Punch: Punch (83.1882)

October 7, 1882.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

157

NOT SO BAD FOR AN “ OLD CHAPPIE.”

First Old Chappie. “Think we’ve time fob a Cigarette, Old Chappie?”
Second Old Chappie. “ Well, Old Chappie, considering Thirty Years are

SUPPOSED TO ELAPSE BETWEEN THIS LAST ACT AND THE NEXT, I THINK WE
HAVE!”

FANCIES ON FANS.

“ An exhibition of lace, old and modern, and of fans, will be
opened at Brighton, in the Aquarium building, on October 7-”—'
The Queen.

The Fans from each, famous Collection
Are gathered before us to-day,

Arranged for a careful inspection,

Laid out in an elegant way.

They speak of past days and old glories
Of fashion, when woe to the man,

The hero of tea-table stories,

Once told with the flirt of a Fan.

Some Fans here are huge and extensive,

And others as small as you please,

Some cheap and some very expensive,

These English, and those Japanese.

The skill of the painter could cover
The silk with the triumphs of Art;

Fit gift from an ardent young lover,

To her who had captured his heart.

What tales of old times might be uttered
By Fans, could they speak at our call,

Of routs where they used to he fluttered,

Of modish assembly and ball.

Time was when a lady could capture
And drive to distraction a man,

Could keep him ’twixt raving and rapture,

And all by the twirl of a Fan.

What love has been whispered behind you,

What scandalous tales have been told ;

How handy young ladies would find you
When lovers became over-bold.

You hid all the exquisite blushes
That came with the compliments paid ;

You signalled a sweetheart ’mid crushes
That parted a man and a maid.

And now you are brought from oak presses,

Once more to the light of the day;

The lavender laid with the dresses,

Perfumes you in old-fashioned way.

You bring back past years and strange fancies,

Of antique enjoyment and glee ;

While Beauty rewards you with glances,

At Brighton—our London-on-Sea.

DEAR BOYS !

“The School of Dramatic Art formally opens for the instruction of his-
trionic aspirants on the fourth of the present month.”—Daily Taper.

Roscius House Academy,

My dear Parents, Oct. 5th, 1882.

You will be glad to hear that I arrived here yesterday
evening, quite safely, before seven, after which hour not even the
Chaplain, who generally comes with orders, is admitted under any
pretext whatever. There were several other new boys at the Station,
and we found a vampire trap, sent from the Establishment, waiting
for us. I could not help thinking we formed a motley company as
we drove along with our private boxes and hampers full of property
eatables piled up behind the vehicle. Picture to y ourself a Chairman
of a Gas Company, two broken-down half-pay Officers, several
youthful Dukes who had run away from home, a mad Doctor over
seventy, and a Pork Butcher who means to play Romeo in the
agricultural districts, and you can conceive what an eager and
striking little group we made as we were received by the kindly and
attentive Matron, who, with a gracious smile, instantly directed us
to our dormitory.

We found ourselves, I own, rather high up, having been entered
at first as “sky-borders; ” but the room, which, to accustom us to the
possible contingencies of our future career, had been lavishly but
judiciously papered, was bright and cleanly • and after rehearsing a
capital supper with papier mache viands and some of the best wool-
headed porter 1 have ever met with in a property goblet, to slow
music and with lamps down, we retired to rest on our little trick
bedsteads.

Once or twice, my dear Parents, during the night as the Begius
Professor of East End Harlequinade looked in, in his diagonally
spangled and parti-coloured official robe, and sinking the floor
smartly, first near this one of us, and then near that, changed our
modest canvas couches, much to our surprise, at one moment into a
cumbersome and blazing kitchen-range, at another, into a coster-

monger’s cart attached to a donkey with a moveable tail, I confess
that my thoughts wandered back to the grand old ivy-covered
ancestral home, and the succession to two baronetcies that, after
mature consideration at the ripe age of five-and-forty, I had relin-
quished that morning for the excitements of a more stirring artistic
career. But, by keeping my eyes fixed on the prompter, who has to
give us the signal for waking with a red flag, I managed to feign an
excellent sleep, and was soon up betimes eager to begin the work of
the day.

Chapel over—(a touching little service conducted by processional
Monks and Archbishops walking two-and-two round a quadrangle
to a cathedral door, with the organ playing outside)—1 presented
myself to the Principal, who happened to be laid up from the effects
of a severe frost in which he had been caught the night before, but
who very kindly put me at my ease by addressing me. at once as
“ Dear Boy,” and advising me, if I wished to get on, without delay
to start a stage-coach, i.e. private tutor. Meantime I have been to
my first lecture on dramatic trigonometry, and I can already, from
a given centre, fairly describe an empty Dress-Circle, and show how.
upon a couple of well-worded under-lines, a very pretty figure can
often be constructed by the Management.

But I must close this, as the “ Bally ” Professor has just arrived.
Do not forget to send me my Pantomime fork, knife, and spoon. I
enjoy our recreations immensely, and am quite a dab already at
making a butter-slide outside a frequented shop-door ; and I hope
to show you some screaming fun at home in the holidays when all
the old tenants over eighty come down the Hall steps to give you
their usual Christmas greeting. Mr. Hamilton Aide’s annual prize
of a large pasteboard head with winking eye, given for the best bit
of “ demon business ” to appropriate music, has just been.carried off
much to everybody’s surprise, and to his own, by a retired Bural
Dean who came here, so he said, to learn elocution. However, as I
am going to be coached by a celebrated tragedian, I hope to run him
close next Easter. Ever your dutiful and dramatic Son,

Sheridan Fitz-Howard Northumberland.