Punch, Vol. 99., July 26, 1890. by Various
V >>
Various >> Punch, Vol. 99., July 26, 1890.
PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 99.
July 26, 1890.
MODERN TYPES.
(_BY MR. PUNCH'S OWN TYPE WRITER._)
NO. XVI.--THE HURLINGHAM GIRL.
It is not so easy as it might appear to define the Hurlingham Girl
with complete accuracy. To say of her that she is one whose spirits
are higher than her aspirations, would be true but inadequate. For, at
the best, aspirations are etherial things, and those of the Hurlingham
Girl, if they ever existed, have been so recklessly puffed into space
as to vanish almost entirely from view. In any case they afford a very
unsubstantial basis of comparison to the student who seeks to infer
from them her general character. Yet it would be wrong to assume that
she has dispensed with the etherial on account of her devotion to what
is solid. Indeed nothing is more certain about her than the contempt
with which she has been willingly taught to look upon all the
attainments that are usually dignified with this epithet. History and
geography, classics and mathematics, modern languages (her own and
those of foreign nations), all these she candidly despises. Let others
make their nests upon the shady branches of the tree of learning. For
herself she is fain to soar into the empyrean of society, and to gaze
with undazzled eyes into the sun of the smart set. She has of course
had the advantage of teachers of all sorts, but the claims made upon
her time by thoughtless parents have usually been so great as to leave
her at the end of her school-room period with a few brittle fragments
of knowledge, which shift and change in her mind as the bits of glass
might shift in a kaleidoscope from which the looking-glass had been
omitted. It is enough for her if, in place of historical dates, she
knows the fashionable fixtures, whilst Sandown and Kempton, Ascot and
Goodwood, Hurlingham, and the Ranelagh, supply her with a variety
of knowledge infinitely more interesting and "actual" than the dry
details of population, area, climate, and capital towns, which may be
learnt (by others) from primers of geography.
Although it is, from their and her point of view, eminently desirable
that the parents of the Hurlingham Girl should be rich, yet it is by
no means absolutely necessary. It is, however, essential that they
should possess a social position which will ensure to them and to
their daughter an easy entrance into that world which considers
itself, not perhaps better, but certainly good. Her mother has
probably discovered long since that the task of being thwarted by
her daughter is an intolerable addition to her social burdens. She
therefore permits her, with as much resignation as she can command, to
take her own course in all those matters that do not conflict directly
with the maternal plans, and she may even come to take a pride in the
bold and dashing independence by which her daughter seeks to relieve
her of all responsibility, if not of all anxiety.
It is naturally during the London Season that the life of the
Hurlingham Girl is at its fullest and best. On week-day mornings she
is a frequent attendant in the Row, the means of her father being
apparently sufficient to provide her with a sleek and showy Park
hack and an irreproachable groom. Thence she hastens home to rest
and dawdle until the hour arrives for luncheon, to which meal she has
invited the youth who happens to be temporarily dancing attendance
upon her, for it is understood in many houses that luncheon is an open
meal for which no formal invitation from a parent is necessary. In the
afternoon there is always a bazaar, an amateur concert, an exhibition,
a fashionable _matinee_ or a Society tea-party to be visited. For the
evening there are dinners, and theatres, and an endless succession of
dances, at which the flowers, the suppers, and the general decorations
possess as much or as little variety as the conversation of those who
overcrowd the rooms to an accompaniment of dance-music that may once
have been new.
[Illustration]
But of course there are distractions. Now and again Society seeks
relief from its load of care by emigrating _en masse_ for the day to
a race-meeting at Sandown or Kempton. There the Hurlingham Girl is
as much at home as though she were native to the spot, sprung, as it
were, from the very turf itself. The interest she takes or pretends to
take in racing is something astounding. For in truth she knows nothing
about horses, their points, their pedigrees, or their performances.
Yet she chatters about them and their races, their jockeys, their
owners, the weight they carry, their tempers, and the state of the
betting market, with a glib assurance which is apt to put to shame
even those of her male companions who have devoted a lifetime to
the earnest study of these supreme matters. In imitation of these
gentlemen she will assure those who care to listen to her, that she
has had a real bad day, not having managed to get on to a single
winner, and that if it hadn't been for a fluke in backing _Tantivy_,
one, two, three, she would have been reduced to a twopence in the
pound condition of beggary. She will then forget her imaginary losses,
and will listen with amusement and interest while a smooth-faced lad
criticises with as much severity as he can command in the intervals of
his cigarettes the dress, appearance, and general character of a
lady whom she happens to dislike. On the following day she will visit
Hurlingham in order to be looked at as a spectator at a polo match, in
which she has no interest whatever. After this she is entertained at
dinner together with a select party, which includes the young married
lady who is her bosom friend and occasional chaperon, by a middle-aged
dandy of somewhat shady antecedents, but of great wealth and undoubted
position. On Sunday mornings she may not always go to Church, but she
makes up for this neglect by the perfect regularity of her attendance
at Church parade. In the afternoon she will go to Tattersall's to
inspect horses. Ascot could not continue without her, and Goodwood
would crumble into ruins if she were absent. This at least is her
opinion, and thus the months flit by and leave her just as wise
as they found her. For she never reads a book, and illustrates by
constant practice her belief that the fashionable intelligence of the
_Morning Post_ is a sufficient mental pabulum for a grown-up woman.
It is unnecessary to describe further the pursuits and occupations of
the Hurlingham Girl. With regard to her appearance and dress, it must
be admitted that she displays considerable taste. She is always neat,
polished, perfectly groomed--in a word, smart. It may be that it takes
nine tailors to make a man. It is certain that it takes only one to
make a well-dressed woman. Yet she does not always, of course, wear
tailor-made costumes, for on the Sundays that she spends on the
river, her impertinently poised straw hats, her tasteful ribbons,
her sailor's knots, her collars, her manly shirts, and the general
appropriateness of her dress, excite the envy of those who declare
that they would not imitate her for worlds, merely because nature
has made it impossible for them to be like her. Handsome she is
undoubtedly, with the beauty that comes of perfect health undisturbed
by thoughts of the why and the wherefore, or by anticipations of a
troublesome to-morrow. Yet to the casual observer who beholds this
admirably decorated creature, her conversation is disappointing. She
revels in slang. Catch-words and phrases which are not called vulgar
only because the better classes use them, come trippingly, but never
with a pleasant effect from her lips. Nor has she that sense of
reticence which is said to have been the distinguishing mark of
unmarried girlhood at some former period. That she should talk
frivolously on great subjects, if she talks on them at all, is only
to be expected. It would be well if her curiosity and her conversation
left untouched delicate matters, the existence of which she may
suspect but ought certainly to ignore.
After she has thus flaunted her brilliant health and beauty through
several Seasons, she may begin to tire of an existence, which in
spite of its general freedom, is subject to certain restraints. She
therefore decides to emancipate herself by submitting to a husband.
She finds no difficulty, with the assistance of her mother, in
discarding the penniless subaltern who has devoted himself to her, and
whom she has induced to believe that she preferred to the whole world.
Having received an offer from a gentleman of presentable looks and
immense possessions, she promptly accepts it, and gains to her own
surprise a considerable reputation for judgment and discretion. It is
quite possible that after a year or two of giddy married life she may
decline gradually into a British Matron, respected alike on account of
her increasing family, and her substantial appearance.
* * * * *
THE BOY THE FATHER OF THE MAN.--The Chairman of the Infant Insurance
Committee, asked a skilled witness, "Is a man his own child, or
another person's child?" This led to an altercation, and the room had
to be cleared while the question was debated. On the return of the
Public, the query was repeated without a satisfactory result. And yet
the evident answer is, that he is another person's child, except when
he is "a self-made man."
* * * * *
PUNCH TO PRIMROSE.
"A good one to follow, a bad one to beat!"
Don't envy the man who succeeds to _your_ seat,
My clever ex-L.C.C. Chairman.
Fanatics and faddists will mar the best schemes,
Unless they're restrained from unholy extremes
By the hand of a strong and a fair man.
Your lubber, when first he adventures on wheels,
Has little control of his head or his heels.
With knees on the shake, and arms shrinking,
He scrambles about on the slippery floor,
Like a toper at large, or a mad semaphore,
Half wishing he hadn't gone rinking.
But, guided discreetly, supported at need,
The clumsiest novice at last may succeed,
His knees and his elbows controlling;
And you, my dear PRIMOSE, have played such a part.
You have given your promising pupil a start,
And--so to speak--set the wheels rolling.
He ought to do now; let us hope that he will.
The thanks mainly due to your judgment and skill
_Mr. Punch_, for the Public, here offers,
The boy's a bit clumsy,--most novices are;
But, give him fair play, and he may prove a "star,"
In spite of the sneerers and scoffers.
* * * * *
[Illustration: OFF DUTY.
_Punch_ (_to Primrose_). "YOU'VE SHOWN HIM THE RIGHT WAY TO DO IT. HE
OUGHT TO BE ABLE TO GET ALONG NOW."]
* * * * *
ON WITH THE NEW LOVE.
(_MR. PUNCH TO HIS BOYS AT BISLEY._)
Well, here you are, my bonny boys!
No doubt you felt regret at parting
With well-known Wimbledonian joys.
But here you look all right, at starting.
You've not been _quite_ deranged by RANGER;
Of that there never was much danger.
Small thanks to _him_! Well, well, perhaps;
But never mind. Anger's too grisly
To be long held by such smart chaps;
And you can make Bulls'-eyes at Bisley;
And "sheep's'-eyes" seem to show you're "on
With that New Love"--New Wimbledon!
'Tis _Juliet_ now--not _Rosaline_;
Well, _Romeo_, take my benediction.
The Maid is fair, her dwelling fine.
And here you need not fear "Eviction."
"Disturbance" caused some indignation,
But, after all, there's "Compensation."
Your New Love's fair, furze-garmented,
And brightly crowned with golden bracken.
Your loyalty of heart and head,
Of love (and lead) I'm sure won't slacken.
"Bless ye, my children! May your New Love
Be firm and lasting as 'tis true love!"
* * * * *
THE PROFESSIONAL GUEST.
ON A HOUSE-BOAT AT HENLEY.
DEAR MR. PUNCH,
When I received a wire from an old and dear school-friend,
saying, "LUCY disappointed; come for week; wire me, _Goldfields_,
Henley--KITTY," I felt that the Art which I had been so assiduously
cultivating for some time past was to be put in practice at last. I
had long decided that there was a grand opening for girls (the true
unemployed) in the idea, and I had determined to make a good thing
out of it myself. KITTY' S telegram was somewhat vague, I admit; but
gossip having thrown a side-light on it, I knew that it came from
Henley, where she and her husband (whom I had never yet seen) had a
House-boat for the Regatta week. To answer in the affirmative, pack
my box, and catch the next train to Henley, was small work to a
"Professional Guest."
[Illustration]
When I arrived, I walked straight out of the station to the nearest
wharf, and, chartering a punt, had my luggage and myself placed on
board, and then told the small boy, who "manned" the craft, to take me
to the _Goldfields_. I was not too well pleased when he threw doubts,
not only on her whereabouts, but on her existence. Neither the small
boy nor a big man, nor an old woman standing by, knew anything about
it; and I had determined to take the next train to Town, when a
flannel-clad young man, with a heavy face and a peevish voice, called
out from the bank, "I've been looking for you everywhere." It proved
to be KITTY'S husband, but, as we were totally unacquainted with each
other's appearances, it was not wonderful that his search for me had
been ineffectual. He seemed much annoyed, however, and only vouchsafed
one remark as we punted, or, rather, waltzed (for the small boy was a
"dry bob," I think), down stream towards the _Goldfields_. "It's all
KITTY'S fault,--LUCY'S come." Of course this was awkward, but, on
arrival, KITTY was so hospitable, and LUCY so pretty, that, though our
sleeping and dressing apartment was astonishingly small, and I made
the odd girl out at dinner, I felt I could not mind much, and I also
got over the little _contretemps_ of my dressing-bag being dropped
into the river--"by accident," said KITTY'S husband.
Owing to the heat and the unaccustomed noise of the river, neither
LUCY nor I slept much; and, though we were told next morning we could
not have any baths, the whole scene was so bright and sparkling that
nobody (except KITTY'S husband, who seemed of a morose disposition)
could with reason have complained of anything. It continued to sparkle
till the first train came down from town, when our guests and the rain
arrived together. It was a dreadful nuisance, as the awning, which,
with the flowers, had cost us hours to arrange, speedily got soaked,
and had to be taken down. Then, of course, the sun came out again,
and for a time the heat was intense. In fact, one lady, who would eat
her lunch on the roof, grew quite faint, and had to be helped down to
KITTY'S husband's room. After lunch, we all ventured out in various
small craft, and again I was unlucky in my waterman. I was sure he had
never punted before, and it proved to be so; for when I asked him if
he had had much practice this season, he answered, the while he wrung
the water from his garments, that "he'd only seen it done, and it
looked easy." We managed, however, by dint of banging on to other
people's boats, to get along very well, until an ill-judged "shove"
sent us right out into the course, just as _the_ race of the day was
coming along. I am not quite clear as to what then took place; only I
know that everything was "fouled." KITTY'S husband, who had a bet on,
was furious, and glared at me for the rest of the day--a condition of
things I pretended not to see. That night we had a rat-hunt on board,
but we lost the animal, as LUCY diverted our attention by falling into
the river. It was most inconvenient of her, as she wetted our mutual
sleeping apartment dreadfully.
The second day was almost a _replica_ of the first, varied only by
KITTY'S husband fancying he had a sunstroke. The third and last day
was, however, not the success we could have wished. During the night
the weather turned hot, and the food turned--well, not good,--and next
morning the obligatory sacrifice to Father Thames was appalling. Then
when the necessary viands did not arrive from London, I in my capacity
of "professional guest," and of being always ready for any emergency,
volunteered to forage in Henley town. Oh! that expedition. I fought
at the fishmonger's, battled at the butcher's and baker's, grovelled
at the grocer's, and finally ended by committing a theft at the
butterman's. The number of our visitors was large, and was much
augmented by friends' friends, who came in battalions. It may have
been the extra weight on board, or it may be that the hunted rat had
designed a base revenge, but during lunch, and just as KITTY'S husband
was beginning to be genial, an odd idea seized me that the river was
rising. Yes! And the bank behind us was rising too. And gracious! the
water was flowing over the little promenade place, and running about
the floor of the saloon; and then the _Goldfields_ gave a lurch and a
shiver, and settled down in the mud, with a foot-and-a-half of dirty
water downstairs, and nothing but the roof left us to perch upon.
How we ever recovered our belongings I don't know. All I remember is,
being taken to the station in an old green wherry, and coming back to
town seventeen in a second-class carriage. My last view of the wreck
embraced KITTY, propped up against the railing of the roof, and making
tea on a table, which looked more like tipping over than standing
straight. KITTY'S husband was muttering to himself as he handed round
the cups; and, as I moved off through the crush of boats, I fancied
I caught the word "JONAH." Of course I may have been mistaken, as my
name is not that, but
THE ODD GIRL OUT.
* * * * *
ODE TO MONEY.
(_BY A POPTIMIST._)
Hair that is golden grows olden,
Hopes that are golden decay;
Suns that are bright, and embolden
The tourist to go on his way,
Leaving his gingham tight folden,
Turn to a drizzling grey.
But gold of the Mint is all-golden,
Safe in the strictest assay.
Cynics may rail against money,
Spurn its beneficent power;
Bears spurn impossible honey,
Foxes the grapes that are sour.
Men, who can never be funny,
Scoff at the funny man's dower;
Lands where it seldom is sunny
Find little praise for a flower.
When a man's safe at his bankers,
What does it mean, let us think--
Freedom from care and its cankers,
Plenty of victuals and drink?
Nay, but it opens the garden
Of tender illusion and joy,
Where faults find immediate pardon,
And worrying ways don't annoy.
In the light of futurity's favours
Fair gratitude burgeons amain,
And the flittermouse Love never wavers
In truth to the Psyche of gain.
Bountiful Money! 'Twill make you
Worthy in manners and birth;
Beauty for better will take you
(Little as that may be worth),
Hosts by the hand kindly shake you,
Crowds, when you wish to be funny,
Mind doing homage to Money,
Laugh with inordinate mirth.
Sages and moralists blame thee,
Stoics stand gloomy above thee,
Preachers with obloquy name thee,
Hermits and anchorites shame thee,
But symbol of all that is sunny,
Coy, courteous, flattering Money,
I love thee, I love thee, I love thee!
* * * * *
"BETTER LATE THAN NEVER!"
(_AN OPEN LETTER TO SOMEBODY._)
DEAR NOBLE CORRESPONDENT TO THE _TIMES_,--We see that you are doing
your best to defend the proposed destruction of the Lincoln's Inn
Gateway in Chancery Lane. In the course of your exertions, you have
been not too civil to several worthy persons, and inaccurate in your
description of the Society of Antiquaries. Now, do take our advice.
We know you were a clever "Silk" when you practised at the Bar, and
we have heard that your forefathers (for a generation or so) were
excellent hands at Banking; but, in the name of Lombard Street, do
let Archaeology alone!
With the best of wishes,
Yours sincerely,
(_Signed_) EVERYBODY.
* * * * *
CHANCE FOR BUYERS.--Last week, among the Tuesday's arrangements in the
_Daily Telegraph_, was announced:--"Bath Horse Show." Did this include
"Bath Towel-Horse Show?" Fine chance for sporting Mr. BLUNDEL MAPLE.
M.P., as a Towel-Horse dealer. "Great Towel-Horse Show in Tottenham
Court Road!" The sale of yearlings and the pedigrees would be
interesting.
* * * * *
[Illustration: LATEST INTELLIGENCE.
"BY THE WAY, WHERE _IS_ THAT PLACE, HELIGOLAND, THEY'RE ALL TALKING SO
MUCH ABOUT?"
"OH--DON'T YOU KNOW, DEAR? IT'S ONE OF THE PLACES LATELY DISCOVERED BY
MR. STANLEY!"]
* * * * *
THE TOMATO-CURE FOR DYSPEPSIA.
Don't talk to me of colocynth or famed cerulean pill,
Don't mention hyoscyamus or aloes when I'm ill;
The very word podophyllin is odious in mine ears,
The thought of all the drugs I've ta'en calls up the blinding tears;
The Demon of Dyspepsia, a sufferer writes to say,
At sight of the Tomato-plant will vanish quite away.
The Faculty will diet you till indigestion stops,
On what have always seemed to me interminable slops;
A dainty dish is sure to be the worst thing you can eat;
The bismuth and the charcoal come like nightmares after meat.
Away with all restrictions now, bring mutton, beef, and veal,
As long as ripe Tomatoes come to supplement a meal.
Hepatic action, doctors say, is very hard to start,
And if you have too much of it, that also makes you smart;
And so the fate of many folks, especially in town,
Is first to stir the liver up, and then to calm him down.
Now he can trouble us no more, although we go the pace;
A diet of Tomatoes keeps the tyrant in his place.
Away with deleterious drugs, for here's a plant been found,
Worth all the weird concoctions that dispensers can compound:
Get fresh Tomatoes, red and ripe, and slice and eat, and then--
You'll find that you are liver-less, and not like other men.
Come ye who dire dyspepsia's pangs impatiently endure,
It cannot hurt, and may do good, this new Tomato-Cure.
* * * * *
SWEETS TO THE ACID.--In an excellent speech, last week, Mr. HENRY
IRVING suggested that a Charitable Organisation Society should be
established for the Distribution of Art Relief. He rightly contended
that the Beautiful was as necessary to perfect happiness as the
Severely Useful. Drains (excellent things in their way) are scarcely
on a level with Pictures. This is an idea that the so-called
"goody-goody folk" find a difficulty in accepting; possibly because
most of them personally represent everything that is unlovely.
* * * * *
"WAX TO RECEIVE, AND MARBLE TO RETAIN."
[Illustration: "Whacks to Receive."]
According to an evening paper, the wedding-present of Colonel GOURAUD
to a distinguished couple took the novel and charming form of a
phonograph, recording, for all time, the musical portion of the
marriage ceremony. In all probability, this precedent will be widely
followed, and a set of waxen phonographic cylinders will be a familiar
feature in the list of presents at every wedding of any pretensions
to smartness. Still, there _may_ be cases in which those who intend
to imitate Colonel GOURAUD'S example would do well to consider first
whether the conditions are equally appropriate. For instance, young
JACK RIVENLUTE is not a bad fellow, though he may not be given to
sentiment, and VIOLA MANDOLINE is a very charming girl, if she
_is_ apt to be a trifle high-flown and exacting at times. When they
marry--(they have not even met at present, but they _will_ marry,
the year after next, unless _Mr. Punch's_ Own Second-sighted Seer
grossly deceives himself)--when they marry, VIOLA'S Uncle JOHN will
be the person to present them with the then orthodox phonograph and
appurtenances. But if he could foresee the future as distinctly as
_Mr. Punch's_ Seer has done in the following prophetic visions, he
might substitute a biscuit-box, or a fish-slice and fork, a Tantalus
spirit-case, or even a dumb-waiter, as likely, on the whole, to
inspire a more permanent gratitude.
FIRST ANNIVERSARY--SAY, IN 1893.
SCENE--_A CHARMING DRAWING-ROOM._ TIME--_ABOUT 9:30 P.M._
Mr. RIVENLUTE _is on a chair by the open window_; Mrs.
RIVENLUTE _on a low stool by his side_.
_Mrs. R._ (_for the fiftieth time_). I can't _ever_ thank you _nearly_
enough for this _lovely_ ring, JACK dear!
_Jack_ (_rather gruffly_). Oh, it's all right, Pussy. Glad you like
it, I'm sure. Do they mean to bring in the lamps? It's pitch dark.
_Mrs. R._ I'll ring presently--not just yet. It was so _dear_ of you
to remember what day it was!
_Jack_ (_who only just remembered it in time, as he was driving
home_). Been a brute if I hadn't!
_Mrs. R._ You _couldn't_ be a brute, JACK, if you tried--not to _me._
I'm so glad we haven't got to go out anywhere to-night, aren't _you_?