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Read Ebook: Punch or the London Charivari Vol. 98 February 1 1890 by Various Burnand F C Francis Cowley Editor
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Editor: Francis Burnand
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
VOL. 98
FEBRUARY 1, 1890
UNTILED; OR, THE MODERN ASMODEUS.
"Tr?s volontiers," repartit le d?mon. "Vous aimez les tableaux changeans: je veux vous contenter."
"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.
"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.
"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.
"'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.
"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.
"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.
IN THE NAME OF CHARITY--GO TO PRISON!
A "FISH OUT OF WATER" AT GREENWICH.
A PAGE FROM A DIARY.
MENU-BETTING.
"MORE LIGHT!"--The British Museum is, it appears, presently to be opened at night, its marble halls and others being illuminated with the electric light. Concurrently with this happy event Mr. LOUIS FAGAN, of the Departments of Prints and Drawings, announces a course of three popular lectures on the Treasures of the Museum, to be delivered next month at the Steinway Hall. No one knows more about the Museum than Mr. FAGAN, and, with the assistance of 170 photographic reproductions, exhibited by oxyhydrogen light, he will teach the public a thing or two about its foundation, progress, and present contents.
AMONG THE AMATEURS.
If this rain keeps on, I shall go to wild Assam again, or to the Goodwin Sands. JAMES, the headwaiter, has told me thirteen different stories of the haunted room of this hotel. None of them are amusing, or interesting, or have anything to do with this tale. If I were writing a shilling volume, I should put them in by way of padding. As it is, they may go out. I too will go out.
I have seen Mlle. DONNERWETTER. She was racing along on the pier, and I was pacing along in the rear. I saw her and caught her up. I hastily pressed all the valuables that I had with me--four postage-stamps and an unserviceable watch-key--into her hand, and entreated her to give me an interview with Miss SMITH.
She is French, very French, but she has a kind heart. I hurriedly wrote a few impassioned words on my left cuff, and folded it into a three-cornered note. I dropped it down Miss SMEET'S neck as I found her leaning over the side of the pier, and then ran away. I heard her murmur, "Someone's mistaken me for the post-office."
DEAR SIR,--Miss SMITH am going away to Londres. A telegram come for her, and I look over the shoulder. It say, 'Poor TOMMY'S kicked! Come at once,' Miss SMITH make the tears.
Yours, LUCIA DONNERWETTER.
I must be off to London and get this matter traced. JAMES entreats me to buy a new hat when I am away. He says it's bringing disgrace on the hotel, and keeping away custom. What! Give up the hat which her dear foot has kicked! Never! But, perhaps, I will have it ironed. The iron has entered into my soul, and perhaps, it would be doing more good on my hat. Yes, I will have it ironed. It does look a little limp. Ironed or starched--what matter, when my darling is gone, and left me with no information as to her income?
"Venice Preserved" in The Haymarket.
No--not OTWAY'S tragedy, and not under Mr. BEERBOHM TREE'S management, but at the Gallery next door to the Theatre, and under the superintendence of Mr. MCLEAN, you will find not only Venice, but Florence, Prague, Heidelberg, Capri, Augsburg, Nuremburg, Innsbr?ck, and a good many other picturesque places, preserved in about a hundred water-colour drawings, by Mr. EDWARD H. BEARNE. If there were not so many rivers and lagoons in the exhibition, it might be called the "Bearnese Oberland." These pictures are well painted, and, during the gruesome weather, a tiny tour round this sunny gallery is mighty refreshing.
STUDY FOR THE PELICAN CLUB.--The "Logic and Principles of Mill."
"BRITONS NEVER WILL BE SLAVES!"
MRS. BOB BULL was the wife of a British Workman, and she got up at four o'clock in the morning.
"Must rise early," she said, "to see that my man has his breakfast."
So she lighted the fire, and put the kettle on to boil, and laid the cloth, and swept out the rooms. Then down came BOB rather in a bad humour, because he had been late over-night at the "Cock and Bottle," detained by a discussion about the rights of labour.
"Of course," said Mrs. BULL; "and why shouldn't you, after a hard day's work, enjoy yourself?"
But BOB contended that he had not enjoyed himself, although he had undoubtedly expended two shillings and eight-pence upon refreshment. What BOB wanted to know was, why there was a button off his coat, and why his waistcoat had not been properly mended.
"Well, I was busy with the children's things," replied Mrs. BOB; "but I will put all straight when you have gone to work."
"Gone to work, indeed!" grumbled BOB. "Yes, it's I that does all the work, and worse luck to it!"
"Mended my clothes?" asked BOB.
"Of course I have."
"And washed my linen, and druv nails into my boots, and baked the bread, and pickled the walnuts, and all the rest of it?"
"Yes, BOB, I have done them all--every one of them."
This put BOB into a better temper, and he took out an evening paper, and began to read it.
"I say," said he; "what do you think! They have got white slaves in Turkey!"
And BOB, smoking his pipe, and sprawling before the fire, agreed with her!
The Riviera in Bond Street.
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
Flows through hushed old Egypt and its sands, Like some grave mighty thought, threading a dream.
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