Part 1

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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI

VOLUME 105, August 12th 1893

_edited by Sir Francis Burnand_

THE CLOSURE AT HOME.

Paterfamilias entered the drawing-room at ten minutes to six o'clock, and found the family still undecided. There was a pause in the conversation when he made his appearance.

"Where are we to go?" he asked, taking out his watch. "You have been quarrelling for the last week, and I have given you till this hour. So get through your amendments as fast as you can."

"I prefer Paris," said Materfamilias, "and I am supported by all the girls. We are decidedly in a majority."

"Paris is simply awful at the end of July!" cried the eldest son. "Give you my word, mother, the place is impossible."

"Venice would certainly be better," said his younger brother. "Charming place, and you get a very decent _table d'hote_ at DANIELI'S."

"Oh, Venice is too dreadful just now!" exclaimed Aunt MATILDA. "If _we_ are to go with you, we certainly can't travel there. Besides, there's the cholera all over the Continent. Now Oban would be nice."

"Are you speaking seriously?" asked Cousin JANE. "Scotland never agrees with me, but Cairo would be perfect."

"Do you think so, my dear girl?" put in Uncle JOHN. "I fancy you are making a mistake. Egypt is very well in the winter, but it is fearfully hot in August. Now they tell me Killarney is simply delightful at this season."

"Ireland! No, thank you!" exclaimed REGINALD. "We have had enough of Home Rule on this side of the Channel to go across to find it on the other. No; give me Spain, or even Russia."

The hands of the clock were close upon the hour, but still there was a minute or so to spare.

"Russia indeed!" snapped out PRISCILLA. "Who ever would go to Russia? But people do tell me that Chicago is well worth seeing, and----"

At this moment the clock struck six.

"Time's up," cried Paterfamilias. "We will all go to Herne Bay."

And they did.

* * * * *

* * * * *

The New Atomic Theory.

(_According to the New Journalism_).

Mankind are debtors to two mighty creditors, Omniscient Science, and infallible Editors. Nature is summed in principles and particles; The moral world in Laws and Leading Articles!

* * * * *

CRICKET ACROSS THE CHANNEL.

We believe that our lively neighbours, the French, having seen that there is a chance of some alteration being made in the rules of cricket in England, have determined to suggest some changes on their own account. We give the first list of proposals:--

1. The ball in future is to be made of india-rubber.

2. Armour to be allowed to the striker, so as to prevent accidents from the ball.

3. The umpires to be henceforth experienced surgeons, so that their medical services may be available for the wounded.

4. Camp-stools to be permitted to the long-stop, and other hard-worked members of the field.

5. Fielders expected to run after a rapidly-driven ball, to be allowed to follow the object on bicycles.

6. The wicket-keeper to have a small portable fortress in front of him to keep him out of danger.

7. The bats to be made of the same materials as those used in lawn-tennis.

8. The game to commence with the "luncheon interval," to be employed in discussing a _dejeuner a la fourchette_.

9. The uniform of the cricketer in future to consist of a horn, a hunting-knife, jockey-cap and fishing-boots, in fact the costume of the earliest French exponent of the game.

10. The outside to have the right to declare the game closed when fatigued.

11. A band of music to be engaged to play a popular programme. A flourish of trumpets to announce the triumph of the striker when he succeeds in hitting the ball.

12. Those who take part in the great game to be decorated with a medal. All future matches to be commemorated with clasps, to denote the player's bravery.

Should these reforms be adopted by the M. C. C., there seems little doubt that the national game of England will receive a fresh lease of popularity in the land that faces Albion.

* * * * *

THE LATEST CRISIS.

[Mr. BARTLEY protested in the House of Commons against Mr. W. O'BRIEN'S conduct in dining in the House with strangers at a table reserved for Members. Mr. O'BRIEN explained that Mr. AUSTEN CHAMBERLAIN had taken a table which he (Mr. O'BRIEN) had previously reserved. The question is under the consideration of the Kitchen Committee.]

A crisis! A crisis! The man is a fool Who desires at this moment to talk of Home Rule. Though we know that in Egypt a something is rotten, The intrigues of young ABBAS are straightway forgotten; And we think just as much of the woes of Siam As we care for that coin of small value--a _dam_. For a crisis has come, and the House is unable To detach its attention from questions of table. Their tongues and their brains all the Members exhaust in Discussing the rights of O'BRIEN and AUSTEN. They debate in an access of anger and gloom As to who took from which what was kept, and for whom. The letters they wrote, the retorts they made tartly Are detailed--gracious Powers preserve us--by BARTLEY, Who can bend--only statesmen are formed for such feats-- His mind, which is massive, to questions of seats, And discuss with a zest which is equal to TANNER'S, The absorbing details of a matter of manners. Mr. BARTLEY you like to be heard than to hear Far more, but, forgive me, a word in your ear. Though we greatly rejoice when all records are cut By your steam-hammer mind in thus smashing a nut, Yet we think it were well if the Kitchen could settle In private this question of pot _versus_ kettle. And in future, when dog-like men fight for a bone, Take a hint, Mr. BARTLEY, and leave them alone.

* * * * *

LATEST FROM THE NATIONAL BOXING SALOON (_with the kind regards of the_ SPEAKER).--"The nose has it, and so have the eyes!"

* * * * *

Good IZAAK of the diction quaint, The calendar holds many a fellow Less worthy to be dubbed a saint (For gentle heart and wisdom mellow) Than thou, the Angler's genial guide By wandering brook and river wide.

"I care not, I, to fish in seas," So chirped WILL BASSE, thy favourite singer, "Fresh rivers best my mind do please." Bard-loving quoter, brave back-bringer Of England's pastoral scenes and songs, All England's praise to thee belongs.

Thy Book bewitches more than those Who are sworn "Brothers of the Angle." Scents of fresh pastures, wilding rose, All trailing flowers that intertangle In England's hedgerows, seem to fill Its pages and our pulses thrill.

We see the stretch "up Totnam Hil," Toward the "Thatcht House" that fresh May morning; We hear VIATOR praise the skill That he was first inclined to scorning; We mark the Master's friendly proffer Change him to votary from scoffer.

Those "many grave and serious men," He chid as "men of sowr complexions," If they resist his graphic pen, His pastorals sweet, his quaint reflections, Must have indeed mere souls of earth, To beauty blind, untuned to mirth.

The "poor-rich-men" he pitied so All Anglers, and wise hearts, must pity. His song's queer "trollie lollie loe," Sounds cheerily as the blackbird's ditty, To men in populous city pent, Who know the Angler's calm content.

And even those who know it not, Nor care--poor innocents!--to know it, Whom ne'er the Fisher's favoured lot Has thrilled as sportsman, fired as poet, May love to turn the leaves, and halt on The quaint conceits of honest WALTON.

The man whose only "quill" 's a pen, Who keeps no rod and tackle handy, May hear thy "merry river" when "It bubbles, dances, and grows sandy." May sit beneath thy beech, and wish To catch thy voice, if not thy fish:

May love to sit or stroll with thee, Amidst the grassy water-meadows; The culverkeys and cowslips see, Dancing in summer's lights and shadows; And watch yon youngster gathering stocks Of lilies and of lady-smocks:

To hear thy milkmaid, MAUDLIN, troll Choice morsels from KIT MARLOW sweetly; And MAUDLIN'S mother,--honest soul, Whose "golden age" has fled so fleetly!-- Respond with RALEIGH'S answering rhyme Of wisdom past its active prime:

To take a draught of sound old ale-- What tipple wholesomer or sweeter?-- At the old ale-house in the vale, With CORYDON and brother PETER; And share the "Musick"'s mellow bout, As they at supper shared the trout.

Then to that cleanly room and sweet-- After a gay good night to all-- Lavender scent about the sheet, And "ballads stuck about the wall," And fall on sleep devoid of sorrow, With fair dreams filled of sport to-morrow.

What wonder WALTON'S work has charmed Three centuries? That his bait has captured The grey recluse, the boy switch-armed, The sage, the statesman, bard enraptured, Gay girl--are fish her only spoil?-- And grave Thames-haunting son of toil!

Thy votaries, good Saint IZAAK, are "All who love _quietnesse_, and _vertue_." Is there on whom such praises jar? Well, join for once--it scarce can hurt you-- In _Punch's_ Tribute; fortune wishing To gentle souls who "go a-fishing!"

* * * * *

* * * * *

"HERE'S TO THE CLIENT."

Here's to the client who makes his own will, And here's to his friends who dispute it; Here's to the case which is drawn up with skill, And the time that it takes to refute it.

Here's to the felon whose crimes are a score, And here's to the wretch with but one, Sirs; Fraudulent trustees, directors galore, And the various things that they've done, Sirs.

Here's to the costs which will mount up apace, When the action comes on for a hearing, "Retainers," "refreshers," and all of their race, Which they lavish on us for appearing.

Here's to the Law, with its hand just and strong, Which has grown from the earliest ages; And here's to this lay, which we hope's not too long For _Punch_ to put into his pages.

* * * * *

NEW VERSION OF AN OLD SAYING (_adapted for exclusive swells who cannot enjoy even a Sport when it becomes "so common, don't-cha!"_).--What is Everybody's pleasure is Nobody's pleasure!

* * * * *

TO A SWISS BAROMETER.

Oh, optimistic instrument, No other ever seeks To raise one's hopes--benevolent You always show _Beau fixe_!

Though meteorologic swells Predict wet days for weeks, Your well-intentioned pointer tells Of nothing but _Beau fixe_.

How sweet, when in the dewy morn-- So dewy!--up the peaks We start through drizzle all forlorn, To read again _Beau fixe_.

It makes us think of sunny lands, Where weather has no freaks, To see, they're always so, your hands Both point to that _Beau fixe_.

And though we're sodden to the skin, Through coat and vest and breeks, You did not mean to take us in In spite of your _Beau fixe_.

We tramp, expecting soon to see In that grey sky some streaks; Ah no, it's fixed as fixed can be, As fixed as your _Beau fixe_.

No matter, we get used to rain, And mop our streaming cheeks, Quite sure, when we get home again, You cannot say _Beau fixe_.

At last, all soaked, we stagger in-- One's clothing simply leaks-- And still you say, through thick and thin, Unchangeably _Beau fixe_.

We change, although you don't; no thread Is dry on us; small creeks Form where we stand, all drenched from head To foot. Blow your _Beau fixe_!

This beastly weather might have riled The philosophic Greeks; It makes us simple Britons wild, Combined with your _Beau fixe_.

We tell the landlord we must go-- Poor man, he rather piques Himself upon the weather, so Incessantly _Beau fixe_.

"_Ah, non, ca va changer ce soir!_" Thus hopefully he speaks, "_Si Monsieur voulait bien voir Le barometre--Beau fixe!_"

* * * * *

* * * * *

Adapted.

(_To the Unionist Needs of the Moment._)

Other men have many faults, Mr. GLADSTONE has but two; There's nothing wise that he can say, and nothing right that he can do.

* * * * *

In a recent case, Mr. LANE, the magistrate, is reported to have informed an inquiring husband, "If your wife turns you out she is not bound to find you a home; but if _you_ turn your wife out you _are_ bound to find _her_ a home." This suggests a new Charity, "The Home for Turned-out Wives." These ladies would be seen driving out in well-appointed traps, and gain a new status in Society as being "uncommonly well-turned-out" wives.

* * * * *

ANOTHER SCENE AT THE PLAY.

(_That never should be tolerated._)

SCENE--_Auditorium of a Fashionable Theatre. Vast majority of the audience deeply interested in the action and dialogue of an excellent piece. Enter a party of Lady Emptyheads into a Private Box._

_First Emptyhead (taking off her wraps)._ I told you there was no necessity to hurry away from dinner. You see they are getting on very well without us.

_Second Empt. (seating herself in front of the box)._ Yes. And it's so much pleasanter to chat than to listen. This piece, they tell me, is full of clever dialogue--so satisfactory to people who like that sort of thing.

_Third Empt. (looking round the house with an opera-glass)._ Why scarcely a soul in the place we know. Well, I suppose everybody is leaving town. Stay, is that Mrs. EVERGREEN TOFFY?

_Fourth Empt. (also using her glasses)._ Why, yes. I wish we could make her see us.

_First Empt._ Haven't you noticed that you never can attract attention when you want to? Isn't it provoking?

_Second Empt._ Oh, terribly; and there is Captain DASHALONG. Why, I thought he was at Aldershot.

_Third Empt._ Oh, they always give them leave about this time of the year.

_Rest of Audience (sternly)._ Hush! S-s-s-h-s-h!

_Fourth Empt._ I wonder what's the piece about.

_Third Empt._ Oh, it doesn't in the least matter. Sure to be sparkling. Do you like that woman's hair?

_Fourth Empt._ Scarcely. It's the wrong shade. How can people make such frights of themselves!

_First Empt._ I wonder if this is the Second Act, or the First!

_Third Empt._ What does it matter! I never worry about a piece, for I know I shall see all about it afterwards in the papers.

_Rest of Audience (with increased sternness)._ Hush! S-s-s-h-s-h!

_Second Empt._ I always come to this theatre because the chairs are comfortable. What is the good of going to the play unless you can enjoy yourself?

_Third Empt._ Quite so. And it's much better fun without one's husband, isn't it?

_First Empt._ Of course. I never bring mine, because he always goes to sleep! So disrespectful to the actresses and actors!

_Second Empt._ Yes. Of course, one ought to listen to what's going on, even if you don't care what it's all about.

_Fourth Empt._ Quite so. Not that it isn't pleasant to look round the house.

_Rest of Audience (angrier than ever)._ Hush! S-s-s-h-s-h!

_Third Empt._ Yes, I often think that this side of the curtain is quite as amusing as the other.

_Fourth Empt._ I wonder what they are doing on the stage? Oh, I see that the Act is nearly over! Well, I daresay it has been very amusing.

_Rest of Audience (furious)._ Hush! Hush! Hush!

_First Empt._ There descends the curtain! By the way, what a noise those people in the pit have been making! I wonder what it was all about?

_Second Empt._ I haven't the faintest notion. However, when the play begins again, I hope they won't make any more noise. It is so disrespectful to the Audience.

_First Empt._ And the Company. Why can't people behave themselves in a theatre?

_Second, Third, and Fourth Empt. (in chorus)._ Ah yes! Why can't they?

[_Scene closes in upon a renewal of chatter upon the raising of the Curtain on another Act._

* * * * *

"GIVE A _DAY_ A BAD NAME AND----."--It is stated that the day of the disgraceful Donnybrook in the House of Commons has been nicknamed "Collar Day," because Mr. HAYES FISHER seized Mr. LOGAN by the collar, and Mr. CHAMBERLAIN "collared" Mr. O'BRIEN'S table in the dining-room. This is all very well in its way, but would not "_Choler_ Day" be more appropriate and intelligible?

* * * * *

A DREAM-BOOK

_For Would-be Travellers._

If you dream of--

_Antwerp._ Remember the Reubens and forget the passage over.

_Boulogne._ Remember the Casino and forget the Port.

_Calais._ Remember the Restaurant at the station and forget the dull surroundings.

_Dieppe._ Remember the Plage and forget the occasional gales.

_Etretat._ Remember the sands and forget the prices.

_Florence._ Remember the pictures and forget the heat.

_Geneva._ Remember the lake and forget the city.

_Heidelberg._ Remember the castle and forget the climbing.

_Interlachen._ Remember the Jung Frau and forget the tourists.

_Japan._ Remember the interesting associations and forget the length of the journey.

_Lisburn._ Remember that it is little known and forget that it is not worth seeing.

_Madrid._ Remember that you can get there in two days and forget that you will regret the time you spend upon the trip.

_Naples._ Remember that you should see the Bay and forget that you are expected to die immediately afterwards.

_Paris._ Remember that it is always pleasant and forget that the exception is during August.

_Quebec._ Remember it's in Canada and forget that it's the least pleasing place in America.

_Rome._ Remember its objects of interest and forget its fever.

_Strasbourg._ Remember that it has a Cathedral and forget that the clock is a fraud.

_Turin._ Remember that it might be quite worth the journey and forget that it isn't.

_Venice._ Remember its canals and forget its odours.

_Vichy._ Remember that there is a good hotel and forget that you have been there a dozen times before.

_Wiesbaden._ Remember the glories of its past and forget the sadness of its present.

_Zurich._ Remember that it is completely abroad and forget that there's no place like home.

* * * * *

* * * * *

ONLY THEIR PLAY!

Abnormal natures, morbid motives! Yes! These things, upon the stage, perhaps impress. Monstrosities, not true men's hearts, nor women's. Trolls, with a touch of the _delirium tremens_, Neurotic neurospasts, puppets whose wires Are pulled by morbid dreams and mad desires; Not men and women 'midst our world's temptations, But fevered phantasy's bizarre creations. Despite _Solness_ and _Mrs. Tanqueray_, "People don't do these things"--except _in play_!

* * * * *

AS IN A GLASS DARKLY.--Grubby and grovelling "Realists" boast that they only "hold the mirror up to Nature." Perhaps! But when their particular "mirror" happens to be--as it commonly is--dirty and distorting, Nature, like the victim of a bad looking-glass at a country inn, is taken at a disadvantage. There are mirrors which make a man look a monster, but then the monstrosity is not in the man but the mirror.

* * * * *

TIMON ON BIMETALLISM.

(_Adapted from Shakspeare._)

["He advocates bimetallism with the passionate ardour of a prophet promulgating a new revelation. On most subjects he is cool, analytical, _and perhaps a little cynical_; but on this subject he is an enthusiast."--_The Times on Mr. Balfour's Speech about Bimetallism._]

_Timon of London, loquitur_:--

The learned pate Ducks to the golden fool; all is oblique; There's nothing level in our currency But monometallism! Gold doth lord Great lands, societies, and throngs of men. That the sun rounds the earth, that earth's a disc, Are foolish fads that TIMON much disdains As duping dull mankind. But will they rank _My_ fad--Bimetallism--along with such? I seek a dual standard; gold alone Is a most operant poison! What is here? Gold? yellow, precious, glittering gold? No, gods, I am no aureate votarist. Silver seems To me, and to wise WALSH, a fair twin-standard Fit to set up, that variable values May find stability in dual change, _With_ a fixed ratio, which the world must find, Or our one standard, like a pirate's flag, Will lead us to disaster. Monometallism Is--Monomania. This yellow slave Will break, not knit, our Commerce. I can be Cool, analytical, even cynical On trifles--such as Separatism's sin, Or County Council Crime; but this thing stirs My tepid blood, e'en as Statistics warm The chilly soul of GOSCHEN. Come, curst gold, Thou common ore of mankind, that putt'st odds Among the rout of nations, I will make thee Take thy right place! Thou mak'st my heart beat quick, But yet I'll bury thee: thou'lt go, strong thief, Orthodox keepers of thee cannot stand Against a passionate prophet's promulgation Of a new economic revelation. "Put up your gold!" But put up silver, too, (As WALSH, and GRENFELL, and Sage CHAPLIN urge), Or banded Europe--some day--shall smash up Our City to financial chaos. Aye! I may talk lightly about trivial things, And cynically smile on twaddle's trifles,-- Union of hearts, optimist ecstasies, Fervours, and faiths, the breeks of prisoned Pats, Coercion's bondage and such bagatelles-- But on this Titan theme--Bimetallism-- TIMON is in hot earnest!

* * * * *

A Short Way with Wasps.

A plague of wasps infests the South In consequence of the hot season!-- Humph! Is it torrid heat and drouth Deprive our Commons of cool reason? A plague of wasps infests the House! Its managers the matter mull, for They have not (like poor HODGE) the _nous_ To smoke pests out with (moral) sulphur! To check HAYES FISHER'S style, or TIM'S tone, MELLOR tries treacle; he needs brimstone.

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE STORMY PETREL.