Punch, Or The London Charivari, Volume 102, July 2, 1892

Name: Punch, Or The London Charivari, Volume 102, July 2, 1892
Author: Various

by Various

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Language: en378 downloads on Project Gutenberg

Subjects

English wit and humor -- Periodicals

In: Punch·Humour·British Literature

Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #14787.

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Dear Mr. Punch,

Ascot has been too much for me! What with the excitement of racing all day, and bézique half the night--(another sign of the times; women no longer "play for love," but "love to play!")--to say nothing of the constant strain on one's nerves as to what the weather was going to do to one's gowns, I have had a severe attack of overwork, with complicating symptoms of my old enemy, idleness!--so that, on my return to town, my Doctor--(he's a dear man, and prescribes just what I suggest)--insisted that I should at once run down to the Seaside to recuperate. Hence my retirement to the little fishing village of Sheepsdoor in Kent, "far from the gadding crowd;" a most delightfully rural and little-known resort, where we all go about in brown canvas-shoes--(russia-leather undreamt of!)--and wear out all our old things, utterly regardless of whether we look "_en suite_" or not. The only precaution I take is to carry in my pocket a thick veil, which I pop on if I see anybody with evidences of "style" about them coming my way; fortunately, this has only happened once, when I met a certain well-known "Merry Duchess" and her charming little daughter, who both failed to penetrate my disguise!

I am sorry that my selected horse for the Windsor June Handicap did not run--though the word of command was given, "_Macready_!"--he was not told to be "present!"--being presumably short of a gallop or two, and therefore lacking "fire!" This little series of jokes is proudly dedicated to the Military, and Civilians are "warned off!"--which is another turf expression. The much-needed rain has come at last, and the Heath should be in fine condition, which was more than its namesake at Ascot was, and all for want of a little attention--I am told that the far end was all in lumps, which caused the "_Lover_" to come down in his race--though that was hardly a surprise, as we know that "the course of true love never did run smooth!"

Now--dear Mr. Punch, if you want a few hours' fresh air, command the special train, which I am told, is kept in readiness for you at every London Terminus, to transport you--(not for your country's good, but your own)--to Sheepsdoor, Kent, where you shall receive a hearty welcome--Lord ARTHUR is not with me, but my French maid will chaperon us--_if necessary_.

Yours devotedly, LADY GAY.

STUD PRODUCE SELECTION.

To a Circus in Lancashire, once I went, To see a performing dog dance! But, my money in vain I found I'd spent, For I much prefer a "_Clog Dance_."

[Mr. CHAMBERLAIN, in his Election Address, explains how he has co-operated with the Conservative Government in order to maintain the Union between Great Britain and Ireland.]

The lyon would not leave her desolate, But with her went along as a strong gard Of her chast person, and a faithfull mate Of her sad troubles and misfortunes hard; And over her he kept both watch and ward, With the assistance of two valiant knightes, Prince ARTHURE, and the Red Crosse Paladin, A pair of brotherlie and doughtie wightes, Though erst had they indulged in mutual flouts and spites.

For loe! a divelish dragon didde infest That region, and fair UNA strove to slay. Her to protect from that prodigious pest, The Red Crosse Knight--who lived out Midland way-- Didde, with Prince ARTHURE, travel day by day, And prodded up that lyon as they strode, With their speare pointes, as though in jovial play, To holde fair UNA, who her safety owed, Unto the puissant beaste whereon she proudlie rode.

Anon they heard a roaring hideous sound That all the ayre with terror filled wyde, And seemed uneath to shake the stedfast ground; Eftsoones that dreadful dragon they espyde, Where stretcht he lay upon the sunny side Of a great hill, himself like a great hill: But, all so soone as he from far descryde Those glistering knights banded in right good will, He rous'd himselfe full blyth, and hastned them untill.

Then badd those knightes fair UNA yede aloof, Whiles they attacked that dragon side by side, And put the issue to stern battaille's proof; "We'll give this Big Green Bogey beans!" they cryde, That Red Crosse Knight of Brummagem in his pride, And brave Prince ARTHURE of the shining crest. But if victoriously their blades they plied, Or, baffled by the dragon, gave him beste,-- Why, that the barde will sing after the battaille's teste!

What a state we'll soon be in! Such a clamour, such a din, Raised from Kew to Dalston, Cork to Cromer, Wight to Wick! Seeking votes through thin and thick, GLADSBURY and SALSTONE!

Talk and chatter, speech and cry! Some assert, then some deny In a near or far shire; Call each other names and laugh, Jeer and chuckle, joke and chaff-- DEVONCOURT and HARSHIRE!

Still they come and still they go; Up and down, and high and low, Many more than those four. Speak in Council, speak in House, Think not yet of golf or grouse, BALBERY and ROSEFOUR.

Rush and canvass up and down, Village, hamlet, city, town, Stately street or poor lane; Start committees, advertise, Think of rousing party cries, CHAMBERLEY and MORLAIN!

Such a fidget, such a fuss! There is no escape for us; We shall have it shortly. How I wish that both would go Off to Bath or Jericho, SALFOURLAIN, GLADCOURTLEY!

"Cave Kanem!"--"If," Dr. KANE is reported to have said at the Ulster Appeal Meeting in St. James's Hall, last Wednesday, "If they (the Ulster Irishmen) had to choose between arbitrary oppression and an appeal for justice to the God of battles, he (Dr. KANE) had no more doubt than he had about his existence, that that appeal would be made, and that God would defend the right." With the saving clause adroitly introduced into the last sentence, everyone, except an Atheist, will agree; and, but for this, this speech reads as an incentive to Civil War, intended to stir up brother against brother to fight to the death. Such sentiments may, in the future, be remembered as marked with "the brand of KANE."

A Difficulty.--_Mr. Dick_ was unable to keep, "King Charles the First's head" out of his literary work. So Our OSCAR, it is said, has been unable to keep the head of St. John the Baptist out of his play, Salomé, accepted by SARAH. Hence difficulty with licenser. The real truth, we believe, is that the head, according to received tradition, should be brought in by Salomé "on a charger," and SARAH protests against this, as she is not an equestrian.

A New Songstress.--Mr. CUSINS, on Wednesday last, accompanying SCHUMANN, RUBINSTEIN, & Co., may fairly be described as "CUSINS German." A very successful Concert, musically notable, among many notable things, for the début of Miss GWLADYS WOOD, who, being vociferously encored, gave a Tyrolean Volkslied, or "VOKES' Family" dance and song, playing the accompaniment herself. "She ought to do well."--I quote SHAKESPEARE, WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, the Musician, who sang a duo with Mme. VALDA. The Concert commenced with a "Septette (By DESIRE)." This is a new Composer.

An Afternoon with Those who "Entertain" More than Anyone in London.--"_Charity Begins At Home_" or rather it begins at the GERMAN REEDS,' after CORNEY GRAIN has finished his amusing "Vocal Recital." Then it is that never-failing Charity begins, and goes as well as ever. ALFRED REED is immensely funny, especially when disguised as a Charity Girl. On no account miss the Grain of Chaff's capital French version of CHEVALIER's Coster song about "_'Arry 'Awkins_." It's lovely! Excellent entertainment for everybody at St. George's Hall.

Doctor O'Letters.--_July 6th_.--Not "D.C.L." but "honorary degree of Doctor of Letters," is to be conferred by Dublin University on HENRY IRVING, for masterly management of vast correspondence. Let Oxford follow suit with a "Postmastership of Merton." Dr. L. O'TOOLE says, "I'm satisfied with 'L.L.L. Three Stars,' and plenty of it."

The Professor (with a slight Transatlantic accent). The first animal On my list, Ladies and Gentlemen, is a vurry bad shyer, afraid Of strange Objects, Fireworks, Music, Paper. Almost anything, in fact. Bring out Number One, boys. (To a tall Groom and a short one, who rush to the loose-boxes, the short Groom falling over a drum, to the general delight. The horse who is afraid of almost anything is brought in, and begins to plunge at once, as though defying any Professor to cure him.) Now, this animal is not Vicious, he's only Nervous.

[_The Horse appears to resent this description of himself, and lashes out by way of contradiction._

Paterfamilias, in audience (who has a spoilt horse at home). Just what I always say about _Tartar_--it's nerves, not vice.

His Eldest Daughter. Shall you send him here to be cured, Father?

Paterf. No, my dear; quite unnecessary. When I see how it's done, I shall able to take Tartar in hand myself, I have no doubt.

The Prof. (instructively). It is natural For a Horse when frightened at anything in Front of him, To jump Backwards, and when frightened at anything Back of him, To jump Forwards. (Applause, in recognition of the accuracy and observation of this axiom.) Now I will show you my method Of correcting this Tendency by means Of my double Safety Rope and driving Rein, without Cruelty. Always Be Humane, Never causing any Pain if you Possibly can Help it. Fetch that Harness. (The short Groom trips again, but so elaborately as to be immediately recognised as the funny man of the performance, after which his awkwardness ceases to entertain. The Professor shouts, "Woa!" and, as the horse declines to accept this suggestion, emphasises it by pulling the double rope, which, being attached to the animals forelegs, promptly brings him on his knees, much to his surprise and indignation.) Never use the word "Woa!" Only when you mean your horse To stop. Woa! (horse down again, intensely humiliated.) If you mean him just To go quiet, say "Steady!" and teach him The difference Of the words. Never afterwards Deceiving him. (Paterf. makes a note of this on Tartar's account.) Steady ... Woa! (Same business repeated; horse evidently feeling that he is the victim of a practical joke, and depressed. Finally, Professor says "Woa!" without pulling, and horse thinks it better to take the hint.)

Paterf. Wonder where I could get that apparatus--just the thing for Tartar!

His Daughter. But you would have to lay down such a lot of sawdust first. And it might teach him to kneel down whenever you said "Woa!" you know, and that wouldn't do!

Paterf. Um! No. Never thought of that.

Prof. I will now introduce To his notice the Bass Drum. (The two Grooms dance about the horse, banging a drum and clashing cymbals, at which he shies consumedly. Gradually he appears to realise that his lines have fallen among lunatics, and that his wisest policy is to humour them. He does so, even to the extent of suffering the big drum to be beaten on his head with patient disgust.)

The Daughter. You might try that with Tartar, Father. You could have the dinner-gong, you know.

Paterf. (dubiously). H'm, I'm not at all sure that it would have the same effect, my dear.

Prof. (who has vaulted on the horse's back). I will now make him familiar With an umbrella. (Opens it suddenly; horse plunges.) Now, Sir, this is nothing but an umbrella--vurry good one too--it isn't going to hurt you; look at it!

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