Punch: Punch (76.1879)

288 PUNCH, OB, THE LONDON CHAMVAM. [June 21, 1879.

THE UNGRATEFUL CIVIL SERVANT.

With Mr. Punch''s Compliments to the Witnesses before the Com-
mittee on Co-operative Stores.)

enterfohr left the Tin-Tax
Office a quarter of an hour
after the clock had struck
the time of closing1. Though
he had been idling away
the day in copying at ex-
press speed the minutes of
his superiors, he felt fagged
and weary. His indolence
had not saved him from a
head-ache and a tired hand.

'' Before I return to my
wife and six children," lie
murmured, with a guilty
blush, "I will attempt to
increase the handsome sum
awarded me by a generous
Government for my trivial
labours."

Disregarding the prick-
ings of his conscience, he
entered a merchant's office
and asked for employment.

'' I have a few leisure
hours," he faltered out,
" and shall be glad to

/T-X "Mgk:. ' earn-"

>&-s " Before he could utter

another word the head
cashier, throwing off his disguise, appeared as the much-dreaded
Corkscrew, the employe of the Criminal Investigation Department.

"Begone, Civil Servant! " hissed out the detector of evil-doing.
" All your time belongs to the Crown! What right have you to put
any of it to private profit ? "

" AVhat have you to do with it?" asked Tenterfoer,_ desperately.
" The Government," here Corkscrew reverentially lifted his wig,
" at the request of the ill-used West-End tradesmen, appointed me
to watch you. It is my duty to prevent you from adding to your
already princely income by private employment."

Tenterfour, cowed and beaten, skulked out of the merchant's
office and betook himself to the bureau de location of a theatre.

"I am honest and trustworthy," he began, "and I have a few
leisure hours which I would willingly sell to an employer. If you

have a vacancy as a checktaker-"

" What are you ?" asked the box book-keeper.
" I occupy a stool in the Tin-Tax office," replied Tenteeeour.
The box book-keeper looked black as thunder as he thundered out,
" And you dare come here to add a salary wrung from the lessees
of the High Life to the ill-gotten salary of which you, and fellows
like you, rob the nation ? Away ! if you would not have the police
at your heels ! "

Tenteefour hastily withdrew, for, in spite of his disguise, the
unhapxjy wretch had recognised in the theatrical official the much-
dreaded features of Corkscrew, the employe of the Criminal In-
vestigation Department.

The unscrupulous waster of the public time wTandered through the
streets until he came upon the keeper of a perambulating coffee-stall,
apparently past work.

" Madam," said Tenterfoee, courteously, " can I not assist you ?
I believe that there is that in me that will enable me to sell the
stimulating juice of the Arabian berry to the night-wanderers of
this great city. I have a few leisure hours, and should be but too
happy--."

"Beware!" exclaimed the owner of the coffee-stall. "Do you
not know that by the new regulations all Civil Service trading in
any form, by any of its employes, is illegal ? "

Tenterfour fled in hopeless despair, for in the tones of the aged
coffee-stall keeper he had recognised the voice of Corkscrew, who a
few years since would have been called the Detective.

Foiled on every side, the conscience-stricken Civil Servant made
his way to his four-roomed palace in East Hackney.

" Here is to-day's money," he exclaimed, as he threw a few silver
coins on the wooden table. His wife seized the coin, and promised
the children that in consideration of their light dinners, they should
each enjoy a shop egg with their tea. The children shouted with glee at
the prospect of the coming banquet, and yet their father grumbled.

" How dare you ! " cried Corkscrew (who had followed Tenter-
four to his home) putting his head through a broken window, " How
dare you complain of the princely salary which a too-indulgent
Government pays you for the exclusive use of your labours ? "

The rebuked Tenterfour hid his face in his hands, and was silent.

A SONG OP THE SLADE PROFESSORS.

Oh, there were three Slade Professors, three extremely Mighty Men
(Two of them champions of the brush, one potent with the pen),
Who London, Oxford, Cambridge did respectively adorn,
Where, perched as on three Pisgahs, they looked down with proper
scorn

On dull Philistia's barren flats, where mortals crawl about,
Grubbing for unethereal food with umesthetic snout.
And oh, there was a Painter !—put a nimbus round his name,
And change that article to the, so peerless was his fame !—
He had seized the sweets of Sickness, caught the charm of Skin-and-
Bones,

And the hidden grace of Angles; and his name it was Burne-Jones.
Thirdly—and unimportantly—there was a Critic knave,
Who dared appraise that Painter, like a donkey blindly brave,
And to hint that though his " feeling " was intense, if scarcely strong,
His beauty-sense was morbid, his anatomy all wrong.
Then up and spake those dauntless three, " Oh, this will never do ! "
('Twas thus said Richmond and Legros, and so said Colvin too.)
" There is but one aesthetic sphere, 'tis that which we revolve in."
(Like the legs on aManx halfpenny—Richmond,Legros, andCoLVLN.)
" That Berne-Jones is perfection's an Art-axiom, don't you know."
(Colvin upon this point agreed with Richmond and Legros.)
" His painting takes the shine out of all his predecessors."
(Here there was unanimity 'twixt those three Slade Professors.)
" 'Tis like that Critic's cheek to quiz the man we praise and pet so,"
Cried Richmond and Legeos at once. Quoth Sidney Colvin,
" Quet so! "

" He has not any call at all to criticise such pictchaws,
So far beyond the compass of his crude, misleading strictchaws."
Thus Colvin, Richmond, and Legros all hastened to agree;
The trio, Art's new Cerberus, you see_, were one, though three.
'' In imaginative power, and in technical as well,
From Angelo to Raphael, our Jones must bear the bell.
The only one who's in it with B.-J. is Botticelli."
Said Colvin, " We must make this Critic's charge a casus belli.
The influence of authority, in matters of opinion,
Surely gives us in the Art-sphere despotical dominion.
These Critics have been going it most impudently, dash 'em !
Now, I propose we Mighty Three uprise and simply smash 'em."
" Hear! hear! " cried Richmond and Legros. " We '11 do the trick
between us;

We '11 teach the dolts to tread upon the toes of Jones's Venus,
Pick holes in his Pygmalion, and vivisect his Virgin.
Our separate identities we '11 for the moment merge in
A mystical Art-trinity, whose oracles dogmatic
In a sort of a round-robin we '11 expand in terms emphatic.
'Twill a crusher be to critics and all crawlers of that kidney."
(" Ahem ! With one exception ! " softly interjected Sidney.)
" Details we '11 not descend to," murmured Richmond. " Oh dear,
no ! "

" Parties speaking ex cathedra should not argue," said Legros.
" Put it sharp and short," said Sidney ; and they put it short and
sharp.

As thus :—" You captious critics who at Jones's pictures carp,

Fixing on certain trivial points—a t-oe, a chin, a iving !

We consider that his Art's A 1—which settles the whole thing ! "

Then this triune testimonial was placed before the world,

And lo ! those callous critic knaves their scornful lips upcurled,

And persisted in belabouring B. J. with tongue and pen !

Whilst Philistia looked on and laughed at those Three Mighty Men.

Moral.

Critics are full of " cussedness," omniscience sometimes slips,
And even triune Oracles may chance to miss their tips.

Oblivion the Best Epitaph.

"One who wishes justice done to the Memory of the Prince of
Orange," writes to the Times, putting in a good word for this Heir
of a Crown who could never tear himself from the delights of fast
life in Paris. The best way to do justice to such a memory, Punch
would suggest, is, to forget it.

RESrECTARILITV and RELIGION.

Why, it is asked, are Churches filled by people in the upper and
middle ranks of life ; whilst the poor too generally absent themselves
from places of worship ? Clearly because the Church-goers belong
to the better classes.__

Machiavelli's "Prince" (« very German edition).—Prince Bis-
marck.

i

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