Chapter 1

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

PUNCH,

OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 103.

November 19, 1892.

THE MAN WHO WOULD.

II.--THE MAN WHO WOULD PLAY GOLF.

BULGER was no cricketer, no tennis-player, no sportsman, in fact. But his Doctor recommended exercise and fresh air. "And I'm thinking, Sir," he added, "that you cannot do better than just take yourself down to St. Andrews, and put yourself under TOM MORRIS." "Is he a great Scotch physician?" asked BULGER; "I don't seem to have heard of him." "The Head of the Faculty, Sir," said the medical man--"the Head of the Faculty in those parts."

BULGER packed his effects, and, in process of time, he arrived at Leuchars. Here he observed some venerable towers within a short walk, and fancied that he would presently arrive at St. Andrews. In this he was reckoning without the railway system--he was compelled to wait at Leuchars for no inconsiderable time, which he occupied in extracting statistics about the consumption of whiskey from the young lady who ministered to travellers. The revelations now communicated, convinced BULGER that either Dr. MORRIS was not on the lines of Sir ANDREW CLARK, or, as an alternative, that his counsels were not listened to by travellers on that line.

Arriving in the dusk, BULGER went to his inn, and next morning inquired as to the address of the Head of the Faculty. "I dinna ken," said an elderly person, to whom he appealed, "that the Professors had made TOM a Doctor, though it's a sair and sad oversicht, and a disgrace to the country, that they hae'na done sae lang syne. But I jalouse that your Doctor was jist making a gowk o' ye." "What!" said BULGER. "Jist playin' a plisky on ye, and he meant that TOM wad pit ye in the way o' becoming a player. Mon, ye're a bull-neckit, bow-leggit chiel', and ye'd shape fine for a Gowfer! Here's TOM." And, with this brief introduction, the old man strolled away.

BULGER now found himself in the presence of Mr. MORRIS, whose courtesy soon put him on a footing of friendliness and confidence. He purchased, by his Mentor's advice, a driver, a cleek, a putter, a brassey, an iron, a niblick, and a mashy. Armed with these implements, which were "carried by an orphan boy," and, under the guidance of the Head of the Faculty himself, BULGER set forth on his first round. His first two strokes were dealt on the yielding air; his third carried no inconsiderable parcel of real property to some distance; but his fourth hit the ball, and drove it across the road. "As gude as a better," quoth the orphan boy, and bade BULGER propel the tiny sphere in the direction of a neighbouring rivulet. Into this affluent of the main, BULGER finally hit the ball; but an adroit lad of nine stamped it into the mud, while pretending to look for it, and BULGER had to put down another. When he got within putting range, he hit his ball careering back and forward over the hole, and, "Eh, man," quoth the orphan boy, "if ye could only drive as you put!"

In some fifteen strokes he accomplished his task of holing out; and now, weary and desponding (for he had fancied Golf to be an easy game), he would have desisted for the day. But the Head of the Faculty pressed on him the necessity of "The daily round, the common task." So his ball was tee'd, and he lammed it into the Scholar's Bunker, at a distance of nearly thirty yards. A niblick was now placed in his grasp, and he was exhorted to "Take plenty sand." Presently a kind of simoom was observed to rage in the Scholars' Bunker, out of which emerged the head of the niblick, the ball, and, finally, BULGER himself. His next hit, however, was a fine one, over the wall, where, as the ball was lost, BULGER deposited a new one. This he, somehow, drove within a few feet of the hole, when he at once conceived an intense enthusiasm for the pastime. "It was a fine drive," said the Head of the Faculty. "Mr. BLACKWELL never hit a finer." Thus inflamed with ardour, BULGER persevered. He learned to waggle his club in a knowing way. He listened intently when he was bidden to "keep his eye on the ba'", and to be "slow up." True, he now missed the globe and all that it inhabit, but soon he hit a prodigious swipe, well over cover-point's head,--or rather, in the direction where cover-point would have been. "Ye're awfu' bad in the whuns," said the orphan boy; and, indeed, BULGER'S next strokes were played in distressing circumstances. The spikes of the gorse ran into his person--he could only see a small part of the ball, and, in a few minutes, he had made a useful clearing of about a quarter of an acre.

It is unnecessary to follow his later achievements in detail. He returned a worn and weary man, having accomplished the round in about a hundred and eighty, but in possession of an appetite which astonished him and those with whom he lunched. In the afternoon, the luck of beginners attending him, he joined a foursome of Professors, and triumphantly brought in his partner an easy victor. In a day or two, he was drinking beer (which he would previously have rejected as poison), was sleeping like a top, and was laying down the law on stimy, and other "mysteries more than Eleusinian." True, after the first three days, his play entirely deserted BULGER, and even Professors gave him a wide berth in making up a match. But by steady perseverance, reading Sir WALTER SIMPSON, taking out a professional, and practising his iron in an adjacent field, BULGER soon developed to such an extent that few third-rate players could give him a stroke a hole. He had been in considerable danger of "a stroke" of quite a different character before he left London, and the delights of the Bar. But he returned to the Capital in rude health, and may now often be seen and heard, topping into the Pond at Wimbledon, and talking in a fine Fifeshire-accent. It must be acknowledged that his story about his drive at the second hole, "equal to BLACKWELL, himself, TOM MORRIS himself told me as much," has become rather a source of diversion to his intimates; but we have all our failings, and BULGER never dreams, when anyone says, "What is the record drive?" that he is being drawn for the entertainment of the sceptical and unfeeling. BULGER will never, indeed, be a player; but, if his handicap remains at twenty-four, he may, some day, carry off the monthly medal. With this great aim before him, and the consequent purchase of a red-coat and gilt-buttons, BULGER has a new purpose in existence, "something to live for, something to do." May this brief but accurate history convey a moral to the Pessimist, and encourage those who take a more radiant view of the possibilities of life!

* * * * *

A PLEBISCITE FOR PARNASSUS.

[The result of the _Pall Mall's_ competition for the Laureateship has been to place Mr. ERIC MACKAY and Mr. GILBART-SMITH first and second, and SWINBURNE and MORRIS nowhere.]

A popular vote the Laureate's post to fill? Ay! if Parnassus were but Primrose Hill. The Penny Vote puts lion below monkey. 'Tis "Tuppence more, Gents, and _up goes the donkey!_"

* * * * *

QUITE MOVING.--_From Far and Near_ and _All Alive_, are two excellent "movable toy-books" that will please the little ones (when their seniors are tired of playing with them) far into the Yule-tide season. The author is LOTHAR MAGGENDORFER, a gentleman to whom _Mr. Punch_ wishes a "Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year." This may appear a little premature, but it is a far cry from England to Germany, and the Sage of Fleet Street has allowed for any delays that may be caused by fogs, railway unpunctuality, and other necessary evils.

* * * * *

THE AMERICAN GANYMEDE.

[The extraordinary triumph of Mr. GROVER CLEVELAND, Democratic Candidate for the American Presidency, is attributed to a general revolt against the McKinley Bill.]

O plump and pant-striped boy, upborne, Like Ganymede of old, _Punch_ hails you, with your slack, untorn, Fast in the Eagle's hold. It is, indeed, a startling sight That speculation tarries on; And it must give an awful fright To Hebe (_alias_ HARRISON!)

Up, up to the Olympus, where The White House spreads its board, Whirled high through the electoral air, A boy less long than broad! He looks not like the Tammany breed, That with high tariffs dally; He proves, this Yankee Ganymede, The Democratic rally.

This eagle's a colossal fowl, Like _Sindbad's_ monstrous Roc, A bird of prey some say, a-prowl Like that Stymphalian flock, With iron claws and brazen beak, Intent to clutch and collar, Fired with devotion strong, yet weak, To the Almighty Dollar.

Pooh! Plunder's not his only joy. He hovered till he saw "A something-pottle-bodied boy," Who spurned MCKINLEY'S Law. He stooped and clutched him, fair and good, Flew nigh o'er roof and casement, Whilst the Republicans all stood Agape in sheer amazement.

He soars with proudly swelling crest And followed with acclaims, A cause of wonder in the West, And crowing by the Thames. For England, glorying in the sight, Greets Boy and Bird together; Whilst watching with serene delight That big, black, falling feather!

* * * * *

ROBERT ON LORD MARE'S DAY.

The most ewentfoollest day of the hole year broke, as the poets says, without almost not no fog, on Wensday larst, to my grate serprise and joy; but noing, from long xperiens, how unsertain is whether at this orful seasun of the year, I took jest one leetel glass of hold brandy before setting out on my arjus dootys. I was encurraged to do so also by the horful rumers as was spread about, weeks afore, as to threttend atacks on the sacred Show by some disapinted prottestens, I think they called theirselves, as hadn't bin inwited to the Bankwet, and so meant to prottest accordingly.

But I needn't a bin alarmd, for the most respekful mob as filled the streets was as quiet as mice, havin heard, I'm told, as how as the Copperashun had had the lectric light turned on at Gildhall, by which means, of course, they coud comunicate with any-wheres, and so know where to send an hole army of Waiters to, well fortyfide, and armed to the teeth with a splendid Lunch, to help the pore Perlice in their arjus dootys.

From wot I seed of the butifool Sho, I shood give the cake to the Frute-Makers' splendid Car, all covered with the most butifool Frute, all made, too, in England, as it trewthfoolly said on both sides of the high-backed Car. The second plaice I shood give to the numerus butifool young Ladys, with most butifool flaxin air, all most bisily ingaged in a twistlin and a twiddlin of luvly gold and silver wire, on a Car belongin to the Makers of Gold and Silver Wire Drorers, wich I heard a most respectfool carpenter declare, must, he thort, be most uncomferal to wear. With that good fortun as allers atends the Hed Waiter, I seem to have atracted the notis of one of the most butifool of the young Ladys afoursaid, for she acshally tossed me a luvly littel bit of reel golden wire, which I shall trezure nex my art for years, if so be as how it don't skratch.

The grand Bankwet, with its nine hunderd Gestes, was as ushal, about the grandest thing of the kind as the world has ever seen, but sumhows it struck me as the gents was much more impashent for their wittles than they ushally is. At my pertickler tabel, the two gents at the top was that trubblesum about the reel Turtel-soup as I ain't a tall accumstumed to, and I amost poured a hole ladel-full down the fine shirt-front of one of em; and then, trying at the next help to awoid him, I sent my helbow full into the face of the other, and a pretty fuss he made, you bet, and acshally torked of sending for the souperintendent, ewidently not knowing who I was.

The same himpashent Gent amost worried my life out arterwards, and all about a glass of _plane_ water as he called it, and when I told him as I didn't think as we hadn't not none in the plaice, but I coud get him a bottel of amost any kind of Shampane as he liked to name; he again said as he wood call for the souperintendent. So in course I had to go for some, and a preshus long time it took me to get it; the wine-steward naterally sayin as he never before herd of sich a order on sich a ocasion, and he had only one bottel with him, and when I took it to the himpashent Gent, and told him so, he fairly roared with larfter, and told it all round as a capital joke! I wunders where the joke was.

When the dinner was over and the speaches began, I got permishun to stand unner the gallery for to hear them; but strange to tell, not a word coud I hear, and them as I did hear I coudn't unnerstand. So I began for to fear as crewel age was a tarnishing of my 'earrings, so I moved to the other end of the 'All jest in time for to hear a werry dark but gennelmanly young feller, as was called the Gayqueer, or some such wonderfool name, and who, I was told, come all the way from Indier, make sitch a grand and nobel speach, and in quite as good Inglish as ewen I coud use, as got him more applorse from the distinguisht hordiens than all the speaches maid by Her Madjesty's Ministers put together. Always xceptin the Lawyers, for they seems to have sitch a jolly good time of it, that they are allers as reddy to cause a larf as to enjoy one. We all seemed sumhow to miss the werry PRIME MINISTER--we are all so acustomd to see the werry top of the tree, that we don't quite like being put off with a mere bow, however big and himportant it may be; besides, I must confess as I do like to hear his luvly woice, ewen when I don't quite unnerstand all as he says. So I don't suppose as any one of my numerus readers will quarrel with me when I says, better luck nex time.

ROBERT.

* * * * *

* * * * *

PROOFS BEFORE LETTERS.

Humbugs will always ape their betters, Fools fancy the alphabet brings them fame; But you don't become a man of letters By tacking the letters after your name. One suffix only the _fact_ expresses, And that's an A and a couple of S's!

* * * * *

ANOTHER MEANING.--_I Rantzau_ is the title of MASCAGNI'S new Opera. The title, anglicised, would be suitable for an old-fashioned transpontine melodramatic tragedian, who could certainly say of himself, "_I rant so!_"

* * * * *

SHAKSPEARIAN CONUNDRUM.

At what time would SHAKSPEARE'S heroine of _The Taming of the Shrew_ have been eminently fitted to be a modern Sunday-School teacher?

_Answer._ When _Petruchio_ kissed her; because then she was _a Kattie Kiss'd_. (Hem! A Cate-chist.)

* * * * *

ALL ROUND THE FAIR.

NO. I.

SCENE--_A street of Gingerbread, Sweetstuff, and Toy-stalls, "Cocoa-nut Shies," "Box-pitching Saloons," &c., forming the approach to the more festive portion of the Fair, from which proceeds a cheerful cacophony of orchestrions, barrel-organs, steam-whistles, gongs, big drums, rattles, and speaking-trumpets._

_Proprietors of Cocoa-nut Shies._ Now, then, play up all o' you--ar-har! There goes another on 'em! _That's_ the way to 'it 'em--win all yer like, &c.

_A Rival Proprietor_ (_pointing to his target, through the centre of which his partner's head is protruded_). Look at _that_! Ain't that better nor any coker-nut? Every time you 'it my mate's 'ed, you git a good cigar! (_As the by-standers hang back, from motives of humanity._) 'Ere, _'ave_ a go at 'im, some o' you--give 'im a little encouragement!

_The Head_ (_plaintively_). Don't neglect a man as is doing his best to please yer, gen'l'men! (_A soft-hearted Bystander takes a shot at him, out of sheer compassion, and misses._) Try agen, Sir. I ain't 'ere to be _idle_!

_A Sharp Little Girl_ (_presiding over a sloping Chinese Billiard-board_). Now, my dears--(_To a group of boys, of about her own age_)--'ave what yer like. A penny a pull, and a prize every time! Wherever the marble rolls, you 'ave any one article on the board!

[_One of the boys pays a penny, and pulls a handle, propelling a marble, which, after striking a bell at the top of the slope, wobbles down into a compartment._

_The Boy_ (_indicating a gorgeous china ornament on the board_). I'll 'ave one o' them--to take 'ome to mother.

_The S.L.G._ (_with pitying superiority_). No, my boy, you can go to a shop and _buy_ one o' them for sixpence if you like--but 'ere you must 'ave what you _git_!

[_She awards him a very dingy lead-pencil, with which he departs, abashed, and evidently revolving her dark saying in his perplexed mind._

_Proprietor of a Box-pitching Saloon._ One penny a ball! For hevery ball that goes in the boxes, you choose any prize you like! (_With sorrow and sympathy, to a female Competitor._) Too 'ard, Lady, too _'ard_! (_To a male Comp., whose ball has struck the edge of the box, and bounced off._) Very _near_, Sir!

[_Several Competitors expend penny after penny unsuccessfully, and walk away, with a grin of entire satisfaction._

_Joe_ (_landing a ball in one of the boxes, after four failures_). I told 'ee I'd get _waun_ in! (_To his Young Woman._) What are ye goin' to 'ave, MELIA?

_Melia_ (_hovering undecidedly over a glittering array of shell-boxes, cheap photograph-albums and crockery_). I'll take one o'--no, I won't neither.... I really don't know _what_ to 'ave!

_Joe_ (_with masculine impatience_). Well, go on--take _summat_, can't ye! (_MELIA selects a cup and saucer, as the simplest solution of the problem._) I doan't carl that mooch of a show for fippence, I doan't. Theer, gi' us 'old on it. [_He stows the china away in his side-pockets._

_Melia._ You took an' 'urried me so--else I don't know as I fancied a cup and sarcer so partickler. I wonder if the man 'ud change it, supposin' we was to go back and ast 'im!

_Joe_ (_slapping his thigh_). Well, you _are_ a gell and no mistake! Come along back and git whatever 'tis you've a mind to. (_Returning._) 'Ere, Master, will ye gi' this young woman summat else for this 'ere? (_He extracts the cup in fragments._) 'Ullo, look a' _that_ now! (_To MELIA._) Theer, it's all right--doan't take on 'bout it.--I'll 'ave another go to make it oop. (_He pitches ball after ball without success._) I wawn't be bett. I lay I'll git 'un in afoor I've done! (_He is at last successful._) Theer--now, ye can please yourself, and doan't choose nawthen' foolish _this_ time! (_He strolls on with lordly indifference, and is presently rejoined by MELIA._) Well, what did ye take arter all?

_Melia._ I got so flustered like, for fear o' losin' you, I just up and took the first that came 'andy.

_Joe._ Why, if ye ain't bin and took _another_ cup an' sarcer! hor--hor! that's a good 'un, that is! Take keer on it, it's cost money enough any 'ow--'t wouldn't be no bargain if it wur a 'ole tea-set! What's goin' on 'ere?

[_A venerable old Sportsman, whom the reader may possibly recollect having met before, has collected a small crowd in a convenient corner; his stock-in-trade consists of an innocent-looking basket, with a linen-cover, upon which are a sharpened skewer and a narrow strip of cloth._

_The Sportsman._ I'll undertake to show you more fun in five minutes, than you'll get over there in two: (_with a vague suspicion that this is rather a lame conclusion_)--in ten, I _should_ say! This 'ere's a simple enough little game, when you know the trick of it, and I'm on'y a _learnin'_ it myself. I ain't doin' this for money. I got money enough to sink a ship--it's on'y for my own amusement. Now you watch me a doin' up this garter--keep yer eye on it. (_He coils up the strip._) It goes _up_ 'ere, ye see, and down _there_, and _in_ 'ere agin, and then round. Now, I'm ready to bet anything from a sovereign to a shilling, nobody 'ere can prick the middle. I'll tell ye if ye win. I'm ole BILLY FAIRPLAY, and I don't cheat! (_A Spotty-faced Man, after intently following the process, says he believes he could find the middle._) Well, don't tell--that's all. I'm 'ere all alone, agin the lot o' ye, and I want to win if I can--one dog to a bone! (_The_ S.-F.M. _produces a florin from a mouldy purse, and stakes it, and makes a dab at the coil with the skewer._) No, ye're wrong--that's outside! (_O.B.F. pulls the strip out._) By Gum, ye've done it, after all! 'Ere's four bob for you, and I'm every bit as pleased as if I'd won myself! 'Oo'll try next?

_A Smart Young Man_ (_with a brilliant pin in a dirty necktie, to JOE_). I don't see how it's done--do you?

_Joe._ Ye will if you don't take yer eyes off it--theer, I could tell ye the middle now, I could.

_The Sp.-F.M._ Law, yes, it's simple enough. I done it first time.

_Old B.F._ Give an old man a chance to get a bit. If any party 'ere 'as found me out, let him 'old 'is tongue--it's all _I_ ask. (_To JOE._) You've seen this afore, _I_ know!

_Joe._ Noa, I ain't--but I could tell ye th' middle.

_Old B.F._ Will ye bet on it? Come--not too 'igh, but just to show you've confidence in your opinion!

_Joe_ (_cautiously_). I woant bet wi' ye, but I'll hev a try, just for nawthen, if ye like!

_Old B.F._ Well, I want to see if you really _do_ know it--so, jest for once, I ain't no objection. (_JOE pricks the garter._) Yes, you've found the middle, sure enough! It's a good job there was no money on--for _me_, leastwise!

_The Sp.-F.M._ I've a good mind to 'ave another try.

_The Sm. Y.M._ I wouldn't. You'll lose. I could see you on'y guessed the first time. (_The Sp. F.M., however, extracts a shilling, stakes it--and loses._) There, _I_ could ha' told you you was wrong--(_To JOE_)--couldn't you?

_Joe._ Yes, he art to ha' pricked moor to waun side of 'un. (_The Sp.-F.M. stakes another florin._) Now he's done it, if ye like!

_O.B.F._ There, ye see, I'm as often wrong as not myself. (_To the Sp.-F.M._) There's your four bob, Sir. Now, jest once more!

_Joe_ (_to MELIA_). I'll git the price o' that theer cup an' sarcer out of 'un, any'ow. (_To O.B.F._) I'll ha' a tanner wi' ye!

_O.B.F._ 'Alf a soverin, if you like--it's all the same to me!

_Joe_ (_after pricking_). I _thart_ I 'ad 'un that time, too, I did!

_The Sm. Y.M._ You shouldn't ha' changed your mind--you were right enough afore!

_Joe_. Yes, I should ha' stuck to it. (_To O.B.F._) I'll bet ye two bob on the next go--come!

_O.B.F._ Well, I don't like to say no, though I can see, plain enough, you know too much. (_JOE pricks; O.B.F. pulls away the strip, and leaves the skewer outside._) I could ha' sworn you done me that time--but there ye _are_, ye see, there's never no tellin' at this game--and that's the charm on it!

[_JOE walks on with MELIA in a more subdued frame of mind._

_The Sm. Y.M._ (_in the ear of the Spotty-faced One_). I say, I got a job o' my own to attend to--jest pass the word to the Old Man, when he's done with this pitch, to turn up beyind the swing-boats there, and come along yourself, if yer can. It's the old lay I'm on--the prize-packets fake.

_The Sp.-F.M._ Right--we'll give yer a look in presently--it'll be a little change for the Ole Man--trades's somethin' cruel _'ere_!

* * * * *

HIS MAD-JESTY AT THE LYCEUM.

Except when HENRY IRVING impersonated the hapless victim of false imprisonment in the Bastille, whence he issued forth after twenty years of durance, never has he been so curiously and wonderfully made-up as now, when he represents _Lear_, monarch of all he surveys. Bless thee, HENRY, how art thou transformed!