Part 1

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 109.

AUGUST 17, 1895.

"THE SECRET OF SUCCESS."

(_Modern Version of the Story of the Idle and Industrious Apprentices._)

MR. GOODCHILD was admittedly the most successful of merchant princes--not only financially, but morally. From a boy the great trader had advanced on the road of commerce by leaps and bounds. His parents were of humble birth and in poor circumstances, and yet he had risen to the top of the tree of commercial prosperity. Mr. GOODCHILD had shops, warehouses, wharfs, and a fleet of ships. He had never had a reverse. All he had touched had turned to gold. This is so well understood that a description of his enormous wealth in detail would be entirely superfluous.

"Do you really want to know the secret of my pecuniary triumph?" asked Mr. GOODCHILD, when he was questioned on the subject.

"Why, certainly," was the reply. "How is it that your companion, the idle apprentice, came to such signal grief?"

"Because he was always reading the worst of literature. He knew the history of every felon recorded in the _Newgate Calendar_, original edition, and added chapters. That brought my 'colleague as a boy' to such dire disaster."

"And you never perused the pernicious documents?"

"Never. And I can prove my statement to the hilt."

"You never perused them! And why not?"

"Because," returned the prosperous capitalist with a gentle smile, "those in whose hands my future rested had my true interest at heart. _I was never taught to read!_"

And with this suggestive announcement (well worthy of the attention of ratepayers who can control the expenditure of the School Board) the history of the two apprentices is brought to a conclusion at once pleasing and instructive.

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ARITHMETICAL EXERCISE.

_Letter to the Editor._

"SIR,--I read in the Money Market article last week that Dumbells Co., Isle of Man, paid 17 per cent. Now, Sir, a long time ago I invested in Dumbells, and use them regularly every morning; also I recommend everybody to invest in Dumbells. But where is my 17 per cent.? I've never received it. I am certainly considerably better in health and muscular development than I was before my investment in Dumbells. But, putting this at 5 per cent. better, I still want the other twelve. I apply, Sir, to you, for further information, and am, yours hopefully,

"A. WYSE AKER."

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A QUERY.

(_By Omar Khayyam._)

["WANTED.--An UP and DOWN GIRL; aged 16; English; strong."--_Advertisement in "Times," August 7._]

Tell me, mysterious maiden, when and whence And where and wherefore and on what pretence You're "up-and-down"--this riddle rede, I pray, And rid my bosom of a care immense!

Does "up" mean sky-high, "down," upon the ground? Is't on a see-saw that you bob and bound? There's more in this than meets the eye, I fear-- I cannot rest until the clue be found.

Are you a damsel, too, that's in-and-out, And there-and-back, and also round-about? You may be all at once for aught I know, For all I know is clouded o'er with doubt.

Pray, have you golden hair all down your back A-hanging? Is there something that you lack To play with, love, adore--as, say, a bike Whereon to travel up and down a track?

What though I've never met you in the throng, I'm glad you're English-born, sixteen, and strong; Life has its ups and downs (more downs than ups), But you're a _new_ sort--hence this idle song!

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JOVE'S JESTER INTERVIEWED.

(_A Page of Mythology written up to Date._)

The Traveller from the Earth left his balloon and trod the cloud that seemed prepared to receive him. As he did this there was a peal of laughter which echoed far and wide.

"Where am I?" asked the explorer in English, for he was British-born.

"You have come to the head-quarters of waggery," returned the Resident, recovering from a violent fit of merriment. "We are never dull here, we have so much to amuse us."

"Indeed! And how is that?"

"Why, I take a delight in effecting the most comical transformations imaginable. By the simplest means I can cause an inhabitant of the Earth to change his costume five times in as many hours. The jest is provocative of limitless mirth, especially amongst the doctors and the undertakers."

"And what are the simplest means?"

"Why, I will serve up on Monday a sun worthy of the most fiery day in an unusually sultry August. On Tuesday I will send a gale and hailstones, suggestive of the arctic regions at Yule-tide. On Wednesday I will resume the oppressive heat until streams dry up, and water rises to a premium. Then on Thursday I will cover the ground with snow, and finish up the week with a deluge."

The Stranger raised his hat and answered, "The Clerk of the Weather, I presume?"

"Quite so," was the immediate response. "And now you must leave me to my work, or Englishmen will have nothing to talk about."

And the balloon once more continued its progress amidst a perfect salad of the elements.

"Very amusing," thought the Traveller, and then he added aloud, speaking incidentally the opinion of all his countrymen, "but distinctly inconvenient!"

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TO CHLOË.

You're mine "in haste"--and so it ends, The usual scrambling, headlong letter; Long vanished are the days of friends Not otherwise more kind or better, Who yet excelled in this respect-- In that they grudged not time or trouble The choicest phrases to select, Nor wrote their letters "at the double"!

You're mine "in haste." It's not your fault, You're but unconsciously reflecting Our modern life, we cannot halt, The vice is now beyond correcting, But yet we sigh for old-world days When lighter far was toil and worry, When life was spent in peaceful ways Without the least idea of hurry.

You're "mine in haste"--but as I'm told (The saying's not precisely novel) That all that glitters is not gold, The fairy palace proves a hovel, So, possibly, that age was dull, And since you've graciously consented To live to-day--it's wonderful And wrong, perhaps--but I'm contented!

You're "mine in haste." I must devote Five minutes to a swift endeavour To pen an answer to your note, But let me sign myself, "Yours ever"; 'Tis not an antiquarian taste Which makes your phrase earn my displeasure So much as that "you're mine in haste" Suggests that I'll "repent at leisure"!

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ONE OF THE CHURCH MILITANT.--The Venerable Archdeacon DENISON celebrated his ninetieth birthday last week. He has been in all the hard fighting, and never shirked. May he yet long be a Denizen amongst us. _Prosit!_

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Mrs. R. says that, though she has known it all her life, yet she could never quite make out what is the meaning of the old saying that "One man can only stand at a door, while another may look over a house."

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BALLAST FOR THAT BALLOON;

_Or, Rubbish to be Shot at the Pole._

Dr. ANDRÉE, if you're going to the Pole by a balloon, (_Punch_ hopes you'll be successful, and he trusts you'll come back soon,) _Could_ you find a little room for some companions in your car? We have some whom we should like to see thus travelling afar. _Place aux dames!_ There's the New Woman whom we really do not want, And the Female-suffrage female, and the shrieking slave of Cant; There's the Fashionable Mother who constricts her daughters' waists, There's the Woman with a Past, who so pollutes the public tastes; There's the female who is masculine, the male effeminate, The Hedonist of hollow heart and paradox-muddled pate; There's that big bore the Degenerate, he'll turn up, divil doubt him! And that other bore, almost as big, who writes big books about him; There's the pedlar of Emotions, and the petty foe of Morals, There's the stirrer up in newspapers of journalistic quarrels; There's the thorough paced denouncer of Creation's horror--Man; There's the muckrake wielding maunderer on the Mysteries of Pan; There's the dirty dynamiter, the neurotic novelist!-- Oh, take them to the Pole, Sir, I'll be happy to assist, And drop them there--and _leave_ them there--"they never will be missed!"

* * * * *

On account of the vogue for cycling in Battersea Park this summer, the past two months will be remembered as the "Bike-at-Batterseason '95."

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BY OUR NOTES-AND-QUERY-MAN.

_Mem. for the next Historian of England._

It is probable, from recent discoveries in the Archives of the State Paper Office, that immediately after the time of CRANMER, in consequence of his having recanted two or three times, the See of Canterbury was to have been re-named "The See of Recanterbury." Also the question as to the origin of the name is, we believe, finally settled by the fact having come to light, that, every Archbishop, in consequence of the extent of his diocese and the necessity of his taking exercise, was compelled to be (as was Dr. TAIT, and as is the present Archbishop, Dr. BENSON) an excellent equestrian, and that the favourite pace for proceeding comfortably and expeditiously was "a canter." The origin of the "bury" has yet to be accounted for, as it has been spelt at various times "_bery_, "_berry_", "_berie_," "_burrie_," "_bury_." But Kent being an hop county, and beer the popular beverage from time immemorial, it is highly probable that as "_canter_" referred to the horse, so "_bery_" (with the "_e_" long "_beery_") referred to the refreshment for man (not for beast) required during the journey. This is from an antiquarian point of view most interesting.

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"THE COWES WEEK."--This, read out aloud to a dairyman and a butcher, sounds bad; as the first would be anxious as to the milk, and the second as to the veal: for he would argue, "If the cow's weak, what'll the calf be?"

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THE POET LAUREATESHIP IN ABEYANCE.--Why not go to the City for our Poet Laureate? If a name be any indication, the choice ought at once to fall upon "Alderman RYMER."

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THE COUNTRY OF COCKAIGNE.

A MONOLOGUE--WITH A MORAL.

SCENE--_An airless Court in a London back street._ TIME--_August._

_Jimmy_ (_aged eight, to_ FLORRIE, _aged seven_). No, I ain't comin' to the Reckereation Groun', not jess yit, I carn't.... I'm goin' ter wyte about 'ere till the lidy comes.... Why, 'er as is comin' to see my Muvver 'bout sendin' me fur a fortnight in the kerntry.... Yus, where I was larst year.... It's settled as I'm ter go agine--leastways as _good_ as settled. My Farver 'e've sent in a happlication to the K'mitty, and Teacher 'e sez 'e kin reckermend me, an' Mr. and Mrs. DELVES--them as 'ad the cottidge where I went afore--they've arst fur to 'ave me agin--so yer see, FLORRIE, it's all _right_. On'y I carn't settle to nuffink afore I know when I'm goin', an' about the trine an' that. Yer 'ave ter roide in a trine ter git to the kerntry, yer know.... Wot, ain't yer never bin there?... Yer'd wanter fawst enough if yer knoo what it was loike.... There's grorss there, an' trees an' that.... Na-ow, a _lot_ better 'n the Reckereation Groun'--that's all mide outer old grivestones as the deaders 'as done wiv. There's 'ills an' bushes an' 'edges where yer can pick flowers. ...There ain't no perlice to _git_ yer locked up.... An' everyfink smells so lovelly, kinder 'elthy like--it mikes yer feel 'ungry.... Not like sassages an' inions azackly--'tain't that sorter smell.... On'y 'ere an' there, an' yer'd 'ardly tell they _was_ shops, they kerry 'em on that quoiet.... Yer wouldn' call it poky if yer was there. Mr. DELVES 'e _was_ a kind man, 'e was; mide me a whistle outer a sickermore brornch, 'e did; an' Mrs. DELVES she lemme 'elp her feed the chickings.... They 'ad a garding beyind, an' there was rasberries an' gooseberries a growin on bushes--strite, they was--I ain't tellin' yer no lies--an' eat as many as yer like, yer could. An' they 'ad a dog--_Rover 'is_ nime was--'e was a koind dog, lemme lay insoide of 'is kennel orfen, 'e would.... I'd like ter 'ave a run over thet Common agen, too. I dessay as I shell--p'reps the d'y arter to-morrer.... There's a pond on it, an' geese, an' they comes at yer a stritching out their necks an' a-'i sin' thet sevidge.... Na-ow, yer've on'y got ter walk up to 'em, an' they goes orf purtendin' they took yer fur somebody else, an' wasn't meanin' no offence. I ain't afride o' no geese, I ain't--nor yet LILY wasn't neither. We sor a pig 'aving a ring put froo 'is nose one day. 'E 'ollered out like 'e was bein' killed--but 'e wasn't. An' there was a blecksmiff's, where they put the 'orse's shoes on red 'ot, an' the 'orse 'e never took no notice. Me an' LILY used ter go fur long walks, all under trees. Once she showed me a squill--"sqerl" _she_ kep' a-callin' of it, till I tole 'er 'ow--an' it run up a tree zigzag, and jumped on to another ever so fur. That was when we was pickin' nuts. We went a blackberryin', too, one day.... Na-ow, there warn't nobody dead. An' LILY.... LILY DELVES 'er nime was, b'longed to them I was stoppin' wiv.... I didn't notice partickler.... Older nor you, an' bigger, an' lots redder 'bout the cheeks.... She wasn't a bad sort--fur a gal.... I dunno; I liked _all_ on 'em.... Well, there was Farmer FURROWS, 'e was very familiar, said as 'ow I might go inter 'is horchard an' pick the happles up as was layin' there jest fur the arskin'. An' BOB RUMBLE, 'im as druv Mr. KENNISTER the grocer's cart, 'e used ter gimme a roide along of 'im when 'e was tikin' round porcels an' that. We'd go along lanes that 'igh yer couldn't see nuffink fur leaves; and once 'e druv along a Pork with tremenjus big trees in it, an' stagses walkin' about underneath with grite big 'orns.... Suthink like 'im as is drawed outside the public round the corner--on'y they warn't none o' them gold. I 'speck them gold ones is furrin.... An' the grub--we 'ad beefstike pudd'n o' Sundays, an' as much bread an' treacle every day as ever I could eat, an' I _was_ 'ungry when I was in the kerntry.... An' when I come away Mrs. DELVES she gethered me a big noseguy fur to tike 'ome to Muvver--kissantimums, marigoles, an' dyliers, all sorts there was--an' Muvver she put 'em in a jug, an' soon as ever I shet my eyes an' sniffed, I could see that garding an' _Rover_ an' LILY as _pline_--but they went bad, an' 'ad to be froed aw'y at larst. I shall see 'em all agine very soon now, though, won' thet be proime, eh?... Whatsy? 'Ere, FLORRIE, you ain't _croyin'_, are yer?... Why don't yer arsk yer Farver if 'e won't let _you_ go.... Oh, I thought as yer _wanted_ to go. Then what _are_ yer----?... No, I ain't gled to git aw'y from you.... A-course I shell be gled to see 'er; but that ain't why, it's jest----You ain't never bin in the kerntry, or you'd know 'ow I'm feelin'.... There's the lidy comin' now. I must cut across an' 'ear what she sez to Muvver.... Don' tike on--'tain't on'y fur a fortnight, anyway.... Look 'ere, I got suthink for yer, FLORRIE, bought it orf a man what 'ad a tray on 'em--its a wornut, d'yer see? Now open it--ain't them two little choiner dolls noice, eh?... I'd rorther you 'ad it nor 'er, strite, I would!... I'll be back in a minnit.

AFTER AN INTERVAL OF TWENTY-FOUR HOURS.

No, _I_ ain't bin nowhere partickler.... Settled? yus, it's all settled 'bout me goin' ter the kerntry.... To-morrer? no, I ain't goin' _to-morrer_.... Nex' week? not as I _knows_ on.... You wanter know sech a _lot_, you do!... If I _do_ tell yer, you'll on'y go an' larf.... Well, I ain't goin' at all--_now_ I 'ope you're pleased.... What's the good o' bein' _sorry?_... Oh, I don't keer much, I don't.... Set down on this step alonger me, then, and don' you go sayin' nuffink, or I'll stop tellin' yer.... You remember me goin' in yes'day arternoon to 'ear what the lidy said? Well, when I got in, I 'eard 'er s'y, "Yus, it'll be a great disappintment fur 'IM, pore boy," she sez, "arter lookin' forward to it an' all; but it can't be 'elped." An' Muvver, she sez, "'Is Farver'll be sorry, too; it done JIMMY ser much good larst time. 'E can't pay not more nor 'arf-a-crownd a week towards it, but he can manage that, bein' in work jes now." But the lidy sez, "It's this w'y," she sez, "it costis us neelly arf a suffering over what the parints pays fur each child, and we ain't got the fun's fur to send more 'n a few, 'cos the Public don' suscroibe ser much as they might," she sez. "An' so this year we're on'y sending children as is delikit, an' reelly _wants_ a chinge." So yer see, I ain't a goin'. I dunno as I'm delikit; but I _do_ want the kerntry _orful_ bad, I do. I wish I never 'adn't bin there at all, 'cos then preps I shouldn' mind. An' yit I'm gled I bin, too. I dreamt about it larst night, FLORRIE, I did. I was a-settin' on this 'ere step, sime as I am now, an' it was 'ot an' stoiflin', like it is; an' all of a suddink I see Mr. KENNISTER'S cart wiv the grey 'orse turn into our court an' pull up hoppersite, an' _Bob Rumble_ 'e was a-drivin' on it. An 'e sez "Jump up!" he sez, "and I'll tike yer back to Mr. DELVES'S cottidge." And I sez, "May FLORRIE come too." An 'he sez, "Yus, both on yer." So up we gits, an' we was droivin' along the lanes, an' I was showin' yer the squills an' the stagses, an' jes as we come to the turn where yer kin see the cottidge----Well, I don' remember no more on it. But it was a noice dream so fur as I got wiv it, an' if I 'adn't never bin there, I couldn' ha' dreamt it, _could_ I, eh? An', like as not, I'll dream the rest on it anuvver night.... An' you must try an' dream your share, too, FLORRIE. It'll be a'most like bein' in the kerntry in a sort o' w'y fur both on us, won't it?

THE MORAL.--The offices of the Children's Country Holidays Fund are at 10, Buckingham Street, Strand, and contributions should be made payable to the Hon. Treasurer.

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"Now I'm set up!" as the first page in type observed to his companion pages in MS.

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"RULE, 'BRITANNYER'!"

_Being a loyal letter from Mr. Jeames, at Cowes Regatta, to Mary in Mayfair._

DEAR MARY,--"_Rule, Britannyer!_" To that sentiment I'm partial, As there isn't not one like it, not to make a man feel martial, Pattryottic, and all that, dear. But at this serblime conjunction-- Of ryalties and regattas--wy I hutters it with hunction. Rule, _Britannyer!_ As you'll understand I mean the Ryal yot! Hah! Haitch-Har-Haitch--Eving bless him!--knows hexactly wot is wot In the way of yots and racing; wich I'm free to own, my dear, As I _don't_. And moresomever it do make me faint and queer When I think of Hengland's 'Ope aboard that skittish, sloping thing, As looks to my shore-going eyes like a white bird _all wing_. Well, I own I'm not a Wiking; all _I_ want of the blue sea Is a kipper for my breakfust, and a winkle with my tea. But the Guv'nor, _he_'s a topper at the nortickle. Great Scott! 'Ow he _do_ put on the Brayvo 'Icks when once aboard a yot! He's a puffeck pocket Neptune, wich a chubby little chap, Looks perticularly fetchin' in a trotty yotting cap. Then he loves the swells--like I do--and it's sweet to 'ear him tork Of his pal the P. of W. and his chum the DOOK O' YORK. He's just like a locomotive on the everlastin' puff, He enjys hisself like fifty, and he's never 'ad enuff: I _do_ like to 'ear him patter to the cumpany ashore, He keeps his friends a-bustin', and the table in a roar. I on'y wish, dear MARY, I could phonygraff his chat, And kinettyscope his haction; you would roar all round your 'at. The Cowes Week _would_ 'ave been rippin' if it 'adn't bin for rain;-- (As was bad for Ryal Princes, and likeways for Messrs. PAIN). And them tuppenny-apenny "trippers," as did ought to be kep out When hus gentry is a-swarmin', and there's Ryalties about. The Solent should be cordon'd hoff for Hemperors once a year, For a mix o' Margit manners, and Salvationists, and beer, Ain't no welcome for a Kyser, no, nor yet a Shazydar, As demmocrycy is gettin' too permiskus like, by far. A orty OWEN ZOLLERN didn't ought to be mixed hup With Bank 'Olidays and bikes, when _he_'s a runnin' for a Cup. 'Tis his seventh Solent wisit, and things went a trifle rum; And if he took the Himperial 'Ump and nex' year _didn't come_, W'y it wouldn't be serprisink, and hus BULLS, and Cowes, would suffer. Whate'er that HEMPEROR _may_ be, he ain't no idle duffer! The Guv'nor, he hadmires him most tremenjus; so do _hi_. It is suthink a'most touchin' for to see him, smart and spry In his simple yotting costoom, with his snowy cap an' ducks, A-taking it so heasy, though he'd none the best of lucks. And his hironclads!!! Great Gumbo--as the Guv'nor loves to say-- They do not spare the powder, and if this is but their play, _I_ don't want to see'em _workin'_. The young HEMPEROR whisked about-- With our Guv'nor on his track, too, don't you make no sort of doubt-- His hork-heye--the Guv's--wos heverywhere. He watchin' each puff an' pop. From the scrubbin' of a binnycle or the twirlin' of a mop, To polishin' the funnel-tops with rottenstone and ile, Wich he said he watched each mornin', Guv wos in it all the while. He fair shaddered the young KYSER. And the story he'd reherse, With a eloquence and hunction quite like droppin' into werse. And he always soots the haction to the word in sech a way, That when fairly on the cackle he's as good as any play. But, O, MARY! it wos orkerd, and yumillyhating too, When our yot--her name's the _Polywog_--to git a better view, Shoved 'erself a bit too forrad, and, amidst a general skoff, Wos tackled by a snortin' tug, and coolly carted hoff! Guv swore he'd tell his pal the Dook but p'r'aps that wos his fun; He also said he'd arsk him why the _Meteor_ didn't run. Owsomever "_Rule, Britannyer_" is quite good enuff for _me_ (Though the "_Hail, Sir_" 'ad a hinnings). I am nuts on Germany, But when Haitch-Har-Haitch wos winnin', why I felt a bustin' throb Swell this buzzum, for I thinks, thinks I, "Old England's on the job!" Wich to see _her_ rule the waves, dear, is the hackmy of _my_ dreams, So no more at present, MARY, from your fellow-servant,

JEAMES.

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