Punch (80.1881)

January 29, 1881.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CIIARIVART.

45

BOMANCE AND BEAUTY.

(A Military Story for those whom it may concern.)

"We must secure him as a Volunteer, to fill up the Regiment
ordered abroad, to a respectable strength," said the Secretary of
State for War, decisively.

The Field Marshal Commanding in Chief bowed submissively, but
shrugged his shoulders. This almost imperceptive demonstration of
incredulity, seemed to lash the already excited Cabinet Minister to
absolute fury.

" Confound it all, your Eoval Highness ! " he began.

" Nay, Sir ! " returned the Hero of the Crimea, calmly, but firmly ;
"I am aware that you are my official chief, but for all that, I cannot
consent to listen to an imprecation ! Tour language makes me
shudder!"

The Secretary, seeing that he had gone too far, mumbled an
apology. He gave the Royal Duke a sealed packet.

"You will only open this, Sir, when all other arguments have
failed to convince him. I trust that your mission will end in a con-
siderable addition to the strength of the Battalion, now under orders
for the stormy coast of Timbuctoo."

The Field Marshal bowed and retired. Within six hours or so, he
had entered his Stanhope Phaeton, had driven down Pall Mall, and
had seated himself in a room in the Horse Guards overlooking St.
James's Park.

" I want to see Private Thomas Atkins," said the Duke.
The Warrior was sent for, and appeared. Atkins measured four

mission me to say that you refuse his offer with respectful ignominy
and dutiful contempt ? You will never barter your esprit de corps
for a paltry sum—-"

" Won't I, though? " shouted Private Atkins. " Why, I would
sell almost anything for a pot o' beer ! "

The Duke fainted. But it was all for the best.

The next day the Shoreditch Slashers sailed to Timbuctoo with
their new private, and—the country was saved !

THE THEATRES.

" Representation of Wi-
gan"—we were delighted to
notice this heading to a
paragraph in the Daily
Telegraph, but were disap-
pointed when, on reading it,
we found it referred to the
election, and not to the
capital comedian who has
been unaccountably absent
from the boards for a long
time. The best "Represent-
ation of Wigan " we ever
remember to bave seen was
his Haivkshaw the Detective
in the Ticket-ol--Leave Man;

teen inches round the chest stood five feet two m his boots, was ; iKHfal * »U~ * ^%|<J and before that, in Robson's
either fifteen or fifty, and m fact presented the very type ot a iSritisn J^M^^S^^^^'"^^]/^^ ^me, his Chicken the ex-

1' Atkins, '' said the Field Marshal Commanding in Chief, '' England : ^^m^^^B^^^f^ -cg"^ sla^hm^pe^OTmance^*011"

is in danger. We are passing through a serious crisis. You must
assist us to reorganise our Land Forces. And first, what is your
Regiment? "

"Sergeant said as how it was the 198th, or Putney Plungers, Sir,"
was the hesitating reply.

"A gallant corps, indeed!" commented H.R.H. "The fact,
that nearly all the rank and file were recruited in Canada, I have no
doubt, does not in the least lessen the love they must bear to their
native place—Putney the Pride of the Thames! "

Private Atkins was silent—perhaps overcome by the Duke's
eloquence.

" Thomas," continued the Field-Marshal, " the 242nd Shoreditch
Slashers are ordered to Timbuctoo, to save the flag and honour of
Old England from being ploughed by the hoof of the ruthless
invader. For various causes (for which, of course, we are none of
us accountable) the Establishment of the Slashers has been reduced
to one bugler, three sergeants, and the usual complement of officers.
The Slashers have a vacancy for a private. Will you volunteer to
accept that unique appointment ? "

Atkins was silent, and scratched his head.

" How long have you been in your present regiment! " asked the
Duke, noticing the soldier's hesitation.

" I don't rightly know, Sir ; but counting the time I have spent
in hospital and cells, it may be about three weeks."

" Three weeks ! " exclaimed His Royal Highness. " Then I can
well understand your praiseworthy irresolution! In three weeks
you have learned to love your officers, and they have learned to love
you ! In three weeks you have mastered all the glorious traditions
of your gallant corps ! You would not give up the proud privilege
of wearing one button short on your Norfolk jacket—no, not for
worlds ! In three weeks you have mastered the legend—how in the
Peninsula a Plunger fired a button, instead of a bullet, at the enemy,
and killed his Colonel (an indifferent commanding officer) in mistake
for a French General. How this saved the battle, and won the
day! "

Atkins admitted that he had heard " summut" about it in the
Canteen, but didn't understand what it was all about.

"And knowing this, you refuse, of course, to volunteer out of
your own regiment! Brave lad ! Good fellow ! There is some-
thing in esprit de corps, after all! My gallant youth, you can go ! "

Thomas Atkins saluted, and turned on his heel.
Stay! " cried the Royal Duke, as he suddenly remembered the
sealed packet that had been given to him by the Secretary of State
for War, to be used as a last resource. " I'have yet something to
do. _ It is my duty. Listen while I read to you."

His Royal Highness opened the letter, and smiled disdainfully as
he perused the contents.

' I do not like to insult you," he said, " but I am ordered to offer
you a bounty of a pound--"

" Bounty of a pound ! " ejaculated Atkins, in a fever of excite-
ment.

"Pardon me for causing you so much warmth," continued the
Duke, soothingly—" The bounty of a pound if :youjjhange your
present regiment for another ! My good fellow, of course>ou com-

The Connaught Theatre in

,r m »» -kt rr Holborn, is open under the

Mn. Taylor And Master. No 1ail-er. „ 1„ i xi.„ „
Two of the Coyent Garden Party, management of the experi-
enced Mr. Charles Morton,
who, years ago, worked up the Philharmonic at Islington into a
success. He has produced La Fille du Tambour Major, which went
merrily enough at the Alhambra. It is what Mr. Arthur Roberts
would call " strictly proper "—not Con-naughty, but nice.

The late Mrs. Bateman was a devoted mother and a thoroughly
good woman of business. We sincerely wish Miss Isabel Bateman
all success in her management of the New Sadler's Wells Theatre.

We have also to deplore the loss of Mr. Sothern, who died last
week. He will be famous in theatrical annals as the creator of Lord
Dundreary, the typical Foppington of John Leech's time. He had
a very strong sense of humour, was a most genial companion, and
a flyer in the hunting-field. He was an excellent _ stage manager,
was impatient of tradition, and detested conventionality. Alas!
poor Yorick!

Our Special Representative wrote to us last week to this effect:—
"Not all the Cab Horses, nor all the King's Men—including the
Provost Fellows, and Scholars in residence at Cambridge, who are
evidently the King's men of the Humpty Dumpty ballad—could have
succeeded in dragging me away from the fireside, or, to be accurate,
the fire-front, on either Monday or Tuesday last week—certainly not
Tuesday—to witness Mr. Booth, first as Othello and then as Lago.
With the very slightest hesitation necessary for the jeu de mots, I
said to myself, ' I-ar-go not to night;' and, let me add, being a
man of my word, I didn't. I saw the eminent American actor in my
mind's eye, Horatio, and well out of all draughts. The weather
must have been peciiHarly rough on the Theatres. Idle people who
have got carriages and horses won't take them out, have a dread
of cabs, and won't ride in 'busses : while busy people, glad to get
away from business, walk briskly home, and stop there. Logs and
grogs were the order of the night, and their Majesties, King Log,
and King Coal, spite of all his smoke, were warmly welcomed by
their cheery subjects. The greatest success in the Theatrical World
can't win much, when the Clerk of the Weather turns up Zero very
often."

Logs and Grogs indeed ! The idea of a Critic preferring the
Chimney Corner to Othello !

Supposed Correction.

A Correspondent writes to the Spectator, pointing out that when
Mr. Stoppord Blair—the poisoned mutton :.man—used the word
" cursorary," which so much tickled Sir W. V. Harcourt's fancy—
and our own—he had Shakspeare's authority for its use. Vide
Henry the Fifth, Act. V. Sc. 2. True ; but in whose mouth does
Shakspeare place it ? Why, in the FrencKKing's, whose speech, of
course, can't be taken as model English. LIumanum est [Curs-]
errare, but Mr. Spectator ought to have seen this.