Punch (101.1891)

November 28, 1891.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 253

distinctions has never been equalled; his advice has been sought by
German Professors. Yet he carries all this weight of celebrity and
learning as lightly as if it were a wideawake, and seems to think
nothing of it. But he has his weak point, and, like Achilles, he has
it in his feet.

This veteran investigator, this hoary and venerable Doctor, would
cheerfully give years off his life if onlv the various philosophers who
from" time to time sit at his feet would recognise that those feet are
small, and compliment him on the fact. They are small, there is no
doubt of it, but not small enough to be encased without agony in the
tiny, natty, pointed boots that he habitually wears. Let anybody
who wants to get anything out of Dr. Peagam lead the conversation
craftily on to the subject of feet and their proper size. Let him
then make the discovery (aloud) that the Doctor's feet are extraor-
dinarily small and beautiful, and I warrant that there is nothing
the Doctor can bestow which shall not be freely offered to this cunning
flatterer. That is why Dr. Peagam, a modest man in most respects,
always insists on sitting in the front row on any platform, and
ostentatiously dusts his boots with a red silk pocket-handkerchief.
Then, again, who is there that has not heard of Major-General

LETTERS TO ABSTRACTIONS.

No. VII.—TO VANITY.

Dear Vanity,

Imagine my feelings when I read the following letter. It
lay quite innocently on my breakfast-table in a heap of others. It
was stamped in the ordinary way, post-marked in the ordinary way,
and addressed correctly, though how the charming writer discovered
my address I cannot undertake to say ; in fact, there was nothing
in its outward appearance to distinguish it from the rest of my
everyday correspondence. I opened it carelessly, and this is what I
read:—

Ridiculous Being,—In the course of a fairly short life I have
read many absurd things, but never in all my existence have I
read anything so absurd as your last letter. I don't say that your
amiable story about Hermione Maybloom is not absolutely true ;
in fact, I knew Hermione very slightly myself when everybody was
raving about her, and I never could understand what all you men
(for, of course, you are a man; no woman could be so foolish) saw

in her to make you lose your preposterous heads. Whaceley, V.C., the hero who captured the

To me she always seemed silly and affected, and ^J?r^ ferocious Ameer of Hudwallah single-handed,

not in the least pretty, with her snub nose, and ff1^' ' sjvi^i an(i carried him on his back to the English

her fuzzy hair. So I am rather glad, not from f)U camp—the man to whose dauntless courage, above

any personal motive, but for the sake of truth and < all others, the marvellous victory of Pilferabad

justice, that you have shown her up. No ; what I '^fz^ 'v; /&btecE-=!j5===::^ was due ? Speak to him on military matters,

do complain of is, your evident intention to make 'i<-v^/ IImP^x an<^ ^"ou will find the old warrior as shy as a

the world believe that only women are vain. You h - ^^^^WM^^^^^M&l school-girl; but only mention the word poetry,

pretend to lecture us about our shortcomings, and jjB&ftiff MMm 'wKSS^^(0 an'^ vou 'N have him reciting his ballads and odes

you don't seem to know that there is no vainer laMm jHBff'MlTO^M^ t" .v"u kv the dozen, and declaiming for hours

creature in existence than a man. No peacock JftHn jjmV|HN^^^A ff together about the obtuseness of the publishing

that ever strutted with an expanded tail is one- /^^^Smii^MHfBi^^^^lV. fraternity.

half so ridiculous or silly as a man. I make no _'^^^BHH|ShMHBMK^a I don't speak now of literary men who value

distinctions—all men arc the same; u: least, ■-~y^r'"^hHE^HI^Mu^^^^ themselves above Lamb, Dickens, and Thacke-
that's my experience, and that of every woman I jj^^^MSliHli'^^ KVY' ro^eo- 'n^° one > nor °f artists who sneer at
ever met. m^^^^^^^^^MSS^. fllllll^ Titian ; nor of actors who hold Garrice to be

How do you suppose a woman like Hermione ^^^^f^^s^^^^^^H^,^fffjf^ absurdly overrated. Space would fail me, and
succeeds as she does? Why she finds out (it g > V patience you. But let me just for a

doesn't take long, I assure you) the weak points pHp^'^^^^^^^^^p £s.v-X brief moment call to your mind Roland

of the men she meets, their wretched jealousies, flBBgp^p8SJlj ffi&l'*"^^ Peettyman. Upon my soul, I think

affectations and conceit-, and then artfully pro- hPh|&v' If S7 li! J>*~~ \ Roland the most empty-headed fribble,

ceeds to flatter them and make each of M&fflzMt\' fk So ip^W'^) mosi affected coxcomb, and the

them think his particular self the lord JBlilillll « *4wW } most conceited noodle in the whole

of creation, until she has all the weak ixillllflf^l il^p — world. He was decently good-looking

and foolish creatures wound round her MH"^!^ |^ *W | once, and he had a pretty knack of

little finger, and slavishly ready to fetch MmMZtI lt?& -^^^ Isketching in water-colours,

and carry for her. And all the time ^i^^^UI'■03sf*!^0£:- !' But on, the huge, distorted, over-

you go about and boast of your conquest y n weening conceit of the man! I have seen him lying full

to one another, and imagine that you Jr*S^-f!P' <*t>-u. length on a conch, waving a scented handkerchief amongst a

have subjugated her. But she sits at 1-vcrowd of submissive women, who were grovelling round him,

home and laughs at you, and despises J while he enlarged in his own pet jargon on the surpassing

you all from the flinty bottom of her heart, Bah! you 're a
pack of fools, and I've no patience with you. As for you per-
sonally, if you must wudte any more, tell your fellow men some-
thing about their own follies. It won't be news to us, but it may
open their eyes. If you can't do that, you had better retire into your
tub, and cease your painful barking altogether. I've got my eye on
you, so be careful. I remain (thank goodness) A "Woman.

Now that was not altogether an agreeable breakfast dish. And
the worst of it was that it was so supremely unjustifiable. Had my
indignant correspondent honoured me with her address, I should
have answered her at once. " Madam," I should have said, "your
anger outstrips your reason. I always intended to say something
about men. I had already begun a second letter to my friend Vanity
on the subject. I can therefore afford to forgive your hard words,
and to admit that there is a certain amount of truth in your strictures
on us._ But please don't write to me again so furiously. Such
excessive annoyance is quite out of keeping with your pretty hand-
writing, and besides, it takes away my appetite to think'I have
even involuntarily given you pain. Be kind enough to look out for
my next letter, but don't, for goodness' sake, tell me what you think
about it, unless it should happen to please you. In that case I- shall,
of course, be proud and glad to hear from you again."

I now proceed, therefore, to carry out my intention, and, as usual,
I address myself to the fountain head. My dear Vanity, I never
shall understand why you take so" much trouble to get hold of men.
They are not a pleasing sight wmen you have got them, and after a
time it must cease to amuse even you to see yourself reproduced over
and oyer again, and in innumerable ridiculous ways. For instance,
there is Dr. Peagam, the celebrated author of Indo-Hebraic Fairy
Tales : a new Theory of their Rise and Development, with an
Excursus on an Early Aryan Version of " Three Blind Mice.'1''
Dr. Peagam is learned; he has the industry of a beaver; he is a
correspondent of goodness knows how many foreign philosophical,
philological, and mythological societies ; his record of University

vol. ci.

merits of his latest unpublished essay, or pointed out the
beauties of the trifling pictures which were the products of his in-
effective brush. He will never accomplish anything, and yet to the
end of his life, I fancy, he will have his circle of toadies and flatterers
who will pretend to accept him as the evangelist of a glorious
literary and artistic gospel. For unfortunately he is as rich as he is
impudent and incompetent. And when he drives out in a Hansom
he never ceases to simper at his reflected image in the little corner
looking-glasses, by means of which modern cab-proprietors pander to
the weakness of men. Such is your handiwork, my excellent
Vanity. Are you proud of it ?

Yours, &c, Diogenes Robinson.

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

" One Who Doesn't Know Everything."—You ask, What are
the duties of "the Ranger "? Household duties only. He has to
inspect the kitchen-ranges in the kitchens of Buckingham Palace,
Windsor Castle, Balmoral, and Osborne. Hence the style and title.
He also edits Cook's Guides.

"Another Idiot " washes to know if there is such an appointment
in the gift of the Crown as the office of "Court Sweep." Why, cer-
tainly; and, on State occasions, he wears the Court Soot, and his
broom is always waiting for him at the entrance ! At Balmoral and
Osborne there'is a beautiful sweep leading the visitor right up to
the front door.

" One More Unfortunate" writes us,—"Sir, in what poem of
Milton's does the following couplet occur r—
" I '11 light the gas soon,
To play the to-soon.

How are the lines to be scanned? " Ans.—On internal evidence, wc
question whether the lines are Milton's. In the absence of our
Poet, who is out for a holiday, we can only reply, that if short-
sighted, you can scan them by the aid of a powerful glass—of your
favourite compound.