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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

Volume 108, May 4th, 1895.

_edited by Sir Francis Burnand_




MAY DAY.

(_Strictly according to Precedent._)

  Open the windows, salute the day;
  Welcome, welcome the First of May.
  Everything's changed, or ought to be,
  Buds are bursting on hedge and tree.
  Sweet winds breathe from the West or South
  Soft as a kiss from a maiden's mouth.
  Everything speaks of warmth and love,
  Bright is the sun in the blue above.
  Out in the woods, I know. I know,
  Fur and feather are all aglow.
  Downy rabbits with jewel eyes
  Dart about in a wild surprise.
  Yellow-billed blackbird, speckled thrush,
  Pour their notes in a tuneful gush.
  And all the neat little boys and girls,
  With clean fresh faces and hair in curls,
  Sing in a chorus, "Hurray, hurray!
  April's gone, it's the First of May!"

  * * *

  That's how I dreamt my May-day dream;
  But things are not what they ought to seem.
  For the wind--why, bless me, the wind is East,
  And the birds don't warble or chirp the least.
  The whole of the sky is wrapped in gloom.
  And fires are lighting in every room.
  And I shiver and sneeze and spend my day
  In a winter-suit on the First of May.

       *       *       *       *       *

AUK'D ABOUT.--The skin of a Great Auk was put up for sale last week,
but the reserved price was not reached. Evidently it was of bad omen
that it should have been put up at an "Auk-shun."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE NEW BOY!

"LOOK, FATHER, THIS IS YOUR NEW OVERCOAT."

"BY GEORGE, IT FITS YOU CAPITALLY!"

"YES, DOESN'T IT! YOU WILL NOW BE ABLE TO WEAR _MY_ OLD CLOTHES!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

DRAMATIC FAMILY LIKENESS.

For the plot of _The Passport_, recently produced with a fair amount
of success at Terry's Theatre, the authors admit their indebtedness
to Colonel SAVAGE'S novel, _My Official Wife_. Oddly enough, this plot
bears a considerable resemblance to that of _The Orient Express_, a
piece "made in Germany," of which the English adaptation was produced
here, at Daly's, during his season. In this piece, _i.e._, _The Orient
Express_, a gentleman has tourist tickets for himself and wife; but
his wife, after disposing of her ticket to a professional _cicerone_,
returns to England alone, while her husband, travelling on business,
continues his journey. The _cicerone_ has sold the ticket cheap to a
lady, who is therefore compelled to travel under the name inscribed on
the ticket, and finds herself in the same carriage with the gentleman
who has the corresponding ticket, and the ticket-collector, seeing
the same names, hands back both tickets to the gentleman, and tries
to keep the carriage strictly reserved for them all the way, in
which attempt he fails, and hence arise, on their return to England,
complications analogous to those of _The Passport_. Was the novel of
_My Official Wife_ written before the German farcical play, or is it
only a family likeness?

       *       *       *       *       *

"IL IRA LOIN."--Dr. FARRAR, now Chaplain to the SPEAKER, has been made
Dean of Canterbury. From the Deanery to a Bishopric is but a step.
He has gone Far, will go FARRAR and fare better ... and then ...
FARRAR-well to all his greatness!

       *       *       *       *       *

STRIKES A LA MODE DE PARIS.

(_From the Diary of a Pleasure-seeker of the Future._)

ROSE early, intending to have a real good time of it, in spite of the
recent disturbances. As a precautionary measure, wore my bullet-proof
coat and shell-defying boots. Carried also my armour-plated umbrella,
which can be used (on emergencies) as a shield to quick-firing guns.
Looked out of window, and found the weather splendid. Firing, too
(which I had heard every now and again during the night), seemingly
all but ceased.

On reaching the street, representative of the Civil Power cautioned me
to be careful. Thanked the representative for his courtesy, and asked
why a squadron of hussars were trotting past with drawn sabres. Was
told that the soldiers were engaged in the protection of a sweep
journeying to his work in a donkey-cart.

Started for a stroll, but had to seek shelter in a doorway from a
volley of bullets fired in the direction of the early milkman. From
this demonstration I gathered that the food supply would be still
further restricted owing to the action of the men on strike. After
the purveyor had beaten a hasty retreat, advanced upon a
strongly-fortified position, which turned out to be, as I expected it
would, a doubly-entrenched cab-stand.

Only one vehicle on the rank. Engaged the cabman. Although I was
unaccompanied by a relative or friend, found the space at my disposal
distinctly limited. The top of the four-wheeler was, of course,
occupied by the customary rocket party. The box had its usual sentry,
carrying a couple of revolvers and a search-light. Three of the seats
inside were occupied by sharpshooters, and I retained the fourth.

"We had better make for the river," said the officer in command, and
we fell in with the suggestion.

Our progress was comparatively uneventful. Certainly at the corners
of streets we had to run the gauntlet of a shower of projectiles of
various dimensions; still, the armour-plated sides of the cab turned
aside the flood of iron, and the custodians, by lying flat as occasion
required, escaped without injury. Leaving the steel-protected cab, I
embarked on board an armoured penny steamboat, and made my way down
the river. Fortunately, the helmsman was able to avoid the submarine
mines which had been laid by the Chairman of the Strike Committee. Our
voyage was also rendered exciting by the torpedoes.

Having reached the last pier, I returned to land, and was sufficiently
fortunate to catch an omnibus about to start on its exciting campaign.
The route, which ran chiefly through main thoroughfares, extended to
the length of four miles. Thanks to the exertions of all arms of the
service, the distance was traversed in about three hours. Every inch
of the ground was hotly contested, but the omnibus at length won
the day. The losses on our side consisted of a colonel killed, and
seventy-four rank-and-file wounded. The casualties on the side of the
strikers were infinitely more numerous.

On reaching my destination, I made for home in a balloon, thus
escaping any further molestation.

       *       *       *       *       *

PRESENTED AT COURT.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,--I notice that "an original dramatic caricature" is
being played at the Court Theatre, under the title of _Vanity Fair_.
To prevent mistakes, I write to say at once that I am on the eve of
constructing a three-volume novel, called _Hamlet, Prince of Denmark_;
a poem, called _Box and Cox_; and a satire, called _Macaulay's History
of England_. I merely mention this fact to protect my copyright in the
names I have chosen for my new works. I have also in contemplation the
writing of a book to be entitled _Adam Bede_, a novelette, to be
known as _King Solomon's Mines_, and a story to be y'clept _Treasure
Island_. May I add that I have also some pantomimes and
eccentric ballets nearly ready that will be christened, when
completed,--_Esmond_, _The Virginians_, _The Newcomes_, _Philip_, and
last, but not least, _Pendennis_.

  Yours truly, NOTHING IF NOT ORIGINAL.

P.S.--I am thinking of adopting as a _nom de plume_ the signature of
"WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: HIS FAVOURITE SUBJECT.

_Imperial Artist._ "WISH I COULD HAVE GOT IT DONE IN TIME FOR THE
ROYAL ACADEMY. SURE TO HAVE BEEN ACCEPTED."

[*** The Emperor of GERMANY has recently painted a sea-piece.]]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: 1886.

1896.]

       *       *       *       *       *

HIS FAVOURITE SUBJECT.

_Distinguished Amateur soliloquiseth:_--

  _There!!!_ Egotistic ways are my abhorrence;
    But if this masterpiece were only hung
  In the Uffizi Gallery at Florence,
    Where LEIGHTON, like a god, ambrosial, young,
  And MILLAIS, in immortal manhood, stand,
    Self-limned, for admiration of posterity,
  I fancy that this work of my right hand
    Would quite eclipse mere Genius, whose temerity
  In challenging comparison with BIRTH
    Is really getting something unendurable.
  Aha! It moves me to sardonic mirth!
    To dream of _my_ position as securable
  By mere Bismarckian brain!!! Now, as the god,
    _I_ come out admirably. Form and stature,
  The threatening eye, and the earth-shaking nod,
    All, all to me are simply second nature.
  Globe-trampling foot, and hand that grips the bolt,--
    Aye, and the lyre when I would play Apollo--
  Are mine! Will low-born Genius dare revolt,
    Or where _I_ lead Greatness decline to follow?
  Absurd! I hardly know in what great guise
    To paint my greatness! I have sung of AEgir,
  But he was but a sea-god, and his size
    And strength compared with mine were small and meagre.
  I am a Joint-stock Deity, as 'twere,
    Olympus in a nutshell, Neptune, Mars,
  The Cloud-Compeller and the Sungod fair.
    Here I'm pure Jove. And yet somehow it jars
  Upon my spirit to be so restricted
    To one immortal guise, however grand.
  Hah! Gods by their own pencils thus depicted
    Would make a New Valhalla e'en _my_ hand
  Need not disdain to add to. If Narcissus
    Had been a painter, now! There is no stream,
  Though clear as my own Rhine or the Ilissus,
    Could do me justice. I must _paint_ my dream
  Of my Supernal Self. A mere reflection
    From Nature's mirror would but mar my beauty.
  No; I must limn myself for the inspection
    Of men and gods; it is a simple duty.
  _This_ does not satisfy me. And it is
    Too late, I fear, for Grandmamma's R.A.
  Besides, those English journalists _might_ quiz
    Even Imperial Art. They've their own way
  Too much by far in that ill-ordered isle,
    Those cheeky critic-fellows. Let _me_ catch
  A Teuton quill-driver who'll dare to smile
    Upon a masterpiece he cannot match!!!

    [_Left touching it up._

       *       *       *       *       *

LITERARY.

A book is announced entitled _Irish Humour through English Glasses_.
It will be followed, we hope, by a companion volume, entitled _English
(ill) Humour through Irish (Whisky) Glasses_.

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

Messrs. BLACKWOOD are issuing a standard edition of the works of
GEORGE ELIOT. _Adam Bede_, of course, comes first, admirably printed
in dainty volumes of blue and gold. Glancing over the work brings back
to the memory of my Baronite a certain schoolboy who, instead of going
home to dinner, used to spend the interval in the reading-room of a
free library, literally dining off _Adam Bede_, then just out. It
will be interesting to observe how far the public of to-day, more
especially the young men and maidens who read novels, will take to
GEORGE ELIOT. In this new standard edition opportunity, alike in
respect of charm and cheapness, is made alluring.

_The Curse of Intellect_ is an unattractive title, suggestive rather
of a series of essays on the melancholy lives of certain geniuses
than of the weird tale--for such it is--of a Man-Monkey. This story,
published by Messrs. BLACKWOOD, and written by MACHIAVELLI COLIN
CLOUT, is a modern version of _Frankenstein_, the distinction being
that, whereas _Frankenstein_ constructed his own monster, the hero of
this romance, one _Reuben Power_, finds a monster ready to hand in a
kind of "Mr. Gorilla," whom he educates to speak a strange language,
also to read, write, and think in excellent English. This Converted
Ape kills his maker, and then considerately puts an end to his
own miserable existence; he does not, however, possess a soul
(_Frankenstein's_ Monster was also deficient in this respect). "For
O it is such a 'norrible tale;" and, except to those who occasionally
enjoy "a 'norrible tale," this cannot be recommended by

  THE BARON DE B.-W.

       *       *       *       *       *

BLIND ALLEY-GORIES.

BY DUNNO WAeHRIAR.

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

NO. III.--A SOCRATIC EXPERIMENT.

The other day I went out for a walk. My thoughts circled round my head
like bees in a bonnet, and detached themselves slowly from the loose
white honeycomb of my brain to mirror themselves in my soul, as is
usual with me on such occasions. And, somewhere round the corner, a
voice lurked calling out remarks--what I knew not, only that they were
of a highly personal character. The people I met stared at me, and I
stared at them, for I had a presentiment that they were talking about
me, but I took no notice of them--beyond informing them that they were
cowards and blowflies, and requesting to be informed why they enclosed
their dirty interiors in glass. For I am Young GARNAWAY, and when
I take a walk, I generally exchange amenities of this kind with any
persons I happen to meet.

At the Market Place, my friend the Tallow-chandler sat inside his
shop, dozing under a pale canopy of farthing dips.

"Answer me a question," I begged of him. "Why does one yearn for
the top brick off the chimney when one is a child, and yet feel
dissatisfied when, as a man, one receives it on the top of one's
Sunday tile? Why does the sea bird fly inland in winter to get food
from the towns--only to turn up its beak when presented with a ticket
for soup? Why do we----?"

[Illustration: "A clear and practical illustration."]

My friend the Tallow-chandler answered never a word, but chuckled
foolishly to himself and retired behind a barrier of mottled soap.

When I had gone a piece further I reached a back street, where I
found my friend the Bird-stuffer sitting on his doorstep, playing the
mouth-organ.

"Answer me a question," I besought him. "Suppose you found out that
those who hold the reins of government in our town were educating
large blue-bottle flies to make apricot jam out of your and your
neighbours' pig-wash, would you write to the local paper about it,
even if you knew that the editor would decline to insert your letter?"

My friend answered never a word; he only giggled in embarrassment,
struck up a mazurka on his mouth-organ, and began to dance sheepishly.

But, down in Mud Alley, my friend the Dustcart-man sat at his open
window--a family idyll, wife and six small children, all eating onions
and fried fish.

"Answer me a question," I prayed him. "If a person came to you and
said rudely, 'Better anything else than sitting here with your head
in the domestic halter among the potsherds and puffballs of the old
ideals; rather a jolly good row that ends in a fortnight's "hard"
than fat-headed, elephant-footed dulness here with your buzzing brood
around you!' If a person came to you and said that, what reply would
you give him?"

My friend answered never a word; he was out of the window before I had
time to walk away; and in a very few moments I received a clear and
practical illustration of the sort of reply he would give to such a
question.

As for me, I limped home as well as I could, and, when evening fell,
and I was done up in brown paper and vinegar, both my eyes gleamed in
the evening sun with the iridescent glitter of peacocks' tails.

       *       *       *       *       *

"FOR THIS RELIEF, MUCH THANKS!"

    ["Fort Chitral, April 20.--Colonel KELLY'S force from Gilghit
    arrived to-day.... Much sickness from bad food, excessive
    work, and exposure. Conduct of troops admirable.... The
    discipline, devotion, and fortitude displayed by all ranks
    under circumstances which required all those qualities are
    beyond all praise."--_Dr. Robertson's Summary of the Siege of
    Chitral._]

  "Small time, but, in that small, most greatly liv'd
    This star of England."

            _Chorus: King Henry the Fifth_, Act V., Scene 2.

  Only one more "little war,"--of course,
  Precipitate pluck, and inadequate force--
    Such wars as our England wages
  At terrible cost in British lives,
  And orphan children and widowed wives,
  Whereat, though greatly our glory thrives,
    Our conscience sometimes rages.

  But such little wars may need great hearts,
  And the wandering heroes who play their parts
    For England, the wide world over;
  Fight as well though they fight--and fall--
  In a leagured hut, by a shattered wall,
  As though the purple of WELLINGTON'S pall
    Each death-cold breast should cover.

  Devotion, fortitude, discipline? Yes!
  They always shine in the perilous press,
    Where British soldiers rally.
  Shine as bright in the hopeless dark
  Of the mad _melee_, though there's none to mark
  The scattered wreckage ruddy and stark
    Of the last brave stand or sally.

  We rejoice to hear, though we knew we should,
  Chitral's defenders again made good
    The glorious old tradition
  Of loyalty to the flying flag.
  Cynics may dub it the torn red rag,
  But our tongues shall laud, whilst those tongues can wag,
    That splendid "superstition."

  The men who stood, and the men who came
  O'er ice-bound ridges with hearts aflame,
    To relieve their leagured brothers,
  Have all done well; and the tawny skin
  Of those who helped us to war and win,--
  Well, your little Englander's less akin
    To England than those others!

  "For this relief, much thanks!" And thanks
  To dead, and living, and of all ranks.
    Forget their service? Never!
  "Small time," indeed, but as brightly shone
  "This star of England," as it had done
  On that stricken field when the lurid sun
    Of the Corsican sank for ever.

       *       *       *       *       *

A FIRST STEP

TOWARDS HISTRIONICS.

(_Under the guidance of Herr Goethemann._)

_Question._ Have you witnessed the performance of the Actor-manager?

_Answer._ No, but I have perused the tragedy of the Author-publisher.

_Q._ Is it a curtain-raiser?

_A._ No, but it is a hair-lifter, in three acts.

_Q._ How many are the persons of the drama?

_A._ Four.

_Q._ Of these, how many are objectionable?

_A._ Five.

_Q._ Kindly resolve this paradox.

_A._ All are objectionable that come on the stage, and one that
doesn't.

_Q._ You speak of the stage; where has the play been given?

_A._ Nowhere. It has not received a license.

_Q._ Is it the close season?

_A._ No, but so much private license was taken by the Author-publisher
that the public censor did not see his way to adding to the amount.

_Q._ Then we shall not see it interpreted by intelligent actors?

_A._ No, for even if license were granted, the Author-publisher would
take all the parts himself.

_Q._ I do not follow this scheme of plurality.

_A._ I quote from his own printed advertisement, "The right of
performing in public this play (_sic_) is reserved by the author."

_Q._ Did you state that it is a tragedy?

_A._ Yes, but inclining to farce.

_Q._ Does it move the reader to pity and terror?

_A._ Yes, both. Pity for himself, and terror of the next thing of the
kind that he may have to read.

_Q._ Has it any other of the high qualities of the Greek Tragedy?

_A._ It says it has the unities.

_Q._ A severe attack?

_A._ No, the Norwegian kind; a form of Teutonic measles, painful but
transitory.

_Q._ Is it heroic?

_A._ No, but it is suburban.

_Q._ Is the conclusion worthy of a great tragedy? Does it end in a
lurid light of whole-souled passion and death?

_A._ It ends about 4 A.M. the next day, with a cock crowing. The
protagonist has come home intoxicated, and remains so. I regret to
add that he pushes the heroine, she having displaced his beverage by
breaking the glass. She slaps him upon the face, and eventually loses
animation. I do not know how the other two end, because they were not
home in time for the curtain. As it was, the Author-publisher nearly
spoilt one of the unities through waiting for them.

_Q._ All must be well that ends so well. Is there a problem or enigma?

_A._ There is always the insoluble riddle--why did he write it?

_Q._ Is it full of situations?

_A._ Not inconveniently so; but there is a dramatic moment.

_Q._ Which?

_A._ I do not know.

_Q._ Then why do you say there is one?

_A._ Because the Author-publisher says so.

_Q._ But is it not wasteful to have three acts, and only one dramatic
moment?

_A._ I should have thought so; but the Author-publisher says he has
shown economy.

_Q._ Could you give me an idea of the manner? Select a striking
incident or a passage where there is subtle characterisation.

_A._ One situation impressed me very much. I think it must have been
the dramatic moment. I reserve it for my next.

  (_To be continued._)

       *       *       *       *       *

FILIA PULCHRA, MATER PULCHRIOR.

  I loved a girl, divinely sweet,
    An unsophisticated creature;
  I did not scruple to repeat
  She was divine, you could not meet
    More charms displayed in form and feature.

  I loved her youthful grace, her slight
    And dainty form, an angel's seeming.
  Crowned by sweet hair, as dark as night,
  Her face would charm an artist's sight,
    A poet's thoughts, a lover's dreaming.

  I loved her dark and lustrous eyes,
    Which love might light with glowing passion,
  Her lips, her neck--you will surmise
  I wrote her rhymes, all tears and sighs
    In lovesick versifier's fashion.

  I loved her like a childish pet,
    I felt I could not love another,
  Until the day when first I met
  Her widowed mother, charming yet,
    And now, instead, I love her mother.

  I love the woman, for the rose,
    Full blown, excels the rosebud's beauty,
  Nor think of girlish charms since those
  No more inspire my Muse, which shows
    My Muse is fit for any duty.

  I love her, stately as a queen
    Whom VERONESE might have painted,
  Blue-eyed, with hair of golden sheen--
  That's just the one thing which has been
    A trouble since we've been acquainted.

  I love not charms I loved before,
    Dark as the night, or, say a hearse is.
  Now auburn beauty pleases more,
  My wasted hours I deplore--
    I've had to alter all those verses.

       *       *       *       *       *

EPPING AND OVERSTEPPING.--At a meeting of forest borderers, Wanstead,
it was asserted that since the Corporation had had control of the
forest, upwards of 100,000 trees had been felled. If true, the members
of the Corporation-Epping-Forest-Committee will henceforth be known as
"those fellers!"

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "ANIMAL SPIRITS."

NO. XII.--OUTSIDE EXETER HALL.]

       *       *       *       *       *

TO CIRCE.

  "If doughty deeds my lady please,"
    Though somewhat old and gouty,
  The first occasion I will seize
    Of doing something "doughty";
  "If gay attire delights your eye,
   I'll dight me in array"
  Which every casual passer-by
    Will think extremely gay.

  "If sweetest sounds can win your ear,"
    I'll cheerfully begin
  (Though somewhat late in life, I fear),
    To learn the violin;
  In fact, whatever task you set,
    You'll speedily discover
  That in the writer you have met
    A most submissive lover.

  I could exemplify the fact
    Through several extra verses,
  How I would please, by every act,
    My kindliest of CIRCE'S;
  And yet by destiny malign
    You've happened just to choose
  The single task which, though divine
    The bidder, I refuse.

  The single task--and pardon, pray,
    If, not without compunction,
  Reluctantly I disobey
    Your positive injunction:
  Ask what you will, I'll undertake
    The deed, however big,
  But do not----blind my eyes and make
    Me try to draw a pig!

       *       *       *       *       *

TO A PICTURE.

  You pretty face, upon my wall,
    Enshrined in glass and oak and gold,
  Most charming deaf-mute--and withal
  My confidante--whate'er befall,
    My trust in you will rest untold,
            You pretty face!

  What do they call you? Is it "Spring"?
    Or "Blossoms"? or "The Coming Race"?--
    It matters not in any case,
  Your name may be just anything
    For all I care, you pretty face.

  You bring me back old scenes anew,
    You've something of my lady's grace,
    Of her sweet features just a trace,
  And so I have re-christened you--
    I won't say what--you pretty face!

  I have no portrait to recall
    The sweetest of all maids to me,
  Nor have I need of one at all,
  Yet, seeing you upon my wall,
    By pleasing "make-believe" I see
            Her pretty face!

       *       *       *       *       *

BABY'S DIARY.

    ["The Nursery Tricycle contains two seats, one for the
    mistress and one for the maid and her charge, and has two
    pairs of pedals."--_Daily Paper._]

This is rather fun! Ever so much better than those crawling old
mail-carts and perambulators. Wonder mother and nurse never thought
of it before. A pneumatic tandem, too, I notice. Hope they understand
blowing tire up again when it bursts.

Nurse a duffer at pedalling. A mere passenger! Have to keep her up
to the mark by crying. Frightened a pony in a trap. Sarcastic driver
said, "_You_ don't want a bell to _your_ machine with that child
yelling like a tom-cat on fire." Gives me a hint--I must see how our
cat _does_ yell when it's on fire.

Really, I never saw such steering! Mother has just run us into a
brick wall. Disgraceful! Why wasn't she taught tricycling when she was
young? Her education has certainly been horribly neglected.

[Illustration]

Why should I sit in the middle, though? Can't see the country
properly. Make another protest--louder, if possible. Passing
pedestrian observes, "You should call your machine a crycycle, not
a tricycle." Put out my tongue at him. Nurse offers to give me a
"pick-a-back"; says she can pedal too! The old humbug! Scratch her
face. Mother offers me a seat on front handle. Not half bad.

Fresh air makes one uncommonly hungry. Time for my bottle. Insist on
my outriders stopping at a public for milk. Find the pony, trap, and
sarcastic driver stopping there too. Latter says to Mother, "So you've
brought the infant phenomenon with you, Ma'am!" Wonder what he means.
He adds something about a "fog-horn." Rude, I fancy.

Back homewards. Awfully sleepy after that milk. Curious milk. Perhaps
sarcastic person drugged it to quiet me? Fast asleep. Wakened by
crash! Stars! Oh, _what_ is it? Try to yell--can't--mouth full of
something.

Later. In my cot, thank Heaven! Heard doctor say, "Severe shock, but
no bones broken." Awful headache. Seems that break went wrong going
down-hill. Well, no "safety tandem" for _me_ again--can't _stand 'em_,
myself, not being in favour of infanticide. Give _me_ a good old mail
cart!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: FELINE AMENITIES.

_Miss Tregushing._ "OH YES! THERE ARE SUCH _LOVELY_ SEAS AND SKIES
IN CORNWALL, AND SUCH ROCKS AND CAVES--AND SEALS--AND THE _MOST_
MAGNIFICENT WILD WAVES YOU EVER SAW--AND----"

_Mrs. Frou-Frou._ "BUT NO DRESS-MAKERS, I SUPPOSE!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

JOHN STANDS ALOOF.

(SHIMONOSEKI, 1895.)

    ["Circumstances might arise, of course, in which we should
    feel called upon to safeguard our interests, but so far we
    discern no adequate ground for interference."--_The "Times"
    on the Joint Protest of Russia, France and Germany against the
    annexation portion of the Treaty of Shimonoseki._]

  AIR--"_The Heathen Chinee._"

  JOHN BULL _sings:_--

  I stand by, and I mark,
    And I see some things plain;
  And the looks that are dark
    At the <DW61>'S game, and gain,
  From that Heathen Chinee, are peculiar;
    But aloof _I_'m content to remain!

  AH SIN at the game
    Thought him chipper and spry;
  But he's "spoofed" all the same--
    (Whatsome'er _that_ imply)--
  And his smile is less pensive and childlike
    Than when he once played with BILL NYE.

  Little <DW61> _looked_ absurd--
    As regarding mere size--
  And some people inferred
    He was feeble likewise;
  Yet he's played it this time upon JOHNNY
    In a way it's scarce safe to despise.

  In the saffron pair's game
    I did not take a hand.
  Some conceived that the same
    <DW61> did not understand;
  But his grin somehow soon turned the tables
    On "the smile that was childlike and bland."

  'Tis a theme for BRET HARTE,
    P'raps he only could show
  The artful <DW61>'S art--
    If I may put it so--
  In a way which is worthy the subject.
    But _me_ interfere, gents? Why, no!

  If <DW61>'S cards had been stocked--
    Which I do not believe--
  Had our feelings been shocked
    By the state of <DW61>'S sleeve;
  We might have had reason for charging
    The same with intent to deceive.

  But the hands he has played
    With that Heathen Chinee,
  And the points he has made,
    Are, as far as I see,
  The result of good play _plus_ good fortune;
    And _does_ it concern you or me?

  The Russ standing by
    Turned his glance upon me.
  (For the <DW61>'S pile _was_ high.)
    And he hissed, "Shall this be?
  Must I have this smart <DW61> for a neighbour?
    Shall _he_ clear out the Heathen Chinee?"

  Swarthy FRANCOIS looked glum,
    Ginger HANS rubbed his chin:
  But I smoked and stood mum,
    As the <DW61> raked the tin.
  Then I says, "He's played fairly and squarely.
    So what call have _we_ to cut in?

  "In the game, as you know,
    You would not take a hand,
  But a short while ago;
    So let JAPPY now land
  The stakes, and AH SIN take his hiding
    At the game his foe _does_ understand.

  "JOHNNY thought himself strong
    At that game; but the facts
  Seem to prove he was wrong;
    And unwisely he acts
  In howling at getting in warfare
    What's frequent in warfare--that's whacks!

  "Which is why I remark,
    And my purpose is plain,
  That looks that are dark
    At the JAPPY are vain.
  And, although you may think me peculiar,
    Aloof--for the time--I remain!"

       *       *       *       *       *

SOMETHING IN THE WAY OF "GREAT EXPECTATIONS."--When JABEZ S. BALFOUR
arrives, no doubt his first visit will be to the editor of the _Penny
Illustrated Paper_, in which paper appeared the portrait of him
as "Mayor of CROYDON," wearing his chain of office--alas! the
chain!--that led directly to his identification and arrest. The
photograph was taken first and JABEZ was taken afterwards. Will JABEZ
S. BALFOUR call in at the office of the _P. I. P._ and say, with _Joe
Gargery_, "Ever the best of friends, ain't us, _P. I. P._?" Not quite
likely.

       *       *       *       *       *

PROPOSED CHANGE OF NAME.--If Sir WHITTAKER ELLIS agrees to the scheme
for adding Bute House Estate--a Bute-iful property--to Richmond Park,
thus preserving it from the builders, then will he be gratefully
remembered as "WISEACRE ELLIS."

       *       *       *       *       *

"BAR GOLD."--Fees to barristers.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: JOHN STANDS ALOOF.

RUSSIA. "IS HE TO HAVE ALL _THIS?_"

JOHN BULL. "WELL--HE'S PLAYED A SQUARE GAME--_I_ DON'T SEE ANY CALL TO
INTERFERE!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: MAY I. THE SWEEPS' FESTIVAL.

A STUDY IN BLACK AND WHITE. *** NICE FOR NEXT FARE.]

       *       *       *       *       *

REMARKABLE INSTANCE OF SAGACITY IN GROUSE.

To _The Field_ of April 20, Mr. FREDERICK MILBANK wrote about the
"Monument to a Grouse Shooter" on Wimmergill Moor. Mr. MILBANK
considered the number of grouse he had bagged as constituting a
"record," and so caused a monument to be erected on the spot sacred to
the memory of four thousand brace of grouse shot in six days by five
guns with one extra gun on the sixth day. The monument, being erected,
_scared the grouse away_. Of course they read the sad story, held a
council, and decided that as long as F. A. MILBANK was anywhere
about, within shot, they would preserve themselves by avoiding him.
Subsequently the monument was removed to Bamingham in North Yorkshire.
But the North Yorkshire birds are quite indifferent to this tale
from The Hills. They wink the other eye, that is until such time as
FREDERICK A. MILBANK shall show them the sort of gun _he_ is, and then
they'll be sorry for not having taken warning earlier, unless they
possess the sagacity of the grouse of Wimmergill, which resembles
that of _Mr. Jingle's_ dog, who read the inscription on the board,
"Gamekeeper has orders to shoot all dogs found in this inclosure," and
"wouldn't pass it." "Singular circumstance that," said _Mr. Pickwick_.
"Will you allow me to make a note of it?"

       *       *       *       *       *

THE MODERN BUYER:

GROWLS OF MODERN "MASTERS."

_Royal Academy, Burlington House, May 3, 1895._

  The "Old Masters" over, the New make a start.
    Another year's past and another year's come;
  And Fame blows a blast on her trumpet, and Art
              Beats her drum!

  "Walk Up!!" An example is set by the Court;
    And Society hastens--a feverish throng;
  A mere glance at the pictures, for life is but short--
              And Art's long!

  Three artists looked on with a cynical smile--
    One needy Outsider, and two rich R.A.'s
  (Both walking on velvet, because of the pile
              They could raise).

  They discussed the "Art Patron"--in all of that crowd
    An _avis_ that's _rara_ and _rara_ each year.
  And these are the words that they spoke, and allowed
              Me to hear:--

_First R.A._

  "Now, to none do I yield in my love of VANDYCK--
    I adore the Italians--bow down to the Dutch;
  VELASQUEZ I worship, and GOYA I like
              Very much.

  "But alas! for the SHEEPSHANKS and VERNONS of old--
    For the HILLS and the rest of a connoisseur race!
  Old MECAENAS has gone; and investors of gold
              Take his place."

_Second R.A._

  "'Old Masters' they buy--any ancient design--
    Eighteen-thirty or so is the latest they'll own;
  None but 'made reputations'--no work, howe'er fine,
              If unknown."

_Outsider._

  "Their Art's in their bankers'-books, not in their eyes
    To encourage the artist is none of their plan;
  They seek an investment that's likely to rise--
              To a man.

  "Do they think that fine art nowhere else can be seen
    But in saint that is squint-eyed, or boor that is drunk,
  In brown tree, Dutch canal, man with ruff, or the lean
              Spanish monk?"

_Second R.A._

  "Just reflect to what artists of old had been brought
    (Such as REYNOLDS, or RAPHAEL, or PHIDIAS the Greek)
  Had their patrons informed them they meant to buy nought
              But antique!"

_Outsider._

  "Then, _our_ drawing is better--our atmosphere too.
    _Plein air_ was ignored, or they voted it vice.
  As to '_values_,' 'twas little they thought of or knew--
              Save of price."

_First R.A._

  "When men buy modern art, they buy Leightons and Moores
    And Sargents and Swans and the rest of our lot;
  But as to their _knowledge_--like mine or like yours--
              Tommy rot!"

_Second R.A._

  "Do you think they appreciate LEWIS'S skies--
    Do they care if they're worked up in stipple or wash?
  Do you think it's the _Art_ (not the money) they prize?
              Simply bosh!"

_Outsider._

  "No. They judge not by Art--they judge only by fame;
    And the artist may starve on his poor pallet-bed;
  But their hundreds and thousands they shower on his name
              When he's dead!--

  "When the two Greatest Masters--Old Varnish and Time--
    To his work superficial beauties have lent,
  Lo behold, they appreciate! Be it so. _I'm_
              Quite content."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "1895." THE ROYAL ACADEMY FIELD DAY.]

       *       *       *       *       *

A FRIEND AT A PINCH.

(_An Utterly Impossible Incident that will never be "Reported."_)

    SCENE--_A Court of Law. Experienced Counsel arguing a point in
    the teeth of his Lordship on the Bench._

_His Lordship_ (_angrily_). No, Mr. BANDS, I really cannot agree with
you. It seems to me that you are merely wasting our time, and no doubt
your own.

_Experienced Counsel_ (_politely_). Not at all, my Lord. I scarcely
venture to urge the great importance of the matter to my client.

_His Lordship._ No doubt; and your client showed excellent judgment
in entrusting his interests to your hands. Still law is law, and can
never be anything else.

_Exp. C._ Your Lordship is most kind. But my point, my Lord, is so
plain--the matter is so clear. Surely your Lordship must see it.

_His Lordship_ (_with much irony_). It is my fault, no doubt, Mr.
BANDS, but as matter of fact your point is absolutely lost to me. I
confess I cannot see it at all.

_Exp. C._ I would not propose for a moment that your Lordship's
judgment is at fault. But I would venture to suggest that the
atmosphere of the Court is sufficiently dense to cloud the clearest
and most brilliant intellect.

_His Lordship_ (_mollified_). There is a good deal in what you say,
Mr. BANDS, but of course, we must put up with it. There is no remedy.

_Exp. C._ With every possible respect to the Bench, my Lord, I would
humbly suggest that there is a remedy.

_His Lordship._ Can you quote a case?

_Exp. C._ I can, at any rate, refer to an opinion.

_His Lordship._ Has it been reported?

_Exp. C._ Certainly, my Lord. You will find it in the Reports of the
Hardwicke Society. Lord Chief Justice RUSSELL OF KILLOWEN has laid
it down that snuff is a most valuable assistance to the proper
dispensation of justice. His Lordship has declared that the inhaling
of prepared tobacco through the nostrils "clears the judicial brain,
predisposes it to calmness and impartiality, and enables a learned
judge to listen with patience to the most fluent and prolific of
forensic orators." If your Lordship pleases.

    [_Offers snuff-box to the Judge._

_His Lordship_ (_after taking a pinch_). Well, certainly the point you
have raised seems clearer to me than it did. (_After a few moments of
consideration._) I will reserve the case for further consideration,
and will deliver judgment later.

_Exp. C._ As your Lordship pleases. I will ask the usher to hand my
authorities to your Lordship.

_His Lordship_ (_receiving snuff-box_). You are very good. I will
not overlook their assistance in coming to a conclusion. I hope the
occasion may never arise when I might be compelled, as the vulgar
tongue expresses it, to "give you snuff."

    [_Scene closes upon mutual courtesies._

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "OH, I'M GLAD YOU'VE GOT A PIANO IN THE ROOMS! WHAT IS
IT?--A BROADWOOD?"

"NO, MUM. MYOGH'NY!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

_House of Commons, Monday, April 22._--Easter holidays over; school
back; new master in charge; process of installation a little lacking
in pomp and circumstance. This due in large measure to incidence of
holiday. At Westminster, as at other schools, boys don't insist, _vi
et armis_, on returning on the opening day. Wide gaps on most of the
benches; Front Opposition Bench a wilderness. PRINCE ARTHUR and all
his merrie men abstained from lending to installation of new Speaker
the grace and comfort of their presence.

"It is quite true, dear boy," PRINCE ARTHUR said, when I gently
hinted that the Leader of Opposition should have been present on such
occasion, "that when our man was defeated I said, Mr. WILLIAM
COURT GULLY having been elected by a majority of the House, is
representative of the whole House. But it's a long name, you know, and
in ordinary practice I must stop short at WILLIAM. You can't expect me
to COURT GULLY."

Amid depressing circumstances as far as attendance went, new Speaker
bore himself faultlessly. Quick-change process watched with breathless
interest from Ladies' Gallery. First, Speaker-Elect, preceded by Mace,
entered, attired in Court dress with close-fitting bob-wig. At summons
of Black Rod, proceeded to House of Lords; placed at Bar in custody of
Black Rod and Sergeant-at-Arms; not even "accommodated with a chair."
There to receive HER MAJESTY'S sanction of choice of Speaker made by
Commons. Happened that the QUEEN couldn't come. One of the cloaked and
wigged figures on Woolsack mentioned the matter in charmingly casual
way.

"It not being convenient for HER MAJESTY to be personally present
at this time," said a voice which bewrayed the LORD CHANCELLOR, "a
Commission has been issued under the Grand Seal empowering the
Lords named therein to convey Royal Assent to Commons' selection of
Speaker."

LORD CHANCELLOR quite friendly with Speaker-Elect, whom he familiarly
addressed as "Mr. GULLY." Spoke highly of his talents, diligence,
and sufficiency to fulfil important duties to which it had pleased
majority of Commons to call him. Said he had made it all right with
the QUEEN, and that WILLIAM COURT might go back to Commons, and get
about his business. SPEAKER, not to be outdone in geniality, begged
his anonymous friend, one of five muffled up in scarlet gowns, in
the event of any mess being made with matters in the other House, to
impute the blame to him alone, and let the other fellows go scot-free.

Amongst crowd of Commoners clustered behind SPEAKER there was scarcely
a dry eye when this noble sentiment was uttered.

"Solong!" said the voice that was certainly the LORD CHANCELLOR'S.
Taking this as hint to retire, SPEAKER withdrew from the Bar, and left
the House "Without a stain on his character," as the Earl of CORK and
ORRERY handsomely said. Returned to Commons in procession, with Mace
lightly but firmly carried by Sergeant-at-Arms. Instead of taking
Chair, marched round by passage to the rear, disappeared from view.
Consternation in Strangers' Gallery.

"He's bolted!" one gentleman whispered to his neighbour. "Funked it
when the music stopped and he came to the hosses."

After few moments of growing uneasiness, a fine figure, in
full-bottomed wig, silken gown, beneath which silver-buckled shoes
shimmered, emerged from behind SPEAKER'S Chair, and seated itself in
it. "Order! Order!" said a full, pleasant voice; and WILLIAM COURT
GULLY entered upon what promises to be a prosperous and distinguished
career.

SARK tells me that, on going into Committee of Supply, he intends to
move that henceforward the gallery over the Clock facing the Chair
shall be called "The Speaker's Gullery." SARK always thinks of the
right thing at the right time.

_Business done._--New Speaker installed.

_Tuesday._--The Order by which Ministers took Tuesdays having lapsed,
private Members to-night came into their own again. Always stoutly
resist incursion of greedy Governments on their small possessions.
Might reasonably be supposed that, having come into their inheritance,
would have made most of it. Lots of things to do to-night. Several
resolutions on paper, with Orders of Day to follow. What happened was
that by a quarter to nine enthusiasm finally evaporated; count called;
only thirty-seven Members responded; lights forthwith put out.

Opening debate on Charity Commission certainly a little heavy. Every
Member who got his chance felt it incumbent on him to speak for at
least half an hour. Some considerably exceeded this limit.

"_Parturiunt montes_," said HERBERT MAXWELL, wearily looking round
as GRIFFITH-BOSCAWEN followed JOHN ELLIS and JESSE COLLINGS succeeded
FRANCIS STEVENSON; "_nascitur ridiculus mus_."

And so it was. Particular mountain at work when the mouse appeared was
J. W. LOWTHER. Mouse entered from behind SPEAKER'S Chair; leisurely
proceeded along passage between Front Opposition Bench and table at
which J. W. was speaking disrespectfully of JESSE COLLINGS. Halted by
PRINCE ARTHUR'S empty seat; nibbled fibre of matting in remonstrance
at his absence; passed round fearlessly by J. W.'s heels; sat
for moment in full view of House listening attentively to J. W.'s
argument; yawned and sauntered back the way it came. Interest in
debate evidently keener than that of average Member. As soon as
ACLAND'S voice reverberated through almost empty Chamber, mouse
observed strolling back along familiar way; took its seat on floor
under shadow of Mace in defiance of all Parliamentary rule; followed
ACLAND'S argument with evidently keen interest. Interrupted by
approach of RICHARD TEMPLE. Quickly looking up and catching sight of
his stately figure bowing to SPEAKER, mouse fled like the wind, in its
terror making off by Treasury Bench, finally escaping by another exit.

"_Cogitato_" said HERBERT MAXWELL, who breakfasts every morning off a
plate of porridge and a page of PLAUTUS,--

  "Cogitato, mus pusillus quam sit sapiens bestia,
  AEtatem qui uni cubili nunquam committit suam."

_Business done._--Pension of L4,000 a year voted to ARTHUR WELLESLEY
PEEL, late Speaker.

[Illustration: Fancy Picture of Sir Thomas Esmonde bringing forward
Queen "Lily o' Killarney" Hawaii.]

_Thursday._--All very well for gay young Irish baronet like ESMONDE to
champion cause of errant Queens throned in summer seas. Expected other
things from THE MACGREGOR. House quite shocked when he interposed just
now. ESMONDE asked EDWARD GREY whether Government could do anything
to obtain proper treatment for Queen of Hawaii. Before Under Secretary
could reply, THE MACGREGOR, suddenly leaping across <DW18> as it were,
interposed. "As I happen to know the lady who was formerly Queen of
Hawaii," said THE MACGREGOR, and so proceeded to back up ESMONDE'S
plea. Offhand way in which reference was made suggested illimitable
possibilities, THE MACGREGOR just "happened to know" this Queen,
probably one of a bevy. On some quiet night House might hope to hear
paper read by THE MACGREGOR on "Queens I Have Known."

SARK curiously anxious as to where the acquaintance was made, and how
it was nurtured. Did THE MACGREGOR vaccinate Her Majesty whilst he,
still in public capacity, sojourned at Penrith? Was she an inmate of
Peebles Hydropathic Institute what time he was resident physician? or
did he minister to her at the Barnhill Hospital and Asylum, Glasgow,
of which, before he took to Imperial politics, he was superintendent?
Pleasanter still to think of THE MACGREGOR and the Queen with the
musical name wandering hand in hand amid the orange groves of sea-girt
Hawaii, breakfasting on the bountiful bread-fruit, lunching off the
succulent yam. Did he in those days call her so much as LILIUOKALANI?
or did he venture on the diminutive LILI? SARK had better give notice
of these questions. _Business done._--Fresh Ministerial Bills brought
in with both hands.

_Friday._--Another private Members' night, and, by consequence,
another count out. Things kept going till a quarter to eight, but
only with utmost difficulty. Members consented to stay in prospect
of division on ALBERT ROLLIT'S motion protesting against exemption
of Government property from rating. But they would not longer linger.
When LUBBOCK followed, with proposal of pleasant chat about London's
share of imperial contribution to local purposes, the few remaining
Members, vainly trying to look as if they'd be "back in ten minutes,"
walked out. House counted; only twenty-five present, and so home to
dinner.

"Yes, yes," said WALTER LONG, left in charge of Front Opposition
Bench, "but this won't prevent us on Monday, when SQUIRE OF MALWOOD
proposes to take Tuesday and Friday mornings for public business,
stubbornly resisting piratical incursion on the rights of private
Members. Whatever we are, let us be logical."

_Business done._--Ministerial defeat on ROLLIT'S amendment averted by
majority of one.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE BATTLE OF EASTBOURNE.

  Natis in usum laetitiae rosis
  Pugnare Eastbourni est.

  HORACE (_slightly emended_).

It is not the English nature, but the English climate that makes us
take our pleasures sadly (if we do, which we don't). And it is not
the fault of the English nature, but of the organisers, if our public
pageants are usually, like our statues, more or less good-humoured
burlesques of what they are meant to represent. Now Eastbourne has
triumphantly shown that, in spite of chilling and heavy rain,
England can rival the sunny South in the beauty and variety of a big
procession of floral cars. And if Eastbourne can do this, why can it
not be done elsewhere? "Organise, organise, organise," and let the
hireling merrymaker be conspicuously absent. Your hireling will still
wear his armour as if he were bearing the _spolia opima_ of a burgled
marine-store dealer. And the lady hireling, as a sea-nymph or a
shepherdess, can never quite forget what she owes to her dignity as a
respectable married woman. In the interests of the family exchequer,
and in the way of business, she may consent to dally with allegory,
but her heart is not in the mermaid's grot, nor do the spacious times
of Great ELIZABETH inspire her, beyond the Victorian circus-smile,
the circus-smile which puts a girdle round about the face for
forty minutes, or more if the procession be so long a-field. At the
Eastbourne Battle of Flowers everyone lived up to his or her coach,
carriage, wheel-barrow or cart, in a way which speaks volumes for the
artistic sense of the South Saxons. The children, as children use,
took the cake--after Mr. EDGAR BRUCE. They were there in great numbers
and variety, from the little _Titania_ in her fairy goat-chaise, o'er
canopied with flowers and flying doves, to the very small skipper of
the very realistic ship, who stood on the rainy deck with drawn sword
and unswerving dignity for some two hours of constant and crowded
parading. "Bravo, BURNABY," is the resultant cry of gratified
spectators, and better weather next time. A better show it would be
ungrateful to suggest.

       *       *       *       *       *

Umra Khan's Consigne.

When headstrong chieftains say "I shan't,"
  Or do the things they're bidden not to,
Like UMRA KHAN (now UMRA can't),
  They'll find "_non possumus_" their motto.

       *       *       *       *       *

AGRICULTURAL PROSPECTS.--The Kent farmers are looking forward to a
hoppy future. "What's the odds" to _them_ "as long as they're hoppy?"

       *       *       *       *       *

"A 'FELT' WANT."--A comfortable _and_ respectable-looking billycock
hat.

       *       *       *       *       *




Transcriber's Note:


Page 205: 'thorougfares' corrected to 'thoroughfares'

  "The route, which ran chiefly through main thoroughfares,..."

Page 208: 'preson' corrected to 'person'

  "If a person came to you and said that, what reply would you
  give him?"

Page 208: 'ongues' corrected to 'tongues'

  "But our tongues shall laud, whilst those tongues can wag,..."

Page 209: 'isplaye' corrected to 'displayed'

  "More charms displayed in form and feature."

Page 209: 'break', possibly (Oxford English Dictionary), break^{3} -
n. Carriage-frame with no body, for breaking in young horses; large
wagonette. Seems correct in context:

  "Seems that break went wrong going down-hill. Well, no "safety
  tandem" for _me_ again--can't _stand 'em_, myself, not being in
  favour of infanticide. Give _me_ a good old mail cart!"

[^ represents a superscript.]





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol.
108, May 4th, 1895, by Various

*** 