DOI Heft:
June 20, 1891
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17691#0303
Juke 20, 1891.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 293
penny ? Let me see—yes, I can lend you one. {He does; the
penny is put in—nothing happens.) Out of order, I suppose—
scandalous! and nobody to speak to about it—most discreditable!
Stop—wbat's this? {A sort of woolly beat is audible inside the
prison; the C. P. beams. ) That's the bell tolling—it's all right,
it's working ! {It works.
Another Spectator. Very well done, that was—but they 'urried it
over a little too quick. I scarcely saw the man 'ung at all!
His Companion. Put in another penny, and p'raps you '11 see him
cut down, old chap.
Befobe the Faery Fobtune-Telleb's G-botto.
Susan Jane {to her Soldier). Oh, ain't that pretty? I should like
to know what my fortune is. [She feels in her pocket.
The Soldier {who disapproves of useless expenditure). Ain't you
put in enough bloomin' pennies ?
Susan Jane. This is the last. {Reads Directions.) Oh, you've
got to set the finger on the dial to the question you want answered,
and then put your penny in. What shall I ask her ?
Soldier. Anyone would think you meant to go by the answer, to
hear you talk!
Susan Jane. P'raps I do. {Coquettishly, as she sets the index to a
printed question.) Now, you mustn't look. I won't 'ave you see
what I ask!
Soldier {loftily). I don't want to look, I tell yer —it's nothing to me.
Susan Jane. But you are looking—I saw you.
[A curious and deeply interested crowd collects around them.
Soldier. Honour bright, I ain't seen nothing. Are you going to be
all night over this 'ere tomfoolery ?
[Susan Jane puts in a penny, blushing and tittering; a faint
musical tinkle is heard from the case, and the little fairies
begin to revolve in a solemn and mystic fashion ; growing
excitement of crowd. A pasteboard bower falls aside, reveal-
ing a small disc on which a sentence is inscribed.
Person in Crowd {reading slowly over Susan Jane's shoulder).
" Yus ; 'e is treuly worthy of your love."
Crowd {delighted). That's worth a penny to know, ain't it, Miss ?
Your mind's easy now! It's the soldier she was meanin'. Ah, 'e
ought to feel satisfied too, after that! &c, &c.
[ Confusion of Susan Jane.
Soldier {as he departs with S. J). Well, yer know, there's some-
thing in these things, when all's said !
In Depabttng.
A Pleased Pleasure-seeker. Ah, that's something like, that is!
I've seen the 'Aunted Miser, and the Man with the'Orrors, and a
Execution, and a Dyin' Child—they do make you larf, yer know!
Second P. P. Yes, it's a pity the rest o'the Exhibition ain't
more the same style, to my thinking !
A Captious Critic. Well, they don't seem to me to 'ave much
to do with anything naval.
His Companion. Why, it comes under machinery, don't it ?
You're so bloomin'particular, you are! Wouldn't tonch a glass
o' beer 'ere, unless it was brewed with ssdt-water, I suppose! Well,
come on, then—there's a bar 'andy !
{They adjourn for refreshment.
Peovebbs pro Omnibus.—Directly the Chairman of the General
Omnibus Company observed that if the men's demands were conceded
the fares would have to be raised, there was a rush to be the first out
with the old proverb about Penny wise and Pound foolish. However,
" In for a penny" remains as heretofore, the employes having suc-
cessfully gone " in for a Pound." Let them now "take care of the
pence," and they may feel well assured that this particular Pound
will be able to take care of himself. Well, farewell the tranquillity
of the streets of last week! Henceforth not "chaos," but "'Bus
'os," has come again !
Nolens Volens.
Leab Mb. Punch,—I hear that some people are in a great state of
mind lest some blessed Bill brought in by the Govern-
ment, should " destroy Voluntary Schools." What
howling bosh! Why, there are no Voluntary Schools!
No, they 're all Compulsory, confound 'em! or who'd
attend 'em ? Not Yours disgustedly,
A Human Boy.
Mb. Welleb & Co., and the 'Bus Stbike.—Mr.
Suthebst seems to occupy, as towards the 'Bus-drivers,
a similar position to that filled by the eminent Mr. Solo-
mon Pell, the general adviser, and man of business to
the Elder Mr, Welter, and his professional coaching brethren. It is
to be hoped that the Solomon Pell of the 'Bus-drivers has been
treated as liberally as was the real Mr. Pell, the friend, of the Lobd
Chanceixob, by Mr. Weller Senior, the Mottle-faced Man, and others
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
The most interesting book, one of the Baron's Retainers ("blythe
and gay,") has read this year is, The Life of Laurence Oliphant.
If it were not written by a reputable person, and published by so
eminently respectable a house as Blackwood's, there would be
difficulty about accepting it
as a true story of the life of
a man whom some of us
knew, as lately living in
London, wearing a frock
coat, and even a tall hat
of cylindrical shape. Such
a mingling of shrewd busi-
ness qualities and March
madness as met in Laurence
Oliphant is surely a new
thing. A man of gentle
birth, of high culture, of
wide experience, of supreme
ability, and, strangest of all,
with a keen sense of humour
—that such an one should
voluntarily step down from
high social position at the
bidding of a vulgar, selfish,
self-seeking, and, according
to some hints dropped here
and there, grossly immoral man, should, at beck of his fat f orefingrer, go
forth to a strange land to live amid sordid circumstances, and with
uncongenial company, to work as a common farm-labourer, to
peddle strawberries at a railway station, passes belief. With respect
to Mr. Habbis. one feels inclined to quote Betsy Prig's remark
touching one who may, peradventure, have been a maternal rela-
tion. " I don't believe," said Betsy, "there's no sich a person."
But there was, and, stranger still, there was a Laubence Oliphant
to bend the knee to him. Not the least striking thing in a book of
rare value is the manner in which Mrs. Oliphant has acquitted
herself in a peculiarly difficult task. No man would have had the
restraining patience necessary to deal with the Habbis episodes as
she has done.
The Assistant Reader has been refreshing himself with Lapsus
Calami, by J. K. S., published by Macmillan and Bowes. It is
a booklet of light verse, containing here and there some remarkably
brilliant pieces of eatire and parody. The first of two parodies of
Robebt Bbowning is unsurpassable for successful audacity. The
last poem in the book is "An Election Address," written for, but
apparently not used by, the present Postmasteb-General, when he
wa9 Candidate for Cambridge University, in 1882. He says of him-
self, after confessing to a dislike for literature and science,—
1 But I have fostered, guided, planned
Commercial enterprise ; in me
Some ten or twelve directors, and
Six -worthy chairmen you may see."
All the pieces are not so good as those cited—that would bs too much
to expect—but " get it," say Babon de Booe-Woems & Co.
Mortuary.
Andbew Language—no, Lang!—who the classics is pat in,
Suggests to our writers, as test of their " style,"
Just to turn their equivocal prose into Latin,
As Dbyden did. Truly the plan makes one smile !
B,eviewers find Novelists' nonsense much weary 'em.
Writers of twaddle
Take Dbtden a model —
Turn your books into some great " dead language "—and bury 'em !
WHAT THEY HAVE BEEN TOLD DOWN EAST;
Or, A Mauvais Jew d'Esprit.
Will you, if you please, point out to me the way to the streets
which, I am told, are paved with gold ?
Where shall I find the employer of labour who, I have been told,
will instantly get me occupation at a wage of 60 roubles the week ?
Dear me I is this, then, your " White Chapel" ? I was told it was
a luxurious quarter, famous for its Palaces.
Surely this horrid den is not one of your model work-rooms ? I
was told that such things existed only in Russia !
And are these people who are scowling at and cursing me your typical
working population ? Why, I was told that I should find them
dear brothers, waiting to welcome us with open arms.
And is this pittance you offer me all that you pay for making a
coat ? I was told that it was quite twelve times as much as this.
Ah! I'm afraid I have been told, and have given credit to, a
great many things to which I never should have listened at all.
penny ? Let me see—yes, I can lend you one. {He does; the
penny is put in—nothing happens.) Out of order, I suppose—
scandalous! and nobody to speak to about it—most discreditable!
Stop—wbat's this? {A sort of woolly beat is audible inside the
prison; the C. P. beams. ) That's the bell tolling—it's all right,
it's working ! {It works.
Another Spectator. Very well done, that was—but they 'urried it
over a little too quick. I scarcely saw the man 'ung at all!
His Companion. Put in another penny, and p'raps you '11 see him
cut down, old chap.
Befobe the Faery Fobtune-Telleb's G-botto.
Susan Jane {to her Soldier). Oh, ain't that pretty? I should like
to know what my fortune is. [She feels in her pocket.
The Soldier {who disapproves of useless expenditure). Ain't you
put in enough bloomin' pennies ?
Susan Jane. This is the last. {Reads Directions.) Oh, you've
got to set the finger on the dial to the question you want answered,
and then put your penny in. What shall I ask her ?
Soldier. Anyone would think you meant to go by the answer, to
hear you talk!
Susan Jane. P'raps I do. {Coquettishly, as she sets the index to a
printed question.) Now, you mustn't look. I won't 'ave you see
what I ask!
Soldier {loftily). I don't want to look, I tell yer —it's nothing to me.
Susan Jane. But you are looking—I saw you.
[A curious and deeply interested crowd collects around them.
Soldier. Honour bright, I ain't seen nothing. Are you going to be
all night over this 'ere tomfoolery ?
[Susan Jane puts in a penny, blushing and tittering; a faint
musical tinkle is heard from the case, and the little fairies
begin to revolve in a solemn and mystic fashion ; growing
excitement of crowd. A pasteboard bower falls aside, reveal-
ing a small disc on which a sentence is inscribed.
Person in Crowd {reading slowly over Susan Jane's shoulder).
" Yus ; 'e is treuly worthy of your love."
Crowd {delighted). That's worth a penny to know, ain't it, Miss ?
Your mind's easy now! It's the soldier she was meanin'. Ah, 'e
ought to feel satisfied too, after that! &c, &c.
[ Confusion of Susan Jane.
Soldier {as he departs with S. J). Well, yer know, there's some-
thing in these things, when all's said !
In Depabttng.
A Pleased Pleasure-seeker. Ah, that's something like, that is!
I've seen the 'Aunted Miser, and the Man with the'Orrors, and a
Execution, and a Dyin' Child—they do make you larf, yer know!
Second P. P. Yes, it's a pity the rest o'the Exhibition ain't
more the same style, to my thinking !
A Captious Critic. Well, they don't seem to me to 'ave much
to do with anything naval.
His Companion. Why, it comes under machinery, don't it ?
You're so bloomin'particular, you are! Wouldn't tonch a glass
o' beer 'ere, unless it was brewed with ssdt-water, I suppose! Well,
come on, then—there's a bar 'andy !
{They adjourn for refreshment.
Peovebbs pro Omnibus.—Directly the Chairman of the General
Omnibus Company observed that if the men's demands were conceded
the fares would have to be raised, there was a rush to be the first out
with the old proverb about Penny wise and Pound foolish. However,
" In for a penny" remains as heretofore, the employes having suc-
cessfully gone " in for a Pound." Let them now "take care of the
pence," and they may feel well assured that this particular Pound
will be able to take care of himself. Well, farewell the tranquillity
of the streets of last week! Henceforth not "chaos," but "'Bus
'os," has come again !
Nolens Volens.
Leab Mb. Punch,—I hear that some people are in a great state of
mind lest some blessed Bill brought in by the Govern-
ment, should " destroy Voluntary Schools." What
howling bosh! Why, there are no Voluntary Schools!
No, they 're all Compulsory, confound 'em! or who'd
attend 'em ? Not Yours disgustedly,
A Human Boy.
Mb. Welleb & Co., and the 'Bus Stbike.—Mr.
Suthebst seems to occupy, as towards the 'Bus-drivers,
a similar position to that filled by the eminent Mr. Solo-
mon Pell, the general adviser, and man of business to
the Elder Mr, Welter, and his professional coaching brethren. It is
to be hoped that the Solomon Pell of the 'Bus-drivers has been
treated as liberally as was the real Mr. Pell, the friend, of the Lobd
Chanceixob, by Mr. Weller Senior, the Mottle-faced Man, and others
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
The most interesting book, one of the Baron's Retainers ("blythe
and gay,") has read this year is, The Life of Laurence Oliphant.
If it were not written by a reputable person, and published by so
eminently respectable a house as Blackwood's, there would be
difficulty about accepting it
as a true story of the life of
a man whom some of us
knew, as lately living in
London, wearing a frock
coat, and even a tall hat
of cylindrical shape. Such
a mingling of shrewd busi-
ness qualities and March
madness as met in Laurence
Oliphant is surely a new
thing. A man of gentle
birth, of high culture, of
wide experience, of supreme
ability, and, strangest of all,
with a keen sense of humour
—that such an one should
voluntarily step down from
high social position at the
bidding of a vulgar, selfish,
self-seeking, and, according
to some hints dropped here
and there, grossly immoral man, should, at beck of his fat f orefingrer, go
forth to a strange land to live amid sordid circumstances, and with
uncongenial company, to work as a common farm-labourer, to
peddle strawberries at a railway station, passes belief. With respect
to Mr. Habbis. one feels inclined to quote Betsy Prig's remark
touching one who may, peradventure, have been a maternal rela-
tion. " I don't believe," said Betsy, "there's no sich a person."
But there was, and, stranger still, there was a Laubence Oliphant
to bend the knee to him. Not the least striking thing in a book of
rare value is the manner in which Mrs. Oliphant has acquitted
herself in a peculiarly difficult task. No man would have had the
restraining patience necessary to deal with the Habbis episodes as
she has done.
The Assistant Reader has been refreshing himself with Lapsus
Calami, by J. K. S., published by Macmillan and Bowes. It is
a booklet of light verse, containing here and there some remarkably
brilliant pieces of eatire and parody. The first of two parodies of
Robebt Bbowning is unsurpassable for successful audacity. The
last poem in the book is "An Election Address," written for, but
apparently not used by, the present Postmasteb-General, when he
wa9 Candidate for Cambridge University, in 1882. He says of him-
self, after confessing to a dislike for literature and science,—
1 But I have fostered, guided, planned
Commercial enterprise ; in me
Some ten or twelve directors, and
Six -worthy chairmen you may see."
All the pieces are not so good as those cited—that would bs too much
to expect—but " get it," say Babon de Booe-Woems & Co.
Mortuary.
Andbew Language—no, Lang!—who the classics is pat in,
Suggests to our writers, as test of their " style,"
Just to turn their equivocal prose into Latin,
As Dbyden did. Truly the plan makes one smile !
B,eviewers find Novelists' nonsense much weary 'em.
Writers of twaddle
Take Dbtden a model —
Turn your books into some great " dead language "—and bury 'em !
WHAT THEY HAVE BEEN TOLD DOWN EAST;
Or, A Mauvais Jew d'Esprit.
Will you, if you please, point out to me the way to the streets
which, I am told, are paved with gold ?
Where shall I find the employer of labour who, I have been told,
will instantly get me occupation at a wage of 60 roubles the week ?
Dear me I is this, then, your " White Chapel" ? I was told it was
a luxurious quarter, famous for its Palaces.
Surely this horrid den is not one of your model work-rooms ? I
was told that such things existed only in Russia !
And are these people who are scowling at and cursing me your typical
working population ? Why, I was told that I should find them
dear brothers, waiting to welcome us with open arms.
And is this pittance you offer me all that you pay for making a
coat ? I was told that it was quite twelve times as much as this.
Ah! I'm afraid I have been told, and have given credit to, a
great many things to which I never should have listened at all.