Punch 1891-09-19: Vol 101 Iss 2619

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DU MAURIER. ‘The beau ideal of a drawing-room book.”—pariy cHRONICLE. ‘Charming volume full of quaint conceits."-parLy TELEGRAPH. P| CT U ~ E C “THE ARTIST OF | pleasanter or wittier companion it would be hard indeed to find.” | MODERN MANNERS.” p DAILY NEWS. From “PUNCH.” | Daily Telegraph. + ‘ - oe af { ay ¢ av estas 2SSx ad, wes @ « i; A/t $m Beirtite . Z e GIDQY aaa ‘ ‘\e Lae p adi a ¢ ; Ne ~~ Aa j- "Ly \) ~—— ra SATURDAY EVERY HED VOLUME PUBLIS SEPTEMBER 19, r>) ROS ae 85, FLEET STREET, ‘) LONDON. CHOCOLAT MENIER Nos, 1 to 11, ' is to look into a social kalei , To turn over the pages is to look into a , .—- . SOCI ETY BY GEORGE Non Bente iF ca. ‘Refined humour never had a more sumptuous setting.” —GLAseow an Parts I, &11., 5/6 each, cloth, Volume I., 12/- half-bound. ea, Se FY ~% BONAZd SZSYHL BOI for Breakfast Meg-tered at the General Post Vttice as a Newspaper.,

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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. What boots it thus to question ? for thou Arr, And still shalt be ; but never canst be still, Destined at midnight thus to play thy part, And when all else is silent to be shrill. Yea, as | lie all sleepless in the dark, I love not those who housed thee in the Ark. “AS GOOD AS A BETTER.” | Dr. ANDREW WI1son (in “ Science Jottings,” in the J//ustrated London News dares disparage Golf ‘‘ as an ideal game for young men,”’ venturing to advocate | the preferential claims of fogeyish Cricket, and even of futile Lawn Tennis “© Scots, wha hae wi’ Batrour teed.” What wull ye say to this disloyal, slanderous, sacrilegious Anny? He hints |that Golf is a mere modish fashion—even a fin de siecle fad!!! How many | perfervid and patriotic Scots will “ Condemn his soul to eternal perdition | wt VNTR afl For his theory of the—National Game?” Mi I I AV He says ‘‘ you hit a ball and walk after it, and maneeuvre it intoahole.” Eugh ! Mh Hi \ MAT Such icy analysis would make Billiards a bore, and resolve ‘* Knuckle-down ” ANY ih, HHH Ni |into nonsense! “It is not (olf is not!) a poceeerang (proceeding, quotha !) of a epumaniii which youths and young men should grow enamoured.” As though, forsooth, = . | Golf were a sort of elderly Siren luring limp and languorous youths into ille- . gitimate courses; a passée Delilah, whose enervating fascinations sapped the virile vigour that might be dedicated to ‘that noblest of sports,” Cricket, or even that ‘‘ much better game,” Lawn Tennis! ! ! Surely the devotees of the Golf-cultus, the lovers of the Links, will be down like a ‘‘ driver” upon Dr. Wirsow. Oh, Anny, Anpy, between you and your “ brither Scots” there is henceforth ‘‘a great Golf fixed’! A Cricket Paradox. Troven true without questioning, yet all the same, It’s a trifle perplexing to know what it means— Daily Graphic" Weather-Young- Woman gets That the counties that hate most to lose in a game her *‘ Sundays out.” Would be pleased very much at your giving them Beans ; NCE J my Wies on tHe (Sra) Green !—Some Frenchman (we are told by The Gentle- SILENCE AND SLEEP. woman) has done Ladies a good turn by inventing a Bathing Wig, which (Lines written at Cock-crow. ) keeps the hair dry without making the fair bather look ** a fright.” Hooray ! Nicut-Time and silence! O’er the brooding hill Saprina herself might shout for such an invention, which even the Nereids need The last faint whisper of the my ol dies ; |not despise. Dizzy once sarcastically referred to certain “‘ Bathing W(h)igs Meadows and trees and lanes are hushed and still, but they were of another sort. Not even the most adventurous Tory could A shroud of mist on the slow river lies ; | ‘* steal the clothes” of our latter day ‘‘ Bathing Wies.’ And the tall sentry poplars silent keep Their lonely vigil in a world of sleep. Yea, all men sleep who toiled throughout the day At sport or —~ 4 and had their fill of sound, The jest and laughter that we mate with play, _ The beat of hoofs, the mill-wheel grinding round, The anvil’s note on summer breezes borne, The sickle’s sweep in fields of yellow corn. And I too, as the hours go softly by, Lie and forget, and yield to sleep’s behest, Leave for a space the world without a sigh, And pass ram silence into dreamless rest ; ike a tired swimmer floating tranquilly Full in the tide upon a peaceful sea. But hark, that sound! Again and yet again! Darkness is cleft, the stricken silence breaks, And sleep’s soft veil is rudely rent in twain, = ww Aud weary nature all too soon awakes ; Af vi Though through the gloom has pierced no ray of light, y To hail the dawn and bid farewell to night. | =_ Se Still is it night, the world should yet sleep on, And gather strength to meet the distant morn. But one there is who, though no ray has shone, _Waits not, nor sleeps, but laughs all rest to scorn, The demon-bird that crows his hideous jeer, Restless, remorseless, hateful Chanticleer. One did I say? Nay, hear them as they cry ; ‘ix more accept the challenge of the foe : From six stretched necks six more must make reply, Echo, re-echo and prolong the crow. First shrieking singly, then their notes they mix In one combined cacophony of six. Miscalled of poets ‘* herald of the day,” Spirit of evil, vain and wanton bird, 1 ee — Was there then none to beg a moment’s stay ‘Fixe SALMON You 'vE GoT THERE, PouLTER! © * Sixty vive Pounps, uv Ere for thy being Fate decreed the word ? Lorp! SHALL I senp it Home To your Lorpsnir! WELL—ER—LOOK HERE Could not Asceptas, when he ceased to be, Just cur ME Har A Pounp out oF THE MIDDLE THERE, AND GIVE IT ME IN Take to the realms of death thy tribe and thee ? A Piece or Paren! VOL, OL, N

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| starts Pretty bit o’ country along ‘ere !— uuits me in mind o’ the 134 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARL A [Seprsmper 19, 189], | THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS. No. VIL. A Second-Class Compartment on the line between Wurzburg nd Nuremberg. Poorcny has been dull and depressed all day, not having recorered from the parting with Miss Trotrer. CULCHARD, on the contrary, is almost ostentatiously cheerful. Poppury ts intensely anrious to find out how far his spirits are genuine, but—partly from shyness, and partly because some of thew fe low trarellers hare heen English he has hesitated to introduce the subject. At last, howerer, they are alone, and he is determined to hare it out on the very first opportunity. Culchard shall vet te Podbury “ENE Abominably slow train, this Schnell-zug. I hope we Nuremberg before it’s too dark to see the general effect. We're not likely to be in time for table d' héte— not that T’'m peckish He sighs Wonder whereabouts the—the TroTrEers I got to by now. eh * le feela he is getting red, and hums the Garden Scene from . Faust. 4 . : ] Culch. (indifferently). Oh, let me see—just arriving at St. Moritz, I expect. Wonderful fect ot colour, that is Tle indwates the West, ” here a har of crimson 18 flaming hetween a belt of firs. Podb absently). Oh, wonderful ! where ” Hlums a snatch of a Dum-dum-did- dle-um-tum-dum-dum- dum -ty-doodle; dum- dum—TI say, you don’t seem particularly cut up ? Culch. Cut up ? Why should I be cut up, my waltz. dear fellow? about what ° Before Poorery can erpla n, tu Talka- tive British Tourist tumble up into the compartment, and he h curweiy once more. First 7. T. Well, 1 ‘ope we're all right now, PAM, I’m sure German jokers have chivied us about enough for one journey ! To CULCHARD. Not n your way, this ‘at- box, Sir’ Don’t give yer much space in there foreign trains. They settle down and the train } nas to control his thene best part o Box ind I can’t say more for it than that / Second T. T. (a little man with a sandy Sringe and boiled-looking eyes). What I notice about the country abroad is they don’t seem to ave no landmarks. First T. 7. (with a dash of friendly contempt). What d’yer mean no landmarks Second T. 7. (with dignity). I mean to say, they don’t ave nothing to indicate which is Jack’s property, and which 1s Jor’s. First T. 7. Go on—they ’ve as much as what we ‘ave. Second T. T. ’Avethey? We ’ave fences and 'edges. P’raps you'll point me out one ? First T. 7. There’s precious few ’edges or fences in the Isle o’ Thanet, as you 'd know if you've ever been to Margit. Second T. 7. (loftily). I'm not talkin’ about Margit now, I’m talkin’ of ‘ere, and I'll trouble you to show me a landmark. First T. 7. which is ’oo's Second T. T. That’s not what I’m sayin’. nothing to indicate it Podb. (to CULCHARD). Miss T. you know ? Culch. (with the reserve of a man who only wants to be pressed). signposts I don’t see one ere I’m sayin’ there ain’t Then you really aren’t cut up—about “ Puts me in mind o’ the best part o’ Box ’IIL.” part, I assure you, my « u : appreciate you—er—fully when you meet again, which, I may tel! Depend on it they’ve their own ways of knowing | lof it. They argue the point at length. | } tell you another time. ———_ There is no reason that I am aware of, why I should be—but (lower. ing his roice) don’t you think we had better wait till we are alone , diseuss that subject ? Podb, Oh, all right. I’m not partic—at least. Well, I'm gla you aren't, you know, that’s all. [ He becomes silent again—but his face brightens visibly, First T. T. (to Second Do.). See that field there ? at’s tobacco, that is. Second T. T. What they make their penny smokesof. (The tram enters a station.) What funny engines they do ’ave ’ere! I expect the guard ’ll be wanting to see our bilyetts again next. It’s as bad as it used to be with the passports. I’ve ’eard—mind yer, I don't know ‘ow much likeli’ood there is in the assertion—that they 'r going to bring ’em in again. Most intricate they were about them. To CutcuarnD.) Why, if you'll believe me, a friend o’ mine as ‘ad one—well, they got ’is description down toa ioter! He’d a cast ip ‘is eye,—they put it down, and a pimple you'd ’ardly notice—buy down that went! First T. T. It’s no use ’aving such things if they don’t do it thoroughly. Second T. T. (irrelevantly). I wish I ‘adn’t ’ad that glass o’ peach wine where we changed last. (4 Guard appears at the window, and makes some guttura comments on the couple's tickets.) Wechseln? Why, that means wash, don’t it? I’m as clean as him, anyway. “ An- shteigen,’’—ah, I ought to know what that means by this time! Sam, my boy, we’re bundled out again. | told yer ’ow it would ’ Ls he | [They tumble out, and the carriage is pre- sently filled by an assortment of Ger- mans, including a lively and sociable little Cripple with a new drinking - mug which he has just had filled with lager, and a Lady with pale hair and senti- mental blue eyes. Podb. We can talk all right now, eh? They won’t understand. Look here, old fellow, I don’t mind owning I’m rather down in th mouth about——you know what. I shouldn't care so much if ther was any chance of our coming across them again. Culch. (cordially). | am very glad to hear you say so. I was rather afraid you had taken a dislike—er —in that quarter. Podb, 1?—1is it likely! I—I admire her awfully, you know, only she rather seemed to snub me lately. Culch. (with gy | reassurance), Quite a mistake on your ear fellow. am sure she will learn to you, will be at no very distant date. I happen to know that she wil! be at the Italian Lakes early next month, and so shall we, if you let me manage this tour my own way. ; Podb. (with surprise and gratitude). I say, old boy, I’d no notion you were such a nailing good chap! Nein, danky. (70 the littl Cripple, who is cheerily inviting him, in pantomime, to drink from his mug.) Cheeky little beggar. But do you really think anything will—er—come of it, if we do meet her again—do you now ’ Culch. I—ah—have the best reasons for feeling tolerably certai [ He looks out of window and smiles. Podb. But that cousin of hers—C Ha RLEY, you know—how about him’ | Culch. I put that to her, and there is nothing in it. In fact, she practically admitted—( He glances round and lowers his voice.) I will That lady over there is looking at us, and I’m almost certain-—— ae me ¥ me, ¢ call i Ct smil Pr train get 0

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—— Serrempern 19, 1891.) PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARL | Podb. What if she is, she don’t understand a word we're saying. want to hear all about Her, you know. Culch. My dear Popsury, we shall have ample time to talk about her while we are at Nuremberg together —it will be the greatest pleasure to me to do so as long as ever you please. Podb. Thanks, old chap! I’d no idea you were doing ll this, you know. But just tell me this, what did she say about me fr | Culch. (mystified). About you? I really don’t recol- lect that she mentioned you particularly. Podb. (puzzled). But I thought you said you’d been seaking up forme! What did you talk about then ? Culch. Well, about myself—naturally. [ He settles his collar with a vague satisfaction. Podb. (blankly). Oh! Then you haven’t been arrang- ing to meet her again on my account ? Culch. Good Heavens, no— what a very grotesque idea of yours, my dear fellow! [He pM gently. Podb. Is it? You always gave out that she wasn’t your style at all, and you only regarded her as a| “study,” and rot like that. How could I tell you would go and cut me out ? Culch. I don’t deny that she occasionally—er—jarred. She is a little deficient in surface refinement—but that | will come, that will come. And as to “* cutting you out,”’ | why, you must allow you never had the remotest Podb. 1 don’t allow anything of the sort. She liked | me well enough till—till you came in and set her against me, and you may think it friendly if you like, but I} call it shabby—confoundedly shabby. a Don’t talk so loud, I’msure I saw that woman smilie . Podb. She may smile her head off for all Icare. (The train stops; the Cripple and all but the Pale-haired Lady get out.) Here we are at Nuremberg. What hotel did you say you are going to? ( Wel Tee Bayrischer-Hof. Why ? e gets his coat and sticks, &c., out of the rack. “ Pods, Botenae I deall go to some otter, that's all NOS ET MUTAMUR IN ILLIS!” Culch, (in dismay). My dear Popsury, this is really too childish! There’s no sense in travelling together, if we're going to stay at different hotels ! Fair French Republican, ‘‘So you 'AVE keTURN FROM Panis? How pip yor Podb. I’m not sure I shall go any further. Anyway, | tixe iT?” while I am here, I prefer to keep to myself. | Lady Godiva, ‘On, PAS DE TOUT—IT 18 80 ALTERED FoR THE Worse! Fon Culch. (with a displeased laugh). Just as you please.| 1 caAN REMEMBER WHAT IT WAS IN THE DEAR OLD DAYS OF THE Emrtne |” It’s a matter of perfect indifference to me. I’m afraid| Fair French Republican. ‘‘ An, MILADI, 18 IT NOT POSSIBLE ZAT PARIS MAY you 'll be terribly bored by yourself, though. | FIND YOU A LITTLE BIT ALTERED TOO!” Podb. That’s my look out. It can’t be worse than | going about with you and listening while you crow and drivel about her, that’s one comfort! [Zhe Pale-haired STORICULES. Lady coughs in a suspicious manner. , tof Culch. You don’t even know if there is another hotel. IV.—A Revrewer’s Conression. Podb. I don’t care. I can find a pot-house somewhere, I am extremely fond of sitting and looking on; but I do not care about taking I daresay. part in anything. There are some people who cannot even witness a cab accident The Pale-haired Lady (in excellent English, to Pop- | without wanting to be the horse or the man who is sitting on the horse’s head. BURY as he passes out). Pardon me, you will find close | They walk round the prostrate animal and give advice ; and if they are allowed to the Bahnhof a very goot hotel—the Wurtemburger. | to help in any way, they are quite happy. If such po watch a game of any (Poppury thanks her and alights in some confusion ; | sort, they always wish they were taking part in it. I once went to a cricket- the Lady sinks back, smiling. ground to eat luncheon, and I went with an enthusiast of this kind. We noticed Cuich. (annoyed). She must have understood every | that his attention seemed distracted, that he only replied in monosyllables when word we said! Are you in earnest over this? (Pop-| we spoke to him, and that there was something on his mind. ‘I would give,” BURY nods grimly.) Well, you’ll soon get tired of your he exclaimed, at last—and it was the only remark that he had volunteered for own society, I warn you. | half-an-hour—‘‘I would give a year of my life for twenty minutes with that Podb. Thanks, we shall see. | bowling.” He was evidently deeply affected. ‘* Why don’t they take him He saunters off with his bag; Cvicnarn shrugs his| off?” he moaned. There were tears in his eyes. I do not quite unde rstand shoulders, and goes in search of the Bayrischer-Hof | that feeling. I can watch absolutely anything, but I never want to do more. I Porter, to whom he entrusts his luggage tickets, and| was not made to undertake principal parts i can witness amateur theatricals takes his seat in the omnibus alone. | without wishing to be the prompter. I review novels, but I do not write them. The other day I wheel a game of tennis. I had placed the lounge-chair in |a safe and shady i. I had got 2 a = the third volume eer “ANGREITS ‘ TISTEPRS OF pr |me. The cat had followed me out of the library, and sat down in a convenien ANGELS AND MINISTERS OF GRACE!” | position so that I could scratch it gently behind the ear if 1 wanted to. I was (“The London Correspondent of the Manchester Guardian | smoking a pipe that had just reached the right stage of maturity, and, in some hears that certain ungallant Members of Parliament are threaten- | indefinable way, made life seem richer and better. Everything was well ing at the beginning of next Session to make a formal protest | arranged for the watching of tennis. ene, the wholesale admission of ladies to the precincts of the| There were two players—BiLt, a young son of the house, whom I knew yuse (International Feline Amenities. , |intimately, and Tommy, a boy of the same age, who had ee come up from the Uxoattant! Vastly fine! But when they"crowd | Rectory. I had not seen Tommy before. He was a nice-looking little’ boy, and The terrace seats, elbow us in the lobbies, wore a black necktie in the collar of his silk tennis-shirt. Bit is not good- Chatter and laugh, and care no more about’ looking; he is red and freckled, and grins vastly. He was wearing rather (Elderly) senators than boys or bobbies ; unclean flannels, and did not look quite so refined and delicate as Tommy y then, Sir, all M.P.’s of nerve and nous compared the two boys, and thought that I prefs rred Biii. In the first game of Will say that, though we love the babbling beauties, | the set, Brit, who plays wonderfully well, won easily ; after that, my attention ve swarming of these ‘‘ Angels in the House,” got fixed on that third volume. I turned down a corner of the page whenever | Will simply play the devil with its duties! | came across anything that was at all conventional. | was_ reading the book for

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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARL i review, and my notice of it was to appear in The Scalpel on the | following Saturday. It was, on the whole, a capital novel, but it was by an author who had been, I thought, more successful than | was good for him. He had been elected freely to the best Clubs. During the season he had gone everywhere. > editions of his hook had been sold. He had acquired a little cult who said extrava- gant things about him in the literary papers. It is sickening to se« aman reverenced during his lifetime. I could i ine him posing before his cult and being pleased; even before I had read a page of his novel, I had made up my mind to administer to him a wholesome corrective in the pages of The Scalpel. 1 was rather sorry to find that t was really a capital novel; but it had enough faults for my purpose. I had read for some time before I turned my attention to the game gain. When I did so, I was startled, for it was perfectly obvious that Brut was giving the game away. His usual service is a little like invisible lightning with a bend in it; he was now serving in a modified manner, which he generally uses only when he is playing with girls who are not his sisters. It was also obvious that Tommy, ] that he was winning on who looked very elated, fully believed oe . T . a Pip agin 9 his own merits, and had no idea that Bix. was merely allowing him to win. “My game—and set!” cried Tommy, joyously. * You've improved awfully,” said Bri. I could not imagine why Brit had intentionally lost that set, for I knew that he hated losing. When Tommy had gone home again to the Rectory, Bri came up to me to ask how old I thought a man ought to be before he began smoking. I said that I thought thirty- six was about the right age, and asked Brut why he had let Tommy win. ‘Oh, nothing particular,” said Brx1, in his matter-of-fact way ; ‘only 1’d never seen him wear that kind of tie before, and I asked him what he was doing it for, and he said it was for his aunt; she died a few weeks back ; so I thought 1 might as weil give him the set to make up for it.” I was rather amused. self,”’ I said. ** Yes, he "Il brag about that game all over the place,” replied Brit, rather despondently. For a moment or two he was silent, imagining the triumph and pride of Tommy. ‘1’d punch his head as soon as look at him,”’ he added. ** What on earth for’ He thought he’d won by play.” “He can’t play any more than a cow, but that’s not it. I hate to see anyone get so glorious about anything. Well, I don’t know—it’s kind of natural. He’d have had a right to brag, if he had really won, and he thought he did.” ’ **Tommy looked very pleased with him- ‘* Anyhow,” I said, severely, ‘‘ it’s a mean trick to want to damage | away, some malicious spirit prompted me, in spite of woe to ny : Vere they, | anyone, just because he’s pleased with himself when he’s got a right to be.” - Well, yes—I 'll give you thirty.” a Can't play. I’m going to finish this novel, Brut.” ‘ft . that one of the books you write about in the papers ?” cs. . Are you going to praise it, or cut it up?” ‘I'm going to give it such a well, no, on second thoughts, I | believe I’m going to praise it.”” And I did. ! | worm as he imagined me to be? } [Serremper 19, 189), LETTERS TO ABSTRACTIONS. | No, IIL—TO POMPOSITY. My pear Pompostry, Ir was only yesterday that I dined with Butwerr, th) wealthy brewer, in his magnificent mansion in the neighbourhood (| dare not be more precise) of Belgrave Square. You know as well as I do that Butmer’s origin, though it may not have been humble, was certainly obscure. Nobody quite knows how he first managed tp become a partner in the great concern which he now entirely controls, Fifteen years ago few people ever heard of or drank the “ Pellucid Ale” without which no tap-room and few middle-class luncheon tables can now be considered complete. Suddenly, however, column upon column of the daily ress overflowed, as it were, with thos two magic words ; en A chemists investigated the properties of the beverage, and one and all pronounced it in highly technical language to contain more bone-forming and sinew-developing elements than any other known beer. The poetry-and-beer-loving public was fascinated by a series of memorable stanzas :— “ The hardy Briton loves good cheer, His mighty sinews never fail : ‘Pour me,’ he cries ‘a draught of Beer, And let it be Pellucid Ale.’ ” So the verse began, and it was illustrated by a flaring symbolical picture in two compartments. In the first a throng of gaunt and miserable creatures was repre- sented crawling with difficulty towards an immense barrel, astride which sat a lusty, hop - crowned deity. In the second, every member of the same throng had become stout and hearty. The hollow cheeks were round and shining with health, the bent backs were straight, the dreary faces were wreathed in smiles, and every hand held a foam- topped glass of ‘‘ Pellucid Ale.” Underneath were painted the | words, ‘‘ After one glass.” Even without the title, the inference was obvious; the confiding public drew it, and immense quantities of Butmer’s ale, almost simulta- neously, and the result was that, in a very short time, ButmMeR might have rolled in money if he had felt disposed — as, to do him justice, he never did—to render himself ridiculous. Now what is there in the fact that Butmer has made a J¥, fortune in beer that should inflate him to so insufferable an extent? | Can it be that there is some mysterious property in the liquid itself, some property which, having esca even the careful investigation of the analytical chemists, has pervaded the being of Butmenr, and has induced him to patronise the inhabited world? I thought so once. Indeed I have lost myself in conjectures on this point. now know that Buimer has fallen under your sway, and that you, my dear Pomposrry, direct his every movement, and inspire his every thought. Now, the other night, when, as I say, 1 was dining at | his table, ButmeRr was in one of his most glorious and vain-glorious |moods. Patronage radiated from him upon my humble self and the | rest of the tribe of undoubted inferiors whom he permitted to bask | in his shining presence. , : ; | “My dear boy,” said Butaer to me, while he inserted his thumbs | in the arm-openings of his waistcoats, and drummed an approving |tattoo upon his shining shirt-front, ‘‘my dear boy, I have always been your friend, and nobody knows it better than you. Many 4 time have I proved it to you, and I can honestly assure you that nothing gives me greater pleasure than to welcome you in person to my humble home.” ; ' | I thanked the great man deferentially, and assured him I was | deeply sensible of his many kindnesses. But after he had turned SULMER has conferred upon me. reat? Was I, on the whole, so poor ® Had he in fact made me what | jam? These ungrateful thoughts chased one another through my perplexed brain, and I was forced to acknowledge to myself that at | the various crises of my career the fairy form of ButwER had been absent. upon the favours that | after all, so numerous and so success I may have attained and all my annual income to his | And the worst of it is, that he has | beneficent efforts on my behalf. Rut I | | } | | Yet Buiter 1s firmly convinced that I owe any modest SerT

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SepremBer 19, 1891.] — PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. ° e ' f top-heavy and overwhelming good-nature about him. He} when they were beaten,” and soldiers with iron-like t nacity. means to be kind and genial where he only succeeds in | JoserHINE subsequently died of visions at Malmaison to the soothing perverse acquaintances. Was Buiwen always thus? | sound of soft music kindly supplied by a semi-concealed orchestra, ha began on his small salary, did he patronise the office-boy ? had learnt to spell, did he devote his first epistolary efforts pompous patronage of his parents?’ I fancy I can hear him t well console himself for many a grievous disappointment, and | man lam sure meekly accepted his son’s assurance, th his wife in thanking providence for granting them so ppiness. But Butwer } rity. I will do him the credit of saying that I do not him to be a Snob. He does not prostrate himself before the nce he believes himself to be greater than they can ever be. t he knows that ordinary human nature is apt to be impressed by the appearance of intimate familiarity with persons of title. And Beimer therefore uses the Peers of his circle as instruments where- t may belabour the minds of his humbler friends. ‘The Marquis of Carppak,” he will say, in a tone of grandeur, lid me the honour to consult me about his furniture to-day, and | i him what I thought. The fact is her Ladyship has no taste, and Marquis has less, but I arranged it all for them.” And I am certain that BuLMeER spoke the truth, but I am equally rtain that it was unnecessary for him to mention the subject at all. t little Kiykes, I know, went away persuaded that the aristo- eracy trembled at Butmer’s nod, and_ that to know him was a privi- ge. Unfortunately Butmen, with all his good-nature, wearies me, [ know I am not worthy to tie his shoe-string, but I am disposed to mitate MontronD, who, when he was told that he cheated at cards, replied, ** C’est possible, Monsieur, mais je n’aime pas qu’on me le lise,” and fang his wine-glass in his accuser’s face. Cease, my dear ‘omposiTy, to torment me by means of Butmer. I may address you again, but, in the meantime, I remain, your humble Servant, DiocenEes Roprnsoy. A ROYAL (OLYMPIC) DIVORCE. { Page from French History by Mrs. Markham, after W. G. Wills. ) | Anp so, when Napotgon had won Austerlitz, he thought he would marry Marre Lovurse, Archduchess of Austria, although, as you know, he was already wedded to Josrrurys, his first wife. To effect this purpose, he sent his Minister of State, TALLEYRAND, and two comic Marshals, called Murat and Ney, to see ' the Empress and explain to her his wishes; and | this they did with so! much effect that Her Majesty consented, and fainted on the spot. | Whether the swoon was real, or in another sense Sa feint, is not known, | because she was a mis- | tress of deception. For | instance, although she was nearly a negress in complexion, she man- aged, at the Palace of | Fontainebleau, to appear in a flaxen wig, and with all the appearance of a_ blonde ROR’S marriage with his new wife, that lady} called upon her prede- | cessor, and behaved in such a fashion that} JOSEPHINE was justified : . ad ’ ” Wills and Ways; or, a Hand at Nap. rr calling ber = “the issistance of a British Dramatist, called W. G. Writs (who had already made some alterations in the History of England for the benefit of CHARLES THE Frest and Mr. Henny Irvine), she managed to protect the baby King of Rome from a ballet mob in the Gardens of the Tuileries, and also to afford considerable assistance to her Austrian successor while that ‘* vulgar”’ person was crawling up some stone steps. Later still, she contrived to have an affecting interview on the eve of the Battle of Waterloo with Napoteon himself, although it has been reported in some quarters that she had become defunct a year before the occurrence of that important victory. It was on this occasion | that the Hero of Austerlitz gave a most valuable testimonial to the 1as different fashions of showing | think you are quite right. because, out of the couple of dozen or so of French soldiers who took | that you have paid so much attention to historical accuracy. |you, Mary, what do you know about the Ladies-in-waiting upon the joking. beauty. | Shortly after the Empr- | CONVERSATION ON A Roya. (OLymprn Mrs. Markham. And now, dear littk Divorce, FRANK, can you tell mé g to his tottering father that a man so blessed in his son | Why the Battle of Waterloo was lost ? rank. Because, dear Mamma, it was removed from its resting- and | place in the Panorama close to Victoria Street. Mrs. Markham. That is a most intelligent reply, but I do not I fancy the Battle must have been lost { Waterloo in Play ; or, the Charge of a Charger. rt in the Victory in Wych Street, a considerable number had to »¢ told off to see that Naroeon’s charger behaved himself. George. And yet, dear mother, after the performances, I myselt saw the noble steed trotting most good-naturedly in rear of a hansom cab. Mrs. Markham. When you are all older, I will take you myself to examine the Model of the celebrated Battle in the Royal United Service Institution ; in the meanwhile, you may rest satistied with the explanation I have afforded you. Mary. But mother, dear, do you not think that Naponron and his Army may possibly have trembled at the red fire and the picture of carnage on the painted canvas, that, on the occasion under discussion, confronté j them ? Mrs. Markham. It is notimprobable ; and now, Caries, can you tell me anything about Napo.ron ? Charles. Yes, dearest Mamma. He was strikingly like Mr. Bowron | the excellent Member of Parliament, who represents so ably a portion of St. Pancras, and had a curious and clever way of hugging his elbows when his arms were crossed behind his back. Mrs. Markham. That was indeed the case, and I am glad to « : An Empress JosePHine ? Mary. That even in the direst straits they were fond of practical One of them, for instance, on the eve of the Battle of Waterloo, finding a general's uniform, that for some unaccountable reason was hanging up in an inn at Jenappes, assumed the costume, and, thus disguised, had a great deal of fun with her husband, the Marshal AUGEREAU, who was then on his way to the front, with the avowed purpose of engaging the allied armies of England and Prussia in mortal combat. Mrs. Markham. And TALLEYRAND ? Frank. That there seemed to be some doubt about his prop. r title. Some called him ‘* Monseigneur,” some ‘* Monsieur,’’ and some even “My shoe" and ** My sheer.” Mrs. Markham. Well, my dear children, you all seem to have been very observant, and let me hope that if A Royal Dirorce does not exactly add to the reputation of Narotnon, Joserurtne, Mr Wits, or Marre Louise, it may yet fill the coffers of Miss Grace HAWTHORNE. you, Franx—what do you know of Navat Nore.—The Shibboleth of international courtesy in these days of big Iron-clad Fleets should surely be, ‘* May it please your Warships!” Sone or THE SnHampoorp Ove (arrex Tennysox),—*' Sweet after British Army, to whom he referred as “ bull-dogs who never knew | showers ambrosial (h)air!

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i. Ly have made the | | |__ Sate | 13 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARLI. ———— [SzrpremBer 19, 189], > - ,. > ie g | ee eee CAUSE AND EFFECT. The plan of Procrustes has obvious charms ‘Cut ’em down to owr standard, chop legs, shorten arms! hie if, Bring us all to one level in power and pay, By the rule of a legalised Eight Hours bay ad) ty its Le knee Zhi yee: A | So shoats Labour’s Lilliput—that is its vo BL B pins Ge And the modern Procrustes thereat must rejoice. ** No giants, no dwarfs! ”’ | and Burt, | But to ** raise the whole race in a spurt, | And while Nature provides us with genius and clown, | There is nought to be gained by mere levelling ing ——— bay!” So say Brownrye ” can’t be dane own. | So the plan of Procrustes, my boys, will not work, | Or will benefit none save the sluggard or shirk. |Oh yes, the bold bully stands swaggering there | With the axe in his hand, and his head in the air, Type of heedless Compulsion, the shallow of pate, Who man’s freedom would sell to a fetish of State. Self-help and joint effort, as Burt wisely said, Are better by far than—that comfortless bed, That new Little-Ease that free Labour would pack, On a sort of plank-pillow combined with rack. | **Come on, longs and shorts!” shouts Pro- crusTEs the New, ** Law shall lend us its axe, and its rope, and its screw I must make you all fit to my Bed standard- sized!” | Ah! Labour may well look a little surprised. ‘**Fit us all to that cramped prison-pallet! Oh lor! It may suit a few stumpies, holds more. Might as well fit us out with fixed ‘duds’ from our birth, Regardless of difference in growth, or in girth. No! Snap-votes may be caught | Congress’s roar, | But tool us all down to one gauge, mate’ Oh lor!!!” but England ’midst a | New Unionist Titan and Stentorin one, To pose as Procrustrs may seem rather fun When it comes to the pinch of experiment, then {men, | You may find that some millions of labouring Of all sorts and sizes, all callings and crafts, ‘ | The toilers by furnaces, factories, shafts, : | The thrail of the mine, and the swart stithy o ‘5 slave, [wave, | The boys of the bench, and the sons of th | Are not quite so easy to “size up” all round To that comfortless bed where you’d have My urrrie Boy, Sir, DIED WHEN HE WAS ONLY Two MONTHS OLD, JUST AFTER 2a them all bound, HAD BEEN VACCINATI : ‘‘How very sap! Hap He Been Baprisep!” As the travellers luckless who fell in the way Yes, Sin; BUT IT WAS THE Vaccina ATION AS CARRIED HIM OFF, Sin!” | Of the old Attic highwayman Tuesevs did “ THE MODERN “BED OF PROCRUSTES.” [ PROCRUsTES, name of one Px the road,”’ or “the Stretcher,” was the sur- »LYPEMON, a Greek “ gentleman of whose amiable habit was to stretch or shorten the bodies of travellers who fell into his hands, so as to make them of the same length as a certain bed of his upon which it was his wont to tie them ) shorten the long, and to lengthen the short, Greek robber - chief excellent sport ; But the Stretcher’s strange pal llet-rack seems out of date In the land of the free, State. *neath a well-ordered ~~ slay. Menrrrvs told Nrrevs,* that pet of the Though your voice may sound loud and your ladies, ews look immense, ‘ Equality perfect prevaileth in— Hades You mi af nok, to the THESEU = ot ee m- NV here = are alike.” Said THeErsires, ie Pty nse ! regu “for juRT says—and his eloquence moves but That’s snetah ” but beau Nimevs could On short cuts to Millennium: Providence , hardly agree smiles not! With such levelling down to the churl who for ——— shape al Appropriate Locatioy.— Yes,” said 4 frie md of the person they were discussing, For “Eirensrres & Co., for the weakly and | “ he is a great traveller, and tells you some small, |of the most marvellous stories.” “~ Wher Who in free competition must go to the wall, ew he live?” was the question. And the natural answer was, * Oh, in some out- be: lying district.” In his strange second life chose the form of an | * Luctan’s Dialogues of the Dead. “NOELLE AXON 1OA Lid OL NVAK I SMOTTAA LOA I VILLI AW aa NOT HO>s ryyryy tira wrewvwrsrwse> war

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NOLL THAL r X ‘HONDd SMOLTTAA TMC OW AHL uo NVAK I Lid Od r ,I« Led as NOGNO'T 1OK (| _ _ ~ ~~ — lV 5 < LA Od I LO LLSQUOOuUd ‘g| waaNeLaIg—]HVA] "1681 Re oe i Ts a i) ——— ec vr a’ . dl NOT HO,

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— Septe) —— THE BIT Break, () your {nd lw The th THis my fac for the that is bene fit loctor me in § What hold o ot the surely drawit annou! twenty with t Torsin of com: ment. The march eight power’ succee Minst: comes ughts at hir In gol ment Tel “4 one sume heavi and winde knock could the p minst that | break * Bos at hit and ¢ much such I rs

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—— PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. —- 141 SepremBer 19, 1891.] —— THE BITTER GRY OF THE OUTCAST CHOIR-BOY. Bre ik, break, break, () yoice, on my old top Cc! \nd I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me! O, well for the tishmonger’s y That he shrieks his two notes above A! ¥ O, well tor the tailor’s son That he soars in the old, old way ! 4 \ i \ \ (nd the twelve-year chaps go on Up the gamut steady and shrill ; But, O, for the creak of a larynx cracked, And a glottis that won’t keep still ! Break, break, break, 0 voice, on my dear top C. But the swell A parts of a boyhood fled They ll never give more to me! ANNALS OF A QUIET WATERINC-PLACE THAT HAS “SEEN ITS DAY.” Tuts is the nineteenth day that I have had my face glued to the window-pane watching for the promised ** break” in the weather that is to enable me to get a little of the benefit of the sea-air of this place that my doctor assures me is ‘* todo such wonders for me in a week that I shall not know myself.” What it might do for me if I could only get hold of it, 1 can only guess, but the result f the persistent rain surely to empty the Grand Esplanade, the drawing and dining-room floors of which announce on colossal cards that the whole twenty-four establishments are ‘to let,” with the result that all the recreation that Torsington-on-Sea affords has formed a sort of conspiracy to drive me mad with amuse- ment. The trombone of the town band steals a march on the rest, commencing as early as eight o’clock in the morning with a very powerful rendering of ** Ji Balen,” who is succeeded in turn by the discarded Christy Minstrel with the damaged concertina. Then as been slowly but | has and general crowd of “loafers,” assemble | opposite my = = windows, braving | south-west wind (half a gale of it), and a | general downpour, leade | tions of “* being in” for “‘ another da I feel quite convinced that the | in velvet tights hus rapid] whole place with some | sentence as ** No. 27 ov the Grand Esplanade. Give the Old ey there ataste. He wants waking up a | bit! I write to my Medical Adviser. One day is much like another here. I cannot say! go | forward very fast. 1 admit the weather has been against me here; still, things might, | I think, have been better. Take this, for instance, as a typical day for an invalid. It is hardly the sort of place | to “‘ pick up” in; at least, so it strikes me. | 9a.M.—Am disturbed after a windy night, which has threatened to blow the front of | the house (one of the twenty-four command- ing a fine sea-view ‘‘ both ways’’) off, and in my first and only turn of refreshing sweet | | sleep, by the Silvery-voiced Tenor, who per- sists, spite entreaties, requests, and finally |threats, to move a little further away, or | curtail a singularly florid version of ‘* Fra | Poco,” under eighteen-pence. On, at length, threatening to send for the police if he de-| clines to ist, he meets the announcement | with shouts of derisive laughter, a fact which, Mrs. Consies, my landlady, is kind | enough to explain, indicates that ‘‘The| Policeman,” not retiring till half-past one | that morning, he will not be available, even for a murder, before two o'clock in the after- | noon. I compromise 'the matter, therefore, by sending out sixpence te the Silvery-| voiced Tenor, begging Mrs. Coppies to give as heartrending a description as pos- sible of my exhausted condition, which the effect of wringing from the Mario of Torsington an expression of sympathy, | and an intimation that he will finish ‘* Fra} Poco”’ round the corner. But ill news travels apace, and within ten | minutes the discarded Christy Minstrel with | the concertina that is somewhat out of order, and the Town Band (reduced to three), as if by common con- ¢ . sent, together s AY . with the man in re a black velvet : | spangled tights, |a short walking- stick, wash-hand m sky, and indica- of it.” rofessor whipped up the comes a Professor in black velvet spangled | basin, and small tights, who insists, spite my shaking my head | square of carpet, at him dolefully through the drizzling mist, | draw up, as if by in going through a drawing-room entertain-|magic, before ment for the amusement and edification of a| Mrs. CospBLes’ lelegraph-office Boy, who has apparently only |lodgings, and one message to deliver, and it is to be pre-| with the un-earning increment of Torsing- sumed finds time h in consequence a little | ton-on-Sea as audience, commence a simul- 7 upon his bene Spite my menacing | taneous matinée for my special benefit at and almost fierce refusal to appear at my | twenty-five minutes and a half to ten. window, however, he has the Perdihood to| Mrs. Coppies’ assurance that the poor knock, and ask for a “trifle.” This, if 1| gentleman has “‘ not closed his eyesall night” THE KING OF THE BEASTS. A Zoological Elegy. [Cuanies Jamnacn, the celebrated naturalist and menagerie-keeper, of St. George’s-in-the-East, died on September 6, at the age of 76.) THe news on the town like a thunderbolt burst, The loss of the Season 'tis reckoned ; We mourned long ago for King Jamnacn THE Fiasr, Now we weep for King Jamracn SECOND. There ’s grief at the Zoo, all the Lions bohoo, And the Elephants dolefully trumpet ; The Tiger ’s in tears, and the lonely Tastes With sorrow ’s as cold asa crum pet. THE He was seventy-six; but to cross o’er the Styx At that age ture ; There are lots of young cubs who feel quite for a JAMRACH—was prema- in a fix At the thought that he will not see them mature. They how! with wide gorges to think that St. George's Will see hime no more—ah! no, never! He will not preside at their shin-of-beef orgies, Or nurse them through phthisis or fever. The travelling menagerie must wait an age ‘ere he JamRacnu—will find any fellow. Barnum, ’tis well you are gone we can tell rou ! Bison, old boy, do not bellow There quite so tremendously ! stupendously ! So is the Ornithorhynchus. But don’t howl the roof off, your anguish in proot of, Or Kegent’s Park swells mad may think Sad? Oh, us. Yes, Marsupial Mole, we are ‘“‘left in the hole,’ But still we must think of our dignity. Anima! sorrow from bardlings must borrow The true elegiac benignity. That Japanese pug I could willingly hug, He yaps out fis grief so discreetly, And dear Armadillo knows how to sing ** Willow,” Like poor Desdemona, most sweetly. My dear Felis Leo, I do feel that we owe A debt to the urban proprieties. Don’t shame yourself, Ursa, but quite vice | versd, You know how impressive caste’s quiet is! But, Jamracn! © Jamnacu! foe's stretched on no sham rack Of metre that mourns you sincerely ; E’en that hard nut o’ natur, the great Alli- gator, Has eyes that look red, and blink queerly. Mere “* crocodile’s tears,’’ some may snigger ; but jeers Must disgust at a moment so doleful. could only ensure that he would devote it to the purchase of a place on the coach to Bar- minster, | would gladly give him; but knowing that it will only poms him to make an early breakfast of cold gin and bitters at the Boar's Head and Anchor,” I shake my fist at him, as much as to say, * lam feeble I it, and do not, I dare say, look as if there were much fight in me! ut, by Jove! there is such a thing as the law, even, I suppose, at rsington-on-Sea! You had best not tempt me too far, my fine fellow.” seems only to stimulate them to further effort. As I feel that even twenty minutes of this recreation will certainly drive me mad, I Mrs. Copsixs to send the boy who comes to clean the boots and knives to disturb the One Policeman in his first sweet slumber. If nothing else will stir him, he is to be informed that No. 34 on the Esplanade is on fire, or if that fails, he may throw in 33 and 35 aswell. In fact, he need not be particular as to facts, but return with the Policeman he must! There isa good-sized crowd assembled on the Esplanade, but as I am attired in a think so. For within twenty minutes the | scarlet flannel dressing-gown, white night- discarded Christy Minstrel, the Silvery-voiced | cap, and am arguing the Act of Parliament Tenor, some performing dogs, the whole of the | with the deserted Christy Minstrel with some own Band, the Man with the Bath-chair | warmth, it may account for it. His reply to this is characteristic ; at least, For Jamracu the brave, who has gone to his | grave, . . sie | All our sorrow ’s sincere as ’tis soulful ! | Telling the Wasps. (With Acknowledgments to the Greek Anthology and Mr. Andrew Lang.) Cynics, and ye critics cold, When the wasps return with Spring, Tell them that Tuensrres old Perished in his fault-hunting, Perished on an Autumn night. Now no more he’! ban and blight In the “* weeklies,” as of _ : But the valley and the height Miss a biter and a bore!

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ee | 14s ‘ PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. (Serrexnen 19, 189] MR. PUNCH HAS A LITTLE TOUR IN IRELAND. a

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Serremper 19, 1891.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARL 143 SOME CIRCULAR NOTES. Carrer V. Popperie—Noise — Quiet Descent— Cerberus— Picture— ’ Sensational —Stalactite—Surmises— Dreads— Desertion— Lost — Terrors — Candle— Out ! Arrivep! These are the works that Porrerre & Co. built. Ona height, commanding fine panoramic view. Approach to the house snd stores is through a fresh-looking garden, everything neat and Quite a surprise to find oneself suddenly among hundreds of asks and cases. Distant sound of carts and horses, of pulleys and ranks, of bringing in and sending out; but this sound is only a hum—a murmuring accompaniment as it were; for, con- sidering the amount of work that involves a lot of noise throughout the day, except, perhaps, during the feeding hours, the note of this place is its air of quiet activity. There is, I remark, a curious favour in the atmosphere, that causes me to smack my lips, quite nvoluntarily, as if tasting wine. Remember somebody tehing me, ‘atacombs Poppy — Wetrd— trim. vent le that the mere wine-laden atmosphere of the London Docks is quite enough to make anyone feel the worse for liquor, even though you io not touch a single drop in the vaults. We have not yet reached the yaults, but somehow there ’s something peculiarly exhilarating in the 13 2 8 \ knowledge that we are in the outer court of one of King Cham- pews many palaces. Mem. Grand idea fora scene in a Drury ane Pantomime. Visit to Palace of Poprrin tue First, king of the Champagne country. Register copyright and suggest it to Sir Devry O’ Lanvs. Daveryet has his hat in his hand and his overcoat over his arm. With his handkerchief he is mopping his fevered brow. ‘ Piff!” he exclaims,** qu'il fait chaud! No? Youdon’tfind it? Ido. Caramba! O Champagnski ! da Karascho! O Maman! Come on! Here is our le der, le bon Vesquien! Allons! Marchons! Long to reign over 1s then as we move forward, Davsrnet again bursts into song, as usual more or less out of tune. This time he favours us with natches of ‘* God save the Queen ! ” and finally, as we enter a huge tunnel, and, as I judge from the steep incline, are commencing ir descent into the cave, hear his voice behind me singing ; re leaving thee in sorrow, ANNIE!” Darker and darker as we descend through this tunnel. Orpheus going to tind Eurydice. No Cerberus about, thank goodness. Wonder if any rats or blackbeetles ? By the way, Cerberus would have been a nasty one for rats. him (‘* Heads I win—tails you rats lose”), doing a match against time in killing rats, is a fine subject for a weird classical picture yet to be painted. What R.A. could grapple with so tremendous a composition? On returning to “‘carp the upper air,’’ must mention © subject to Sir Freperick the Great. Cerberus would be a nasty Cerberus, with three to one on | | one for rats to tackle. My ideas of anything alive underground are generally associated with suchlike warmint. At last—out of the tunnel! and now, I presume, in the caves. Here someone, gradually assuming a palpable form, emerges from somewhere out of a dar corner, and hands toeach of us a long piece of wood about the length of a harlequin’s bat (note, pantomime again), only that this is an inch or so thick and quite two inches wide at one end, where presently a candle is fixed by an attendant sprite,—the slave of the tallow candle,—and the wand, so to speak, tapers off towards the handle. 4 propos of ‘tapers off"—the question occurs to me, later on, as we pass through labyrinths of dark passages, where should I be in the case of “ taper off" ? Beautiful title for sensa- tional story—** Lost in the Catacombs.” Our trusty guide, M. Vesqurer, is well ahead, and Davuntver follows closely at my heels. Thus we proceed, and if this order is preserved throughout, I feel that the sensational romance above mentioned will not be written, at least not on this occasion. We are in stalactite caverns; I expect a subterranean lake,—of still champagne of course,—and a boat; strange silver foil and gold foil fish ought to be swimming about, and the name of the subterranean lake should be Loch Foil, Loch Gold or Silver Foil, according to the material. No, nothing of the sort. It is all quite dry ; uncommonly |dry; atmosphere dry; ground dry; and, gradually, throats dry. Probably, champagne alsodry. But remembering what I have heard |of someone else’s experience of Dock-visiting, which I presume is | similar to cave-visiting, I do not mention my sudden drought. I feel | that, while down here, if I took one glass of champagne, my head | first, and then my legs, might become unsteady, whereupon nothing |would be more likely than for me to take the wrong turning and lose my companions; if I did, what are the chances against my ever finding them again? Or if my legs failed me and I disappeared | between the casks, who would think of looking for me there’ Then, years afterwards, in some specially and unaccountably good vintage year, when there would be a run upon these particular casks, my mouldering skeleton would be ae among the sawdust, between the barrels, and some purveyor of ballads would write a song whereof the burden would not be unlike that of the once popular ** Mistletoe Bough.” As | follow my leader through the vaults all this occurs to me, as does ulso the appropriately melancholy refrain of another old song or “‘ catch,” *‘ Down among the dead men let him lie!” We are under the central dome of this Stalactite Champagne Cathedral dedicated to the worship of Bacchus. (lappy Thought. | The Champagne country is the true ** Poppy Land.” I present this | with my compliments to Mr. CLement Scorr, whose pleasant articles jin the Daily Telegraph on ** Poppy Land” are, and will be, for ;some time to come, so deservedly poppylar on the North coast of | Norfolk. When driving round and about Cromer, our flyman pointed jout ‘Poppy Land” to me. Happy Thought.—In future let this be | known as ‘‘Caledonia Up to Date, or the New Scott-land.”’) A | strange light descends from somewhere above, producing a blueish | atmospheric effect. Weird, very. We are now in the Wine Demon’s Cave. More pantomimic effects: big demons and little demons at work everywhere: champagne demons with strange faces,—I should say “* fizzes,”—moving about noiselessly: the only sound is that of the occasional irrepressible effervescence of youth, or a pop from a recalcitrant cork in a distant cell, and, in a mysterious all-pervading way, an accompaniment of hammering. The lights and awful shadows of the scene recall to my mind CrurksHaNKk’s grim illustra- tions to Arnswortn’s Tower of London. \f these wild figures under this Central Stalactited Dome, these fearsome Troglodytes, were suddenly to join hands and dance round us, keeping a ‘* Witches’ Sabbath,” I should not feel surprised. I might be considerably alarmed ; but surprised, no. It would be in keeping with the scene. Only where’s the music ? Surely a Special ay a Dance ought to be supplied by the orchestra of ‘*‘ The Monday Pops.”’ Here Daupuvet, being tired, sits. He has seen it all before. ‘‘ He knows his way,” explains M. Vesavren, “and we shall meet him again above.” This sounds funereal, but, as an expression of Christian sentiment, hopeful. DAUBINET, mopping his forehead, mutters something, in Russian I believe, which sounds like **‘ Preama! Pascarry! da padaduh, which he is perhaps rendering into English when he says, * Go straight on! Be quick! All r-r-r-right:” Suddenly finding myself the only follower of our guide, I begin to realise to its full « xtent the loss of one who, up to now, has be en my companion. I realise this one fact among othe rs, but quitt sufficient of itself, namely, that if I once lose sight of M. Vesquier in this maze of caverns down in the depths below, I shall have the utmost difficulty in ever coming up to the surface again. Now we are walking ona line of rails. All at once I lose sight of M. Vesauren, | He must have turned off to the right or left which ?—and I shall see his light in the distance when I reach the op ning into the right, jor left, passage. What’s that? A shriek? a howl? la flash '—'' H1é! ld bas!” and at arapid pace out of the blackest | darkness emerge two wine-demons on a trolly. I have just time —_—_—,,,

Page 14

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARL. [Serremper 19, 189}, —_—..... to reduce myself to the smallest possible com pass against the barrels, when the wine-demons brandishing a small torch-light have whizzed past Ho! Ho! goblin langhter in the distance, as heard in Rip J n Wink e, and de scribed in Gabriel Grub **Ho! Ho! and before I have recovered myself, they have vanished into outer and blacker darkness, and all around me the gloom is gloomier than ever Hé! Monsieur Vesavrer!” I shout. I have taken a wrong turning; that is, I have taken some turning or other to the right, and there is no sign of my guide. My fears have come true. My fore- hodings are realised I stumble on —over the tram-way lines against the caske—*‘ H’, ldbas! Hé ! M. Vesavrer!!”—O dear! Home Sweet Home What was that negro melody that now recurs to me 1 sort of singing in my ears—** Home once more! Home once mort Shall I ever see my home once more! !” 4 shout in the distance—or is it an echo—no! Is it Vesevrer! I shout in return—then in the far distance I desecry a light... it grows bigger... a shriek .. . a wild wavingof a blazing garish torch, ind again I have to compress myself against the barrels as another trolly whizzes past at full speed, carrying two cheerful-looking, ind except for that one shout, silent demons. ‘* Hey trolly lolly!” I cannot stay there—they have gone like a flash—and the obscurity is becoming oppressive .... Shall I retrace my steps? It isn’t a question of “shall I,”—it is “* can I”? Through how many turnings have we come?’ No—I should never find my way back again. Better push on. I shout again: desperately but ner- vously. There is not even an echo. And now my candle, which has been guttering and sputtering for the last few moments, is threatening diss It is the beginning of the end—of the eandle-end. If the candle goes out before I do—Heavens! but I must move very cautiously. What a subject for a Jules-Verne novel ! 1h, how I should enjoy reading about it ina story /! But as a personal experience... Where aml? Is it straight on? or to the left ?—I think there is a left passage—or to the mnght? I peer down in the hopes of seeing some evidence of life, at all events the glimmer of a light, which may probably mean my guide. No; nota lution. sign. Are there rats here? If so... the candle-end is sputtering worse than ever... it is flickering .g . What’s to be done’... I! shout ‘‘ Hullo!” at the top of my voice. Yes, at the top of my voice, but at the bottom of the caves. me, of what us« Then the que stion occurs to No one will understand me. The candle-end is making a final struggl for life. So must I. ** Hé, la bas!” I shout “with all my might and main,”’ like the celebrity of the old nursery tale, who jumped into a quickset hedge as an infallible blindness. No result. I think of the man in the dungeon who was eaten by rats. Well- is it to shout in English ” forget the gentleman's name. Political prisoner wobably whose offence Pad been “rating” ~and so his punishment was made “‘ to fit the crime,”’ as Mr. Gripert’s Mikado used to observe. Why do such grimly comic reminiscences occur to me now, when I am in so really awful a situa- tion? So, once more I in my lungs,‘*Hé! la—: bas!” And—oh, the joy — “* H* la bas! Blass the yf 4 oh, the raptur there comes back to m« Prince of Wattes! : It is Davpiner. He advances from somewhere, from an opening, the existence of which I had never suspected. Here! This way! Par ici, mon ami; par ici: And in another minute I am with him { am out candle-end. Ah!‘ | breathe again! “The first time, I believe, that you have ever seen these caves,” observes M. Veseurer, quietly, ** which, one way and another, repre- several miles of walking.” Then looking at his watch, he adds, ** It is time for breakfast. You must be hungry.” Iam. Hungry, but oh! so grateful! If it weren't so expensive, I should give a Champagne-window to the Reims Cathedral, in pram at) and so is the sent > NOTICE. —Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether remedy for | known case, but quite | shout with desperation | memoriam of my fortunate escape. A real pane (not coloured paper pretence) in a window would be an appropriate memorial. Or. at all events, I might give one small *‘ light,” which, as recalling that little guttering, sputtering, candle, would be still more %- propriate. OUR BOOKING-OFFICE. Tue Baron’s Assistant Reader reports again:—I have just read | The Book-bills of Narcissus, An Account rendered by Ricnarp |» Gattrenne. (Frank Murray; Derby, Leicester and Nottingham, It doesn’t make any difference to me whether this dainty little beg was actually published g Derby or at Leicester @ even at Nottingham, note of old for lambs. It makes right pleasant reading, and that is the chief point. The Narcissus, about whose life (except in the matter of| book-bills, by the way) we | here learn a good deal, must have been an agreeable companion—for those who allowed the lad to have his | own way, and always ke * a spare £10 note handy for the humouring of his htt caprices. His wayward moods, his innocent love affairs, his wanderings, his reading, his culminating grand passion, Mr. Lz GALLIENNE renders his | account of them all, and does it in a fresh and breezy style which suits his pleasant subject admirably. There is a special charm too about the graceful lyrics which sparkle here and there in the pretty little volume. In fact Mr. Le Gattrenne is anartist. I don’t say a genuine artist, because he justly dislikes the qualification. Oscar Wiipe has desisted for a space from mere paradox, and gives us (am I late in thus noticing it ’) Lord Arthur Savile’s Crime, and other Stories. (London, J. R. Oscoop, McIuwarve & Co. Macte virtute, say 1; the tag is old, but ’twill serve. If you want | to laugh heartily, read Lord Arthur Savile's Crime, the story of a | deeply conscientious man to whom murder very properly presents | iteclE as aduty. Then, if you wish to laugh even more violently, read The Canterville Ghost, in which Oscar goes two or three better than Mr. W.S. Grusert. I am specially thankful to Oscar. When he is on humour bent, he doesn’t dig me in the ribs and ask me to notice what a wonderfully funny dog he is going to be. He lets his fun take care of itself, a permission which it uses with great dis- cretion. Please, Oscar, give us some more of the same sort, and pray introduce me once more later on to the Duchess of Cheshire. | If she continues to be as delightful as she was in her sweet girlhood, | I envy his Grace. The Baron is taking it easy. He has still by his side as his constant travelling companion, Grorce Merepita’s One of Our Conquerors, | which has travelled to Switzerland with him, and was only left be- | | hind at the inn when the Baron had to go by a new route up a lofty mountain. To make this path known the Baron’s assent was neces- | sary, and he gave it. He had time, however, to read one shilling | thrilling story. The Shilling Thrilling is by two authors, WALTER | PotLock and ALEXANDER GaLt, and is called Between the Lines. A happy title, as it enables the Baron to recommend everyone to read | | between the lines. A clever sensation story for which the Baron, nov | far away in his sea-girt home, thanks the two clever boys who wrote | it. No more at present from THe Baron pe Boox-Worms & Co. | Peak Castle, Eagle’s Nest, N.E.W. Vox et preterea Nihil! “ Philosophy is essentially the Voice of the Silence.” A Disciple of the Mahatmas. Voice of the Silence ? Brotherhood prodigious, A babble-ridden age might well rejoice Could you but give instead of talk litigious, The Silence of the Voice. PET) eee x . ** Reat Mean.””—The English Churchman, who, on returning from | abroad, puts all his surplusage of Swiss silver—ten and twenty | centime-pieces—into the offertory bag or plate. SHAKSPEARE (ADAPTED) AT THE Trades Union Conoress.—“ We | must Vote by the Card, or Equality will be our undoing.’ — MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, wie im no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To rule there will be no exception. “¢) Quod ¢ Ap THE QUEE “ The j

Page 15

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Page 16

PUNCH, Ook THE LONDON CHARIVARI—Sepremwper 19, 1891. CF ADIN aman ana tt TT VIDED DUTIES.”—From the Picture by Latsaaw Youwa, in the ssion of the Proprietors of FE he’s Soap. The World’s most Marvellous Cleanser and Polisher. Makes Tin like Silver, Copper like Gold, Paint like New, Windows like Crystal, Brass Ware like Mirrors, Spotless Earthenware, Crockery like Marble, Marble White. FOR A THOUSAND HOUSEHOLD USES. Printed by WUliem ®tuart Smith, of No Loraine Road, Hollowgy, in the Parish of St. , Bingen in the County of Middlesex, at the Prin Offiens of Messrs. Bradbury, Agnew, Co. Lom bard London, ond Pu ior o. Ms, X |, Lae a Street, in the Precinct of Whitefriars, in the City of ditiehed Fleet Street, in the Parish of 6t. bride, City of London. —Sarcanat, September