Punch: Punch (91.1886)

252 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [November 20, 1886.

STUDIES FROM MR. PUNCH'S STUDIO.

STUDY No. Ill— Betlebs.

Roughly speaking, the
worst butlers have the best
manners. The Model But-
ler's are of course irre-
proachable. He is of
serious mien, and may be
overheard to hum hymns
in the pantry. He be-
longs to the Church of
England, and plays a little
upon the German concer-
tina. His chief ailments
are a weak digestion and
an active conscience ; the
former of which renders
him temporarily unfit for
any exertion, while the
latter impels him to re-
gard the destruction of a
kitchen tea-cup as a crime
only to be expunged by
confession and self-abase-
ment. Fortunately, he
damages nothing of value,
and should you observe
that your glass and china
have been passing through
curious transitions and
developments, or even re-
verting to simpler forms, he explains that these Darwinian
peculiarities should be assigned to an earlier period. With almost
morbid honesty, he allows the last glass of Marsala to fur its decanter
for a fortnight, while he more than shares your pained surprise
at the rapid diminution in the number of pints of dry champagne.

Reluctantly does he denounce the page-boy, who it seems has been
habitually making himself sick with purloined, cigars, and when he
is constrained to express disapproval of the lightmindedness of the
under-housemaid, it is easy to discern the struggle between a sense
of duty and still lingering partiality.

While he remains with you, the local Post-Office is even more
arbitrary than usual in restricting the transmission and delivery of
your letters.

The Model Butler's relations are all in comfortable circumstances,
but fragile health; they indulge immoderately in funerals, from
attending which functions he returns at advanced hours, in a state
of utter prostration.

Six weeks are sufficient to constitute him an old and attached
family-servant, entitled to take a respectful interest in the welfare
of his employers, and an occasional liberty.

His relations in the Country send him up at intervals small articles
of dairy produce, of which he gracefully begs your acceptance, and
which do not strike you as greatly superior to, or even dissimilar
from, those supplied by your London tradesman.

The Model Butler's final outbreak, resembles a volcanic eruption,
in that it is frequently preceded by subterranean disturbances and
"warnings " from various quarters.

His voice, divested of all silkiness, is heard addressing fellow-
servants in terms of strong condemnation; he carries his polemics
upstairs with the coal-scuttles; he developes an alarming tendency
to involved explanation, and selects unseasonable hours for perform-
ing those duties from which he does not excuse himself.

At last, one afternoon—most probably while you have visitors—he
will bounce into the room, and, sitting down on the carpet, hiccough
his irrevocable resolution to quit a house in which the cook officiates
m a state of chronic inebriation.

Whereupon, far from there being any attempt to dissuade the
Model Butler from his intention, he will generally be rendered every
assistance in carrying it out with the least possible delay.

Alter his departure, he will write requesting you to testify to his
honesty, industry, and sobriety.

Perhaps, after all, the Model Butler is a pleasanter person to have
to deal with, than one of the austere type.

l our Austere Butler wears an air of disapproving on principle of
surroundings that are in bitter contrast to a nobler state in which he
had two men under him, and was not expected to wait in livery.

Attendance at your table appears to cause him much the same
agony as Andersen's Mermaid felt when she danced-though his
movements are less graceful. Should the conversation of your family
strike him as exceeding the limits of becoming mirth, he may be
heard to murmur, Oh, quietood—quietood ! " in accents of unutter-
able yearning.

He opens the front-door with the manner of a man who feels he is

making a concession, and he hands you your umbrella in the morning
with an obvious conviction that you will employ it for some un-
worthy purpose.

At the end of a month his endurance comes to an end, and he
discharges you, when you may next obtain the services of Mr.
Punch's next study—the Oratorical Butler. He is well-meaning,
but he will regard most events as requiring to be rounded off by a
neat speech. At dinner he is very happy iu his apologies for the un-
avoidable absence of a fish-slice, and brings in a dish as if he were
introducing a deputation. He defends himself and the cook from a
charge of unpunctuality with a combination of dignity and pathos.

He surprises you by the masterly command of detail with which he
exposes the scandalous condition in which his predecessor has left
the pantry, the eloquence with which he warns you of the urgent
necessity for a new crumb-brush, and the real debating skill
displayed in his advocacy of some patent plate-powder.

If you are a good listener, he may stay with you some time, but
upon the whole, Mr. Punch thinks that an ordinary householder will
prefer the Cheerful Butler.

The Cheerful Butler admits you with a beaming welcome, and if
any duty is disagreeable to him, he does not draw attention to the
fact by going about it like a Saint Sebastian. He takes a discreet
interest in your table-talk, and is not too proud to pay it the com-
pliment of a respectful smile occasionally.

Gradually you come to regard him as a personal friend, you have
no secrets from him, and he discharges all commissions with tact and
accuracy.

Nothing comes amiss to him; in the country he teaches your boys
cricket, and bowls them out with deferential daisy-cutters.

You leave everything to him, you boast of his merits as if they
were your own manufacture; you are flattered by being congratulated
upon the possession of him. And then comes the awakening.

What? does he, too, turn out a disappointment? Ah, yes—and
perhaps the keenest of all. After years of loyal exemplary service,
he reveals himself in his true colours as the selfish egotist he is—he
marries your cook, and the ungrateful pair devote their energies to
letting chambers, which a just and proper resentment forbids you
to recommend.

STUDY No. IV.—The Occasional Theatbe-goeb.

The Occasional Theatre-goer is usually to be found in the dress
circle, where he takes his seat at least twenty minutes before the
time at which the curtain is advertised to rise. _ This he does either
from pure perversity, or with some idea of bracing his mind for the
intellectual strain to which it will be presently exposed.

Having selected his theatre at hazard, he is invariably surprised
by the nature of the entertainment he finds there. He will go to
the St. James's prepared for burlesque or comic opera; expects to
laugh himself sore at the Lyceum, and to see Mr. Ibving or Mr.
Wilson Baebett at the Gaiety in " something of Shakspeake's."

Consequently, as soon as he discovers his error (which is not, as a
rule, until after the First Act), he is apt to feel defrauded and
resentful.

The comprehension of the plot is a task with which he grapples
manfully, though he much prefers to have the story explained to him
as it proceeds. Even then, he never^ quite succeeds in mastering its
intricacies, and spends the entr'acte in diligent perusal of the pro-
gramme, for the study of which he fortifies himself with a Neapolitan
ice. He finds insuperable difficulty in identifying the several cha-
racters of the drama, and has a tendency to go away after the Second
Act, in the full persuasion that it is all over, or else to remain seated
till the house is almost empty, in patient expectation of seeing more.
He confesses, as he goes out, that he " didn't quite follow all of it."

The female variety of Occasional Theatre-goer always looks for-
ward to having a good cry, and is extremely indignant at being
betrayed into a smile. A piece which has had the honour of provoking
her to actual laughter she designates as "silly": if it amuses her
husband more than herself, she condemns it as "vulgar."

The Occasional Theatre-goer suffers severely from reaction on the
following day.

The Pity of It.

When Gosse reproves Collins, and Collins chides Gosse,
The world might ignore the small squall without loss ;
But when Poet Swinbtjene steps into the fray,
And slangs like a fishwife, what, wliat can one say ?
When Genius has found the Elixir of Life,
The Immortal should soar above Billingsgate strife.
Why, why should it force us with sorrow to own
It at least has not found the philosopher's tone ?

Welsh and Irish.—How fairly to appreciate an "Eisteddfod"
and a " Gorsedd." According to an assessment of estates in Ireland.
Estimate them by " Geipfith's Valuation."

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