Chapter 1

PUNCH,

OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 101.

October 10, 1891.

* * * * *

ATROPOS AND THE ANTHROPOIDS.

(_A DIRGE AT THE ZOO._)

["The Anthropoid apes, of which there was recently such a representative series in the Zoo, have dwindled sadly in numbers this year. The lamented decease of 'Sally' was referred to a few weeks ago; we have now to record the death of 'George,' the Orang-Outang."--_Daily News_.]

Late for the Chimpanzee the requiem rang, Now the bell tolls for the Orang-Outang. Well may spasmodic sobs choke childhood's gorge, Now they who sighed for "Sally" grieve for "George." A "wilderness of monkeys" can't console, For Anthropoids defunct. Of Apedom's whole, One little Chimpanzee, one Gibbon small, (Who ought to write his race's "Rise and Fall,") Alone remain to cheer the tearful Zoo, And mitigate lone boyhood's loud bohoo! "Sally" adieu! to "George" a long farewell! Ah! muffle if you please their passing bell! Only one thought can cheer us in the least; "No doubt the stock will shortly be increased." Thanks, _Daily News_! Wipe, childhood, the wet eye, And Apedom for dead kin soften the Simian sigh!

* * * * *

CHARITY'S WORD OF COMMAND.--"Present alms!"

* * * * *

OYSTERS (NOT) FOR EVER!

He was a gentle Fishmonger, and WILLIAMSON his name, No doubt you may have heard before his philanthropic game. The lack of oysters pained him much, for how could people royster And happy be in r-less months without the luscious oyster?

A look of pain was in his face, a pucker on his brow, Long time he pondered very hard to try and find out how. At last he cried, "Eureka! from France I'll go and bring them, And into beds I've got at home without a murmur fling them."

Then they came across the Channel, and he very sweetly said, "So glad to see you looking well, would you like to see your bed? For there, my little dears, you stay; you'll one day know the reason. I'll rouse you when the month of May makes natives out of season."

The Fishmongers, the Worshipful, sent down a man to see, He wrung his hands and shook his head, and said, "Oh, miseree! It pains me very deeply, and it drives me to distraction, You've done what's wrong, and I shall have to institute an action."

Then WILLIAMSON, he sobbed aloud, and shed a bitter tear, "Oh, hang it all," he cried, "why _must_ you come and interfere? I quite admit, however, that I see your point precisely, So don't let's quarrel, let's be friends, and bring the action nicely."

They brought that friendly action, and the clever counsel tried To prove to FAUDELL PHILLIPS that the law was on his side. But the oyster-dealer found the law for him was one too many, So he had to pay the piper--to be quite exact, a penny.

And you who love your oyster in the latter end of May, In June, July, and August, too, will sadly rue the day, For philanthropic folk will find it unremunerative To introduce in summer-time this Franco-English native.[1]

[Footnote 1: Oysters are to be six shillings a dozen this winter!! How many of the ordinarily careless will now be compelled to go by RULES without going in for Oysters. N.B.--"Action" in these verses is poetic license for "summons."]

* * * * *

"SAVE ME FROM MY FRIENDS!"

SCENE--_A Place of Meeting. Enter Parliamentary Leader and his Subordinate. They greet one another effusively._

_Leader_ (_cordially_). And now, my dear fellow, how are my interests?

_Sub._ (_with much heartiness_). Getting on capitally! Just been writing to all the papers to say that it is stupid to call you "Old Dot-and-go-one," because it is inapplicable to either your age or your mode of controversy.

_Lead._ (_with a feeble smile_). That _was_ kind of you! But who had said it?

_Sub._ (_airily_). Oh, someone of about fourth-rate importance! and it had been quite forgotten you know. So I dragged it up again, and put it all right for you.

_Lead._ (_shaking hands_). Thanks, so very much. But if persons had forgotten it, why revert to it?

_Sub._ Oh, don't you see? Why, the point is, you are not a bit like it-not a scrap like it! Next week I shall write and say that it's rubbish to call you a turncoat, because you have always been consistent.

_Lead._ (_anxiously_). But _is_ anybody calling me a turncoat?

_Sub._ Not that I know of, but they might, don't you see. So it's as well to be on the safe side. I shall say that, if any one _did_ call you a turncoat, that the speaker would prove himself a liar! That ought to give you a leg up, oughtn't it?

_Lead._ (_with some hesitation_). My dear friend, you are _most_ kind; but if you don't mind, I would be so immensely obliged if you would leave my interests alone.

_Sub._ (_with great cordiality_). What, leave your interests alone! Never! You may be always sure of _my_ hearty support!

_Lead._ (_earnestly_). But as a personal matter, I must beg of you kindly to leave me alone.

_Sub._ (_reluctantly_). Well, of course, if you make it a personal matter, I must consent. But the Party will suffer.

_Lead._ (_dryly_). Possibly--from your point of view. [_Exeunt._

* * * * *

JAWFUL NEWS!--_The Diminution of the Jaw in the Civilised Races_ is the title of a pamphlet by Mr. F. HOWARD COLLINS. We haven't read it; but if it be in favour of the diminution of "jaw," we heartily recommend its study to all Members of Parliament, actual or intending, and to all post-prandial speechmakers generally.

* * * * *

_Bumble (after reading Dr. T. Orme Duffield's Report to the Vestry of Kensington on the health and sanitary condition of the district), loquitur_:--

Oh bother this sanit'ry bosh! Always piping the same dull old strains, One would think there wos nothink in life to be done but go sniffing the Drains! Wich my nose is a dalicot one, and I don't like the job, not by lumps; And I _won't_ be perpetual poked up by these peeping and prying old pumps. "Bumbledom and Disease!" I like that,--like the _Times_' dashed himperence, I think. We porochial pots is to pass all our time a-prospecting for Stink! Doctor DUDFIELD thinks WE should inspeck, periodical, all privit dwellings, Discover and show up defecks, sech as fumings and leakings, and smellings, As "lurk unsuspected about," which the tenants theirselves do not twig, And the landlords, in course, don't remove. Well, your tenant is mostly a pig, And your landlord is sometimes a 'og; still between 'em _we_ jest slip along, But do dooty for both of 'em? Snakes! that is coming it slightly _too_ strong. The tenants 'old on jest as long as they can, and the landlords 'old orf. A sort of a ketchy sore-throat, or a bit of a qualm or a korf, Make some idjots go fair orf their chumps on diphtheria, and typhod and such; But then others, who don't like a hupset, put up with the lot, pooty much, Jest to save topsy-turvey and 'oles in the garden, and mud on the stairs; Landlords, likeways, is dabs at postponing, and patching, and 'ushing up scares. But if _we_ are to spot wot goes quisby, and be the responsible chaps, Wheugh! we _should_ 'ave a regular beanfeast with sockets and air-pipes and traps! No, no, westry worrying sneaks, it won't work. As for "W.B.E." He may frighten the Kensington lot, he won't 'ave no effeck upon Me! Diphtheria be jolly well dashed! It is often, as DUDFIELD explains, Mere "follicular(--hem!--) tonsillitis." _Me_ bother my 'ed about Drains? Go to! I 'ave got other fish, in a manner of speaking, to fry, That L.C.C. gave itself airs and declared it would wipe my old heye With its bloomin' Big Pots and "Progressives." Aha! where the doose are they now? Mister ROSEBERY resigned, regular sick of bad manners and endless bow-wow; Now LIBBOCK and FARRER are orf. FARRER gave the _Times_ one in the eye, 'Cos it seemed for to 'int even he of them precious Progressives wos shy. Swears their manners is quite up to dick, most consid'rit, and all that there stuff. Well they may 'ave been Brummels of course, but _he seems to 'ave 'ad quite enough!_ 'Owsomever, wotever the cause, now they're quit of the Great Toffy Three, They must 'ave a new Chairman, in course, and--ha! ha!--_wot_ a hopening for Me!! Porochial Bumble _must_ rule, spite of fads, in a steady and sane age, And 'aving a heye on High Orfice _I_ can't waste _my_ time on mere Drainage!

[_Kicks Report, and strikes an attitude._

* * * * *

* * * * *

HIDE AND SEEK.

Ah! Pirate KID's Treasure _has_ done good we know, It suggested a rattling good story to POE. But the "Syndicate" started to seek where 'tis hid, Will probably find that same Treasure--"_all_ KID!"

* * * * *

TEA IN TEN MINUTES.

(A SONG AT A RAILWAY STATION.)

AIR--_"THEE, THEE, ONLY THEE."_

Ten minutes here! The sun is sinking And longingly we've long been thinking, Of Tea, Tea, fragrant Tea!

The marble slabs we gather round, They're long in bringing what is wanted. The china cup with draught embrown'd Our thirsty souls are wholly haunted By Tea, Tea, fragrant Tea!

Now then, you waiter, stir, awaken! Time's up. I'll hardly save my bacon. Tea, Tea, bring that Tea!

At last! The infusion's rayther dark. But hurry up! Can't stay for ever! One swig! Br-r-r-r! Hang the cunning shark! Will't never cool? Nay, never, never! Tea, Tea, scalding Tea!

More milk; don't be an hour in bringing! Heavens! That horrid bell is ringing! "Take your seats, please!" Can't _touch_ the Tea! Cup to the carriage must not take; Crockery may be lost, or broken; Refreshment sharks are wide awake. But--many a naughty word is spoken O'er Tea, Tea, scalding Tea!

* * * * *

NOTHING NEW.--The Editor of the _Gentlewoman_ announces a forthcoming novel to be written by about a dozen or more novelists. _Mr. Punch_ highly commends this spirited enterprise. The scheme is not absolutely a novelty, as in _Mr. Punch's_ pages some time ago, was there not a "Limited Novel Co." of Authors and Artists to produce "Chikkin Hazard?" They combined, but did not collaborate. But any way, success to the _Gentlewoman_!

* * * * *

"WHERE IS DAT BARTY NOW?"--After the recent suicide of _le pauvre Général_, the Boulangist party cannot be said to have been left without leaders, at all events, in England, as they have had leaders in all the papers, and actually two in the _Times_.

* * * * *

THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS.

NO. X.

SCENE--_A flight of steps by the lake in the grounds of the Insel Hotel, Constance. Time, late afternoon. A small boat, containing three persons, is just visible far out on the glassy grey-green water. BOB PRENDERGAST and PODBUBY are perched side by side on a parapet, smoking disconsolately._

_Podbury._ Do they look at all as if they meant to come in? I tell you what, BOB, vote we row out to them and tell them they'll be late for _table d'hôte_. Eh? [_He knocks out his pipe._

_Prendergast_ (_phlegmatically_). Only be late for it ourselves if we do. They'll come in when they want to.

_Podb._ It's not safe for your sister,--I'm hanged if it is--going out in a boat with a duffer like CULCHARD! He'll upset her as sure as eggs.

_Prend._ (_with fraternal serenity_). With pin-oars? Couldn't if he tried! And they've a man with them, too. The less I see of that chap CULCHARD the better. I did hope we'd choked him off at Nuremberg. I hate the sight of his supercilious old mug!

_Podb._ You can't hate it more than I do--but what can I do? (_Pathetically._) I've tried rotting him, but somehow he always manages to get the best of it in the end. I never saw such a beggar to hang on!

_Prend._ What on earth made you ask him to come on here, after he declared he wouldn't?

_Podb._ I! _I_ ask him? He settled it all with your sister. How could _I_ help it?

_Prend._ I'd do _something_. Why can't you tell him right out he ain't wanted? _I_ would--like a shot!

_Podb._ It's not so easy to tell him as you think. We haven't been on speaking terms these three days. And, after all (_feebly_) we're supposed to be travelling together, don't you know! _You_ might drop him a hint now.

_Prend._ Don't see how I can very well--not on my own hook. Might lead to ructions with HYPATIA, too.

_Podb._ (_anxiously_). BOB, you--you don't think your sister really--eh?

_Prend._ HYPATIA's a rum girl--always was. She certainly don't seem to object to your friend CULCHARD. What the dickens she can see in him, I don't know!--but it's no use my putting _my_ oar in. She'd only jump on _me_, y'know!

_Podb._ (_rising_). Then I _must_. If that's what he's really after, I think I can stop his little game. I'll try, at any rate. It's a long worm that has no turning, and I've had about enough of it. The first chance I get. I'll go for him.

_Prend._ Good luck to you, old chap. There, they're coming in now. We'd better go in and change, eh? We've none too much time.

[_They go in._

_In the Lese-zimmer, a small gaslit room, with glazed doors opening upon the Musik-saal. Around a table piled with German and English periodicals, a mild Curate, the Wife of the English Chaplain, and two Old Maids are seated, reading and conversing. CULCHARD is on a central ottoman, conscientiously deciphering the jokes in "Fliegende Blätter." PODBURY is at the bookcase, turning over odd TAUCHNITZ volumes._

_The Chaplain's Wife_ (_to the Curate, a new arrival_). Oh, you will _very_ soon get into all our little ways. The hours here are _most_ convenient--breakfast (_table d'hôte_) with choice of eggs or fish and coffee--really _admirable_ coffee--from eight to nine; midday dinner at one. Supper at nine. Then, if you want to write a letter, the post for England goes out at--(_&c., &c._) And on Sundays, eleven o'clock service (Evangelical, of _course_!) at the--(_&c., &c._) My husband--(_&c., &c._)

_First Old Maid_ (_looking up from a four days old "Telegraph"_). I see they are still continuing that very interesting correspondence on "Our Children's Mouths--and are they widening?" One letter attributes it to the habit of thumb--sucking in infancy--which certainly ought to be checked. Now I never _would_ allow any--

_The Chaplain's Wife_. Nor I. But corals are quite as bad. Only this afternoon I was telling a Lady in this hotel that her little boy would be much happier with a rubber ring. You get them at a shop in the Hoch-strasse I can take you to it at any time, or if you like to mention my name--(_&c., &c._)

_Second O.M._ One correspondent thought the practice of eating soup with table-spoons tended to enlarge the mouth. I really believe there may be something in it. [_A pause._

_The Curate_. The weather we have been having seems to have materially affected the harvest prospects at home; they say there will be little or no fodder for the cattle this year. I saw somewhere--I forget where it was exactly--a suggestion to feed cows on chickweed.

_Podb._ (_at the bookcase_). Capital thing for them too, Sir. Know a man who never gives his cattle anything else.

_The Curate_. Oh, really? And does he find the experiment answer?

_Podb._ They take to it like birds. And--curious thing--after he'd tried it a month, all the cows turned yellow and went about chirping and twittering and hopping. Fact, I assure you!

_The Curate_. Dear me--I should scarcely have--

[_He gradually comes to the conclusion that he is being trifled with, and after a few moments of uncomfortable silence, gets up and quits the room with dignity._

_Podb._ (_to himself_). _One_ of 'em gone! Now if I can only clear these old tabbies out, I can tackle CULCHARD. (_Aloud, to Chaplain's Wife._) You don't happen to know if there's a good doctor here, I suppose? A lady was saying in the Musik-saal--the lady with the three daughters who came this afternoon--that she was afraid they were in for bad feverish colds or something, and asking who there was to call in.

_The C.'s W._ Oh, I've no belief in foreign doctors. I always find a few drops of aconite or pulsatilla,--I have my homoeopathic case with me now. Perhaps, if I went and had a talk with her I could--[_She goes out energetically._

_Podb._ Another gone! (_To the Old Maids._) So you ain't going down to the Cloisters to-night? I'm told there's to be some fun there--Hide-and-seek, or something--first-rate place for it, especially now the moon's up!

_First Old Maid_. Nobody told _us_ a word about it. Hide-and-seek--and in those quaint old Cloisters too--It sounds delightful! What do you say, TABITHA. Shall we just--? Only to look _on_, you know. We needn't _play_, unless--

[_The Two Old Maids withdraw in a pleased flutter. PODBURY crosses to CULCHARD._

_Podb._ (_with determination_). Look here, CULCHARD, I'd just like to know what you mean by the way you're going on.

_Culch._ I thought we were both agreed that discussions of this kind--

_Podb._ It's all bosh our travelling together if we're not to have any discussions. You've been on the sulk long enough. And I'll thank you to inform me what you're after here, going about alone with Miss PRENDERGAST like this, in the Museum with her all the morning, and on the lake again this afternoon,--it won't _do_, you know!

_Culch._ If she happens to prefer my society to yours and her brother's, I presume you have no claim to interfere.

_Podb._ I don't know about that. How about Miss TROTTER?

_Culch._ If I remember rightly, you yourself were not insensible to Miss TROTTER's--er--attractions?

_Podb._ Perhaps not; but I am not engaged to her--you _are_. You told me so in the train.

_Culch._ You entirely misunderstood me. There was no definite understanding between us--nothing of the sort or kind. In fact, it was merely a passing caprice. Since I have had the privilege of knowing Miss PRENDERGAST, I see clearly--

_Podb._ Then you mean to propose to her, eh?

_Culch._ That is certainly my intention; have you any objection to offer?

_Podb._ Only that I mean to propose too. I daresay my chances are as good as yours--even now.

_Culch._ I doubt it, my dear fellow; however, don't let _me_ discourage you.

_Podb._ I don't intend to. (_The figure of Miss PRENDERGAST is seen to pass the glazed doors, and move slowly across the Musik-saal; both rush to the door, and look after her._) She's gone out into the balcony. 'Jove, I'll go, too, and get it over!

_Culch._ I should not advise you to do so. It is possible she may have gone there with the--er--expectation of being joined by--by somebody else. [_He smiles complacently._

_Podb._ You mean she gave you a _rendezvous_ there? I don't believe it!

_Culch._ I did not say so. But I am not prepared to deny that I have been waiting here with some such expectation.

_Podb._ (_holding the door_). If you go, I go too--that's all.

_Culch._ Don't be absurd. You will only be _de trop_, I assure you.

_Podb._ _De trop_ or not, I mean going--she shall choose between us.

_Culch._ (_turning pale_). I suppose you intend to enlighten her as to my--er--little flirtation (before I knew _her_) with Miss TROTTER? Do it, PODBURY, do it--if you think you'll gain any good by it!

_Podb._ Telling tales is not exactly in my line. But you don't go on that balcony without me--that's all.

_Culch._ Well, listen to reason, my dear fellow. What you propose is ridiculous. I--I don't mind conceding this: we'll each go, and--er tit up, as you call it, which goes first.

_Podb._ Done with you! (_Produces a mark._) Sudden death. You're Eagle--I'm the other Johnny. (_Tosses._) Eagle! Confound you! But I mean to have my innings all the same.

_Culch._ You're perfectly welcome--when I've had mine. I'll--er--wish you good evening.

[_He stalks out triumphantly. PODBURY places himself in a position from which he can command a view of the Musik-saal, over the top of "über Land und Meer," and awaits results._

* * * * *

STORICULES.

VI.--BUDWELL'S REVENGE.

My friend, THOMAS GIDLING, is something indefinite and authoritative in the Post Office. He is a practical man. He can do fretwork, cook a steak, clean boots, find out what's wrong with the gas, and understand Waterloo Station; in an emergency he is invaluable. This is just as well, because destiny has decided that the life of THOMAS GIDLING shall be a series of emergencies. He has comfortable bachelor quarters at the very top of Parkington Chambers, which are situated in Bloomsbury.

One night last winter I had been dining with GIDLING at his Club; after dinner he proposed that we should go round to his flat for a talk and a smoke. GIDLING, being practical, can make coffee, which is a thing that they cannot do at GIDLING's Club, nor, indeed, at many others. So I consented.

We had climbed painfully to the top of Parkington Chambers, and had just got inside GIDLING's outer door, when we noticed a very marked and curious smell. "There's something wrong about this," remarked GIDLING, severely. I agreed with him, adding, out of a nervous politeness, from which I suffer sometimes, that I rather liked the smell, "Then you're an idiot," said GIDLING, who never suffers from politeness at all. He opened the door of his sitting-room, and then we saw at once what was the matter. The lower part of the chimney was on fire; the fire-place was covered with glowing masses of soot which had fallen. "HANKIN's had another nasty touch of that influenza," remarked GIDLING. HANKIN is GIDLING's servant, and at regular intervals becomes incapacitated for work. HANKIN himself says that it is influenza, and speaks of "another of them relapses;" GIDLING thinks that it is as a rule intoxication. As a matter of fact HANKIN would not be a bad servant if his zeal was distributed over him rather more evenly. It is always either excessive or defective. It comes out in lumps. In neglecting to have the chimney swept HANKIN had shown defect; in the way that he had piled up the fire he had shown excess. In subsequently absenting himself from the flat he had shown a certain amount of wisdom, for GIDLING was rather angry.

"Not but what I can put it all right," said GIDLING. "I'm a practical man. Fire Brigade? I thought you'd suggest a few fire brigades. No, not exactly. I'll show you how to stop a thing of this kind." He went into his bed-room, and returned with the water-jug. An iron ladder from the main staircase led through a trap-door in the roof. GIDLING went up this ladder with the water-jug, while I waited to see the result in the sitting-room, I could hear him walking about on the roof, and I looked out for a deluge of water to descend down the chimney into the fire-place. But no deluge came. Presently GIDLING descended and entered the room with the empty water-jug.

"Did it splash much?" he asked. "No, there was no water came down at all."

"Oh? Then I've emptied this water-jug down the wrong chimney. We'd better clear out of this."