DOI Heft:
September 7, 1889
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17688#0114
September 7, 1889.]
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
109
UNTILED; OR, THE MODERN ASMODEUS.
“ Tres volontiers,” repartit le demon.
“ Vous aimez les tableaux changeans : je veux vous contenter.’
Le Liable Boiteux.
II.
“ Our Gilded Youth once
more! ” observed my Guide.
Two friends, as men count
friendship, side by side
On a silk couch were sitting,
Within a draperied chamber’s
mellow gloom, [room
Of our intrusion in that cosy
Complacently unwitting.
Tall striplings, well set-up,
and. quite “good form,”
That is, with icy manners,
passions warm,
And utterance slowly cynical.
Dwellers in that strange
“world” whose bugbear’s
fuss, [scrupulous,
Where purposes may be un-
But manners must be finical.
“These two,” remarked my
Guide, ‘ ‘ would not approve
An unseen auditor. They talk
of Love,
In causerie confidential.
These chambers have no Dio-
nysius’ Ear,
Save that soft-footed valet
hovering near,
Discreet and deferential.
“If he should speak as freely to the world
As to his ‘ chums,’ some idols might be hurled
From social shrines to-morrow.
Nice rooms ; with all of cosy and of chaste
That Midas’ power, helped by modish taste,
From the Art-world can borrow.
“Listen!” And I lent ear. From polished
lips
What callous ribaldry serenely slips,
When friendly ears are listening,
Most of us know, but none may dare reveal.
These boys have brains of ice and souls of
steel,
And eyes like satyr’s glistening.
One holds a rose. He had it from her throat
To whom he has despatched that tiny note,
Whose burthen he is telling,
With many a dulcet chuckle, to his “friend.”
Damon a sympathetic ear will lend
When Pythias is telling-
His love ? his pain ? his aspiration ? Nay,
But the nice tricks of passion’s mimic play
Upon the boards of Folly.
The jungle tyrant toying with its prey,
And the heart-chasing Lovelace of the day,
Both find their sport “so jolly! ”
“You hear their talk!” the Shadow whis-
_ pered low.
‘ ‘ Report it to a polished world ? Well, no.
I see it makes you shiver.
To Caste’s cold zone you ’re scarce acclima-
tised,
Or chat that Casanova had surprised
You ’d hear without a quiver.
“ Let ’s follow that note’s course! ” — A
chamber smart,
But in the style of cheap suburban Art.
Those chintzes need some chastening
To fit them for the nobly-born aesthete ;
Yet he might own that girl is fresh and sweet
Into its covert hastening.
One of those native Hebes Nature’s whim
Will waste upon the purlieus dull and dim
Of Battersea or Brixton.
But Mayfair seldom sees a softer throat
Or sunnier eyes than those which that pink
note
So radiantly are fixed on!
Ay, if you care for such wild waste of time,
To chafe at cruelty which is not crime—
By modish codes—is madness.
If that patrician stripling spoil two lives,
What then ? The fancy that with Fashion
strives
Breeds only helpless sadness.”
{To be continued.)
What warmth in* those few words'so coldly
schemed
Flushes into her face ? She long has dreamed
Of some such princely lover.
And now? Heaven’s dawn is in her cheek’s
soft hue.
Is the mist merciful that from her view
The sequel dark can cover ?
A foolish flush of ill-bred fondness ? Yes!
But how should she the strange vagaries guess
Of highly-cultured Honour ?
Or, bom in prosy haunts of petty thrift,
See in the lavish glitter of love’s gift
The treachery of the donor ?,
She kneels, poor child, by the white coverlet.
“ Prayer for a Prince who calls her ‘peerless
Is pretty if plebeian,” [pet ’
Remarked my Guide. “Enough! We’ll
pass, and pay
One visit more, before the flush of day,
To Fashion’s empyrean.”
Another chamber ! Ay! Art’s ruling taste
Rules here ; the queerly quaint, the choicely
Impeccably are mingled. [chaste
No Hebe this,—a Juno,—and her hand.
Bears, newly-placed, a jewelled golden band
“How her proud pulses tingled ! ”
My Guide ’s low laugh fell harsh upon my ear.
“ Tingled ? ” I cried. “Did ever happy tear
Linger on those dusk lashes,
Or dim those eyes as dark and chill as night ? ”
He smiled. ‘ ‘ Softness, in which love finds
delight,
With hard ambition clashes.
‘ ‘ Tingled ? Ah yes, with triumph. Such a
catch!
TheTown’s exclusive talk,theSeason’smatch!
Yes, friend, ’tis genuine passion
Gleams in those eyes to-night; an ardour
Of exultation and patrician scorn, [born
The Eros most in fashion.
“No touch of tenderness will bring a flush
To those pale cheeks in this warm chamber’s
hush.
Poor cockney Hebe yonder
Has that; hers is the joy, shall be the shame,
When Juno coldly bears a ‘ splendid ’ name.
A picture this to ponder ?
“RECREATIONS OF A (WELSH)
COUNTRY PARSON.”
What indiiced Government to abandon
that Tithes Bill, I can’t imagine. Fatal to
us poor Welsh Clerics. Fed myself and
family for last week on rice - pudding.
Better than starvation.
Sunday.—Fainted to-day in pulpit owing
to want of food! Perhaps rice not nitro-
genous enough. Shall try oatmeal next week.
Am sure Farmer Evan Griffiths (who
won’t pay his tithe) feeds his cattle on better
food than I give myself.
Week Later.—Matters getting desperate.
Children have taken to oatmeal porridge so
ravenously that I can’t afford to buy enough
for them. _ Asked for a subscription (by local
Conservative Club) for “reception of Lord
Randolph Churchill.” A sorry joke. Hope
Randolph will pitch into Lord Salisbury.
Feel that I am becoming quite a revolutionist.
If still surviving at next Election, shall cer-
tainly not vote Tory.
Monday. — Too weak to attend Church
yesterday. No services held. Receive note
from Farmer Griffiths threatening to report
me_ to _ Bishop! And he is a Dissenter!
Think if I get much more emaciated I might
earn enough to support wife and children
by appearing at fairs as a Skeleton. Or why
not a Welsh Fasting Man ?
Thursday.—Driven to desperation. As no
Sheriff dares come near the place, I determine
to collect tithe myself ! Sally out to Farmer
Griffiths’ farms at Llangllwch, and faint
twice on road. Try to levy distress on an
active cow. Cow far less distressed than I
am. It eludes all my attempts to capture
it. Farmer’s men see me, and come after me
with pitchforks. Will my cloth protect me ?
Friday.—No, it didn’t. And Farmer
had me arrested for at-
tempted robbery! Am
now in infirmary of
local gaol, with several
bad pitchfork lacera-
tions, but also—thank
Heaven!—a substan-
tial dietary. Wish that
Lord Salisbury could
see me now. Probably
he would only say I was
Nobody! When I am
better, shall send in a
bill to Farmer Grif-
fiths for “dilapidations.” Not strong enough
to write much, and I do hope Lord Randolph
will give Government a good Welsh slating!
All of a Row.—It has been suggested
that Mr. Gee, of Denbigh, can boast an
ancient lineage. The fact that he recom-
mended that Her Majesty should be hissed
argues that he should come at the end of a
long line of Gees.
In a Sea of Troubles.—When His Emi-
nence called upon the Dock Directors last
week in the character of a peace-maker, he
was loudly cheered by the riverside labourers,
then suffering all the privations inseparable
from a strike. No doubt those who applauded
the venerable ecclesiastic recognised in his
action a representation of “ Manning the
Life-boat.”
vol. xevn.
L
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
109
UNTILED; OR, THE MODERN ASMODEUS.
“ Tres volontiers,” repartit le demon.
“ Vous aimez les tableaux changeans : je veux vous contenter.’
Le Liable Boiteux.
II.
“ Our Gilded Youth once
more! ” observed my Guide.
Two friends, as men count
friendship, side by side
On a silk couch were sitting,
Within a draperied chamber’s
mellow gloom, [room
Of our intrusion in that cosy
Complacently unwitting.
Tall striplings, well set-up,
and. quite “good form,”
That is, with icy manners,
passions warm,
And utterance slowly cynical.
Dwellers in that strange
“world” whose bugbear’s
fuss, [scrupulous,
Where purposes may be un-
But manners must be finical.
“These two,” remarked my
Guide, ‘ ‘ would not approve
An unseen auditor. They talk
of Love,
In causerie confidential.
These chambers have no Dio-
nysius’ Ear,
Save that soft-footed valet
hovering near,
Discreet and deferential.
“If he should speak as freely to the world
As to his ‘ chums,’ some idols might be hurled
From social shrines to-morrow.
Nice rooms ; with all of cosy and of chaste
That Midas’ power, helped by modish taste,
From the Art-world can borrow.
“Listen!” And I lent ear. From polished
lips
What callous ribaldry serenely slips,
When friendly ears are listening,
Most of us know, but none may dare reveal.
These boys have brains of ice and souls of
steel,
And eyes like satyr’s glistening.
One holds a rose. He had it from her throat
To whom he has despatched that tiny note,
Whose burthen he is telling,
With many a dulcet chuckle, to his “friend.”
Damon a sympathetic ear will lend
When Pythias is telling-
His love ? his pain ? his aspiration ? Nay,
But the nice tricks of passion’s mimic play
Upon the boards of Folly.
The jungle tyrant toying with its prey,
And the heart-chasing Lovelace of the day,
Both find their sport “so jolly! ”
“You hear their talk!” the Shadow whis-
_ pered low.
‘ ‘ Report it to a polished world ? Well, no.
I see it makes you shiver.
To Caste’s cold zone you ’re scarce acclima-
tised,
Or chat that Casanova had surprised
You ’d hear without a quiver.
“ Let ’s follow that note’s course! ” — A
chamber smart,
But in the style of cheap suburban Art.
Those chintzes need some chastening
To fit them for the nobly-born aesthete ;
Yet he might own that girl is fresh and sweet
Into its covert hastening.
One of those native Hebes Nature’s whim
Will waste upon the purlieus dull and dim
Of Battersea or Brixton.
But Mayfair seldom sees a softer throat
Or sunnier eyes than those which that pink
note
So radiantly are fixed on!
Ay, if you care for such wild waste of time,
To chafe at cruelty which is not crime—
By modish codes—is madness.
If that patrician stripling spoil two lives,
What then ? The fancy that with Fashion
strives
Breeds only helpless sadness.”
{To be continued.)
What warmth in* those few words'so coldly
schemed
Flushes into her face ? She long has dreamed
Of some such princely lover.
And now? Heaven’s dawn is in her cheek’s
soft hue.
Is the mist merciful that from her view
The sequel dark can cover ?
A foolish flush of ill-bred fondness ? Yes!
But how should she the strange vagaries guess
Of highly-cultured Honour ?
Or, bom in prosy haunts of petty thrift,
See in the lavish glitter of love’s gift
The treachery of the donor ?,
She kneels, poor child, by the white coverlet.
“ Prayer for a Prince who calls her ‘peerless
Is pretty if plebeian,” [pet ’
Remarked my Guide. “Enough! We’ll
pass, and pay
One visit more, before the flush of day,
To Fashion’s empyrean.”
Another chamber ! Ay! Art’s ruling taste
Rules here ; the queerly quaint, the choicely
Impeccably are mingled. [chaste
No Hebe this,—a Juno,—and her hand.
Bears, newly-placed, a jewelled golden band
“How her proud pulses tingled ! ”
My Guide ’s low laugh fell harsh upon my ear.
“ Tingled ? ” I cried. “Did ever happy tear
Linger on those dusk lashes,
Or dim those eyes as dark and chill as night ? ”
He smiled. ‘ ‘ Softness, in which love finds
delight,
With hard ambition clashes.
‘ ‘ Tingled ? Ah yes, with triumph. Such a
catch!
TheTown’s exclusive talk,theSeason’smatch!
Yes, friend, ’tis genuine passion
Gleams in those eyes to-night; an ardour
Of exultation and patrician scorn, [born
The Eros most in fashion.
“No touch of tenderness will bring a flush
To those pale cheeks in this warm chamber’s
hush.
Poor cockney Hebe yonder
Has that; hers is the joy, shall be the shame,
When Juno coldly bears a ‘ splendid ’ name.
A picture this to ponder ?
“RECREATIONS OF A (WELSH)
COUNTRY PARSON.”
What indiiced Government to abandon
that Tithes Bill, I can’t imagine. Fatal to
us poor Welsh Clerics. Fed myself and
family for last week on rice - pudding.
Better than starvation.
Sunday.—Fainted to-day in pulpit owing
to want of food! Perhaps rice not nitro-
genous enough. Shall try oatmeal next week.
Am sure Farmer Evan Griffiths (who
won’t pay his tithe) feeds his cattle on better
food than I give myself.
Week Later.—Matters getting desperate.
Children have taken to oatmeal porridge so
ravenously that I can’t afford to buy enough
for them. _ Asked for a subscription (by local
Conservative Club) for “reception of Lord
Randolph Churchill.” A sorry joke. Hope
Randolph will pitch into Lord Salisbury.
Feel that I am becoming quite a revolutionist.
If still surviving at next Election, shall cer-
tainly not vote Tory.
Monday. — Too weak to attend Church
yesterday. No services held. Receive note
from Farmer Griffiths threatening to report
me_ to _ Bishop! And he is a Dissenter!
Think if I get much more emaciated I might
earn enough to support wife and children
by appearing at fairs as a Skeleton. Or why
not a Welsh Fasting Man ?
Thursday.—Driven to desperation. As no
Sheriff dares come near the place, I determine
to collect tithe myself ! Sally out to Farmer
Griffiths’ farms at Llangllwch, and faint
twice on road. Try to levy distress on an
active cow. Cow far less distressed than I
am. It eludes all my attempts to capture
it. Farmer’s men see me, and come after me
with pitchforks. Will my cloth protect me ?
Friday.—No, it didn’t. And Farmer
had me arrested for at-
tempted robbery! Am
now in infirmary of
local gaol, with several
bad pitchfork lacera-
tions, but also—thank
Heaven!—a substan-
tial dietary. Wish that
Lord Salisbury could
see me now. Probably
he would only say I was
Nobody! When I am
better, shall send in a
bill to Farmer Grif-
fiths for “dilapidations.” Not strong enough
to write much, and I do hope Lord Randolph
will give Government a good Welsh slating!
All of a Row.—It has been suggested
that Mr. Gee, of Denbigh, can boast an
ancient lineage. The fact that he recom-
mended that Her Majesty should be hissed
argues that he should come at the end of a
long line of Gees.
In a Sea of Troubles.—When His Emi-
nence called upon the Dock Directors last
week in the character of a peace-maker, he
was loudly cheered by the riverside labourers,
then suffering all the privations inseparable
from a strike. No doubt those who applauded
the venerable ecclesiastic recognised in his
action a representation of “ Manning the
Life-boat.”
vol. xevn.
L