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PUNCH, CHARIVARI, JULY 6, 1895 ***




Produced by Malcolm Farmer, Lesley Halamek and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net









[Illustration: PUNCH VOL CIX]

LONDON:

PUBLISHED AT THE OFFICE, 85, FLEET STREET,

AND SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLERS.

1895.




LONDON:
BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO. LD., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.

* * * * *

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 109.

DECEMBER 28, 1895.




[Illustration: PREFACE]

A COLLOQUY IN CLOUDLAND.

SCENE - _Cloudland, nigh to midnight of the last day of the Old
Year. The Incomparable Sage of Fleet Street and "La Mancha's
Matchless Knight" mounted on their respective wooden horses._

_Mr. Punch_ (_spurring the Spotted One_). Yoicks! Tallyho!! Hark
forward!!! Something like space-consuming speed this, eh, my dear Don?
Who talks now of a Horseless Age?

_Don Quixote_ (_turning the peg of Malambruno's magic steed_). Only
your scientific and sensational journals, who, dryasdust dogs! are,
after all, endless leagues behind Merlin the Enchanter, and the
magic-aided heroes of old romance.

_Mr. Punch._ Kim up, my timber-built timber-topper, and spotted
space-devourer! As though the much-talked of motor-carriage,
auto-cycle, or petroleum-propelled tram-car of these mouthing days of
modernity might compare with the Trifaldi's steed, my spotted Pegasus,
or even the peripatetic carpet of Persian story! Speed you well,
valorous knight!

_Don Quixote._ Heaven guide thee, undaunted Sage! Hah! How you fly
aloft! How you cut the air more swiftly than an arrow!! How you mount,
and soar, and astonish the world below!!!

_Mr. Punch._ Haha! Ours is no imaginary, bellows-blown flight, as was
yours, worthy knight, when seated with SANCHO on the wooden crupper of
Clavileno, pressed aforetime by the valourous PETER of Provence, and
the fair MAGALONA!

_Don Quixote._ Nay, indeed, Sir Knight of the Spotted Bucephalus - for
thou art no chivalry-scorning TRIFALDI - we are not now blindfolded,
and _thy_ Pegasus, _thy_ Brilladoro, _thy_ Bayarte, _thy_ Frontino,
_thy_ Clavileno el Aligero - or Wooden-Peg the Winged - might give a
lead even to my renowned Rosinante!

_Mr. Punch._ Blindfolded? Nay, dear knight, I am the Dazzling
Illuminator, not the Bewildering Blinder!

_Don Quixote._ I plainly perceive that thou art a Progressive.

_Mr. Punch._ I am a Progressive Moderate and a Moderate Progressive.
Badge me not therefore in any less comprehensive fashion, O Knight of
the Rueful Countenance.

_Don Quixote._ I presume, Sir Sage, that those same Progressives,
however, who claim to initiate all the forthright movement of the Age,
did originate and invent the motor-carriages, auto-cycles, and other
the horseless locomotive vehicles of which we spake but now?

_Mr. Punch._ Who better than yourself should know, my dear Don, that
all are not Progressives who make a stir about Progress? Like the
circumgyrators in the game of "Giant's Stride," many of them ramp
round in a circle, and "get no forrader." _I_ am the only true and
trustworthy Progressive, and my auto-motor cuts _all_ records!

_Don Quixote._ And is it propelled by petroleum?

_Mr. Punch._ By nothing so crude, flaring, and fuliginous, dear Don.
It is "motived" by - LIGHT!

_Don Quixote._ Wondrous machine! How would I like to mount it! Is it
in likeness of a horse?

_Mr. Punch._ Say not the witlings and wiseacres that we are on the
verge of a Horseless Age?

_Don Quixote._ They do. But, by the bones of my beloved Rosinante, the
idea liketh me not. The horse is indeed a noble animal - -

_Mr. Punch._ And will continue to be "useful to man," our current
cyclo-and-auto-motormania notwithstanding. The cycle doubtless hath
its utility, and even charm, though in certain of its characteristics
it seems qualified to give mankind the hump!

_Don Quixote._ And womankind the wobbles!

_Mr. Punch._

When lovely woman stoops to wheeling,
And finds too late that bikes betray,
Beauty, and grace, and finer feeling
She'll see the sex hath chucked away!

_Don Quixote._ Verily, had my peerless DULCINEA herself bestraddled a
spinning-wheel in ungraceful posture and unseemly garb, I, her sworn
knight, should have deemed her the victim of diabolic enchantment.
Why, even the afflicted duenna, with her fair cheeks beard-begrown by
enchantment, she whom SANCHO called the Countess Three-Skirts, would
not - save under dire compulsion - have donned the modern divided skirt
and mounted the man-saddled steed of steel. Art sure, Sir Sage,
that after all it is _not_ enchantment that hath so far unsexed your
afflicted damosels and duennas, and that 'tis not my duty in their
defence to lay lance in rest - -

_Mr. Punch._ Nay, sweet soul of chivalry, Mayfair is not La Mancha,
and you may safely leave its fair denizens to the defence - or, if need
be, chastening - of that knightly lance of to-day, my own invincible
and unerring _bâton_. But, verily, 'twere a punishment not
ill-deserved by certain of our mannish maidens and male-mimicking
matrons did MALAMBRUNO clap bristly scrubbing-brush hairs upon them as
upon your distressful Duenna of Toledo.

_Don Quixote._ Verily, Sir Sage, we are mounting skyward, dawn-ward,
New Year-ward in a wondrous manner! Thy spotted steed is surely
Pegasus itself, for Skyworld is full of myriad voices of wisdom and
melody.

_Mr. Punch._ But my Auto-Motor, comparable only with the Sun God's
glowing chariot, shall outsoar and outshine even our present empyrean
flight.

_Voice_ (_suddenly sounding behind them_). Wuff! Wuff! Wuff!

_Don Quixote_ (_looking round_). Saints preserve us! What is this new
marvellous enchantment? Hath Sirius itself broken loose? - doth the Dog
Star follow our trail?

_Mr. Punch._ What seest thou, Sir Knight?

_Don Quixote_ (_with awe_). I behold, as it were, an aerial
fire-wheeled car, shapen in the guise of a Titanic Tome, coruscating
comet-like in its career, whereon is mounted - yes, verily - a Dog - a
Dog of Dogs! What, Sir PUNCH, may be this portent?

_Mr. Punch._ Why, my dear DON QUIXOTE - who seems scarcely the Quixote
Quicksight of the nursery rhyme - what _should_ it be but TOBIAS
himself with that promised specimen of my Auroral Autocar, or
Mirific Motor-Carriage, self-impelled, self-steered, self-lighted,
self-heated, the most peerless outcome of the true Progressive spirit,
the true acme of sure and speedy Progress; in other words, dear Don,
and at your entire service, my

=One Hundred and Ninth Volume!!!=

[Illustration]

* * * * *

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

Volume 109, July 6, 1895.

_edited by Sir Francis Burnand_




[Illustration: VOL 109]

* * * * *

A PATH OF PEACE.

(_The Baltic Canal, June 22, 1895._)

["Peace reigns over the whole fleet," &c. - _"Daily News" Special._]

A work of Peace, whereto from near and far
Gather the iron-bosomed brood of war,
Like new Stymphalian birds, whose claws and wings
The warrior welcomes and the poet sings.
Oh, gentle Peace, how strange in our strange day.
Thy mailèd retinue, thine armed array!
Those flower-deck'd obelisks, that silken rope, -
Bright illustrations of the Tales of Hope, -
The royal speeches and the loyal cheers,
Disguise misgivings as they silence fears.
But Denmark's memories, and the thoughts of France,
As through the stream that yacht's white bows advance,
Breaking that slender cord from bank to bank,
Might move reflections strange. Yet let us thank
Adventurous skill which gives our ships to-day
A shorter passage and a safer way!
Not war alone, but trade, will take the track
That shuns the wild and stormy Skager Rak;
And may Brunsbüttel's now familiar name
Be little linked with Empire's big War-Game
May battle-echoes in the Baltic cease,
And the Canal be a new Path for Peace

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

Our B. A. (_i.e._, "Baron's Assistant") begs to congratulate Mr.
GERALD CAMPBELL very heartily on the success of _The Joneses and
the Asterisks_ (JOHN LANE). It is no easy task to write a story in a
series of what may be called monological dialogues, - dialogues,
that is to say, in which only one party speaks while the rest are
understood, - and yet to keep that lightness of touch and that sparkle
of wit without which dialogues become mere barren boredom. This is the
task that Mr. CAMPBELL has brilliantly accomplished. _The Joneses and
the Asterisks_ is as keen and telling a piece of social satire as it
has been the B. A.'s good fortune to come across for many a long day.

Thursday. June 27, Mid-day. The Baron opens ventilators, doors,
windows. Then, at haphazard, he takes up a book. Its title, _What is
heat?_... Answer immediately given by thermometer, "95° in the shade."
That's heat! And if that isn't, what is? The second title of book is,
_A Peep into Nature's Most Hidden Secrets_. But the Baron is not _Paul
Pry_; he doesn't want to peep; at all events he cannot undertake
any exertion until about November, say, when he will be delighted
to peruse the work of Mr. FREDERICK HOVENDEN, F.L.S., F.G.S.,
F.R.M.S., - "Three single Fellows rolled into one." "Let me descend
to the ice-cellar, or in cool grot let me sit, with a soothing iced
beverage and a choice Havannah; let me read there _About the North
Pole_, and _Gunter's Tales of Ices_," quoth the

BURDENED BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

* * * * *

SHAKSPEARE ON THE SITUATION.

_Caius Marcius Coriolanus_ MR. CH-MB-RL-N.
_Tullus Aufidius_ L-RD S-L-SB-RY.

_Act IV., Sc. 4. Antium_ (_Downing Street_). _Before Aufidius's
House._

_Cor._ O world, thy slippery turns! Friends now fast sworn,
Whose double bosoms seem to wear one heart,
Whose hours, whose bed, whose meals, and exercise,
Are still together, who twin, as 'twere, in love
Unseparable, should, within this hour,
On the dissension of a doit, break out
To bitterest enmity: so, fellest foes,
Whose passions and whose plots have broke their sleep,
To take the one the other, by some chance,
Some trick, not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends,
And interjoin their issues. So with me:
My birth-place hate I, and my love's upon
This enemy town. * * * *

_Auf._ (_entering, Sc. 5_). Say, what's thy name?

_Cor._ My name is CAIUS MARCIUS, who hath done,
To thee particularly, and all the VOLCES,
Great hurt and mischief.... Now, this extremity,
Hath brought me to thy hearth.

_Auf._ O MARCIUS, MARCIUS!
Each word thou has spoken hath weeded from my heart
A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter
Should from yond' cloud speak divine things,
And say, "'Tis true," I'd not believe them more
Than thee, all noble MARCIUS. - Let me twine
Mine arms about that body, where against
My grainèd ash a hundred times hath broke.
.... I do contest
As hotly and as nobly with thy love
As ever in ambitious strength I did
Contend against thy valour.... Why, thou Mars! I tell thee
We have a power on foot.... O, come, go in,
And take our friendly senators by the hands....

_Cor._ You bless me, gods!

_Auf._ Therefore, most absolute Sir, if thou wilt have
The leading of thine own revenges, take
The one half of my commission. But come in:
Let me commend thee first to those that shall
Say "Yea" to thy desires. A thousand welcomes
And more a friend than e'er an enemy;
Yet, MARCIUS, that was much. Your hand! most welcome!

[_Exeunt_ CORIOLANUS _and_ AUFIDIUS.

* * * * *

TOBY'S MEM. - _Wednesday, July 3._ - "Dog Days begin." Go down to coast.
"My bark is on the sea!" Avoid going south for fear of the Muzzle-man.

* * * * *

[Illustration: IN THE SHADE.

_Lord R-s-b-ry._ "WHO'D BE A MINISTER?"

_Sir W. V. H-rc-rt._ "WHO, INDEED? WHY I WOULDN'T DO IT IF _THEY
ASKED_ ME!"]

* * * * *

[Illustration: HOW ROMANTIC!

_She._ "I SAY, _THIS_ IS PRETTY AWFUL! POOR LITTLE MISS MESSUP! - IT
SAYS HERE THAT 'SHORTLY AFTER THE WEDDING SHE DISCOVERED HE WASN'T
REALLY A BARON!'"

_He._ "WELL. THINK OF THE POOR JOHNNY WHEN _HE_ FOUND OUT SHE WASN'T
REALLY AN HEIRESS!"]

* * * * *

THE CANDIDATE'S VADE MECUM.

_Question._ Why do you desire to enter the House of Commons?

_Answer._ Because, if I am honoured by my fellow-men by being chosen
to represent them, it is my ambition to serve them faithfully and
maintain in all its glorious integrity the time-honoured heritage of
this mighty empire.

_Q._ Yes, so you have said in your address to the electors; but have
you no other reason for wishing to occupy a seat in Parliament?

_A._ Certainly. The prestige bestowed by the letters "M.P." is
pleasing, and if the honour ultimately culminates in a baronetcy or a
knighthood the distinction will be gratifying to my wife.

_Q._ Then you would not be adverse to receiving promotion in the line
to which you have referred?

_A._ No; because I should consider that I acted merely as a trustee to
my constituents - that I, in fact, appeared in the character of their
personal representative.

_Q._ Yes, you said something of the sort the other evening at a
canvassing meeting in reply to a question put to you by one of your
voters; but surely the decoration would be desirable for some other
consideration?

_A._ It undoubtedly would have a certain market value in the City in
the eyes of promoters of public companies of limited liability.

_Q._ What measures have you taken to secure election beyond issuing
the very admirable address to which I have, more than once, referred?

_A._ For the last two or three years I have assiduously nursed the
constituency.

_Q._ What do you mean by nursing a constituency?

_A._ Obtaining a stake in the shape of land and a house in
the division, and making myself generally popular amongst my
fellow-ratepayers.

_Q._ How can you become popular?

_A._ By subscribing largely to local charities and institutions,
laying foundation stones, and opening fancy bazaars with untiring
energy.

_Q._ What considerations weigh with you when you are invited to add
your name to a subscription-list?

_A._ I take care to make the sum I give a little larger than that
contributed by my opponent, and take it as a general rule that lawn
tennis is of more importance than dispensaries, and polo, from a
benevolent point of view, takes precedence of associations established
to relieve dire distress.

_Q._ Is there any other method which may be adopted with advantage by
those desirous of nursing a constituency?

_A._ Speaking frequently in assembly rooms, taking nursery gardens for
the same purpose, and generally improving trade in the neighbourhood.

_Q._ Then the money paid for the hirings to which you refer is
commercially popular?

_A._ It is, and (joined of course to the eloquence of my friends and
myself) should distinctly influence the election.

_Q._ And should you be elected, what do you suppose you will have to
do?

_A._ To thoroughly enjoy the honour of being able to treat the House
of Commons as a club, and being asked by the leaders of my Party
to all their entertainments. I shall see my name in every newspaper
report when I have happened to take part in a popular function. I
shall find that I have mounted the social ladder by leaps and bounds,
and be able to pleasurably patronise or cut direct those who now
become my inferiors.

_Q._ And what consideration will support you in your general
demeanour?

_A._ The conviction that all I do, and have done, is and has been
actuated by the purest patriotism.

* * * * *

"DALY NEWS! SPECIAL!"

Once again we welcome the return of Miss ADA REHAN, with JAMES LEWIS
the Lively, and Mrs. GILBERT the Good, to DALY'S, in Leicester Square.
But so short is their season, and so many are the pieces
announced, that to take more than a snap-shot at any one of them is
impracticable, seeing that the Daly changes are weekly. Ere anyone
sees these lines AUGUSTIN DALY'S train of thought will have passed
over, and beyond them. _The Railroad of Love_ will have served its
purpose, and become a siding. _Two Gentlemen of Verona_ will be
travelling first-class on Shakspearian main line leading to _Midsummer
Night's Dream_, which, with its fairy revels and its music, will
represent the terminus of this short journey. When will DALY & CO.
come to stay?

* * * * *

THE SOMALIS AT SYDENHAM.

IN THE STABLES.

_Miss Simplicia Simpson_ (_looking at the native saddles on
brackets_). I suppose those are what they put on the ostriches!

_Her Companion._ They don't _ride_ ostriches.

_Miss Simpson_ (_in a tone of pity and reproof_). That only shows
you've never read your _Swiss Family Robinson!_

_A Gobe-mouche._ Well, I never see a white lamb with a black 'ed
before; that _is_ a curiosity, ain't it'?

_His Phlegmatic Friend._ Not arf such a curiosity as if it 'ad 'ad a
black 'ed be'ind.

_A Censorious Lady_ (_before a row of baby elephants_). Oh, _aren't_
they horrid! Look at their horrid little eyes. (_As one of them
protrudes a predatory trunk._) Oh, get away, _do!_ They are _the_ most
hideous creatures I've _ever_ seen! _Look_ at that one, all wrinkled
and baggy like an old man. See, it's wagging its head about like a
Chinese doll! I do think they're _quite_ loathsome, don't you?

_Her Companion_ (_a more Tolerant Person_). I daresay they would'nt
look so bad if they were varnished up a bit.

IN THE OSTRICH FARM.

_The Keeper_ (_who apparently considers his Show as moral as_
ARTEMUS WARD'S - _to the Public generally_). I've came over here From
California, whose golden waters kiss The mouth of her Sunny Sands, and
where there air strawberries all the year round. On the farm where I
live there were only fourteen days in all of lasst year when we had no
strawberries. The most Glorious climate In the World; and, if anyone
don't believe it, all they've got to _do_ is to die; and then, if
they've been good, they'll go there, and find out for themselves. I'm
not under Con-tràct To say a single word here, but I want to talk to
you about these birds, because they're generally misunderstood. They
walk en-tirely From the Toe, which gives them the graceful, springy
action you see. They air all named after the greatest people now
living on airth. This one close to the rails is called JIM BLAKE. Mark
well the Peculiarities, Life, Habits, _and_ Characteristics of the
Ostrich, and you will all of you go away And lead A moral life. The
only absolootly Purrfect Being on This ole Universe is the bird now
passing in front of me. Her name is GAIL HAMILTON, and She has The
Smallest Feet of anyone here present, _and_ the Smallest Head. She has
only one ounce of brains inside of it, and that is Sufficient for her
requirements, and nobody would have any use for more if they did not
suffer From swelled heads.... Yes, little girl, you're purrfectly
right - the ostrich _does_ run zig-zag, which is A Fact that is
Unknown to many Scientific men. The kick of the ostrich is as quick as
lightning - _quicker_ 'n lightning, be-cause you can see lightning, but
you _cann't_ see an ostrich's kick, which is four kicks to the second,
and kills a man every time. At certain seasons it is Impossible to go
among these birds except On horseback, and pro-vided with a stout pole
with a fork at the end for Self-defence. All of these birds are here
on Sale, and there is a large demand for them for Gentlemen's Parks
and Country seats.

_A Suburban Humourist_ (_to his_ Wife). What d'ye say to gettin' a
pair on 'em fur our back-yard, eh?

_His Wife._ 'Ow you _do_ tork, 'ENERY! 'Oo do _you_ suppose is goin'
to 'ang the washing out with two o' them great houtlandish beasts
lolloping around? Not _me_, and so I _tell_ yer. I've enough work on
_my_ 'ands without no austridges!

[_She fans herself violently with her programme, and_ 'ENERY
_is reduced to explain that his suggestion was not seriously
intended._

IN THE STANDS - DURING THE NATIVE DISPLAY.

_Mrs. Keyveve_ (_to her brother_, Mr. FREDERICK FRIVELL, _as the
Somalis are performing a marriage dance_). It seems a curious kind of
wedding, doesn't it, FRED? Can you make out which are the bride and
bridegroom?

_Mr. Frivell._ Fancy that's the bride in red cotton, with her hair
down, prancing with maidenly gaiety between the first bridesmaid and
the best man, while the bridegroom, becomingly draped in a bath-towel,
may be observed capering up and down clapping hands with the
officiating clergy. A simple but impressive ceremony.

_Mrs. Keyveve._ Very. I wonder if they get any wedding presents.

_Mr. Frivell._ Rather. The sportsman in the rusty wig gave 'em
BROWNING'S poems and an afternoon tea-kettle, and the Johnny with
the feathers in his wool presented her with a dressing-bag. The
photo-frames, card-cases and carriage-clocks are all laid out in one
of the huts, according to the savage custom of the country, guarded
by a detective in the disguise of a wedding guest, armed with poisoned
spears.

_Mrs. Keyveve._ How silly you are! Look, they're rolling along a
great wicker-basket. What _can_ they have in it - the bride's luggage,
perhaps?... Why, it's an enormous snake! See, it's crawling out!

_Mr. Frivell._ It's the bride's going-away dress, that's all. Someone
ought to tell her that boas aren't worn this season, though.

_'Arriet_ (_in the Sixpenny Promenade, to_ 'ARRY). What are they
miking all that row about - are they supposed to be _torking_, or what?

_'Arry_ (_vaguely_). I expect they're declarin' war - against
_somebody_ or other.

_'Arriet_ (_reflectively_). I wonder if that little bit of 'air
stickin' up grows out of that feller's 'ed like that. Look at all them
little nippers runnin' about - (_with an air of discovery_) - I expect
they _belong_ to some of 'em.

[_The Somalis perform a war-dance, which seems to consist in
squatting down opposite one another in a double row, chanting
"Razza-Ho! Ho-hoâ-ho-ho!" or words to that effect, while two
of the party dodge between the ranks and cluck like poultry,
after which all rise, knock their wooden shields together
until they lose further interest in the affair, and stroll
away satiated._

_Mrs. Keyveve._ Is that really their war-dance? It's very much the
same as the _marriage_ dance, isn't it?

_Mr. Frivell_ (_a contented bachelor_). Yes; subtle beggars, these
Somalis.

_'Arry_ (_during the Sham Fight_). 'Ark at one on 'em 'owlin'
"Oo-oo-oo!" he's took bad _agen_! Good ole Mop 'Ed got one in _that_
time! "Olla-olla-olla!" - he's sayin' the other bloke 'it 'im on the
jor.

_'Arriet._ There's one keeps sayin' "Pudd'n" as plain as possible.
There agen - "Pudd'n!" d'jear 'im? They orter bring that young
SHAZARDER chap to see this; he'd feel at _'ome_ 'ere, among all these
Injians, wouldn' 'e?

_'Arry._ They ain't Injians - they're _Afrikins_, didn't you know
_that_ much?

_'Arriet._ Oh, you're so partickler, _you_ are!

_Mrs. Keyveve_ (_during the Dromedary Race_). _How_ seasick one must
feel on those wobbly camels!

_Mr. Frivell._ The Camel has been beautifully called the "Ship of the
Desert."

_A Husband_ (_confidentially, to his neighbour_). Yer know, the Missus
ain't _enjoyin'_ all this, _she_ aint - you see. I'll arsk her, and
you 'ear what she sez. (_To his_ "Missus.") 'Ow d'yer _like_ it, eh,
Mother?

_His "Missus"_ (_with self-repression_). Oh - middlin'.

_Husband_ (_insistently_). Ah, I know what _that_ means; yer don't
_care_ about it. Now, _do_ yer?

_His "Missus."_ It's well enough - in its way. (_With irrepressible
candour._) I'd sooner see the Mow'ork Minstruels.

_Husband_ (_to his neighbour, with a mixture of chagrin and
complacency_). Didn't I _tell_ yer? That's where it is. I don't know a
more severer criteek anywheres than what my ole woman is!

_Miss Simpson._ Look at those dear ostriches running after one another
and opening their beaks. Now _that_'s not imitation, you know!

_'Arry_ (_with his characteristic eye for analogy - as the entire
caravan parades past in procession_). There they _are_, yer
see - _Comin' 'Ome from Southend!_

[Illustration: "There they _are_, yer see - Comin' 'Ome from


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