The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 62, Jan 27, 1872, by Various This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 62, Jan 27, 1872 Author: Various Release Date: November 17, 2011 [EBook #38040] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON *** Produced by Malcolm Farmer, Ernest Schaal, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
'Spectable Citizen. "Ish my Opi'ion thish P'missive Bill 'sh Vexash'ious Measure. (Hic!) Why should I be D'prived of Nesh-sh-ary R'freshment, 'cause another Party hasn't—can't—doesn't—know when he'sh had enough? Shtan' up, Ol' Man!!!"
The Monday Pops! The Monday Pops
Whoe'er admires what some call "Ops;"
Should go, and lick his mental chops
While feasting at the Monday Pops.
The Monday Pops! The Monday Pops
To me their music far o'er-tops
The jingling polkas and galóps
On cracked pianos played at hops.
Nor almond rock, nor lemon-drops
Nor sugar-plums, nor lollipops
With which small children cram their crops
Are sweeter than the Monday Pops.
The Monday Pops! The Monday Pops
Delight of fogies and of fops
The music that all other wops
Is given at the Monday Pops.
Their fame all rivals far o'er-tops
You see their programmes at the shops
And here the bard exhausted stops
His rhymings on the Monday Pops.
Much ingenuity has been expended in trying to prove that Shakspeare was a lawyer, and, amongst other passages in his writings, the two first lines of the Sonnet which commences—
"When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,"
may be thought to indicate that he possessed legal acquirements. Has it, however, occurred to the editors and commentators, that these lines are capable of another interpretation, and may be considered to add a new item to our scanty knowledge of Shakspeare's personal history, if we take the more probable view, that when he penned them he had in his mind's eye those familiar Tribunals—the Quarter Sessions—to which, it may be whilst residing in the Metropolis, but most undoubtedly after his retirement to Stratford, he would be summoned in the capacity of Grand Juryman?
The Morning Post records an interesting case of—
"Supper To Convicted Felons.—On Tuesday evening a supper was given to one hundred and fifty convicted felons by Ned Wright, the well-known converted burglar, at the Mission Hall, Hales Street, High Street, Deptford. The candidates for tickets of admission were compelled to attend the night before the supper and give an account of themselves to prove that they really were convicted felons, and by the sharp and close questioning of Mr. Wright, about fifty were refused tickets as impostors."
The fifty impostors who were fain to palm themselves off as convicts for the sake of a supper, must have been poor knaves indeed. These supernumeraries, for whom there was no seat at the table of Society, constitute a spectacle on the stage of life which it may be painful to some people and pleasant to others to contemplate from the dress circle. It is too probable that this Capital contains very many more of these Esaus, as they might be called if they had anything of a character so valuable as a birthright to dispose of on Esau's terms, with the small extras undermentioned:—
"The recipients of this Charity were a very motley crew, and ranged in years from six up to fifty. They were each served with a quantity of soup and a bag containing bread and a bun, after which Mr. Wright addressed them in his own peculiar manner, being listened to with marked attention."
Mr. Wright, we may suppose, took care to preach in a "tongue understanded of the people" who constituted his hearers, and accordingly delivered a considerable portion of his discourse in the language which our great-grandfathers called thieves' Latin. A sermon in slang, however, would, perhaps, be more curious than edifying. Let us hope that Mr. Wright's may possibly have had the effect of converting the guests who would once have been his pals from the error of their ways, formerly his own. Such, at least, appears to have been his laudable intention:—
"A large number of ladies and gentlemen interested in such work attended and gave the benefit of their advice and co-operation. In the course of the evening Mr. Wright announced his intention of taking under his patronage a number of the boys then present, who might be desirous of earning an honest livelihood, and furnishing them with money and clothes to make a fair start in life."
It would rejoice both ourselves and our benevolent readers to know that the acceptance of this offer by a considerable number of Mr. Wright's young friends may be the commencement of a career of good living, wherein they will very soon attain to better fare than a quantity of soup, a bag of bread, and a bun, quite good enough as that is for convicted felons, besides being peculiarly suitable as precluding any necessity for knives and forks chained to the table.
How hardly will Judges, for the most part, admit the plea of insanity in exculpation from a charge of murder! How readily are they wont to entertain it as a reason for setting aside a will! How right they are in either instance! Suppose a maniac is hanged as a man of sound mind, his execution serves just as well, for the purpose of example, as it would if he were. But my Luds would make a mistake on the wrong side by misdirecting Jurors to determine insanity to have been sanity in a case wherein a lunatic might possibly have misdisposed of property.
A most determined act of self-inflicted torture has recently caused a considerable sensation in a fashionable quarter of Town. A lady, young, lovely, and accomplished, with troops of friends, and all that makes life enjoyable at her command, was detected deliberately "screwing up" her face!
O the Temple of Untrammelled Thought.
Sunday, May 10, 1882. Heard a transcendent oration from Althea Duxmore on "Dogmas and Dogmatics." Bi-monthly levy for the expenses of the Temple. Stephanotis Hewleigh and I the eleemosynars who collected in the new Septentrional Vestibule, where the men are put. Their united contributions amounted exactly to half a Victoria! Several dimes in the salver. The new Act, limiting the personal expenses of Adult Males, may have something to do with this. Shall move in the Saloon for Returns showing the working of the Act. Alfred nowhere to be seen in the Vestibule; perhaps detained by the children's toilette. In the afternoon at the new Museum of Natural History opened this Spring, at Kensington. The Galleries crowded. Several of us, including Professors Sara Sabina Thewes and Caroline Gostrong, delivered extemporary lectures on the animals; the men very attentive. In the evening to St. Paul's; heard the new organist, Charlotte Bach Stopmore, Mus. Doc. The Cathedral a blaze of splendour with the Tyndaluminospectric light. We Women have yet something to learn in physical science.
Monday, May 11. Received, by appointment, a deputation from the electors of New Marylebone, inviting me to candidate that District at the next General Election. Mrs. Admiral Stenterton, and Miss Lydia Boss Wolloby, the dominant spokeswomen. Spread out my views on the Husbands' Regulation Movement, the Cigar-Tax, the Compulsory Inspection of Men's Clubs, and the Repudiation of the National Debt. All satisfactory, and I agreed to retire from Jutley. Deputation luncheoned with me. No place kept for Alfred, who had to sit at a side-table.
To the Club (the Gynecium), and flashed a long private cryptogram to the Chairwoman of my Committee at Jutley. Dined at the Club. After dinner in the Fumitory. Took a Cabriole to the Saloon. Driver an extortionist; but I knew the exact distance, to the tenth of a kilometre. Saloon debating the Juries Exemption (Women) Bill. Spoke, I think, with sensation. The venerable Earl of Hughenden came in as I was perorating. Alfred, in the Gentlemen's Gallery, in tears. I wore my black velvet and point lace pelerine, with the diamond star he gave me after the Jutley election. That tiresome, tedious, insufferable Hannah Longbore (how South-West Suffolk stands her so long I cannot imagine) prosed on against the Bill, and sided with the Men, but we fidgeted her down at last. She had on that old crimson satin which has seen three sessions at least! Maiden speech from Marian Spray—pretty enough. Forget what Men spoke. Mrs. Leader Donne, the lovely (!) and accomplished Member for Ironville, closed the debate. Rather too great a parade of learning; positively she quoted Lycophron in the original! But we all see through Mrs. Leader's schemes—she means the Educational Under-Secretaryship, when Bella Falayse goes to the Upper Saloon as a Peeress jure suo. Home by Twelve. Alfred sitting up for me. What a resource that Hortus Siccus is to him!
Tuesday, May 12.—Card from Madge Bassingham, R.A., for her Inaugural Praelection, as Pigmentary Professor at the Royal Academy. Could not go, as I was engaged on a Committee at the Saloon—Metropolis Extension, Brighton Annexation Bill. Dined with Mrs. Abraham Skrooley, M.P. Woman's party. The Constantia exquisite. Discussed over our cigarettes the arrangements for the approximating Women's Cosmopolitan Congress. Alfred and one or two other Men came in the evening.
Wednesday, May 13. Not well in the morning. Flashed for Dr. Martha Walkingholme. She was detained at the Spleen Hospital, but her partner, Harriet Chamomile, came and applied the Magnetic Detonator to my spine and the backs of my ears. Instant relief. In the evening at the Biennial Banquet of the Indigent Widowers' Pension Fund at Willis's. The Duchess of Middlesex in the chair. After dinner the Indigent Widowers circuited the tables, and attracted much attention by their neat and respectable appearance. I proposed the toast of "The Gentlemen." Alfred responsed, and for a wonder did not break down.
Thursday, May 14. Gave Cook a lesson on the harp before breakfast. Sitting in the Library reading Mill's "Woman Triumphant," when my electric alarum rang. Message from Oxford from my youngest sister, Bianca, to say that she had that instant been elected Fellow of Carlyle College. Three hundred and ten competitors. Tremendous examination, lasting three weeks. Bianca's thorough domination of Russian, Japanese, political economy, statistics, aërostatics, electrology, hygiene and thermapeutics, gave her the victory. Hope some day she will stand for the University. For joy I took a half holiday. (Left Alfred quite happy with his silkworms.) Gymnastic relaxation at the Palaestra on the Expanse at Hampstead. Then by Tube to Dover. Tunnelled over to Paris, shopped, and back by the six rapid. Might have stayed later for we could not make a Saloon: seven short of the legal Quorum, a hundred—so many Members (men, I need hardly say) absent at the Great International Croquet Tryst at the Crystal Palace. Passed an hour pleasantly at the Diatomaceous Society, of which I have lately been balloted a Fellow.
Friday, May 15. Busy all the morning preparing my oration on the "Wise Sayings of Wise Women in all Countries and Epochs," for the Congress. (Interrupted twice by Alfred, who had got the housekeeping accounts and the washing-book into a fearful muddle.) Great meeting at 3'30 in Emancipation Hall, to welcome Mrs. Hale Columbia Spragg, the first female President of the United States. She has transited the Atlantic to attend our Congress, but can only be present at this evening's Inauguratory, as she must be in New York again before sundown to-morrow. Went to the Saloon, but it immediately adjourned, on the motion of Mr. Theodore Stuke, to enable the Lady Members to festinate to the Congress. Immense success. Fifteen hundred Delegates from every country in the world processed down the Hall, and then arranged themselves by Continents on the gilded dais. Twenty-five thousand women computed to be present in the Spectatorium. Our distinguished champion and unflinching Hegemon, Amelia Smackles, assumed the presidential throne. Incessant coruscations of enthusiasm, which culminated when a black sister moved the fourteenth resolution, demanding the total, immediate, and unconditional transfer of all menial labour from Woman to Man. Did not get home till 1 p.m. Left my key behind me, so obliged to rouse up Alfred, who was in bed, in great distress at the loss of one of his canaries, and had forgotten to order my stout. Vexatious!
Saturday, May 16. Dejeuned at the Constellation Hotel with dear Amelia, to meet Mrs. President Spragg, Chief Justice Roberta Cokestone (from Liberia), the Lady Warden of the Cinque Ports, the Lady Mayoress, the Mistress of the Mint, and other forward Members of the Congress. The President left us at noon. She would balloon over to New York in five hours and a half. Quiet dinner at Richmond in the evening. Only Amelia, two of the elder Sisters of the Trinity House, and the Delegates from Germany, Turkey, Greece, and China. Bianca joined us unexpectedly from Oxford, and introduced her bosom friend, the Professor of Anatomy, Henrietta Stott Trawsell. Delightful promenade by the river before dinner. Met Alfred fishing for gudgeon.
Punch shudders to see the Metric question raised again. Are we not in the thick of an Educational War already? Will our contemporaries abstain from putting new reasons for quarrel into the heads of fanatics. We shall certainly have the Decimal business taken up by Denominationalists and by Secularists. Ten fingers point out that the natural law is one of decimals. Also, there are ten commandments for the theologian. On the other hand, there are twelve signs of the Zodiac: this for nature; and twelve Apostles: this for theology. O, please let the matter alone, and let the little boys and girls be taught anyhow, so that they are taught at all.
erminal Punch,
Five more London churches are to be immediately destroyed. Down with them! First down with St. Mildred's, in the Poultry. It was built by Sir Christopher Wren, and somewhere about it rest the remains of Thomas Tusser, who wrote the "Five Hundred Points of Good Husbandry." Sweep it away, and then batter down St. Dionis Backchurch, also built by Sir Christopher. There are monuments in it to the great benefactor to the Bodleian Library, and to the founder of the Saxon Lectureship in St. John's College, Oxford. Who cares? St. James's, Aldgate, is to be demolished: 'tis enough that Hebrews chiefly abide around that fane, and need it not. Out with St. Martin of Outwich; it hath stood less than a hundred years, and though it was consecrated by Bishop Porteus, and holdeth fine old monuments, conserved through three centuries, away with it! Lastly (for the present) turn this pictured clown's pickaxe upon St. Anthony's, or St. Antholin's, Sise Lane. That, too, was the work of the Architect of St. Paul's, and sundry be the memories which our old dramatists and our Walter Scott have hung on "St. Anthing's." It is very meet and right that the old City churches should all go, few persons now abiding near them on Sunday, and religion being a thing for Sunday. Sir Christopher's Cathedral, as it is also a Mausoleum, will probably be spared until some railway or tramway shall want the site.
On Thursday last week a modification of the American Gatling Gun, called the "British Mitrailleuse," was tried for the first time at Woolwich. The following is a description of this benevolent machine:—
"It consists of ten barrels hooped together and revolving in the centre, and fitted into a carriage like that of an ordinary field-gun, which, at a short distance, it greatly resembles. The barrels and cartridges are similar to those of the Henry-Martini rifle—in diameter .45 in.; the cartridge-cases being of brass, and bottle-necked."
Tremendous, however, as may be the execution which this weapon is capable of doing among a flock of soldiers, authorities are of opinion that, "like small arms generally, it must give way to rifled ordnance." On its trial:—
"Indeed, most of the Royal Artillery Officers present seemed to think that the machine-gun can never stand against Artillery, even if its delicate machinery did not become disarranged by mere musket-shot."
So that a comparison is suggested to those who read, that when the "British Mitrailleuse" is made ready and placed in position—
"A handle like that of a street-organ, and fixed at the side of the trail, is then turned at any degree of rapidity required, and the barrels load and fire until the supply of cartridges is exhausted, which takes about five minutes under favourable conditions."
One is led to compare the British Mitrailleuse with the Italian Grinding Organ, and to question if the latter be not, of the two, the more offensive instrument.
The antiquity of the Athanasian Creed being now shown to be a myth, the date being that of Charlemagne, would it not be well, before the Prayer Book is finally revised, that the correction should be made? For it will take many a year to abolish the belief that St. Athanasius drew up the document, especially as divers theologians think nothing of some four hundred and fifty years of what they imagine to have been the Dark Ages. "Commonly (but absurdly) called the Creed of St. Athanasius" is a line that, in a century or so, might have an effect upon the less un-intelligent.
At Bas-Unterwald, according to the Swiss Times:—
"Strikes are becoming the fashion in the higher circles of society. The physicians of this peaceful Arcadia have united and struck work, demanding an increase in their fees. The Laudrath, however, refuses to entertain their claims, and advises a strike of the patients as the best answer to the physicians' demands."
There was a time when a strike of patients anywhere would have been attended with a very great decrease of the rate of mortality. There is reason to suppose that in the present improved condition of medical science such would not be the case. The strikers, struck with fever, or other grave illness, would probably be struck down in rather alarming numbers.
What justification of a medical strike there may be in Switzerland hath not appeared, but in this country there is, in some quarters, not a little. The ridiculously low wages, not to say salary, begrudged, not to say granted, to Medical Officers by many Poor-Law Unions would amply warrant the establishment of a Professional Union corresponding to a Trades' Union, and consisting of sons of Æsculapius. The medico-chirurgical Unionists could manage a strike well enough without committing any outrage on the Non-Unionists, or Knobsticks. There would be no need for the Doctors on strike to picket, and waylay, and beat the others on their road to the Workhouse, or across country to the recipient of out-door relief; and they could do without rattening them and filching away their physic, stethoscopes, and surgical instruments. In dealing with unworthy members of an honourable Profession, capable of underselling their brother-chips, the practitioners forming the Union would require to have recourse to no proceedings associated with Sheffield; they would find it quite sufficient to send outsiders and recusants of co-operation in a strike to Coventry.
All England, that reads the newspapers, will have felt the shock of a truly—
"Terrific Explosion—Yesterday evening an explosion of a frightful character occurred at Gladstone's Cartridge Factory, Greenwich Marshes, by which a large number of girls have been seriously injured."
Considering for what Constituency the Premier is Member of Parliament, the majority of people cannot but be, momentarily at least, startled and taken aback by the information in the first place that Gladstone has a Cartridge Factory in Greenwich Marshes, and, secondly, that it has been the scene of a terrific explosion. Nor certainly are they likely to be re-assured by the further intelligence that:—
"A few weeks ago the Government seized 365 cases of ball cartridge, each containing 20 lb. weight, which had been manufactured by Mr. Gladstone for the French Government during the late war."
The obvious suggestion conveyed by this statement is, that there has occurred not only a terrific explosion in the borough of Greenwich, but also a not less alarming blow-up in the Cabinet. Absit omen!
If you like, read this advertisement from the Christian World:—
CO-PARTNER WANTED, by a highly respectable Man, aged 30, member of Spurgeon's. A gentlemanly person required, a believer with about £50, and who can travel.—Address, &c.
Hm! In the first place a gentlemanly person would not wish to hear his partner talk in that exceedingly curt way of their minister and his flock. "Member of Spurgeon's." "One who regularly attends the ministrations of the Reverend C. H. Spurgeon, B.M." would be more gentlemanly language. Nextly, "a believer with about £50" reads rather Mammonish. It suggests that a sceptic with about £75, or a positivist with about £100, would not be unacceptable. Thirdly, "who can travel." Who can't travel with about £50? Mr. Cook will give you a return-ticket for the Pyramid for about that. Fourthly, the "and" is abominable English. We wish our esteemed friend the Christian World would edit its advertisements. We really can't be always doing it.
It is suggested that a fitting honour to be conferred on meritorious Physicians and Surgeons would be that of the Order of the Bath. Nothing could be more suitable; but should the Bath be the Hot-Bath or the Cold?
Noble Lord (whose Rifle has brought to a scarcely untimely end a very consumptive-looking Fallow Deer). "Tut—t, t, t, t, Tut! O, I say, Stubbs!—(to his Keeper)—you shouldn't have let me Kill such a poor, little, sickly, scraggy Thing as this, you know! It positively isn't fit for Human Food! Ah! look here, now! I'll Tell you what. You and McFarlin may have this Buck between you!!!"
An Income-tax partial see Thiers oppose,
O William the Earnest, O Robert the True!
A soul above fear of the Rabble he shows;
Is that to be said, British Statesmen, of you?
Or is it that you, whom mob-courtship doth move
With tribute from all due to load a part's purse.
Albeit your Honours both see and approve
The better arrangements, do follow the worse?
How bad are the worse, which poor fleeced Britons rue,
You have often confessed; but decline to advance
On that high path which upright financiers pursue;
They manage these matters much better in France.
For justice it is which disposes them there,
Political craft in this mighty free land,
Whose Rulers perpend not what impost were fair,
But what imposition tax-payers will stand.
It was not enough upon shoulders select
To pile your whole Budget; on folk thus oppressed
(As housebreakers use, the strong-box to detect)
The Screw has been put; they are over-assessed.
You fancy your Engine is working so well
By way of a Steam-Rack, 'twill yet more extort,
And bear any pressure your force can compel;
You sit on the safety-valve, therefore, in short.
O William the Daring! O Robert the Rash!
Though deaf to remonstrance, to caution give ear,
Ere high-pressure boiler burst up with a crash,
And blow aloft Stoker and hoist Engineer.
The Dramatist has led us to think that "Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast," but the "Heavenly Maid" is not so "young" as she was when Congreve wrote, and increasing years seem to have changed her mood and spoiled her temper. What other conclusion can we come to, when we find in an article on "Music" in one of the newspapers, in some comments on the performance of a young lady on the piano at a Monday Popular Concert, the disquieting statement that she "left her mark as usual on the audience, the music, and the piano"? It is some little relief to find the writer adding that "this last was more than once punished severely;" as it is a fair inference to draw, that whatever the sufferings of the piano may have been, the music, and, which is far more important, the audience, escaped with only one assault.
The Managers of the Monday Concerts should consider, before it is too late, whether they are not endangering the well-deserved popularity of their agreeable entertainments, by allowing performances which would seem to have rather too striking an effect upon the hearers.
The South London News makes rather an unkind suggestion. Thieves enter tradesmen's shops, under pretence of selling something. The News thinks that people who would be exempt from such visits should "keep watch, and, on opportunity, hand the victims over to the police." This may be fair in South London, wherever that is, but in Fleet Street we do not dispense that kind of justice.
The Real "Nine Hours' Movement"—to Brighton and back for Half-a-Crown.
Bob the Stoker. "LOR' BLESS YOU, M'NSEER! THAT'S THE WAY WE 'RAISE THE WIND;'—SIMPLEST THING IN THE WORLD!"
M. Thiers. "HE, MON AMI! PRENEZ GARDE! HE SHALL 'BLOW UP' ONE DAY!"
here is, or was, in this town a Public-house, wherein the administration of justice was, and may still be, wont to be nightly burlesqued by certain buffoons under the name of a Judge and Jury Club. Let us hope that this was the only Court of Law which could possibly have been in the eye of the Attorney-general when, in the course of his concise oration delivered on behalf of the Infant against the Claimant, he spoke, with reference to the latter, as follows:—
"Besides, such is the pleasantry—I would not say the profit—of our English law, that if he fails in this case he may go at it again with fresh witnesses, let us hope with fresh counsel—(laughter)—at least with a fresh jury—I say nothing of a fresh judge. (Continued laughter.)"
The members of the Temperance League, and the United Kingdom Alliance must surely have been shocked, as many as those who read and duly considered the foregoing words, by the idea which they suggest of a generally Fresh Court of Common Pleas. This horrid image was enough to have unfixed their hair and made their excited hearts knock at their ribs beyond the use of nature. Sobriety is so specially characteristic of the Ermine that "sober as a Judge" is an adage; not, indeed, because Judges are supposed not to drink, but to be able to drink any quantity. Irreproachable with laxity in the discharge of their high functions, British Judges are at all times incapable of getting tight.
Mr. Barlow, with Masters Sandford and Merton, at the Queen's Theatre, to see "The Last Days of Pompeii."
Tommy. Pray, Sir, what and where was Pompeii?
Mr. Barlow. It was, my dear Tommy, a Roman municipality, full of eligible villas, pleasantly situated in the immediate neighbourhood of Mount Vesuvius, and within easy reach of the sea. It was "a place to spend a happy day," and "there and back" from Naples formed one of the chief excursions, at a very moderate rate, for the middle classes of Neapolis.
They had just commenced this instructive and entertaining conversation, when the curtain rising discovered to their eager eyes as artistic and effective a scene (with the exception of stationary painted groups, whose fixed attitude strangely contrasted with the movement of the actors in front of them) as it had hitherto been their lot to behold.
As the play went on, Harry requested permission of Mr. Barlow to ask a question.
Harry. Did you not tell us, Sir, that the "e" in Pompeii was long?
Mr. Barlow. Indeed, Harry, I did.
Harry. And did you not also tell us that one of the purposes of a theatrical exhibition, such as this is, is the advancement of education among all sorts and conditions of people?
Mr. Barlow. You are again correct, and truly I begin to perceive the drift of your remark. Therefore let me tell you that had any Eton boy said Pompĕii, instead of Pompēii, he would speedily have been taught the force of an argumentum addressed, as was one of Horace's Odes, ad puerum.
Harry. Surely too, Sir, a diphthong is long; so that the name Apœcides should not be rendered Appy-cides, as if the name were an unaspirated pronunciation of Happy Cides.
To this Mr. Barlow replied that doubtless these honest folks had cogent reasons for their mode of pronunciation, with which he advised Harry to become acquainted, before taking upon himself to pronounce an unmitigated condemnation of them.
"You will now perceive, Tommy," said Mr. Barlow, during the performance of the Third Scene of the First Act, "that the crafty Arbaces is anxious to entice the sentimental young gentleman, Appy Cides, to partake of the repast with him."
Harry. But, Sir, surely the young man's objection to accept the invitation of the Egyptian, must arise from a sense of politeness on his part, which, as there is nothing edible on the table, I fancy, except one plate of fruit, will not permit him to deprive Arbaces of even a portion of a dessert that has, evidently, been only ordered for one.
Mr. Barlow. Indeed, Harry, I think you are right, and had Arbaces thought of it, I am certain he would willingly have extended his hospitality to a bag of nuts or some cakes of gingerbread. But you must remember that Appy Cides, or, as he seems to me, Un-'appy Cides, is only the pupil of Arbaces, and does not appear at his tutor's table until dessert-time.
Tommy. If I were there I would go and eat everything, and then I would dance with one of the young ladies.
Mr. Barlow. I am sorry, Tommy, that you are of that mind; and at another time—for I perceive that the good people in the pit, by their repeated cries of hush, and by the direction of their attention towards us, wish rather to hear the dialogue on the stage than my discourse, which is, after all, of a personal and private character—at another time, I was about to say, I will read to you an instructive story on greediness, entitled Chares and the Convulsive Tailor.
Tommy looked on at the piece very sulkily for some time, being, indeed, intent upon the antique cups and goblets and upon the plate of luscious fruit which he had already noticed. But on seeing that neither Arbaces nor the sentimental young gentleman partook of anything that was provided for them, he began to have high opinion of their breeding, and before the scene was finished was heartily sorry for his error, and applauded all he saw and heard with increasing rapture and delight.
Mr. Barlow. You may, indeed, evince your gratitude to these worthy people, since they have done all in their power to entertain and instruct us. And, indeed, where all is done so vastly well, I know not what to commend most, whether the sonorous voice and dignified scoundrelism of that twice-crushed Priest of Isis, the iniquitous and unprincipled Arbaces, played by the remarkably upright and conscientious actor, Mr. Ryder; or whether the gentle pleadings of the blind Nydia—Miss Hodson is the young lady's name, my dear Tommy, and I have no doubt she saw and appreciated your boyish enthusiasm—or the bearing of Mr. Rignold throughout a remarkably difficult and most trying part. But, Harry, what is your opinion?
Harry. Why, Sir, I am very little judge of these matters, but I protest that I feel mightily indebted to those clever gentlemen, Masters Gordon and Harford (I had well-nigh slipt into the error of saying Masters Merton and Sandford) for the scenery which has so admirably served to illustrate this play. I am sorry that Appy Cides was killed, as, having become a Christian, there would, I am sure, have been every opportunity open to him as an estimable young curate of evangelical proclivities.
Tommy (during the cleverly arranged Amphitheatre Scene, Act IV.) I am glad to see, Sir, that in this scene where we have so much to admire, the tumblers——
Mr. Barlow. These, my dear Tommy, represent the gladiators. And you must remember that on the stage, where every combat has to be carefully arranged both as to the number and fashion of the blows given and received, and as to who shall be, and who shall not be the conqueror, the contest of two determined champions, or rather of two champions whose course has been previously determined, cannot fail to be of a most thrilling and exciting character.
Tommy. O, Sir! they have given orders to let the Lion loose. O, Sir! the Lion is coming!
Harry. I do not believe that all these fine gentlemen and ladies would remain so still if there were, indeed, a Lion approaching.
Mr. Barlow. The Lion, my dear Tommy, is a native of both India and Africa. When they are hungry, they kill every animal they meet, and will even devour little boys——
Here poor Tommy's trepidation was increased to such an extent that he would have quitted his seat and the theatre, but for the sudden entry of the traitor Calenus, whose charge of murder brought against his master, the wily Arbaces, instantly distracted everyone's thoughts from the coming of the expected monster.
Both Mr. Barlow and Harry were loud in their praises of the dramatist who had contrived to arouse in the breasts of the spectators such emotions of fear, by the absence of the Lion, as could scarcely have been equalled by his formidable presence.
"Indeed," said Mr. Barlow, "on reflection, I am led to consider the chiefest part in this piece to be the Lion's share in it. He is spoken of at the commencement of the play, he is often alluded to throughout, and the bare mention of his name sensibly electrifies the spectators on and off the stage. From the very first we are incited to expect his appearance. He has not to roar to make himself dreaded. He has not even to be present, either on or off, the scene.
Harry. This device is, in my humble judgement, worthy of high commendation in the play-wright, who has thus evinced his reverence for the words of the immortal William, and whose plan is in cordial agreement with Bottom's opinion on this very matter, [pg 40] which, my dear Tommy, as you are as yet unacquainted with the works of Shakspeare, I will repeat to you. "Masters," says Bottom, "You ought to consider with yourselves, to bring in a lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing, for there is not a more fearful wild fowl than your lion, living."
Tommy was so forcibly struck by this adroit application of a famous passage from the plays of Shakspeare, that he determined, on the first opportunity to read all these dramas through from beginning to end. And having already set himself to the study of astronomy and mechanics, solely in order to make himself as proficient in the art of applicable illustrations as was his friend Harry Merton, Tommy now found that he had at least one hour of the day fully occupied.
On their return from the theatre Mr. Barlow, ever anxious for the improvement of both his young friends, commenced reading to them the story of The Magistrate and the Elephant; but, seeing that both his young friends were fast asleep in their chairs, he lit his chamber-candle and retired for the night.
On entering his room somewhat suddenly, a pair of boots, artfully placed so as to rest on the door, which had been standing ajar, descended on his head; and the next instant, on his taking one step forward, he came in contact with a stout string, so skilfully fastened, as not only to throw him sharply on the floor, but, being cunningly connected with the fire-irons and the washing-stand, it brought down these articles also with a great crash and much confusion. Before he could arise from his painful position, Tommy and Harry had rushed up-stairs to render to their revered preceptor what assistance was in their power. Being questioned as to the hand they had had in this strange affair, Master Tommy, with becoming modesty, acknowledged that it was he who had devised the scheme. "And," said he, "I protest I think it is no inadequate representation of what must have been the consequence in several houses during the Eruption of Mount Vesuvius in the Last Days of Pompeii."
So saying, both the boys withdrew themselves rapidly from their beloved tutor's apartment, and locked themselves into their own rooms. Soon after this, they were all in a sound slumber, which lasted until a late hour on the following morning.
"Now, Dear, which do you Prefer for the 'Tops'?—the Deeper Shade, or very Palest Pink?"
There is a good deal of talk in France about revenge to be taken one of these days upon the Germans for having repelled and beaten their invaders. In the meanwhile, according to the Post, those barbarous Germans are trying to revenge themselves, in their heavy way, on the enemies who have been twitting them with stealing clocks and watches, by an—
"Important Restoration of Specie.—The Courier de Meurthe et Moselle announces that the six millions of francs which had fallen into the hands of the German troops after the capitulation of Strasburg, and belonging to the Bank of France, are about to be restored to that establishment through its branch bank at Nancy."
This, of course, is a practical sarcasm at the expense of a nation represented by some of its orators and statesmen as having been aggrieved by being forced to restore pictures and works of Art which the First Napoleon and his gangs in uniform had pillaged from their neighbours. It is obviously meant to suggest an odious comparison between those who make restitution of even lawful plunder in hard cash, and those others who grumble because of having been compelled to replace Art-treasures actually stolen, and that in some cases from friends. This is clumsy German satire to be sure, but it tumbles down pretty heavily for all that on the heads of them that shouted "À Berlin!"
The lovers of manly British sports will be glad to know that there is a chance of seeing another good fight, or so, before the law is altered. A rattling mill is to come off in the north of the West Riding. Powell, the well-known Cambridge Slogger, is matched against Holden, of the above parts, who has not fought in public, but is known in the Chapel districts as a determined cove. As this will be nearly the last of the real old English fights, much interest is excited. The white chokers are with Powell, and Holden is backed by the humbler humboxes. Both men will do all they know, and a clinking good contest may be expected.
"CONSERVATION OF TISSUE."
Uncle. "Well, Tommy, you See I'm Back; are you Ready? What have I to Pay for, Miss?"
Miss. "Three Buns, Four Sponge Cakes, Two Sandwiches, One Jelly, Five Tarts, and—"
Uncle. "Good Gracious, Boy! Are you not Ill?"
Tommy. "No, Uncle; but I'm Thirsty."
We never knew a cabman with an eyeglass, or a chimneysweep with spectacles.
We never knew a lady buy a bargain at a shop sale, and not afterwards regret it.
We never knew a man propose the toast of the evening, without his wishing that it had not been placed in abler hands.
We never knew a waiter in a hurry, at a chop-house, who did not say that he was "Coming, Sir!" when really he was going.
We never lost a game to a professional at billiards, without hearing him assign his triumph chiefly to his flukes.
"Canning did not know that tadpoles
Turn to frogs." Each fool explodes:
But that Queller of the Yelpers
Knew that patriots turn to toads.
Gladstone goes in for omniscience;
Does the team obey the bit
As when Pam's whip stung with banter,
Or when Canning's cut with wit?
William! Punch, who likes you, counsels—
Mix some humour with your zeal,
Making humbugs think is hopeless:
Be content to make them feel.
A Correspondent of the Times, whose note is headed "Civil Service Grammar," writes a remonstrance because he has seen a Government Cart going about inscribed "Her Majesty's Stationary Office." He is evidently under a misconception as to what office is meant, for what man who reflects on the progress of the new Law Courts, the new National Gallery, the new Natural History Museum, the Wellington Monument, &c., can doubt for a moment that "Her Majesty's Stationary Office" is the Office of Works and Public buildings?
"A Meeting was held in the Hall of Columbia Market, on Monday evening, Sir Thomas Dakin in the Chair, to consider what testimonial of public respect and gratitude should be offered to Baroness Burdett Coutts."—Daily News.
Sweet names there are that carry sweet natures in their sound;
Whose ring, like hallowed bells of old, seems to shed blessing round:
Such a name of good omen, Florence Nightingale, is thine;
And hers, our Angela's, for all in want and woe that pine.
The Queen has made her noble; but ere that rank was given,
She had donned robe and coronet of the peerage made in Heaven:
Baptised in purer honour than from earthly fountain flows,
Raised to a prouder Upper House than our proud island knows.
The loftiest of that peerage are of lowliest mood and will;
And this their proudest lordship, Love's service to fulfil:
Chief Stewards and High Almoners of the goods Heaven bestows—
'Tis theirs to see that Charity in Wisdom's channels flows.
For e'en that stream, ill-guided, can poison goodly ground—
For health, sow fever broadcast, for blessing, blight, around:
'Tis not enough its waters to loose with lib'ral mind;
If Reason lends not eyes to Love, Love strays—for he is blind.
This she has known, our Angela, for whom men ask, e'en now,
"Fit tribute of our gratitude where shall we pay, and how?"
If blessings clothed in substance, prayers made palpable, could be,
When had Kaiser, King, or Conqueror, such monument as she?
But what can gold, or silver, or bronze, or marble, pay
Of the unsummed debt of gratitude owed her this many a day?
What record, parchment-blazoned, closed in golden casket rare,
Can with her love, in England's heart, for preciousness compare?
If we needs must find her symbol, then carve and set on high
A heavy-laden camel going through the needle's eye;
Gold-burdened, by a gentle yet firm hand wisely driven,—
Our Angela's, that on it rides, riches and all, to Heaven!
Or if a painted record be by the occasion claimed,
Paint up Bethesda's Pool, and round, the sick, the halt, and maimed,
Waiting until our Angela through Earth's afflicted go
To stir wealth's healing waters, that await her hand to flow.
The Eastern Morning News—what a pretty name—why not the Dawn?—hath a prosaic item: this:—
Wanted, a GROOM and Coachman, and to assist the Gardener. Wages, 18s. per week to commence with, to be advanced 1s. per year for every year he remains. Must understand horses and pigs, and be able to drive one, or a pair.
We do not think the wages too high. A celebrated Oxford Don, who could make Greek verses as fast as mill-wheels strike, yet who was not so ready with ordinary English, beheld, from the top of a coach, a drover striving to guide some pigs along the road. Wishing to be conversational, the Don observed to his neighbour, "A difficult Animal to drive is a Pig—one man—a good many—very." Here, observe, were the materials for a pleasing remark, but they needed arrangement. He was right, however. Pigs are difficult to drive, and the Yorkshire advertiser who wants a man able to drive one pig, or a pair, is right in offering him the above noble rise in wage. Correspondents will abstain from vulgar suggestions about a pig and a "hog"—we don't understand them.
Mistress. "Bring some more Bread, Martha?"
Maid. "There's nane, Mem!"
Mistress. "O, Nonsense! I saw a Loaf in the Pantry."
Maid. "Did ye, Mem? I'm thinking it's Time ye were getting Specs, then, for it's a Cheese!"
"Let me use my biretta,"
Says Cardinal Cullen
"To fan Ireland's school-lamp
That burns smoky and sullen."
"No," says England, "your motive
'Twere cruel to doubt,—
But what if your rev'renc
Should put the lamp out?"
Dear Old England! well may one exclaim, on reading in the Daily News a statement such as this:—
"Value of Land in Lombard Street.—A piece of land adjoining the Lombard Exchange, in Lombard Street, has been sold for £9000, or about £19 4s. 6d. per foot super."
It used to be affirmed that London streets were paved with gold, and, by the side of the above, the story hardly seems beyond one's power of credulity. Land worth nineteen pounds per foot must be wellnigh as good as gold to its fortunate possessor, and the man who owned an acre of it would hardly need to emigrate to any other diggings. Assuredly, to any Fortunatus who owns much land in Lombard Street, London may be looked on as the true Tom Tiddler's Ground.
Mr. Punch hears that Lord Chief Justice Cockburn (one of our most accomplished Latin writers) intimated to the Chancellor that the appointment of the new Judge for the Queen's Bench was a Sine Quainon.
Mr. Punch
Is the English language a thing to be ashamed of? I put the question, because in a weekly literary journal, printed and published in London in the mother tongue, I have just read, not without some rubbing of eyes and much mental bewilderment, the following singular announcement:—
"Institution of Civil Engineers.—The Emperor of Brésil was elected an Honorary Member."
I have never heard that Brazil has become a French possession, and I am positive that the Institution of Civil Engineers is not in Paris, but in Great George Street, Westminster. Why, then, Brésil? Crack this Brazil-nut for
P.S.—Can fish talk? I ask this second question, after seeing that another periodical publication contains an article with the heading, "Perch Prattle."
Of all the odd kinds of consolation under affliction, the last suggestion seems to Mr. Punch the oddest. We are mourning the demise of the no-horned Infant Hippopotamus in the Regent's Park, and we are told to be cheerful, for a two-horned Infant Rhinoceros has gone to Madrid. The doctrine of compensations was never pushed much further, even in a Scotch sermon.
Plato gives the best reason why Woman's Rights should be conceded, and Women be admitted to power. Listen, Dears, "Rulers should have Personal Beauty." Kiss ums own old Punch.
Printed by Joseph Smith, of No. 24, Holford square, in the Parish of St. James, Clerkenwell, in the County of Middlesex, at the Printing Offices of Messrs. Bradbury, Evans, & Co., Lombard Street, in the Precinct of Whitefriars, in the City of London, and Published by him at No. 65, Fleet Street, in the Parish of St. Bride, City of London.—Saturday, January 27, 1872.
Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of the speakers. Those words were retained as-is.
The illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up paragraphs and so that they are next the text they illustrate.
Errors in punctuations and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected.
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol.
62, Jan 27, 1872, by Various
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