Chapter 1

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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 103.

December 31, 1892.

THE COMPLIMENTS OF THE SEASON.

(_A Characteristic Welcome to the Coming Year._)

It was on the 31st of December that they met. It had been arranged that at the final hour of the last day of the expiring year they should compare notes, and not one of them had failed to keep the appointment. It would be scarcely right to say they were cheerful, but merriment was not included in the programme.

"There is not the slightest chance of my bettering myself," said the Military Man. "Now that the Regiment has come from India, I can't afford to live at home, and I can't exchange because of my liver. Promotion was never slower than in 'Ours,' and my look-out is about the most ghastly there ever yet was seen."

"You are wrong there," observed the Briefless Barrister of mature years. "I think mine is a shade worse. I give you my word that during the last twelve months I have not earned enough fees to pay the rent of my Chambers and the salary of my Clerk. And things are getting worse and worse. One of the Solicitors who used to give me an occasional turn has been struck off the Rolls, and the other, has transferred his business to Australia. I feel inclined to follow, but I can't raise the passage-money. What luck, now, could be worse than mine?"

"Why mine," answered the Author. "An entirely new set of men have come to the front since I was popular, and my works are a drug in the market. I haven't been able to get rid of more than a dozen pages during the twelve months, and they appeared in a Magazine that stopped before the appearance of the next number! The future never looked blacker and more hopeless. I believe I am the most unfortunate man on earth."

"I fancy you are wrong," put in the Doctor. "I think my look-out worse than yours. Sold my practice seven years ago to flutter on the Stock Exchange. Lost my money in seven minutes, and have never had a patient since. I went to West Slocum (my old home) the other day, and found the place occupied by three Doctors, and the local Undertaker told me there was not room enough for one! Talk about luck, I am the unluckiest dog in the world!"

"I am not so sure of that," said the Actor, "here have I been 'resting' for the last twelve months, and it seems just as likely as not that I shall continue the operation until '94. I have tried everything in Town and the Provinces, and there isn't an opening anywhere. My fate is about the worst of the lot."

"Not so bad as mine," grumbled the Artist. "Haven't sold a single picture since the Jubilee year, and can't afford to pay the frame-maker. My studio is full of paintings, and the dealers say that there isn't a single canvas amongst the lot but what would be refused admission to an Exhibition of Sign-boards! Don't know how I should have kept body and soul together if it hadn't been for an opportune loan from one who in happier times was, in my employment as a model. Talk about prospects! Look at mine!"

"Well, come, you are better off than I am," said the City Man. "If I hadn't now and again to appear before the Registrar in the Bankruptcy Court, I don't know what I should do with my time! I am stone broke. That's about it--stone broke! Knocked out of the 'House,' and without a scrap of credit: I am done for!"

And it was agreed that none of them had any prospects. Then they separated, or rather, were on the eve of separating.

"By the way--fancy forgetting to do it!" said one of them.

And then they rectified the omission, and wished one another, "A Happy New Year!"

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE FEAST OF REASON UP TO DATE.

The old Alchemist smiled as he watched the crucible on the glowing coals. The fumes rose, and he inhaled them with delight.

It was a triumph. Yes, he was able to go forth a conqueror. It mattered not where he wandered, for all flew from before him. He seemed to possess some subtle power that no one understood, but which was all-conquering. After a lengthened absence he returned to England.

At his Club he met one of his friends--a doctor.

"I will tell you my adventures," said the old Alchemist, lighting a strong cigar. "You must know----"

"I know everything," said the Physician, sternly. "I know why you have scared the Arabs, and why disease cannot touch you. The secret is revealed by a recent _Lancet_. You can brave disease and death, because _you are fond of eating onions_!"

Seeing that his secret was known, the old Alchemist heaved a heavy sigh, and disappeared, perchance for ever!

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE PLEA OF THE POSTMAN.

All work and no play Makes a dull boy; so they say, Proverb-mongers, pretty bards. "All play," may be, worse I'll bet 'em! If they doubt my word, then let 'em Try _my_ hand at (Christmas) Cards!

_Punch in reply._

True for you! You growl with reason. Hearts are trumps, and at this season, Pray remember, Goldylocks, When your cards arrive in flocks, Postman earns _his_ Christmas Box!

* * * * *

"REDE ME ARIGHT!"--SIR EDWARD REED, M.P., is anything but a "bruised reed." On the contrary. More correct would it be to describe him as A Bruiser Reed, for his plucky encounter with his adversaries, over whom he triumphed by "A Vast Majority."

* * * * *

"Tinned Dinners."

_À propos_ of an interesting article in the _Daily Telegraph_ last Thursday on this subject, the problem that most naturally suggests itself is, "How about the dinner, if you haven't any tin?" "No Song, No Supper" is pleasantly alliterative, but is not of universal application. "No tin, no dinner," may pass into a proverb, but, anyhow, it's a fact.

* * * * *

"AH!" exclaimed our dear old Mrs. R., "I'm fond of high-class music. For many years I've heard my musical friends talking about 'SHOOLBRED'S Unfinished Symphony.' Why doesn't he get it finished? When was it ordered? But there--I know geniuses are always unpunctual."

* * * * *

THE INEVITABLE.

(_As Illustrated by recent Political, Social, and other Public "Functions."_)

Say you'd get up an "Inaugural Meeting," _Anything_ "forming," or _Anyone_ "greeting," If you'd have guests in their tankards their nose bury, Ruddy with mirth, you must put up Lord ROSEBERY. If facts and statistics your minds you will task with, He must be followed--of course--by young ASQUITH. Q.C. and canny Earl, Earl and 'cute Q.C., gents! There you've your "Popular Programme" _in nuce_, gents!

* * * * *

TO MY RIVAL.

How I loved her, blindly, madly! Sighing sadly, Feeling hurt If I did not see her daily. Oh, how gaily She could flirt!

Flirt with me, or flirt with others, With my brothers Just as well,

How I could be such a duffer So to suffer, I can't tell.

Then you came, played tennis finely, Danced divinely, Sang as well;

Half Adonis, half Apollo, Beat me hollow. Such a swell!

How I hated you, so clever! _You_ were never Thought a bore!

When I saw you so romantic I was frantic; How I swore!

I've recovered. Is she not a Child that's got a Newer toy? From the first she thought she'd booked you; Now she's hooked you. Wish you joy!

I'll forgive you altogether,-- She'll see whether I shall care,-- Shake your hand and gaily greet you, When I meet you Anywhere.

* * * * *

A GRAND OLD DIARY FOR 1893.

(_Published in Advance._)

_January._--As I am in Biarritz, may just as well see how they manage things in Spain. Looked up the Ministry at Madrid, and drafted them a treaty with Portugal. They thanked me with the courtesy of hidaljos, but refused with the paltry jealousy of a petty-fogging second-rate Power! What nasty pride! Sent home to one of my Magazines, "How I took part in a Bull-fight."

_February._--Opened Parliament and set things going, and then thought I might take a trip to Russia to fill up the odd time. Had a chat with the CZAR, and knocked off a plan for the introduction of "Home Rule." CZAR polite, but didn't see it. Well of course every one has a right to his own opinions, still I think it would do. CZAR didn't. Sent home to one of my Magazines, "How I lived for three days in the Mines of Siberia."

_March._--Back to town for a few days, and then off again. CLARK says travelling the best thing in the world for superfluous energy. Did China thoroughly. Drew up a plan for altering the language, manners, religions, politics, and customs of the Chinese. Brought it before a Special Committee of Mandarins; but they prevaricated, and practically shelved it. Sent home to one of my Magazines an article, "How I had a Boxing-match with the Emperor of CHINA, and knocked his Majesty out of time."

_April._--Things going on decently well at Westminster, so started for Turkey. Arranged Turkish Finance for the Grand Vizier. But that official distinctly an--well, not a wise man--said he would knock out a better budget himself. Sent home to one of my Magazines, "My Fortnight's Manoeuvres with the Bashi Bazouks."

_May._--Dropped in at St. Stephen's, and put a few finishing touches to one or two measures, then away to Egypt. Sketched out a Republican form of Government for the Khedive. However, his Highness did not seem to see it. The Egyptians are very Conservative in their notions. Sent home to one of my Magazines, "A Fortnight in the MAHDI'S Camp, by an Acquaintance of OSMAN DIGNA."

_June._--Attended a couple of Cabinet Meetings, and then to America for a jaunt. Gave the President a carefully worked-out scheme for converting the Government of the United States into a Monarchy of limited liability. The President greatly pleased, but not quite sure it would work. The Americans are sadly behind the age. Sent home to one of my Magazines, "How to see the World's Fair at Chicago in Twenty Minutes, by One who has done it."

_July._--Session nearly out. Took part in a debate or two and then off to the North Pole in a balloon. Managed to see a good deal of snow and ice, and fancy we caught a sight of the Pole itself. Sent home (by parachute) to one of my Magazines, "How I got within Measurable Distance of the Moon."

_August._--Just back to Westminster for a couple of days to wind up the Session, then away to India. Went on my own responsibility to see the Ameer of AFGHANISTAN. Drew up a treaty in draft to be signed by the Ameer and the Emperor of RUSSIA, CZAR was immensely pleased and wanted to make me Prince of CRIM TARTARY. Sent to one of my Magazines. "How I shot my first Wild Elephant."

_September._--Returned to Hawarden for the inside of a week and then paid my hurried visit to Australia. Submitted to the Colonies a scheme for "A Federal Association for the encouragement of the Naturalisation of the Rabbit in Australasia." The proposal fell rather flat. Find the rabbit is already known in these places. Sent home to one of my Magazines an article entitled, "My Prize-fight with the Kangaroo, and how I won it."

_October._--In London for a few days, then to Mexico. Saw the President, and suggested the revival of the Empire. President very rude; told me to mind my own business. Sent home to one of my Magazines, "A Week on the Prairies Buffalo lassooing."

_November._--Popped in at Midlothian, and made a speech or two, and then hurried away to Norway and Sweden. Tried to induce them to give up _their_ form of Home Rule, which, as all the world knows, has been a failure. Wanted them to take our Irish edition. They asked me "if it had been a success?" Stumped! Sent to one of my Magazines, "How to take a Photograph by Midnight Sunlight, by One who has done it."

_December._--Obliged to stay at home, because I think we are going to change our Town-house. Downing Street most convenient, but question whether I shall be able to get a renewal of the lease next year. Sketched out the _scenario_ of the Drury Lane Pantomime; but Sir AUGUSTUS prefers his own. Well, well, youth will have its way. Sent in my special article for Christmas and the New Year, "The History of the World, from the Earliest Times to the close of the Nineteenth Century, by One who has employed his leisure moments in its compilation." And here I may conclude, by wishing everybody "A Happy New Year."

* * * * *

* * * * *

TRIFLES.

(_From Our Special Autolycus._)

MR. OSCAR BROWNING has republished, with other Historical Essays, his account of the Flight to Varennes, in which he demonstrates that CARLYLE was hopelessly wrong in the narrative which glows through the most famous and fascinating chapter in _The French Revolution_. There seems no doubt about it; but AUTOLYCUS says, he knows a man who would rather be wrong with CARLYLE than right with O. B.

* * * * *

Met the Duke of SOTTO-VOCE to-day. Evidently in most doleful dumps. "No, it's not the weather, AUTOLYCUS," he said. "Fact is that, although supposed to be a rich man, I am reduced to extremities. Lunched yesterday at the Carlton off dish of braised ox-tail, and supped at night at Beefsteak on cow-heel _à la cordonnier_."

* * * * *

AUTOLYCUS hears that, early in the New Year, Mr. ARMITSTEAD, Mr. GLADSTONE'S host in the South of France, will be raised to the Peerage, under the title of Baron BIARRITZ OF BARMOUTH. "Pau! Pau!" said Mr. STUART-RENDELL, when the rumour reached him. "What are Barmouth and Biarritz? I took Mr. G. on to the Pyrenees, and Cannes. If a fresh Barony is to be created for ARMITSTEAD, what shall I have?" "Why, a Canne'd one," said ALGY WEST, who is always _so_ ready. (_Signed_) AUTOLYCUS.

* * * * *

"THE LIBERATOR BUILDING SOCIETY:"--To liberate, means, "make free." If the present charges are proven, the title will be rather appropriate, considering how very free it seems to have made with a considerable amount of property.

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE MAN WHO WOULD.

V.--THE MAN WHO WOULD BRING AN ACTION FOR LIBEL.

The following incident in the career of BROWZER was recalled to memory by an article in a literary journal. An author was airing his grievances; among them this,--that writers of repute occasionally lend their names and pens to obscure or unsuccessful papers for a consideration, without asking how the usual staff of the paper is paid. These, indeed, are delicate inquiries. Part of the plaint was expressed in the following sentence:--

"When a journal makes a call upon a good author, and in the pages of which he can gain neither honour nor renown, from which, as a matter of taste, he would shrink, under ordinary circumstances, from contributing to, that journal ought to be subjected to careful scrutiny."

Now what can this possibly be supposed to mean?--

"When a journal makes a call upon a good author, _and_ in the pages of which he can gain neither honour nor renown," (why "and"?) "from which" (namely, "honour and renown") "he would shrink" (why should he shrink from renown and honour?) "from contributing to," (and how can he contribute to honour and renown?) "that journal ought to be subjected to careful scrutiny." "From which he would shrink from contributing to," what have we here? Surely it is the grammar that needs careful scrutiny, and surely, in no circumstances, could a lofty "rate of pay" be conferred on a style of this description.

It is natural to reflect that a writer in this unconventional manner has mainly to thank himself for any want of success which he, and we, may regret; and that reflection, again, suggests the case of BROWZER, the Man who would bring an Action for Libel.

BROWZER had a small patrimony, any amount of leisure, and a good deal of ambition. He liked the society of literary gentlemen, he envied their buoyant successes, such as being "interviewed,", and sorrowed with their sorrows, such as being reviewed. He listened to their artless gossip, and fancied himself extremely knowing. In these circumstances of temptation, BROWZER fell, as many better men have done, and wrote a Novel. He drew on the recollections of his suburban youth; he revived the sorrows of his sole flirtation; he sketched his aunts with a satirical hand, and he produced a packet of manuscript weighing about 7-1/2 lbs. This manuscript he sent, first, to a literary man, whose name he had seen in the papers, with a long and fulsome letter, asking for an opinion. The parcel came back next day, accompanied by a lithographed form of excuse. BROWZER denounced the envy and arrogance of mankind, and sent his parcel to a publisher. He carefully set little traps, with pieces of adhesive paper, every here and there, to detect carelessness on the side of the reader. The parcel came back in a week, with a note of regret that the novel was not suitable. Only one of BROWZER'S pieces of adhesive paper had been removed, but the others were carefully initialled. A modest author would have concluded that his opening chapters condemned him, but BROWZER'S wrath against mankind only burned the more fiercely. He removed his traps, however, and sent _Wilton's Wooing_ the round of the Row. It always came back, "returning like the peewit," at uncertain intervals. It was really a remarkable manuscript, for it was written in black ink, blue ink, red ink, pencil, and stylograph; moreover, most of it was inscribed on the margins, the original copy having been erased, in favour of improved versions. Finally BROWZER discovered a publisher who would take _Wilton's Wooing_, on conditions that the author should pay £150 for preliminary expenses (exclusive of advertising, for which a special charge was to be made), would guarantee the sale of 300 copies, and would accept half profits on the net results of the transaction.

The work saw the light, and, externally, it certainly did look very like a novel. The reviews, which BROWZER read with frenzied excitement, also looked very like reviews of novels. They were usually about two inches in length, and generally ended by saying that "Mr. BROWZER has still much to learn." Some of them condensed BROWZER'S plot into about eight lines, in this manner:--

"He was a yearning psychologist--she was a suburban flirt. He sighed, and analysed; she listened, and yawned. Finally, she went on the stage, and he compiled this record of the stirring transaction."

But at last there came a longer criticism of _Wilton's Wooing_ in the _Erechtheum_. Somebody took BROWZER to pieces, averring that "Mr. BROWZER has neither grammar" (here followed a string of examples of BROWZER'S idioms) "nor humour," (here came instances of his wit and fancy), "nor taste" (again reinforced by specimens), "nor even knowledge of the French language, which he habitually massacres." (Here followed _à l'outrance, bête noir, soubriquet_, all our old friends.) Finally, Mr. BROWZER was informed that many fields of honourable distinction might be open to him, but that a novelist he could never be.

The wrath of BROWZER was magnificent. He went about among his friends, who told him that the critique was clearly by that brute ST. CLAIR; they knew his hand, they said; a confounded, conceited pendant, and a stuck-up puppy. The review was calculated to damage the sale of any book; it was a dastardly attack on BROWZER'S reputation as a man of wit and humour, a linguist, and a grammarian. They thought (as BROWZER wished to know) that an action would lie against the reviewer, or the review. BROWZER went to a Solicitor, who espoused his cause, but without enthusiasm. The name of the reviewer was demanded. Now ST. CLAIR was not the reviewer; the critic was a man just from College, hence his fresh indignation. Whether for the sake of diversion, or for the advertisement, the critic wished himself to bear the brunt of BROWZER'S anger, and the _Erechtheum_ handed him over to justice; his name was _Smith_. This damped BROWZER'S eagerness; no laurels were to be won from the obscure SMITH. The advocate of that culprit made out a case highly satisfactory to the learned Judge, who had been a reviewer himself upon a time. He showed that malice was out of the question; SMITH had never heard BROWZER'S name, nor BROWZER, SMITH'S (in this instance) before the book was published. He called several professors of the French tongue, to prove that BROWZER'S French was that usual in fiction, but not the language of MOLIÈRE, or of the Academy. He left no doubt on the question of grammar. As to the wit and pathos, he made much mirth out of them. He cross-examined BROWZER: had other reviews praised him? Had publishers leaped eagerly at his work? On what terms was it published? BROWZER'S answer appeared to show that _Wilton's Wooing_ was not regarded as a masterpiece by the Trade.

BROWZER'S advocate put it that BROWZER was being crushed by unfair ridicule on his first entry into a noble profession, or art, that of SCOTT and FIELDING. He spoke of mighty poets in their misery dead. He drew a picture of BROWZER'S agonies of mind. He showed that masterpieces had, ere now, been rejected by the publishers. He denounced the licence of the Press. Who was an unheard-of SMITH, who had written nothing, to come forward and shout at BROWZER from behind the hedge of the anonymous? The novelist was a creature of delicate organisation; he suffered as others did not suffer; his only aim was to lighten care, and instruct ignorance. Why was _he_ to be selected for cruel sarcasm and insult?

The learned Judge summed-up dead against BROWZER. BROWZER had published a book, had invited criticism, and then, when he only got what his work merited, he came and asked for damages.

The question of malice he left to the Jury, who must see that the Critic and Author had each been ignorant of the other's existence.

The Jury did not deliberate long. They brought in a verdict for BROWZER, damages £500, and costs.