Book: Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol. 102, February 6, 1892
V >>
Various >> Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol. 102, February 6, 1892
PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 102.
February 6, 1892.
[Illustration: "A GOOD STAYER."
THE DEALER SAID, "THE MARE COULD STAY FOR EVER." SHE SEEMED INCLINED
TO DO SO WHEN JONES WISHED TO BE AFTER THE HOUNDS.]
* * * * *
RECEIPT AGAINST INFLUENZA.
DEAR SIR,--I send you this gratis. It is for everybody's benefit,
Yours. GEORGE GUZZLETON, X.M.D.
P.S.--I give "_Coenae prescriptionem_" only, as the "_Prescrip:
prandialis_" can be taken out of this with variations.
Ostr: frigid: 11/2 doz.
Pisc: anima: locus aut quid: ali: [=a][=a][=a] xvi [dram]
Cum: pom: terr: fervesc: f 8[dram]
Ad Hoc: bib: sextarium 1/2 mx.
Ovem: torrid: [ounce]ss.
virides: ad. lib.
Per: dix: anas: agrestis: } f[dram]ij.
Condim: pan: aut aliquid: } fvijss.
Prunosus: botulus: [=a][=a]f [dram]vj.
Condim: prand: aut lact: Devonii: f 3 j.
Liq. Pomm: et Gr: '84 }
Aut Mo: et Chand: '84 } Oj 4
_Fiat haust: sec: vel test: quaque hora: extra hora coenae: regulariter
sumendum._
_Si opus sit_: Misce: aq: sodae .. [dram]1/14.
_Misce: ot: grog: h.s.s. Si opus sit aut non._
* * * * *
LITERARY GARDENING.--A Correspondent, signing himself "STULTUS IN
HORTU OR HORT-U-NOT?" writes, "Please, Sir, if my boy JOHN plant 'a
slip of a pen,' what will it come up?" _Answer paid_--A Jonquill.
* * * * *
TO THE QUEEN.
(_FROM THE NATION._)
Queenly as womanly, those words that start
From sorrow's lip strike home to sorrow's heart.
Madam, our griefs are one;
But yours, from kinship close and your high place,
The keener, mourning him in youth's glad grace
Who loved you as a son.
We mourn him too. Our wreaths of votive flowers
Speak, mutely, for us. The deep gloom that lowers
To-day across the land
Is no mere pall of ceremonial grief.
'Tis hard in truth, though reverent belief
Bows to the chastening hand.
Hard--for his parents, that young bride, and you,
Bearer of much bereavement, woman true,
And patriotic QUEEN!
We hear the courage striking through the pain,
As always in your long, illustrious reign,
Which shrinking ne'er hath seen,--
Shrinking from high-strung duty, the brave way
Of an imperial spirit. So to-day
Your People bow--in pride.
The sympathy of millions is your own.
May Glory long be guardian of your Throne,
Love ever at its side!
* * * * *
ENTIRELY UNSOLICITED TESTIMONIAL.--_Dartmoor_.--Gentlemen,--Two years
ago I wrote somebody else's name with one of your pens. Since then I
have used no other.
Yours faithfully, A.F. ORGER. "To Messrs. STEAL, KNIBBS & CO."
* * * * *
"LA GRIPPE."
[Illustration]
("_I'm a devil! I'm a devil!" croaked Barnaby Rudge's Raven
'Grip': And this is a raven-mad sort of Edgar-Allan-Poem by Un
qui est Grippe._)
Once upon a midnight dreary
Coming home I felt so weary,
Felt, oh! many a pain; so curious,
Which I'd never felt before.
Then to bed,--no chance of napping,
Blankets, rugs about me wrapping,
Feverish burning pains galore.
"Oh! I've got it! oh!" I muttered,
"Influenza!! what a bore!!"
_Only_ this!!--Oh!!--Nothing more!!
Oh! my head and legs are aching!
Now I'm freezing! Now I'm baking!
Clockwork in my cerebellum!
Oh! all over me I'm sore!
In my bed I'm writhing, tossing,
Yet I'm in a steamer, crossing.
While KIRALFY's Venice bossing,
I'm "against" and RUSSELL "for"
In a case about the _Echo_,
Somewhere out at Singapore!
It's delirium!!! Nothing more.
Then a Doctor comes in tapping
Me all over, tapping, rapping.
And with ear so close and curious
Pressed to stethoscope, "Once more,"
Says he, "sing out ninety-ninely,
Now again! You do it finely!
Yes! Not bigger than a wine lee,
There's the mischief, there's the _corps_
Of the insect that will kill us,
Hiding there is the Bacillus;
Only _that_, and nothing more!"
"Why's he here with fear to fill us?
Will he leave me, this Bacillus?
Not one bone do I feel whole in,
And of strength I've lost my store."
Thus I to the Doctor talking,
Ask "When shall I go out walking"?
He, my earnest queries baulking,
Says, "When all this trouble's o'er,"
"Monday? Tuesday? Wednesday? Thursday
Friday? Saturday? Sunday? or
In a week?" "Um!--not before."
"Doctor!" cried I, "catch this evil
Fiend! Bacillus!! Microbe!! devil!!
Second syllable in Tem-pest!
Send him to Plutonian Shore.
Send him back to where he came from,
To the place he gets his fame from,
To the place he takes his name from;
Kick him out of my front door!"
So the Doctor feels my pulse, and,
As I drop upon the floor,
Quoth the Doctor, "Some days more."
* * * * *
[Illustration: "OUT IN THE COLD!"
"I AM LIKE A TRAVELLER LOST IN THE SNOW, WHO BEGINS TO GET STIFF WHILE
THE SNOWFLAKES COVER HIM."
_Speech of Prince Von Bismarck at Friedrichsruhe._]
* * * * *
"OUT IN THE COLD!"
["I am like a traveller lost in the snow, who begins to get
stiff and to sink down while the snowflakes cover him. In
fact, I am gradually losing interest in politics, but the
feeling, like that of the traveller sinking under the snow,
is a pleasant one."--_Prince Bismarck to the Deputation of
Leipsic Students_.]
AIR--"_Excelsior_!"
The century was waning fast,
As through a wintry waste there passed
A man, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device,
Excel no more!
His brows were blanched; his eye beneath
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath;
Red fields had heard his armour clang.
But now he smiled and softly sang,
Excel no more!
In barracks huge he saw the might
Of mailed hosts arrayed for fight;
Afar the fierce Frank bayonets shone,
And from his lips escaped a moan,
Excel no more!
"Think of the Past!" the young men said,
"Like SAUL you towered by the head
Midst those three Titans, Prussia's pride!"
Softly that once stern voice replied,
"Excel no more!"
"Oh, stay," the young men cried, "and mix
Once more in Teuton Politics!"
"Nay," said the Titan, "I grow old,
And, like poor TOM, I am a-cold!
Excel no more!"
"Beware the snow-encumbered branch!
Beware the whelming avalanche!"
"Thanks!" he replied. "I know, I know.
But--well, I rather like the snow!
Excel no more!"
"Lost in the snow! An easy death!
Gentle surcease of mortal breath!
I sink, I stiffen, I'm foredone!
The feeling though's a pleasant one;
Excel no more!"
The traveller by his faithful hound
Half-buried in the snow was found,
Still muttering from a mouth of ice
That banner's late and strange device,
Excel no more!
There in the snow-drift cold and grey,
Silent, but stalwart, still he lay,
Great "Blood-and-Iron," brave and bold,
But--for the nonce--"Out in the Cold!"
Excel no more?
* * * * *
PARLIAMENT IN SPORT;
_OR, A MEETING IN EARNEST._
["Perhaps the popularity of the competition in national sport
between the different parts of the Empire is worthy of the
serious attention of statesmen ... Mr. ASTLEY COOPER proposes
rowing, running and cricket ... There is something fascinating
in the idea of such a Pan-Britannic gathering."--_Daily
Paper_.]
The SPEAKER, having taken his seat in the Pavilion, the Minister for
Cricket rose to move the third reading of The Six-balls-to-an-over
Bill.
The Right Hon. Gentleman said that the amount of time wasted in
changing sides, although the field did their best to minimise the
loss by assuming a couple of positions alternately, was very
serious--especially in a first-class match.
The Member for Melbourne begged to ask what _was_ a first-class match?
The Member for Sydney replied, certainly not a match between Canada
and Victoria. (_Laughter.)_ Now everyone was aware that New South
Wales--("_Question! Order! Order!")_ He begged pardon, he was in
order.
The SPEAKER. I really must request silence. The Minister for Cricket
is introducing a most important measure, and the least we can do is to
receive his statement with adequate attention. (_General cheering_.)
The Minister for Cricket continued, and said that the measure he had
the honour to commend to their careful consideration would not only
lengthen the over, but also allow Cricket to be played all the year
round.
The Minister for Football begged to remind his Right Hon. friend
that he had promised to consider that matter in Committee. What would
become of Football were Cricket to be played continuously? ("_Hear,
hear_!")
The Member for Bombay thought that a matter of no moment. In India
Polo was of infinitely more importance than Football, and he could
not help remarking that, in the Imperial Parliament, representing so
many sports, and so many Colonies, where every great interest was
represented, and well represented, Polo was absolutely ignored.
(_Cheers.)_
The Minister for Aquatic Sports agreed with the Hon. Member. Polo was
entirely of sufficient interest to warrant the creation of a special
department for its guardianship. But at present he was responsible for
it. He hoped soon to be able to welcome a colleague who would make its
interests his continual study. (_"Hear, hear!"_)
The Minister for Cricket concluded by thanking the House for the
attention the Hon. Members had given to the subject, and sat down
amidst loud applause.
A division being taken, the Bill was carried by 127 to 96. The
majority were composed of Australians and Canadians, and the minority
were Africans, Indians, and miscellaneous Colonists. The House then
adjourned.
* * * * *
[Illustration: TRUTHFUL BUT NOT CONSCIENTIOUS.
_Elderly Dowager_. "Now, PERKINS, I REQUIRE YOUR HONEST OPINION. DON'T
YOU THINK THIS DRESS SUITS ME?"
_Perkins (who has been cautioned always to speak the truth, on pain of
losing her place, warily_). "OH YES, MY LADY, IT SUITS YOUR LADYSHIP
QUITE--AS ONE MAY SAY--QUITE 'DOWN TO THE GROUND!'"]
* * * * *
THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS.
NO. XXV.
SCENE--_Near Torcello. CULCHARD and PODBURY are seated
side by side in the gondola, which is threading its way
between low banks, bright with clumps of Michaelmas daisies
and pomegranate-trees laden with red fruit. Both CULCHARD
and PODBURY are secretly nervous and anxious for
encouragement._
_Podbury_ (_humming "In Old Madrid" with sentiment_).
La-doodle-um-La-doodle-oo: La-doodle-um-te-dumpty-loodle-oo! I think
she rather seemed to like me--those first days at Brussels, don't
_you_?
_Culchard_ (_absently_). Did she? I daresay. (_Whistling "The
Wedding March" softly_.) Few-fee; di-fee-fee-few-few;
few-fiddledy-fee-fiddledy-few-few-few-fee. I fancy I'm right in my
theory, eh?
_Podb._ Oh, I should say so--yes. _What_ theory?
_Culch._ (_annoyed_). What theory? Why, the one I've been explaining
to you for the last ten minutes!--that all this harshness of hers
lately is really, when you come to analyse it, a decidedly encouraging
symptom.
_Podb._ But I shouldn't nave said Miss TROTTER was exactly _harsh_ to
me--lately, at all events.
_Culch._ (_with impatience_). Miss TROTTER! You! What an egotist you
are, my dear fellow! I was referring to myself and Miss PRENDERGAST.
And you can't deny that, both at Nuremberg and Constance, she--
_Podb._ (_with careless optimism_). Oh, _she_'ll come round all right,
never fear. I only wish I was half as safe with Miss TROTTER!
_Culch._ (_mollified_). Don't be too downhearted, my dear PODBURY. I
happen to know that she likes you--she told me as much last night. Did
Miss PRENDERGAST--er--say anything to that effect about _me_?
_Podb._ Well,--not exactly, old chap--not to me, at least. But I say,
Miss TROTTER didn't tell you _that_? Not _really_? Hooray! Then it's
all right--she may have me, after all!
_Culch._ (_chillingly_). I should advise you not to be over confident.
(_A silence follows, which endures until they reach the landing-steps
at Torcello._) They _are_ here, you see--those are evidently their
gondolas, I recognise those two cloaks. Now the best thing _we_ can do
is to separate.
_Podb._ (_springing out_). Right you are! (_To himself._) I'll draw
the church first, and see if she's there. (_Approaches the door of
Santa Maria: a Voice within, apparently reading aloud: "Six balls, or
rather almonds, of purple marble veined with white are set around the
edge of the pulpit, and form its only decoration"_) HYPATIA, by Jove!
Narrow shave that! [_He goes round to back._
_Culch._ (_comes up to the door_). I know I shall find her here. Lucky
I know that Torcello chapter in "The Stones" very nearly by heart!
(_Reaches threshold. A Voice within. "Well, I guess I'm going to climb
up and sit in that old amphitheatre there, and see how it feels!"_)
Good heavens,--_MAUD_! and I was as nearly as possible--I think I'll
go up to the top of the Campanile and see if I can't discover where
HYPATIA is.
[_He ascends the tower._
_In the Belfry._
_Podb._ (_arriving breathless, and finding CULCHARD craning eagerly
forward_). Oh, so _you_ came up too? Well, can you _see_ her?
_Culch._ Ssh! She's just turned the corner! (_Vexed._) She's with Miss
TROTTER!... They're sitting down on the grass below!
_Podb._ Together? That's a nuisance! Now we shall have to wait till
they separate--sure to squabble, sooner or later.
_Miss T.'s Voice_ (_which is perfectly audible above_). I guess we'll
give RUSKIN a rest now, HYPATIA. I'm dying for a talk. I'm just as
enchanted as I can be to hear you've dismissed Mr. PODBURY. And I
expect you can guess _why_.
_Podb._ (_in a whisper_). I say, CULCHARD, they're going to talk about
us. Ought we to listen, eh? Better let them know we're here?
_Culch._ I really don't see any necessity--however--(_Whistles
feebly._) Feedy-feedy-feedle!
[Illustration: "Hypatia, by Jove!"]
_Podb._ What is the use of fustling like that? (_Yoedels._) Lul-li-ety!
_Miss P.'s V._ Well, my dear MAUD, I confess that I--
_Culch._ It's quite impossible to make them hear down there, and it's
no fault of ours if their voices reach us occasionally. And it
_does_ seem to me, PODBURY, that, in a matter which may be of
vital importance to me--to us both--it would be absurd to be
over-scrupulous. But of course you will please yourself. _I_ intend to
remain where I am.
[_PODBURY makes a faint-hearted attempt to go, but ends by
resigning himself to the situation._
_Miss T.'s V._ Now, HYPATIA PRENDERGAST, don't tell _me_ you're not
interested in him! And he's more real suited to you than ever Mr.
PODBURY was. Now, isn't that _so_?
_Culch._ (_withdrawing his head_). Did you hear, PODBURY? She's
actually pleading for me! _Isn't_ she an angel? Be quiet, now. I must
hear the answer!
_Miss P.'s V._ I--I don't know, really. But, MAUD, I want to speak to
you about--Somebody. You can't think how he adores you, poor fellow! I
have noticed it for a long time.
_Podb._ (_beaming_). CULCHARD! You heard? She's putting in a word for
me. What a brick that girl is!
_Miss T.'s V._ I guess he's pretty good at concealing his feelings,
then. He's been keeping far enough away!
_Miss P.'s V._ That was _my_ fault. I _kept_ him by me. You see, I
believed you had quite decided to accept Mr. CULCHARD.
_Miss T.'s V._ Well, it does strike me that, considering he was
adoring me all this time, he let himself be managed tolerable easy.
[_PODBURY shakes his head in protestation._
_Miss P.'s V._ Ah, but let me explain. I could only keep him quiet
by threatening to go home by myself, and dear BOB is such a devoted
brother that--
_Podb._ Brother! I say. CULCHARD, she can't be meaning _BOB_ all this
time! She _can't_! Can she now?
_Culch._ How on earth can _I_ tell? If it is so, you must be a
philosopher, my dear fellow, and bear it--that's all.
_Miss P.'s V._ That _does_ alter the case, doesn't it? And I may tell
him there's some hope for him? You mustn't judge him by what he is
with his friend, Mr. PODBURY. BOB has such a _much_ stronger and finer
character!
_Miss T.'s V._ Oh well, if he couldn't stand up more on his edge than
Mr. PODBURY! Not that I mind Mr. PODBURY any, there's no harm in him,
but he's too real frivolous to amount to much.
_Podb._ (_collapsing_). Frivolous! From _her_ too! Oh, hang it _all_!
[_He buries his head in his hands with a groan._
_Miss T.'s V._ Well, see here, HYPATIA. I'll take your brother on
trial for a spell, to oblige you--there. I cann't say more at present.
And now--about the other. I want to know just how you feel about him.
_Culch._ The _other_!--that's Me! I wish to goodness you wouldn't make
all that noise, PODBURY, just when it's getting interesting!
_Miss P.'s V._ (_very low_). What is the good? Nothing will bring him
back--_now_!
_Culch._ Nothing? How little she knows me!
_Miss T.'s V._ I hope you don't consider _me_ nothing. And a word from
me would bring him along pretty smart. The only question is, whether
I'm to say it or not?
_Miss P.'s V._ (_muffled_). Dar-ling!
_Culch._ I really think I might almost venture to go down, now, eh,
PODBURY? (_No answer._) Selfish brute! [_Indignantly._
_Miss T.'s V._ But mind this--if he comes, you've got to care for him
the whole length of your boa--you won't persuade him to run in couples
with anybody else. That's why he broke away the first time--and you
were ever so mad with me because you thought I was at the bottom
of it. But it was all his pride. He's too real independent to share
chances with anybody alive.
_Culch._ How thoroughly she understands me!
_Miss T.'s V._ And I guess CHARLEY will grow out of the great Amurrcan
Novel in time--it's not going ever to grow out of _him_, anyway!
_Culch._ (_bewildered_). CHARLEY? I don't see why she should mention
VAN BOODELER _now_!
_Miss T.'s V._ I like CHARLEY ever so much, and I'm not going to have
him cavort around along with a circus of suitors under vows. So, if I
thought there was any chance of--well, say Mr. CULCHARD--
_Miss P.'s V._ (_indignant_). MAUD! how _can_ you? That odious
hypocritical creature! If you knew how I despised and--!
_Miss T.'s V._ Well, my dear, he's pretty paltry--but we'll let him go
at that--I guess his shares have gone down considerable all round.
_Culch._ PODBURY, I--I--this conversation is evidently not intended
for--for other--ears. I don't know whether _you_ have heard enough,
_I_ shall go down!
_Podb._ (_with a ghastly chuckle_). Like your shares, eh, old chap?
And mine too, for that matter. Well, _I'm_ ready enough to go. Only,
for goodness' sake, let's get away without being seen!
[_They slip softly down the series of inclined planes, and out
to the steps, where they re-embark. As their gondola pushes
off, Mr. TROTTER and BOB PRENDERGAST appear from the
Museum._
_Mr. T._ Why, land sakes! ain't that Mr. PODBURY and Mr. CULCHARD? Hi!
You ain't ever going away? There's my darter and Miss HYPATIA around
somewhere.--They'll be dreadful disappointed to have missed you!
_Podb._ (_with an heroic attempt at cheeriness_). We--we're awfully
disappointed to have missed _them_, Mr. TROTTER. Afraid we can't stop
now! Goodbye!
[_CULCHARD pulls his hat-brim over his eyes and makes a sign
to the gondoliers to get on quickly; Mr. TROTTER comments
with audible astonishment on their departure to BOB, who
preserves a discreet silence._
* * * * *
A PALMY DAY AT ST. RAPHAEL.
_Villa Magali._--Delicious climate! STUART-RENDEL says it "reminds
him of Devonshire, without the damp." Mention of Devonshire reminds
_me_ of the DUKE. Try to point out to my friends that the Rossendale
Election shows conclusively--Curious! Friends all get up and go out!
Seems that ANDREW CLARKE specially told them I was to "avoid all
excitement, over-exertion, and talk about politics!" Wish CLARKE would
not be so unreasonable. _Must_ talk about Rossendale to somebody.
_Off to Hyeres_--to see CHILDERS. Find CHILDERS tolerably chatty.
Doesn't seem to care so much about Rossendale result as I should have
expected. STUART-RENDEL comes to fetch me. Ahem! Off.
_At Monte Carlo._--Feel so well, have looked in here. Meet WELLS, the
"Champion Plunger." Asks me if I've got a system; he's "been losing
heavily, and would be glad of any hint." Suggest his putting on the
numbers of Rossendale Majority. WELLS seems pleased at idea. Does so
at once, and loses 10,000 francs straight off. Meet him in grounds
afterwards, and try to explain real significance of Rossendale
election. WELLS disappears. Curious! _Can_ ANDREW CLARKE have got at
WELLS?
_Golfe San Juan._--French war-ships in Bay. Admiral might like to know
my views on Rossendale and politics generally. Taken on board. Admiral
much interested in MADEN's victory. Admiral asks if it was the "_Grand
Prix_" that MADEN won? Find he thinks MADEN is a horse. Disappointing.
[_Query_--ANDREW CLARKE again?] Sent on shore in boat, amid cheers
from sailors. Gratifying.
_Back to St. Raphael._--Tired, but on the whole gratified with my day.
Friends pained to hear what I've done, and threaten to telegraph for
Sir ANDREW! Shall pack up and return. Letter from MORLEY begging me to
stay where I am. Odd! Can Sir ANDREW have got at JOHN MORLEY? Bed, and
think it over.
* * * * *
BROTHER BRUSH, A.R.A.--Stan' up, STANHOPE FORBES! and receive our
congratulations on your election. STAN-HOPE deferred maketh the
painter's 'art sick of waiting, and now A FORBES, not _The_ FORBES
(which his name is JAMES STAATS, C.L.C. & D.R., &c., &c.), but the
STANHOPE A-foresaid, has obtained his first grade. With what pleasure
will the Art-loving Chairman see his STANHOPE "on the line!" In
Burlington House, of course we mean, as elsewhere, the situation would
be one of no slight danger.
* * * * *
"PLEASED AS PUNCH."--A paragraph in the _D.T._ informed _Mr. P._
and the public generally, that "Dr. ROBSON ROOSE and Mr. ALLINGHAM
are contented with Mr. EDWARD LAWSON's progress." "If Box"--"And
Cox"--"are satisfied," then of all Mr. E.L.'s friends in front none
will be more delighted to hear of his complete recovery than his
neighbour, _Mr. Punch_, of 85, Fleet Street.
* * * * *
SOMETHING NEW IN SOAP.--The Soap Trade is still booming. Almost every
week appears a fresh candidate for public favour, its claim based upon
some alluring speciality. We hear of a newcomer likely to take the
cake (of soap). On all the walls, and in most of the advertisement
columns, will presently blaze forth its proud legend:--"The
Satisfactory Soap--Won't Wash Anything."
* * * * *
[Illustration: LEGAL IMPROVEMENTS.
IN ORDER TO HUSBAND OUR JUDICIAL STAFF, IN FUTURE A JUDGE WILL BE
EXPECTED TO HEAR TWO CASES AT THE SAME TIME.
PORTRAIT OF A JUDGE TRYING A THEATRICAL "CAUSE CELEBRE," AND A NICE
QUESTION AS TO A "REMAINDER-MAN" AND A "TENANT IN TAIL MALE."]
* * * * *
HIGH (BEERBOHM) TREESON!
DEAR MR. PUNCH,--I see that Mr. BEERBOHM TREE in his recent production
of _Hamlet_ has introduced a novelty into the tragedy by inventing
fresh business. Unauthorised by the text, he has included _Ophelia_
amongst the Court "attendants," and, finding her on the stage, has
indulged in a dignified flirtation (in dumb show), worthy of the hero
of _L'Enfant Prodigue_ himself. Now I think this a great improvement,
and were the masterpiece to be "written up" throughout on the same
lines, I am sure the representation would be received with enthusiasm.
It might be that the performance would be a little longer, but think
of the enormous gain in interest. To show you what I mean, I take the
first five lines of the opening Act:--
SHAKSPEARE'S VERSION.
SCENE I.--_Elsinore. A Platform before the Castle. FRANCISCO
on his post. Enter to him BERNARDO._
_Bernardo._ Who's there?
_Francisco._ Nay answer me: stand and unfold yourself!
This passage, furnished with proper business, might be rendered the
means of showing the sort of life led by _Laertes_, justifying the
advice subsequently given to him by _Polonius_ more appropriate to
the conditions of the case as now (for the first time) fully divulged,
Thus--I give my view of the matter:--
AMENDED VERSION.
SCENE I.--_Elsinore. A Platform before the Castle. As the
Curtain rises, shouts and laughs are heard without. A Village
Maiden rushes in, as if pursued. She hides herself behind the
sentry-box, and then escapes. FRANCISCO, who is on his post,
looks about, and is surrounded by Danish Gallants, who have
come in pursuit of the Maiden. He threatens them with his
arms, and only one remains, who seems overcome by wine. The
intoxicated Gallant is masked, and evidently very much the
worse for liquor. He clumsily draws his sword. FRANCISCO
is about to despatch him, when the mask falls, and in the
dissipated reveller the Sentry recognises the bloated features
of LAERTES. He immediately presents arms, as LAERTES
is his superior officer. LAERTES, half-sobered by this
suggestion of discipline, wishes to retire unseen, and gives
largesse to FRANCISCO. The Sentry is greatly gratified, when
to them enters BERNARDO._