Punch (100.1891)

January 31, 1891.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 53

Philistine of the Philistines could possibly wish. It would have
been a human tragedy indeed had poor Gooseberry poisoned himself,
and the girl whose life he had saved had arrived just too late, only
to die of a broken heart. But that "is quite another story."

The piece is well played all round, especially by the men.
Mr. Thee is excellent, except in the ultra-melodramatic parts,
where he is too noisy. The very best thing he does is the perfect
finish of the Second Act, when, without a word, he sits in the
chair before the fire lost in dismal thought. This is admirable:

Final Tableau.

Triumph of the Artful Agent arid his lame Duck of a Daughter, Sybil Slyboots,
alias Becky Sharp, afterwards the Merry Duchess of Gooseberry.

as perfect in its dramatic force as it is true to nature. Tt is
without exception the best thing in the whole piece. _ Mr. F. Keek
as Reginald Slingsby, achieves a success unequalled since Mr. Ban-
croft played the parvenu swell Haw tree. It should be borne in
mind that Mr. Keee only recently played admirably the poor stutter-
ing shabby lover in The Struggle for Life. II ira loin, ce bon
M. Keee. Miss Julia Neilson looks the part to the life: when
she has ceased to give occasional imitations of Miss Ellen Teeet,
and can really play the part as well as she looks it, then nothing
more could be possibly desired. All the others as good as need be,
or can be.

THE BOGEY, MAN!

{Retort of a Lady-Player who plays "for love.")

[" No game wa3 ever vet invented which held the female mind in thrall
8ave by indirect means. Where would croquet have been, so far as the Ladies
were concerned, without its Curates, or lawn-tenniswithout its ' Greek gods' . . .
If men played for nothing, they would find it dull enough."—James Payn ]

'Tis mighty well for Menfolk at Womankind to gibe,
And swear they do not care for games without some lure or bribe,
But e'en in James Payn's armour there seems some weakish joints ;
He does not care for "glorious Whist" unlessfor " sixpenny points!"

Whist! Whist ! Whist! It charms the Bogey, Man :

Whist! Whist! Whist! He '11 play it when he can.

But "pointless Whist," as Payn admits, is not at all his plan ;

You must have " money on " to please the Bogey, Man!

Now, Ladies like to play " for love," a fault male hucksters blame,
But only sordid souls deny that is the true " grand game."
Man's vulgarer ambition 's not just to play well and win;
His eye is ever on the stakes, his interest on the " tin."

Whist! Whist! Whist! That blatant Bogey, Man !

Whist! Whist! Whist! He '11 flout us when he can.

" Indirect means " though, after all, are portions of his plan ;

For all his brag he loves the " swag," the Bogey, Man !

Murn's the Word!

[Mr. Chamberlain presided lately at a Deaf-and-Dumb Meeting.]
Joseph reflecteth ;—
DiiAE-hutes make the best audience, I see ;

They gave me no rude flood of gibes to stem.
True, they were deaf, and so could not hear me,
But they were dumb, so / could not hear them !

Madame Poland Re-Edited (from a sham-Japanese point of
view).~0 Libeety ! what strange (decorative) things are done in
thy name!

JACK'S APPEAL.

[" It is impossible for warrant-officers in the Navy not to see that they are
placed at a disadvantage as compared with non-commissioned officers in the
Army, and it must be very difficult to persuade them that the two cases are so
essentially different as to afford no real ground for grievance."—The " Times"
on " An Earnest Appeal on Behalf of the Rank and File of the Navy."]

Jack Tar to Tommy Atkins, loquitur:—

Tommy Atkins, Tommy Atkins, penmen write pertikler fine

Of the Wooden Walls of England, and likeways the Thin Red Line ;

But for those as form that Line, mate, or for those as man them Walls,

Scribes don't seem so precious anxious to kick up their lyric squalls.

Not a bit of it, my hearty ; for one reason—it don't pay ;

There is small demand, my Tommy, for a Dibdin in our day.

Oh, I know that arter dinner your M.P.'s can up and quote

Tasty tit-bits from old Chaeley, which they all reel off by rote ;

But if there is a cherub up aloft to watch poor Jack,

That there cherub ain't a poet,—bards are on another tack.

Tommy Atkins, Tommy Atkins, Bull is sweet on "loyal toasts,"
And he spends his millions freely on his squadrons and his hosts,
But there isn't much on't, messmate, not so fur as / can see,
Whether 'tis rant or rhino, that gets spent on you and me.
Still the Times has took our case up,—werry handsome o' the Times!—
I have heard it charged with prejudice, class-hate, and similar
crimes,

But it shows it's got fair sperret and a buzzum as can feel
When it backs us with a "Leader " arter printing our " Appeal."
You are better off, my Tommy, than the Navy Rank and File,
You may chance to get promotion,—arter waiting- a good while—
But the tip-top of Tar luck 's to be a Warrant Officer ;
We ain't like to get no further, if we even get as fur.
'Tain't encouraging, my hearty. As for me, I'm old and grey,
'Tis too late now for promotion if it chanced to come my way ;
And my knowledge, and my patter, and my manners—well I guess
They mayn't be percisely fitted for a dandy ward-room mess.
But the Navy of the Future, Tommy Atkins, is our care,
We have gone through many changes, and for others must prepare.
It will make the Navy popular, more prospect of advance ;
And what I say is, Tommy,-—let the young uns have a chance !
Some I know will cry " Impossible," and slate the scheme like fun.
Most good things are " impossible," my Tommy,—till they We done !
Quarter-decks won't fill from fokesels, not to any great extent ;
But, give good men a better chance! I guess that's all that's
meant.

As the Times says, werry sensible and kind-like, prejudice,
Though strong at first, dies quickly, melts away like thaw-
struck ice;

If every brave French soldier, with a knapsack on his back,
May find a Marshal's baton at the bottom of that pack,
Why should not a true British Tar, with pluck, and luck, and wit.
Find at last a " Luff's " commission hidden somewheres in his kit ?

WAKING THEM UP.

Fly-lcaj from an Energetic Kaiser's Diary.

10 p.m.—Slip out of Opera and take somebody else's overcoat from
cloak-room when nobody is looking, jump into a four-wheeler, and
drive to station. Am recognised, and a special train is called out.
Give them the slip, and get into a horse-box of third-class omnibus-
train just about to start.

10 15 p.m. to 2'30 a.m.—Still in horse-box.

2'45 a.m.—Stop at a big town. Hurry out. Stopped for ticket.
Throw off disguise of somebody else's overcoat, and declare myself.
Guard called out to escort me. When they are looking the other
way, hide under refreshment-counter, and get out of station unob-
served on all-fours. Am collared by a policeman. Again have to
declare myself. Give policeman twenty marks, bind him to silence,
and borrow his official cloak. Find out Burgomaster's address.
Hammer at his front door till I have stirred up the whole household.

4 a.m. to 5 a.m.—Find out the Archbishop. Bang at his front
door till he puts his head out of window, and wants to know "What
on earth's the matter ? " Hide round the corner. Repeat same
business, with more or less success, at the residence of the Chief
Justice, then at that of the Clerk of the Peace, and at those of any
other officials I can call to mind, winding up by a regular good row
at that of the General in Command. Trumpeter comes out. Take
bugle from him, and give the call. General in Command rubs his
eyes sleepily, and says he '11 be down presently.

5 a.m.—flurry back to station. Catch early cattle-train going
back to Berlin. Jump on engine, and declare myself. Wire
approach down line, and tear away with the cattle, at seventy
miles an hour, getting back to Berlin just in time for breakfast.
Fancy I woke them up ! Altogether, a very enjoyable outing.