Part 1

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI

Volume 93, October 8th 1887

_edited by Sir Francis Burnand_

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THE BATTLE OF THE WAY.

_A Lay of Lake-land._

"Now, Lake-men, claim your right of way, and see the business done, Come with your crowbar, spade, and pick;--and sure the battle's won, For bolts and bars show SPEDDING'S race that you don't care a fig, And prove that right's no match for might when rallied round Latrigg."

So shouted ROUTH-FITZPATRICK, and Lake-men with a cheer, To Fawe Park Gates from Keswick's peaceful slopes were drawing near, When high upon the topmost wall as if to break the spell, There uprose the Solicitor of Mrs. SPENCER BELL.

He spoke and as his voice he raised his arms he waved around, "Beware," he cried, "what you're about, for this is private ground. With sundry pains and penalties you'll surely be repaid, Who dare to-day set hand to move this lawful barricade!"

But ROUTH-FITZPATRICK heeded not his protest, nor replied; So Mrs. BELL'S Solicitor, he promptly stood aside, And watched the next proceedings with a disapproving frown, For up went crow-bar, pick, and axe, and gate and bar went down.

Yes, 'neath the sturdy Lake-men's blows the barriers gave way, And lo! in rushed the joyous thronging crowd without delay; And some on foot, and some in drags, and some in waggons stowed, Held on their way triumphantly down the disputed road.

So onward towards Silver Hill advanced the active host, And cleared each wire fence away, and levelled every post; And when with crowbar, pick, and axe, they'd made their purpose plain, To Nichol Ending they returned in triumph once again.

Then Secretary JENKINSON uprose and spoke a word, And said how by the sights that day his manly breast was stirred, And how that, if on Saturday as they had now begun They held their own, they might regard the fight already won.

And then a telegram from Mr. PLIMSOLL he read out, The which the Lake-men greeted with a hearty answering shout; And Mrs. BELL'S Solicitor retired from the field, But with an ugly look that seemed to say, "We'll never yield!"

And so commenced the fray that day, and though we know, of course, As everybody tells us, there's no remedy in force, Still, if the Lake-men's pick and axe this matter sets at rest, We must admit how ills to cure at Keswick they know best.

But which side wins or loses in the still impending fight, Whether force of public freedom, or trick of legal right, The eager world on-looking may have watched a deadlier fray, But none more keen in contest than the Battle of the Way!

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PARNELLITE PROVERB (_applied to the Baleful Balfour_).--Give him an inch (of law) and he'll take a (National) League.

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THE MORNING'S REFLECTIONS.

SCENE--_Breakfast-table of an Illustrious Statesman of stalwart proportions and "Gladstonian" politics. Illustrious Statesman discovered, admiringly perusing three closely-printed columns of leading Morning Paper._

_I. S._ (_soliloquising_). Hah! Really reads very well, _very_ well indeed. Points neatly put, hits smartly delivered! They shan't call me the "Champion Slugger" for nothing. American pugilist, named SULLIVAN, original bearer of that honorific title, I believe. Should like to see SULLIVAN. A fellow-feeling makes us wondrous--curious. _Not_ kind, always, or JOSEPH and WILLIAM--but no matter.

Hm--m--m! Hm--m--m--m! Excellent! Sparklers calculated to illuminate Lewes, startle Sussex, electrify the country. Slugging and sparkling my specialities. One or two decent speakers about; "our distinguished leader" can--distinguish, at great length and with considerable verbosi--I mean eloquence. RANDOLPH can rattle, and MORLEY can pound, and ROSEBERY twitter pleasantly. But they can't coruscate _and_ crush. The power of the bolt, which at once shines and smashes, is Jovian--not Rhodian, as DIZZY once nastily suggested. "My thunder," and I'm proud of it.

By the way, wonder what the _other_ "Thunderer" thinks of it. Touches a tender chord, the chord of memory. Lost chord now, indeed. But no matter, let's see.

[_Turns paper._

Hm--m--m! Hm--m--m--m! Hah! _Too_ bad! "His bludgeon, or--considering his present connection--may we say his shillelagh?" Tut-tut! The Cloud-Compeller as a bludgeon-man, the Titan-queller flourishing a blackthorn like a tenth-rate Theseus, a Hibernian Hercules! Absurd! No sense of keeping whatever. "Swashbuckler," too! Nasty, and not even new!

As to "beating the big drum in Sussex"--why, how often have I done it--to their delight--in their own pages! "Travesty of contemporary history"--this to their own omniscient HISTORICUS!

Shows the "Champion Slugger" has struck home, though. Your hard-hitter--your fellow who smites, as the appreciative rustic (Sussex man, I wonder?) put it, "blooming hard, blooming high, and blooming often," generally scores--even in the cricket-field. I am the BONNOR of debate, the THORNTON of the platform. And doesn't the "Ring" like it?

Knocked holes in the "Jubilee Session," I fancy, "Ignorant people who mistake the flush of fever for the bloom of health, the torpor of apoplexy for the tranquillity of sleep," think that blazing BALFOUR and stertorous SMITH are never "a penny the worse" for my repeated poundings. Pooh! "Salted with fire"--_my_ fire--they--not being of the indomitable race of DIZZY--will _not_ "undecaying live" much longer. I prophesy--but no, prophecy, _private_ prophecy at least, is not profitable. Don't suppose a Delphic priest, or even a Derby tipster ever wasted time in prophesying _to himself!_

Still--still, _if_ Champion "slugging" combined with coruscation _does_ lead to Leadership--as why should it not?--I fancy I know some one who will have what the sporting patterers call, I think, "a look in" one of these days. Parochial shrewdness is all very well, so is philosophical precision combined with Puritan fervour. But the "swashing blow" strikes home, and if the Unionist bucklers are beaten down thereby, let who likes cry "swashbuckler!" As to "shillelaghs"--why is not "blackthorns to the front!" the order of the hour?

[_Left smiling._

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IN TROUBLED WATERS.--Mr. CHAMBERLAIN is being praised in some quarters for saying that we should leave Irish affairs, and "attend to our own business." The inference seems to be that "Irish affairs" are _not_ "our business." Is not Ireland as much a part of the United Kingdom as England, Scotland, or Wales? We shall be glad of a line from Mr. CHAMBERLAIN--when he gets to his Fisheries.

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GOLD AND STEEL: OR, SOMETHING LIKE A "SCIENTIFIC FRONTIER."

_Mr. Punch, as Britannia's Chief Spokesman and First Plenipotentiary, replies to the Nizam of Hyderabad, First of India's Mahommedan Princes_:--

Thanks, great descendant of GHAZEE-OOD-DEEN! A gracious gift! It well may move the spleen Of England's enemies--and yours. The Bear Will stir, and growl in his chill Northern lair To see the Indian Tiger arm-in-arm With England's Lion, linked by the strong charm Of mutual confidence and common aim. A generous friendship, Prince, is our best game. Not loyalty alone approves your gift, But wise self-interest, and sagacious thrift. Sage SALAR JUNG would cordially approve The liberal impulse, the far-sighted move. _Punchius_, my Prince, is far too great to gush, And fulsome flattery wakens manhood's blush. England's true honour England's hand must hold; Steel for defence, and for equipment gold 'Tis hers to furnish; when that hand shall fail, Auxiliar sword or purse will nought avail To prop her sway, or 'stablish shaken power, Not though she had the more than Danaë dower Of all "the wealth of Ormuz and of Ind." Fear must not shake and softness must not blind The man, the people, who would lead and light Progress's Army in the World's great fight. Each nation finds, when Fate its courage tests, Its last, best frontier is its soldiers' breasts. War's sinews, though, wise captains won't contemn, Loyalty, liberal aid,--who laughs at _them_ Is churl and goose at once. All England's ranks Will hail your generous gift with cordial thanks, NIZAM-OOL-MOOLK! Our DUFFERIN has Wit, Trust him to make the wisest use of it; Or failing that--which doubtless will _not_ fail-- Trust _Punch_ to throw his _bâton_ in the scale, Whose wood, in hands like his, as skilled as bold, Ofttimes outweighs the worth of steel _and_ gold. NIZAM, that North-West Frontier, _Punch's_ eye Shall watch henceforth with sharpest scrutiny. The lakhs not lacking, should swift wisdom lack, That _bâton_ will descend with thundering thwack On dolts who dull delay shall cause or suffer;-- But there, our DUFFERIN is not a duffer. Red-tape itself would hardly be so mad As to misread the moral Hyderabad Reads to Calcutta in this princely _proffer_. _Punch_--for his QUEEN--acknowledges the offer Of him who brings, a tribute free as leal, Gold for her peace, and for her war-time steel.

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ROBERT AT LILLIE BRIDGE.

Well, it does seem rayther rum, I confess, but it's nevertheless true, that hardly nothink of a singlar and xtraordinary charackter seems to appen in London that I don't seem to be present. In these dredful dull days, when there ain't not no great dinners a going on, no not hardly one Livery Company a dining in their Alls of dazzling light, and the LORD MARE hisself a injoying of his olliday at Pangburn, what is a pore Hed Waiter to do to wile away a idle hour or 2; so hearing as two of the seven Champions of England was about to run a race of ever so many hundred yards in just a few seconds, at Lilly Bridge, me and BROWN went there on that now sillybrated Monday, and saw sich a rewolutionary riot as would have done justice to old Ireland itself. Determined to be in good time, we went early, and took up our plaices, and patiently waited. At about 5 o'clock pea. hem. the two galliant Champions walked on the ground, and took a good look at it. I didn't think werry much of their pussonal aperance, and shouldn't a thort as they was Champions if I hadn't bin told, and one was a good deal older than the other one, which didn't seem quite fare to me. However, I didn't interfere, as it wasn't no bizziness of mine, and the two running Champions walked in to dress, or rather praps I should say, to undress for the race. Harf past 5 came, and no Champions, and 6 o'clock struck and no Champions, and we began to get jest a little fidgetty; at aquarter-past 6 a wild roomer spread around that we was all a going to be sold!

There was about a hundred thowsand on us, more or less, a waiting patiently and quietly for a sight that thousands had cum hundreds of miles for to see, and we was told as how as the two galliant Champions had had a jolly row jest as they was a undressing, and then both on em dressed themselves again, and set off at their werry best speed, in quite different and rong directions, and never cum back! At this howdacious swindle our true British pluck begun for to arise, and we all with one acord began to shout tout, "Give us back our Money!" As they didn't do it, we all made a rush to the Pay Places, jest to help ourselves to our several shillings, but the cowardly money-takers had bolted with our money!

Then we Great Britains, feeling as we had been hartfully swindled, rose up in our mighty wroth and wowed wengeance! And wengeance we took! Some of the leading sperits among us who had come hundreds of miles to see the Recorder beaten, tho why they wanted to beat him I coudn't at all understand, shouted out "We'll have sum-think for our money afore we gos back," and quite right too, if they'd ha' stopped at the beer and lemonade, and the spunge cakes, at which the first rush was made, but when it came to destruction and fire and rebellyon, me and BROWN withdrawed our countenances from the hole thing and remembered our duty to our QUEEN and Country, and seeing as the blue Gardiens of the Peeple was rayther hard pressed by the raging and angry Mob, we got two of our friends, as was there, to jine us, and then them, and me, and BROWN, thinking as perhaps a reserve force might be wanted, and out of respect to the great Country that begot us, and bread us, and eddicated us, we stood a long ways off and formed ourselves into a reserve Corpse accordingly, and from there we surweyed all the wild and wicked proceedings in peace and quietness, and, strange to say, wasn't wanted after all!

Ah, if a few more of the few respectable-looking gents as was there had imitated our bold xample, things might have ended werry different to what they begun, but so it is, the mere mob is jest as easily led away to do rong as to do rite, it's only the few who has the moral curridge to judge for theirselves as can stand apart on the roof of a publichouse, and look down with pitty and contemp on what is quite beneath 'em.

As I stood a moralising from my exhalted persition, with a glass of werry nice hot rum and water to keep up my sperrits and keep out the cold, I coudn't help thinking wot a werry wunderfull chap is the Brittish Publick when he hasn't noboddy to guide him. In this werry partickler case, becoz sumbody had bin and robbed 'em all of a shilling a peace, they sets to work, and not only gobbles up all poor Mrs. KING'S refreshments, but breaks all her glasses and things, although she knowed more about it than the Emperor of CHINA, and that coudn't ha' been werry much, and smashes down all the palings and places, and then sets 'em on fire, altho' they belonged to a Gent who was out of Town miles and miles away.

Well, I must say that, having in my werry long xperience seen lots of crowds of all sorts and sizes, for a thorough blackguard set as doesn't seem to have one single good quality, or, if they has, they hides it so carefully that not no one can never find it, but who seems to delight in orful langwidge and senseless mischief, commend me to a sporting mob in the naybourhood of Lundon; and the less they are allowed to congregate there, the better for all honest and decent people.

ROBERT.

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VICARIOUS WHIPPING.--Why are Railway Chairmen and Directors like JAMES THE FIRST when he was a boy? Because, according to received tradition, His Majesty, _in statu pupillari_, was provided with another boy, who, whenever JEMMY deserved the rod, had to be flogged, as a substitute, in the Royal youth's place; and the Railway Authorities are allowed similar substitutes, namely, signalmen, engineers, and other subordinates, against whom, when fatal accidents happen by their superiors' fault, Coroners' Juries usually return verdicts of manslaughter.

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DESCRIPTION OF AN ASSASSIN.--"A Man who takes life seriously." N.B.--I never like hearing a Medical Man so described in ordinary conversation.

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SALUBRITIES ABROAD.

(_En Route for Home after the Royat Treatment._)

At Geneva I meet an old friend, one of the heartiest men I've ever known and one of the best. He is delighted, really delighted, at our accidental meeting. I am for going on, but he will not hear of it.

"I know the place," says he, cheerily, with a wink and a nudge, "and I'll take you about."

What a wink it is! and what a nudge! So full of humorous appreciation of life and character. Such a knowing not-to-be-done-by-anyone sort of wink. And the nudge is intended to draw your attention to the wink and emphasise it. JOHN BIRLEY is the frankest, openest, freest-and-easiest of men, with a boundless capacity for enjoyment, the strongest sympathies with suffering, and of a reverential grateful spirit that thanks Heaven for all bounties, and accepts misfortunes and sorrows as kindly reminders from Providence that the misfortunes and sorrows of others have to be considered and relieved, and again he thanks Heaven for having put it into his power to relieve them. His chief enjoyment is in giving pleasure to others. The most selfish would gain some good from contact with JOHN BIRLEY; and the craftiest, to whom it might occur to make JOHN BIRLEY'S acquaintance for the sake of what he could make out of him or by him, would soon discover his error, and would be informed that he stood detected, very clearly, plainly, and straightly, not by anything that JOHN BIRLEY would say, but he would have it intimated to him beyond possibility of mistake by JOHN BIRLEY'S wink and a playful nudge from JOHN BIRLEY'S elbow in his left or right side, for JOHN speaks with both elbows. The crafty rogue would there and then know--if he were not too fatally crafty for himself as are so many rogues, or too conceited to realise the humour of the situation,--that his little game, whatever it might have been with JOHN BIRLEY, was up, that his schemes were upset and that to "try it on," any further with JOHN BIRLEY would be utter waste of time and trouble. That is what JOHN BIRLEY'S wink would convey to the rogue. But to the honest man, to the friend, the wink and nudge assure good comradeship and something rare in store for him. To the unfortunate and suffering there is another tone to the wink and nudge, and to these they are full of promise of hope and help, and act as a fine invigorating tonic.

Such is JOHN BIRLEY, whom I meet _en route_ and who insists upon my stopping with him and showing me the place. He travels a great deal, he knows everybody and everybody knows him. No matter what the language of the country may be, no matter whether he is in France, Germany, Russia, Egypt, India, or Africa, among cultivated peers, outlandish peasants, or uncouth savages, JOHN BIRLEY invariably makes himself thoroughly understood, for any deficiency in his acquaintance with the language he ekes out with a wink and a nudge adapted to the occasion, and he is sure to obtain exactly what he wants, or an excellent substitute for it, if the thing itself is not to be had. And this has always been so. It so happens that he has retired from business and is now very rich, but long ago when he was working hard, and struggling too, his manner and method were just the same; he has never been discouraged, never been discontented, always energetic, always sanguine, and has elbowed his path for himself through the crowd, politely, pleasantly, apologising sympathetically for any toes he may have accidentally trod upon in his onward course, and working himself well into the front rank by the magic charm of his wink and nudge. He has pulled some others after him who have clung on to his coattails, and brought out of the ruck not a few of those on whose toes, as I have already said, he had pressed rather heavily in passing.

I know I cannot be in better hands, and he is going to show me about everywhere within the very few days I can absolutely spare, now that my cure is finished, my Royat time over, and that I am on my way back to England, home, and beauty.

He maps out a few excursions. He has taken them all before, long ago. But, delighted to go over old ground, the greater part of his pleasure will be found in my enjoyment; for to revisit places associated with pleasant memories, or with nothing but the remembrance of their loveliness, their grandeur, or their solemnity, is to him, in some way like welcoming old friends. All JOHN BIRLEY'S friends are old ones; he has no new ones,--he never had. Some men of the world discussing him, aver that it is a sort of proof to themselves of there being something good still left in them, that they can reckon themselves among JOHN BIRLEY'S friends. They are of all shades and colours are his friends, and they will analyse each other's characters behind each other's backs in the presence of JOHN BIRLEY, and afterwards they will be more inclined towards each other, more sympathetic, and more charitably disposed, in consequence of each other's good points having been brought out into strong relief by JOHN BIRLEY'S kindly light. So it is with seeing the beauties of nature or art in his company; and so it is that I consider myself to have alighted on my legs in having come across him in this, the lovely playground of Europe, the home of the Merry Swiss Boys and Girls.

There is the Lake to be done; there is Nyon, Thonon, Rolle, Lausanne, Ouchy, Evian-les-Bains, Vevey, and then there are the heights above, including the ascent to St. Gergues, and to wherever can be obtained the best views of Mont Blanc, the Dent du Midi, and the other well-known "objects of interest." Were PULLER here, he would say that "the best views of these mountains can be obtained at the photographers"--but he is not here, he is finishing his treatment at Royat. So it is all arranged, and we dine together, as a commencement.

"You don't mind a third party present?" says BIRLEY to me, apologetically, "as I have just found old Sir ALEC MCQUINCEY, wandering about without a companion. Wretched to be alone, eh? and not well, eh? Suffering from liver--nasty that--gives jaundiced view of life. So must cheer the old boy up. He's off for a cure to Evian-les-Bains; so I said to him, 'Dine with us to-night, and we'll land you there to-morrow, eh?'--that's right, isn't it?"--and he gives me a cheery wink and nudge, taking me, as it were, into partnership with him in his scheme for entertaining Sir ALEC MCQUINCEY, and for keeping up the latter's spirits, previous to seeing him off to-morrow to the place across the Lake where he is to undergo his treatment, which I trust may enable him to "live happily ever after," and enjoy any amount of City dinners ("He is a City magnate," says BIRLEY, with a nudge, "and that's not good for liver complaint, eh?") till the end of next Season.

Sir ALEC is a capital companion, hearty, cheery, and full of anecdotes. He has got an excellent listener in JOHN BIRLEY, whereat I am rather astonished as JOHN generally has a lot to say for himself, and a good story from one man invariably draws out another from J. B. But on this occasion he is so unusually silent that I am puzzled. It is true that Sir ALEC commences most of his anecdotes with an apology to BIRLEY in this shape, "I've told this to BIRLEY before, but," turning to me, "you haven't heard it, and it may interest _you_," whereupon BIRLEY nods approval, and I politely assure Sir ALEC that I am already deeply interested by anticipation, and in the words of the ancient drama, now obsolete, I feel inclined to add, "Proceed, sweet warbler, your story interests me much; proceed."