



Produced by Malcolm Farmer, Lesley Halamek, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
book was created from images of public domain material
made available by the University of Toronto Libraries
(http://link.library.utoronto.ca/booksonline/).)






       *       *       *       *       *

Punch, or the London Charivari

Volume 105, December 2, 1893.

_edited by Sir Francis Burnand_

       *       *       *       *       *




TO A LADY.

(_Whose "Fringe" has fallen off at a Ball._)

  Alas! those waving curls,
    That parting on your brow,
  Had been some other girl's!
    "Vhere ish dot barting now?"

  Like BREITMANN'S barty gone
    Avay in _ewigkeit_,
  Those curls which you put on
    To grace the ball to-night.

  Too feeble were the pins,
    Too frisky were your hops;
  Derisive are the grins,
    Departing parting drops.

  A parting, this, that shocks
    Beholders evermore;
  You dare not claim those locks
    Now lying on the floor.

  I used to think them fair,
    I find them false instead;
  If thus you lose your hair,
    I shall not lose my head.

  Nor certainly my heart--
    With that I should not care
  So readily to part
    As you with purchased hair.

  We kick those curls aside.
    Your looks and locks have fled,
  Then hasten home to hide
    Your much diminished head.

       *       *       *       *       *

DON PEDRO D'ALCANTARA LE COMTE D'EU is eighteen. He is pursuing his
studies at a Military Academy, speaks German fairly well, and in his
leisure hours is, we are informed, "studying Polish." The latter being
acquired, he will become a most polish'd Prince. He is so very well
off that he will not have to go to Brazil for a crown.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: DOMESTIC THRIFT.

SCENE--_Entrance-hall at the Browns, after one of their Parties._

_Jones_ (_the last to depart, as usual_). "WHAT A DELICIOUS DRINK,
WAITER! WHAT _IS_ IT!"

_Waiter._ "THE LEAVINGS, SIR!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

PRINCE ALEXANDER OF BATTENBERG.

  Europe's Prince Charming, lion-like, born to dare,
  Betrayed by the black treacherous Northern Bear!
  Soldier successful vainly, patriot foiled,
  Wooer discomfited, and hero spoiled!
  Triumphant champion of Slivnitza's field,
  To sordid treachery yet doomed to yield;
  Of gallant heart and high-enduring strain,
  Valiant resultlessly, victor in vain!
  Motley career of mingled shine and shame,
  Material fashioned for romantic fame!
  An age more chivalrous you should have seen,
  When brutal brokers, and when bagmen keen,
  Shamed not the sword and blunted not the lance.
  Then had you been true Hero of Romance.
  Now, when to Mammon Mars must bow his crest,
  King-errantry seems a Quixotic quest,
  And "unfulfilled renown" finds only--early rest!

       *       *       *       *       *

A VALETUDINARIAN'S VISDOM.

  Evening red and morning grey
  Makes _me_ by the fireside stay.
  Evening grey and morning red
  Finds _me_ tucked up all day in bed!

       *       *       *       *       *

CURIOUS BUT TRUE.--So particular are the Worshipful Company of
Fishmongers to have everything in order, that they have this year
elected as Prime Warden a fine SALMON (ROBERT H.).

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

"With the New Year," says a Baronite, "there is a great desire to
turn over a new leaf." Such intentions are easily satisfied by
the _Back-Loop Pocket Diaries_, where leaves for this purpose are
plentifully supplied by JOHN WALKER & CO. Likewise DE LA RUE & CO.
offer Diaries and Memorandum Books in every size and form, and this
year they have a patent clip to keep the leaf down. Ought to be
advertised as "clipping!"

The Baron's Baronites look into a box of Christmas books and find,
first--_Westward with Columbus_. By GORDON STABLES, M.D.C.M. Graphic
account. "STABLES must have been in excellent form when writing this,"
observes a Baronite; "evidently he was not Livery Stables."--_Wreck of
the Golden Fleece._ By ROBERT LEIGHTON. A capital sea story, plenty
of rocks and wrecks, hardships and plague-ships, and all sorts of
wonderful adventures.--_The White Conquerors of Mexico_, by KIRK
MUNROE, tells how CORTES and his Spaniards, being white, did MONTEZUMA
and his Aztic natives brown.--_With the Sea Kings._ F. H. WINDER. The
youthful amateur salt will find everything here to satisfy all his
cravings and _See-kings_. "_Winder_ has taken great _panes_ with
this," says Baronitess.

"My clients," quoth the Baron, "will do well to read BARING-GOULD'S
cheap _Jack Zita_." Fascinating book by reason of its picturesque
effects and its description of life in the Fens at the commencement of
the present century. "I wonder," muses the Baron, "whether any of my
readers, being Cantabs, will call to mind how some thirty-five years
ago the names of those eminent amateur pugilists J-CK SH-FF-LD,
F-RG-SS-N D-V-E, L-NN-X C-NN-NGH-M, and others were associated with
life in the Fens as it existed at that time, and how these pupils of
NAT LANGHAM'S now and again disputed the championship of a certain Fen
Tavern, won it, and for a time held it? Some undergraduates were hand
and glove with the Fenners--not the cricket-ground, so styled, but the
dwellers in Fen-land; and on occasion they were hand to hand without
the 'glove.'" Why this question? "Because," says the Baron, "one of
the scenes so graphically described in the chapter, headed 'Burnt
Hats,' might have been witnessed at the time I have referred to by
any undergraduate sufficiently venturesome to accompany those
fisticuffers." As for the plot, well, 'tis a good plot, and has always
been a good plot, and "twill serve, 'twill serve." But it is the
BARING-GOULD flavouring that makes the dish acceptable to the jaded
palate of oldest novel-devourer.

  BARON DE B.-W.

       *       *       *       *       *

GOOD LUCK TO IT!

(_To Mr. Caine and his Bill prohibiting advertisements in rural
places._)

  Oh, Mr. CAINE, for this relief much thanks.
  As most benignant benefactor ranks
  The man who saves our own sweet countryside--
  At once our chiefest glory and our pride--
  From all the many nauseating ills
  Which come out of advertisements of pills!
  Pills there must be, but when we chance to pass
  Through meadows and would rest our eyes on grass,
  Or pleasantly meander by the river,
  We would forget we've even got a liver.
  So here's success to you, Sir, in your Bill
  To make it wrong to advertise a pill
  In rural spots in which we fondly now
  Associate "three acres and a cow!"
  And when success this rural venture yields,
  Do for the beaches what's done for the fields!

       *       *       *       *       *

"INVISIBLE TROUSER STRETCHERS."--Legs.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE BABES ON THE TREASURY BENCH.

(_With Mr. Punch's Thanks to Mr. Courtney for the Suggestion. Vide
Times, Parliamentary Report, Wednesday, November 22._)]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "TRANSMITTED."

_Ignorant Bachelor Visitor._ "HULLO, THROGMORTON; WHAT THE DEUCE ARE
YOUR TWINS UP TO WITH THAT CONTRIVANCE?"

_Proud Father (of Throgmorton, Threadneedle & Co.; Telephone
123456-1/4)._ "HA! THERE YOU ARE, MY BOY--MARVELLOUS EXAMPLE OF
INHERITED BUSINESS INSTINCT! THEY'RE TRYING TO TELEPHONE TO EACH
OTHER!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE BABES ON THE TREASURY BENCH.

    ["The leader of the Opposition had treated them to good
    logic, but why administer such strong meat to the babes on the
    Treasury bench?"--_Mr. Courtney on the Parish Councils Bill._]

  We have heard of the Babes in the Wood,
    And the ruffians greedy and cruel,
  Who (as INGOLDSBY said in gay mood)
    Conspired for to "give them their gruel";
  But pitiful bosoms will blench
    At this vision of BALFOUR the sinister,
  To Babes on the Treasury Bench
    Presuming his dose to administer!
  They find Doctor BALFOUR, one fears,
    Worse than poor _Davy Copperfield's Creakle_;
  As awful as grim _Mrs. Squeers_
    With her jorum of brimstone and treacle.
  Ah, COURTNEY, how _could_ you conceive
    A picture so Mephistophelian?
  Your buzzum is stone, I believe,
    And your heart must be truly a steely 'un!
  Sweet Babes! They seem likely to choke!
    Poor GLADDY! Poor JOHNNIE! Poor WILLY!
  ARTHUR'S "logic" is tougher than "toke,"
    And much more insipid than "skilly."
  Strong meat? How your irony _you_ barb,
    Your humour's as grim as the gallows.
  Your dose is as drastic as rhubarb,
    And almost as bitter as aloes.
  Logic? For Babes? On that Bench?
    You're as hard as the Poles' "whiskered pandour."
  You might as well set out to drench
    Your own Opposition with--candour!
  The Treasury Babes may object
    To prescriptions from MILL or from WHEWELL,
  And logical draughts, I expect,
    Would very soon give _you_ your gruel.
  If COURTNEY could physic himself,
    Or BALFOUR and he dose each other,
  How soon both would lay on the shelf
    This prescription, and try quite another!
  No; Reason, as party-strife goes,
    As food is attractive to no men:
  And Logic's a nauseous dose,
    To be given--as physic--to foemen!

       *       *       *       *       *

"What author was it," inquired Mrs. R. of a literary friend, "who
wrote the line describing going to bed as '_that last infirmity of
noble minds_'?"

       *       *       *       *       *

"HARK! I HEAR THE SOUND OF COACHES."

    ["There are still five of the road-coaches running out of
    London."--_Daily News, Nov. 18._]

  If drooping with toil, or aught else, I or
  You may spring up with "Excelsior!"

  As up to the box-seat one climbs,
  "How pleasant," one murmurs, "'Old Times!'"

  Times equally good, we'll engage,
  Have others who go with "The Age."

  Though outlooks to-morrow be livid,
  Hold tight now a joy that is "Vivid."

  "_Post equitem?_" Ah! his reliance,
  At least, wasn't placed on "Defiance."

       *       *       *       *       *

RATHER FAMILIAR!--It was announced in the _Times_ that "Canon G. F.
BROWNE will lecture at St. Paul's, in January," on "_The Christian
Church before the coming of Augustus_." The Canon ought to have said
"_Sir_ AUGUSTUS." Of course there is only one "AUGUSTUS," _i.e._ our
"DRURIOLANUS."

       *       *       *       *       *

UNDER THE ROSE.

(_A Story in Scenes._)

SCENE XVII.--_The Drawing-room at Hornbeam Lodge._ CURPHEW _and_
ALTHEA _are standing at some distance from one another, in evident
constraint_.

_Curphew (sadly)._ It's only what I expected, and yet--tell me
this--is it entirely because of--of what you saw at the Eldorado last
Saturday?

_Althea._ Ah, you _know_, then! but what does it matter now? I was
mistaken--isn't that enough?

_Curph._ Don't judge me by what you saw of WALTER WILDFIRE. I can do
better things than that. I can make you forget _him_--forget that he
ever existed, if only you will trust me!

_Alth. (indignantly)._ Do you really suppose that he--that I--oh, it's
_too_ insulting! And you will do no good by disparaging _him_. The man
who could write those songs, and sing them like that----

_Curph. (wincing)._ Don't! I know how they must have struck you. I
would have prepared you, if I could. I _did_ try--that afternoon at
the station, but I was interrupted. And now it's too late, and the
harm's done. But at least you will never see WALTER WILDFIRE again!

_Alth. (exasperated)._ Have I ever said that I _wanted_ to? Why will
you persist in talking as if----? Once for all, I _can't_ care for
you; whatever I may have thought once, I know now that I can have no
sympathy with the sort of life you lead; the pleasures you are content
with would not satisfy me; I should want more than you could ever give
me. We should have nothing in common--nothing----There, _now_ do you
understand?

_Curph._ Yes, I think I do. I suppose it's natural, and yet--don't
think too hardly of me if you can help it. I might have chosen a
higher walk than I did, but at least I've kept out of the mire, and
now at last I see my way to----But that wouldn't interest you. There,
I had better say good-bye: you won't refuse to give me your hand at
parting, will you?

    [_As he takes her hand_, Mrs. TOOVEY _enters with_ CHARLES,
    _and stands transfixed._

_Mrs. Toovey._ ALTHEA, don't tell me I'm too late! You have not
accepted that man?

_Curph._ (_releasing_ ALTHEA'S _hand_). On the contrary, I have just
had my dismissal, Mrs. TOOVEY; we were merely saying good-bye.

_Mrs. Toov._ Thank Heaven! But I knew I could trust _my_ daughter
to detect instinctively the designing serpent in wolf's
clothing--(_correcting herself angrily_)--the sheep in dove's plumage,
I _should_ say.

_Charles (sotto voce)._ Similes are cheap to-day!

_Mrs. Toov. (more angrily still)._ Well, _I_ know what I mean, and so
does he! (Mr. TOOVEY _enters_.) And how a person with Mr. CURPHEW'S
antecedents could ever have the face to thrust himself into such a
household as this----

_Mr. Toov. (coming forward)._ CORNELIA, my love! Such language to our
dear young friend! Surely, surely, there must be some sad mistake!

_Mrs. Toov._ There has been indeed, Pa, and so you will say when you
hear who and what he really is!

_Curph._ Mr. TOOVEY has been quite aware of it for the last week, and
was kind enough to say he saw no insuperable objection.

_Mrs. Toov._ Pa, is this true? You knew who Mr. CURPHEW was and never
told me!

_Mr Toov._ My dear, I've no more notion who he is, if he's not Mr.
CURPHEW, than a babe un----

_Curph._ But surely, Sir, you forget our conversation at Clapham
Junction this day week? You certainly knew everything _then_. I
thought your nephew had probably----

_Charles._ I'd no idea of it myself till last Saturday, so it couldn't
have been _me_!

_Alth. (impatiently)._ No idea of _what_? Who _is_ Mr. CURPHEW, Papa?

_Curph. (to her, in astonishment)._ But you know! surely you know?
What else have we been talking about?

_Mr. Toov. (helplessly)._ I think we might try to be a little more
clear, all of us. I do indeed. I'm in a perfect fog myself.

_Mrs. Toov._ Then, Pa, let me inform you that you have been
encouraging the acquaintance of a person who gains his living by
singing ribald songs at music-halls under the name of WALTER WILDFIRE!

_Alth. (to herself)._ WALTER WILDFIRE! Then it was----Oh, if I had
known!

_Mr. Toov._ A--a music-hall singer! He! Oh, dear, _dear_ me; _how_ one
may be deceived in people!

_Curph._ Really, Sir, this can hardly be news to you, when you allowed
me to send you a box for the Eldorado for the express purpose of----

_Mrs. Toov._ Don't deny you were sent the box, Pa, because I know
better. The question is--what you wanted one at all for?

_Mr. Toov. (to himself)._ There's no occasion to say anything about
those shares now! (_Aloud._) To be sure. I _was_ sent a ticket, my
love; I could not help that, but (_drawing himself up_) it was not
likely that I should compromise myself by visiting such a place, even
from the best of motives, and I did not use the ticket myself, though
I believe some other person did.

_Mrs. Toov. (in some distress)._ Well, well, never mind that now, Pa.
What _you_ have to do is to ask this Mr. WILDFIRE to oblige us all by
walking out of this house--for ever.

_Curph._ I should not have stayed so long as this, only I hoped that
Mr. TOOVEY at least would have done me the justice---- However, I've
nothing to keep me here any longer now.

    [_He moves towards the door._

_Alth. (coming forward and intercepting him)._ Yes, you have--you've
_me_. Oh, do you think I'll let you go like this--now I _know_? Can't
you understand what a difference it makes?

    [_She clings to his arm._

[Illustration: "Can't you understand what a difference it makes?"]

_Charles._ Bravo, THEA! I always knew you were a sensible girl!

_Curph. (utterly bewildered)._ Then you weren't--you don't----? I
wonder if I can be awake!

_Mrs. Toov._ ALTHEA, if you had the remotest conception of what a
music-hall singer _is_, you would never----

_Alth._ I know what Mr. CURPHEW is, Mamma. He is a great artist, a
genius; he can hold a mixed crowd of careless people spell-bound
while he sings, make them laugh, cry, shudder, just as he chooses,
and whatever he does is all so natural and human and real, and--oh, I
can't put it into proper words, but one goes away thinking better of
the whole world after it--and to hear him treated as if he were some
outcast--oh, I can't bear it!

    [_She breaks down._

_Curph. (to himself)._ I don't care what happens now. They can't take
_this_ away!

_Mrs. Toov._ Upon my word! And pray where did you learn all this about
Mr. WILDFIRE'S performances?

_Alth. (boldly)._ Where, Mamma? Why, at the Eldorado, last Saturday
evening.

    [_Sudden collapse of_ Mrs. TOOVEY.

_Mr. Toov. (electrified)._ A daughter of mine at the Eldorado! THEA,
my child, you _can't_ know what you are talking about; look at the
effect on your poor mother!

_Alth. (desperately)._ But indeed, Papa, there was no harm in it, I
went with the MERRIDEWS. And--and I may be mistaken, of course, but
I--I thought I saw _Mamma_ there too!

    [_Sensation._

_Charles._ Oh, I say, THEA; aren't you coming it _rather_ strong? Aunt
at the Eldorado! Why, Aunt thought _Uncle_ was there!

_Mr. Toov._ CORNELIA, my love, don't pay any attention to her; the
child must be stark staring mad to say such things. It's bad enough
that _she_ should have gone; but to think of _you_ in such a scene!
(_To_ ALTHEA.) Why, it was that very Saturday evening that your dear
mother went to the Zenana Meeting at Mrs. CUMBERBATCH'S--yes, to be
sure. (_To_ Mrs. T.) You remember, my dear, how you came home so
late, in a cab the driver had been smoking in, and how the moment you
entered the room I----

_Mrs. Toov. (hastily)._ My dear THEOPHILUS, I remember the
circumstances perfectly, but I should not condescend to answer so
preposterous a charge; especially when it is my own daughter who
brings it!

_Alth._ (_in distress_). But indeed I don't Mamma. I only fancied
it _might_ have been you, and of course, if you were at the
CUMBERBATCHES----

_Mrs. Toov._ (_to herself_). I must put a stop to this once and for
all. (_Aloud_.) _If_ I was at the CUMBERBATCHES! When your father
has just _told_ you I was there--really, ALTHEA! Did I hear wheels
outside? Just look, Pa. I haven't seen my spectacles since Saturday.

_Mr. Toov._ (_at the window_). Why, really, my love, it does seem to
be a carriage, indeed. I wonder who can be calling at such a----Now,
it's quite a coincidence, truly--it's dear Mrs. CUMBERBATCH! I hope
she'll come in, because I really think it's a duty to warn her against
employing that particular cabman again. A driver who permits himself
to smoke inside his own vehicle to that extent----

    [Mrs. TOOVEY _makes ineffectual efforts to speak_.

_Alth._ (_in a whisper, to_ CURPHEW). Do look at Mamma! You don't
think she could really----?

_Curph._ I don't know what to think yet; but we shall all know in a
very few seconds now.

    [_The hall-door is heard to open; Mrs. TOOVEY attempts to
    rise, but has to remain in her seat, dumb and paralysed_.

END OF SCENE XVII.

       *       *       *       *       *

LOBENGULA'S LETTER-BAG.

(_Post-mark, Regent's Park_.)

Shall be glad to engage you for the Gardens. You will be expected to
look after the elephants and to make yourself generally useful with
the lions and tigers. As the Christmas holidays are approaching,
perhaps you might invent a little comic scene with the crocodiles. A
similar feature was supplied years ago by the French sailor in charge
of the seals with much effect. Of course we shall be glad if your
knowledge of the idiosyncrasies of the ourang-outang enables you
to suggest anything that could be worked up into a comic interlude.
Please bear in mind that the Gardens want waking up, and you have
a big opportunity. You would have Sunday off every other week. The
Gardens would reserve to themselves the right of regulating your
costume. Your boots and straw-hat may be ample in Africa, but in
the Regent's Park would be considered inappropriate. We think we can
clothe you in the very thing, if we can find a size large enough for
you. It is called "the boy's home-for-the-holidays lounging suit," and
is largely advertised. Shall expect you by next boat.

(_Post-mark, Westminster_). Glad to engage you for a month certain,
with power to increase the time to six weeks or longer. Could you
bring with you a pugilistic hippopotamus? It must be a young one, as
there is not much room for any side-shows. If you can jump, and don't
mind water, so much the better. If you would leap from the
organ-loft into a tank on to the stage, carrying on your back the
boxing-kangaroo, the feat might be accepted, and prove a feature.
Think this over on the journey to England. Perhaps something may
occur to you. If so, mind that we are deeply respected, and are highly
popular with the L. C. C. So please let your suggestions be as refined
as possible.

(_Post-mark, Paternoster Row_). Shall be glad to arrange with you for
the immediate production of your Recollections. Would be glad if they
were written in a bright, chatty style. You might give an account
of your connection with literary celebrities, torturers, scientific
expeditions, executions, sport in the far East, native war, and other
topics of interest that may have come under your personal observation.
If you could write up to some electros we have of a comic German
Christmas party so much the better. As the success of the book is
doubtful, we do not wish to incur unnecessary expense, and therefore
would be glad if you could see your way to introducing the following
blocks, of which we hold the copyright:--Covent Garden by Moonlight,
A Spanish Bull Fight, An Execution in front of the Old Bailey, A
Students' Ball in the Quartier Latin, H.R.H. opening a Newly-erected
Board-School, Snipe Shooting on the Norfolk Broads, Christmas in
a Storm at Sea, Hampstead Heath on Bank Holiday, Portrait of JOHN
WESLEY, A Lecture on Chemistry at the Royal Polytechnic Institution,
Exterior of the new Police Court at Bow Street, An Incident in the
Lord Mayor's Show, "Oxford wins," VAN TROMP sailing up the Thames,
Paris Fashions for February, Christmas Eve--the Last Omnibus, Hop
Pickers on the March, The new Uniform of the Grenadier Guards, and the
late Fire at the Borough Brewery. We shall be glad if you will put the
book in hand at once, as it is scarcely necessary to say that the
sale of a work of reminiscences depends to a large extent upon the
popularity of its author at the moment of publication. Terms, after
the sale of 5000 copies, one penny a volume royalty.

(_Post-mark, Drury Lane._) Engage you at once for ten years. Probably
shall not require you for more than three or four months, but shall
retain you for the rest of the time. May come in useful later on.
Place waiting for you in the Pantomime. Minute and a half in English
History in twenty minutes. Also comic scene with the Clown. The
engagement must have clause allowing transference. Can find places for
your wives (if they are really nice ones) in the Transformation Scene.
If you can imitate the cries &c., of wild beasts, &c., think I can get
you a turn at the Palace. Writing a first-rate part for you in Autumn
drama. A sort of gentlemanly demon, who appears in the West End during
the first and third Acts, and in the last scene, appears in national
costume with a real army and the whole bag of tricks. Bring as many of
your army with you as you can. Can find something for them to do until
the production of the Autumn drama. Collect a good lot of assegais and
other useful props. May see way to working you into the Opera season.
If you can sing, can give you a show at a concert. Might do for German
series. Terms as per usual. Special arrangement if wanted at Windsor.
Come over at once. On second thoughts, remain where you are. Will run
over to have a chat. Third, and last thought, come over yourself. Find
myself, with my engagements, just now a little pressed for time. _Au
revoir!_

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A NOVELTY.

_Mr. Cylinder_ (_who always uses his Host's cartridges_). "WHAT POWDER
ARE THESE LOADED WITH, MY BOY?"

_Beater._ "AR DOAN'T RIGHTLY KNOW; BUT AR THINK THEY CALLS IT SERDLITZ
POODER!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

Coal and Wood.

    ["_That a Board of Conciliation be constituted forthwith, to
    last for one year at least, consisting of an equal number
    of coalowners and miners' representatives, fourteen of
    each_."--_Terms of the Collieries Strike Conference._]

  Hooray for happy harmony so readily restored!
  Thanks chiefly to young ROSEBERY, that shrewd and genial lord.
  And _Mr. Punch_ is thankful, for such strikes we can't afford,
  That in the Labour _platform_ the newest _plank_'s a _Board_!

       *       *       *       *       *

AN ORNITHOLOGICAL OUTBURST.

    ["A specimen of the rare white-tailed eagle has just been shot
    at Bude Haven, Cornwall."--_Daily Paper, Nov. 24._]

    Ah! shades of YARRELL, MORRIS, BEWICK, WOOD,
  Swoop down from Nephelococcygian eyrie
      With legions of bird-phantoms,
      Roc-ghosts and spectral bantams,
  And venge the Vandal sporting-man's vagary,
    Wrought on your race in Cornwall's bay of Bude!

    A _Haliaetus_ he's done to death!
  Haunt him and harry, ossifrage and osprey!
      Hoot, owl! Croak havoc, raven!
      He of that wave-beat haven
  Should--like the Ancient, of the Albatross--pray
      For tardy pardon till his latest breath!

    Soon will the Sea-earn join the vanished band
  Of Garefowl, AEpyornis, Dodo, Moa!
      And e'en the merry mavis
      Will rank as _rara avis_--
  The sparrow, sole of all that sailed with NOAH,
    Will learn the casual pot-shot to withstand!

    Why surely, when rare birds are rarer made
  By 'ARRY, or by 'ARRIET'S hat-adorner,
      These gentry should be tethered
      To posts, and tarred and feathered!
  To see the balance thus redressed a mourner
    Would _not_ be he who has these lines essayed!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A DISCUSSION ON WOMAN'S RIGHTS.

"A--I'VE NO DOUBT YOU'RE QUITE RIGHT IN _THEORY_, LADY HYPATIA. BUT
I'M AFRAID THAT IN PRACTICE THE WORLD AT LARGE WON'T AGREE WITH YOU."
"WON'T IT? THEN IT OUGHTN'T TO _BE_ AT LARGE!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

A BICYCLE BUILT FOR TWO.

(_Latest Parliamentary Version._)

MR. H. FOWLER _sings_. (AIR--"_Daisy Bell._")

  There's mazy misgiving upon my part,
             Hazy, hazy,
  Women, by WALTER M'LAREN'S art,
             Muddle my "Mazy Bill."
  Whether I love it or love it not,
             Down I must gulp this pill.
  She-suffrage complicates the plot,
             Much, of my "Mazy Bill"!

_Chorus_--

      Mazy! Mazy!
             She-Voter, sit up, do!
      I'm half crazy,
             All with the weight of _you_!
      You will not be robbed by marriage
      Of a ride on this bi-wheeled carriage.
             You look so sweet
             (So you think) on the seat
      Of a Bicycle built for Two!

  We must go "tandem," like man and wife!--
             Aisy! Aisy!--
  Am I not working away for life,
             Driving my "Mazy Bill"?
  Taking _you_ up, as an extra load,
             Taxes my strength and skill.
  Rough and up-hill is the country road,
             Run by the "Mazy Bill."

_Chorus_--

      Lazy! Lazy!--
             Spin like a "Scorcher"--_do_!
      I'm half crazy
             With the dead weight of you!
      Spinster or bound in marriage,
      You claim gratuitous carriage;
             But--use your feet
             If you _must_ have a seat,
      On this Bicycle built for Two!

  I must stand by you? Oh yes, _I_ know!
             _They_ see, _they_ see,--
  M'LAREN and STANSFELD, JESSE and JOE,--
             I'm bound to my "Mazy Bill."
  You'll take the lead, if I don't mistake.
             Then, if you work your will,
  Who will there be to put on the brake,
             Working my "Mazy Bill"?

_Chorus_--

      Hazy! Hazy!
             Such is the country view!
      Squires half crazy,
             All for sheer dread of you!
      Maidens or marred by marriage,
      Your sex means claiming their carriage;
             But, I feel dead beat
             With your weight on the seat
      Of this Bicycle--built for Two!

       *       *       *       *       *


CONVERSATION BOOK FOR CANDIDATES.

(_When the Ladies have the Franchise._)

_Voter._ Are you sure you are quite steady?

_Candidate._ Quite. And I am prepared to give the best time of my life
to the consideration of the most important----

_V._ Thank you, that will do. But do you think that a carriage is
necessary for a wife?

_C._ Certainly, and it would be a grievance if she had not one. By a
development of the trade of the country I believe that----

_V._ Thank you, that will do. And I suppose you admit the equality of
the sexes?

_C._ Undoubtedly, considering that the highest places in the
university class lists are carried off by----

_V._ Thank you, that will do. And I suppose you, if elected, will
have a fortune sufficiently ample to afford a house in Eaton Square,
a place in the country, a yacht in the Solent, a box at the opera, and
all the other necessary etceteras?

_C._ Most probably. I hold it to be the duty of every legislator to
see that his wealth is sufficient to enable him to give his individual
time to the service of his constituents, and----

_V._ Thank you, that will do. I presume, if you married, you would
like your wife's mother to occasionally visit her daughter?

_C._ Theoretically, yes. Judging for others, I would say that no
subject of greater interest than happy domestic arrangement could be
imagined. I would insist that the well-being of the family circle is
of paramount importance, and that----

_V._ Thank you, that will do. And now for my last question. If you are
elected will you be prepared to marry my eldest daughter?

_C._ That is a matter of great moment which requires the most careful
consideration. Without absolutely pledging myself to any course of
action, I may declare that----

_V._ Thank you, that will do. And now I will examine your opponent!

       *       *       *       *       *

PALINODE.

    ["In my old Radical days."--_Mr. Chamberlain._]

  Yes, I once was a smart little Rad
    Who talked about "lilies" and "ransom."
  Those views, which were shallow and mad,
    I retract, in a manner most handsome.
  Eh? "Skeletons," "Armchairs"? Oh no!
    I hold they are traitors or sillies,
  Who talk (like the juvenile JOE)
    About skeletons, ransom, and lilies!
        Ri fol de rol liddle lol dol!

  I _might_ be indulging to-day
    In the rampant and rancorous Rad's tone,
  Swearing "lilies" full "ransom" must pay,
    If it hadn't a-been for that GLADSTONE!
  _He_ serves as a warning to _me_,
    A sort of political helot;
  But, thanks to old W. G.,
    I'm no longer a radical zealot!
        Ri fol de rol liddle lol dol!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "A BICYCLE BUILT FOR TWO."

["If he (Mr. FOWLER) understood the decision of the House correctly on
this subject, it was this--that the disqualification of married women
should cease, that was to say, where a woman was otherwise qualified,
and was on an existing register, and, as such, entitled to vote, she
should not be disqualified by reason of being a married woman.... It
was a decision which the Government would endeavour to carry out....
He should propose to insert a new clause removing the disqualification
of married women altogether."--_Mr. H. Fowler in the Debate on the
Parish Councils Bill_.]]

       *       *       *       *       *

ROBERT'S PUZZEL.

I've had a Puzzel put into my hands by a heminent Common Councilman
which has puzzeld me orfully, but which he says is as plane as the
hobjects of a County Counsellor. It is as follows:--

  "Amalgamation is Wexation,
    Unefecation is as Bad,
  The Royal Commission puzzels me,
    And their practises drives me Mad!"

In course the hole thing is a Commondrum to a pore Waiter like me; but
my frend tells me that it all means, that as the City Copperation is
the popularest body in all the hole Country, and the London County
Counsel about the most unpopularest, as they are allers a hinterfering
unnessasarily with the comforts and amusements of some class or other
of the peeple, they acshally has the hordasity to propose that the
grand old Copperation shoud be abolished altogether, and ancient
Gildhall and the honored Manshun House, with all their sacred
contents, handed over to the County Counsellors! and that in future
there shoud be no reel City of London, but that all the hole place,
with its five millions of peeple, shoud be muddled up together, and
put under the loving care of the London County Counsel!

Well, I do happen to have a pretty large acquaintance one way and
another, and I wentures to say, most truthfully, that I haven't come
across one singel one on 'em but what has ether amost bust hisself
with larfter, or amost screamed hisself hoarse with hindignation, when
I have told him my almost unposserbel tail!

I did wenture to ask the Common Councilman, the other day, whether he
reelly thort as there was any possibility of such a hideous skeme a
being carried out, when we all knowd what a splendid caracter the
old Copperation had borne for ages past for Generossity, for
Horsepitallerty, and for Eddication. His arnser was, "My dear ROBERT,
we lives in sitch rum times that one hesitates to say that any
habsurdity is impossible, but the great trust of all of us is, that
should things get to the werry worst, and ewen the House of Commons
throw us over--tho I have heard their great Leader himself declare, in
Gildhall itself, that the history of the City Copperation reflected an
amount of credit upon those who had governed it for generations that
it would be differcult to surpass--the same nobel and hindependent
Body as only a few munse ago saved the country from disruption, and
thereby raised themselves greatly in the estimation of all thinking
men, would again step forward and save the grate Capital from such a
ridickulus, and contemtible, and silly absurditty as was never equaled
in the history of the world!"

Ah, well, these was nice comforting words for me to hear, and sent me
about my ofishal dooties with quite renewed wiggour, and when shortly
afterwards I wentured to repeat them to one of the most importantest
of our gests, he turned round and acshally shook my hand, and
exclaimed, "Ah, my good ROBERT, we may trust to them, for many and
many a time have I heard some of our gratest men exclaim, 'Thank God
we have a House of Lords!'"

  ROBERT.

       *       *       *       *       *

ONE OF THE "MAXIMS" OF CIVILISATION!

[Illustration: OLD AND NEW.

"Think of the glorious Mottoes," said a Major of the old school.
"'_Nil Desperandum_,' 'Death or Victory,' 'England Expects,' and so
forth!" Replied his friend, the modern Captain, "Bother your Mottoes!
Give us the 'Maxims'!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

"Flibbertigibbet."

  The fiend that now urges to--pen flippant novels
    Is modern _Poor Tom's_ modish _Modo_,[*]
  The work that in cynical worldliness grovels
    Will soon be extinct as the Dodo!

[Footnote *: See _King Lear_.]

       *       *       *       *       *

"HISTORY (NEARLY) REPEATS ITSELF."

(_A Peep into the Future._)

There was a general strike. The playing fields were deserted, and
trade was at a standstill. Not a cricket-ball or a foot-ball had
been made for months, and the lawn-tennis industry was paralyzed. The
papers of the day urged the Government to intervene. "After all, it
was only a matter of figures. Surely a compromise might be reached.
If players would only meet payers, all would be well." So a Cabinet
Council was held, and the most popular Member of the Ministry was
selected as arbitrator. The name was well-received by both sides, and
all seemed _en train_ for a satisfactory settlement.

"We must have a proper salary," said a representative of the foot-ball
profession: "if we don't, we shall have to give it up, and take to
soldiering, doctoring, brief-accepting, and the rest of it."

There was a murmur of disapproval at this suggestion. Was foot-ball
to perish because its professors could not get a "living wage"? No, a
thousand times no!

Then the Minister suggested that he had better hear the complaints of
the men, the women, and the children. So the cricketers, the golfers,
the polo-players, and the lovers of lawn-tennis spoke at length.

"And what may you want young lady?" asked the arbitrator, with a
smile.

"I must be paid for taking my doll for a walk," replied a small girl
of six or seven. "I have to keep the toy perambulator in repair, and
when Rose falls on her nose, I have to get her face replaced. How am
I to bear these expenses if I receive nothing? It is impossible,
unreasonable!"

"And I, too," cried a schoolboy. "How can I trundle my hoop or play at
marbles if I am not allowed something for my time?"

And there were other complaints. Everyone wanted a wage, and the cries
for salaries waxed louder and louder.

Then the Minister asked for a few minutes' grace, and began writing.
After he had finished his despatch, he put it in an envelope, and
requested someone to read it when he had taken his departure. Then he
went away.

"Dear me!" said the person to whom the despatch had been entrusted.
"This is highly unsatisfactory. I find the arbitrator has resigned
without making an award, and has left the matter in the hands of Lord
ROSEBERY."

Then there was a cry of sorrow. For it was known that as Lord ROSEBERY
had had quite enough of conflicts between capital and labour, he would
certainly refuse to be dragged into another quarrel.

So the war went on between players and payers, and "Merrie England"
became a byword of reproach in the comity of nations.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: Popular Idea of the Costume of a Member of the Bar on
"Grand Day."]

       *       *       *       *       *

MATURE CHARMS.

  MAIDEN slim and fair, with the golden hair,
    So eager to snare with the knowing glance
  Of your eyes so bright, and to waltz all night
    With that step so light in the mazy dance,

  Years ago, I swear, we once met somewhere;
    We danced--you take care to forget that ball--
  And my arm embraced that wasp's whalebone waist,
    So cruelly laced, so absurdly small!

  But then I declare you had nut-brown hair,
    The colour's still there just down at the roots;
  You are "fancy free," full of girlish glee,
    But you're forty-three I would bet my boots.

  Your beauty is rare, but I am aware
    That face you prepare, that vile waist you buy,
  Which corsets to civilised women give,
    And hairdressers live so that you may dye.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: SO POLITE!!

_Slim nervous Gent_ (_pulling up at a regular facer_). "HOLD HARD, YOU
BRUTE! 'LADIES FIRST!'"]

       *       *       *       *       *

A BALLAD.

  I wish I could write romantic rot,
    Like the beautiful songs they sing
  At Ballad Concerts; why should I not
    Attempt such a simple thing?
  This metre's just right. Here goes!--The moon
    Shone sad o'er the silvered waves,
  The nightingale trilled 'neath that night of June,
    Where the river the primrose laves.

  (That's good, though hazy the sense may seem,
    No primrose would bloom at the time;
  The river "laves" it, not it the stream;
    "Moon" and "June" makes a clumsy rhyme.)
  Upon the terrace a maiden fair
    Was gazing the waters o'er,
  And dreaming of vows of love she ne'er
    Would hear, as in days of yore.

  ("Days of yore," that's fine.) And her soft, sad eyes
    Looked up at the starry night,
  She kissed a fair ruby ring, with sighs,
    Which shone on her fingers white.
  (You put the words as it suits you best;
    The adjective need not be
  Before the noun.) On her heaving breast
    A red, red rose you could see.

  (That is if you had been there.) She wept;
    To-night must her lover go.
  The rose was awake, though the pimpernel slept.
    (Bagged from TENNYSON, don't you know?)
  The silent stream whispered scarce a sign,
    Ere it swept past the willows grey.
  (The sense is vague, though the sound is fine;
    What it means even I can't say.)

  Alas! alas! red, red rose, bright ring!
    Red rose, cherished ring, alas!
  (Such bosh sounds beautiful when you sing.)
    A hush lay over the grass.
  (I'm hanged if I know what a "hush" may be.
    It's something pathetic, sublime.)
  The nightingale warbled upon the tree.
    O rose-scented summertime!

  He came, and pressed to his manly heart
    The maid 'neath the pale moonbeams
  (Don't mind if accents are wrong); they part!
    In (excellent rhyme) her dreams
  The joy of that passionate farewell kiss
    To the silent tomb she bore.
  (I could easily write you a mile of this,
    But you probably want no more.)

       *       *       *       *       *

"LA FIN DU SEA-AIGLE(!!)."--The _Standard_ informs us that--

    "A specimen of the white-tailed, or sea eagle, has just been
    shot at Bude Haven, Cornwall. The bird weighed nearly eight
    pounds, and the extended wings measure between seven and eight
    feet from tip to tip."

Now, "next please," and let us have the "Very last of the Sea
Serpent!"

       *       *       *       *       *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

_House of Commons, Monday Night, November 20._--Rumour current
to-night that Ballykilbeg is in the market. Ballykilbeg is the
manorial seat of one of the most ancient and honourable Irish
families, long settled in County Down. The O'HNSTONS were in the train
of BORRHOIMI when he first essayed, and succeeded in, the difficult
task of forming a United Ireland. JAKE O'HNSTON is a name that lingers
lovingly in tradition of Youngest Ireland. Gradually, being always on
the people's lips, it began to take a new form. J. O'HNSTON naturally
became JOHNSTON; but Ballykilbeg was always there. To-day House of
Commons contains no more esteemed Member than he who is known as
JOHNSTON of Ballykilbeg. A man of war breathing battle, ever ready
to take his place amongst the corpses in the last ditch, JOHNSTON of
Ballykilbeg off the platform in Ulster, or off his legs in House of
Commons, is the mildest-mannered man that ever proposed to broil a
brother for conscience' sake.

Quite a sensation at prospect of dissevering JOHNSTON from
Ballykilbeg. Glad to hear there's nothing, or little, in it.
Arises out of circumstance that JOHNSTON has approached Mr. G. with
suggestion that Treasury shall purchase an estate in Ireland, and
there plant out the Duke of YORK. If the Duke, making a survey of
Ireland, should find no more attractive place than Ballykilbeg,
the descendant of the O'HNSTONS is not the man to allow personal
predilections or old associations to stand in the way of gratification
of Royal desire. It might come to pass that the Crowned Heads of
Europe would welcome at their courts YORK of Ballykilbeg, whilst the
last of the O'HNSTONS would be content to house his loyal head under
alien roof. That, however, not a prospect in view when he moved in the
matter. There is surely room between the seas that circle Ireland for
the Duke of YORK and JOHNSTON still at Ballykilbeg.

[Illustration: Johnson of Ballykilbeg escorting the Duke of York.]

_Business done._--Clause I. added to Parish Councils Bill.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: LIKA JOKO'S JOTTINGS.--No. 5. HUNTING.]

       *       *       *       *       *

_Tuesday_.--Parish Councils on again. That was order of day, but human
ingenuity dragged in other matters. First Woman's Suffrage, on which
there was livelier debate than has yet arisen in Committee on this
Bill. Last Thursday WALTER M'LAREN raised question in form of
an Instruction. Government resisting were beaten, the Opposition
coalescing with revolting Radicals. Now, as SQUIRE OF MALWOOD puts
it, the Government, kissing the rod, accept injunction; undertake to
embody M'LAREN'S Amendment in Bill. Pretty to see air of doubt and
hesitation that hereupon comes over ingenuous faces on Opposition
benches. If HENRY FOWLER had put his back up, declared that Woman
delighted him not, nor WALTER M'LAREN either, Opposition would again
have joined forces with Radicals, and Government would once more have
suffered defeat. Since they resolved to obey Instruction carried by
majority last Thursday, PRINCE ARTHUR shakes his head; EDWARD STANHOPE
shows this is quite another pair of sleeves; whilst JOSEPH, back
bronzed from breezy Bahamas, bluntly says he will oppose new Clause
HENRY FOWLER has promised to bring in.

"It is the duty of an Opposition to oppose," says PRINCE ARTHUR; "and
I did not for several Sessions sit at feet of OLD MORALITY without
being impressed with imperative sense of duty."

[Illustration: Mr. Courtney explains the Puzzle.]

Later, when this difficulty temporarily out of way and it seemed
progress with Clause might be made. Proportional Representation was
dragged in neck and crop. COURTNEY took charge of the puzzle business,
and tried to explain it. No prizes offered, and attention a little
slack. SQUIRE OF MALWOOD defined the theory in admirable phrase. "It
is," he said, "an ingenious system by which a man is to vote for
a person he does not prefer in order to secure a majority for some
purpose he does not understand." Can't better that; leaves nothing
else to say. Nevertheless, much was said; talked by the hour; finally
a division, in which Government majority, rarely falling below three
score and ten, stood at 72.

_Business done._--Something of the debating society order.

_Thursday night._--Things coming to a pretty pass if TOMLINSON is not
to offer a few observations on third reading of Employers' Liability
Bill without an arrogant Minister moving the Closure. Apart from
consideration of individual liberty and freedom of speech, House would
have suffered special disappointment if SPEAKER had accepted ASQUITH'S
suggestion and submitted question of Closure. Finding TOMLINSON on
his feet at this juncture it naturally thought he had, in interval,
discovered what his amendments moved last week in Committee on Bill
meant, and was seizing this opportunity of explaining them. He didn't;
but that was all ASQUITH'S fault. Enough to cow any man rising at
ten minutes to twelve and having pistol held to his head in shape of
motion for the Closure.

Just at the time when TOMLINSON was coming to his explanation, hand of
clock touched five minutes to twelve. He might still have used up
at least four minutes; being flurried, he sat down; and now we shall
never know what his amendments were designed to accomplish. Happily
there was time left for MATTHEWS to soundly rate ASQUITH for his
attempt to Closure TOMLINSON. Right hon. gentleman could scarcely
control his tongue in the emotion under which he laboured, in
contemplation of the attempted outrage. It would have been bad enough
with an ordinary member. That the weighty and sententious speech of so
eminent a statesman as the Member for Preston should have been broken
in upon by a motion for the Closure only showed, in the ex-Home
Secretary's opinion, how bad was the case of the Government, how
reckless the tactics to which desperation drove them. A beautiful
speech; almost, as TOMLINSON says, worth being snubbed by ASQUITH in
order to elicit this eloquent testimony to modest merit.

_Business done._--Employers' Liability Bill read a third time.

_Friday Night._--Great advantage of habit of foreign travel ingrained
with Members of Commons is that when erudite question comes up sure
to be someone present who can illustrate its bearings from experience
gained in more or less remote portions of the planet. Just now HENRY
FOWLER moved provision in Parish Councils Bill, making it possible for
Lovely Woman, whether married or single, to stoop to folly of being
elected on Parish Council Board. Up jumps HORACE PLUNKETT with some
charming reminiscences brightly told of residence in the State of
Wyoming. In that happy land women enjoy equal political and municipal
privileges with their brother men.

"I was," said PLUNKETT, "well acquainted with a female Justice of the
Peace. She discharged her duties, and, when necessary, a revolver."

Another of PLUNKETT'S lady friends in far-off Wyoming had her domestic
duties broken in upon by summons to attend a jury. Case proved
protracted; husband had to stay at home and mind the baby, whilst she
was locked up all-night with eleven good men and true.

After hearing this, Committee unanimously, without division being
challenged, agreed to FOWLER'S Amendment.

_Business done._--On Clause III. Parish Council Bill.

       *       *       *       *       *

SHAKSPEARE IN LONDON.

  BUY no more, Ladies; buy no more;
    Shops were deceivers ever:
  One price in season, one before,
    And reasonable never.
      Then buy not so,
      But let them go,
    And be you blithe and bonny,
  Converting "_Robes, modes, et manteaux_"
    Into--"_Pas, si je connais_!"

  Bring no more bargains--sales are low,
    And bills are dull and heavy;
  (The shopmen drew their longest bow
    For Summer's rout and _levee_.)
      Then buy not so,
      But let them "show"
    And be you shrewd and bonny,
  Converting all their "_Tout ce qu'il faut_"
    Into--"_Pas, si je connais_!"

       *       *       *       *       *

"TEARS, IDLE TEARS!"

  PUNCH'S picture, "When the Cat's Away!"
  Seems to have effect! The brutal "play"
  Of young ruffians, in at least two cases,
  Whipping has rewarded. What long faces
  TROTTER pulls! With his mild creed it clashes.
  Sentiment's eyes are wet--about the _lashes_!
  Howling brutes make mollycoddles snivel.
  Let the ruffians rail, their champions drivel.
  Brutalising to chastise brutality?
  'Tis the merest blind sentimentality.
  Feeble men and helpless women save
  From the roughs, and let the weepers rave!

       *       *       *       *       *






End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari,
December 2, 1893, by Various

*** 