Chapter 1

PUNCH,

OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 102.

January 23, 1892.

THE COVENT GARDEN MASQUE.

Mumming--masking--masquerading; Fanning--fun--fanfaronading; Dancing--duncing--deft disguises; Singing--supping--strange (sur) prizes; Galloping and gallivanting Couples much in need of BANTING; All the customary make-up CLARKSON's customers can fake up; All the little childish raiment, Fatties don--for sylph and fay meant; Tally-hos and Hey-no-nonnies: Jackies--Jillies--Jennies--Johnnies-- Barber's blockhead--nothing dafter-- Heralding "Before and After": "Auntie's Bottle Hot"--a phial Only for external trial-- Gems of London--gems of Paris-- Arid gusts--AUGUSTUS HARRIS-- Splitting mirth--some garbs that split, too-- Aching heads next morning, ditto!

* * * * *

TO BE AVOIDED.--An Intemperate tone by a Temperance lecturer.

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* * * * *

RESPECTABILITY.

["What is Respectability?"--_Daily Telegraph, Jan. 12._]

It's having money at the Bank. It's being a personage of rank. It's having spent three years at College With great, or little, gain of knowledge. It's going to Church twice every Sunday, And keeping in with Mrs. GRUNDY. It's clothes well-cut, and shiny hat, And faultless boots, and nice cravat. It may be Law, or Church, or Ale, Or Trade--on a sufficient scale. It's being "something in the City." It's carefully to shun being witty. It's letting tradesmen live on credit. It's "Oof"--to earn it, or to wed it.

* * * * *

PROFESSOR JOLLY, of Berlin, who, if his name express his disposition, ought to be a follower of _Mark Tapley_, reckons that twenty-five per cent. of the inmates of asylums have been inebriates. Is the Professor "Jolly well right?"

* * * * *

A DIALOGUE OF THE FUTURE.

SCENE--_Rooms of a Cambridge Tutor._

PERSONS--_A Tutor and an Undergraduate._

_Tutor_. I understand you were at Newmarket yesterday. Is that so?

_Undergraduate_. It is. I was.

_Tutor_. A shameless avowal. Are you aware that you have broken one of the disciplinary regulations of your College? I fear I must punish you severely. Have you anything to say why sentence should not be passed upon you. [_Assumes the black College Cap._

_Undergraduate_. Yes, Sir, I have.

_Tutor_. Then say it at once.

_Undergraduate_. I went to Newmarket to see-- [_Hesitates._

_Tutor_. Proceed, Sir. Time presses. You went to see what?

_Undergraduate_. As a matter of fact, I was particularly anxious to see the Head of the University.

_Tutor_. What do you mean, Sir?

_Undergraduate_. The chief Dignitary of Cambridge, the Chancellor, the Duke of DEVONSHIRE.

_Tutor_. You are trifling with me.

_Undergraduate_. Not at all, Sir. The Chancellor was there in state. I saw him. My curiosity was satisfied, and I returned to Cambridge.

_Tutor_ (_after a pause_). Ah, of course that alters the case. If you can assure me you did not go for the purpose of watching horse-races--

_Undergraduate_ (_breaking in_). Certainly, Sir. I do give you the assurance.

_Tutor_. That being so, I dismiss you with a caution.

[_Exit Undergraduate. The Tutor is left pondering._

* * * * *

ANOTHER RURAL CONFERENCE.

[A Church Dignitary, writing to _The Globe_, suggests that the rural reform most urgently needed is a better postal system in the shires.]

_Radical Reformer_ (_meeting Rural Labourer tramping to London_). Yours is a typical case, my man. You are a victim of our insensate Land Laws, or exploded Feudalism. No doubt you are leaving the country because you could not find employment there?

_Rural Labourer_. 'Tisn't that so much. Old Gaffer always had summat for a man to do, I can tell ye.

_Radical Reformer_. Glad to hear it, though it's unusual. Then I suppose it is the intolerable dulness of the country that drives you away from it.

_Rural Labourer_. 'Tisn't that either. Things be a bit dull in winter-time, cert'nly. But there--we've a Public, also a Free Reading Room, and--

_Radical Reformer_ (_disappointed_). Glad to hear it, again, I'm sure, though that also is unusual. Your house, now--rather, I ought to call it, your hovel, perhaps--lets in the rain badly--reeks with damp--only one room, and that a pigstye, eh?

_Rural Labourer_ (_offended_). Come now, don't you call my house a pigstye! Three good rooms, and not a bit o' damp or dirt about it.

_Radical Reformer_. Then the wages are low, and a tyrannical landlord refuses allotments, eh?

_Rural Labourer_. Allotments! I could have as many as I wanted for the asking. But there--I _didn't_ want 'em, y'see, and I _didn't_ ask.

_Radical Reformer_ (_gravelled_). Then would you explain to me what is the _real_ reason of your determination to quit the country for Town?

_Rural Labourer_ (_surprised_). Why, don't you know? _There was only one collection and one delivery of letters daily!_ I couldn't stand _that_, of course. I expect I shall find more in Lunnon. Good-day!

* * * * *

* * * * *

BORN, JULY 15, 1808. DIED, JAN. 14, 1892.

One more great Voice gone silent! Friends or foes, None well could watch that long life's gentle close Without a softening thrill. A valiant champion of the faith he held, No conflict ever his strong courage quelled, Or shook his steadfast will.

Yet, were that all, some well might turn away With custom's passing courtliness, to-day, And bid a cold farewell To the great priest, shrewd marshaller of men, Subtle of verbal fence with tongue or pen, Ascetic of the cell.

But there was more; and many a hundred hearts, Who not in cleric conflict played their parts, Will mourn him well and long, Friend of the poor, apart from creed or clique, And ardent champion of the struggling weak Against the selfish strong.

Toiler for Temperance, hastener on of Light, In many a fray where right's at odds with might, Might's foes will miss their friend. Farewell! It moves the common heart to hear The crowning of so glorious a career By such a gracious end!

* * * * *

THE SANITARY CONGRESS AT VENICE.--Mrs. RAM's Nephew was talking on this subject, when his Aunt was heard murmuring to herself, "I stood in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs;" then she looked up, and repeating the last word, observed, "Well, it never struck me before, often as I've heard that line quoted. But what an extraordinary thing to make a bridge of! I suppose it was painted over first, because I know that's how 'size' is commonly used."

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE BOXING IMBROGLIO.

Oh, SLAVIN, FRANK SLAVIN, you'd fain be a whacker Of SULLIVAN, JOHN, but you can't find a backer, While SULLIVAN, biggest of Yankee big fellows, Blows froth all the time from his own patent bellows. Well, fight if you must; I am sure you'll fight fair; Bag his wind if you can, FRANK, but don't beat the air.

* * * * *

ONLY FANCY!

Mr. CHAPLIN has, we hear, entered with native enthusiasm into his mission to the Agricultural Labourer. It was entirely his own idea. "The Liberals have their Rural Conferences," he said at a recent Cabinet Council, "and we should do something of the same kind; only we must go one better. Of course the delegates liked their trip to London (expenses paid, their free breakfast, their shake of Mr. GLADSTONE's hand, and the opportunity of gazing on the supple form of Mr. SCHNADHORST.) That's all very well for them. But think of the hundreds of thousands green with jealousy because they weren't selected for the trip? These are all ripe to vote for us at the General Election if only delicately handled. What you want is a man of commanding presence, unfailing tact, a knowledge of horses, and some gift of oratory. If no one else occurs to you, I'll go." No one else did occur to the mind of the Cabinet. So the Minister of Agriculture set forth on his missionary enterprise.

* * * * *

We have been gratified by the receipt of many tokens of interest and appreciation elicited by our paragraph last week, reporting the state of the household markets. One takes the form of a parcel of Russian tongues. "These," writes our esteemed Correspondent (we omit complimentary preface), "should before cooking be soaked for a week in cold water, and then boiled for a day." We are not disposed to spoil a ship for a ha'p'orth of tar, and shall improve upon these generous instructions. Having spent a week and a day in personally directing the preliminary process, we intend to grill the tongues for thirty-six hours, fry them for an afternoon, stew them for two days, hang them out of the window for five hours, and then bray them in a mortar. We fancy what is left will be worth eating.

* * * * *

RYMOND has been reading, with much interest, HENED's account of how he got the Influenza, and what he did with it. Apparently the first thing to do is, to "send for a thermometer," (as others would send for a Doctor), and take it to bed with you.

"Evidently," HENED writes last week in _his_ journal, "when a person does not feel well, he should try his temperature, and, if it be abnormally high, he should go to bed, and stay there until it comes down."--"Of course," RYMOND observes, with rare lapse into cynicism, "when the bed comes down, he is bound to go."

* * * * *

MATRIMONY UP TO DATE.

[The Defendant in a recent breach of promise case wrote to his intended, "When we are married you will have to sit with me when I am queer."]

Dear Ladies, who contemplate marriage, And imagine you'll ride in a carriage, With a house of your own, and your servants to wait for you, I'm afraid there's a totally different fate for you. When the word has been said, and the honeymoon's over, And you're safely returned, say, from Folkestone or Dover, If you see your hub ailing, And painfully paling, And you wish to be off, and not linger about him, But enjoy to the full your new freedom without him, Remember, remember, From Jan. to December, You must tie yourselves down, and be constantly near With the pill-box and posset, And all that may cosset That bore of a husband, whenever he's queer.

* * * * *

CELA VA SANS DIRE.--In reply to the Salvationists' Solicitors, an opinion was given, signed by Sir CHARLES RUSSELL, with WIT. Why drag in WIT? When CHARLES RUSSELL's name appears, the wit is taken for granted.

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THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS.

NO. XXIV.

SCENE--_The Piazza of St. Mark at night. The roof and part of the façade gleam a greenish silver in the moonlight. The shadow of the Campanile falls, black and broad, across the huge square, which is crowded with people listening to the Military Band, and taking coffee, &c., outside the caffés. Miss TROTTER and CULCHARD are seated at one of the little tables in front of the Quadri._

_Miss T._ I'd like ever so much to know why it is you're so anxious to see that Miss PRENDERGAST and me friendly again? After she's been treating you this long while like you were a toad--and not a popular kind of toad at that!

_Culch._ (_wincing_). Of course I am only too painfully aware of--of a certain distance in her manner towards me, but I should not think of allowing myself to be influenced by any--er--merely personal considerations of that sort.

_Miss T._ That's real noble! And I presume, now, you cann't imagine any reason why she's been treading you so flat.

_Culch._ (_with a shrug_). I really haven't troubled to speculate Who can tell how one may, quite unconsciously, give offence--even to those who are--er--comparative strangers?

_Miss T._ Just so. (_A pause._) Well, Mr. CULCHARD, if I wanted anything to confirm my opinion of you, I guess you've given it me!

_Culch._ (_internally_). It's very unfortunate that she _will_ insist on idealising me like this!

_Miss T._ Maybe, now, you can form a pretty good idea already what that opinion is?

_Culch._ (_in modest deprecation_). You give me some reason for inferring that it is far higher than I deserve.

_Miss T._ Well, I don't know that you've missed your guess altogether. Are you through your ice-cream yet?

_Culch._ Almost. (_He finishes his ice._) It is really most refreshing!

_Miss T._ Then, now you're refreshed, I'll tell you what I think about you. (_CULCHARD resigns himself to enthusiasm._) My opinion of you, Mr. CULCHARD, is that, taking you by and large, you amount to what we Amurrcans describe as "a pretty mean cuss."

_Culch._ (_genuinely surprised_). A mean cuss? Me! Really, this unjustifiable language is _most_--!

_Miss T._ Well, I don't just know what your dictionary term would be for a man who goes and vows exclusive devotion to one young lady, while he's waiting for his answer from another, and keeps his head close shut to each about it. Or a man who backs out of his vows by trading off the sloppiest kind of flap-doodle about not wishing to blight the hopes of his dearest friend. Or a man who has been trying his hardest to get into the good graces again of the young lady he went back on first, so he can cut out that same dearest friend of his, and leave the girl he's haff engaged to right out in the cold. And puts it all off on the high-toned-est old sentiments, too. But I don't consider the expression, "a mean cuss," too picturesque for that particular kind of hero myself!

_Culch._ (_breathing hard_). Your feelings have apparently undergone a sudden change--quite recently!

_Miss T._ Well, no, the change dates back considerable--ever since we were at the Villa d'Este. Only, I like Mr. PODBURY pretty well, and I allowed he ought to have fair play, so I concluded I'd keep you around so you shouldn't get a chance of spoiling your perfectly splendid act of self-denial--and I guess I've _kept_ you around pretty much all the time!

_Culch._ (_bitterly_). In other words, you have behaved like a heartless coquette!

_Miss T._ You may put it at that if you like. Maybe it wouldn't have been just the square thing to do if you'd been a different sort of man--but you wanted to be taught that you couldn't have all the fun of flirtation on _your_ side, and I wasn't afraid the emotional strain was going to shatter you up to any serious extent. Now it's left off amusing me, and I guess it's time to stop. I'm as perfectly aware as I can be that you've been searching around for some way of getting out of it this long while back--so there's no use of your denying you'll be real enchanted to get your liberty again!

_Culch._ I may return your charming candour by admitting that my--er--dismissal will be--well, not wholly without its consolations.

_Miss T._ Then _that's_ all right! And if you'll be obliging enough to hunt up my Poppa and send him along, I guess I can dispense with your further escort, and you can commence those consolations right away.

_Culch._ (_alone_). The little vixen! Saw I was getting tired of it, and took care to strike first. Clever--but a trifle crude. But I'm free now. Unfortunately my freedom comes too late. PODBURY's _Titania_ is much too enamoured of those ass's ears of his--How the brute will chuckle when he hears of this! But he won't hear of it from _me_. I'll go in and pack and be off to-morrow morning before he's up!

_Next Morning. In the Hall of the Grand Hotel Dandolo._

_The German Porter_ (_a stately person in a gold-laced uniform and a white waistcoat, escaping from importunate visitors_). In von momendt, Matam, I attend to you. You want a larcher roûm, Sare? You address ze manager, blease. Your dronks, Laties? I haf zem brod down, yes.

_A Lady_. Oh, Porter, we want a gondola this afternoon to go to the Lido, and _do_ try if you can get us BEPPO--that _nice_ gondolier, you know, we had yesterday!

_The Porter_. Ach! I do nod know _any_ nah-ice gondolier--zey are oal--I dell you, if you lif viz zem ade mons as me, you cot your troat--yes!

_Another Lady_. Porter, can you tell me the name of the song that man is singing in the barge there?

_Porter_. I gannot dell you ze name--pecause zey sing always ze same ting!

_A Helpless Man in knickerbockers_ (_drifting in at the door_). Here, I say. We engaged rooms here by telegram from Florence. What am I to give these fellows from the station? _Combien_, you know!

_Porter_. You gif zem two franc--and zen zey vill gromble. You haf engage roûms? yes. Zat vill pe oal rahit--Your loggage in ze gondola, yes? I haf it taken op.

_The H.M._ No, it's left behind at Bologna. My friend's gone back for it. And I say, think it will turn up all right?

_Porter_. Eef you register it, and your vrient is zere, you ged it--yes.

_The H.M._ Yes, but look _here_, don't you know? Oughtn't I to make a row--a fuss--about it, or something, eh?

_Porter_ (_moving off with subdued contempt_). Oh, you can make a foss, yes, if you like--you ged nossing!

_Culch. and Podb._ (_stopping him simultaneously_). I say, I want my luggage brought down from No. ---- in time for the twelve o'clock--(_To each other_.) Hallo! are _you_ off too?

_Culch._ (_confused_). Er--yes--thought I might as well be getting back.

_Podb._ Then I--I suppose it's all settled--with Miss T.--you know--eh?

_Culch._ Fortunately--yes. And--er--_your_ engagement happily concluded?

_Podb._ Well, it's _concluded_, anyway. It's all _off_, you know. I--I wasn't artistic enough for her.

_Culch._ She has refused you? My _dear_ PODBURY, I'm really delighted to hear this--at least, that is--

_Podb._ Oh, don't mind _me_. I'm getting over it. But I must congratulate you on better luck.

_Culch._ On precisely similar luck. Miss TROTTER and I--er--arrived at the conclusion last night that we were not formed to make each other's happiness.

_Podb._ Did you, by Jove? Porter, I say, never mind about that luggage. Do you happen to know if Mr. and Miss TROTTER--the American gentleman and his daughter--are down yet?

_Porter_. TRODDERS? Led me see; yes, zey ged zeir preakfast early, and start two hours since for Murano and Torcello.

_Podb._ Torcello? Why that's where BOB and Miss PRENDERGAST talked of going to-day! CULCHARD, old fellow, I've changed my mind. Shan't leave to-day, after all. I shall just nip over and see what sort of place Torcello is.

_Culch._ Torcello--"the Mother of Venice!" it really seems a pity to go away without having seen it. Do you know, PODBURY, I think I'll join you!

_Podb._ (_not over cordially_). Come along, then--only look sharp. Sure you don't mind? Miss TROTTER will be there, you know!

_Culch._ Exactly; and so--I think you said--will the--er--PRENDERGASTS. (_To Porter._) Just get us a gondola and two rowers, will you, for Torcello. And tell them to row as fast as they can!

* * * * *

A FAIR PHILOSOPHER.

Ah! Chloris! be as simple still As in the dear old days; Don't prate of Matter and Free Will, And IBSEN's nasty plays, A girl should ne'er, it seems to me, Have notions so pedantic; 'Twere better far once more to be Impulsive and romantic.

There was a time when idle tales Could set your heart aflame; But now the novel nought avails, Philosophy's your game. You talk of SCHOPENHAUER with zest, And pessimistic teaching; Believe me that I loved you best Before you took to preaching.

There's still some loveliness in life, Despite what cynics say; It is not all ignoble strife, That greets us on our way. Then prithee smooth that pretty brow, So exquisitely knitted; Mankind in general, I trow, Can do without being pitied.

We'll linger over fans and frills, Discuss dress bit by bit, As in days when the worst of ills Were frocks that would not fit. 'Twas frivolous, but I'm content To hear you talk at random; For life is not all argument, And "_Quod est demonstrandum_."

You smile, 'twill cost you then no pang, To be yourself once more, To let philosophy go hang, With every Buddhist bore. "_Pro aris_," like a Volunteer, A girl should be, "_et focis_;" Supposing then you try, my dear, A new metempsychosis.

* * * * *

A COMPLICATED CASE.--The careless little boy who caught a cold from his cousin, caught it hot from his mother afterwards.

* * * * *

VENICE IN LONDON.

(_BY A MOSQUITO "OUT OF IT."_)

Oh, it's all very fine, Mr. IMRE KARALFY, Thus to blazon your "Venice in London" around, To portray the Piazzetta for 'ARRY and ALFY, But dispense with my tintinnabulary sound. Ask the Tourist if, reft of my wee fellow-creatures, On the face of the waters (and watermen) blown, He can honestly recognise Venice's features In their miniature--or, for that matter, _his own_.

Ever watchful, we guard, Messrs. ALFY and 'ARRY, With our trumpet and spear for the Doges, their mute, Opalescent, profanity-proof sanctuary, And we swell the lagoon--and lagoonster, to boot. Stare away at this pageant of eld--ever new 'tis,-- In the glimmering gondolas loll, if you like; But I'll warrant one eye would be closed to their beauties, Could I only escape for a second on strike.

Could I quiver concealed by yon mimic Rialto, Till I swooped with a warrior's music and swing, Were I only allowed, as I ought, and I shall, to Be avenged on your barbarous hordes with my sting. I would tilt at the fogs that mock Italy's glory, I would pounce on the rabble--an insolent fry;-- With my forefathers' motto, "_Pro Patria mori_," I'd annihilate ALFY and 'ARRY--and die!

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

_The Real Japan_ is the title modestly given by Mr. HENRY NORMAN to his book published by FISHER UNWIN. This, my "CO." remarks, seems to imply that all the rest (including the lady BIRD's not unknown work) is, as the Gentleman in trouble, who wanted to secure the advocacy of _Mr. Jaggers_, said, "cagmagger." This tone of bumptiousness is occasionally apparent in passages of the book, and is perhaps sufficiently explained by the circumstance, mentioned in the preface, that a number of the papers originally appeared in the _Pall Mall Gazette_. Foible apart, HENRY the Norman has contributed an interesting chapter to the history of a singularly attractive people. There is nothing new in the heavier parts, which smell vilely of Blue Books, and might as well have been written in Northumberland Street as in Yokohama. HENRY is best in the glimpses he gives of the people living their daily life--in the hands of justice, at school, working at their Arts and Crafts, dining and dancing.