DOI issue:
October 9, 1880
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17764#0176
168 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [October 9, 1880.
THE BEADLE!
OR,
THE LATEST CHRONICLE OF SMALL-BEERJESVER.
BY
ANTHONY DOLLOP.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Upsetting the Cast.
he Archbeacon and Mr.
Oyerwayte found Mrs.
Dotydie in the drawing-
room of the Palace.
I honestly confess I
do not like Mrs. Dow-
die, but in her present
distress I must say I
pity her. To be turned
out of her husband’s
room, to be deposed from
auth rrity in the presence
of the man whom she
herself had introduced to the
Bishop, wdiom she herself had
patronised, and who had professed
himself at one time her devoted
slave,—it was too much. It was
too bad. The Bishop should pay
for it when he came to his senses.
But how ? And poor Mrs. Dow-
die fumed and fretted, but could
not get at the solution of the
difficulty. In this manner nearly
a day passed without her seeing
the Bishop.
“Let him come and humble
himself tome,” she said to herself.
‘ I don’t catch myself going to him.”
And so she sat in solitary grandeur, and took her meals alone; but
the Bishop did not appear.
Mrs. Overwatte was triumphant. “ My dear Mrs. Dowdie,
you ’ve heard the news, of course ? ” she began.
The Bishop’s wife regarded her curiously.
“ What news ? ”
“What news! Why, all Small-Beerjester’s ringing with it.
The walls are placarded. The pictures are out.” ,
“ Pictures ! ” gasped Mrs. Dowdie. And then what she had seen
through the keyhole of the Crumpet and Crozier suddenly flashed
across her.
“Pictures-” commenced the Archbeacon.
“Hold your tongue!” said his wife. Then turning to Mrs.
Dowdie, she went on—“ Pictures of Canon Mattix and La Mar-
chesa. She has eloped with him ! ”
Mrs. Dowdie smiled bitterly. The Canon had gone off, and the
report had been heard all over Small-Beerj ester. So much the better.
It was an enemy out of her path.
“ I ’ll go and tell the Bishop,” said the Archbeacon.
Then the two Ladies counselled together, and for the first time
came to something like an agreement. I am not saying that, as
Morleena’s sister, Mrs. Oyerwayte was wrong in proposing Mr.
Arable for the vacant posts of Dean and Canon and Bishop’s chap-
lain. It is probably what any one of you would have done. Mrs.
Dowdie was meditating whether Mrs. Oyerwayte’s alliance was of
sufficient value, when the Archbeacon returned, pale and Harried.
“ Have you seen a ghost ? ” inquired his wife.
“ I wish I could see even the ghost of a chance of finding the
Bishop,” he replied.
“ What! ! ” screamed poor Mrs. Dowdie.
“ He’s not to be found—not to be seen anywhere,” said Dr. Over-
wayte, mopping his forehead.
In less time than it takes to tell, Mrs. Dowdie had rushed down
to the study. It was in utter disorder. The desk was open ; the
purse, cash-box, and cheque-book all vanished. They ran to the
^reR^a^"r00rr1' a ves^£e °f Bishop, except a tattered apron,
a third-rate old shovel-hat, some worn-out gaiters, and lawn-sleeves
much the worse for wear.
a Por^mani;eaT'1 • ” cried his wife.
All gone ! He had taken all his boots, leaving only a rack behind !
At last, over the chimney-piece, on the diocesan notice-board,
which served as a professional memorandum of dates for visitations,
sermons, ordinations, and so forth, a note caught Mrs. Dowdie’s eye.
8he tore it open, and read—“ Off on tour with Zazzeglia and Canon.
Not back for three months. After that time, diocese business as
before, and Orders punctually attended to.”
Mrs. Dowdie uttered one cry, and fainted in the Archbeacon’s
arms. When she recovered, consciousness, the Sheriff’s officers were
in the place, and a shabby individual introduced himself to her as
the man in possession. Realising the situation, and making as much
as she could out of it, with some assistance from a distant relative
who luckily wasn’t at all near, she went to the Station, determined to
follow in her husband’s track. From information she received at
the Detective Office, Mrs. Dowdie went off in a wrong direction;
and here, with deepest sympathy, and regretting that an Author’s
duties will not allow him to accompany a lady alone on a voyage of
discovery, I must leave her, and return to Small-Beerjester.
The Archbeacon at once telegraphed up to the Prime Minister—
“ See vacant. Sale to-morrow. Sic transit.”
The telegraph Superintendent, however, being a sharp fellow, cor-
rected the spelling, and put his own interpretation on the despatch,
so that the message read thus :—
“ Open sea. Sail to-morrow. Rough passage.”
And the Prime Minister, unable to understand it, sent it to the First
Lord of the Admiralty, who, on going out of office, left it to the next
person who came in. Owing to this clerical error, Morleena, who
was determined that her sister should not have it all her own way,
went up to Downey Street, attended a Cabinet Council, and tbe
result was that the Clerk of the Course issued the following in-
structions :—
Arable.1
Simpler . 2
Archbeacon.3
The Field.0
This decision was, on the whole, favourably received in Small-
Beerjester, and Mr. Arable was made Bisbop, with a Canonry,
Deanery, Percentorship, Beadledom, and Mastership of Deedler’s in
his gift, of which preferments the two first he divided between his
father-in-law (Mr. Simony Simpler) and Dr. Oyerwayte, keeping
the others himself ; but on the recommendation of the Penny Pro-
metheus, with whose Editor he particularly wished to keep on good
terms, he conferred the Beadleship, reduced to less than fifty pounds
per annum, on John Bounce, who, after holding the office for some
years, I may here say, was so ill treated, on account of his cocked-
hat and old-fashioned dress, by the small boys of Small-Beerjester
on Guy Fawkes’ Day. that he took to the only spare bed in Deedler’s
Hospital, and ended his days under the roof—in a top attic—of the
very place he had so energetically attempted to destroy.
A FAREWELL.
(To the Australian Cricheters.)
Good-bye ! You are off to your dry
swarded South
F rom the premature fogs of our watery
West,
Leaving praise of your prowess in every-
one’s mouth.
Good-bye ! Here’s your health in a
bowl of the best.
We must pack up our willows, our
wickets must draw,
For one can’t play the game in a mist
on a bog;
Vain the bat-skill of Grace, or the hall-
sleight of Shaw,
’Gainst the dolorous rule of King
Fog.
Bat you - all the taste of our Winter you ’ll get
Is the rich turtle twang at the Mansion House feed.
We must make a bad best of our gloom and our wet,
You to sunshine and Spring take your skill and its meed.
You have taken the shine out of some of our lights,
And when worsted played up with invincible pluck ;
“ Won ” or “ honours divided ” seems most of your fights.
So bon voyage, my boys, and good luck!
Trump’d.
A motto was wanted for the Card-Room of tbe Eclecticon Club.
As there was so much unnecessary chatter, one eminent whist-player
proposed “ Silentium.” A riper scholar suggested “ Pax.” It was
adopted as appropriate and comprehensive.
A Newspaper Paragraph of Wrong Intelligence.—A Faux Par,
THE BEADLE!
OR,
THE LATEST CHRONICLE OF SMALL-BEERJESVER.
BY
ANTHONY DOLLOP.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Upsetting the Cast.
he Archbeacon and Mr.
Oyerwayte found Mrs.
Dotydie in the drawing-
room of the Palace.
I honestly confess I
do not like Mrs. Dow-
die, but in her present
distress I must say I
pity her. To be turned
out of her husband’s
room, to be deposed from
auth rrity in the presence
of the man whom she
herself had introduced to the
Bishop, wdiom she herself had
patronised, and who had professed
himself at one time her devoted
slave,—it was too much. It was
too bad. The Bishop should pay
for it when he came to his senses.
But how ? And poor Mrs. Dow-
die fumed and fretted, but could
not get at the solution of the
difficulty. In this manner nearly
a day passed without her seeing
the Bishop.
“Let him come and humble
himself tome,” she said to herself.
‘ I don’t catch myself going to him.”
And so she sat in solitary grandeur, and took her meals alone; but
the Bishop did not appear.
Mrs. Overwatte was triumphant. “ My dear Mrs. Dowdie,
you ’ve heard the news, of course ? ” she began.
The Bishop’s wife regarded her curiously.
“ What news ? ”
“What news! Why, all Small-Beerjester’s ringing with it.
The walls are placarded. The pictures are out.” ,
“ Pictures ! ” gasped Mrs. Dowdie. And then what she had seen
through the keyhole of the Crumpet and Crozier suddenly flashed
across her.
“Pictures-” commenced the Archbeacon.
“Hold your tongue!” said his wife. Then turning to Mrs.
Dowdie, she went on—“ Pictures of Canon Mattix and La Mar-
chesa. She has eloped with him ! ”
Mrs. Dowdie smiled bitterly. The Canon had gone off, and the
report had been heard all over Small-Beerj ester. So much the better.
It was an enemy out of her path.
“ I ’ll go and tell the Bishop,” said the Archbeacon.
Then the two Ladies counselled together, and for the first time
came to something like an agreement. I am not saying that, as
Morleena’s sister, Mrs. Oyerwayte was wrong in proposing Mr.
Arable for the vacant posts of Dean and Canon and Bishop’s chap-
lain. It is probably what any one of you would have done. Mrs.
Dowdie was meditating whether Mrs. Oyerwayte’s alliance was of
sufficient value, when the Archbeacon returned, pale and Harried.
“ Have you seen a ghost ? ” inquired his wife.
“ I wish I could see even the ghost of a chance of finding the
Bishop,” he replied.
“ What! ! ” screamed poor Mrs. Dowdie.
“ He’s not to be found—not to be seen anywhere,” said Dr. Over-
wayte, mopping his forehead.
In less time than it takes to tell, Mrs. Dowdie had rushed down
to the study. It was in utter disorder. The desk was open ; the
purse, cash-box, and cheque-book all vanished. They ran to the
^reR^a^"r00rr1' a ves^£e °f Bishop, except a tattered apron,
a third-rate old shovel-hat, some worn-out gaiters, and lawn-sleeves
much the worse for wear.
a Por^mani;eaT'1 • ” cried his wife.
All gone ! He had taken all his boots, leaving only a rack behind !
At last, over the chimney-piece, on the diocesan notice-board,
which served as a professional memorandum of dates for visitations,
sermons, ordinations, and so forth, a note caught Mrs. Dowdie’s eye.
8he tore it open, and read—“ Off on tour with Zazzeglia and Canon.
Not back for three months. After that time, diocese business as
before, and Orders punctually attended to.”
Mrs. Dowdie uttered one cry, and fainted in the Archbeacon’s
arms. When she recovered, consciousness, the Sheriff’s officers were
in the place, and a shabby individual introduced himself to her as
the man in possession. Realising the situation, and making as much
as she could out of it, with some assistance from a distant relative
who luckily wasn’t at all near, she went to the Station, determined to
follow in her husband’s track. From information she received at
the Detective Office, Mrs. Dowdie went off in a wrong direction;
and here, with deepest sympathy, and regretting that an Author’s
duties will not allow him to accompany a lady alone on a voyage of
discovery, I must leave her, and return to Small-Beerjester.
The Archbeacon at once telegraphed up to the Prime Minister—
“ See vacant. Sale to-morrow. Sic transit.”
The telegraph Superintendent, however, being a sharp fellow, cor-
rected the spelling, and put his own interpretation on the despatch,
so that the message read thus :—
“ Open sea. Sail to-morrow. Rough passage.”
And the Prime Minister, unable to understand it, sent it to the First
Lord of the Admiralty, who, on going out of office, left it to the next
person who came in. Owing to this clerical error, Morleena, who
was determined that her sister should not have it all her own way,
went up to Downey Street, attended a Cabinet Council, and tbe
result was that the Clerk of the Course issued the following in-
structions :—
Arable.1
Simpler . 2
Archbeacon.3
The Field.0
This decision was, on the whole, favourably received in Small-
Beerjester, and Mr. Arable was made Bisbop, with a Canonry,
Deanery, Percentorship, Beadledom, and Mastership of Deedler’s in
his gift, of which preferments the two first he divided between his
father-in-law (Mr. Simony Simpler) and Dr. Oyerwayte, keeping
the others himself ; but on the recommendation of the Penny Pro-
metheus, with whose Editor he particularly wished to keep on good
terms, he conferred the Beadleship, reduced to less than fifty pounds
per annum, on John Bounce, who, after holding the office for some
years, I may here say, was so ill treated, on account of his cocked-
hat and old-fashioned dress, by the small boys of Small-Beerjester
on Guy Fawkes’ Day. that he took to the only spare bed in Deedler’s
Hospital, and ended his days under the roof—in a top attic—of the
very place he had so energetically attempted to destroy.
A FAREWELL.
(To the Australian Cricheters.)
Good-bye ! You are off to your dry
swarded South
F rom the premature fogs of our watery
West,
Leaving praise of your prowess in every-
one’s mouth.
Good-bye ! Here’s your health in a
bowl of the best.
We must pack up our willows, our
wickets must draw,
For one can’t play the game in a mist
on a bog;
Vain the bat-skill of Grace, or the hall-
sleight of Shaw,
’Gainst the dolorous rule of King
Fog.
Bat you - all the taste of our Winter you ’ll get
Is the rich turtle twang at the Mansion House feed.
We must make a bad best of our gloom and our wet,
You to sunshine and Spring take your skill and its meed.
You have taken the shine out of some of our lights,
And when worsted played up with invincible pluck ;
“ Won ” or “ honours divided ” seems most of your fights.
So bon voyage, my boys, and good luck!
Trump’d.
A motto was wanted for the Card-Room of tbe Eclecticon Club.
As there was so much unnecessary chatter, one eminent whist-player
proposed “ Silentium.” A riper scholar suggested “ Pax.” It was
adopted as appropriate and comprehensive.
A Newspaper Paragraph of Wrong Intelligence.—A Faux Par,