Chapter 2

Excellent subject Sir ARTHUR has chosen for his serious opera--_Ivanhoe_. It is now finally settled that the part of _Rowena_ will not be entrusted to Mr. HERBERT CAMPBELL. It is whispered that the great effect will be the song of _Isaac of York_, magnificently orchestrated for fifteen Jews' harps, played by lads all under the age of twelve. They have already commenced practice under the eye of Sir ARTHUR, who himself is no unskilled performer on the ancient lyre of JUBAL.

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A RUM CUSTOMER.

THEY have bin so jolly busy lately at the "Grand Hotel," and a reel grand Hotel it is too, that they wanted sum assistence in the werry himportant line of Waiters; so they werry naterally sent for me, and in course I went, and a werry nice cumferal place it is for ewerybody, both Waiters and Wisiters, and I can trewly say as I aint had not a singel complaint since I have been here.

Well, one day a young Swell came a sauntering in, about 4 o'clock, and wanted to know if he cood have a lunch for a gentleman, and in the hansomest room as there was in the house. Of course I was ekal to the ocashun, and told him, yes, he coud, and not only in the hansomest room in that house but in the hansomest room in Lundon, and I at wunce showed him into our Marble Pillow Room, which I coud see at a glarnce made a werry deep impression on his mind, which I was not at all surprized at, for it is about as near a approach to Paradise as you can resonably expect so werry near the Strand.

So I sets him down at a sweet little round table, and I puts a lovely gold candlestick on it, with two darling little cherubs a climing up it, jest as if they was a going for to lite the candle, and then he horders his simple luncheon, which it was jest a cup of our shuperior chocolate and two xquisite little beef and am sandwitches, and wile he eat and drank 'em he arsked me sech lots of questyuns as farely estonished me. Such as, how much did the four Marbel Pillows cost? So I said, about 200 pound, for I allers thinks as an hed Waiter should be reddy to anser any question as he is arsked, weather he knos anythink about it or not.

Then he wanted to know where we got all our bewtifool flowers from, and I told him as we had 'em in fresh every morning from the South of France along with our Shampane, which was made a purpose for us by the most sellebrated makers, and consisted of two sorts, wiz.: dry for the higneramuses and rich for the connysewers. So he ordered a bottle of the latter, and drunk two glasses of it, and then acshally made me drink one two, and sed as it was the finest as he had ewer tasted. He then asked me what made us line all the room with such bewtifool looking glass, and I told him as it was by order of most of the most bewtifoolest Ladys in Lundon, who came to dine there wunce or twice every week. So he said as how he shood drop in now and then to see 'em, for he thort as they gave a sort of relish to a good dinner. He then got up, and saying as he didn't want not no Bill, he throwed down a soverain and saying, "I shall allus know where to cum to when I wants a reelly ellegant lunch, in a reelly ellegant room, and to be waited on by a reelly respectful Waiter," went away.

And now cums the strangest part of the hole affair, for presently in rushes our most gentlemanly Manager, and he says, says he, "Do you know, ROBERT, who that was as you've bin a waiting on?" "No, Sir!" says I. "Why it's no other than the young ----" But wild hosses shan't tear the name and title from me, as I was forbid to menshun it; but all I can say is, that if it was known when he was a coming next time, there wood be sich a crowd to see him as ewen our bewtifool Marble Pillow Room wouldn't hold.

ROBERT.

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REPORTED ACCIDENT TO A COLONEL AND AN ALDERMAN.--Members of the Ancient Corporation will do well to open their Royal Academy Guide very cautiously, at least when they come to the Sculpture Department, as, if come upon suddenly, their nervous system would receive a severe shock from the following announcement:--"2023. Colonel W. H. WILKIN--bust." We are glad to say that the worthy and gallant Alderman has pulled himself together, and is uncommonly well. By the way, it is but fair to the sculptor to state that his name is--ahem!--"WALKER."

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"NOT SUCH A FOOL AS HE LOOKS."

_Leo Britannicus, loquitur_;--

GOOD Gentlemen both, you're on opposite tacks! Well, your plans you are perfectly welcome to try on. They talk of the patience of lambs, or park hacks; They're not in it, my lads, with an elderly Lion. A Lion, I mean, of the genuine breed, And not a thin-skinned and upstart adolescent. Dear me! did I let everybody succeed In stirring me up, or in making things pleasant, By smoothing me down in a flattering style, I'd have, there's no doubt, a delectable time of it. You think I look drowsy, and smile a fat smile; Well, what if I do? Where's the very great crime of it? A Lion, you know, is not all roar and ramp, So, STANLEY my hero, why worry and chivey? Mere blarney won't blind me; I'm not of that stamp; So don't hope to hypnotise _me_, good CAPRIVI. Why, bless you, my boys, long before you were cubbed I was charged, by your betters, with being too lazy; But rivals have found, when outwitted or drubbed, That a calm waiting game is not always so crazy. In Indian jungles, American plains, And far Eastern wilds, they have fancied me "bested," Because, when hot rivals were hungry for gains, I kept my eyes open, and patiently rested. A stolid and sleepy expression _will_ steal At times, I'm aware, o'er my leonine features; But, when the time's ripe, my opponents may feel I'm _not_ the most easily humbugged of creatures. In North as in South, in the East as the West, Opponents _have_ planted their paws down before me. But where are they now, boys? _J'y suis, j'y reste!_ Staying power is the thing; so don't bully and bore me.

I hear you, my STANLEY, I hear you and mark; To snub you for patriot zeal were ungracious; But--well, after all, on your Continent Dark My footprints are plain, and my realm's pretty spacious. I don't mean to say that a purblind content My power should palsy, my policy dominate, And Congos and Khartoums that pay cent. per cent. Are tempting, but arrogant haste I abominate. My "prancing proconsuls" not _always_ are right, Whose first and last word for old Leo is "collar!" I'm not going to flare up like fury and fight Every time someone else wins an acre or dollar. But if you imagine I'm out of the hunt Every time I take breath, you are vastly mistaken: I know you're a brick, and like language that's blunt; Well, Lions sleep lightly, and readily waken!

For you, friend CAPRIVI, your manners are nice, Your style of caressing is verily charming; How soothingly sweet is your placid advice, Your mild deprecation is almost disarming; Almost, but not quite, for 'tis true Teuton law That unfailing defence is the root of the matter; And Leo is fully aware tooth and claw Must not be _talked off_ e'en by friendlies who flatter.

Your prod, my good STANLEY, CAPRIVI, your pat, Are politic both; I've an eye upon each of you. The lids may look lazy, but don't trust to that; I watch, and I wait, and I weigh the 'cute speech of you. I do not mind learning from both of your books, But though you may think Leo given to slumber, He may not be quite such a slug as he looks, As rivals have found, dear boys, times out of number!

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AMONGST Cambridge cricketers Mr. GOSLING and Mr. HENFREY may be trusted to avoid duck's eggs. Mr. ROWELL prefers to bat well; and Mr. LEESE wishes he had a freehold when he is at the wickets. With WOODS, a HILL, a (STREAT)FIELD, a (BERES)FORD and a (COTTE)RILL, there's plenty of variety about FENNER'S ground at present.

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MODERN TYPES.

(_By Mr. Punch's own Type Writer._)

No. XII.--THE POOR LADY BOUNTIFUL.

POVERTY is commonly supposed to be a bar to all generosity and enjoyment of life. Perhaps this may be true of a certain class. But there is a kind of genteel and not unfashionable poverty with regard to which it is mainly false. A poor lady, for instance, who is afflicted with an overmastering charitable impulse, and is blessed with energy, will use this bar of poverty as a lever with which to move the bounty of her friends, in order that she herself may appear bountiful, and, as a rule, her efforts in this direction will be crowned with a success that would be phenomenal, if it were not so common. The history of her earlier years is easily written. Whilst still a child, she begins a collecting career, by being entrusted, on behalf of a church building fund, with a card divided into "bricks," each brick being valued at the price of half-a-crown. Her triumphs in inducing her relations and their friends to become purchasers of these minute and valueless squares of cardboard are great, and the consideration she acquires on all hands as a precocious charitable agent is very acceptable even to her childish mind.

Her profession having thus been determined, she devotes herself with an unflagging ardour to the task of diminishing the available assets of those with whom she may be brought in contact. Her parents, who are not overburdened with riches, look on at first with amusement, and afterwards with the dismay which any excess of zeal always arouses in the British breast. Their protests, however, fall upon deaf ears, and they adopt an attitude of severe neutrality, in the hope that years and a husband may bring wisdom to their daughter.

This does not save them from being made involuntary sharers in her charitable iniquities. Her father wakes one morning to find himself famous to the amount of one pound ten, contributed under the name of "A Cruel Parent," to the Amalgamated Society for the Reform of Rag-pickers, and his wife at the same time is made indignant by the discovery that she figures for twelve-and-sixpence, as "A Mother who ought to be Proud," in the balance-sheet of the United Charwomen's Home Reading Association. Further inquiry reveals the fact that the former sum resulted from the sale by the daughter to an advertising Old Clothes' Merchant of two of her father's suits, which, although they had seen service, he had not yet resolved to discard; and the result is the dismissal of the family butler, who had connived in the transaction. The twelve-and-sixpence had been formed gradually by the accumulation of stray coppers and postage-stamps, which her mother was accustomed to leave about on her writing-table, without the least intention that they should be devoted to charity. The parents expostulate in vain. The consciousness that she has diverted to objects, which she believes to be admirable, money that might have been unworthily spent, steels the heart of their daughter against their remonstrances, nor can she be induced to believe that, in thus taking upon herself to interpret or to correct the intentions of her parents, she has done wrong.

Matters, however, are thus brought to a crisis. Her home becomes unendurable to her, and she accepts the offer of marriage made by a subordinate, and not very highly paid official, in one of the Departments of the Civil Service. Her parents pronounce their blessing, and rejoice in an event which promises them an immunity from many annoyances.

The marriage duly takes place, but it is soon evident that the poor Lady Bountiful will not allow her change of condition to make any difference to the vigour and persistency of her charitable appeals. She continues the old firm and the old business under a new name, and takes advantage of her independence to enlarge immensely the field of her operations. No bazaar can be organised without her and as a stall-holder she is absolutely unrivalled. Missions, teas, treats, penny dinners, sea-side excursions, the building of halls, the endowment of a bishopric, the foundation of a flannel club, all depend upon her inexhaustible energy in begging. Nor is she satisfied with public institutions. Private applicants of all kinds gather about her. Destitute but undeserving widows, orphans who have brought the grey hairs of their parents to the grave, old soldiers and stranded foreigners batten upon her capacity for taking advantage of her friends. For it must be well understood that the restricted limits of her husband's means and his parsimony prevent her from contributing anything herself to her innumerable schemes except a lavish expenditure of pens and ink and paper with which to set forth her appeals. Yet in this she is a true altruist. For she knows and tells everybody how delightful and blessed it is to give, and accordingly in the purest spirit of self-denial she permits her friends to dispense the cash, whilst she herself is satisfied with the credit.

Like a mighty river, she receives the offerings of innumerable tributary streams, which lose their identity in hers, and are swept away under her name, to be finally merged in the great ocean of charitable effort. Who does not know, that it was mainly owing to her indefatigable efforts, that the new wing was added to the Disabled District Visitors' Refuge, and who has not seen at least one of the many subscription lists to which "per Mrs. So-and-So" invariably contributed the largest amount? Is it not also on record that at the reception which followed the public opening of this wing, when the collecting ladies advanced to deposit their collections at the feet of presiding Royalty, it was the Poor Lady Bountiful who brought the largest, the most beautifully embroidered and the fullest purse? It was felt on all hands, that "the dear Princess" had only done what an English Princess might properly be expected to do, when she afterwards, under the inspiration of the cunning Vicar, showered a few words of golden public praise into the palpitating bosom of the champion purse-bearer.

And thus her time is spent. When she is not organising a refuge she is setting on its legs a dinner fund, when she has exhausted the patience of her friends on behalf of her particular tame widow, she can always begin afresh with a poverty-stricken refugee, and if the delights of the ordinary subscription-card should ever pall, she can fly for relaxation to the seductive method of the snowball, which conceals under a cloak of geometrical progression and accuracy, the most comprehensive uncertainty in its results. One painful incident in her career must be chronicled. Fired by her example, but without her knowledge, a friend of hers from whom she is accustomed to solicit subscriptions, steps down to do battle on her own account in the charitable arena. And thus, when next the Poor Lady Bountiful makes an appeal in this quarter on behalf of a Siberian Count, whom she declares to be quite a gentleman in his own country, she is met by the declaration, that further relief is impossible, as her friend has a Bulgarian of her own to attend to. Thus there is an end of friendship, and both parties scatter dreadful insinuations as to the necessity for an audit of accounts. Eventually it happens that a rich and distant relation of her husband dies, and leaves him unexpectedly an income of several thousands a-year. Having thus lost all her poverty, she retires from the fitful fever of charitable life to the serene enjoyment of a substantial income, and awaits, with a fortitude that no collector is suffered to disturb, the approach of a non-subscribing and peaceful old age.

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OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

_Hard Luck_, by ARTHUR À BECKETT, begins a trifle slow, but works up to an exciting climax, of which the secret is so profoundly kept, up till the very last moment, that not the most experienced in sensational plots would discover it. Capitally managed. It is one of the Arrowsmith Series, and a genuinely artistic shilling shocker.

_A Black Business._ By HAWLEY SMART. Uncommonly smart of him bringing it out just at this time, when the talk everywhere is about the Slave Trade, the struggle for Colonial life, STANLEY, and the Very Darkest Africa. There's Black Business enough about. Smart chap HAWLEY.

The only thing I've to say against the _Remarks of Bill Nye_, in one volume, says the Baron, is the size of the book, which is as big as a family Bible. Nowadays, when busy men can only snatch a few seconds _en route_, the handy volume is the only really practicable form of literature. I'd rather have three small pocketable volumes of BILL NYE'S essays and stories than this one cumbersome work, which, once on the shelf, runs a pretty good chance of being left there. The majority of BILL NYE'S sayings are very amusing, and one of his short papers shows that the humorist can be pathetic on occasion without falling into mock sentiment. It is published by NEELY, of New York, and, if reduced in bulk, the _Remarks of Bill Nye_ ought to do very well here, even among those who, for want of familiarity with American slang, do not keenly appreciate American humour. The Baron does appreciate it when it is genuine American humour, but when the peculiar style is only copied by a journalistic 'ARRY, with whom the stupidest and most vulgar Yankeeisms pass for the highest wit, simply because they are Yankeeisms, then for this sort of imitation the Baron has no criticism sufficiently severe.

BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

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THE PICK OF THE PICTURES.--ROYAL ACADEMY.

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OUT AND ABOUT.

SIR,--I have been about, according to your instructions, and I have come back with a mixed notion that somewhere in the dawn of history the Queen of SHEBA, scantily dressed, and attended by her black Chamberlain, drove out on a four-horse parcel-post van to see an exhibition of paintings on china at Messrs. HOWELL AND JAMES'S. It is perfectly true that in the course of my wanderings I had some champagne, but _not a drop of chicken_. Consequently, I have brought my critical faculty home with me entirely unimpaired. But to business.

Mr. E. J. POYNTER has painted a noble picture of the meeting of SOLOMON and the Queen of SHEBA, and Mr. T. MCLEAN exhibits it at 7, Haymarket. I once saw a picture of this Queen on an ancient corner-cupboard; that was in early childhood, and the Queen of those days was a very Dutch Lady. Mr. POYNTER'S is quite unlike that one; in fact, she is extremely beautiful. But why is she overcome? SOLOMON might have been pardoned for blushing when he saw her, but he takes it quite as a matter of course. The black Chamberlain is evidently not a lord, otherwise he would have been more careful about his Queen's dress. There are harps, peacocks, golden lions, luscious fruits, monkeys, marble steps, and gorgeous pillars, to complete the picture. Curiously enough, the other ladies do not seem to care for the newly-arrived Queen. Bravo, POYNTER! A great picture!

After this I hurried to the painted China Exhibition at HOWELL AND JAMES'S; very delicate, very graceful, and very refined. "_A Wild Corner_" by G. LEONCE, "_Blue Tits_" by Miss SALISBURY--sure to make her Mark(is),--two landscapes by A. FISHER (who needs no rod) struck me particularly, but did not hurt me much. And so to the wilds of Finsbury (14, Castle Street) where Messrs. McNAMARA were exhibiting the Postal Vehicles to be used at the Penny Postage Jubilee Celebration. I've already ordered two four-horse parcel vans, three two-horse, and two one-horse mail-carts for my private use, _and have told Messrs. M. to put them down to you, Sir_. I couldn't resist it. They said it would be all right. Please make it so. I am told, that no _females_ are employed in these vehicles. Another injustice. I should like to ride in a lovely red carriage for ever. Yours,

LE PETIT SHOWS.

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IN THE KNOW.

(_By Mr. Punch's Own Prophet._)

THERE has been lately some racing at Kempton and various other places, as to which, I ought perhaps to say a few words. Not that I acknowledge a right in anyone to dictate to me how and when I shall notice matters connected with the turf. The Bedlamites who mouth and gibber about horses and their owners, as if they were in the constant habit of living on terms of familiar intimacy with the aristocracy, instead of being, as they probably are, the dumpling-headed parasites of touts and stable-boys, are entitled only to the contempt of every decent man who knows anything about what he professes to understand. At any rate, they have mine. My knowledge of the Kempton Course dates back at least fifty years. To be sure, it was not at that time a racecourse, but was mostly ploughed fields and thickets. But if the anserous and asinine mooncalves, whose high priest is Mr. JEREMY, suppose that that fact in any way weakens the authority with which I may claim to speak on the subject, I can only assure them, that they prove themselves fit inmates for the various asylums from which they ought never to have been withdrawn. I never thought much of _Philomel_. Ten years ago, I observed, with regard to this animal, "_Philomel_ must be watched. There is no knowing what a course of podophyllin and ginger might not do. Failing that, I should feel inclined to say, buncombe." Mr. J. says, this was a different mare. What of that? In turf matters the name is everything, and I am therefore justified in citing this as one of the most extraordinary instances of prescience known to the turf world.

_Megatherium_, I notice, has many admirers. As a horizontal bar, or possibly as a clothes-line, he might have merits, but as a horse, I must confess, he has little to recommend him. When _Loblolly Boy_ cantered home for the East End Weight-for-age Welter Handicap, I said that the son of _Rattlesnake_ could make mince-meat of all his rivals. Since then he has made for his owner £5,000,000 in added money, at an initial expense of twopence halfpenny for saveloys and onions, a combination of which this splendid animal is particularly fond. _Loblolly Boy_ was by _Rowdy_ out of _Hoyden_, and his pedigree mounts up to _Sallycomeup_, _Kissmequick_, and _Curate on Toast_, whilst in the collateral line he can claim kinship with _Artaxerxes_ and _Devil's Dustpan_. In the Margate Open Sweepstakes, he ran second to _Daddy_, when the sea was as smooth as an old halfcrown. If there had been wind enough to blow out a wooden match, he must have won in a common hand-gallop.

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