E-text prepared by Malcolm Farmer, William Flis,
and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team

PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

Vol. 103.

October 1, 1892.

"STUMPED!"

(A would-be laudatory Ode.
By Jingle Junior.)

[The young Indian Gentleman, Mr. H. RANJITSINHJI, has "secured his century" at Cricket no less than eleven times this season.]

O H.S. RANJIT—(spelling a wild venture is!)

Wielder of willow, runner-up of "centuries"!

What's in a name? A name like RANJITSIN—

(Can't finish it, was foolish to begin!)

How many miles was it you ran, O RAN—

(Bowled out again. Am sorry I began!)

In running out those hundreds, RANJITSINGHJ—

(A man were a patched fool, a perfect ninny,

Who'd try to spell that name, Ask Bully Bottom!)

With such a name to carry, how you got 'em,

O RANJ—(that sounds like Orange!)—those same "notches"

Is quite a wonder. Were they "bowls" or "cotches"

That got you out at last, those times eleven?

(Where is GRACE now? He has not scored one even,

This season, though as close as ninety-nine to it.)

Applause has greeted you; let me add mine to it,

O RAN-JIT-SIN-HJI! (Those last three letters

What do they spell?) Orthography's cold fetters

Shan't chill my admiration, smart young Hindoo!

Say, did you smite a sixer through a window,

Like Slogger THORNTON in his boyish prime,

O RANJITSINHJI? Got it this time!

That is, it spelt all right. E'en admiration

Shan't tempt me to attempt pronunciation!

Eleven centuries we to Indian skill owe!

Will the East lick the West at its own "Willow?"

Here's luck to India and young RAN—Och, murther!

RAN-JIT-SIN-SIN—How's that! Out? Can't get further!

"OH NO, WE NEVER MENTION IT."—The KENDALS have got a Play by a young American Author with the very uncompromising name of DAM. He, or his Play, may be Dam good, or just the reverse: still, if he does turn out to be the "big, big D," then all the Dam family, such as Amsterdam, Rotterdam, Schiedam, and so forth, will be real proud of him. Future Dams will revere him as their worthy ancestral sire, and American Dam may become naturalised among us (we have a lot of English ones quite a spécialité in that line, so the French say), and become Dam-nationalised. What fame if the piece is successful, and DAM is on every tongue! So will it be too, if unsuccessful. Englishmen will welcome the new American playright with the name unmentionable to ears polite, and will recognise in him, as the Dam par excellence, their brother, as one of the uncommon descendants of A-DAM. By the way, the appropriate night for its production would be Christmas Eve. Fancy the cries all over the House, calling for the successful Author!!

IMMUNITIES OF THE SEA-SIDE.

"COME UNDER THE UMBRELLA, JACK, IT'S BEGUN TO RAIN, AND YOU'LL CATCH COLD, AND MAMMA'LL BE VEXED!"

"POOH! AS IF SALT WATER EVER GAVE ONE COLD!"

"PUNSCH"

(In the Reading-room of the Bernerhof.)

Although thy name is wrongly spelt

Upon thy case, what joy I felt

To find a place where thou hast dwelt,

My Punsch!

Yet wit and wisdom, even thine,

Can't wake up Berne, where folks supine

All go to bed at half-past nine,

My Punsch!

What art or jokes could entertain,

Such sleepy people? True, they feign

It's later, for they say "halb zehn,"

My Punsch!

My German "Punsch," what gender thine?

They who accept, likewise decline,

"Das Weib" might feminine assign—

Die Punsch!

No matter which, if I behold

Thy pages, worth their weight in gold—

It's true they're more than three weeks old,

My Punsch!

AN ODD FELLOW OUT.—The Church-breaking thief (vide the Standard's provincial news) who was arrested at Oswestry (fitting that a Church-thief should have been arrested by Os-Westry-men—which sounds like a body of mounted ecclesiastical police), explained that he was a "monumental mason of Dublin." Perhaps the Jury will find him monu-mentally deranged.

HEALTH AND HOPPINESS.

[It is reported that the latest move is for ladies to combine profit and pleasure by going "hopping.">[

Fair Woman longs for novelty,

Her daily task is apt to cloy her,

The pastimes that were wont to be

Diverting now do but annoy her.

The common joys of life are spent

So tired of tennis, shooting, shopping,

She turns in her despair to Kent,

And tries her 'prentice hand at hopping.

Now girls whom you would scarce believe

Would not turn up their nose at soiling

Their dainty hands, to dewy eve

From early morn keep ever toiling.

There's ETHEL of the golden hair

Who flutters through existence gaily

(Her father is a millionnaire),

Hops hard and does her twelve hours daily.

Then pretty MAUD, with laughing eyes,

Who hardly knew what daily wage meant,

To everybody's great surprise

Proceeds to cut this, that engagement.

Amid the vines she daily goes,

And picks till weary fingers tingle,

The sweetest music now she knows

Is hearing hard-earned sovereigns jingle.

This latest move, it's very true,

Appears to be a rather rum thing,

But yet for idle hands to do

We know that Someone will find something.

Will fashionable hopping last?

Well, this it's safe to lay your cash on,

Before another year has passed

There'll be another female fashion.

VIVE LA RAIN DU BALLET À L'ALHAMBRA!—"Certainly," says MR. JOHN HOLLINGSHEAD, "Ve've la rain. It comes pouring down on the stage, and the people come pouring in to see it. I suppose," says he, "they'll now call me 'The Wetter'un?" The ballet is very effective, not a drop too much, and "not a drop in the business" in front of the house, though there is, as is evident, on the stage. If Manager JOHN liked to quote SHAKSPEARE with a difference, in his advertisements, he might say, "With a hey, ho, the Wind and the Rain! For the Rain it raineth every night!" For some time to come this show will be the raining favourite at the Alhambra. By the way, the Sheffield Telegraph, describing the alterations and improvements in front at the Alhambra, wrote—"The ceiling has been bevelled with porous plasters so as to hide the girders." We know that hand:—it's Our "Mrs. RAMSBOTHAM," and she "comes from Sheffield." However, "porous plasters" would be another attraction at the Alhambra, or anywhere, as they certainly ought to draw.

LADY GAY'S SELECTIONS.

Mount Street, Grosvenor Square.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,

Unlucky Leicester was even more unlucky than usual—and when the big race was run last Wednesday, so thick was the rain, that the horses could only be seen for the last half mile! Of course this made all the difference to the horse I selected—Windgall—who finished second;—as he only gives his best performances in public, and as he doubtless knew he couldn't be seen, he thought it was only a private trial until he got close home, when his gallant effort was too late to be of any use!—at least, this is how I read the result of the race, and who can know more about a horse than the racing-prophet, I should like to know?

I was told by Sir WALTER GREENINGTON, that the public "tumbled over each other" to back Breach, but I must say I didn't notice anything of the sort, and it was not the kind of day anyone would choose for a roll on the turf, the state of which was detrimental to any kind of Breach!—The believers in "coincidences"—(of which I need hardly say I am one—a coincidence being a truly feminine reason for backing a horse)—had no option but to back the winner, Rusticus; as he drew the same berth he occupied in last year's race, which he alsop—(I mean also)—won for Mr. HAMAR BASS!—Stuart was a great eleventh hour tip—(why eleventh hour I wonder?—more than any other—and who fixes the precise moment when the eleventh hour commences?)—but history tells us the STUARTS were mostly unreliable; and though I am told he ran a "great horse"—I thought him rather on the small side myself!

I hear that Mr. LEONARD BOYNE has received a "licence to ride" from the Jockey Club, and that his ambition is to ride the winner of the "Grand National"—to which end he has started "schooling" a well-known chaser over the private training-ground in Drury Lane, belonging to Sir AUGUSTUS HARRIS—if he hopes to escape observation by training at night, I fear his design will be frustrated, as, on the evening, I went to witness this "new departure" in training, I found most of the London racing-touts present, with the inevitable field-glasses!

Next week sees us once more at our beloved Newmarket First October—(this is a Jockey-Club joke, as the meeting always takes place in September! But what does a little paradox of this kind matter to such an August body!)—and I shall append my selection for the most important race of Wednesday, but I also wish to give a hint to the "Worldly Wise" not to miss the October Handicap, or the match, for which Buccaneer will be favourite at the "fall of the flag!"—(The flag may fall, but such a Buccaneer as this is will never "strike his flag" I feel sure!) Being absolutely overloaded with prophecy, I must also have a word to say on the Rutland Plate, which aristocratically-named race could only be won by the aristocratically-named Buckingham!—Yours devotedly, LADY GAY.

Great-Eastern Railway Handicap Selection:—

Though good his chance to win the prize,

"Lord HENRY" soon detected,

That greatest danger would arise,

From Colonel NORTH's "Selected."

"THE PERI AT THE ACADEMY GATES."

"On July 4th, Lieutenant PEARY, in his great sledge journey, commenced on May 15th last, in Greenland, came on a glacier which he named The Academy Glacier."—Times.

SWORD AND PEN.

A FABLE.

(Translated from the Russo-French.)

Pen was a busy personage. He was flying from place to place, and had much importance. He was pompous and mysterious, and puzzled many people. Pen was accompanied by a sheet of paper that he called Treaty. Pen took Treaty everywhere. To Russia, to France, to Rome, and to Turkey. No one knew exactly what Treaty was like. Pen said he was satisfied with Treaty, and as Pen and Treaty were such constant companions, Pen's word on the subject was accepted as authentic.

But one fine day there was a breeze, and Treaty was blown away by the wind.

"Can I not assist?" asked Pen. "Things seem to have gone wrong."

"No, thanks," replied Sword, grimly; "when it comes to close quarters, we find ink not quite so useful as gunpowder!"

SUGGESTION FOR AN OUTSIDE ADVERTISEMENT TO BE DISPLAYED AT THE DOOR OF THE STRAND THEATER.—"Niobe all tiers" (full).

Brief Interview.

"And," asked our deferential Interviewer, "what did your Lordship reply to the deputation about Uganda?"

Lord ROSEBERY at once answered, "I said little, but I—"

"Ment-more," interrupted the Private Secretary, sticking a label on his Lordship's travelling bag.

"Quite so," said Lord ROSEBERY, and off he went.

BAD FOR WOULD-BE "ENGLISH WIVES"—It is reported that "Yankee Girls and American Belles were the feature of the Miscellaneous Market." This should put our young men on their mettle—tin, of course, for choice. No reasonable offer refused.

"HOW IT'S DONE!"

LAYS OF MODERN HOME.

No. V.—MY BUTTONS!

It wasn't that he blacked the plate

And rouged the boots, and breathed, half-choking,

Half-snorting, when he leaned to wait;

Although these habits are provoking.

It wasn't that he sang his fill,

Although his mouth with food was giving;

This latter, as a feat of skill,

Might have procured the lad a living.

It wasn't that he'd purchase hosts

Of squibs and sweets to mess the pantry;

That horrid boy, and broomstick-ghosts

On timid JANE would oft, and ANN try.

These petty peccadilloes might

Have all improved with careful training.—

It was his shameless appetite

That gave us cause for most complaining.

He swilled and stuffed as never mere

Adult voracity can own to;

He was a "growing boy," I fear;

I wonder much what he has grown to!

He wore away our forks and spoons

With hard, incessant gormandizing;

The Baker's, and, for some blue moons,

The Milkman's bill were quite surprising.

He cost us more in Butcher's meat

And Grocer's tea, and things from Cutlers,

He cost, I solemnly repeat,

Far more than two or three big Butlers.

And thus his fat increased until't

Became a show that sight bewilders;

We trembled for our mansion built,

You see, by noted Jerry-builders.

At length (you'll scarce the fact believe)

One evening, as we sat at dinner,

And strove our senses to deceive

By just imagining him thinner;

We heard a crack, a burst, a groan,

We felt a broadside round us battered,

We saw his buttons fiercely blown

About our heads, and piecemeal scattered!

The suit had split; the boy was bare

Of clothes designed to last for ages;

We gave him notice then and there—

This volume, so to speak, of pages!

SONG TO BE SUNG IN HAYMARKET ORCHESTRA DURING OVERTURE.—"Oh, why should we wait till to-morrow? See Queen of Manoa to-night!"

ON A GUERNSEY EXCURSION CAR.

The car, drawn by four horses, and crowded with Excursionists on pleasure bent, is toiling up the steep streets of St. Peter Port, when it comes to a sudden halt.

Excursionists (impatiently). Now then, what's this? What are we stopping here for?

The Driver. Ladies and Gentlemen, you will thoroughly understand that it is customary for the car to stop here, in order that the party may be photographed, thus providing an agreeable souvenir of the trip, and a useful means of identification at Scotland Yard. (A Photographer appears in the road with a camera, and the party prepare themselves for perpetuation in a pleased flutter.) P'raps, Sir—(to a Mild Man on the box-seat)—you'd like to be taken 'andling the ribbons? Most of our Gentlemen do.

[The Mild Man accepts the reins, and endeavours to assume a knowing and horsey expression.

A Timid Lady (behind). I do hope no Gentleman will take the reins, unless he is thoroughly accustomed to driving four-in-hand. Suppose they took it into their heads to run away suddenly!

Driver (solemnly). Don't you alarm yourself about that, Ma'am, in the very slightest degree. These 'osses take that pride in themselves, they'd stop here all day rather than spoil their own likenesses!

[The M.M. intimates that he is no novice in the art of driving, which is fairly true as regards a pony-trap—and the fears of the T.L. are allayed.

Photographer. Now, steady all, please, those at the further ends of the seats stand up so as to come into the picture, a little more to the right, please, the gentleman in the straw 'at, turn your 'ead a trifle more towards the camera, the lady in the pink shirt,—that's better. Better take off your spectacles, Sir. Now then—are you ready?

A Comic Exc. 'Old on a bit—I've a fly on my nose.

[Some of the party giggle; the photograph is successfully taken, and the car proceeds.

The Driver. On your left, Ladies and Gentlemen, you have the Prison—the cheapest Hotel in the Island for parties who intend making a protracted stay here. On our right we are now passing "Paradise." You will observe that someone has 'ung his 'at and coat up at the entrance, not being certain of getting in. Notice the tree in front—the finest specimen on the island of the good old Guernsey hoak.

[He keeps turning from time to time to address these instructive remarks to the passengers behind him.

The Timid Lady. I wish he wouldn't talk so much, and look more where he is going—we're much too near the hedge!

Driver (standing up, and turning his back on the horses, as they trot on). Ladies and Gentlemen, you will all thoroughly understand that the roads in this Island are narrow. Consequently, you must look after the branches and briars yourselves. I've enough to do to look after my 'orses, I assure you, and it looks bad to see 'ats and bonnets decorating the 'edges after the car has passed. (Some of the Excursionists look at one another uneasily.) The glass-'ouses you see in such quantities, are employed in the production of early grapes and tomators for the London Market. This Island alone exports annually—

[Here the car rounds a corner rather sharply, and he sits down again.

The Mild Man (with a Mild Man's thirst for information). What are those buildings over there with the chimney?

[Here he is conscious of being furtively prodded in the back—but decides to take no notice.

Driver (rising as before). Those buildings, Ladies and Gentlemen, are Chemical works for extracting iodine from seaweed. The seaweed, after being dried, is then boiled, and from the ash—

[Here the Mild Man, who has been listening with much interest, is startled by receiving a folded piece of paper, which it passed up to him from behind.

The M.M. (to himself, as he reads the message). "Keep the Driver quiet. He is drunk." Good Gracious! I never noticed—and yet—dear me, I hope they don't expect me to interfere!

The Timid Lady (to the Driver). For goodness sake never mind about iodine now—sit down and attend to your driving, like a good man!

Driver. You will thoroughly understand, my horses require no attention. (Sleepily.) No attention whatever. I assure you I am perfectly competent to drive this car and give you information going along at the same time. (The car takes another corner rather abruptly.) Simply matter of habit. (Gravely.) Matter'f habit!

A Serious Exc. (in an undertone.) A very bad habit, I'm afraid. It's really time somebody else took the reins from him!

The M.M. (overhearing). I'm afraid they mean me—I wish now I'd never touched the reins at all!

Driver. The Church we are now coming to, is St. Martin's, built in the year eleven 'undred.

A Female Exc. (critically). It has got an old-fashioned look about it, certainly.

A Male Exc. There's nothing to see inside of these old churches. I went in one the other day, and I was looking up at the rafters, and I saw a sort o' picture there, and I said, "Ullo—they've been advertising Pears' Soap here, or something." But when I looked again, it was only an old fresco. I was so little interested I walked out without tipping the Verger!

The Female Exc. That Church we went to on Sunday evening is very old.

Her Comp. Is it? How do you know?

The F.E. Why, my dress was covered with bits of fluff out of the hassock!

Driver. The carved stone figure you see by the gate, is supposed to be a portrait of Julius Cæsar's Grandmother, and very like the old lady. (The Excursionists nearest him smile in a sickly way, to avoid hurting his feelings, as the car moves on—to halt once more at Icart Point.) It is customary to alight here and go round the point, and I can assure you, Ladies and Gentlemen, the scenery is well worth your inspection and will give you a little idea of what the Island is.

Excursionists (taking advantage of the opportunity to discuss the situation). I noticed it the minute I set eyes on him—he never ought to have been sent out like this ... He's been to a wedding this morning, so I heard, and it's upset him a little, that's all ... Upset him—we're lucky if he doesn't upset us. What a fidget you are! I shan't take you into Switzerland next year, if you're like this... If Switzerland's full of a lot of drunken men, I don't want to go... Well, what had we better do about it? Perhaps this gentleman would—Oh, no, I couldn't take the responsibility, really, not without knowing the way. Well, we can't walk back, that's certain—we must trust to luck, that's all! Pretty bit of the coast you get here ... Oh, don't talk about the scenery now, when, for all we know!—&c., &c.

[The car starts again, and presently arrives at a winding and precipitous road leading down to Petit Bot Bay, where the Driver again rises with his back to the horses, and proceeds to address the Excursionists , as they sit paralysed with horror.

Driver. Ladies and Gentlemen, at this point I shall explain the scenery. (The Timid Lady protests that she is content to leave the scenery unexplained.) Pardon me, this is a portion of the scenery—(Here his eyes close and reopen with an effort)—a portion of the scenery that can only be properly enjoyed coming out on one of these cars. If you go out with ordinary drivers, they take you along the main roads, and you come away fancying you've seen the Island. Now the advantage of coming along with me—(His eyes close once more—the Excursionists implore him to attend to his team.) You will thoroughly understand there is not the slightest cause to apprehend any danger. I've driven this car fifteen years without least accident—up to present. So you can devote your whole attention to the scenery, without needing to keep an eye upon the Driver. (He points to the abyss.) That is the shortest way down—on this occasion, however, I shall endeavour not to take it. (He whips up his horses, and accomplishes the descent at a brisk pace.) There, didn't I tell you there wouldn't be no accident? Very well, then. P'rhaps you'll believe me another time!

Mild Man (alighting at Hotel for luncheon). We've had a remarkably lucky escape—I never felt more thankful in my life!

A Gloomy Exc. Don't you be in too great a hurry, Sir! We've got to get back—and he's bound to be worse after he's had his lunch!

[The M.M.'s appetite for lobster is entirely destroyed by this sinister prediction; but whether the Driver has been unjustly maligned, or whether he has sobered himself in the interval—he reappears in a more sedentary, and less discursive mood, and the journey home proves agreeably devoid of sensation.

SIMPLE STORIES.

"Be always kind to animals wherever you may be."

RUBY AND THE ROOK.

RUBY, although she was something of a tomboy, was a pretty and clever girl.

But, like many pretty and clever little ladies, she was sometimes very naughty. When she was good, she was as good as gold, but when she was naughty, she was as naughty as pinchbeck.

The other day, when her dear Mamma was away for the morning, it happened to be one of her pinchbeck times. Nothing would please her—she was cross with her governess at breakfast, she quarrelled with her bread-and-milk; and even when her favourite tame Rook, Cawcus, came hopping on her shoulder, she refused to give it anything to eat, but hit it on the beak with her spoon.

Miss DUMBELL was very much grieved at the way in which her pupil lolled in her chair, gave sullen answers, and put flies in the milk-jug, and pinched the cat's tail. "Mind, RUBY," said Miss DUMBELL, "at eleven o'clock I shall expect you in the school-room with that page of French phrases quite perfect." RUBY's eyes flashed as she went out of the room; she pouted, she swung her skirts, and shook her shoulders, so that even Miss DUMBELL, the most patient and kindest of governesses, quite longed to slap her.

RUBY went to the school-room; she immediately flung the French phrase-book from one end of the room to the other. She took some story-books, and a little basket full of apples, bath-buns and "three-corners," and ran down to a little plantation called the Wilderness, at the bottom of the garden. She selected one of the tallest elms, and as she could climb like a kitten, she was soon at the top of it, quite hidden from view among the leaves.

"So much for old DUMMY and her French phrases!" said the naughty girl, as she settled herself in a comfortable position and brought out her story-book. The stable-clock had struck twelve, and she heard her name called in all directions, by JORGINS, the gardener, BRILLIT, the buttons, and long-suffering Miss DUMBELL. They could not find her anywhere, and her Most Serene Naughtiness sat screened by the leaves and shook with laughter.

Presently "Cawcus," her pet Rook, came fluttering amid the leaves, and began to caw. RUBY offered him bits of Bath bun, and even a whole three-corner, in order to keep him quiet.

But he remembered his treatment at breakfast, and refused all these bribes with scorn. He declined to be petted, he continued to hover over the tree, and circle around it, giving vent to the most discordant shrieks. Presently she heard the clear measured tones of her Mamma's voice saying, "RUBY, come down at once. I know you are up in the elm." Cawcus, whom she had maltreated, had betrayed her hiding-place.

RUBY dared not disobey. Quite subdued, and with garments grievously greened, she descended. Mamma took her little daughter indoors, and improved the occasion. RUBY eventually appeared, with tears in her eyes, and subsequently apologised to her governess, recited the page of French phrases without a mistake, and promised to be a good girl. Though she sometimes forgot herself, and was rude to Miss DUMBELL afterwards, she never failed to treat Cawcus the Rook with most profound consideration and reverence.

TO MELENDA.

(A Set of Verses accompanying a Photograph.)

I remember—do you?—the remarkable sky light

That flooded the heavens one evening in May,

How together we talked tête-à-tête in the twilight,

When the glow of the sunset had faded away.

Then you showed me your album. I looked at its pages.

With yourself as my guide and companion went through

Its contents—there were people of all sorts and ages,

But the portrait I fancied the most was—of you.

And you saw that I did. Which perhaps was the reason

Of your "No!" when I asked "May I have it?" You swore

You were going to be shot at the close of the season,

And you couldn't spare that, as there weren't any more.

But at length I prevailed, or at least you relented,

After ever so many excuses—in fine

We agreed to a compact, you only consented

On condition I gave you a portrait of mine.

Well, I promised, of course. And I write you these verses

With your face—you'll forgive me—quite close to my own.

There's a charm in your look that completely disperses

All my cares in a way that is yours, dear, alone.

And although I am pleased, since I won in the end—a

More ridiculous bargain has never, I vow,

Been arranged than a picture of pretty MELENDA,

In exchange for the photograph sent to you now.

We did not meet again through some horrible blunder,

Which a merciless Fate must be asked to explain,

And I sometimes sit smoking, and wearily wonder

If I ever am destined to see you again.

Yet wherever the future may possibly find you,

To this final request do not answer me Nay,

When I ask that this gift of myself may remind you

Of the friend who was with you that evening in May.

BREAKING THE ICE.

The Hon. Mrs. Snebbington (to Fair Stranger), "ENGLISH PEOPLE ARE SO UNSOCIABLE, AND NEVER SPEAK TO EACH OTHER WITHOUT AN INTRODUCTION. I ALWAYS MAKE A POINT OF BEING FRIENDLY WITH PEOPLE STAYING AT THE SAME HOTEL. ONE NEED NEVER KNOW THEM AFTERWARDS!"

ADVANCING YEARS.

(How it strikes a Contemporary.)

["Owing to advancing years, Mr. —— has been compelled to resign his position as ——" Extract from any Daily Paper.">[

Advancing years! It cannot be.