Chapter 1

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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI

VOL. 104

MARCH 11, 1893.

MIXED NOTIONS.

No. VI.--REGISTRATION REFORM.

(_Scene and Persons as Usual._)

_First Well-Informed Man_ (_bristling with indignation, as he lays down his newspaper_). Well, I'm dashed!

_Inquirer_ (_nervously_). What's up?

_First W. I. M._ _What's up!_ Everything's up. Up the spout, that's where this blessed country will be if this kind of thing's going on.

_Inquirer._ What kind of thing?

_First W. I. M._ Why, all this gerrymandering kind of business.

_Inquirer._ Oh, by the way, that reminds me. I came on that word the other day. Can any of you chaps tell me what it means?

_First W. I. M._ It's as plain as a pikestaff. It means playing ducks and drakes with things all round, and letting the whole business go thoroughly rotten.

_Inquirer._ Has it got anything to do with jerry-builders?

_First W. I. M._ It's the same thing precisely.

_Inquirer_ (_insisting_). But what's the point of calling 'em jerry? Where does that come in?

_First W. I. M._ It's a French word.

_Second W. I. M._ It isn't. It's German.

_First W. I. M._ Bosh, it's French.

_Second W. I. M._ I bet you a dollar it's German.

_First W. I. M._ And I bet you a dollar it's French. (_To Average Man._) Here, you decide. Which is it?

_Average Man._ Well, I'm sure it isn't French----

_Second W. I. M._ (_interrupting_). Of course it isn't. Pay up, my boy!

_Average Man_ (_continuing_). But, on the other hand, it isn't German.

_First W. I. M._ Oh, rot! It must be one or the other, you know. (_Scornfully._) You'll be telling us it's Greek next.

_Average Man._ Well, of course, it _might_ be; but, as a matter of fact, I fancy it's English.

_First W. I. M._, _Second W. I. M._ (_together_). Oh, you tell that to the Marines! It won't wash here.

_Inquirer_ (_doubtfully_). Perhaps it's American.

_Average Man_ (_resignedly_). Well I daresay it is. Any way, you can have it so if you like, It may be Sanskrit for all I care.

[_Retires to his paper. A pause._

_Inquirer_ (_to First W. I. M._). But, look here, what made you lose your hair, just now? You looked as angry as blazes about something.

_First W. I. M._ (_with dignity_). Did I? Well, isn't it enough to make anybody, who loves his country, angry when he sees what's going on. Why, the Government's going to turn everything inside out, with some blessed new law about elections. Registration Bill, they call it, or something of that sort. Just as if we hadn't had enough tinkering and pottering lately. It's all through this confounded County Council interfering with everything.

_Second W. I. M._ (_aggressive_). What the dickens has the County Council got to do with it? You're always dropping on the County Council.

_First W. I. M._ Oh, they've got their finger in every pie. I'm pretty certain this is their job.

_Second W. I. M._ Well, you're wrong this time, that's all. You're thinking of the Employers' Liability Bill.

_First W. I. M._ No, I'm not. I never even heard of it. So that's where _you're_ wrong. What has the Employers' Liabill got----I mean the Employers' (_steadily, and with determination_) Li-a-bil-ity Bill got to do with the County Council?

_Second W. I. M._ Everything. Didn't you read JOHN BURNS'S speech about it?

_First W. I. M._ No--and I don't mean to. Ask me another.

_Second W. I. M._ All right--I will. Do you mean to deny that our present Registration System is a ridiculous one?

_First W. I. M._ (_hotly_). Yes, I do.

_Second W. I. M._ (_with triumph_). Ah, I've got you now. You said, only yesterday, that any system by which a Government like this got into power must be ridiculous. (_To_ Inquirer.) Didn't he?

_Inquirer_ (_hesitating_). Well, I'm not quite sure. I rather fancy he did say something of that kind. But--(_deprecatingly_)--perhaps he meant something else.

_First W. I. M._ No, I didn't. I meant what I said--and I stick to it. But that isn't the same thing as the Registration System.

_Second W. I. M._ Perhaps you'll tell us, then, what the Registration System is?

_Inquirer_ (_eagerly_). Yes, do. I should like to get to the bottom of it, because I'm constantly meeting a sort of third cousin of mine, who's a Registrar of something or other, and I never quite know what he does. All I know is, that he isn't a Registrar in Bankruptcy.

_First W. I. M._ Let me see--how can I put it shortly? It's just this--you chaps have got votes.

_Inquirer_ (_decisively_). No, I haven't.

_First W. I. M._ (_put out_). Ah, but you ought to have.

_Second W. I. M._ (_cutting in_). There you are again. That's just what I've been saying all along. He ought to have--but he hasn't; so where's your beautiful system now?

_First W. I. M._ (_retreating strategically_). I never said it was _perfect_, did I? But I'll come to that afterwards. (_To_ Inquirer.) Now why haven't you got a vote?

_Inquirer_ (_with a painful sense of inferiority_). I'm sure I don't know. I suppose the old Johnny, whoever he is, didn't chalk me down when he went round last time.

_First W. I. M._ Probably you haven't lived in your house long enough. You haven't got a qualifying period.

_Inquirer._ Haven't I? How long ought I to have lived there?

_First W. I. M._ (_vaguely_). Oh, it's something between three and four years. I can't tell you the exact number; they alter it every year.

_Second W. I. M._ Who alter it?

_First W. I. M._ The Revising Barristers, or somebody.

_Second W. I. M._ Well, my brother-in-law's a Revising Barrister, and I never heard of him doing that.

_First W. I. M._ (_sarcastic_). But you don't suppose he'd tell _you_ everything he does, do you?

_Inquirer._ But I've lived in my house six years.

_First W. I. M._ Ah! but aren't you a lodger?

_Second W. I. M._ What's the odds if he is? My brother's a lodger, and I know he's got a vote.

_First W. I. M._ But that's a different franchise altogether.

_Second W. I. M._ How do you mean? They're both lodgers.

_First W. I. M._ But they don't live in the same district. Perhaps they don't give him a latch-key.

_Inquirer_ (_producing it_). Yes they do. Here it is. (_Chuckles._) I think I jolly well see myself without a latch-key. But, I say, about this vote. I don't half like not having got one. What shall I do about it?

_First W. I. M._ You'd better see somebody about it.

_Inquirer._ Somebody was talking about Leasehold Franchise the other day. Perhaps I could get in on that.

_First W. I. M._ Ah! I daresay that _might_ help you. [_Terminus._

* * * * *

* * * * *

NEW NOVEL BY Mr. G.--_The Art of Midlothian._

* * * * *

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

_Time and the Woman._ By RICHARD PRYCE. Not by any means a pearl of Pryce, and certainly not likely to make so great noise in the novel-reading world as did _The Quiet Mrs. Fleming_, by the same author. METHUEN & CO. publish it.

The Baron heartily recommends FRANK BARRETT'S novel, in three vols., entitled, _Kitty's Father_. A thoroughly absorbing plot, well worked out, and interesting right up to the last page. _Kitty's_ father is a mysterious person, and she, not being a wise child, for she doesn't know him, does several foolish things, and says several wise ones. _Kitty's_ uncle is a necessary nuisance, but a cleverly and consistently drawn character, while _Kitty_ herself is delightfully made out of good home-spun material. But the villanous Curate is just a bit too grotesque, too Uriah-Heepish for the awfully tragic situation in which he is placed. When the imaginative author shifts the scene to Dublin, why did he not represent an Irish Cardinal-Archbishop as waiting at the stage-door to escort home the light-and-leading lady? But "for a' that and a' that," most decidedly "read it," quoth the Baron, and on he goes again.

MARION CRAUFORD'S _Children of the King_, published by MACMILLAN, is a tragic story, told in most simple and most fascinating style. It is all colour and character: the colours and the characters being those of Southern Italy.

Out of regard to the importunities of numerous correspondents, the Baron has read IBSEN'S _Master Builder_, translated by two of the Ibsenitish cult. "Only fancy!" Of all the weak-knee'd, wandering, effeminate, unwholesome, immoral, dashed "rot," to quote _Lord Arthur_ in the _Pantomime Rehearsal_, this is the weak-knee'dest, effeminatest, and all the epithets as above superlatived. Read it by all means, and see it, too, if you will, but if the honest English play-goer's verdict is worth a "big, big, D" (I thank thee, W. S. G., for teaching me that abbreviated form of dashed expressiveness!) he will give IBSEN'S _Master Builder_ the benefit of the "D," and "D" it once and for ever. And that, at your service, my masters, is the rough-and-ready opinion expressed by,

Yours truly, THE BARON DE B.-W.

* * * * *

A RACY READING OF AN OLD QUOTATION FROM SCOTT.

(_Suggested by Burns._)

"My foot is on Newmarket Heath! My name, JEM LOWTHER!"

* * * * *

The benefits that Sir JOHN LAWES has been able and will yet be able to confer on agriculturists everywhere, including those in his immediate neighbourhood, cause him to be regarded as a living exception to the rule about a prophet in his own country. So, in that part of England, "Profit and LAWES" are synonymous terms, meaning the same person.

* * * * *

"HAPPINESS IN----FOLKESTONE."

["He said, 'Go and be----' I accordingly went and stayed at Folkestone."

_See last Thursday's "Daily News;" Evidence in the De Walden Case._]

Thrice happy Town Council! when pestered to pave, Remember this fact that her Ladyship mentions. Intend, but do nothing; your rates you can save By paving your streets with the best of intentions.

* * * * *

HITHERTO UNREPORTED.--Mr. GLADSTONE and Mr. ASQUITH received deputations on the Eight Hours' Question last Friday. The chief speakers were Mr. PARROT and Mr. ONIONS. Mr. G. observed that in all his vast experience, frequently as he had tasted a savoury dish of rabbit and onions, yet the combination of Parrot with Onions was something really novel. Perhaps Mr. PARROT would be useful at any bye-election, and would give them the state of the poll. As to Mr. ONIONS, well, he (Mr. G.) hadn't words of welcome sufficiently strong for him. Why hadn't he brought "BRER RABBIT" with him? In approaching the Eight Hours' Question, no time must be lost, so he would at once proceed to business.

* * * * *

* * * * *

At a recent Monday Pop Concert, Mr. BORWICK put any amount of powder--everyone has seen or heard of Borwick's Powder--into his performance of "_Suite Anglaise_." As a pretty lady observed, "He might just as well, or better, have put the name in English, and called it, '_The Sweet English Girl_.'" Messrs. JOACHIM, RIES, STRAUSS, and PIATTI, played a string-quartette in C Sharp Minor, and out of respect to the Ecclesiastical Season of the year, they gave marked prominence to the "_Lento_" in G. Flat.

* * * * *

A GENUINE BUILDING SOCIETY.--The Birds, just now. And its members are not even waiting for a Re-leaf Fund, which will, however, soon come, with "the flowers that bloom in the Spring, tra-la!"

* * * * *

THE G. O. M. FROM A MUSICAL POINT OF VIEW.--When preternaturally alert, he is "Mr. G. Sharp." When depressed, he is "Mr. G. Flat." When himself again, he is "Mr. G. Natural." As being second son, he is "G. Minor." He is also _hors ligne_. But he refuses to be musically translated to the House of Lords, and become "The Upper G."

* * * * *

_Q._ What is the difference between a lover asking the object of his affections to marry him, and a guest who ventures to hint to his host that the Pommery '80 is rather corked?

_A._ The one pops the question, the other questions the pop.

* * * * *

Mrs. R. saw the heading of a paragraph in the _Times_, of Monday. Feb. 27, "Jade in Upper Burmah." She laid the paper down, and exclaimed, "Dear me! I wonder who she is!"

* * * * *

If we ever do adopt Bimetallism, it is evident, from Mr. GLADSTONE'S masterly speech, that holders of Consols will obtain very little consol-ation.

* * * * *

PILL-DOCTOR HERDAL.

(_Translated from the Original Norwegian by Mr. Punch_)

[PREFATORY NOTE. The original title, _Mester-Pijl-drögster Herdal_, would sound a trifle too uncouth to the Philistine ear, and is therefore modified as above, although the term "drögster," strictly speaking, denotes a practitioner who has not received a regular diploma.]

ACT FIRST.

_An elegantly furnished Drawing-room at_ Dr. HERDAL'S. _In front, on the left, a Console-table, on which is a large round bottle full of coloured water. On the right a stove, with a banner-screen made out of a richly-embroidered chest-protector. On the stove, a stethoscope and a small galvanic battery. In one corner, a hat and umbrella stand; in another, a desk, at which stands_ SENNA BLAKDRAF, _making out the quarterly accounts. Through a glass-door at the back is seen the Dispensary, where_ RÜBUB KALOMEL _is seated, occupied in rolling a pill. Both go on working in perfect silence for four minutes and a half._

_Dr. Haustus Herdal_ (_enters through hall-door; he is elderly, with a plain sensible countenance, but slightly weak hair and expression_). Come here, Miss BLAKDRAF. (_Hangs up hat, and throws his mackintosh on a divan._) Have you made out all those bills yet? [_Looks sternly at her._

_Senna_ (_in a low hesitating voice_). Almost. I have charged each patient with three attendances daily. Even when you only dropped in for a cup of tea and a chat. (_Passionately._) I felt I _must_--I _must_!

_Dr. Herd._ (_alters his tone, clasps her head in his hands, and whispers_). I wish you could make out the bills for me, _always_.

_Senna_ (_in nervous exaltation_). How lovely that would be! Oh, you are so unspeakably good to me! It is too enthralling to be here!

[_Sinks down and embraces his knees._

_Dr. Herd._ So I've understood. (_With suppressed irritation._) For goodness' sake, let go my legs! I do _wish_ you wouldn't be so confoundedly neurotic!

_Rübub_ (_has risen, and comes in through glass-door, breathing with difficulty; he is a prematurely bald young man of fifty-five, with a harelip and squints slightly_). I beg pardon, Dr. HERDAL, I see I interrupt you. (_As SENNA rises._) I have just completed this pill. Have you looked at it?

[_He offers it for inspection diffidently._

_Dr. Herd._ (_evasively_). It appears to be a pill of the usual dimensions.

_Rübub_ (_cast down_). All these years you have never given me one encouraging word! _Can't_ you praise my pill?

_Dr. Herd._ (_struggles with himself_). I--I cannot. You should not attempt to compound pills on your own account.

_Rübub_ (_breathing laboriously_). And yet there was a time when _you_, too----

_Dr. Herd._ (_complacently_). Yes, it was certainly a pill that came as a lucky stepping-stone--but not a pill like that!

_Rübub_ (_vehemently_). Listen! Is that your last word? _Is_ my aged mother to pass out of this world without ever knowing whether I am competent to construct an effective pill or not?

_Dr. Herd._ (_as if in desperation_). You had better try it upon your mother--it will enable her to form an opinion. Only mind--I will not be responsible for the result.

_Rübub._ I understand. Exactly as you tried _your_ pill, all those years ago, upon Dr. RYVAL. [_He bows, and goes out._

_Dr. Herd._ (_uneasily_). He said that so strangely, SENNA. But tell me now--when are you going to marry him?

_Senna_ (_starts--half glancing up at him_). I--I don't know. This year--next-year--now--_never_! I cannot marry him ... I cannot--I _cannot_--it is so utterly impossible to leave you!

_Dr. Herd._ Yes, I can understand _that_. But, my poor SENNA, hadn't you better take a little walk?

_Senna_ (_clasps her hands gratefully_). How sweet and thoughtful you are to me! I _will_ take a walk.

_Dr. Herd._ (_with a suppressed smile_). Do! And--h'm!--you needn't trouble to come back. I have advertised for a male book-keeper--they are less emotional. Good-night, my little SENNA!

_Senna_ (_softly, and quiveringly_). Good-night, Dr. HERDAL!

[_Staggers out of the hall-door, blowing kisses._

_Mrs. Herdal_ (_enters through the window, plaintively_). Quite an acquisition for you, HAUSTUS, this Miss BLAKDRAF!

_Dr. Herd._ She's--h'm!--extremely civil and obliging. But I am parting with her, ALINE--mainly on _your_ account.

_Mrs. Herd._ (_evades him_). Was it on my account, indeed, HAUSTUS? You have parted with so many young persons on my account--so you tell me!

_Dr. Herd._ (_depressed_). Oh, but this is hopeless! When I have tried so hard to bring a ray of sunlight into your desolate life! I must give RÜBUB KALOMEL notice too--his pill is really too preposterous!

_Mrs. Herd._ (_feels gropingly for a chair, and sits down on the floor_). Him, _too_! Ah, HAUSTUS, you will never make my home a real home for me. My poor first husband, HALVARD SOLNESS, tried--and _he_ couldn't! When one has had such misfortunes as I have--all the family portraits burnt, and the silk dresses, too, and a pair of twins, and nine lovely dolls.

[_Chokes with tears._

_Dr. Herd._ (_as if to lead her away from the subject_). Yes, yes, yes, that must have been a heavy blow for you, my poor ALINE. I can understand that your spirits can never be really high again. And then for poor Master Builder SOLNESS to be so taken up with that Miss WANGEL as he was--that, too, was so wretched for you. To see him topple off the tower, as he did that day ten years ago----

_Mrs. Herd._ Yes, that too, HAUSTUS. But I did not mind it so much--it all seemed so perfectly natural in both of them.

_Dr. Herd._ Natural! For a girl of twenty-three to taunt a middle-aged architect, whom she knew to be constitutionally liable to giddiness, never to let him have any peace till he had climbed a spire as dizzy as himself--and all for the fun of seeing him fall off--how in the world----!

_Mrs. Herd._ (_laying the table for supper with dried fish and punch_). The younger generation have a keener sense of humour than we elder ones, HAUSTUS, and perhaps, after all, she was only a perplexing sort of allegory.

_Dr. Herd._ Yes, that would explain her to some extent, no doubt. But how _he_ could be such an old fool!

_Mrs. Herd._ That Miss WANGEL was a strangely fascinating type of girl. Why, even I myself----

_Dr. Herd._ (_sits down and takes some fish_). Fascinating? Well, goodness knows, I couldn't see _that_ at all. (_Seriously._) Has it never struck you, ALINE, that elderly Norwegians are so deucedly impressionable--mere bundles of overstrained nerves, hypersensitive ganglia. Except, of course, the Medical Profession.

_Mrs. Herd._ Yes, of course; those in that profession are not so inclined to gangle. And when one has succeeded by such a stroke of luck as you have----

_Dr. Herd._ (_drinks a glass of punch_). You're right enough there. If I had not been called in to prescribe for Dr. RYVAL, who used to have the leading practice here, I should never have stepped so wonderfully into his shoes as I did. (_Changes to a tone of quiet chuckling merriment._) Let me tell you a funny story, ALINE; it sounds a ludicrous thing--but all my good fortune here was based upon a simple little pill. For if Dr. RYVAL had never taken it----

_Mrs. Herd._ (_anxiously_). Then you _do_ think it was the pill that caused him to----?

_Dr. Herd._ On the contrary; I am perfectly sure the pill had nothing whatever to do with it--the inquest made it quite clear that it was really the liniment. But don't you see, ALINE, what tortures me night and day is the thought that it _might_ unconsciously have been the pill which----Never to be free from _that_! To have such a thought gnawing and burning always--always, like a moral mustard poultice! (_He takes more punch._)

_Mrs. Herd._ Yes; I suppose there is a poultice of that sort burning on every breast--and we must never take it off either--it is our simple duty to keep it on. I too, HAUSTUS, am haunted by a fancy that if this Miss WANGEL were to ring at our bell now----

_Dr. Herd._ After she has been lost sight of for ten years? She is safe enough in some Sanatorium, depend upon it. And what if she _did_ come? Do you think, my dear good woman, that I--a sensible clear-headed general practitioner, who have found out all I know for myself--would let her play the deuce with me as she did with poor HALVARD? No, general practitioners don't _do_ such things--even in Norway!

_Mrs. Herd._ Don't they indeed, HAUSTUS? (_The Surgery-bell rings loudly._) Did you hear _that_? There she is! I will go and put on my best cap. It is my duty to show her _that_ small attention.

_Dr. Herd._ (_laughing nervously_). Why, what on earth!----It's the night-bell. It is most probably the new book-keeper! (Mrs. HERDAL _goes out_; Dr. HERDAL _rises with difficulty, and opens the door_.) Goodness gracious!--it _is_ that girl, after all!

_Hilda Wangel_ (_enters through the Dispensary door. She wears a divided skirt, thick boots, and a Tam o'Shanter, with an eagle's wing in it. Somewhat freckled. Carries a green tin cylinder slung round her, and a rug in a strap. Goes straight up to_ HERDAL, _her eyes sparkling with happiness_). How are you? I've run you down, you see! The ten years are up. Isn't it scrumptiously thrilling, to see me like this?

_Dr. Herd._ (_politely retreating_). It is--very much so--but still I don't in the least understand----

_Hilda_ (_measures him with a glance_). Oh, you _will_. I have come to be of use to you. I've no luggage, and no money. Not that _that_ makes any difference. I never _have_. And I've been allured and attracted here. You surely know how these things come about? [_Throws her arms round him._

_Dr. Herd._ What the deuce! Miss WANGEL, you _mustn't_. I'm a married man! There's my wife! [Mrs. HERD. _enters_.

_Hilda._ As if _that_ mattered--it's only dear, sweet Mrs. SOLNESS. _She_ doesn't mind--_do_ you, dear Mrs. SOLNESS?

_Mrs. Herd._ It does not seem to be of much _use_ minding, Miss WANGEL. I presume you have come to stay?

_Hilda_ (_in amused surprise_). Why, of course--what else should I come for? I _always_ come to stay, until--h'm!

[_Nods slowly, and sits down at table._