Chapter 1

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 100.

June 13, 1891.

VOCES POPULI.

AT A MUSIC HALL.

SCENE--_The Auditorium of a Music Hall, the patrons of which are respectable, but in no sense "smart." The occupants of the higher-priced seats appear to have dropped in less for the purpose of enjoying the entertainment than of discussing their private affairs--though this does not prevent them from applauding everything with generous impartiality._

_The Chairman_. Ladies and Gentlemen, the Celebrated Character-Duettists and Variety Artistes, the Sisters SILVERTWANG, will appear next!

[_They do; They have just sung a duet in praise of Nature with an interspersed step-dance. "Oh, I love to 'ear the echo on the Moun-ting!_" (_Tiddity-iddity-iddity-iddity-um!_) "_And to listen to the tinkle of the Foun-ting!_" (_Tiddity, &c._)

_A White-capped Attendant_ (_taking advantage of a pause, plaintively_). Sengwidges, too-pence!

_Voluble Lady in the Shilling Stalls_ (_telling her Male Companion an interminable story with an evasive point_). No, but you 'ear what I'm going to _tell_ you, because I'm coming to it presently. I can't remember his name at this moment--something like BUDKIN, but it wasn't that, somewhere near Bond Street, he is, or a street off there; a Scotchman, but _that_ doesn't matter! (_Here she breaks off to hum the Chorus of "Good Ole Mother-in-Law!" which is being sung on the stage._) Well, let me see--what was I telling you? Wait a minute, excuse _me_, oh, yes,--_well_, there was this picture,--mind you, it's a lovely _painting_, but the frame simply nothing, not that I go by frames, myself, o' course not, but I fetched it down to show him--oh, I know what you'll say, but he must know _something_ about such things; he knew my uncle, and I can tell you what he _is_--he's a florist, and married nineteen years, and his wife's forty--years older than me, but I've scarcely spoke to _her_, and no children, so I fetched it to show him, and as soon as he set eyes on it, he says--(_Female "Character-Comic" on Stage, lugubriously_. "Ritolderiddle, ol de _ray_, ritolderiddle, olde-_ri-ido_!") I can't tell you _how_ old it is, but 'undreds of years, and Chinese, I shouldn't wonder, but we can't trace its 'istry--that's what _he_ said, and if _he_ don't know, _nobody_ does, for it stands to reason he must be a judge, though nothing to me,--when I say nothing, I mean all I know of him is that he used to be--(_Tenor Vocalist on Stage_. "My Sweetheart when a Bo-oy!") I always like that song, don't you? Well, and this is what I was _wanting_ to tell you, _she_ got to know what I'd done--how is more'n _I_ can tell you, but she did, and she come straight in to where I was, and I see in a minute she'd been drinking, for drink she does, from morning to night, but I don't mind _that_, and her bonnet all on the back of her head, and her voice that 'usky, she--(_Tenor_. "She sang a Song of Home Sweet Home--a song that reached my heart!") And I couldn't be expected to put up with _that_, you know, but I haven't 'alf told you yet--_well_, &c., &c.

IN THE RESERVED STALLS.

_First Professional Lady, "resting" to Second Ditto_ (_as_ Miss FLORRIE FOLJAMBE _appears on Stage_). New dresses, to-night.

_Second Ditto_. Yes. (_Inspects_ Miss F.'s _costume_.) Something wrong with that boy's dress in front, though, cut too low. Is that silver bullion it's trimmed with? That silver stuff they put on my pantomime-dress has turned quite yellow!

_First Ditto_. It will sometimes. Did you know any of the critics when you were down at Slagtown for the Panto?

_Second Ditto_. I knew the _Grimeshire Mercury_, and he said most awfully rude things about me in his paper. I was rather rude to him at rehearsal, but we made it up afterwards. You know LILY'S married, dear?

_First Ditto_. What--LILY? You don't mean it!

_Second Ditto_. Oh, yes, she _is_, though. She went out to Buenos Ayres, and the other day she was taken in to dinner by the Bishop of the Friendly Isands.

_First Ditto_. A Bishop? _Fancy!_ That _is_ getting on, isn't it?

_Miss Foljambe_ (_on Stage, acknowledging an encore_). Ladies and Gentlemen, I am very much obliged for your kind reception this evening, but having been lately laid up with a bad cold, and almost entirely lost my vice, and being still a little 'orse, I feel compelled to ask your kind acceptance of a few 'ornpipe steps, after which I 'ope to remain, Ladies and Gentlemen, always your obedient 'umble servant to command--FLORRIE FOLIJAMBE!

[_Tumultuous applause and hornpipe._

_Chairman_. Professor BOODLER, the renowned Imitator of Birds, will appear next!

_The Professor_ (_on Stage_). Ladies and Gentlemen, I shall commence by an attempt to give you an imitation of that popular and favourite songster, the Thrush--better known to some of you, I daresay, as the Throstle, or Mavis! (_He gives the Thrush--which somehow doesn't "go._") I shall next endeavour to represent that celebrated and tuneful singing-bird--the Sky-lark. (_He does it, but the Lark doesn't quite come off._) I shall next try to give you those two sweet singers, the Male and Female Canary--the gentleman in the stalls with the yellow 'air will represent the female bird on this occasion, he must not be offended, for it is a 'igh compliment I am paying him, a harmless professional joke. (_The Canaries obtain but tepid acknowledgments._) I shall now conclude my illustrations of bird-life with my celebrated imitation of a waiter drawing the cork from a bottle of gingerbeer, and drinking it afterwards.

[_Does so; rouses the audience to frantic enthusiasm, and retires after triple re-call._

_The Voluble Lady in the Shilling Stalls_ (_during the performance of a Thrilling Melodramatic Sketch_). I've nothing to say against her 'usban', a quiet, respectable man, and always treated _me_ as a lady, with grey whiskers--but that's neither here nor there--and I speak of parties as I find them--_well. That_ was a Thursday. On the _Saturday_ there came a knock at my door, and I answered it, and there was she, saying, as cool as you please--(_Heroine on Stage_. "Ah, no, no--you would not ruin me? You will not tell my husband?") So I told her. "I'm very sorry," I says, "but I can't lend that frying-pan to nobody." So I got up. Two hours _after_, as I was going down-stairs, she come out of her room, and says,--"'Allo, ROSE, 'ow _are_ yer?" as if nothing had 'appened. "Oh, jolly," I says, or somethink o' that sort--_I_ wasn't going to take no notice of _her_--and she says, "Going out?" like that. I says. "Oh, yes; nothing to stay in for," I says, careless-like; so Mrs. PIPER, _she_ never said nothing, and _I_ didn't say nothing; and so it went on till Monday--_well_! Her 'usban' met me in the passage; and he said to me--good-tempered and civil enough, I _must_ say--he said--(_Villain on Stage_. "Curse you! I've had enough of this fooling! Give me money, or I'll twist your neck, and fling you into yonder mill-dam, to drown!") So o' course I'd no objection to that; and all she wanted, in the way of eatables and drink, she _'ad_--no, let me finish _my_ story first. Well, just fancy _'er_ now! She asked me to step in; and she says, "Ow are you?" and was very nice, and I never said a word--not wishing to bring up the past, and--I didn't tell you _this_--they'd a kind of old easy chair in the room--and the only remark _I_ made, not meaning anythink, was--(_Hero on Stage_. "You infernal, black-hearted scoundrel! this is _your_ work, is it?") Well, I couldn't ha' put it more pleasant than that, _could_ I? and old Mr. FITKIN, as was settin' on it, he says to me, he says--(_Hero_. "Courage, my darling! You shall not perish if my strong arms can save you. Heaven help me to rescue the woman I love better than my life!") but he's 'alf silly, so I took no partickler notice of _'im_, when, what did that woman do, after stoopin' to me, as she 'as, times without number--but--Oh, is the play over? Well, as I was saying--oh, _I'm_ ready to go if you are, and I can tell you the rest walking home.

[_Exit, having thoroughly enjoyed her evening._

* * * * *

TO ROSE NORREYS AS "NORA."

Dear ROSE, in your way, you're as brimful of Art As a picture by REYNOLDS, a statue by GIBSON; And we'll never cut _you_, though we don't like your part, Pretty ROSE, in _A Doll's House_, as written by IBSEN, Yet we crowd on your track, as the hounds on the quarry's, And, though carping at _Nora_, delight in our NORREYS.

* * * * *

* * * * *

[MR. PUNCH'S "TABLEAU." SOCIETY IN COURT.]

Up betimes and to the Court at the New Palace of Justice hard by the Strand, and near the sign of the Griffin which has taken the place of Temple Bar, upon which did stand long ago the heads of traitors. There did I see a crowd high and low trying to get in. But the custodians and the police mighty haughty, but withal courteous, and no one to be admitted without a ticket signed by the Lord Chief Justice. And I thought it was a good job my wife was not with me. She had a great longing to see a sensation action (as the journals have it), and she being of a fiery disposition and not complacent when refused, might have made an uproar, which would have vexed me to the heart. But in truth I found no trouble. It did seem to me that they did not see me as I entered in. And plenty of room and no crowding, at which I was greatly contented, as I love not crushing. Pretty to see the crowd of fine folks! And there were those who had opera-glasses. And when the Bench was occupied by the Lord Chief Justice--a stately gentleman--and the other persons of quality, how they did gaze! And the dresses of the ladies very fine, and did make the place--which was splendid, and they tell me the largest in the building--like a piece at the play-house! And the Counsel, how they did talk! Mighty droll to hear them contradict! One would have it that Black was White; which convinced me I had fallen into error, until another had it that he who had spoken was wrong, and White was Black! Good lack! who shall decide when Counsel differ? and I was mightily content that I was not on the jury, although one of these good people did have the honour of asking a question of His Royal Highness. And it was answered most courteously, at which I was greatly pleased and contented. Then did I hear the witnesses. In a mighty dread that I might be called myself! For that which did seem plain enough when he who was in the box was asked by his Counsel, did appear all wrong when another questioned him. And the Jury, looking wise, and making notes. And it is droll to see how civil everyone is to the Jury, who, methinks, are no cleverer than any of us? The Lord Chief Justice himself smiling upon them, and mighty courteous! And met my friend, A. Briefless, Junior, who it seems, is always in the Courts, and yet doeth no business. And he did say that it was the strongest Bar in England. And he did tell me how Sir Charles was eloquent, and Sir Edward was clever at fence, and how young Master Gill was most promising. And I noticed how one fair Lady, who was seated on the Bench, did seem to arrange everything. And many beauties there, who I did gaze upon with satisfaction. To see them in such gay attire was a pretty sight, and did put my heart in a flutter. And I was pleased when the Court adjourned for luncheon; and it did divert me much to see what appetites they all had! Some had brought sandwiches, and, how they did eat them! But the Lord Chief Justice soon back again, and more witnesses examined until four of the clock, when the day was over. So home, and described to my wife what I had seen, except the damsels.

* * * * *

LEAVES FROM A CANDIDATE'S DIARY.

_Billsbury, Sunday, May 25_.--CHORKLE'S dinner came off last night. The dinner-hour was seven o'clock. CHORKLE'S house is in The Grove, a sort of avenue of detached houses shaded by trees. The Colonel himself was magnificent. He wore a most elaborately-frilled shirt-front, with three massive jewelled studs. His waistcoat was beautifully embroidered in black with a kind of vine-leaf pattern, the buttons being of silver, with the regimental badge embossed upon them. His handkerchief was a gorgeous one of blue silk. He wore it in his waistcoat, carefully arranged, so as to show all round above the opening. It looked something like the ribbon of some Order at a distance. Mrs. CHORKLE is rather a pleasant woman, with a manner which suggests that she is much trampled on by her domineering husband. How on earth she ever induced herself to marry him I can't make out. The chief guests were Sir CHARLES and Lady PENFOLD. Sir CHARLES'S father was a large Billsbury contractor, who made no end of money, and represented Billsbury in the House a good many years ago. He was eventually made a Baronet for his services to the Party. The present Sir CHARLES doesn't take much interest in politics, occupying himself chiefly in hunting, &c., but they are people of great consideration in Billsbury; in fact Lady PENFOLD is the leader of Society in Billsbury, and not to know them is to argue yourself unknown. Sir CHARLES himself is an Oxford man, and we had a good deal of talk about the old place.

"Yes," he said, "I was at the House more than thirty years ago, and to tell you the truth, it's the only House (with a capital H), that I ever wanted te be in."

The fact of the matter, so JERRAM told me, was that Sir CHARLES did once want to stand for Parliament, but somehow or other the scheme fell through, and since then he's always spoken rather bitterly of the House of Commons. Their daughter, whom I took in to dinner, is a very pretty girl of nineteen, with plenty to say for herself. She told me they were going to be in London for about three weeks in June and July, so I hope to see something of them. Besides the PENFOLDS there were Mr. and Mrs. TOLLAND; Mrs. TOLLAND in a green silk dress with more gold chains wound about various parts of her person than I ever saw on any other woman. Two officers of CHORKLE'S Volunteers were there with their wives, Major WORBOYS, an enormous, red-whiskered man who doesn't think much, privately, of CHORKLE'S ability as a soldier, and Captain YATMAN, a dapper little fellow, whose weakness it is to pretend to know all about smart Society in London.

Altogether there were twenty guests. Precisely at seven o'clock a bugle sounded on the landing outside the drawing-room to announce dinner. Everything in the CHORKLE family is done by bugle-calls. They have _reveillé_ at 7 A.M., the sergeants' call for the servants' dinner, and lights out at eleven o'clock every night. As soon as the call was finished, CHORKLE went up to Lady PENFOLD. "Shall we march, Lady PENFOLD?" he said. "Sir CHARLES will bring up the rear with Mrs. C." And thus we went down-stairs.

The dinner was a most tremendous and wonderful entertainment, and must have lasted two hours, at the very least. There were two soups, three fishes, dozens of _entrées_, three or four joints--the mere memory of it is indigestive. The talk was almost entirely about local matters, the chief subject of discussion being the Mastership of the Foxhounds. The present Master is not going to keep them on, as he is a very old man, and everybody seems to want Sir CHARLES to take them, but he hangs back. Difficulties about the subscription, I fancy.

In the middle of dinner there was a fiendish row outside. I saw poor Mrs. CHORKLE turn pale, while the Colonel got purple with fury, and upset his champagne as he turned to say something to the butler. Discovered afterwards that the disturbance was caused by two of the young CHORKLES, who had got out of their bedrooms, and were lying in ambush for the dishes. HOBBES LEVIATHAN CHORKLE had carried off a dish of sweetbreads, for which STRAFFORD THOROUGH CHORKLE had expressed a liking. The result was, that HOBBES LEVIATHAN got his head punched by STRAFFORD THOROUGH, who then rubbed his face with sweetbread.

After dinner there was music, but not a whiff of tobacco.

Mother comes to open the Bazaar on Wednesday.

* * * * *

* * * * *

MITRED MISERY.

_June 6th_.--Rather gratifying to find that my service to the Church--I don't mean Church Services--have at length been recognised. Just received intimation of my appointment to Bishopric of Richborough. How wild it _will_ make my dear old friend, Canon STARBOTTLE, to be sure! Well--I must accept it as a _call_, I suppose!

_July_.--Had no idea being made a Bishop was such an expensive business. No end of officials connected with Cathedral, all of whom demand their fee. After spending at least £500 in this way, found there was an additional fee of a hundred guineas for "induction into the temporalities." As there are _no_ temporalities nowadays, this is simply extortion. Remarked so to the Dean, who replied (nastily, I think), "Oh, it's for the interest of the Church not to have _paupers_ for Prelates." I retorted at once, rather ably, that "I could not conceive a better plan for bringing Prelates to pauperism than the exaction of extortionate fees at Installation." Dean replied, sneeringly, "Oh, if you don't value the honour, I suppose there's still time for you to resign." Resign, yes; but should I get back my five or six hundred pounds?

_Next year_.--Strange, how I seem to be singled out for preferment. Am to be "translated," it seems, to diocese of Minchester. Can't very well refuse, but really am only just getting over drain on my purse last year owing to my accepting Bishopric _here_. And on inquiry, find that fees at Minchester much heavier than anywhere else! Is this really a call? Certainly a call on my pocket. And my family cost such a tremendous lot. And then I've had to do up the Palace, left by my predecessor in a perfectly _shocking_ state of disrepair!

_Later_.--My worst apprehensions were realised! Fee for Consecration _huge_! Fee for Installation, _monstrous_! Fee for Investiture, a perfect _swindle_! Isn't there a song beginning "Promotion is vexation, Translation is as had?" Translation is _worse_! Shall really have to consider whether there would be anything unepiscopal in negotiating a little loan, or effecting a mortgage on the Palace.

_Year Later_.--Have been offered vacant Archbishopric! No, thanks! Late Archbishop almost swamped by the fees, and _he_ was a rich man. I am a poor man--thanks to recent preferments--and can't afford it. An Archbishop in the Bankruptcy Court would _not_ look well. "His Grace attributed his position to expenses connected with the various Installation ceremonies, and offered a composition of one-and-sixpence in the pound, which was unanimously declined by the creditors." When _will_ they do away with gate-money in the Church?

* * * * *

Some _savants_ were the other day puzzling their heads to find a convenient and familiar word for the illumination produced by the electric spark. Surely it is _Edisunlight_.

* * * * *

"BEROOFEN!"

"Well," quoth the Baron DE BOOK-WORMS, as he sat down to dinner on a Friday, a week ago, "I must say I have never, never been better in my life! Why, dear me, it is quite a year since I was ill!"

"_Beroofen_!" exclaimed an Italian Countess of dazzling beauty, at the same time rapping the table with one of the bejewelled forks which form part of the Baron's second-best dinner-service.

"Why '_Beroofen_'?" asked the Baron.

"It is a spell against the consequences of boasting," the lady explained. "My mother was a bit of a magician."

"And you, my dear Countess, are bewitching. Your health!" And, pledging her, the Baron drank off a bumper of Pommery '80 _très sec_, and laughed joyously at the notion of his rapping the table--all "table-rapping" being a past superstition, or supperstition when not at dinner,--and murmuring, "_Beroofen_!" And so he didn't do it. "_Beroofen_" never passed his lips: the champagne did; but not "_Beroofen_."

* * * * *

"Ugh I--I feel so shivery-and-livery. Ugh!--so chilly. Here! Send for Dr. ROBSON ROOSTEM PASHA!" cried the Baron, clapping his hands, and a thousand ebon slaves bounded off to execute his commands. Had they not done so, they themselves might have suffered the fate intended for the commands, and have themselves been rapidly executed.

* * * * *

"You've got 'em," quoth Dr. ROBSON ROOSTEM PASHA.

"Not 'again'!" cried the Baron, surprised, never having had 'em before.

"No: the _phenomena_," said the Eminent Medico.

"Have I?" murmured the Baron, and sank down into his uneasy chair. It was an awful thing to have the Phenomena. It might have been the measles in Greek. Anything but that! Anything but _that_! But Dr. ROOSTEM explained that "_phenomena_" is not Greek for measles, though perhaps Phenomenon might be Greek for "one measle;" but this would be singular, very singular.

"I must tap you," continued the friend-in-need. "No--no--don't be alarmed. When I say 'tap,' I mean _sound_ you."

Then he began the woodpecking business. In the character of Dr. Woodpecker he tapped at the hollow oak chest, sounded the Baron's heart of oak, pronounced him true to the core, whacked him, smacked him, insisted upon his calling out "Ninety-nine," in various tones, so that it sounded like a duet to the old words, without much of the tune--

"I'm ninety-nine, I'm ninety-nine!"

the remainder of which the Baron had never heard, even in his earliest childhood.

So it was a quarter of an hour of inspiration, musical and poetic, and, at its expiration, Dr. MARK TAPLEY, as the Baron declared he must henceforth be called, announced that there was nothing for it but to make the Baron a close prisoner in his own castle, where he would have to live up to the mark, as if he were to be shown, a few months hence, at a prize cattle-show, among other Barons of Beef.

"Champagne Charley is your name, so is Turtle soup, so is succulent food, and plenty of it. Generally provision the fortress, and withstand the assaults of the enemy. If a bacillus creeps in through a loophole, knock him on the head with the best champagne at hand, and, if you're not worse in a day or two, you'll be better in a week! _Au revoir!_" _Exit_ Dr. MARK TAPLEY.

* * * * *

And so the Baron remained within, and sent for his books, and above all _One of Our Conquerors_, by "The GEO. M.," who is the CARLYLE of Novelists. The first volume was missing. In a few days it had returned. The first chapters, however, seemed still wandering. But the Baron was better, and could follow them slowly, though not without effort, wondering whither he was being led. When he arrives at Chapter VII., unless the novelist ceases to meander, the Baron will exclaim with _Hamlet_, "Speak! I'll go no further!" Yet, 'tis marvellous clever and entertaining withal.

* * * * *

Perhaps there will be a vacation after this attack of Miss Influenza on the unfortunate Baron. Alas! for the present, it is _La Donna Influenza_ who is "_One of Our Conquerors_!"

* * * * *

This morning, after a fortnight of it, the Baron was about to announce that he was better, but at the outset he paused, corrected himself, and, tapping the breakfast-table with his fork, he exclaimed, "_Beroofen_!"