Punch: Punch (76.1879)

24

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [January 18, 1879.

THE NEW CHARITY.

(A Good Hint for a Bad Season.)

oitering over his second, and last, havannah,
Mr. Punch, at the close of his day's labours,
was conning an article on the prevailing dis-
tress, when the door of his sanctum opened.

"What is it now, Toby?" he asked, sur-
veying that faithful janitor across a wreath of
pale blue smoke. "A crowned head or two,
some dock labourers, a deputation of artists or
actors, agriculturists or statesmen ? "

" A queer lot of people, who say they're out
of work," responded the accurate Toby. "Do
you receive ? "

"Times are hard. Show them in, whoever
they are," was the large-
hearted response.

Toby disappeared. In a few
seconds, the most remarkable
audience chamber in Europe
was filled with a motley group.
Ladies of rank, swells of the
first water, diners-out, distin-
guished members of leading
clubs, young gentlemen from
Eton home for the holidays,
collectors of expensive china, and
charming"£little representatives
from several "West End^nurseries, crowded ^forward in well-bred
confusion. •

"What is the meaningftof this'?" inquired Mr. P., a little per-
plexed, but with his always courteous bow. "I thought I heard
something like ' Out of work.' Perhaps there is some mistake ? "

He addressed himself to a stately and serene Duchess, whose name
was familiarly associated in his mind with published subscription
lists, to whom, as he spoke_, he gracefully offered a high art chair.
She took the hint, and seating herself at once, responded readily for
her confreres.

"No, Mr. Punch" she said, "there is no mistake. The fact of
the matter is, we all want work, and what is more, want it badly."

" Indeed! " replied Mr. Punch, surveying the comfortable assem-
blage before him with much sympathy. ' I am really afraid that
my staff-"

She interrupted him with a pleasant little laugh. '' Oh no, it
isn't that," she said, "we are not like those people, you know, who
get shovels lent them at so much a day. That isn't the kind of work
we require."

" Proceed, your Grace," responded Mr. P., a little coldly. She
went on.

" We want to do something, don't you know, to help the prevailing
distress. We all give to the'.regular charities, of course, and do any
bazaar, or private theatrical, or concert business, that turns up
at the proper houses. But they say just now, you know, as things
are so bad, we ought to do something more. I'm sure there are a lot
of us would be quite too charmed if we only knew what to do : so if
you could just suggest something, you are such an awfully clever,
old dear—you know — we should really all think you quite too
delightful.'"

There was a murmur of approbation as she finished. Mr. Punch)'s
Olympian face visibly relaxed.

Toby," he said, " get me a quire of imperial foolscap. What
your Grace wants," he continued, turning benevolently to the smil-
ing Duchess, "is a new sort of subscription-list, framed on the
principle of personal sacrifice."

" Yes ? Connais pas," she answered innocently.

" At the present moment I have myself cut off two havannahs
daily, and other little superfluous luxuries which shall be nameless.
The saving thus effected is tacked on in my account-book to the
item " General Charity," which, I can assure you, it swells not
inconsiderably. Its moral effect is most bracing. Toby has been
in the best of tempers since he has given up game-pie."

There was a brief burst of applause, which was immediately sup-
pressed ; but, at its conclusion, a celebrated diner-out had to be
removed from the room in tears.

" Thanks, so much," said the Duchess, rising. " I understand—
we are all to give up something we like ? "

"Your Grace has hit it," replied Mr. P., as he gallantly bowed
oyer her white and taper fingers in his best vieille cour style. "We
will commence our list at once. What shall we say for a start ?
' A Duchess ' contributes ? "-

'' The cost of a couple of receptions, and—let me see—a parure
of opals, her New Year's gift to herself. Will that do ? "

Punch smiled approval, and jotted down the Duchess's friendly
"lead."

There was quite a rush to the table, and much enthusiasm. It
was clear that Mr. Punch's suggestion was a success.

" Put me down for six Club dinners," shouted a young gentleman,
fresh from Cambridge. "And, by Jove ! I don't care if I give up
St. Estephe for the Club ordinaire."

" And I '11 manage without that sweet set of sables I was going to
coax Piantagenet out of," threw in a Mayfair beauty, with a
determined toss of her head.

" Put me down for a couple of Pantomimes," lisped a tiny voice
scarce up to the level of the table. '' I shall be quite satisfied with
six this year, when the poor people in the Black Country can't
afford any."

"Better and better," responded Mr. P., encouragingly. "We

shall soon fill up a dozen pages at this rate."

* # * # * *

And three hours later, as Toby appeared with a glass of cold
water and a lemon, Mr. P. was totting up a very substantial first
instalment of the " New Charity."

TREADING ON THE FAIRIES' TALES.

Sir,

I rejoice to see that the monstrous absurdity of giving
Cinderella a glass slipper has at length been energetically and most
properly denounced as an exploded myth. At no period of manners
known to the research of our antiquarian authorities on costume (see
in particular Mr. Planche's excellent Clyclopcedia, now in course of
publication) does any shoe or slipper of this material seem to have
been worn. One can readily understand the pumpkin changed into
a carriage, the rats into footmen, and the other arrangements for
the Transformation Scene wrought by Cinderella's scientific god-
mother, which are evidently a mythic foreshadowing of some of the
most recently discovered truths of the great Darwinian Doctrine of
Evolution. This is all reasonable enough. But a slipper of glass !—
the thing is preposterous! The word was clearly not verre, but
voir, for which see Qtjtcherat, and other authorities.

And now, Sir, as scholarly criticism is at length let loose upon the
nursery, I would suggest to Mr. Punch's learned and thoughtful
correspondents that proof may usefully be called for,—

1. That the fast-growing plant referred to in Jack and the Bean-
stalk must have been one of the Eucalyptus family, which may be
cultivated in any sheltered aspect of a temperate locality at the
present day, with results little less rapid, if not exactly so startling,
in the way of development.

2. It may be contended, I think, with much plausibility, that
Cassim was not brutally cut up by the Forty Thieves, but simply
quartered on them, in a fashion still common in the East, in the
military sense of the word—half as associate, half as zaptieh.

3. There is strong ground for the view that the Yelloiv Dwarf
was probably suffering from some chronic affection of the liver ; and
that the apples which figure prominently in the story will be found
to refer to some vegetable remedy for the liver complaint, which
it might be well worth while to investigate.

4. It is extremely probable, I think, and documentary evidence
may yet be forthcoming in the Archives of Brittany, that Blue
Beard owed the peculiar colour of the hair on his chin to some
enterprising hairdresser, who farmed him as an advertisement.

There is a great deal more, Sir, for which I should like to offer or

invite proof, if you would give me space. It is high time that gross

misstatements, tending to foster nothing but the most childish

credulity, should be driven from the nursery by votaries of accurate

knowledge, like ^T . , „

Yours, iconoclastically,

Smelfungus Dryasdust.

Rare Chance for a Christian.

The depression of the times has evidently reached the domestic
level, if we may judge from the following Advertisement in the
Daily Chronicle :—■

GENERAL SERVANT. —Wanted an active, decided Christian, be-
tween thirty and fifty, without encumbrance ; private family; four
persons; Christian privileges ; great liberty ; unfurnished room, kitchen,
fire, lights, and 3s. weekly, without board.

It must be a very active and decided Christian indeed who could
contrive to feed herself and enjoy her unfurnished room, great
liberty, and Christian privileges, on 3s. a week.

a testimonial.

Mr. Irving wears a remarkable feather in his Hamlet's bonnet,
in the Graveyard Scene. We present him with "another feather
in his cap," in the form of Punch's discriminating praise. Let him
plume himself on this.

iST To Cobrespondents.—The Editor does not hold himself bound to acknowledge, return, or pay for Contributions. In no case can these be returned unless accompanied by a

stamped and directed envelope. Copies should be kept.