Book: Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol. 99., Nov. 22, 1890
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Various >> Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol. 99., Nov. 22, 1890
The effect was unexpected and embarrassing. ARPACHSHAD slowly
relieved himself of the burden of the three sods, dropped them on
the ground with a disproportionate thud, and, producing a large
pocket-handkerchief, whose variegated and brilliant colours were,
happily, dimmed by a month's use, mopped his eyes.
"You'll excuse _me_, gents," he snuffled, "but I never hear that there
tune, '_Rule Britanny_,' whistled or sung but I think of the time when
I went down to see my son off from Portsmouth for the Crimee, '_Rule
Britanny_' was the tune they played when he walked proudly aboard. He
was in all the battles, Almy, Inkerman, Ballyklaver, Seringapatam, and
Sebastopol."
"And was he killed?" asked the Member for SARK, making as though he
would help ARPACHSHAD with the basket on to his shoulder again.
"No," said ARPACHSHAD, overlooking the attention--"he lived to come
home; and last week he rode in the Lord Mayor's coach through the
streets of London, with all his medals on. Five shillings for the
day, and a good blow-out, presided over by Mr. AUGUSTIN HARRIS, in
his Sheriff's Cloak and Chain at the 'Plough-and-Thunder,' in the
Barbican."
HARTINGTON came down to see us to-day. Mentioned ARPACHSHAD, and his
natural indisposition to hurry himself.
"Why should he?" asked HARTINGTON, yawning, as he leaned over the
fence. "What's the use, as Whosthis says, of ever climbing up the
climbing wave? I can't understand how you fellows go about here with
your shirt-sleeves turned up, bustling along as if you hadn't a
minute to spare. It's just the same in the House; bustle everywhere;
everybody straining and pushing--everybody but me."
"Well," said SARK, "but you've been up in Scotland, making quite a lot
of speeches. Just as if you were Mr. G. himself."
"Yes," said HARTINGTON, looking admiringly at ARPACHSHAD, who had
taken off his coat, and was carefully folding it up, preparatory to
overtaking a snail, whose upward march on a peach-tree his keen eye
had noted; "but that wasn't my fault. I was dragged into it against
my will. It came about this way. Months ago, when Mr. G.'s tour was
settled, they said nothing would do but that I must follow him over
the same ground, speech by speech. If it had been to take place in the
next day or two, or in the next week, I would have plumply said No.
But, you see, it was a long way off. No one could say what might not
happen in the interval. If I'd said No, they would have worried me
week after week. If I said Yes, at least I wouldn't be bored on the
matter for a month or two. So I consented, and, when the time came,
I had to put in an appearance. But I mean to cut the whole business.
Shall take a Garden, like you and SARK, only it shall be a place to
lounge in, not to work in. Should like to have a fellow like your
ARPACHSHAD; soothing and comforting to see him going about his work."
"I suppose you'll take a partner?" I asked. "Hope you'll get one more
satisfactory than SARK has proved."
HARTINGTON blushed a rosy red at this reference to a partner. Didn't
know he was so sensitive on account of SARK; abruptly changed subject.
"Fact is, TOBY," he said, "I hate politics; always been dragged into
them by one man or another. First it was BRIGHT; then Mr. G.; now the
MARKISS is always at me, making out that chaos will come if I don't
stick at my place in the House during the Session, and occasionally go
about country making speeches in the recess. Wouldn't mind the House
if seats were more comfortable. Can sleep there pretty well for twenty
minutes before dinner; but nothing to rest your head against; back
falls your head; off goes your hat; and then those Radical fellows
grin. I could stand politics better if Front Opposition Bench or
Treasury Bench were constructed on principle of family pews in country
churches. Get a decent quiet corner, and there you are. In any new
Reformed Parliament hope they'll think of it; though it doesn't matter
much to me. I'm going to cut it. Done my share; been abused now all
round the Party circle. Conservatives, Whigs, Liberals, Radicals,
Irish Members, Scotch and Welsh, each alternately have praised and
belaboured me. My old enemies now my closest friends. Old friends
look at me askance. It's a poor business. I never liked it, never had
anything to get out of it, and you'll see presently that I'll give it
up. Don't you suppose, TOBY my boy, that you shall keep the monopoly
of retirement. I'll find a partner, peradventure an ARPACHSHAD, and
we'll all live happily for the rest of our life."
With his right hand thrust in his trouser-pocket, his left swinging
loosely at his side, and his hat low over his brow, HARTINGTON lounged
off till his tall figure was lost in the gloaming.
"That's the man for _my_ money," said ARPACHSHAD, looking with growing
discontent at the Member for SARK, who, with the only blade left in
his tortoiseshell-handled penknife, was diligently digging weeds out
of the walk.
* * * * *
IN THE CLUB SMOKING-ROOM.
"Lux Mundi," said somebody, reading aloud the title heading a lengthy
criticism in the _Times_.
"Don't know so much about that," observed a sporting and superstitious
young man; "but I know that '_Ill luck's Friday_.'"
* * * * *
[Illustration: HIGHER EDUCATION.
_Mr. Punch_. "THAT'S ALL VERY WELL, BUT IT'S TOO DULL. LET THEM HAVE A
LITTLE SUNSHINE, OR THEY WILL NEVER FOLLOW YOU."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: A POSER.
_Fair Client_. "I'M ALWAYS PHOTOGRAPHED FROM THE SAME SIDE, BUT I
FORGET WHICH!"
_Scotch Photographer_ (_reflectively_). "WELL, IT'LL NO BE _THIS_
SIDE, I'M THINKIN'. MAYBE IT'S T'ITHER!"]
* * * * *
PARS ABOUT PICTURES.
Yes, quite so. It's a very good excuse! Whenever I do not turn up when
I am expected, my children say, "Pa's about pictures." It's just the
same as a doctor, when he forgets to keep an appointment, says, "he
has unexpectedly been called out." Yah! _I'd_ call some of 'em out if
I had the chance. I took French leave the other day, and went to the
French Gallery, expecting to see sketches in French chalk, or studies
in French grey. Nothing of the kind! Mr. WALLIS will have his little
joke. The main part of the exhibition is essentially English, and so
I found my Parisian accent was entirely thrown away. If it had only
been Scotch, I could have said something about the "Scots wha hae wi'
WALLIS," but I didn't have even that chance. Too bad, though, the
show is a good one. "English, you know, quite English." Lots of good
landscapes by LEADER, bright, fresh, breezy. Young painters should
"follow their Leader," and they can't go very far wrong. I would
write a leader on the subject, and introduce something about the
land-scape-goat, only I know it would be cut out. Being very busy,
sent Young Par to see Miss CHARLOTTE ROBINSON's Exhibition of Screens.
He behaved badly. Instead of looking at matters in a serious light, he
seemed to look upon the whole affair as a "screening farce," and began
to sing--
Here screens of all kinds you may see,
Designed most ar-tist-_tic_-a-lee,
In exquisite va-ri-e-tee,
By clever CHARLOTTE ROBINSON!
They'll screen you from the bitter breeze,
They'll screen you when you take your teas,
They'll screen you when you flirt with shes--
Delightful CHARLOTTE ROBINSON!
He then folded his arms, and began to sing, "with my riddle-ol, de
riddle-ol, de ri, de O," danced a hornpipe all over the place, broke
several valuable pieces of furniture, and was removed in charge of the
police. And this is the boy that was to be a comfort to me in my old
age!
Yours parabolically, OLD PAR.
* * * * *
Novel praise from the _D.T._ for the Lord Mayor's Show, during a pause
for lunch:--"It is so quaint, so bright, so thoroughly un-English."
The Lord Mayor's Show "So Un-English, you know"! Then, indeed have we
arrived at the end of the ancient _al-fresco_ spectacle.
* * * * *
IN A HOLE.
(_BRIEF IMPERIAL TRAGI-COMEDY, IN TWO ACTS, IN ACTIVE REHEARSAL._)
["Well, if it comes to fighting, we should be just in
a hole."--_A Linesman's Opinion of the New Rifle, from
Conversation in Daily Paper._]
ACT I.
SCENE--_A Public Place in Time of Peace._
_Mrs. Britannia_ (_receiving a highly finished and improved newly
constructed scientific weapon from cautious and circumspect Head of
Department_). And so this is the new Magazine Rifle?
_Head of Department_ (_in a tone of quiet and self-satisfied
triumph_). It is, Madam.
_Mrs. Britannia_. And I may take your word for it, that it is a weapon
I can with confidence place in the hands of my soldiers.
_Head of Department_. You may, Madam. Excellent as has been all the
work turned out by the Department I have the honour to represent, I
think I may fairly claim this as our greatest achievement. No less
than nine firms have been employed in its construction, and I am
proud to say that in one of the principal portions of its intricate
mechanism, fully seven-and-thirty different parts, united by
microscopic screws, are employed in the adjustment. But allow me to
explain. [_Does so, giving an elaborate and confusing account of the
construction, showing that, without the greatest care, and strictest
attention to a series of minute precautions on the part of the
soldier, the weapon is likely to get suddenly out of order, and prove
worse than useless in action. This, however, he artfully glides over
in his description, minimising all its possible defects, and finally
insisting that no power in Europe has turned out such a handy,
powerful, and serviceable rifle._
_Mrs. Britannia_. Ah, well, I don't profess to understand the
practical working of the weapon. But I have trusted you implicitly
to provide me with a good one, and this being, as you tell me, what I
want, I herewith place it the hands of my Army. (_Presents the rifle
to TOMMY ATKINS._) Here, ATKINS, take your rifle, and I hope you'll
know how to use it.
_Tommy Atkins_ (_with a broad grin_). Thank'ee, Ma'am. I hope I shall,
for I shall be in a precious 'ole if I don't.
[_Flourish of newspaper articles, general congratulatory
chorus on all sides, as Act-drop descends._
ACT II.
_A Battle-field in time of War. Enter TOMMY ATKINS with his
rifle. In the interval, since the close of the last Act, he is
supposed to have been thoroughly instructed in its proper use,
and, though on one or two occasions, owing to disregard of
some trifling precaution, he has found it "jam," still, in the
leisure of the practice-field, he has been generally able to
get it right again, and put it in workable order. He is now
hurrying along in all the excitement of battle, and in face of
the enemy, of whom a batch appear on the horizon in front of
him, when the word is given to "fire."_
_Tommy Atkins_ (_endeavours to execute the order, but he finds
something "stuck," and his rifle refuses to go off._) Dang it! What's
the matter with the beastly thing! It's that there bolt that's caught
agin' (_thumps it furiously in his excitement and makes matters
worse._) Dang the blooming thing; I can't make it go. (_Vainly
endeavours to recall some directions, committed in calmer moments, to
memory._) Drop the bolt? No! that ain't it. Loose this 'ere pin (_tugs
frantically at a portion of the mechanism._) 'Ang me if I can make
it go! (_Removes a pin which suddenly releases the magazine_), well,
I've done it now and no mistake. Might as well send one to fight with
a broomstick. (_A shell explodes just behind him._) Well, _I am in
a 'ole_ and no mistake. [_Battle proceeds with results as Act-drop
falls._
* * * * *
OLD FRENCH SAW RE-SET.--FROM _THE STANDARD_, NOVEMBER 14:--
"The duel between M. DEROULEDE and M. LAGUERRE occurred
yesterday morning in the neighbourhood of Charleroi, in
Belgium. Four shots were exchanged without any result. On
returning to Charleroi the combatants and their seconds were
arrested."
"_C'est Laguerre, mais ce n'est pas magnifique._"
* * * * *
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