Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 103, August 20, 1892 online

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VOL. 103.

August 20, 1892.


["Detective cameras have become favourite playthings with
ladies of fashion." - _Ladies' Paper_.]

You used to prate of plates and prints
And "quick developers" before,
In spite of not unfrequent hints
That these in time become a bore;
But then this photographic craze
Seemed little but a foolish fad,
While now its very latest phase
Appears to me distinctly bad.

Since even your devoted friends
At sight of you were wont to fly,
You manage still to gain your ends,
And photograph them on the sly;
The muff, the cloak with ample folds,
The parcel, and the biscuit-tin,
I know that each discreetly holds
Detective lenses hid within.

Should CROESUS greet you with a smile,
A "bromide" will record the fact;
Should STREPHON help you o'er a stile,
The film will take him in the act.
Yet this renown, if truth be said,
Is fame they'd rather be without;
Nor, I assure you, will they wed
A lady photographic tout.

* * * * *


That Golf was a game probably known to and played by pre-Adamite Man
(whoever he may have been; name and address not given) is evidenced by
the learned Canon TRISTRAM's observation in the Biology Section of
the British Association Meeting last week, to the effect that "he (the
Canon) had never seen a better collection of these Links connecting
the present with the past world." This must be most interesting to all

* * * * *


_First Passenger_ (_reading Morning Paper_). "'PSYCHICAL CHARACTER OF


* * * * *




[Illustration: ('Arriet.)]

Across the wind-blown bridges,
O look, lugubrious Night!
She comes, the red-haired beauty
Illumined by gaslight!
By London's dim gaslight!
So hush, ye cads, your roar!
Behind her plumes are waving
Her oil'd fringe flaps before.

O 'ARRIET, Cockney sister,
Your face is writhed with jeers;
How awful is the angle
Of those protuberant ears!
Those red, protuberant ears!
And your splay feet - O lor!!!
My loud, my Cockney sister,
Where oil'd fringe flops before!

Ah, 'ARRIET! gracious 'eavens,
How your greased locks do glow!
I swoon! The "hodoration"
(I heard you call it so)
Sickens my senses so;
'Tis "Citronel" - no more,
That scents, like a cheap barber's,
That oil'd fringe hung before.

'ARRIET, my knowing darling,
Your eyes a cross-watch keep,
You're togged in shop-girl's fashion,
Your cloak is bugled deep,
Black-bugled broad and deep,
With buttons dappled o'er,
Good gr-racious! how it's grown, too -
That oil'd fringe flopped before!

That "bang" is awfully trying,
That odour maddens me.
By Jingo! you've been dyeing
Those rufous locks, I see,
Those sandy locks, I see,
They're darker than of yore.
Avaunt! I'd be forgetting
That oil'd fringe flopped before.

* * * * *


Under the heading "Military Education," there appears in _The Tablet_,
an advertisement concerning preparation for examinations at Woolwich
and Sandhurst by "the Rev. E. VON ORSBACH, F.R.G.S., F.R.Hist.S.,
late Tutor to their Highnesses the Princes of THURN-AND-TAXIS." What a
suggestive name for a tutor preparing young men for a Cavalry Regiment
is "VON ORSBACH!" Not only would pupils surmount all difficulties
of EUCLID's propositions, but being brought up by VON ORSBACH, they
would dare all "riders!" Then as to the Princes, his pupils, cannot
we conceive of the first Prince THURN how he has been turned out
a perfect 'orseman by VON ORSBACH, and how it would tax all an
Examiner's ingenuity to pluck TAXIS. Pity that when one Prince was
called TAXIS the other wasn't named RATES. But evidently this was an
oversight. A neat couplet might head this advertisement, and add to
its attractiveness, as for instance: -

Every question, whatever they ax is,
Will in its THURN be answered by TAXIS.
TAXIS and THURN, for a win you'll of course back,
The pick of the stable, the trainer VON ORSBACH.

We wish him a continuance of the successes which from his list
this Equestrian Military Tutor - he can't he a "coach" as he is an
ORSBACH - has already obtained. It's a German name, but it sounds more
like 'Orsetrian (!)

* * * * *

CUI BONO? - "It is a mistake," quoth _The World_ last week, "to suppose
that Mr. GLADSTONE complacently regards Sir WILLIAM HARCOURT as his
'_Alter Ego_.'" Mr. G. being the "_Ego_" it is not very likely that
Sir WILLIAM V. HARCOURT is likely to "alter" any of his Leader's
plans. Still an "_Alter Ego_" is very useful whenever Mr. GLADSTONE
may want to "wink The Other I."

* * * * *

[Illustration: 1492 V. 1892.]

[_Christopher Columbus_. "WHAT! GO OVER IN FIVE DAYS! WHY, IF I'D HAD

* * * * *



Yes, there I stood beside my wife,
And called it - whilst the mob cheered wildly -
"The proudest moment of my life,"
Which it was _not_, to put it mildly.

Heavens, how they cheered! Up went their caps,
To see their Member safely seated;
Who in his inmost soul, perhaps,
Had almost wished himself defeated.

The girls are pleased. And Mrs. T.,
Has fairy visions of a handle
To grace the name she shares with me;
But is the game quite worth the candle?

Six years of unremitting work,
Of flower-shows, bazaars, and speeches,
Of sturdy mendicants who lurk
In wait to act as sturdy leeches.

The faddists - Anti-This-and-That -
Blue-spectacled "One Vote, One Person" -
Extract a promise, prompt and pat,
The while their heads you hurl a curse on.

And in return? The dull debate,
The dreary unimportant question,
The pressure of affairs of State,
A muddled brain, a lost digestion.

Six years of it. I _cannot_ stand
At any cost another bout of it;
But, given away on every hand,
I don't quite see how to get out of it.

Ah, happy thought! My seat is safe,
And so 'mid general adulation,
I'll rescue some poor party waif
By Chiltern Hundreds resignation.

The world will quickly roar applause,
Of martyrs I shall be the latest;
But I'm the party and the cause
To whom the service will be greatest!

* * * * *

SONG OF GRATITUDE (_by a Nervous Equestrian on the exceptional absence
of 'Arry-cyclists or "Wheelmen" from the road to Wimbledon_). -

"Oh, Wheelie, have we missed you?
Oh no, no, No!"

* * * * *

[Illustration: A MATTER OF "COURSE."

_Eminent German Specialist_. "VAT VATERS 'AVE YOU BEEN IN ZE 'ABIT OF


[_Upon which a mild course of Homburg, Kissengen, Marienbad, and
Karlsbad is at once prescribed._]

* * * * *


_British Envoy, Timbuctoo, to Foreign Minister, London._

No end of a row! Grand Vizier, Lord Chamberlain, Keeper of Privy
Purse, and other high Officials, assembled outside my house, and
smashed windows, aided by furious crowd. Certain that Sultan is at
bottom of it. Mayn't I say something vigorous to him?

_Foreign Minister, London, to British Envoy, Timbuctoo._

Awkward, as General Election going on. Temporise. Appear not to notice
stone-throwing. Very difficult to get to Timbuctoo with British Force.
If hit with stones, try arnica. Rather think Timbuctoo was discovered
by an Irishman, and called after him, TIM BUCKTOO. Eh?

_British Envoy to Foreign Minister._

Please don't jest; especially not in Irish. Glad to say aspect
of affairs completely changed. Sultan frightened about the
stone-throwing. Beheaded Grand Vizier, and sent Lord Chamberlain,
heavily ironed, to be imprisoned in cellar under my own apartment.
Gratifying. Treaty on point of being signed.

_Foreign Minister to British Envoy._

Your action quite approved of. Get Treaty signed quick! France, not
unnaturally, seems rather galled. See joke? Play on word "Gaul."

_British Envoy to Foreign Minister._

Quite see joke. Saw it years ago. Please don't send any more of 'em.
Treaty settled! Gives absurdly generous bounty to all British subjects
trading with Timbuctoo. Abolishes all Tariffs. Draft, with Sultan's
signature, returned to him to be properly copied out. Mere formality.
Packing up, and off to Coast to-night.

_Same to Same._

Arrived at coast. Treaty in carpet-bag. Regret to say, that on
examining it, find that Sultan has slipped in the little word "not" in
every clause. Makes hash of whole thing. What shall I do?

_Foreign Minister, London, to British Envoy._

Do nothing! Former Foreign Minister no longer in Office. General
Election _has_ taken place. Whole subject will be reconsidered,
with quite new lights, before long. Off for a holiday just now, and
can't attend to it. You'll hear from me again in about six months.
Meanwhile, your motto must be - "_Fez-tina lente_!" Last joke.
Brilliant. Just going to let it off at dinner-party. P.S. - Great

* * * * *

REEF-LECTION. - Delivering judgment in the case of _Osborne_ v.
_Aaron's Reef, Limited_, Mr. Justice CHITTY, in the interests of the
public, was justly severe on both plaintiff and defendants, declining
"to give any costs in this action to such a Company." Everyone is
familiar with the nautical expression of "taking in a reef," which
seems to have been a slightly difficult operation for anyone to
perform with AARON's Reef, which, after the manner of AARON's Rod,
when it was transformed into a serpent, appears to possess the faculty
of swallowing to a very considerable extent. Knowing brokers, if
consulted, would not have sung to unwary clients the popular ditty
"_Keep your Aarons_," but would have recommended them, being in, to
be out again in double-quick time, if there were any chance of an
immediate though small ready-money profit to be made, before one could
have said "Scissors!"

* * * * *


_It is about nine P.M.; in the West, a faint saffron flush
is lingering above the green and opal sea, while the upper
part of the church tower still keeps the warm glow of sunset.
The stars are beginning to appear, and a mellow half moon is
rising in a deep violet sky. Lamps are twinkling above the
dusky cliffs, and along the curve of the shore._

_The Reader will kindly imagine himself on a seat at the
end of the Pier, where the Sand is playing, and scraps of
conversation from his neighbours and passing promenaders,
reach his ear involuntarily._

_Fair Promenader_ (_roused to enthusiasm by the surroundings_). Oh,
don't it look lovely at night? (_Impulsively._) I can't _'elp_ sayin'

_Her Companion_ (_whose emotions are less easily stirred_). Why?

_The Fair P._ (_apologetically_). Oh, I don't know exactly - these sort
o' scenes always _do_ take my fancy.

_Her Comp._ (_making a concession to her weakness_). Well, I must say
it's picturesque enough - what with the gas outside the 'All by the
Sea, and the lamps on the whilk stalls.

[Illustration: "Some people will tell yer, now, that Margit's

_First Girl_ (_on seat - to Second_). Here comes that young SPIFFING. I
do hope he won't come bothering _us_! (_Mr. S. gratifies her desire
by promenading past in bland unconsciousness_.) Well, I do call that
_cool_! He must have seen us. Too grand to be seen talking to us
_here_, I suppose!

_Second Girl_. I'm sure I wouldn't be seen talking to _him_, that's
all! Why, he's on'y - [_They pick him to pieces relentlessly._

_First Girl_. Take care - he's coming round again. Now we shall see.
Mind you don't begin laughing, or else you'll set _me_ off!

[_As a natural consequence, Mr. S.'s approach excites them
both to paroxysms of maidenly mirth._

_Mr. S._ (_halting in front of them_). You two seem 'ighly amused at
something. What's the joke?

_Second Girl_ (_as the first is compelled to bury her face behind her
friend's back_). Don't you be too curious. I'll tell you this much - at
_your_ expense!

_Mr. S._ Oh, is it? Then you might let Me 'ave a a'porth!

_First Girl_. BELLA, if you tell him, I'll never speak to you again.

[_As there is nothing particular to tell, Miss BELLA
preserves the secret._

_Mr. S._ (_reconnoitring his rear suspiciously_). There's nothing
pinned on to my coat-tails, is there? (_Renewed mirth from the
couple_.) Well, I see you're occupied - so, good evenin'.

[_Walks on, with offended dignity._

_Second Girl_. There! I _knew_ how it would be - he's gone off in a
huff now!

_First Girl_. Let him! He ought to know better than take offence at
nothing. And such a ridic'lous little object as he's looking, too!
What else can he _expect_, I'd like to know!... Don't you feel it
chilly, sitting still?

_Second Girl_ (_rising with alacrity_). I was just thinking. Suppose
we take a turn - the _other_ way round, or he might think -

_First Girl_. We'll show him others have their pride as well as him.
[_They disappear in the crowd._

_Mr. Spiffing_ (_repassing a few minutes later, with one of the young
Ladies on each arm_). Well, there, say no more about it - so long as it
wasn't at Me, I don't mind! [_They pass on._

_A Wheezy Matron_ (_in a shawl_). She was a prettier byby in the fice
than any o' the others - sech a lydylike byby she was - we never 'ad
no bother with her! and never, as long as I live, shall I forgit her
Grandpa's words when he saw her settin' up in her 'igh cheer at tea,
with her little cheeks a marsk o' marmalade. "LOUISER JYNE," he sez,
"you mark my words - she's the on'y reelly _nice_ byby you ever 'ad, or
_will_ ave!"

_Her Comp_. An' he wasn't given to compliments in a general way,
neither, _was_ he?

_Anxious Mother_. I can't make him out. Sometimes I think he means
something, and yet, - Every morning we've been here, he's come up to
her on the Pier, and brought her a carnation inside of his 'at.

_Her Confidante_. Then depend upon it, my dear, he has intentions. _I_
should say so, certingly!

_The Mother_. Ah, but CARRIE tells me she's dropped her glove,
accidental-like, over and over again, and he's always picked it
up, - and handed it back to her. I reelly don't know what _to_ think!

_The Confidante_. Well, I wouldn't lose heart - with the moon drawin'
on to the full, as it is!

_A Seaside Siren_ (_conscious of a dazzling complexion - to a
suburban Ulysses_). I wish I could get brown - I think it's so awfully
becoming - but I never can!

_Ulysses_. Some people _are_ like that. On'y turn _red_, you know,
specially the nose - catches 'em _there_, y'know!

_The Siren_. I'm obliged to you, I'm sure! Is that meant to be

_Ulysses_. Oh, I wasn't thinking of _you_ when I said that.

_The Siren_. You're very complimentary. But do tell me - am _I_ like
that? (_She presents her face for his inspection_.) Candidly, now.

_Ulysses_ (_conscientiously_). Well, I don't notice anything
particular - but, you see, colours don't show up by moonlight.

[_The Siren coldly intimates that her Mother will be
waiting supper for them._

_An Habitué_. Some people will tell yer, now, that Margit's _vulgar_.
They must be precious 'ard to please, that's all! I'm as partickler
as what most are, and I can assure yer if there was anythink o' _that_
sort about, I shouldn't come down 'ere reglar, season after season,
like I do!

_His Companion_. In course not - and no more shouldn't I, neither!


_Female Voice_ (_from the recesses of a glazed shelter_). But if
you're on the sands all day, how is it I never _see_ you?

_Male Voice_ (_mysteriously_). Would you like to know? Really? You
shall. (_With pride_.) I'm one of the Niggers!

_Fem. V._ (_deeply impressed_). Not "GUSSIE," or "Uncle ERNIE!"

_Male V._ (_with proud superiority_). Not exactly. I conduct, _I_
do - on the 'armonium.

_Fern. V._ (_rapturously_). Oh! I 'ad a sort o' feeling, from the very
first, that you must be _Somebody_!

_A Lodging-House Keeper_. Yes, nice people they was - I don't know when
I've _'ad_ such nice people. I'll tell you what they _did_ ... They
come on a Thursday - yes, Thursday it was - and took the rooms from the
Saturday followin' to the next Saturday - and then they stopped on to
the Saturday after that. I do call that nice - don't _you_?

_A Mystic Plaint_ (_from a Bench_). Many and many a time I've borrered
the kittles for them when the School Inspector was comin' - and now for
them to turn round on me like this! It's a shame, it is.

_A Lady of Economical Principles_ (_at a Bow-window, addressing her
Husband at the railings_). Why, my dear _feller_, why ever did you go
and do _that_ - when there was a bed empty 'ere for him?

_The Husband_ (_sulkily_). No one ever said a word to _me_ about there
being a bed. And I've taken one for him now at the Paragon, anyway - so
_that's_ settled!

_The Economical Lady_. I call it downright foolishness to go paying
'alf-a-crown a night for a bed, when there's one all ready _'ere_ for
him! And you don't know _how_ long he may mean to stop, either!

_The Self-invited Visitor_ (_suddenly emerging from the
shadow_). - You'll be 'appy to know, Mum, that your 'ospitality will
not exceed the 'alf-crown. Good evenin'. [_Retires to the Paragon._

_The Econ. L._ (_regretfully_). And a lobster ordered in for supper
a-purpose for him, too!

_A Street Musician_ (_with a portable piano_). I will next attempt
a love-song. I feel full of love to-night. Oh, Ladies and
Gentlemen - (_earnestly_) - take advantage of a salubrious night like
this! Anyone who has not yet contributed will kindly embrace this
opportunity of placing his offering upon the instrument; after which I
shall endeavour to sing you "_In Old Madrid_." Oh, _what_ a difficult
ditty it is, to be sure, dear Ladies and Gentlemen - especially as it
makes the twenty-seventh I've sung since tea-time - however, I will do
my best. (_He sings it_.) That will conclude my _al-fresco_ Concert
for this evening. And now, thanking you all for your generous
patronage of my humble efforts, and again reminding those who have not
yet expressed their appreciation in a pecuniary form, that I am now
about to circulate with the hat for the last time, I wish you all
farewell, and balmy slumbers!

[_He collects the final coins, and wheels away the piano. The
crowd disperses; the listeners in the lodging-house balconies
retire; and the Crescent is silent and deserted._

* * * * *


One of the Baron's "Merry Men All" has been reading and enjoying Mr.
BARRY PAIN's _Stories and Interludes_. The book has a wondrously weird
and heavily-lined picture in front, which is just a little too like
a "Prophetic Hieroglyphic" in _Zadkiel's Almanack_. An emaciated and
broken-winged devil is apparently carrying an engine-hose through a
churchyard, whilst a bat flits against a curious sky, which looks like
a young grainer's first attempt at imitating "birds'-eye maple." Upon
a second glance it seems possible that the "hose" is a snake, the tail
of which the devil is gnawing. The gruesome design illustrates a yet
more gruesome Interlude, entitled, "_The Bat and the Devil._" But it
gives no fair idea of the contents of the volume, some of which are

Read _White Nights_, stories within a story, told by a tragical
"Fool," of the breed of HUGO's _Rigoletto_, and POE's _Hopfrog_ - with
a difference. They are told with force and grace, and with unstrained,
but moving pathos. Read "The Dog That Got Found," a brief sketch
indeed, but abundantly suggestive. Poor _Fido_ - the "dog that got to
be utterly sick of conventionality," and came to such bitter grief in
his search for "life poignant and intense!" He might read a lesson
to many a two-legged prig, were the bipedal nincompoop capable of
learning it.

_The Glass of Supreme Moments_ is, perhaps, needlessly enigmatical,
and _Rural Simplicity_, _Concealed Art_, and _Two Poets_, strike one
as superfluously "unpleasant." Mr. PAIN seems slightly touched with
the current literary fad for making bricks with the smallest possible
quantity of straw. One halfpennyworth of the bread of incident to
an intolerable deal of the sack of strained style and pessimist
commentary, make poorish imaginative pabulum, though there seems an
increasing appetite for it amongst those who, unlike _Lucas Morne_ in
_The Glass of Supreme Moments_, plume themselves upon possession of
"the finer perceptions." _The Magic Morning_ is a "scrap" elaborately
sauced and garnished; the fleeting flavour may possess a certain
sub-acid piquancy, but such small dishes of broken meats are hardly
nourishing or wholesome.

Mr. PAIN has a delicate fancy and a graceful style, a bitter-sweet
humour, and a plentiful endowment of "the finer perceptions." He
has done some good work here, and will do better - when he finds his
subject, and loses his affectations. Read _White Nights_, again says
the Baron's "retainer."


* * * * *

a "Good Knight" from _Don Giovanni_, and dedicated by nobody's
permission to Sir ARTHUR SEYMOUR SULLIVAN, would be "_Barty! Barty!_"
Will Sir EDWARD SOLOMON be in it? Probably this is "another night."

* * * * *



[Illustration: (Butler.)]

Oh! bring my Butler back to me;
I stray and lapse alone!
If this be freedom, to be free
Were something best unknown.
He used to look so grand and grave -
So sad when I was slack;
'Twas difficult to misbehave -
Oh, bring my Butler back!

In him was nothing flash nor green -
A Seneschal confessed;
Most people deemed his reverend mien
Some family bequest.
And yet but three short, happy years
Had seen him on our tack,
And made us verge on VERE DE VERES -
Oh, bring my Butler back!

A Pedigree in swallow-tails,
He gave our household "tone."
My soul plebeian trips and fails
(See stanza first) alone.
I fall on low Bohemian ways,
I doff my evening black;
I dine in blazer all ablaze -
Oh, bring my Butler back!

I breakfast now and smoke in bed;
I wrench the bell for coals;
No master-hand and master-head
The day's routine controls.
No stately form in homage curved,
Our commissariat's lack,
Veneers with, "_Dinner, Sir, is served_" -
Oh, bring my Butler back!

A few old friends drop in at times,
But ah! their zest is gone;
No organ voice with awe sublimes
They sound to me quite commonplace,
Who seemed a ducal pack:
'Twas he who lent them rank and race -
Oh, bring my Butler back!

And _they_ must think me very queer,
Each unennobled guest:
I munch my chop, I quaff my beer
At meal-times unrepressed,
I laugh a laughter rude and loud;
My little jokes I crack;
The parlour-maid with mirth is bowed -
Oh, bring my Butler back!

Yes! bring that paragon to me -
'Tis true he drank my wine;
But, as I found it disagree,
I don't so much repine:
'Tis true we missed a little plate
When _he_ gave _us_ the sack.
But "all things come to them that wait" -
Oh, bring my Butler back!

That gorgeous grace, that smile severe,
That look of Lords and Barts,
These are the charms that most endear
His image to our hearts.
The standard of my broken life

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Online LibraryVariousPunch, or the London Charivari, Volume 103, August 20, 1892 → online text (page 1 of 3)