PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

Vol. 102.

July 2, 1892.

OPERATIC NOTES.

Ancient Brass-Work, in memory of Wagner the Great Worker in Brass.

Wednesday.—WAGNER. Vainly the Daughters of the River, representing the floating capital of the Banks of the Rhine, cry "Woa! Woa!" The orchestra, under the direction of Herr MAHLER, takes no notice of them, but goes on Wagnerianly, inexorably. Thus swimmingly we reach Walhall—where the fire-god Loge has a logement with very heavy insurance. Wotan and Loge in search of the gold. Then we meet the Nibelungs and the Nibelights, all livers under a water-cure system; and then—it's like a musical nightmare—Alberich changes himself into a toad and is towed off as a prisoner. Fafner settles Fasolt by a drum-head Court Martial, so that Fafner gets the golden honey, and Fasolt gets the whacks—and—please, Sir, I don't know any more—but some of the music is running river-like and lovely, more is puzzling, and much of it must remind Sir DRURIOLANUS of the rum-tum-tiddy-iddy-iddy-um-bang-whack of a great Drury Pantomime. House full; Duke and Duchess of EDINBURGH, with Princess MARIE and Crown Prince of ROUMANIA, enjoying themselves Wagnerially and Rou-manically.

Saturday.—Le Prophète. JOHN DE RESZKÉ not up to his usual form as the Sporting Prophet; but his little Brother EDWARD, and Messieurs MONTARIOL and CASTELMARY, first-rate as the three conspiring undertakers. Madame DESCHAMPS-JÉHIN, as Fides, very fine. "House," also, very fine, and large.

THE BONES OF JOSEPH.

Dear Mr. Punch,—When writing to a Journal of light and leaders—or misleaders—last Friday, I kept "a little bit up my sleeve," so to speak, for the Brightest, Lightest, and Leadingest of all papers yclept the one, Sir, that bears your honoured name. After quoting from Mr. CHAMBERLAIN at Holloway (not in Holloway) on June 17, 1885, as a gentle reminder to Mr. GOSCHEN—their "Mr. G."—I observed, "Perhaps, however, there are reasons why the 'Egyptian Skeleton' prefers to forget the speeches of Mr. CHAMBERLAIN in 1885." It struck me that, having already an Egyptian Skeleton, we might have as its companion a Brummagem Skeleton, which everyone can see through, and this sketch I beg to submit to you, pro bono publico. Always, Mr. Punch, your most obedient "subject" (artistically),

W.V. H-RC-RT.

THE FÊTE OF FLORA.

First Prize—Love among the Roses.

Were it not that the salutation were infelicitous, we should have said, "Hail, all hail!" to the Fête at the Botanical Gardens, Regent's Park, last Wednesday. Besides, they have always an Aquarius of the name of WATERER on the premises, whose Rhododendrons are magnificent. So we didn't say "All hail!" and there was not a single drop, of rain, or in the attendance, to damage a charming show which has so often been spoilt by the drop too much that has floored many a Fête of Flora. Nothing could have been prettier. Flowers of speech are inadequate to describe the scene. "Simply lovely!" is the best epitome of praise.

LADY GAY'S SELECTIONS.

The Look-out, Sheepsdoor, Kent.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,

Ascot has been too much for me! What with the excitement of racing all day, and bézique half the night—(another sign of the times; women no longer "play for love," but "love to play!")—to say nothing of the constant strain on one's nerves as to what the weather was going to do to one's gowns, I have had a severe attack of overwork, with complicating symptoms of my old enemy, idleness!—so that, on my return to town, my Doctor—(he's a dear man, and prescribes just what I suggest)—insisted that I should at once run down to the Seaside to recuperate. Hence my retirement to the little fishing village of Sheepsdoor in Kent, "far from the gadding crowd;" a most delightfully rural and little-known resort, where we all go about in brown canvas-shoes—(russia-leather undreamt of!)—and wear out all our old things, utterly regardless of whether we look "en suite" or not. The only precaution I take is to carry in my pocket a thick veil, which I pop on if I see anybody with evidences of "style" about them coming my way; fortunately, this has only happened once, when I met a certain well-known "Merry Duchess" and her charming little daughter, who both failed to penetrate my disguise!

I am sorry that my selected horse for the Windsor June Handicap did not run—though the word of command was given, "Macready!"—he was not told to be "present!"—being presumably short of a gallop or two, and therefore lacking "fire!" This little series of jokes is proudly dedicated to the Military, and Civilians are "warned off!"—which is another turf expression. The much-needed rain has come at last, and the Heath should be in fine condition, which was more than its namesake at Ascot was, and all for want of a little attention—I am told that the far end was all in lumps, which caused the "Lover" to come down in his race—though that was hardly a surprise, as we know that "the course of true love never did run smooth!"

Now—dear Mr. Punch, if you want a few hours' fresh air, command the special train, which I am told, is kept in readiness for you at every London Terminus, to transport you—(not for your country's good, but your own)—to Sheepsdoor, Kent, where you shall receive a hearty welcome—Lord ARTHUR is not with me, but my French maid will chaperon us—if necessary.

Yours devotedly,
LADY GAY.

STUD PRODUCE SELECTION.

THE TWO SARAS OF THE SEASON.—SARA BERNHARDT and SARA SATE.

UNA AND THE BRITISH LION.

A CARTOON FROM A BIRMINGHAM COLLECTION.

[Mr. CHAMBERLAIN, in his Election Address, explains how he has co-operated with the Conservative Government in order to maintain the Union between Great Britain and Ireland.]

"THROUGH DARKEST LAMBETH."

POLITICS.

(By a Confused Citizen.)

"Cave Kanem!"—"If," Dr. KANE is reported to have said at the Ulster Appeal Meeting in St. James's Hall, last Wednesday, "If they (the Ulster Irishmen) had to choose between arbitrary oppression and an appeal for justice to the God of battles, he (Dr. KANE) had no more doubt than he had about his existence, that that appeal would be made, and that God would defend the right." With the saving clause adroitly introduced into the last sentence, everyone, except an Atheist, will agree; and, but for this, this speech reads as an incentive to Civil War, intended to stir up brother against brother to fight to the death. Such sentiments may, in the future, be remembered as marked with "the brand of KANE."

A Difficulty.—Mr. Dick was unable to keep, "King Charles the First's head" out of his literary work. So Our OSCAR, it is said, has been unable to keep the head of St. John the Baptist out of his play, Salomé, accepted by SARAH. Hence difficulty with licenser. The real truth, we believe, is that the head, according to received tradition, should be brought in by Salomé "on a charger," and SARAH protests against this, as she is not an equestrian.

A New Songstress.—Mr. CUSINS, on Wednesday last, accompanying SCHUMANN, RUBINSTEIN, & Co., may fairly be described as "CUSINS German." A very successful Concert, musically notable, among many notable things, for the début of Miss GWLADYS WOOD, who, being vociferously encored, gave a Tyrolean Volkslied, or "VOKES' Family" dance and song, playing the accompaniment herself. "She ought to do well."—I quote SHAKESPEARE, WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, the Musician, who sang a duo with Mme. VALDA. The Concert commenced with a "Septette (By DESIRE)." This is a new Composer.

The Beadle with the German Reeds' Staff.

An Afternoon with Those who "Entertain" More than Anyone in London.—"Charity Begins At Home" or rather it begins at the GERMAN REEDS,' after CORNEY GRAIN has finished his amusing "Vocal Recital." Then it is that never-failing Charity begins, and goes as well as ever. ALFRED REED is immensely funny, especially when disguised as a Charity Girl. On no account miss the Grain of Chaff's capital French version of CHEVALIER's Coster song about "'Arry 'Awkins." It's lovely! Excellent entertainment for everybody at St. George's Hall.

Doctor O'Letters.—July 6th.—Not "D.C.L." but "honorary degree of Doctor of Letters," is to be conferred by Dublin University on HENRY IRVING, for masterly management of vast correspondence. Let Oxford follow suit with a "Postmastership of Merton." Dr. L. O'TOOLE says, "I'm satisfied with 'L.L.L. Three Stars,' and plenty of it."

THE HORSE-EDUCATOR.

(A Sketch at Sydenham.)

SCENE—An Arena at North End of Crystal Palace.—The Arena is thickly covered with sawdust, and occupied solely by a light American waggon. There is a small steam-engine at one side, with an escape-pipe and valve projecting into the Circus, and a bundle of parti-coloured stuff is fluttering overhead opposite. From loose-boxes, three or four horses are examining these ominous preparations with apprehensive eyes. Enter a Portly Gentleman in a tall hat and frock-coat, who bows to the audience, and is but faintly applauded, owing to a disappointed sense that the ideal Horse-trainer would not tame in a tall hat. However, he merely appears to introduce Professor NORTON B. SMITH, who, turning out to be a slender, tall man, in a slouch hat, black velveteen coat, breeches, and riding boots, is received with enthusiasm.

"The short Groom falling over a drum."

[The Horse appears to resent this description of himself, and lashes out by way of contradiction.

[He waves it round the animal's head, and finally claps it over his eyes, the horse inspects it, and tacitly admits that he may have been prejudiced.

[ROBERT doesn't answer, fervently hoping that his Sister's Pretty Friend has not overheard this comment.

[Two more horses are brought out, put in double harness in the light waggon, and driven round the Arena by the Professor. A steam whistle is let off over their heads, whereupon they rear and plunge, and back frantically, the Professor discoursing unperturbed from the waggon. After a few repetitions of this, the horses find the steam-whistle out as a brazen impostor, and become hardened sceptics from that moment. They despise the Comic Groom when he prances at them with a flag, and the performance of the Serious Man on the cymbals only inspires them with grave concern on his account. The bundle of coloured rags is let down suddenly on their heads, and causes them nothing but contemptuous amusement; crackers bang about their heels—and they pretend to be pleased; the Funny Groom (who is, by this time, almost unrecognisable with sawdust), gets on the near horse's back and bangs the drum on his head, but they are merely pained by his frivolity. Finally he throws an armful of old newspapers at them, and they exhibit every sign of boredom. After this, they are unharnessed and sent back to their boxes—a pair of equine Stoics who are past surprise at anything on this earth.]

[Paterf. while privately of opinion that this is not unlikely, sees no necessity to consider his horse's preferences in the matter.

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

House of Commons, Monday, June 20.—Black Rod got up little joke to-night by way of relieving the weight of these mournful parting moments. As soon as House met, word went round that, in absence of Mr. G., and other Leaders of the Opposition, SAGE OF QUEEN ANNE'S GATE intended to take Prince ARTHUR in hand, and insist on his making clean breast of date of Dissolution. A Royal Commission arranged in other House. Black Rod despatched to summon Commons to assist at ceremony. "The SAGE wants the House of Lords abolished, does he?" said Black Rod, to his friend the White Elephant. "Very well; but before it's done, I'll bet you 100 to 1, as JOHN MORLEY says, that I, as representative of the Lords, will make him shut up, and pretty sharp too. He little knows there's a Rod in pickle for him, and a Black 'un, too."

Everything worked out as it was planned. On Motion for Third Reading of Appropriation Bill, SAGE, in his most winning way, invited Prince ARTHUR to name the happy day. Black Rod, getting tip, hurried across Lobby; reached the door just as SAGE was in middle of a sentence. "Black Rod!" roared Doorkeeper, at top of his voice. SAGE paused, looked with troubled glance towards door, stood for a moment as if he would resist the incursion, and catching sight of sword by Black Rod's side, abruptly sat down amid general titter.

"Stopped on the threshold."

Still winding-up business. GEORGE CURZON explained Indian Budget to PLOWDEN, and Rev. SAM SMITH, who thought it very good. So it was, comprehensive, lucid, here and there brightened with felicitous touches of eloquence.

"Pity," said GRAND CROSS, when I mentioned to him the depressing circumstances attendant upon delivery of speech; "CURZON's a clever youth. When he's been with me a month or two, he'll brighten up considerably. Great advantage for a young man to have such guidance, coming into almost daily contact with a person like his present Chief. The fact is, TOBY, I am really responsible for the state of the House to-night. The country, England and India alike, are so satisfied with my rule over what I may, perhaps without offence, call our dusky Empire, that people do not think it worth while to go down to House to hear the affair discoursed on by my Under-Secretary. Amongst the natives in India, I'm told, I'm regarded as a sort of Fetish. Travellers in remote regions bring home stories of finding, set up in humble cottages, little images, more or less resembling me. GORST told me they have a saying there, which he was good enough to translate. His knowledge of Hindustanee is extensive, peculiar, and acquired with remarkable rapidity. These are the lines:

A free translation, GORST says, but gives you the swing and the spirit of the distich. Rather hard on CURZON that my popularity should spoil his speech, but a good thing for the country."

Business done.—Budget brought in.

Tuesday.—Wonderfully good muster in Lords to-night. Every man upon his mettle. As the MARKISS says, with that epigrammatic style that makes him so delightful, "The first duty of a Peer is to appear." Those Radicals been protesting that talk about necessity for prolonging Session over week all a flam. Simply meant to make it impossible for our delicate friend, the British Workman, to get to poll. Peers must show they mean business, by turning up with regularity and despatch.

"All over at last!"

Appeal to patriotic feelings nobly answered; nearly a hundred Lords in place to-night. CHELMSFORD, walking down with his umbrella, just about to add a unit to the number; stopped on the threshold by strange sight; looking in from room beyond the Throne, sees DENMAN standing at Table, shaking his fist at Prime Minister. DENMAN is wearing what CHELMSFORD, who is short-sighted, at first took to be red Cap of Liberty. But it's nothing more dangerous than a red skull-cap, designed to resist draughts. Needn't be red, but it is. Business before House, Third Reading of Small Holdings Bill Occurs to DENMAN to move its rejection; talks for ten minutes; difficulty to catch his remarks; understood from fragmentary phrases to be extolling someone as a luminous Statesman; seeing measure before the House is Small Holdings Bill, noble Lords naturally conclude he's talking about CHAPLIN. MARKISS interposes; says, "Noble Lord not speaking to Bill before House."

It was at this moment CHELMSFORD arrived. Saw DENMAN draw himself up to full height, shake his fist at the MARKISS, and this time at full pitch of quivering voice cry, "Ha! ha! you wish to clôture me again, do you? I'm very much obleeged to you. I have a right to refer in a hereditary assembly to the best man that ever stood in it."

Then noble Lords knew it couldn't have been CHAPLIN. Not yet.

Business done.—Still winding it up.

Tuesday, June 28.—Parliament prorogued and dissolved. "All over at last," says ROSCOE, putting it in another and more original way. Few to part where (six years ago) many met. Still some, chiefly Metropolitan Members, remain to see the last of the old Parliament.

"Good-bye, TOBY," Prince ARTHUR says, after we've shaken hands with the SPEAKER. "Shall see you again in August. You're all right. One of those happy fellows who are returned unopposed. As for me, I have to fight for my seat, and my life."

"You'll come back too," I said; "but you'll be sitting on the other side of House. What'll you do when you're in Opposition?"

"I'll go to the Opera every Wednesday night," said Prince ARTHUR, with a gleam of joy lighting up his face.

Business done.—Parliament dissolved.

NEWS ABOUT BISMARCK FOR THE BRITISH PUBLIC.—Professor SCHWENINGER, the Bizzy B.'s private physician, writes privately to Mr. Punch the following news about his distinguished patient. "Tell the B.P. that P.B. sleeps like a top. This is no hum. He is up at 7 A.M., and wishes everyone 'the top of the mornin' to you,' puts on his top-boots and top-hat, and then goes out for a spin."

FROM A CORRESPONDENT ANENT THE TRUSTEES, MESSRS. COHEN AND LEVY, AND THE GIFT OF £350,000 FOR LIVERPOOL AND MANCHESTER.—Sir,—It has been asked, what will they do with it? Liverpool and Manchester are both millionnaires and millowners too. Why not send a little to me? Who's Cohen, I mean who's goin' to Leave-y me anything? No spare Cohen—or Coin—ever comes my way! Would that a Co-hen would lay for me a golden egg as valuable as the Kohenore! Sir, I am of Irish extraction, and the Irish are of Hebraic origin, so I have some claim. Why? Because Irishmen are Hebrews first and Irish afterwards. The first settlers on settling-day in Ireland were Hebrews to a man, and isn't it clear that "Liffey" was originally "Levy?"

Yours impecuniously,
THE O'DUNAHOO.
With the accent on the "Owe" and the "Dun"

Leafy June 30.

"ACCORDING TO HIS FOLLY!"

Hostess. "I'VE GOT SUCH A COLD TO-DAY. I FEEL QUITE STUPID!"

Prize Idiot (calling). "I'VE GOT A BAD COLD TOO; BUT I DON'T FEEL PARTICULARLY STUPID!

Hostess. "AH, I SEE YOU'RE NOT QUITE YOURSELF!"

THE POLITICAL JOHNNY GILPIN.

(Lately-discovered Fragments of a Grand Old Ballad, the Sequel to which may—or may not—turn up later on.)

[Here the fragment, so far as at present discovered, abruptly endeth.

TIP FROM OUR OWN BOOKING-OFFICE.—Persons about to go to the Country, whether to defend their own seat or attack someone else's, can't do better, my Baronite says, than take with them P.W. CLAYDEN's England Under Coalition, just published by FISHER UNWIN. It's not much to carry, but it's worth the trouble of packing up; also of unpacking, and reading. It tells the story of two Parliaments and three Governments. A pretty story it is, more interesting than most novels, and in one volume too. A marvel of condensation and lucid narrative. Only one thing lacking to a work likely to be constantly used for reference, and that is an index. "But you can't have everything," as Queen Eleanor said to Fair Rosamond when, having swallowed the contents of the poisoned chalice, she asked for a dagger.

THE POLITICAL JOHNNY GILPIN.

"NOW SEE HIM MOUNTED ONCE AGAIN

UPON HIS NIMBLE STEED,

FULL SLOWLY PACING O'ER THE STONES,

WITH CAUTION AND GOOD HEED."

OBVIOUS.

Buttons (fresh from the Country, evidently no French Scholar). "I SAY, MARY, THE GUV'NOR AND MISSUS ARE DINING OUT TO-NIGHT. BUT I CAN'T FOR THE LIFE OF ME MAKE OUT WHAT A R, A S, A V, AND A P MEAN ON THIS 'ERE CARD!"

Smart Housemaid. "WHY, OF COURSE IT MEANS THEY'RE GOING TO HAVE RUMP STEAK AND VEAL PIE!"

ELECTION NOTES.

(By Mr. Punch's Special Commissioner.)

DEAR SIR,—I am glad you consented eventually to the terms I proposed. After all, £100 a-week (and expenses) is a mere trifle for the arduous work I expect to do for you. According to your instructions, I arrived three nights ago in the ancient borough of Bunkham-on-the-Marsh, and at once took steps to pursue those inquiries which are necessary for a satisfactory estimate of the political situation. My experience as a lightning change artiste is quite invaluable. I visit the Liberal Committee-rooms, and attend Liberal meetings in a complete suit of corduroys and horny hands. Five minutes afterwards I find myself in a military moustache, a frock coat, and patent leather boots at the Conservative head-quarters. In the former disguise I enthusiastically advocate the Newcastle Programme, and denounce the base minions of Coercion. In the latter I rouse Conservative partisans to frenzy by my impassioned appeals on behalf of one Queen, one Flag, one Empire, and a policy of enlightened Conservative progress. I can highly recommend my two perorations, in one of which I consign Mr. GLADSTONE to eternal infamy, while in the other I hold up Lord SALISBURY to the derision of mankind.

I send you herewith extracts from the two newspapers published in Bunkham. The Bunkham News is the organ of the Liberals; the Bunkham Standard (with which are incorporated the Bunkham Messenger and the Bunkham Guardian and Mangelhire Express) expresses the views of the Conservatives in this important district.

I have had interviews with prominent politicians on both sides, and have been assured on both sides, that victory is certain. Both Candidates are constantly occupied in driving all over the borough in pair-horse carriages, lavishly decorated with the party colours, orange for the Liberals, blue for the Conservatives. Mrs. PLEDGER is magnificent in an orange silk dress; Mrs. TUFFAN overwhelms me with blue ribbons. Master PLEDGER waves an orange banner in every street; Miss TUFFAN distributes blue cards in all the shops. The Liberal Committee-rooms are ablaze with pictures of Mr. GLADSTONE; the Conservative Office flames with Union Jacks, and other Imperial devices. Eight meetings are to be held in different parts of the Constituency to-night. Immense efforts are being made to capture the votes of the Association of Jam Dealers, which has its chief factory here. Master PLEDGER has just gone by in a Victoria, with a huge pot of "Bunkham Jam" on the seat in front of him. He had a spoon, and was apparently enjoying himself. This manoeuvre has much depressed the Conservatives, who consider it disgraceful. More next week.

Yours always, THE MAN IN THE MOON.

A RACE FOR THE COUNTRY. CLAIMING THE LAND.

(By Our Americanised Artist.)

NOTICE.—Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.