Part 1

Produced by Punch, or the London Charivari, Malcolm Farmer, Nigel Blower and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 93.

November 5th 1887.

THE LETTER-BAG OF TOBY, M.P.

FROM AN INTENDING EMIGRANT.

_Liverpool, Saturday Noon._

DEAR TOBY,

My boat is on the shore, And my bark is on the sea, But before I go, TO-BEE, I will write a line to thee. I am here to join the bark aforesaid, which will presently convey JOSEPH and his fortunes to the United States. As far as one can judge from the Press news telegraphed here, the reception that awaits me is not very cordial. I have all my life been conscious of a tendency to rub people down the wrong way. Unhappily the consciousness is borne in upon me only after the evil is effected. No succession of experience has effect upon my conduct. HARTINGTON and I are pretty good friends now, but I daresay you will remember the night, now a dozen years dead, when I rose from a seat below the Gangway in the House of Commons and, amid frantic cheers from the little Radical Party of which I was then a humble ornament, denounced him as "_late_ the Leader of the Liberal Party." The Markiss is now my friend and ally, and I might almost say patron. The time is too short for me to recall a tithe of the nasty things I have said about him and others who toil not, neither do they spin. With GLADSTONE the process is reversed, but in the end is much the same. I began by adulating him, and now no one can say that that is my precise attitude towards him.

It is more or less well as far as individuals are concerned. But I am afraid I put my foot in it when, in defiance of historic warning, I framed an indictment against a whole nation. Going out to the New World on a mission of peace, I began by aggravating Canada and setting up the back of the United States. When I reflect how easy it would have been for me to say nothing, I stand amazed at my own indiscretion. The only recompense I find in the situation is the chagrin of the Markiss and his friends. They thought they had done a nice stroke of policy in engaging me on this business. It is, of course, not a new procedure. If I were still on the other side, I should take delight in showing that herein, as in the matter of the Convention with France just completed, they have taken a leaf out of the book of their political opponents, and re-issued it with their own imprimatur. The last time a Commissioner was sent out from England to reason with the United States, GLADSTONE was in the Markiss's place, and he selected STAFFORD NORTHCOTE as the agent. It was an excellent device, tying in advance the hands of the enemy, who could scarcely denounce a policy for the initiation and direction of which one of their principal men was chiefly responsible. But what a difference between STAFFORD NORTHCOTE and me!--a difference which the Markiss is already beginning to realise. The proposal suited me well enough. It would take me away from the country at a time when my presence here only involves me in embarrassing controversy. Moreover, if I made a great hit, and insured a successful Treaty, it would pave the way for my return to my old position in the popular esteem. As for the Markiss, my acceptance of the work would secure for him an ally on the Opposition benches in the event of future debate arising out of the Treaty, and would draw into close, personal union with his Party what only natural modesty prevents me from alluding to as a formidable antagonist. That was the little game; and for the sake of saying something bitter, under the temptation to gird at an adversary that had affronted me, I hopelessly spoiled it.

Writing to you, _cher_ TOBY, in the confidence of friendly correspondence (I suppose your letters are not opened at the Post Office, Barkshire not being an Irish county) I will confess that I really could not help it. It is not that I do not know better, but my temper is perhaps a little peculiar. I am essentially a fighting-man. If any one bites his thumb at me I will know the reason why, and no considerations of what is politic will prevent me from returning a blow. I know that some people think I'm almost to be pitied because (as they put it) I have hopelessly thrown away a position which no one but myself could have destroyed. They think I am politically done for. We shall see. However it be, I shall not forget the wild joy of battle that the events of the past year have purchased for me. I like it best with my back to the wall in the House of Commons, when my old friends jeer and howl at me, and the rapturous cheers of the Conservatives testify their pleasure at seeing me of all men playing their game--as they think. I confess things at the moment are not from any point of view very bright. But I can afford to wait, strong in the assurance that I can do better without the Liberal Party than the Liberal Party can do without me. They call me a Dissentient, which reminds me of a story I once heard about an aboriginal resident in the great country whither I am now hastening. A red man was found wandering in the depths of the forest with signs of perturbation manifest beneath his manfully calm exterior. "Are you lost?" he was asked. "No," he answered, "me no lost. Me here. Wigwam lost." It is not I that am a Dissentient Liberal; it is the Liberal Party that is the Dissentient.

Now here is the Mayor come to say that luncheon's ready, and so, dropping into poetry again, I will say good-bye, With a sigh to those who love me, And a smile to those who hate, And, whatever sky's above me, Here's a heart for every fate. Yours faithfully,

J. CH-MB-RL-N.

* * * * *

BOUNTIES TO FOREIGNERS.

_First Passenger (in Underground Railway)._ We're such a frightfully _insular_ nation! Ignorant, exclusive, say-nothing-to-nobody sort of people! Think there's nothing beyond Straits of Dover--or Atlantic Ocean.

_Second Ditto (agreeing out of politeness)._ Horrible? By the bye, that's a nice picture of the Paris Hippodrome, isn't it?

_First Passenger (indifferently)._ Is it? But, as I was saying, insularity is our----

_Second Ditto (startled)._ Hullo! By Jove!--no, it can't be true! Yes, it is--here's an English newspaper taken to giving a column, a whole column, of French news _in French!_ (_Humorously._) Very insular, isn't it?

_First Passenger (not understanding the point)._ Very. And, as I was saying, it's our besetting sin. We hide our heads like ostriches, and refuse to recognise the existence of foreigners. Then what does this insularity mean? It means we're _isolated_--cut off from Europe--hated by everybody.

_Second Ditto (roused at last)._ I don't know what you call being insular and isolated. French Plays are on at a London Theatre. An Italian Exhibition's coming to Earl's Court. We get our music from Germany, our singers from Italy, and our butter and eggs from Belgium and Brittany; and, on the whole, don't you think London's about the most Cosmopolitan Capital to be found anywhere? Ah, here's my Station. Good morning!

[_Jumps out in time to escape indignant retort. Exit._

* * * * *

MAGAZINES IN BULK.--It is as impossible to "sample" a magazine by a monthly number as it is to estimate the quality of a wine by the glass. If you take a bottle you know something about it. Thus when we see the _English Illustrated_ in volume we are fully able to estimate its worth. The present volume is in every way equal to its predecessors. Volume Fourteen of _St. Nicholas_ is one of those good gifts that Brother JONATHAN sends us. It is a delightful collection of child-poems, child-pictures, and child-lore. The editor, Miss MARY MAPES DODGE knows full well how difficult it is to please those keen critics, the children, but she has "dodged" it.

***

THE MAC BATTENBERG.--_Mr. Punch_ is delighted to hear that mother and child are doing well, and congratulates the Infant Princess on being the first of the Royal Family to be born in Scotland since 1600. Could not the next be born in Ireland? "The O'BATTENBERG," would be a splendid title.

***

LATEST FROM LICHFIELD.--DR. JOHNSON loved "a good hater." He ought to have flourished next year--Hatey-hate! Ha! ha!

* * * * *

* * * * *

ROBERT ON LUXURY.

Alderman Sir RENERY KNIGHT, late Lord Mare, and one of the werry best as we ever had, and so was his good wife, the Lady Maress, hapening for to be a setting at the Manshun House when the LORD MARE was gorn out for a ride somewheres, had to receive what I thinks is called a Deputytashun--though not a bit like reel Deputys, who is all werry rich--of poor working-men as ain't got not no work to do, and, like the kind gennelman as he is, he gave 'em sum such capital adwice as to the utter stoopidity of making theirselves noisy and disagreeable when they wants to make people kindly dispoged towards 'em, and as to the well-known fackt, that the best friends of the working-classes is them as spends their money the most freest and the most liberalist, that he set the hole City a ringing with it, and as always happens alike in exacly similar cases, up starts a mere upstart of a Pollytickle Economist--how I hates the werry sound of that larst word, which is ony another name for stingyness and meanness and sham forgitfulness of the pore Waiter--and says as it ain't true! Like his imperance I think, but of coarse ewery body has a right to his own opinion, however ridicklus it may be. But being a Lecturer, and therefore I spose acustomed to use his tung pretty freely, he mite have been xpected to have kept a civil one in his head when he rote his reply to Sir RENERY. Instead of which he fust calls him incorrygible, which I beleeve means that he carnt be conwicted, as if a Alderman and Magistrate could be! He then writes of his "Colossal ignorance!" I don't quite know what it means but I'm quite sure that however small the Alderman's may be, the Lecturer's is ever so much bigger, as I'll prove from my own pussonal knowledge.

He acshally has the ordassity to adwise the Rite Honerable the LORD MARE not to employ so many cooks! Poor hignoramus! has he ever dined at the Manshun House on a trewly grate ocashun? Most suttenly not, or he never would have written such a silly, not to say cruel sentence. Not so many cooks indeed! Does he think that the Chef who has given his whole mind to the preparing of the Thick and Clear Turtle, is not so utterly xhausted that he has to drink two or three glasses of werry old Madeary, and then lay down on his sophy and recover hisself by slow degrees. Does he think that the Fish Cooks, with praps six differing kinds of Fish to prepare, is fit for anything else? and how about the Sauce Artists, let him try to emagine, tho' he'll try in wain, what they has to go through in the tasting line. Then there are the French gentlemen who superintend the production of those wunders in what they calls the guestronommick line, wiz.: the _Ontrays!_ Is it supposed by this "curlossal" hignoramus, that they can, after achieving brilliant success in these wunders of hart, condescend to turn their attention to such werry small deer as poultry and jints? Suttenly not, the thing's absurd. But they requires cooks, tho' of coarse, not of the same hi horder as the Hartists.

But, strange to tell, ewen this is not the wust. Not only is the LORD MARE adwised not to employ so many Cooks, but the trewly wunderful reason is given, becoz he can then employ more railway navvies! Shades of FRANK HURTELLY and SWOYHAY, rest tranquil in your long graves!

But what a dedly hinsult to one of the werry noblest of all noble perfessions, to compare for usefulness a mere railway navvy to a great Chef. Is this strange economist aware that the great Earl of SEFTON, prais to his memory! used to allow his Chef £300 a year and a Horse and Broom for the Park! But all sitch conclusive arguments is I fear utterly lost upon him.

However, there is just one matter for which I have to thank him. I confess that my face werry possibly turned gashly pale as I read his orful letter, I fornatrally thort if he is going to recommend less Cooks he may werry posserbly be a going for to recommend less Waiters! But no, he had the good taste to draw his line there, and for that I thanks him. What a treat it is to turn from the wild projecks of the Lecterer to the wise counsels of the Alderman. No doubt, he says, we could all do without luxuries, but what would become of the millions who produces them? No doubt, he says, we could all live on plain food and drink water--what orful words for a Alderman to write down!--but then what would become of the millions who earns their living in preparing them, and he might have added, as a clencher to his staggering argument, and what would become of Hus? If there is one picter that presents itself to my orrified imagination, that more than any other staggers it, it is that of the hole splendid Army of London Waiters, with their full dress black coats a gitting jist a leetle shabby, and their lovely white chokers jest a leetle shady, a parading the London Streets, and a singing in Chorus, "We've got no work to do!" But no, I feels as that orful dream will never live to be realised, but, to use the classic langwidge as the Lecturer quotes from some frend of his, and which I supposes as he intends as a complement, "let the idol rich still take their proper place as drones in the hive, gorging at a feast to which they have contributed nothing," and he might have added, and never never forgetting the Waiter.

ROBERT.

* * * * *

MR. PUNCH was pleased to notice that a certain noisy Salvationist, who would insist on playing the cornet--did he profanely call it "The horn of salvation?"--to the disturbance of quiet citizens, was made to move on, and treated as a common street-organ nuisance by the Magistrate. Wanted, as soon as possible, an Act to stop all unauthorised Processions, be they what they may.

***

The disastrous fire at WHITELEY'S occupied the entire attention of thirty-four steam fire-engines, "leaving," says the _Standard_, "about a dozen for the rest of London." The "rest" of London will be considerably disturbed if this state of things continues. We are under-police'd and under-fire-brigaded. If GRANDOLPH the Great is afraid of becoming one of the Unemployed, and so getting into mischief, let him turn his attention to supply and demand in this direction, and the ex-Chancellor of the Exchequer may do some good.

* * * * *

* * * * *

T'other and Which; or, an Old Saw re-set.

_The Showman at Nottingham or Islington (exhibiting figures of G. O. M. and Orchid Joe)._ Here you see the Separatist Party as large as life!

_Dubious Elector._ Please, which is the Separatist Party?

_Showman._ Whichever you please, my little dear. You pays your money, and you gives your vote.

***

FREE AND VERY OPEN.--In Canterbury Cathedral, the other day, there was only one worshipper present at the Service! The occurrence is declared to be unprecedented, four having been the previous low-water-mark of attendance. It might be described as "one-man rule," only it isn't the rule, but the exception, it seems. If this sort of thing spreads, the craze for restoring our Cathedrals ought to give way to a cry for restoring their congregations. Was the Service altered to "Dearly Beloved Brother" or "Sister?"

* * * * *

SHOWS VIEWS.

_By Victor Who-goes-Everywhere._

M. COQUELIN is at the Royalty with an efficient French Company appearing in a round of his best-known characters. He has already taken part in _Un Parisien, Don Cæsar de Bazan_ and an entirely new piece (first time in London and elsewhere) _L'Aîné_. This last I had the pleasure of seeing the other evening, and was delighted to find that it was a play that could be safely recommended as a fit entertainment for their charge to the guardians of that apparently very easily-influenced infant, "The Young Person." It is rather suggestive of several English original pieces, amongst the rest _Miriam's Crime_ and _Faded Flowers_. The adopted daughter (rescued as a child from the gutter) of a millionnaire, after her protector's death, undertakes the reformation of her benefactor's brother, who takes, through intestacy, the whole of his senior's estate. To carry this out effectively, the young lady prevents the heir from drinking his _chasse_ after his coffee, and playing a game of _écarté_ with an old friend, for love, and finally offers to marry him. The heir is as quiet as a lamb under these inflictions, until he discovers that his _fiancée_ loves some one else, when he proposes, at the earliest possible moment, to commit suicide. This inconvenient intention is prevented, the adopted daughter marries the man of her choice, and the heir goes back to America, thus all ends happily. COQUELIN, as the heir, was seen to very great advantage in the less sentimental parts of the character, but was not quite so successful when he commenced crying over the portrait of _L'Aîné_, which, by the way, was a very excellent likeness (without the eyeglass) of the Right Hon. JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN. For the rest Madame MALVAU was rather a mature adopted daughter, M. ROMAIN (as "_Georges_--her friend") a little too heavy in more senses than one as the superfluous lover, and M. DUQUESNE a very excellent lawyer. There is nothing particularly brilliant in the writing, and only one line raises a laugh. When the vagabond friend of the heir extends his hand, _M. Vivien_, without a movement, merely asks, "_Combien?_" But on its repetition this admirable joke did not "go" quite so well. Still there is a freshness in the central idea of the play which is welcome. As a rule every one on the French stage weeps over somebody's mother, but in this case the tears were reserved for somebody's brother. It is said that the Author of the piece, M. PAUL DELAIR, is a novice at stage-craft. This seems to me very likely, as had he had more experience, I fancy he would have allowed (especially if he had known that the character was going to be played by M. ROMAIN) _M. Georges_ to have been shot dead in the First Act. This would have been really a great improvement, especially had _Yveline_ (the adopted daughter) been allowed to expire from grief early in the Second. Joking apart, _L'Aîné_ is not half a bad piece, although I cannot conscientiously go so far as to say that it is half a good one. Before the engagement of M. COQUELIN is over, the talented actor has promised to play _Gringoire_. No doubt this will be produced for the benefit of Mr. BEERBOHM TREE, who richly deserves the compliment.

The Paris Hippodrome has once more taken possession of Olympia, where it seems likely to remain until well into next year. The entertainment is of the customary quality, which is saying a great deal in its praise. There are excellent _troupes_ of acrobats and performing dogs (with a wonderful black poodle that is the best clown that has appeared in a Circus for many a long year), chariot-races, and horsemanship in all its branches. This season the Ladies have it all their own way. The last time M. HOUCKE visited us, Gentlemen drove the team of thirty-two, and jumped over the hurdles with the tandem of three; now their places are supplied by members of the fairer sex. The horses who take part in these feats are so admirably trained that the element of danger is entirely eliminated, and, consequently, the change is an improvement. Then an accomplished cob and an elegant elephant take a turn together in more senses than one, for they dance _vis-à-vis_ a waltz and a polka. The novelty of the Show, however, is kept for the second part, and is apparently a page from the Algerian experiences of General BOULANGER. The attention of a tribe of Arabs (seemingly on their road to church) having been attracted to a military train containing a bugle-band of Turcos and some half-dozen soldiers of the French line, devotions are temporarily abandoned for a pitched battle. The Arabs fire upon the Europeans, who, however, after a lively skirmish, succeed in "taking up a position" with the bugle-band, and then retire. The Arabs bearing no ill-will, dancing follows, and the fighting being quite over and forgotten, General BOULANGER, accompanied by a Staff, swaggers in and assists at further military exercises. Then the bugle-band heads the procession of French and Arabs, and, after marching past BOULANGER, _exeunt_. The attack upon the train, if a little perplexing from a purely historical point of view, is capitally managed, and very exciting. Since the opening night the large hall has been very well attended; and now that the American Exhibition is closed, may be expected to be crowded--and a crowded audience at the Addison Road cannot be recorded in less than five figures. "The Wild West is gone--long live Olympia!"

A second visit to the Royal Westminster Aquarium has not improved my opinion of "the Wolves, the Wolves, the Wolves!" (see Advertisement) as a pleasure-insuring entertainment. I have already said that the tricks of these animals cause a "creepy" sensation, and when I made this observation I referred to the "kissing act," wherein a wolf embraces the portly person in the Polish lancer's uniform who has trained it. But the fights between master and brutes are even less tolerable, as may be judged to be the case when I say that, on a recent occasion when I was present, the trainer seemed to be a good-half-hour (no doubt it was an infinitely less period of time) in getting one of his wild beasts into its allotted cage. It is not at all a nice sight to see a man beating a snapping and yelping wolf with a whip, for one feels that there is the element of cruelty on both sides. Take it allround, I prefer "the _belle_ FATMA,"--that is, taking her all round, on which I need hardly say I should not venture,--to "the Wolves, the Wolves, the Wolves!" And I sincerely hope that FATMA (the old lady near her looks more like Fat Ma) may always be able to keep the wolf from her door.

* * * * *

GENTLE JOHNNY BULL.

The way with "demonstrations" tyrants used to take was brief-- Justices gave a rioter the guerdon of a thief! Not only durance vile--our gentler nature how it shocks-- But whipping-cheer, and oh! they set their Brother in the Stocks!

In those days a Stump-Orator had reason to take care, How he denounced, derided, and defied the Powers that were. And if he talked High Treason--Imagine this, my dears! They put him in the pillory, and sometimes clipped his ears.

A People's Friend, unless he took good heed to what he said, Was liable to answer for his language with his head. How venerable soever, a too talkative old Cock, His eloquence might bring him, though a Statesman, to the block.

But happily we, Brethren, now are men of milder mood, And not, as were our ancestors, vindictive, stern, and rude. So much has done the milk of human kindness to assuage, The bile of British hardihood in this forbearing age!