Punch: Punch (101.1891)

October 17, 1891.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

189

TIPPLING SALLY.

A Song of Sorrow on Zoo Sunday.

[Sally, the Chimpanzee (late of the Zoo), is
stated to have " drunk beer daily."]

Of all the monkeys at the Zoo

There's none like Tippling Sally.
She was the first who quenched her thirst

Quite al-co-hol-i-cally.
A draught of beer made her not queer,

But seemed her strength to rallv.
Mortimer Granville well might cheer

Three cheers for Tippling Sally.

Of all the days within the week

I chiefly favoured one day.
That was the day when children seek

The rapture called " Zoo Sunday."
For then full drest all in my best

I'd go and visit Sally,
And see her soothe her hairy breast

So al-co-hol-i-cally!

But now no more poor Sally's tricks

With glee fill girl or boy full;
No mug of beer her soul can cheer,

Nor glass of O-be-joyful!
"We yet may see some Chimpanzee

"With Drink's temptations dally,
To Wilfrid's woe ; but no, ah ! no !

It won't be Tippling Sally !

AN ESSAY IN REVIEWING.

We are obliged to "Beginner" for the
proffered contribution to our collection of
Book Reviews. That is, however, a depart-
ment of the paper our noble friend the Baron
de Book-Worms reserves for his own pen.
But as Mr. Punch has never been known to
discourage beginners, he finds room here for
the interesting contribution, which perhaps

should more appro-
priately have been
addressed to his con-
frere at the office of
a the Athenceum :—

Don Quixote. By
Miguel Cervantes.
We have conscien-
tiously plodded
through this volu-
minous work, which
is certainly not en-
tirely without merit.
It purports to recount the daily doings of a re-
sident in a village of La Mancha (Spain) who,
accompanied by a clownish retainer, went forth
in search of adventures. He was not very
happy, his day's sport being invariably rounded
off by a sound drubbing, received either by
himself, his Squire, or both. We wish Lord
Macaulay had lived to see the publication
of this work, and had with fuller leisure
relieved us of the task of reviewing it.
B,emembering his method of procedure as
illustrated in his article on Dr. Nare's
Memoirs of Lord Burleigh, he would doubt-
less by careful enumeration have been able
to show that from first to last Don Quixote
had more ribs broken than any man has
actually possessed since Adah was privy to
a diminution of their original number. He
seems also to have had a perpetual renewal
of teeth, keeping pace with their frequent
removal by brute force. As for the number
of legs and arms he had fractured, Macau-
lay's Schoolboy would have shrunk from the
task of computing their aggregate.

These are blemishes upon a work that is, at
least, well intentioned, and which might have
been more successful had our author been
inclined to Rive his hero credit for more
acumen. When he represents Don Quixote
as running tilt at windmills under the im-
pression that they are armed knights, and

when he pictures him charging a flock of
sheep in the belief that it is an ordered army,
we think he too grossly trifles with the
assumed credulity of his readers. Exaggera-
tion is, indeed, the bane of a work that,
from first page to last, bears evidence of the
drawback of extreme youth on the part of
the author. We have been pleased to notice
some indications of humour in the conversa-
tion of Sancho Panza. But it is the penny-
worth of sack to an intolerably large quantity
of bread. What we have written has been
without desire to discourage Mr. Cervantes,
whom we shall be glad to meet with again,
bringing with him the fruits of unremitted
practice and of maturer views of life.

TO ARAMINTA.

{After hearing Mr. Harrison's Lecture.)

[" To keep the family true, refined, affectionate,
faithful, is the woman's task—a task that needs
the entire energies and life of woman; and to mix
up this sacred duty with the grosser occupation of
politics and trade, is to unfit her for it as much as
if a priest were to embark in the business of
money-lender."—Frederic Harrison'.]

I prithee, Araminta, hear

What Frederic Harrison has said:
Don't read for College honours, dear,

And put a towel round your head.
Don't sully what should surely be

An unstained soul, with tricks of trade
Leave stern official work to me,

While you remain a simple maid.

Don't prate of woman's function, sweet,

Your only duty is to charm ;
Leave platform spouting, as is meet,

To men ; it cannot do them harm.
Your influence comes from gracious ways,

Your glory in the home doth lie ;
The guardian angel of our days,

Until you bless us when we die.

Don't enter on ignoble strife

With man, 'tis yours to soar above—■
To all the higher things of life,

Divine compassion, and pure love.
'Tis yours to stimulate, refine,

To win men by a kindly heart;

Xot grovel with us where the sign
Of Mammon hangs above the mart.

Thine is the task to reign supreme

Within the sacred sphere of home ;
To make our life one happy dream,

Thine own as spotless as the foam.
To trade, to toil, to head the feast,

To seek the politician's gain,
Were hateful:—ay, as though the priest

Took usury.within the fane !

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

Baron de Book-Worms owns to being easily
affected by a pathetic episode. He well re-

members how years ago in the course of a dis-
cussion among literary men about books and
their writers, the Baron acknowledged that
in spite of his having been told how the pathos
of Dickens was all a trick, and how the senti-
ment of that great novelist was for the most
part false, he still felt a choking sensation in
his throat and a natural inclination to blow
his nose strenuously whenever he re-read the
death of Little Paul, the death of Dora, and
some passages about Tiny Tim. There was
no dissentient voice as to the death of Colonel
Newcome ; all admitted the recurrence of
that peculiar choking sensation, read they
their Thackeray never so often. Now the
Baron differs from Josh Sedley in, as he
thinks, many respects, but he is almost as
"easily moved to tears" as was that stout
hero. Wherefore this preface ? Well, 'tis
because the Baron ownsto having "snivelled,"
if you will, when reading a delightful story,
published by Macmillan in one volume
("bless all good stories in one vol., clearly
printed!" says the Baron, parenthetically),
entitled simply, Tim. No relation to Tiny
Tim already mentioned; quite another child.
The Baron strongly recommends this story,
and especially to Etonians past and present,
as giving a life-like picture which the latter
will recognise, of the career at that great
public school of a fragile little chap entirely
unfitted by nature for the rough and tumble
of such a life. The considerate tutor, too, is
no effort of imagination; he exists; and,
perhaps, such an one may have always existed
since the division between Collegers and Oppi-
dans first began. The Baron in his own time,
nigh forty years ago, knew an exceptional
species of this rare genus ; but there are plenty
of witnesses to the truth of the Etonian portion
of Tim. " Tolle, lege .'" quoth the Baron, and
be not ashamed if in reading the latter por-
tion of the story you have to search for your
pocket-handkerchief, and, glancing furtively
around, murmur to yourself, "But soft! I
am observed! " Then when unobserved,
"Wiethe other eye!" and thank the un-
known author of Tim ; at the same time not
forgetting your guide, philosopher, and friend,
The Baron de Book-AVorms.