Punch (86.1884)

June 28, 1884.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

iii

DOCTOR PUNCH, the great International Hakim, was at the International Health Exhibition,

Pie had received (of course) an “ ovation,” as the sporting scribes love to call it, compared with which that given to
Archer after a great win, Grace after a gigantic score, or Harlan after a twenty-length triumph, were a mere hushed
whisper. All other attractions of the colossal Show were for the time as completely eclipsed as Antony, enthroned in the
market-place, at the approach of Cleopatra in her Nile-borne barge. But now he had courteously waved his worshippers
away for awhile, and retired with Toby to a quiet nook of the Old London Street, for observation and reflection.

“ Tremendous spectacle, Toby !” soliloquised the Illustrious One. “ He whom men called Dizzy should have lived
to see it. It might perhaps have pleased him even more than the Primrose League. His improvised maxim, Sanitas sani-
tation, omnia sanitas, is here substantially set forth. Here is the apotheosis of what he mystically adumbrated in his
celebrated triad, ‘ the Tank, the Oven, and the Porch.’ ‘ A Policy of Sewage ’ is here matter not for light ridicule, but
for practical illustration. ’Twas vastly different in 1666 ! ”

Toby, with a recollection of his Master’s Fleet Street sanctum, and a comparative eye cocked at the “ Three Squirrels,”
yapped an emphatic assent.

“ Hygeia ! Hygeia !

My popular one!

This splendid idea
Will have a big1 rim!”

murmured Dr. Punch, parodying Poe’s song to the Siren with ready neatness.

“ Adsum ! ” said a voice at his elbow, soft and low, indeed, yet clear as a Belgian bell-note, and “ musical as is Apollo’s
lute.” The very voice of Health !

Dr. Punch bowed profoundly. He recognised the Health-Goddess at a glance, though she bore not the classic insignia
of the Serpent and Cup. Dr. Punch noticed also that she bore not the Harbertonian Divided Skirt !

“ Daughter of ancient AEsculapius, and pet divinity of his modern representative, Phchardson, this scene must be a
triumph for the Sire, the Goddess, and the faithful Votary ! ” said the smiling Sage, sententiously.

Hygeia stooped to pat the astonished Toby, who, “ gazing on divinity ” (though not “ disrobed ”), seemed for once to
have lost his usually dogged hold of the categorical imperative.

“The Greeks,” said she—as it seemed a little irrelevantly—“had a fine sense of congruity and proportion in Art.
I do not mean the Art of Advertisement, which I doubt if they understood so thoroughly as you Moderns seem to do.”

“ Had they done so,” said Dr. Punch, prompt^, “they would doubtless have had a God of Hoardings, or a Tutelary
Divinity of Bill-stickers. You will admit, however, my dear Goddess, that your own votaries are more numerous and more
devoted than in the days, say, of Old London.”

“ Doubtless,” replied Hygeia. “ But they have not always that mens sana in corpore sano which they are so fond of
talking about.”

“You mean that Sanitation, like Art, is dreadfully fad-ridden,” rejoined Dr. Punch.

“ Exactly,” said Hygeia. “ And fads mean mental disease and debility. Healthy minds throw them off as healthy
bodies throw off colds and megrims.”

“ Hurroo ! ” ejaculated the Sage, jubilantly., “You’re something like a Goddess, you are! Haven’t heard sounder
doctrine—from other lips than my own—for #long time. Your health, my dear Hygeia,—if that toast isn’t tautological ! ”