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Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 98, February 1, 1890

Name: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 98, February 1, 1890
Author: Various

by Various

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Language: en361 downloads on Project Gutenberg

Subjects

English wit and humor -- Periodicals

In: Punch·Humour·British Literature

Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #22051.

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"'MRS. MAECENAS!' So some would-be wit Dubbed the fair dame. The title may not fit With accurate completeness; It soars some shades too high, this modish mot, As 'Mrs. LYON-HUNTER' sinks too low; Both nick-names fail in neatness.

"The '_acu tetigisti_,' tribute rare, Not oft is earned, in Fleet Street or Mayfair, In these hot days of hurry. Salons, Symposia, both have met their doom, And wit, in the Victorian drawing-room, Finds a fell foe in flurry."

So spake the Shadow, with the covert sneer That struck so coldly on the listening ear. Soft was his speech, as muffled By some chill atmosphere surcharged with snow, In unemphatic accents, level, low, Unhasting and unruffled.

"Mrs. MAECENAS, then, no HORACE finds In all her muster of superior minds, Her host of instant heroes? That's hard!" I said. "She does not greatly care," My guide rejoined. "Behold her seated there! Her court's as full as NERO'S.

"SENECA stands beside her. He's a prim, Sententious sage. If she is bored by him, The lady doth not show it. But there's a furtive glancing of her eye Toward the entry. There comes MARX M'KAY, The Socialistic Poet.

"His lyric theories mean utter smash To all his hostess cares for. Crude and rash, But musically 'precious.' His passionate philippics against Wealth Mammon's own daughters read, 'tis said, by stealth, And vote them 'quite delicious!'

"All that makes life worth living to the throng Of worshippers who mob this Son of Song, Money, Monopoly, Merriment, He bans and blazes at in 'Dirae' dread; But then they know his Muse is merely Red In metrical experiment.

"Well-dressed and well-to-do, the flaming Bard Finds life in theory only harsh and hard. His chevelure looks shaggy, But his black broad-cloth's glossy and well-brushed, And he'd feel wretched if his tie were crushed, His trousers slightly baggy.

"KARL MARX in metre or LASSALLE in verse, The vampire-horde of Capital he'll curse, And praise the Proletariat; But having thus delivered his bard-soul, He finds it, practically, nice to loll With DIVES in his chariot.

"Lyrical Communism will not fright Those 'Molochs of the Mart' this Son of Light Keeps his poetic eye on. 'Who takes a Singer au grand serieux?' Mrs. MAECENAS asks. So he's on view, Her Season's latest lion.

"But not alone," I said. "If all this host Are right authentic Leos, she must boast As potent charm as CIRCE'S. What is her wand? Is't wit, or wealth, or both?" "Listen! That's MUMPS the mimic, nothing loth, Rolling out VAMPER'S verses!

"VAMPER looks on and smiles with veiled delight. Boredom's best friends are fellows who recite. None like, not many listen, But all must make believe to stand about And watch a man gesticulate and shout, With eyes that glare and glisten.

"'Tis hard indeed to hold in high esteem The man who mouths out Eugene Aram's Dream In guttural tones and raucous. All these have heard a hundred times before Young Vox, the vain and ventriloquial bore They'd fain despatch to Orcus.

"So have they listened many and many a time To little JINKS, the jerky comic mime, And his facetious chatter. But ill would fare Town's guest if he refused For the five hundredth time to be 'amused' By gush, or cockney patter.

"HORACE'S Piso were a pleasant chum Compared with slangy laureates of the slum. Hist! There's a tenor twitter, A tremulous twangle of the minor strings. 'Tis SERAPHIN, sleek Amateur, who sings, 'Glide where the moonbeams glitter!'

"'To puling girls that listen and adore Your love-lorn chants and woful wailings pour!' Sang HORACE to HERMOGENES. SERAPHIN'S a TIGELLIUS, and his style Would bring the bland Venusian's scornful smile The scowl of sour DIOGENES.

"'Twere 'breaking butterflies upon the wheel' To let such fribbles feel the critic steel With scalpel-like severity? Granted! But will no pangs the victims urge To abate that plague of bores, which is the scourge Of social insincerity?

"Wisdom is here, and Wit, Talent and Taste: The latest wanderer from the Tropic Waste, Sun-bronzed and care-lined, saunters In cheery chat with mild-faced MIRABEL, Who with Romance's wildest weirdest spell Has witched your Mudie-haunters.

"Colossal BAYARD, beau-sabreur, whose blade A dozen desert spearmen faced and stayed, Stoops his high-shoulder'd stature To hear the twittering tones of Tiny TIM, A midget, but the soul of whit and whim, The genius of good-nature.

"Boy-faced, but virile, vigorous, and a peer, Lord MOSSMORE talks with VIOLET DE VERE, The latest light of Fiction; Steadily-rising statesman, season's star! Calmly he hears, though Caste's keen instincts jar, Her strained self-conscious diction.

"MELDRUM, the modish medico, laughs low At ruddy RASPER'S keenly-whispered _mot_-- RASPER, a soul all strictures, Holds the great world a field for sketchy chaff. Many love not the man, but how they laugh At his swift, scathing pictures!

"Wits of all grades, and Talents of all sorts, With rival beauties holding separate courts, Find here parade, employment. And yet, and yet, they all look cross, or tired; Your cultured city has not yet acquired The art of true enjoyment.

"Strange! London's poor find pleasure far too dear, But here, with wealth, and wit, and charm, and cheer, All should go so delightfully. Time gay as in the Golden Age should fleet, But the most brilliant stars in Babylon meet, And--bore each other frightfully."

(To be continued.)

LAST week Mr. Punch asked, "Oh, where, and oh where, is The Public Prosecutor?" and he has received an answer. It appears that the official has been recently engaged (his letter is dated the 30th of November) in suppressing an "illegal scheme" to aid the funds of the North-West London Hospital. It appears that, with a view to increasing the revenue of that most deserving charity, it was arranged to treat some presents that had been made to the Institution as "prizes," to be given to those who sent donations to the hospital. There was to be a "drawing," which was to be duly advertised in the daily papers. But this could not be tolerated. Sir A. K. STEPHENSON, Solicitor to Her Majesty's Treasury, after denouncing the scheme in the terms above set forth, informed the Secretary of the Hospital, "that all persons concerned therein subjected themselves to the penalties imposed by the Acts passed for the suppression of illegal lotteries." Well, the law is the law, and it would never do for Mr. Punch to dispute the point with so learned a gentleman as Sir A. K. STEPHENSON--the more especially as Sir A. K. S. has just been patented a Q.C.--but if the Public Prosecutor can stop "illegal schemes" for benefiting the sick, why can he not also deal with the professional perjurers, suborners of witnesses, and fabricators of false evidence? Mr. Punch pauses for a reply, but is disinclined to pause much longer!

OUR TURN NOW.--An excited paragraph in the morning papers announces that "two Doctors of Vienna have succeeded in discovering the Influenza bacillus after a series of experiments in the Chemical and Physiological Laboratory of the University." This is capital. Hitherto the Influenza bacillus has discovered us. Now the tables are turned, and the question is, What shall we do with our prize? A little transaction in boiling lead might not be bad to begin with.

In a not very wise speech delivered while presiding at the opening of a new series of lectures in connection with the Greenwich Branch of the Society for the Extension of University Teaching, Lord WOLSELEY modestly admitted "that whatever information he had acquired in life had been acquired from the ordinary penny newspaper which he had read day by day." No doubt this rather humiliating fact accounts for the florid style of the proclamations "Our Only General" used to publish in Egypt and elsewhere--proclamations at the time recognised as having the tone of Astley's in the good old days of the Battle of Waterloo and other military melodramas. However, if it pleases Lord WOLSELEY to give materials for a future biography, that is no one's concern but his own. Unfortunately he touched upon another matter, about which he knows evidently very little, if anything at all. His Lordship spoke in very disrespectful terms of what he called the "Shilling Dreadful," which, he declared (in this instance accurately enough), was "prized by many people." Certainly the novelette is more popular than The Soldier's Pocket-book, although both brochures are equally works of imagination. So it should be, considering that amongst the authors who have produced it have been WILKIE COLLINS, HUGH CONWAY, F. ANSTEY, ROBERT BUCHANAN, GRANT ALLEN, WALTER BESANT, RHODA BROUGHTON, and others equally well known to fame. He concluded by remarking, "that if men of all politics were to be shaken up in a bag, he believed there would be very little difference between them." Quite true, if the bag were shaken sufficiently long to complete the transformation--but it would be rather a brutal experiment!

_First Week._--Now let me see what I have to do. I will leave out of consideration my extra-parliamentary utterances--they will take care of themselves. Shan't forget them. But other matters. Well, I have to turn the works of my dear old friend ALF TENNYSON into Greek--of course, omitting certain highly injudicious lines of a reactionary character. Then I must read through the last edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica. No skipping, but go through every article thoroughly and conscientiously. Then, of course, there is Grand Day at Gray's Inn. Must not forget that. Should like, above all things, to be present. Now let me see that I have got the date all right. Yes, I remember. Grand Day, Hilary Term. Falls on a Thursday. I shan't forget.

_Second Week._--Translation of TENNYSON into Greek going on famously. Not had time to cut down any trees, so busy have I been. Got as far as "Foghorn" in Encyclopaedia Britannica. New edition a very good one. Glad I made up my mind to read it. Let me see, anything else? Why, to be sure, Grand Day at Gray's Inn! Rather cut off my hand or even my head, than forget that! Treasurer particularly nice man. So are all the Benchers. So are all the Barristers and the Students. Excellent fellows, all of them--yes, excellent. So must not forget Grand Day at Gray's Inn. To be sure. Falls on a Thursday.

_Third Week._--_A. T._ progressing nicely. Little difficulty about the translation of the Northern Farmer. Rather awkward to give the proper weight of a country dialect in Greek. However, it reads very well, indeed! Think my dear old friend ALF will be pleased with it; he should be, as it has given me a good deal of trouble. However, all's well that ends well. E. B. also satisfactory. Got into the "D's." Article upon the "Docks," scarcely exhaustive enough to please me, so have been reading some other books upon the same subject. Forgotten nothing? No, because I remember I have to dine at Gray's Inn. Yes, to be sure--23rd of January. Grand Day. Hilary Term. Falls on a Thursday. Would not forget it to save my election! Looking forward to the port. Excellent port at Gray's Inn, I am told. Well, well, I shall be there! I don't believe much in artificial memory, but to assist my recollection, I have tied knots in all my pocket-handkerchiefs. Wouldn't forget the fixture for a kingdom. Falls on a Thursday.

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