Chapter I: Front Matter

Punch, Or the London Charivari

Volume 107, November 24, 1894

_edited by Sir Francis Burnand_

THE HAYMARKET HEROINE.

THE REV. STEPHEN WYNN STARTLED BY A WOMAN WITH A GOOD MANY TAILS ABOUT HER!]

Says Mrs. PATRICK CAMPBELL, "Wasn't I a quite first ranker, eh?
As A. PINERO'S--_the_ PINERO'S--_Second Mrs. Tanqueray?_
We know that reputations great have often been, and _are_ made,
By such a part, but not by Mister ARTHUR JONES'S barmaid.
Though _then_ there was a chance when both the men began to gamble;
Yet--no--I never cared for it," quoth Mrs. PATRICK CAMPBELL.
"When at the T. R. H. I feared, and so did Mr. TREE,
That HADDON CHAMBERS hadn't an apartment fit for me.
_Kate Cloud_ is rather hazy; but they said 'there will for _you_ be
"_bus_,"'
(Theatrical for 'business')--which seems to me _in nubibus_.
For I'm a shady heroine of squalor not romance,
For passion and emotion I have barely got a chance.
I'm in a yacht both first and last, and what becomes of _me_ }
I am not very certain, and no more is Mr. TREE, }
As at the finish both of us are thoroughly at sea. }
For the villain there's CHARLES CARTWRIGHT, and, speaking for myself,
I Preferred him when, more villainous, he was at the Adelphi.
They talk a deal of Pat-mos (a name that sounds like two),
A mixture of Hibernian that's 'Pat' with 'Moss,' He-_brew_,
This coupled too with _John-a-Dreams_,--of course there's no offence
Intended, yet it _has_ a smack of some irreve_rence_.
The play's successful to a point, the critics say 'no doubt of it,'
But were I Mister TREE I would cut thirty minutes out of it.
I finish with no postscript, I commenced with no preamble,
And sign myself devotedly, your PAULA PATRICK CAMPBELL."

HAROLD and HUBERT were two pretty men,
Puzzled by plot when the clock strikes ten.
Up jumps HAROLD, "A cloud in the sky!"
"Comrade!" cries HUBERT, "how's _that_ for high?"]

* * * * *

NEW AND OLD.

(_By One who prefers the Old._)

Soft hair that ripples like a lake
What time the water-lilies wake,
Fair rosy cheeks and eyes of blue,
Clear windows that the soul sees through,
A moving grace, a brow of snow:
Such were the girls we used to know.

But now we tremble as we spy
Woman's advancing majesty:
The flashing eyes, the brows that knit,
The ready tongue all themes to fit,
The heavy stride--the hose in hue
Unlike her eyes and deeply blue.

Gone are the locks of golden brown
That hung on gleaming shoulders down:
Close-cropped as never Roundhead knave
In sternest times aspired to shave,
Not MILTON'S self, however blind,
To toy with such had felt inclined.

O monstrous growth of modern times,
Not thine the lilt of lover's rhymes,
Whom some grim don perchance may wed,
Who scorns the heart and sues the head:
Farewell for ever and a day,
Miss ARAMINTA JONES, B.A.!

* * * * *

_Sporting Farmer (to young Pupil from provincial town, who has just made his first effort to ride over a Fence)._ "NOW THEN, JUMP ON AGAIN! BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME! YOU'LL LIKE IT AFTER A BIT!"

_Pupil (still seeing stars)._ "SHALL I, SIR? SEEMS TO ME AS MUCH LIKE A RAILWAY COLLISION AS ANYTHING!"]

* * * * *

"THE FOURTH R."

'Twas "The Three R's" they promised us, but now They're merged in a bad fourth--Religious (?) Row!

["The so-called 'compromise' of 1871 was based on the assumption
that, when all the differences of our English Christendom were
struck out, there would be found the beating heart of 'a common
Christianity' sending a quickening life through all its members....
Believing it not impossible for 'all who profess and call
themselves Christians' to reconcile themselves to these two forms,
elementary and supplementary, I earnestly commend them for peaceful
co-existence to the conflicting parties of School Board electors and
members."--_Dr. James Martineau's Letter to the "Times" of November
14._]

O wise and gentle teacher, whose appeal
Is to the common heart, whilst general anger
Distracts and darkens all our commonweal,
And schools and churches ring with noisy clangour;
Would they but heed thy loving call, though late,
How would the prospect brighten! Zeal fanatic
With disingenuous dodges of debate,
Insidious cant, assumption autocratic,
Secular spleen, short-sighted super-thrift,--
All are at furious odds, wild-warring, windy,
Intent, 'twould seem, to whelm a glorious gift
In the loud whirlpool of sectarian shindy!

"The beating heart"? It seems a mingled maze
Of beating hands, and bludgeons wildly waving.
How send "a quickening life" through this dull craze
Of deadly, deadening rancour rudely raving?
What _is_ their task, these teachers of the untaught,
These would-be lighteners of our mental blindness?
What is the lesson the child-crowds have caught
From these tumultuous foes of human-kindness?
They told us, in quaint diction, the Three R's
Should renovate the land, refine the people;
Break down at last low-birth's invidious bars.
Alas! What rings from school-tower and church-steeple?
Not the harmonious heaven-aspiring sound
Of blessing-bearing bells, but furious clashing
Of cracked creed-tocsins, spreading wrath around,
Love's efforts thwarting, wisdom's high hopes dashing.
Where be the "Three R's" now? Sectarian schism
Has cloven up the compromise, and ended
In Ugly Rush! See rampant Rileyism
Shaking its standard at the door, attended
Close by the Nonconformist banner-bearer,--
"Religion without Dogma!" blazoned boldly,--
Denouncing the first "R" as child-ensnarer
Into a fold whereon _his_ creed looks coldly,
Whilst hating hotly one who hotly hates
His shibboleth as vague and vain and vapid.
Next, vigorous be-rater of the Rates,
Whose rise he vows is ruinously rapid,
Unsympathetic Gallio of the Shop
Pence-saving soul and strenuous till-protector,
The third R rages.
Stop, mad zealots, stop!
Lest all the toil of Board and School Inspector,
Teacher and taught, end in one fourth R--ROW!
A vulgar term, my masters, unscholastic;
But--the great lesson ye are teaching _now_,
To the young mind, and to the conscience plastic,
Of gutter-waifs and children of the slum.
They have "long ears," _these_ "little pitchers," verily.
Think you without joint bidding they will come
Whom their old teacher, Vice, employs so merrily?
_His_ creed is one, _his_ doctrine's not obscure,
_His_ tests and formularies do not vary,
_His_ "standards" stand, and his "results" are sure,
And of "school-places" _he_ is never chary.

Oh self-elected shepherds, with your crooks,
Fighting, while round your folds the wolves are creeping!--
Pedagogues wrangling o'er your lesson-books,
Whilst your wrath rages human love sits weeping!
If of "a common Christianity"
Ye were but practical and patient teachers,
In Education's task ye might _agree_.
Now sense is asking "Who shall teach our teachers?"

_Quite Un-sectarian Girl._ "OH, MY! WHAT A JOLLY ROW!"

_Equally Un-sectarian Boy._ "AIN'T IT! I 'OPE THEY'LL KEEP IT UP, AND WE SHAN'T 'HAVE TO LEARN NOTHINK!"]

* * * * *

LYRE AND LANCET.

(_A Story in Scenes._)