Punch: Punch (91.1886)

July 24, 1886.] PUNCH, OE THE LONDON CHARIVARI. «

OVER-COMBED !

Our Barber. "What you want, Sib,"—{running his fingers through his Cus-
tomer's few remaining Hairs)—"is a Bottle of my Hatr-resto-"

Customer [virulently). " Whar I want, Sik, is a Divorce! !"

[ The Conversation taking this portentous turn, our Barber drops it!

THE LAST SHOPKEEPER.

{A Tale of the Sim and Distant Future.
*******

" Youbs is indeed the first Shop I have seen in London," said the Stranger.
"It is the only one," returned Joks Jobker, a curious pride contending with
the despondency in his tone. " I would not give way."
" To whom ? " asked the Stranger.

""Well," said John Jobber, meditatively, "the Stores, I suppose, began it;
but Capital and Monopoly carried it on. Bigness and Universality became the
order of the day; all small men and special vendors went to the wall. Thousands,
nay, hundreds of thousands, of small shopkeepers were ruined. Bit by bit,
however, they resigned themselves to their fate, that of being bought up—which
was just a shade better than being sold up—by their bigger rivals. Oh, the
sufferings of those days! I knew a poor fellow who kept a little shop in Pimlico,
of which he was as proud as Naboth of his vineyard. To see that man take
down his shutters, or polish up his brass plate, was to see a happy fellow doing
the work he doted on. But the ' Ubiquitous Caterer' set up near him, and of
course wanted to buy him out. Peter Stubbs would almost as soon have sold
his wife as his business. He lost both—one by the ruinous competition of
Capital, the other by a broken heart, consequent upon his ruin. Peter hung
himself on the night of her funeral, and the Ubiquitous Caterer pulled down his
shop, and took the space into his own colossal premises."

" And you f " inquired the Stranger, curiously.

"I, as I told you, icouldrit give way," answered the old man. "I had no one
to keep but myself. 1 had savings. I lived on next to nothing, and I held on.
Of course, my trade gradually dwindled down till it hardly kept me in snuff.
But I lived on my little capital, and held on. Gradually Commercial Centralis-
ation ran its course. Stores and Supply Associations became fewer and bigger.
Shops gradually disappeared from the streets of this once brisk and busy
Babylon. Everybody in trade at all became either some sort of a capitalist, or
some kind of a counter-jumper. The aristocracy and the capitalists between
them thus gradually monopolised trade entirely. The day of the little men was
over. Thev became clerks, warehousemen, shop-attendants. At length came
the culmination and crisis of the new ' tendency.' The last ' shop' (save mine)

closed, and a colossal Company opened one monster all-
embracing ' London Universal Supply Association,' which
absorbed all the others, and reigned alone."

''Dear me!" cried the Stranger. " And Jis that a
)d thing for the country ? "
" Like every other tendency of the time," replied John
Jobber, "it helps to make the few rich richer, and the
many poor poorer, to concentrate colossal wealth in a
continually diminishing number of hands, and make the
Multitude the Milch-cow of the Monopolist. That being
so, it must be all right, mustn't it ? "

" And you f " asked the Stranger once more.
"I," said John Jorker with strange energy, " love
independence and hate Monopoly. I am also the most
obstinate man in London. Consequently, I am the Last
of the Shopkeepers ! And you," he added, " are the last
of my customers."

" How do you know that ? "

" To-morrow my lease runs out, and I must depart."
" Whither P"

John Jobber smiled strangely, and cast a curious
glance round his dingy and scantly-stocked shop.
" Who knows ? " sighed he.

*****

A few days later, the Stranger, impelled by curiosity,
made his way to the Chandler's Shop again. It was
closed. He inquired for John Jorker. He was dead!

THE WILL OF JUPITER.

French Minister of War,
And Cabinet, what for,

But in terror of imaginary treason,
Have you struck the Due D'Aumale
Off the Army List of Gaul ?

Wherefore banished him, unless you've lost
your reason ?

A Pretender why create ?
Can't the Comte de Paris wait.

Whatsoever place his exile may be spent at,
There the turning of the tide,
The Republic's fall, abide ?

Quos Jupiter vult perdere—dementat !

Mystery of Mark Masonry.—The Fourth Dimension
of Space.

Lord R-nd-lph Ch-rch-U. "Dear me! There suejsly
can't be any difficulty in selecting a nun*

MlNISTEB ! "