Chapter 1

PUNCH,

OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 101.

October 17, 1891.

THE AUTOMATIC PHYSIOGNOMIST.

SCENE--_The German Exhibition, near an ingenious machine constructed to reveal the character and future of a person according to the colour of his or her hair, for the small consideration of one penny. A party of Pleasure-seekers are examining it._

_First Pleasure-seeker_ (_a sprightly young lady of the name of LOTTIE_). "Put in a penny and get a summary of your character from the colour of your 'air." I wonder what they'll 'ave _next_!

_Second Pl.-s._ (_her admirer, a porridge-faced young man with pink eyelids and faming hair, addressed as 'ECTOR by his intimates_). Ah, it's surprising how far they've got, it reelly is. And beginning with butter-scotch, too!

_Aunt Maria_. Come on, do--you don't want to waste no more time over that rubbidge!

_Fourth Pl.-s._ (_a lanky youth, with pale hair and a receding chin, to his fiancée_). Hadn't we better be making a move if we're going to 'ear the band, CARRIE?

_Carrie_. I shall move on when I _like_, without your leave, FREDDY; so make no mistake.

_Freddy_. Oh, _I_'m in no 'urry. I only thought your Aunt was getting--but don't mind me. [CARRIE _does not mind him._

_Dolph_. (_the funny man of the party_). 'Old on a bit! I've got some coppers. I'm going to sample this concern. I'll put in for all of you--it's _my_ treat, this is. We'll begin with Aunt MARIA. What colour do you call _your_ 'air now? I don't see any slot marked "cawfy-colour."

_Aunt Maria_. Never _you_ mind what colour my 'air is--it's a pity you can't find a better use for your pennies.

_Dolph_. (_inserting a penny in a slot marked "Light Brown"_). 'Ere goes, the oracle's working. (_The machine emits a coloured card._) Listen to what it says about Aunt MARIA. She is--"tender-'arted." Jest what I've always said of her! "A little 'asty in her temper"--'ullo, must be a 'itch in the machinery, _there_!--"neither obstinate nor 'aughty"--(_A snort from Aunt MARIA at this_)--"her inclination to love never unreasonable." 'Ow _like_ her! "Frolicsome, inclined to flirt and sometimes mischievous." You _giddy_ little thing! Up to all your little tricks, this machine is! "Fertile in imagination, domesticated, thoughtful and persevering"--There's Aunt MARIA for yer!

_General Chorus_. Good old Aunt MARIA!

_Dolph_. There's a prophecy on blue paper from _Napoleon's Book of Fate_, gratis. (_Reads._) "Thy 'oroscope forewarns thee of a loss if thou lendest thy money." Just when I was going to borrow arf-a-crown off of her too!

_Aunt Maria_. Ah, I didn't want no machine for _that_. 'Ow you can patronise such rubbidge, _I_ don't know! Tellin' characters by the colour of your 'air, indeed--it's told _mine_ all wrong, anyhow!

_Dolph_. Well, you see, your 'air's so natural it would deceive _any_ machine! [_Movement on part of Aunt MARIA._

_Lottie_. Put in for 'ECTOR next, DOLPH, do. I want to hear what it says about him.

_Dolph_. They don't keep _his_ colour in stock--afraid o' losing their insurance policy. "Red or orbun's" the nearest they can get to it. (_He puts in a penny in the "Red" slot._) Here's old 'ECTOR. (_Reads._) "The Gentleman with long red hair is of a restless disposition, constantly roving." Keep your eye on him, LOTTIE! "Impatient and fiery in temper"--_'Old_ 'im, two of yer?--"but for all that, is kind and loving." You _needn't_ 'old him--it's all right. "He is passionately fond of the fair sex." What _all_ of 'em, 'ECTOR? I'm ashamed of yer! "He is inclined to timidity"--Oo'd ha' thought it?--"but by reflection may correct it and pass for a man of courage." You start reflecting at _once_, old chap!

_'Ector_ (_ominously, to LOTTIE_). If DOLPH don't mind what he's about, he'll go too far some day!

[_He breathes hard, then thinks better of it._

_Dolph_. Now it's CARRIE's turn. "Leave you out?" Couldn't think of it. Brown 'air, CARRIE's is. (_He puts in a penny._) "A Lady with 'air of a medium brown colour, long and smooth"--_Is_ your 'air long though, CARRIE?

_Carrie_ (_with pride_). I should hope so--I can set on it.

_Dolph_. That's nothing! So can Aunt MARIA set on _hers_! (_With a glance at that Lady's very candid "front."_) _Can't_ you, Auntie, eh? If you make a effort?

_Aunt Maria_ (_with dignity_). I'll thank you to 'ave the goodness to drop your sauce, Mr. ADOLPHUS GAGGS; it's out of place and not appreciated, I can assure you! [_She walks away._

_Dolph_. (_surprised_). Why, there's Aunt MARIA got the 'ump--for a little thing like _that_! Let me finish with CARRIE. (_Reads._) "She is of an intellectual turn of mind." (_"'Ear, 'ear!" from FREDDY._) "Very fond of reading." Takes in _Sloper's 'Alf 'Oliday_ regular! "Steadfast in her engagements." 'Ullo, CARRIE!

_Carrie_ (_firing up_). Well, have you anything to say against that? You'd better take care, Mr. GAGGS!

_Dolph_. I was only thinking. Sure you haven't been squaring this machine? Ah, it tells you some 'ome truths here--"Although inquisitive and fond of prying into the secrets of others--" Now however did it know _that_?

_Carrie_. It isn't there--you're making it up!

[_She snatches the card, reads it, and tears it up._

_Dolph_. Temper--temper! Never mind. Now we'll try FREDDY. What's his shade of 'air? I should say about the colour of spoilt 'ay, if I was asked.

_Carrie_ (_with temper_). You're _not_ asked, so you needn't give your opinion!

_Dolph_. Well, keep _your_ 'air on, my dear girl, and we'll call FREDDY's "Fair." (_Reading card._) "A gentleman with this colour of hair will be assiduous in his occupation--"

_Carrie_ (_warmly_). What a shame! I'm _sure_ he isn't. _Are_ you, FREDDY? [_FREDDY smiles vaguely._

_Dolph_. "Not given to rambling,"--Except in his 'ed,--"very moderate in his amorous wishes, his mind much given to reflection, inclined to be 'asty-tempered, and, when aroused,"--'Ere, somebody, rouse FREDDY, quick!--"to use adjectives." Mustn't use 'em _'ere_, FREDDY! "But if reasonably dealt with, is soon appeased." Pat his 'ed, CARRIE, will yer? "Has plenty of bantering humour." (_Here FREDDY grins feebly._) Don't he _look_ it too! "Should study his diet." That means his grub, and he works 'ard enough at that! "He has a combination of good commercial talents, which, if directed according to the reflection of the sentiments, will make him tolerably well off in this world's goods."

_Carrie_ (_puzzled_). What's it torking about _now_?

_Dolph_. Oh, it on'y means he's likely to do well in the cat's-meat line. Now for your fortune, FREDDY. "It will be through marriage that your future will be brightened."

_Carrie_ (_pleased_). Lor, FREDDY, think o' that!

_Dolph_. Think _twice_ of it, FREDDY, my boy. Now we'll be off and get a drink.

_Carrie_. Wait. We haven't got _your_ character yet, Mr. GAGGS!

_Dolph_. Oh, mine--they couldn't give that for a penny. Too good, yer know!

_Carrie_. If they haven't got it, it's more likely they're afraid it would break the machine. I'm going to put in for you under "Black." (_She does._) Here we are. (_Reads._) "The gentleman will be much given to liquor." Found out first time, you see, Mr. GAGGS!

_Dolph_. (_annoyed_). Come, no personalities now. Drop all that!

_Carrie_. "Somewhat quarrelsome and of an unsettled temper; more decorous and less attentive in his undertakings, and consequently meets with many disappointments. Such gentlemen"--now you listen to this, Mr. GAGGS!--"will now know their weaknesses, which should induce them to take steps to improve themselves." (_"'Ear, 'ear!" from the rest of the party._) "Knowledge is power, and enables us to overcome many obstacles we otherwise should have fallen prey to." This is your fortune. "Thou art warned to be careful what thou drinkest!" Well, they do seem to _know_ you, I must say!

_Dolph_. (_in a white rage_). I tell you what it is, Miss CARRIE BICKERTON, you appear to me to be turning a 'armless joke into a mejium for making nasty spiteful insinuations, and I, for one, am not going to put up with it, whatever others may! So, not being partial to being turned into redicule and made to look a fool in company, I'll leave you to spend the rest of the evening by yourselves, and wish you a very good-night!

[_He turns majestically upon his heel and leaves the party stupefied._

_'Ector_. (_with mild regret_). It do seem a pity though, so pleasant as we were together, till this come up!

_Freddy_. And CARRIE's Aunt MARIA. gone off in a tantrum, too. We shall have a job to find _'er_ now!

_Lottie and Carrie_. Oh, _do_ hold your tongues, both of you. You and your automatic machines!

_'Ector and Freddy_. _Our_ automatic machines! Why, we never--

_Lottie and Carrie_. If you say one word more, either of you, we'll go home! [_FREDDY and 'ECTOR follow them meekly in search of Aunt MARIA as the Scene closes in._

* * * * *

VOICES OF THE NIGHT.

(_IN FLEET STREET._)

Oh raucous street--"_Echo_," whose vile _vox clamantis_ Is, like the Salvationist's shout, heard a mile hence, I wish, _how_ I wish,--ah! yes, that what we want is!-- Some Cockney Narcissus could charm you to silence. Ah, me! no such luck; in the clear autumn twilight Your shriek on my tympanum stridently jars. "_Echo_" murders repose, mars the daffodil sky light; And if one thing sounds worse 'tis "the Voice of the _Stars_"!

* * * * *

_Sir J-m-s F-rg-ss-n loquitur_:--

Just in time to catch the Post! Pheugh! But the Pats would have "had me on toast" (As 'ARRY would say in his odious slang), If I had been but a little bit later. Out o' breath as it is. Ah, hang This hurrying business! My mouth's like a crater, Dreadfully dry, and doosedly hot. Rather a downer, this is, for SCOTT's lot! Feared Mrs. Manchester _might_ just say (In the popular patter of my young day) "_It is all very well_ (with a wink and a jeer), _But you_, Master FERGUSSON, _don't lodge here!_" All right now, though! Saved my bacon. My defeat might the Cause have shaken. Just in time. There! Popped it in! Awfully glad it conveys a Win; Although One Fifty ain't _much_ to boast,-- 'Twixt you and me and the (General) Post!

* * * * *

WILLIAM HENRY SMITH.

BORN, JUNE 24, 1825. DIED, OCTOBER 6, 1891.

O'er-busy Death, your scythe of late seems reaping Swiftly our heads of State; The wise who hold our England's weal in keeping, The gentle and the great.

GRANVILLE is gone; and now another Warden Falls with the fading leaf, Leaving at Hatfield sorrow, and at Hawarden Scarcely less earnest grief.

All mourn the Man whose simple steadfast spirit Made hearty friends of all. Whilst manhood like to his her sons inherit England need fear no fall.

No high-perched, privileged and proud possessor Of lineal vantage he; Of perorating witchery no professor, Or casuist subtlety.

A capable, clear-headed, modest toiler, Touched with no egoist taint, To Duty sworn, the face of the Despoiler Made him not fear or faint.

O'erworn, o'erworked, with smiling face, though weary, The tedious task he plied. Sagacious, courteous, ever calm and cheery Unsoured by spleen or pride.

As unprovocative as unpretentious, Skilful though seeming-slow; Unmoved by impulse of conceit contentious To risk success for show.

O rare command of gifts, which, common-branded, Are yet so strangely rare! Selflessness patient, judgment even-handed And spirit calmly fair!

Lost to his friends their worth may now be measured By the strong sense of loss. How "OLD MORALITY's" memory will be treasured, Midst faction's pitch-and-toss.

But England which has instincts above Party Most mourns the Man, now gone, Who gave to Duty an allegiance hearty As that of WELLINGTON.

Sure "the gaunt figure of the old Field-Marshal"[1] Would his successor praise; As modest, as unselfish, as impartial, Though fallen on calmer days.

No glittering hero, but when England numbers Patriots of worth and pith, His name shall sound, who after suffering slumbers, Plain WILLIAM HENRY SMITH!

[Footnote 1: LONGFELLOW's "_The Warden of the Cinque Ports_."]

* * * * *

* * * * *

A ROMANCE IN NUMBERS.

As we announced last week, the _Gentlewoman_ proposes for publication "the most extraordinary novel of modern times"--a tale which is to be written chapter by chapter, week after week, by well-known writers of fiction, without consultation with their collaborateurs. We did the same thing years ago. However, as the notion is still calculated to amuse and instruct our readers, we subjoin a short story, which has been written on the same terms by the entire strength of a paper--political, sporting, and social. It will be found below.

WHAT? WHO? AND WHICH?

(_A JOINT STOCK MYSTERY._)

_Political Writer commences_.--Yes, EUSTACE entered the House prepared to vote for the Government. He knew that Lady FLORA had counted upon his vote in support of her father, the Duke, and the other Members of the Opposition. But when did love outweigh duty? EUSTACE knew that the prosperity of the entire country depended upon his views. With the price of corn falling, with the Russian Bear on the prowl, growing nearer and nearer to our Afghan frontier, with the unsettled state of the South American Republics, he knew that only one course was open to him.

"FLORA, darling," he said to the fair girl, as he paced by her side in the Lobby, "believe me, I will do anything to help you; but what _can_ I do?"

_Sporting Writer continues_.--"What can you do?" she echoed, with a hearty laugh, as she struck her riding-habit smartly with her whip; "why, tell me the horse you fancy for the Cambridgeshire!"

He thought for a moment. He knew the good points of _Bobby_, and was rather partial to _Rosina_; but nothing wrong with _Snuffbox_, the stable reports were favourable. Still, you can't always rely upon what you see, much less what you hear.

"Lady," said he, at length, "if you take my advice, you will back nothing until they go to the post."

_Continuation by French Correspondent_.--They had no further time for parley, because the mail train left for Dover within the hour. So they hurried to Victoria, and in less than eight hours were in the Capital of the World.

Ah, Paris, beautiful Paris! They enjoyed the balmy air as they drove through the awaking streets to the Grand Hotel. As they entered the courtyard they met the President.

"Is it really true that the Germans refuse to take up the Russian Loan?" asked EUSTACE of the First Frenchman in France.

"I would not say this to anyone but yourself," replied M. CARNOT, looking round to see that no one was listening; "but those who wait longest will see best!"

And with his finger to his mouth in token of discretion and silence, he disappeared. EUSTACE and his fair companion hastened to the telegraph office.

_Scientific Writer takes it up_.--They were, of course, desirous of transmitting their important despatch to head-quarters.

"You want to know upon what system the telephone is worked?" queried the operator, as he prepared a black-board, and took up a piece of chalk. They bowed acquiescence. "You must know," said he, "that if we represent the motive-power by _x_, we shall--."

_Lady Correspondent turned on_.--Before he could complete his sentence, Lady FLORA uttered a cry.

"What a charming gown! Why, it is the prettiest I have seen in my life!" and she gazed with increasing delight at the lady beneath on the boulevard. Then she began to explain the costume to her two male companions. She showed them that an under-skirt of snuff, with a waist of orange-blue, both made of some soft fluffy material (which can be obtained, by the way, at Messrs. SOWE AND SOWE), made an admirable contrast.

_Naval Correspondent puts finishing touch_.--[_Please end up briskly_.--ED.].--And they left Paris, and embarking on H.M.S. _Ramrod_, met a gale, and foundered. When they were picked up they were both dead.--[THE END.]

* * * * *

LETTERS TO ABSTRACTIONS.

NO. IV.--TO POMPOSITY.

YOUR EXCELLENCY,

How difficult it is to succeed in giving pleasure. When I addressed you recently, I honestly intended to gratify you by the adoption of a tone of easy familiarity. Surely, I thought to myself, I cannot be wrong if I address my friend POMPOSITY by his name, and speak to him in a chatty rather than in an inflated style. If I chose the latter, might he not think that I was poking fun at him by cheap parody, and manifest his displeasure by bringing a host of BULMERS about my ears? These considerations prevailed with me, and the result was the letter you received. But, _O pectora cæca_! I have learnt from an authoritative source that you are displeased. You resent, it seems, what you are pleased to term my affectation of intimacy, and you beg for a style of greater respect in any future communications. So be it. I have pondered for hours, and have eventually come to the conclusion that I shall best consult your wishes by addressing you in a manner suited to diplomatic personages of importance. I have noticed that in their official intercourse these gentlemen move on stilts of the most rigid punctilio, and I have often pictured to myself the glow of genuine pride which must suffuse the soul of an ambassador or a foreign Minister when, for the first time, he finds himself styled an Excellency. It may be of course that he knows himself to be anything rather than excellent, but he will keep that knowledge to himself, stowed away in some remote corner of his mind, and never on any account allowed to interfere with his enjoyment of the ignorant and empty compliments that others pay him.

I wish to ask you a simple question. Why do you render those who spend their lives in your service so extremely ridiculous? That may be just the fashion of your humour; but is it fair to persist as you do? There is, for instance, my old friend BENJAMIN CHUMP, little BEN CHUMP as we used to call him in the irreverent days, before his face had turned purple or his waistcoat had prevented him from catching stray glimpses of his patent-leathered toes. Little BEN was not made for the country, that was certain. A life of Clubs and dinner-parties would have suited him to perfection. In his Club he could always pose before a select and, it must be added, a dwindling circle as a man of influence. "There is no Club, however watched and tended, but one dread bore is there." BEN might have developed into a prime bore, but as he was plentifully supplied with money and had a good cook and a pleasant wife, he would always have managed to gather round him plenty of guests who would have forgiven him his elaborate platitudes, for the sake of his admirable made-dishes. Suddenly, however, he resolved to become a country gentleman. As there is no law to prevent a CHUMP from turning into a squire, BEN had not to wait very long before he was able to put his fatal resolve into execution. He purchased an Elizabethan mansion, and descended with all his airs and belongings upon the unhappy country-side which he had decided to make the scene of his rural education. Before that I used to see him constantly. After that I quite lost sight of him. Occasionally I read paragraphs in weekly papers about immense festivities due to the enterprise of the CHUMPS, and from time to time I received local papers containing long accounts of hunt breakfasts, athletic sports, the roasting of whole oxen, and other such stirring country incidents in which it appeared that the CHUMPS took a prominent part. I will do BEN the credit to say that he never omitted to mark with broad red pencil those parts which referred specially to himself, or reported any speech he may have happened to make.

Eventually that which I dreaded came about. Circumstances made it impossible for me to refuse an invitation to Carchester Manor, and on a certain evening in the first week of December I found myself a guest under the roof of the CHUMPS. The entertainment provided was, I am bound to say, magnificent. Every want that the most exacting guest could feel was supplied almost before he had expressed it, and all that gorgeous rooms, stately retainers and irreproachable cooking could do to secure our comfort was done at Carchester Manor. But CHUMP himself was on that first evening the grandest spectacle of all. He overpowered me. Like some huge Spanish galleon making her way with bellying sails and majestic progress amidst a fleet of cockle-shells, so did CHUMP bear himself amidst his party. The neighbouring magnates came to meet us. Lord and Lady AGINCOURT with their charming daughter Lady MABEL POICTIERS, Sir GEORGE BUCKWHEAT and his wife, the Reverend Canon and Mrs. CATSPAW, and a host of others were there to do CHUMP honour. I thought of POLYCRATES and his ring and of other well-known examples. Something I knew must happen to disturb this edifice of pompous grandeur. The something was not long in coming, for just after CHUMP had expatiated at immense length upon the vintages of France, after he had offered to stock the failing cellars of Lord AGINCOURT from his own, after the butler had, with due parade, placed two corks at his master's side in token of the treat that was to follow, it was discovered by little BILLY SILTZER, an impudent dog without veneration or reticence, that _both_ the bottles of _Pontet Canet_ were disgustingly corked. To my relief, but to CHUMP's discomfiture, BILLY announced his discovery. "BEN, my boy," he shouted across the table, "the moths have been at this tap of wine. I'm afraid his Lordship won't care to take it off your hands." BEN became blue with suppressed fury. The trembling butler obeyed his angry summons. "Take that stuff away," said BEN, "and drink it yourself. Bring fresh wine at once." But, alas, for wasted indignation, no more _Pontet Canet_ was forthcoming, and we had to satisfy ourselves on a wine whose inferiority no flourish of trumpets could disguise.

Now there is nothing in the accident of a corked bottle that ought to crush a man. I have seen a host rise serenely after such an occurrence, and nobody dreamt of imputing it to him for wickedness. But the contrast between the magniloquence of poor BEN and the deadly failure of his wine, was too great. Even Lady MABEL, a kind girl without affectations, could not forbear a smile when the incident was narrated to her in the drawing-room, and some of the other guests, whose names I charitably refrain from mentioning, seemed quite radiant with pleasure at the misfortune of their host. CHUMP, however, was not long in recovering, and before many hours had passed, he was assuring us in the smoking-room, that he proposed to establish sport in his particular district on a broad and enduring basis. On the following morning there was a lawn-meet at the Manor, and, as I'm a living sinner, our wretched host was flung flat on his back before the eyes of all the neighbouring sportsmen and sportswomen by a fiery chestnut which he bought for £400 from a well-known dealer. What became of him during the rest of the day I know not. Indeed I shrink from continuing the story of his ridiculous humiliations, and I merely desire to remark that if this be your Excellency's manner of rewarding those who serve you, I pray that I may be for ever preserved from your patronage.