Chapter 1

PUNCH,

OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 100.

May 2, 1891.

SONGS OF THE UN-SENTIMENTALIST.

A DUSTMAN'S SILENT TEAR.

I know not how that Dustman stirred my ire: He may have failed to call when due: but he-- My breast being charged with economic fire,-- Was mulcted of his customary fee. I was informed, at first he did not seem To grasp the cruel sense of what he heard, But asked, "Wot's this 'ere game?" as if some dream Of evil portents all his pulses stirred; Then, muttering, he turned, and went his way Dejected, broken! I had stopped his beer! Ah! from that Dustman who, alas! can say I did not wring a sad and silent tear!

I thought the matter o'er. I vowed no more, That I with grief would moisten any eye; Henceforth, whene'er that Dustman passed my door, Upon his beer he knew he could rely! Nay more! For never heeding if my bin Were full or empty, I that Dustman hailed; His grateful smile my one desire to win; I felt I could not help it if I failed. Twice every week he came,--his twopence drew: That Dustman seemed to brighten with his beer. And, if he wept, thank Heaven, at least I knew With joy, not grief, _he shed his silent tear!_

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LEAVES FROM A CANDIDATE'S DIARY.

[CONTINUED.]

_Thursday, April 16_.--On looking through my book I find that I am now a member of ten Billsbury Cricket Clubs, to most of which I am a Vice-President. Not bad, considering that my average in my last year at school was four, and that I didn't play more than half-a-dozen times at Oxford. TOLLAND says there are many more Foot-ball Clubs than Cricket Clubs--a pleasant prospect for me in the Autumn. Have also had to subscribe to six Missions of various kinds, four Easter Monday _Fêtes_, six Friendly Societies, three Literary and Scientific Institutes, five Temperance Associations, four Quoit Clubs, two Swimming Clubs, seven Sunday Schools, five Church or Chapel Building Funds, three Ornithological Societies, two Christian Young Men's Associations, three Children's Free Dinner Funds, one Angling Association, not to speak of Fire Brigade, Dispensaries, and Brass Bands. Have also given a Prize to be shot for by Volunteers, as CHUBSON gives one every year. What with £80 subscription to the Registration Fund, things are beginning to mount up pretty considerably.

Have spoken at three meetings since the Mass Meeting. TOLLAND said, "You needn't refer to Sir THOMAS CHUBSON yourself. Leave our people to do that. They enjoy that kind of thing, and know how to do it." They do, indeed. At our last meeting, HOLLEBONE, the Secretary of the Junior Conservative Club, went on at him for twenty minutes in proposing resolution of confidence in me. "Sir THOMAS," he said, "talks of his pledges. The less Sir THOMAS says about them the better. I can't walk out anywhere in Billsbury for two minutes without tripping over the broken fragments of some of Sir THOMAS's pledges. It's getting quite dangerous. Sir THOMAS, they say, made himself. It's a pity he couldn't put in a little consistency when he was engaged on the job. We don't want any purse-proud Radical knights to represent us. We want a straightforward man, who says what he means; and you'll agree with me, fellow-townsmen, that we've got one in our eloquent and popular young Candidate."

This went down very well. Next day, however, the _Meteor_ "parallel-columned" Sir THOMAS CHUBSON's career and mine. Mine occupied six lines; Sir THOMAS's "Life of honourable and self-sacrificing industry" ran to nearly a column. "It will be observed," said the _Meteor_, "that there is a good deal of blank space in Mr. PATTLE's comparative career; but this no doubt recommends him to his Conservative friends, who are quite equal to filling it brilliantly with their imaginative rhetoric about his chances of success."

Primrose Day, the day after to-morrow. We're going to have a great demonstration at Billsbury. Mother is going down with me to-morrow.

_April 20th, "George Hotel," Billsbury_.--The Demonstration yesterday was a splendid success. At ten o'clock in the morning the Conservative Band marched up to the Hotel and played patriotic airs under the window. Mother and I drove to the Beaconsfield Club in an open carriage and pair, escorted by the band. Mother's bonnet was all primroses, and she carried an immense bouquet of them. _Carlo_ came with us and sat on the back-seat. His collar was stuck full of primroses, and small bunches were tied on to the tufts on his back and at the end of his tail. I wore a buttonhole of primroses, and carried a huge primrose wreath to be placed round the bust of LORD BEACONSFIELD, which stands in the hall of the Club. The coachman and horses too were all tricked out with bunches. TOLLAND and CHORKLE, and all the leaders of the Party, met us at the entrance of the Club, and the ceremony of depositing the flowers all round the bust began. CHORKLE, who once shook hands with DIZZY in the lobby of the House, made a great speech, mostly composed of personal reminiscences of our great departed leader. (By the way CHORKLE has six children, five of them being sons, whose names are BENJAMIN DISRAELI CHORKLE, CECIL SALISBURY CHORKLE, STRAFFORD THOROUGH CHORKLE, HOBBES LEVIATHAN CHORKLE, and RANDOLPH CHURCHILL CHORKLE.) The sixth, eighteen months old, is a girl. Her name is WILLIAMINA HENRIETTA SMITH CHORKLE. They were all present, covered with primroses. I added a few words about the inspiring effect that the contemplation of LORD BEACONSFIELD's career must have upon the youth of the country. Mother's bouquet kept falling off the place she had put it on, and two or three enthusiasts always dashed forward to pick it up, causing a good many collisions. In the middle of my speech, _Carlo_ walked into the centre of the hall, sat down and proceeded to gnaw off the primroses which had been tied to his tail. He then ate them all solemnly, and after that rolled over on his back with his paws stuck straight out, pretending he was dead. I must tell Mother not to bring that dog again. There was a great banquet in the evening. VULLIAMY came down for it and spoke very kindly about me in his speech. Said he had followed my career with profound interest and pleasure from my earliest years. I've only known him a year.

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NOTHING LIKE DISCIPLINE!

(_EXTRACT FROM THE DIARY OF_ PRIVATE ATKINS, _PRINCE'S COMPANY, 4TH BATTALION, H.M.'S GUZZLEBEER GUARDS._)

_Monday_.--Joined the Regiment. Appeared on Parade, and was requested to come to "attention," although the Sergeant _must_ have seen that I was "standing at ease." Expressed a desire that the Commanding-officer should rectify the mistake, when all ended amicably. Sergeant apologised, and promised that it should not occur again. Satisfied. Both Sergeant and Commanding-officer well up in their duties!

_Tuesday_.--Bugle sounded too early for Assembly. Sent a message to the Adjutant by his orderly (with my compliments) saying that I would feel much obliged if the Parade were postponed an hour. Adjutant returned _his_ compliments, with a request that I would give in writing my reason for desiring a delay. Explained (by word of mouth) that I wanted to read the newspapers. Parade consequently postponed as requested. Obliging chap the Adjutant!

_Wednesday_.--Warned for Guard. Sent for the Major of my half-battalion (don't like bothering the Commanding-officer about every trifle), and explained that, although the Surgeon had seen me, and reported me fit, I had a presentiment that the easterly winds would play the very mischief with me if I went "Sentry Go." Major thought, perhaps it would be better if I were struck off duty. Excused Guard in consequence. Good sort Major of my half-battalion!

_Thursday_.--Sorry to find rations very unsatisfactory. Complained to the Officer of the day, who reported the matter to the Captain. Captain said he would have asked the entire company to dine with him at his Club had he not been engaged. He then passed us on to his Subs. The latter most obligingly gave us some food at a Restaurant. _Châteaubriand_ excellent, _Sole à la Normande_ decent, but _Potage à la bisque_ too rich. Mistake to order the latter, as one can never get it _really_ good, except on the Continent. Wine tol-lol. Pol Royer of '84. However, spent a very pleasant evening. Both Subs, when you know them, not half bad fellows!

_Friday_.--Rather a head, and felt generally out of sorts. Warned for Kit-inspection. Couldn't stand this, so called upon General Commanding District. Not at home, but was asked would I see his _locum tenens_? Replied in the negative, as I don't believe in go-betweens. Didn't return to barracks, as I thought I might get a breath of sea-air at Southend.

_Saturday_.--Arrested and conveyed to the Guard-room. Suppose I shall be released with a caution. At any rate, for the present, diary confiscated.

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In the heart of fair Ind, which JOHN BULL hopes to keep, Trade planted a Garden--a Garden of Sleep; 'Neath the hot Eastern sky--in the place of good corn-- It is there that the baneful white Poppy is born,-- Chinese Johnny's desire, lending dreams of delight, Which are his when the poppy-juice cometh in sight. Oh! the Mart hath no heart, and Trade laugheth to scorn The plea of friend PEASE, where the Poppies are born.

In this Garden of Sleep, where white Poppies are spread, Fair INDIA plucketh the opiate head. JOHN BULL says. "My dear, PEASE's tales make me creep. He swears it, fills graves with 'pigtails,' who seek sleep!" Fair INDIA replies, "That may possibly be; But they Revenue bring, some Six Millions, you see! Turn me out if you will, smash the Trade if you must; But--you'll make up the money somehow, Sir, I trust!"

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SOMEBODY'S LUGGAGE.

In view of the intense public excitement aroused by the statement that Lord RANDOLPH CHURCHILL, in his expedition to Mashonaland, is only going to take two books with him--SHAKSPEARE and MOLIÈRE--an Inquiring Correspondent has recently written to several eminent persons on this subject, and has received--so he says--the following replies:--

SIR,--You ask me what books I should take if I were contemplating a visit to the Dark Continent, like Lord RANDOLPH CHURCHILL. The question, in the abstract, and without reference to my own personality, is an interesting one, and no doubt human fallibility would, in the case you suppose, induce me to take several volumes of my own _Gleanings_ with me,--not so much for their intrinsic merits, as because perhaps they might form a new kind of literature for native African potentates. HOMER, too, _of course_. At my time of life, however, I must be excused from grappling with any new Continents, dark or otherwise. I find that Ireland is quite dark enough for me just now. Excuse a card. Yours, W.E. GL-DST-NE.

SIR,--As I am not "contemplating an expedition to the Dark Continent," and have no sympathy with Hottentots, there seems to be no sufficient reason for my answering your questions, or for your asking them. S-L-SB-RY.

SIR,--Your question is ridiculous. The only books worth taking to Africa, or anywhere else, would be a bound copy of last year's _Review of Reviews_, GENERAL BOOTH's epoch-making volume, and--this is indispensable--SIR C. D-LKE's invaluable _Problems of Greater Britain._ When I went to Rome, I naturally took with me the "hundred best books in the world." They were a little heavy, but I thought the POPE would like to see them. However, circumstances prevented my presenting them to His Holiness. Yours, W.T. ST-D.

SIR,--I don't know much about books. I've just written rather a good one on _Cricket_, and I think if I were going to Africa I should take a supply. From all I've heard of TIPPOO TIB, I should think he would enjoy the game; at any rate TIPPOO ought to be able to master tip and run without much difficulty. W.G. GR-CE.

SIR,--Having consulted my relatives--also CAPTAIN M-L-SW-RTH--as to whether there would be any impropriety in giving a reply to your questions, I am happy to say that they seem to think there would be none, but that on the contrary it might even assist the takings at the Aquarium. I may therefore mention that if I were proceeding to Central Africa there is _only one book_ I should dream of taking with me. That would be a copy of the Proceedings of the London County Council, since the joyful date of its advent on this planet. Yours obediently, Z-o.

SIR,--The one book I should take with me to Africa would be DR. PETERS' recent valuable work--_More Light on Dark Africa_. I should give it to the Dwarfs. It would make capital poisoned arrows. H.M. ST-NL-Y.

SIR,--The only book worth thinking about for such an expedition as you mention would be STANLEY's _In Darkest Africa_. Its Maps would be invaluable,--as presents for a rival explorer, whom one might desire to mislead as to his route. CARL P-T-RS.

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MR. HERKOMER AND MR. PENNELL.

PROFESSOR HERKOMER defends the use of Photography for the engraver's purposes, and clearly thinks that what TENNYSON ought to have written, in _Locksley Hall_, was--

"And the thoughts of men are widened by a Process of the Sun's."

He also comforts himself with the reflection that being called over the coals in the _National Observer_, is one of the PENNELL-ties of success.

* * * * *

MR. PUNCH'S POCKET IBSEN.

(_CONDENSED AND REVISED VERSION BY MR. P.'S OWN HARMLESS IBSENITE_.)

NO. III.--HEDDA GABLER.

ACT II.

SCENE--_The cheerful dark Drawing-room. It is afternoon. HEDDA stands loading a revolver in the back Drawing-room._

_Hedda_ (_looking out, and shouting_). How do you do, Judge? (_Aims at him._) Mind yourself! [_She fires._

_Brack_ (_entering_). What the devil! Do you usually take pot-shots at casual visitors? [_Annoyed._

_Hedda_. Invariably, when they come by the back-garden. It is my unconventional way of intimating that I am at home. One does do these things in realistic dramas, you know. And I was only aiming at the blue sky.

_Brack_. Which accounts for the condition of my hat. (_Exhibiting it._) Look here--_riddled_!

_Hedda_. Couldn't help myself. I am so horribly bored with TESMAN. Everlastingly to be with a professional person!

_Brack_ (_sympathetically_). Our excellent TESMAN is certainly a bit of a bore. (_Looks searchingly at her_.) What on earth made you marry him?

_Hedda_. Tired of dancing, my dear, that's all. And then I used TESMAN to take me home from parties; and we saw this villa; and I said I liked it, and so did he; and so we found some common ground, and here we are, do you see! And I loathe TESMAN, and I don't even like the villa now; and I do feel the want of an entertaining companion so!

_Brack_. Try me. Just the kind of three-cornered arrangement that I like. Let me be the third person in the compartment--(_confidentially_)--the tried friend, and, generally speaking, cock of the walk!

_Hedda_ (_audibly drawing in her breath_). I cannot resist your polished way of putting things. We will conclude a triple alliance. But hush!--here comes TESMAN.

[_Enter GEORGE, with a number of books under his arm._

_George_. Puff! I _am_ hot, HEDDA. I've been looking into LÖVBORG's new book. Wonderfully thoughtful--confound him! But I must go and dress for your party, Judge. [_He goes out._

_Hedda_. I wish I could get TESMAN to take to politics, Judge. Couldn't he be a Cabinet Minister, or something?

_Brack_. H'm!

[_A short pause; both look at one another, without speaking. Enter GEORGE, in evening dress, with gloves._

_George_. It is afternoon, and your party is at half-past seven--but I like to dress early. Fancy that! And I am expecting LÖVBORG.

[_EJLERT LÖVBORG comes in from the hall; he is worn and pale, with red patches on his cheek-bones, and wears an elegant perfectly new visiting-suit, and black gloves._

_George_. Welcome! (_Introduces him to BRACK._) Listen--I have got your new book, but I haven't read it through yet.

_Lövborg_. You needn't--it's rubbish. (_Takes a packet of MSS. out._) This _isn't_. It's in three parts; the first about the civilising forces of the future, the second about the future of the civilising forces, and the third about the forces of the future civilisation. I thought I'd read you a little of it this evening?

_Brack and George_ (_hastily_). Awfully nice of you--but there's a little party this evening--so sorry we can't stop! Won't you come too?

_Hedda_. No, he must stop and read it to me and Mrs. ELVSTED instead.

_George_. It would never have occurred to me to think of such clever things! Are you going to oppose me for the Professorship, eh?

_Lövborg_ (_modestly_). No; I shall only triumph over you in the popular judgment--that's all!

_George_. Oh, is that all? Fancy! Let us go into the back drawing-room and drink cold punch.

_Lövborg_. Thanks--but I am a reformed character, and have renounced cold punch--it is poison.

[_GEORGE and BRACK go into the back-room and drink punch, whilst HEDDA shows LÖVBORG a photograph album in the front._

_Lövborg_ (_slowly, in a low tone_). HEDDA GABLER! how _could_ you throw yourself away like this!--Oh, is _that_ the ORTLER Group? Beautiful!--Have you forgotten how we used to sit on the settee together behind an illustrated paper, and--yes, very picturesque peaks--I told you all about how I had been on the loose?

_Hedda_. Now, none of that, here! These are the Dolomites.--Yes, I remember; it was a beautiful fascinating Norwegian intimacy--but it's over now. See, we spent a night in that little mountain village, TESMAN and I!

_Lövborg_. Did you, indeed? Do you remember that delicious moment when you threatened to shoot me down--(_tenderly_)--I do!

_Hedda_ (_carelessly_). Did I? I have done that to so many people. But now all that is past, and you have found the loveliest consolation in dear, good, little Mrs. ELVSTED--ah, here she is! (_Enter_ Mrs. ELVSTED.) Now, THEA, sit down and drink up a good glass of cold punch. Mr. LÖVBORG is going to have some. If you don't, Mr. LÖVBORG, GEORGE and the Judge will think you are afraid of taking too much if you once begin.

_Mrs. E._ Oh, please, HEDDA! When I've inspired Mr. LÖVBORG so--good gracious! _don't_ make him drink cold punch!

_Hedda_. You see, Mr. LÖVBORG, our dear little friend can't _trust_ you!

_Lövborg_. So _that_ is my comrade's faith in me! (_Gloomily._) _I_'ll show her if I am to be trusted or not. (_He drinks a glass of punch_.) Now I'll go to the Judge's party. I'll have another glass first. Your health, THEA! So you came up to spy on me, eh? I'll drink the Sheriff's health--_everybody's_ health!

[_He tries to get more punch._

_Hedda_ (_stopping him_). No more now. You are going to a party, remember. [GEORGE _and_ TESMAN _come in from back-room._

_Lövborg._ Don't be angry, THEA. I was fallen for a moment. Now I'm up again! (Mrs. E. _beams with delight_). Judge, I'll come to your party, as you _are_ so pressing, and I'll read GEORGE my manuscript all the evening. I'll do all in _my_ power to make that party go!

_George_. No? fancy! that _will_ be amusing!

_Hedda_. There, go away, you wild rollicking creatures! But Mr. LÖVBORG must be back at ten, to take dear THEA home!

_Mrs. E._ Oh, goodness, yes! (_In concealed agony._) Mr. LÖVBORG, I shan't go away till you do!

[_The three men go out laughing merrily; the Act-drop is lowered for a minute; when it is raised, it is 7 A.M., and Mrs. ELVSTED and HEDDA are discovered sitting up, with rugs around them._

_Mrs. E._ (_wearily_). Seven in the morning, and Mr. LÖVBORG not here to take me home _yet_! what _can_ he be doing?

_Hedda_ (_yawning_). Reading to TESMAN, with vine-leaves in his hair, I suppose. Perhaps he has got to the third part.

_Mrs. E._ Oh, do you _really_ think so, HEDDA? Oh, if I could but hope he was doing that!

_Hedda_. You silly little ninny! I should like to scorch your hair off. Go to bed! [Mrs. E. _goes. Enter_ GEORGE.

_George_. I'm a little late, eh? But we made _such_ a night of it. Fancy! It was most amusing. EJLERT read his book to me--think of that! Astonishing book! Oh, we really had great fun! I wish _I'd_ written it. Pity he's so irreclaimable.

_Hedda_. I suppose you mean he has more of the courage of life than most people?

_George_. Good Lord! He had the courage to get more drunk than most people. But, altogether, it was what you might almost call a Bacchanalian orgy. We finished up by going to have early coffee with some of these jolly chaps, and poor old LÖVBORG dropped his precious manuscript in the mud, and I picked it up--and here it is! Fancy if anything were to happen to it! He never could write it again. _Wouldn't_ it be sad, eh? Don't tell anyone about it.

[_He leaves the packet of MSS. on a chair, and rushes out; HEDDA hides the packet as BRACK enters._

_Brack_. _Another_ early call, you see! My party was such a singularly animated _soirée_ that I haven't undressed all night. Oh, it was the liveliest affair conceivable! And, like a true Norwegian host, I tracked LÖVBORG home; and it is only my duty, as a friend of the house, and cock of the walk, to take the first opportunity of telling you that he finished up the evening by coming to mere loggerheads with a red-haired opera-singer, and being taken off to the police-station! You mustn't have him here any more. Remember our little triple alliance!

_Hedda_ (_her smile fading away_). You are certainly a dangerous person--but you must not get a hold over me!

_Brack_ (_ambiguously_). What an idea! But I might--I am an insinuating dog. Good morning! [_Goes out._

_Lövborg_ (_bursting in, confused and excited_). I suppose you've heard where _I've_ been?

_Hedda_ (_evasively_). I heard you had a very jolly party at Judge BRACK's. [Mrs. ELVSTED _comes in._

_Lövborg_. It's all over. I don't mean to do any more work. I've no use for a companion now, THEA. Go home to your Sheriff!

_Mrs. E._ (_agitated_). Never! I want to be with you when your book comes out!

_Lövborg_. It won't _come_ out--I've torn it up! (_Mrs. E. rushes out, wringing her hands_.) Mrs. TESMAN, I told her a lie--but no matter. I haven't torn my book up--I've done worse! I've taken it about to several parties, and it's been through a police-row with me--now I've lost it. Even if I found it again, it wouldn't be the same--not to me! I am a Norwegian literary man, and peculiar. So I must make an end of it altogether!

_Hedda_. Quite so--but look here, you must do it beautifully. I don't insist on your putting vine-leaves in your hair--but do it beautifully. (_Fetches pistol._) See, here is one of General GABLER's pistols--do it with _that_!

_Lövborg._ Thanks!

[_He takes the pistol, and goes out through the hall-door; as soon as he has gone, HEDDA brings out the manuscript, and puts it on the fire, whispering to herself, as Curtain falls._

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