180

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[April 14, 1883.

’AERY ON HIS CRITICS AND CHAMPIONS.

Dear Charlie,

I ’ad yours 0. K., and the noosepaper cutting inside,*
Appariently writ by a party as puts up his dooks on my side,

Wich thank ’im for nothink’s my arnser. The ink-slinger’s plainly a flat,

And as for defending me —Walker ! I larfed, Charlie, all round my ’at.

Rice sort of old miwy he makes me. I’m “poor and ill-dressed,” Charlie—me /
When Rhino-cwm-Ki.NO ’s my motter ! it’s all blessed fiddlededee.

“ A ill-used "—toot is it ?—oh, “ Citizen’’—sounds like a steamer, I know—

As if I was old Sir John Bennett, or Alderman “ out in the snow.”

He’s a “ don’t-nail-his-ears-to-the-pump”-er, this party, dear boy, and no kid.
He says Hoscar Wilde doesn’t like me !! ! Who’d care half-a-bull if he did ?
But he’s maybe a bit orf the rails, Mister Hoscar’s no muggins, you bet,

And we snide’uns are birds of a feather, and wide-oh at spotting the net.

I am not quite so out of it, Charlie, as wot this yere Jorkins may think;

I’ve seen Hoscar Wilde, yus, and Wistler, and tipped ’em the haffable wink;
And though I’m not nuts on their notions in culler and coat-sleeves, and that,
He’s a tidy bit out in his reck’ning who sets either down as a flat.

Lor’, Charlie, they ’re fair on the job ! They are like me in one thing, old pal;
They do know their book, and no error. The World is arf fad and fal-lal;

I’ve mine, and you’ve yourn, and the caper is jest to play on ’em all round,

And if I’d long ’air and the skriggles, ’twould suit me right down to the ground.

Their lay would, I mean. As to Wistler, I went to his Show. Sech a spree!
Not the Pieters—they didn’t count much, but the pick o’ the fun was to see
The Swells gawping round at his scratches, like lunatics puzzled and flustered,
In a room like a big padded cell as they’d used for the stowage of mustard.

I carn’t say I like Hoscar’s hair, and a kink in the waist ain’t my style,

I’m more ah lar militate, Charlie, close cropping and plenty of ile ;

But if fluffing and flopping was fetching in suckles in wich I might spin,

Wy I’d flop with the best of ’em, Charlie, so long as it pulled in the tin.

As to young Oxford nobs and the Mashers, that’s jest where this chap shows the
green,

Got the very wust eye for a likeness, my pippin, as ever I’ve seen.

He says I am “ fond of a lark ; ” right he is, though it’s jolly stale news ;

And so are the Gaiety Johnnies, and ditto the ’Varsity Blues.

•You see. larks are larks. They ’re the “relish” as life ain’t worth living
without,

To any young fellow of sperrit who knows his meander about.

Wot hodds if it’s chivvying swells with red ties, doing spoons at the “ Gai,”

Or leading a rush along Fleet Street, as we did that last Lord Mare’s Day P

It’s only the jugginses grumbles at me and the Mashers, dear boy,

Young pidgins too funky to flutter, old roosters too stale to enjoy.

We smart ’uns must put on the pace, that’s a moral, and if in the run,

We bump or bowl over the stodgies, wy, that’s more than arf of the fun.

You git yerselves up,—that’s the fust thing,—it may be in Kino’s “Two-two’s,”
Or “ claws ” and a acre of shirt-front, accordin’, o’ course, to yer “ screws.”
Then go it! For ’Arry or Johnny, the only safe rule or receipt
Is make fun for yerself and of others. That tottles it ’andy and neat.

Noise ? Noos.ance ? My eye and a bandbox ! What nidditty-nodditty rot!
Row-de-dow is the mark of true dashers, all game ’uns who ’re fly to wot’s wot!
Can’t say as to Mohocks and sech like, but Undergrads, Mashers, or me,

We all likes a turn at the bellows when properly out on the spree.

Wot’s life ? Wy, Love, Lotion, and Larks,—the three L’s,—and the mark of
a man

Is to take ’em unwinking, like ’urdies. Yoihoicks ! let them foller as can!

If we thought of girls’ ’arts, our own ’eads, public taste, or the popular ear,

We might be gilded toffs or two-quidders, but Johnnies or ’Arries ? No fear!

Tin does it, my pippin, not taste. I carn’t run to the Gaiety Stalls,

Cig’rettes, petty soopers, and so on; but then I’ve the run of the ’Alls.

Penny plain, tuppence eullered, my boy. Let me land all the luck I can carry,
And the most undefeated of Johnnies shan’t knock many stars out of ’Arry.

* Our young friend has evidently been reading an article in life, in which he is com-
pared—to his advantage in some respects—with our modem “Mashers,” iEsthetes, and
University “roaring boys.”

J. M. Molloy’s new song, well tuned by the Composer and well timed by
the publishers, Metzler & Co., for the opening of the Royal Academy, is entitled
“ Pictures in the Fire." Intending Burlington House Exhibitors please take
notice.

As all the Bills can’t be passed this Session, we shall see a practical illus-
tration of the Survival of the Fittest.

WHAT THEY WILL COME TO!

(Advertisements extracted from “ The New Era.”)

WANTED, to open at the Variety Theatre, Little
Peddlingt on, a Juvenile Leading Gentleman, or
one to share the Business. Must have good wardrobe,
and sobriety indispensable. The Duke of Blankshire
may write.

WANTED,. through disappointment, a combination
Walking Lady Chambermaid who can play the
piano when required. Must be a quick study, and able
to work the limelight. The daughter of an Earl pre-
ferred, and none under Baronesses in their own right
need apply.

WANTED, to join at once, a steady Viscount of
middle age (married preferred), to augment the
Champion Marionettes’ Company as a figure-worker.
Must have a good voice and know his business. Nc
novice required. Will be expected to sell the programme
of the entertainment when not otherwise occupied.

WANTED, a few Dukes and a Marchioness to take
round the world an established, successful, and
high-class entertainment. Moneyless Members of the
House of Peers don’t write.

MAKING A MOUNTAIN OF MONTE CARLO

(To the Editor of Punch.)

Sir,—i write to you as I feel that yours is the proper
paper in which to ventilate my grievance—a terrible
one. The Bishop of Gibraltar has called attention to
the horrors of Monte Carlo, and warned doctors not to
send their patients to so health-destroying.aspot. Of
course he is right, as gambling must be injurious to
people suffering from bronchitis.

But, Sir, I know of a place infinitely worse than Mo-
naco. In this place tyrants, robbers—aye, and murderers,
too—can be found by the score, not to say the hundred.
In this place the most abandoned of both sexes hold a
levee by day and by night—men as brutal as a First
Napoleon, as false as a James the Second, as cruel
as a Robespierre, are always there. Nay, more—men
and women whose names have been rendered infamous
in the pages of the Newgate Calendar, smile and smirk
again. And amongst this awful company move young
men, women, and children. I am told that the place in
which the levee is held is particularly popular amongst
the agricultural classes. During Cattle-Show week the
rooms are crowded from morning until night. At other
times the London public throng the salons, and seem
never weary of gazing, with open-mouthed wonder, at
the notorious characters assembled there to receive them
with a hearty welcome.

What makes the matter more disgraceful is the shame-
less fact that the gatherings take place in apartments
exactly situated over an innocent-looking bazaar ! What
can be more prejudicial to the best interests of the young
and inexperienced ? I can assure you I have shuddered
when I have passed the detested portals of this pesti-
lent Pandemonium.

I ask you, Sir, then, in the name of decency to do
your best to remove the scandal. Paint the place in its
true character. Tell of the criminality of a vast propor-
tion of those who go there. Use your pages to point out
the pitfalls in the way of those who run the risk oi
keeping certain company. It is impossible to touch
pitch and to remain undefiled. In like manner, it is not
practicable to go to Monte Carlo, or the spot I have
attempted to describe, without sinking sinking per-
haps never to rise again.

And protesting from the very bottom of my heart,

I remain yours most smeerely,

1st April, 1883. (Signed) A Noodle.

The Mare's Nest, Donkey Town.

P.S.—I have just been told by a friend that the aban-
doned creatures of whom I complain are made of wax.
Need I say that I cannot, do not, believe him P It is
quite true I have never been inside the place of which
I complain. But what of that P As a matter of fact,
the Bishop of Gibraltar has never been to Monte Carlo.
And see what a great—what a very great deal he C£Q
write about that place !