Chapter 1

Produced by Malcolm Farmer, William Flis, and the PG Online Distributed Proofreading Team.

PUNCH,

OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 103.

August 20, 1892.

AD PUELLAM.

["Detective cameras have become favourite playthings with ladies of fashion."--_Ladies' Paper_.]

You used to prate of plates and prints And "quick developers" before, In spite of not unfrequent hints That these in time become a bore; But then this photographic craze Seemed little but a foolish fad, While now its very latest phase Appears to me distinctly bad.

Since even your devoted friends At sight of you were wont to fly, You manage still to gain your ends, And photograph them on the sly; The muff, the cloak with ample folds, The parcel, and the biscuit-tin, I know that each discreetly holds Detective lenses hid within.

Should CROESUS greet you with a smile, A "bromide" will record the fact; Should STREPHON help you o'er a stile, The film will take him in the act. Yet this renown, if truth be said, Is fame they'd rather be without; Nor, I assure you, will they wed A lady photographic tout.

* * * * *

ANTIQUITY OF GOLF.

That Golf was a game probably known to and played by pre-Adamite Man (whoever he may have been; name and address not given) is evidenced by the learned Canon TRISTRAM's observation in the Biology Section of the British Association Meeting last week, to the effect that "he (the Canon) had never seen a better collection of these Links connecting the present with the past world." This must be most interesting to all Golf-players.

* * * * *

* * * * *

'ARRIET.

A REALISTIC RHAPSODY.

(_WITH APOLOGIES TO MR. HENRY KENDATT, AUTHOR OF "ASTARTE," IN THE "BOOKMAN."_)

Across the wind-blown bridges, O look, lugubrious Night! She comes, the red-haired beauty Illumined by gaslight! By London's dim gaslight! So hush, ye cads, your roar! Behind her plumes are waving Her oil'd fringe flaps before.

O 'ARRIET, Cockney sister, Your face is writhed with jeers; How awful is the angle Of those protuberant ears! Those red, protuberant ears! And your splay feet--O lor!!! My loud, my Cockney sister, Where oil'd fringe flops before!

Ah, 'ARRIET! gracious 'eavens, How your greased locks do glow! I swoon! The "hodoration" (I heard you call it so) Sickens my senses so; 'Tis "Citronel"--no more, That scents, like a cheap barber's, That oil'd fringe hung before.

'ARRIET, my knowing darling, Your eyes a cross-watch keep, You're togged in shop-girl's fashion, Your cloak is bugled deep, Black-bugled broad and deep, With buttons dappled o'er, Good gr-racious! how it's grown, too-- That oil'd fringe flopped before!

That "bang" is awfully trying, That odour maddens me. By Jingo! you've been dyeing Those rufous locks, I see, Those sandy locks, I see, They're darker than of yore. Avaunt! I'd be forgetting That oil'd fringe flopped before.

* * * * *

RATHER APPROPRIATE.

Under the heading "Military Education," there appears in _The Tablet_, an advertisement concerning preparation for examinations at Woolwich and Sandhurst by "the Rev. E. VON ORSBACH, F.R.G.S., F.R.Hist.S., late Tutor to their Highnesses the Princes of THURN-AND-TAXIS." What a suggestive name for a tutor preparing young men for a Cavalry Regiment is "VON ORSBACH!" Not only would pupils surmount all difficulties of EUCLID's propositions, but being brought up by VON ORSBACH, they would dare all "riders!" Then as to the Princes, his pupils, cannot we conceive of the first Prince THURN how he has been turned out a perfect 'orseman by VON ORSBACH, and how it would tax all an Examiner's ingenuity to pluck TAXIS. Pity that when one Prince was called TAXIS the other wasn't named RATES. But evidently this was an oversight. A neat couplet might head this advertisement, and add to its attractiveness, as for instance:--

Every question, whatever they ax is, Will in its THURN be answered by TAXIS. TAXIS and THURN, for a win you'll of course back, The pick of the stable, the trainer VON ORSBACH.

We wish him a continuance of the successes which from his list this Equestrian Military Tutor--he can't he a "coach" as he is an ORSBACH--has already obtained. It's a German name, but it sounds more like 'Orsetrian (!)

* * * * *

CUI BONO?--"It is a mistake," quoth _The World_ last week, "to suppose that Mr. GLADSTONE complacently regards Sir WILLIAM HARCOURT as his '_Alter Ego_.'" Mr. G. being the "_Ego_" it is not very likely that Sir WILLIAM V. HARCOURT is likely to "alter" any of his Leader's plans. Still an "_Alter Ego_" is very useful whenever Mr. GLADSTONE may want to "wink The Other I."

* * * * *

[_Christopher Columbus_. "WHAT! GO OVER IN FIVE DAYS! WHY, IF I'D HAD A SHIP LIKE THAT, I'D HAVE DISCOVERED EVERYTHING BEFORE NOW!"]

* * * * *

ELECTION AGONIES.

(_BY A RE-ELECTED M.P._)

Yes, there I stood beside my wife, And called it--whilst the mob cheered wildly-- "The proudest moment of my life," Which it was _not_, to put it mildly.

Heavens, how they cheered! Up went their caps, To see their Member safely seated; Who in his inmost soul, perhaps, Had almost wished himself defeated.

The girls are pleased. And Mrs. T., Has fairy visions of a handle To grace the name she shares with me; But is the game quite worth the candle?

Six years of unremitting work, Of flower-shows, bazaars, and speeches, Of sturdy mendicants who lurk In wait to act as sturdy leeches.

The faddists--Anti-This-and-That-- Blue-spectacled "One Vote, One Person"-- Extract a promise, prompt and pat, The while their heads you hurl a curse on.

And in return? The dull debate, The dreary unimportant question, The pressure of affairs of State, A muddled brain, a lost digestion.

Six years of it. I _cannot_ stand At any cost another bout of it; But, given away on every hand, I don't quite see how to get out of it.

Ah, happy thought! My seat is safe, And so 'mid general adulation, I'll rescue some poor party waif By Chiltern Hundreds resignation.

The world will quickly roar applause, Of martyrs I shall be the latest; But I'm the party and the cause To whom the service will be greatest!

* * * * *

SONG OF GRATITUDE (_by a Nervous Equestrian on the exceptional absence of 'Arry-cyclists or "Wheelmen" from the road to Wimbledon_).--

"Oh, Wheelie, have we missed you? Oh no, no, No!"

* * * * *

* * * * *

HOW INSULTAN'!

_British Envoy, Timbuctoo, to Foreign Minister, London._

No end of a row! Grand Vizier, Lord Chamberlain, Keeper of Privy Purse, and other high Officials, assembled outside my house, and smashed windows, aided by furious crowd. Certain that Sultan is at bottom of it. Mayn't I say something vigorous to him?

_Foreign Minister, London, to British Envoy, Timbuctoo._

Awkward, as General Election going on. Temporise. Appear not to notice stone-throwing. Very difficult to get to Timbuctoo with British Force. If hit with stones, try arnica. Rather think Timbuctoo was discovered by an Irishman, and called after him, TIM BUCKTOO. Eh?

_British Envoy to Foreign Minister._

Please don't jest; especially not in Irish. Glad to say aspect of affairs completely changed. Sultan frightened about the stone-throwing. Beheaded Grand Vizier, and sent Lord Chamberlain, heavily ironed, to be imprisoned in cellar under my own apartment. Gratifying. Treaty on point of being signed.

_Foreign Minister to British Envoy._

Your action quite approved of. Get Treaty signed quick! France, not unnaturally, seems rather galled. See joke? Play on word "Gaul."

_British Envoy to Foreign Minister._

Quite see joke. Saw it years ago. Please don't send any more of 'em. Treaty settled! Gives absurdly generous bounty to all British subjects trading with Timbuctoo. Abolishes all Tariffs. Draft, with Sultan's signature, returned to him to be properly copied out. Mere formality. Packing up, and off to Coast to-night.

_Same to Same._

Arrived at coast. Treaty in carpet-bag. Regret to say, that on examining it, find that Sultan has slipped in the little word "not" in every clause. Makes hash of whole thing. What shall I do?

_Foreign Minister, London, to British Envoy._

Do nothing! Former Foreign Minister no longer in Office. General Election _has_ taken place. Whole subject will be reconsidered, with quite new lights, before long. Off for a holiday just now, and can't attend to it. You'll hear from me again in about six months. Meanwhile, your motto must be--"_Fez-tina lente_!" Last joke. Brilliant. Just going to let it off at dinner-party. P.S.--Great success.

* * * * *

REEF-LECTION.--Delivering judgment in the case of _Osborne_ v. _Aaron's Reef, Limited_, Mr. Justice CHITTY, in the interests of the public, was justly severe on both plaintiff and defendants, declining "to give any costs in this action to such a Company." Everyone is familiar with the nautical expression of "taking in a reef," which seems to have been a slightly difficult operation for anyone to perform with AARON's Reef, which, after the manner of AARON's Rod, when it was transformed into a serpent, appears to possess the faculty of swallowing to a very considerable extent. Knowing brokers, if consulted, would not have sung to unwary clients the popular ditty "_Keep your Aarons_," but would have recommended them, being in, to be out again in double-quick time, if there were any chance of an immediate though small ready-money profit to be made, before one could have said "Scissors!"

* * * * *

MARGATE BY MOONLIGHT.

_It is about nine P.M.; in the West, a faint saffron flush is lingering above the green and opal sea, while the upper part of the church tower still keeps the warm glow of sunset. The stars are beginning to appear, and a mellow half moon is rising in a deep violet sky. Lamps are twinkling above the dusky cliffs, and along the curve of the shore._

_The Reader will kindly imagine himself on a seat at the end of the Pier, where the Sand is playing, and scraps of conversation from his neighbours and passing promenaders, reach his ear involuntarily._

_Fair Promenader_ (_roused to enthusiasm by the surroundings_). Oh, don't it look lovely at night? (_Impulsively._) I can't _'elp_ sayin' so.

_Her Companion_ (_whose emotions are less easily stirred_). Why?

_The Fair P._ (_apologetically_). Oh, I don't know exactly--these sort o' scenes always _do_ take my fancy.

_Her Comp._ (_making a concession to her weakness_). Well, I must say it's picturesque enough--what with the gas outside the 'All by the Sea, and the lamps on the whilk stalls.

_First Girl_ (_on seat--to Second_). Here comes that young SPIFFING. I do hope he won't come bothering _us_! (_Mr. S. gratifies her desire by promenading past in bland unconsciousness_.) Well, I do call that _cool_! He must have seen us. Too grand to be seen talking to us _here_, I suppose!

_Second Girl_. I'm sure I wouldn't be seen talking to _him_, that's all! Why, he's on'y-- [_They pick him to pieces relentlessly._

_First Girl_. Take care--he's coming round again. Now we shall see. Mind you don't begin laughing, or else you'll set _me_ off!

[_As a natural consequence, Mr. S.'s approach excites them both to paroxysms of maidenly mirth._

_Mr. S._ (_halting in front of them_). You two seem 'ighly amused at something. What's the joke?

_Second Girl_ (_as the first is compelled to bury her face behind her friend's back_). Don't you be too curious. I'll tell you this much--at _your_ expense!

_Mr. S._ Oh, is it? Then you might let Me 'ave a a'porth!

_First Girl_. BELLA, if you tell him, I'll never speak to you again.

[_As there is nothing particular to tell, Miss BELLA preserves the secret._

_Mr. S._ (_reconnoitring his rear suspiciously_). There's nothing pinned on to my coat-tails, is there? (_Renewed mirth from the couple_.) Well, I see you're occupied--so, good evenin'.

[_Walks on, with offended dignity._

_Second Girl_. There! I _knew_ how it would be--he's gone off in a huff now!

_First Girl_. Let him! He ought to know better than take offence at nothing. And such a ridic'lous little object as he's looking, too! What else can he _expect_, I'd like to know!... Don't you feel it chilly, sitting still?

_Second Girl_ (_rising with alacrity_). I was just thinking. Suppose we take a turn--the _other_ way round, or he might think--

_First Girl_. We'll show him others have their pride as well as him. [_They disappear in the crowd._

_Mr. Spiffing_ (_repassing a few minutes later, with one of the young Ladies on each arm_). Well, there, say no more about it--so long as it wasn't at Me, I don't mind! [_They pass on._

_A Wheezy Matron_ (_in a shawl_). She was a prettier byby in the fice than any o' the others--sech a lydylike byby she was--we never 'ad no bother with her! and never, as long as I live, shall I forgit her Grandpa's words when he saw her settin' up in her 'igh cheer at tea, with her little cheeks a marsk o' marmalade. "LOUISER JYNE," he sez, "you mark my words--she's the on'y reelly _nice_ byby you ever 'ad, or _will_ ave!"

_Her Comp_. An' he wasn't given to compliments in a general way, neither, _was_ he?

_Anxious Mother_. I can't make him out. Sometimes I think he means something, and yet,--Every morning we've been here, he's come up to her on the Pier, and brought her a carnation inside of his 'at.

_Her Confidante_. Then depend upon it, my dear, he has intentions. _I_ should say so, certingly!

_The Mother_. Ah, but CARRIE tells me she's dropped her glove, accidental-like, over and over again, and he's always picked it up,--and handed it back to her. I reelly don't know what _to_ think!

_The Confidante_. Well, I wouldn't lose heart--with the moon drawin' on to the full, as it is!

_A Seaside Siren_ (_conscious of a dazzling complexion--to a suburban Ulysses_). I wish I could get brown--I think it's so awfully becoming--but I never can!

_Ulysses_. Some people _are_ like that. On'y turn _red_, you know, specially the nose--catches 'em _there_, y'know!

_The Siren_. I'm obliged to you, I'm sure! Is that meant to be personal?

_Ulysses_. Oh, I wasn't thinking of _you_ when I said that.

_The Siren_. You're very complimentary. But do tell me--am _I_ like that? (_She presents her face for his inspection_.) Candidly, now.

_Ulysses_ (_conscientiously_). Well, I don't notice anything particular--but, you see, colours don't show up by moonlight.

[_The Siren coldly intimates that her Mother will be waiting supper for them._

_An Habitué_. Some people will tell yer, now, that Margit's _vulgar_. They must be precious 'ard to please, that's all! I'm as partickler as what most are, and I can assure yer if there was anythink o' _that_ sort about, I shouldn't come down 'ere reglar, season after season, like I do!

_His Companion_. In course not--and no more shouldn't I, neither!

_ALONG THE ESPLANADE._

_Female Voice_ (_from the recesses of a glazed shelter_). But if you're on the sands all day, how is it I never _see_ you?

_Male Voice_ (_mysteriously_). Would you like to know? Really? You shall. (_With pride_.) I'm one of the Niggers!

_Fem. V._ (_deeply impressed_). Not "GUSSIE," or "Uncle ERNIE!"

_Male V._ (_with proud superiority_). Not exactly. I conduct, _I_ do--on the 'armonium.

_Fern. V._ (_rapturously_). Oh! I 'ad a sort o' feeling, from the very first, that you must be _Somebody_!

_A Lodging-House Keeper_. Yes, nice people they was--I don't know when I've _'ad_ such nice people. I'll tell you what they _did_ ... They come on a Thursday--yes, Thursday it was--and took the rooms from the Saturday followin' to the next Saturday--and then they stopped on to the Saturday after that. I do call that nice--don't _you_?

_A Mystic Plaint_ (_from a Bench_). Many and many a time I've borrered the kittles for them when the School Inspector was comin'--and now for them to turn round on me like this! It's a shame, it is.

_A Lady of Economical Principles_ (_at a Bow-window, addressing her Husband at the railings_). Why, my dear _feller_, why ever did you go and do _that_--when there was a bed empty 'ere for him?

_The Husband_ (_sulkily_). No one ever said a word to _me_ about there being a bed. And I've taken one for him now at the Paragon, anyway--so _that's_ settled!

_The Economical Lady_. I call it downright foolishness to go paying 'alf-a-crown a night for a bed, when there's one all ready _'ere_ for him! And you don't know _how_ long he may mean to stop, either!

_The Self-invited Visitor_ (_suddenly emerging from the shadow_).--You'll be 'appy to know, Mum, that your 'ospitality will not exceed the 'alf-crown. Good evenin'. [_Retires to the Paragon._

_The Econ. L._ (_regretfully_). And a lobster ordered in for supper a-purpose for him, too!

_A Street Musician_ (_with a portable piano_). I will next attempt a love-song. I feel full of love to-night. Oh, Ladies and Gentlemen--(_earnestly_)--take advantage of a salubrious night like this! Anyone who has not yet contributed will kindly embrace this opportunity of placing his offering upon the instrument; after which I shall endeavour to sing you "_In Old Madrid_." Oh, _what_ a difficult ditty it is, to be sure, dear Ladies and Gentlemen--especially as it makes the twenty-seventh I've sung since tea-time--however, I will do my best. (_He sings it_.) That will conclude my _al-fresco_ Concert for this evening. And now, thanking you all for your generous patronage of my humble efforts, and again reminding those who have not yet expressed their appreciation in a pecuniary form, that I am now about to circulate with the hat for the last time, I wish you all farewell, and balmy slumbers!

[_He collects the final coins, and wheels away the piano. The crowd disperses; the listeners in the lodging-house balconies retire; and the Crescent is silent and deserted._

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

One of the Baron's "Merry Men All" has been reading and enjoying Mr. BARRY PAIN's _Stories and Interludes_. The book has a wondrously weird and heavily-lined picture in front, which is just a little too like a "Prophetic Hieroglyphic" in _Zadkiel's Almanack_. An emaciated and broken-winged devil is apparently carrying an engine-hose through a churchyard, whilst a bat flits against a curious sky, which looks like a young grainer's first attempt at imitating "birds'-eye maple." Upon a second glance it seems possible that the "hose" is a snake, the tail of which the devil is gnawing. The gruesome design illustrates a yet more gruesome Interlude, entitled, "_The Bat and the Devil._" But it gives no fair idea of the contents of the volume, some of which are charming.

Read _White Nights_, stories within a story, told by a tragical "Fool," of the breed of HUGO's _Rigoletto_, and POE's _Hopfrog_--with a difference. They are told with force and grace, and with unstrained, but moving pathos. Read "The Dog That Got Found," a brief sketch indeed, but abundantly suggestive. Poor _Fido_--the "dog that got to be utterly sick of conventionality," and came to such bitter grief in his search for "life poignant and intense!" He might read a lesson to many a two-legged prig, were the bipedal nincompoop capable of learning it.

_The Glass of Supreme Moments_ is, perhaps, needlessly enigmatical, and _Rural Simplicity_, _Concealed Art_, and _Two Poets_, strike one as superfluously "unpleasant." Mr. PAIN seems slightly touched with the current literary fad for making bricks with the smallest possible quantity of straw. One halfpennyworth of the bread of incident to an intolerable deal of the sack of strained style and pessimist commentary, make poorish imaginative pabulum, though there seems an increasing appetite for it amongst those who, unlike _Lucas Morne_ in _The Glass of Supreme Moments_, plume themselves upon possession of "the finer perceptions." _The Magic Morning_ is a "scrap" elaborately sauced and garnished; the fleeting flavour may possess a certain sub-acid piquancy, but such small dishes of broken meats are hardly nourishing or wholesome.

Mr. PAIN has a delicate fancy and a graceful style, a bitter-sweet humour, and a plentiful endowment of "the finer perceptions." He has done some good work here, and will do better--when he finds his subject, and loses his affectations. Read _White Nights_, again says the Baron's "retainer."

BARON DE BOOK-WORMS & Co.

* * * * *

COMING BARONETCY TO BE MUSICALLY NOTED.--Song for a "Lullaby" or a "Good Knight" from _Don Giovanni_, and dedicated by nobody's permission to Sir ARTHUR SEYMOUR SULLIVAN, would be "_Barty! Barty!_" Will Sir EDWARD SOLOMON be in it? Probably this is "another night."

* * * * *

LAYS OF MODERN HOME.

NO. V.--BUTLERLESS.

Oh! bring my Butler back to me; I stray and lapse alone! If this be freedom, to be free Were something best unknown. He used to look so grand and grave-- So sad when I was slack; 'Twas difficult to misbehave-- Oh, bring my Butler back!

In him was nothing flash nor green-- A Seneschal confessed; Most people deemed his reverend mien Some family bequest. And yet but three short, happy years Had seen him on our tack, And made us verge on VERE DE VERES-- Oh, bring my Butler back!

A Pedigree in swallow-tails, He gave our household "tone." My soul plebeian trips and fails (See stanza first) alone. I fall on low Bohemian ways, I doff my evening black; I dine in blazer all ablaze-- Oh, bring my Butler back!

I breakfast now and smoke in bed; I wrench the bell for coals; No master-hand and master-head The day's routine controls. No stately form in homage curved, Our commissariat's lack, Veneers with, "_Dinner, Sir, is served_"-- Oh, bring my Butler back!

A few old friends drop in at times, But ah! their zest is gone; No organ voice with awe sublimes BROWN, JONES, and ROBINSON. They sound to me quite commonplace, Who seemed a ducal pack: 'Twas he who lent them rank and race-- Oh, bring my Butler back!

And _they_ must think me very queer, Each unennobled guest: I munch my chop, I quaff my beer At meal-times unrepressed, I laugh a laughter rude and loud; My little jokes I crack; The parlour-maid with mirth is bowed-- Oh, bring my Butler back!

Yes! bring that paragon to me-- 'Tis true he drank my wine; But, as I found it disagree, I don't so much repine: 'Tis true we missed a little plate When _he_ gave _us_ the sack. But "all things come to them that wait"-- Oh, bring my Butler back!