Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 103, August 13, 1892 by Various
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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
VOL. 103
AUGUST 13, 1892
LADY GAY'S SELECTIONS.
_Yacht "Ibex," Weymouth._
DEAR MR. PUNCH,
Once again "my foot is on my native heath."--(I don't know where this
quotation comes from, but presume the author of it had lost a leg,
or he would have placed _his feet_ there--or else he must have had
one leg shorter than the other, and so _couldn't_ put both down at
once!)--and heartily glad I am to be there--we had a most alarming
passage from Jersey, and I thought every moment would be my
last--(_for a time_)--but I was cheered and stimulated to endurance
by the noble example of my friend and fellow-passenger The
MACDOUGAL--Chief of the Clan--who was obtrusively well up to
lunch-time!--but I had my revenge then, for he was unable to face
the dish of Haggis that I am given to understand every right-minded
Scotchman thinks it his duty to eat at least once a day.
However, "I pulled through all right," as Lord ARTHUR would say,
and was so delighted with my sailor-like indifference to the
"rolling-sea," that I adopted a rolling-walk on landing, which was
most impressive, to judge from the staring of the inhabitants of
Weymouth!--(I may confess to _you_ that I couldn't help myself;
everything was going up and down and sideways, for _hours_ after I
landed, and I really think the sea ought to be done away with, or
flattened out by some means!--there's a fortune for the man who
invents the machine which will do it!)--I should prefer it done away
with myself, as then there would be no mackerel-fishing!
I have no personal animosity against the humble but lovely-looking
mackerel; but I was weak enough to accept an invitation to go
fishing for them, and you may imagine my horror at being "roused
out,"--(yachting expression, _very_ significant)--at _three_ in the
morning to go and capture them!--or at least to _try_--for as a matter
of fact, we didn't get a single one--and my temper was "roused out"
before we'd finished, for no well-conducted woman cares to be balked
in her efforts to "hook a big fish,"--and all I could catch were a
few small "Pollock" and "Pout." By the way, who on earth christens
the fish, I wonder?--and why on earth--or rather in sea--are there so
many varieties which you must either remember or submit to nave your
ignorance jeered at by the practised fisherman, who has probably
acquired his information concerning them only the day before?
The English "Bay of Naples" is a wonderful place, and its resemblance
to its Italian prototype is admirably sustained through the liberality
of the Local Board in encouraging the importation of Italian penny-ice
men! I really think this wholesale importation of foreigners is being
carried to excess, and has already created a feeling that England
is no place for the English! And then the concerts you can hear for
nothing!--that is, if you harden your heart when the man comes round
with the tin pail!--everyone has a spade or a pail at the seaside--all
the latest London successes, from TOSTI to "_Ta-ra-ra_," accompanied
by a strong contingent of the Salvation Army Brass Band!--and there
is a lot of "brass" about the Army still unaccounted for! What
an enervating part of the world this is! One quite realises what
"lotus-eating" means, even though there are no lotuses about!--(I
wonder if that's the correct plural?--or is it "_Loti_"? which looks
like French, only wants "PIERRE" as Christian name. Or if additional
"_t_" introduced, it would be "Lotti," suggestive of COLLINS' Ode to
_Boom_, &c.; but I am wandering)--and it requires enormous energy
to do anything more than loll about and bathe; even on the Island of
Portland, where the air is rather more invigorating, I am told there
are numbers of people who express a strong disinclination to perform
any hard labour whatever, in spite of the fact of a short residence
there having been recommended as calculated to improve their general
"tone"! I only wish the aforesaid Salvation Army Band would go
there on a lengthy visit, as its "tone" leaves much to be desired at
present.
I hear that the Brighton Meeting was a great success both in weather
and racing; and the present "Horse of the Century," _Buccaneer_, fully
maintained his reputation, winning his race in what they call "gallant
style," and beating _Lady Rosebery_--not, perhaps, a gallant thing to
do, but Buccaneers have always been notoriously rough to the sex!
I am afraid thousands of my readers must be getting impatient for
more of my excellent prophecies, but I really cannot run the risk of
ruining my health by reading the papers when in the country; and,
as patience is an admirable virtue, I feel I am doing my duty in
encouraging it as much as possible. So, for yet another cycle of time
(poetic, and usefully vague),
I am, Yours, in idleness, LADY GAY.
ODE TO BUCCANEER.
Sing hey for the life of a Convict Bold!
Sing ho for his healthy life!
Sing hey for his peaceful days when old,
Secluded from care and strife!
* * * * *
[Illustration: A SYMPATHISER.
MASTER TOMMY NEVER MISSES THE AMERICAN NEWS NOW, AS HE IS MUCH
INTERESTED IN _THE CASE OF PRIVATE JAMS!!!_ (_Vide Daily Papers._)]
* * * * *
THE DIARY OF AN EXPLORER A LA RUSSE.
_Introduction._--Delighted to have the opportunity of exploring the
Ironice Mountains. Hearing they abound with frozen mud which would
be most useful if it could be removed to the plains below without
melting. The watercress plant too might be grown on the summit, if it
is practicable to take up orchid-forcing houses. Ought to get the Gold
Medal of the Geographical Society if I open out this region that will
be fraught with such blessings to commerce. So far as I can judge, it
will only be necessary to take twenty batteries of Artillery, a dozen
squadrons of Cavalry, and (say) sixteen battalions of Infantry. And I
think we might as well take a Naturalist.
_A little Later._--Made a good start. Appointed Professor POPOFF to
be our Naturalist. He is a little out of practice, but passed the
preliminary examination very satisfactorily. Only made one trifling
mistake. Said that tea-roses belonged to the cactus family. Fancy they
don't, but am not sure. The suggestion that cucumbers were dug out of
the ground like potatoes, was only an error of judgment. Anyone might
have made it. But although rusty in his science, he is well up in
machine-gun drill. He will suit the expedition to a nicety. Artillery,
Cavalry, and Infantry in first-rate condition.
_Later still._--Made our first important scientific discovery to-day.
Find that you can't grow broad beans on the soil at the base of the
Ironice Mountains. At least you may plant them, but they won't grow to
any size within the space of half-a-dozen hours. Tried the experiment.
To clear the necessary space of ground, had to remove the natives.
Did this in gallant style with the assistance of all branches of the
Service. The Professor rendered valuable support with his Gatling.
Hadn't time to bury the kilted, but said some kind things, when
bidding them adieu, to the wounded.
_Further on._--Most anxious to discover whether canaries sing half-way
up the Ironice Mountains. Had some little trouble in establishing a
footing on the plateau. After eight hours' hard fighting got to the
required spot. The natives seem to have no respect for scientific
research. Had to remove them in the usual fashion. The Cavalry had
to abandon their horses, but the dismounted men were most useful in
burning villages. The Professor continued to carry up his Gatling,
and used it with the customary result. When we got to the plateau,
disappointed to find no canaries. So we could not ascertain whether
they would sing at that altitude. However, when we have completed the
proposed railway, it will be quite easy to bring up a few of those
charming birds, and continue the interesting experiment.
_Later._--After six weeks' hard fighting, have at last got to the
summit. Cleared the place of the natives according to the recognised
scientific formula. The Infantry had to use their bayonets freely. The
Professor again well to the front with his Gatling. He is a wonderful
man, and seems to have been accustomed to it all his life. It is
almost a pity that he should be so devoted to science. He would have
made a first-rate soldier.
_Nearly the Latest._--Sorry that our expedition has not been entirely
successful. I am very much afraid that it will be impossible to
grow watercresses at this altitude, even with the genial aid of
orchid-forcing houses. I do not see how we could get up the necessary
materials to the summit, although assisted by proposed railway. Still,
when the line is constructed, we might make the attempt. But from a
commercial point of view, I do not believe that the experiment would
repay the cost.
_Sequel._--Delighted to find that our scientific expedition has
one result. I have consulted the Professor, and we are both of the
opinion, that from the summit of the Ironice Mountains it is possible
to get a splendid bird's-eye view of India.
* * * * *
[Illustration: GOING ON BOARD.]
* * * * *
FORTE SCUTUM SALUS DUCUM.
In St. SWITHIN's forty days
Comes the end of voting-frays;
Forty extra then arrays
Mr. G.
He had hoped for many more,
But he cannot even score
Forty-four, that fought he for--
Mr. G.
Fortified with fortitude.
Rule your motley multitude,
And so earn our gratitude
Mr. G.!
Oh majority, you know
"Gently does it;" therefore go
Quite _piano_, Forty--show
Mr. G.
Though his forty is not fat,
It is fair at least; so that
JOHN shall not be taxed for PAT,
Mr. G.
Spare him income tax that grieves,
Lest he think that he perceives
ALI BABA's Forty ----
Mr. G.!
* * * * *
WALKER!--Mr. TOOLE is going into the country, and Mr. GARDEN is to
take his place. This sounds like a seasonable change, as Londoners who
cannot get away to a Garden, will now have a GARDEN coming to them.
* * * * *
"NO FEES."
(_IN RE PAYNE_ V. _'ENRY HAUTHOR JONES._)
Alas, poor JONES, how sad your fate!
The Law's stern coldness comes to freeze
Your burning wish to captivate
With words you know will always please--
"No fees!"
When "bang goes saxpence" for a page
Of poorest paper, where one sees
More puffs than programme, then your rage
Seems right. One cries, "At least for these
No fees!"
If Dr. BRAMWELL,[1] who they say
Cures psychological disease,
Had known he would have willed away
Your PAYNE, like tooth-ache--he would seize
"No fees!"
You've _lost_ the case, and now, "that's flat,"[2]
Must pay those eminent Q.C.'s
Your Bill of Costs! No Play-bill that!
You will not find the Law decrees
"No fees."
[Footnote 1: Mentioned in _Times_ Leading Article, Aug. 3.]
[Footnote 2: "That's flat." HENRY (AUTHOR SHAKSPEARE) IV., Part I.,
Act I., Scene 3.]
* * * * *
A TRIO.--Congratulations to Sir WILLIAM CUSINS, who from his known
admiration for WAGNER, is generally known as "Cusins German." He was
a "King's Scholar," and KING, whoever he was, must have found him
a remarkably apt pupil. He has composed a Comic Opera called _Giddy
'Un_. The next Knight is JOSEPH BARNBY, a name suggestive of pure
rustic music. The last of the Knights, Sir WALTER PARRATT, has chosen
as his device the ancient legend always associated with the head
of the PARRATT family, i.e., "Scratch a Poll." This dates from very
ancient times, and was an inscription found in a temple of Apollo.
* * * * *
OMINOUS.--Unfortunate name for a piece is _Cigarette_. So suggestive
of "paper," and of "ending in smoke." _Absit omen!_
* * * * *
[Illustration: STUDIES IN IDIOCY.
_She._ "MRS. MOFFAT'S THE ODDEST WOMAN! SHE'S FOND OF MEETING CLEVER
PEOPLE, YOU KNOW, AND SHE NEVER OPENS HER LIPS, BUT LISTENS TO EVERY
WORD THEY SAY, AND PUTS IT ALL DOWN IN A DIARY AFTER!"
_He._ "HAW--BY JOVE! SHALL TAKE PRECIOUS GOOD CARE WHAT _I_ SAY BEFORE
HER!"]
* * * * *
AIDS TO LARCENY.--(_By an "Outside Croaker."_)--I find that since
I started off shopping this morning, I have lost my purse, my
handkerchief, the keys of all my boxes and drawers, a silver-mounted
scent-bottle, my season-ticket, and a pocket-book containing priceless
materials for the plot of a three-volumed novel. This comes of riding
on the outside of an omnibus with garden-seats.--Conductor, the
gentlemanly person who sat just behind me, and who is now proceeding
rather quickly up Chancery Lane, seems to have been unable to resist
the temptation afforded by my hanging coat-tails, and has walked off
with a few unpaid bills which were in the pockets, under a mistaken
impression that they were bank-notes. Would you mind explaining to him
his mistake?--Would it be possible for the excellent Directors of the
London General Omnibus Company and the London Road Car Company, so to
board up the open backs of their otherwise delightful garden-seats
as to prevent a ride on the top of an omnibus from being a constant
series of (generally unwarranted) suspicions of the people seated in
one's rear?
* * * * *
AN AFTERNOON SAIL.
SCENE--_A Landing Stage under Margate Pier. Excursionists
discovered embarking in two rival sailing-boats, the "Daisy"
and the "Buttercup," whose respective Mates are exchanging
repartees._
[Illustration: "Pirate,--that's what I _was_, Sir!"]
_Mate of the "Daisy"._ This gangway, Marm--(_to a Stout Lady_)--not
_that_ one, if you want to _enjoy_ yourself. That one'll take you
aboard the "_Buttercup_," Marm!
[_The Stout Lady patronises the "Daisy."_
_Mate of the "Buttercup."_ You may 'ave _that_ little lot! Don't you
go overloadin' that 'ere old tub o' yourn, that's all!
_M. of the D._ No fear o' _you_ bein' crowded, anyhow. Folks ha' got
more sense!
_M. of the B._ Why, we can outsail _you_ any day. Spoke you off the
Tongue light, we did, close in to ye, we were--and back ten minutes
_afore_ ye--come! The "Buttercup"'ll answer any way we put her--a'most
_speak_ to us, _she_ will!
_M. of the D._ Ah, it's lucky for you she can't _quite_ speak--you'd
'ear some plain langwidge if she did!
_M. of the B._ _Our_ boat ain't never mis-stayed with us, 't all
events; ye can't deny that!
_M. of the D._ We don't go out for sailing, _we_ don't--we go out
for _pleasure_! (_As the "Daisy," having received her complement of
passengers, puts off._) Tralla! we'll resoom this conversation later
on; you won't ha' got off afore we're back, _I_ dessay!
[_The_ Mate of the "Buttercup" _is reduced to profanity._
_ON BOARD THE "DAISY," DURING THE TRIP._
_The Stout Lady._ Very 'an'some they fit these yachts
up--garding-seats all across the deck, and all the cushings in red
plush. It do give you sech a sense of security!
_A Lugubrious Man._ Oh, we shall be all right, so long as this squall
that's coming up don't catch us before we're in again. Else we shall
take _our_ tea down at the bottom, along with the lobsters!
_A Chirpy Little Man with a red chin-tuft_ (_to a female
acquaintance_). Well, how are _you_ feelin', eh?
_The Acquaintance._ Oh, all right, thenks--so long as I keep still.
There's more waves than it looked from the Pier.
_The Chirpy Man._ Waves? These ain't on'y ripples. When we're off the
Foreland, now, you _may_ talk!
_The Acq._ If it's worse than it is now, I _shan't_.
_The Chirpy Man._ Why, you ain't afraid o' being queer already? I'm
reg'lar enjoyin' it, I am. You don't object to me samplin' a cigar?
You enjoy the flavour of a smoke more when you're on the water, yer
know.
_First Girl._ I can see our lodgings; and there's Ma out on the
balcony--see? Let's wave our handkerchiefs to her.
_Second Girl._ Ma, indeed! Did you _ever_ know Ma stir off the sofa
after her dinner? I wouldn't make myself ridiklous waving to somebody
else's Ma, if _I_ was you!
_First Girl_ (_unconvinced_). I'm sure it _is_ Ma--it's just her
figger.
_Second Girl._ You are such an _obstinate_ girl! If it's Ma, what's
become of the verander?
_First Girl_ (_conquered by this unanswerable argument_). I forgot we
had a _verander_--it's one of those old cats next door!
_The Stout Lady_ (_to the Captain who is steering_). Shall we be out
long, Captain?
_The Captain._ I hope not, Marm, because I'm dining at the tabbly dote
at the Cliftonville this evenin', and I've got to be home in time to
dress.
[_The passengers regard him with increased respect._
_The Mate_ (_familiarly to the Captain_). Yes, dear; you don't want
to die in here, _do_ you? (_explanatorily_) "die in"--_dine_--you'll
excuse _me_, but the ocean always makes me feel so facetious. Captain,
dear, if you'll pardon a common sailor like myself for making
the suggestion, I beg to call upon you for a song. (_The Captain
obligingly bellows "The Stormy Nore--The Jolly old Nore," to the
general satisfaction_). Ah, they didn't know what a canary-bird you
_were_, Captain! Here's a lady asking you to drink at her expense.
[_The Captain is prevailed upon to accept a tumbler of "the
usual;" the Stout Lady says "Captin, your 'elth!" and pledges
him in a whiskey-and-soda._
_First Female Friend_ (_to Second Do. Do._). That's Mrs. EDLING, all
over, puttin' herself so forward! Look at her now, 'anding him up two
cigars in a paper-bag. I call it sickenin'!
_Second Do. Do._ I'm not surprised. She's a woman that 'ud do anythink
for notoriety. I've always noticed _that_ in her.
_Captain_ (_to Mate_). Ease the brails!
_Mate_ (_frivolously, after obeying_). They're feeling better
_now_, darlin'! If no one else'll sing a song, I'll give you "_The
Midshipmite_."
_The Stout Lady._ I do like the way those two go on together; it's as
good as a play. I shall begin laughin' presently; it takes a deal to
set me _off_, but when I once _am_ off, I can't stop myself. (_The
Mate sings._) A sweet singer _he_ is, too. Lor! it's like goin' for a
sail in a Music-'All!
_The Chirpy Man._ Yes, I'm comin' to set down a bit. Not so much
motion _'ere_, yer know. No use trying to smoke in this breeze. No,
I was on'y yawning. Makes yer sleepy, this see-saw does. Don't _you_
find it so?
_Mate_ (_to Sailor_). Now, WILLIAM, it's your turn--you're goin' to
sing us something?
_William_ (_gruffly_). No, I ain't. But there's a gen'lman 'ere as
says he'll recite.
[_After some persuasion, a Mild Young Man is induced to step
forward on the foredeck, and recite as follows_:--
_The Mild Young Man_ (_balancing himself with some difficulty_).
"Pirate, that's what I _was_, Sir. Talk about Captain KIDD--
His cruellest acts were kindness, compared with the deeds _I_ did!
Never a pitying pang felt I for youth, sex, age, or rank--
All who fell into my clutches were doomed to pace a protruded plank!
Yet the desperate demon of those days is now a Churchwarden mild,
Holding the bag at Collections--and all through a golden-haired
child!"
[_Here the_ Mate _suppresses a groan, and is understood to
remark that he "knows that golden-haired child;" the_ Stout
Lady _sighs, and inwardly reflects that you can never go by
appearances; the_ Chirpy Man _becomes solemn and attentive._
_The Ex-Pirate_ (_who meanwhile has sighted an East-Indiaman, and
given chase_).
"Well, soon as we'd overhauled her, our 'Jolly Roger' we flew,
We opened our dummy deadlights, and the guns gleamed grinning
through.
And, panther-like, we were crouching--"
[_Here he attempts to suit the action to the word; the boat
heels over--and the Pirate's crouch becomes a sprawl._
I--I _beg_ your pardon.--(_Picking himself up._)
"Under the Indiaman's side;
When--a baby-face from her bulwarks, looked down on us open-eyed:
I can see him now--with his fluttering curls, and his cheeks so
chubby and round,
Which a cherub might have been proud of, in snowiest linen bound!
Then--he hailed us, in infant accents, so innocent, fresh, and
blithe--
That our nest of human snakes was stirred to a conscience-stricken
writhe!
(_In soft falsetto, as Child_). Dear Pirates, I _am_ so
sorry--I _did_ want to see you so.
I'm afraid you'll be disappointed--but you mustn't come _near_,
you know!
I wish I could ask you on board to tea, for I feel so down in the
dumps,
But I _can't_ invite you--for, if you came, you'd be certain to
catch my Mumps!
I've given it all of the passengers, and the Captain, and Mate,
and Crew,
And it would be a _dreadful_ pity if _you_ were to catch it too!"
[_Pause. The Chirpy Man hides his face._
We looked at each other; our utterance choked by irrepressible
lumps,
Though we feared neither man nor devil--we all had a _horror_ of
Mumps!
And, but for this Cherub's candour, ere many mere days had sped--
[_Here the_ Pirate _is stopped by uncontrollable emotion, and
his audience, from the Captain downwards, express sympathy._
_The Reciter_ (_huskily, after wiping his eyes_). I'm very sorry--it's
foolish, I know, but I always _do_ break down just here. I--I think I
can go on now.
[Illustration: "WITH THE HONOURS OF WAR!"]
"Had sped,
Each buccaneer would have kept his bunk, with a bandage about his
head!"
[_Here a fresh diversion is effected by_ The Chirpy Man, _who
suddenly achieves unpopularity by becoming aggressively ill,
and causing a general stampede from his neighbourhood._
_The Reciter_--
"We wouldn't have boarded her, after _that_, for all the treasure
on earth,
So we sailed away--to the sweet salute of a peal of childish mirth!"
_The Chirpy Man_ (_resuming his seat, much relieved, and almost as
chirpy as ever, to his neighbours, confidentially_). I'm all right
agen now. It was takin' a glass o' stout on top of black currant
pudden _done_ it, yer know!
[_This piece of information is coldly received, which
evidently both surprises and pains him; the Pirate brings his
experiences to an end by relating how he realised his effects,
and retired from business on a modest competence, and the
"Daisy" regains the Pier._
* * * * *
"WITH THE HONOURS OF WAR."
After long fight and strenuous defence,
Tenacity tremendous, toil immense,
The garrison surrenders!
'Tis the doom
Of desperate war; and though a sombre gloom
Sits on each brow, each brow is lifted high,
No petulant pusillanimity
Makes poor this last parade of stout defenders,
Or shames this most unwilling of surrenders.
Six lingering years, and more, of hot attack,
By confident cool valour beaten back!
Six baffling years of sortie, and of sally,
Sudden alarum, stubborn stand, stout rally!
How the besiegers in their bannered host
Banded at first around this bastion'd post,
In sanguine, fierce assault, and shook their spears,
Strong hopes derided, mocked at fancied fears.
The Citadel's defence was all in vain,
They vowed; a year should end the brief campaign;
Yet year to year succeeded slow, and still
The garrison held out. Strategic skill
And not impetuous onset nought availed;
The battering-ram and scaling-ladder failed.
Brief breaches scarcely made were swift repaired,
United still all deadly arms they dared,
Those linked defenders who, aforetime foes,
Their lately-banded ranks could firmly close
Against old friends, now common enemies.
Black CECIL was Commander, BALFOUR brave
The Union Standard in his wake would wave,
The _Reiter_ JOACHIM, of German breed,
And the Scot swordster RITCHIE, good at need,
With him, the fox-eyed Freelance, JOE DE BRUM,
Brave with the trumpet, valiant with the drum,
Proud to be capped and curled with Cavaliers,
The Gentlemen of England, now his peers,--
These, and a many more good men and true,
The ramparts manned, the warning clarion blew;
Stood in the breach, and to the bastion swarmed,
Whene'er loud blares that citadel alarmed.
But now slow sap and steady siege have wrought
The conquest long delayed. The Chiefs that fought
So long together, feel the touch of fate,
Bow to its bidding. Calm though not elate,
Swart CECIL yields him at discretion. So
The garrison marches forth! But e'en the foe
Gives chivalrous salute to beaten men
Unshamed by forced surrender. Hail them, then,
With sympathetic cheers! The white-haired Chief,
Lifts hat in greeting. He, all brawn and beef,
WILLIAM of Malwood, bears the banner high,
But scarce looks fired, with conquest's ecstasy.
JOHN of Newcastle, reins a restive horse;
_He's_ none too eager for another course.
The one-armed Irish Chief looks pale and grim;
E'en cheery LARRY, of the cynic whim,
Hath a less careless chuckle than his wont.
"Beshrew me! but they bear a gallant front!"
Mutter the pikemen ranged in order round.
Sore-battered RITCHIE,--may he soon be sound!--
Bates not a jot of courage; that stark fighter
And shifty swordsman, JOACHIM: the _Reiter_,
Snuffs the air proudly; with his nose a-cock
Steps JOE DE BRUM, and, steady as a rock,
Strides forth Chief CECIL!
Hail the beaten band,
You Grand, and grey-haired, Old Campaigning Hand;
For you have seen good fighting, and you know
Game foemen when you see them. Conquest's glow
Mantles that pallid cheek. After long strain,
Victory at last is yours, nor all in vain,
Perchance, although its fruits precarious be.
What you will do with it, we wait to see.
Meanwhile _you_'ll own the foes you've put to rout.
With all war's honours unashamed march out.