DOI issue:
September 17, 1892
DOI Page / Citation link: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17694#0129
124 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [September 17, 1892.
LETTERS TO ABSTRACTIONS.
No. XIV.—TO SWAGGER.
I approach you with fear and trembling. Somewhere in the Cave
of the Winds yon have your home. The ancient Authors, to their
discredit, make no mention of your existence there, but the fact is
as I have stated it. The East wind blows into your gaping mouth,
and forth you go, puffing and swelling with an alien importance, to
do your hateful work. You hover over a second-rate Statesman,
"No extract can, however, convey an adequate idea of this grand
poem^ on which, as on the bed rock, Mr. Chepstowe's fame is
established for ever, Shakspeare himself might have been proud
to have written it." I may remark, parenthetically, that in
his "Ode" Chepstowe pictured himself as a sort of animate
skeleton: —
"Sockets where light once shone grinned emptiness ;
The teeth
"Were fallen from the gaping, gumless jaws ; nathless
Beneath
who has attracted the 'applause of a Party by an opportune speech! ' The cold smooth skull) tho brain retained ter throne." t
compiled by the industry of a humble Secretary. From that _ Amid these uncomfortable surroundings Chepstowe described
moment his nature changes. Though he may have been simple and himself as penetrated with raptures of fierce joy at having shaken
beloved, yet, through you, he shall become pompous, and abhorred. [ himself free from the world and its puling insincerities to dwell
His fellow-creatures are thenceforth mere material for his trampling amid " Unpitying shapes of death's dread twin despair," where
feet; he swells into regions to which no criticism can reach; he "Rapine and slaughter raged, and none rebuked." Another re-
covers himself in a triple hide of vanity, osten- .^gssa. viewer observed that "The soul of Archer's,
tation, and disdain ; he hails himself continu- .gjggjaBplk the tavern-brawler's glorious victim, Kit Mar-
ally as the unaided Saviour of his country, and W^r^SsSk, lowe, lias taken again a habitation of clay,
dies in the odour of braggadocio, without a W' ^SBM^^ She speaks trumpet-tongued by the mouth of
genuine friend to mourn his loss. iJ^^J&mB Chepstowe. AVe note in these outpourings
Or, again, you select some common, smug-faced of dramatic passion an audacity, an energy,
Clergyman, capable, no doubt, if he were left an enthusiasm, that are calculated to shake
alone, of guiding his flock quietly into the strait 'j&NiiliPl^ Peckham Rye to its centre, and make Balham
paths of goodness and humility. You turn him tremble in its ridiculous carpet slippers. Who
into a loud-voiced Clerical quack, vending his ^^^mB^^'^^mk —to take only one example—but Mr. Chep-
wretched patent medicines of salvation in a /^mR^^^^^^^^S stowe or Marlowe could have written thus
style of offensive denunciation that would have JaSsm^l^^^^'^^m °f 'Rapture'?—
ruined a host of Dulcamaras, trained in the JH^RJBHR ' Not in the mouths of prating men who deem
insinuating methods of the ordinary trade. But J|^^^.H[ IjER That God dwells in the senseless clay they mould,
on this the Clergyman thrives, and weak women ^Smn^^mwA WMk Who live their little lives and die their deaths,
fall prostrate before his roaring insincerity. M^^^^SB^^SSBImk. Lapped in a smug respectability ;
Nor do you neglect the young. Heavens ! I ^pA^^^^mB|M^j|^^g Who never dreamt of breaking puny laws
remember 1 was once favoured with the con- mm '-^^wlM^^iM Formed for a puny race of grovellers ;
h'dences of William Joskins Bacon, an Under- W^mSSSSMK^mMUB^mSi But in the blood-stained track of flaming swords,
graduate, generally known to his intimates as Mm''^w\l^mmmmmmm Wielded by knotty arms m Man's despite,
"Side of Bacon." I shudder to recollect how / W W^mmMjmffM Or on the wings of crasrnng battle-balls,
that amazing creature discoursed to me about W< H^H^^i Bone-shattering dealers of a thousand wounds,
i- i vL v • a i,- • • tJ /''^^SSWMiw/MaX&^lSm 1 he roaring heralds of indignant God,—
his popularity, his influence his surprising U^^jS^^W^^ The™ rapture dwells, and there I too would dwell.'
deeds both of valour and of discretion. Yv ith m^^BSSB^^^^^f^^^
one nod—and, as he spoke, he gave me an illus- f^^^^l^^^Ww^^ti Here is power that would furnish forth a whole
tration of his Olympian method—he had awed ^^^S^^Bfr^^^P^CT legion of the poetasters who crawl through our
his Head-master—a present ornament of the j^^^HHl^hb effete literature!" But I cannot pursue these
Bench of Bishops —into a terrified silence, from ^^^^m^^^^^^^^M memories. They are too painful. For who
which he recovered only to bless the name of ^^^W^KaS^^S^W^m speaks of Chepstowe now ? Who cares to
Joskins, and hold him up as a pattern to his ^^^^SSmM^S^mM cumber his bookshelves with the volumes in
schoolfellows. At a single phrase of scorn from ^^^^^Kr^^^Mm which this inflated arm-chair prophet of the
those redoubtable lips, his College Tutor had ^^Mh^Smm^U tin pots delivered his shrieking message P His
withered into acquiescence, and had never dared /Mzj&fiS jpt||g very name has flickered out; and when I spoke
to refuse him an exeat from that day forth. " I WMMg PS8 °^ ^ne other day, I was asked, by a person
can't help pitying the beergar," said Joskins— .^J^MMs IB^sr °^ some intelligence, if I referred to Chepstowe
"but I had. to do it. You must make these jg^fl^-^43^jpK> ' wno na(^ ius^ made 166 playing cricket for the
fellows feel you're their master, or they'11 never se^ssa*53^— Gentlemen against the Players. Not even the
give you a moment's peace. Halloa! " he lion and the lizard keep his courts, and yet
continued, as a brawny athlete sauntered into the room, "how's
the boat going, Bullen ? Not very well, eh ? Well, remember I'm
ready to lend you a hand, and pull you through when things get
desperate." The smile with which this offer was received had no
effect upon my companion. He took it rather as a tribute to the
subtle humour which, as he believed, lay lurking in his simplest
utterances. " Always make 'em laugh," he observed, with pride.
'' It keeps up the spirits of these poor devils of rowing-men; and old
Bullen knows I'm all there when I'm wanted." But I had heard
enough, and departed from him, feeling as though a steam-roller
had passed over my moral nature, and flattened out my self-respect.
Then there was Chepstowe, the poet. I am old enough to re-
member him; and it pleases me sometimes to call back to my mind
this paltry and forgotten little literary Bombastes. As I write, I
have before me some of the reviews that greeted his boisterous inva-
sion of the regions of song. "Mr. Chepstowe," said one, "has
struck a note which is destined to vibrate so long as the English
language is spoken in civilised lands. He is no ordinary rhymester,
struggling feebly in the bonds of convention. With a bold and
masterful on-rush, he cleaves his way unhesitatingly to the very
heart of things, tears it out, and lays it, palpitating and bleeding,
before the eyes of humanity. We have only space for a few lines
from the magnificent Ode to Actuality :—
' Prone in the caverns of the vasty deep
I lay,
And slept not, though I seemed to sleep.
The day
Pierced not with sullen eyes of pallid scorn
The dark,
Unplumbed abyss, where, girt with red limbs torn,
The shark
Sported, and eyeless monsters crawled in slime--'
Jamshyd Chepstowe gloried and drank deep in his day. He blus-
tered through many editions, he bellowed his contempt at a shrinking
world, he outraged conventionality, he swung himself by the aid of
newly-fashioned metres to lofty peaks of poetic daring, and to-day
the dust lies thick upon his books, and his name is confounded with
that of an eminent cricket-player !
My excellent Swagger, it was meanly done. If you meant to
wipe him out so swiftly, why did you ever exalt him ?
Farewell for a space. I may have to write to you again.
Yours, Diogenes Robinson.
"Used Up."—Lord Brassey requested several papers last week
to publish his denial as to having the finest collection of stamps in
the world. His Lordship, it appears, "doesn't take the smallest in-
terest in foreign stamps." Fortunate for Lord Brassey. There are
some excellent people who can't get up any interest, or capital either,
at all without a stamp of some sort. Lord Brassey wished it further
known, that he was not a collector of curios, and had no curiosity of
any kind. Lord Brassey must be a later edition of L1 Homme Blase,
to whom the world was round like an indiarubber-ball and '' nothing
in it." _
" In Ntxblbus."—If the new Sky-signs with which we are threat-
ened, viz., advertisements reflected in the clouds, become the fashion,
the aspect of the heavens by daylight will be as delightful and
artistic as are the walls of our hoardings and Railway-stations.
The anthem of " The Heavens are Telling " will have to be adapted
for large towns. Perhaps pictures may be projected on the nebulous
back-ground. If so, some of our best Artists may not object to
taking a good sum, and then having their work " Sky'd."
LETTERS TO ABSTRACTIONS.
No. XIV.—TO SWAGGER.
I approach you with fear and trembling. Somewhere in the Cave
of the Winds yon have your home. The ancient Authors, to their
discredit, make no mention of your existence there, but the fact is
as I have stated it. The East wind blows into your gaping mouth,
and forth you go, puffing and swelling with an alien importance, to
do your hateful work. You hover over a second-rate Statesman,
"No extract can, however, convey an adequate idea of this grand
poem^ on which, as on the bed rock, Mr. Chepstowe's fame is
established for ever, Shakspeare himself might have been proud
to have written it." I may remark, parenthetically, that in
his "Ode" Chepstowe pictured himself as a sort of animate
skeleton: —
"Sockets where light once shone grinned emptiness ;
The teeth
"Were fallen from the gaping, gumless jaws ; nathless
Beneath
who has attracted the 'applause of a Party by an opportune speech! ' The cold smooth skull) tho brain retained ter throne." t
compiled by the industry of a humble Secretary. From that _ Amid these uncomfortable surroundings Chepstowe described
moment his nature changes. Though he may have been simple and himself as penetrated with raptures of fierce joy at having shaken
beloved, yet, through you, he shall become pompous, and abhorred. [ himself free from the world and its puling insincerities to dwell
His fellow-creatures are thenceforth mere material for his trampling amid " Unpitying shapes of death's dread twin despair," where
feet; he swells into regions to which no criticism can reach; he "Rapine and slaughter raged, and none rebuked." Another re-
covers himself in a triple hide of vanity, osten- .^gssa. viewer observed that "The soul of Archer's,
tation, and disdain ; he hails himself continu- .gjggjaBplk the tavern-brawler's glorious victim, Kit Mar-
ally as the unaided Saviour of his country, and W^r^SsSk, lowe, lias taken again a habitation of clay,
dies in the odour of braggadocio, without a W' ^SBM^^ She speaks trumpet-tongued by the mouth of
genuine friend to mourn his loss. iJ^^J&mB Chepstowe. AVe note in these outpourings
Or, again, you select some common, smug-faced of dramatic passion an audacity, an energy,
Clergyman, capable, no doubt, if he were left an enthusiasm, that are calculated to shake
alone, of guiding his flock quietly into the strait 'j&NiiliPl^ Peckham Rye to its centre, and make Balham
paths of goodness and humility. You turn him tremble in its ridiculous carpet slippers. Who
into a loud-voiced Clerical quack, vending his ^^^mB^^'^^mk —to take only one example—but Mr. Chep-
wretched patent medicines of salvation in a /^mR^^^^^^^^S stowe or Marlowe could have written thus
style of offensive denunciation that would have JaSsm^l^^^^'^^m °f 'Rapture'?—
ruined a host of Dulcamaras, trained in the JH^RJBHR ' Not in the mouths of prating men who deem
insinuating methods of the ordinary trade. But J|^^^.H[ IjER That God dwells in the senseless clay they mould,
on this the Clergyman thrives, and weak women ^Smn^^mwA WMk Who live their little lives and die their deaths,
fall prostrate before his roaring insincerity. M^^^^SB^^SSBImk. Lapped in a smug respectability ;
Nor do you neglect the young. Heavens ! I ^pA^^^^mB|M^j|^^g Who never dreamt of breaking puny laws
remember 1 was once favoured with the con- mm '-^^wlM^^iM Formed for a puny race of grovellers ;
h'dences of William Joskins Bacon, an Under- W^mSSSSMK^mMUB^mSi But in the blood-stained track of flaming swords,
graduate, generally known to his intimates as Mm''^w\l^mmmmmmm Wielded by knotty arms m Man's despite,
"Side of Bacon." I shudder to recollect how / W W^mmMjmffM Or on the wings of crasrnng battle-balls,
that amazing creature discoursed to me about W< H^H^^i Bone-shattering dealers of a thousand wounds,
i- i vL v • a i,- • • tJ /''^^SSWMiw/MaX&^lSm 1 he roaring heralds of indignant God,—
his popularity, his influence his surprising U^^jS^^W^^ The™ rapture dwells, and there I too would dwell.'
deeds both of valour and of discretion. Yv ith m^^BSSB^^^^^f^^^
one nod—and, as he spoke, he gave me an illus- f^^^^l^^^Ww^^ti Here is power that would furnish forth a whole
tration of his Olympian method—he had awed ^^^S^^Bfr^^^P^CT legion of the poetasters who crawl through our
his Head-master—a present ornament of the j^^^HHl^hb effete literature!" But I cannot pursue these
Bench of Bishops —into a terrified silence, from ^^^^m^^^^^^^^M memories. They are too painful. For who
which he recovered only to bless the name of ^^^W^KaS^^S^W^m speaks of Chepstowe now ? Who cares to
Joskins, and hold him up as a pattern to his ^^^^SSmM^S^mM cumber his bookshelves with the volumes in
schoolfellows. At a single phrase of scorn from ^^^^^Kr^^^Mm which this inflated arm-chair prophet of the
those redoubtable lips, his College Tutor had ^^Mh^Smm^U tin pots delivered his shrieking message P His
withered into acquiescence, and had never dared /Mzj&fiS jpt||g very name has flickered out; and when I spoke
to refuse him an exeat from that day forth. " I WMMg PS8 °^ ^ne other day, I was asked, by a person
can't help pitying the beergar," said Joskins— .^J^MMs IB^sr °^ some intelligence, if I referred to Chepstowe
"but I had. to do it. You must make these jg^fl^-^43^jpK> ' wno na(^ ius^ made 166 playing cricket for the
fellows feel you're their master, or they'11 never se^ssa*53^— Gentlemen against the Players. Not even the
give you a moment's peace. Halloa! " he lion and the lizard keep his courts, and yet
continued, as a brawny athlete sauntered into the room, "how's
the boat going, Bullen ? Not very well, eh ? Well, remember I'm
ready to lend you a hand, and pull you through when things get
desperate." The smile with which this offer was received had no
effect upon my companion. He took it rather as a tribute to the
subtle humour which, as he believed, lay lurking in his simplest
utterances. " Always make 'em laugh," he observed, with pride.
'' It keeps up the spirits of these poor devils of rowing-men; and old
Bullen knows I'm all there when I'm wanted." But I had heard
enough, and departed from him, feeling as though a steam-roller
had passed over my moral nature, and flattened out my self-respect.
Then there was Chepstowe, the poet. I am old enough to re-
member him; and it pleases me sometimes to call back to my mind
this paltry and forgotten little literary Bombastes. As I write, I
have before me some of the reviews that greeted his boisterous inva-
sion of the regions of song. "Mr. Chepstowe," said one, "has
struck a note which is destined to vibrate so long as the English
language is spoken in civilised lands. He is no ordinary rhymester,
struggling feebly in the bonds of convention. With a bold and
masterful on-rush, he cleaves his way unhesitatingly to the very
heart of things, tears it out, and lays it, palpitating and bleeding,
before the eyes of humanity. We have only space for a few lines
from the magnificent Ode to Actuality :—
' Prone in the caverns of the vasty deep
I lay,
And slept not, though I seemed to sleep.
The day
Pierced not with sullen eyes of pallid scorn
The dark,
Unplumbed abyss, where, girt with red limbs torn,
The shark
Sported, and eyeless monsters crawled in slime--'
Jamshyd Chepstowe gloried and drank deep in his day. He blus-
tered through many editions, he bellowed his contempt at a shrinking
world, he outraged conventionality, he swung himself by the aid of
newly-fashioned metres to lofty peaks of poetic daring, and to-day
the dust lies thick upon his books, and his name is confounded with
that of an eminent cricket-player !
My excellent Swagger, it was meanly done. If you meant to
wipe him out so swiftly, why did you ever exalt him ?
Farewell for a space. I may have to write to you again.
Yours, Diogenes Robinson.
"Used Up."—Lord Brassey requested several papers last week
to publish his denial as to having the finest collection of stamps in
the world. His Lordship, it appears, "doesn't take the smallest in-
terest in foreign stamps." Fortunate for Lord Brassey. There are
some excellent people who can't get up any interest, or capital either,
at all without a stamp of some sort. Lord Brassey wished it further
known, that he was not a collector of curios, and had no curiosity of
any kind. Lord Brassey must be a later edition of L1 Homme Blase,
to whom the world was round like an indiarubber-ball and '' nothing
in it." _
" In Ntxblbus."—If the new Sky-signs with which we are threat-
ened, viz., advertisements reflected in the clouds, become the fashion,
the aspect of the heavens by daylight will be as delightful and
artistic as are the walls of our hoardings and Railway-stations.
The anthem of " The Heavens are Telling " will have to be adapted
for large towns. Perhaps pictures may be projected on the nebulous
back-ground. If so, some of our best Artists may not object to
taking a good sum, and then having their work " Sky'd."