Punch, Or the London Charivari Volume 107, November 24, 1894

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!"]

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!"]

Captain Thicknesse (outside, to TREDWELL). Dogcart round, eh? everything in? All right--shan't be a minute. (Entering.) Hallo, PILLINER, you all alone here? (He looks round disconcertedly.) Don't happen to have seen Lady MAISIE about?

Pilliner. Let me see--she was here a little while ago, I fancy.... Why? Do you want her?

Capt. Thick. No--only to say good-bye and that. I'm just off.

Pill. Off? To-day! You don't mean to tell me your chief is such an inconsiderate old ruffian as to expect you to travel back to your TOMMIES on the Sabbath! You could wait till to-morrow if you wanted to. Come now!

Capt. Thick. Perhaps--only, you see, I don't want to.

Pill. Well, tastes differ. A cross-country journey in a slow train, with unlimited opportunities of studying the Company's bye-laws and traffic arrangements at several admirably ventilated junctions, is not my own idea of the best way to spend a cheery Sunday, that's all.

Capt. Thick. (gloomily). Daresay it will be about as cheery as stoppin' on here, if it comes to that.

Pill. I admit we were most of us a wee bit chippy at breakfast. The Bard conversed--but he seemed to diffuse a gloom somehow. Shut you up once or twice in a manner that might almost be described as d--d offensive.

Capt. Thick. Don't know what you all saw in what he said that was so amusin'. Confounded rude I thought it!

Pill. Don't think anyone was amused--unless it was Lady MAISIE. By the way, he might perhaps have selected a happier topic to hold forth to Sir RUPERT on than the scandalous indifference of large landowners to the condition of the rural labourer. Poor dear old boy, he stood it wonderfully, considering. Pity the Countess breakfasted upstairs; she'd have enjoyed herself. However, he had a very good audience in little Lady MAISIE.

Capt. Thick. I do hate a chap that jaws at breakfast.... Where did you say she was?

Lady Maisie's voice (outside, in Conservatory). Yes, you really ought to see the Orangery and the Elizabethan Garden, Mr. BLAIR. If you will be on the terrace in about five minutes, I could take you round myself. I must go and see if I can get the keys first.

Pill. If you want to say good-bye, old fellow, now's your chance!

Capt. Thick. It--it don't matter. She's engaged. And, look here, you needn't mention that I was askin' for her.

Pill. Of course, old fellow, if you'd rather not. (He glances at him.) But I say, my dear old chap, if that's how it is with you, I don't quite see the sense of chucking it up already, don't you know. No earthly affair of mine, I know; still, if I could manage to stay on, I would, if I were you.

Capt. Thick. Hang it all, PILLINER, do you suppose I don't know when the game's up! If it was any good stayin' on---- And besides, I've said good-bye to Lady C., and all that. No, it's too late now.

Tredwell (at the door). Excuse me, Sir, but if you're going by the 10.40, you haven't any too much time.

Pill. (to himself, after Captain THICKNESSE has hurried out). Poor old chap, he does seem hard hit! Pity he's not Lady MAISIE'S sort. Though what she can see in that long-haired beggar----! Wonder when VIVIAN SPELWANE intends to come down; never knew her miss breakfast before.... What's that rustling?... Women! I'll be off, or they'll nail me for church before I know it.

[_He disappears hastily in the direction of the Smoking Room as_ Lady CANTIRE and Mrs. CHATTERIS enter.

Lady Cantire. Nonsense, my dear, no walk at all; the church is only just across the park. My brother RUPERT always goes, and it pleases him to see the Wyvern pew as full as possible. I seldom feel equal to going myself, because I find the necessity of allowing pulpit inaccuracy to pass without a protest gets too much on my nerves; but my daughter will accompany you. You'll have just time to run up and get your things on.

Mrs. Chatteris (with arch significance). I don't fancy I shall have the pleasure of your daughter's society this morning. I just met her going to get the garden keys; I think she has promised to show the grounds to----Well, I needn't mention whom. Oh dear me, I hope I'm not being indiscreet again!

Lady Cant. I make a point of never interfering with my daughter's proceedings, and you can easily understand how natural it is that such old friends as they have always been----

Mrs. Chatt. Really? I thought they seemed to take a great pleasure in one another's society. It's quite romantic. But I must rush up and get my bonnet on if I'm to go to church. (To herself, as she goes out.) So she was "Lady Grisoline," after all! If I was her mother---- But dear Lady CANTIRE is so advanced about things.

Lady Cant. (to herself). Darling MAISIE! He'll be Lord DUNDERHEAD before very long. How sensible and sweet of her! And I was quite uneasy about them last night at dinner; they scarcely seemed to be talking to each other at all. But there's a great deal more in dear MAISIE than one would imagine.

Sir Rupert (outside). We're rather proud of our church, Mr. UNDERSHELL--fine old monuments and brasses, if you care about that sort of thing. Some of us will be walking over to service presently, if you would like to----