Book: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 100, April 25, 1891
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Various >> Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 100, April 25, 1891
It is also the opinion of my faithful "Co." that the Clarendon Press series
of _Rulers of India_, has never contained a better volume than the _Life of
Mayo_, a work recently contributed by the Editor, Sir WILLIAM WILSON
HUNTER. Admirably written, the book gives in the pleasantest form
imaginable, a most eventful chapter in the History of Hindostan. But more,
the pages have a pathetic personal interest, as the subject of the memoir
was for many years misunderstood, and consequently, misrepresented. Even
the _London Charivari_ was unfair to the great Earl, but as Sir WILLIAM
hastens to say, "at his death stood first in its generous acknowledgment of
his real dessert, as it had led the dropping fire of raillery three years
before." The author has, by publishing this most welcome addition to a
capitally edited series, added yet another item to the long list of
services he has rendered to our Empire in the distant East.
Since Miss FLORENCE WARDEN'S _House on the Marsh_, says the Baron, I have
not read a more exciting tale than the same authoress's _Pretty Miss
Smith_. It should be swallowed right off at a sitting, for if your interest
in it is allowed to cool during an interval, you may find it a little
difficult to get up the steam to the high-pressure point necessary for the
real enjoyment of a sensational story.
THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.
* * * * *
SILENT SHAKSPEARE.
DEAR MR. EDITOR,
The great success that has attended the production of _L'Enfant Prodigue_
at the Prince of Wales's Theatre has encouraged me to make a suggestion in
the cause of English Art. Why not SHAKSPEARE in dumb show? The Bard himself
introduced it in "The Play Scene." Allow me to suggest it thus:--
SCENE--_A more remote part of the Platform in Elsinore Castle. Enter_
GHOST; _then_ HAMLET.
_Hamlet_ (_in dumb show_). "Where wilt thou lead me? Speak!" (_In dumb
show._) "I'll go no further."
_Ghost, by kissing his hand towards the horizon, shows that his hour is
almost come, when he is bound to render himself to sulphurous and
tormenting flames. The latter part of his description is composed of his
shrinking about the stage, as if suffering from intense heat._
_Hamlet buries his face in his hands, and sobs pitifully, expressing_
"Alas, poor Ghost!"
_Ghost repudiates compassion by turning up his nose, and throwing forward
his hands; and then, by pointing from his mouth to his ear, demands_
HAMLET'S _serious attention._
_Hamlet touches his own lips, points to_ GHOST, _slaps his heart, and bows,
intimating that the_ GHOST _is to_ "Speak!" _and he is_ "bound to hear."
_Ghost explains that he is his father's spirit by stroking_ HAMLET'S _face,
and then his own, and then shrinks about the stage to weird music,
descriptive of his prison-house. He concludes by appealing to_ HAMLET'S
_love for him by pressing his clasped hands to his own heart, and then
pointing towards the left-hand side of his son._
_Hamlet jerks his hands passionately upwards, as if saying_, "Oh Heaven!"
_Ghost then asks for revenge by touching his dagger, and pointing towards
the sky. He acts the murder in the garden, showing the serpent who stung
him by gliding about the stage on his chest, like the boneless man. He
shows his murderer to be of his own blood by walking up and down as
himself, and then in the same way, but with a slight limp, as if he were
his brother._
_Hamlet might here exhibit_ "_Zadkiel's Almanack" as_ "prophetic," _and
slap the sole of his shoe for_ "soul;" _for_ "my Uncle" _it would be
sufficient to produce a pawnbroker's ticket_:--"Oh my prophetic soul! Mine
Uncle!"
_Then the Ghost in great detail acts the murder in the orchard, imitating
the apples and the singing birds, the setting sun, &c., &c. He shows the
composition of the poison after its plucking from a bush, and its arrival
in the laboratory. He represents the actual pouring of the poison in his
ear. He hints too (by suggesting the action of the bell-ringer) that he was
never really mourned, and concludes a most spirited Ballet d'Action by a
rapid sketch of the paling of the ineffectual fires of the glow-worm. As he
leaves to the music of_ "Then you'll Remember Me," HAMLET _imitates
cockcrow, which brings the entertainment to an appropriate termination._
Surely this would be an improvement upon the conventional reading? In this
case where speech is silvern, silence would be golden.
Trusting some Manager will take the matter up,
I remain, always yours sincerely,
A DUMB WAITER.
* * * * *
OPERATIC NOTES.
_Monday.--Faust_ and Foremost. Miss EAMES better even than she was last
week. NED DE RESZKE not so diabolical a _Mephistopheles_ as M. MAUREL.
NEDDY RESZKE
Not so goblineske,
and a stouter sort of demon, but of course a "_bon diable_."
[Illustration: Cards held by Druriolanus Operaticus.]
_Wednesday._--_Romeo et Julietta._ JACK and NED DE RESZKE _Romeo_ and _The
Friar_. Why the waltz alone, which ought to be on every organ besides Miss
EAMES'S, but which, strange to say, isn't thoroughly popular, should be
enough to make an Opera; but it's like the proportion of one swallow in the
composition of a summer, and, however well sung, it does not do everything.
It's a dull Opera.
_Thursday._--_Carmen_ again. House not immense. Persons "of note" chiefly
on the stage. JULIA same as before; therefore refer to previous notice. Cab
and carriage service after the theatres everywhere wants reforming
altogether. We may not be worse off than in any other capital of Europe,
but we ought to be far ahead of them.
Somebody or other complained of my writing "GLU:CK" instead of "GLUCK," He
didn't like the two dots; one too many for the poor chap, already in his
dotage, so to relieve him and soothe him, I'll write it "GLUCK," and then
he can go to the proprietor of "DAVIDSON'S Libretto Books" and ask him to
take the dotlets off the "U:" in GLU:CK. I wonder if my
strongly-spectacle'd fault-finder writes the name of HANDEL correctly? I
dare say so correct a person never falls into any sort of error; or if he
does, never admits it. I like it done down to dots, as "HA:NDEL," myself;
it looks so uncommonly learned.
_Saturday._--_Tannhaeuser._ Full and appreciative house to welcome the
_rentree_ of Madame ALBANI, who was simply perfection and the perfection of
simplicity as the self-sacrificing heroine _Elizabeth_. From a certain
Wagnerian-moral point of view, no better impersonator,--dramatically at
least, if not operatically,--of the sensual Falstaffian Knight could be
found than Signer PEROTTI; and, from every point of view, no finer
representation of the Cyprian Venus than Mlle. SOFIA RAVOGLI. M. MAUREL was
admirable in every way as the moral _Wolframo_, and Signor ABRAMOFF the
gravest of Landgraves. The full title of this Opera should be _Tannhaeuser;
or, The Story of a Bard who sang a questionable kind of Song in the highest
Society, and what came of it._
Fine effect at end of First Act, when prancing steeds, with secondhand
park-hack saddles, at quite half-a-crown an hour, are brought in, and, on a
striking tableau of bold but impecunious warriors refusing to mount, the
Curtain descends.
Then what pleasure to see _Albani-Elizabeth_ receiving the guests in Act
II., varying the courtesies with an affectionate embrace whenever a
particular friend among the ladies-of-the-court-chorus came in view. My
LORD CHAMBERLAIN, viewing the scene from his private box, must have picked
up many a hint for Court etiquette from studying this remarkable scene.
Then how familiar to us all is the arrangement of the bards all in a row,
like our old friends the Christy Minstrels, _Tannhaeuser_ being the
Tambourine, and _Wolfram_ the Bones! Charming. Great success. Repeat it by
all means.
* * * * *
[Illustration: CHIVALRY AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE.
"NOW, COOK, JUST YOU LOOK HERE! LOOK AT THAT PIECE OF BACON I'VE JUST GIVEN
YOUR MISTRESS! IT'S THE THICKEST AND WORST CUT I EVER SAW IN MY LIFE!--AND
THIS PIECE I'M JUST GOING TO TAKE MYSELF IS _ONLY A LITTLE BETTER!_"]
* * * * *
"PLEASE GIVE ME A PENNY, SIR!"
A NEW SONG TO AN OLD TUNE.
_Poor Income-Tax Payer, loquitur_:--
Please give me a Penny, Sir!
My hope is almost dead;
You hold the swag in that black bag,
And high you lift your head.
Some years I have been asking this,
But no one heeds my plea.
Will you not give me _something_ then,
_This_ year, good Mister G.?
Oh! please give me a Penny!
Please give me a Penny, Sir!
_You_ won't say "no" to me,
Because I'm poor, and feel the pinch
Of dreadful "Schedule D"!
You're so high-dried, and so correct,
So honest and austere!
Remember the full "Tanner," Sir,
I've stumped up year by year,
And please give me a Penny!
Please give me a Penny, Sir!
My Income is but small,
And the hard Tax laid on our backs
I _should_ not pay at all.
But I'm too feeble to resist,
And do not like to lie;
And Sixpence, under Schedule D,
Torments me till I cry,
Do please give me a Penny, Sir!
Consols, or Dividends, or Rents
Don't interest _me_ much;
"Goschens," reduced or otherwise,
Are things _I_ may not touch,
Two hundred pounds per year, all told,
Leaves little room for "exes;"
And 'tisn't only _public_ men
That "lack of pence" much vexes.
So please give me a Penny, Sir!
The mysteries of High Finance
I don't presume to plumb;
So year by year my back they shear,
Sure that they'll find _me_ dumb.
But the oft-trodden worm will turn;
"Demand Notes" never slack;
And "Schedule D" fast at twice three,
Breaks the wage-earner's back.
So please give me a Penny, Sir!
The moneyed swells who make "returns,"
Much at their own sweet will,
Don't gauge the poor clerk's scanty purse,
The small shopkeeper's till,
How hard 'tis to make both ends meet,
When hard times tightly nip;
Or how small incomes sorely feel
The annual sixpenny dip.
So please give me a Penny, Sir!
Please give me a Penny, Sir!
'Tis heard on every side,
Muttered by poverty's pinched lip,
Silent so long--from pride.
Ah! listen to their pleadings, Sir,
And pity the true poor,
Whose life is one long fight to keep
The wolf from the house-door.
Oh, please give me a Penny, Sir!
* * * * *
"ROOSE IN URBE."--Dr. ROBSON ROOSE has returned to town after a trip to
Madeira.
* * * * *
"SWEET STRIFE."
_By an Unionist M.P._
When PARNELL's mocked by HEALY,
In strident voice and squealy;
When HEALY'S snubbed by PARNELL,
In voice as from the charnel--
I understand the windy
Wild charm of WAGNER'S shindy.
Discord _may_ be melodious,
When Harmony sounds odious;
Than _Israfel_ more dear is
Old Erin's latest _Eris!_
* * * * *
THE _IN_-KERRECT KERR.
IT was once said that Pianos may now be had on "MOORE and MOORE" easy terms
every day. Mrs. WALTER found that those "easy terms" involved such
pleasures as returning the instrument she had paid many instalments on,
getting an order from the masterful Mr. Commissioner KERR to pay costs as
well, and committal to prison for three weeks on the charge of "contempt of
Court"--for disobeying an order which Justices SMITH and GRANTHAM declare
the genial Commissioner had no sort of right to make!!!
If this is the "hire-purchase system," a piano-less life is infinitely
preferable to braving its manifold perils and penalties. Easy terms,
indeed? Yes,--about as "easy" as "easy shaving" with a serrated
oyster-knife! Mrs. WALTER'S fate should be a warning to would-be
piano-purchasers, and, _Mr. Punch_ would fain hope, to exacting
System-workers and arbitrary Commissioners.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "PLEASE GIVE ME A PENNY!"
NEEDY INCOME-TAX PAYER (loq.). "HOPE YOU WON'T FORGET ME _THIS TIME_,
SIR!!"]
* * * * *
FOR BETTER OR WORSE!
(_Two Views of the Same Subject._)
POSSIBLE ROMANCE.
SCENE--_A Dungeon beneath the Castle Moat. Wife chained to a post, with
bread and water beside her. Enter Husband, with cat-o'-nine-tails._
_Husband._ And now, after ten days' seclusion, will you make over your
entire property to me, signing the deed with your life's blood?
_Wife_ (_in a feeble voice_). Never! You may kill me, but I will defy you
to the last!
_Husband._ Then die! [_He is about to leave the dungeon, when he is
met by a Messenger from the Court of Appeal._
_Messenger._ In the name of the Law, release your prisoner!
_Husband._ Foiled! [_Joy of_ Wife, _and tableau, as the Curtain
falls._
PROBABLE REALITY.
SCENE--_The Church-door of a fashionable Church. Wife bidding adieu to
Husband._
_Husband._ Surely, now that my name and fortune are yours, you will
reconsider your decision, and at least accompany me back to our wedding
breakfast?
_Wife_ (_in a firm voice_). Never! You may kill me, but I will defy you to
the last!
_Husband._ This is rank nonsense! You must take my arm. [_He is about
to leave the Church-porch, when he is met by a Messenger from the Court of
Appeal._
_Messenger._ In the name of the Law, release your prisoner!
_Husband._ Sold! [_Joy of Wife, and tableau, as the Curtain falls._
* * * * *
"WHAT'S IN A NAME?"
The "Cony" is feeble, the Bear's a rough bore.
But CONYBEARE'S both, and perhaps a bit more!
* * * * *
[Illustration: SMART NEW BOY IN CLOAK-ROOM HAS NOTED GENTLEMEN SHUTTING UP
THEIR CRUSH HATS, AND PROMPTLY FLATTENS DE JONES'S BEST SILK TOPPER!]
* * * * *
[Illustration]
THE OTHER MAN.
My health is good, I know no pain,
I am not married to a wife;
From all accounts I'm fairly sane,
And yet I'm sick to death of life.
The path that leads to wealth and fame
Cannot be traversed in a day;
I find it twice as hard a game,
Because a spectre bars the way.
It has no terrors such as his
Away from which the children ran;
It's not the Bogey, but it _is_
The Other Man.
I met a girl, she seemed to be
A kind of vision from above.
She wasn't--but, alas! for me,
I weakly went and fell in love.
Her father was a _millionnaire_,
Which didn't make me love her less.
I thought her quite beyond compare,
And gave long odds she'd answer "Yes."
She thrilled me with each lovely look
She gave me from behind her fan,
She took my heart, and then she took--
The Other Man.
Farewell to Love! I thought I'd try
My level best to get a post;
The salary was not too high,
Two hundred pounds a-year at most.
Committeemen in conclave sat,
Their questions all were cut and dried:
Oh, was I this? And did I that?
And twenty thousand things beside--
As did I smoke? and could I play
At golf? or did I get the gout?
And--most important--could I say
My mother knew that I was out?
Then two were chosen. Should I "do"?
Perhaps!--and, just as I began
To hope, of course they gave it to
The Other Man.
All uselessly I've learnt to swear
And use expressions that are vile;
In vain, in vain I've torn my hair
In quite the most artistic style.
Yet one thing would I gladly learn--
Yes, tell me quickly, if you can--
Shall I be also, in my turn,
The Other Man?
* * * * *
THE KEY TO A LOCK.
["A lock of ----'s hair, set in a small gold-rimmed case, and said to
be an ancient family possession, was knocked down for forty pounds."]
Take yonder lock of tangled hair,
A silver seamed with sable,
Dim harbinger from dreamland fair
Of reverie and fable;
Yes, grandson mine, the treasure take,
A trinket loved, if little,
And wear it, darling, for my sake,
In yonder locket brittle;
Small, as my banker's balance, small
And faint--a touching token;
My luck, the lock, the locket, all
Seem, child, a trifle broken.
Investments, boy, are looking glum;
They flit and fade; in fine a
Not inconsiderable sum
Has gone to--Argentina.
Nay, chide me not; one day, refilled
By these, may shine your pocket,
And Fortune's resurrection gild
The lock within the locket.
Because, you see, when strong and sage
You grow, and all the serried
Lights of the great Victorian age
With me are quenched and buried;
When other men in other days
Walk paramount--then shall you
Submit the thing to such as praise
The Past, its relics value.
The curl was worn, you'll tell your friends,
By TENNYSON or BROWNING
(The detail of the name depends
On who is worth renowning).
You'll vaunt that one who knew the grand
Victorian Stars, and rather
Deserved himself to join the band
(In fact your father's father),
Who, past expression, loved whate'er
The market cottons _then_ to,
Committed to your childish care
This genuine memento.
You'll catalogue it, as befalls
Your choice, my little gran'son;
You'll bear it to the deathless halls
Of CHRISTIE, WOODS, AND MANSON.
So, when the fateful hammer sounds,
And you have cashed in rhino
A cheque for, haply, forty pounds,
You'll bless your grandsire, I know;
Who, while his fortunes failed, and much
Was life's horizon o'ercast,
_Created_ souvenirs with such
A keen, commercial forecast.
* * * * *
[Illustration: ALL-ROUND POLITICIANS--SIR WILLIAM VARIETY HARCOURT.]
* * * * *
BACCHUS OUTWITTED; OR, THE TRIUMPH OF SOBRIETY.
(_Fragment from a Romance founded upon evidence given before the Select
Committee upon Dram-drinking._)
"I really think the experiment should be made," said the Professor. "Our
knowledge on the subject is so imperfect, that nothing definite can be
accurately pronounced."
"True enough," replied one of his friends; "but although the end to be
attained is excellent, may not the means be termed by the scrupulous
'questionable?'"
"By the over-scrupulous, perhaps," returned the Professor, with a smile.
"And the expense," observed a second of his intimates, "will be no small
consideration. If we put the matter to a thorough test, a large quantity--a
very large quantity of the necessary liquid will have to be purchased and
disposed of. Am I not right in hazarding this supposition?"
"Undoubtedly," responded the Professor, "and the cost will be enhanced by
the fact that the necessary liquids will have to be of the best possible
quality. As Dr. PAVEY observed before the Committee 'It is not the alcohol
in itself that is injurious, but the by-products.' Our aim must be to
eliminate the by-products."
"I think the idea first-rate," said the third friend; and then he paused
and added, seemingly as an after-thought, "Pass the bottle."
So the Professor and his three companions decided to make the investigation
in the cause of scientific research. It was resolved that after a week they
should meet again, and that in the meanwhile they should in their own
persons carry on the experiment continuously. When this had been arranged
the friends parted company.
At the appointed time the contemplated gathering became a concrete fact.
The Professor's friends were the first to appear at the rendezvous. They
were unsteady as to their gait, their neckties were in disorder and their
hair falling carelessly over their eyes, added a fresh impediment to an
eyesight that seemingly was temporarily defective. They sank into three
chairs regarding one another with a smile that gradually resolved itself
into a frown. Then they filled up the pause caused by the non-appearance of
the Professor by weeping silently. Their emotion was not of long duration,
as the originator of the experiment was soon in their midst. He seemed to
be in excellent health and spirits.
"My dear friend," he said, and it was noticeable that he was prone to clip
his words, and to use the singular, in lieu of the plural, when the latter
would have been more conventional, "My dear friend, glad see you all. Hope
you well."
His comrades received the well-meant greeting with a resentful frown, which
ended in further weeping.
"This very painful," continued the Professor, resting his hand somewhat
heavily on the back of a chair; "very painful indeed! Fact is, you been
taking wrong things!"
His friends sorrowfully shook their heads negatively.
"Yes you have! Sure of it! You, Sir--imbibed whiskey! No harm in good
whiskey--excellent thing, good whiskey! But injuriverius--should say,
injurious--if has too much flavour of malt! Your whiskey too much flavour
of malt! You took brandy--bad brandy--too much taste of grapes! You took
rum--bad rum--too much mo--mo--molasses! Now I took all three--whiskey,
brandy, rum, but pure--no by-products. No, not at all. Result! See! Sober
as judge!"
And, succumbing to a sudden desire for slumber, the Professor, at this
point of his discourse, joined his friends under the table!
* * * * *
[Illustration: CYCLING NOTES.
_He._ "DO YOU BELONG TO THE PSYCHICAL SOCIETY?"
_She._ "NO; BUT I SOMETIMES GO OUT ON MY BROTHER'S MACHINE!"]
* * * * *
LEAVES FROM A CANDIDATE'S DIARY.
_March 20. "George Hotel," Billsbury._--Arrived here yesterday afternoon.
Mother made up her mind to come with me, being very anxious, she said, to
hear one of my splendid speeches. She brought luggage enough to last for a
week, and insisted on taking her poodle _Carlo_, who was an awful nuisance,
in the train. He growled horribly at old TOLLAND and BLISSOP when they came
to see me at the Hotel before dinner. Very awkward. TOLLAND wanted to put
before me the state of the case with regard to registration expenses. The
upshot was that the Candidate is expected to subscribe L80 a year to the
Association for this purpose, which I eventually agreed to do. Found
fourteen letters waiting for me. No. 1 was from Miss POSER, the Secretary
of the Billsbury Women's Suffrage League, asking me to receive a small
deputation on the question, and to lay my views before them. No. 2 from the
Anti-Vaccination League, stating that a deputation had been appointed to
meet me, in order to learn my views, and requesting me to fix a date. No. 3
and No. 4, from two local lodges of Oddfellows, each declaring it to be of
the highest importance that I should become an Oddfellow and proposing
dates for my initiation. Nos. 5, 6 and 7 were from Secretaries of funds for
the restoration or building of Churches and Chapels, appealing for
subscriptions. Nos. 8, 9, and 10, from three more local Cricket Clubs, who
have elected me an Honorary Member, and want subscriptions. No. 11 from a
Children's Meat Tea Fund. No. 12 asked me to subscribe to a Bazaar, and to
attend its opening in June. No. 13, from the local Fire Brigade, and No. 14
from the Secretary of the Local Society for improving the Breed of
Bullfinches, recommending this "national object" to my favourable notice.
Shall have to keep a Secretary, likewise a book of accounts. Where is it
all going to end?
The Mass Meeting went off well enough. The Assembly Rooms were crammed.
(The _Meteor_ says, with its usual accuracy and _good taste_, "The
attendance was small, the proceedings were dull. A wonderful amount of
stale Jingoism was afterwards swept up by the caretakers from the floor.
Our Conservative friends are so wasteful.") I was adopted as Candidate
almost unanimously, only ten hands being held up against me. One or two
questions were asked--one about local option, which rather stumped me--but
I managed to express great sympathy with the Temperance party without, I
hope, offending publicans.
_Carlo_ somehow or other got out of the hotel and followed us to the
meeting without being noticed. Poodles are all as cunning as Old Nick. He
lay quite low in some corner or other, until Colonel CHORKLE was in the
middle of a tremendous appeal to "the stainless banner which 'as so often
been borne to triumph by Billsbury's embattled chivalry." The Colonel
thumped on the table very hard, and _Carlo_, I suppose, had his eye on him
and thought he was going to thump me. At any rate he sprang out and dashed
at the Colonel, barking furiously. I had to seize him and take him outside.
The Colonel turned quite pale. _The Meteor_ says: "The war-like ardour
which burns in the breast of Colonel CHORKLE was well-nigh extinguished by
an intelligent dog, whose interruptions provoked immense applause." I had
to apologise profusely to the Colonel afterwards. Mrs. CHORKLE looked
daggers at me. Mother was delighted with the meeting. She has written about
it to Aunt AMELIA.
* * * * *