Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol. 99, October 18, 1890 by Various
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Various >> Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol. 99, October 18, 1890
_Quo tendimus? In Latium?_ Verily, for the next work at hand is Mr.
HUTTON's _Monograph on Cardinal Newman_, which, of all the writings
about his Eminence that I've lately read, I can (says the Baron, in
one of his more severely sedate moods,) most confidently recommend to
general readers of all denominations, and of all shades of opinion,
whom Mr. HUTTON may address as "Friends, Romans, Countrymen!" That
learned Theban, "JOHN OLDCASTLE," has written an interesting Biography
of "The noblest Roman of them all," which forms a special number of
the _Merry England_ Magazine.
_Margaret Byng_, by F.C. PHILLIPS and FENDALL, is a clever sensational
story, spun out into two volumes, which can be devoured by the
accomplished novel-swallower in any two hours' train journey, and can
be highly recommended for this particular purpose. It would have been
better, because less expensive and more portable, had it been in one
volume; but the Baron strongly recommends it for the above space of
time in a train, or whenever you've nothing better to do, which will
happen occasionally even to the wisest and best of us. The secret is
very well kept to the end; and an expert in novel-reading can do the
first volume in three-quarters of an hour, and the next in half an
hour easily, and be none the worse for the _tour de force_, as he will
have amused and interested himself for the time being, will forget all
about it in an hour or so, and wonder what it was all about if at any
future time the name of the book should be mentioned in his hearing.
It's the sort of book that ought to be the size of a Tauchnitz
edition, in one volume only, and sold for a couple of shillings.
The facsimile of DICKENS's MS. of the _Christmas Carol_, published by
Messrs. ELLIOTT STOCK, is a happy thought for the coming Christmas,
and that Christmas _is_ coming is a matter about which publishers
within the next six weeks will not allow anyone to entertain the
shadow or the ghost of a doubt. What a good subject for a Christmas
story, _The Ghost of a Doubt; or, The Shadow of a Reason_! "Methinks,"
quoth the Baron, "it would be as well to register these two titles
and couple of subjects before anyone seizes them as his own." Most
interesting is this facsimile MS., showing how DICKENS wrote it,
corrected it, and polished it up. Though, that this was the only MS.
of this work, the Baron doubts. It may have been the only complete
MS., but where are all the notes, rough or smooth, of the inspirations
as they occurred? Those, the germs of this story or of any story,
would be the most interesting of all; that is, to the confraternity of
Authors. There is a pleasant preface, lively, of course, it should be,
as coming from a Kitten who might have given us a catty-logue of the
works of DICKENS in his possession.
"Thank you, Mr. B.L. FARJEON," says the Baron, "for a clever little
novel called _A Very Young Couple_." Perhaps it might have been
a trifle shorter than it is with advantage; and, if it had been
published in that still more pocketable form which has made the
Routledgean series of portable-readables so popular with the Baron,
and those who are guided by his advice, the book would be still
better. As it is, it is clever, because the astute novel-reader at
once discards the real and only solution of the mystery as far too
commonplace, and this solution is _the_ one which Mr. FARJEON has
adopted. It is the expected-unexpected that happens in this case, and
the astute reader is particularly pleased with himself, because he
finishes by saying, "I knew how it would be, all along."
BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.
* * * * *
MR. PUNCH'S DICTIONARY OF PHRASES.
DURING A VISIT.
"_Pray don't move;_" i.e., "He will be a brute if he doesn't."
"_I hope I am not disturbing you;_" i.e., "I don't care the least if
I am."
"_What a delightful volume of poems your last is!_" i.e., "Haven't
read one of them; but he won't find it out."
"_So much in your new book that is interesting about those dear
Japanese;_" i.e., "Glad I happened to glance at that page."
"_Do tell me when you next lecture. Wouldn't miss it for worlds!_"
i.e., "Wild horses would not drag me there."
"So _sorry you are going. Mind you come and stay with us again_ very
_soon;_" i.e., "Unless she comes without an invitation, she is not
likely to cross _this_ threshold again."
* * * * *
INCOMPREHENSIBLE!--At the dinner given by the LORD MAYOR, a few days
since, to the representatives of Art and Literature of all nations,
a linguist, who is believed to understand seventeen languages, made a
speech in the eighteenth!
* * * * *
[Illustration: OUR COMPATRIOTS ABROAD.
SCENE--_A Table d'hote._
_Aristocratic English Lady_ (_full of diplomatic relations_). "A--CAN
YOU TELL ME IF THERE IS A RESIDENT BRITISH MINISTER HERE?"
_Scotch Tourist_. "WELL, I'M NOT JUST QUITE SURE--BUT I'M TOLD THERE'S
AN EXCELLENT PRESBYTERIAN SERVICE EVERY SUNDAY!"]
* * * * *
A FAMILY QUESTION.
A SONG FOR THE SITUATION.
AIR--"_THE CHESAPEAKE AND THE SHANNON_."
MCKINLEY, brave and bold, as the universe is told,
Brought forth his Tariff Bill so neat and handy, O!
And true patriots, everyone thought the business splendid fun,
With their music playing Yankee-doodle dandy, O!
Yankee-doodle, Yankee-doodle dandy. O!
The patriots came running, and admired MCKINLEY's cunning,
In the interests of Yankee-doodle dandy, O!
The Britisher might blame the new Economic game,
_That_ only fired the Yankee like neat brandy, O!
If J.B. should be stone-broke by MCKINLEY's master-stroke,
_Tant mieux_, my boys, for Yankee-doodle dandy, O!
Yankee-doodle, Yankee-doodle dandy, O!
The measure is a lark, it _may_ transfer the British market
To the able hands of Yankee-doodle dandy, O!
The fight has scarce begun, and the Yank has seen the fun
Of the rush of freighted vessels to be handy, O!
Just in time for the old duties; they competed, like young beauties
For the smile of some young roving Royal dandy, O!
Yankee-doodle, Yankee-doodle dandy, O!
They knew there'd be a scare if the ships didn't dodge the Tariff,
The New Tariff dear to Yankee-doodle dandy, O!
The _Etruria_ and _Zaandam_ found the business quite a flam,
The _Thingvalla_, in good time, was not quite handy, O!
Whilst some sugar-laden ships found they'd wholly missed their tips,
To the merriment of Yankee-doodle dandy, O!
Yankee-doodle, Yankee-doodle dandy, O!
Yet the prudent thoughts are giving to the "increased cost of living,"
Home-expenses burden Yankee-doodle dandy, O!
Miss COLUMBIA and her "Ma" have a fancy that Pap-pa,
At raising "worsted-stuffs" has been too handy, O!
Fifty per cent. on frocks, upon petticoats and socks,
Scares the women-folk of Yankee doodle dandy, O!
Yankee doodle, Yankee doodle dandy, O!
"Taxing the Briti_sher_" may yet create a stir
In the Home-affairs of Yankee doodle dandy, O!
Pennsylvania will rejoice, but a sort of still small voice
In the ear of Uncle SAM may sound quite handy, O!
Wall Street may feel smart shocks at the lowering of Stocks,
And _will_ "Tin-plates" comfort Yankee doodle dandy, O?
Yankee doodle, Yankee doodle, dandy O!
Lower Stocks by raising "Stockings" Ah, methinks I hear the "Shockings"!
Of the women-folk of Yankee-doodle dandy, O!
Howsoever that may fare, let JOHN BULL keep on his hair,
And Miss CANADA with flouts be not too handy, O!
Common sense is safe commander, and we need not raise our dander
At the Tariff tricks of Yankee doodle dandy, O!
Yankee doodle! Yankee doodle dandy, O!
And may it ever prove in trade fights, _or_ brotherly love,
BULL can keep upsides with Yankee doodle dandy, O!
* * * * *
"CHARGE, CHESTER, CHARGE!"--The _Times_ reports that at Chester
County Court last week, Mr. STAVELEY HILL, Q.C, M.P., Judge Advocate
of the Fleet, was summoned for L25--for goods supplied, and that the
claim was unsuccessfully contested on the score that it was barred by
the Statute of Limitations. Mr. SEGAR, who represented the Plaintiff,
said that the Defendant was "wrong in his law," and Judge Sir HORATIO
LLOYD assented to the proposition by giving a verdict for the full
amount claimed. From this it would appear that there was "no valley"
(as a Cockney would say) in the point of the Hill--the Judge Advocate
of the Fleet being on this occasion, if not in his native element, at
any rate, "quite at sea!"
* * * * *
[Illustration: A FAMILY QUESTION.
Miss COLUMBIA. "SAY, PAP-PA, WON'T THAT BILL RILE THE BRITISHERS,
SOME? ANYHOW, GUESS YOU'LL HAVE TO SHELL OUT PRETTY CONSIDERABLE ALL
ROUND--_AT HOME!!_'"]
* * * * *
ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.
STEAM-ROLLING EXPERIENCES.--That you should have endeavoured to have
turned the birthday-gift of your eccentric nephews to account, and
made an offer to the Municipality of West Bloxham to "set" the High
Street for them by going over it with the seventeen-ton steam-roller,
with which your youthful relatives had presented you, was only a
nice and generous impulse on your part; and it is undeniably a great
pity that, owing to your not fully understanding the working of the
machine, you should have torn away the front of three of the principal
shops, finally going through the floor of a fourth, and getting
yourself apparently permanently embedded in a position from which
you cannot extricate yourself, in the very centre of the leading
thoroughfare. Your idea of getting out of the difficulty by presenting
the steam-roller then and there to the Borough was a happy one, and
it is to be regretted that, under the circumstances, they felt no
inclination to accept your offer. Their threat of further proceedings
against you unless you take immediate steps to remove your machine,
though, perhaps, to be expected, is certainly a little unhandsome.
Perhaps your best plan will be to try and start your Steam-roller as a
"Suburban Omnibus Company," as you propose. Certainly secure that Duke
you mention for Chairman, and, with one or two good City names on the
Directorate, it is possible you may be successful in your efforts to
float the affair.
Meantime, since the proprietor of the premises in which your
Steam-roller has fixed itself refuses to allow you to try to remove it
by dynamite, leave it where it is. Put the whole matter into the hands
of a sharp local lawyer, and go on to the Continent until it has blown
over.
* * * * *
[Illustration: A HERO "FIN DE SIECLE."
_Podgers_ (_of Sandboys Golf Club_). "MY DEAR MISS ROBINSON, GOLF'S
THE ONLY GAME NOWADAYS FOR THE _MEN_. LAWN-TENNIS IS ALL VERY WELL FOR
YOU _GIRLS_, YOU KNOW."]
* * * * *
HIGHWAYS AND LOW WAYS.
There is evidently all the difference in the world between "The King's
Highway"--of song--and the Kingsland highway--of fact. Song says all
is equal to--
"High and low on the King's highway."
Experience teaches that a sober citizen traversing the highway
unfavourably known as the Kingsland Road, is liable to be tripped
up, robbed and thumped senseless by organised gangs of Kingsland
roughs. It seems doubtful whether Neapolitan banditti or Australian
bush-whackers are much worse than these Cockney ruffians, these
vulgar, vicious and villanous "Knights of the (Kingsland) Road." Is it
not high time that the local authorities--and the local police--looked
to this particular "highway," which seems so much more like a "byway"
not to say a "by-word and a reproach" to a city suburb?
* * * * *
A CASE FOR THE SURGEONS.--Mrs. Ramsbotham, who has a great respect
for the attainments of Members of the Medical profession, cannot
understand why Army Doctors should be called "non-competents."
* * * * *
THE MODERN MILKMAID'S SONG.
(AT THE DAIRY SHOW.)
_AN EXTRACT FROM THE "COMPLETE ANGLER" OF THE FUTURE._
_Piscator_, MAUDLIN, I pray you, do us the courtesy to sing a song
concerning your late visit to London.
MAUDLIN _sings_:--
Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That come in competition's field
From reckoning up the Shorthorn's "yield."
To Town we'll come in modish frocks,
Where swells appraise our herds and flocks,
By days "in profit" great or small,
All in the Agricultural Hall.
Cockneys shall come and poke their noses
Into our churns as sweet as roses;
And to quiz MAUDLIN in clean kirtle
The toffs of Town will crush and hurtle.
You'll see the Queen, of pride chock-full,
Take first prize with her Shorthorn bull;
Dr. H. WATNEY, of Buckhold,
With "Cleopatra" hit the gold.
A medal or a champion cup
For cheese to munch, or cream to sup,
Are pleasures rural souls to move,
So live with me and be my love.
Butter and eggs, milch cows and churns,
With cattle foods shall take their turns;
If Dairy Shows thy mind have won,
Then come with me to Islington.
_Viator_. Trust me, Master, it is an apt song, and archly sung by
modish MAUDLIN. I'll bestow a bucolic Cockney's wish upon her, _that
she may live to marry a Competitive Dairyman, and have good store of
champion cups and first prizes stuck about her best parlour._
* * * * *
A LICENCE FOR LORDS.
[At the Blackheath Petty Sessions, Mr. LAWLESS, stated that
the Trafalgar Hotel, belonged to the Lords of the Admiralty,
and asked the Bench to transfer the licence to the resident
caretaker.
Captain ROBERTSON-SHERSBY, J.P.: Why not transfer it to the
First Lord of the Admiralty? Are there no whitebait dinners
held there?
Mr. LAWLESS said that he was afraid that the days of whitebait
dinners were over.
The Bench, finding the Admiralty held the hotel for charitable
purposes, granted the application.]
Come, landsmen, give ear to my ditty,
I'll make it as short as I can.
There was once--was it London?--a city
Which stretched from Beersheba to Dan.
Of course that is gammon and spinach,
Or, to put it correctly, a joke.
It extended from Richmond to Greenwich,
This city of darkness and smoke.
It had sailors who ruled o'er the ocean,
And sat all the day upon Boards,
And described, with delightful emotion,
Themselves and their colleagues as "Lords."
They had tubes that were always exploding,
And boilers that never were right,
But had all got a trick of exploding,
And blowing a crew out of sight.
They had docks (and, alas! they had dockers),
They had ships that kept sinking like stones,
Which resulted in filling the lockers
Provided below by D. JONES.
Of their country these lineal successors
Of NELSON deserved very well,
When at last they became the possessors
Of an old fully-licensed hotel.
And they made up a case which was flawless,
For the Sessions that sat at Blackheath,
And they sent--which was strange--Mr. LAWLESS,
Who was crammed full of law to the teeth.
"The days when we all lived in clover,
With whitebait, can never revive,
I assure you," said LAWLESS, "they're over,
But, oh, keep the licence alive."
But the Bench, when they heard him, grew bolder--
"Make it out to George Hamilton--he
Is the man who should figure as holder,"
Said ROBERTSON-SHERSBY, J.P.
Just to think of the head of the Navy,
The proudest and strongest afloat,
Cutting joints or distributing gravy,
First Lord of his own _table d'hote!_
Will their Charity be a beginner
At home? Will they dine there each day,
These Lords, on a succulent dinner,
Free, gratis, and nothing to pay?
Well, well, though we'd rather prefer ships
That burst not, we'll take what they give.
So we offer our thanks to their Worships
For permitting the licence to live.
* * * * *
[Illustration: AMUSEMENTS FOR THE GALLERY--AND THE MOB!]
* * * * *
[Illustration: "BEG PARDON, SIR! BUT IF YOU WAS TO AIM _AT_ HIS
LORDSHIP THE NEXT TIME, I THINK HE'D FEEL MORE COMFORBLER, SIR!"]
* * * * *
MR. PUNCH'S PRIZE NOVELS.
NO. III.--JOANNA OF THE CROSS WAYS.
(_BY_ GEORGE VERIMYTH, _AUTHOR OF "RICHARD'S SEVERAL EDITIONS," "THE
APHORIST," "SHAMPOO'S SHAVING-POT."_)
[With this story came a long, explanatory letter. The story,
however, is itself so clear and easy to understand (as is all
the work of this master), that the accompanying commentary is
unnecessary.]
CHAPTER I.
In the earlier portion of the lives of all of us there is a time,
heaven-given without doubt, for all things, as we know, draw their
origin thence, if only in our blundering, ill-conditioned way we trace
them back far enough with the finger of fate pointing to us as in
mockery of all striving of ours on this rough bosom of our mother
earth, a time there comes when the senses rebel, first faintly, and
then with ever-increasing vehemence, panting, beating, buffeting and
breasting the torrent of necessity, against the parental decree that
would drench our inmost being in the remedial powder of a Gregorian
doctor, famous, I doubt not, in his day, and much bepraised by them
that walked delicately in the light of pure reason and the healthful
flow of an untainted soul, but now cast out and abhorred of childhood
soaring on uplifted wing through the vast blue of the modern
pharmacopoeia. Yet to them is there not comfort too in the symbolic
outpourings of a primaeval wisdom which, embodied for all time in
imperishable verse, are chanted in the haunts of the very young like
the soft lappings of the incoming tide on a beach where rounded pebble
disputes with shining sand the mastery of the foreshore?
[Illustration]
So, too, while the infant chariot with its slow motion of treble
wheels advances obedient to the hand of the wimpled maid who from
the rear directs its ambiguous progress, the dozing occupant may not
always understand, but, hearing, cannot fail to be moved to tears by
the simple tale of JOANNA crossed in all her depth and scope of free
vigorous life by him that should have stood her friend. For the man
had wedded her. Of that there can be no doubt, since the chronicles
have handed down the date of it. Wedded her with the fatal "yes" that
binds a trusting soul in the world's chains. A man, too. A reckless,
mutton-munching, beer-swilling animal! And yet a man. A dear,
brave, human heart, as it should have been; capable, it may be,
of unselfishness and devotion; but, alas! how sadly twisted to the
devil's purposes on earth, an image of perpetual chatter, like the
putty-faced street-pictures of morning soapsuds. His names stand in
full in the verse. JOHN, shortened familiarly, but not without a hint
of contempt, to JACK, stares at you in all the bravery of a Christian
name. And SPRATT follows with a breath of musty antiquity. SPRATT
that is indeed a SPRATT, sunk in the oil of a slothful imagination
and bearing no impress of the sirname that should raise its owner to
cloudy peaks of despotic magnificence.
But of the lady's names no hint is given. We may conjecture SPRATT
to have been hers too, poor young soul that should have been dancing
instead of fastened to a table in front of an eternal platter. And of
all names to precede it the fittest surely is JOANNA. For what is that
but the glorification with many feminine thrills of the unromantic
chawbacon JOHN masticating at home in semi-privacy the husks of
contentment, the lean scrapings of the divine dish which is offered
once in every life to all. So JOANNA she shall be and is, and as
JOANNA shall her story be told.
CHAPTER II.
Many are the tales concerning JOANNA's flashing wit. There appeared
many years back, in a modest shape that excited small interest amongst
the reviewing herd, a booklet whereof the title furnished little
if any indication to the contents. _The Spinster's Reticule_, for
so the name ran, came forth with no blare of journalistic trumpets
challenging approval from the towers of critical sagacity. It appeared
and lived. But between its cardboard covers the bruised heart of
JOANNA beats before the world. She shines most in these aphorisms. Her
private talk, too, has its own brilliancy, spun, as it was here and
there, out of a museful mind at the cooking of the dinner or of the
family accounts. She said of love that "it is the sputter of grease
in a frying-pan; where it falls the fire burns with a higher flame
to consume it."[1] Of man, that "he may navigate Mormon Bay, but he
cannot sail to Khiva Point." The meaning is too obvious it may be, but
the thought is well imaged.
She is delightful when she touches on life. "Two," she says, "may
sit at a feast, but the feast is not thereby doubled." And, again,
"Passion may lift us to Himalaya heights, but the hams are smoked in a
chimney." And this of the soul, "He who fashions a waterproof prevents
not the clouds from dripping moisture." Of stockings she observes
that, "The knitting-needles are long, but the turn of the heel is a
teaser." Here there is a delightful irony of which matrons and maids
may take note.
Such, then, was our JOANNA--JOANNA MERESIA SPRATT, to give her that
full name by which posterity is to know her--an ardent, bubbling,
bacon-loving girl-nature, with hands reaching from earth to the stars,
that blinked egregiously at the sight of her innocent beauty, and hid
themselves in winding clouds for very love of her.
CHAPTER III.
Sir JOHN SPRATT had fashions that were peculiarly his own. Vain it
were to inquire how, from the long-perished SPRATTS that went before
him, he drew that form of human mind which was his. Laws that are
hidden from our prying eyes ordain that a man shall be the visible
exemplar of vanished ages, offering here and there a hook of
remembrance, on which a philosopher may hang a theory for the world's
admiring gaze. Far back in the misty past, of which the fabulists
bear record, there have swum SPRATTS within this human ocean, and of
these the ultimate and proudest was he with whose life-story we are
concerned. It was his habit to carry with him on all journeys a bulky
note-book, the store in which he laid by for occasions of use the
thoughts that thronged upon him, now feverishly, as with the exultant
leap of a rough-coated canine companion, released from the thraldom
of chain and kennel, and eager to seek the Serpentine haunts of
water-nymphs, and of sticks that fell with a splash, and are brought
back time and again whilst the shaken spray bedews the onlookers; now
with the staid and solemn progression that is beloved of the equine
drawers of four-wheeled chariots, protesting with many growls against
a load of occupants.
He had met JOANNA. They had conversed. "An empty table, is it not?"
said she. "Nowhere!" said he, and they proceeded. His "Nowhere!" had
a penetrating significance--the more significant for the sense that it
left vague.
And so the marriage was arranged, the word that was to make one of
those who had hitherto been two had been spoken, and the celebrating
gifts came pouring in to the pair.
Sir JOHN walked home with triumph swelling high in his heart. Overhead
the storm-clouds gathered ominously. First with a patter, then with
a drenching flood, the prisoned rain burst its bars, and dashed
clamouring down to the free earth. He paused, umbrellaless, under
a glimmering lamp-post. The hurrying steeds of a carriage, passing
at great speed, dashed the gathered slush of the street over his
dark-blue Melton over-coat. The imprecations of the coachman and his
jeers mingled strangely with the elemental roar. Sir JOHN heeded
them not. He stood moveless for a space, then slowly drawing forth
his note-book, and sharpening his pencil, he wrote the following
phrase:--"Laid _Brother to Banjo_, one, two, three, 5 to 4."
CHAPTER IV.
A year had gone by, and with the spring that whispered softly in
the blossoming hedge-rows, and the melancholy cry of the female
fowl calling to her downy brood, JOANNA had learnt new lessons of a
beneficent life, and had crystallised them in aphorisms, shaken like
dew from the morning leaf of her teeming fancy.
They sat at table together. BINNS, the butler, who himself dabbled in
aphorism, and had sucked wisdom from the privy perusal of Sir JOHN's
note-book, had laid before them a dish on which reposed a small but
well-boiled leg of one that had trod the Southdowns but a week before
in all the pride of lusty life. There was a silence for a moment.
"You will, as usual, take the fat?" queried Sir JOHN.
"Lean for me to-day," retorted JOANNA, with one of her bright flashes.
"Nay, nay," said her husband, "that were against tradition, which
assigns to you the fat."