Chapter I: Front Matter

PUNCH,

OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 100.

February 7, 1891.

THE "MODEL HUSBAND" CONTEST.

SCENE THE FIRST--_AT THE GALAHAD-GREENS'_.

_Mrs. G.-G._ GALAHAD!

_Mr. G.-G._ (_meekly_). My love?

_Mrs. G.-G._ I see that the proprietors of _All Sorts_ are going to follow the American example, and offer a prize of £20 to the wife who makes out the best case for her husband as a Model. It's just as well, perhaps, that you should know that I've made up my mind to enter _you_!

_Mr. G.-G._ (_gratified_). My dear CORNELIA! really, I'd no idea you had such a--

_Mrs. G.-G._ Nonsense! The drawing-room carpet is a perfect disgrace, and, as you can't, or won't, provide the money in any _other_ way, why--Would you like to hear what I've said about you?

_Mr. G.-G._ Well, if you're sure it wouldn't he troubling you too much, I _should_, my dear.

_Mrs. G.-G._ Then sit where I can see you, and listen. (_She reads._) "Irreproachable in all that pertains to morality"--(and it would be a bad day indeed for you, GALAHAD, if I ever had cause to think _otherwise_.')--"morality; scrupulously dainty and neat in his person"--(ah, you may well blush, GALAHAD, but, fortunately, they won't want me to _produce_ you!)--"he imports into our happy home the delicate refinement of a _preux chevalier_ of the olden time." (Will you kindly take your dirty boots off the steel fender!) "We rule our little kingdom with a joint and equal sway, to which jealousy and friction are alike unknown; he, considerate and indulgent to my womanly weakness,"--(You need not stare at me in that perfectly idiotic fashion!)--"I, looking to him for the wise and tender support which has never yet been denied. The close and daily scrutiny of many years has discovered"--(What are you shaking like _that_ for?)--"discovered no single weakness; no taint or flaw of character; no irritating trick of speech or habit." (How often have I told you that I will _not_ have the handle of that paper-knife sucked? Put it down; do!) "His conversation--sparkling but ever spiritual--renders our modest meals veritable feasts of fancy and flows of soul ... _Well_, GALAHAD?

_Mr. G.-G._ Nothing, my dear; nothing. It struck me as well,--a trifle _flowery_, that last passage, that's all!

_Mrs. G.-G._ (_severely_). If I cannot expect to win the prize without descending to floweriness, whose fault is _that_, I should like to know? If you can't make sensible observations, you had better not speak at all. (_Continuing_,) "Over and over again, gathering me in his strong loving arms, and pressing fervent kisses upon my forehead, he has cried, 'Why am I not a Monarch that so I could place a diadem upon that brow? With such a Consort, am I not doubly crowned?'" Have you anything to say to _that_, GALAHAD?

_Mr. G.-G._ Only, my love, that I--I don't seem to remember having made that particular remark.

_Mrs. G.-G._ Then make it _now_. I'm sure I wish to be as accurate as I _can_. [Mr. G.-G. _makes the remark--but without fervour._

SCENE THE SECOND--_AT THE MONARCH-JONES'_.

_Mr. M.-J._ Twenty quid would come in precious handy just now, after all I've dropped lately, and I mean to pouch that prize if I can--so just you sit down, GRIZZLE, and write out what I tell you; do you hear?

_Mrs. M.-J._ (_timidly_). But, MONARCH, dear, would that be quite _fair_? No, don't be angry, I didn't mean that--I'll write whatever you please!

_Mr. M.-J._ You'd _better_, that's all! Are you ready? I must screw myself up another peg before I begin. (_He screws._) Now, then. (_Stands over her and dictates._) "To the polished urbanity of a perfect gentleman, he unites the kindly charity of a true Christian." (Why the devil don't you learn to write decently, eh?) "Liberal, and even lavish, in all his dealings, he is yet a stern foe to every kind of excess"--(Hold on a bit, I must have another nip after that)--"every kind of excess. Our married life is one long dream of blissful contentment, in which each contends with the other in loving self-sacrifice." (Haven't you corked all that down _yet_!) "Such cares and anxieties as he has, he conceals from me with scrupulous consideration as long as possible"--(Gad, I should be a fool if I _didn't_!)--"while I am ever sure of finding in him a patient and sympathetic listener to all my trifling worries and difficulties."--(_Two_ f's in difficulties, you little fool--can't you even _spell_?) "Many a time, falling on his knees at my feet, he has rapturously exclaimed, his accents broken by manly emotion, 'Oh, that I were more worthy of such a pearl among women! With such a helpmate, I am indeed to be envied!'" That _ought_ to do the trick. If I don't romp in after that!--(_Observing that Mrs. M.-J.'s shoulders are convulsed._) What the dooce are you giggling at _now_?

_Mrs. M.-J._ I--I wasn't giggling, MONARCH dear, only--

_Mr. M.-J._ Only _what_? _Mrs. M.-J._ Only crying!

THE SEQUEL.

"The Judges appointed by the spirited proprietors of _All Sorts_ to decide the 'Model Husband Contest'--which was established on lines similar to one recently inaugurated by one of our New York contemporaries--have now issued their award. Two competitors have sent in certificates which have been found equally deserving of the prize; viz., Mrs. CORNELIA GALAHAD-GREEN, Graemair Villa, Peckham, and Mrs. GRISELDA MONARCH-JONES, Aspen Lodge, Lordship Lane. The sum of Twenty Pounds will consequently be divided between these two ladies, to whom, with their respective spouses, we beg to tender our cordial felicitations."--(_Extract from Daily Paper, some six months hence._)

* * * * *

CRUMMLES REDIVIVUS!

For some months Society has been on the tip-toe of expectation with regard to the new Tragedy by Mr. SHAKSPEARE SMITHSON, which is to inaugurate the magnificent Theatre, built at a sumptuous and total disregard of expense by Mr. DILEY PUFF, a lineal descendant of the great PUFF family, by intermarriage with the more recent CRUMMLES's, expressly for the performance of the genuine English Drama. A veil of secrecy has, however, been drawn over all the arrangements connected with the new production. One after another the Author, the Manager, and the leading Actors were appealed to in vain. Finally, one of Our Representatives taking his courage in both hands, brought it and himself safely to the stage-door of the new theatre, and knocked. After some hesitation he was admitted by an intelligent boy, who, however, at first seemed indisposed to be drawn into conversation, though he admitted he had been engaged for the responsible post of call-boy at an inadequate salary. Our Representative managed to interest the lad in the inspection of a numismatic representation of Her Most Gracious Majesty, which he happened to have brought with him on the back of half-a-crown, and with which Our Representative toyed, holding it between the thumb and dexter finger of the right hand. We give the result in Our Representative's own words:--

"Come this way," said the boy, on whom the sight of the coin seemed to operate like some weird talisman, leading me to a remote part of the stage, the floor of which had been tastefully littered with orange-peel in a variety of patterns; "we shall be comfortabler."

"Now tell me," I said, "about this new piece."

"It's what they call a Tragedy," said the boy.

"Ah!" I replied, "that is interesting; but I want to know about the Author. What do you think of him?"

"The horther? Oh my!" said the precocious lad, producing an apple from his trousers' pocket, but his right eye still fixed on the talisman, "'e don't count. Why we none of us pays no attention to 'im. Crikey, you should 'a seen 'im come a cropper on his nut down them new steps. But, look 'ere, Sir," he continued, more solemnly, "I'm a tellin' yer secrets, I am; and if DILEY were to 'ear of it, I'd get a proper jacketin'. Swear you won't peach."

I gave the requisite pledge. "And that ere arf-crown?" he said. I nodded assent to what was evidently in his mind. Then he resumed. "It's a beautiful piece. The play, I mean," he explained; being fearful lest I should consider him as over-eager for the coveted and covenanted reward. "I'm sure o' that. The horther says so, and DILEY says so, and Miss O'GRADY says so; she's got the 'eroine to play,--and oh, don't she die in the lawst Act just proper, with pink light and a couple o' angels to carry 'er up! Then there's Mr. KEANE 'ARRIS, 'e touches 'em all up with 'is sword, 'places his back to the wall, and defies the mob,' is what the book says. So you may take it from me, it's fust-rate."

I thanked my intelligent little friend for his information, and was proceeding to put a further question about the music for this new Drama, which, as everyone will soon know, is to be a real _chef d'oeuvre_ of Sir HAUTHOR SUNNIVUN, when a step was heard approaching across the stage--the deepest, by the way, in London--to where we were talking.

"That's 'im," said the boy, trembling. "'E's a noble-'earted master, so kind and generous, but 'e 'ates deception, and it would be more than my place is worth to let 'im catch me talking these 'ere dead secrets to you. Give us the coin. I'm orf!"

And, before I was able to carry out my portion of the contract, he was gone. And in another moment--so was I.

* * * * *

"May this be my poison, if my Bear ever dances but to the very genteelest of tunes, '_Water-parted_,' or '_The Minuet in Ariadne.'" She Stoops to Conquer_.

_Viceroy_ (_to Miss India, loquitur_). "DON'T BE ALARMED, MY DEAR! THIS BEAR NEVER DANCES BUT TO THE VERY GENTEELEST OF TUNES!"

Lord LANSDOWNE, _loquitur_:--

Be easy, my darling! He doesn't come snarling,
Or rearing, or hugging, this young Dancing Bear.
With you (and with pleasure) he'll tread a gay measure,
A captive of courtesy, under my care;
His chain is all golden. Your heart 'twill embolden,
And calm that dusk bosom which timidly shrinks.
Sincere hospitality is, in reality,
Safest of shackles;--just look at the links!

Alarmists saw ruin in prospects of Bruin,
The Great Northern Bear, treading India's soil.
How bogies may blind us! On our side the Indus
They fancy friend Ursa spies nothing but spoil;
But Ursa's _invited_ to come, and delighted
To visit you, not as aggressor, but guest.
So welcome him brightly, and treat him politely.
And trip with him lightly, you'll find it far best,

ATTA TROLL (HEINE tells us) "danced nobly." Pride swells us
To think our young guest is a true ATTA TROLL;
No Bugbear, though shaggy, a trifle breech-baggy,
And not altogether a dandyish doll;
No Afghan intrigue, dear, or shy Native league, dear,
Has brought Bruin's foot o'er our frontier to dance:
He comes freely, boldly--don't look on him coldly,
Or make him suspect there is _fear_ in your glance.

Be sure that the Lion will still keep his eye on
All Bears and their dens, in the Tiger's behalf;
Meanwhile Ursa Minor eschews base design, or
Intrigue against _you_, dear. Lift eyes, love, and laugh!
I'll answer for Bruin, he shall not take _you_ in--
The Bear's _bona fides_ nobody impugns;
He asks a kind glance, and your hand in a dance; and
He'll dance "to the very genteelest of tunes"!]

* * * * *

THE UP-TO-DATE CONVERSATIONIST.

_He_ (_at the end of a turn_). I see there's been a row in Chili--what do you think about it?

_She_. I don't know the place--isn't it somewhere in America?

_He_. I shouldn't be surprised if it were, but my geography's shaky. I rather fancy it's somehow connected with pickles.

_She_. Oh, then it's a mistake their quarrelling, as I suppose it will be hard upon the poor, especially during the winter?

_He_. Fancy that's the idea. Been to the Guelph Exhibition?

_She_. Yes, and I think it's a pity they took the jewels out of GEORGE THE FOURTH's Crown. I should like to have seen the Koh-i-Noor.

_He_. But they wanted them for the one at the Tower, don't you know, and as for the Koh-i-Noor, was _that_ invented in his time?

_She_. Perhaps it wasn't. Stay, wasn't it discovered by Captain COOK, or DRAKE, or somebody?

_He_. I daresay. I have never looked the matter up. _À propos_, One-pound Bank-notes are to be issued.

_She_. Are they? I suppose they will be useful for change?

_He_. Shouldn't be astonished, but don't pretend to know anything about it. By the way, do you take much interest in the subjects we have been discussing?

_She_. Not the faintest.

_He_. No more do I! [_Waltz continued._

* * * * *

DEARNESS AND DEARTH.

"Spanish onions are rising in price, though probably only temporarily."--_Daily News_.

I.

Will it be long, then--long?
For the people watch and wait,
Till the strength of the onion makes them strong,
At only the normal rate.
And their eyes are dim with tears,
And ache with the need of sleep.
And watch till the lapse of the lapsing years
Shall make the onions cheap.
Cheap, my love, cheap! Sleep, my love, sleep!
Onions are dear, love, but sentiment's cheap!

II.

Listen! Is it a voice
Calling--again--again,
Or a fragrance to make my heart rejoice
From the sunlit land of Spain?
Listen, my own, my bride,
While the glad tears dew your cheek,
They are fried, my bride, by the sad sea tide
With a smell that can almost speak
Creep, my love, creep into the deep,
And sing to the fishes that onions are cheap.

* * * * *

THE PROPOSED ONE-POUND NOTES.--"Ne-Goschenable currency."

* * * * *

AN ELEGY ON A MAD DOG.

(_AFTER GOLDSMITH, MORE OR LESS._)

Good patriots all of every sort,
Give ear unto my song,
For if in substance it is short,
In moral it is strong.

At Hawarden lived a Grand Old Man,
Of whom the world might say,
A wondrous lengthy race he ran,
And won it all the way.

Some swore he'd veer to catch a vote;
Old age to flout one loathes,
But, if he never turned his coat,
He often changed his clothes.

Hard by an Irish dog was found,
As many dogs there be,
Hibernian mongrel, puppy, hound,
And curs of low degree.

This dog and man at first seemed friends,
But, when a pique began,
The dog, to gain his private ends,
Went mad, and bit the man!

To see so strange and sad a sight
Quidnuncs and _gobemouches_ ran,
And swore the dog was rabid quite
To bite that Grand Old Man.

The wound indeed seemed sore and sad
To every party eye,
And while they swore the dog was mad,
They swore the man must die.

But marvels sometimes come to light
Rash prophets to belie.
The man seems healing of the bite,
The dog looks like to die!

* * * * *

Remarkable Conversion.

"CANON TEIGNMOUTH SHORE proposes to convert the two Convocations." ... that is startling without the context--"into one National Synod." But two into one won't go. How will he manage it? Will those in the York ship join the Canterbury, or _vice versâ_? Or, quitting both ships, will they land on common ground? "Who's for SHORE?"

* * * * *

PAR ABOUT PICTURES.--"_Over the Garden Wall_," seems to be the song that Mr. G.S. ELGOOD sings at the Fine Art Society's Gallery. In the course of his travels he has been over a good many garden walls. At Wroxton, Compton Wynyates, Penshurst, Montacute, Berkeley, and Helmingham, he has pursued his studies to some purpose; the result is an enjoyable collection of pictures, which he entitles, "A Summer among the Flowers."

* * * * *

BRUSTLES' BISHOP.

(_BY A MUDDLED MORALIST._)