Read Ebook: Punch or the London Charivari Volume 101 October 3 1891 by Various

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VOL. 101.

October 3rd, 1891.

THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS.

"HOTEL ME, GENTLE STRANGER!"

A Vain Vaunt.

THE ARMADA FROM THE SPANISH.

Well, we sailed towards England, and as Mr. J.A. FROUDE has already explained , "knowing nothing of navigation," I soon made a bad shot. Instead of going to Tilbury, I drifted towards Cronstadt, even then a fortress of some consideration. I could tell you a great deal more, were it not that I succumbed to sea-sickness and gave up my command. The expedition was now, of course, commanded by the steward, but the duties of his unpleasant office left him but little time for directing an invasion. Well, we got within reach of England when the wind began to blow, and before I could hitch myself up with a marling-spike, every man Jack of us was ready for Davy Jones's locker!

"IN CELLAR DEEP."

In water pure there's danger sure, All fizzle-pop's deceiving; And ginger-beer must make you queer . Safe, on the whole, is Alcohol; It saves man's strength from sinking. I injure none, and have good f--fun. Whilst drinking, drinking, drinking!

Hic! Hic! Hooray!! New reasons gay For drink from doctors borrow! The last is simple thirst, Thatsh true--to LAWSON'S sorrow! Good Templarsh fain would "physic PAYN," And GRANVILLE squelch like winking; But all the same, true Wisdom's--hic--game Is drinking, drinking, drinking!

WHO'D BE A SAILOR?

In another moment the enemy's fleet had hove in sight. Our movements in the ten minutes preceding the fatal conflict will be best understood by consulting the annexed diagram:--

We advanced in this imposing order for five minutes. Then came a puff of smoke, and, in less time than it takes to tell it, two thousand men had been literally blown into thin air, their sole remnant being the left shoe of my trusty second in command, Captain GLIMDOWSE. I trained the two turret-guns until I had got them into perfect condition, and gave the word. The crash that followed was terrific. One of the massive missiles went home, and stayed there, no amount of inducement availing to bring it out again to face the battle. The other, however, behaved as a British missile should, and exploded in the heart of the hostile fleet. The result was terrific. French, German and Russian Admirals by the thousand were destroyed, their scattered fragments literally darkening the face of the sun, and a mixed shower of iron, steel, stanchions, bollards, monster guns, Admirals, sailors, stewards, cocked-hats, and Post Captains fell for ten minutes without intermission from the clouds into which they had been driven by the awful force of the explosion. I turned to my Lieutenant, who was standing beside me, to give a necessary order. As I was about to address him, the machine-guns in the enemy's tops belched forth a myriad projectiles, and the unfortunate Lieutenant was swept into eternity. All that was left of him was his right hand, which, curiously enough, remained for a minute suspended in the air in its proper relative position to what had been the Lieutenant's body. I mastered my emotion with an effort, as I reverently grasped and shook the melancholy relic. Then, shedding a silent tear, I dropped it over the side, and with an aching heart, watched it disappear beneath the wave on which many of its former owner's happiest hours had been spent.

I have been fortunate in securing a relic, not exactly of CAROLO, but of the time at or about which he lived. It is a piece of tapestry, on which fingers long since dust have worked a sketch of the Emperor going to his bath. Considering its age, the tapestry is in remarkably fresh condition. The old Hebrew trader, whom for a consideration I induced to part with it, said he would not charge any more on that account; which I thought very considerate. He also said he might be able to get me some more pieces. But this, I think, will do to go on with.

But if there be nothing left of CAROLO MAGNO, there still is the city he loved, in which he lived and died. Here is the Kaiserquelle, bubbling out of B?chel in which, centuries ago, he laved his lordly limbs. Going down into my bath this morning I observed in the dim light the imprint of a footstep on the marble stair.

"That might have been CHARLEMAGNE'S," I said to YAHKOB, my bath attendant.

That did not seem to follow naturally upon my observation, which was, indeed, born of idle fancy. I am growing used to a certain irrelevancy in YAHKOB's conversation. My German is of the date of CHARLEMAGNE, and is no more understood here than is the Greek of SOCRATES in the streets of Athens. YAHKOB was especially told off for my service because he thoroughly understood and talked English. He says, "Ye-es" and "Ver well." But when I offer a chance remark he, three times out of five, nods intelligently, bolts off and brings me something back--a comb and brush, a newspaper, but oftenest, a hot towel. Once, when I asked him whether there were two posts a day to London, he lugged in an arm-chair.

"A ver big place," he remarked this morning, "where dey kills de ladees."

This reference not being immediately clear, WILLIAM assisted dull comprehension by drawing his finger across his throat, and uttering a jovial "click!" But it was only when, his eyes brimming over with fun, he said, "YAK de Reeper," that I followed the drift of his remark.

It is gratifying to the citizen of London travelling abroad, to learn that in the mind of the foreigner the great Metropolis is primarily and chiefly associated with "JACK the Ripper" and his exploits.

"I rob you not hard," WILLIAM incidentally remarks, pounding at your chest as if it were a parquet flooring he was polishing; "but I strong so I can break a shentleman's ribs."

I make due acknowledgment of the prowess, being particularly careful to refrain from expressing doubt, or even surprise. WILLIAM, always smiling, repeats the assertion just as if I had contradicted him. Try to change subject.

"I wonder if CHARLEMAGNE had a massage man in his suite?" I say, "and who was his Doctor? Now if he had had Dr. BRANDIS, I believe he would have been alive at this day. But we cannot have everything. CHARLEMAGNE had the Iron Crown of Lombardy; we have Dr. BRANDIS."

"Y e e s," said WILLIAM, still gloating over his own train of thought; "eef I like I break a shentleman's ribs."

Try to bring him back to CAROLO MAGNO.

"Wouldn't you," I ask "give all you are worth to have lived in the time of CHARLEMAGNE? Suppose some day you walked into this room and discovered him sitting on his marble throne as OTHO found him with the Iron Crown on his head and his right hand grasping the imperial sceptre, what would you do?"

"I would break hees ribs," said WILLIAM, his face illumined by a sudden flash of delighted anticipation.

Alack! we are thinking of two personages sundered by centuries. My mind dwells on CHARLEMAGNE, whilst WILLIAM is evidently thinking of Champagne CHARLIE.

"ANNALS OF A VERY QUIET FAMILY."

There were eight of us, each within a year or so of one another.

Father was a very quiet man, engaged all day in his study.

Mother was equally quiet.

Father would never allow a trumpet, drum, or any instrument of torture, except the piano, to be brought into the house.

Mother quietly saw his orders carried out.

In due course we all left home one after the other, and having been so quiet for so long, each one of us has contrived to make a considerable noise in the world since, and are all doing well. "Doing" may be used in the widest possible sense. Among other accomplishments we blow our own trumpets, as you see. As father and mother object to noise, we have not encouraged their visits.

SONG .

It was a lover and his lass, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, That o'er the stubble fields did pass . In the time of autumn, When M.P.'s spout, and "manoeuvre" about; M.P.'s love autumn.

About three acres and a cow, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino; The artful country folks know now. In the time of autumn, &c.

Since that the franchise was their dower, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, The Country Voters are a power. In the time of autumn, &c.

THE TRUE TENNYSON.

Quoth he, "Gentle SARAH HOGGINS," Speaking in seductive tones, "You must wed no HODGE or SCROGGINS, But espouse your own J. JONES." Oh! he was an artful party, And that marriage was a crime. He'd a wife alive and hearty, Though she'd left him for a time.

The above discovery has, of course, led to doubts regarding other Tennysonian heroines. Was Lady CLARA VERE DE VERE, for example, as black as the poet has painted her? Perish the thought! Here are a couple of specimen stanzas for an amended version:--

Lady CLARA VERE DE VERE, I vow that you were not a flirt, The daughter of a hundred Earls Would not a single creature hurt. "Kind hearts are more than coronets," What abject twaddle, on my word; And then the joke is in the end,-- We know they made the bard a Lord.

The tale of how young LAURENCE died, In some audacious print began; The fact is that he took to drink, He always was that sort of man. And as for ALFRED, why, of course You snubbed him; but was that a crime, That he should go and call you names, And print his atrabilious rhyme?

And I said, "My Cousin AMY, speak the truth, my heart to ease. Shall it be by banns or license?" And she whispered, "Which you please." Love took up the glass of Time and waved it gaily in the air,

Married life was sweet at Number Twenty-Six in Camden Square.

AMY faithless! Bless your heart, Sir, that was not the case at all:

It was pure imagination that I wrote in Locksley Hall.

This process will doubtless have to be applied to many of the poems, but we must leave the congenial task to the Laureate.

A SONNET OF VAIN DESIRE.

AFTER THE HOLIDAYS.

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