Punch: Punch (83.1882)

December 16, 1882.]

PUNCH. OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

277

MAKING ONESELF AGREEABLE.

Monsieur Tromblon Bolivard (Impressionist, Socialist, &c., &c , &c.). “ Sack&s Aris-
TOORATES, Va ! I VOULD LIKE TO ’ANG ZEM ALL ! YOU SEE ZE DOCHESSE OF

Pentonville ? Yell, last Night, ven she vas presented to me, she vas of a
Politeness ze most exquisite !—and zis Morning I go for to say to her ‘Good
Day ! ’ and she torn me simply ze Back ! ”

Broiun. “ Did you—a—happen to mention to her Grace last Night that

YOU WOULD LIKE TO HANG ALL THE SACRES ArISTOORATES ? ”

Monsieur T. B. “ Ma foi, oui, mon Ami ! Pourquoi pas ? ”

A LICENSING DEAD-LOCK.

TnE unseemly squabble between tbe Lord Chamberlain, tbe Metropolitan Board
of Works, and Messrs. Spiers & Co. with regard to the merits and defects of the
Criterion Theatre, only draws attention to the glaring defects of our licensing system.
The Criterion is a curious compound building, standing in Piccadilly, which contains
under one and the same roof an eating-house or restaurant, a huge drinking-bar,
a ball-room or music-hall, and an underground theatre. The public-house department
is licensed by what is called a District Board of Magistrates, composed largely of
local tradesmen, with another licence from the Board of Excise for the sale of tobacco.
The ball-room, or music-hall, which is situated near the clouds, is licensed by an irre-
sponsible body of gentlemen, numbering several hundreds, who sit for two days only
each year in Clerkenwell, and are known in these pages as the Meddlevex Magistrates.
Against the decision of the. local Magistrates there is an appeal to the Clerkenwell
Bench, but against the decision of the Clerkenwell Bench there is no appeal.

The Criterion Theatre, which is placed just as low as the music-hall is high—being
somewhere in the bowels of the earth—is licensed by the Lord Chamberlain, a Court
official, who is not allowed to act on his own judgment without a certificate from
the Metropolitan Board of Works. The Lord Chamberlain’s Department have publicly
stated that they think the theatre one of the safest, if not the most safe, in London ;
but the Metropolitan Board of Works, in spite of similar testimony given by one or
two of their leading officers, decline to authorise the Lord Chamberlain to grant a
licence. Here is enough of licensing and divided authority for one unfortunate building.

To make matters worse, the public-house is allowed to communicate with the ball-
room or music-hall, which is rarely used, but not with the theatre, which is used nightly,

although such communication would not make the
theatre more of a public house, or house for the
public, than it is at present, and would materially
add to its safety as a public building. This latter
restriction is in Lord Neverdare’s Act of 1873—a
standing disgrace to so-called Liberal legislation.
The Seldom-at-Home Secretary is said to be think-
ing over all these points in his new Municipal
Government Bill; but long before this mighty
measure is passed, a twoptnce-halfpenny portion
of reform might surely be given to the poor patient
stupid public!

qOME INTO “THE GARDEN,” MAUD!

A very Ideal Idyl of the [we hope not very remote)
Futiere.

Come into “ the Garden,” Maud !

For the Mudford blight is flown ;

Come into “the Garden,” Maud!

I am here by the “ Hummums ” alone;

No garbage stenches are wafted abroad,

And the slime from the pavement’s gone.

For a breeze of morning blows,

Yet my hand is not compelled
To hold up my handkerchief close to my nose,

As it had to be always held,

When the shops in the market of old would
unclose,

And the cry of the porters swelled.

All night have the suburbs heard
The wheels of the waggons grind ;

All night has the driver, with seldom a word,
His horses nodded behind ;

And your waggoner is as early a bird
As in Babylon one may find.

I say to myself, “No, there is not one
To block up the street and stay
Till the hum of the City hath well begun.”

I chortle in joyaunce gay.

“ Now half to the Southern suburbs are gone,
And half to the North. Hooray !

Low on the wood and loud on the stone
The last wheel echoes awa*y.”

I say, this is better now, goodness knows,

Than it was but a short time syne.

Oho ! my Lord Duke, I am glad to suppose
That much of the credit is thine,

That I need not go softly and hold my nose,

Or feel sick like a man on the brine.

No scent of rank refuse goes into my blood
As I stand in the central hall;

And long in “the Garden” I’ve strolled and
stood,

Without feeling qualmish at all.

And I say, “ This is really exceeding good,

An improvement that’s far from small.”

The paths, roads, and gutters are almost sweet,
And the stodge, like foetid size,

That used to impede one, and foul one’s feet,

No longer offends one’s eyes.

’Tis a pleasantish place for two lovers to meet—
Quite an urban paradise.

So, sweetest, most sensitive-nostril’d of girls,
Come hither !—the stenches are gone.

Foul dust blows no more in malodorous whirls,
No cabbage-leaves rot in the sun,

Damp-reek from choked gutter won’t straighten
your curls,

So come—’twill he really good fun !

A First-rate and Safe Investment.—Invest-
ing Dr. Watt Beid, Medical Director-General of
the Navy with the insignia of the Order of the
Bath. ____

Return of Herr Joachim for the Monday
Pops.—What did he play on his re-appearance F
Why, quite appropriately, Bach again!