Punch (99.1890)

52

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[August 2, 1890.

ON, GUAEDS!
The Bad Fobm op the Past.
Thebe he stood in his evening dress, with a half-smoked cigarette
between his lips. He had beenknocking about Piccadilly all day,
had dined at the Junior, looked in at the Opera, and finished at the
Steak. He seemed a civilian of civilians. The
most casual observer would have declared that
he could never have seen the inside of a barrack-
yard. So no surprise was expressed when the
question was asked him.

"What am I?" he repeated, languidly, and
then he replied, with a yawn, " Can't you see,
old Chappie P Why, an Officer in the Guards I "
The Good Form of the Future.
There he stood in his neat, serviceable undress
uniform, with a cigar between his lips. He had
abandoned the swagger frogged coat and silk
sash for the unpretending patrol jacket of his
brethren in the Line. He had been hard at
, work all day in barracks, inspecting meals,
£jl visiting the hospital, attending parades. He
' had paid his company personally, had seen
every man, and found that there were no complaints. He had
attended a mess meeting, and had dined at mess, playing a rubber
afterwards (sixpenny points) in the ante-room. He knew as much
about the internal economy of the Battalion as the Colonel, the
Adjutant, or the Sergeant-Major. He seemed a soldier of soldiers.
The most casual observer would have declared that he was acquainted
with every inch of the barrack-yard. So general surprise was
expressed when the question was asked him.

"What am I?" he repeated, briskly; and then he replied, with
a smile, " Can't you see, stupid ? Why, an Officer in the Guards! "

VOCES POPULI.

AT A GARDEN-PARTY.

Scene—A London Lawn. A Band in a costume half-way between
the uniforms of a stage hussar and a circus groom, is performing
under a tree. Guests discovered slowly pacing the turf, or
standing and sitting about in groups.
Mrs. Maynard Oery {to her Brother-in-law—who is thoroughly
aware of her little weaknesses). Oh, Phil,—you know everybody—
do tell me! Who is that common-looking little man with the
scrubby beard, and the very yellow gloves—how does he come to
be here ?

Phil. Where ? Oh, I see him. Well—have you read Sabrina's
Uncle's Other Niece ?

Mrs. M. G. No—ought I to have ? I never even heard of it!

Phil. Really? I wonder at that—tremendous hit—you must
order it—though I doubt if you '11 be able to get it.

Mrs. M. G. Oh, I shall insist on having it. And he wrote it P
Really, Phil, now I come to look at him, there's something rather
striking about his face. Did you say Sabrina's Niece's Other Aunt
—or what ?

Phil. Sabrina's Uncle's Other Niece was what I said-—not that
it signifies,

Mrs. M, G. Oh, but I always attach the greatest importance to
names, myself. And do you know him ?

Phil. What, Tableti? Oh, yes—decent little chap; not much
to say for himself, you know,

Mrs. M. G. I don't mind that when a man is clever—do you think
you could bring him up and introduce him ?

Phil. Oh, I could—but I won't answer for your not being dis-
appointed in him.

Mrs. M. G. I have never been disappointed in any genius yet—
perhaps, because I don't expect too much—so go, dear boy; he may
be surrounded unless you get hold of him soon. [Phil obeys.

Phil {accosting the Scrubby Man). Well, Tablett, old fellow,
how are things going with you ? Sabrina flourishing ?

Mr, Tablett {enthusiastically). It's a tremendous hit, my boy;
orders coming in so fast they don't know how to execute 'em-
there 's a fortune in it, as I always told you!

Phil. Capital!—but you've such luck. By the way, my sister-in-
law is most anxious to know you.

Mr. T. {flattered). Yery kind of her. I shall be delighted. I
was just thinking I felt quite a stranger here.

Phil. Come along then, and I '11 introduce you. If she asks you
to her parties by any chance, mind you go—sure to meet a lot of
interesting people.

Mr. T. {pulling up his collar). Just what I enjoy—meeting inte-
resting people—the only society worth cultivating, to my mind, Sir.
Give me intellect—-it's of more value than wealth I

[They go in search of Mis. M. G.

First Lady on Chair. Look at the dear Yicar, getting that poor
Lady Pawpebse an ice. What a very spiritual expression he has,
to be sure—really quite apostolic I

Second Lady. We are not in his parish, but I have always heard
him spoken of as a most excellent man.

First Lady. Excellent! My dear, that man is a perfect Saint!
I don't believe he knows what it is to have a single worldly thought!
And such trials as he has to bear, too! With that dreadful
wife of his!

Second Lady. That's the wife, isn't it ?—the dowdy little woman,
all alone, over there ? Dear me, what could he have married
her for ?

First Lady. Oh, for her money, of course, my dear!

Mrs. Pattallons {to Mrs. St. Mabtin Somebville). Why, it really
is you ! I absolutely didn't know you at first. I was just thinking,
"Now who is that young and lovely person coming along the
path ? You see—I came out _without my glasses to-day, which
accounts for it!

Mr. Chuck {meeting a youthful _ Matron and Child). Ah,
Mrs. Shabpe, how de do I I'm all right. Hullo, Toio, how are
you, eh, young lady ?

Toto {primly). I'm very well indeed, thank you. {With sudden
interest). How's the idiot ? Have you seen him lately ?

Mr. C. {mystified). The idiot, eh? Why, fact is, I don't know
any idiot!—give you my word!

Toto {impatiently). Yes, you do—you know. The one Mummy

says you 're next door to-you must see him sometimes ! You did

say Mr. Chuck was next door to an idiot, didn't you, Mummy ?

[ Tableau.

Mrs. Prattleton. Let me see—did we have a fine Summer in '87 ?
Yes, of course—I always remember the weather by the clothes we
wore, and that June and July we wore scarcely anything—some
filmy stuff that belonged to one's anoestress, don't you know.
Such fun! By the way, what has become of Lucy. ?

Mrs. St. Patticker. Ob, I've quite lost sight of her lately—you
see she's so perfectly happy now, that she's ceased to be in the least
interesting!

Mrs. Hussiffe {to Mr. De Mube). Perhaps you can tell me of a
good coal merchant ? The people who supply me now are perfect
fiends, and I really must go somewhere else.

Mr. De Mure. Then I'm afraid you must be rather difficult
to please.

Mr. Tablett has been introduced to Mrs. Matoaed Gebt—with
the following result.

Mrs. M. G. {enthusiastically). I'm so delighted to make your
acquaintance. When my brother-in-law told me who you were, I
positively very nearly shrieked. I am such an admirer of your—
{thinks she won't commit herself to the whole title—and so compounds)
—your delightful Sabrina !

Mr. T. Most gratified to hear it, I'm sure, I'm told there's a
growing demand for it.

Mrs. M. G. Such a hopeful sign—when one was beginning quite
to despair of the public taste 1

Mr. T. Well, I've always said—So long as you give the Public
a really first-rate article, and are prepared to spend any amount of
money on pushing it, you know, you're sure to see a handsome
return for your outlay—in the long run. And you see, I've had
this carefully analysed by competent judges-

Mrs. M. G. Ah, but you can feel independent of criticism, can't
you?

Mr. T. Oh, I defy anyone to find anything unwholesome in it—
it's as suitable for the most delicate child as it is for adults—nothing
to irritate the most sensitive-

Mrs. M. G. Ah, you mean certain critics are so thin-skinned—
they are indeed!

Mr. T. {warming to his subject). But the beauty of this particular
composition is that it causes absolutely no unpleasantness or incon-
venience afterwards. In some cases, indeed, it acts like a charm.
I've known of two cases of long-standing erysipelas it has com-
pletely cured.

Mrs. M. G, {rather at sea). How gratifying that must be. But
that is the magic of all truly great work, it is such an anodyne—it
takes people so completely out of themselves—doesn't it ?

Mr. T. It takes anything of that sort out of them, Ma'am. It's
the finest discovery of the age, no household will be without it in a
few months—though perhaps I say it who shouldn't.

Mrs. M. G. {still more astonished). Oh, but I like to hear you.
I'm so tired of hearing people pretending to disparage what they
have done, it's such a pose, and I hate posing. Real genius is never
modest. {If he had been more retiring, she would have, of course,
reversed this axiom.) I wish you would come and see me on one
of my Tuesdays, Mr. Tablett, I should feel so honoured, and I
think you would meet some congenial spirits—do look in some
evening—I will send you a card if I may—let me see—could you
come and lunch next Sunday ? I've got a little man coming who was
very nearly eaten up by cannibals. I think he would interest you.