Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 107, September 15, 1894

SCENE--_A Sea-side Library._

Visitor (wearily, after a series of inquiries and disappointments). What I want is a recent novel. I haven't read The Vermilion Gillyflower yet. It's been out six months or more. Surely you've got that?

Shop Attendant. I don't fancy it's in our catalogue. I don't remember hearing of it. (Brightly.) We've got Ivanhoe.

Visitor (ignoring the suggestion). Well, then, I could do with CONAN DOYLE'S last, or STANLEY WEYMAN'S.

Shop Attendant. STANLEY, did you say? Oh yes, we've ordered the Life of Dean Stanley, but it hasn't come yet.

Visitor (gloomily). I don't want anybody's life. I want--let's see--_A Gentleman of France_.

Shop Attendant. A Gentleman of France? I don't recollect the title. But (cheerfully) we've John Halifax, Gentleman, if that'll do as well.

Visitor (groaning). Oh no, it won't! How about So-so, by BENSON, you know? Or I hear Mrs. CLIFFORD'S latest is worth reading. Or Bess of the Curvybills, by HARDY. That's been out a couple of years at least. (Hopefully.) Oh, I'm sure that's got to you.

Shop Attendant (floored). Would you look through the shelves for yourself, if you please? You'll find something to suit you, I know. There's one or two of DICKENS'S, and _Middlemarch_--now, that's a rather recent work. Or The Channings. We've had The Channings bound again, and it's a great favourite.

[_Flits off quite relieved at the entrance of a girl who desires a penny time-table and a halfpennyworth of writing-paper._

What's this the log-rollers are gushing about? "Captain JACK CRAWFORD, the Post Scout!" Oh, bother the Bards! How the rhyme-grinders go it! My future rule shall be "scout the poet!"

"MUTES AND LIQUIDS."--Some clever detectives, of the Birmingham Police Force--not by any means Brummagem detectives--disguised themselves as "Mourners' Mutes" and such like black guards of hearses, and, after a re-hearsal of their several parts, they went to a tavern for drink--grief, professionally or otherwise, being thirsty work--and managed to discover that this public-house was only a privately conducted betting-house, being, like themselves, in disguise. The result has yet to be ascertained, but so far it has proved a most successful "undertaking."

GOOD NEWS.--"Cheer, Boys, Cheer!" "There's a Good Time Coming"; for the evergreen veteran, Mr. HENRY RUSSELL, is "preparing his reminiscences for publication." Mr. Punch looks forward with pleasure to perusing them, and wishes that HENRY'S congenial collaborator, CHARLES MACKAY, were yet living to share the treat.

"Whither away, whither away, whither away? Fly no more! Whither away from the bright white cliff and the sandy siren-haunted shore? Back to town--which is horrible now--or to politics--the beastliest bore? Day and night do the printers'-devils call? Day and night do stump-orators howl and squall? Bless 'em--and let 'em be! Out from the city of singular sights, and smells. Come to these saffron sands and these silvery shells, Far from the niggers, and nursemaids, and howling swells, Here by the high-toned sea: O hither, come hither, and furl your sails! Come hither to me, and to me, Hither, come hither, and frolic and play, (Of course, in a highly-respectable middle-aged way). Good company we--if you do not object to our--tails. And the least little tiny suspicion of silver scales. We will sing to you lyrics gay, Such as LOCKER, or AUSTIN DOBSON, or LANG might pen. Oh, we know your society-singers, and now and then, When old Father Nep's in the sulks, or amusement fails, Or we're tired of the "merry carols" of rollicking gales (As young ALFRED TENNYSON said When just a weeny bit 'off his (poetical) head') We study another than Davy Jones's Locker, And read your Society Novel or Shilling Shocker! Oh, spangles are sparkling in bight and bay! Come down, Old Gentleman, give us your hand. We are modern mermaids, as you may understand, And fair, and frolic, fun-loving, and blamelessly free. Hither, come hither, and see!"

And PUNCHIUS, waggishly winking a wary eye, Cried, "Coming, my nautical darlings!--at least, I'll try. Middle-aged? I'm as young as a masher of five-and-twenty! I love pretty girls, honest fun, and the far niente. I'm 'a young man,' but not 'from the country,' as you will find, And if you are game for flirtation, well, I don't mind!" And he stepped him down, and he sat by the sounding shore, And chatted, and flirted, and laughed with the sirens four; And he sang, as young TENNYSON might have, or UHLAND, the German, This song of the Modern Merman!--

"Who would not be A merman bold, And sit by the sea, With mermaids free. And sweet converse hold With nice nautical girls, And toy with their curls, And watch the gleam Of their glistening pearls, As they chatter, chatter On,--well, no matter Each with her tale And whisks her--narrative. (Pink skin or scale, Charms are all comparative!) Oh what a happy life were mine With Beauty (though caudate) beside the brine! With four sea-fairies beside the sea Punch can live merrily, merrily!" And the Mermaids pinched the Punchian cheek (For his Caudal lecture) and made him squeak. And he cried "Revenge!" (like TIMOTHEUS, Miss) And a sweet revenge for a nip is a kiss. And around the rock siren laughter rang And that bevy of sweet sea-fairies sang:--

"O the laugh-ripple breaks on the breaking wave, And sweet are its echoes from cove and cave, And sweet shall your welcome be, You dear old Cove, Whom all she-things love, O hither, come hither and be our lord, For merry mischiefs are we! We kiss sweet kiss, and we speak sweet word: O listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten. ('Tis better than being by B-RTL-YS bored!) Business? O fiddle-de-dee!!! With pleasure and love make jubilee. Leucosia, Ligea, Parthenope Will load your briar and brew your tea. And we keep rare stingo down under the sea, For we tithe earth's commerce, all duty-free! Where will you light on a happier shore. Or gayer companions or richer store, All the world o'er, all the world o'er? Whither away? listen and stay! To Judy and Parliament fly no more!"

And sick of St. Stephen's, in holiday mood, The Modern Ulysses half wishes he could!

Master Jacky (who took part in some school theatricals last term,--suddenly, to eminent Tragedian who has come to call). "I SAY, YOU KNOW--_I_ ACT!"]

SCENE XIX.--_The Dining Hall._

Spurrell (to himself, uncomfortably conscious of the expectant THOMAS in his rear). Must write something to this beggar, I suppose; it'll keep him quiet. (To Mrs. BROOKE-CHATTERIS.) I--I just want to write a line or two. Could you oblige me with a lead-pencil?

Mrs. Chatteris. You are really going to write! At a dinner-party, of all places! Now how delightfully original and unconventional of you! I promise not to interrupt till the inspiration is over. Only, really, I'm afraid I don't carry lead-pencils about with me--so bad for one's frocks, you know!

Thomas (in his ear). I can lend you a pencil, Sir, if you require one.

[_He provides him with a very minute stump._

Spurr. (reading what he has written on the back of UNDERSHELL'S missive). "Will be in my room (Verney Chamber) as soon after ten as possible.

"J. SPURRELL."

(He passes the paper to THOMAS, surreptitiously.) There, take him that.

[THOMAS retires.

Archie (to himself). The calm cheek of these writin' chaps! I saw him takin' notes under the table! Lady RHODA ought to know the sort of fellow he is--and she shall! (To Lady RHODA, in an aggrieved undertone.) I should advise you to be jolly careful what you say to your other neighbour; he's takin' it all down. I just caught him writin'. He'll be bringing out a satire, or whatever he calls it, on us all by-and-by--you see if he won't!

Lady Rhoda. What an ill-natured boy you are! Just because he can write, and you can't. And I don't believe he's doin' anythin' of the sort. I'll ask him--_I_ don't care! (Aloud, to SPURRELL.) I say, I know I'm awfully inquisitive--but I do want to know so--you've just been writin' notes or somethin', haven't you? Mr. BEARPARK declares you're goin' to take them all off here--you're not really, are you?

Spurr. (to himself). That sulky young chap has spotted it! (Aloud, stammering.) I--take everything off? Here! I--I assure you I should never even think of doing anything so indelicate!

Lady Rhoda. I was sure that was what you'd say! But still (with reviving uneasiness), I suppose you have made use of things that happened just to fit your purpose, haven't you?

Spurr. (penitently). All I can say is, that--if I have--you won't catch me doing it again! And other people's things don't fit. I'd much rather have my own.

Lady Rhoda (relieved). Of course! But I'm glad you told me. (To ARCHIE, in an undertone.) I asked him--and, as usual, you were utterly wrong. So you'll please not to be a Pig!

Archie (jealously). And you're goin' to go on talkin' to him all through dinner? Pleasant for me--when I took you down!

Lady Rhoda. You want to be taken down yourself, I think. And I mean to talk to him if I choose. You can talk to Lady CULVERIN--she likes boys! (Turning to SPURRELL.) I was goin' to ask you--ought a schipperke to have meat? Mine won't touch puppy biscuits.