The Project Gutenberg eBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 108, April 27, 1895 This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook. Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 108, April 27, 1895 Author: Various Editor: F. C. Burnand Release date: January 19, 2014 [eBook #44708] Language: English Credits: Produced by Malcolm Farmer, Lesley Halamek and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI, VOL. 108, APRIL 27, 1895 *** Produced by Malcolm Farmer, Lesley Halamek and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. VOL. 108, APRIL 27, 1895. _edited by Sir Francis Burnand_ [Illustration: CLASSIC QUOTATIONS ILLUSTRATED. (_For the Use of Schools._) EXAMPLE I.--"AMARI A-LIQUID."] * * * * * THE LATEST CRAZE. (_A Dramatic Study of Cause and Effect._) SCENE--_Interior of a Private Box at a Popular Theatre._ _Enter_ ANGELINA _and her people_. _Paterfamilias._ Well, now that we are here, I hope you are satisfied. As for myself, I hate these problem plays. _Materfamilias._ They are entirely the vogue just now, and we must see them. What everybody does we must do. _Angelina._ So I told EDWIN--I should say, Mr. DOMUM--when he complained of our going. _Mater._ Of course. We have to follow the fashion. _Pater._ Hush! You must not talk any more, see the curtain has risen. (_Five minutes pass._) _First Heroine_ (_on the stage_). And so, my dear, my marriage was an utter failure. The monotony of the life was terrible. My husband anticipated my every wish. The tameness was too awful for words, and so I left him. [_Loud applause._ _Mater._ (_to her husband_). Ah, I never left you, RICHARD! _Pater._ (_to his wife_). Nor I you, BRIDGET! _Angelina_ (_aside_). I suppose married life must be very wearisome. (_Ten minutes pass._) _Second Heroine_ (_on the stage_). And now I will tell you the secret of my life. I never loved my husband. He gave me all I required--fine clothes, sparkling jewels, an opera box. But his presents were insults in disguise, and I left him. [_Loud applause._ _Pater._ I did not insult you by handing you too many gifts, BRIDGET? _Mater._ Indeed you did not, RICHARD. In fact, I think you carried your abstention too far. _Pater._ Not at all. See, after these many years, we are devoted to one another! _Angelina_ (_aside_). Failure of Marriage Number Two! Weddings seem to be mistake! (_Two hours pass._) _Third Heroine._ I tell you, my Lord Bishop, that I have never regretted leaving you. Twenty years ago you were a young curate, and you spoilt our married life by your indulgence. You let me have everything I wanted. No, my Lord, I will hear no more. _Angelina_ (_aside_). Another matrimonial failure! I really must have a good think over it. _Pater._ (_to_ Mater.). Well, I hope you are satisfied! _Mater._ (_to_ Pater.). Awfully depressing, but I don't see what harm it can do to anyone. (_An hour passes._) _Angelina_ (_writing in her own room_). "Dear EDWIN, I call you by your christian name, for the last time. I can never be yours. I am convinced from all I have heard that marriage is a failure. Sincerely yours, ANGELINA." [_Scene closes in upon a flood of tears._ * * * * * HEXAMETERS TO DATE; AND A PREHISTORIC PEEP. [Mr. FLINDERS PETRIE has just excavated the city of Ombi on the Nile, and vindicated JUVENAL'S geographical reputation.] _ECCE novi'st aliquid_ (_per FLINDERS PETRIE Magistrum_) _Ex Africâ semper!_ Quite like some arch-humourist rum, Playing with tombs and skulls, he unearths fresh funny surprises, Scandals of Athor's "past," or long-veiled secrets of Isis. Now this gravedigger-_Yorick_, this Egypt's new ABERCROMBY, Scores yet another conquest--he's found out JUVENAL'S Ombi, Found out the next-door neighbours of Nile-washed Tentyra (you will See in the Fifteenth Satire their truceless, truculent duel). Thus they lived some ages B.C. (in the thirtieth cent'ry), Cannibals, six feet high, and long-legged Libyan gentry, Buried _à la_ trussed fowl, with heads on which wavy brown hair rose; These were the folk who once made things pretty hot for the PHARAOHS. Dig then, PETRIE, away 'mid potsherds, mummies, and cinders, Delve on, and add fresh towns to the underground kingdom of FLINDERS! * * * * * OUR BOOKING-OFFICE. Hearty congratulations from the Baron and his assistants to Mr. H. W. LUCY on his delightful life of Mr. GLADSTONE (W. H. ALLEN & Co). No one certainly has had better opportunities than TOBY, M.P., for studying the great statesman in all his varying moods; and it may be affirmed with equal certainty that no other man (or dog) could have used his opportunities to greater advantage for the benefit of the public. There are in this little volume a tone of easy yet scholarly courtesy, a fine literary touch, and a marvellous power of condensing details into one vividly descriptive sentence. It is an admirable piece of work, which, seeing that it only costs a shilling, ought to be sure of a popularity fully equal to its high merits. "Bravo TOBY!" says [Illustration: THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.] * * * * * CHANGE OF DESCRIPTIVE TITLE.--In the Egyptian explorations, the results of which, so far, have been recently given in Professor PETRIE'S lecture, reported in the _Times_ of Thursday, April 18, the lecturer tells us how he was accompanied in his researches by Mr. GRENFELL, "The Craven Fellow." How doubly plucky of Professor PETRIE to proceed with such a companion so extraordinarily timorous as is expressed in such a _sobriquet_ as "The Craven Fellow." However, he belied his name by showing such pluck and perseverance in rendering assistance to the Professor as will entitle him to explain himself as "_Late_ the Craven Fellow," but _now_ "the C. F., or Courageous Fellow." * * * * * [Illustration: THE JAP IN THE CHINA SHOP. _Master of the Situation_ (_loq._). "NOW THEN, YOU PIG-HEADED OLD PIGTAIL, OPEN YOUR SHOP--AND HAND ME THE KEYS!"] * * * * * [Illustration: SCORCHING. _First Countryman_ (_to third-rate Amateur Jock, whose mount won't have the Fence_). "NOW THEN, SHOVE 'IM AT IT AGIN, MISTER! WHOI DENGED IF OI WOULDN'T JUMP THAT 'ERE LITTLE PLACE WI' A JACKASS!" _Second Countryman._ "MAYBE YER WOULD, MA LAD; BUT YER SEE THAT 'ERE 'OSS DON'T SEEM TO CARE ABOUT JUMPING WI' A JACKASS!"] * * * * * THE JAP IN THE CHINA SHOP; OR, THE NEW "OPEN SESAME." ["China, properly opened up, would be an El Dorado for mankind.... The true conquest effected by the war is the conquest of the right to a market, and that apparently on an enormous scale." _"Daily News" on the terms of Peace between China and Japan._] _Little Jap loquitur_:-- Come, wake up, old chap! I'm the go-ahead Jap. _Open Sesame!_ Yes, that's the word, JOHN! In your den you would stop, or e'en shut up your shop, Your proceedings are highly absurd, JOHN! Spite your bounce and your boast, I have got you on toast, And thereby, friend JOHN, hangs a _big_ tale. When your carcase I'd wake, I have only to take A sailor's round turn at your pigtail! Your notion of shopkeeping's shutter and key. Since you don't know their use, hand 'em over to _Me_! For thousands of years your pride and your fears Have muddled your market completely. Ah! would you, old slug? But a twist and a tug Bring you up to your bearings most sweetly. 'Tis no use to kick! You will have to move slick, Now you've got in the hands of Young Jappy; Don't you get in a scare for your crockery ware. Rouse up, open shop, and be happy! Afraid? Superstitious? Oh, fiddle-de-dee! Throw open your markets, and leave it to _Me_! For ever so long you've been going all wrong. Your Empire is under a shadow; But well opened up, by ships, railways, and KRUPP, It will turn out a true El Dorado. _Don't_ fly to your door! Eh? your pigtail is sore? You think me a cocky invader? Why you'll find in the end I'm your very best friend, When I force you to be a free trader. Blow your grandfather's bunkum, you Heathen Chinee! Take down all your shutters, and hand _me_ the key! For _my_ use alone? you inquire with a groan. Oh, dear! you _must_ be an old duffer! Excuse me this wink,--but what do _you_ think? Do you hold "Outside Devils" will suffer The Flowery Land to be locked by my hand, Any more than by yours, in their faces? Pig-headed old Pigtail, I fancy I know How to get into Europe's good graces. So pay up my millions, you Heathen Chinee! Throw open your market, and _hand me the key_! * * * * * "STRANGE DISAPPEARANCES." The four strangers were gathered together in the all-but-deserted inn. They were forced to enter into conversation, because the solitary periodical taken in by the landlord had been read from title to imprint by everyone of them. "A strange article," said the first, as he laid down the _Lancet_. "And so men disappear entirely for awhile, and then come back to their homes and profession as if nothing had happened." "Extraordinary," murmured the second. "I see that the scientific publication you have just relinquished suggests that the cause of these hurried exits partake of the nature of post-epileptic phenomena." And then the talk went on. The four strangers dined together, supped together, and on the following morning partook in company of breakfast. The waiter, at about eleven o'clock, presented each of them with a note. It came from the landlord, and was full of figures. A weird look appeared on their faces. "We must move on," said one of the quartette; "but as the staircase is steep, let us descend by the window." The no-longer-perplexed strangers adopted the suggestion, and gently sliding down a rope, were soon quit of the inn. They walked together for about a quarter of a mile, and then coming to four cross-roads, scattered. "Dear me," said the landlord of the inn, when he once again found himself alone. "Their disappearance is most strange. I am inclined to agree with the _Lancet_, 'that the phenomenon remains striking and mysterious, interesting in its psychological aspect, but in its concrete form full of practical and medico-legal difficulties;' and, believing this, I must write to the proper authorities." And he sat down and composed two letters. One he addressed to the President of the Royal College of Physicians, and the other to the Editor of _Hue and Cry_. * * * * * BLIND ALLEY-GORIES. BY DUNNO WÄHRIAR. (_Translated from the original Lappish by Mr. Punch's own Hyperborean Enthusiast._) NO. II.--THE ILLUSTRIOUS STRANGER. The sky was darkened by swart birds, with tufted tails, and a look in their clay-coloured eyes as of millions of stifled croaks; the rain fell in grizzled sheets like the streaming hair and beard of some Titanic lunatic, and the thunder boomed over the town as if it had just discovered another epoch-making novel. Night fell; I lit my lamp and closed the shutters, drew my curtains, so as to shut out any gleaming cats' eyes that might be peering at me through the chinks, and mixed myself a tumbler of hot punch. As I finished it, a wild piercing shriek rose from the universe, as though someone had run a pin into the Great Unknown, and a shining blue-white ball came down the chimney and burnt a hole in the yellow-green gloom of my hearthrug. I looked up; a strange man was sitting right in front of me. His crested hair had a blue-white gleam, like the electric light in a mountain hotel when the storm is nearly ended; it stuck out in a spiral fringe round his cheeks and chin; his mouth was prim like a purse; but his spectacles twinkled with laughter like the new ferrule on a gingham umbrella. "I am the Shaker of Society's Pillars, I have discovered that the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil bears nothing but rotten apples. There are milestones on the Bergen road--but I can see through most of them. I am the New Generation knocking at the old stage-door. I am also the Dramatiser of Social Conundrums to which there will never be any answer." Time passed--a second or an hour. I began to wish he would go. "I am the great Wizard that has ennobled and purified Humanity by showing that they are all the morbid victims of a diseased heredity. The great fire at Christiania was _not_ the fire in which _Mrs. Solness's_ nine dolls were burnt. I am he who has emancipated Woman by convincing her that she has the _right_ to be hysterical." Again time passed--an hour or a second. I fancy I must have dropped off to sleep. [Illustration: "I fancy I must have dropped off to sleep."] "I am he who has broken through the conventions of the well-constructed drama. When we lived at Drontheim, BERNICK'S gander was stolen by tinkers. I am the original eld, and also the child who instructs the grandmotherly critic in the art of sucking problematic eggs; but I, too, am a master-builder of magnificent bathos." And again time passed--a second or an hour. I wondered whether he had come to stay the night. "Read, I am called 'dramatic'; acted, I am called 'impossible.'" With that the cock crew. The stranger had flown before I had an opportunity of asking him his name or asking him to look in again some evening. I was rather sorry, for he seemed to have a flow of agreeable small talk, though it was perhaps a little egotistic. * * * * * THE WOULD-BE SOLDIER'S VADE MECUM. _Question._ Why did you become a member of a Volunteer corps? _Answer._ With the intention of strengthening our national defences. _Q._ Then you think such a proceeding patriotic? _A._ Not only patriotic, but necessary. [Illustration] _Q._ You probably have some recollection of the French collapse in 1870-71? _A._ Yes; but I have been chiefly influenced by considerations of a mathematical character. _Q._ Make your meaning plainer. _A._ I mean that it stands to reason that as only a small percentage of our people are trained to arms, and ninety-six per cent of our neighbours are converted into soldiers, the latter, in the case of a quarrel with us, would have the upper hand. _Q._ And you think a quarrel entailing the arbitration of the sword might be sprung upon us at any moment? _A._ Precisely; that is entirely my opinion. _Q._ And, consequently, you take a serious view of Volunteering? _A._ Assuredly, or I would not give up most of my leisure time to master drill in all its branches. _Q._ Do you obtain any social advantages by wearing the uniform of a Volunteer? _A._ No; on the contrary, the grade of a private in the long run causes considerable expense; and the commission of an officer is inseparable from large expenditure and a loss of self-respect. _Q._ Why is the holding of a commission of a Volunteer officer "inseparable from a loss of self-respect"? _A._ Because, in the general estimation, the holder of a commission in the Volunteers is worthy of ridicule, pity, or contempt. _Q._ Can you give the reason for this impression? _A._ It is probable that it has been created by the consideration that a Volunteer officer is chaffed by his friends, sneered at by his enemies, and mulcted of much money by his comrades. _Q._ Then a Volunteer officer or private usually joins the force from the most patriotic of motives? _A._ Certainly. Nine-tenths of the rank and file and their commanding officers wish to qualify as soldiers capable of repelling a foreign invasion. _Q._ And this being so, they do not wish to spend three or four days of training in practising "marches past" and other man[oe]uvres of a more or less ornamental character? _A._ Quite so; not even when the practice terminates with a review in a royal park, and a salute performed to the strains of the National Anthem. _Q._ Nor do the Volunteers desire to be made into a raree show? _A._ Not even to make a cockney Bank Holiday. _Q._ And if you are told that this is the sort of thing that the Volunteers want, what do you reply? _A._ Nonsense. _Q._ And if it were added that more serious work would be unpopular, what would be your suggestion? _A._ Try and see. * * * * * MEM. FOR VETOISTS.--It is the question of "tied" houses which makes the compensation question so knotty. * * * * * RAILWAY BALLADS. I.--THE EXPRESS TRAIN. A gruesome tale I tell of the West-Eastern Railway Companee. "Its virtues few, its faults a score"-- (I quote the view held heretofore). The chief among its faults, you see, Is sad unpunctualitee. Now, gentles all, list what befel AUGUSTUS HALL, of Camberwell. The Fates were stern, the world unkind; And this, I learn, unhinged his mind. _Che sarà, sarà!_ Think how sad! His evil star it drove him mad! "If life has no more joy to give," Quoth he, "I'll go and cease to live. Nor yet delay an hour to dine, But straightway lay me on the line. "The train now due will end distress-- So haste thee, Two o'clock Express!" With that he'd gone, nor stayed to snack; But climbed upon the railway-track. He waited now two hours--not less; And yet, I vow, came no express! And he had nought his pangs to ease. He wished he'd brought some bread and cheese. He had to fast. He fain would sup. The hours flew past. He sate him up. "'Tis strangely late. I should not mind-- I'd gladly wait--if I had dined. "If I'd a joint that I could carve, I'd strain a point; but here to starve!! May I be hung if e'er I see Such gross unpunctualitee! "No gentleman can now depend On any plan to plan his end." Twelve hours or more he waited thus. "A train?" he swore; "an _omnibus!_ "It tarries yet all through the night, And helps to whet my appetite!" His hunger grew inside his chest; With nought to chew, he was--_non est_. Two days pass by, and then we find The train draw nigh, three days behind! Directors sigh, deplore, and frown; And fine the driver half-a-crown. "But had I been on time," JACK said, "HALL'S death, I ween, were on my head." "Quite true, good JACK! Our conscience pricks. We hand you back your two-and-six!" _Envoi._ Now that is all I have to tell Of Mr. HALL, of Camberwell. * * * * * [Illustration: THESE DULL TIMES. _Lady Gushton_ (_always so agreeable_). "AND THE MAGNIFICENT PICTURES YOU HAD HERE LAST YEAR,--HAVE YOU GOT THEM ALL STILL?" _Mr. Flake Whyte_ (_sadly_). "YES; I HAVE THEM ALL." _Lady Gushton._ "HOW VERY NICE! IT IS SO HARD TO PART WITH ONE'S OWN PICTURES, IS IT NOT?" _Mr. Flake Whyte_ (_with much feeling_). "AWFULLY, AWFULLY HARD! SOMETIMES IMPOSSIBLE!"] * * * * * ROBERT AND THE COUNTY COUNSELLS. BROWN and me has been a having sum rare good fun lately. We has managed to see and hear a good deal about the County Counsellers, and werry emusing we finds em to be. They suttenly does manage to quarrell among each other more than I shood have thort posserbel. There's a depperty Counseller among em who will tork whenever he gets a hoppertunity, yes and keeps the pot a biling, as BROWN says, for nearly arf a nour at a time, and then finds hisself beaten into a cocked at, and so has to sit down, while the others has a jolly larf. [Illustration] Ever so many on em belongs to the Tems Conserwancy, and so we are offen hearing of their going up the River, when there's two much water there, and hoffering to show the poor natives how to get a lot of it away, but from what I hears they don't seem for to be werry sucksessful. Too or three on em went to the Boat Race the other day and took ever so many Ladies with em, and jolly nice dinners they had on bord after the Race was over and there wasn't no more fear of no more rane, which had rayther spylt the morning. It's reel good fun to hear the Counsellors tork about the Copperation nowadays! such a difference to what it was about a year ago! Then it was all bragging and boasting, now it's all begging your pardon, and arsking your grace, and it shant occur again! I never thort to see such a change, and it's really werry emusing. The two places where they speshally seems not at all at their ease are the Court of Common Counsel and the Manshun House; and in both of these honnerd places the few as wenters in do look uncumferal indeed! and the reel natives don't show them no pitty! not a bit of it, but takes a quiet larf whenever they gits a good chance. I've herd as one of the Counsellors has been herd to say as there are no less than three on em in the House of Commons, each of em quite equal to the late Speaker, if not shuperior to him, and that it was only beggarly jealousy as prewented them giving them a fare chance! The same honorable Gent has been herd to say that the County Counsellors was much shuperior to the City Copperation, for it was only last Toosday as they agreed, without a word of remonsterance, to raise no less than two millions of money from next year's rates! I wunder if it's all trew! ROBERT. * * * * * THE NEWEST NUISANCE.--The woman with a past before her. * * * * * [Illustration: PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT. "COOT-NIGHT, MRS. PROWN. I HAF TO SANK YOU FOR DE MOST BLEASANT EFENING I HAF EFFER SCHBENT IN MY LIFE!" "OH, DON'T SAY THAT, HERR SCHMIDT!" "ACH! BOT I _DO_ SAY DAT! I _ALVAYS_ SAY DAT!"] * * * * * THE NEW CONDUCTOR. ["You have been elected by a majority of the House. You are the representative of the whole House."--_Report of the Right Hon. Arthur Balfour's speech on the election of Mr. Gully as Speaker._] _Mr. Punch to Mr. Speaker._ If the Second Fiddle's satisfied, you're all right with the First! The Harp may heed your _bâton_, and as for the Big Drum, When it booms out on the night with a loud sonorous burst, That makes the whole proscenium shake and hum; What matter if the clatter, and the bang and bump and batter, Keep but time? If they're docile to your nod, and obedient to your rod, The New Conductor's post will be prime! The Orchestra has doubtless been a little bit at odds, And what should bring forth harmony has fallen into row; But, good gracious! there were shines sometimes among the Olympian gods, And the noisy ones look milk and honey _now_. The brazen and the windy both outdid Wagnerian shindy, For a while; Now there's calm at wings and middle, and even the First Fiddle Veils his virtuous indignation with a smile: The _tutti_ did go wrong, all the parts appeared at strife, They liked the Old Conductor, were in doubt about the New; And WH-TBR-D'S tootling piccolo, and WH-RT-N'S wry-neck'd fife, Went decidedly a little bit askew. But, in spite of blare and blether, they're now going well together, String and reed, Parchment, and wood, and brass; and it yet may come to pass That the New Conductor's _début_ will succeed. The Old Conductor's style was perfection, there's no doubt, Impossible to beat, and extremely hard to follow; But the new one seems to know pretty well what he's about. A Mercury _can_ play, though no Apollo. So let us cheer all round, as he makes his bow profound! Tap, tap, tap! Go the fiddle-bows, in proof that, while welcome shakes the roof, The orchestra agree to cheer and clap! Sir, that St. Stephen's Orchestra is mighty hard to lead: Needs mastery, and dignity, and coolness, and fine ear, Great was the _bâton_-wielder 'tis your fortune to succeed; But tackle your big task, Sir, without fear! _Punch_ trusts the name of GULLY on Fame's roll will not shine dully At the end! Now tune up string and bow, let the New Conductor know That he finds in each performer a fair friend! * * * * * PARTY POLITICS. _First Man_ (_conciliatory_). You're a Tory? _Second Man_ (_also conciliatory_). Well, no. I'm a Unionist. Yes, a Unionist. Certainly I don't approve of Home Rule---- _First Man._ Don't say that. I think well of Home Rule. _Second Man._ Oh, do you? Well, I agree with the Liberals in some ways. _First Man._ Come to that, in some ways I agree with the Tories. Now take Disestablishment. _Second Man._ Ah, that's just one point where I disagree with the Liberals. _First Man._ Well, you may be right. But I should be a Tory if they supported Home Rule. _Second Man._ And I should be a Liberal if they didn't want Disestablishment. _First Man._ Now, CHAMBERLAIN---- _Second Man._ Ah, yes. CHAMBERLAIN---- _First Man._ He opposes Home Rule. _Second Man._ He supports Disestablishment. [_Left mutually abusing_ Mr. CHAMBERLAIN * * * * * FASHIONABLE INTELLIGENCE.--"The LORD LIEUTENANT was present at Punchestown for the races. His Excellency and the house party from the Viceregal Lodge, which included TOBY, M.P., met with a hearty reception." Naturally. If TOBY, M.P. was not made welcome at _Punch's_ town, who should be? * * * * * CITY NOTES.--_The latest Crushing Report._--The Londonderry Mine. * * * * * [Illustration: THE NEW CONDUCTOR. "YOU HAVE BEEN ELECTED BY A MAJORITY OF THE HOUSE. YOU ARE THE REPRESENTATIVE OF THE WHOLE HOUSE." _Report of the Right Hon. Arthur Balfour's speech on the election of Mr. Gully as Speaker._] * * * * * [Illustration: A BUSINESS ANNOUNCEMENT.] * * * * * TRADE BETRAYED. _Returned Anglo-Indian Colonel_ (_to friend of his boyhood_). Either your climate is colder than it used to be, or your coals throw out less heat. Which is it? _His Friend._ Oh, it's the coals. Rubbishy things, rather. Come from Tomsk in Siberia. _R. A.-I. C._ Siberia! They ought to be sent there! But aren't English coals good enough? _His Friend._ Oh, yes, they're _good_ enough. But then, you see, they're dear. That's the result of the last coal strike. _R. A.-I. C._ Oh, I heard about that at Bangalore. Then how about your razors? I bought one yesterday in the Strand. If you believe me, I've only used it once and it's blunt already. _His Friend._ "Made in Germany," no doubt. The trade's gone over there, they say. _R. A.-I. C._ And boots, now. Why has the pair I got in the City a month ago split open in two places? _His Friend._ _That's_ the late boot strike. Cheap American goods have ousted the genuine British article. _R. A.-I. C._ (_meditatively_). Ah--heard of the boot strike too at Bangalore. But I didn't find my bootmaker charged me any less than in the old days for 'em. Tell you what, there's only one thing that will save England. _His Friend._ What's that? _R. A.-I. C._ Why, a new kind of strike altogether. Why shouldn't the strikers _strike striking?_ Eh? _His Friend._ That never struck me. [_They part pensively._ * * * * * MY PIPE. I do not now attempt to sing, With laudatory phrases, That now, in verse, quite hackneyed thing, Which poet, painter praises: Beloved by TURNER, CLAUDE, or CUYP, The excellent tobacco-pipe. Nor yet of bagpipes do I write, Pan's pipes with Punch and Judy, Or organ ones, because you might Read books on them, from MUDIE, In varied tongues, in varied type-- On any sort of music pipe. Nor, plagued of late however much By bronchial affections, Do I propose just now to touch, With medical reflections, On what Jack Frost delights to gripe, My choking, wheezing, sore wind-pipe, Nor am I speaking now of wine, Nor yet, from MARRYAT learning, Of what the Cockney would define-- Poor A as ever spurning-- "The sime in nime, but not in shipe," The pipe of port; the boatswain's pipe. No! Now I sing--but not with praise, To praise it would be rummer Than any other sort of craze, Excepting in a plumber; I am not such a fool, a "snipe," As says the Bard--my water-pipe. For weeks I could not get a drop Of water, it was frozen; When thus congealed the thing would stop, I spoke as would a boatswain. For seamen's oaths the time was ripe, I here translate them--Hang that pipe! Then suddenly, of course at night, There came a sudden splashing, And I, in most unequal fight, About my bedroom dashing, With sheets and towels tried to wipe, Or check, the flood from that vile pipe. You would not say that frost is fine, So exquisitely bracing, If you had had a pipe like mine, Your ruined home defacing; On carpet, stain; on paper, stripe;-- Oh, blow that beastly water-pipe! * * * * * SONG OF THE PEACE TERMS (SUNG TO CHINA).--"Oh, Let us be Jappy together!" * * * * * [Illustration: PARLIAMENTARY "LIBERTY MEN" COMING ABOARD AFTER TEN DAYS' LEAVE.] * * * * * A SONG OF SPRING. Oh, painters, you who always "come Before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March"--till May--with some Atrocious smell of paint, and make The streets in such a shocking state, you Are quite a nuisance--how I hate you! How can I wear in peace a neat, Silk hat, and coat of decent black, When, passing you in any street, Your paint may tumble on my back, Or I may smash, which might be sadder, My hat against your sloping ladder? How can the spring delight my mind, How can I like the budding trees, The butterflies of any kind? A Painted Lady could not please In any way the mental man, Were I a painted gentleman. How can I like the balmy air, How dream of violets in bloom, When paint-pots swing aloft and scare With visions of impending doom? I'm mad and hot--quite crimson madder-- With dodging each successive ladder. * * * * * TO A BANTLING. (_Lines written to a Lady who "Banted."_) Some rhymes to make you laugh? I can't Drop, Wegg-like, into rhyme instanter. It's easiness itself to bant, Comparatively hard to banter. The many pretty things I'd say, The pleasant thoughts I'd like to utter, I may not do, it seems to-day-- You scorn the bare idea of _butter!_ "Sweets to the sweet." Not long ago, Why chocolates--you'd gladly greet them. Now you've abandoned them, and so You never (hardly ever) eat them. To see you drink hot water--that The very stoniest heart would soften, You evidently think it flat, You're in it--aren't you--much too often? Yet whether 9st. 12, as when You weighed that day at Margate Station, Or 10st. 7, or 7st. 10, _I_ can't pretend to indignation. To bant from early morn till late May be, of course, supremely right of you; But if you feel oppressed by weight, Would it not do if we made light of you? Though that I swear I will not do, Let others, if they like, make bold to-- I merely write these rhymes for you, I _always_ do just what I'm told to! But if you cease to peak and pine (For Time the Banting Conscience hardens), You will not fail to drop a line-- My chambers are in Temple Gardens. * * * * * SEXOMANIA. _By an Angry Old Buffer._ "When ADAM delved and EVE span," No one need ask which was the man. Bicycling, footballing, scarce human, All wonder now "Which is the woman?" But a new fear my bosom vexes; To-morrow there may be _no_ sexes! Unless, as end to all the pother, Each one in fact becomes the other. E'en _then_ perhaps they'll start amain A-trying to change back again! Woman _was_ woman, man _was_ man, When ADAM delved and EVE span. Now he can't dig and she won't spin, Unless 'tis tales all slang and sin! * * * * * [Illustration: DOMESTIC TROUBLES. "WHAT IS IT, NURSE?" "IF YOU PLEASE, MA'AM, THE CHILDREN _WILL_ MAKE SLIDES ON THE FLOOR WITH TAPIOCA PUDDING!"] * * * * * OSTRICH FEATHERS. ["The magnificent ostrich at the Zoological Gardens, presented by the QUEEN, has recently died from lung-disease."--_Daily Paper._] My eyes are wet with dewy tears, That will not cease to flow. Like MARY'S little lamb, my grief Somehow is sure to go Wherever I do. It all comes From something that I've read, The ostrich that I loved so well Fell ill, and now is dead. "Magnificent" indeed, it was. I never ceased to take A pride in its magnificence For its own special sake. But added unto this there was An extra joy. I mean That loyalty asks ardour for A present from the QUEEN. Oh! ostrich. I have often thought Your smile childlike and bland, And speculated if it's true That right down in the sand You really _do_ conceal your head. But even though that's wrong, It seems without a lung for life You could not live for long. My wife and I delight to hear Our wee girl's merry laugh, As she's astride the elephant Or feeding the giraffe. But ostrich--regal, lung-gone, dead! When we are at the Zoo, My wife's best hat will always serve To turn my thoughts to you. * * * * * CARMENCITA. (_An Impression._) [Illustration] "O east is east, and west is west And never the twain shall meet." And the dance of Spain is one of the twain To the English Man in the Street. We love the trick of the lofty kick And the muscular display Of the nymph who has leapt at a muslin hoop And stopp'd in her flight half-way. A plain, blunt girl in the stormy swirl Of accordion pleats and laces, Tho' she cannot dance, if she spin and prance, Is numbered among the Graces. For heel and toe our hearts can glow And the feats of the rhythmic clog, And a poem of motion wells forth in the notion Of a Serpentine Dancing Dog. But the dancer's art, of her life a part, A song of the wordless soul With a tale to tell, like the music's swell, Too large for the word's control, _That_ goes not down in London town Where dogg'd conventions stick, And dancers still must charm with frill, Or "make shymnastic drick." As the jungle king with his wrathful spring, To the lamb that aptly bleats, As the trumpet's blare to the palsied air Of that which plays in pleats, So is east to west, with its sun-born zest, With fire at the quick heart's core, And passions bold as the ardent gold Of the sun on a southern shore. * * * * * THE BALLAD OF THE KAISER'S MERCY. (_In brief._) "The sovereign'st thing on earth Was parmaceti, for an inward bruise." _Henry the Fourth_, Part I., Act i., Sc. 3. A quarrel, anything but pretty, Cannot be healed by parmaceti. But honour, bruisèd in the leg, Finds sovereign solace in an egg. * * * * * REFLECTIONS OF A STATESMAN. _Saturday._--Things looking queer. Leamington in a ferment, Tories denouncing _me_. Like their impudence. Must order ARTHUR BALFOUR to stop this nonsense, and bring rebels to reason. I shall want Hythe thrown into the bargain. BALFOUR must write more letters. If our little lot are to get nothing out of all this, what's the use of having sacrificed principles and COURTNEY? Obviously none. JESSE COLLINGS quite agrees. Says the Tories will repent, when it is too late, of having refused to submit to the greatest, wisest, most generous and noblest statesman of this or any other age, past or future. Wonderful amount of sense in JESSE. Shall make him Governor-General of India, or First Lord of Admiralty. [Illustration] _Monday._--Have seen BALFOUR. Says he can do nothing at Leamington. Wanted me to withdraw Liberal Unionist candidate. ME! The mere notion ridiculous. Told him so. Also asked him how about Compact. He said "Compact be ----". At this moment GOSCHEN came in, and interrupted. BALFOUR said missing word was "observed." GOSCHEN full of sympathy, but said he could do nothing. Shall not allow him to be Chancellor of Exchequer again. Shall be Chancellor of Exchequer myself. Letter in _Times_ from GEOFFREY DRAGE, saying kind things about me. Rather patronising, but well meant. Shall make DRAGE Home Secretary. _Tuesday._--Letter in _Times_ from Lord TEYNHAM attacking me on account of vote on Welsh Disestablishment. Even a fool of a lord might know a man can't wriggle out of everything, and can't please everybody. Have written to SALISBURY ordering him to throw TEYNHAM into the Tower as soon as Unionist Government in power. If he refuses, shall accept Premiership myself and execute TEYNHAM on Tower Hill. Leamington still raging. If this goes on shall march at head of Birmingham Fencibles and rase Leamington to the ground--all except three houses said to belong to Liberal Unionists. That'll teach them to oppose _me_. _Wednesday._--Letter in _Times_ from BYRON REED. Says I'm not so bad as they want to make me out. Nice sensible fellow BYRON. Shall make him Minister of Agriculture. Have sent ultimatums to SALISBURY, BALFOUR, AKERS-DOUGLAS, MICHAEL HICKS-BEACH, and CHAPLIN, ordering them to retire from public life. Shall run the show on entirely different lines with AUSTEN and JESSE to help me. Have heard from editor of _New Review_, who refuses to disclose name of author, of an attack on me. Have sent HENRY JAMES to editor with new patent rack and thumbscrews. But there, my name's easy. Never could bear malice. Always forgive everybody.... Notes from SALISBURY, BALFOUR & CO. They refuse to retire. HENRY JAMES returns. Editor broke rack and threw thumbscrews out of window. A very rude man, HENRY JAMES says. GULLY elected Speaker. I'm off to Birmingham. * * * _Later._--Letter from HART DYKE in the _Times_. A good fellow, HART DYKE. But why, in the name of screw-nails, should they all presume to patronise _me?_ * * * Letter in _Standard_ from STANLEY BOULTER. Must stop that kind of nonsense. Leading article in _Standard_. Usual futilities: "We fully recognise loyal services, but on the present occasion," &c. Shall refuse peerage and retire to Central Australia with JESSE to found a Me-colony. Sick of the whole show. * * * * * QUEER QUERY.--ANY ADVANCE?--I see that at the Shop Assistants' Conference at Cardiff it was said that what shop-workers ought to go in for was a "Forward Policy." Surely this must be a mistake? If there is one thing that everybody objects to, it is forward young men and women behind the counter. One often hears the shop-walker say, "Will you come forward, Miss JONES, and serve this lady!" And perhaps _that_ was what the Cardiff people were thinking of. Can this be the true explanation? I sincerely hope so; I don't want a "forward" young person, a sort of "independent labour party," slamming down goods for _me_ to inspect!--ALARMED. * * * * * *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI, VOL. 108, APRIL 27, 1895 *** Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed. 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