Punch (94.1888)

276

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[Junk 9, 1888.

Practical Mother. Don't talk that ridiculous, Sarah Ann—hiding
your eyes when you've been paid for to look—it's waste o' money !

Cheery S. [with a breezy courage, as if he were going up himself).
Don't he alarmed, there's really no danger—not the slightest, she's
accustomed to it I

The Morbid Man. No danger—unless she turned giddy and fainted.

Loquacious S. [with importance). Ah, I see the Flying Man come
down, I did. That's fifteen or sixteen year ago now—but I see him.
He did fall clumsy, too. Come down any'ow—like this.

[Illustrates with gestures.

The Morbid M. If you get up to any height at all, and then fall—
why, it stands to reason [with a grim gusto) you smash like a hegg!

Loquacious S. That's true enough. I've 'eard of 'em making
'oles in the ground. But they say you 're dead long afore you reach
the bottom.

The M. M. ' Oo says so ? Not the parties themselves. (Perceives
with surprise, that he has said something entertaining, and proceeds
to elaborate.) They ain't in no condition to say, one way or the other.

The Humorous Arry. Don't she take 'old on it, neither! there's
a grip for yer ! Shouldn't care for my 'and to be where that pad is.
Wod are they waitin' for now, eh ? They 're takin' their tea up in
that bloomin' car! \_'Arriet giggles responsively.

The M. M. Now's the time. If the balloon was to give a jerk-

Crowd. They're off ... . A-a-h-h! How she did shoot up,
didn't she ? She's got to look quite small already.

They stare up, huddling up against one another in the pleasurable
thrill of an entirely novel sensation.
The Humorous 'Arry. 'Owd yer like to see me 'anging up there,
'stead of 'er, eh, 'Arrest ?

[ Cynical Bystander, who does not appreciate 'Arries, considers
privately that the exchange would be a highly beneficial
arrangement for most parties concerned.
The Crowd. You can jest make her out still. Keeps her 'ands
be'ind 'er, you see. It's worth coming out for—I will say that much !
The Jaded Female. Poor thing!

Her Husband. Pore thing ? Wodger tork sech rubbish for! Ain't
she paid for it ? I wish / got as well paid for 'arf an hour's work.

The Practical Mother [to Crying Child). There, there, Polly,
what's the good o' taking on now f If the lady do fall, she won't
fall on top o' you !

Cheery 8. She must be at least a thousand feet above the earth
now. You can only just see the balloon.

Highly Respectable Briton (to his conscience). After all, it's the
courage and the—er—grace and skill of the thing one comes to see.

The Morbid Man (turning away, with a feeling ofslight depression).
She won't fall— she's right enough. There's nothing to look at any
longer. I'm off I

The Humorous 'Arry. As soon as she thinks no one's a lookin' at
'er, she '11 nip up into the car. She won't keep on a bit longer than
she can 'elp, I '11 lay. I'm goin' to 'ave a try for a coker-nut.

Dispersing Croiod. "Well, I wouldn't ha' missed it for nothing.
"We mustn't forget to look in the papers to see if she comes down.

Patriotic Pleasure-Seeker. It really is a fine sight to see a people
enjoying themselves in a simple natural way like this, in the open
air. "When you think of Spain, where the only notion of pleasure is
a bull-fight-■ [His sense of superiority overpowers him.

ROBERT'S SILWER "WEDDIN IM.

I've married bin for twenty-five long ears
To fare Looweeser, my own nupshal
spowse,

And tho' life isn't allers beer and skittels,
I've ne'er repented of my marridge wows.

I looks around and hears the world's wild
rore,

4^ t?yinS of their best t° aPPy bee,
And allers pitys the old Bacheldore
As has to set at home without no She!

Supposin as he's bin and made sum money,
There's no fond "Wife at tome to share
his glee;

Supposin as he don't feel well, nor funny,
There ain t no woice to make his misery
flea.

But if the Dsband's had a fruteful day

How gladly does he hasten ome to tell her,
And oft they goes to see sum cheerfool Play

In cumpany with her fare sister Bellas !
No ! taking notes of all our hups and downs

My marriedllife has prooved, quite free from banter,
That smgel blessedness is full of frowns,

And appy cupples wins it in a kanter! Robert.

A MILITARY MATINEE.

(By a Sank Civilian.)
June 2.—Show called Trooping the Colours advertised for 10
sharp. Parade Ground full. Performance doesn't commence till
10'30. Our Only General riding to and
fro between Horse Guards and Marl-
borough House, looking anxious. "What
has happened ? Has a button come off
Commander-in-Chief's uniform at the
last moment, and no needle and thread
at hand ? Has the civilian valet put
out a wrong costume for H.R.H. the
Prince ? Can't the bearskin be found
anywhere P

Several stout Warriors on horseback
ride in. Impossible to distinguish them
—that is, more than they are, as, by their medals and gold trimmings,
they are all sufficiently distinguished individuals already.

Officer in front riding in stateliest manner on highly-trained steed.
Suddenly, highly-trained steed starts back on seeing the soldiers.
Stately Officer nearly turns a catherine-wheel over charger's head.
Equanimity and equilibrium restored. "Which is the Prince ? "Which
is the Duke'? From this distance whichever you like, my little dear.
Everybody remarking distinguished Officer in bright blue. Some-
one says, " Oh, he's a Blue Hungarian." Explanation gives general
satisfaction for the moment. "What are they going to do now ?

10-30—Life Guards' Band in full fig. (why "fig"? fruitless
inquiry this), with usual gold coats and jockey caps (why "jockey
caps " ?), plays a snatch of National Anthem. Snatch is repeated at
intervals. Air never played right through. "Why? Don't they
know it by this time ? Lieutenant Dan Godfrey should see to this,
or, if not Godfrey, at all events.one of the Military Musical Leaders.
A propos of Band, lady inquires, " Where is ' the Saluting Bass' ? "
Never heard of instrument being employed in this manner. Point
out to her that the Band is only "wind" not "string": therefore
neither Bass nor violoncello present: therefore no '' saluting Bass." If
"Saluting Bass" were here, there would also be a Bowing and
Scraping Fiddle. She explains that she meant "B.a.s.e" not
"B.a.s.s." Polite of her to spell it in this manner. If sarcastically
inclined, might have omitted the " B " in second word. Military
gentleman, a spectator on my right, points out the "Saluting Base,"
which consists of H. R. H.'s, Field Marshals, and such like.

Having come here to see the cjIouts trooped, I want to know where
are the colours. Don't see them,—that is, not what I should call
"colours." Military person says, "There! they're going to fetch
the colours now." Soldiers march languidly across while Band plays
Lt/theb's Hymn, or something like it out of the Huguenots. I expect
to see several flagstaff s and flags that have braved a hundred years the
battle and the breeze. Oh, dear no. " There are the colours," says
military friend, pointing. " What those I" I exclaim, seeing only an
officer of some sort holding something like a small pocket-handker-
chief on the top of a stick. " Yes," answers military friend with pride,
"those are the colours." Officer with pocket-handkerchief on stick
and body of soldiers march languidly along, as if they had all been
out late the night before ("the night before the battle, Mother!")
and were very tired. Think they '11 all lie down presently and go to
sleep. Same idea probably strikes Conductor of the Band, as he gives
signal for striking up lively air from Old Guard. Arthur Robeets
and Victory ! All brisk again. Pipers in National Highland costume
might now do a reel. They don't, and all relapse again into solemnity,
relieved occasionally by the snatches above-mentioned of the National
Anthem. Then some gallant officer, mounted, rides into centre, and
shouts something perfectly unintelligible. " That's all wrong," mut-
ters my military neighbour, discontentedly; " there's no such word
of command in the British Army." Military man probably right, as
whatever the command was, nobody moves, and no one takes any no-
tice of it. Crowd breaks up. Distinguished Warriors ride away slowly.
The colours have been " troop'd." Sic transit gloria Saturday morn-
ing. Monotonous as a spectacle. Next time better entrust the manage-
ment to Generalissimo Ar/ar/stus Druriolanus assisted by Henglek.

G. O. M. to G. Y. M.

' It is all moonshine, Gentlemen."—Mr. Gladstone to Excursionists apropos
of the Irish policy of " some persons at Birmingham."

Joe Chamberlain, my Joe C,
When we were first acquent,
Your visage smug and shaven

Filled me with much content.
But now you've gone exceeding
wrong,
Your policy's no go,
It's moonshine, and it makes me
mad,

Joe Chamberlain, my Joe.

Joe Chamberlain, my Joe C,

"We used to pull together,
And some thought you'd sue
ceed me, Joe,

"When I had run my tether.
But now you call me trickster old,

'' Past praying for I " Oho!
Moonshine ! I shall not ask your
prayers,

Joe Chamberlain, my Joe I

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