VOL. 98, FEBRUARY 8, 1890***


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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI

VOL. 98.

FEBRUARY 8, 1890.







[Illustration: ]

UNTILED; OR, THE MODERN ASMODEUS.

    "Tres volontiers," repartit le demon. "Vous aimez les tableaux
    changeans: je veux vous contenter."

_Le Diable Boiteux._

  XIX.

  "A Late Symposium! Yet they're not engaged
  In compotations. Argument hath raged
    Four hours by the dial;
  But zealotry of party, creed, or clique
  Marks not the clock, whilst of polemic pique
    There's one unvoided vial."

  So smiled the Shade. Dusk coat and gleaming head,
  Viewed from above, before my gaze outspread
    Like a black sea bespotted
  With bare pink peaks of coral isles; all eyes
  Were fixed on one who reeled out rhapsodies
    In diction double-shotted.

  A long and lofty room, with pillars cold,
  And spacious walls of chocolate and gold;
    The solid sombre glory
  Of tint oppressive and of tasteless shine,
  Dear to the modern British Philistine,
    Saint, sceptic, Whig, or Tory.

  "No Samson-strength of intellect or taste
  Shall bow the pillars of this temple chaste
    Of ugliness and unction.
  What is't they argue lengthily and late?
  The flame of patriot passion for the State
    Fires this polemic function.

  "A caitiff Government has done a thing
  To make its guardian-angel droop her wing
    In sickened indignation:
  That is, has striven to strengthen its redoubts,
  Perfidious 'Ins,' to foil the eager 'Outs.'
    Hence endless execration.

  "Hence all Wire-pullerdom is up in arms;
  With clarion-toned excursions and alarms
    The rival camp is ringing.
  Hence perky commoners and pompous peers,
  'Midst vehement applause and volleying cheers,
    Stale platitudes are stringing.

  "The British Public--some five hundred strong--
  Is here to'strangle a Gigantic Wrong,'--
    So MARABOUT is saying.
  Watch his wide waistcoat and his wandering eyes,
  His stamping boots of Brobdingnagian size,
    Clenched hands, and shoulders swaying.

  "A great Machine-man, MARABOUT! He dotes
  On programmes hectographed and Party votes.
    For all his pasty pallor
  And shifty glance, he has the mob's regard,
  And he is deemed by council, club, and ward
    A mighty man of valour.

  "A purchased henchman to a Star of State?
  Perhaps. But here he'll pose and perorate,
    A Brutus vain and voluble.
  And who, like MARABOUT, with vocal flux
  Of formulas, can settle every _crux_
    That wisdom finds insoluble?

  "'Hear! hear!' That shibboleth of shallow souls
  Around his ears in clamorous cadence rolls;
    He swells, he glows, he twinkles;
  The sapient Chairman wags his snowy pate,
  Whilst cynic triumph, cautious yet elate,
    Lurks laughing in his wrinkles.

  "And there sits honest zeal, absorbed, intent,
  And cheerfully credulous. MARABOUT has bent
    To the Commercial Dagon
  He publicly derides; but many here
  Will toast 'his genuine grit, his manly cheer,'
    Over a friendly flagon.

  "Look on him later! There he snugly sits
  With his rich patron. Were it war of wits
    That wakes their crackling chuckles,
  They scarce were heartier. It would strangely shock
  MARABOUT'S worshippers to hear him mock
    The'mob' to which he truckles.

  "Truckles in platform speech. In club-room chat
  With WAGSTAFF, shrewd wire-puller, flushed and fat,
    Or DODD, the rich dry-salter,
  You'd hear how supply he can shift and twist,
  How BRUTUS with 'the base Monopolist'
    Can calmly plot and palter,"

  "Whilst MARABOUTS abound, O Shade," I cried,
  "What wonder men are 'Mugwumps?'" Then my guide
    Laughed low. "The aesthetic villa
  Finds Shopdom's zeal on its fine senses jar;
  Yet the Mugwumps Charybdis stands not far
    From the Machine-man's Scylla.

  "Culture derides the Caucus for its heat,
  Its hate--its absence of the Light and Sweet,
    So jays might flout the vulture.
  Partisan bitterness and purblind haste?
  Come, view the haunts of dilettante Taste,
    The coteries of Culture!

  "Here _Savants_ wrangle o'er a fossil bone,
  CHAMPER, with curling lip and caustic tone,
    At RUDDIMAN is railing.
  CHAMPER knows everything, from PLATO'S text
  To Protoplasm; yet his soul is vext,
    His cheeks with spite are paling.

  "Why? Because RUDDIMAN, the rude, robust,
  Has pierced with logic's vigorous vulgar thrust
    The shield of icy polish.
  CHAMPER, in print, is hot on party-hate,
  Here his one aim is in the rough debate
    His rival to demolish.

  "Sweet Reasonableness? Another host
  Of sages see! The habits of the Ghost,
    The Astral Body's action,
  Absorb them, eager. Does more furious fire
  The councils of the Caucusites inspire,
    Or light the feuds of faction?

  "And there? They argue out with toil intense
  A 'cosmic' poet's esoteric sense,
    Of which a world, unwitting,
  Recks nothing. Yet how terribly they'd trounce
  Parliament's pettifogging, and denounce
    'Political hair-splitting'!"

  "O Shade, the difference is but small, one dreads.
  Betwixt logomachists at loggerheads,
    Whether their theme be bonnets
  Or British interests. Zealot ardour burns
  Scarce fiercer o'er Electoral Returns
    Than over SHAKSPEARE'S Sonnets.

  "At MARABOUT the Mugwump sniffs and sneers;
  Gregarious 'votes of thanks' and sheepish 'cheers'
    Stir him to satire scornful.
  But when sleek Culture apes, irate and loud,
  The follies of the Caucus and the Crowd,
    The spectacle is mournful."

  "True!" smiled the Shade. "Yon supercilious sage,
  With patent prejudice and petty rage,
    Penning a tart jobation
  On practised Statesmen, must as much amuse
  As Statesmen-sciolists venting vapid views
    On rocks and revelation."

  (_To be continued._)

       *       *       *       *       *

THE SOUTH-EASTERN ALPHABET.

  A was the Anger evinced far and wide;
  B was the Boat-train delayed by the tide;
  C was the Chairman who found nothing wrong;
  D was the Driver who sang the same song;
  E was the Engine that stuck on the way;
  F stood for Folkestone, reached late every day;
  G was the Grumble to which this gave rise;
  H was the Hubbub Directors despise;
  I was the Ink over vain letters used;
  J were the Junctions which some one abused;
  K was the Kick "Protest" got for its crimes;
  L were the Letters it wrote to the _Times_;
  M was the Meeting that probed the affair;
  N was the Nothing that came of the scare;
  O was the Overdue train on its way;
  P was the Patience that bore the delay;
  Q was the Question which struck everyone;
  R the Reply which could satisfy none;
  S was the Station where passengers wait;
  T was the Time that they're bound to be late;
  U was the Up-train an hour overdue;
  V was the Vagueness its movements pursue;
  W stood for time's general Waste;
  X for Ex-press that could never make haste;
  Y for the Wherefore and Why of this wrong;
  And Z for the Zanies who stand it so long!

       *       *       *       *       *

STARTLING FOR GOURMETS.--"_Bisques_ disallowed." But it only refers to a
new rule of the Lawn Tennis Association; so "_Bisque d'ecrevisses_" will
still be preserved to us among the _embarras de richesse_--(_i.e._ the
trouble caused subsequently by the richness,--_free trans._)--of a
thoroughgoing French dinner.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE NEW TUNE.

[Illustration: ]

_Le Brav' General tootles_:--

  Heroes bold owe much to bold songs.
  What's that? "Cannot sing the old songs"?
  Pooh! 'Tis a Britannic ditty.
  Truth, though, in it,--more's the pity!
  "_En revenant de la Revue._"
  People tire of that--too true!
  I must give them something new.
    Played out, Frenchmen? _Pas de danger!_
    Whilst you've still your _Brav'_ BOULANGER!

  Do they think BOULANGER "mizzles,"
  After all his recent "fizzles"?
  (Most expressive slang, the Yankee!)
  _Pas si bete_, my friends. No thank ye!
  Came a cropper? Very true!
  But I remount--my hobby's new,
  So's my trumpet. Rooey-too!
    France go softly? _Pas de danger!_
    Whilst she has her _Brav'_ BOULANGER!

  Cannot say her looks quite flatter.
  Rather scornful. What's the matter?
  Have you lost your recent fancy
  For me and my charger prancy?
  Turn those eyes this way, now _do_!
  Mark my hobby,--not a screw!
  Listen to my _chanson_ new!
    BISMARCK flout you? _Pas de danger!_
    _He's_ afraid of _Brav'_ BOULANGER.

  Of your smile be not so chary!
  The sixteenth of February
  Probably will prove my care is
  The especial charge of Paris.
  Then you'll know that I am true.
  "_En revenant de la Revue_;"
  Stick to me, I'll stick to you.
    Part with you, sweet? _Pas de danger!_
    Not the game of _Brav'_ BOULANGER!

       *       *       *       *       *

THE CAPTAIN OF THE "PARIS."

  Captain SHARP, of the Newhaven steamer, _Paris, you_'re no craven;
    Grim and growling was the gale that you from your dead reckoning
      bore;
  And, but for your brave behaving, she might never have made haven,
    But have foundered in mid-Channel, or been wrecked on a lee-shore.
  With your paddle-floats unfeathered, wonder was it that you weathered
    Such a storm as that of Sunday, which upset our nerves on land,
  Though in fire-side comfort tethered. How it blew, and blared,
      and blethered!
    All your passengers, my Captain, say your pluck and skill were
      grand.
  Much to men like you is owing, when wild storms around are blowing,
    As they seem to have been doing since the opening of the year:
  Howling, hailing, sleeting, snowing; but for captains calm and
      knowing,
    Passage of our angry Channel were indeed a task of fear.
  Well, you brought them safely through it, when not every man could do
      it,
    And your passengers, my Captain, are inspired with gratitude.
  Therefore, _Mr. Punch_ thus thanks you, and right readily enranks you,
    As a hero on the record of our briny island brood.
  Verily the choice of "_Paris_" in this case proved right; and rare is
    Fitness between name and nature such as that _you_ illustrate.
  Captain SHARP! A proper _nomen_, and it proved a prosperous omen
    To your passengers, whom _Punch_ must on their luck congratulate.

       *       *       *       *       *

ON BOARD THE CHANNEL STEAMER "PARIS" (_Night of Saturday, January 25,
1890_).--"SHARP'S the word!"

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: NOTHING LIKE A CHANGE!

_Dr. Cockshure._ "MY GOOD SIR, WHAT _YOU_ WANT IS THOROUGH ALTERATION OF
CLIMATE. THE ONLY THING TO CURE _YOU_ IS A LONG SEA VOYAGE!"

_Patient._ "THAT'S RATHER INCONVENIENT. YOU SEE I'M ONLY JUST HOME FROM
A SEA VOYAGE ROUND THE WORLD!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

The title of the second chapter of _The Days of the Dandies_, in
_Blackwood_, is calculated to excite curiosity,--it is, "Some Great
Beauties, and some Social Celebrities." After reading the article, I
think it would have been styled more correctly, "A Few Great Beauties."
However, it is discursively amusing and interesting. There is much truth
in the paper on Modern Mannish Maidens. I hold that no number of a
Magazine is perfect without a tale of mystery and wonder, or a
ghost-story of some sort. I hope I have not overlooked one of these in
any Magazine for this month that I have seen. Last month there was a
good one in _Macmillan_, and another in _Belgravia_. I forget their
titles, unfortunately, and have mislaid the Magazines. But
_After-thoughts_, in this month's _Macmillan_, is well worth perusal.

[Illustration: ]

My faithful "Co." has been looking through the works of reference. He
complains that _Dod's Peerage, Baronetage, and Knighthood for 1890_ is
carelessly edited. He notes, as a sample, that Sir HENRY LELAND
HARRISON, who is said to have been born in 1857, is declared to have
entered the Indian Civil Service in 1860, when he was only three years
old--a manifest absurdity. As _Mr. Punch_ himself pointed out this
_betise_ in _Dod's &c., &c., for 1889_, it should have been corrected in
the new edition. "If this sort of thing continues," says the faithful
"Co.," "_Dod_ will be known as _Dodder_, or even _Dodderer_!" Sir
BERNARD BURKE'S _Genealogical and Heraldic Dictionary of the Peerage and
Baronetage_ is, in every sense, a noble volume, and seems to have been
compiled with the greatest care and accuracy. KELLY'S _Post Office
Directory_, of course, is a necessity to every man of letters.
_Whitaker's Almanack for 1890_ seems larger than usual, and better than
ever. WEBSTER'S _Royal Red Book_, and GARDINER'S _Royal Blue Book_, it
goes without saying, are both written by men of address. _The Century
Atlas and Gazetteer_ is a book amongst a hundred. Finally, the _Era
Almanack for 1890_, conducted by EDWARD LEDGER, is, as usual, full of
information concerning things theatrical--some of it gay, some of it
sad. "Replies to Questions by Actors and Actresses" is the liveliest
contribution in the little volume. The Obituary contains the name of
"EDWARD LITT LEMAN BLANCHARD," dramatist, novellist, and journalist, who
died on the 4th of September, 1889. It is hard to realise the _Era
Almanack_ without the excellent contributions of poor "E. L. B.!"

"Co." furnishes some other notes in a livelier strain:--

_Matthew Prior._ (KEGAN PAUL.) If you are asked to go out in this
abominable weather, shelter yourself under the wing of Mr. AUSTIN
DOBSON, and plead a prior engagement. (Ha! Ha!) You will find the
engagement both prior and profitable. Mr. DOBSON'S introductory essay is
not only exhaustive, but in the highest degree interesting, and his
selection from the poems has been made with great taste and rare
discretion.

_In the Garden of Dreams._ The lack of poets of the softer sex has been
recently a subject of remark. Lady-novelists we have in super-abundance,
of lady-dramatists we have more than enough, of lady-journalists we have
legions--but lady-poets we have but few. Possibly, they flourish more on
the other side of the Atlantic. At any rate we have a good example of
the American Muse in the latest volume by Mrs. LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON.
This little book is full of grace, its versification is melodious, and
has the genuine poetic ring about it, which is as rare as it is
acceptable. It can scarcely fail to find favour with English readers.

  BARON DE BOOK-WORMS & CO.

       *       *       *       *       *

EPIDEMIOLOGICAL.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,--The Camel is reported to be greatly instrumental in the
spread of cholera. This is evidently the Bacterian Camel, whose
humps--or is it hump?--have long been such a terror to those who really
don't care a bit how many humps an animal has.

Yours faithfully, HUMPHRY CAMPBELL.

       *       *       *       *       *

To THOSE WHO GET THEIR LIVING BY DYEING.--"Sweet Auburn!" exclaimed a
ruddy, aureate-haired lady of uncertain age,--anything, in fact, after
fifty,--"'Sweet Auburn!'" she repeated, musingly, "What does 'Sweet
Auburn' come from?" "Well," replied her husband, regarding her
_coiffure_ with an air of uncertainty, "I'm not quite sure, but I think
'Sweet Auburn' should be GRAY."

       *       *       *       *       *

MR. PUNCH'S MORAL MUSIC-HALL DRAMAS.

No. V.--BRUNETTE AND BLANCHIDINE.

_A Melodramatic Didactic Vaudeville, suggested by "The Wooden Doll and
the Wax Doll." By the Misses Jane and Ann Taylor._

[Illustration:]

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

_Blanchidine_,} By the celebrated SISTERS STILTON, the Champion
_Brunette_.   }      Duettists and Clog-dancers.


_Fanny Furbelow._ By MISS SYLVIA SEALSKIN (_by kind permission of
                      the Gaiety Management_).

_Frank Manly._ By MR. HENRY NEVILLE.

SCENE--_A Sunny Glade in Kensington Gardens, between the Serpentine
and Round Pond_.

_Enter_ BLANCHIDINE _and_ BRUNETTE, _with their arms thrown
    affectionately around one another_. BLANCHIDINE _is carrying a large
    and expressionless wooden doll_.

            _Duet and Step-dance._

  _Bl._ Oh, I do adore BRUNETTE! (_Dances._) Tippity-tappity,
      tappity-tippity, tippity-tappity, tip-tap!

  _Br_. BLANCHIDINE'S the sweetest pet! (_Dances._) Tippity-tappity, &c.

_Together._ When the sun is high,
            We come out to ply,
            Nobody is nigh,
            All is mirth and j'y!

            With a pairosol,
            We'll protect our doll,
            Make a mossy bed
            For her wooden head!

    [_Combination step-dance, during which both watch their feet with an
    air of detached and slightly amused interest, as if they belonged to
    some other persons._

    Clickity-clack, clickity-clack, clickity, clickity, clickity-clack;
      clackity-clickity, clickity-clackity, clackity-clickity-_clack_!

            [_Repeat ad. lib._

  _Bl._ (_apologetically to Audience_). Her taste in dress is rather
          plain! (_Dances._) Tippity-tappity, &c.

  _Br._ (_in pitying aside_). It _is_ a