rod,
    The New Conductor's post will be prime!

  The Orchestra has doubtless been a little bit at odds,
    And what should bring forth harmony has fallen into row;
  But, good gracious! there were shines sometimes among the Olympian gods,
    And the noisy ones look milk and honey _now_.
  The brazen and the windy both outdid Wagnerian shindy,
                          For a while;
  Now there's calm at wings and middle, and even the First Fiddle
    Veils his virtuous indignation with a smile:

  The _tutti_ did go wrong, all the parts appeared at strife,
    They liked the Old Conductor, were in doubt about the New;
  And WH-TBR-D'S tootling piccolo, and WH-RT-N'S wry-neck'd fife,
    Went decidedly a little bit askew.
  But, in spite of blare and blether, they're now going well together,
                          String and reed,
  Parchment, and wood, and brass; and it yet may come to pass
    That the New Conductor's _début_ will succeed.

  The Old Conductor's style was perfection, there's no doubt,
    Impossible to beat, and extremely hard to follow;
  But the new one seems to know pretty well what he's about.
    A Mercury _can_ play, though no Apollo.
  So let us cheer all round, as he makes his bow profound!
                          Tap, tap, tap!
  Go the fiddle-bows, in proof that, while welcome shakes the roof,
    The orchestra agree to cheer and clap!

  Sir, that St. Stephen's Orchestra is mighty hard to lead:
    Needs mastery, and dignity, and coolness, and fine ear,
  Great was the _bâton_-wielder 'tis your fortune to succeed;
    But tackle your big task, Sir, without fear!
  _Punch_ trusts the name of GULLY on Fame's roll will not shine dully
                          At the end!
  Now tune up string and bow, let the New Conductor know
    That he finds in each performer a fair friend!

       *       *       *       *       *


_First Man_ (_conciliatory_). You're a Tory?

_Second Man_ (_also conciliatory_). Well, no. I'm a Unionist. Yes, a
Unionist. Certainly I don't approve of Home Rule----

_First Man._ Don't say that. I think well of Home Rule.

_Second Man._ Oh, do you? Well, I agree with the Liberals in some

_First Man._ Come to that, in some ways I agree with the Tories. Now
take Disestablishment.

_Second Man._ Ah, that's just one point where I disagree with the

_First Man._ Well, you may be right. But I should be a Tory if they
supported Home Rule.

_Second Man._ And I should be a Liberal if they didn't want

_First Man._ Now, CHAMBERLAIN----

_Second Man._ Ah, yes. CHAMBERLAIN----

_First Man._ He opposes Home Rule.

_Second Man._ He supports Disestablishment.

    [_Left mutually abusing_ Mr. CHAMBERLAIN

       *       *       *       *       *

Punchestown for the races. His Excellency and the house party from
the Viceregal Lodge, which included TOBY, M.P., met with a hearty
reception." Naturally. If TOBY, M.P. was not made welcome at _Punch's_
town, who should be?

       *       *       *       *       *

CITY NOTES.--_The latest Crushing Report._--The Londonderry Mine.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE NEW CONDUCTOR.


_Report of the Right Hon. Arthur Balfour's speech on the election of
Mr. Gully as Speaker._]

       *       *       *       *       *


       *       *       *       *       *


_Returned Anglo-Indian Colonel_ (_to friend of his boyhood_). Either
your climate is colder than it used to be, or your coals throw out
less heat. Which is it?

_His Friend._ Oh, it's the coals. Rubbishy things, rather. Come from
Tomsk in Siberia.

_R. A.-I. C._ Siberia! They ought to be sent there! But aren't English
coals good enough?

_His Friend._ Oh, yes, they're _good_ enough. But then, you see,
they're dear. That's the result of the last coal strike.

_R. A.-I. C._ Oh, I heard about that at Bangalore. Then how about your
razors? I bought one yesterday in the Strand. If you believe me, I've
only used it once and it's blunt already.

_His Friend._ "Made in Germany," no doubt. The trade's gone over
there, they say.

_R. A.-I. C._ And boots, now. Why has the pair I got in the City a
month ago split open in two places?

_His Friend._ _That's_ the late boot strike. Cheap American goods have
ousted the genuine British article.

_R. A.-I. C._ (_meditatively_). Ah--heard of the boot strike too at
Bangalore. But I didn't find my bootmaker charged me any less than in
the old days for 'em. Tell you what, there's only one thing that will
save England.

_His Friend._ What's that?

_R. A.-I. C._ Why, a new kind of strike altogether. Why shouldn't the
strikers _strike striking?_ Eh?

_His Friend._ That never struck me.

    [_They part pensively._

       *       *       *       *       *


  I do not now attempt to sing,
    With laudatory phrases,
  That now, in verse, quite hackneyed thing,
    Which poet, painter praises:
  Beloved by TURNER, CLAUDE, or CUYP,
  The excellent tobacco-pipe.

  Nor yet of bagpipes do I write,
    Pan's pipes with Punch and Judy,
  Or organ ones, because you might
    Read books on them, from MUDIE,
  In varied tongues, in varied type--
  On any sort of music pipe.

  Nor, plagued of late however much
    By bronchial affections,
  Do I propose just now to touch,
    With medical reflections,
  On what Jack Frost delights to gripe,
  My choking, wheezing, sore wind-pipe,

  Nor am I speaking now of wine,
    Nor yet, from MARRYAT learning,
  Of what the Cockney would define--
    Poor A as ever spurning--
  "The sime in nime, but not in shipe,"
  The pipe of port; the boatswain's pipe.

  No! Now I sing--but not with praise,
    To praise it would be rummer
  Than any other sort of craze,
    Excepting in a plumber;
  I am not such a fool, a "snipe,"
  As says the Bard--my water-pipe.

  For weeks I could not get a drop
    Of water, it was frozen;
  When thus congealed the thing would stop,
    I spoke as would a boatswain.
  For seamen's oaths the time was ripe,
  I here translate them--Hang that pipe!

  Then suddenly, of course at night,
    There came a sudden splashing,
  And I, in most unequal fight,
    About my bedroom dashing,
  With sheets and towels tried to wipe,
  Or check, the flood from that vile pipe.

  You would not say that frost is fine,
    So exquisitely bracing,
  If you had had a pipe like mine,
    Your ruined home defacing;
  On carpet, stain; on paper, stripe;--
  Oh, blow that beastly water-pipe!

       *       *       *       *       *


       *       *       *       *       *


       *       *       *       *       *


  Oh, painters, you who always "come
    Before the swallow dares, and take
  The winds of March"--till May--with some
    Atrocious smell of paint, and make
  The streets in such a shocking state, you
  Are quite a nuisance--how I hate you!

  How can I wear in peace a neat,
    Silk hat, and coat of decent black,
  When, passing you in any street,
    Your paint may tumble on my back,
  Or I may smash, which might be sadder,
  My hat against your sloping ladder?

  How can the spring delight my mind,
    How can I like the budding trees,
  The butterflies of any kind?
    A Painted Lady could not please
  In any way the mental man,
  Were I a painted gentleman.

  How can I like the balmy air,
    How dream of violets in bloom,
  When paint-pots swing aloft and scare
    With visions of impending doom?
  I'm mad and hot--quite crimson madder--
  With dodging each successive ladder.

       *       *       *       *       *


(_Lines written to a Lady who "Banted."_)

  Some rhymes to make you laugh? I can't
    Drop, Wegg-like, into rhyme instanter.
  It's easiness itself to bant,
    Comparatively hard to banter.

  The many pretty things I'd say,
    The pleasant thoughts I'd like to utter,
  I may not do, it seems to-day--
    You scorn the bare idea of _butter!_

  "Sweets to the sweet." Not long ago,
    Why chocolates--you'd gladly greet them.
  Now you've abandoned them, and so
    You never (hardly ever) eat them.

  To see you drink hot water--that
    The very stoniest heart would soften,
  You evidently think it flat,
    You're in it--aren't you--much too often?

  Yet whether 9st. 12, as when
    You weighed that day at Margate Station,
  Or 10st. 7, or 7st. 10,
    _I_ can't pretend to indignation.

  To bant from early morn till late
    May be, of course, supremely right of you;
  But if you feel oppressed by weight,
    Would it not do if we made light of you?

  Though that I swear I will not do,
    Let others, if they like, make bold to--
  I merely write these rhymes for you,
    I _always_ do just what I'm told to!

  But if you cease to peak and pine
    (For Time the Banting Conscience hardens),
  You will not fail to drop a line--
    My chambers are in Temple Gardens.

       *       *       *       *       *


_By an Angry Old Buffer._

  "When ADAM delved and EVE span,"
  No one need ask which was the man.
  Bicycling, footballing, scarce human,
  All wonder now "Which is the woman?"
  But a new fear my bosom vexes;
  To-morrow there may be _no_ sexes!
  Unless, as end to all the pother,
  Each one in fact becomes the other.
  E'en _then_ perhaps they'll start amain
  A-trying to change back again!
  Woman _was_ woman, man _was_ man,
  When ADAM delved and EVE span.
  Now he can't dig and she won't spin,
  Unless 'tis tales all slang and sin!

       *       *       *       *       *




       *       *       *       *       *


    ["The magnificent ostrich at the Zoological Gardens, presented
    by the QUEEN, has recently died from lung-disease."--_Daily

  My eyes are wet with dewy tears,
    That will not cease to flow.
  Like MARY'S little lamb, my grief
    Somehow is sure to go
  Wherever I do. It all comes
    From something that I've read,
  The ostrich that I loved so well
    Fell ill, and now is dead.

  "Magnificent" indeed, it was.
    I never ceased to take
  A pride in its magnificence
    For its own special sake.
  But added unto this there was
    An extra joy. I mean
  That loyalty asks ardour for
    A present from the QUEEN.

  Oh! ostrich. I have often thought
    Your smile childlike and bland,
  And speculated if it's true
    That right down in the sand
  You really _do_ conceal your head.
    But even though that's wrong,
  It seems without a lung for life
    You could not live for long.

  My wife and I delight to hear
    Our wee girl's merry laugh,
  As she's astride the elephant
    Or feeding the giraffe.
  But ostrich--regal, lung-gone, dead!
    When we are at the Zoo,
  My wife's best hat will always serve
    To turn my thoughts to you.

       *       *       *       *       *


(_An Impression._)


  "O east is east, and west is west
    And never the twain shall meet."
  And the dance of Spain is one of the twain
    To the English Man in the Street.

  We love the trick of the lofty kick
    And the muscular display
  Of the nymph who has leapt at a muslin hoop
    And stopp'd in her flight half-way.

  A plain, blunt girl in the stormy swirl
    Of accordion pleats and laces,
  Tho' she cannot dance, if she spin and prance,
    Is numbered among the Graces.

  For heel and toe our hearts can glow
    And the feats of the rhythmic clog,
  And a poem of motion wells forth in the notion
    Of a Serpentine Dancing Dog.

  But the dancer's art, of her life a part,
    A song of the wordless soul
  With a tale to tell, like the music's swell,
    Too large for the word's control,

  _That_ goes not down in London town
    Where dogg'd conventions stick,
  And dancers still must charm with frill,
    Or "make shymnastic drick."

  As the jungle king with his wrathful spring,
    To the lamb that aptly bleats,
  As the trumpet's blare to the palsied air
    Of that which plays in pleats,

  So is east to west, with its sun-born zest,
    With fire at the quick heart's core,
  And passions bold as the ardent gold
    Of the sun on a southern shore.

       *       *       *       *       *


(_In brief._)

  "The sovereign'st thing on earth
  Was parmaceti, for an inward bruise."

      _Henry the Fourth_, Part I., Act i., Sc. 3.

  A quarrel, anything but pretty,
  Cannot be healed by parmaceti.
  But honour, bruisèd in the leg,
  Finds sovereign solace in an egg.

       *       *       *       *       *


_Saturday._--Things looking queer. Leamington in a ferment, Tories
denouncing _me_. Like their impudence. Must order ARTHUR BALFOUR to
stop this nonsense, and bring rebels to reason. I shall want Hythe
thrown into the bargain. BALFOUR must write more letters. If our
little lot are to get nothing out of all this, what's the use of
having sacrificed principles and COURTNEY? Obviously none. JESSE
COLLINGS quite agrees. Says the Tories will repent, when it is too
late, of having refused to submit to the greatest, wisest, most
generous and noblest statesman of this or any other age, past
or future. Wonderful amount of sense in JESSE. Shall make him
Governor-General of India, or First Lord of Admiralty.


_Monday._--Have seen BALFOUR. Says he can do nothing at Leamington.
Wanted me to withdraw Liberal Unionist candidate. ME! The mere notion
ridiculous. Told him so. Also asked him how about Compact. He said
"Compact be ----". At this moment GOSCHEN came in, and interrupted.
BALFOUR said missing word was "observed." GOSCHEN full of sympathy,
but said he could do nothing. Shall not allow him to be Chancellor of
Exchequer again. Shall be Chancellor of Exchequer myself. Letter
in _Times_ from GEOFFREY DRAGE, saying kind things about me. Rather
patronising, but well meant. Shall make DRAGE Home Secretary.

_Tuesday._--Letter in _Times_ from Lord TEYNHAM attacking me on
account of vote on Welsh Disestablishment. Even a fool of a lord
might know a man can't wriggle out of everything, and can't please
everybody. Have written to SALISBURY ordering him to throw TEYNHAM
into the Tower as soon as Unionist Government in power. If he refuses,
shall accept Premiership myself and execute TEYNHAM on Tower Hill.
Leamington still raging. If this goes on shall march at head of
Birmingham Fencibles and rase Leamington to the ground--all except
three houses said to belong to Liberal Unionists. That'll teach them
to oppose _me_.

_Wednesday._--Letter in _Times_ from BYRON REED. Says I'm not so bad
as they want to make me out. Nice sensible fellow BYRON. Shall make
him Minister of Agriculture. Have sent ultimatums to SALISBURY,
them to retire from public life. Shall run the show on entirely
different lines with AUSTEN and JESSE to help me. Have heard from
editor of _New Review_, who refuses to disclose name of author, of an
attack on me. Have sent HENRY JAMES to editor with new patent rack
and thumbscrews. But there, my name's easy. Never could bear malice.
Always forgive everybody.... Notes from SALISBURY, BALFOUR & CO. They
refuse to retire. HENRY JAMES returns. Editor broke rack and threw
thumbscrews out of window. A very rude man, HENRY JAMES says. GULLY
elected Speaker. I'm off to Birmingham.

  * * *

_Later._--Letter from HART DYKE in the _Times_. A good fellow, HART
DYKE. But why, in the name of screw-nails, should they all presume to
patronise _me?_

  * * *

Letter in _Standard_ from STANLEY BOULTER. Must stop that kind of
nonsense. Leading article in _Standard_. Usual futilities: "We fully
recognise loyal services, but on the present occasion," &c. Shall
refuse peerage and retire to Central Australia with JESSE to found a
Me-colony. Sick of the whole show.

       *       *       *       *       *

QUEER QUERY.--ANY ADVANCE?--I see that at the Shop Assistants'
Conference at Cardiff it was said that what shop-workers ought to go
in for was a "Forward Policy." Surely this must be a mistake? If there
is one thing that everybody objects to, it is forward young men and
women behind the counter. One often hears the shop-walker say, "Will
you come forward, Miss JONES, and serve this lady!" And perhaps _that_
was what the Cardiff people were thinking of. Can this be the true
explanation? I sincerely hope so; I don't want a "forward" young
person, a sort of "independent labour party," slamming down goods for
_me_ to inspect!--ALARMED.

       *       *       *       *       *

*** End of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 108, April 27, 1895" ***

Doctrine Publishing Corporation provides digitized public domain materials.
Public domain books belong to the public and we are merely their custodians.
This effort is time consuming and expensive, so in order to keep providing
this resource, we have taken steps to prevent abuse by commercial parties,
including placing technical restrictions on automated querying.

We also ask that you:

+ Make non-commercial use of the files We designed Doctrine Publishing
Corporation's ISYS search for use by individuals, and we request that you
use these files for personal, non-commercial purposes.

+ Refrain from automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort
to Doctrine Publishing's system: If you are conducting research on machine
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a
large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the use of
public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help.

+ Keep it legal -  Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for
ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just because
we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States,
that the work is also in the public domain for users in other countries.
Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we
can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of any specific book is
allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Doctrine Publishing
ISYS search  means it can be used in any manner anywhere in the world.
Copyright infringement liability can be quite severe.

About ISYS® Search Software
Established in 1988, ISYS Search Software is a global supplier of enterprise
search solutions for business and government.  The company's award-winning
software suite offers a broad range of search, navigation and discovery
solutions for desktop search, intranet search, SharePoint search and embedded
search applications.  ISYS has been deployed by thousands of organizations
operating in a variety of industries, including government, legal, law
enforcement, financial services, healthcare and recruitment.