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Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 108, April 6, 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 6, 1895" ***

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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

Volume 108, April 6, 1895.

_edited by Sir Francis Burnand_



[Illustration: "ANIMAL SPIRITS."

NO. X.--"EASY ALL!" PUMPED OUT]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE STUDIO SEEKER'S VADE MECUM.

_Question._ On what occasions do you particularly seek the studios?

_Answer._ On two Sundays in the year--the consecutive sabbaths devoted
to the exhibition of proposed academy pictures by "Outsiders," and
"A.'s," and "R.A.'s."

_Q._ Do you haunt the abodes of artists at other times?

_A._ Never; or, to cover all possibilities, hardly ever.

_Q._ Then you are not a lover of paintings for their own sake?

_A._ Certainly not; on the contrary, I am, as a rule, a better judge
of frames than canvases.

_Q._ Then why do you go to St. John's Wood, Chelsea and West
Kensington?

_A._ To see and be seen.

_Q._ Is it necessary to know the artist whose pictures are "on view"?

_A._ Certainly not. You can usually single him out by the absence
of an overcoat, and can generally spot his wife and daughter by the
non-appearance of promenading head-gear.

_Q._ What have you to do when you have discovered your involuntary
host and hostess?

_A._ To shake hands with them with condescension, and partake of their
refreshments with gusto.

_Q._ Will this invasion of the domestic circle be resented?

_A._ No; because it is highly probable that you will be mistaken for
a newspaper Art critic, and respect for the Press in Art circles is
universal.

_Q._ Are not artists, as a body, a community of highly accomplished
gentlemen?

_A._ Certainly; and, consequently, on ordinary occasions entitled to
well-merited respect.

_Q._ Then why should that "well-merited respect" be refused to them a
month before the May opening of Burlington House?

_A._ Because it is the fashion.

_Q._ Surely this fashion does not exist amongst the better classes of
the community?

_A._ To some extent; although it certainly is in greatest favour with
cads and snobs, to say nothing of their female relations.

_Q._ Has any effort been made to stem this tide of unauthorised and
unwelcome invasion?

_A._ In isolated cases the master of the studio has sought the
protection of the police to keep his studio free of the unknown and
the unknowable.

_Q._ But could not the scandal be removed with the assistance of the
leaders of Society?

_A._ Assuredly. It would only have to become unfashionable to visit
studios on the Show Sundays for the painter to be left at peace.

_Q._ Would that be pleasing to the artists?

_A._ That is the published opinion, but the matter has not been put
absolutely to the test. However, the pleasure of the artists is not
to be considered when the recreations of Brixton and Tooting are at
stake.

       *       *       *       *       *

APRIL FOOLOSOPHY.

(_By One of Them._)

_Fools rush in where angels fear to tread._ Well, this only shows
our valiant disregard of danger, our readiness of initiative, our
championship of forlorn hopes. We are the heaven-sent leaders of all
"New" enterprises, whether literary, theatrical, or artistic. It is
we who penetrate the mysteries of Bodleyosophy, Beardsleyotechny, and
Yellow Astrology. We are the real and only Mahatmaniacs, Sexomaniacs,
Miasmaniacs. Among our ranks you will find the Women who Did, the
anticonjuGallias, the shedonKeynotes, and all their attendant
and Discordant tribe of Jack-asses. We are the elect and proper
bell-wethers of mankind. Come to us, then, for guidance.

_Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise._ Folly is therefore
the true wisdom. However, this is an Oscarian paradox, which the
Divine WILLIAMS has previously plagiarised, and enlarged on at some
length, so we will pass on.

_Fools build houses, but wise men live in them._ Exactly so; we are
the architects of this generation. The wise man depends on us for his
roof and lodging; and without us he would be homeless. We have built
"Snookson's Folly" and "Babel Mansions"--half of London, in fact. The
jerry-builders have done the rest.

_A fool and his money are soon parted._ A compliment to our
open-handed and indiscriminate generosity. It is we who swell the
subscription list for the last new gold mine or building society;
who subsidise insolvent South American Republics; who support the
mendicant tramp and the deserving blackmailer.

_There is no fool like an old fool._ That is, the quality of folly
improves with keeping, like that of wine. The seniors of our class are
thoroughly reliable old fools, and Past Grand Masters in the art of
ineptitude. We, fools as we are, know how to pay the proper respect
that is due to senility and second-childishness.

_A fool at forty is a fool indeed._ This is a corollary of the
preceding aphorism, for it is only at the age of two-score that we
attain to years of full indiscretion. We develop later than the rest
of humanity; we undergo a severe probation before our claim to the
title of complete nincompoop is recognised. Before forty there is
yet a chance that the budding ninny may desert, and degenerate into a
prig, a Philistine, or a physician. After that age he is safe, and can
be depended on for unwisdom, whereas your ordinary wiseacre cuts his
back teeth and graduates in common-sense at twenty-one.

Lastly, _Fools stand in slippery places_--where wise men tumble down;
but this needs no further illustration than that provided years ago by
C. K., in _Mr. Punch's_ pages.

       *       *       *       *       *

NOT FOR THEIR "BEN."--Judging from some of the evidence at the
recent trial of _Tillett_ v. "_The Morning_" (_Limited_), it probably
occurred to the unemployed dockers that they might have been well
employed in "docking" B. T.'s salary.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: BISMARCK'S EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY: A TARDY TRIBUTE.

[Last week the Emperor of GERMANY presented Prince BISMARCK with a
sword sheathed in gold as a birthday present.--_Vide Daily Papers._]

A HISTORICAL PARALLEL.--"The notice you have been pleased to take of
my labours, had it been early, had been kind; but it has been delayed
till I am indifferent, and cannot enjoy it."--_Extract from Dr.
Johnson's Letter to Lord Chesterfield, February 1755._]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: AN INNOCENT.

_Sportsman_ (_who has been training a "Dark 'Un" of his own for the
"Grand National"_). "THERE, MY BOY, THERE'S A FIFTY TO ONE CHANCE FOR
YOU! NOW, JUST YOU TAKE MY ADVICE, AND GET ON AT ONCE!"

_Little Greensmith._ "GET ON, EH? THANKY! PREFER TO SEE THE LAD ON
HIM, THANKY!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

BISMARCK'S BIRTHDAY;

_Or, a Tardy Tribute._

    ["In the presence of this band I now come to hand my gift to
    your Serene Highness. I could find no better present than a
    sword, the noblest weapon of the Germans, a symbol of that
    weapon which your Highness, with my blessed grandfather,
    helped to forge, to sharpen, and also to wield--a symbol of
    that great building-time during which the mortar was blood and
    iron, a remedy which never fails."--_The German Emperor,
    in presenting a Sword of Honour to Prince Bismarck, in
    celebration of his eightieth birthday._]

    ["The notice which you have been pleased to take of my
    labours, had it been early, had been kind; but it has been
    delayed till I am indifferent, and cannot enjoy it; till I am
    solitary, and cannot impart it; till I am known, and do not
    want it."--_Doctor Johnson to the Earl of Chesterfield._]

  Not the Dropped Pilot now![A] The circling years
    Bring their revenges, and to-day he stands,
  Age-bowed but firm, amidst the ringing cheers
    Of the young Monarch's mailed Germanic bands;
  And with proud patience takes, from lesser hands,
      The proffered Symbol-sword!
  Grim face, with years and labours scarred and scored,
  What marvel should those lines relax awhile
      To a Saturnian smile?

  Splendid old Sword-smith, WIELAND of our day,
    Bestwielder of the matchless steel you made,
  This "Sword of Honour" is but baby play
    Compared with that tremendous Balsung-blade
    Forged by the mightiest master of his trade
      Since the great Norseman wrought,
  For the fierce battle-field where Titans fought.
  What may the shouting young AMILIAS know
      Of its great swashing blow?

  He prates of Brandenburg, Iron and Blood,
    In swelling royal rhetoric, but _you_ hear
  The clash of squadrons in war's sternest mood
    In that "great building-time"; and the boy-cheer
    Of him who, eager the State-bark to steer,
      Snatched from your hands the helm,
  Impetuous Palinurus of the realm,--
  That cheer seems bitter and belated now,
      Hollow, all sound and show!

  You forged the blade he flourishes with pride,
    That new Excalibur, "Unity"; you gave
  That mighty weapon to Germania's side,
    You and the iron comrades, silent, brave,
    Who fought beneath the flag he loves to wave.
      The man of scanty speech,
  Who smote and shouted not, in war's dread breach,
  The valiant Emperor, and his noble son,--
      By these the work was done.

  And he, the inheritor of fulfilled renown,
    Set the survivor of the Splendid Four
  Coldly aside; wearing the iron crown,
    Won for his wearing 'midst red battle's roar,
    Jauntily, and the blade you sharpened bore
      With cool complacent pride
  As though his own hands bound it to his side.
  And now he comes like Mars amidst his ranks,
      And brings--belated thanks!

  What thinks the ancient Sword-smith in his soul?
    Like the old scholar, sick with long neglect,
  And help delayed till he had reached the goal,
    Fame-crowned but solitary, self-respect
    Might tempt him, old and weary,[B‡] to reject,
      The tardy tribute. Raise
  "Hochs," Emperor-fugled! Shout hurrahs of praise!
  Render such honour as it may afford;
      That glittering Symbol-sword!

  All well-deserved, all worthily received!
    But think they cold ingratitude's slug-trail
  Dims not that blade? All generous spirits grieved
    That grudging party malice so should fail
    Of patriot magnanimity, and rail
      At the great chief who gave
  The sword they turned against him. Let the brave
  Join in one voice in shouting loud, "Well done!"
      To one who made _them_ One!

[Footnote A: See Cartoon, "Dropping the Pilot," pp. 50-51, Vol. 98,
March 29, 1890.]

[Footnote B‡: "I am a weary old man."--_Prince Bismarck's speech in
reply to his birthday congratulations._]

       *       *       *       *       *

Mrs. R.'S ABSTINENCE.--The good lady says, "My dear, I always like to
strictly observe our Church's audiences, and so every Friday morning
during Lent I invariably have a broiled skipper for breakfast."

       *       *       *       *       *

CONCENTRATION.--Mightn't the verdicts of separation or divorce
be reported in the papers under the ordinary business heading of
"Partnerships Dissolved"?

       *       *       *       *       *

DOING A CATHEDRAL.

(_A Sketch from the Provinces._)

    SCENE--_The interior of Dulchester Cathedral._ TIME--_About
    12.30._ _The March sunshine slants in pale shafts through
    the clerestory windows, leaving the aisles in shadow. From
    without, the cawing of rooks and shouts of children at play
    are faintly audible. By the West Door, a party of Intending
    Sightseers have collected, and the several groups, feeling
    that it would be a waste of time to observe anything in the
    building until officially instructed to do so, are engaged in
    eyeing one another with all the genial antipathy and suspicion
    of true-born Britons._

_A Stodgy Sightseer_ (_to his friend_). Disgraceful, keeping us
standing about like this! If I'd only known, I'd have told the
headwaiter at the "Mitre" to keep back those chops till----

    [_He breaks off abruptly, finding that the chops are
    reverberating from column to column with disproportionate
    solemnity; a white-haired and apple-faced verger rustles down
    from the choir and beckons the party forward benignantly,
    whereupon they advance with a secret satisfaction at the
    prospect of "getting the cathedral 'done' and having the rest
    of the day to themselves;" they are conducted to a desk and
    requested, as a preliminary, to put sixpence apiece in the
    Restoration Fund box and inscribe their names in a book._

_Confused Murmurs._ Would you put "Portico Lodge, Camden Road, or
only London?"... Here, I'd better sign for the lot of you, eh?... They
_might_ provide a better pen--in a _cathedral_, I _do_ think!... He
might have given all our names in full instead of just "And party"!...
Oh, I've been and made a blot--will it _matter_, should you think?...
I never _can_ write my name with people looking on, can _you?_... I'm
sure you've done it beautifully, dear!... Just hold my umbrella while
I take off my glove, MARIA.... Oh, why _don't_ they make haste? &c.,
&c.

    [_The_ Stodgy Sightseer _fumes, feeling that, while they are
    fiddling, his chops are burning_.

[Illustration: "What did 'e want to go and git the fair 'ump about?"]

_The Verger._ Now, ladies and gentlemen, if you will please to follow
me, the portion of the building where we now are is part of the
original hedifice founded by EALFRYTHA, wife of Earl BALDRIC, in the
year height 'undred heighty-height, though we 'ave reason to believe
that an even hearlier church was in existence 'ere so far back as the
Roman occupation, as is proved by a hancient stone receptacle recently
discovered under the crypt and hevidently used for baptismal purposes.

_A Spectacled S._ (_who feels it due to herself to put an intelligent
question at intervals_). What _was_ the method of baptism among the
Early Christians?

_The Verger._ We believe it to 'ave been by total immersion, Ma'am.

_The Spect. S._ Oh? _Baptists!_

    [_She sets down the Early Christians as Dissenters, and takes
    no further interest in them._

_The Verger._ At the back of the choir, and immediately in front of
you, is the shrine, formerly containing the bones of St. Chasuble,
with relics of St. Alb. (_An_ Evangelical Sightseer _snorts in
disapproval_.) The 'ollow depressions in the steps leading up to the
shrine, which are still visible, were worn away, as you see, by the
pilgrims ascending on their knees. (_The party verify the depressions
conscientiously, and click their tongues to express indulgent
contempt._) The spaces between the harches of the shrine were
originally enriched by valuable gems and mosaics, all of which 'ave
now long since disappeared, 'aving been removed by the more devout
parties who came 'ere on pilgrimages. In the chapel to your left
a monument with recumbent heffigies of Bishop _Buttress_ and Dean
_Gurgoyle_, represented laying side by side with clasped 'ands, in
token of the lifelong affection between them. The late Bishop used to
make a rather facetious remark about this tomb. He was in the 'abit
of observing that it was the honly instance in _his_ experience of a
Bishop being on friendly terms with his Dean. (_He glances round for
appreciation of this instance of episcopal humour, but is pained to
find that it has produced a general gloom; the_ Evangelical Sightseer,
_indeed, conveys by another, and a louder snort, his sense that a
Bishop ought to set a better example_.) In the harched recess to your
right, a monument in painted halibarster to Sir RALPH RINGDOVE and
his lady, erected immediately after her decease by the disconsolate
widower, with a touching inscription in Latin, stating that their
ashes would shortly be commingled in the tomb. (_He pauses, to allow
the ladies of the party to express a becoming sympathy--which they
do, by clicks._) Sir RALPH himself, however, is interred in Ficklebury
Parish Church, forty mile from this spot, along with his third wife,
who survived him.

    [_The ladies regard the image of_ Sir RALPH _with indignation,
    and pass on; the_ Verger _chuckles faintly at having produced
    his effect_.

_The Evangelical S._ (_snuffing the air suspiciously_). I'm sorry to
perceive that you are in the habit of burning _incense_ here!

    [_He looks sternly at the_ Verger, _as though to imply that it
    is useless to impose upon him_.

_The Verger._ No, Sir, what you smell ain't incense--on'y the vaults
after the damp weather we've bin 'aving.

    [_The_ Evangelical Sightseer _drops behind, divided between
    relief and disappointment_.

_A Plastic S._ (_to the_ Verger). What a perfectly _exquisite_
rose-window that is! For all the world like a kaleidoscope. I suppose
it dates from the Norman period, at _least?_

_The Verger_ (_coldly_). No. ma'am, it was on'y put up about thirty
year ago. _We_ consider it the poorest glass we 'ave.

_The Plast. S._ Oh, the glass, yes; _that's_ hideous, certainly. I
meant the--the other part.

_The Verger._ The tracery, ma'am? That was restored at the same time
by a local man--and a shocking job he made of it, too!

_The Plast. S._ Yes, it _quite_ spoils the cathedral, _doesn't_ it?
Couldn't it be taken down?

_The Verger_ (_in answer to another Inquirer_). Crowborough Cathedral
finer than this, Sir? Oh, _dear_ me, no. I went over a-purpose to 'ave
a look at it the last 'oliday I took, and I was quite surprised to
find 'ow very inferior it was. The spire? I don't say that mayn't be
'igher as a mere matter of feet, but our lantern-tower is so 'appily
proportioned as to give the effect of being by far the 'ighest in
existence.

_A Travelled S._ Ah, you should see the _continental_ cathedrals. Why,
_our_ towers would hardly come up to the top of the naves of some of
them!

_The Verger_ (_loftily_). I don't take no notice of foreign
cathedrals, Ma'am. If foreigners like to build so ostentatious, all I
can say is, I'm sorry _for_ them.

_A Lady_ (_who has provided herself with a "Manual of Architecture"
and an unsympathetic Companion_). _Do_ notice the excessive use of
the ball-flower as a decoration, dear. PARKER says it is especially
characteristic of this cathedral.

_Unsympathetic Companion._ I don't see _any_ flowers myself. And if
they like to decorate for festivals and that, where's the harm?

    [_The Lady with the Manual perceives that it is hopeless to
    explain._

_The Verger._ The dog-tooth mouldings round the triforium harches is
considered to belong to the best period of Norman work----

_The Lady with the Manual._ Surely not _Norman?_ Dog-tooth is Saxon,
_I_ always understood.

_The Verger_ (_indulgently_). You'll excuse _me_, Ma'am, but I fancy
it's 'erringbone as is running in _your_ 'ed.

_The Lady with the M._ (_after consulting "Parker" for corroboration,
in vain_). Well, I'm sure dog-tooth is quite _Early English_, anyway.
(_To her companion._) Did you know it was the interlacing of the round
arches that gave the first idea of the pointed arch, dear?

_Her Comp._ No. But I shouldn't have thought there was so very much in
the _idea_.

_The Lady with the M._ I do _wish_ you took more _interest_, dear.
Look at those two young men who have just come in. They don't _look_
as if they'd care for carving; but they've been studying every one of
the Miserere seats in the choir-stalls. That's what _I_ like to see!

_The Verger._ That concludes my dooties, ladies and gentlemen. You
can go out by the South Transep door, and that'll take you through the
Cloisters. (_The Party go out, with the exception of the two 'Arries,
who linger, expectantly, and cough in embarrassment._) Was there
anything you wished to know?

_First 'Arry._ Well, Mister, it's on'y--er--'aven't you got some old
carving or other 'ere of a rather--well, _funny_ kind--sorter thing
you on'y show to _gentlemen_, if you know what I mean?

_The Verger_ (_austerely_). There's nothing in _this_ Cathedral for
gentlemen o' _your_ sort, and I'm surprised at your expecting of it.

    [_He turns on his heel._

_First 'Arry_ (_to Second_). I spoke civil enough to _'im_, didn't I?
What did 'e want to go and git the fair 'ump about?

_Second 'Arry._ Oh, _I_ dunno. But you don't ketch _me_ comin' over to
no more cathedrils, and wastin' time and money all for nuthink--that's
all!

    [_They tramp out, feeling that their confidence has been
    imposed upon._

       *       *       *       *       *

TO A GREEK AT "THE ORIENT."

  At your dress I marvel mutely--
    Green and white, with gold about;
  Grandly gay, you absolutely,
                    Cut me out.

  Like a lamp-shade is that nether
    Garment, yet, without a doubt,
  You look fine, and altogether
                    Cut me out.

  I, dull Englishman, am neatly
    Clothed in black and grey, without
  Any colours. You completely
                    Cut me out.

  She, whose smile is sweetly dimply,
    Pretty, even though she pout,
  Seems entranced. With _her_ you simply
                    Cut me out.

  She admires you, and she barely
    Looks at me, a sombre lout.
  Hang you, in that dress you fairly
                    Cut me out.

       *       *       *       *       *

GENTLE AND SOOTHING OCCUPATION FOR AN OARSMAN.--"Stroking an eight."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: BOTANY; OR, A DAY IN THE COUNTRY.

"SAY, BILLIE, SHALL WE GAVER MUSHROOMS?"

"YUS. I'M A BEGGAR TO CLIMB!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

MEETING A VERY OLD FRIEND.

(_A Postscript to a Well-known Work._)

ALICE was delighted with all she saw. Statesmen, generals, celebrities
of every kind. Then there were marvellous animals--some ferocious,
others satirical, every one of them as true to nature as could be.

"Where am I?" asked ALICE.

"In the gallery of the Fine Arts Society, 148, New Bond Street."

"And, please, who has done all these wonderful things?"

"The great J. T.," was the reply.

And then she fell to admiring them. She had some difficulty in getting
to the drawings, for every picture was surrounded by a little crowd
of worshippers. And she was not in the least surprised, because the
devotion had been justly earned. Before her she found a specimen of
the labours of nearly half a century. Everything good and beautiful.

"Dear me!" she murmured, as she approached No. 160 in the Catalogue.
"Why here I am myself! I am so glad I am like that. What should I have
been had I not had so kind an artist to sketch me?"

And the possibility opened out such a vista of disasters that ALICE
was almost moved to tears. But she soon regained her gaiety when she
had glanced at "_Winding 'em up_" (No. 161), "_A Bicycle built for
Two_" (No. 148), and "_The Mask of Momus_" (No. 99).

"But shall I meet the Knights?" she asked, after a while. "I should,
because I certainly am living in Wonderland."

Then there was a chorus crying, "This is the work of the Black and
White Knight, the greatest of all the Knights--good Sir JOHN."

And ALICE agreed in an opinion held by all the world.

       *       *       *       *       *

ANOTHER TESTIMONIAL TO THE G. O. M.--In recognition of his most recent
contribution to sacred literature. Mr. G. is to be presented with the
freedom of the Dry-Psalter's company.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THINGS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE EXPRESSED DIFFERENTLY.

_She._ "I'M SURPRISED TO SEE YOUR WIFE IN SUCH A _VERY_ LOW GOWN THIS
COLD EVENING, BARON! I HEARD SHE WAS DELICATE."

_He._ "ACH, NO! SHE VOS. BUT NOW, SANK HEAFEN, SHE IS KVITE
_IN_DELICATE AGAIN!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

"QUOUSQUE TANDEM?" OR, ONE AT A TIME.

_Duologue in a Dog-cart._

_Driver._ Tc-c-c-h-k! Tc-c-c-h-k!!

_Officious Friend._ Steady there! Wo-o-o-a!!

_Driver_ (_aside_). Confound the fellow! I wish he wouldn't fidget so.

_Officious Friend_ (_aside_). _He_ drive tandem? Wish he'd hand the
ribbons to _me!_

_Driver_ (_aloud_). Leader steps along, doesn't he?

_Officious Friend_ (_aloud_). Ya-a-s. Bit _too_ fast, I fancy. Forgets
that the wheeler has to do the work.

_Driver._ Humph! Not so sure of that, in this case. Rather weedy, you
know, and just a bit of a slug, if you ask me. _I_ think they'd do
better reversed--this journey, anyhow.

_Officious Friend_ (_testily_). Nonsense! You never _have_ done that
wheeler justice. Fact is you don't understand the horse's character,
or how to get the best out of him. Now I----

_Driver_ (_adapting old Trin. Coll., Cam., Recitation_).

  "Fact is, he understood computing
    The odds at any bye-election;
  Was a dead hand at elocuting,
    Satire, and candidate-selection;
  But, like his parallel, Lord RANDOM,
  He couldn't, somehow, drive a tandem."

_Officious Friend._ What _are_ you muttering about? You know I'm not
up in poetry. As to poor Lord RANDOM, he was a smart whip, anyhow,
and though I don't agree with "Z" in his impertinent comparisons,
still----

_Driver._ Still? Well, I wish you'd _sit_ still, old fellow, and not
fidget with the reins. You're fretting that leader awfully.

_Officious Friend._ Confound the leader! Leaders, equine
or--otherwise--(_sotto voce_: I was _going_ to say asinine!)--are so
apt to give themselves airs, and fancy they're pulling all the weight.
Old G., for example!

_Driver._ Ah! and he's not the _only_ instance.

    [_Sighs._

_Officious Friend._ If G. had taken my tip, he'd never have upset the
coach as he did. But handlers of the ribbons are always so obstinate.
Look out! Mind that finger-post! Why, the leader nearly ran into it.

_Driver._ Not at all, dear boy. But we'll run into _something_, and be
both spilt if you don't leave off twitching at the reins.

_Officious Friend_ (_reading finger-post_). Leamington! Hythe! Aha!
Now I think--as I know these roads well--if you'd just let _me_----

_Driver_ (_decisively_). Look here, old man! You remember our Compact?

_Officious Friend_ (_impatiently_). Oh, of course, of course. But--I
don't quite understand it as you seem to do.

_Driver._ Humph! (_Again adapting._)

  "Your Rule of the Road seems a paradox, quite;
    For, in tooling our dog-cart along,
  If _you_'re left with the reins you are sure to be right,
    If the reins are _my_ right, it's all wrong."

_Officious Friend._ Oh, more poetry! What a chap you are for
Metaphysics and the Muses! Now the foundations of _my_ belief are
facts and figures.

_Driver_ (_meditatively_). It's a fact that the Tory total figures out
much larger than the Liberal Unionist.

_Officious Friend._ Oh, bother! What's that got to do with it! Our
Compact----

_Driver._ Is ours--not Leamington's it seems.

    [_Hums._

  "There was a man at Leamington,
    Who thought it would be nice
  To jump into a Tory seat
    By help of Tory "ayes."
  But if those "ayes" should be "put out,"
    It _may_ prove no great gain
  Jumping into a Tory seat
    To please J. CH-MB-RL-N!"

_Officious Friend_ (_grabbing reins_). Here, I say! Whilst droning out
your doggerel you're forgetting your driving. Where _are_ you going?
Look at that dashed leader!

    [_Leader faces sharp round and fidgets._

_Driver_ (_sharply_). No wonder! Woa, lad, woa! Why on earth did you
tug at the reins like that. I tell you that horse won't stand much
more of it. Do you want a spill as well as a split?

_Officious Friend._ Why, no! But according to our Compact, the
wheeler----

_Driver._ According to our Compact it's _my_ turn at the ribbons
to-day. One at a time, if you please. Do you call _this_ driving
tandem? We shall never get on like this! Are you driving this
dog-cart, or am I?

    [_Left settling it._

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "QUOUSQUE TANDEM?" OR, ONE AT A TIME.

ARTH-R B-LF-R (_driver, to officious friend_, JOE CH-MB-RL-N). "WE
SHALL NEVER GET ON LIKE THIS! AM I DRIVING OR ARE _YOU?_"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration:

_Mrs. Smith._ "I THINK IT DREADFUL THAT YOUR DIVORCE LAWS IN AMERICA
SHOULD BE SO MUCH MORE LENIENT THAN THEY ARE IN ENGLAND."

_Mr. Van Rensselaer._ "WELL, YOU SEE, MY DEAR MADAM, IN ENGLAND
DIVORCE IS A LUXURY--WHILE WITH US IT IS--ER--A NECESSITY!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

MARCO POLO ULYSSES HENRY NORMAN, having returned from a comprehensive
tour in foreign parts, has set forth his experience in a handsome
volume published by FISHER UNWIN. _The Far Fast_ is its alluring and
well-sustained title. But why drag in ULYSSES and MARCO POLO? Their
journeyings were on the scale of a jaunt to Switzerland as compared
with Mr. NORMAN'S. He has travelled through British, French, Spanish
and Portuguese Colonies; has visited Siberia, China, Japan, Corea,
Siam and Malaya. Whether in his study of political problems, his
pictures of people, or his sketches of scenery, he is equally keen and
habile. Anything that relates to China is peculiarly interesting
just now, and Mr. NORMAN throws a flood of light on the state of
the unwieldly empire. The description of the examination halls is
instructive. The Government of China, Mr. NORMAN testifies, is a vast
system of competitive examination tempered by bribery. Those who
come out successfully in examinations--the subject-matter of which is
knowledge of the works of CONFUCIUS, the history of China, and the
art of writing as practised by the old masters--have berths found
them under the Government. They are sent all over the country to be
magistrates, generals, ship captains, engineers, without having the
slightest acquaintance with details or systems over which they are put
in a position of command. This fully accounts for what has taken place
in recent campaigns by land and sea in the Far East. We can't all
undertake Mr. NORMAN'S monumental journey. But, adapting SHERIDAN'S
advice to his son on a certain occasion, my Baronite counsels the
public to read _The Far East_ and say they've been there.

The immortal FLACCUS (writes one of the Baron's assistants) has, it
appears, been sojourning in Cambridge, having gone into residence
there some time before he stayed at Hawarden, either for translation
or perversion. I make this statement after reading a delightful little
book of light verse entitled _Horace at Cambridge_, by OWEN
SEAMAN (London, A. D. INNES & CO.). To every University man, and
particularly, of course, to Cambridge men, this book will be a
rare treat. But in virtue of its humour, its extreme and felicitous
dexterity of workmanship both in rhyme and metre, and the aptness
of its allusions, it will appeal to a far wider public. I pledge Mr.
SEAMAN in a bumper of College Audit! and beg him to give us more of
his work.

  THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE OLYMPIANS THREATEN.--A real ice rink, "said to be the largest in
the world," is in course of construction at Olympia. Does "Niagara"
realise, or, as in this conjunction it might be written, "real-ice,"
the fact that its own nice invention may, by its rival, be beaten all
to shivers?

       *       *       *       *       *

FROM "LOVE'S LABOUR."--What our Sir FREDERIC, P.R.A. (quoting the
Divine WILLIAMS), will soon be saying to the accepted artist, "_Bid
him go hang!_"

       *       *       *       *       *

A COCK AND BULL STORY.

AIR--"_Casabianca._"

    ["European navies were like fighting-cocks, armed to the
    teeth; a single spark might cause an explosion."

    _Dr. MacGregor on the Navy Estimates._]

  The fighting-cock stood on the deck,
    His eye was rolling red,
  His feathers whiffled round his neck,
    His crest was on his head.

  He wore his spur above his heel,
    His claws were underneath,
  He also had a mass of steel
    Plate-armour on his teeth.

  Meanwhile the House was haggling on
    In one of those debates
  When Little England jumps upon
    The Navy Estimates.

  There CLEOPHAS, of many wiles,
    Brought up his little lot,
  And Mr. BYLES, with wreathèd smiles,
    Was deadly on the spot.

  And LABBY said the bootless pay
    Of navies should be stamped on;
  "There is no boot!" as strikers say
    In LABBY'S own Northampton.

  "Then came a burst of thunder-sound"
    That shook the very street,
  And lo! MACGREGOR'S form was found
    To be upon its feet.

  He called the rates a great expense,
    He was a peaceful Scot,
  And said the talk about "defense"
    Was simply Tommy-rot.

  Far better for his country's good,
    So long allowed to bleed,
  If only half the money could
    Be spent across the Tweed.

  Then with a petrifying shout,
    Like some _clamantis vox_,
  He fetched a trumpet-note about
    The teeth of fighting-cocks.

  A simile of crew and crew
    All ripe for any ruction;
  (Refer to verses one and two,
    Or else the introduction).

  A spark might fall from out the sea,
    Completely unforeboded,
  And then the birds--where would they be?
    Why, they would be exploded.

  He looked around for some applause
    From front or side or rear;
  They never said a word, because
    They hadn't strength to cheer.

  With many an accidental jest
    The hearts of men were full,
  But O! the thing they liked the best
    Was bold MACGREGOR'S bull!

       *       *       *       *       *

"SUR LE TAPIS" DE BRUXELLES.

However clever as a dramatic author he, M. MAURICE MAETERLINCK of
Brussels, may be, it is rather handicapping him to be dubbed by
enthusiastic but injudicious admirers "The Belgian SHAKSPEARE,"
though, of course, "Belgian" does qualify the SHAKSPEARE, just as
Brussels prefixed to sprout decides the character of that favourite
and useful vegetable. M. MAETERLINCK may be the "coming on," or
sprouting, dramatist of the future. Up to the present time there has
not been much in any way to connect Belgian and English drama,
so MAETERLINCK may be the missing link destined to electrically
illuminate "all the world," which "is," as the Divine WILLIAMS
remarks, "a stage."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: PREHISTORIC PEEPS.

THE PROCEDURE IN THE LAW COURTS HAD MANY POINTS OF RESEMBLANCE TO
OUR OWN BUT AT TIMES IT WAS EXTREMELY DIFFICULT TO GIVE UNDIVIDED
ATTENTION TO THE EVIDENCE!]

       *       *       *       *       *

PROPOSED RULES FOR THE LADIES' UNIVERSAL ATHLETIC ASSOCIATION.

    (_Compiled by One thoroughly Conversant with the Necessities
    of the Situation._)

1. The costume of every member of the Club shall be of the most
elegant description. The design shall not be governed by the
requirements of the game for which the uniform is required, but rather
by the characteristics of the wearer.

2. Red and blue shall be worn according to the complexion of the
player, and the choice of teams shall depend not upon prowess or
locality, but the colour of the hair and eyes and the formation of the
noses.

3. Patent leather shoes shall invariably form a part of the _grande
tenue_ of the Club, with high heels at discretion.

4. Football shall be played with a light india-rubber globe,
and "pushing" shall be strictly forbidden. However, it shall be
permissible for one player to hold an opponent tightly by the hands if
the former thinks the latter is about to give it "quite a hard kick"
with her toe.

5. No angry language will be allowed, but one member may tell another,
in the height of an exciting contest, that she is "a spiteful,
disagreeable old thing." On very special occasions the word "There!"
may be added with emphasis.

6. Cricket shall never be allowed to last for more than half an hour,
and cups of tea shall be served to the strikers between the overs.

7. Only ladies shall be permitted to watch the game of the members,
as a rule. However, at times when everyone is looking her best,
individuals of the inferior sex shall be admitted to the football
ground or cricket field, on the condition that they "promise not to
laugh."

8. Players at football, cricket, and other games sanctioned by the
Association, shall have full liberty to make their own rules and keep
their own appointments. They will be usually expected to wait until a
match is finished, unless called away to take a drive in the Park, or
do a little shopping.

9 and Lastly. As women are as excellent as men at field sports, the
members of the Club shall be entitled to the franchise.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: SEQUELÆ!

_The General._ "_YOU_'VE HAD IT, I SUPPOSE?"

_The Judge._ "I SHOULD THINK SO. I'M AS WEAK AS A RAT!"

_The General._ "THAT'S NOTHING. _I'M_ AS WEAK AS _TWO_ RATS!"

_The Judge._ "BUT _TWO_ RATS ARE STRONGER THAN _ONE_ RAT!"

_The General._ "IF YOU ARGUE, I SHALL CRY!"]

       *       *       *       *       *


THE LATEST FROM SOL.

    SCENE--_The Sun. First Solarist discovered reading local
    journal to Second Solarist._

_First Solarist._ I say, have you seen what this century's _Earth_
says?

_Second Solarist._ No; it's much too hot for reading newspapers.

_First S._ Why, the idiotic people on that ridiculous little planet
have just discovered the existence of Helium!

_Second S._ Dear me! How long have they taken about that?

_First S._ About six thousand years (according to mundane measure), or
thereabouts.

_Second S._ They seem to have plenty of leisure on their hands! And
now that they _have_ found out Helium, of what use will it be to them?

_First S._ Oh, that they will probably discover in another fix
thousand years! Let's liquor!

    [_Exeunt. Scene closes in upon an eclipse._

       *       *       *       *       *

BALLAD OF THE UNSURPRISED JUDGE.

    ["Mr. Justice HAWKINS observed, 'I am surprised at
    nothing.'"--_Pitts v. Joseph, "Times'" Report, March 27._]

  All hail to Sir HENRY, whom nothing surprises;
    Ye Judges and suitors, regard him with awe,
  As he sits up aloft on the Bench and applies his
    Swift mind to the shifts and the tricks of the Law.
  Many years has he lived, and has always seen clear things
    That Nox seemed to hide from our average eyes:
  But still, though encompassed with all sorts of queer things,
    He never, no never gives way to surprise.

  When a rogue, for example, a company-monger,
    Grows fat on the gain of the shares he has sold,
  While the public gets lean, winning nothing but hunger
    And a few scraps of scrip for its masses of gold;
  When the fat man goes further and takes to religion,
    A rascal in hymn-books and bibles disguised,
  "It's a case," says Sir HENRY, "of rook _versus_ pigeon,
    And the pigeon gets left--well, I'm hardly surprised."

  There's a Heath at Newmarket, and horses that run there,
    There are owners and jockeys, and sharpers and flats;
  There are some who do nicely, and some who are done there,
    There are loud men with pencils and satchels and hats.
  But the Stewards see nothing of betting or money,
    As they stand in the blinkers for Stewards devised;
  Their blindness may strike HENRY HAWKINS as funny,
    But he only smiles softly, he isn't surprised.

  So, here's to Sir HENRY, the terror of tricksters,
    Of Law he's a master, and likewise a limb:
  His mind never once, when its purpose is fixed, errs;
    For cuteness there's none holds a candle to him.
  Let them try to deceive him, why, bless you, he's _been_ there,
    And can track his way straight through a tangle of lies;
  And, though some might grow grey at the things he has seen there,
    He never, no never, gives way to surprise.

       *       *       *       *       *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

_House of Lords, Monday, March 25._--Impossible to avoid noticing
depression of the MARKISS when he entered House to-night. At first
thought feelings of a father had overcome him. CRANBORNE, immediately
after eloquent and energetic attack in other House of Welsh
Disestablishment Bill, was struck down by indisposition, reported to
be measles. That all very well. Do not wish to suggest anything wrong;
but coincidence at least remarkable. Measles, the Member for SARK
tells me, can be conveyed in various apparently innoxious guises. In
a controversy so acrid that GEORGE OSBORNE MORGAN has been publicly
accused of profligacy, men will, it is too obvious, go any lengths.
At present there is nothing that can be called evidence to connect
CRANBORNE'S sudden indisposition with current controversy. But if this
mysterious attack is followed by symptoms of croup, rickets, teething,
or any other complaint usually associated with happy days in the
nursery, the public will know what to think.

Happily it turned out that the depression of the MARKISS had nothing
to do with the condition of the heir of Hatfield. His sympathetic
heart been touched by difficulties that environ a worthy class of
men whom LORD CHANCELLOR, conscious that COBB'S eye is upon him,
has recently been making magistrates. "Excellent persons," says
the MARKISS; "self-made men. But unfortunately the process of
self-manufacture does not include knowledge of the statutes at large."
There is the Parish Councils Act, for example; one of those pieces of
legislation with which a reckless Radical majority has embarrassed an
ancient State. This law has to be administered by people unlearned
in Acts of Parliament. They cannot take a step without having sixteen
volumes of the statutes at large tucked under their arms. What the
benevolent and thoughtful MARKISS suggested was, that in all future
legislation there shall be reprinted sections of Acts of Parliament
referred to in text of Bill.

House listened with admiration to statesman who, his mind engrossed
by imperial cares, could find time to think out schemes for easing the
pathway of working-men magistrates, and assisting operation of Parish
Councils Act. Only, somehow, there was left on minds of hearers a
strong impression that working-men magistrates are a mistake, and the
Parish Councils Act a public injury, of which the Government ought to
be more than ordinarily ashamed.

_Business done._--More speech-making round Welsh Disestablishment Bill
in Commons. Direfully dull.

_House of Commons, Tuesday._--"Speakers may come, and Speakers may
go," said the Member for SARK, "but as long as the House of Commons
produces men like VICARY GIBBS the institution is safe, and the
State rocks safely on its everlasting foundations. It was, you will
remember, VICARY who directly, though undesignedly, led to the row
on that famous night in June when Home-Rule Committee was closured.
VICARY shares with Heaven the peculiarity that order is his first
law. On that particular night somebody had said something, and
VICARY wanted to have his words taken down. Amid growing uproar
his observations were inaudible to the Chair, and his presence
undistinguishable. Some men would thereupon have resumed their seat.
VICARY, his soul athirst to have something 'taken down,' moved on to
the Front Opposition Bench, and shouted his desire in MELLOR'S left
ear. Then LOGAN suddenly loomed large on the scene. HAYES FISHER
reached forth a red right hand and shook him by the collar. Next an
anonymous Irish Member fell over the bench on to SAUNDERSON'S knee,
and was there incontinently but heartily pummelled. After that chaos;
all arising out of VICARY GIBBS'S insatiable, uncontrollable desire to
have something 'taken down' in the sacred name of order."

These musings on the mighty past were occasioned by VICARY once
more unexpectedly, but sternly and effectively, interposing as the
custodian of order. WEIR broken out in epidemic of questions;
puts down eleven on the paper; runs them up to the full score by
supplementary questions, invariably prefaced by the formula "Is the
right hon. gentleman A. WEIR that----?" A poor joke, its only flash of
humour being in the subtly varied tone with which the SPEAKER eleven
times pronounced the words, "Mr. WEIR." Also grotesquely funny to hear
the reverberation of the deep chest notes, in which WEIR, with tragic
sweep of _pince-nez_ on to his nose, said in succession, "Ques-ti-on
one," "Ques-ti-on two," and so on.

Touch of tragedy came in when VICARY, managing to throw into tone and
form of question conviction that SQUIRE OF MALWOOD was secretly at
bottom of the whole business, asked him whether this was not abuse
of forms of the House, calculated to lead to curtailment of valuable
privilege. No use SQUIRE assuming air of innocence. House knew all
about it. Refreshed and revived by VICARY'S timely vindication of law
and order, proceeded to business.

_Business done._--Fourth night's Debate on Welsh Church
Disestablishment Bill. The still prevalent dulness varied by speech
from PLUNKET; witched the House by music of stately though simple
eloquence.

_Thursday._--Desperate dulness of week further relieved by discovery
of new game. TOMMY BOWLES, _Inv._ House just got into Committee of
Supply; Vote on Account under discussion; this covers multitudinous
items; every spending department of State concerned. When Committee
of Supply deals with Army Estimates, CAWMELL-BANNERMAN and the WINSOME
WOODALL in their places. The rest of Ministers may go away, knowing
that everything is well. The same when Navy Estimates are on, or
when particular votes in the Civil Service Estimates are to the fore.
Ministers of particular departments affected in their place; the rest
at liberty.

To-night, as no one knew who might be called on next, all agreed to
stop away--all but the faithful HIBBERT. Cap'en TOMMY, as usual, aloft
in the Crow's Nest, perceived this weak point. Hauling on the bowline,
and making all taut, he bore down swiftly on the Treasury Bench, and
hailed it for the President of the Board of Trade. Wanted to talk to
BRYCE, he said, about lighthouses. No one knew better than TOMMY that
BRYCE wasn't aboard. According to regulations, he ought to have been.
Search made for him. Presently brought in with hands in pockets,
trying to whistle, and otherwise present appearance of indifference.
But a poor show.

Encouraged by this success, Private HANBURY, observing ROBERTSON was
among absentees, addressed question to Civil Lord of Admiralty about
Peterhead Harbour. HIBBERT'S agony of mind at this juncture would have
softened harder hearts. An elderly hen, that has counted its brood
seven times, on each occasion finding one or two missing, not more
perturbed. Looked up and down Treasury Bench. ROBERTSON, not within
sight; might be below the Gangway. Vain hope. For Members opposite
interest in Peterhead Harbour growing keener and more urgent. FRANCIS
POWELL, usually mild-mannered man, went so far as to move to report
progress. MELLOR declined to put question.

"Very well," said the Blameless BARTLEY, with air of martyr. "We must
go on talking about Peterhead Harbour till the Minister comes in."

So he did, and when he ran dry TOMLINSON (having meanwhile ascertained
where Peterhead Harbour is) took up the wondrous tale. Talking when
HIBBERT reappeared, his breast now swelling with maternal pride and
satisfaction. He had found the lost chick, and clucked low notes of
supreme content as he brought him back to the roost. Pretty to see
how, Civil Lord in his place, all interest in Peterhead Harbour
subsided, Busy B's turning their attention to alleged felonious
underrating of Government property.

[Illustration: Sir John Leng strongly objects to Lion-taming
Exhibitions.]

_Business done._--Vote on Account through Committee. Sir JOHN LENG
calls ASQUITH'S attention to dangerous occupation of lion-tamers.
"All very well," he says, "for doughty knight like me. But these poor
fellows with families shouldn't be allowed to run risks."

_Friday Night._--"What's the business at to-night's sitting?" asked
SQUIRE OF MALWOOD, looking over Orders of the Day. "Home Rule all
round? Very well. Shall give practical proof of adherence to principle
by stopping at home."

JOHN MORLEY did same, most other Ministers following suit.
CAWMEL-BANNERMAN sacrificed himself on altar of country. But insisted
that he might at least dine out in interval between morning and
evening sitting that made last day of Parliamentary week. His snowy
shirt front gave air of almost reckless joviality to desolate Treasury
Bench. PRINCE ARTHUR, not to be outdone in chivalry, also looked in
after dinner, brightening up Front Bench opposite Minister for War.
But two swallows don't make a summer, nor two gentlemen in evening
dress a festive party. TREVELYAN only man in earnest, and he terribly
so.

_Business done._--Home Rule all round decreed by majority of 26 in
House of 230.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE NEW CHIVALRY.

    ["In a case heard before Judge FRENCH at Shoreditch, the Judge
    remarked that the plea of infancy was not a very meritorious
    one. 'No,' replied the defendant, 'but it's jolly
    convenient.'"--_The Globe._]

  When, toddling along with a swell, I pretend
  Not to notice a shabby (though excellent) friend,--
  Well, it is _not_ lofty, to that I assent,
  But then, "it's so jolly con-ve-ni-ent!"

  When a tenant has built up a business with care,
  And saved to his landlord all cost of repair,
  It may not be kind just to double his rent,
  Yet somehow "it's jolly con-ve-ni-ent!"

  If you've suffered, in polling, a "moral defeat,"
  Then to grab each Committee and every paid seat
  Some might say was the act of a "cad," not a "gent";
  But, you see, "it's so jolly con-ve-ni-ent!"

  Then your house is for sale, and, if gifted with brains,
  You, of course, do not mention the damp, rats, and drains
  Which is not what the ancients by "honesty" meant,
  But, still, it _is_ "jolly con-ve-ni-ent!"

       *       *       *       *       *



Transcriber's Note

Page 159: Footnote [A] refers to


Page 168: 'progess' corrected to 'progress'.

"FRANCIS POWELL, usually mild-mannered man, went so far as to move to
report progress."

       *       *       *       *       *





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