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PUNCH, CHARIVARI, OCT 6, 1894 ***




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






Punch, or The London Charivari

Volume 107, October 6th 1894

edited by Sir Francis Burnand




OCTOBER 6TH 1894

THE CLUB; A GRIM STORY OF CHANGE.

[Illustration: 1. It was the beginning of the Club season. "I shall be
glad to see all the boys again after all these weeks!" murmured Clubber,
as Mrs. C. packed him up.]

[Illustration: 2. "Ah! _How_ are you, _dear_ old boy?" shouted the
Clubites, hysterical with affectionate yearning.]

[Illustration: 3. "Magnificent reciter Foodle is, to be sure!" they
murmured, in an ecstatic dream of enthusiasm. "Brav O! Splendid, dear
old boy!!"]

[Illustration: 4. And when they parted at the end of the evening, they
breathed fervently, "Good night, old fellow - bless you!" * * * * *]

[Illustration: 5. It was the middle of the Club season. "Hum, Foodle's
recitations are always so long-winded. Great mistake," they muttered to
themselves. "And the other fellows are a bit slow, after all."]

[Illustration: 6. And when they parted at the end of the evening, they
just nodded. * * *]

[Illustration: 7. It was the end of the Club season. "Well, if you want
_my_ opinion," said Clubber, "that Foodle's a beastly poor reciter." "I
_don't_ want your opinion; nobody does," said Rubber. "But you happen to
be right for once."]

[Illustration: 8. "_I'm_ not going to recite to you idiots," said
Foodle. "It's a waste of breath." "Much relieved to hear it!" said
Groodle.]

[Illustration: 9. "I'm precious glad to get away from that maddening set
of chuckle-headed bores for a few weeks!" said Clubber, as Mrs. C.
unpacked him.]

LORD ROSEBERY IN THE NORTH.

THE PRIME MINISTER has been having a high old time of it lately in the
North, and has become the "youngest burgess" of goodness knows how many
ancient boroughs. But it has been left to a reporter to note with an
eagle eye the really interesting performance which Lord ROSEBERY has put
to his credit. "Immediately on leaving Dornoch," says this gentleman
(the reporter, not the PREMIER), "Lord ROSEBERY and the Duke of
SUTHERLAND drove to the Meikle Ferry, a distance of four miles, crossed
the ferry, and again drove to Tain, four miles farther on. Crossing the
ferry they both took a turn at the oars, and _generally discussed the
sport of seal shooting_!" This suggests quite a fresh phase of the New
Journalism. We shall soon read such paragraphs as the following: -

"Sir WILLIAM HARCOURT left town for Malwood on Tuesday. Going
down in the train the right hon. gentleman played marbles with a
fellow-passenger, and discussed generally the virtues of resignation."

"Mr. H. H. FOWLER transacted important business at the India Office
yesterday. He and his private secretary played a game of trundling
hoops, and had an animated talk on the subject of whist."

"Mr. A. J. BALFOUR played at golf with a gentleman, with whom he had a
very interesting conversation on the sport of chute shooting."

* * * * *

The moral of which would seem to be that, since even conversation is now
reported, silence is more golden than ever; though _Mr. Punch_ notices
that the PRIME MINISTER showed rare diplomacy in his choice of a
subject. Not even a reporter could extract any political meaning out of
the sport of seal shooting!

[Illustration: SWEET SIMPLICITY.

_Diffident Man (who does not know to how much of an Ingénue he is
talking)._ "HAVE YOU BEEN OUT LONG, MISS GRACE?"

_Miss Grace (consulting her wrist-strap)._ "OH, ABOUT THREE-QUARTERS OF
AN HOUR. YOU SEE WE WERE ASKED TO COME PUNCTUALLY."]

* * * * *

VERY NEAR. - The _Record_ has been taking Mr. HALL CAINE to task for the
baptismal scene in _The Manxman_, and the novelist has been telling the
_Record_ to remember its Rubrics. "Mr. CAINE," says the _Record_, "has
been in a hurry." The _Record_ lost a chance, as, evidently expecting a
storm of fury, it should have deprecated the author's anger by saying,
"Don't be in a hurry-CAINE."

* * * * *

"TERRIBLE IN HIS ANGER!"

MR. J-ST-N MCC-RTHY (_reading the speech of the German Emperor to the
Mayor of Thorn_). "For you know, I can be very disagreeable too!" _Ah!
and so can I - when I like!_

I CAN BE VERY NASTY, WHEN I LIKE!

(_The Song of a Mouton Enragé._)

["I own that I am sorry that a louder, and a stronger, and a
prompter note of reassurance has not been given to the Irish people
with regard to this obstructive power of the House of Lords, and
that I look to the Autumn Campaign with anxious hope for a clear and
certain signal." - _Mr. Justin McCarthy in the "New Review."_]

_Enraged (and enrhumé) Leader, with his feet in "hot water," sings: - _

Yes, I'b wud with the yug Ebperor id this -
Extreebs - as has beed ofted said - _do_ beet!
(_Wow!_ this water, I declare, is od the hiss,
Id is very hot iddeed to by poor feet!)
By cowd is beastly troublesub, at tibes;
But, although I ab as patied as poor Sbike,
I'b bowd to kick whed subwud galls by kibes;
Ad I _cad_ be very darsty, whed I like!

Yug WILLIAB fides it needful to speak out,
Ad, like that Hebrew persod id the play,
He _cad_ be "very darsty," there's no doubt;
Ad so cad I, of course id by owd way.
A buttud's wudrous angry _whed_ aroused.
Ad if those Liberals sell be, I shall strike.
Owd Oirelad has so freaquadly bid choused -
Ad Pats cad be very darsty, whed they like!

Bister BORLEY we all dow, and _he_'s all right,
Ad SHAW-LEFEVRE's sowd upod the goose;
Sir WILLIAB "is a fighter" - will he fight? -
Yug ROSEBERY - well, jokes are dot _buch_ use.
That ASQUITH's dot a fascidatig bad,
As hard as dails, plaid-spokud as a pike!
I wish agaidst the Lords they had sub _plad_, -
Oh I cad be very darsty, _whed_ I like.

There bight have bid a protest strog ad sterd,
But do! they let the Peers, id sileds, score.
Sir WILLIAB dever said a siggle word
Whed they kicked "Evicted Tedadst" frob their door.
It bight have bid a local turdpike Bill,
Or Act to regulate the Scorcher's "bike."
I bust idsist od "bizdess," ad I _will_,
For I cad be _very_ darsty, whed I like!

The Irish are begidded to have doubts
(Ad REDBUD, he is goid to give be beads).
If "Ids" betray by Cudtry, there _are_ "Outs"!
Hobe Rule bust dot be shudted, like stale greeds,
The Shabrock bust be shaked at those Peers;
Or BcCarthyites _bay_ go upod the Strike! -
Ad the Rads he chucked frob Office - yes, for years! -
Oh! I _cad be precious_ darsty - whed I _like!_

* * * * *

[Illustration: "TERRIBLE IN HIS ANGER!"

_J-st-n McC-rthy (reading extract from German Emperor's Speech)._ "'I
CAN BE VERY DISAGREEABLE TOO, WHEN I LIKE.' AH! SO CAN I!"]

* * * * *

In Nuce.

THE pith of LABBY'S caustic elocution
Is that long war of words should end in deeds.
After the lead of the Leeds Resolution,
He wants to feel that Resolution leads!
A House of Words but little help affords
In a hot contest with a House of Lords.
But LABBY, were the issue quite so glorious
If - as some fear - the Lords should prove victorious?

* * * * *

NEW READING FOR THE NEW ART.

ONE might conclude from many a spindly shank,
Some read _Ars longa est_ as "Art is Lank"!

* * * * *

THE LUNNON TWANG.

I'VE heard a Frenchman wag his tongue
Wi' unco din an' rattle,
An', 'faith, my vera lugs hae sung
Wi' listenin' tae his prattle;
But French is no the worst of a'
In point o' noise an' clang, man;
There's ane that beats it far awa',
And that's the Lunnon twang, man.

You wadna think, within this land,
That folk could talk sae queerly,
But, sure as Death, tae understand
The callants beats me fairly.
An', 'faith, 'tis little gude their schules
Can teach them, as ye'll see, man,
For - wad ye credit it? - the fules
Can scarcely follow _me_, man.

An' yet, tae gie the deils their due,
(An' little praise they're worth, man,)
They seem tae ken, I kenna hoo.
That I come frae the Nor-r-rth, man!
They maun be clever, for ye ken
There's nought tae tell the chiels, man:
I'm jist like a' the ither men
That hail frae Galashiels, man.

But oh! I'm fain tae see again
The bonny hills an' heather!
Twa days, and ne'er a drap o' rain -
Sic awfu' drouthy weather!
But eh! I doubt the Gala boys
Will laugh when hame I gang, man,
For oo! I'm awfu' feared my voice
Has ta'en the Lunnon twang, man!

* * * * *

Demolition of Doctors' Commons.

SIR HERBERT JENNER FUST what would you say
To Doctors' Commons being done away!
No wonder its machinery is rusty,
Since in _your_ time at best it was but Fusty!

* * * * *

LYRE AND LANCET.

(_A Story in Scenes._)

PART XIV. - LE VETÉRINAIRE MALGRÉ LUI.

SCENE XXIII. - _Outside the Stables at Wyvern._

TIME - _About 10_ P.M.

_Undershell_ (_to himself, as he follows_ ADAMS). Now is my time to
arrange about getting away from here. (_To_ ADAMS.) By the bye, I
suppose you can let me have a conveyance of some sort - after I've seen
the horse? I - I'm rather in a hurry.

_Adams._ You'd better speak to Mr. CHECKLEY about that, Sir; it ain't in
_my_ department, you see. I'll fetch him round, if you'll wait here a
minute; he'd like to hear what you think about the 'orse.

[_He goes off to the coachman's quarters._

_Und._ (_alone_). A very civil fellow this; he seems quite anxious to
show me this animal! There must be _something_ very remarkable about
it.

[ADAMS _returns with_ CHECKLEY.

_Adams._ Mr. CHECKLEY, our 'ed coachman, Mr. UNDERSHELL. He's coming in
along with us to 'ear what you say, if you've no objections.

_Und._ (_to himself_). I must make a friend of this coachman, or else
- - (_Aloud._) I shall be charmed, Mr. CHECKLEY. I've only a very few
minutes to spare; but I'm most curious to see this horse of yours.

_Checkley._ He ain't one o' _my_ 'orses, Sir. If he _'ad_ been - - But
there, I'd better say nothing about it.

_Adams_ (_as he leads the way into the stables, and turns up the gas_).
There, Sir, that's _Deerfoot_ over there in the loose box.

_Und._ (_to himself_). He seems to me much like any _other_ horse!
However, I can't be wrong in admiring. (_Aloud, as he inspects him
through the rails._) Ah, indeed? he _is_ worth seeing! A magnificent
creature!

_Adams_ (_stripping off_ Deerfoot's _clothing_). He's a good 'orse, Sir.
Her ladyship won't trust herself on no other animal, not since she 'ad
the influenzy so bad. She'd take on dreadful if I 'ad to tell her he
wouldn't be fit for no more work, she would!

_Und._ (_sympathetically_). I can quite imagine so. Not that he seems in
any danger of _that_!

_Check._ (_triumphantly_). There, you 'ear that, ADAMS? The minute he
set eyes on the 'orse!

_Adams._ Wait till Mr. UNDERSHELL has seen him move a bit, and see what
he says _then_.

_Check._ If it was what _you_ think, he'd never be standing like he is
now, depend upon it.

_Adams._ You _can't_ depend upon it. He 'eard us coming, and he's quite
artful enough to draw his foot back for fear o' getting a knock. (_To_
UNDERSHELL.) I've noticed him very fidgety-like on his forelegs this
last day or two.

_Und. Have_ you, though? (_To himself._) I hope he won't be fidgety
with his _hind_-legs. I shall stay outside.

_Adams._ I cooled him down with a rubub and aloes ball, and kep 'im on
low diet; but he don't seem no better.

_Und._ (_to himself_). I didn't gather the horse was unwell. (_Aloud._)
Dear me! no better? You don't say so!

_Check._ If you'd rubbed a little embrocation into the shoulder, you'd
ha' done more good, in _my_ opinion, and it's my belief as Mr.
UNDERSHELL here will tell you I'm right.

_Und._ (_to himself_). Can't afford to offend the coachman! (_Aloud._)
Well, I daresay - er - embrocation _would_ have been better.

_Adams._ Ah, that's where me and Mr. CHECKLEY differ. According to me,
it ain't to do with the shoulder at all - it's a deal lower down.... I'll
'ave him out of the box and you'll soon see what I mean.

_Und._ (_hastily_). Pray don't trouble on my account. I - I can see him
capitally from where I am, thanks.

_Adams._ You know best, Sir. Only I thought you'd be better able to form
a judgment after you'd seen the way he stepped across. But if you was to
come in and examine the frog? - - I don't like the look of it myself.

_Und._ (_to himself_). I'm sure _I_ don't. I've a horror of reptiles.
(_Aloud._) You're very good. I - I think I won't come in. The place must
be rather _damp_, mustn't it - for that?

_Adams._ It's dry enough in 'ere, Sir, as you may see; nor yet he ain't
been standing about in no wet. Still, there it _is_, you see!

_Und._ (_to himself_). What a fool he must be not to drive it out! Of
course it must annoy the horse. (_Aloud._) I don't see it; but I'm quite
willing to take your word for it.

_Adams._ I don't know how you can _expect_ to see it, Sir, without you
look inside of the 'oof for it.

_Und._ (_to himself_). It's not alive - it's something _inside_ the hoof.
I suppose I ought to have known that. (_Aloud._) Just so; but I see no
necessity for looking inside the hoof.

_Check._ In course he don't, or he'd ha' looked the very fust thing,
with all his experience. I 'ope you're satisfied _now_, ADAMS?

_Adams._ I can't say as I am. I say as no man can examine a 'orse
thoroughly at that distance, be he who he may. And whether I'm right or
wrong, it 'ud be more of a satisfaction to me if Mr. UNDERSHELL was to
step in and see the 'oof for himself.

_Check._ Well, there's sense in that, and I dessay Mr. UNDERSHELL won't
object to obliging you that far.

_Und._ (_with reluctance_). Oh, with pleasure, if you make a point of
it.

[_He enters the loose box delicately._

_Adams_ (_picking up one of the horse's feet_). Now, tell me how this
'ere 'oof strikes you.

_Und._ (_to himself_). That hoof can't; but I'm not so sure about the
others. (_Aloud, as he inspects it._) Well - er - it seems to me a very
_nice_ hoof.

_Adams_ (_grimly_). I was not arsking your opinion of it as a work of
_Art_, Sir. Do you see any narrering coming on, or do you not? That's
what I should like to get out of _you_!

_Und._ (_to himself_). Does this man suppose I _collect_ hoofs! However,
I'm not going to commit myself. (_Aloud._) H'm - well, I - I rather agree
with Mr. CHECKLEY.

_Check._ I knew he would! Now you've _got_ it, ADAMS! _I_ can see Mr.
UNDERSHELL knows what he's about.

_Adams_ (_persistently_). But look at this 'ere pastern. You can't deny
there's puffiness there. How do you get over _that_?

_Und._ If the horse is puffy, it's _his_ business to get over it - not
mine.

_Adams_ (_aggrieved_). You may think proper to treat it light, Sir; but
if you put your 'and down 'ere, above the coronet, you'll feel a
throbbing as plain as - -

_Und._ Very likely. But I don't know, really, that it would afford me
any particular gratification if I _did_!

_Adams._ Well, if you don't take _my_ view, I should ha' thought as
you'd want to feel the 'orse's pulse.

_Und._ You are quite mistaken. I don't. (_To himself._) Particularly as
I shouldn't know where to find it. What a bore this fellow is with his
horse!

_Check._ In course, Sir, _you_ see what's running in Mr. ADAMS' 'ed all
this time, what he's a-driving at, eh?

_Und._ (_to himself_). I only wish I did! This will require tact.
(_Aloud._) I - I could hardly avoid seeing _that_ - could I?

_Check._ I should think not. And it stands to reason as a vet like
yourself'd spot a thing like navickler fust go off.

_Und._ (_to himself_). A vet! They've been taking me for a vet all this
time! I can't have been so ignorant as I thought. I really don't like to
undeceive them - they might feel annoyed. (_Aloud, knowingly._) To be
sure, I - I spotted it at once.

_Adams._ He _does_ make it out navicular after all! What did I tell you,
CHECKLEY? Now p'r'aps you'll believe _me_!

_Check._ I'll be shot if that 'orse has navickler, whoever says
so - there!

_Adams_ (_gloomily_). It's the 'orse'll 'ave to be shot; worse
luck! I'd ha' give something if Mr. UNDERSHELL could ha' shown I was
wrong; but there was very little doubt in _my_ mind what it was all
along.

_Und._ (_to himself, horrified_). I've been pronouncing this unhappy
animal's doom without knowing it! I must tone it down. (_Aloud._)
No - no, I never said he must be shot. There's no reason to despair.
It - it's quite a mild form of er - clavicular - not at all infectious at
present. And the horse has a splendid constitution. I - I really think
he'll soon be himself again, if we only - er - leave Nature to do her
work, you know.

_Adams_ (_after a prolonged whistle_). Well, if Nature ain't better up
in her work than you seem to be, it's 'igh time she chucked it, and took
to something else. You've a lot to learn about navicular, _you_ 'ave, if
you can talk such rot as that!

_Check._ Ah, I've 'ad to do with a vet or two in my time, but I'm blest
if I ever come across the likes o' _you_ afore!

_Und._ (_to himself_). I _knew_ they'd find me out! I must pacify them.
(_Aloud._) But, look here, I'm _not_ a vet. I never said I _was_. It was
your mistake entirely. The fact is, my - my good men, I came down here
because - well, it's unnecessary to explain now _why_ I came. But I'm
most anxious to get away, and if you, my dear Mr. CHECKLEY, could let me
have a trap to take me to Shuntingbridge to-night, I should feel
extremely obliged.

[CHECKLEY _stares, deprived of speech._

_Adams_ (_with a private wink to_ CHECKLEY). Certainly he will, Sir. I'm
sure CHECKLEY'll feel proud to turn out, late as it is, to oblige a
gentleman with your remarkable knowledge of 'orse-flesh. Drive you over
hisself in the broom and pair, _I_ shouldn't wonder!

_Und. One_ horse will be quite sufficient. Very well, then. I'll just
run up and get my portmanteau, and - and one or two things of mine, and
if you will be round at the back entrance - don't trouble to drive up to
the _front_ door - as soon as possible, I won't keep you waiting longer
than I can help. Good evening, Mr. ADAMS, and many thanks. (_To himself,
as he hurries back to the house._) I've got out of that rather well.
Now, I've only to find my way to the Verney Chamber, see this fellow
SPURRELL, and get my clothes back, and then I can retreat with comfort,
and even dignity! These CULVERINS shall learn that there is at least
_one_ poet who will not put up with their insolent patronage!

_Check._ (_to_ ADAMS). He _has_ got a cool cheek, and no mistake! But if
he waits to be druv over to Shuntingbridge till _I_ come round for him,
he'll 'ave to set on that portmanteau of his a goodish time!

_Adams._ He did you pretty brown, I must say. To 'ear you crowing over
me when he was on your side. I could 'ardly keep from larfing!

_Check._ I see he warn't no vet long afore you, but I let it go on for
the joke of it. It was rich to see you a wanting him to feel the 'oof,
and give it out navickler. Well, you got his opinion for what it was
wuth, so _you_'re all right!

_Adams._ You think nobody knows anything about 'orses but yourself, you
do; but if you're meanin' to make a story out o' this against me, why, I
shall tell it _my_ way, that's all!

_Check._ It was you he made a fool of, not me - and I can prove
it - there!

[_They dispute the point, with rising warmth, for some time._

_Adams_ (_calming down_). Well, see 'ere, CHECKLEY, I dunno, come to
think of it, as either on us'll show up partickler smart over this 'ere
job; and it strikes me we'd better both agree to keep quiet about it,
eh? (CHECKLEY _acquiesces, not unwillingly_.) And I think I'll take a
look in at the 'Ousekeeper's Room presently, and try if I can't drop a
hint to old TREDWELL about that smooth-tongued chap, for it's my belief
he ain't down 'ere for no good!

[Illustration "You've a lot to learn about navicular, _you_ 'ave, if
you can talk such rot as that!"]

* * * * *

[Illustration]

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

"Aha!" quoth the Baron. "This book of Master STANLEY WEYMAN'S, called
_Under the Red Robe_, delighteth me much. A stirring story of
swashbucklers, pistols, daggers, conspirators, gay gallants, and gentle
dames! Exciting from first to last, and all in one volume, which,
beshrew me, by my hilts!" quoth the Baron, "the reader, be he who he
may, will find easy to take up, and most difficult to put down, until
quite finished. 'Tis published by one METHUEN, of London, whose house
Cavalier WEYMAN hath favoured more than once ere he wrote this stirring
romance." Towards the finish there is a spice of BULWER LYTTON'S drama
_Richelieu_, - indeed the last situation in this tale is almost one with
the action of the scene in the play where _Richelieu_ brings the lovers
together. Yet is this but a mere detail, and those who follow the
Baron's literary tips will do well and wisely to read _Under the Red
Robe_. By the way, Mr. CATON WOODVILLE'S illustrations to the story are
excellent, having the rare merit of assisting the action without
revealing the plot. "CATON, thou pictureth well."

Within the limits of a hundred pages Lord DUFFERIN has given the
world a picture it will not willingly let die. It is a portrait of
his mother, "one of the sweetest, most beautiful, most accomplished,
wittiest, most loving and lovable human beings that ever walked upon
the earth." This, as my Baronite says, is the superlative of praise,
and it might reasonably be suspected that filial feeling has warped
critical acumen. But here in this volume of _Songs, Poems, and Verses_
(JOHN MURRAY) we have Lady DUFFERIN though dead yet speaking, and may
judge for ourselves. It is characteristic of her son that, whilst on
the first page the above title is boldly set forth in large ruddy-hued
type, a smaller line lower down, in plain black ink, refers to the
"Memoir." In its felicity of literary style, its clear touches of
characterisation, and its flashes of quiet humour, this monograph is a
masterpiece. It fittingly frames the extract from the journal commenced
by Lady DUFFERIN when she felt the hand of death gripping her. This
fragment is prose worthy of the author of _The Irish Emigrant_, whose
simple pathos has stirred the heart on both sides of the Atlantic.
Within the brief limits he has assigned to himself, Lord DUFFERIN
manages to give a succinct account of the illustrious family of which
HELEN, Lady DUFFERIN, was a bright, particular star. It would be
difficult to parallel the sustained brilliancy of the SHERIDANS, from
RICHARD BRINSLEY down to his great-great-grandson, at present Her
MAJESTY'S Minister at Paris. To the possession of all the graces they
have added display of all the talents. It is hard to live up to the
literary standard of the SHERIDANS. In this delightful volume Lord
DUFFERIN shows that the marvel was accomplished by his mother, and is
possible for himself.

My Baronite has made an attempt to read _Lourdes_ in the convenient
shape in which Messrs. CHATTO AND WINDUS present it to the
English-speaking public. He honestly admits that, finding on a rapid
glance through its pages the first chapter was a fair sample of the
bulk, he gave it up. M. ZOLA has avowedly set himself the task of
minutely describing the pitiful experience of the halt, the lame, the
blind, and much worse, who journey to Lourdes in the desperate hope
of miraculous recovery. He may at least be congratulated on having
achieved his object. Only, the report with all its horrible detail
would more fittingly have appeared in the pages of the _Lancet_ or the
_British Medical Journal_. Since it has been published in book form
realism should have been carried one step further. The volume ought to
have been bound in a poultice instead of ordinary cloth. As it is, the
leaves turned over fill the room with faint, sickening smell of the
hospital ward. _Lourdes_ is certainly not alluring. It is, in truth,
_lourd - et sale aussi_.

Once again, for the benefit of all brother-scribes who, for a while, or
frequently, may have to do their scribbling when journeying, or while
compelled by illness to remain in Bedford-under-Clothes, - as was but


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