Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol. 100. March 7, 1891.

Produced by Malcolm Farmer, William Flis, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team.



VOL. 100.

March 7, 1891.



SCENE--_Main Thoroughfare near Hyde Park. Time 8 P.M. Nothing
visible anywhere, but very much audible; horses slipping and
plunging, wheels grinding, crashes, jolts, and English as she
is spoke on such occasions._

_Mrs. Flusters_ (_who is seated in a brougham with her husband, on
their way to dine with some friends in Cromwell Road_). We shall be
dreadfully late, I know we shall! I'm sure PEACOCK could go faster
than this if he liked--he always loses his head when there's much
traffic. Do tell him to make haste!

_Mr. F._ Better let him alone--he knows what he's doing.

_Mrs. F._ I don't believe he does, or he wouldn't dawdle like this. If
you won't speak to him, I must. (_Lets down the glass and puts out her
head._) PEACOCK!

_A Blurred Shadow on the Box._ Yes, M'm.

_Mrs. F._. What are we stopping for like this?

_The Shadow_. Fog very thick just 'ere, M'm. Can't see what's in front
of us, M'm.

_Mrs. F._ It's just as safe to keep moving as to stand still--go on at

_The S._ Very good, M'm. (_To horse._) Pull urp! [_Crash!_

_Voice from the Unseen_. What the blanky blank, &c.

_Peacock_. There _is_ suthin in front, M'm. A van, from 'is langwich,

_Mrs. F._ (_sinking back_). MARMADUKE, this is awful. I'd no idea the
fog was like this--or I should never have--(_With temper._) Really,
people have no _right_ to ask one out on such a night.

_Mr. F._ (_with the common-sense that makes him "so aggravating at
times."_) Well, FANNY, you could hardly expect 'em to foresee the
weather three weeks ahead!

_Mrs. F._ At all events, _you_ might have seen what it was going to be
as you came home from the Temple. Then we could have sent a telegram!

_Mr. F._ It seemed to be lifting then, and besides, I--ah--regard a
dinner-engagement as a species of kindly social contract, not to be
broken except under pressing necessity.

_Mrs. F._ You mean you heard me say there was nothing but cold
meat in the house, and you know you'll get a good dinner at the
CORDON-BLEWITTS,--not that we are likely to get there to-night. Have
you any idea whereabouts we are?

_Mr. F._ (_calmly_). None whatever.

_Mrs. F._ Then ask PEACOCK.

_Mr. F._ (_lets down his window, and leans out_). PEACOCK!

_The Shadow_. Sir?

_Mr. F._ Where have we got to now?

_Peacock_. I ain't rightly sure, Sir.

_Mrs. F._ Tell him to turn round, and go home.

_Mr. F._ It's no use going on like this. Turn back.

_Peacock_. I dursn't leave the kerb--all I got to go by, Sir.

_Mr. F._ Then take one of the lamps, and lead the horse.

_Peacock_. It's the _young_ 'orse, Sir.

_Mr. F._ (_sinking back_). We must put up with it, I suppose.

[_A smart crack is heard at the back of the carriage._

_More Voices_. Now, then, why the blanky dash, &c., &c.

_Mrs. F._ MARMADUKE, I can't sit here, and know that a bus-pole may
come between us at any moment. Let us get out, and take a cab home at

_Mr. F._ There's only one objection to that suggestion--viz., that
it's perfectly impossible to tell a cab from a piano-organ. We must
find out where we are first, and then turn. PEACOCK, drive on as well
as you can, and stop when you come to a shop.

_Mrs. F._ What do you want to stop at a shop for?

_Mr. F._ Why, then I can go in, and ask where we _are_.

_Mrs. F._ And how do you expect _them_ to know where we are! (_She
sees a smear of light in the distance._) MARMADUKE, there's a linkman.
Get out quick, and hire him to lead the way.

_Mr. F._ (_who gets out, and follows in the direction of the light,
grumbling to himself_). Hallo!--not past the Park yet--here's the
railings! Well, if I keep close to them, I shall--(_He suddenly
collides with a bench._) Phew! Oh, confound it! (_He rubs his shins._)
Now, if it hadn't been for FANNY, I--Where's that linkman? Hi!--you
there!--stop! (_The light stops._) Look here--I want you to come to my
carriage, and show my man the way out of this!

_Voice from behind the Railings_. We got to find our _own_ way out
fust, Guv'nor. We're _inside_!

_A Belated Reveller_ (_lurching up to Mr. F._) Beg your pardon, bur
cou' you dreck me nearesht way--er--Dawshon Plashe?

_Mr. F._ (_savagely_). First turning to the right, third to the left,
and then straight on till you come to it!

_The B.R._. I'm exsheedingly 'blished; (_confidentially_) fact ish,
I'm shuffrin' shli' 'fection eyeshi', an' I 'shure you, can't shee
anyshing dishtingly to-ni'. (_He cannons against a lamp-post, to which
he clings affectionately, as a Policeman emerges from the gloom._)

_Policeman_. Now then, what are you doing 'ere, eh?

_The B.R._ Itsh all ri', P'lishman, thish gerrilman--(_patting
lamp-post affectionately_)--has kindly promished shee me home.

_Mr. F._ Hang it! Where's PEACOCK and the brougham? (_He discovers a
phantom vehicle by the kerb, and gets in angrily._) Now, look here, my
dear, it's no earthly good--!

_Occupant of the Brougham_ (_who is_ not FANNY). Coward, touch a
defenceless woman if you dare! I have nothing on me of any value.
Help! Police!

[_Mr. F., seeing that explanation is useless, lets himself
out again, precipitately, dodges the Policeman, and bolts,
favoured by the fog, until all danger of pursuit is passed,
at the end of which time he suddenly realises that it is
perfectly hopeless to attempt to find his own carriage
again. He gropes his way home, and some hours later, after
an extemporised cold supper, is rejoined by his Wife._

_Mrs. F._ (_cheerfully_). So there you are, MARMADUKE! I wasn't
anxious--I felt sure you'd find your way back somehow!

_Mr. F._ (_not in the best of tempers_). Find my way back! It was the
only thing I could do. But where have _you_ been all this time, FANNY?

_Mrs. F._ Where? Why, at the BLEWITTS, to be sure! You see, after you
got out, we had to keep moving on, and by-and-by the fog got better,
and we could see where we were going to,--and the BLEWITTS had put
off dinner half an hour, so I was not so _very_ late. Such a _nice_
dinner! Everybody turned up except _you_, MARMADUKE--but I _told_ them
how it was. Oh, and old Lady HOREHOUND was there, and said a man had
actually got into her brougham, and tried to wrench off one of her
bracelets!--only she spoke to him so severely that he was struck with
remorse, or something, and got out again! And it was by the Park,
_close_ to where you left me. Just fancy, MARMADUKE, he might have got
into the carriage with _me_, instead!

_Mr. F._ (_gloomily_). Yes, he _might_--only, he--er--_didn't_, you

* * * * *

[Illustration: BITING SARCASM.

_Gentleman with the Broom_ (_who has inadvertently splashed the
Artist's favourite Shipwreck_). "OW YUS! I SUPPOSE YER THINK YE'RE

* * * * *

'UN."--(_P.R. Maxim._)


"110-Ton Guns do not count for any practical purpose.... These
monsters are the laughing-stock of everyone who takes the
smallest interest in the subject. They are quite indefensible,
and not worth making, even if they were unobjectionable, for
the simple reason that everything we require can be done by
smaller weapons.... It is believed that more of these useless
monsters are to be made by way of reserve. It is an insane
policy, designed simply to save somebody's _amour propre_, and
we still hope to hear from Lord GEORGE HAMILTON that it has
been abandoned."--"_The Times" on the Naval Estimates_.

"That a good little 'un is better than a bad big 'un," is an old and
accepted maxim amongst the really knowing ones of the P.R. It is one,
however, that now, as of yore, swell backers, self-conceited amateurs,
and other pugilistic jugginses ore apt to ignore or forget.

Where, we wonder, would the slab-sided "Sprawleybridge Babe" or
the shambling "Baldnob the Titan" have been in front of the small
but active and accomplished "Duodecimo Dumps"? Why, where the
vaunted "Benicia Boy" would have been after fifty rounds with TOM
SAYERS--_with_ his "Auctioneer" in full play. In fact, when a good
little 'un meets a bad big 'un, it is very soon a case--with the
latter--of "bellows to mend," or "there he goes; with his eye out!"

These remarks have been suggested by recent revelations concerning
that much over-rated pet of the mugs--the "Woolwich Whopper," _alias_
the "Elswick Folly," _alias_ HAMILTON's "Novice."

The "W.W." always _was_ a fraud, and, for all his lumbering bulk and
"MOLINEAUX-like" capacity of "tatur-trap," never _could_ train-on
soundly, or--figuratively speaking--"spank a hole in a pound of
butter." Many cleverish trainers, and still more ambitious backers
of the "Corinthian Jay" species, have had a shy, professionally or
monetarily, at the "Woolwich Whopper," and invariably with disastrous
results. The "W.W.," though big enough in all conscience, is not
of sound constitution, nor of the true wear-and-tear sort, is very
difficult (_and_ expensive) to train, and when brought fairly up
to the scratch is certain to go bang to pieces after the first few
rounds, if these are at all of a hot-and-hot character.

Still there are--worse luck!--certain parties connected, more or less,
with the P.R. who--whether from interest, vanity, or sheer cussedness,
still pin their faith to this "huge, lumbering, soft, long-shanked,
top-heavy, shambling, thump-shirking Son of a Gun," as NOBBY NUPKINS,
of the Nautical Division, pithily called him the other day. If some
of these credulous or conceited coves had witnessed the little
trial "scrap" which took place recently (on the strict Q.T.), at
the "Admiral's Head," in the presence of Mr. JOHN B-LL (the famous
P.R. referee), between the vaunted "Whopper" and a smart and handy
light-weight known as "Quickfire," their owl-eyes might, having been
a little opened, and their peacock-strut a bit modified.

The "Woolwich Whopper," for all his height and overwhelming weight,
seemed to toe the scratch with awkward reluctance. He put up his dukes
very fumblingly, and his attitude was decidedly of the "head-over-tip"
character. Young "Quickfire," on the contrary, was erect as a dart,
nimble on his pins as a girl at her first dance, and smart in delivery
as a newly-promoted Postman, or the Parcels Express. He was all over
his man in a brace of shakes, and the "Whopper," who looked as though
he could have knocked holes in him _if_ he could have hit him, could
hardly land a "little one in" once in the course of a round, and then
it was so short that it would hardly have brushed a bumble-bee off a

The respected Referee, who watched the dust-up with careful interest,
was much pleased with the promise of the smart light-weight,
"Quickfire," who seems to have in him the makings of a fine fighter.
Mr. B-LL did not disguise his disgust at the feeble figure cut by
the "Whopper," about whose pretensions to first-class form, let alone
Champion honours, it is to be hoped we shall hear little more for the

[_Mem._--_Mr. Punch_ suspects that the above edifying and
idiomatic homily was intended for some sporting contemporary,
but, with his accustomed courtesy, he gives it for what it is

* * * * *


["Here the Plaintiff met the Defendant, who formed a strong
attachment for her, at which he (the learned Counsel), did not
wonder."--_Extract from a recent Report._]

The Plaintiff she was very fair--
I'd very gladly make a verse on
Her face, her smile, her eyes, her hair,
Her comely and attractive person.
Last year a gentleman had stormed
Her heart and swore that nought should sunder
The strong attachment he had formed,
At which you said you "_did not wonder!_"

Oh! tell me was it quite the thing,
Of prudence shamelessly defiant,
In such a pointed way to sing
The praises of your pretty client.
Had she been ugly--yes, or plain,
Would you have reckoned it your duty
To say how much it caused you pain
To look and mark her lack of beauty?

Perhaps you meant the words you said,
'Twould be amusing to discover
If she had really turned your head,
And in her lawyer found a lover.
Yet even should this be the case,
You cannot well escape supporting
This statement--that it's not the place
In open Court to go a-courting.

When next a lady comes to say
That He and She at last have parted,
And that she'll make the villain pay
For having left her broken-hearted,
You'll recollect that in the Breach
Of Promise Case, you must not blunder,
But mention in your opening speech
That at his love you _do not wonder_.

* * * * *


_The M Dougall, L.C.C._ (_to Cambridge Don_). "WELL DONE! THE SPINSTER

* * * * *


_The Quiet Mrs. Fleming_ is very nearly being a good novel of the kind
with which "once upon a time" Mr. F.C. PHILIPS used to delight us. Mr.
RICHARD PRYCE's _Quiet Mrs. F._ might perhaps be placed in the same
category with F.C.P.'s. _Little Mrs. Murray_, which was not by any
means the Author's best. The story, like the Consols, is good enough
for those who don't want much interest for their money. It may be
safely recommended as a pleasant companion during a railway journey.
The Baron does not consider that _The Quiet Mrs. F._ will make much
noise in the novel-reading world.

A coloured leaflet, of autumnal tint, commands me, in the tone of
a Wellington dispatch, to "order early" a new "Family Magazine,"
entitled, _Golden Gates_, edited by JOHN STRANGE WINTER. "I have not
yet seen it," says the Baron, "but wish the adventurous pennyworth
every possible success." Its bill of contents announces "a complete
story," by the editress, and also a "complete novelette," by Mrs.
LOVETT CAMERON. This looks well for the first number; and an editor's
motto must be, "Take care of Number One." I suppose in each number
there will be "A Winter's Tale."

Interesting reading for the Baron and his friends the Public, is Mr.
ANDERSON's article, entitled _Studies in Illustrated Journalism_, in
this month's _Magazine of Art_. Mr. ANDERSON is a trifle inaccurate
in some details of his pleasantly-written and generally trustworthy
sketch of the history of _Mr. Punch_, on which it is needless for
the Baron to dwell _hic et nunc_. The Baron remembers the dapper,
sportingly-attired "little HOWARD," who had the reputation of being
"LEECH's only pupil," but who was never one of _Mr. Punch's_ Staff
Officers. In the same number of this Magazine is a brief, but
carefully written notice of the Baron's old friend, _convive_,
and fellow-worker on _Mr. Punch's_ staff, CHARLES KEENE. "A superb
Artist," writes Mr. SPIELMAN, "pure and simple"--true this, in every
sense--"the greatest master of line in black and white that will live
for many years to come." The engraving that accompanies this notice of
our old friend is not a striking likeness of "CARLO," but it exactly
reproduces his thoughtful attitude, with his pipe in his hand, so
familiar to all his associates.

Hereby and herewith thanks-a-many are returned to the "Bibliographer,"
who is also the Secretary of the Sette of Odd Volumes, for his
charming little _brochure_ about _Robert Houdin, his Life and Magical
Deeds_, by his truly,


* * * * *

A "STERNE" TRUTH (_as to conviction under The Embezzlement and Larceny
Act, 1861)._--"They order this matter better in France."

* * * * *



"SPUN BY PRATING," &C., &C., &C._)

["I think you will like this book," writes the fair Author;
"its tone is elevated and its intention good. The philosophic
infidel must be battered into belief by the aid of philosophy
mingled with kindness. Take KENAN, HAECKEL, HUXLEY, STRAUSS,
and DRAPER--the names, I mean; it is quite useless and might
do harm to read their books,--shake them up together and make
into a paste, add some poetical excerpts of a moral tendency,
and spread thick over a violent lad smarting under a sense
of demerit justly scorned, Turn him out into the world,
then scrape clean and return him to his true friends. Cards,
race-meetings, and billiards may be introduced _ad lib._, also
passion, prejudice, a faithful dog, and an infant prattler.
Death-scenes form an effective relief. I have several which
only need a touch or two to be complete. That is the way to
please the publishers and capture the public. Try it, and let
me know what you think.--R.T."]


Ah me, how shall we know the true,
How mark the old, how fix the new?
Or teach the babe in arms to say,
"Base, bold, bad boys are cheap to-day"?

NARR. _The White Witch_.


SONOGUN scarcely knew what to do. He had been up all day, wandering
about the lanes which surrounded the family mansion. A fitful light
blazed in his magnificent eyes, his brow contracted until it assumed
that peculiarly battered expression which is at once characteristic
of a bent penny and consistent with the most sublime beauty. To be
properly appreciated he must be adequately described. Imagine then a
young man of twenty, who was filled with the bitterest hatred of the
world, which he had forsworn two years ago, on being expelled from
school for gambling. There was about him an air of haughty reserve and
of indifference which was equally haughty. This it was his habit to
assume in order to meet any neighbours who happened to meet him, and
the result naturally was that he was not so popular as some inferior
beings who were less haughty. In fact he had a very short way with his
relations, for whose benefit he kept a shell into which he frequently
retired. He was dangerously handsome, in the Italian style, and often
played five bars of music over and over again, with one finger,
to please his mother. Some women thought he was an Apollo, others
described him as an Adonis, but everybody invariably ended or began
by calling him an ancient Roman. He was sarcastic, satiric, and very
strong. Indeed, on one occasion, he absolutely broke the feathers on
a hand-screen, and on another he cracked three walnuts in succession
without looking up. But, oh, the sufferings that young heart had
undergone. Slapped by his nurse, reproved by his mother, expelled by
his schoolmaster, and shunned by the society of the country-side, it
was small wonder that the brave soul revolted against its fellow-men,
and set its jaws in a proud resolve to lash the unfeeling world with
the contempt of a spirit bruised beyond the power of such lotions as
the worldly-wise recommended for the occasion. He whistled to his dog
_Stray_, and clenched his fists in impotent anger. An expression of
gentleness stole over his features. The idea was suggestive. He, too,
the proud, the honourable, the upright would steal, and thus punish
the world. He looked into his make-up box. It contained bitter
defiance, angry scorn, and a card-sharper's pack of cards. He took
them out; and thus SONOGUN, the expelled atheist, made up his mind.


On the green table of life the cards fall in many ways, and the
proud king often has to bow his head before the meek and unassuming

AND now began for SONOGUN a time of moral stress and torture such
as he had never anticipated. It is an old saying, and perhaps (who
knows?) a truism, that virtue is its own reward, not, perhaps, the
reward that ambitious people look for, but the easy consciousness of
superiority which comes to those who feel themselves to be on a higher
level than the rest of the world, which struggles on a lower level.
Another philosopher, nameless, but illustrious, has declared, in
burning words, that "Honesty is the best policy," best in some form,
perhaps hardly understood now, but no less real because we are unable
to appraise it in the current coin of the realm over which Her Most
Gracious Majesty, whom may Heaven preserve, holds sway. But SONOGUN
had never thought of Heaven. To him, young, proud, gloomy, and moody,
Heaven had seemed only--(Several chapters of theological disquisition
omitted.--ED.) The click of the billiard-balls maddened him, the
sight of a cue made him rave like a maniac. One evening he was walking
homeward to Drury Lane. He had given his coat to a hot-potato-man,
deeming it, in his impulsive way, a bitter satire on the world's
neglect, that the senseless tubers should have jackets, while their
purveyor lacked a coat. The rain was pouring down, but it mattered
little to him. He had wrapped himself in that impenetrable mantle
of cold scorn, and thus he watched with a moody air the crowd of
umbrella-carrying respectabilities, who hurried on their way without
a thought of him. Suddenly some one slapped him on the back, and,
as he turned round, he found himself face to face with a couple of
seedy-looking gentlemen.

"I perceive," began SONOGUN, "that you hate the world, having suffered
much injustice from it."

"We do; we have!" was the cordial reply.

"I, too," continued SONOGUN, "have many grievances. But tell me who
and what are you?"

"Our names are unknown even to ourselves," replied his new friends,
for friends he felt them to be. "By profession we are industrial
knights. That should be sufficient.

"It is;--more than sufficient," said the proud, honourable young man,
"I will be one of you. We will take it out of the world together."

The bargain thus made was soon ratified. They procured cards, SONOGUN
whistled to his dog _Stray_, and they all set out together to the
nearest railway station to pick up their victims. This is the usual
method, and thus card-sharpers are manufactured.


Nay, this is truth, though heart-strings break,
And youth with gloomy brows hears:--
Howe'er you try, you shall not make
Silk purses out of sows' ears.

W. BRAUN, _Soul-tatters_.

In the present there is absolute redemption. Though a gulf
should yawn, go not you to sleep, but rub your eyes; be up
and doing.--JAKES.

In the meantime, SONOGUN's cousin, ACIS ARRANT, generally known to his
jocular intimates as Knave ARRANT, had been living in luxury with his
cousin's weak mother, whom he had contrived to marry. To effect this,
however, he had been compelled to tear a will into little pieces, and
had, at the same time, ruined that peace of his mind which he often
gave to SONOGUN. The unfortunate consequence was, that SONOGUN did
not value it in the least, and always returned it to him. And thus the
relations of the two men, who should have been friends, the guardian
and the ward, were always on a hostile footing, which only the most
delicate handling could have healed. ACIS was not happy. When his
glass told him he was old, he had no repartee ready, and could only
speculate gloomily on the disagreeable fate which had compelled him
to take part in a modern novel, and had evidently told him off to pass
away into the unseen in Chapter 40.

But, of course, GLADYS and her father, the doctor, knew nothing about
all this. GLADYS always looked happy; her hair, her mouth, her eyes,
her ears, even her little unformed nose, all looked as happy as
possible. She was a pleasant little patent moraliser, with a double
escapement action for great occasions. On this evening all the family
was gathered together, including the inevitable infant, whose prattle
serves to soothe the gloomy perversity of morose heroes. On such an
evening as this SONOGUN had seen them all years ago, and, though he
was standing in the garden and all the windows were shut, he had heard
every single whisper of the family conversation. The Doctor seemed to
be troubled, and GLADYS came up to him in her caressing way.

"My dear," he said, simply, "SONOGUN is in trouble, and we must rescue
him." No more was said, but the next moment GLADYS and her father had
left by the London express.


All things are fair that are not dark;
Yet all are dark that are not fair.
And the same cat that slays the lark,
Itself is often killed by care.--BOHER.

SONOGUN had seen a notice in a railway-carriage. "Beware of
card-sharpers" was printed upon it, and it flashed upon him, with
the force of a revelation, that it must be meant for him. Once more
he made up his mind. He would fly. Fear lent him a spare pair of
second-hand wings. He whistled to his dog _Stray_, and having thrown
HAECKEL and RENAN out of the window, he flapped twice, and then soared
up, _Stray_ following as best he could. It was very dark, and the
clouds were threatening. For a long time he avoided them, but at
length he fell into a particularly damp one, and would inevitably
have been drowned, had not the sagacious _Stray_ brought men to his
assistance. And thus SONOGUN, the scoffer, the agnostic, the moody,
gloomy, morose, cast-iron, Roman-faced misanthrope, got home. That
same evening he changed his clothes and his character, and on the
following day married GLADYS.


* * * * *


[Illustration: Infants in Arms.]

The fencing Lecture, entitled, _The Story of Swordsmanship_, seems
to have been so great a success, last Wednesday, at the Lyceum, as
to have aroused the ire of some Music-hall Managers, who earnestly
contend that the Stage of the Theatre, that is, of the Drama _pur et
simple_, very pure _et_ very simple, should not be used or misused for
the purpose of giving an entertainment, which, though given without
scenes, was yet "illustrated with cuts."

It is highly probable that this offensive and defensive subject
will be followed by other lectures more, perhaps, in keeping with
theatrical tradition. We will not give our authority for this
statement, but may intimate that that eminent professor of the P.R.
and P.M.N.A.S.D., known within certain circles as _The Slogger_, will,
at no very distant date, give at one of our most popular theatres a
lecture, the first of a series, on _Pugilism and the Drama_.

Tickets, of course, to be obtained at the Box-office. The subject of
the first Lecture will be _Box and Fighting Cocks_.

Among other things the eloquent professor will draw the attention
of his audience to what a change in the history of the Stage, nay,
perhaps, in the history of the world, would have occurred if to
_Box's_ inquiry as to his pugilistic capacity, _Cox_ had replied, "I
can!" and had there and then thrown himself, like _Mr. Pickwick_ "into
a paralytic attitude," and exclaimed, "Come on!" an invitation which
the challenger would have been bound in honour to accept. The Lecturer
will practically show how "to make a hit," and give an example
from the life of the "early closing movement." The Lecture will be
interspersed with songs, such as "_Black Eyes and Blue Eyes_," "_Hand
and Glove_," "_Ring! Ring!_" "_The Hymn to Floorer_" a part-song,
by four choristers, and "_Me-fist-O's song_" from _Faust_. Perhaps
the next Lecture on the some subject will be given at _The Umpire

* * * * *

AN OLD CRY REVIVED (_unpalatable to the French Painters and
Patriots).--"A Berlin! a Berlin!_"

* * * * *


Mr. PINERO, in his letter to the _D.T._, complained that, should the
Music Halls obtain their wicked way, through the incompetence of
the County Council to deal with the matter--(but is not DRURIOLANUS
a Counti-Counciliarius, and ready to see justice done to the poor
player, author, (and manager alike? Sure-ly!)--then a play at a Hall
of Music (they used to be "Caves of Harmony" in THACKERAY's time, and
the principal Hall of Music was SAM HALL) will be heard between "a
puff at a cigar and a sip from a glass." Well, but what piece can get
on without a puff or so? Would not a good cigar during a good piece
be on additional "draw?" We have "Smoking Concerts"; why not "Smoking
Theatricals"? _But how about the Ladies?_ Years ago there were no
smoking-carriages on the Railways. And what nowadays is the proportion
of smoking to non-smoking compartments? Very small. The Ladies will
decide this question. _But how about the Actors?_ In modern pieces
they never lose an opportunity of smoking. Why shouldn't the cigar
be introduced into Shakspearian revivals? Anachronism to the
winds!--which is a polite way of expressing "Anachronism be blowed!"
'Baccy be blowed too. Sir WALTER RALEIGH would have approved its
introduction in Elizabethan days. In _Twelfth Night_ for example,
the line, "Help me to some light," is suggestive; so, also, in
_Macbeth_--"Give us a light, then"--out comes the cigar. _Titus
Andronicus_ might be revived, with a view to inaugurating the
innovation, and the line, "Some of you shall smoke," would be the
signal for the production of many a cigar-case in point. _Hamlet_
could, perhaps, find some authority for reading the line, "Will you
play upon this pipe?" as, "Will you smoke this pipe?" And the other
actor would reply, "Certainly--and thank you, my Lord, I have one of
my own." Mr. EDWARD TERRY has no objection to _The Churchwarden_ in
his theatre, and his Churchwarden drew very well. However, we've had
this discussion before. Will it end this time, as it has hitherto
done, in smoke? Let us suppose a Shakspearian play under the proposed

[Illustration: "Can you play upon this pipe?"]

SCENE II.--_Capulet's Garden. After ROMEO's soliloquy,
which, perhaps, has produced a thirstiness among the audience,
resulting in several orders for drinks having been given,
JULIET appears on balcony._

"_Juliet_. Ah, me!" [_Popping of corks, and striking of matches._

"_Romeo_. She speaks!--"

_Fascinating Female Attendant in Stalls_. One whiskey, Sir?

"_Romeo_. Oh, speak again, bright angel!"

_Thirsty Party in Stalls_. No; I said B. and S.--bring it quick.

"_Romeo_ (_continuing_). As is a winged messenger of heaven."

_Second Fascinating Attendant_. Which Gent ordered gin-sling? (_No one
pays any attention. Attendant sees a mild man listening as earnestly
as he can to the play_.) Did you order a sling, Sir?

_Earnest Listener_ (_irritably_). No, no--I don't want anything.
There, I've lost the last part of ROMEO's speech.

[_Steels himself against further distractions, and tries to
concentrate all his attention on the play._

"_Juliet_. O, ROMEO! ROMEO! wherefore art thou, ROMEO?" &c.

"_Romeo_ (_aside_). Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?"

_Excited Somebody_ (_in distant Stall, beckoning to Second
Attendant_). Here! Hi! Here! I ordered gin-sling.

_Second Attendant_ (_much relieved_). Oh, you was it? D'you mind
stretchin' across--(_To gorgeous, eveningly-attired Lady, in row
between_). Beg pardon.

_Gorgeous Lady_ (_horribly disturbed_). She'll spill it--you'll spill
it--CHARLEY, why don't you--

_Charles_ (_her Friend_). Here! (_To Fascinating Attendant as politely
as possible_). Can't you go round with it--

_Few Ancient Playgoers_. Sssh! Sssh!

_Second Attendant_ (_to distant Customer_). I'll bring it. 'Scuse me.

[_Retraces her fascinating steps along front row.
Chaff--exclamations--near and distant poppings of corks,
striking of matches, and other accompaniments to JULIET's

And so forth, _ad libitum_. The same thing going on all over the house
during the remainder of the Shakspearean play.

* * * * *

[Illustration: "L'INVITATION A LA VALSE."





* * * * *




'Twas in Ninety One, d'ye see,
Brave boys!
With SOLLY I did sa-a-a-ail,
When one Monday night
We went out--_not_ to fight,
But we went for to catch a Whale.
Brave boys!
We went for to catch a Whale!

There was dirty weather about,
Brave boys!
_Trade_-winds was blowin' a ga-a-a-le,
When the Skipper sings out,
As we chopped about,
"My eyes! there goes _such_ a Whale!
Brave boys!
Dear eyes I there goes _such_ a Whale!"

It were the whoppingest Whale,
Brave boys!
As ever whisked a ta-a-a-il;
In the trough o' the sea
It was Labouring free.
And a lashin' the waves like a flail,
Brave boys!
A lashin' the waves like a flail.

We had heard o' that Whale afore,
Brave boys!
Says SOLLY, "I'll go ba-a-a-ail,
The Rads would roar
If that monster they sor-r!
But _we_ want to catch that Whale,
Brave boys!
_We_ want to catch that Whale!

"Young GRANDOLPH[1] has kep' a look-out
Brave boys!
Wich it weren't of no awa-a-a-il.
Brum JOEY[1], no doubt,
Is a-cruisin' about,
But _they_ mustn't catch that Whale,
Brave boys!
No, _they_ mustn't catch that Whale."

There was only me and SOLLY,
Brave boys!
In that boat, with never a sa-a-a-il;
And, it may seem folly,
But we both was jolly,
For we meant for to catch that Whale,
Brave boys!
_We_ meant for to _catch_ that Whale!

No harpoon, or such tackle _we_ took.
Brave boys!
For we knowed they was no ava-a-a-il.
No, we went for to look
For that Whale--_with a hook_.
_That's_ how we went for that Whale,
Brave boys!
That's how _we_ went for that Whale!

We knowed that a sprat was _the_ bait,
Brave boys!
What was never knowed for to fa-a-a-il.
So the sprat _I_ throwed,
Whilst SOLLY, _he_ rowed,
That's how we angled for that Whale,
Brave boys!
That's how we angled for that Whale!

He lashed, and he dashed, and he splashed,
Brave boys!
And he _spouted_ on a werry big sca-a-a-le.
But the skipper, he still held on,
And that sprat what I have telled on,
I dangled,--for to catch that Whale,
Brave boys!
I dangled,--for to catch that Whale!

"Strike! turn yer winch, pull in yer line!
Brave boys!
(Sings out SOLLY) and yer prize you'll na-a-a-il!"
Then a rummy thing did 'appen
Wich amazed me and the Cap'en;
_I_ struck,--but so did that Whale,
Brave boys!
I _struck_--but so did that Whale!

We found he was the better at a _Strike_,
Brave boys!
Fhwisk! He hit us _such_ a wallop with his ta-a-a-il.
With my hook, sprat, tackle too
He just vanished from our view.
So--_we haven't yet caught that Whale_,
Brave boys!
No,--_we haven't yet caught that Whale!_

[Footnote 1: Supposed to be rival whaling captains.]

* * * * *

SHIPPING INTELLIGENCE.--The name of the "unknown steamer laden with
gums and ivory," reported as having passed down the Congo last week,
has been discovered to be _The Dentist_.

* * * * *

[Illustration: "A SPRAT TO CATCH A WHALE!"]

* * * * *



* * * * *




HUKIEWAUKIE, _February 28_.

An extraordinary incident has just stirred the heart of this populous
Western centre to its depths. Some fifteen years ago Colonel ZACHARY
B. DIBBS, one of the most prominent citizens of Hukiewaukie (then a
mere collection of log-huts), disappeared without leaving any address
to which his letters and papers were to be forwarded. Mrs. DIBBS,
who was then about to give birth to the seventh scion of the house of
DIBBS, was inconsolable, and ordered the fish-ponds in the vicinity to
be subjected to a rigorous scrutiny. All her conjugal efforts proved
fruitless, the missing Colonel was nowhere to be found, and, after a
decent interval spent in the wearing of widow's weeds, Mrs. DIBBS was
led to the local registrar's office by Sheriff's Deputy ORLANDO T.
STRUGGLES. Time went on, and five flourishing STRUGGLESES were added
by the former Mrs. DIBBS to the population of the town. On Thursday
last, however, Colonel DIBBS was discovered by his eldest son,
Mr. JERNIAH N. DIBBS, the well-known notary public, sitting in his
familiar seat in the Fifth Street Saloon, drinking rum-shrub out of a
tumbler. An explanation followed. Sheriff's Deputy STRUGGLES, in the
handsomest manner, offered to resign all claim to the possession of
the Colonel's spouse. The Colonel, however, would not hear of this.
Finally it was decided to spin a five-dollar green-back for the lady.
An inopportune gust of wind, however, carried off the fateful money,
and the momentous question is still undecided. The Colonel has
announced his intention of continuing a bachelor, even if he has to
fight the matter up to the Supreme Court, and a large majority of the
inhabitants of the town are willing to support him, with a view to
making this a test case.


Yesterday, as one of the chief tiger-purveyors of this city was
engaged in exercising his _troupe_ of fiery, untamed tigers, in the
main street, two of the ferocious animals escaped from the string
which has usually been found sufficient for their confinement. A
general stampede of the inhabitants immediately followed, the majority
finding refuge in the bar of the recently constructed Hotel Columbia,
Mayor MADDERLEY and his amiable consort were, however, not so
fortunate. The Mayor, being shortsighted, mistook the two denizens of
the jungle for a couple of performing poodles, to whose training he
had devoted much of his leisure, and who, as it happened, were at that
precise moment expected on their return from the post-office, with
the Mayor's mail in their mouths--a trick which had often amused the
Mayor's friends. Mr. MADDERLEY advanced to stroke his supposed pets,
and was much surprised to find himself torn in pieces before he had
time to send for the city mace. Mrs. MADDERLEY, a stout, plethoric
lady, would have been the next victim, had she not, with extraordinary
presence of mind, declared herself dead the moment the animals
approached her. This deceit (which, however, has been the subject of
grave censure in many pulpits,) saved her life. Maddened by the taste
of blood, the tigers next attacked Mr. LARIAT's grocery store. Here,
however, they met their match in an army of Gorgonzola cheeses, which
broke from their shelves, attacked the intruders with wonderful
fury, and in ten minutes had so far subdued them that their owner
was able to recapture them, and lead them home. The obsequies of Mr.
MADDERLEY's shoes and his umbrella--all that was left of the unhappy
Mayor--have just taken place amidst universal demonstrations of
sympathy. The funeral _cortege_ took an hour to pass a given point.
Widow MADDERLEY proposes to sue the owner of her late husband's

LYNCHVILLE, _March 3_.

Two brothers, named respectively JOHN and THOMAS, quarrelled here
yesterday about the ownership of a clasp-knife. They drew their
revolvers at the same instant, and fired at a distance of two paces.
Strangely enough the two deadly bullets met in the air, and, their
force being exactly equal, they stopped dead and dropped to the
ground, whence they were afterwards picked up and presented to the
trustees of the Lynchville Museum of Fine Art. Nothing daunted, the
fraternal contestants set to work with their bowie-knives, and were
only separated after JOHN had inflicted on THOMAS ten mortal wounds
and received from him one less. It is generally admitted that
nothing could have been fairer than the conduct of the police, who
formed a _cordon_ round the duellists, and thus prevented the fussy
interference which has so often brought similar affairs to a premature
termination. The two coffins are to be of polished walnut-wood, and
will be provided by the Friendly Society to which the two deceased
belonged, as a last mark of affection and regard.

* * * * *

[Illustration: "LA RIXE."]

* * * * *




_Oirish Gentleman loquitur_:--

Spilt mugs, chairs fallen, and scattered tables,--
That's Oirish shindy, me bhoys, all over!
"Union of Hearts" and such plisant fables,
Won't greatly hamper the free-foight lover.
What do you mean,
Ye paltry spalpeen?
True Oirish hearts from Old England to wean?
Faix, not a bit of it! We'll jist have none of it!
They're foighting frindly, and jist for the fun of it!

There's bould PARNELL, he looks fierce and fell,
Wid his savage face, and his snickersnee steely.
Faix, wouldn't he loike that same to stroike
All into the gizzard of Misther HEALY?
He looks so sullen
At the pair a pullin'
At his sinewy arm, and his onset mullin'!
That thraitor, TIM, he'd be having his will on,
But for tearful O'BRIEN, and dismal DILLON.

As for tarin' TIM, he'd be hot at _him_,
Wid his ready sword from its scabbard flashin'!
But that meddlin' JUSTIN will be a thrustin'
Himself betune 'em, the duel dashin'!
Och, I assure ye,
Nor judge nor jury
Could abate their ardour, or assuage their fury.
Faix, Mount Vaysuvius, wid its flame and smother,
Must take a back sate--whin _they_ get at each other!

Och! a rale ruction hath a swate seduction,
For us Oirish, BULL, though it mayn't be _your_ way.
PARNELL's a rum fish, and he seems to "scumfish"
That Grand Ould Gintleman paping in at the doorway.
Ye may call it "_Rixe_,"
Though I can't quite fix
Its mayning; a plague on all polyglot thricks!
Let 'em foight it out--shure that's Oirish and hearthy!

* * * * *






* * * * *



[Illustration: "And precious little too."]

_House of Commons, Monday, February 23_.--House empty to-night. Even
the fog keeps out; nothing more important under consideration than
Army Vote, including expenditure of L5,632,700. "And precious little
too," says Colonel LAURIE, doing sentry march in the Lobby. "Wages
going up everywhere! labour of all classes but one paid on higher
scale than it used to be; but TOMMY ATKINS and his Colonel getting
just the same now as they did twenty years ago, when living was much
cheaper. There ought to be a rise all round, and so there would be,
if the Army, following example of other organised bodies of day
labourers, were to strike; think I'll mention it at Mess; should begin
at the top. Why shouldn't the Colonels and Generals assemble in their
hundreds, march to Hyde Park, where H.R.H. would address them from
a stoutly-made tub? Moral effect would be enormous; shall certainly
mention it at Mess. Perhaps, could get some practical hints from JOHN

These remarks dropped by the Colonel before debate opened. During
its progress received support from unexpected quarter. HARTINGTON,
suddenly waking up from usual nap on Front Bench, wanted to know when
War Office is going to carry out recommendation of Royal Commission
on re-organisation of Naval and Military Departments? STANHOPE said
everything turned upon vacancy in post of Commander-in-Chief. When
that berth empty, the machine would move. No chance of immediate
vacancy; the DOOK very comfortable where he is; not the sort of man to
retire in face of enemy. The only way to carry out scheme recommended
by Commissioners after prolonged inquiry was to get rid of the DOOK.

"I do trust," said STANHOPE, winking at the Strangers' Gallery, "that
the public will not interfere in this matter. They have had the Report
of the Commission in their hands for months. They have taken no notice
of it, or any action upon it. I do hope, now their attention has been
called to the matter by my noble and Radical friend opposite, they
will not get up a fuss and insist that necessary and important reforms
in the Army shall not be indefinitely postponed in order that the
DOOK may draw his salary and enjoy his position. If the great mass of
public opinion outside the Army plainly declared their wishes in that
direction, we should have to yield; but, as I said before," and once
more the Secretary furtively dropped his left eyelid as he looked up
at the Strangers' Gallery, "I hope the public will not change their
attitude on this subject."

"That's all very well," said LAURIE, who had now entered the House.
"But it seems to me that when H.R.H. reads this curious speech, he'll
be more inclined to fall in with our movement. In my mind's eye, I
can already see him on the tub in Hyde Park, haranguing the mob of
Colonels from under an umbrella."

_Business done_.--Army Estimates in Committee.

_Tuesday_.--Decidedly a Labour night, with Capital incidentally
mentioned. First, OLD MORALITY announces appointment of Royal
Commission to inquire into relations between Capital and Labour.
His placid mind evidently disturbed by undesirable coincidence. On
Saturday night, GRANDOLPH, suddenly remembering he had constituents at
West Paddington, took a penny Road Car, and paid them visit. Delivered
luminous speech on things in general. Recommended appointment of Royal
Commission on relations between Labour and Capital. To uninstructed
mind looks uncommonly like as if Ministers, reading this speech on
Monday morning, had said to each other, "Halloa! here's RANDOLPH
in the field again. Says we must have Labour Commission; suppose we

Nothing of the kind happened. Cabinet Council met at noon on Saturday
and decided upon Royal Commission. GRANDOLPH didn't speak for some
hours later. Odd that he should have hit on this Commission business;
just like his general awkwardness of interference. Must prevent all
possibility of mistake; so OLD MORALITY, in announcing Commission,
innocently, but pointedly, stops by the way to mention that Ministers
had decided upon it "last Saturday."

Wish GRANDOLPH had been here; would like to have seen the twinkle
in his eye when he heard this little point made. But GRANDOLPH busy
down by the Docks, picking up his outfit. Secret of the sudden
and surprising growth of the beard out now. GRANDOLPH off to the
gold-diggings, and beard usually worn there. Hardly knew him when I
looked in the other day at Connaught Place; trying on his new things;
pair of rough unpolished boots coming over his knees; belt round his
waist holding up his trousers and conveniently suspending jackknife,
tin pannikin, and water-bottle. "For use on the voyage," he explains.
Then a flannel shirt open at the neck; a wide-awake cocked on one side
of his head; and a pickaxe on his shoulder.

"I'm tired of civilisation, TOBY, and I am off to the diggins.
Leave you and OLD MORALITY, and the MARKISS and JACOBY to look after
politics. As for me, I'm going to look for gold. I'm not rushing
blindfold into the matter. I've studied it with the highest and
the deepest authorities--and what do I learn? Native gold is found
crystallised in the forms of the octahedron, the cube, and the
dodecahedron, of which the cube is considered as the primary form.
It also occurs in filiform, capillary, and arborescent shapes, as
likewise in leaves or membranes, and rolled masses. It offers
no indications of internal structure, but, on being separated by
mechanical violence, exhibits a hackly fracture. Its colour comprises
various shades of gold yellow. Its specific gravity varies from 14.8
to 19.2. It is commonly alloyed by copper, silver, and iron, in very
small proportions. I mean, if I may say so, to unalloy it"; and,
swinging the pick round his head with a dexterity that testified to
natural aptitude combined with diligent practice, GRANDOLPH chipped
a fragment out of the marble mantelpiece, and, picking it up, eagerly
examined it, as if in search of a hackly fracture.

I wished him good luck, and went back to the House, where I
found BIDDULPH smiling behind SPEAKER's chair, watching ATKINSON
illustrating the working of his Duration of Speeches Bill by ringing
a muffin-bell, borrowed from a Constituent.

_Business done_.--Miscellaneous.

_Thursday_.--Should have been at work to-night on Army Estimates;
but things getting a little mixed. Nearly 150 Members picknicking
at Portsmouth; all the Colonels, the Bo'suns, the Captains, and the

"Capital opportunity to get on with the Estimates," JACKSON whispered
in OLD MORALITY's ear.

"No," said that pink of chivalry, "I will never take mean advantage of
a man, even of an Admiral. Let us put on the Factories and Workshops
Bill; won't take long; keep us going till they get back from

[Illustration: "That evening bell!"]

So HOME SECRETARY moved Second Reading. "Mere formality, you know," he
explained; "shall refer Bill to Committee on Trade, and there it will
be thrashed out and shaped." But floodgates once opened not easily
shut. The Factories and Workshops mean the Working-Man; Working-Man
has Vote; General Election not far off; must show Working-Man who's
his true friend. Everybody his true friend. Speeches by the dozen;
COMPTON, after long sitting in patient attitude at last caught
SPEAKER's eye. "A milk-and-water Bill," he scornfully characterised

"Ah! COMPTON knows what the Working-Man likes," said WILFRID LAWSON.
"A rum-and-milk Bill is more to _his_ taste."

LYON PLAYFAIR delivered one of his luminous Lectures; full of
reference to "certifying surgeons," and "half-time children."

"What's a half-time child?" I asked CAMPBELL-BANNERMAN.

"Fancy it's one prematurely born," he whispered back. "But really
don't know; not on in this scene; ask MUNDELLA or pleeceman."

LYON PLAYFAIR knew all about it and much else.

"Wonderful man!" said the Member for SARK, gazing admiringly on his
massive brow. "Always reminds me of what SYDNEY SMITH said about
another eminent person. 'Look at my little friend JEFFREY. He
hasn't body enough to cover his mind decently with. His intellect is
indecently exposed.'"

_Business done_.--Factory and Workshops Bill read a Second Time.

[Illustration: Waiting for Opportunity.]

_Friday_.--PROVAND brought on Motion raising vexed question of
Taxation of Land. OLD MORALITY always on look-out to do kind thing;
thought this would be good opportunity of trotting out CHAPLIN; had no
chance of distinguishing himself since he became Minister. So CHAPLIN
put up; made mellifluous speech. Unfortunately, Mr. G. present;
listened to CHAPLIN with suspicious suavity; followed him, and, as
JEMMY LOWTHER puts it, "turned him inside out, and hung him up to
dry." Played with him like a cat with a mouse; drew him out into
damaging statements; then danced on his prostrate body. About the
worst quarter of an hour CHAPLIN ever had in House, with JOKEM on one
side of him, and OLD MORALITY on other, tossing about on their seats,
exchanging groans and glances, while CHAPLIN mopped the massive brow
on which stood forth iridescent gleams of moisture.

"Meant it all for the best," said OLD MORALITY; "but who'd have
thought of Mr. G. being here? CHAPLIN's a great Minister of
Agriculture; but, when it comes to questions of finance, not quite
on a par with Mr. G." _Business done_.--House Counted Out.

* * * * *


_THE IDLER_, by HADDON CHAMBERS, is a real good play, thoroughly
interesting from the rising to the setting of the Curtain. The
parts are artistically adjusted, the dialogue unforced, the acting
un-stagey, and the situations powerfully dramatic. The climax is
reached at the "psychological moment," and the Curtain descends
upon all that a sympathetic audience can possibly desire to know
of what must be once and for all _the_ story of a life-time. "The
rest is silence." Throughout the play there is no parade of false
sentimentality, no tawdry virtue, no copy-book morality, no vicious
silliness; and, so well constructed is the plot, that there is no need
of a wearisome extra Act, by way of postscript, to tell us how all the
characters met again at the North Pole or Land's End; how everybody
explained everything to everybody else; how the Idler, becoming a
busy-body, married the widow of _Sir John Harding, M.P._, who had had
the misfortune to be drowned out shrimping; and how many other matters
happened for which the wearied audience would not care one snap of
the finger and thumb. On another occasion I shall have something to
say about the acting, which, as far as the men are concerned, has
certainly not been equalled since the days of _Peril_. The St. James's
is in for a good thing with _The Idler_; and at this moment I may
say, I would be ALEXANDER were I not, briefly,


* * * * *

ACTING--ON A SUGGESTION.--_The Woman_, always well informed, tells
us on February 26, that, "owing to numerous applications," Mr. C.T.
GREIN is negotiating for the Royalty Theatre, in order to give
another Ibsenian performance. Now this is exactly what we suggested
in our number for February 14. If the date suits, we will go and see
_Ghosts_, and, if we succeed in keeping up our spirits after seeing
_Ghosts_, we will give a candid opinion on the performance of the
piece which hitherto we know only in print. _En attendant_, we shall
have something to say about the recent performance of that piece of
Ibsenity _A Doll's House_--in our next.

* * * * *

WHAT'S IN A NAME?--On the recent occasion of the QUEEN's visit to
Portsmouth, no one of the officials seems to have been more on the
alert and more generally alive than Mr. DEADMAN, the Chief Constructor
of the Yard.

* * * * *

"EN ITERUM CRISPINUS!"--_Hamlet_ on the real distinction between
Theatres and Music Halls--

"To B. (and S.) or not to B. (and S.) _that_ is the question!"

* * * * *

HAPPY PROSPECT.--The Wild Birds, if the Bill for their protection
becomes law, will remember, the Session of 1891 as a year of PEASE and

* * * * *

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.


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