Part 1

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 109.

JULY 20, 1895.

TO A LADY HUMORIST.

Your laugh would chase away the blues, Your smile is always sunny, One must be gay--who could refuse? Your "mission" is just to amuse; Discarding all blue-stocking views, You fancy what is funny.

You have no fads on Man's Descent From something quite atomic, On Diet, Disestablishment, On Dress, Diminishing of Rent, Divorce or Dockyard Discontent-- You seek for something comic.

You wear no hygienic shoe, Your dress is never frightful, Your sense of humour makes you too Alive to what you should not do, You laugh at folks, not they at you, You write what's quite delightful.

So laugh, and always make us gay; Stern women are alarming, The boldest men, I need not say, Are simply scared by such as they, You do not bore us, anyway. Your conversation's charming.

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_Unmetrical Adaptation of Robbie Burns' celebrated Line to the "New Woman," whether in male attire on or off Bicycle, in her Club, driving her trap, &c., &c._--"A woman's a woman for a' that."

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OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

Of Mr. ATHOL MAYHEW'S _History of Punch_ the Baron can at present say nothing, no copy of this work having as yet been brought to Our Booking Office, and without a ticket-of-leave, or ticket-for-leaves, granted by _Mr. Punch_ himself, per the Baron de B.-W., the book of MAHU ("MODO he is called and MAHU," as SHIRLEY BROOKS used to quote from _King Lear_) will not have received _the_ "imprimatur." Already it appears, as we read in a letter from Mr. HENRY SPIELMANN (who, if any man living knows anything about _Mr. Punch's_ history, is the Punchian Biographer and Historian _par excellence_ and "by appointment") to the _Daily Chronicle_, Friday, July 12, that in Mr. MAYHEW'S book there are numerous errors on important matters. "_Mayhew-manum est errare._" But "Herr VON SPIELMANN will put him right in his forthcoming book," says

THE JUDICIOUS BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

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COVENT GARDEN OPERA PROVERB.--"When in doubt play _Faust_."

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"HAPPY THOUGHT!" (_Apropos of a recent case in the Marylebone Police Court_).--What a good title for an old-fashioned pantomime in the East End (where _the_ real pantomimes used to be): "_Harlequin and the Mysterious Manx Mannikins; or, Snapshot and the Demon Camera!_"

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BRIGGS, OF BALLIOL.

PART II.

Two years passed, and never a syllable could I learn of BRIGGS. Then I met TROTTER of Trinity at Piccadilly Circus. "By the way," said he, "I suppose you have heard about poor old BRIGGS?" "No!" I cried. "What of him?" "Oh, I thought you would be sure to know, or I would have broken it to you more gently." "Why?" I asked, with apprehension. "Has anything happened to him?" "Well," he replied, with some hesitation, "I--er--I hardly like to tell you. You were such a friend of his." "You don't mean to say that he is----?" "Dead? No, poor fellow, not dead exactly, but worse than that, I fear. He has become a New Man, you see." I looked at TROTTER in bewilderment. "Why, you see, he is married--yes, he married the O'GRESS, you know. Poor BRIGGS! I saw him yesterday, and, upon my word, I should scarcely have known him. But go and see him yourself; you will never believe my story."

TROTTER wrote me the address on a card, and the next day I called. The maid looked somewhat surprised when I asked for Mr. BRIGGS. He was at home, oh, yes, he was at home, but she didn't know whether he could see me or not, as he was feeding the baby. This announcement rather staggered me, but I pulled myself together sufficiently to assure her that I was an old friend of Mr. BRIGGS; and, on learning this, she asked me to walk upstairs. "This is the nursery," she said, when we had reached the topmost storey. "You will find Mr. BRIGGS inside."

I opened the door, and what a scene greeted me! There was BRIGGS, my old friend BRIGGS, the gallant BRIGGS of Balliol, rocking ceaselessly to and fro the while he crooned in a low monotone to a bundle of pins and flannel that lay cradled in his arms. I sprang forward to grip him by the hand. He laid his finger on his lips, and in an agonised whisper murmured, "Sh!--You'll wake the baby!" I controlled myself, and sank into a chair, to which he motioned me. BRIGGS hushed the infant anxiously for a minute or two until it was well asleep; then he turned to me, and with a sickly smile whispered, "I'm glad to see you, ROBINSON, but please talk very gently, for fear of waking the Cutsababoo."

It grieved me to hear poor BRIGGS talk in this fashion, but there were a thousand questions I was burning to ask him.

"Oh, BRIGGS, why did you leave Balliol so suddenly?" "Sh!" he answered, looking nervously round him. "_She_ took me away." "And why did you never write to anyone?" "Sh! _She_ forbade me." "Forbade you?" "Yes, yes, indeed. Oh, ROBINSON, you do not know my wife!" I was inwardly thanking my stars that I had not this honour when BRIGGS, overcome with his emotion, suddenly flung up his arms and covered his face with his hands. The action upset the equilibrium of the baby, which rolled off his lap, fell on the floor, and awoke with a scream. With a cry of dismay BRIGGS caught up the bundle, and tossed it violently up and down, addressing it the while in such intelligible terms as these--"And did it wake its darling ducky Cutsababoo, it did! It was a naughty cruel Dada, it was!"

It would be hard to say which made the greater noise, BRIGGS or the baby; but BRIGGS had the staying power, and after a fight the baby gave it up. BRIGGS gazed at it as it lay exhausted in his arms, then turning to me, he said, "I think the Cutsababoo has done crying now, ROBINSON. Will you excuse me if I sing him to by-byes?" In olden days BRIGGS had a glorious baritone voice, and to hear him sing the Balliol Boating Song was a musical treat. I therefore readily agreed to stay and listen. "The Duckydoo is very particular," explained BRIGGS. "He will only go to sleep to his own ickle tune, _The New Lullaby_."

"Mummy has gone to the city, Cutsaba--Cutsababoo! But Mummy will think of her Pretty, And buy him a little toy too. Daddy will dandle the Darling, And show him his beautiful toy. Hushaby, Pet! Baby, don't fret! Sleepery, Peepery Boy!

"Mummy is making the money, Cutsaba--Cutsababoo! To buy a new bonnet for sonny, A jacket for Daddykins too. Daddy will dandle the Darling, And show him his beautiful toy. Hushaby, Pet! Baby, don't fret! Sleepery, Peepery Boy!"

BRIGGS had just reached the end of the second verse when his keenly sensitive ear caught the sound of a latchkey turning in the door. A look of terror crossed his face. "It's _she!_ It's _she!_" he cried. "Oh, ROBINSON, if she finds you here! Oh, if you love me, fly!" I needed no second bidding. With a hasty grip of the hand I bade my friend farewell, and this is the last that has been seen of BRIGGS of Balliol.

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CUE FOR CANVASSERS.

(_By a Cynic._)

["In all the doubtful constituencies the result may be regarded as depending largely upon the persuasion and argument brought to bear upon individual electors."--_The Yorkshire Post._]

Persuasion? Argument? Very nice names For Radical Caucusites, Primrose Dames, And other retailers of party riddles, _Ex parte_ statements, and taradiddles! Gregarious voters, of old bribes did you all; Now argument deals with the "individual." With the man--or his wife--you must seek occasion, Canvasser clever, to try "persuasion." To "argue" that BLOGGS is the likeliest chap To pour prosperity into your lap; To "persuade" the Missus that that MCQUIRK Will deprive her "man" of his beer _and_ work! Oh, sweet are the virtues, upon occasion, Of moral (or even _im_moral) 'suasion! When blankets run out and when money's all spent, Then, then comes the value of "argument." And if the "argument" takes the form Of orders and jobs in a perfect storm; And when "persuasion" the future gauges A promise of liquor and higher wages; Why, then the result is the same almost, 'Twixt you and me, and the (_Yorkshire_) _Post!_

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A DALY SACRIFICE TO SHAKSPEARE.--Again, thanks to the enterprise of Mr. AUGUSTIN DALY, one of SHAKSPEARE'S comedies is rendered resplendent with appropriate accessories. _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, furnished with new illustrations, and sparingly curtailed by necessary "cuts," becomes more poetical than ever. Miss ADA REHAN is a "dream" in herself, and Mr. LEWIS, as an American playing in England, becomes "translated" every evening to the complete satisfaction of an appreciating and crowded audience. The play should run from Midsummer into Michaelmas.

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A HENLEY BARCAROLLE.

(_By a Parasyllabic Swain._)

My lovylade, I peg and bray That you will pun my joint to-day; And we will, dreaming o'er the stodge, In some remote lackwater bodge.

We'll take a man JOE, bandoline, And hick-cup, as we slop between The bangled tanks--we'll sink and drip, And strum the things on board our ship.

List to my lovesick, mew, and come Far from the giddy, higgling gum! Relaying hearses, we will croon, And through each glowering hide we'll _spoon!_

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Advertisement (_in "Standard"_).--"_Great Yarmouth. Small House. Close Aquarium and sea. Servant left._" Who was there when "servant left"? Also why "close Aquarium and sea"? Perhaps easy but unwise to close the former, but quite impossible to shut up the latter.

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"GOOD BIS"-LEY. "TELL THAT TO THE MARINES."--The United Services Cup was adjudged to the Marines at Bisley. In this competition the Marines were the best, "all told."

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A SMOKING CHRISTIAN CONCERT.--In these smoking hot July days a Smoking Mission seems a good notion. Yet the Baccy-nalian missionaries may probably have to say, "We have pipe'd unto you, and you have not responded," except as long as the supply held out. Will there be distributed tracts entitled _A Bird's Eye View of Heaven_, _A Short Cut to Truth_, _Returns to Virtue_, _What is Life?_--_A Mixture!_

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PROVERB À PROPOS OF LATEST NEW WALTZ, "KING GRETCHEN."--"It's the last STRAUSS that breaks the record."

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BAWBEES ACROSS THE BORDER.--The _Dundee Advertiser_ has recently published a table showing the distribution of Ministerial salaries amongst Peers, Liberal Unionists, and Scotchmen. According to our canny contemporary, "Scotland fares badly in the new Administration." The reason for this lament is found in the fact that the share of Caledonia--"the spoil is taken chiefly by the Clan Balfour," remarks the _D. A._--amounts only to £12,425. And yet this sum represents the "banging" of a good many "saxpences." North Britain is unreasonable!

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WASTING HER SWEETNESS.

(_An Electioneering Study._)

ARGUMENT.--Mrs. HORACE HONEYBALL, wife of the Liberal Candidate for a Metropolitan Working-class Constituency, has undertaken in her husband's interests a house-to-house canvass in Bodgers' Buildings.

_Mrs. H. H._ (_to herself, as she threads her way through a grove of drying linen_). "I do _wish_ they would hang out their washing somewhere else--it's absolute ruin to one's hat! What a depressing place--but then they're all the more likely to be on our side. Have I got my canvassing cards and the bundle of leaflets? Yes--then I'd better begin.... How do you _do_, Mr. DOLLOP?... No, _please_ don't move--I see I've come upon you all at your tea. So refreshing on a warm afternoon like this!... No, not any for me, thanks, I never touch it--and besides, I had some before I came out, you know.... Oh, never mind about wiping a chair for me, Mrs. DOLLOP.... Yes, _quite_ comfortable, I assure you. What a delightful home you have, with all those charming coloured pictures on the wall, and so _beautifully_ clean, too!... Ah, if you only knew the trouble and worry of a great house and a whole tribe of servants.... But you mustn't say that; _no_ one need despair of getting on nowadays, you know. And this is your little boy and girl? such bright, intelligent little faces. Jam _is_ so wholesome for them, isn't it?... HALBUT and HALICE? Really! such pretty names _I_ always think; and both beginning with--er--H.... Well, yes, _I have_ called on some particular business. I daresay, now, Mr. DOLLOP, you're quite a politician.... A plasterer? Now, _how_ delightful! Because I must tell you that my husband.... No, I'm afraid _not_. You see, we've only just had the whole house thoroughly done up. I was only going to say that my husband has such a respect for plasterers as a class, you know. Haven't I mentioned who he is? _How_ stupid of me! He's Mr. HONEYBALL, the Radical Candidate for this place.... Yes, I've come about the elections, of course. Oh, but you _ought_ to care; I'm sure you're far too intelligent a man to be really indifferent who represents you in Parliament! And my husband is so devoted to the working-classes; it's been quite the aim of his life to do something for them. His motto is, 'Trust the People.'... Oh, _dear_ me, no--he's not a _shopkeeper_--he's at the Bar.... Certainly _not_. He's in favour of doing away with public-houses. He's a barrister--a _lawyer_, you know.... Ah, but perhaps you haven't been fortunate in such lawyers as you've _met_.... Well, but you wouldn't like the _Tories_ to get in, _would_ you?... But they've _had_ their 'innings,' as you call it; they've been in a whole fortnight--and what have they _done_?... And if the Liberal Government is kept out, what will become of all the great reforms they've been trying to give you?... Well, there's Home Rule, for _one_.... Surely you're in favour of letting the Irish manage their own affairs?... No, that's _such_ a mistake; they _won't_ want to manage ours--at least, except Imperial matters--and why _shouldn't_ they?... All that can so easily be settled afterwards.... Don't you call 'One man one vote' a great reform?... Isn't it monstrous that some people should have five or six votes, while you only have one?... It's foolish to say they're 'welcome to them,' like that, when they only use them to deprive you of your rights.... Then there's Welsh Disestablishment.... Oh, if you really can't see the immense importance of it, all I can say is, I'm extremely sorry.... Yes, I'm going now, and I hope, before the election day comes, you will have learnt to take a more enlightened----_Good_ afternoon."

"I'm so glad to have found you at home, Mr. BILGER. I'm Mrs. HONEYBALL, and I want you to support my husband at the election--he's standing as a Liberal, you know.... Oh, yes, I think I can tell you his views on the Liquor Traffic. He's anxious to see the curse of drinking thoroughly stamped out.... No, I'm sure you're no friend to publicans--you look _far_ too respectable.... Yes, as you say, they get rich on the earnings of the poor, and it's high time they were done away with.... _Certainly_ you may ask me a question.... No, of course my husband would not _dream_ of putting down Clubs: he belongs to several himself.... Oh, you meant _Working-men's_ Clubs. You belong to one yourself? So _sensible_ of you!--and of course there can be no possible objection, so long as no intoxicating liquor----_Not_ conducted on Teetotal principles? I'm afraid that _would_ make a difference.... Why? Because, don't you _see_, if people can go and join Clubs, and get drink there, there would be no use in closing the public-houses, _would_ there? We must be _logical_.... No _doubt_ intoxicating drinks are supplied in Clubs, but I don't see what _that_ has to do with it.... My husband? No, he's not a total abstainer, but still----... No, no; it's not a question of one law for the Rich and another for the Poor at _all_. You don't quite _understand_.... If you _really_ have heard enough, I'll go, of course.... Not at all. If anything I've said has helped you in making up your mind, I'm only too----Don't trouble to come to the door!"

"Mrs. MANGLES, I think? Your husband _not_ at home, I see. It doesn't matter--you will do _quite_ as well. I'm Mrs. HONEYBALL.... Oh, you _have_ heard the name.... Seen my husband's picture on the placards? Oh, you're not taking a liberty in the very _least_. I shall be only too _delighted_ to give you one. He _is_ rather nice-looking, isn't he? I'll tell you what I'll do--when I get home, I'll send you one of his photographs to put on your mantelpiece.... Oh, I _don't_ think I should have it coloured, if I were you.... But his hair and moustache aren't _auburn_, and what _do_ you want to put him in a red tunic for?... Really? The living image of your first young man? He _will_ be flattered!... You've had several since? I can quite believe _that_.... Well, if you will promise to get your husband to give me his vote, perhaps----_Why_ should I have to go to the--er--'Cimingtery' for it?... Last Christmas?--_dear_ me! I'm very sorry I----Good-bye, Mrs. MANGLES; and--er--if I _do_ find I have a photograph to spare----but the portrait of him on that leaflet is really more _like_, you know!"

"No, don't put _down_ your pipe, Mr. GOWLES; I--I _love_ the smell of tobacco!... You weren't _intending_ to--how friendly of you!... I daresay you don't know who _I_ am?... Perhaps not, but you'll let me _tell_ you, won't you?... I've come to ask you to vote for my husband, Mr. HONEYBALL; he's not a _Tory_, you know, he's a thorough-going Radical.... Not going to vote for either of them?--Now _why_?... Oh, no, I'm _sure_ you're not--you're _much_ too pleasant and gentlemanly to be a horrid Socialist!... You want everything done away with? Well, the Liberals _are_ going to abolish a lot of things. There's the House of Lords, for instance, you're against _them_, I'm sure.... Not more than you are against the House of Commons? Oh, but you don't _really_ want to destroy one of our most ancient institutions!... Capitalists? oh, they're sharks and bloodsuckers and landgrabbers and all that, I _quite_ agree with you there--only they're all _Tories_, you know.... Why shouldn't you share in all the wealth you're assisting to produce? Why are you to be robbed of the product of your brain and hands?--I really don't know--it's very wrong, no doubt--what _do_ you produce?... Oh, you're a bill-poster? I _see_. Now don't get excited.... Your only hope is in the Gospel of Hate?... Now _really_, such a _disagreeable_ thing to say!... If I could only bring you to see that by voting for the Liberals----... I'm _not_ a smooth-tongued humbug, and it's extremely rude of you to call me anything of the kind.... I never said you hadn't a perfect right to vote as you pleased.... Very _well_, then, _keep_ your horrible vote, I'm sure _I_ don't want it! (_To herself, as she departs._) I shall go home. If I see any more of these people, I shall find I've turned into a rabid Tory--and I'm sure HORACE wouldn't like that!"

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OPERATIC NOTES.

_Monday_ memorable for MELBA. Never sang better than as mad-as-a-hatter heroine of DONIZETTI'S _Lucia di Lammermoor_. Three hearty, deafening, unanimous encores for the brilliant fireworky Hanwellian vocalisation in LUCY'S (not "H. W. LUCY'S," of the _D. N._, but Miss LUCIA'S) great _de lunatico inquirendo_ scena. After encore, inevitable gigantic basket of flowers handed up to triumphant cantatrice by Beaming BEVIGNANI and talented assistants in orchestra. Conductor and musicians ought not to be used as agents for delivery of bouquets to _prime donne_. If somebody among audience wishes to publicly present singer with floral testimonial, why not let that Somebody step forward (as the person in church who would "forbid the banns" is invited to do) and hand it to her himself on a stick? Or if he be in some other part of the house, DULCISSIMUS DRURIOLANUS would himself introduce him and his basket of flowers on to, and off, the stage. The encores and the floral testimonial quite turned mad heroine's head.

That is, so turned it round again that she became quite sane and chatted amicably with two or three of the leading chorus "up stage" until it suddenly occurred to her that she must go mad again, which she did at once, most effectively. After this "_Fra poco_," the swan-like (if swan a tenor) death-song of _Edgardo_, cannot go for its value unless sung by a most popular and highly-gifted tenor. So it stands to the credit of Signor DASH-MY-VIGNAS that, in this, he was enthusiastically applauded, and soon after "laid him down and dee'd" in the midst of an admiring and more-or-less sympathetic Chorus. Great opera for Chorus giving expression to their feelings. How they cry or laugh, and point and gesticulate and threaten and sympathise as guests in low dresses without anything distinctively Scotch about them, except in the case of one lady over whose shoulder I fancy I detected a tartan scarf of clannish pattern. _Normanno_, played by, I think, IGINIO CORSI (which name, in compliment to the national Scotch liquor, ought to have been changed to "IWISKIO CORSI"), bore remarkable resemblance to Markis o' SALISBURY. I do not remember ever having seen or heard Lord SALISBURY as a vocalist. To be remembered as _The_ MELBA Night of the Season--up to now.