



Produced by Punch, or the London Charivari, Malcolm Farmer,
Wayne Hammond and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdp.net






Punch, Or the London Charivari

Volume 107, November 17, 1894

_edited by Sir Francis Burnand_




[Illustration: A FITTING OPPORTUNITY.

_Comfortable Citizen (to Irish Beggar, who has asked for an old Coat)._

"BUT WHAT USE WOULD MY THINGS BE TO YOU? YOU'RE SUCH A SCARE-CROW, AND
I'M SO STOUT!"

_Irish Beggar._ "AH, YER HONOUR, BUT IT'S YOURSELF THAT HAS PLENTY OF
SPARE CLOTHES!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

TO MOLLY.

(BY Q. H. GLADSTONIUS FLACCUS, JUNIOR.)

    Sweet maid, your name I dream of incessantly,
    For, like your voice, it sounds very pleasantly,
        _Molli et canora voce dulcis,_
        _Nomine dulcis es usque molli._

    It has a charming old-fashioned smack to it,
    Beau BRUMMELL's age--it carries one back to it,
        Powder and patch, and rustic maiden,
        Name with the scent of the hayfields laden.

    Then English maid was sweet as a maid may be,
    This age has changed her, made her less staid, may be,
        'Mongst other follies now it's taught her
        How to become a "revolting daughter."

    Poor blind revolting daughter! I pity her--
    You're just as clever, probably prettier.
        In sweet content maid's sphere adorning,
        Yellow-Asterical problems scorning.

    May these be "_fandi mollia tempora_,"
    Your smile can make me proud as an emperor,
        But swift my cares, should you be frowning,
        I'll in deep waters (and strong) be drowning

    Accept my ode! Don't "think it too odious,"
    Sweet maid in name and voice so melodious,
        _Molli et canora voce dulcis,_
        _Nomine dulcis es usque molli._

       *       *       *       *       *

CLEARLY NOT _THE_ LEADER OF THE FLOCK.--Of course, the reverend
gentleman cannot be considered as a shepherd as long as his name is
_Head-lam_.

       *       *       *       *       *

LETTERS TO A DEBUTANTE.

DEAREST GLADYS,--You have made immense progress since you first came
out. Still, you will be all the better for an occasional hint from your
more sophisticated friend. Your brief engagement to the serious young
stamp-collector was--whatever may be said against it--at least, an
experience, and I don't at all disapprove of CISSY, and BABY BEAUMONT,
and the other clever boys, but--why call Captain MASHINGTON "JACK"?
That wonderful tennis-player, Mrs. LORNE HOPPER has merely, tacitly,
_lent_ him to you, she will soon be in London again, and then, shooting
and theatricals over, "JACK" will also go back to the city of mist and
fog. You will be obliged to return him, whether "with thanks" or not.
He is definitely charming, but charmingly indefinite, and, in fact, he
is playing with you as you and ORIEL played with each other, as Miss
TOOGOOD is now playing with ORIEL, and as someone (let us hope) will,
some day, play with Miss TOOGOOD. Of course, as long as you both know
it's a game and "play the rules" it's all right.

[Illustration]

I enjoyed your letter telling me how "splendidly" the theatricals
went off, and that "everyone said it was a great success." My dear
child, you are delightful--quite refreshing; and have kept, in all
its early bloom, your astonishing talent for believing that people
mean, literally, what they say. How on earth can you, or any of the
other performers, know whether it was a success or not? Of course
everyone _said_ it was. Quite so; who would be rude enough to say it
was a failure? The more atrocious the performance, the more praise
it would get. Guests _invariably_ flatter amateurs to their faces;
and, on the other hand, however admirable it may have been, they
_never_ fail to abuse it to everyone else. I don't know whether it's
jealousy, or simply irritation at being obliged to sit still (generally
in the dark), and look on while others are showing off and enjoying
themselves; but I _do_ know that they criticise severely, without
exception, all amateur entertainments. As I am your most intimate
friend, of course people think it safe to disparage you to me, and I
have had various accounts. All the men agreed that it was "awful rot,"
and the women that it was quite absurd, very dull, and as long as the
Cromwell Road; that our dear CISSY was quite too ridiculously conceited
as a manager, attempting effects, suitable only for Drury Lane, on a
tiny drawing-room stage; for instance, those dreadful stone steps, on
which you were to "trip down," and over which you tripped up. You see,
my informant caught you tripping!

CISSY, poor incompetent darling, made, it seems, touching attempts to
be "topical," and "up to date," by allusions of the tritest and lamest
description to the Empire, the CZAR, and dynamite, and by wearing a
huge green carnation. The whole thing completely missed fire, I am
told; and was the usual tedious exhibition of complacent young vanity.
You're too sensible to be offended, dear, especially as I can no more
form a judgment from _their_ description than from yours--knowing you
all to be prejudiced. However, I quite believe you looked sweet in your
pretty costume, and I wish I had been there to see the fun.

Last night, at dinner, I met your old admirer, Mr. GOLDBEITER. He
told me he wanted to be married, and asked me "to look out for a nice
wife for him." I am afraid the sort of man who says that lives to be
an old bachelor. I could have looked after him better, but that on my
other side was a person in whom I take great interest; that is to say,
someone I have only just met. The LYON TAYMERS would like him. He is
a writer, perfectly "new"; and at present the cause of great disputes
as to who discovered him. He is beautiful, of course young, and will
be very agreeable when he has settled on his pose; at present, he's a
little undecided about it.

Not having read a line of his, or even knowing he was an author, I
began with my usual formula, "I am _so_ interested in your work, Mr. DE
TROUVAILLE" (he's French by descent). He was a little doubtful of me
at first, but I think we shall become friends. He said nothing about
having met me in a previous existence, did not ask if I believed in
instantaneous sympathy, and omitted to inquire which was _not_ my day
at home. So, you see, he is not quite like everyone else. Before the
end of dinner, he had spoken, very respectfully, but not unfavourably,
of my eyes, and he is going to send me his book, _Enchantment_. He
belongs to the new literary school they call "Sensitivists." I wonder
what it means! Good-bye, dear.

  Ever your loving  MARJORIE.

       *       *       *       *       *

"NULLIS MEDICABILIS HERBIS," &c.--A youthful author suffering from a
violent attack of the critics.

       *       *       *       *       *

A POLITICAL CONFERENCE.

SCENE--_The interior of a classic Country Villa. Present--An aged,
illustrious, but retired, Statesman and Leader, engaged now in
thrumming a lyre. To him enter his youthful successor, with certain
scrolls._

_Senex_ (_eagerly_). My _dear_ PRIMULA! _So_ glad you have come! The
very man I wished to see. Be seated.

_Juvenis_ (_depositing scrolls_). A thousand thanks. Delighted to see
you looking so well, my dear GLADSTONIUS.

_Senex_ (_cheerily_). Never better, thank the gods!--_and_ the
ocularius!

    [_Twangles nimbly._

_Juvenis._ Ah! CINCINNATUS, in retirement, pleased himself with the
plough; _your_ recreation was wont to be the axe or the banjo; _now_ I
perceive it is the--harp!

_Senex_ (_sharply_). Not at all, PRIMULA, not at all. _This_ is not a
harp!

    [_Plays and sings._

    Poscimur. Si quid vacui sub umbra
    Lusimus tecum, quod et hunc in annum
    Vivat et plures, age, dic Latinum,
            Barbite, carmen.

       *       *       *       *       *

    O decus Phoebi et dapibus supremi
    Grata testudo Jovis, O laborum
    Dulce lenimen mihi cunque salve
            Rite vocanti.

_Juvenis_ (_astounded_). Charming, I'm sure!

_Senex_ (_beaming_). Think so? I fear you
flatter.

_Juvenis._ Not at all. You may say, with
your new favourite--

  "Quod si me lyricis vatibus inseres,
  Sublimi feriam sidera vertice."

_Senex_ (_modestly_). Very pretty! But I fear the ever-youthful Muses
may disdain an Old Man's belated wooing.

_Juvenis_ (_slily_). Even a _Grand_ Old Man's?

_Senex_ (_shuddering_). Nay, no more of that, an' you love me. By the
way, I wanted to consult you on a little musical matter.

_Juvenis_ (_dubiously_). Ah! Concerning yon Hibernian Harp, I presume?

_Senex_ (_impatiently_). Dear me, no! The Hibernian Harp be--jangled.
As, indeed, it is, and unstrung into the bargain.

_Juvenis_ (_relieved_). Why, have you then, like the _other_ Minstrel
Boy, "torn its chords asunder"?

_Senex._ Well, no, not that exactly. I fear its native thrummers will
spare others that trouble. But--ahem!--it is the Horatian Lyre that
interests me at present.

_Juvenis._ I see:--

    "Quem virum aut heroa lyra vel acri
    Tibia sumis celebrare, Clio?
    Quem deum? Cujus recinet jocosa Nomen imago,
    Aut in umbrosis Heliconis oris
    Aut super Pindo gelidove in Haemo?"

_Senex_ (_musingly_). Hum! I have not yet tried the Tibia--the shrill
pipe--but I _may_.

_Juvenis._ Doubtless; and you are quite equal to it.

_Senex_ (_drily_). Thanks! But I've no wish, my dear PRIMULA, "to play
the _role_ of elderly _Narcissus_." At present my part is only that of
_Echo_--to the Venusian's vibrant voice.

    [_Muses._

_Juvenis_ (_taking advantage of the opportunity_). Well, my dear
GLADSTONIUS, there are one or two little matters upon which I want to
take your opinion. For example, CAECILIUS----

_Senex_ (_quickly_). "CAECILIUS, who provoked the populace to such a
degree, that CICERO could hardly restrain them from doing him violence."
Do you want me to play the part of CICERO?

_Juvenis_ (_taken aback_). Well--ahem!--hardly _that_, perhaps. But----

_Senex_ (_interrupting him_). My dear PRIMULA, as I have already said in
response to an appeal from a friend of the modern ORBILIUS (_not_ like
HORACE'S pedagogue, "_Plagosus_," though), "After a contentious life of
fifty-two years, I am naturally anxious to spend the remainder of my
days in freedom from controversy."

_Juvenis._ Oh! Quite so--of course. But ahem!--the people are a little
pressing----

_Senex._ Eh? To hurtful measures? What says AUGUSTUS's "pleasant
mannikin" again, _a propos_?

    [_Thrums._

    Justum et tenacem propositi virum
    Non civium ardor prava jubentium,
      Non vultus instantis tyranni,
        Mente quatit solida neque Auster,

    Dux inquieti turbidus Hadriae,
    Nec fulminantis magna manus Jovis
      Si fractus illabitur orbis,
        Impavidum ferient ruinae.

_Juvenis._ Doubtless. One such as yourself, "retired from business,"
like your beloved HORACE on his Sabine farm.

                        "Ille potens sui
    Laetusque deget, cui licet in diem
      Dixisse Vixi;"

But of me it cannot--yet--be said--

    "He, master of himself, in mirth may live
    Who saith, 'I rest well pleased with former days.'"

_Senex._ Hah! Sir JOHN BEAUMONT's version. Not so bad, but might be
improved, I think. By the way, why should not you and I do the
"Satires"--together?

_Juvenis._ Charmed, I am sure. Just now, however, I fear I'm a little
too busy.

_Senex._ Pooh! Only occupies one's odd moments, and is as easy as
shaving, or shaping a new Constitution. For example, I'll give you an
impromptu version--call it adaptation if you like--of the first "Ad
Maecenatem":

  "Maecenas atavis edite regibus."

_Juvenis._ Oh! thanks, _so_ much! Only----

_Senex._ It won't take ten minutes. Listen!

     [_Tunes up and sings._

AD ROSEBERIAM.

    PRIMULA, from old Scotia sprung!
    My chos'n successor, though so young!
    "_You_,'midst Olympian dust delight
    To whirl the chariot's rapid flight.
    _I_'ll watch your glowing axles roll
    Nicely around the close-grazed goal.
    You hold the palm of wondrous worth
    Which late I wore upon the earth:
    The Commons, now, sole crown desire,
    And to un-veto'd power aspire.
    You'll have enough to rule the deep
    And Gaul placate, and Libya keep.
    I'm now a swain who loves his toil,
    To tune his pipe, and tend his soil.
    Not Asia's wealth tempts me to sail
    O'er faction's deep, and brave the gale.
    Some say, though now, in love with ease,
    I shun the storms of party seas;
    That soon I'll summon the old crew,
    And rig our shattered bark anew.
    Too much I love this ancient wine,
    Pressed from the old Venusian's vine!
    Lo my free limbs at leisure laid!
    The old instruments that once I played,
    The harp, the banjo, hung aloft!
    Hibernian airs, though sweet and soft,
    And Ethiopian minstrelsy,
    No longer have much charm for me.
    Now I prefer the Lydian lyre,
    And of bland HORACE never tire.
    You youngsters like a martial life--
    The trumpet-challenge and the strife;
    With ardour seek the tented plain.
    Your "gauntlet's down"! Good may you gain!
    For me, another line I choose,
    And, late in life, I court the Muse,
    Unmindful of Bellona's charms,
    And the old stir of War's alarm.
    Ah! once in full tilt I had borne
    Against CAECILIUS full of scorn;
    But Music now seems more divine!
    With ivy-wreaths my temples shine.
    Far from the world's tumultuous throng,
    The nymphs seduce me with their song;
    Here in cool grove I'm going to dwell.
    Like HORACE, with "the sounding shell."
    I feel a wish--sweet leisure's fruit--
    To tootle on Euterpe's lute;
    With Polyhymnia I desire
    To twangle on the Lesbian lyre.
    If, late, to lyric fame I rise,
    My brow indeed shall strike the skies."

There! What think you of that--for an impromptu?

_Juvenis_ (_rousing himself_). Oh, excellent--most excellent! How _do_
you do it? And now, my dear GLADSTONIUS, with your _kind_ permission,
we will go----

_Senex_ (_promptly_). To dinner! Exactly, my dear PRIMULA.

    Nunc is bibendum, nunc pede libero
    Pulsanda tellus, nunc Saliaribus,
      Ornare pulvinar deorum
      Tempus erat, dapibus, sodales.

Come along, my boy!!!

    [_Skips away, followed slowly by his guest._

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A POLITICAL CONFERENCE.

"GLADSTONIUS PARVAM REM HORATIANAM COMPOSITIONIS SUOE AD ROSEBERIUM
RECITANS."]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A GOOD GUESS.

_First 'Arry