Chapter 1

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

PUNCH,

OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 103.

October 10, 1892.

AT A HYPNOTIC SÉANCE.

SCENE--_A Public Hall in a provincial town. The Hypnotist--a tall, graceful, and handsome young man, in well-fitting evening clothes--has already succeeded in putting most of his subjects to sleep, and is going round and inspecting them critically, as they droop limply on a semicircle of chairs, in a variety of unpicturesque attitudes. The only Lady on the platform is evidently as yet in full possession of her senses._

_First Female Spectator_ (_to Second_). MARIA MANGLES do take a time sending off, don't she?

_Second F.S._ (_also a friend of Miss MANGLES_). Yes, that she do--it gives her such a silly look, sitting there, the on'y one with her senses about her!

_First F.S._ It's all affectation--she could shut her eyes fast enough if she _liked_!

_Second F.S._ The 'Ipnotiser's coming round to her now--she'll _have_ to go off now. (_With a not unpleasurable anticipation_.) I expect he'll make her do all manner o' ridic'lous things!

_First F.S._ Well, it will be a lesson, to her against making' herself so conspicuous another time. I shan't pity her.

_The Hyp._ (_after a brief colloquy with Miss MANGLES_). I see I am not likely to succeed with this Lady; so, with many thanks to her on behalf of myself and the audience for coming forward, I will detain her no longer.

[_Applause, amidst which Miss M. descends to her seat in the body of the hall, with a smile of conscious triumph._

_First F.S._ (_disappointed_). I don't see what she's done to clap their hands about, myself!

_Second F.S._ Nor I neither--taking up his time all for nothing--depend upon it she wouldn't have gone up if he hadn't been so nice-looking!

_First F.S._ I wouldn't like to think _that_ of her myself; but, anyhow, she didn't get much by it, did she? He soon sent _her_ packing!

_Male Spectator_ (_to a Woman in front of him_). Evening, Mrs. MIDGELLY--I see they've got your good man up on the platform.

_Mrs. M._ He _will_ go, Mr. BUDKIN! He's gone up every night the 'Ipnotiser's been here, and says he feels it's going to do him good. So this evening I said I'd come in too, and judge for myself. What good he expects to get, laying there like a damp dishclout, _I_ don't know!

[_Meanwhile the Hypnotist has borrowed a silver-handled umbrella from the audience, and thrust it before the faces of one or two loutish-looking youths, who immediately begin to squint horribly and follow the silver-top with their noses, till they knock their heads together._

_Mr. Budkin_ (_to Mrs. MIDGELLY_). He's going to give your husband a turn of it now.

[_The umbrella-handle is applied to Mr. M., a feeble-looking little man with a sandy top-knot; he grovels after the silver-top when it is depressed, and makes futile attempts to clamber up the umbrella after it when it is held aloft._

_Mrs. M._ (_severely_). I haven't patience to look at him. A _Kitten_ 'ud have had more sense!

_The Hyp._ (_calling up one of the heavy youths_). Can you whistle, Sir? Yes? Then whistle something. (_The Youth whistles a popular air in a lugubrious tone._) Now you _can't_ whistle--try. (_The Youth tries--and produces nothing but a close imitation of an air-cushion that is being unscrewed._) Now, if I were not to wake him up, this young gentleman's friends would never enjoy the benefit of his whistle again!

_Voice from a Back Row_. _Don't_ wake him, Guv'nor, we can _bear_ it!

_Hyp._ (_after restoring the lost talent, and calling up another Youth, somewhat smartly attired_). Now, Sir, what do you drink?

_The Youth_ (_with a sleepy candour_). Beer when I can get 'old of it.

_A Friend of his in Audience_. JIM's 'aving a lark with him--he said as 'ow he meant to kid him like--_he_ ain't 'ipnotised, bless yer!

_Hyp._ But you like water, too, don't you? (_JIM admits this--in moderation._) Try this. (_He gives him a tumbler of water._) Is that good water?

_Jim_ (_smacking his lips_). That's good water enough, Sir.

_Hyp._ It's bad water--taste it again.

[_JIM tastes, and ejects it with every symptom of extreme disapproval._

_Jim's Friend_. Try him with a drop o' Scotch in it--_'e'll_ get it down!

_Hyp._ (_to JIM_). There is _no_ water in that glass--it's full of sovereigns, don't you see? (_JIM agrees that this is so, and testifies to his conviction by promptly emptying the contents of the glass into his trousers' pocket_) What have you got in your pocket?

_Jim_ (_chuckling with satisfaction_). Quids--golden sovereigns!

_Hyp._ Wake up! _Now_ what do you find in your pocket--any sovereigns?

_Jim_ (_surprised_). Sovereigns? No, Sir! (_After putting his hand in his pocket, bringing it out dripping, and dolefully regarding the stream of water issuing from his leg_.) More like water, Sir.

[_He makes dismal efforts to dry himself, amidst roars of laughter._

_His Friend_. Old JIM didn't come best out o' that!

_Hyp._ (_to JIM_). You don't feel comfortable? (_Emphatic assent from_ JIM.) Yes, you do, you feel no discomfort whatever.

[_JIM resumes his seat with a satisfied expression._

_An Open-minded Spect._ Mind yer, if this yere 'Ipnotism can prevent water from being wet, there must be _something_ in it!

_Hyp._ I will now give you an illustration of the manner in which, by hypnotic influence, a subject can_ be affected with an entirely imaginary pain. Take this gentleman. (_Indicating the unfortunate Mr. MIDGELLY, who is slumbering peacefully._) Now, what pain shall we give him?

_A Voice_. Stomach-ache!

[_This suggestion, however, is so coyly advanced that it fortunately escapes notice._

_Hyp._ Tooth-ache? Very good--we will give him tooth-ache.

[_The Audience receive this with enthusiasm, which increases to rapturous delight when Mr. MIDGELLY's cheek begins to twitch violently, and he nurses his jaw in acute agony; the tooth-ache is then transferred to another victim, who writhes in an even more entertaining manner, until the unhappy couple are finally relieved from torment._

_A Spect._ Well, it's better nor any play, this is--but he ought to ha' passed the toothache round the lot of 'em, just for the fun o' the thing!

_Mrs. Midgelly_. I should ha' thought there was toothache enough without coming here to get more of it, but so long as MIDGELLY's enjoyin' himself, _I_ shan't interfere!

[_The Hypnot. has impressed his subjects with the idea that there is an Angel at the other end of the hall, and they are variously affected by the celestial apparition, some gazing with a rapt grin, while others invoke her stiffly, or hail her like a cab. Mr. MIDGELLY alone exhibits no interest._

_Mr. Budkin_ (_to Mrs. M._). Your 'usband don't seem to be putting himself out, Angel or no Angel.

_Mrs. M._ (_complacently_). He knows too well what's due to _me_, Mr. BUDKIN. _I'm_ Angel enough for him!

_Hyp._ I shall now persuade this Gentleman that there is a beautiful young lady in green at the door of this hall. (_To Mr. M._) Do you see her, Sir?

_Mr. M._ (_rising with alacrity_). I do. Lovely creature!

[_He suddenly snatches up a decanter of water, and invites his invisible charmer, in passionate pantomime, to come up and share it with him--to the infinite delight of the Audience, and disgust of his Wife._

AFTER THE PERFORMANCE.

_Mr. Midgelly_ (_as he rejoins his Wife_). I felt the influence more strongly to-night than what I have yet; and the Professor says, if I only keep on coming up every night while he's here, I shall soon be completely susceptible to--Why, whatever's the matter, my dear?

_Mrs. M._ Matter! You're quite susceptible enough as it is; and, now I know how you can go on, you don't catch me letting _you_ get 'ipnotised again. You and your young lady in green indeed!

_Mr. M._ (_utterly mystified_). Me and my--I don't know what you're alluding to. It's the first _I've_ heard of it!

_Mrs. M._ (_grimly_). Well, it won't be the last by a long way. Oh, the insight I've had into your character this evening, MIDGELLY!

[_Mr. M. is taken home, to realise that Hypnotism is not altogether without its dangers._

* * * * *

* * * * *

BY-AND-BY LAWS FOR TRAFALGAR SQUARE.

(_WHEN MEETINGS ARE HELD IN "TIMES OF POLITICAL OR SOCIAL CRISES_.")

1. Cabs, omnibuses, carriages, and pedestrians will be expected to keep clear of the space occupied by the Demonstrators.

2. To prevent destruction of glass and removal of property from shop windows, tradesmen will be expected to put up their shutters several hours before the holding of the meeting.

3. No particular notice will be paid to the transference of property from one leader of labour to another. If done by stealth, it will be accepted as a proof of secret Socialism.

4. No objection will be raised to combats amongst the Demonstrators, with the restriction that no Government property is injured.

5. As the maintaining of the road is a matter of contract, Demonstrators wishing to emphasise their opinions, must bring their own stones.

6. As a good deal of property is expected to change hands during the various proceedings, an application with a description of lost goods, and photograph of supposed thief, can be addressed to the Chief Inspector of Police, Scotland Yard.

7. These regulations (which are tentative) will be in force until after the next General Election, when a fresh series will be published, to be followed by others as occasion may require.

* * * * *

A POOR ROAD TO LEARNING.

SCENE--_Interior of a School Board Office. Official discovered hard at work, doing single-handed in London what is done by nearly a thousand officials combined in "Bonnie Scotland." Enter Female Applicant, with infant._

_Applicant_. Please, Sir, here's my boy. Can you take him?

_Official_. Certainly. Has he had any education?

_App._ Well, as he's rising five, not much.

_Off._ But does he know anything? For instance, has he learned any English history?

_App._ Not that I know of.

_Off._ Has he dipped into geography?

_App._ Well, I don't think he has.

_Off._ Can he cipher at all?

_App._ Not very well.

_Off._ Does he know what two and two make?

_App._ Well, he has never said he does.

_Off._ Can he write?

_App._ Well, no, he doesn't write.

_Off._ But I suppose he can read? Come, he at least can read?

_App._ Well, no, Sir, I am afraid he's not much of a scholar. I don't think he can read.

_Off._ Then he is absolutely ignorant--miserably ignorant.

_App._ Very likely, Sir,--you know best.

_Off._ Well, now, my good woman, I will tell you what we will do with him. We will teach him to read, write, and cipher, and give him an excellent education.

_App._ And you will take care of him, Sir?

_Off._ Of course we will take care of him; and as for his education, we will--

_App._ Oh, Sir, so long as you looks after him, never you mind about his education!

[_Exit infantless._

* * * * *

TO MAUD.

_A PENITENT ROUNDEL._

I called you MAUDE. I only meant to tease, But somehow, ere I ended, came to laud Your charms in my poor verses. So in these I called you MAUDE.

"My name is _MAUD_." And I am overawed, Forgive the indiscretion if you please. The spirit Truth, they tell me, is abroad, And since she sojourns still across the seas, I swear I knew the final _e_ a fraud-- So that you suffered from no lack of _e_'s I called you MAUDE!

* * * * *

KNILL NISI BOIMUM.

The good common sense of the Common Councilman and Liverymen of the City,--Liverymen not to be led astray by any false lights,--coupled with their truly English love of fairplay, prevailed, and the City Fathers on Goose Day were prevented from following in the goose-steps of that Uncommon Councilman who, bearing the honoured names of BEAUFOY (a fine old Norman-Baron title!) and of MOORE (shade of Sir THOMAS!), made so extraordinary a display of bigotry and ignorance as, it is to be hoped, is rare, and becoming rarer every day, among our worthy JOHN GILPINS of credit and renown East of the Griffin.

But in spite of this nonsensical hot-gospelling rant, Alderman and Sheriff STUART KNILL was elected Lord Mayor, while BEAUFOY MOORE was, so to speak, no MOORE, and, in fact, very much against his will and wish, was reduced to NIL. WILLY-KNILLY he had to cave in. _Mr. Punch_ congratulates the Lord Mayor Elect, but still more does he congratulate the City Fathers on rising above paltry sectarianism, so utterly unworthy of time, place, and persons, and for standing up, in true English fashion, for freedom of worship coupled with absolute Liberty of Conscience.

* * * * *

THE PRIDE OF THE EMPIRE.