Part 1

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PUNCH,

OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOLUME 93.

AUGUST 20, 1887.

* * * * *

THE PLEASANT TRAVELLER'S CONVERSATION-BOOK.

(_To be translated into French, German, and Italian, for the benefit of Foreigners._)

IN THE TRAIN.

CONTINENTAL Railways are disgracefully mismanaged.

This train does not travel at anything like the rate of our expresses.

The "Flying Scotchman" travels at 50, 100, or 150 (_according to fancy_) miles the hour.

I object to smoking; also wish all the windows to be opened or closed (_as the case may be_).

The foreign _buffet_ does not equal our refreshment-rooms.

A plate of soup, half a roast fowl, and mashed potatoes cannot compare with what we call in England a "ham sandwich."

I object to the lamp being shaded, or insist upon the lamp being shaded (_according to pleasure_).

Why are we stopping here? Why are we not stopping here?

It is disgraceful that we should stop here. It is disgraceful that we should not stop here.

If this occurs again, I shall write to the papers.

AT THE STATION.

Why must I go here? Why may I not go here?

I insist upon going where I please.

I refuse to answer, as an impertinent question, "what I have to declare."

I object to opening that trunk, that portmanteau, and that hat-box.

It is insolent to accuse me of smuggling. Where is the Chief of Police?

Have there been any orders to treat my luggage in this manner?

I complain that, as you have passed my boxes without examination, that I should have ever been asked for my keys.

I will not take this omnibus, nor this fly, nor this cart.

I do not want to patronise any hotel.

Why do you not put my luggage on that carriage?

I had a right to say I would take no conveyance--as a matter of fact, I knew I should be swindled.

Now do make haste, and do what I ask, or I shall report you to the Station Master.

No, I shall give you nothing--it is contrary to the Bye-laws in England.

AT THE HOTEL.

I object to this room, because it is on the ground, first, or upper floors (_according to taste_).

I do not like the price paid for the _table d'hote_.

I object to the bed-curtains--why are there no bed-curtains?

I will not pay for _service_--_service_ should be charged.

Your prices are extortionate. I shall be careful to warn all my friends against coming to this hotel.

Don't be impertinent.

EN ROUTE.

This scenery is disappointing.

The water-fall is over-rated and the ruin a fraud.

I will not take off my wide-awake in this Cathedral.

Why cannot I look at the altar during the celebration of Service?

I have seen much better things in a ninth-rate town in England than I find in this Museum.

I consider the whole tour not worth the candle.

It is infamous that I should have been induced by false pretences to come abroad.

You can easily imagine how I must be missed at home.

* * * * *

Land Measure.

[Mr. JESSE COLLINGS supports the Government Allotments Bill, although it only holds forth a prospect of one acre, and no cow.]

JESSE content with SALISBURY'S gift? How odd! One acre only, and of cows a lack! Pooh! JESSE takes this "acre" as a "rod"-- For faithless GLADSTONE'S back.

* * * * *

THE QUESTION OF THE HOUR.--The Government have been given a good inch (of coercive power). Will they take a (National) League?

* * * * *

WELSH FOR THE WELSH.

MR. PUNCH by some accident was unable to be present at the "Eisteddfod Genhedlaethol y Cymry," and therefore could not take part in the competitions at the Albert Hall. For the sake of the other bards he is glad, as he feels sure that had he sung his own little composition he would have been hailed at once "_Pencerd Gwalia_," "_Mynorydd_" and "_Owen Dyfed_," rolled into one. However, that the World may not suffer by his unselfishness, he publishes his _Anerchiaudau ir Llywydd_ (Poetical Address to the President), which he would have sung to an accompaniment of a hundred harps. As it is short, he gives it in full:--

Y MORWYNIG GWYNTOEDD.

Hi ddiddleth di ddiddleth ghist katte haw di fiddleth, Ac kowwe pob gofid y munne, Fel lliddell doggggg rawd di see glap spwwt, Ond di pplatt gofid rhosyn di ssspnnn Fy mam, fly man, O pale ale man am di fly man!

* * * * *

PRIVILEGED PISTOLS.

THE CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER, it is rumoured, a few days since, received a deputation of schoolboys home for the holidays, and other young gentlemen delegated to him with a petition that he would propose a bill for the repeal of the duty now demanded for permission to carry a gun.

The foreboy of the memorialists, Master SMITHERS, in an address premised with "Please Sir," informed the Right Honourable Gentleman of the object of their application. He, and those other fellows, considered the gun-tax an awfully hard impost, he might say imposition--out of school-hours. It denied them a recreation they particularly wanted to enjoy in the holidays, namely, shooting, which was fun for them as good as for Members of Parliament. Shooting was shooting, whether you shot sparrows or grouse. But ten bob duty was more than poor fellows could afford.

JACKSON, Junior, asked why, if the tax on firearms was intended to prevent a chap from carrying a gun, it wasn't charged just the same upon pistols? You couldn't look into a daily paper hardly without seeing an account of a murder committed, or somebody or other shot, or shooting himself by accident, with a revolver, or the revolver going off on its own accord, and killing its owner or someone else. Cads and roughs almost all of them carried revolvers, and so it was that burglars went about shooting policemen. If every revolver had to be loaded with a licence, or the firearm-duty were enforced for all firearms, it would save no end of lives. But if that didn't signify, and everybody was to be free to carry a revolver, what use was there in what you might call fining a fellow for leave to carry a gun?

The CHANCELLOR of the EXCHEQUER said that his young friends appeared to him to have made out a very good case, not so much for the repeal of the gun-duty as for its extension, if necessary, or at any rate its enforcement, as regarded revolvers, upon which the existing duty might require to be increased to an amount which would effectually limit the possession of those dangerous weapons. Meantime he would consult his colleagues, who, he was assured, would give this question their most serious consideration.

The young gentlemen then gave three groans for the CHANCELLOR of the EXCHEQUER, and bolted.

* * * * *

THE MARBLE ARCH.

(_A Song for the Season._)

"Can nothing be done for the Marble Arch?...London soot-flakes have dealt cruelly with a surface admirably calculated to receive them."--_Pall Mall Gazette._

AIR--"_I Dreamt that I Dwelt in Marble Halls._"

I DREAMT that I gazed at the Marble Arch, King Fog and King Coal at my side, The soot of November, the dust-storms of March Had made it a sight to deride. I said all the foreigners think, I'll be bound, To our City this thing is a shame; But I guess 'twill be found, when next Season comes round, That its state is much the same.

It _does_ want a wash, there's no doubt about that, For the marble's a dull, dirty brown; That is, where it isn't as black as your hat-- _Can't_ they clean it while Swelldom's from Town? Marble? Deft TADEMA, I will be bound, Would say 'tis not worthy the name; But I'd wager a pound, when next Season comes round, We shall find it still the same.

* * * * *

EVICTION.

A WOFUL BALLAD OF WIMBLEDON. AIR--"_The British Grenadier._"

SOME prate of patriotism, and some of cheap defence, But to the high official mind that's all absurd pretence; For of all the joys of snubbing, there's none to it _so_ dear, As to snub, snub, snub, snub, snub, snub the British Volunteer!

A patriotic Laureate may bid the Rifles form, And Citizens may look to them for safety in War's storm; But Secretaries, Dooks, and such at this delight to jeer, And to snub, snub, snub, snub, snub, snub the British Volunteer!

A semi-swell he may be, but he may be a mere clerk, And he's an interloper, and to snub him is a lark. Sometimes he licks the Regulars, and so our duty's clear, 'Tis to snub, snub, snub, snub, snub, snub the British Volunteer!

He hankers for an increase in his Capitation Grant, It's like his precious impudence, and have the lift he shan't. What, make it easier for him to run us close? No fear! We'll snub, snub, snub, snub, snub, snub the British Volunteer!

He has a fad for Wimbledon, but that is just a whim, And as eviction's all the go, we'll try it upon _him_. _He_'s not an Irish tenant, so no one will interfere, When once more we snub, snub, snub, snub the British Volunteer!

His targets and his tents and things are nuisances all round, As Jerry-Builders, Dooks, and other Toffs have lately found. Compared with bricks and mortar and big landlords he's small beer, So we'll snub, snub, snub, snub, snub, snub the British Volunteer!

The Common's vastly handy, there's no doubt, to chaps in town, And crowds of Cockneys to the butts can quickly hurry down; But what are _all_ Town's Cockneys to one solitary Peer? No; let us snub, snub, snub, snub the British Volunteer!

Your Citizen who wants to play at soldiers need not look To have his little way as though he were a Royal Dook. With building-leases--sacred things!--he must not interfere, So let us snub, snub, snub, snub the British Volunteer!

If he must shoot his annual shoot somewhere, why, let him go To Pirbright or to Salisbury Plain, or e'en to Jericho. But out from his loved Wimbledon he'll surely have to clear,-- A final snub, snub, snub, snub to the British Volunteer!

* * * * *

* * * * *

"ROOM AND VERGE."

LORD SALISBURY agrees with Lord BEACONSFIELD that Asia is large enough for both Russia and England. Quite so. And unlimited space is large enough for all the galaxies of Worlds,--until two of them want to occupy one portion of it. Then comes Chaos or a Cosmical Boundary Question. The "room enough" theory is a genial one, which would have commended itself to _Uncle Toby_. But it does not carry us practically very far on the road to a settlement. The world was presumably "large enough" to accommodate the ambitions of OCTAVIUS and MARK ANTONY. Only they did not happen to think so. Collision terrestial or celestial does not come from the narrowness of limits, but from the crossing of courses.

* * * * *

CHANGE.

(_A Weather Forecast for the Next Ten Weeks._)

_August 20._--Heavy downpour commences. Thirty-six inches of rain fell in as many minutes. The Clerk of the Weather catches cold.

_August 27._--Heavy downpour continues. The entire audience at the Gaiety, being unable to get home without getting drenched, decline to leave the Theatre, and, after a riot, pass the night there, in the face of the protests of the Management.

_September 3._--Heavy downpour shows no signs of abating. Several leading Umbrella Manufacturers make rapid fortunes, and are raised to the Peerage.

_September 15._--Heavy downpour still continuing, the Serpentine overflows its banks, and runs southwards. Salmon-fishing commences in the Brompton Road.

_September 27._--Downpour heavier than ever. The Underground Lines flooded, and the traffic carried on by penny steamers.

_October 8._--Downpour steadily continuing, the Albert Hall is opened as a National Swimming Bath, and Battersea Park as a Rice Plantation.

_October 19._--Downpour still on the increase. The Hippopotamus from the Zoological Gardens is washed in a torrent down Portland Place, and left high-and-dry on the steps of the Langham Hotel.

_October 28._--Downpour as heavy as ever. Gondolas seen in Piccadilly. A well-known Duke endeavouring to drive a bathing-machine in Belgrave Square, upsets it, and is only rescued with difficulty by drags from his own balcony.

_November 3._--Downpour still continuing and London being now under water, wild-duck shooting commences in Chancery Lane.

_November 9._--Downpour at its height. In consequence of the flooded condition of the Guildhall, the Lord Mayor's banquet is given under a water-proof tent on Primrose Hill, his distinguished guests approaching it across the Regent's Park in coal-barges. Prime Minister, in his speech, commenting upon the weather, describes it "as the worst he ever remembers."

* * * * *

FERDINAND AND ARIEL.

(IN BULGARIA.)

(_Shakspeare once again adapted to circumstances._)

_Enter_ ARIEL, _invisible, playing and singing_. FERDINAND _following him_.

_Ariel's Song._

COME into Bulgarian Lands, We stretch our hands; 'Tis a chance not to be miss'd. When we have kiss'd Your hand in loyal fealty there, The Crown's sweet burden you may bear. Hark! Hark!

_Burden._ Bow-wow! (_Dispersedly._) Let the Russ bark!

_Burden._ Bow-wow! (_Dispersedly._) Hark, hark! I hear The strutting Gallic Chanticleer Cry Cock-a-doodle-doo!

_Ferdinand._ Where should this music be? In th' air, or th' earth? It sounds once more, and sure it waits upon _My_ forward footsteps. Sitting all alone, Musing upon Prince ALEXANDER'S wreck, This music crept upon me unawares, Stirring my hope, and rousing Russia's passion, With its sweet air. Thence have I followed it, Or it hath drawn me rather:--but 'tis gone. No, it begins again.

_Ariel sings:_

Full fathom deep BATTENBERG lies, Of _his_ chance chaos is made; But you'll see, if you have eyes, Your hopes ripen as his fade. You may suffer a great change Into a young King. Is't strange? Fate which rings poor SANDY'S knell Sounds your coronation bell. Hark! dost hear it?--ding-dong-dell!

[_Burden._ Ding-dong!

_Ferdinand._ This ditty doth decoy, yet fright me,--rather. This is no common chance. A golden crown Fate proffers me:--I see it,--shall I wear it? [_Left considering._

* * * * *

"FINIS CORONAT OPUS."

THE summary given in an evening paper last week of a well-known suit, now happily at an end, is instructive. Four years ago the plaintiff was absolutely without means, and apparently utterly friendless. The man who had wronged her offered her (amongst other infamous actions) a miserable pittance to expatriate herself and to cease to "annoy" him. She called in the assistance of the Press; and now she retires with provision for herself and innocent child, her character re-established, and a sum of money that our grandfathers would have called a "plum." The paper that championed her was plucky, and as the result has proved, in the right. Praise to whom praise is due. Acknowledgment is due to the _P. M. G._

* * * * *

HAPPY THOUGHT.

(_By an Unhappy Unionist._)

TREVELYAN swears he trusts the Grand Old Man, And follows him in playing fast and loose. Well, we have heard of Leda and the Swan, But here's a case of Leader and the Goose!

* * * * *

POPULAR EDUCATION.--_Examiner._ Give the meaning of "Hagiology." _Candidate._ Science of Witchcraft.

* * * * *

SALUBRITIES ABROAD.

_To those about to travel_ via _Dover and Calais_.--Ask when _The Empress_ makes the journey. Something like a boat, and the day our party went by her she did the crossing in the hour, and I won't positively swear it wasn't a minute or so under that time. There's a crossing-sweeper for you! The Empress of the Sea! Mind you it was a fine day, and what I should say would be considered a calm sea, though there were several sufferers.

If not in a hurry--and who can hurry in such weather?--the easiest travelling is by the 11 A.M. from Victoria; admirable _Empress_ for the crossing; and a good twenty-five minutes or more for one of the best buffet-luncheons in France. Stay the night in Paris, and off to your Royat, your Aix, or wherever it may be, as early as possible.

_At the Paris-Lyon Station, en route for Royat._--Owing to the gentle influence of Colonel WATERS, attached to the L. C. & D. corps in Paris, and to the indefatigable exertions of his lieutenant in uniform, GUSTAV HERLAN, the P. L. & M. Company have consented to put a _lit-salon_ carriage on to their day-train as quite an exceptional concession to an invalid, who might be supposed to have thus addressed them:--

Pity the sorrows of a gouty man, Whose trembling limbs have brought him to your door, Who asks you to oblige him with--you can-- A simple _lit-salon_ and nothing more.

The perfect comfort of this arrangement for a long journey is worth the price including the _supplement_, which I am paying when a cheery voice cries, "Hallo! old chap," and I recognise PULLER, whom I haven't seen for some time. I return his greeting heartily. "You've got a _coupe reserve_?" he exclaims gleefully, and literally skipping for joy. I never saw a man in such spirits. He is not absolutely young, nearer forty than thirty for example, looking so wonderfully fresh, that turn-down collars and a jacket would suit him perfectly. He is as clean-shaved as a Benedictine Monk or a Low Comedian. He says of himself--he is the waggish companion to whom I alluded in my previous notes--"I am well preserved in high spirits." He insists on paying the extra seat and _supplement_. Cousin JANE (again going to Royat for the Caesar Baths) says she shall be delighted, and so PULLER is to come with us. Certainly am delighted to see PULLER. Will he have his things brought here? He will, "_a l'instant!_"--he pronounces it "_ar long stong_," and roars with laughter as if he had delivered himself of the rarest witticism. Then he skips off down the platform, waving an umbrella in one hand and a stick in the other. Suddenly PULLER'S social characteristics all flash across me. I haven't seen him for years, and had forgotten them. I recollect _now_, he is what they call "an inveterate punster," and loves when abroad (though an accomplished linguist) to speak the language of the country in which he may be temporarily sojourning with a strong English accent; it is also a part of his humour to embellish his discourse with English idioms literally translated,--or, _vice versa_, to give French idioms in colloquial English; so that on the whole his conversational style, when in foreign parts, is peculiar. The impression left in my memory years ago of PULLER, is that he is a wonderfully good-natured fellow unless a trifle puts him out, when he flares up suddenly into red heat; but this is seldom, and he cools down directly if allowed to stand. When he is not in the highest possible spirits he is an agreeable companion, as he can give some interesting, but utterly untrustworthy, information on most subjects, and, when this comes to an end, he falls asleep suddenly,--he does everything suddenly,--but, as I have since ascertained, does not snore. When at his office in London he is the second partner of an eminent firm of Solicitors with a varied and extensive business. For a safe and sound legal opinion in any difficult matter, specially on the Chancery side, there is no one to whom I would sooner go myself, or recommend a friend than JAMES PULLER, of HORLER, PULLER, PULLER (J.), BAKER AND DAYVILLE. For the greater part of the year JAMES PULLER is hard at work, and is gravity itself, except on certain social and festive occasions. But in vacation-time he gives up Law and goes in for Lunacy. "I feel," he says, when he returns, still capering on the platform, this time with his stick in one hand and his hat in the other, "I feel like a school-boy out for a holiday," and, allowing for the difference of age and costume, he looks the character.

Travelling is very tiring; so is rising early in the morning (which is included in the process of travelling) after a night spent in fitful dozing, one's rest being broken by nervous anxiety as to whether the waiter will remember to call one at the cruel hour of 6.30, or not, and determining to be up at that time exactly, and if he doesn't appear punctually, to ring for him to bring the bath and the boots; then preternatural wakefulness, then the drowsiness, then the painful emptiness, then the necessity for extraordinary energy and bustle,--all this fatigues me so much, that when at last I find myself in a comfortable railway-carriage, I sink back, and prepare to make up for the lost sleep of the previous night.

PULLER has been travelling all night right through, yet he is now as fresh as the proverbial lark. He is smoking. He came up smoking. I am a smoker, but at an early hour on a hot day, and comparatively unbreakfasted, I do not like the smell of the last half-inch of a strong and newish cigar such as PULLER is now smoking. He is sucking at this last morsel of it as if it were the only one he should take (I wish it were) for another month, and as if it went to his heart to part with it.

"Don't you smoke your cigars rather short?" I ask, mildly, by way of a hint.

"No," he replies, quickly; "I smoke them rather long. Had him there, eh?" he says playfully, turning to Cousin JANE, who, I regret to say, encourages him with an appreciative smile. After his fit of chuckles has subsided (in which I do not join), he takes off his hat _a la francaise_, and addresses himself to Cousin JANE.

"If Madame does not oppose herself to that I shall smoke."

JANE graciously returns, "Oh dear no, I do not mind smoke," which isn't at all what I want her to say on this occasion. PULLER throws away what is left of his cigar, and, producing an enormous case, offers me what he calls "a beauty,"--very big, very dark one, with a bit of red and gold paper wrapped round its middle, as if it were in a delicate state of health and might suffer from rheumatism,--but I decline it, saying pointedly, "I can't stand smoking so early, and before breakfast."

"Oh," he returns in an offhand manner, "can't you? I can smoke any time, it doesn't affect _me_. Besides, I had a first-rate breakfast at the fork, and spoon too, at the buffet,"--he pronounces this word as written in English--this is his fun (i.e.__, the fun of a high-spirited Solicitor on a holiday), and forthwith he lights the big cigar, changes his seat so as to face us both, and then commences a conversation about all sorts of things, seasoned with his jokes and comic French, at which he laughs himself uproariously, and appeals to me to know if it, whatever the joke may be, "Wasn't bad, was it?" And when I beg him to spare some of his witticisms, as he'll want them for the friends he's going to meet at Royat--(thank Heaven, he _is_ going to meet friends!)--he only says, "Oh, there's lots more where these came from," and off he goes again. Fortunately he turns to Cousin JANE, and instantly I close my eyes, and pretend to be overcome by fatigue. If JANE is wise she will do the same. JANE is tired, but tolerant.