Book: Punch, Or The London Charivari, Volume 102, April 2, 1892
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Various >> Punch, Or The London Charivari, Volume 102, April 2, 1892
This statement filled me with desperation; I fought and struggled
through the vast crowd of persons "with wealthy and influential
friends" until I reached the open street. By that time I was
exhausted, and, finding that the street was even fuller than the
station had been, I gave up the attempt. I saw that the reserve
of gold at the Bank of England would not have sufficed to pay each
applicant the promised L50. In any case I felt sure that by that time
the whole of the money in the town must have been used up. So, without
hat or umbrella, and with my coat as much divided up the back as
up the front, I returned--to consciousness, and went on reading the
newspaper.
* * * * *
"THE FORESTERS."
All the greatest swells
Of the U.S.A.
Come to see a new,
Fascinating play.
Verses by a Lord!
Music by a Knight!
Just the thing in which
Democrats delight.
When the hearty praise
Bursts from Yankee lips,
"Pass and blush the news
Over glowing ships;"
What are "glowing ships"?
That I've never guessed,
"Pass the happy news,
Blush it thro' the West;"
This I simply quote
From the poet's muse;
Hang me if I know
How you "blush the news"!
Anyhow, you do,
If the lines will scan,
"Till the red man dance,"
Do you think he can?
"And the red man's babe
Leap beyond the sea."
Active sort of child,
Surely, that must be!
"Blush from West to East,"
Blush from left to right,
"Till the West is East,"
And the black is white,
DALY is the man!
Daily is the play,
"Dailies" puff it up,
In the kindest way.
* * * * *
MORE APPROPRIATE.--The Senate House, where the Degree Examinations
take place, might well be termed "The Spinning House." It is there
that unfortunate Candidates are "spun."
* * * * *
[Illustration: THINGS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE LEFT UNSAID.
_Little Jones_. "YOU'LL GIVE ME A DANCE TO-MORROW NIGHT, WON'T YOU,
MRS. FOOTE?"
_Mrs. Foote_ (_who is anxious to show her matronly consideration for
Unmarried Girls_). "WELL, I CAN'T PROMISE, AND IF THE MEN RUN _SHORT_,
YOU KNOW, I SHAN'T DANCE AT ALL!"]
* * * * *
THE TELEPHONE CINDERELLA;
OR, WANTED A GODMOTHER.
["Far from taking up and developing the new mode of
communication thus given into its hands, it (the Post Office)
could not forget its attitude of hostility to the innovation,
or conceive any larger policy than one of repressing the
telephone in order to make people stick to the telegraph....
The result is that England lags far behind all other civilised
countries in the use of the telephone."--_Times_.]
AIR--"_Ulalume_."
_Cinderella_, you sit and look sober,
_Cinderella_, you mope and look queer--
You mope, and look dolefully queer;
As chill as JOHN MILLAIS' "_October_,"
As you have done, this many a year.
It is hard on you; MOZART or AUBER
Might fail your depression to cheer--
Had you taken the draught named of Glauber,
You could scarce look duller, my dear
II.
Our times, dear, are truly Titanic,
Perfection seems Science's goal--
Dim, distant, dark Science's goal--
But we're still a bit given to panic.
Monopolies moodily roll--
Monopolies restlessly roll--
That's why there's a movement volcanic
That stirs us from pole unto pole--
A moaning that's vainly volcanic,
In the realms of the (Telegraph) pole.
III.
Deputations are serious and sober,
Officials look palsied and sere--
They indulge in rhetoric small-beer
(Instead of sound sparkling October)
They're frightened about _you_, my dear--
(You, at present in two senses, dear!)
They would scan the far future, and probe her,
But can't--and it makes them feel queer;
As you sit by the fire, looking sober,
You make _them_ sit up and feel queer.
IV.
Your sisters, whose airs are unpleasant,
Regard you with arrogant scorn--
With arrogant, uneasy scorn--
True, they have the pull, for the present,
But fear you, the fair youngest born.
They know that your glory is crescent,
And, though each uplifteth her horn,
Each feels that _her_ glory's senescent,
In spite of their duplicate scorn.
V.
_Miss Telegraph_, lifting her finger,
Says--"Sadly this minx I mistrust--
Her manners I strangely mistrust--
She'll distance us, dear, if we linger!
Ah, haste!--let us haste!--for we must!
She'll eclipse us--that _would_ be a stinger!
She'll rise, and our business is "bust"--
My dear, we must snub her, and bring her
Presumptuous pride to the dust--
Till she sorrowfully sinks in the dust."
VI.
_Post_ replies--"Oh, it's nothing but dreaming,
Her hoping to put out _our_ light!--
Our brilliant and duplicate light!
What did FERGUSSON say, blandly beaming
Upon the tired House t'other night?
He said _he_ would make it all right.
Ah, we safely may trust to his scheming--
Be sure he will lead us aright--
He won't let the damsel there dreaming
Despoil us of what is our right--
The monopoly plainly _our_ right!"
VII.
Yet watch _Cinderella_, and list her!
She yet will emerge from her gloom--
Time will conquer her fears and her gloom.
Before her she hath a bright vista.[1]
The fairy Godmother will come!
Redtape shall not long seal her doom.
What is written is written! No "sister,"
(Though scorning her beauty, and broom)
Shall shroud her bright light in the tomb
Which yet the whole land shall illume!
VIII.
She's "some pumpkins"--though now she looks sober--
She's brilliant; she is "no small beer."
No, no, _Cinderella_, my dear!
Your envious "sisters" may jeer,
And sit on you yet, for a year;
Redtape your advancement may fear,
And Monopoly's patrons look queer;
But, as sure as the month of October
Is famous for sound British beer,
Vested Interest time shall prove _no_ bar
To your final triumph, my dear!
[Footnote 1: POE, not _Mr. Punch_, should have the credit of this and
certain other Cockney rhymes.]
* * * * *
"HONI SOIT QUI MAL Y PENSE."--"The competition for the Evill Prize
also took place yesterday" (i.e., last Thursday. _Vide Times_). The
prize so Evilly named was won by Mr. PHILIP BROZEL, of the Royal
Academy of Music, who must have expressed himself as being at least
deucedly delighted, even if he did not use some much stronger and
wronger expression. Henceforth PHILIP BROZEL has an Evill reputation.
Let us hope he will live up to it, and so live it down.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE TELEPHONE CINDERELLA;
OR, WANTED A GODMOTHER.]
* * * * *
MATINEE MANIA.
(_A SKETCH AT ANY THEATRE ON MOST AFTERNOONS._)
SCENE--_The Front of the House. In the Boxes and Dress-circle
are friends and relations of the_ Author. _In the Stalls are a
couple of Stray Critics who leave early, actors and actresses
"resting" more friends and relations. In the Pit, the front
row is filled by the_ Author's _domestic servants, the
landladies of several of the performers, and a theatrical
charwoman or two, behind them a sprinkling of the general
public, whose time apparently hangs heavily on their hands.
In a Stage-box is the_ Author _herself, with a sycophantic_
Companion. _A murky gloom pervades the Auditorium; a scratch
orchestra is playing a lame and tuneless Schottische for
the second time, to compensate for a little delay of fifteen
minutes between the first and second Tableaux in the Second
Act. The orchestra ceases, and a Checktaker at the Pit door
whistles "Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay!" Some restless spirits stamp
feebly._
[Illustration: "Sir, a roughly-dressed stranger ... requests a few
words."]
_The Author._ I wish they would be a _little_ quicker. I've a good
mind to go behind myself and hurry them up. The audience are beginning
to get impatient.
_Her Companion._ But that shows how _interested_ they are, _doesn't_
it, dear?
_Author._ I think it _ought_ to interest them, but I _did_ expect they
would have shown a little more enthusiasm over that situation in the
last _tableau_--they're rather a _cold_ audience!
_Comp._ It's above their heads, dear, that's where it is--plays are
such rubbish nowadays, people don't appreciate a really _great_ drama
just at first. I do hope Mr. IRVING, Mr. HARE and Mr. BEERBOHM TREE
will come in--I'm sure they'll be only too _anxious_ to secure it!
_Author._ I don't know that I should care for it to come out at the
Lyceum, but of course if the terms were very--oh, they're beginning
at last! I hope this light comedy scene will go well. (_Curtain
rises: Comic dialogue--nothing whatever to do with the plot--between a
Footman and a Matinee Maidservant in short sleeves, a lace tucker, and
a diamond necklace; depression of audience. Serious characters enter
and tell one another long and irrelevant stories, all about nothing.
When the auditor remarks,_ "Your story is indeed a sad one--but go
on," _a shudder goes through the house, which becomes a groan ten
minutes later when the listener says:_ "You have told me _your_
history--now hear _mine_!" _He tells it; it proves, if possible,
duller and more irrelevant than the other man's. A love-scene follows,
characterised by all the sparkle and brilliancy of "Temperance
Champagne"; the House witnesses the fall of the Curtain with apathy._)
_Author._ That love-scene was perfectly _ruined_ by the acting! She
_ought_ to have turned her head aside when he said, "Dash the teapot!"
but she never _did_, and he left out _all_ that about dreaming of her
when he was ill with measles in Mashonaland! I wish they wouldn't have
such long waits, though. We timed the piece at rehearsal, and, with
the cuts I made, it only played about four hours; but I'm afraid it
will take longer than that to-day.
_Comp._ I don't care _how_ long it is--it's so _beautifully_ written!
_Author._ Well, I put my whole _soul_ into it, you know; but it's not
till this next Act that I show my full power. [_Curtain rises on a
drawing-room, furnished with dingy wrecks from the property-room--the
home of_ JASPER, the Villain, _who is about to give an evening party.
Enter a hooded crone._ "Sir JASPER, I have a secret of importance,
which can only be revealed to your private ear!" (_Shivers of
apprehension amongst the audience._) _Sir J._ "Certainly, go
into yonder apartment, and await me there." (_Sigh of relief from
spectators_.) _A Footman._ "Sir, the guests wait!" _Sir J._ (_with
lordly ease_). "Bid them enter!" (_They troop in unannounced and
sit down against the wall, entertaining one another in dumb-show._)
_Footman_ (_re-entering_). "Sir, a roughly-dressed stranger, who says
he knew you in Norway, under an _alias_, requests a few words." _Sir
J._ "Confusion!--one of my former accomplices in crime--my guests
must not be present at this interview!" (_To Guests._) "Ladies and
Gentlemen, will you step into the adjoining room for a few minutes,
and examine my collection of war-weapons?" (_Guests retire, with
amiable anticipations of enjoyment. The Stranger enters, and tells
another long story._) "I smile still," he concludes--"but even a
_dead_ man's skull will smile. Allow me then the privileges of death!"
(_At this an irreverent Pittite suddenly guffaws, and the Audience
from that moment perceives that the piece possesses a humorous side.
The Stranger goes; the Guests return. Re-enter Footman_). "Sir, an
elderly man, who was acquainted with your family years ago, insists
on seeing you, and will take no denial!" _Villain_ (_with presence
of mind--to Guests._) "Ladies and Gentlemen, will you step into the
neighbouring apartment, and join the dancers?" (_The Guests obey. The_
Elderly Man _enters, and denounces_ JASPER, _who mendaciously declares
that he is his own second cousin_ JOSEPH; _whereupon the visitor
turns down his coat-collar, and takes off a false beard._) "Do you
know me now, JASPER SHOPPUN?" he cries. "_I_ am JOSEPH--your second
cousin!"... "What, ho, Sir Insolence!" the Villain retorts. "And so
you come to deliver me to Justice?"... "Not so," says JOSEPH. "Long
years ago I swore to my dying Aunt to protect your reputation, even
at the expense of my own. I come to warn you that"--&c., &c. (_The
Audience, who are now in excellent spirits, receive every incident
with uncontrollable merriment till the end of the Act. Another long
wait, enlivened by a piccolo solo._)
_Author._ LAVINIA, it's _too_ disgraceful--it's a deliberate
conspiracy to turn the piece into ridicule. I never thought my _own
relations_ would turn against me--and yet I might have known!
_Comp._ It wasn't the _play_ they laughed at, dear--that's lovely--but
it's so ridiculously _acted_, you know!
_Author._ Of course the acting _is_ abominable--but they might make
allowances for _that_. It _is_ so unfair! [_The Play proceeds. The
Heroine's jealousy has been excited by the Villain, for vague purposes
of his own, and the Hero is trying to disarm her suspicions._ _She._
"But why are you constantly going from Paris to London at the beck
and call of that man?" _He_ (_aside_). "If she only knew that I do it
to shield my second cousin, JASPER--but my oath!--I cannot tell her!
(_To her._) The reason is very simple, darling--he is my Private
Secretary!" (_Roars of inextinguishable laughter, drowning the Wife's
expressions of perfect satisfaction and confidence. The Hero wants to
go out; the Wife begs him to stay; she has 'a presentiment of evil--a
dread of something unseen, unknown.' He goes: the Villain enters in
evening dress._) _Villain._ "Your husband is false to you. Meet me
in half an hour at the lonely hut by the cross-roads, and you shall
have proof of his guilt." (_The Wife departs at once, just as she is.
Villain, soliloquising._) "So--my diabolical schemes prosper. I have
got JOSEPH out of the way by stratagem, decoyed his wife--my early
love--to a lonely hut, where my minions wait to seize her. Now to
abduct the child, destroy the certificate of vaccination which alone
stands between me and a Peerage, set fire to the home of my ancestors,
accuse JOSEPH of all my crimes, and take my seat in the House of
Lords as the Earl of Addelegg! Ha-ha--a good night's work! a good--"
_Joseph_ (_from back_). "Not so. I have heard all. I will _not_ have
it. You _shall_ not!" (_&c., &c._) _Villain._ "You would thwart my
schemes?" _Joseph_ (_firmly_). "I would. My wife and child shall
_not_--" (_&c., &c._) _Villain_ (_slowly_). "And the oath you swore
to my Mother, your dying Aunt, would you break that?" _Joseph_
(_overcome_). "My oath! my Aunt! Ah, no, I cannot, I _must_ not break
it. JASPER SHOPPUN, I am powerless--you must do your evil will!" (_He
sinks on a settee: Triumph of Villain, tableau, and Curtain._)
_Author._ I wouldn't have _believed_ that a modern audience would
treat heroic conduct like that as if it was _laughable_. It's enough
to make one give up play-writing altogether!
_Comp._ Oh, I wouldn't do _that_, dear. You mustn't punish Posterity!
[_The Play goes on and on; the Villain removes inconveniently
repentant tools, and saddles the Hero with his nefarious deeds. The
Hero is arrested, but reappears, at liberty, in the next Act (about
the Ninth), and no reference whatever is made to the past. Old serious
characters turn up again, and are welcomed with uproarious delight.
At the end of a conversation, lasting a quarter of an hour, the
Lady's-maid remarks that "her Mistress has been very ill, and must
not talk too much." Cheers from Audience. General joy when the Villain
returns a hopeless maniac. Curtain about six, and loud calls for
Author._)
_Author._ Nothing will _induce_ me to take a call after the shameful
way they've behaved! And it's all the fault of the acting. When we
get home, I'll read the play all through to you again, and you'll see
now it _ought_ to have been done! A hundred and twenty pounds simply
thrown away!
[_Retires, consoled by her_ Companion, _and the consciousness
that true genius is invariably unappreciated._
* * * * *
ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.
EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.
_House of Commons, Monday, March 21._--Uneasy feeling spread through
House to-night consequent on question addressed by MACINNES to
UNDER-SECRETARY FOR FOREIGN AFFAIRS. Wants to know "whether his
attention has been called to the increase of drinking among Natives
in the Coast Towns?" CAUSTON particularly depressed.
[Illustration: "Sir, I am not--"]
[Illustration: "--an Agricultural Labourer."]
"I sat for Colchester for five years, you know," he said, "and grew
into habit of regarding the Natives as my constituents. For five years
never swallowed one without thinking I was reducing the number on
the Register. Used to excuse myself on the ground that the particular
bivalve that had disappeared must have been a Conservative, or it
would never have been so stupid as to leave its comfortable bed to
embark on such a journey. My interest in the oyster is now secondary.
They don't flourish in Southwark; whelks more in our way down there.
Still one cannot forget old associations, and confess I'm rather
knocked over to hear this report MACINNES has brought up. Can't
imagine anything more distressing than the spectacle of a drunken
oyster--probably with dishevelled beard--coming home late at night and
trying to get into another Native's shell under impression that he has
recognised his own front door. Must see WILFRID LAWSON about this; get
up an Oyster Temperance Society; framed certificates, blue ribbon, and
all that, if the thing spreads, we shall have oysters emitting quite a
rum-punch flavour when we add the lemon."
Gloom dissipated two hours later by appearance of BOBBY SPENCER at the
Table. BOBBY doesn't often witch the House with oratory. Content with
important though to outsiders obscure position he occupies in Party
administration. His is the hand that pulls the strings to which
Liberal Party dance. SCHNADHORST gets some credit, but everybody knows
BOBBY's the man. To see these two political strategists in conference
is sufficient to reassure the Liberal Party on the possible issues of
the General Election.
SCHNADHORST complains that BOBBY has a trick, after addressing him
through the ear-trumpet he (S.) carries in reminiscence of JOSHUA
REYNOLDS, of putting his ear to the trumpet as if he expected the
answer to arrive through that medium.
[Illustration: MR. JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN ON "THE HUMOURS OF PARLIAMENT."]
"Very embarrassing." SCHNADHORST says, "to have a fellow first putting
his mouth and then his ear to other end of your trumpet. Sometimes
I say to him, sharply, '_I_ don't speak through the trumpet.' 'Oh,
no, of course not,' he says, 'I beg your pardon,' and draws away.
Presently he's back again, politely, as I speak, applying his ear
to the trumpet. But it's only the absence of mind that arises from
preoccupation in matters of State."
BOBBY, besides being the political director of the strategy of the
Liberal Party, is a County Member. It was in this last capacity
he appeared at Table to-night in Debate on Second Reading of Small
Holdings Bill. House received him with hearty cheer. No one more
popular than BOBBY. Delight uproariously manifested when, daintily
pulling at his abundant shirt-cuff, and settling his fair young
head more comfortably upon summit of his monumental collar, he
deprecatingly observed--
"Mr. SPEAKER, Sir, I am not an Agricultural Labourer."
The speech a model of Parliamentary debating, full of point, resting
on sound argument, lucidly stated, and all over in five minutes.
_Business done._--Debate on Small Holdings Bill.
_Tuesday_.--Morning Sitting. SEXTON at length worked off the speech
on Irish Education Bill, that has hung over House like cloud since
Bill was introduced in earliest days of Session. Wasn't in his place
the first night; so friends and colleagues wore out the sitting to
preserve his opportunity. When this next presented itself, SEXTON
thought the hour and condition of House unsuitable for person of his
consequence; declined to speak. To-day, his last chance, things worse
than ever. Benches empty, as usual at Morning Sitting. But now or
never, and at least there would be long report in Irish papers. So
went at it by the hour. Finished at a quarter to five. At Morning
Sitting, debate automatically suspended at ten minutes to seven;
two hours and five minutes for everyone else to speak. SINCLAIR long
waiting chance to thrust in his nose. Found it at last; but House
wearied and worn out; glad when seven o'clock approached, and Bill
read First Time.
[Illustration: THE LEADER OF THE HOUSE--(VIDE THE OPPOSITION PRESS.)]
At Evening Sitting, Lawyers had it all to themselves. ROBERTSON opened
Debate on Law of Conspiracy in admirable speech. Later came LOCKWOOD,
speaking disrespectfully of "B." Then SQUIRE OF MALWOOD, girding at
SOLICITOR-GENERAL; MATTHEWS followed, with plump assertion that Squire
had not been talking about the Resolution. Finally CHARLES RUSSELL,
with demonstration that "the Right Hon. Gentleman (meaning MATTHEWS)
had displayed a complete misconception of the character and objects of
the Resolution." Being thus demonstrated upon unimpeachable authority
that nobody knew anything about the Resolution, House proceeded
to vote upon it. For, 180; against, 226. Ministerialists cheered;
Opposition apparently equally delighted. So home I to bed, everyone
determined first thing in morning get hold of newspaper, and see what
the Resolution really was about. _Business done_.--Miscellaneous.
_Wednesday_.--"I wonder," said SAGE OF QUEEN ANNE'S GATE, curiously
regarding CHAMBERLAIN discoursing on the Eight Hours Bill, "whom JOE
meant by his reference at Birmingham on Saturday night to 'the funny
man of the House of Commons,'--'A man who has a natural taste for
buffoonery, which he has cultivated with great art, who has a hatred
of every Government and all kinds of restraint, and especially, of
course, of the Government that happens to be in office.' Couldn't be
HENEAGE, and I don't suppose he had JESSE in his mind at the moment.
Pity a man can't make his points clearly. JOE used to be lucid enough.
But he's falling off now in that as in other matters. Made me rub my
eyes when I read his remarks about House of Lords, and remembered what
he used to say on subject when he and I ran together. Certainly JOE
is a man of courage. There are topics he might, with memory of past
speeches, easily avoid or circumnavigate. But he goes straight at
'em, whether fence or ditch, takes them at a stride regardless of
his former self, splashed with mud in the jump, or smitten with the
horse's hoof. Makes me quite sentimental when I sit and listen to him,
and recall days that are no more. _Mrs. Gummidge_ thinking of the
Old 'Un is nothing to me thinking of the Young 'Un who came up from
Birmingham in 1876, and who from '80 to '85 walked hand in hand with
me.
We were patriots together.--Ah! placeman and peer
Are the patrons who smile on your labours to-day;
And Lords of the Treasury lustily cheer
Whatever you do and whatever you say.
Go, pocket, my JOSEPH, as much as you will,
The times are quite altered we very well know;
But will you not, will you not, talk to us still,
As you talked to us once long ago, long ago?
We were patriots together!--I know you will think
Of the cobbler's caresses, the coalheaver's cries,
Of the stones that we throw, and the toasts that we drink
Of our pamphlets and pledges, our libels and lies!
When the truth shall awake, and the country and town
Be heartily weary of BALFOUR & CO.,
My JOSEPH, hark back to the Radical frown,
Let us be what we were, long ago, long ago!"
"Bless me," I cried, "how beautiful! I didn't know that, among your
many accomplishments, you were given to dropping into poetry."
"Tut, tut!" said the SAGE, blushing, "it isn't all my own; written
years ago by MACKWORTH PRAED, about JOHN CAM HOBHOUSE. I've only
brought it up to date."
_Business done_.--Eight Hours' Bill thrown out on a Division.
_Thursday_.--Private O'GRADY, of the Welsh Fusiliers, the hero of the
hour. His annals short and simple. Got up early in the morning of St.
Patrick's Day; provided himself with handful of shamrock, which he
stuck in his glengarry. (_Note_.--O'GRADY, an Irishman, belongs to a
Welsh Regiment, and, to complete the pickle, wears a Scotch cap.) The
ignorant Saxon officer in command observing the patriot muster with
what he, all unconscious of St. Patrick's Day, thought was "a handful
of greens" in his cap, instructed the non-commissioned officer to
order him to take it out.
"I won't do't," said gallant Private O'GRADY, the hot Celtic blood
swiftly brought to boiling pitch by this insult to St. Patrick. Irish
Members vociferously cheered when STANHOPE read the passage from
Colonel's report. Another non-commissioned officer advancing from the
rear, repeated order.