Punch, Or the London Charivari, Volume 101, November 21, 1891 written by Various
V >>
Various >> Punch, Or the London Charivari, Volume 101, November 21, 1891
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 101.
November 21st, 1891.
[Illustration: CARS, IN HONOUR OF THE WELSH LORD MAYOR,
STRANGELY ENOUGH OMITTED FROM THE PROCESSION ON THE NINTH.]
* * * * *
CANCEL, OR RECALL.
The _World_ last week sounded a note about the compulsory retirement, by
reason of age, from one of the large Revenue Departments, of a gentleman
who has the great honour to be the son of "the most distinguished Irishman
of this century." If this sentence has really been passed authoritatively,
which _Mr. Punch_ takes leave to doubt, then said "Authority" will do well
to recall it in favour of the son of the Liberator, which his name is also
"DAN." And, to give the well-known lines so often quoted,--
"When DAN'L saw the writing on the wall,
At first he couldn't make it out at all."
And the sooner the official writing on the wall--if it exists--be
obliterated, the better for the public service, as, when the public, like
the Captain in the ballad of "_Billy Taylor_," "Comes for to hear on't,"
the said British Public will "werry much applaud what has been done" in
suppressing, not issuing, reconsidering, or revoking the order. So says
"Mr. P.," and the "B.P." will agree with him.
* * * * *
THE ANCIENT MILLINER.
(_His Reminiscences of the Recent Gale._)
PART I.
It was the Ancient Milliner
Stood by his open door;
The tale he told was something like
A tale I'd heard before.
* * * * *
I called forthwith a Hansom, and
"Now, Cabman, drive!" I cried;
"For I must get this bandbox home
Before the eventide.
"The bride a-pacing up the aisle
Mad as a dog would be,
Without this sweet confection of
Silk and passementerie."
Westward the good cab flew. The horse
Was kick-some, wild, and gay;
He tossed his head from side to side
In an offensive way.
He tossed his head, he shook his mane,
And he was big and black;
He wore a little mackintosh
Upon his monstrous back.
I mused upon that mackintosh,
All mournfully mused I;
It was too small a thing to keep
So large a beastie dry.
And on we went up Oxford Street
With a short, uneasy motion;
What made the beast go sideways I
Have not the faintest notion
But we ran into an omnibus
With a short, uneasy motion.
All in a hot, improper way.
The rude 'bus-driver said,
That them what couldn't drive a horse
Should try a moke instead.
Never a word my cabman spoke--
No audible reply--
But, oh, a thousand scathing things
He thought; and so did I.
"What ails thee, Ancient Milliner?
What means thy ashen hue?
Why look'st thou so?"--I murmured, "Blow!"
And at my word _it blew_.
PART II.
The storm-blast came down Edgware Road,
Shrieking in furious glee,
It struck the cab, and both its doors
Leaped open, flying free.
I shut those doors, and kept them close
With all my might and main;
The storm-blast snatched them from my hands,
And forced them back again,
It blew the cabman from his perch
Towards the horned moon;
I saw him dimly overhead
Sail like a bad balloon.
It blew the bandbox far away
Across the angry sea;
The English Channel's scattered with
Silk and passementerie.
The silly horse within the shaft
One moment did remain;
And then the harness snapped, and he
Went flying through the rain;
And fell, a four-legged meteor,
Upon the coast of Spain.
_First Voice._
"What makes that cab move on so fast
Wherein no horse I find?"
_Second Voice._
"The horse has cut away before;
The cab's blown from behind."
Then just against the Harrow Road
I made one desperate bound--
A leprous lamp-post and myself
Lay mingled in a swound!
And cables snapped, and all things snapped;
When the next morn was grey,
The _Telegraph_ appeared without
Its "Paris Day by Day."
PART III.
Oh, cheapness is a pleasant thing,
Beloved from pole to pole!
To get a thing at one-and-four,
For which your friend pays twopence more,
Is balm unto the soul.
And cheaper than that Hansom cab
Whose tale I've told thee thus,
Far cheaper it had been to take
The stately omnibus!
To take the stately omnibus
Where all together sit;
Each takes his ticket in his hands,
Obeys the Company's commands,
And pays his pence for it.
And if you would not find yourself
Wrecked in the Edgware Road,
Do not be vulgar and declare
You wish you may be blowed!
* * * * *
[Illustration]
THE "MASHER'S" ANSWER,
[Dr. ARABELLA KENEALY, in the _Westminster Review_, is severe on the
young men of the day for not dancing, and avoiding matrimony.]
Bless me, Doctor ARABELLA,
Hard a lady's hand can strike!
Do you really mean a fella'
Is to dance; just when you like?
Why so savagely sarcastic,
That we will not "take the floor"
And account the "light fantastic"
An unmitigated bore?
You avow we're shy of marriage.
Is not that too hard again?
When a maiden wants a carriage,
And a mansion in Park Lane,
Diamonds, furs, and opera-boxes:
Although ardently one loves,
All the balance I've at Cox's
Wouldn't keep a girl in gloves.
* * * * *
"WILL YOU, WONT YOU?"
_(A Lay of the Lord Chancellor. Very latest Version, NOT from "Iolanthe."_)
[Illustration: _Lord Halsbury (to Bill Sikes)_. "IF YOU _DON'T_ SAY
ANYTHING, IT WILL GO AGAINST YOU; AND IF YOU _DO_, IT WILL BE ALL UP WITH
YOU!"]
["The Lord Chancellor declares himself the foe of any 'technical
system' which excludes 'anybody who knows anything about the facts from
the opportunity of stating what is the truth.' ... We may take it that
very soon we shall see that which may appear strange to English
lawyers, but really is most reasonable--the accused stepping out of the
dock into the witness-box, and giving his evidence, subject to the
ordeal of cross-examination. It may be a bad look-out for rogues, but
for nobody else."--_Times_.]
The Law _should_ be the embodiment
Of everything that is excellent.
But I fancy I've found one diminutive flaw
In that else impeccable thing, the Law.
As its constitutional guardian, I
Must extract that mote from the legal eye.
It seems a preposterous paradox
To exclude the accused from the Witness's Box.
To alter that is a duty for
A very unprejudiced Chancellor.
Here's the Box, my SIKES! With particular pride
I invite you, WILLIAM, to--step inside,
Some peculiar things, things rich and rare,
I shall have to show you when you are there.
"Will you walk into my par----" _dear_ me!
What a curious matter is memory!
What, _what_ has that old song to do
With the little matter 'twixt me and you?
I apologise for the irrelevance, for
I _am_ such a logical Chancellor!
If you step inside--as I trust you will--
We shall worm out the Truth with forensic skill;
And if you decline--as I hope you won't--
We shall know there are reasons, friend, why you don't.
So the Truth must benefit any way,
My beloved BILL. _What_ is that you say?
You don't care a cuss for the Truth? Oh, fie!
Truth makes one a free man. _Step in and try!_
The triumph of Truth is a triumph for
A highly inquisitive Chancellor!
'Twill be most instructive to Judge and Jury
To hear you give evidence. Why this fury?
We can judge, you see, by the way he'll behave,
'Twixt a simpleton and a clever knave.
The _Times_ says so. Eh! _Confound the Times?_
Oh, _don't_ say _so_, BILL! A man of crimes
Might funk the ordeal; but this is the plan
To help the Law--and the Honest Man;
And therefore the plan of all plans for
A highly compassionate Chancellor!
* * * * *
ROBERT ON THE LORD MARE'S SHO.
Well, I've had the grate good luck to have seen praps as menny Lord Mare's
Shos as most peeple, praps more--not so menny, in course, as that werry old
but slitely hexadgerating Lady, as bowsted as she had seen hunderds on
'em--but for sum things, speshally for Rain, and mud, and slush, the last
one beats 'em all holler! What poor little Whales could have done to put
the Clark of the Whether into sitch a temper, in course I don't know, but
if he'd have had a good rattling attack of the gout in both big Tos, like
some past Lord Mares as we has most on us heard on, he coudn't posserbly
have bin in a wuss one.
Praps them as most xcited my reel pitty was the LORD MARE'S six genelmen in
their luvly new State liverries, and their bewtifool pink silk stockings a
showing of their manly carves, all splashing along through the horful mud,
and made crewel fun of by the damp and thortless crowd. The fust reel
staggerer was the reel Firemen, about a thowsand on 'em, a marching along
as bold as their brass Helmets. What did they care for the rain and the
mud! and didn't they look as it they was a longing for a jolly grand Fire
to bust out, jest to show us how easy it was to put it out, tho' they had
lost their jolly Captin. Then there was the pretty Welch Milk Maids, in
their chimbley-pot Hats, and their funny-looking custooms, all a being
drawn by six horses, and having some Bards and Arpers to take care on 'em,
and lend 'em humberrellars to keep off the rain. Ah! won't they have sum
nice little stories to tell all their frends when they gits back to Whales,
inclewding their singing of wun of their hold Welch songs afore the LORD
MARE and all his nobel gests in the evening. No wonder that they was so
estonished and bewillderd that they quite forgot to take off their
chimbley-pot Hats wile they was a singing. But their LORD MARE and
countryman kindly forgave 'em all, and away they went rejoysing.
Upon the hole, I'm quite reddy to bear my testimoney to the fack that, if
we coud by any posserbility have left out the horful rain, and the mud, and
the pore soaked and dismal-looking mothers and children, it woud have been
about the werry finest looking Sho ewer seen. The Bankwet at nite was jest
as good as ushal, and indeed rayther better, and just to sho how thuroly
eweryboddy had recovered from his morning's drenshing, the compny acshally
larfed at the LORD CHANCELLOR'S Speach, and cheered the LORD MARE to the
Hekko!
ROBERT.
* * * * *
[Illustration: A STAGGERER!
_Rector's Wife_ (_instructing an Aspiring Buttons, who has answered her
advertisement_). "YOU'LL HAVE TO OPEN THE SHUTTERS AND THE HALL-DOOR, SEE
TO THE STUDY FIRE, PUT THE THINGS READY IN THE BATH-ROOM, THEN CALL YOUR
MASTER PUNCTUALLY AT SIX, CLEAN HIS BOOTS AND BRUSH HIS CLOTHES, CLEAN ALL
THE CHILDREN'S BOOTS AND SHOES, AND BRUSH _THEIR_ CLOTHES, LAY THE
BREAKFAST PUNCTUALLY AT EIGHT, AFTER WHICH YOU'LL HAVE TO GET THE PONY AND
TRAP READY TO DRIVE THE CHILDREN TO SCHOOL, AND BE BACK IN GOOD TIME. AFTER
YOU'VE DRESSED THE PONY AND CLEANED YOUR KNIVES AND SILVER, YOU WILL MAKE
YOURSELF TIDY, AND THEN YOU'LL LAY THE LUNCH--"
_Aspiring Buttons_ (_gasping_). "PLEASE, 'M--BEG PARD'N--PLACE WON'T DO FOR
ME. WHY, I SHOULD WANT A NEW SUIT O' CLOTHES BEFORE YOU'VE FINISHED TELLING
ME WHAT I'VE GOT TO DO, AND THEN I SHOULDN'T FIND TIME TO BE MEASURED FOR
'EM! GOOD MORN'N."
[_Exit Aspirant._]
* * * * *
RATHER VAGUE.--Sir EDWARD BRADFORD, Commissioner of Police, informs the
Public, through a paragraph in the _Times_, about a meeting at the
Marylebone Vestry, that whenever in the Metropolis a street is found to be
dangerously slippery, some one (probably a policeman) is to telegraph to
the "local authority" (who? what? which? where?) and inform him, her, them
(whatever represents the aforesaid "local authority"), of the fact. Well,
and what then? Who's to do what, and when is it to be done? And what is the
penalty for not doing whatever it is?
* * * * *
SHORTLY TO APPEAR.--_Amiable Almonds_, by the Authoress of _Cross
Currents_. To be followed by _Rum Raisins, Delightful Dates, and Polly
Peach_. Also, _Dolt Care What Apples to Me!_ being the Story of "A Mal wil
a Cold id is Ed."
* * * * *
BIGOTED.--An Anti-Ritualistic old Lady objected to paying her water-rate,
when she was informed that she would be patronising "a High Service."
* * * * *
MEMORANDUM FOR MINOR POETS.--It is an elegant thing to write ballades and
_rondeaux_, but it is tyrannous to read them to your visitors.
* * * * *
THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS.
No. XV.
SCENE--_The Table d Hote at Lugano:_ CULCHARD _has not yet caught_ Miss
PRENDERGAST'S _eye._
_Culchard_ (_to_ Mr. BELLERBY). Have you--ah--been up Monte Generoso yet?
_Mr. B._ No. (_After reflecting_) No, I haven't. But I was greatly struck
by its remarkably bold outline from below. Indeed, I dashed off a rough
sketch of it on the back of one of my visiting cards. I ought to have it
somewhere about me now. (_Searching himself._) Ah, I thought so! (_Handing
a vague little scrawl to_ CULCHARD, _who examines it with the deepest
interest._) I knock off quite a number of these while I'm abroad like this.
Send 'em in letters to relatives at home--gives them a notion of the place.
They are--ar--kind enough to value them. (CULCHARD _makes a complimentary
mumble._) Yes, I'm a very rapid sketcher. Put me with regular artists, and
give us half an hour, and I--ar--venture to say I should be on terms with
them. Make it _three_ hours, and--well, I daresay I shouldn't be in it.
_Podbury_ (_who has dropped into the chair next to_ Miss PRENDERGAST _and
her brother_). BOB, old chap, I'll come in the middle, if you don't mind. I
say, this _is_ ripping--no idea of coming across you so soon as this.
(_Lowering his voice, to_ Miss P.) Still pegging away at my "penance," you
see!
_Miss Prend._ The pleasure is more than mutual; but do I understand that
Mr. ----? So _tiresome_, I left my glasses up in my room! [_She peers up
and down the line of faces on her own side of the table._
_Miss T._ (_to Culch._) I want you should notice that girl. I think she
looks just as nice as she can be, don't you?
_Culch._ (_carefully looking in every other direction_).
I--er--mumble--mumble--don't exactly-- [_Here a Waiter offers him a dish
containing layers of soles disguised under thick brown sauce;_ CULCHARD
_mangles it with an ineffectual spoon. The Waiter, with pitying contempt,
"Tut-tut-tut! Pesce Signore--feesh!"_ CULCH. _eventually lands a sole in a
very damaged condition._
_Podb._ (_to Miss P._) No--not this side--just opposite. (_Here_ CULCH.,
_in fingering a siphon which is remarkably stiff on the trigger, contrives
to send a spray across the table and sprinkle_ Miss PRENDERGAST, _her
brother, and_ PODBURY, _with impartial liberality_). _Now_ don't you see
him? As playful as ever, isn't he! Don't try to make out it was an
accident, old fellow. Miss PRENDERGAST knows you! [_Misery of_ CULCHARD.
_Miss P._ (_graciously_). Pray don't apologise, Mr. CULCHARD; not the least
harm done! You must forgive me for not recognising you before, but you know
of old how provokingly shortsighted I am, and I've forgotten my glasses.
_Culch._ (_indistinctly_). I--er--not at all ... most distressed, I assure
you ... really no notion--
_Miss T._ (_in an undertone_). Say, you _know_ her, then? And you never let
on!
_Culch._ Didn't I? Oh, surely! yes, I've--er--_met_ that lady. (_With
grateful deference to_ Mr. BELLERBY, _who has just addressed him._) You are
an Art-Collector? Indeed? And--er--have you--er--?
_Mr. B._ I've the three finest Bodgers in the kingdom, Sir, and there's a
Gubbins--a _Joe_ Gubbins, mind you, not _John_--that's hanging now in the
morning-room of my place in the country that I wouldn't take a thousand
pounds for! I go about using my eyes and pick 'em up cheap. Cheapest
picture _I_ ever bought was a Prout--thirty-two by twenty; got it for two
pound ten! Unfinished, of course, but it only wanted the colour being
brought up to the edge. _I_ did that. Took me half a day, and _now_--well,
any dealer would give me hundreds for it! But I shall leave it to the
nation, out of respect for PROUT'S memory.
_Bob Pr._ (_to_ PODBURY). Yes, came over by; the St. Gothard. Who is that
girl who was talking to CULCHARD just now? Do you know her? I say, I wish
you'd introduce me some time.
_Miss T._ (_to_ CULCHARD). You don't seem vurry bright this evening. I'd
like you to converse with your friend opposite, so I could get a chance to
chip in. I'm ever so interested in that girl!
_Culch._ Presently--presently, if I have an opportunity. (_Hastily, to_ Mr.
B.) I gather that you paint yourself, Sir?
_Mr. B._ Well, yes. I assure you I often go to a Gallery, see a picture
there that takes my fancy, go back to my office, and paint it in half an
hour from memory--so lake the original that, if it were framed, and hung up
alongside, it would puzzle the man who painted it to know t'other from
which! I have indeed! I paint original pictures, too. Most important thing
I ever did was--let me see now--three feet by two and three-quarters. I was
most successful in getting an effect of rose-coloured snow against the sky.
I sponged it up, and--well, it came right somehow. _Luck_, that was, not
skill, you know. I sent that picture to the Royal Academy, and they did me
the honour to--ar--reject it.
_Culch._ (_vaguely_). An--er--honour, indeed.--(_In despair, as_ Mr. B.
_rises._)--You--You're not _going_!
_Mr. B._ (_consolingly_). Only into the garden, for coffee. I observe you
are interested in Art. We will--ar--resume this conversation later.
[_Rises;_ Miss PRENDERGAST _rises too, and goes towards the garden._
_Culch._ (_as he follows, hastily_). I must get this business over--if I
can. But I wish I knew exactly _how_ much to tell her. It's really very
awkward--between the two of them. I'm afraid I've been a little too
precipitate.
_In the Garden; a few minutes later_.
_Miss Prend._ (_who has retired to fetch her glasses, with gracious
playfulness_). Well, Mr. CULCHARD, and how has my knight performed his
lady's behests?
_Culch._ May I ask _which_ knight you refer to?
_Miss P._ (_slightly changing countenance_). Which! Then--you know there is
another? Surely there is nothing in that circumstance to--to offend--or
hurt you?
_Culch._ Offended? (_Considers whether this would be a good line to take._)
Hardly _that_. Hurt? Well, I confess to being pained--very much pained, to
discover that I was unconsciously pitted--against PODBURY!
_Miss P._. But why? I have expressed no preference as yet. You can scarcely
have become so attached to him that you dread the result of a successful
rivalry!
_Culch._ (_to himself_). It's a loop-hole--I'll try it. (_Aloud._) You have
divined my feeling exactly. In--er--obeying your commands, I have learned
to know PODBURY better--to see in him a sterling nature, more worthy, in
some respects, than my own. And I know how deeply he has centred all his
hopes upon you, Miss PRENDERGAST. Knowing, seeing that as I--er--_do_, I
feel that--whatever it costs me--I cannot run the risk of wrecking
the--er--life's happiness of so good a fellow. So you must really allow me
to renounce vows accepted under--er--an imperfect comprehension of
the--er--facts! [_Wipes his brow._
_Miss P._ This is quite too Quixotic. Reflect, Mr. CULCHARD. Is such a
sacrifice demanded of you? I assure you I am perfectly neutral at present.
I _might_ prefer Mr. PODBURY. I _really_ don't know. And--and I don't
_like_ losing one of my suitors like this!
_Culch._ Don't tempt me! I--I mustn't listen, I cannot. No, I renounce. Be
kind to PODBURY--try to recognise the good in him ... he is so devoted to
you--make him happy, if you can!
_Miss P._ (_affected_). I--I really can't tell you how touched I am, Mr.
CULCHARD. I can guess what this renunciation must have cost you. It--it
gives me a better opinion of human nature ... it does, indeed!
_Culch._ (_loftily, as she rises to go in_). Ah, Miss PRENDERGAST, _don't_
lose your faith in human nature! Trust me, it is--er--full of surprises!
(_Alone._) Now am I an abominable humbug, or what? I swear I felt every
word I said, at the time. Curious psychological state to be in. But I'm out
of what might have been a very unpleasant mess at all events!
_Miss T. (coming upon him from round a corner)._ Well, I'm _sure_, Mr.
CULCHARD!
_Culch._ You are a young lady of naturally strong convictions, I am aware.
But what are you so sure of at the present moment?
_Miss T._ Well, I guess I'm not just as sure of _you_ as I should like to
be, anyway. Seems to me, considering you've been so vurry inconsolable away
from me, you'd a good deal to say to that young lady in the patent folders.
And I'd like an explanation--you're right down splendid at explaining most
things.
_Culch. (with virtuous indignation)._ So you actually suspect me of having
carried on a flirtation!
_Miss T._ I guess girls don't use their pocket-handkerchiefs that way over
the weather. Who _is_ she, anyway?
_Culch. (calmly)._ If you insist on knowing, she is the lady to whom Mr.
PODBURY has every prospect of being engaged. I hope your mind is at ease
_now_?
_Miss T._ Well, I expect my mind would have stood the strain as it was--so
it's Mr. PODBURY who's her admirer? See here, you're going to introduce me
to that girl right away. It's real romantic, and I'm perfectly dying to
make her acquaintance!
_Culch._ Hum--well. She is--er--_peculiar_, don't you know, and I rather
doubt whether you will have much in common.
_Miss T._ Well, if you don't introduce me, I shall introduce myself, that's
all.
_Culch._ By all means. (_To himself._) Not if _I_ can prevent it, though!
* * * * *
[Illustration: "I knock off quite a number of these while I'm abroad like
this."]
* * * * *
[Illustration]
* * * * *
ONLY FANCY!
We are in a position to give an emphatic contradiction to the rumour, put
forward with much assurance, that the King of SPAIN has entered upon
negotiations of a matrimonial character with reference to the grand-niece
of the Crown Prince of ROUMANIA. No one familiar with His Majesty's views
on the Triple Alliance, and his openly-expressed opinion with respect to
the occupation of Egypt, could for one moment give credence to a report so
intrinsically absurd.
* * * * *
RYMUND has been imposed upon by one of his young men. Our friend, whose
susceptibility to the wiles of impostors, though an amiable weakness,
somewhat militates against his perfect success in life, has printed a
paragraph announcing that the QUEEN will leave Balmoral on Friday the 20th
inst. at half-past two in the afternoon, Her MAJESTY reaching Windsor at
nine o'clock on Saturday morning. _It is twenty-five minutes to three_ when
the Royal train will start, and Windsor will not be reached till five
minutes after the hour mentioned by RYMUND. It is crass inaccuracies like
these that lower the weekly press in the estimation of an observant public.
* * * * *
HENED has been at it again. Two months ago we published the intelligence
that the Princess FREDERICA of Hanover would pass the winter months at
Biarritz, a well-known watering-place almost on the border-land between
Spain and France. This news was received with gratifying tokens of interest
at every Court of Europe, and has been noted in innumerable communications
passing privately between high personages. Then HENED comes upon the scene,
and pompously makes an identical announcement as a piece of news! Far be it
from us to take advantage of infirmity imposed upon a man by the idiocy of
his godfathers and godmothers at his baptism. But we are compelled to ask,
What can be expected from a man named HENED?
* * * * *
Sir HENRY WOLFF still lingers in town, Bucharest, in the meantime, having
to get along as best it may without a British Minister. In private circles
likely to be well-informed, the delay is understood to arise directly out
of the fact that Lord RANDOLPH CHURCHILL is now "beyond the reach of
regular postal arrangements."
"I wrote to tell GRANDOLPH about ARTHUR BALFOUR stepping into his old shoes
as Leader of the House of Commons," says WOLFFY, showing his white teeth;
"and, begad, I shall not leave Pall Mall till I hear what he says on the
subject."
* * * * *
What is this scandal we hear about the THINGUMMIES? The family are
naturally reticent on the subject, but WHOSETHIS has furnished us with some
particulars which we believe may be relied on. On Wednesday afternoon, at
five minutes to three (as nearly as we can fix the time), Mrs. THINGUMMY
was walking down Bond Street, when, just as she reached the point where, as
the Directory says, "Here is Bruton Street," who should pass her but
WHATSHISNAME. THINGUMMY, who, by a strange chance, happened to be passing
in a Hansom cab, was a witness to the _rencontre_, and following up the
clue, came upon particulars which WHATDYECALLIT informs us is likely to
make a stir. Mr. GEORGE LEWIS, being a friend of all parties concerned,
will not accept a retainer from either side.