Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 99, August 9, 1890. written by Various
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Various >> Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 99, August 9, 1890.
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOLUME 99.
August 9, 1890.
FIRST AID TO TOMMY ATKINS.
Sir,--I visited the Military Exhibition the other day according to
your instructions, my bosom glowing with patriotic ardour. If anything
besides your instructions and the general appropriateness of the
occasion had been necessary to make my bosom glow thus, it would have
been found in the fact that I formerly served my country in a Yeomanry
Regiment. I shall never forget the glorious occasions on which I wore
a cavalry uniform, and induced some of my best friends to believe
I had gone to the dogs and enlisted. However, to relate my Yeomanry
adventures, which included a charge by six of us upon a whole army,
would be to stray from my point, which is to describe what I saw at
the Military Exhibition. I was lame (oh, dear no, not the gout, a mere
strain) and took a friend, an amiable young man, with me to lean upon.
[Illustration]
"There's one place I really _do_ know," he had said to me, "and that's
this bally place."
I therefore felt I was safe with him. We arrived. We entered. "Take
me," I said, "to the battle-pictures, so that I may study my country's
glories."
"Right!" he answered, and with a promptitude that does him immense
credit, he brought me out into a huge arena in the open air with seats
all round it, a grand stand, and crowds of spectators. The performance
in the arena so deeply interested me that I forgot all about the
pictures. I saw at once what it was. Detachments of our citizen
soldiers were going through ambulance drill. The sight was one which
appealed to our common humanity. My daring, dangerous Yeomanry days
rose up again before me, and I felt that if ever I had had to bleed
for my QUEEN I should not have bled untended. Even my companion,
a scoffer, who had never risen above a full privacy in the Eton
Volunteers, was strangely moved. There were, I think, ten detachments,
each provided with a stretcher and a bag containing simple surgical
appliances. All that was wanted to complete the realism of the picture
was the boom of the cannon, the bursting of shells, and the rattle of
musketry. In imagination I supplied them, as I propose to do, for your
benefit, Sir, in the following short account.
It was a sultry afternoon; the battle had been raging for hours; the
casualties had been terrible. "Dress up, there, dress up!" said the
Sergeant in command, addressing detachment No. 2, "and you, JENKINS,
tilt your forage-cap a leetle more over your right ear; BROWN, don't
blow your nose, the General's looking; God bless my soul, THOMPSON,
you've buckled that strap wrong, undo it and re-buckle it at once."
With such words as these he cheered his men, while to right and left
the death-dealing missiles sped, on their course. "Stand at ease;
'shon! Stand at ease! 'shon!" he next shouted. A Corporal at this
point was cut in two by a ball from, a forty-pounder, but nobody
paid any heed to him. Stiff, solid, and in perfect line, stood the
detachments waiting for the word to succour the afflicted. At last it
came. In the midst of breathless excitement the ten bent low, placed
their folded stretchers on the ground, unbuckled and unfolded them,
and then with a simultaneous spring rose up again and resumed their
impassive attitude. "Very good," said the Sergeant, "very good.
THOMPSON you were just a shade too quick; you must be more careful.
Stand at ease!" and at ease they all stood.
But where were the wounded? Aha! here they come, noble, fearless
heroes, all in line, marching with a springy step to their doom.
One by one they took their places, in line at intervals of about ten
yards, and lay down each on his appointed spot to die, or be wounded,
and to be bandaged and carried off. But now a terrible question arose.
_Would there be enough to go round?_ I had only counted nine of them,
which was one short of the necessary complement, but at this supreme
moment another grievously wounded warrior ran lightly up and lay down
opposite the tenth detachment. We breathed again.
And now began some charming manoeuvres. Each detachment walked round
its stretcher twice, then stood at ease again, then at attention, then
dressed up and arranged itself, and brushed, itself down. All this
while their wounded comrades lay writhing, and appealing for help
in vain. It was with difficulty that, lame as I was, I could be
restrained from dashing to their aid. But at last everything was in
order. Stretchers were solemnly lifted. The detachments marched slowly
forward, and deposited their stretchers each beside a wounded man.
Then began a scene of busy bandaging. But not until the whole ten had
been bound up, legs, arms, heads, feet, fingers &c, was it permissible
to lift one of them from the cold cold ground which he had bedewed
with his blood.
"Now then," said the Sergeant, "carefully and all together. Lift!"
and all together they were lifted and placed in their stretchers. More
play with straps and buckles, more rising and stooping, and then the
pale and gasping burdens were at last raised and carried in a mournful
procession round the ground. But when they arrived at the place
where the ambulance was supposed to be, they had all been dead,
three-quarters of an hour. "Dear me," said the Sergeant, "how vexing.
ROBINSON, your chin-strap's gone wrong. Now, all together. Drop 'em!"
And so the day ended, and the pitiless sun sated with, &c., &c., &c.
I afterwards visited the Field Hospital to see a number of wax figures
in uniform, cheerfully arranged as wounded men in all the stages
of pain and misery. How encouraging for TOMMY ATKINS, I thought
to myself; but at this moment my supporter informed me that he had
remembered where to find the battle-pictures, and thither therefore
we proceeded, thankful in the knowledge that if either of us ever
happened to be struck down in battle he would be well looked after by
an admirably drilled body of men.
I am, Sir,
Yours as usual,
LE PETIT SHOWS.
* * * * *
THE PROFESSIONAL GUEST AT A COUNTRY HOUSE.
DEAR MR. PUNCH,
Trusting that you take some interest in my fate, after the more or
less pleasant (?) week I spent at Henley, I hasten to let you know
that I am again visiting friends, though this time on _terra firma_,
and that the customary trials of the "Professional Guest" are once
more my portion. The very evening of my arrival, I discovered that a
man with whom I had not been on speaking terms for years was to be my
neighbour at dinner, and that a girl (who really I cannot understand
_any one_ asking to their house) with the strangest coloured hair, and
the most unnaturally dark eyes, was taken in by the host, and called
"darling" by the hostess. After dinner, which, by reason of the
"range" being out of order, was of a rather limited type, they all
played cards. That is a form of amusement I don't like--I can't afford
it; and this, coupled with the fact that I was not asked to sing,
somewhat damped my ardour as regards visiting strange houses.
[Illustration]
A hard bed, and a distant snore, kept me awake till break of day,
when, for a brief space, I successfully wooed Morpheus. I think I
slept for seven minutes. Then a loud bell rang, and several doors on
an upper floor were heavily banged. I heard the servants chattering as
they went down to breakfast. Then there was silence, and once more I
composed myself to rest, when the dreadest sound of all broke on my
ear. _The baby began to cry._ Then I gave it up as hopeless, but it
was with a sensation of being more dead than alive that I crawled down
to breakfast--late, of course. One is always late the first morning in
a strange house--one can never find one's things. I bore with my best
professional smile the hearty chaff of my host (how I hate a hearty
man the first thing in the morning) and the audible remarks of the
dear children who were seated at intervals round the table. But
my patience well-nigh gave way when I found that our hostess had
carefully mapped out for her guests a list of amusements (save the
mark!) which extended not only over that same day, but several ensuing
ones.
I am not of a malice-bearing nature, but I do devoutly pray that she,
too, may one day taste the full horror of being tucked into a high
dog-cart alongside of a man who you know cannot drive; the tortures,
both mental and physical, of a long walk down dusty roads and over
clayey fields to see that old Elizabethan house "only a mile off;"
or the loathing induced by a pic-nic among mouldering and utterly
uninteresting ruins. All this I swallowed with the equanimity and
patience born of many seasons of country-house visiting; I even
interviewed the old family and old-fashioned cook, on the subject of
a few new dishes, and I helped to entertain some of those strange
aboriginal creatures called "the county." But the announcement one
afternoon, that we were to spend the next in driving ten miles to
attend a Primrose League _Fete_ in the private grounds of a local
magnate, proved too much for me. Shall you be surprised to hear that
on the following morning I received an urgent telegram recalling me
to town? My hostess was, or affected to be, overwhelmned that by my
sudden departure I should miss the _fete_. I knew, however, that
the "dyed" girl rejoiced, and in company with the objectionable man
metaphorically threw up her hat.
As I passed through the Lodge-gates on my way to the station I almost
vowed that I would never pay another visit again. But even as I write,
an invitation was brought me. It is from my Aunt. She writes that she
has taken charming rooms at Flatsands, and hopes I will go and stay
with her there for a few days. She thinks the sea air will do me good.
Perhaps it will. I shall write at once and accept.
THE ODD GIRL OUT.
FROM OUR YOTTING YORICK, P.A.
_Aboard the Yot "Placid," bound for Copenhagen (I hope)._
DEAR EDITOR,
You told me when I set sail (I didn't set sail myself, you understand,
but the men did it for me, or rather for my friends, Mr and Mrs.
SKIPPER, to whose kindness I owe my present position--which is far
from a secure one,--but no matter), you said to me, YORICK Yotting
has no buffoonery left in him? I too, who was once the life of all
the Lifes and Souls of a party! Where is that party now? Where am _I_?
What is my life on board? Life!--say existence. I rise early; I can't
help it. I am tubbed on deck: deck'd out in my best towels. So I
commence the day by going to Bath. [That's humorous, isn't it? I hope
so. I mean it as such.]
[Illustration]
"Send me notes of your voyage to Sweden and Norway, and the land of
_Hamlet_. You'll see lots of funny things, and you'll take a humorous
view of what isn't funny; send me your humorous views." Well, Sir, I
sent you "_Mr. Punch looking at the Midnight Sun_." pretty humorous I
think ("more pretty than humorous," you cabled to me at Bergen), and
since that I have sent you several beautiful works of Art, in return
for which I received another telegram from you saying, "No 'go.' Send
something funny." The last I sent ("_The Church-going Bell_," a
pretty peasant woman in a boat--"_belle_," you see) struck me as very
humorous. The idea of people going to Church in a boat!
What was I to do? Well--here at last I send you something which _must_
be humorous. It looks like it. _Mr. Punch_ driving in Norway, in a
_cariole. Mr. Punch_ anywhere is humorous; and with TOBY too; though I
am perfectly aware that TOBY, M.P., is in his place in the House;
but then TOBY is ubarquitous. That's funny, isn't it?--see "bark"
substituted for "biq," the original word being "ubiquitous." This is
the sort of "_vuerdtwistren_" at which they roar in Sweden.
It's all _tres bien_ (very well) but how the deuce can you be funny in
the Baltic? Why call it Baltic? For days and nights at sea, sometimes
up, more often down, and a sense of inability coming over me in the
middle of the boundless deep. Alas, poor YORICK!
Then breakfast. Then lunch. Then dinner. No drinking permitted between
meals: to which regulation. _I am gradually becoming habituated._ It
is difficult to acquire new habits. Precious difficult in mid-ocean,
where there isn't a tailor. [Humorous again, eh?] I now understand
what is the meaning of "a Depression is crossing the Atlantic."
There's an awful Depression hanging about the Baltic.
[Illustration]
I send you a sketch of Elsinore, as I thought it would be, and
Elsinore as it is. Elsinore is like the Pumping Works at Barking
Creek. And I've come all this way to see this!! Elsinore! I'd rather
go Elsewhere-inore,--say, Margate.
Think I shall put this in a bottle, cork it up, and send it overboard,
and you'll get it by Tidal Post. Whether I do this or not depends on
circumstances over which I may possibly have no control. Anyhow, at
dinner-time, _I shall ask for the bottle._ When you ask for it, see
that you get it.
Yours truly,
JETSAM
_(or Yotting Artist in Black and White). 10 A.M. Swedish time 9.5 in
English miles. Longitude 4 ft. 8 in. in my berth. Latitude, any amount
of._
* * * * *
AN EXCELLENT RULE.--We are informed that "extreme ugliness" and "male
hysteria" are admitted as "adequate disqualifications" for the French
Army. If the same rule only applied to the English House of Commons,
what a deal of noise and nonsense we should be spared!
[Illustration: A METROPOLITAN METAMORPHOSIS.
_The Awful Result of Persistent "Crawling."_]
* * * * *
THE DYING SWAN.
_(Latest Version, a long way after the Laureate.)_
"THAMES 'SWAN UPPING.'--The QUEEN'S swanherd and the officials
of the Dyers' and Vintners' Companies arrived at Windsor
yesterday on their annual 'swan-upping' visit, for the purpose
of marking or 'nicking' the swans and cygnets belonging to HER
MAJESTY, and the Companies interested in the preservation of
the birds that haunt the stream between London and Henley. It
is said that the Thames swans are steadily decreasing owing
to the traffic on the upper reaches of the river, and other
causes detrimental to their breeding."--_The Times_.
I.
July was wet,--a thing not rare--
With sodden ground and chilly air;
The sky presented everywhere
A low-pitched roof of doleful grey;
With a rain-flusht flood the river ran;
Adown it floated a dying Swan,
And loudly did lament.
It was the middle of the day,
The "Swanherd" and his men went on,
"Nicking" the cygnets as they went.
II.
The "Swanherd" showed a blue-peaked nose,
And white against the cold white sky
Shone many a face of those
Who o'er the upper reaches swept,
On swans and cygnets keeping an eye.
Dyers and Vintners, portly, mellow
Chasing the birds of the jetty bill
Through the reed clusters green and still;
And through the osier mazes crept
Many a cap-feathered crook-armed fellow.
III.
The lone Swan's _requiem_ smote the soul
With the reverse of joy.
It spake of sorrow, of outfalls queer,
Dyeing the floods once full and clear;
Of launches wildly galumphing by,
Washing the banks into hollow and hole;
Sometimes afar, and sometimes a-near.
All-marring 'ARRY'S exuberant voice,
With music strange and manifold,
Howling out choruses loud and bold
As when Bank-holidayites rejoice
With concertinas, and the many-holed
Shrill whistle of tin, till the riot is rolled
Through shy backwaters, where swan-nests are;
And greasy scraps of the _Echo_ or _Star_,
Waifs from the cads' oleaginous feeds,
Emitting odours reekingly rank,
Drift under the clumps of the water-weeds,
And broken bottles invade the reeds,
And the wavy swell of the many-barged tug
Breaks, and befouls the green Thames' bank.
And the steady decrease of the snow-plumed throng
That sail the upper Thames reaches among,
Was prophesied in that plaintive song.
* * * * *
DOING IT CHEAPLY.
A re-action against the extravagance which marked the entertainments
of the London Season of 1890 having set in, the following rules and
regulations will be observed in the Metropolis until further notice.
1. Persons invited to dinner parties will be expected to furnish their
own plate and linen, and some of the viands and wines to be used at
the feast.
2. To carry out the above, a _menu_ of the proposed meal will form a
part of every card of invitation, which will run as follows:--"Mr. and
Mrs. ---- request the honour of Mr. and Mrs. ----'s company to dinner,
on ---- when they will kindly bring with them enough for twelve
persons of the dish marked ---- on the accompanying _Menu_, P.T.O."
3. Persons invited to a Ball will treat the supper as a pic-nic, to
which all the guests are expected to contribute.
4. On taking leave of a hostess every guest will slip into her hand a
packet containing a sum of money sufficient to defray his or her share
of the evening's expenses.
5. Ladies making calls at or about five o'clock, will bring with
them tea, sugar, milk, pound-cake, cucumber sandwiches, and bread and
butter.
6. As no bands will be furnished at evening parties, guests who can
play will be expected to bring their musical instruments with them.
N.B. This does not apply to pianofortes on the premises, for which a
small sum will be charged to those who use them.
7. Should a _cotillon_ be danced, guests will provide their own
presents, which will become the perquisites of the host and hostess.
8, _and lastly_. Should the above rules, compiled in the interest
of leaders of Society, be insufficient to keep party-givers from
appearing in the Court of Bankruptcy, guests who have partaken of any
hospitality will be expected to contribute a gratuity, to enable the
Official Receiver to declare a small and final dividend.
* * * * *
PERQUISITES.--"Nice thing to belong to National Liberal Club,"
observed Mr. G., who didn't dine at that establishment for nothing,
"because, you see, they go in there for 'Perks.'"
* * * * *
"NOBLESSE OBLIGE!"
_(Latest Reading.)_
_Noblesse oblige!_ And what's the obligation,
Read in the light of recent demonstration?
A member of "our old Nobility"
May be "obliged," at times, to play the spy,
Lay traps for fancied frailty, disenthrall
"Manhood" by "playing for" a woman's fall;
Redeem the wreckage of a "noble" name
By building hope on sin, and joy on shame;
Redress the work of passion's reckless boldness
By craven afterthoughts of cynic coldness;
Purge from low taint "the blood of all the HOWARDS"
By borrowings from the code of cads and cowards!
_Noblesse oblige?_ Better crass imbecility
Of callow youth--_with_ pluck--than such "nobility"!
* * * * *
HOME-ING.--Dr. BARNARDO'S delightfully simple plan of getting a little
boy to sign an affidavit to the effect that he was so happy at Dr.
BARNARDO'S Home, Sweet Home, and that, wherever he might wander, there
was really no place on earth like Dr. BARNARDO'S Home, may remind
Dickensian students of a somewhat analogous method apparently adopted
by _Mr. Squeers_ when, on his welcome return to Dotheboys Hall, he
publicly announced that "he had seen the parents of some boys, and
they're so glad to hear how their sons are getting on, that there's
no prospect at all of their going away, which, of course, is a very
pleasant thing to reflect upon for all parties." The conduct of such
parents or relatives who send children or permit them to be sent to
Dr. BARNARDO'S Home, Sweet Home, where, at all events, they are well
fed and cared for, bears some resemblance to that of _Graymarsh's_
maternal aunt, who was "short of money, but sends a tract instead, and
hopes that _Graymarsh_ will put his trust in Providence," and also
to that of _Mobb's_ "mother-in-law," who was so disgusted with
her stepson's conduct (for DICKENS meant step-mother when he wrote
"mother-in-law"--an odd _lapsus calami_ never subsequently corrected)
that she "stopped his halfpenny a-week pocket-money, and had given a
double-bladed knife with a corkscrew in it to the Missionaries, which
she had bought on purpose for him." We don't blame Dr. BARNARDO--much;
but we do blame these weak-knee'd parents and guardians, who
apparently don't know their own minds. In the recent case which was
sarcastically treated by the Judge, Dr. B. found that he could buy
GOULD too dear.
SOMETHING LIKE A REVOLUTION!
_(From Our Own Correspondent on the Spot.)_
[Illustration: Our Correspondent at Breakfast.]
_Samol Plazo_, 8 A.M.--My _plat_ of _egsibaconi_ has just been knocked
out of the hands of my servant, PATPOTATO, by a bullet. My man (who
is of Irish extraction) thinks that the long-expected revolution
must have commenced; "for," as he argues, "when everything is down,
something is sure to be up." I think so too. I am now going to
Government House. If I don't get this through, make complaint at the
Post Office, for it will be their fault not mine.
9 A.M.--Am now at Head Quarters. Not much trouble getting here. Came
by a _bussi_, a local conveyance drawn by two horses, and much used by
the humbler classes. On our road one of the steeds and the roof of the
_bussi_ were carried away by a shell, but as I was inside this caused
me little annoyance, and I got comfortably to my destination with the
remainder. Just seen the President, who says laughingly, that "there
has been practically nothing but perfect peace and quiet." I doubt
whether this can be quite the case, as he was sitting in front of
Government House, which was at that very moment undergoing a vigorous
bombardment. When I pointed this out to him, he confessed that he had
noticed it himself, but did not think much of it. He was in excellent
spirits, and told me a funny story about the narrow escape of his
mother-in-law. I am now off to see how the other side are progressing.
If the Post Office people tell you they can't send my telegrams to
you, refuse to believe them.
[Illustration: Narrow Escape of Our Correspondent.]
10 A.M.--As I suspected, from the first, there _has_ been a
disturbance. I thought it must be so, as I could not otherwise
understand why my _cabbi_ should have been blown into the air, while
passing through a mined street on the road here. I am now at the
Head Quarters of the Oniononi, who seem to be in great strength. They
appear to be very pleased that the fleet should have joined them, and
account for the action by saying that the sailors, as bad shots, would
naturally blaze away at the biggest target--Government House. So far,
the disturbances have caused little inconvenience. I date this 10
A.M., but I cannot tell you the exact time, as the clock-tower has
just been carried away by a new kind of land torpedo.
12, NOON.--I am now once again at the Government Head Quarters. As I
could get no better conveyance, I inflated my canvas carpet-bag with
gas, and used it as a balloon. I found it most valuable in crossing
the battery which now masks the remains of what was once
Government House. The President, after having organised a band of
_pic-pockettini_ (desperadoes taken from the gaols), has gone into
the provinces, declaring that he has a toothache. By some, this
declaration is deemed a subterfuge, by others, a statement savouring
of levity. The artillery are now reducing the entire town to atoms,
under the personal supervision of the Minister of Finance, who
deprecates waste in ammunition, and declares that he is bound to the
President by the tie of the battle-field.
[Illustration: Our Correspondent in an Elevated Position.]
2 P.M.--Have rejoined the Oniononi, coming hither by ricochet on a
spent shell. The people are entirely with them, and cheer at every
fresh evidence of destruction. Found a well-known shopkeeper in
ecstasies over the ruins of his establishment. He said that, "Although
the revolution might be bad for trade, it would do good, as things
wanted waking up." A slaughter of police and railway officials, which
has just been carried out with infinite spirit, seems to be immensely
popular. If you don't get this, make immediate complaint. Don't
accept, as an excuse, that the wires have been cut, and the office
razed to the ground. They can get it through, if they like.
4 P.M.--Just heard a report that I myself have been killed and buried.
As I can get no corroboration of this statement, I publish it under
reservation. I confine myself to saying that it may be true, although
I have my doubts upon the subject.
6 P.M.--It seems (as I imagined) that the report of my death and
funeral is a canard. This shows how necessary it is to test the truth
of every item of information before hurrying off to the Telegraph
Office. Efforts are now being made to bring about a reconciliation
between the contending parties.
8 P.M.--The revolution is over. When both sides had exhausted their
ammunition, peace naturally became a necessity. The contending parties
are now dining together, _al fresco_, as the town is in ruins. Nothing
more to add save, All's well that ends well!