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Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 109, August 8, 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. 109, August 8, 1895" ***

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VOL. 109.

AUGUST 3, 1895.


 (_By our Special Expert, who has been accorded the customary courtesy
 extended to the Press._)

  _On board H.M.S. ----.
  ---- the --th, 1895._

Forgive me for the vagueness of my address, but it is the desire of
those in command that the greatest secrecy should be observed as to our

"Are we the Blue Fleet or the Red?" I asked only a few moments ago of
one of the chief commanders.

"As you are the guest of the Government," was the immediate reply,
"you will not be allowed to pay your money--except indirectly to the
collector of Revenue; but there is nothing to prevent you from taking
your choice!"

From this response you will see that there is a strong inclination on
the part of the authorities that are to remain reticent. However, it is
only fair to say that the food is excellent. Nothing could be better
than the wine; and the view on the quarter deck is capital. Still, this
is scarcely an account of naval manoeuvring--now is it?

Well, I think I may reveal this much. There are two fleets--a Red Fleet
and a Blue Fleet. The Red Fleet has a number of ships--so has the Blue.
Then the Red Fleet tries to out-manoeuvre the Blue Fleet, and the Blue
Fleet returns the compliment. All this takes place on the sea. No ship
is allowed to run on shore--unless of course by force of circumstances
outside the control of the commander. And when I had got as far as
this, I thought I would make a further inquiry.

"I presume," said I, to one of the chief officials, "that our object is

At this point I was interrupted.

"Pray ask no more," was the prompt reply of the veteran I had
questioned. "Take my advice. If you wish a question answered, answer it
for yourself. Arrange in your own mind that 'Heads' shall mean 'Yes,'
and the reverse a negative. Then toss."

And so now I am taking the advice I have received. I have spun my
sixpence in the air. I am to write no more to you. All refuse to send
my communications for me. So I place this document in a bottle and
throw it into the sea. You desired the fullest information about the
naval manoeuvres. Well--I wish you may get it!

       *       *       *       *       *


_Elderly Skittish Cousin, "OH, HOW UNKIND OF YOU TO HAVE LEFT ME

_He_ (_with no end of near but not very dear relatives_). "SO VERY
SORRY! FIRST COUSIN--AH, YES." (_Recovering himself._) "SO

       *       *       *       *       *

COINS OF 'VANTAGE.--The _Dundee Advertiser_ calls attention
to Mr. "ROBERT WALLACE, M.P. Edin.'s," complaint that the
Imperial Parliament contains, in himself and another Mr. ROBERT
WALLACE, two Members with the same surnames and identical
Christian names. Mr. "ROBERT WALLACE, M.P. Edin.," suggests
that he may get his namesake's Christmas bills, while "the other
fellow" receives his (Mr. "R. W., M.P. E.'s") invitations to dinner.
Could not the little difficulty be overcome with the aid of a
coin of the realm? Let the first Mr. ROBERT call himself
"BOB," and the second Mr. ROBERT "half a florin."
This should settle the matter amicably; although both, no doubt, are
worth considerably more than a shilling.

       *       *       *       *       *


       *       *       *       *       *


_Monday._--Have just been reading in the _Pall Mall Magazine_ a
wonderful story called "A Re-Incarnation," by the author of "A
Green Carnation." He seems fond of carnations. Re-Incarnation and
Gre-Encarnation. Should have been in the exhibition of the National
Carnation Society at the Crystal Palace. His story tells how a man
murdered a white cat, and afterwards married its soul, re-incarnated in
the body of a young woman with "china-blue" eyes and a large fortune.
Marvellous! Must carefully avoid marrying young women with "china-blue"
eyes and large fortunes, though the latter might not be so harmful.

_Tuesday._--That theory of re-incarnation impresses me wonderfully.
Think about it all night. In the silent darkness remember that I once
stamped on a black beetle. My nurse called it "a black beadle." Think
of this with horror. Will it come back to murder me? Terrible! Get up
still nervous. Must go out into the air and sunlight, to dispel my
gloomy thoughts. Stroll along Piccadilly. To avoid a shower step into
the Burlington Arcade. Heavens, what is that by the entrance? It is a
man in black--a black beadle! Gaze at him aghast. It has come back, the
soul of that harmless crawling thing which I crushed in my boyhood, and
now----Fly while there is yet time! Ha! I am safe at home at last.

_Wednesday._--Have now no doubt of this marvellous theory. It is
probable that re-incarnation may sometimes go the other way. Will
investigate at the Zoological Gardens. Directly I see the largest
elephant I recognise my late mother-in-law. The large, heavy form, the
habit of trampling obstacles under foot--obstacles such as myself--the
very cap-strings, now become ears flapping in the wind, all are there.
She always poked her nose into everything, and she does it now. What
a proboscis she has! Must tell the keeper the real truth to prevent
mishaps. Tell him confidentially. He grins. Assure him that I am quite
serious. He leads me gently by the arm to the exit, where the turnstile
only turns one way, and advises me to go home at once.

_Thursday._--Fresh proofs every hour. Have just seen an omnibus horse,
with the long face, the great yellow teeth and the general expression
of my uncle's second wife. Greatly overcome, seek rest and refreshment
in my club. What is that having lunch over there? Don't tell me it is
an old gentleman with white hair and mild eyes. No! It is my first
rabbit, which died of starvation through my carelessness. See, he is
hungrily munching a lettuce! That is conclusive.

_Friday._--My great work on _Re-Incarnation_ begun to-day. It will
astonish the world, for it is all true. By why have my friends asked
those two doctors to call? There is nothing the matter with me. The
two fools say I ought to give up all writing and keep quite quiet in
the country. Explain that it is impossible. They insist with gentle
firmness. Tell them I have no doubt they are the two leeches I once
took from the bowl at the chemists and put on my little sister's neck,
whence they were removed by the nurse and ruthlessly slaughtered.

_Monday._--My diary has been interrupted, for I have been moving
to this hydropathic establishment, as those doctors called it, at
Colney Hatch. I don't like the place. Most of the visitors seem mad.
But probably many of these water-drinkers are mad. Wouldn't they be
surprised if they knew who I really am? Ha, ha! It will make a nice
summer correspondence for the _Daily Telegraph_. To-morrow I will write
to that paper stating the actual facts. I also am re-incarnated. I am,
or rather I was, the Great Sea Serpent.

       *       *       *       *       *

MRS. R. was very sorry that the clergyman of her parish had
been compelled to leave. "You see," she said, "the poor man fell off
his bicycle, and his doctor has told him that for some time he must try
an incumbent position. So he has gone away for another cure."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: DEFEATED!

_Napoleon R-s-b-ry_ (_meditating_). "UM!--_BLESS_ HARCOURT!"]

       *       *       *       *       *


(_By a Poor Sufferer who "Owes it One."_)

  Oh, Company, scourge, tyrant, tease!
  "Uncertain, coy, and hard to please,"
            (Like woman,)
  And variable--in supply--
  As your excuses (all my eye!).
  Brutal, and bumptious (corporate) beast!
  Harsh as the wind when in the east!
            Were water
  "Supplied" to Wealth as 'tis to me,
  Short is the shrift that you would see!
            Last quarter
  You "froze me out," you "cut me off,"
  And at my plaintive cries would scoff,
            (Confuse you all!)
  Claiming for what I did not have,
  And treating me like a mere slave,
            (As usual.)
  And now, in Summer, just to suit
  Your interests, you (corporate) brute,
            You slacken
  My poor, inadequate supply.
  Yah! I should like your (corporate) eye
            To blacken!
  When care and heat bedew my brow,
  A ministering _demon_ thou!
            My fickle
  Supply, upon a day quite torrid,
  You slacken to a thread-like, horrid,
            Slow trickle.
  I cannot wash, I dare not drink,
  And fever lurks in pipe and sink.
            You, scorning
  My needs, my health, may turn the screw,
  In mercy, for an hour or two
            Each morning,--
  Or you may _not!_ Or when my throat is
  Heat-parched you come and--without notice--
  Me from the main for a whole day,
  As is your little funny way;
            And never
  Do I complain, with visage meek,
  But you administer more cheek,
            You Tartar!
  And for redress I've little chance
  Unless I've stumped up in advance;
            Your "charter"
  Always exonerating _you_,
  Whether for "putting on the screw"
            Or turning
  The service off. Oh, Company!
  There are, ah! thousands like poor me,
            Who're burning
  With indignation at the capers
  You play with laundresses, and drapers,
            And poor fishmongers.
  Beware! The public yet, you bet,
  On you that dire revenge will get
            For which it hungers!!

       *       *       *       *       *


(_By our Water Wagtail._)

 [The Hon. R. GUINNESS won the Senior Sculls at the
 Metropolitan Amateur Regatta, beating the redoubtable brothers
 GUY and VIVIAN NICKALLS, believed to be almost

  The rank is but the "Guinness" stamp,
    But scullers of the stamp of GUINNESS
  Are not too common. What a damp
    To GUY and VIVIAN this win is!
  The Honourable R. has found
    How fickle fortune gives hope pickles;
  But in this last--aquatic--round
    True Guinness gold has beaten Nickalls.
  They'll meet, perchance, again, to settle
  The game--for all are men of mettle.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE GLASS HOUSE OF COMMONS.--Some fine "Pairs" already on view.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: AWKWARDLY PUT.




       *       *       *       *       *


This is how the _Western Daily Mercury_ describes "the fight"--before
it began. "The electoral battle continues, but it is a most unequal
contest. The Tories have been out-generalled, outmanoeuvred, and
outclassed. They are like the Chinese fleet at Yalu, stolid and
uncertain, whilst the Liberals are sailing round them, pouring into
them a withering fire from quick-firing guns, sweeping away masts and
signal-yards, and scattering their crews in confusion. The fire from
the Tories is intermittent, insufficient, and badly directed. It is
doing very little harm."

       *       *       *       *       *

This is quite a gem of nautical description. Such as might justly be
expected from a great naval port like Plymouth, which is the home of
the _Mercury_. The chief beauty of it, moreover, is that it will serve
again to describe the battle--when it is finished ("after the poll"),
the only alteration necessary being a transposition of the two words
Tories and Liberals.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Cornwall._--Excellent programme, including Two MACS. As
usual, when one "scores," the other doesn't. MCDOUGALL beaten,
while MCARTHUR of course held whip-hand in St. Austell's

       *       *       *       *       *

LOVE'S LOCAL OPTION.--"Drink to me only with thine eyes."

       *       *       *       *       *


ANOTHER IRISH PARTY!--The snakes are coming back to Ireland!
In a Cork paper we read the following:--

 Mr. CORNELIUS DONOVAN, while crossing a grass field near
 Blarney, encountered a snake, which at first he believed to be an eel,
 and struck it with his walking stick. Having killed the reptile, he
 discovered it was a snake, measuring 3 feet 9 inches.

Evidently a political omen of some kind, this return of the emigrants
to Erin. What does it portend? Mr. M-RL-Y, on being consulted,
is "inclined to fancy that the Cork snake is a herald of Coercion,
and shows that the venom of Dublin Castle will soon be at work." Mr.
G. B-LF-R, on the other hand, says that "the return of general
confidence at the advent of a Unionist Government, and a really capable
Irish Secretary, has never been better exemplified. Even the reptiles
are not afraid now to try Ireland as a place of residence!" And Mr.
J-ST-N M'C-RTHY has no doubt at all that "the incident is
another sign of the growing Irish spirit of disunion. Did not St.
Patrick banish snakes from Ireland? And ought not snakes, if they are
worthy of the name of patriots, to obey St. P., and stay away? Well,
they are returning, and defying St. P.--just as R-DM-ND defies
_me!_ And," added the eminent leader, meditatively, "I've often thought
there was a good deal of the eel about him, too."

       *       *       *       *       *

"PEERS ARE CHEAP TO-DAY."--From the _North British Daily

 Bailie WRIGHT, in supporting the motion, said that if he had
 the power he would make every man in that meeting a peer, so that they
 should go to the Lords and resolve upon their abolition.

Prodigious! But how is the Bailie going to proceed? Bring in a "Bill
of Wright's" when he has got his new nobility ensconced in the Gilded
Chamber? And suppose the Bailie's peers decline to commit suicide?

AIR--"_Waly, Waly._"

  O, Bailie, Bailie, your peers be bonnie
    A little time while they are new!
  But when they're auld, they'll wax _most_ cauld,
    And vote in a way to astonish _you!_

       *       *       *       *       *


(_A Dialogue at the Service of the "I. G. C."_)

_Visitor._ As I am a stranger in London, can you please tell me how to
get to Holly Lodge?

_Native._ Make for Holloway, and you will get into its neighbourhood.

_Visitor._ Thanks, very much; and where is the Institute of the
Painters in Water Colours?

_Native._ Why, in Piccadilly, of course; next door to St. James's

_Visitor._ I am infinitely obliged to you; and now perhaps you will
direct me to Carlton House Terrace, Kew Gardens, Greenwich, and the

_Native._ First, behind the Athenæum; and the others you can get to by
train after consulting Bradshaw. But why this thirst for geographical

_Visitor._ Because I am a member of the International Geographical

_Native._ Indeed! And what are you going to do at these places?

_Visitor._ I am going to be "entertained." In fact, my duty will be to
see and be seen.

_Native._ And how about geographical research?

_Visitor._ That will be satisfied to a considerable extent by a hunt
for sandwiches, and a quest for strawberries and cream!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: OFF!

_Mature Damsel_ (_as they pass the Conservatory_). "DEAR ME! WHAT A

_Little Mr. Tipkins_ (_alarmed_). "OH, NO--REALLY--I ASSURE YOU,

       *       *       *       *       *


 ["It is a good omen for the future of agriculture that the upper
 classes are beginning to take a practical interest in it."--_A Morning

_Extracts from the "World," June, 1900._

Despite the unfavourable weather, Lady TIPTON'S garden-party
on Wednesday was a great success. Strawberry-picking was the principal
amusement, and some well-known performers were present. Miss
DE MURE, as usual, beat all her rivals, but the Bishop of
PULBOROUGH was only half-a-basket behind. Like most of her
friends, Lady TIPTON has now converted all her croquet and
tennis lawns into fruit-beds.

       *       *       *       *       *

LORD GRAYSON is entertaining a large party of friends for
bird-scaring this week. Starlings are somewhat scarce this year, but
sparrows are very plentiful and strong on the wing. Some capital sport
was enjoyed over these well-known fields last week, and the host (who
used a blunderbuss manufactured by Messrs. MURDEY) is credited
with having frightened away about 5000 brace in a single day.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Truth_ is quite wrong in stating that the Marquis of COOMBE
intends to sell his well-known potato-patch in Hammersmith. On the
contrary, he has just laid down two dozen new plants. It is true,
however, that several of the smartest people are growing onions instead
of potatoes this year.

       *       *       *       *       *

As the show-season will soon be with us again, it may be well to remark
that the committees should make certain of the genuine character of
the exhibits. It would be disgraceful were there to be any repetition
of such a scandal as occurred last autumn at a leading exhibition,
when it was discovered that the apples belonging to a certain lady
of title, to which the prize already had been awarded, owed their
brilliant appearance to the fact that her Grace had tinted them with

       *       *       *       *       *

The Inter-'Varsity ploughing competition takes place at Lord's on
Friday. The Cambridge men are perhaps the favourites at present, but,
though they have undoubtedly done some fast times, their furrows are
apt to be very erratic. Still, under Farmer HODGE'S able
coaching, they may be expected to improve greatly in the next few days.

       *       *       *       *       *

Some of the papers have been making merry over the attempts to
start butter-making clubs among the poorer classes. It is true that
butter-making has been considered hitherto almost exclusively a rich
man's recreation; but I do not see why the hard-working labourer, who
has been toiling at golf or polo all day, should not be allowed to
amuse himself with this healthy pastime in the evening, just as much as
his superiors in social station.

       *       *       *       *       *

_À propos_ of butter-making, I hear that a testimonial is to be
presented to Mr. AYLESBURY, who has now captained his county
team for some years. Of his all-round skill it is needless to speak; he
is a useful change churner, and he had far the highest patting average
last season.

       *       *       *       *       *

HOW TO SPEND A HAPPY DAY!--Luncheon, dinner, and breakfast
baskets provided for travellers by the Great Wheel at Earl's Court.
Also all requisites for making up fairly comfortable beds in any one of
the compartments. Address Wheel and Woa Co., E. C. S. W.

       *       *       *       *       *


"Hats off, strangers!"--_Policemen passim._

[Illustration: Mr. Speaker Gully.]

Now the new House of Commons is complete, and Members are preparing
to meet for their first Session, the question of who is to be Speaker
comes to the front. _Mr. Punch_ is pleased to observe the growing
conviction in both political camps that there really is no question on
the subject. Had Mr. GULLY performed the duties of Speaker
with merely average capacity, the House of Commons, mindful of its
highest traditions, would have been slow to celebrate a party victory
at the polls by dispossessing him in favour of a nominee of the new
majority. His marked success happily makes such action more than ever

His position was made exceptionally difficult by the circumstances
of the day. Elected by a narrow majority, he succeeded the greatest
Speaker of modern times. The fierce light that beats on the Speaker's
chair was intensified by the inevitable contrast between the new
occupant and the stately figure long familiar to the House. From
the first Mr. GULLY wisely refrained from even approach to
imitation of the manner of Mr. PEEL. That was a thing apart,
like the bow of Ulysses. The new Speaker was simply himself; and the
House of Commons, the keenest, swiftest, fairest judge of character in
the world, was delighted to find in him perfect equanimity of temper, a
judicial mind, unfailing readiness in emergency, and a quite surprising
knowledge of the intricacies of procedure.

During his brief tenure of office Mr. GULLY was more than
once suddenly faced by a knotty point that might reasonably have been
expected to baffle a 'prentice hand. Never on these occasions has he
failed. Such rare aptitude displayed at the outset of a career promises
the fullness of perfection when, strengthened and sustained by the
unanimous vote of a new Parliament, the Speaker resumes his work.

       *       *       *       *       *

NEW WORK.--Messrs. MACMILLAN have just published
_The Theory and Practice of Counter-Irritation_, by H. C.
GILLIES. One example of this could easily be given by anyone in
a hurry, who couldn't get attended to at the Stores, or _vice versâ_
by a counter-jumper at a linendraper's, whose temper was more than
ordinarily tried by some extra-shilly-shallying customer.

       *       *       *       *       *


SIR HENRY IRVING'S Saturday night at home previous to his
departure for America was brilliant. House so crowded in every part,
that the like of it has rarely been seen even at the Lyceum. Our
ELLEN, as charming _Nance Oldfield_, was cheered to the Echo,
or would have been had there been any place left for an Echo in the
house. Sir HENRY admirable as the old soldier in _A Story of
Waterloo_, and both he and Miss TERRY at their best in the
one scene from grand old WILLY SHAKSPEARE'S _Much Ado about
Nothing_. The "Much Adoo," as Mr. WELLER senior would have
pronounced and spelt it, came after the curtain had fallen, and on both
sides the "Adoo" was changed into a hearty "_Au revoir!_"

To mention "HENRY" is to remember "JOHNNIE," _the_
Johnnie yclept J. L. TOOLE, who, _Mr. Punch_ was delighted to
see, looking "fit as a fiddle," having Toole'd up to town from Margate
evidently on the high road to perfect recovery.

       *       *       *       *       *


_By One who lives Next Door._

 [The Salvationists of Warwickshire have lately been restrained by
 the new county by-law, which provides that no person shall play any
 musical instrument within fifty yards of a dwelling-house.]

  Bravo, good men of Warwick! you'd rejoice
    JOHN LEECH's soul and all whose nerves are shattered
  By blatant street musician's raucous voice
    Or braying trombone--these at last you've scattered!

  Ah! would that London followed now your lead,
    And kept a tight hand o'er the rude fanatics
  Who blare away her Sunday peace, whose creed
    Is uproar, "fire and blood," and acrobatics!

  If they'd a grain of humour's saving grace,
    Enough to hear themselves as _others_ hear them,
  They'd straight retire to some far desert place
    And bang and clang and howl where none come near them!

  Ev'n as I write, some strain like "_Daisy Bell_"
    With would-be sacred words and tuneless jar racks
  My tortured ear--hard fate has made me dwell
    Next door, alas! to what they call their "barracks."

  Their ranting, roaring may be heav'nly joys,
    But _me_ they fill with bile and ire plethoric;
  When, I would ask, shall we put down such noise,
    As have the worthy citizens of Warwick?

       *       *       *       *       *


End of operatic season, and a fine season too. The PATTI
nights exceptionally brilliant. DE RESZKE _frères_,
the accomplished Bicycling Brothers, did not appear, but Sir
DRURIOLANUS sang the old song "_We're going to do without
them_" and did so, uncommonly well. MAUREL, ANCONA,
PLANÇON, were bright particular stars; while MELBA
suddenly shone forth as Comet with magnificent tail, _i.e._ a
great following. CALVÉ held her own against all comers:
and, as _Santuzza_, it was a case of "honours divided" with Mdme.
BELLINCIONI, who, it must not be forgotten, was the original
of the part. The Beneficent BAUERMEISTER, of talent unlimited,
has shown that "woman," like man, "in _her_ time can play many parts."
Mlle. BAUERMEISTER has played them; and all equally well.


So farewell Operatics till next year, when DRURIOLANUS need
fear no storms, if still provided with his lightning Conductors
Liberal-Conservative DRURIOLANUS OPERATICUS think of having
to reckon with any formidable rivalry, should the utterly improbable
happen and a new Opposition Opera be started. Why two Opera Houses
cannot succeed in London may be a problem, but hitherto it is one which
dissolution of the weaker was the only solution. The strong company
went to Covent Garden, and the weak went--to the wall.

       *       *       *       *       *

hitherto performing "Archi-diaconal functions" at Westminster, has just
been "installed" Dean of CANTERBURY. There are, clearly, only
two notable installations, one of the Electric Light, and the other of
a Dean. Canterbury has now the chance of being thoroughly enlightened
and electrified.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A CORRECT EYE.




       *       *       *       *       *



AIR--"_Hans Breitmann's Party_."

  Young PRIMROSE had a Party,
    He led it--like a lamb.
  It fell in love with a motley thing
    They called the Rad Pro-gramme.
  They swore that plan to fight for,
    Aye, fight till all was Blue;
  But when it came unto the Polls,
    That Party split in two.

  Young PRIMROSE had a Party,
    For Progress it was bound;
  But all the progress that it made
    Was staggering round and round.
  The liveliest shindies in the House,
    And mockery out-o'-door,
  Was all that Party caused, and so
    It dwindled more and more.

  Young PRIMROSE had a Party.
    I tell you it cost him dear.
  The Rads he led "rolled into" him
    Because he was a Peer:
  They tried to knock Bung's spigot in,
    The Caineites raised a cheer.
  I think that so fine a Party
    Never went bust on beer.

  Young PRIMROSE had a Party,
    They were all "_Souse undt Brouse_,"[1]
  A more divided company
    Ne'er wrangled in the House:
  They talked of "filling up the cup,"
    Vetoing the Vitler's guilt;
  But soon they found the pot was full,
    And that the cup was spilt.

  Young PRIMROSE had a Party,
    Although it was not big,
  It tried to break the power of beer,
    And check the sway of swig!
  But soon they found 'twas all in vain,
    The brewer they did "cop";
  And the company scattered like fighting crowds
    When the constable bids them stop.

  Young PRIMROSE _had_ a Party,
    Where is that Party now?
  Where are the lovely golden dreams
    Of the Newcastle pow-wow?
  Where are the Democratic plans,
    The L. C. C.'s delight?
  All floated away on a flood of beer
    Away--in the _Ewigkeit!_[2]

[Footnote 1: "Saus und Braus": _Ger._ Riot and bustle.]

[Footnote 2: "Ewigkrit": _Ger._ Eternity: "gone for ever".]

       *       *       *       *       *

EAST NORFOLK ELECTION.--When women are stoned by cowardly
ruffians, of any party, or, more probably, of no party, it is not a
time for jokes. But _Mr. Punch_ wishes he had been there, with a few of
his young men and a few revolvers, and then some persons more deserving
to be hit might have been hit, and with something sharper than stones.
In East Norfolk, during the excitement of an election, it is evidently
almost as necessary to carry firearms for self-defence as in any quite
uncivilised and savage country--such as Bulgaria, under the government
of the brave FERDINAND.

       *       *       *       *       *


_Saturday._--How warm it is! Shall go for my holiday somewhere on the
sea. A month's cruise on the coast of Norway, perhaps.

_Sunday._--What a tremendous gale! Imagine a month of this on the sea.
Shall go inland, quite in the country--say to a cottage on Dartmoor.

_Monday._--What a dull day! Couldn't stand the country in this gloom.
Try Paris.

_Tuesday._--A glorious day. Very hot and sunny in Paris now. Shall go
to the Lakes.

_Wednesday._--Steady rain. Don't like the idea of the Lakes. Always
damp and depressing. In this sort of weather better be at Scarborough
or Brighton.

_Thursday._--Drizzle and mist. No doubt sea fog on coast. Hate sea fog.
Better go to a dry place abroad. How about North Italy?

_Friday._--What beastly dust everywhere! No good going to a dry, sunny
climate. Try Cornwall.

_Saturday._--Damp, close day. Couldn't stand much of this. Too
enervating. Shall go to the Alps--anywhere up high in the mountain air.

_Sunday._--Chilly for the time of year. Probably snowing on the Alps.
Very dismal, cowering over a stove in a Swiss inn. What a difficulty
this holiday is! Good idea! Will postpone it till the settled weather
in the winter.

       *       *       *       *       *

CANDIDATES.--"Does your mother know you're 'Out'?" [N.B.--What
view "mother" will take of it depends on "mother's" politics.]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: AFTER THE BATTLE.


       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Workman_ (_politely, to old Lady, who has accidentally
got into a Smoking Compartment_). "YOU DON'T OBJECT TO MY PIPE, I


_Workman._ "OH! THEN OUT YOU GET!!"]

       *       *       *       *       *


 ["After the noble lord's dinner-party, at which the ladies appeared
 in their cycling costumes, consisting of ..., the company set off at
 half-past ten on their bikes for the region between St Paul's and the
 Tower, where at that hour, except an occasional policeman, hardly a
 soul is to be seen. Their example is now being generally imitated."
 _People of To-Day_.]

  When night her sable pall doth spread
  Above the city's sleeping head
  So as it seemeth to be dead;

  And labour hath a short surcease,
  And burglars taste a halcyon peace,
  Save where the vigilant police,

  All fearless on their darkling beat,
  With sound of heavy-sandalled feet
  Wake awesome echoes in the street;

  When weary chapmen go their ways
  To halls of song or sit at gaze
  In front of elevating plays;

  Or haply drop into the club,
  And pausing for a friendly rub
  Defy the deadly nuptial snub;

  Or watch in fond paternal mood
  The slumber of their infant brood
  In some suburban neighbourhood:--

  Then, JULIA, then, at such an hour
  I gather that you quit your bower
  And seek the purlieus of the Tower;

  Encased in wanton breeks and wide,
  A solid regiment, you ride
  With swains revolving at your side;

  By stilly thoroughfares you strike
  Th' astonied silence with your bike;
  Earth never yet hath seen the like!

  Not she, that fair of whom they sing,
  Who wrought her city's ransoming,
  GODIVA dared so bold a thing.

  High Heaven alone sees such a sight
  When Dian wheels her orb by night
  With many a starry satellite.

  But, JULIA, though the mode decree,
  By all the rites of Battersea,
  That you career in company,

  The conscious object of remark,
  Whenas the lusty-throated lark
  Disporteth o'er the People's Park;

  Yet certes it were more discreet,
  When Hesper from his vantage-seat
  Illuminateth Cannon Street,

  To ride with none but me to know
  Just how th' enamoured breezes blow
  Round your ineffable _trousseau!_

  How say you, sweet? To-morrow, then,
  We assignate for half-past ten
  Upon the punctual stroke of Ben?

  On Cupid's chaste commission bent
  We twain will meet, with your consent,
  10.30, by the Monument.

       *       *       *       *       *


To recommend _Lyre and Lancet_ to readers of _Punch_ is to preach
to the converted, and, as Sir WILLIAM HARCOURT said
when he opened his election campaign in Derby, that is a work of
supererogation. There is, however, this new thing to be said, that
SMITH, ELDER & CO., including the work in their Novel
Series, have presented it in dainty form, and have preserved Mr.
PARTRIDGE'S illustrations. My Baronite has read it through
again with increased admiration for the perilous audacity of the plot,
the skill with which it is worked out, and the many felicities of the
phrasing. It would be so easy to spoil it by a coarse or slovenly
touch. In no scene of the breathless drama does Mr. ANSTEY'S
hand forget its cunning.

The larger number of the verses that make up the little volume
SMITH, ELDER & CO. publish under the title _Tillers of the
Sand_ have, Mr. OWEN SEAMAN states in his preface, appeared
in the _National Observer_. Whilst they are above the average of
the cleverness of that really smart journal, they are tainted by
its besetting sin. Purporting to present "a fitful record of the
ROSEBERY Administration," the recorder finds it all very
bad. This is hard on the late Government, but it is harder still on
the clever versifier. True art requires light and shade, and here is
none. Appearing week by week the pungent admixtures were passable, were
even titillating. But the monotony of vituperation, however cleverly
compounded, grows a little wearisome, even in a volume that does not
much exceed a hundred pages. My Baronite likes best "The Lament of the
Macgregor," not because its literary style is more masterly than that
of its companion verse, but because its fun is less acrid. The rest,
with significant exception of two pieces that appeared in these pages,
is too hotly spiced with ASHMEAD-BARTLETTISM to please one who
looks to Mr. SEAMAN for the wine of scholarly verse and finds
the vinegar of election squibs.


       *       *       *       *       *

Shakspeare on the recent R. A. Elections.

  ONSLOW FORD, Sculptor, R. A.
  W. B. RICHMOND, Painter, R. A.

  "Good Master FORD, be contented."

  _Merry Wives of Windsor_, Act III., Scene 3.

  "For RICHMOND'S good."

  _Richard the Third_, Act V., Scene 3.

       *       *       *       *       *

MRS. GAMP ON "LOCAL OPTION."--"I never could have kep myself
up but for a little drain of spirits, which I seldom touches, but
could always wish to know where to find, if so dispoged."--_Martin
Chuzzlewit_, c. xlvi.

       *       *       *       *       *

The case of slandering Major RASCH, M.P., was dismissed on
defendant TURP tendering apology and paying costs. Rash on the
part of TURP, but the case was settled in a Rashional way.

       *       *       *       *       *

TO MR. A. F. MUMMERY.--The Recollections of his foreign
_Climbs in the Alps and Caucasus_ might suggest to the author a new
work to be entitled "_Pleasant Mummeries_." Of course nothing to do
with amateur acting, or with Miss MILN'S _Strolling Players in
the East_.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: EXTINCT!!


(_By Mr. Punch's Own Prehistoric Artist._)]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE FORCE OF HABIT.

_Miss Diana_ (_a novice_). "OH, JACK, I'M CERTAIN THIS THING IS

       *       *       *       *       *


(_Picked up in the neighbourhood of Dorchester House_)

Before leaving England I finish this book. I have seen much and would
have liked to see more. It was a great disappointment to me that the
Polytechnic had changed its character. It was the dream of my childhood
to be present at a lecture "Illustrated with brilliant experiments."
Still the British Museum was a very good substitute. Then I was pleased
with the Imperial Institute, and appreciated STRAUSS'S band.
Although I have yet to learn what the latter had to do with the spread
of the British Dominion. And I was delighted with the State Balls and
the Ascot races. I was pleased, too, with my visit to the Board School.
And there seemed to be much doing in the Houses of Parliament. But what
struck me most of all was the great prosperity I noticed everywhere.
There is no poverty in England. All is rich. Everyone is great. There
are none who are not powerful; it is marvellous, but true. I should
like to return to this great country to learn a little more. I have
not yet seen a paper printed. I have not dined at the table of those
who are responsible for the gaiety of nations. I have not watched the
manufacture of a clock. I have not examined waxworks. I have not risen
in the air in a balloon, nor sunk below the level of the sea in a
diving-bell. But all this pleasure can wait till I pay England a second
visit. And I am pleased to find that certain places are myths, the more
especially as these places were said to be "disgraces to civilization."
There is no East End. There are no prisons. Poverty is a word that
has become obsolete. Everyone is satisfied. A strike never happens
because all Englishmen are contented. This is the lesson that I have
learned at the hands of the great British Government. It is strange,
but undoubtedly true, that the English nation has no "seamy side." So
I leave the country of prosperous content with a salaam of heart-felt
respect. And now for Paris, with its wicked distractions. I hope I may
survive. In the meanwhile Britannia, Brave, Brilliant, Beautiful and
Beneficial, farewell!

P.S.--Always supposing I can overcome my terror of _malade de mer_.

       *       *       *       *       *

HIGHLY PROBABLE.--For a draught of a new Irish policy the
present Government is pretty sure to return to the Old Butt.

       *       *       *       *       *


(_For the use of Unpopular Candidates expected to accept attacks

I am much obliged to you for the unsavoury egg.

Pray do not apologise for breaking my arm with a stone three inches in

Thanks for that pail of mud emptied over my head and hat.

It is really capital fun being pelted with gravel.

Never mind having smashed my dog-cart and killed the horse attached to

Really, dodging this storm of bludgeons is the most amusing occupation

Never mind having crushed my skull, as I really wanted a chance to give
a good turn to the local doctor.

Finally, I would willingly acknowledge all these little humours
of a contested election in a spirit of genial amiability had you
not unfortunately broken my jaw and reduced me to a condition of

       *       *       *       *       *


The Northern Railway Company of France, as the _Daily Telegraph_
informs us, has decided to spend four millions of francs in improving
its rolling-stock. This move ought to send up all its "stock" in the
market. Also there is to be a train of an entirely new pattern, replete
with every convenience, running in correspondence with the London
Chatham and Dover Company's most convenient continental service. This
is first-class (and second also) news for persons about to travel.
The _D. T._ further says that "the adoption of bogies will make the
running easy." Good gracious! The cutting and running would come quite
naturally to most of the passengers on beholding only one "bogey"; but
when it comes to "bogies," there would be a general stampede! Very kind
of the Northern to "adopt" bogies. Some poor little orphan bogies, left
at the door of a Bogey-Foundling Hospital, deserted by their ghostly
and unnatural parents, but "adopted" by the spirited Great Northern of
France! "Hush! Hush, Hush, it is the Bogey Train!" But no tricks on
travellers, spirited Great Northern of France.

       *       *       *       *       *


I spoke last week of the General Election, more particularly with
regard to its influence on the speakers who take part in it. A treatise
on this aspect of the matter has yet to be written. One of the main
points to be determined will be the amount of influence exercised by
the speech, not on its hearers, but on the speaker himself.

       *       *       *       *       *

Nothing is more remarkable than the rapidity and definiteness with
which a speaker's opinions crystallise during the course of a speech.
Let us assume, for example, that a Radical candidate has been
approached on the subject of an Eight Hours Bill, and, in order to
gain time, has promised to deal with it in his next speech, at the
same time giving an assurance of general sympathy. Probably he has
not thought much about the question before. In the evening he will
speak upon it; and suddenly, to his own intense surprise, he will find
himself declaring that all legislation will be vain, all social effort
fruitless, until the load of toil that presses on the mass of his
fellow-countrymen is lightened, and a universal Eight Hours Bill is
carried through both Houses.

       *       *       *       *       *

Or again, a Conservative is confronted with the question of old-age
pensions. Precisely the same process takes place, and under the
necessity of convincing himself, while endeavouring to convince and to
please his audience, he will vow never to cease his efforts in support
of Mr. CHAMBERLAIN until a general system of State pensions
for the aged is established throughout the United Kingdom.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: Sir William cultivates the "Celtic Fringe."]

       *       *       *       *       *

So it is with votes of thanks and laudatory speeches of all kinds.
If you have to move a vote of thanks to A., a politician whom you do
not specially admire, the odds are about ten to one that you will
describe him as a great statesman, a profound thinker, an eloquent
orator, and the man of the future. All this may be due to your having
embarked on a rhetorical period which required more words than you had
prepared yourself to supply; and in the agitation of filling up the
gap, and rounding off the period, you say what you had not the remotest
intention of saying when you got on to your legs. Hence come in after
years parallel columns, and aggravating charges of inconsistency.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was roses, roses all the way. But that was some time ago in the
case of Mr. ISAAC HOYLE, late Liberal Member for the Heywood
Division of Lancashire. He was asked to support Mr. SNAPE the
Liberal Candidate at this election, but he refused to "take any part
in sending Mr. SNAPE to Parliament, charged with duties for
which, as I think, his votes show he has no qualification." The receipt
of this letter caused the greatest excitement in the Division, and at
the Heywood Reform Club Mr. HOYLE'S portrait has been smashed
to pieces and thrown out of the building. It is stated also that his
subscriptions are being returned. Clearly a case of adding Hoyle to the
flames of controversy.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. THOMAS MILVAIN, the Conservative who vainly endeavoured
to oust Sir WILFRID LAWSON from the Cockermouth Division,
was once a great boxer--a heavy-weight champion amongst amateurs, if
my memory serves me. In the course of his late contest he addressed a
hostile meeting at Dearham. Many questions were put to him. One was,
"What weight was ta when thoo was a boxer?" Mr. MILVAIN'S
answer was, "I was 13 st. 8 lb. That was twenty-eight years ago, and I
have not had the gloves on since." (_Laughter and cheers, and a Voice_:
"_Would you like to have them on now?_") "I am quite prepared to give
any of you a turn, if you want one." (_Great laughter and cheers._)

       *       *       *       *       *

  When a Candidate, heckled by enemies, finds
    All his efforts to keep the place still vain,
  Let him try one resource ere he pulls down the blinds,
    And conform to the model of MILVAIN.

  For when politics palled he referred to the years
    When his skill as a boxer was lauded;
  An allusion to gloves won him laughter and cheers,
    Which was more than the "point of his jaw" did.

       *       *       *       *       *

In a provincial contemporary I find the following startling
information, under the heading, "Mothers of Great Men."
SCHUMANN'S mother was gifted in music; CHOPIN'S
mother, like himself, was very delicate; WORDSWORTH'S mother
had a character as peculiar as that of her gifted son; RALEIGH
said that he owed all his politeness of deportment to his mother. There
are other statements about other mothers, but those I have quoted may
suffice in the meantime. What I want to know is why any reasonable
human being should care, or be supposed to care, about these ridiculous
scraps of information collected from a rubbish-heap of useless
knowledge. Here is another that I cannot leave out: HAYDN
dedicated one of his most important instrumental compositions to his
mother. Amazing.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the parish of Swaffham Bulbeck (Phoebus, what a name!) there are
apparently two bridges. At the adjourned quarterly meeting of the
Parish Council the other day, Mr. C. P. FYSON in the chair,
"it was reported that Bridge No. 1 required to be re-built.... The
Chairman reported Bridge No. 2 required the same treatment, and
eventually the whole matter was adjourned"--presumably in the hope that
in the interval the bridges would rebuild themselves.

       *       *       *       *       *


MR. PUNCH, HONOURED SIR,--By way of supplementing efforts of
_Daily Chroncile_ to obtain authorised statements showing cause for
defeat of certain distinguished candidates, have secured following
satisfactory explanations, for authenticity of which I have pleasure
in vouching. Have suppressed names of men and places, thus sacrificing
verisimilitude on altar of discretion.

A. explains:--Opponent started with every natural advantage, having
only appeared in constituency three weeks and two days ago, and being
entirely unknown. (_Omne ignotum pro benefico._) I, on other hand, had
been on spot for five-and-twenty years, and was _only two well known_.

B. explains:--Attribute my defeat (by exactly 4529 votes) to
over-confidence on part of my supporters. Seems that recollection of
ample margin of two (one voting-paper disputed) by which I was returned
to late Parliament produced reckless and culpable apathy.

C. explains:--Mistake to suppose that Local or any other Veto had
appreciable bearing on result of election. Fact is that opposition
chartered every available traction-engine to bring up rural electorate.
All other traffic practically suspended. Terrorised owners refused to
risk their stables in unequal struggle. Was reduced to average of one
horse a piece for my four-in-hands. Also other man's wife prettier than

D. explains:--Am author of many standard works of blood-curdling
adventure, largely among blacks. Found myself besieged one day in
headquarters by what I took to be murderous contingent of enemy. In all
my books of fiction, hero would have hacked his way through midst, if
only with open penknife. Stern reality quite a different matter. Fell
back upon services of local fire-brigade. Turned out afterwards that
crowd actually consisted of admiring readers and political friends all
eager to draw me, by pardonable ruse, into display of heroic qualities
as depicted in my popular writings. Disillusioned by me, and damped by
fire-brigade, mob went off and voted for other side.

E. explains:--Had Women's Suffrage existed, am confident should have
been returned by handsome majority, being single and bit of an Adonis.
As it was, fatal gift for attracting feminine attention alienated
younger male electors. Other candidate solid family man without
physical charm. Has been said that beauty is a curse. In own case must
unhesitatingly admit soft impeachment.

F. explains:--It arose in this way. Had arranged beforehand that pole
of carriage should snap in two during ascent of heavy incline in
very heart of borough, idea being that partisans would be compelled
to un-horse vehicle and personally propel it along in semi-triumphal
progress. All went well till it came to pushing. Then was seen that
weight of fellow-passengers (three obese stump-orators sent down by
Caucus) overtaxed strength of small body of supporters, men remarkable
for intellectual perspicuity rather than brute force. Notwithstanding
laudable efforts, carriage receded, slowly at first, then, gaining
impetus, rushed with incredible speed full into plate-glass window
of MAYOR'S grocery-store. Self and all three orators bled
profusely. Should add that MAYOR was exceedingly popular
politician of heterodox views. Cause of my Party completely ruined by
shocking fiasco.

Kindly observe, dear _Mr. Punch_, how insignificant a part seems to
have been played in above elections by great and vital questions of
day. Let me hear if you want any more of these explanations. Cost me

                                    Yours,        SPLENDIDE MENDAX.

*** End of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 109, August 8, 1895" ***

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