Chapter IV

When the wind's Nor-West by West,
Man and beast are rarely blessed.
Sometimes I like mutton best,
Often I like veal.
A poet (_not_ a puny 'un)
Who raves about the Union,
And hymns the States Communion,
Takes none the less his meal.

* * * * *

In the City. Thursday Last.

_First Member of Stock Exchange_ (_Unionist_). I say, JONES, you weren't in it! Why didn't you join us marching in procession, with CLARKE carrying the Union Jack, eh?

_Second Member of the House._ Why didn't I join you? Because I didn't want to make a Union-Jack-ass of myself!

[_Exit, before the retort is possible._

* * * * *

A Pair of Spectacles.

(_After hearing a much interrupted Speech in the Commons._)

When a batsman has to go
To the tent with a "round O,"
He knows _he's_ not made a hit.
When a Statesman's hitting well,
The round "Oh's" around him swell
(Dullards' substitutes for wit).
In debate or cricket score,
The "round O" means _nought_--no more!

* * * * *

_Fair Hostess._ "GOOD-NIGHT, MAJOR JONES. WE'RE SUPPOSED TO BREAKFAST AT NINE; BUT WE'RE NOT VERY PUNCTUAL PEOPLE. INDEED, THE LATER YOU APPEAR TO-MORROW MORNING, THE BETTER PLEASED WE SHALL ALL BE!"]

* * * * *

May 10, 1893.

MR. PUNCH'S VISION AT THE OPENING OF THE IMPERIAL INSTITUTE.

_This Spring's soft beauty is a joy for ever;
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass to forgetfulness; we still must keep
Fond memories of this Maytime, calm as sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on this May morning are we wreathing
A flowery band, to bind us round the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of patriot natures, Mammen-ridden days,
And Toil's unhealthy and o'erdarkened ways
Made for our mending: yes, in spite of all
This Mayday Vision moves away the pall
From our dark spirits!_

KEATS _adapted to the occasion._

Thy pardon, _Adonais_, pray,
That on this memorable morning
We twist those lovely lines astray,
As modish maid, her charms adorning
A trail may twine of eglantine
Into the formal "set" of Fashion.
Yet wouldst thou gladly lend thy line
To present need; for patriot passion,
Love of the little sea-girt land,
Has ever fired our English singers.
Of England's fame, from strand to strand,
Their songs have been the widest wingers.
So, _Adonais_, this great day
Were "Welcome as the flowers in May!"

The "flowery band" of KEATS'S song
Our Empire's sons to-day are wreathing;
Long may it bind, and blossom long.
The May-flower's fragrance round us breathing
Is nothing sweeter than the thought
To patriot hearts of loyal union.
Together we have toiled and fought,
But gay to-day is our communion.
BRITANNIA'S helm is crowned with flowers,
BRITANNIA'S trident's wreathed with posies,
And Fancy sees in Flora's showers
Thistles and Shamrocks blent with Roses.
The Indian Lotus let us twine
With gorgeous bloom from Afric's jungles
Canadian Birch with Austral Pine.
Tape-bound Officialdom oft bungles;
Some blow too hot, some breathe too cold,
O'er-chill are some, and some o'er-gushing;
But the same blood-stream, warm and bold,
Through all our veins is ever rushing;
And so to all true hearts to-day
Comes "Welcome as the flowers in May!"

A QUEEN is with us, to evince
Imperial sympathy unfailing;
And pleasant to our genial PRINCE
This proof that all seems now plainsailing;
With his great purpose. Some sneered, "Whim!"
But general shouts now drown their sneering.
A special salvo's due to _him_
Amidst to-day's exuberant cheering.
Hail the Imperial Institute!
And hail the patient Prince promoter!
The man who's neither cynic brute,
Nor phrase-led sycophantic doter,
May echo that. Our patriot tap
Is old, well-kept and genuine stingo;
Not the chill quidnunc's cold cat-lap,
Nor crude fire-water of the Jingo,
But sound as good old English ale,
Full-bodied, fragrant, mild, and mellow.
To try that tap _Punch_ will not fail,
Nor any other right good fellow.
A bumper of that draught to-day
Is "Welcome as the flowers in May!"

Weave on! And may that "flowery band"
Be surer bond than forged steel fetters.
Ho! Hands all round! Whilst hand-in-hand
We need not fear the fierce sword-whetters
Who'd make the pleasant earth a camp,
And stain blood-red the white May-flowers.
May echoes of no mailed tramp
Disturb ye in your Spring-deck'd bowers,
Glad garland-weavers! Heaven bestow
"Sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing,"
One thing above all others know,
Ye who the earth-round band are wreathing,
To-day, to-morrow, _any_ day,
You're "Welcome as the flowers in May!"

* * * * *

"PLAYING THE DUSE."--MR. HORACE SEDGER announces the engagement at the Lyric of Mlle. DUSE. The Manager must be prosperous; at all events, _he_ is not going to the Duse, but the Duse is coming to him. And as to the Theatre--well, if it isn't a success, the Duse is in it!

* * * * *

"SHE ANSWERED 'YUSS'!"--The most recent and most important change of name is from "I MAY" to "I WILL."

* * * * *

"THEREFORE ON THIS BRIGHT MAY DAY ARE WE WREATHING A FLOWERY BAND TO BIND US ROUND THE EARTH."--KEATS, _slightly altered._]

* * * * *

THANK YOU!

(_For a Photograph, inscribed "With Ethel Travers's kind regards."_)

It was only a week in the brightest of summers,
We played tennis and golf, and, when ended the day,
We made furious love as two amateur mummers,
Whilst Act IV. saw us One in the orthodox way.

So my holiday ended. I begged a reminder,
I asked you to send me a portrait that should
Be a sweet recollection, and you, who were kinder
Than I ever deserved or dared hope, said you would.

Then we parted. Life seemed to be painfully lonely,
Though I dreamt of a future with you by my side,
Till my common-sense seemed to say, "_You_, who are only,
Just a poor needy teacher, have _Her_ for a bride!"

It was true, and I knew it. Yet why had I met you?
Why had Fate kept such bitter-sweet fortune in store?
So determined I set myself then to forget you,
And to let my thoughts dwell on yourself nevermore.

First your hair with its gold, next your eyes with their laughter,
I forgot in a thoroughly workman-like style.
Persevering, I never desisted till after
Many months I but faintly remembered your smile.

I completely forgot you (I thought) and the warning
Was to save me, I chortled, a future of pain,
But you undid it all with your picture this morning,
And the same old, old trouble starts over again.

The Fates are a trifle hard, putting it mildly,
For they well might have spared me this finishing touch
Of your portrait, which speaking quite calmly yet Wildely,
I admire all the more since I hate it so much.

I shall treasure it, though. Thanks--a thousand--to you, dear.
When in sweet meditation your fancy runs free,
Is it asking too much that a stray thought or two, dear,
From your kindness of heart may come straying to me?

* * * * *

POLITICS AND POLITENESS.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,--I see that the Duke of ARGYLL, when he received the freedom of the Burgh of Paisley, the other day, told the following interesting story:--

"I was going once to call on a lady in London, and when the
door was opened and the servant announced my name, I saw
the lady advancing to the door with a look of absolute
consternation on her face. I could not conceive what
had happened, and thought I had entered her room at some
inconvenient moment, but, on looking over her shoulder, I
perceived Mr. and Mrs. GLADSTONE sitting at the tea-table, and
she evidently thought that there would be some great explosion
when we met. She was greatly gratified when nothing of the
kind occurred, and we enjoyed a cup of tea as greatly as we
had ever done in our lives."

Now, my dear _Mr. Punch_, I have great sympathy with "the Lady," and think (with her) the meeting, as described by his Grace of ARGYLL, was mild in the extreme. If something out of the common had taken place, it would have been far more satisfactory. To make my meaning plainer, I give roughly (in dramatic form) what should have happened to have made the action worthy of the occasion.

SCENE--_A Drawing-room. Lady entertaining_ Mr. _and_ Mrs. G. _at tea. A loud knock heard without._

_Mrs. G._ (_greatly agitated_). Oh dear, I am sure it is he!

_Mr. G._ (_with calm dignity_). Do not fear--if he appears, I shall know how to deal with him.

_Lady_ (_pale but calm_). Nay, my good, kind friends, believe me, you shall not suffer from the indiscretion of the servant.

_Mrs. G._ (_pushing her husband into a cupboard_). Nay, WILLIAM, for my sake! And now to conceal myself, so that he may not suspect his presence by my proximity. [_Hides behind the curtains._

_The Duke of Argyll_ (_breaking open the door, and entering hurriedly_). And now, Madam, where is my hated foe? I have tracked him to this house. It is useless to attempt to conceal him.

_The Lady_ (_laughing uneasily_). Nay, your Grace, you are too facetious! Trace the PREMIER here! Next you will be saying that he and his good lady were taking tea with me.

_The Duke_ (_suspiciously_). And, no doubt, so they were! This empty cup, that half-devoured muffin--to whom do they belong?

_The Lady_ (_with forced gaiety_). Might I not have entertained Mr. and Mrs. JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN, my Lord Duke?

_The Duke_ (_aside_). Can I believe her? (_Aloud._) But if it is as you say, I will send away my clansmen who throng the street without. (_Opens window and calls._) _Gang a waddy Caller Herring!_ They will now depart. (_A sneeze heard off._) What was that?

_The Lady_ (_terrified_). I fancy it was the wind--the cold wind--and now, believe me, Mr. GLADSTONE will abandon Home Rule.

_Mr. G._ (_suddenly appearing_). Never! I tell you to your face that you are a traitor! [_Sneezes, and hurriedly closes the window._

_The Duke_ (_savagely_). That sneeze shall be your last!

[_Takes up a knife lying on the table._

_Mr. G._ (_repeating the action_). I am ready, Sir!

_Mrs. G._ (_rushing between them_). Oh, WILLIAM! Do not fight!

_The Lady_ (_falling on her knees_). I prithee stay!

_Mr. G._ Never! May the better man win!

_The Duke._ So be it!

[_The Scene closes in upon a desperate duel. Curtain._

_There, Mr. Punch!_ What do you think of that? Still, perhaps, under the circumstances of the case, it is better as it is.

Yours most truly,
ONE WHO NEVER PAID TWOPENCE FOR MANNERS.

* * * * *

THE LITIGANT'S VADE MECUM.

_Question._ Can you tell me the best possible regulations in the universe?

_Answer._ Certainly English Common Law.

_Q._ Is English Common Law accessible to everyone?

_A._ Certainly, and if a litigant please, he or she (for sex makes no difference) can become his or her own advocate.

_Q._ When a litigant prefers to conduct a case in person, does the proceeding invariably save expense?

_A._ Not invariably, because a litigant may have odd views about the importance of evidence and the time of professional advisers.

_Q._ When a litigant is afflicted with this lack of knowledge what is the customary result?

_A._ That the defendants have to undergo the expense of a several-days' trial with counsel to match.

_Q._ Supposing that a journalist, sharply but justly, criticises the actions of a man of straw--what can the man of straw do?

_A._ With the aid of some speculative Solicitor, he can commence an action for libel.

_Q._ What benefit does the speculative Solicitor obtain?

_A._ The speculative Solicitor, if he can persuade a judge and jury to agree, will get his costs, and if the journalist wins he will find that the prosecutor or plaintiff is, indeed, a man of straw.

_Q._ Is there any redress?

_A._ None; but a wise journalist will never criticise sharply.

* * * * *

THE PICK OF THE R.A. PICTURES. No. 2.

No. 139. _Ca donne a penser._ Not a more suggestive pose does any portrait possess throughout the Galleries. It is described _tout court_ as "ALBERT BRASSEY, Esq.," and 'tis the work (and the pleasure) of W. W. OULESS, R.A. "'Tis a fine work!" says BOB to 'ARRY. "O' course," returns 'ARRY JOKER. "Great! _'Ow less_ could be expected of 'im tho', I dun no." It represents an undecided moment in Mr. ALBERT BRASSEY'S life. It is as if he were Mr. "_All but_" BRASSEY, and wasn't quite certain of what he should do next. There is the writing-desk,--shall he indite a letter? If he does so, shall he take off his thick-fur coat? Or shall he go hunting, since he has on, underneath the furrin' fur, the pink of hunting perfection? Likewise he has his whip and his horn, also his boots! He's "got 'em on!" He's "got 'em _all_ on!" Or shall he hail the 5,000-ton yacht that's lying in the roads just a few yards from his open window, and go out for a cruise? He looks happy, but puzzled.

No. 167. _The Right Hon. H. H. Fowler, M.P._ "Presentation Portrait," painted by ARTHUR S. COPE. "When the Right Hon. Gentleman rose to speak, the House, with the exception of a clerk at the table and two small boys (whose presence within the precincts has never been satisfactorily accounted for) was empty."--_Extract from The Imaginary Times Parliamentary Report of that date._

No. 350. _Mrs. Keeley at the age of Eighty-six._ Looking so well and sprightly, that the Artist must have been at considerable pains to induce her to sit still just one moment for her portrait. Long may she remain with us! Our compliments to the Artist, JULIA B. FOLKARD.

No. 434. Mr. SOMERSCALES has given us the best sea-piece of the year. It shows a "_Corvette shortening sail to pick up a shipwrecked crew_." "A sale in sight appeared!"--and as the picture, so it is said, was immediately sold, so also were those who came too late to make a bid.

No. 524. _Gentleman writing._ "A nice quiet corner for a little composition away from all those speaking likenesses." J. W. FORSTER.

No. 533. This is a sad-looking little girl, painted by WILLIAM CARTER. She has an unsettled expression. Is she suffering from what the Clown calls "teezy-weezies-in-the-pandenoodles," and, as Sir JOHN MILLAIS'S "_Bubbles_" served P**RS for an advertisement, is it beyond the range of probability that this, being associated with the name of "CARTER," should be intended as a pictorial advertisement for the well-known "L-ttle L-v-r P-lls"?

No. 535. Portrait (presumably) of _C. R. Fletcher Lutwidge, Esq._ By ST. GEORGE HARE. Ha! Ha! Ha! By St. George you Ha're bound to laugh directly you look at it. You can't help it. "C. R. F. L." is chuckling to himself and saying, "Ha! Ha! I've just thought of _such_ a funny thing! Ha! Ha! Ha!" And he _is_ enjoying it so! As the song says, "O Mister (I forget the name), what a funny little man you are!"

No. 553. This, by Mr. MARKHAM SKIPWORTH, is a portrait of _Dr. E. Ker Gray, LL.D_ of St. George's Chapel, Mayfair. "KER GRAY!" it ought to be "Ker Scarlet."

No. 862. _Portrait of a Gentleman_, by PHIL R. MORRIS, A. The Portrait, annoyed at being next to SIDNEY COOPER'S, R A., "_Be it ever so humble, &c._," representing head of a jackass, and some sheepish sheep, is evidently saying to itself, "Hang the Hanging Committee! They show me as next door to a donkey."

No. 888. _The Wedding Gifts._ The pretty Bride is a bit frightened at seeing the Groom leading up two bare-back'd steeds. "Oh!" she cries, "I can't ride _them_! Why (_to her husband_) did you give me these?" "My dear," says he, "why not? Here are the bare-backed steeds, and you've already got the Ring." S. E. WALLER.

No. 892. "_Your Health!_" A Birthday Party at Mr. ERNEST HART'S. Painted by S. J. SOLOMON. As a subject, the wisdom of SOLOMON is questionable as a specimen of Hacademie Hart--ahem! However, to the toast of "_Your Health_!" as addressed to Mr. ERNEST HART, Master SOL might have added the words, "_Most Ernestly and Hartily_."

No. 928. _Exhibition of Miss Biffin_, "who has no legs to speak of." "If you saw my ancles," said _Miss Mowcher_, "I should go home and kill myself." But ARTHUR HACKER, whose capital work it is, calls it "_Circe_."

No. 937. "_It might have been_," by F. STUART SINDICI, represents NAPOLEON and WELLINGTON out walking together, in 1847, near the Horse Guards. "It might have been" _if_ .... But it wasn't--though F. STUART SINDICI went nap on it, and dreamt it. Why shouldn't JULIUS CAESAR and Lord BROUGHAM have hobnobbed together over Pommery '74 at FRASCATI'S in Regent Street, or why shouldn't the Great Duke of MARLBOROUGH and Admiral HAMILCAR of Carthage, after leaving _Hoi Adelphoi_ at the theatre, have taken supper at RULE'S in Maiden Lane? Why not? "It might have been"--of course; why, when you come to think of it, there's hardly anything that mightn't have been, _if_ it had only taken place. Such possible subjects would fill the most vast picture gallery in the _Chateau d'If_.

* * * * *

(_New Gallery, Regent Street. Summary of Sixth Summer Exhibition._)]

PICK OF THE PICTURES.

(_New Gallery--continued._)

No. 11. "_Her First Ball_;" or, "_Train 'em up in the way she should bowl_." Portrait of little girl preparing to be a Lady-Cricketer. She has the ball in her hands, and is only waiting to cry out "Play!" G. P. JACOMB-HOOD.

No. 15. _Charming Picture of Nobody Nowhere_, Miss ANNA ALMA-TADEMA.

No. 20. _Portrait of W. Matthew Hale, Esq._ By JOHN PARKER. "All Hale!"

No. 37. "_Silver Mist._" This ought to have been the picture of a gentleman in search of a threepenny piece; but it isn't. FRED HALL.

No. 66. _The Departing Guest._ E. BURNE-JONES.

The ending of the party see,
"O let us get a cab for thee!"
"Nay," quoth the guest, "I've wings! so I,
Like to the trout, will take a fly."

No. 112. _Alderman J. Stone-Wigg._ First Mayor of Tunbridge Wells.

Indeed you look an Alderman,
'Tis true I've seen a balder man.
"J. STONE-WIGG" is the name I see,
Which "Lost or Stolen-Wig" should be.

No. 160. _Portrait of Lady Simpson. Bravo_, Mr. VAL PRINSEP, A.R.A. Uncommonly good. A parody of the old song should have been selected by the Artist as a motto for the picture:--

Lady SIMPSON has a dog--
I don't know its name--
Pretty tail has dog, _incog._
Ribands round the same.

No. 170. "_The Spirit of Life._" By ARCHIE MACGREGOR. "Eh, ARCHIE mon! aiblins, 'tis just the whusky-still the Leddie's at, takin' a wee drappit i' the 'ee. And why did ye nae ca' it, 'Still Life'"?

No. 177. _Portrait of Mrs. George Lewis._ Excellent, Mr. Colour-SARGENT! N.B.--Very few "Sergeants" left; but Mr. GEORGE LEWIS has secured the best of them to paint this portrait.

No. 194. Very charming is "_The Closing of an October Day._" By GEORGE H. BROUGHTON, A.R.A. He has caught the "Early Closing Movement" to the life.

No. 242. "_In the Grip of the Sea-Wolf_"; or, "_Early Bathing at Boulogne_." E. M. HALE.

No. 324. And a good Judge too! _Portrait of Sir Douglas Straight._ The DOUGLAS, "bearded in his den"! Quarter (Sessions) Length. Sad end to a distinguished career to be "quartered, drawn, and hung"! Congratulate Artist, Miss VERA CHRISTIE, on good likeness.

* * * * *

_British Tourist_ (_who has been served with a Pig's foot_). "WHAT'S THIS? I ORDERED QUAIL!"

_Negro Waiter._ "WALL--Y'EV GOT QUAIL!"

_British Tourist_. "QUAIL! WHY A QUAIL'S A BIRD!"

_Negro Waiter._ "NOT HERE!"]

* * * * *

Anti-Epidemic Treatment.

(_Being Summary of Robson Roosetem Pasha's Article in New Review._)

Boil Bacillus,
Or he'll kill us.
From Filter filthy grown
Don't drink water,
Save rates per quarter,
And so "Leave _well_ alone."

* * * * *

COMPANION WORKS.--Shortly to appear: _My Wife's Bodice_. By the Author of _His Wife's Soul_.

* * * * *

TO MY UMBRELLA.

Good, faithful friend, it seems an age
Since last we met and walked together!
Upon the _Daily Graphic's_ page
For weeks I've watched the coming weather;

The meteorologic girl,
Despite cold arms, seemed almost jolly,
And made no effort to unfurl
That wonderful archaic brolly.

So I, grown reckless, did as she.
And gave you quite a Long Vacation;
Such weather cannot always be,
Or you would lose your occupation.

Think how I've treated you! A pet
Might envy all the care I gave you;
When worn-out with work and wet,
Think how I did my best to save you!

You soon looked well, and eased my fears--
Recovered after over-pressure.
When you "took silk" in other years,
Think what I paid for each "refresher"!

When last it rained I had to roll
You up quite wet; you've been forgotten.
It rains once more. What's this? A hole?
By Jove, the silk's completely rotten!

* * * * *

THE STAGE-COACH FIASCO.--The Meet, which was ordered for 11:30 last Thursday, wasn't done, and so there was no Lunch.

* * * * *

ON THE INCOME-TAX.

[By an already over-burdened tax-payer who derived neither enlightenment nor comfort from the wordy war about a "Graduated Income-Tax" between Mr. BARTLEY and Sir WILLIAM HARCOURT.]

"Graduation" seems vexation,
"Differentiation" looks as bad.
Their the-o-rie
It puzzles me.
But their _practice_ drives me mad!

* * * * *

"THAT'S SWEAR IT IS!"--In bygone days, when the Princess's was under the management of Mr. and Mrs. CHARLES KEAN, there was a fine imposed on any member of the company who should make use of bad language in the Green-Room. One evening a distinguished actor so far forgot himself as to let slip an expletive of three simple letters, whereat Mrs. KEAN held up her hands in horror and quitted the room, followed by the actresses who happened to be present. Subsequently some wag at the Garrick Club wrote a song whereof the burden was "The Man who said 'dam' in the Green-Room." _Tempora mutantur_, and now, at the Avenue Theatre, under the management of Mr. and Mrs. KENDAL in the Green-Room and behind the scenes, as well as on the stage, "DAM" will be in everyone's mouth, as this happens to be the name of the Author of their latest successful production.

* * * * *

THE NEWEST TALE OF A TUB.

(_By a Sufferer from the Modern Laundry System._)

Rub-a-rub-rub!
Three ghouls at a tub:
Our shirts and our collars they savagely scrub.
The fronts they make bagged,
The wristbands quite jagged,
And send home our linen all rotten and ragged!

Scrub-a-scrub-scrub!
Three fiends at a tub:
In chemical bleachings they dabble and grub.
Our shirts each bespatters
Then brush them to tatters.
The wearers get mad as March hares or as hatters!

Rub-a-scrub-scrub!
Three hags at a tub:
They scrape with a wire-brush, and pound with a club!
Smash buttons, burst stitches,
And--swell Laundry riches!
_Who'll save us from this cauldron-tub's dread Three Witches?_

* * * * *

The Stock Exchange, _Mr. Punch_ understands, has gone into politics. With a view to test the knowledge of the brokers who "proceshed" to the Guildhall, he asks them,--What is the Commission upon Evicted Tenants? All sellers, no buyers.

* * * * *

Transcriber's Note:

Sundry broken punctuation has been corrected.