Punch (90.1886)

February 27, 1886.] PUNCH, OE THE LONDON CHABIVARI. 97

THE MODERN TAPPERTIT;

OR, A 'PRENTICE HAND AT PADDINGTON.

Fragments from a forthcoming " No Popery" Novel adapted from
Dickens to the present day.

hut up, Smew Tappeetit !"
said John Bull. " Tou
needn't make any more of
that confounded clatter.
Tour blows produce more
row than anything else."

" Sir," said Sim, with
an air of inflated self-
importance highly ludi-
crous to behold, " a blow
will have to be struck—
and a blow will be struck
—the sound of which will
go into all lands, and the
echoes of which shall
reverberate to the utter-
most corners of the
earth."

" I suppose," muttered
John, " that's out of the
Patriot's Garland, or the
Patriot's Delight, or the
Patriot's Windbag, or the
Patriot' s Guide to Balder-
dash, or some such irn-
rjroving text-book."
Simon Tappeetit was
J{K§- a thin-faced, sleek-haired,

cock-nosed, large-eyed
little fellow, smart but small, yet persuaded in his own mind
that he was " as big as Benjamin," as he figuratively phrased
it. He also had some majestic, shadowy ideas, which had never
been quite fathomed by his intimate friends. It may be inferred
from these premises that in the small body of Mr. Tappeetit there
was locked up an ambitious and aspiring soul. As certain liquors
confined in casks too cramped in their dimensions, will ferment, and
fret, and chafe in their imprisonment, so the spiritual essence or soul
of Mr. Tappeetit would sometimes fume within that precious cask,
his body, until, with great foam and froth and splutter, it would
force a vent, and carry all before it. He had a mighty notion of his
party—which was Blue—and his sect—which was deep Orange—and
was reported to have said that in former times a stigma had been cast
on these colours by the extension of a right to flaunt to their
antagonists Buff and—especially—Green. This stigma, he held, was
one to which the B.'s and O.'s should not have basely submitted, but
should have demanded its removal of the legislature, temperately at
first, then by an appeal to arms if necessary. Indeed, he would
darkly, and to the terror of his hearers, hint at certain reckless
fellows that he knew of, and a certain Lion Heart ready to become
their Captain, who once afoot would make the Pope himself tremble

on his throne.

******

B-egarding the pause which ensued as a particularly advantageous
opportunity for doing great execution, Mr. Tappeetit began to
screw and twist his face into such extraordinary, hideous, and un-
paralleled contortions that John, who happened to be looking towards
him, was stricken with amazement.

"Why, what the devil's the matter with the lad?" cried his
master, " he's choking!"

" Who ? " demanded Sim, with some disdain.

"Who? Why, you!" returned his master. "What do you
mean by making those horrible faces ? "

" Faces are a matter of taste, Sir," said Mr. Tappeetlt.

" Sim," rejoined John, laughing heartily, " don't be a fool, for I'd

rather see you in your senses."

*J J * * * * *

"I'll do nothing, to-day," said Mr. Tappertpt, dashing down his
'prentice cap, "but grind—I'll grind up all the tools. Grinding
will suit my present humour ! Joe !!!" This last monosyllable was
uttered with singular significance, and supreme contempt.

Whirr-r-r-r ! The grindstone was soon in motion—the sparks
were flying off in showers. This was the occupation for his heated
spirit.

"Joe!!!"

Whirr-r-r-r-r-r!

" Something will come of this! " said Mr. Tappeetit, pausing, as
if in triumph. " Something will come of this. I hope it mayn't be
human gore! "

Whirr-r-r-r-r-r-r!

Mr. Tappeetit, Chief or Captain, of the United 'Bulldogs, a
violently Blue-cum-Orange Association of bold and daring spirits,
aspired to a distinguished state in great political events. Hence his
connection with that great Protestant and Loyalist Association. His
Protestantism was illustrated by vehement protestations against any
diminution—even in the interests of justice—of the Blue-and-Orange
prerogatives as " a dominant and an imperial caste ; " his loyalism
by the utterance of scarcely veiled incitement to rebellion and Civil
War. Mr. Tappeetit's tails; in this connection was simply tre-
mendous. He took to the Tub, and harangued the multitude—
at Paddington—in the true Tyrta3us-cum-Boanerges style.

"Tappeetit is an earnest man," remarked one startledPadding-
tonian.

"One of the foremost among them all," rejoined another. "He
snuffs the battle from afar, like the war-horse. He throws his hat
up in the streets, as if he were inspired, and makes most stirring
speeches from the shoulders of his friends."

"Make a note of Tappeetit," muttered a more thoughtful ob-
server, dubiously. " He may be advanced to a place of trust. Let
us see how far he shows himself fitted for it."

" Hear, hear ! Bravo ! ! Shows great courage on your part!!! "
yelled the multitude, greatly stirred by Simon's sounding tropes and
valiant invective.

All these compliments Mr. Tappeetit received as matters of
course—flattering enough in their way, but entirely attributable to
his vast superiority. Mr. Tappeetit had mounted on an empty
cask, which stood by way of rostrum in the room, and volunteered a
speech upon the alarming crisis at hand.

" I go," said he, " to stir our fellow-Protestants to pious violence,
to rouse our fellow-Loyalists to revolt. I go to bear from Protestant
Paddington to Presbyterian Belfast the Fiery Cross of religious and
racial rivalry, which the insanity engendered by a monstrous and
unparalleled combination of verbosity and senility has long been
vainly striving to extinguish."

"Hooray! Keep it blazing, Simon ! " shouted the excited throng.

" The time has come for the blow ! I go to strike it! " shrieked
Tappeetit.

" Good night, Captain," they cried. "We 're yours to the death,
remember!"

" Farewell!" said Mr. Tappeetit, waving his hand. "Behold
and vigilant!"

"Wo Popery, Captain ! " roared they.

" Ireland in blood first.'" cried their desperate leader, whereat the

Mob cheered and laughed and dispersed.

******

The result of Mr. Tappeetit's incendiary enterprise remains to be
seen. Sensible men shake their heads over the prospect of a firebrand
among powder-casks.

THE PHOTOGEAPHTC HAT.

[Herr Ltjders, of Gorlitz, has patented a photographic hat, which carries
a camera, lens, and dry plates, the latter being exposed by pulling a string,
when negatives are taken at the will of the wearer.]

If they knew what I wear when I walk in the street,
I should he quite a terror to people I meet;
They would fly when they saw me, and ne'er stop to chat,
For I carry a camera up in my hat.

A Herr Lttdees, of Gorlitz, has patented this,
And I think the idea is by no means amiss;
With a hole in my hat for the lens to peep through,
And a dry plate behind, I take portrait or view.

Should I meet, when I chance to be taking the air,
With a lady who looks so surpassingly fair,
If I wish to preserve her sweet face by the sun,
Why I just pull a string, and the photograph's done.

I admire, say, a sea-scape, or else chance to look,
With the eye of an artist, on picturesque nook ;
There are plates in my hat, if I poise it with skill,
That will take any beautiful view at my will.

If I'm stopped in the street—that may happen, you know-
By a robber whose manners are not comme ilfaut,
His identification should never be hard,
There's my neat little photograph in Scotland Yard.

So we '11 all wear the hat made by Science complete,
With a camera, lens, and a dry-plate en suite ;
And take views in the street with its bustle and traffic,
By the aid of this German's strange hat photographic.

Reminder for Sir Edmund Henderson.—".The Force is no
remedy."

vol. xc.