Chapter 1

PUNCH,

OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 102.

July 2, 1892.

OPERATIC NOTES.

_Wednesday._--WAGNER. Vainly the Daughters of the River, representing the floating capital of the Banks of the Rhine, cry "Woa! Woa!" The orchestra, under the direction of Herr MAHLER, takes no notice of them, but goes on Wagnerianly, inexorably. Thus swimmingly we reach Walhall--where the fire-god _Loge_ has a _logement_ with very heavy insurance. _Wotan_ and _Loge_ in search of the gold. Then we meet the _Nibelungs_ and the _Nibelights_, all livers under a water-cure system; and then--it's like a musical nightmare--_Alberich_ changes himself into a toad and is towed off as a prisoner. _Fafner_ settles _Fasolt_ by a drum-head Court Martial, so that _Fafner_ gets the golden honey, and _Fasolt_ gets the whacks--and--please, Sir, I don't know any more--but some of the music is running river-like and lovely, more is puzzling, and much of it must remind Sir DRURIOLANUS of the rum-tum-tiddy-iddy-iddy-um-bang-whack of a great Drury Pantomime. House full; Duke and Duchess of EDINBURGH, with Princess MARIE and Crown Prince of ROUMANIA, enjoying themselves Wagnerially and Rou-manically.

_Saturday.--Le Prophète._ JOHN DE RESZKÉ not up to his usual form as the Sporting Prophet; but his little Brother EDWARD, and Messieurs MONTARIOL and CASTELMARY, first-rate as the three conspiring undertakers. Madame DESCHAMPS-JÉHIN, as _Fides_, very fine. "House," also, very fine, and large.

* * * * *

THE BONES OF JOSEPH.

Dear _Mr. Punch_,--When writing to a Journal of light and leaders--or misleaders--last Friday, I kept "a little bit up my sleeve," so to speak, for the Brightest, Lightest, and Leadingest of all papers yclept the one, Sir, that bears your honoured name. After quoting from Mr. CHAMBERLAIN at Holloway (not _in_ Holloway) on June 17, 1885, as a gentle reminder to Mr. GOSCHEN--_their_ "Mr. G."--I observed, "Perhaps, however, there are reasons why the 'Egyptian Skeleton' prefers to forget the speeches of Mr. CHAMBERLAIN in 1885." It struck me that, having already an Egyptian Skeleton, we might have as its companion a Brummagem Skeleton, which everyone can see through, and this sketch I beg to submit to you, _pro bono publico_. Always, _Mr. Punch_, your most obedient "subject" (artistically),

W.V. H-RC-RT.

* * * * *

THE FÊTE OF FLORA.

Were it not that the salutation were infelicitous, we should have said, "Hail, all hail!" to the _Fête_ at the Botanical Gardens, Regent's Park, last Wednesday. Besides, they have always an Aquarius of the name of WATERER on the premises, whose Rhododendrons are magnificent. So we didn't say "All hail!" and there was not a single drop, of rain, or in the attendance, to damage a charming show which has so often been spoilt by the drop too much that has floored many a _Fête_ of Flora. Nothing could have been prettier. Flowers of speech are inadequate to describe the scene. "Simply lovely!" is the best epitome of praise.

* * * * *

LADY GAY'S SELECTIONS.

_The Look-out, Sheepsdoor, Kent_.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,

Ascot has been too much for me! What with the excitement of racing all day, and bézique half the night--(another sign of the times; women no longer "play for love," but "love to play!")--to say nothing of the constant strain on one's nerves as to what the weather was going to do to one's gowns, I have had a severe attack of overwork, with complicating symptoms of my old enemy, idleness!--so that, on my return to town, my Doctor--(he's a _dear_ man, and prescribes just what I suggest)--insisted that I should at once run down to the Seaside to recuperate. Hence my retirement to the little fishing village of Sheepsdoor in Kent, "far from the gadding crowd;" a most delightfully rural and little-known resort, where we all go about in brown canvas-shoes--(russia-leather undreamt of!)--and wear out all our old things, utterly regardless of whether we look "_en suite_" or not. The only precaution _I_ take is to carry in my pocket a thick veil, which I pop on if I see anybody with evidences of "style" about them coming my way; fortunately, this has only happened once, when I met a certain well-known "Merry Duchess" and her charming little daughter, who both failed to penetrate my disguise!

I am sorry that my selected horse for the Windsor June Handicap did not run--though the word of command was given, "_Macready_!"--he was not told to be "present!"--being presumably short of a gallop or two, and therefore lacking "fire!" This little series of jokes is proudly dedicated to the _Military_, and _Civilians_ are "warned off!"--which is another turf expression. The much-needed rain has come at last, and the Heath should be in fine condition, which was more than its namesake at Ascot was, and all for want of a little attention--I am told that the far end was all in lumps, which caused the "_Lover_" to come down in his race--though that was hardly a surprise, as we know that "the course of true love never _did_ run smooth!"

Now--dear _Mr. Punch_, if you want a few hours' fresh air, command the special train, which I am told, is kept in readiness for you at every London Terminus, to transport you--(not for your _country's_ good, but _your own_)--to Sheepsdoor, Kent, where you shall receive a hearty welcome--Lord ARTHUR is not with me, but my French maid will _chaperon_ us--_if necessary_.

Yours devotedly, LADY GAY.

STUD PRODUCE SELECTION.

To a Circus in Lancashire, once I went, To see a performing dog dance! But, my money in vain I found I'd spent, For I much prefer a "_Clog Dance_."

* * * * *

THE TWO SARAS OF THE SEASON.--SARA BERNHARDT and SARA SATE.

* * * * *

_Whereto a Brummagem Bard hath set these Spenserian Stanzas._

[Mr. CHAMBERLAIN, in his Election Address, explains how he has co-operated with the Conservative Government in order to maintain the Union between Great Britain and Ireland.]

The lyon would not leave her desolate, But with her went along as a strong gard Of her chast person, and a faithfull mate Of her sad troubles and misfortunes hard; And over her he kept both watch and ward, With the assistance of two valiant knightes, Prince ARTHURE, and the Red Crosse Paladin, A pair of brotherlie and doughtie wightes, Though erst had they indulged in mutual flouts and spites.

For loe! a divelish dragon didde infest That region, and fair UNA strove to slay. Her to protect from that prodigious pest, The Red Crosse Knight--who lived out Midland way-- Didde, with Prince ARTHURE, travel day by day, And prodded up that lyon as they strode, With their speare pointes, as though in jovial play, To holde fair UNA, who her safety owed, Unto the puissant beaste whereon she proudlie rode.

Anon they heard a roaring hideous sound That all the ayre with terror filled wyde, And seemed uneath to shake the stedfast ground; Eftsoones that dreadful dragon they espyde, Where stretcht he lay upon the sunny side Of a great hill, himself like a great hill: But, all so soone as he from far descryde Those glistering knights banded in right good will, He rous'd himselfe full blyth, and hastned them untill.

Then badd those knightes fair UNA yede aloof, Whiles they attacked that dragon side by side, And put the issue to stern battaille's proof; "We'll give this Big Green Bogey beans!" they cryde, That Red Crosse Knight of Brummagem in his pride, And brave Prince ARTHURE of the shining crest. But if victoriously their blades they plied, Or, baffled by the dragon, gave him beste,-- Why, that the barde will sing _after_ the battaille's teste!

* * * * *

POLITICS.

(_BY A CONFUSED CITIZEN._)

What a state we'll soon be in! Such a clamour, such a din, Raised from Kew to Dalston, Cork to Cromer, Wight to Wick! Seeking votes through thin and thick, GLADSBURY and SALSTONE!

Talk and chatter, speech and cry! Some assert, then some deny In a near or far shire; Call each other names and laugh, Jeer and chuckle, joke and chaff-- DEVONCOURT and HARSHIRE!

Still they come and still they go; Up and down, and high and low, Many more than those four. Speak in Council, speak in House, Think not yet of golf or grouse, BALBERY and ROSEFOUR.

Rush and canvass up and down, Village, hamlet, city, town, Stately street or poor lane; Start committees, advertise, Think of rousing party cries, CHAMBERLEY and MORLAIN!

Such a fidget, such a fuss! There is no escape for us; We shall have it shortly. How I wish that both would go Off to Bath or Jericho, SALFOURLAIN, GLADCOURTLEY!

* * * * *

"Cave Kanem!"--"If," Dr. KANE is reported to have said at the Ulster Appeal Meeting in St. James's Hall, last Wednesday, "If they (the Ulster Irishmen) had to choose between arbitrary oppression and an appeal for justice to the God of battles, he (Dr. KANE) had no more doubt than he had about his existence, that that appeal would be made, and that God would defend the right." With the saving clause adroitly introduced into the last sentence, everyone, except an Atheist, will agree; and, but for this, this speech reads as an incentive to Civil War, intended to stir up brother against brother to fight to the death. Such sentiments may, in the future, be remembered as marked with "the brand of KANE."

* * * * *

A Difficulty.--_Mr. Dick_ was unable to keep, "King Charles the First's head" out of his literary work. So Our OSCAR, it is said, has been unable to keep the head of St. John the Baptist out of his play, _Salomé_, accepted by SARAH. Hence difficulty with licenser. The real truth, we believe, is that the head, according to received tradition, should be brought in by _Salomé_ "on a charger," and SARAH protests against this, as she is not an equestrian.

* * * * *

A New Songstress.--Mr. CUSINS, on Wednesday last, accompanying SCHUMANN, RUBINSTEIN, & Co., may fairly be described as "CUSINS German." A very successful Concert, musically notable, among many notable things, for the _début_ of Miss GWLADYS WOOD, who, being vociferously encored, gave a Tyrolean Volkslied, or "VOKES' Family" dance and song, playing the accompaniment herself. "She ought to do well."--I quote SHAKESPEARE, WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, the Musician, who sang a _duo_ with Mme. VALDA. The Concert commenced with a "Septette (By DESIRE)." This is a new Composer.

* * * * *

An Afternoon with Those who "Entertain" More than Anyone in London.--"_Charity Begins At Home_" or rather it begins at the GERMAN REEDS,' _after_ CORNEY GRAIN has finished his amusing "Vocal Recital." Then it is that never-failing Charity begins, and goes as well as ever. ALFRED REED is immensely funny, especially when disguised as a Charity Girl. On no account miss the Grain of Chaff's capital French version of CHEVALIER's Coster song about "_'Arry 'Awkins_." It's lovely! Excellent entertainment for everybody at St. George's Hall.

* * * * *

Doctor O'Letters.--_July 6th_.--Not "D.C.L." but "honorary degree of Doctor of Letters," is to be conferred by Dublin University on HENRY IRVING, for masterly management of vast correspondence. Let Oxford follow suit with a "Postmastership of Merton." Dr. L. O'TOOLE says, "I'm satisfied with 'L.L.L. Three Stars,' and plenty of it."

* * * * *

THE HORSE-EDUCATOR.

(_A SKETCH AT SYDENHAM._)

SCENE--_An Arena at North End of Crystal Palace.--The Arena is thickly covered with sawdust, and occupied solely by a light American waggon. There is a small steam-engine at one side, with an escape-pipe and valve projecting into the Circus, and a bundle of parti-coloured stuff is fluttering overhead opposite. From loose-boxes, three or four horses are examining these ominous preparations with apprehensive eyes. Enter a Portly Gentleman in a tall hat and frock-coat, who bows to the audience, and is but faintly applauded, owing to a disappointed sense that the ideal Horse-trainer would not tame in a tall hat. However, he merely appears to introduce Professor NORTON B. SMITH, who, turning out to be a slender, tall man, in a slouch hat, black velveteen coat, breeches, and riding boots, is received with enthusiasm._

_The Professor_ (_with a slight Transatlantic accent_). The first animal On my list, Ladies and Gentlemen, is a vurry bad shyer, afraid Of strange Objects, Fireworks, Music, Paper. Almost _anything_, in fact. Bring out Number One, boys. (_To a tall Groom and a short one, who rush to the loose-boxes, the short Groom falling over a drum, to the general delight. The horse who is afraid of almost anything is brought in, and begins to plunge at once, as though defying any_ Professor _to cure_ him.) Now, this animal is not Vicious, he's only Nervous.

[_The Horse appears to resent this description of himself, and lashes out by way of contradiction._

_Paterfamilias, in audience_ (_who has a spoilt horse at home_). Just what I always say about _Tartar_--it's nerves, not vice.

_His Eldest Daughter._ Shall you send him here to be cured, Father?

_Paterf._ No, my dear; quite unnecessary. When I see how it's done, I shall able to take _Tartar_ in hand myself, I have no doubt.

_The Prof._ (_instructively_). It is natural For a Horse when frightened at anything in Front of him, To jump Backwards, and when frightened at anything Back of him, To jump Forwards. (_Applause, in recognition of the accuracy and observation of this axiom._) Now I will show you my method Of correcting this Tendency by means Of my double Safety Rope and driving Rein, without Cruelty. Always Be Humane, Never causing any Pain if you Possibly can Help it. Fetch that Harness. (_The short Groom trips again, but so elaborately as to be immediately recognised as the funny man of the performance, after which his awkwardness ceases to entertain. The Professor shouts, "Woa!" and, as the horse declines to accept this suggestion, emphasises it by pulling the double rope, which, being attached to the animals forelegs, promptly brings him on his knees, much to his surprise and indignation_.) Never use the word "Woa!" Only when you mean your horse To stop. Woa! (_horse down again, intensely humiliated_.) If you mean him just To go quiet, say "Steady!" and teach him The difference Of the words. Never afterwards Deceiving him. (Paterf. _makes a note of this on Tartar's account._) Steady ... Woa! (_Same business repeated; horse evidently feeling that he is the victim of a practical joke, and depressed. Finally, Professor says "Woa!" without pulling, and horse thinks it better to take the hint._)

_Paterf._ Wonder where I could get that apparatus--just the thing for _Tartar_!

_His Daughter_. But you would have to lay down such a lot of sawdust first. And it might teach him to kneel down whenever you said "Woa!" you know, and _that_ wouldn't do!

_Paterf._ Um! No. Never thought of that.

_Prof._ I will now introduce To his notice the Bass Drum. (_The two Grooms dance about the horse, banging a drum and clashing cymbals, at which he shies consumedly. Gradually he appears to realise that his lines have fallen among lunatics, and that his wisest policy is to humour them. He does so, even to the extent of suffering the big drum to be beaten on his head with patient disgust._)

_The Daughter_. You might try _that_ with _Tartar_, Father. You could have the dinner-gong, you know.

_Paterf._ (_dubiously_). H'm, I'm not at all sure that it would have the same effect, my dear.

_Prof._ (_who has vaulted on the horse's back_). I will now make him familiar With an umbrella. (_Opens it suddenly; horse plunges_.) Now, Sir, this is nothing but an umbrella--vurry good one too--it isn't going to hurt you; look at it!

[_He waves it round the animal's head, and finally claps it over his eyes, the horse inspects it, and tacitly admits that he may have been prejudiced._

_Daughter._ It would be quite easy to do that, Father. We could hide in the shrubbery with parasols, and jump out at him.

_Paterf._ Not while _I'm_--Well, we must see what your _Mother_ says about that. [_Begins to wish he had come alone._

_Prof._ (_introducing another horse_). This animal is a confirmed Kicker. We'll give him a little tinware, just to amuse him. (_Some tin pans and bells are attached to the animal's tail, but, perceiving that kicks are expected from him, his natural contrariness makes him decline to make sport for Philistines in this manner._) Hang on more tinware, boys! Some persons here may feel Disappointed that he Doesn't kick. Remember--that is not My Fault. They can't be too vicious to please me. (_The Horse sees his way to score, and after bearing various trials in a spirit of Christian resignation, leaves the Arena, consoled by the reflection that no one there got much fun out of_ him, _at all events. A Jibber is brought in; the Professor illustrates his patent method of teaching him to stand while being groomed, by tying a rope to his tail, seizing the halter in one hand and the rope in the other, and obliging the horse to perform an involuntary waltz, after which he mounts him and continues his discourse._) Now it occasionally happens To some riders that when they want To go down G. Street, their horse has a sort of idea he'd like to go up E. Street, and he generally _does_ go up it too!

_A Sister_ (_to her Brother_). ROBERT that's just like the horse _you_ rode that last time, isn't it?

[_ROBERT doesn't answer, fervently hoping that his Sister's Pretty Friend has not overheard this comment._

_The Prof._ Well, the way to overcome that is just to turn the animal round--so--several times till he gets dizzy and forgets where E. Street is, and then he says to himself, "I guess I'd better go wherever the gentleman wants!"

_The Sister._ ROBERT's horse turned round and round like that--_didn't_ he, ROBERT? [ROBERT _turns rather red and grunts._

_Her Pretty Friend._ And then did he go where your brother wanted him to?

_The Sister._ Oh yes, at last. (_ROBERT breathes more freely._) Only without ROBERT. [_ROBERT wonders bitterly why on earth a fellow's Sisters should try to make him out a regular muff like this._

[_Two more horses are brought out, put in double harness in the light waggon, and driven round the Arena by the Professor. A steam whistle is let off over their heads, whereupon they rear and plunge, and back frantically, the Professor discoursing unperturbed from the waggon. After a few repetitions of this, the horses find the steam-whistle out as a brazen impostor, and become hardened sceptics from that moment. They despise the Comic Groom when he prances at them with a flag, and the performance of the Serious Man on the cymbals only inspires them with grave concern on his account. The bundle of coloured rags is let down suddenly on their heads, and causes them nothing but contemptuous amusement; crackers bang about their heels--and they pretend to be pleased; the Funny Groom (who is, by this time, almost unrecognisable with sawdust), gets on the near horse's back and bangs the drum on his head, but they are merely pained by his frivolity. Finally he throws an armful of old newspapers at them, and they exhibit every sign of boredom. After this, they are unharnessed and sent back to their boxes--a pair of equine Stoics who are past surprise at anything on this earth._]

_The Prof._ (_concluding amidst loud applause_). Ladies and Gentlemen, I have only To say that I don't carry any horses About with me, and that if anyone here has a vicious Or nervous animal, and likes to send him to me, I will undertake to handle him free of all charge.

_Paterf._ I shall have _Tartar_ sent here--less trouble than trying the methods myself--and safer.

_Prof._ And after I have treated the animal as you have seen, the Proprietor will only have to repeat the process himself for a week or so, and I guarantee he will have a thoroughly broke horse.

_The Daughter_. There, you see, Father, some of the taming will _have_ to be done at home!

_Paterf._ (_who doesn't quite see himself dancing about_ Tartar _with a drum, or brandishing an umbrella on his back_). Well, TOPPIN will take the horse over, and he'll be here and see how it's done. I can't be bothered with it myself. I've too much to do!

_The Daughter_. I wish you would. I'm sure _Tartar_ would rather _you_ tamed him than TOPPIN!

[_Paterf. while privately of opinion that this is not unlikely, sees no necessity to consider his horse's preferences in the matter_.

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

_House of Commons, Monday, June 20_.--Black Rod got up little joke to-night by way of relieving the weight of these mournful parting moments. As soon as House met, word went round that, in absence of Mr. G., and other Leaders of the Opposition, SAGE OF QUEEN ANNE'S GATE intended to take Prince ARTHUR in hand, and insist on his making clean breast of date of Dissolution. A Royal Commission arranged in other House. Black Rod despatched to summon Commons to assist at ceremony. "The SAGE wants the House of Lords abolished, does he?" said Black Rod, to his friend the White Elephant. "Very well; but before it's done, I'll bet you 100 to 1, as JOHN MORLEY says, that I, as representative of the Lords, will make him shut up, and pretty sharp too. He little knows there's a Rod in pickle for him, and a Black 'un, too."

Everything worked out as it was planned. On Motion for Third Reading of Appropriation Bill, SAGE, in his most winning way, invited Prince ARTHUR to name the happy day. Black Rod, getting tip, hurried across Lobby; reached the door just as SAGE was in middle of a sentence. "Black Rod!" roared Doorkeeper, at top of his voice. SAGE paused, looked with troubled glance towards door, stood for a moment as if he would resist the incursion, and catching sight of sword by Black Rod's side, abruptly sat down amid general titter.

Still winding-up business. GEORGE CURZON explained Indian Budget to PLOWDEN, and Rev. SAM SMITH, who thought it very good. So it was, comprehensive, lucid, here and there brightened with felicitous touches of eloquence.