DOI Heft:
November 9, 1878
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17733#0213
November 9, 1878.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
209
Myrtle's heart. He called B. a blackguard. It was at that that I
flared up. I could not stand hearing B. abused—dear B., who was
so clever, and whom we were always so glad to see when he came
on his bicycle.—I took his part fiercely, and A. only grew angrier.—
But I did not mind.—I was young enough to enjoy a scene.—I think
I must have said some things that went home, for A. gave up
answering at last, and when he went out of the room he did not say
"goodnight." Poor fellow, I am afraid I wounded him—but he
shoidd not have abused B. to me when he knew I was fond of him. . . .
I never understood what was the beginning of it all. As to my
talking to B. from the window, I did not hesitate to deny that alto-
gether. I had promised my queen to tell no one, and it was a duty
to keep my promise. Besides, I knew that she had kept hers to me.
—I would not have broken our covenant for the world.—I think if I
had, those beautiful eyes would have haunted me for ever. The
crime and the mystery would have poisoned my dreams.
******
We all cried at breakfast.—The children asked for A., and cried
when I said he would not come.—I felt hysterical. I was impatient
for the carriage to come, and take me away. A little three-cornered
note tumbled out of the toast-rack. The butler handed it to me
with one of his kind looks—that made me cry outright. I crumpled
up the note in my hand, and ran out of the room. I lost it somehow,
and have never known what was in it. Perhaps if I had, my life
might have been different!—On such slight chances do our destinies
hang! A few scratches on a scrap of paper, and two hearts are
made happy—or miserable. A post fails, and Heaven is missed. We
tremble to think of it.
Myrtle met me in the doorway.—She was in great disorder. Her
eyes had large red rims round them; her hands were clasped over
her head; she looked splendid, and asked me to forgive her. I
kissed her, and sobbed "Yes." Thinking over it afterwards, I
wondered what I was to forgive her for—It seemed to me that I had
only to thank her—However, it does not matter—It is always sweet
to forgive and forget. . . .
******
The house at home seemed more bustling than ever —The children
had all outgrown their clothes.—There were more of them than
usual. I asked B. to keep them out of my way.—I csuld not bear
their presence.—I was always thinking of A., and wondering what
had become of B.—This state of things lasted a whole day.—I think
I should have died if it had gone on longer. But a change came,
and we were all glad of it. The Watsons asked us to work for a
Fancy Fair. We set to work busily. B. was a genius with her
fingers—it was a happiness to watch her. She knew how to make
something out of everything—out of nothing! The tiniest scraps
were of use to her—the most hopeless rubbish grew hopeful in her
hands. I used to bring her aU the odds and ends I could find—old
lucifer-matches, broken bottles, corks, cigar-ends, and dead leaves
from the garden. She transmuted them all—infusing into each
something of her own bright being. . . .
It was while we were busy in this way that I had a second note
from A. Poor fellow, it was a very tender little note, just like
himself. He said he was afraid he had been hasty, and had not
given me time to explain. Would I write to him? or might he
come and see me ? He called me his " dearest," and signed himself
my " devoted and penitent A." I cried as I read the note, and felt
that I loved him better than ever. I meant to answer by the first
post; but somehow I grew absorbed in watching B. at her work.
She was making a cockchafer out of a champagne-cork—it was so
soothing_ to see her dainty fingers twisting the wires into antenna?,
and poking holes for the eyes. In watching her, I forgot every-
thing—suddenly the clock struck six. It was too late to write
that day. I thought of Cinderella, and how her clock struck. . . .
I meant to write next day—but again I was busy, and again I let
the post go, without a word for A. Then the whole thing went out
of _ my head—I was getting so happy over the bazaar, that I could
think of nothing else tiU it was finished—Then I remembered again,
and looked for the note, but it was gone—Unfortunately, I could
not recall his address, and so I have never been able to write—
Poor A. ! That is how the Prince vanished out of my Fairy tale,
and I had to come home alone.
******
The children are tired of waiting for their tea.—I rouse myself
from my dreams—They crowd round my chair—they have broken
aU the wiUow-pattern plates, and eaten the butter from the
muffins—they tell me so laughing, and I laugh with them. The
Landlady comes in with dusters — It is bed-time — The children
are asleep already.—I shall be soon.—Good night, my friends !
short not sweet.
Put into two ivords the Bulgarian Question, the Asia-Minor
Question, the Greek Question, the Afghan Question, and all the
other " Imperial" Questions in petto—Benjamin's Mess.
SOCIAL SCIENCE AND SUNDAY.
I uery—By what means
can good examples of
Art be brought within
the reach of the population
of small towns and villages ?
Answer—In a measure, by
providing Sunday and other
parish schools, and Work-
men's Clubs, with models,
fittings, furniture, and pot-
tery, of good shapes. Be-
spondent, Mr. T. C. Hors-
fall, of Manchester, in a
paper read in the Art Section
of^the Social Science Con-
gress at Cheltenham, thus
ending:—
" But, above all, if English
people are to live with pictures,
and learn to think of pictures,
they must be enabled to give
part of Sunday to the study of >
pictures and the lessons taught
by them. (' Sear, hear ! ')
Picture Galleries and Museums
should be opened on Sunday,
and, to make them more attrac-
tive, music should be intro-
duced."
Mr. Haywood, also of Manchester, recommended the Art Gallery
of Birmingham, open on Sundays, as an example to other towns,
especiaUy because such institutions were '' counteracting influences
to the attraction of the dram-shop." And—
"The Eev. Mr. Roberts thought the English observance of the Sabbath
was rather Jewish than Christian. The spirit and example of our Saviour
himself was of a more cheerful character. (' Hear, hear!') He himself
walked in the fields on the Sabbath, and taught his disciples that the Sabbath
was made for man, not man for the Sabbath. (' Hear, hear !') If the
exhibition of Art of a refining and elevating kind would keep people from the
public-houses, they ought not to frown upon or discourage such exhibitions.
{'Hear, hear.")"
Hear an_ enlightened divine. Only take his divinity with just
half a grain of salt. English Sabbatarian observance of Sunday
is, in fact, neither altogether Christian nor exactly Jewish. Our
Sabbatarian brethren observe the first instead of the seventh day of
the week; and that with breaches for which, had they so broken
the Jewish Sabbath, the Jews of old would have stoned them.
Nevertheless their manner of observing their Sabbath so-called is so
nearly Judaic as quite to justify the statement that it is rather Jewish
than Christian. If this were all, it would be of no consequence to
anybody but themselves; but they are not content, for their own
part, with regarding Sunday as the Sabbath, and considering man
made for the Sabbath, and not the Sabbath for man. They endea-
vour with all their ability to enforce such an observance of what
they call their Sabbath, that in all of our towns with but few excep-
tions—amongst which honour to Birmingham—there exist on that
holiday no counteracting influences whatever to the attractions of
the dram-shop. "Bravo, Bigotry!" cries Mr. Bung. "Gin and
true Beligion; Sabbatarianism and Swizzle for ever ! "
Hope for the New Egyptian Loan.
" Among the documents upon which the loan has been negotiated, we be-
lieve, is a letter from Mr. Money, C.B., the English Controller of the Daira
Estates, who was requested to make a special examination of the property
given up by the Khedive and his family. His account is that in the last
two years the net revenue has exceeded £700,000 per annum. That though
the past administration of the estates has been wasteful and extravagant to
the last degree, with proper management they will yield even more than the
actual revenue for the last two years."
Then there is "Money " in it.
a hint to the detectives.
We observed the following in Lloyd's List of Thursday :—
" Jas. Nicol Fleming (of Glasgow) steering W., Oct. 14, in lat. 41 N. long.
14 W.
a propos oe st. paul's peal.
Busy City Man {ivho doesnH like the disturbance). Bless the Bells!
Confound them!
209
Myrtle's heart. He called B. a blackguard. It was at that that I
flared up. I could not stand hearing B. abused—dear B., who was
so clever, and whom we were always so glad to see when he came
on his bicycle.—I took his part fiercely, and A. only grew angrier.—
But I did not mind.—I was young enough to enjoy a scene.—I think
I must have said some things that went home, for A. gave up
answering at last, and when he went out of the room he did not say
"goodnight." Poor fellow, I am afraid I wounded him—but he
shoidd not have abused B. to me when he knew I was fond of him. . . .
I never understood what was the beginning of it all. As to my
talking to B. from the window, I did not hesitate to deny that alto-
gether. I had promised my queen to tell no one, and it was a duty
to keep my promise. Besides, I knew that she had kept hers to me.
—I would not have broken our covenant for the world.—I think if I
had, those beautiful eyes would have haunted me for ever. The
crime and the mystery would have poisoned my dreams.
******
We all cried at breakfast.—The children asked for A., and cried
when I said he would not come.—I felt hysterical. I was impatient
for the carriage to come, and take me away. A little three-cornered
note tumbled out of the toast-rack. The butler handed it to me
with one of his kind looks—that made me cry outright. I crumpled
up the note in my hand, and ran out of the room. I lost it somehow,
and have never known what was in it. Perhaps if I had, my life
might have been different!—On such slight chances do our destinies
hang! A few scratches on a scrap of paper, and two hearts are
made happy—or miserable. A post fails, and Heaven is missed. We
tremble to think of it.
Myrtle met me in the doorway.—She was in great disorder. Her
eyes had large red rims round them; her hands were clasped over
her head; she looked splendid, and asked me to forgive her. I
kissed her, and sobbed "Yes." Thinking over it afterwards, I
wondered what I was to forgive her for—It seemed to me that I had
only to thank her—However, it does not matter—It is always sweet
to forgive and forget. . . .
******
The house at home seemed more bustling than ever —The children
had all outgrown their clothes.—There were more of them than
usual. I asked B. to keep them out of my way.—I csuld not bear
their presence.—I was always thinking of A., and wondering what
had become of B.—This state of things lasted a whole day.—I think
I should have died if it had gone on longer. But a change came,
and we were all glad of it. The Watsons asked us to work for a
Fancy Fair. We set to work busily. B. was a genius with her
fingers—it was a happiness to watch her. She knew how to make
something out of everything—out of nothing! The tiniest scraps
were of use to her—the most hopeless rubbish grew hopeful in her
hands. I used to bring her aU the odds and ends I could find—old
lucifer-matches, broken bottles, corks, cigar-ends, and dead leaves
from the garden. She transmuted them all—infusing into each
something of her own bright being. . . .
It was while we were busy in this way that I had a second note
from A. Poor fellow, it was a very tender little note, just like
himself. He said he was afraid he had been hasty, and had not
given me time to explain. Would I write to him? or might he
come and see me ? He called me his " dearest," and signed himself
my " devoted and penitent A." I cried as I read the note, and felt
that I loved him better than ever. I meant to answer by the first
post; but somehow I grew absorbed in watching B. at her work.
She was making a cockchafer out of a champagne-cork—it was so
soothing_ to see her dainty fingers twisting the wires into antenna?,
and poking holes for the eyes. In watching her, I forgot every-
thing—suddenly the clock struck six. It was too late to write
that day. I thought of Cinderella, and how her clock struck. . . .
I meant to write next day—but again I was busy, and again I let
the post go, without a word for A. Then the whole thing went out
of _ my head—I was getting so happy over the bazaar, that I could
think of nothing else tiU it was finished—Then I remembered again,
and looked for the note, but it was gone—Unfortunately, I could
not recall his address, and so I have never been able to write—
Poor A. ! That is how the Prince vanished out of my Fairy tale,
and I had to come home alone.
******
The children are tired of waiting for their tea.—I rouse myself
from my dreams—They crowd round my chair—they have broken
aU the wiUow-pattern plates, and eaten the butter from the
muffins—they tell me so laughing, and I laugh with them. The
Landlady comes in with dusters — It is bed-time — The children
are asleep already.—I shall be soon.—Good night, my friends !
short not sweet.
Put into two ivords the Bulgarian Question, the Asia-Minor
Question, the Greek Question, the Afghan Question, and all the
other " Imperial" Questions in petto—Benjamin's Mess.
SOCIAL SCIENCE AND SUNDAY.
I uery—By what means
can good examples of
Art be brought within
the reach of the population
of small towns and villages ?
Answer—In a measure, by
providing Sunday and other
parish schools, and Work-
men's Clubs, with models,
fittings, furniture, and pot-
tery, of good shapes. Be-
spondent, Mr. T. C. Hors-
fall, of Manchester, in a
paper read in the Art Section
of^the Social Science Con-
gress at Cheltenham, thus
ending:—
" But, above all, if English
people are to live with pictures,
and learn to think of pictures,
they must be enabled to give
part of Sunday to the study of >
pictures and the lessons taught
by them. (' Sear, hear ! ')
Picture Galleries and Museums
should be opened on Sunday,
and, to make them more attrac-
tive, music should be intro-
duced."
Mr. Haywood, also of Manchester, recommended the Art Gallery
of Birmingham, open on Sundays, as an example to other towns,
especiaUy because such institutions were '' counteracting influences
to the attraction of the dram-shop." And—
"The Eev. Mr. Roberts thought the English observance of the Sabbath
was rather Jewish than Christian. The spirit and example of our Saviour
himself was of a more cheerful character. (' Hear, hear!') He himself
walked in the fields on the Sabbath, and taught his disciples that the Sabbath
was made for man, not man for the Sabbath. (' Hear, hear !') If the
exhibition of Art of a refining and elevating kind would keep people from the
public-houses, they ought not to frown upon or discourage such exhibitions.
{'Hear, hear.")"
Hear an_ enlightened divine. Only take his divinity with just
half a grain of salt. English Sabbatarian observance of Sunday
is, in fact, neither altogether Christian nor exactly Jewish. Our
Sabbatarian brethren observe the first instead of the seventh day of
the week; and that with breaches for which, had they so broken
the Jewish Sabbath, the Jews of old would have stoned them.
Nevertheless their manner of observing their Sabbath so-called is so
nearly Judaic as quite to justify the statement that it is rather Jewish
than Christian. If this were all, it would be of no consequence to
anybody but themselves; but they are not content, for their own
part, with regarding Sunday as the Sabbath, and considering man
made for the Sabbath, and not the Sabbath for man. They endea-
vour with all their ability to enforce such an observance of what
they call their Sabbath, that in all of our towns with but few excep-
tions—amongst which honour to Birmingham—there exist on that
holiday no counteracting influences whatever to the attractions of
the dram-shop. "Bravo, Bigotry!" cries Mr. Bung. "Gin and
true Beligion; Sabbatarianism and Swizzle for ever ! "
Hope for the New Egyptian Loan.
" Among the documents upon which the loan has been negotiated, we be-
lieve, is a letter from Mr. Money, C.B., the English Controller of the Daira
Estates, who was requested to make a special examination of the property
given up by the Khedive and his family. His account is that in the last
two years the net revenue has exceeded £700,000 per annum. That though
the past administration of the estates has been wasteful and extravagant to
the last degree, with proper management they will yield even more than the
actual revenue for the last two years."
Then there is "Money " in it.
a hint to the detectives.
We observed the following in Lloyd's List of Thursday :—
" Jas. Nicol Fleming (of Glasgow) steering W., Oct. 14, in lat. 41 N. long.
14 W.
a propos oe st. paul's peal.
Busy City Man {ivho doesnH like the disturbance). Bless the Bells!
Confound them!