Book: Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol. 102, February 6, 1892
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Various >> Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol. 102, February 6, 1892
_Ber._ Who's there?
_Fran._ (_sheltering LAERTES, who stealthily retires by
a rope-ladder which falls from the battlements to the moat
below_). Nay, answer me. Stand and unfold yourself!
By my version I really introduce a most interesting underplot, which,
in my opinion, is equally pleasing and quite as defensible as Mr.
BEERBOHM TREE's business with _Ophelia_.
Yours, A STICKLER.
* * * * *
[Illustration: HUMAN NATURE.
_Jones has always professed the greatest Indifference to (and contempt
for) all Press Criticisms on his Work (although he takes in all the
Papers)._
YET THIS IS WHAT HE LOOKED LIKE WHEN HIS NEW NOVEL WAS PRONOUNCED A
WORK OF GENIUS BY THE _UPPER TOOTING EXPRESS_.
AND THIS IS HOW HE APPEARED WHEN THE _NORTH CLAPHAM GAZETTE_ DISMISSED
THAT IMMORTAL BOOK AS A PIECE OF DRIVELLING SENILE TWADDLE.
AND THIS IS THE WAY HE TREATS ALL NEWSPAPERS, REVIEWS, PERIODICALS,
&C., &C., THAT LEAVE THE IMMORTAL BOOK UNNOTICED!]
* * * * *
THE ATTACK ON THE "CAPITAL."
_A LAY OF MODERN LONDON._
[Arrangements have been made for great political meetings
in the Metropolis, at which the Liberal Leaders will be the
principal speakers.]
HARCURTIUS of the triple chin, by the Nine Points he swore
The Capital should suffer from Tory sway no more;
By the Nine Points he swore it, and named a trysting day,
And bade his messengers ride forth east and west, and south and north,
To summon his array.
East and west, and south and north the messengers ride fast;
From Kennington to Poplar they've heard the trumpet's blast.
Shame on the false Caucusian who loiters in his Club
When triple-chin'd HARCURTIUS prepares the foe to drub!
Too long the Capital hath borne the stubborn Tory yoke,
Too long the Liberals have failed to strike a swashing stroke.
Betrayed to Tory clutches by traitors shrewd and strong,
The banded foes have held it all too firmly and too long.
SALISBURIUS and GOSCHENIUS have struck unholy pact,
Foes long in dubious seeming, but ever friends, in fact,
Devonian CAVENDUS, he of the broad and bovine jowl,
Who smiled but coldly ever, now on our cause doth scowl.
Cock-nosed CUBICULARIUS, once a Captain of our host,
Now chums with bland BALFOURIUS, and makes that bond his boast.
Oh, was there ever such a gang, so motley and so mixed,
To garrison a Citadel on which all hopes are fixed?
Oh, was there ever such a call to strike one mighty blow,
To snatch the Capital once more, and lay the traitors low?
HARCURTIUS hurries onward, he waves the Grand Old Flag,
And when that banner flouts the breeze, what slave so base as lag?
GLADSTONIUS at his elbow,--not he the Old, the Grand,--
He shuns the fogs of winter in a far-off sunny land,
Nursing his force for the great fray that may right soon come on,--
This is not he of Hawarden, but the old hero's son:
There's OTTO, of the brindled beard, RUSSELLIUS swift of tongue,
RIPONIUS and LEFEVRIUS into the fray have flung.
Sleek-haired STANSFELDUS also, MUNDELLA of the Beak.
That CORVUS of the legion, good both to fight and speak,
LEO PLAYFAIRIUS follows, and brave BANNERMANUS bears
The flag he's fond of flaunting, there gallant AUCEPS dares
All that becomes a hero, whilst last, but oh, not least!
KIMBERLEYUS fares forth to the fight as others to a feast.
"Now, up!" cried stout HARCURTIUS, "Up! and we yet shall trap 'em!
Kennington calls, and Hackney, with Fulham, too, and Clapham.
I hear the cry of Chelsea, Islington North and West
Raise wails that find an echo in this mail-covered breast.
Bermondsey and Whitechapel upraise a piteous plaint:
('Wy don't our 'eroes wisit _hus_? We looks and there they ain't!')
North Lambeth long neglected, and Wandsworth far South-West,
(If I know where these places be I wish I may be blest!)
Appeal to us for succour: then Peckham, gallant Peckham,
Makes a far cry from her famed Rye. O brethren, shall we check 'em,
These brave suburban stalwarts whose home is in the waste
Afar from Pall Mall portals, swell Clubs, and homes of taste,
But who have Votes, my brethren? Nay, shout ye men of pith,
And strike for pining Poplar and hapless Hammersmith!"
"Quite so!" cries 'cute MUNDELLA, the corvine chief and conky,
"But he who maketh too much noise may show himself a donkey.
The Capital seems quiet, Sir, the garrison is still,
Suppose we try that old Gaul game!" HARCURTIUS cries, "I will!"
Then silently and slowly, and all in single file,
They climb towards the Citadel. HARCURTIUS, with a smile,
Hath his head o'er the ramparts, when--Great CAESAR, what is this?
They're greeted with one loud, prolonged, and universal _hiss_!
The sudden sibilation out of silence startles all,
HARCURTIUS clangs his buckler, OTTO nearly hath a fall,
"Great gods, the Geese are on us, those confounded Sacred Geese,
See their long necks, twig their broad beaks! Cease, senile
cacklers, cease!"
So gaspeth great HARCURTIUS, but gaspeth all in vain.
The gaff is blown, the anserine guard gives tongue with might and main.
A stir, a tramp of mailed feet, a torch-flare! Whillaloo!
"Say, is this MARCUS MANLIUS? No, hang it, there be two,
SALISBURIUS and GOSCHENIUS, with a host, no doubt, behind,
They're on their guard, whate'er may chance, we shall not 'catch
'em blind'
Like gudgeon. No! there's not a chance of a surprise by night;
If the Gauls take the Citadel, ye gods, they'll have to _fight_!"
How history repeats itself! At least we must agree,
The Geese have roused the Capital? And _saved_ it? We shall see!
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE ATTACK ON THE "CAPITAL."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: SO ARTLESS!
SCENE--_A Cinderella Dance._
_Swell_ (_to ingenuous Maiden_). "ARE YOU ENGAGED?"
_Ingenuous Maiden._ "NO--BUT--I SHOULD SO LIKE TO BE!"
[_And, as the old game has it, the consequences were ----!_]
* * * * *
"COME HITHER, HUBERT!"
We are able to present our readers with a few notes of a lecture to
be given by Professor HUBERT HERKOMER, R.A. (by the kind permission
of AUTHOR PINERO, Esq.), to all managers, actors, actresses,
scene-painters, authors, composers, musicians, costumiers, and
wig-makers who will honour him with their attention. On this occasion
the Professor will (among other things) explain, by the aid of a Magic
Lantern (an entirely new invention recently discovered by Professor
H.H.) how to enlighten the stage darkness generally. The Professor
will also combat the erroneous impression derived from the dark ages
of SHAKSPEARE's time, that the Moon, or the Man in it,--probably a
lime-lighterman,--ought servilely to follow the movements, in order to
throw light upon them, of the Principal Performer. The Professor will
observe--"Such a course, on the part of the Direction of the Moon,
can only be considered beneficial to Art, when it is directed against
'The Star System.' As each theatrical Star has its own particular
brilliancy, why lug in the Moon? SHAKSPEARE, no doubt, had the Stage
Moon in full view when he makes _Juliet_ roundly exclaim, 'Oh, swear
not by the Moon, the inconstant Moon!' as, of course, a Moon bound
to illuminate the business of any one actor must follow him about,
and so, though 'constant' to _him_ individually, would be open to a
general charge of inconstancy from the spectators in front. Such a
course for the Moon to take is, as some of the better instructed among
you may possibly be aware, quite unwarranted by the lunar laws of
Nature, &c., &c."
This interesting entertainment will wind up with a dialogue between
_Arthur_ (JONES) and _Hubert_ (HERKOMER), of which we give an extract.
It represents _Arthur_ as wishing to produce a piece, which _Hubert_
forewarns him will be a failure unless he (HUBERT) paints the scenery
and manages it generally.
_Arthur._ Is there no remedy?
_Hubert._ None, but to use _my_ eyes.
_Arthur._ O HUBERT! If you will, cut down my 'lengths.'
And I'll be merry as the day is long,
So you don't interfere. You've other irons
Hot in the fire.
_Hubert_ (_aside_). With his innocent prate
He will awake my mercy which lies dead.
(_Aloud._) Read this, young ARTHUR!
[_Gives him a Manuscript._
_Arthur_ (_opens it. Starts_). What! a play by YOU!
To be produced by _me_! O HUBERT!! [_Faints._
We regret that want of space prevents our giving any more of this
charming work at present, but no doubt it will not be long ere the
Public has the gratification of hearing and seeing it all.
* * * * *
A PARAGON FRAME (OF MIND).
["I never took anybody's umbrella."--_Plaintiff (a Cook) in a
recent Breach of Promise Case._]
Common are Cooks, professed, plain alike
And common, youths their sustenance who feed on,
Common (I'm told) a breach of promise suit,
And common, damages, in courts agreed on;
Common are briefs as blackberries; and fees
Are common quite as "leather and prunella";
Common are "unprotected" witnesses
("_Credat_"--as HORACE somewhere sings--"_Apella_!")
But most uncommon seems a lowly Cook
Who with sincerity can kiss the book
And swear (to shame her betters!) ne'er she took
By sad "mistake or otherwise," by hook;
Or, as will eventuate, by crook,
Be it silk or gingham--any one's umbrella!
* * * * *
MRS. RAM ON CURRENT POLITICS.--"Politics," says Mrs. RAMSBOTHAM, "is
one of the few things I know nothing about. But it does seem to me
that Lord GRANDOLPH CHURCHILL is a white elephant tied round the neck
of Lord SALISBURY."
* * * * *
"HEAVENS!"--Recently in the _Athenaeum_, and copied elsewhere, appeared
the most interesting intelligence that has been received on earth for
some time. "The small planet No. 315"--no further address is given, an
omission which will, no doubt, be rectified in the next issue--"which
was discovered at Nice by M. CHARLOIS on the 4th September,
1891,"--the small planet, of course, not being out of the nurse's
arms, was not responsible for being at Nice at an unfashionable time,
but this, of course, is the fault of her parents and guardians--"has
been named Constantia." Rather late to delay the christening for
nearly five months. Of course, the brilliant infant will not stay at
Nice, except by medical advice, but will probably return to No. 315,
Milky Way (or elsewhere), on the first opportunity. _Sic itur ad
astra_!
* * * * *
"A STUDENT OF HISTORY" writes to us:--"Sir--I have been reading a
great deal lately on ecclesiastical subjects, and shall be very much
obliged if you will explain to me briefly what 'Inclosed Orders'
are." [If "A STUDENT" will send us, under cover to our office, two
P.O. Orders for two pounds ten shillings each respectively, further
explanation than that conveyed by our receipt for the same will be
unnecessary.--ED.]
* * * * *
A RIDDLE.
I'm underneath your feet
In the streets of London Town,
From town take "t,"
Then give it to me,
And you'll sell me for a crown.
* * * * *
MRS. R. AND THE PREVAILING EPIDEMIC.--Our excellent friend is now
convalescent. "Like CAESAR or CAESAR's wife, I forget which it was,"
she says, "I have passed the Barbican!" Some one having suggested that
probably she meant "the Rubicon," Mrs. R. thanked him politely, but
added, that she perfectly well knew what she was talking about, and
that everyone who was acquainted with history would understand her
classical delusion.
* * * * *
PUZZLER FOR A COSTUMIER.--A Gentleman going to a Fancy Dress Ball
wants to know how he can make up for Lost Time?
* * * * *
NAMES for the next pair of Tailed Monkeys sent to the Zoo--"Mr. and
Mrs. CAUDAL."
* * * * *
N.B.--"Confessions of a Duffer," No. IV., next week.
* * * * *
[Illustration: SHOWING THAT SOMETIMES IT IS GOOD FOR A COBBLER _NOT_
TO STICK TO HIS LAST.
_Fair Matron._ "I REMEMBER YOUR ACTING '_SIR ANTHONY,' YEARS_ AGO,
WHEN I WAS A GIRL, SIR CHARLES! YOU DID IT SPLENDIDLY!"
_The Great Mathematician._ "AH, WOULD YOU BELIEVE IT, THAT BIT OF
ACTING BROUGHT ME MORE COMPLIMENTS THAN ANYTHING I EVER DID?"
_Fair Matron._ "I SHOULD _THINK_, SO INDEED!"]
* * * * *
TRUE AND TRUSTY.
(_A STORY OF THE LAW._)
I always liked LAWRENCE LUCKAPENNY, and shall never forget the first
time I met him. He was leaving the County Court, where I had had
myself a small matter of business, and knowing the same Counsel, we
foregathered. He was in great spirits. He had just won his case.
"Yes," said he, "it was a hard fight, but we came off all right. His
Honour was distinctly in our favour, so now I and my co-trustees will
have the satisfaction of feeling that the estate has benefited, with
no greater loss than a few months' delay. Eh?" and he turned to our
Counsel, who smiled, and shook his head a little doubtfully.
"Can scarcely go so far as that," the man of law observed. "You see,
these matters take time, and the other side may appeal."
"Appeal! What is that?"
"I am afraid you will have the full opportunity for learning, my dear
fellow."
"Well, it's all right up to now," cried LUCKAPENNY, cheerfully, and we
separated.
Two or three years after this I again met the litigant, but this time
in the Royal Courts of Justice. There were streaks of white in his
hair, but he was still cheerful.
I asked him how he was getting on with the matter, and he replied,
"As well as might be expected." Our Counsel had been right, for the
liquidators had appealed.
"But we have beaten them again, my dear Sir! Think of that,--beaten
them again!"
"And now you will have no further difficulty, I suppose."
"I can't go quite so far as that," returned LUCKAPENNY, who I noticed
was adopting legal phraseology. "You know they may take us up to the
House of Lords, if they please!"
And again time went on. In the course of years I found that poor
LUCKAPENNY _had_ been taken to Westminster, and their Lordships had
decided to give themselves time to consider their judgment.
When I met LUCKAPENNY again, the House of Lords had decided against
him.
"It is very awkward," he observed, "they will not allow my costs, and
so I shall have to pay them out of my own pocket! And what makes it
the more annoying is that, even had we won our cause, it would
have led to nothing, as the estate we were fighting is practically
bankrupt."
I offered my condolences, and we separated.
The last time, I saw poor LUCKAPENNY, he looked a very shadow of
himself. He was haggard and thin, and was wearing clothes of an
ancient cut and threadbare material. He smiled as he met me, and
observed that he was still engaged on the trust matter.
"But I have come to the last stage," he said; "I have paid the costs
in full. And now I am going home."
"Going home," I repeated, and noticing that he seemed feeble, offered
him the support of my arm. "I will walk as far as your residence."
"You are very good," he replied, "but I am afraid that I cannot ask
you to come in."
"Never mind that; but where do you live?"
"Where should I live after a lawsuit?" he returned, with a short
laugh. "Why, in the Workhouse, to be sure--in the Workhouse!"
And as a ratepayer, I have assisted to support him ever since!
* * * * *
A MENU FROM BIRMINGHAM.
POTAGES.
Duchesse. Consomme de Deluge a l'Apres Moi.
POISSONS.
Hors d'Eau a l'Appat convenable. Crevettes a l'Envie.
ENTREES.
Petits Programmes a la Robe de Joseph. Filets de Vis, Sauce Monopole.
Pattes de Matou aux Griffes.
ROTS.
Moi Meme. Dinde Fidele de Jesse.
LEGUMES.
Orchis en Boutonniere. Hartijo Sauce Soumission.
RELEVES.
Monocle. Salmi de Paires Filants aux Lis.
ENTREMETS.
Gateau Rossendale. Conserves d'Eglise Galloise. Boudin de Labouchere a
la Lanterne.
DESSERT.
Bonbons de Famille. Hamecons de Flatterie. Oublis.
* * * * *
IN STATU,--QUO?
Should CROMWELL have a statue at Westminster was a burning question
some years ago. We all know the result, and nowadays, who cares?
At present, the question at Oxford is, Shall Cardinal NEWMAN have a
statue? and, if so, Shall it be just opposite the Martyrs' Memorial?
From one point of view, the situation is happily selected, as, of
course, NEWMAN was on just exactly opposite ground to CRANMER, RIDLEY,
and LATIMER. The Oxford Dons are right in supposing that no statue
can be erected without a previous design; a design by a hand that has
not lost its cunning. The proposed site is in Broad Street, a very
suggestive name as opposed to narrowness of any sort; yet so eager
are the illogical Dons in the matter of preservation of spaces, that
before even the base of a clay model has been commenced, they have
already prepared the ground for the reception of the statue by getting
up any amount of railing about the proposed site!
* * * * *
[Illustration: "WAKING-UP" FOR THE OPENING OF THE SESSION.]
* * * * *
LETTERS TO ABSTRACTIONS.
NO. X.--TO CROOKEDNESS.
OBLIQUE, BUT FORMIDABLE ONE,
You have frequently fixed your abode in high places. Are there
not recorded in history the names of kings and statesmen whom an
irresistible desire to scheme, and trick, and overreach, has brought
to the block? The times were difficult--that much one may admit. Noble
heads of honourable and upright men were lopped in profusion; and it
may be argued, with some show of reason, that the man whose character
was as flawless as pure crystal, was like to fare as badly as the
muddiest rascal of them all, if his side sank in defeat. And yet
I cannot help believing that, in some cases at least, a man might
have had a happier end if he had abstained from acts of political
turpitude, which were as irrational in their conception as they
were ruinous in their effect; acts, that is, which, in the existing
circumstances, no sane man could have undertaken unless the mere doing
of these rogueries had been a supreme and a necessary pleasure to him.
There was poor CHARLES THE FIRST. Surely, in spite of that melancholy,
doomed face, he might have died in peace if he had only played the
game fairly. JAMES THE SECOND, too, and MARLBOROUGH, the greatest
Captain of his age, and BOLINGBROKE, the eloquent philosophiser, the
grave moralist, how different might their ends have been had not you,
O CROOKEDNESS, presided at their births, and ruled their lives. But,
avaunt, History! Here I am straying into a treatise, when I merely
intended to remind you of little PETER SHEEF, and of his adventures.
[Illustration]
PETER and I were freshmen together at Cambridge in the remote past
before "Johnnies," and "Chappies," and "Mashers" had been heard of,
before the "oof bird" had been fledged in its pink and sporting nest,
or the Egyptian cigarette had asserted its universal sway. I daresay
we differed but little (by "we" I mean the freshmen of our year) from
those who have lately appeared for the first time in King's Parade, or
Jesus Lane. We were very young--we imagined Proctors to be destitute
of human feeling; we ate portentous breakfasts of many courses, and,
for the most part, treated our allowances as though they had been so
much pocket-money. Also we had an idea that a man who had passed his
thirtieth year was absurdly old, and that nobody could be called a
boy whose name had been entered on the books of a College. In fact,
we were freshmen.
PETER and I were a good deal thrown together during our first term.
Like me, he had come up from one of the smaller schools, and we had
not, therefore, a very large number of friends to start with. PETER
was one of the pleasantest fellows in the world, always cheerful,
good-tempered, and obliging. He always seemed to have plenty of money.
Indeed, I know that his father made him an allowance of L800 a year,
a sum which was considerably more than double that received by the
majority of his fellows. The parental SHEEF I have since discovered
was a Solicitor, who had made his mark and his fortune by the crafty
defence of shady financiers in distress, of bogus company promoters,
and generally of the great race who live in the narrow border-land
which divides the merely disreputable from the positively indictable.
But at that time I didn't trouble my head to inquire about PETER's
father, and was content as most Undergraduates are, to take my friends
as I thought I found them. PETER was musical; he played several
instruments with skill, and sang a capital song. With all these
qualities, he soon became, to a certain extent, popular. He then set
up as a giver of good and expensive dinners, kept a couple of horses
in the hunting season, devoted great attention to his dress, and made
himself unobtrusively agreeable to the little gods of our miniature
world. In his second year he had gained a position; most people spoke
well of him, and liked him. It only rested with PETER himself to
maintain what he had gained, and to enter on life with troops of
friends. A few moments of purposeless folly were sufficient to shatter
him.
I remember that in my first term I was not very agreeably impressed
by something that PETER did. A dog-fancier happened to come through
the street in which we both lodged, and PETER began to bargain with
him for a fox-terrier, who, according to the fancier's account, had
a pedigree as long and as illustrious as that of a Norman Peer.
Eventually it had been agreed that the dog was to become PETER's
property in consideration of thirty shillings in cash, a pair of
trousers, and a bottle of brandy. The exchange was made, and the man
departed. Thereupon PETER informed me with glee, that the trousers
were a pair of his father's, which had been packed in his portmanteau
by mistake, and that the brandy-bottle contained about fifty per cent.
of water, that amount of brandy having been poured off before payment
was made. As PETER put it, "I've done him in the eye, to prevent him
doing me." I tried in vain to bring him round to the opinion that (let
alone robbing one's father) cheating a cheat was one of the lowest
forms of roguery. The dog-fancier soon afterwards returned, and
protested, with tears in his eyes, that the shabby trick had wounded
him in his tenderest feelings, but he seemed quite willing to begin a
fresh bargain with "the only gen'lemen, s'help me, as ever bested pore
little ALEC."
All this is, however, by the way. I merely mention it to illustrate
PETER's character. At the University Steeple-Chase Meeting, which
took place at the end of our third October term, SHEEF had entered
his animals for several races. He was a good rider, and confidently
anticipated success. To celebrate the occasion, he had arranged a big
dinner-party, and had invited some twenty of us to dine with him. I
had been unable to go to the races myself, but at the appointed hour
I turned up at SHEEF's rooms. I found the table brilliantly laid,
waiters hanging about, and dozens of Champagne in readiness. SHEEF
was there, but, beside myself, no other guest had appeared. And not a
single one came. I forget what excuse the miserable host made, but the
result was that we two solemnly dined at a table laid for ten times
our number. I think I shall remember that ghastly festivity as long as
I live. The next day all Cambridge knew that SHEEF had not only pulled
one of his horses openly and disgracefully, but had wilfully misled
both his friends and the book-makers as to the horse he intended to
ride in a race for which entries were made at the post. I never heard
that he stood to win more than L50 by the transaction. And for this
paltry sum (paltry, that is, to a man of his means) he had wrecked his
reputation, and all the possibilities of his career.
I see him slinking about London sometimes. Last year he passed,
with much discredit, through the Bankruptcy Court. He has been a
Director of countless Companies, for the stock of fools seems to be
inexhaustible. There can only be one end for such a man as SHEEF. The
cool, callous, and calculating knave may get clear through to the end;
but SHEEF always was stupidly good-natured, and good-nature hangs like
a millstone round the neck of rascality. I cannot myself detest him as
I ought to do. He was so near to completely successful respectability.
But crookedness ruined him, in spite of his better wishes. Was it
altogether his own fault?
That, as Mr. BRET HARTE observes, lets me out.
I remain as before, DIOGENES ROBINSON.
* * * * *
A DANGEROUS TITLE.
(_TO MR. JOSEPH HATTON, AUTHOR OF "CIGARETTE PAPERS."_)