Punch (45.1863)

July 4, 186-3.1

3

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

THE SPEKE-AND-GRANT NIGHT.

his Picture repre-
sents Mr. Punch as
lie intended to ap-
pear, enlightenin'?
the scientific world
at the Geographical
Society’s meeting in
honour of Captings
Speke and Grant.
That picture {vide
end of this article),
represents him as lie
did appear under the
circumstances here-
inafter related. Look
on this picture and
on that.

The other Monday
night, as everybody
knows, the Society
met to receive the
brave Speke and the
bold Grant, the
heroes of the Kile,
on their return to
England. Mr. Punch,
though he had al-
ready struck a Car-
toon Medal in their
honour, of purer gold than ihe medal very properly sent by King Victor,
and though he had hymned their noble exploits in Pindarics of undying
glory, had determined, for once, to go into that most ugly and uncomfort-
able room at Burlington House, and add his shout to the applause of the
geographers. Judina must have unguardedly mentioned this, and the con-
sequence was, that the public began to assemble at the preposterous hour
of 5, and when Mr. Punch's fiery horses dashed into the area at 8 30, the
room was crammed, and the love-best ladies in the world in white Bur-
nands, Bernooses, what do you call ’em, were perched on the window
cills, and on chairs, vainly trying to see into the chamber, while others,
lovelier still, were wandering about the area, and scolding their natural
protectors for not making them come sooner. The celebrities in that
yard on that evening were as plentiful as the lack of Aldeiiman Sid-
ney’s aitches, and the police, utterly bewildered, gave up anything like
keeping guard, so that the public rushed into the sacred enclosure,
chaffed the philosophers, and withdrew their handkerchiefs. The porter
had enough to do to keep the windows from being broken, and could not
even do that, for ever so many panes were smashed by au infuriated long
young Irishman with a bald head, who revenged his being thrust down
from the cill, and the detention of his hat, by demolishing the windows
with a ladder, for which act Mr. Punch, and the ladies who were
stifling inside, much praised the ardent youth.

Mr. Punch lit a cigar, and walked about between a small Duke and a
great Publisher, telling them where the Kile was, and so on, until it was
announced to him that his friend, Sir Roderick Murchison, had
concluded an address.

“ Now, my noble friends, I shall go in,” said Mr. Punch, and he
rushed upon the people at the door, like the Armed Man in the Pilgrim's
Progress. But, willing as they were to make way, it, was impossible.

“ At least tell us what you can see,” said Mr. Punch to a gasping
nobleman who was nearly in.

“ I see a black boy with a Persian cap on,” said the gasping noble-
man.

“ Persicos odi, puer, apparatus'’ said Mr. Punch, to the joy and
delight of the crowd. “ Well, I will try elsewhere.”

He ran along under the windows, and white hands were held out to
him, and soft voices and bright smiles invited him to climb. Half the
aristocracy hurried to give him a back up, or a leg up, or anything that
would aid him in mounting.

“ Let me exert my own energies,” said the gallant Mr. Punch, with
a good-natured smile.

You will behold the result in the delineation opposite sketched on the
spot by an artist whom he had expressly taken there at a vast expense
of Cavendish.

Finally he got in, and perching himself in mid air. like an intellectual
Leotard, he heard the long applause which greeted the brave Captain
Speke, and beheld that conqueror rise, and modestly prepare to narrate
the achievements of himself and friend.

“ Bravo, Speke ! ” roared Mr. Punch, nearly tumbling into the room,
in his energetic demonstration. “ Bravo, Grant ! ”

|| Remove that person,” said Silt Roderick Murchison.

“Bravo, Murchison !” cried Mr. Punch, returning good for evil.
“ Bravo, black boy ! Bravo, everybody ! ”

“ Will you be quiet?” said the Bishop op Oxford.

“ Bravo, Bishop ! ” shouted Punch. “ How’s Colenso ? ”

“ ] say, my dear Mr. Punch," said Mr. Layard.

“Bravo, Under Secretary!” bellowed Mr. Punch, like a Bull of
Nineveh.

“ My dear friend,” said Mr. Gladstone, “ there are three courses
open to you ; to stop and be silent, to go away, or to be removed by the
police. Now I am free to confess-”

“ Bravo ! Gladstone ! ” exclaimed the irrepressible Mr. Punch. He
would, in his enthusiasm for science, have gone on shouting until now,
for the meeting wrns in convulsions, and a policeman, who respectfully
approached from outside to lay hold of his leg, w-as met by one wink
which sent him roaring into Piccadilly.

At that moment there leaned towards Mr. Punch Ihe youngest and
loveliest of all the angelic beings who were presented to the Princess at
ihe last Drawing-room. The exquisite being was perched on a happy
chair, and her tiny right hand rested on the happier shoulder of her

Papa, the Earl op-what business is it of yours what Earl

he is ?

“ I wish, dear,” she whispered, laying her fairy left hand on Mr.
Punch's arm, “ that you would let me hear Captain Speke.”

“ Do you,” said Mr. Punch, with that exquisite melting tenderness
of tone which has broken so many hearts and mended ’em afterwards
till rhey looked as good as new', and better. “ I am dumb. Speke,
speak. Cigar in the Albany afterwards, and bring Grant.”

“ Lipopper sumerang boomerang dak jopps lobvvhackee yowl tipsi-
rainiferos,” said Captain Speke, which means in the Unyoro dialect,
“ I. am far from delighted at being lionised in this fashion, but the
thought of seeing you afterwards will keep me up to the mark, you old
hippopotamus.”

“ Suagdoi bokins wimpole bifudder,” added Captain Grant, who is
a man of few words.

“Of course, both L L., and poteen,” replied Mr. Punch. “ Go it,
my Nilometers,” he added, and with one glance of intense admiration
at his lovely neighbour, he sprang, with a Professor Wilsonic leap over
the heads of the circumambient peerage, and rushed away to his West
End Chambers.

By none, save the initiate, shall the other secrets of that glorious
night be known.

MR. PUNCH ENDEAVOURING TO DISCOVER THE SOURCES OF THE
GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY.

The Political “Uncommercial Traveller.”

It must be John Arthur Roebuck, Esq. He is always travelling.
Only a short time ago, he was hobnobbing with the Emperor of
Austria; it was but yesterday he was fraternising with the Emperor
of the French, making moral bargains in the most profitable manner.
We should not at all w'ouder if his next visit were to the President of
the great American Republic, trying his utmost t,o persuade him to make
terms of treaty with the South. His adveut is apparently welcomed
everywhere, and there is not a subject he touches but what he turns
politically to profit. He is the most successful of all travellers, aud
seems to succeed best in difficult exploits, in whicli others have failed.
We wish him “Don Voyage" in every fresh journey he heroically
undertakes.