Part 1

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI

Volume 108, February 16th, 1895.

_edited by Sir Francis Burnand_

THE NON-CAPITALIST'S VADE MECUM.

_Question._ Having no cash you wish to make a living. Kindly tell me the objections to sweeping a crossing?

_Answer._ A small sum of money would be necessary to purchase a broom--a preliminary step that could not be surmounted.

_Q._ Quite so. And would a like difficulty arise to prevent you selling lucifers?

_A._ Certainly, for matches suitable for street hawking cannot be obtained on credit.

_Q._ Would a clerkship be within your reach?

_A._ Scarcely, as a new suit, or a nearly new suit of clothes would be requisite to give one the air of respectability necessary for securing an audience with an employer.

_Q._ Could you not become a company promoter?

_A._ Not with safety, now that the winding-up business is superintended by a judge capable of understanding the intricacies of city finance.

_Q._ Is there any opening for you as a cab-driver?

_A._ No, as a license cannot be obtained for love, but must be bought with money.

_Q._ Surely you have a chance as a slave to journalism?

_A._ Writing for the press is at all times precarious, and is, moreover, a calling which cannot be followed without a small but impossible expenditure on pens, ink. and paper.

_Q._ Has not life sometimes been supported by the successful attempts to borrow from one's friends?

_A._ Yes, but this financial condition will have been enjoyed and abandoned before one can truthfully style oneself an ex-capitalist.

_Q._ The sale of information of an interesting character to those concerned has sometimes--has it not--been found of a profitable nature?

_A._ Occasionally, but this again is not only an unpleasant but a dangerous operation, and if resisted, may end with an entirely embarrassing prosecution at the Old Bailey.

_Q._ Then having no cash, no credit, and no references, what career is open to you?

_A._ But one--to become the responsible manager of a theatrical company touring in the provinces.

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"TEMPORA MUTANTUR."--In these days of very late dining hours a performance at 5 P.M., if over at 7, or 7.15 at latest, ought to suit those whose daily work is over about 4 or 4.30, and who dislike "turning out" after dinner if they are at home, and who cannot get away from any dinner party if they are out in time to see even half of the entertainment. The _matinée_ at two is a very difficult time, as it clashes with lunch; but as tea can be taken in the _entr'actes_, five o'clock seems a very reasonable hour, that is, if the show be over at 7.15, and the dinner hour be 8 or 8.15.

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HINTS TO SKATERS ON ETIQUETTE AND DEPORTMENT.

Do not venture on the ice until you can skate properly. Practice the various steps and evolutions before a looking-glass in your bed-room.

There is a great art in falling gracefully, and it is surprising what a number of interesting, complicated, and unlooked-for attitudes and figures can be thus developed. To ensure perfect confidence at the critical moment, it is as well to hire somebody, say a professional wrestler or prize-fighter, to trip you up and knock you down in all the possible methods. A mattress may be used for beginners to fall on. The more improbable your manner of tumbling, the greater success will you achieve in the eyes of the on-lookers.

When skating with a lady, you may cross hands, but it is unusual for you to put your arm round her waist. This is only done in great emergencies, or in a thick fog, or when you have the pond to yourselves. It is generally found that this proceeding is equivalent to skating on very thin ice, and will lead to dangerous consequences.

If, however, a lady, who evidently has not complete control of herself, and does not readily answer her helm, steers straight into your arms, you should accept the situation in your best ball-room manner. Do not attempt to avoid a collision, as if you dodge suddenly, the lady, on failing to meet your support, will probably sit down abruptly on the ice, or get entangled with a sweeper.

Should you, owing to any unforeseen circumstance, find yourself prostrated at a young lady's feet, do not place your hand on your heart and say she is the only girl you ever loved. These little scenes are apt to collect a crowd. Merely say you stopped to examine the thickness of the ice, or any little _plaisanterie_ you feel capable of inventing. Then retire to a discreet distance and rub yourself.

If the ice gives way, and you find yourself in the water, get out as speedily as possible. I do not advise drowning. It is always a wet and uncomfortable process, and has very few recommendations. It is, moreover, quite fatal to true enjoyment, and only those who are morbidly anxious for a "par" in the papers will habitually resort to this mode of creating a sensation.

Do not hit people much with any stick you may think it _de rigueur_ to brandish about. Such personal attentions are best performed when you and a string of ten or twelve other 'Arries are banded together. You can then stand up without fear for the rights of the high-spirited young citizen to enjoy himself.

There is nothing that figure-skaters so much appreciate as the sudden inroad of hockey-players in their midst. It adds immensely to their zest to feel they are liable to be knocked over in the middle of an exciting "rocker" or "mohawk"; and, of course, they like their combined figures to be nicely disarranged, as it enables them to show their skill in sorting themselves again. Hockey should therefore be indulged in anywhere and everywhere.

Lastly, if you prefer sliding to skating, do not slide in a top-hat and frock-coat, unless you are a member of the Skating Club, and even then it looks ostentatious. Dress appropriately in some quiet costume of kickseys and pearlies, with a feather in your hat. Wear your billycock at the back of your head, as it will break your falls. Always shout at the top of your voice.

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A PLEA FOR THE GHOSTS.

Once we dreamed of a magical clime, Powerful fairies lived there then, Ready to change, in the shortest time, Men to fishes, or fish to men; Science, alas, assails the land, Down the magical palaces fall, Fairies and elves, we understand, Never could really exist at all.

Still remain to us spectres strange, Headless horsemen and monks severe, Some that arrive each night in the Grange, Others (like Christmas) once a year; Yet they linger, a fearful joy, Elderly relics of childhood's day. Now our "scientists" would destroy All their humorous, mild array!

Mr. MASKELYNE, learned man! Scoff at Theosophists as you will, Spot each fraudulent gambler's plan, Only allow us our Bogies still! Little we value prosaic truth, If it must scatter these shadowy hosts; Spare us a single belief of youth, Leave us, ah, leave us at least our Ghosts!

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"ROUGE GAGNE"?

Make your Game! Is't fortune, fame, Power supreme, mere notoriety, 'Tis mere gambling all the same,-- Craving knowing not satiety. Marquis or Gavroche, what matter? Rabagas or Noble Red; How the bullion's clink and clatter Fires the eye and heats the head! Mammon-Mephistopheles At the sight in shadow grins; And the player, at his ease, With a dream his heart may please, Red wins!

_Will_ it win, or, winning, will _La République_ lose or gain? Is the game chance _versus_ skill, Sly intrigue 'gainst heart and brain? Sanguine as sanguineous, The Mob-loving Marquis sits. Exile, will _finesse_ and fuss, Clack of tongues, and clash of wits, Play the patriotic game? Fall the cards, the ball re-spins! Blood a-fire and walls a-flame Menace if--to Wisdom's blame-- Red wins!

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THE LONG FROST.--Sportsmen are coming up to town in despair. Their hunters are "eating their heads off," and very soon there will be nothing left to tell the tail!

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IN THE LORDS.--Lord BATTERSEA "the Flower of the Flock."

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THE SEVERE WEATHER.

(_From Mr. Punch's Very Special Correspondents._)

Reports from all parts of the country are eloquent of the phenomenal nature of the weather experienced everywhere. By an extraordinary coincidence, of which it is hardly possible to make too much, the intense cold has been accompanied by a lowness of temperature--on the (Fahren) height.

The Oldest Inhabitant has had a high old time, and been in immense form. To prevent the extinction in future years of this interesting individual, oxen have been roasted freely, and, wherever at all practicable, carriages have been driven over frozen rivers. Occasionally irreverent descendants have roasted the Oldest Inhabitant.

It is reported, on the authority of Lord SALISBURY, that the Liberal Party intend at once to engage in snowballing the House of Lords. As the ex-Prime Minister has promised to play the game with no lack of mutuality, interesting developments are expected.

A very remarkable occurrence comes from abroad--considerations of an international character make it advisable not to particularise further. A bishop went out in the middle of a raging blizzard. Although the bishop was suitably attired in episcopal dress, so that no mistake as to his identity was possible, it went on blizzarding, and the spiritual dignitary was put to extreme temporal temporary inconvenience.

Ice floes have penetrated to London Bridge. Mr. SEYMOUR HICKS'S topical song in the _Shop Girl_--"Oh, floe! ice and snow, you know"--is received every night with even greater enthusiasm than formerly.

The following letter will NOT appear in an early number of _The Spectator_:--

***

ANIMAL SAGACITY.

DEAR SIR,--I desire to draw your attention to what I think I may fairly describe as a wonderful instance of animal sagacity. During the recent severe frost a large number of birds and rabbits were fed every day in my garden. On Friday, for the first time, I noticed a fine hare, which, from its appearance, evidently felt the cold bitterly. I fed it, but shivering set in, and pained by its suffering (for I have a kind heart) I took it into the kitchen. Half-an-hour afterwards the cook came to tell me that the kitchen-maid was in hysterics. I went down and found out the reason--the girl had been frightened, when taking up a large jug which stood on the ground, to find the hare in it! The hare, poor thing, preferred a warm death to a cold existence, but, denied the possibility of human speech, had taken this graphic way of indicating its wishes. I have only to add that they were respected at dinner yesterday.

Yours faithfully, PEIL ITON.

_Stickiton Rectory._

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MEM.--It would not be logical to conclude that Sir ARTHUR SULLIVAN is a good cricketer because of his capital scores.

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AN EXPENSIVE CALL TO PAY.--A Call to the Bar.

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LITTLE MOPSËMAN.

THE THIRD ACT.

_An elevation and rockery in_ FRÜYSECK'S _back-garden, from which--but for the houses in between--an extensive view over the steamer-pier and fiord could be obtained. In front, a summer-house, covered with creepers and wild earwigs. On a bench outside_, MOPSA _is sitting. She has the inevitable little travelling-bag on a strap over her shoulder._ BLOCHDRÄHN _comes up in the dusk. He, too, has a travelling-bag, made of straw, containing professional implements, over his shoulder. He is carrying a rolled-up handbill and a small paste-pot._

_Sanitary Engineer Blochdrähn_ (_catching sight of_ MOPSA'S _handbag_). So you really _are_ off at last? So am I. _I_'m going by train.

_Mopsa_ (_with a faint smile_). Are you? Then _I_ take the steamer. Have you seen ALFRED anywhere about--or SPRETA?

_San. Eng. Bloch._ I have been seeing a good deal of _Mrs._ FRÜYSECK. She asked me to come up here and paste one of these handbills on the summer-house. To offer a reward for Little MOPSËMAN, you know. I've been sticking them up everywhere. (_Busied with the paste-pot._) But you'll see--he'll never turn up.

_Mopsa_ (_sighing_). Poor SPRETA! and oh, poor _dear_ ALFRED! I really don't know if I _can_ have the heart to leave him.

_San. Eng. Bloch._ (_pasting up the bill_). I shall not believe it myself until I actually see you _do_ it. But why shouldn't you come along with me, if you _are_ going--h'm?

_Mopsa._ If you were only a married man--but I have to be so careful _now_, you know!

_San. Eng. Bloch._ It tortures me to think of our two handbags each taking its own way; it really does, Miss MOPSA. And then for me to have to plumb all by myself. Though, to be sure, one can always get round the district surveyor alone.

_Mopsa._ Ah, yes, _that_ you can surely manage alone.

_San. Eng. Bloch._ But it takes two to connect the ventilating shaft with the main drainage.

_Mopsa_ (_looking up at him_). Always two? Never more? Never many?

_San. Eng. Bloch._ Well, then, you see, it becomes quite a different matter--it cuts down the profits. But are you sure you can never make up your mind to share my great new job with me?

_Mopsa._ I tried that once--with ALFRED. It didn't quite answer--though it was delightful, all the same.

_San. Eng. Bloch._ Then there really _has_ been a bright and happy time in your life? I should never have suspected it!

_Mopsa._ Oh yes, you can't think how amusing ALFRED was in those days. When he distinguished himself by failing to pass his examinations, and then, from time to time, when he lost his post in some school or other, or when his big, bulky manuscripts were declined by some magazine--with thanks!

_San. Eng. Bloch._ Yes, I can quite see that such an existence must have had its moments of quiet merriment. (_Shaking his head._) But I _don't_ see what in the world possessed ALFRED to go and marry as he did.

_Mopsa_ (_with suppressed emotion_). The Law of Change. Our latest catchphrase, you know. ALFRED is so subject to it. So will _you_ be, some day or other!

_San. Eng. Bloch._ Never in all my life; whatever progress may be made in sanitation! (_Insistently._) Can't you _really_ care for me?

_Mopsa._ I might--(_looking down_)--if you have no objection to go halves with ALFRED.

_San. Eng. Bloch._ I am behind the times, I daresay; but such an arrangement does _not_ strike me as a firm basis for a really happy home. I should certainly object to it, most decidedly.

_Mopsa_ (_laughs bitterly_). What creatures of convention you men are, after all! (_Recollecting herself._) But I _quite_ forgot. I am conventional _myself_ now. You are perfectly right; it _would_ be utterly irregular!

_Alfred_ (_comes up the steps_). Is it you, BLOCHDRÄHN, that has posted up that bill? On the new summer-house!

_San. Eng. Bloch._ Yes, Mrs. FRÜYSECK asked me to.

_Alfred_ (_touched_). Then she _does_ miss Little MOPSËMAN, after all! Are you going? Not without _MOPSA?_

_San. Eng. Bloch._ (_shaking his head_). I did invite her to accompany me; but she won't. So I must make my jobs alone.

_Alfred._ It's so horrible to be alone--or _not_ to be alone, if it comes to that! (_Oppressed--to himself._) My troll is at it again! I shall press her to stay--I _know_ I shall--and it will end in the usual way!

_Spreta_ (_comes up the steps, plaintively_). It _is_ unkind of you all to leave me alone like this. When I'm so nervous in the dark, too!

_Mopsa_ (_tenderly_). But I _must_ leave you, SPRETA, dear. By the next steamer. That is----Well, I really _ought_ to!

_Alfred_ (_almost inaudibly, hitting himself on the chest_). Down, you little beggar, down! No, it's no use; the troll _will_ keep popping up! (_Aloud_) Can't we persuade you, dear MOPSA? Do stay--just to keep SPRETA company, you know!

_Mopsa_ (_as if struggling with herself_). Oh, I want to so much! I'd do _anything_ to oblige dear SPRETA!

_San. Eng. Bloch._ (_to himself, dejectedly_). She is just like that Miss HILDA WANGEL for making herself so perfectly at home!

_Spreta_ (_resignedly_). Oh, _I_ don't mind. After all, I would rather ALFRED philandered than fretted and fussed here alone with me. You had better stay, and be our Little MOPSËMAN. It will keep ALFRED quiet--and that's _something_!

_Mopsa._ No; it was only a temporary lapse. I keep on forgetting that I am no longer an emotional Cuckoo heroine. I am perfectly respectable. And I will prove it by leaving with Mr. BLOCHDRÄHN at once--if he will be so obliging as to escort me?

_San. Eng. Bloch._ Delighted, my dear Miss MOPSA, at so unexpected a bit of good luck. We've only just time to catch the steamer.

_Mopsa._ Then, thanks so much for a quite _too_ delightful visit, SPRETA. So _sorry_ to have to run away like this! (_To_ ALFRED, _with subdued anguish_.) I am running away--from _you_! I _entreat_ you not to follow me--not _just_ yet, at any rate!

_Alfred_ (_shrinking back_). Ah! (_To himself._) If it depends upon our two trolls whether----. (MOPSA _goes off with_ Sanitary Engineer BLOCHDRÄHN.) There's the steamer, SPRETA.... By Jove, they'll have a run for it! Look, she's putting in.

_Spreta._ I daren't. The steamer has one red and one green eye--just like MOPSËMAN'S at mealtimes!

_Alfred_ (_common-sensibly_). Only her lights, you know. She doesn't mean anything _personal_ by it.

_Spreta._ But they're actually mooring her by the very pier that----How can they have the _heart!_

_Alfred._ Steamboat companies have no feelings. Though why _you_ should feel it so, when you positively loathed the dog.

_Spreta._ After all, you weren't so particularly fond of him yourself; now _were_ you, ALFRED?

_Alfred._ H'm, he was a decent dog enough--for a mongrel. I didn't _mind_ him; now you _did_.

_Spreta_ (_nods slowly_). There is a change in me now. I am easier to please. I could share you with the mangiest mongrel, if I were only quite sure you would never again want to follow that minx MOPSA, ALFRED!

_Alfred._ I never said I _did_ want to; though I can't answer for the troll. But I must go away _somewhere_--I'm such a depressing companion for you. I shall go away up into the solitudes--which reminds me of an anecdote I never told either you or MOPSA before. Sit down and I will tell it you.

_Spreta_ (_timidly_). Not the one about the night of terror you had on the mountains, ALFRED, when you lost your way and couldn't find a policeman anywhere about the peaks? Because I've heard _that_--and I don't think I _can_ stand it again.

_Alfred_ (_coldly and bitterly_). You see that I have really nothing to fill up my life with, when my own wife refuses to listen to my anecdotes! Now MOPSA always---- What is all that barking down there in the town?

_Spreta_ (_with an outburst_). Oh, you'll see, they've found Little MOPSËMAN!

_Alfred._ Not they. He'll _never_ be found. Those handbills of yours were a mere waste of money. It is only the curs fighting in the street--as usual.

_Spreta_ (_slowly, and with resolution_). Only that, ALFRED. And do you know what I mean to do, as soon as you are away solitudinising up there in the mountain hotels? I will go down and bring all those poor neglected dogs home with me.

_Alfred_ (_uneasily_). What--the whole _lot_ of them, SPRETA? (_Shocked._) In our Little MOPSËMAN'S place!

_Spreta_ (_firmly and decidedly_). Every one. To fill Little MOPSËMAN'S place. They shall dig up his bones, lie on his mat, take it in turns to sleep in his basket. I will try to--h'm--lighten and ennoble their lot in life.

_Alfred_ (_with growing uneasiness_). When you simply detest all dogs! I don't know _anyone_ less fitted than you to manage a Dog's Home. I really don't!

_Spreta._ I must fill the void in my life _somehow_--if you go and leave me. And I must educate myself to _understand_ dogs better, that's all.

_Alfred._ Yes, that you would _have_ to do. (_As if struck with an idea._) Before you _begin_. Suppose I take up my big fat book on _Canine Idiosyncrasy_ once more, eh? That would teach you how to purify and ennoble every poodle really scientifically, you know. Only you must promise to wait till I've got it _done_.

_Spreta_ (_with a melancholy smile_). I am in no hurry ALFRED. Only to write that you would have to remain at home.

_Alfred_ (_half evasively_). Not necessarily. I _might_, of course--for a while, that is. But I shall have many a heavy day of work before me, SPRETA, and you will see, now and then perhaps, a great slumberous peace descend on me as I toil away in my brown study--but I shall be making wonderful progress all the same.

_Spreta._ I shall quite understand _that_, ALFRED. Oh, dear, who in the world's this?

[The VARMINT-BL[=O]K _appears mysteriously in the gloom_.

_The Varmint-Bl[=o]k._ Excuse me, Captin, and your sweet ladyship, but I just happened to drop my eye on one of those lovely little hand-billikins here, and took the liberty to step up, thinking it might so happen that you'd been advertising the very identical dawg what followed me home the other day. You may remember me passing the remark how wonderful partial dawgs was to me. So I brought him up on the chance like.

[_He produces_ Little MOPSËMAN--_in mufti--from a side-pocket_.

_Spreta._ It _is_ our Little MOPSËMAN! So you are _not_ some supernatural sort of shadowy symbol after all, then?

_The Varm.-B._ (_hurt_). Now I ask you, lady--do I look it? Here's my professional card. And if you _should_ have the reward handy---- (_As_ ALFRED _pays him_.) Five Rix dollarkins--correct, my lord, and thankee kindly. (_As he departs._) You'll find I've learned that sweet little mongrel a thing or two; take the nonsense out of any rat in Norway _now_, he will. And just you ask him to set up and give three cheers for Dr. IBSEN--that's all!

[_He goes out, chuckling softly._

_Alfred_ (_holding out_ Little MOPSËMAN _at arms' length_). H'm; it will be a heavy day's work to purify and ennoble this poodle after all he has been through, eh, SPRETA? I think, as you seem to have developed quite a taste for such tasks, I shall allow _you_ to undertake it--all by yourself.

_Spreta_ (_turns away with her half-teasing smile_). Thanks!

THE END.

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OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

"Before you finish your whiff and depart to dress for dinner," quoth the Baron, "just read through Mr. ESCOTT'S article in the _Fort-nightly_." If you lived in Literary Bohemia many years ago, it will revive pleasant memories, and if you didn't, it will interest those who did with whom, in conversation at dinner, you can start the subject. Bohemia exists always; only, as Mr. LAUDATOR TEMPORIS ACTI will, of course, sing, it was at its best in

"The days when _we_ went gipseying A long time ago!"

"Glad to see Mr. ESCOTT'S pen at work again," quoth the kindly

BARON DE B.-W.

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