Punch, or the London Charivari
Volume 104, May 27th 1893
edited by Sir Francis Burnand
AN APPEAL FOR INSPIRATION.
[Mr. Lewis Morris has been requested to write an ode on the approaching Royal Marriage.]
Awake my Muse, inspire your Lewis Morris
To pen an ode! to be another Horris!
"Horace" I should have written, but in place of it
You see the word—well, I'm within an ace of it.
Awake my muse! strike up! your bard inspire
To write this—"by particular desire."
Wet towels! Midnight oil! Here! Everything
That can induce the singing bard to sing.
Shake me, Ye Nine! I'm resolute, I'm bold!
Come, Inspiration, lend thy furious hold!
Morris on Pegasus! Plank money down!
I'll back myself to win the Laureate's Crown!
The Chief Secretary's Musical Performance, with Accompaniment.—Mr. John Morley arrived last Friday at Kingston. He went to Bray. He was "accompanied" by the Under Secretary. Surely the Leader of the Opposition, now at Belfast, won't lose such a chance as this item of news offers.
The "Water-Carnival."—Good idea! But a very large proportion of those whom the show attracts would be all the better for a Soap-and-Water Carnival. Old Father Thames might be considerably improved by the process.
A RESERVED SEAT.
Mistress. "Well, James, how did you like the Show? I hope you got a good view."
Jim. "Yes thankye, M'm; I saw it first-rate. There was room fur Four or Five more where I was."
Mistress (surprised). "Indeed!—where was that?"
Jim. "In the Park, M'm,—up a Ches'nut Tree."
ODDS BOBBILI!
(The Rajah of Bobbili arrived by P.& O. at Marseilles, where he was received by Col. Humphrey on behalf of the Queen.)
There was a gay Rajah of Bobbili
Who felt when a steamer on wobblely,
"Delighted," says he,
"Colonel Humphrey to see,"
So they dined and they drank hobby-nobbeley.
Is the Times also among the Punsters?—In its masterly, or rather school-masterly, article last Saturday, on "The Divisions on the Home-Rule Bill," written with the special intention of whipping up the Unionist absentees, the Times said, "There is an opinion that, with a measure so far-reaching in its character as the Home-Rule Bill, pairing should be resorted to as sparingly as possible." The eye gifted with a three-thousand-joke-search-light power sees the pun at once, and reproduces it italicised, to be read aloud, thus—"Pairing should be resorted to as pairingly as possible." What shall he have who makes a pun in the Times? Our congratulations. Henceforth, to the jest-detectors this new development may prove most interesting.
Imperial Institute Notice at the Reception.—"Guests must retain their wraps and Head Coverings." Evidently no bald men admitted.
Australian Song in Minor Key for any Number of Voices.—"I Know a Bank!"
A BUSINESS LETTER.
["Marriage is daily becoming a more commercial affair."—A Society Paper.]
Dear Fred,—Your favour of the 3rd,
Has had my very best attention,
But yet I cannot, in a word,
Accept you on the terms you mention;
Indeed, wherever you may try,
According to the last advices
You'll meet, I fear, the same reply—
"It can't be done, at current prices!"
In vain an ancient name you show,
In vain for intellect are noted,
Blue blood and brains, you surely know,
At nominal amounts are quoted;
And then, I see, you're weak enough
To offer "love, sincere, unstudied,"—
Why, Sir, with such Quixotic stuff
The market's absolutely flooded!
But—every day this fact confirms—
The time is over for romances,
And whether we can come to terms
Depends alone on your finances.
So, would you think me over-bold
If I, with deference, requested
A statement of what funds you hold?
In what securities invested?
For, candidly, in such affairs
A speedy bid your only chance is,
A boom in Yankee millionnaires
May soon result in marked advances;
With you I'd willingly be wed,
To like you well enough I'm able,
But first submit your bank-book, Fred,
To your (perhaps) devoted Mabel!
SUSPIRIA.
(By a Fogey.)
I would I were a boy!
Not for the tarts we once were fain to eat,
The penny ice, the jumble sticky-sweet,
The tip's deciduous joy—
Not; for the keen delight
Of break-neck 'scapes, the charm of getting wet,
The joy of battle (strongest when you get
Two other chaps to fight).
No! times have changed since then.
The social whirlpool has engulfed the boys;
Robb'd of their simple, hardy, rowdy joys,
They start from scratch as men.
The winners in the race!
Secure of worship, each his triumphs tells,
Weighing with faintly-praising syllables
The fairest form and face.
Once, in the mazy crush,
Ingenuous youth, half timid, and half proud,
By girlhood's pity had its claims allow'd,
And worshipp'd with a blush.
Time was when tender years
Would hug sweet sorrow to the heart, and blur
The cross-barr'd bliss of the confectioner
With crushed affection's tears.
That humbleness is sped,
The vivid blazon of self-conscious youth,
The unwilling witness to whole-hearted truth,
Ne'er troubles boyhood's head.
Now with a solemn pride,
Lord of the future's limitless expanse,
The Stoic stripling tolerates the dance
Weary, yet dignified.
Propping the mirror'd wall,
No joy of motion, no desire to please,
Thaws those high-collar'd Caryatides,
Inane, imperial.
Girls, with their collars too,
Their mannish maskings, and their unveil'd eyes,
Would feel, if girls can be surprised, surprise
Should courteous worship woo.
From their exalted place
The boys their favours dole, as seems them well,
Woman's calm tyrants, showing, truth to tell,
More tolerance than grace.
Double Riddle.—Why is a whist-player, fast asleep after his fifth game, like one of the latest-patented cabs? Because he can be briefly alluded to as "Rubber Tires." (Riddle adaptable also to exhausted manipulator in Turkish Bath after a hard day's work.)
THE MONEY-BOXING KANGAROO.
(Knocked-Out—for the Time!)
Pity the sorrows of a poor "Old Man,"
Whose pouch is emptied of its golden store;
Whose girth seems dwindling to its shortest span,
Who needs relief, and needs it more and more.
Punch's appeal for the marsupial martyr
Is based upon an ancient nursery model;
But he will find that he has caught a Tartar,
Who hints that Punch is talking heartless twaddle.
Knocked out this round, and verily no wonder!
The Money-boxing Kangaroo is plucky:
But when a chance-blow smites the jaw like thunder,
A champion may succumb to fluke unlucky.
The Australian Cricketers in their first game
Went down; but Blackham's bhoys high hopes still foster;
Duffers who think 'twill always be the same,
Reckoned without their Giffen! Just ask Glo'ster!
So our pouched pugilist, though his chance looks poor,
Will come up smiling soon, surviving failure;
And an admiring ring will shout once more,
(Pardon the Cockney rhyme!) "Advance, Australia!!!"
The Arms (and Legs) of the Isle of Man.—At a discussion on Sunday-trading, one day last month, there was an attempt made to raise a question as to breach of privilege. The Speaker, however, stopped this at the outset, advising them that they "hadn't a leg to stand upon." Very little advantage in having three legs on such an occasion. The odd part of these Manx-men's legs is that they are their arms. It was originally selected as pictorially exhibiting the innocent character of the Manx Islanders. For their greatest enemy must own that "the strange device" of the three legs is utterly 'armless.
THE END OF THE DROUGHT.
(By a Cab-horse.)
Don't talk to us in praise of rain!
When we are slipping once again;
This beastly shower
Has made wood-pavements thick with slime.
Suppose you try another time,
By mile or hour;
See how you'd like to trot and trip,
To stop and stagger, slide and slip,
Pulled up affrighted,
Urged madly on, then checked once more,
Whilst from some omnibus's door
Some lout alighted.
You would not find much cause to laugh,
Like us, you would not care for chaff
Were you such draggers;
Your shoes would soon be off, or worn,
You'd get, what we don't often, corn,
And end with staggers.
You'd long to be put out to grass,
Infrequent so far with your class—
Nebuchadnezzar
Was quite an isolated case—
You would be tired of life's long-race;
Slaves who in Fez are,
On the Sahara could not bear
Such toil as falleth to our share,
For death would free them.
You say the farmer wants the wet
For meadows; pray do not forget
We never see them.
Philanthropists, why don't you walk?
Of slaves' hard lives you blandly talk,
Like "Uncle Tom"—nay,
You think what your own horses do,
But we—there, get along with you!
Allez vous promener!
Change Its Name!—An estate in the Island of Fowlness, Essex, of 382 acres, was put up to auction last week, and, according to the Daily News there was only one bid at a little short of eight pounds per acre. "The property was withdrawn." This step was judicious and correct. It was an act of fairness to Fowlness. But then, does it sound nice for anyone to say, "I'm living in the midst of Fowlness"? It may be a Paradise, but it doesn't sound like it.
MISUNDERSTOOD.
Little Girl. "Oh, Mamma, I'm so glad you had such a pleasant Dinner at the Vicarage. And—who took you in?"
Mother. "Who took Me in, dear Child! No man ever took Me in. Not even your dear Father; for when I married him, I knew all his Faults!"
The Mellor of the C.
Air—"The Miller of the Dee."
There was a jolly Mellor,
The Chairman of Com-mittee;
They worried him from noon till night—
"No lark is this!" sighed he;
And this the burden of his song
For ever seems to be,
"I care for e-ve-rybody,—why
Does nobody care for me?"
Vestries, Please Copy!—Sir Richard Temple has announced a reduction of the School-Board Rate by a farthing in the pound. May he never become a ruined Temple owing to such economies! The Rate-payers will be grateful for even a fraction of a penny, so long as it is not an improper fraction. This sort of saving is far better than squabbling over Theology. Says Mr. Punch to Schoolboardmen, "Rate the public lightly, and don't rate each other at all!"
New Sarum Version of "Derry Down."—"Derry up! up! Up, Derry, up!"
Poor Letter H.
Scene—Undergraduate's Room in St. Boniface's College, Oxford. Breakfast time.
Servant. I see, Sir, you don't like the butter. Summer hair will get to it this 'ot weather.
Testy Undergrad. Confound it, Luker, I don't mind the—ahem—hair, but kindly let me have my butter bald the next time!
[He had swallowed a hair.
Under the Great Seal is a new work by Mr. Joseph Hatton. The Busy Baron hath not yet had time to read it, but, from answers given to his "fishing interrogatories," he gathers that international piscatorial questions are ably discussed in the work. Joseph has lost a chance in not dedicating it to Seale-Hayne, M.P., and, instead of being brought out by Hutchinson & Co., it ought to have been published by Seeley. However, even Josephus Hattonensis can't think of everything, though he does write on most things.
AT THE NEW GALLERY.
In the Central Hall.
A Potential Purchaser (meeting a friend). Ha—just come in to take a look round, eh? So did I. Fact is—(with a mixture of importance and apology) I rather thought of buying a picture here, if I see anything that takes my fancy—y' know.
His Friend (impressed). Not many who can afford to throw money away on pictures, these hard times!
The P. P. (anxious to disclaim any idea of recklessness). Just the time to pick 'em up cheap, if you know what you're about. And you see, we've had the drawing-room done up, and the wife wants something to fill up the space over her writing-table, between the fireplace and one of the windows. She was to have met me here, but she couldn't turn up, so I shall have to do it all myself—unless you'll come and help me through with it?
His Friend. Oh, if I can be of any use—What sort of thing do you want?
The P. P. Well, that's the difficulty. She says it must match the new paper. I've brought a bit in my pocket with me. His Friend. Then you can't go very far wrong!
The P. P. I don't know. It's a sort of paper that—here, I'd better show it you. (He produces a sample of fiery and untamed colour.) That'll give you an idea of it.
His Friend (inspecting it dubiously). Um—yes. I see you'll have to be careful.
The P. P. Careful, my dear fellow! I assure you I've been all through the Academy, and there wasn't a thing there that could stand it for a single moment—not even the R.A.'s!
[They enter the West Room.
In the West Room.
An Insipid Young Person (before Mr. Tadema's "Unconscious Rivals"). Yes, that's marble, isn't it?
[Smiles with pleasure at her own penetration.
Her Mother (cautiously). I imagine so. (She refers to Catalogue.) Oh! I see it's a Tadema, so of course it's marble. He's the great man for it, you know!
First Painter (who had nothing ready to send in this year). H'm, yes. Can't say I care about the way he's placed his azalea. I should have kept it more to the left, myself.
Second Painter (who sent in, but is not exhibiting). Composition wants bringing together, and the colour scheme is a little unfortunate, but—(generously) I shouldn't call it altogether bad.
First Painter (more grudgingly). Oh, you can see what he was trying for—only—well, it's not the way I should have gone about it.
[They pass on tolerantly.
"There, you see—knocks it all to pieces at once!"
The I. Y. P. Can you make this picture out, Mamma? "The Track of the Strayed?" The Strayed what?
Her Mother. Sheep, I should suppose, my dear—but it would have been more satisfactory certainly if the animal had been shown in the picture.
The I. Y. P. Yes, ever so much. Oh, here's a portrait of Mr. Gladstone reading the Lessons in Hawarden Church. I do like that—don't you?
Her Mother. I'm not sure that I do, my dear. I wonder they permitted the Artist to paint any portrait—even Mr. Gladstone's—during service!
The P. P. (before another canvas). Now that's about the size I want; but I'm not sure that my wife would quite care about the subject.
His Friend. I'm rather fond of these allegorical affairs myself—for a drawing-room, you know.
The P. P. Well, I'll just try the paper against it. (He applies the test, and shakes his head.) "There, you see—knocks it all to pieces at once!"
His Friend. I was afraid it would, y' know. How will this do you—"A Naiad"?
The P. P. I shouldn't object to it myself, but there's the Wife to be considered—and then, a Naiad—eh?
His friend. She's half in the water.
The P. P. Yes, but then—those lily-leaves in her hair, you know, and—and coming up all dripping like that—no, it's hardly worth while bringing out the paper again!
The I. Y. P. Isn't this queer—"Neptune's Horses"?—They can't be intended to represent waves, surely!
Her Mother. It's impossible to tell what the Painter intended, my dear, but I never saw waves so like horses as that.
In the North Room.
The I. Y. P. "Cain's First Crime." Why, he's only feeding a stork! I don't see any crime in that.
Her Mother. He's giving it a live lizard, my dear.
The I. Y. P. But storks like live lizards, don't they? And Adam and Eve are looking on, and don't seem to mind.
Her Mother. I expect that's the moral of it. If they'd taken it away from him, and punished him at the time, he wouldn't have turned out so badly as he did—but it's too late to think of that now!
A Matter-of-fact Person (behind). I wonder, now, where he got his authority for that incident. It's new to me.
In the Balcony.
The Mother of the I. Y. P. Oh, Caroline, you've got the Catalogue—just see what No. 288 is, there's a dear. It seems to be a country-house, and they're having dinner in the garden, and some of the guests have come late, and without dressing, and there's the hostess telling them it's of no consequence. What's the title—"The Uninvited Guests," or "Putting them at their Ease," or what?
The I. Y. P. It only says, "The Rose-Garden at Ashridge (containing portraits of the Earls of Pembroke and Brownlow, the Countesses of ——").
[She reads out the list to the end.
Her Mother. What a nice picture! Though one would have thought such smart folks wouldn't have come to dinner in riding-boots, and shawls, and things—but of course they can afford to be less particular. And the dessert is beautifully done!
In the South Room.
The I. Y. P. Why, here are "Neptune's Horses" again! Don't you remember we saw a picture of them before? But I like this better, because here you get Neptune and his chariot.
Her Mother. He's made his horses a little too like fish, for my taste.
The I. Y. P. I suppose they were a sort of fish—and after all, one isn't expected to believe in all that nowadays, is one? So it doesn't really matter.
First Horsey Man. Tell you what, Old Neptune'll come to awful grief with that turn-out of his in another second.
Second H. M. Rather—regular bolt—and no ribbons to hold 'em by, either!
First H. M. Rummy idea, having cockleshells on the traces.
Second H. M. Oh, I don't know—one of the Hussar regiments has 'em.
First H. M. Ah, so they have. I suppose that's where he got the idea.
[They go out, feeling that the picture is satisfactorily accounted for.
The P. P. (before a small canvas). Yes, this is the right thing at last. The paper doesn't seem to put it out in the least, and the sort of subject, you know, that no one can object to. I've quite fallen in love with it. I don't care what it costs—I positively must have it. I'm sure the wife will be as fond of it as I am. I only hope it's not sold—here, let's go and see.
[They go.
At the Secretary's Table.
The P. P. (turning over the priced Catalogue). Ah, here it is! It's unsold—it's marked down at—(his face falls)—eleven—eleven—that's rather over my limit. (To his Friend.) Do you mind waiting while I try the paper on it once more? (His Friend consents; the P. P. returning, after an interval.) No, I had my doubts from the beginning—it won't do, after all!
His Friend. But I thought you said the paper didn't put it out?
The P. P. It doesn't—but the picture takes all the shine out of the paper.
His Friend. I suppose you couldn't very well change the paper—eh?
The P. P. Change the paper?—when it's only been up a week, and cost seven-and-six the piece! My dear fellow, what are you talking about? No, no—I must see if I can't get a picture to match it at Maple's, that's all.
His Friend (vaguely). Yes, I suppose they understand all that sort of thing there.
[They go out, relieved at having arrived at a decision.
CARNIVOROUS.
(On Hospitable Thoughts intent.)
"Oh, they're too many to have to Eat all together, Papa! Let's knock off the Children for Tea."
"Yes; and we can do with the Father and Mother for Dinner, you know!"