DOI Heft:
December 24, 1892
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17694#0305
300 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [December 24, 1892.
The V. M. Soldiers, eh ?—yes—but you see, it might turn out to
be a girl after all—and then-
Salesw. I see, you want something that would do equally well for
either. Here's a toy now.f {She brings out a team of little tin swans on
wheels.) You fix a stick in the end—so—and wheel it in front of
you, and all the little swans go up and down.
[She wheels it up and down without enthusiasm.
The V. M. {inspecting it feebly). Oh—the swans go up and down,
eh ? It isn't quite—but very likely it won't—May as well have that
as something else—Yes, you can send it to—let me see—is it Hamp-
stead or Notting Hill they 're living at now ? (To the Saleswoman, who
naturally cannot assist him.) No, of course, you wouldn't know.
Never mind, I '11 take it with me—don't trouble to wrap it up!
[He carries it off—to forget it promptly in a hansom.
A Genial Uncle {entering with Nephews and Nieces). Plenty to
choose from here, eh ? Look about and see what you'd like best.
Jane {the eldest, sixteen, and '"''quite a little woman"). I'm sure
they would much rather you chose for them, Uncle!
Uncle. Bless me, I don't know what boys and girls like nowadays
—they must choose for themselves !
Salesw. {wearily). Perhaps one of the young gentlemen would like
a dredging-machine ? The handle turns, you see, and all the little
buckets go round the chain and take up sand or mud—or there 's a
fire-engine, that's a nice toy, throws a stream of real water.
[Tommy, aged eleven, is charmed with the dredging-machine,
while the fire-engine finds favour in the eyes of Bobby,
aged nine.
Jane {thoughtfully). I'm afraid the dredging-machine is rather a
messy toy, Uncle, and the fire-engine wouldn't do at all, either—it
would be sure to encourage them to play with fire. Bobby, if you
say 44 blow!" once more, I shall tell Mother. Uncle is the best
juds?e of what's suitable for you !
Uncle. Well, there's something in what you say, Jenny. "We
must see if we can't find something better, that's all.
Salesw. I've a little Toy-stige, 'ere—with scenes and characters
in ''''Richard Cured o' Lyin' " complete and ready for acting—
how would that do ?
[Tommy and Bobby cheer up visibly at this suggestion.
Jane. I don't think Mother would like them to have that, Uncle-
it might give them a taste for theatres, you know!
Uncle. Ha—so it might—very thoughtful of you, Jane—Mustn't
get in your Mother's bad books ; never do! What's in these boxes ?
soldiers ? How about these, eh? boys ? [The boys are again consoled.
Jane {gently). They're getting rather too big for such babyish
things as soldiers, Uncle! I tell you what I think—if you got a nice
puzzle-map for Tommy—he's so backward in his Geography—and a
drawing-slate for Bobby, who's getting on so nicely with his draw-
ing, and a little work-box—not an expensive one, of course—for
Winnie, that would be quite-
[These sisterly counsels are rewarded by ungratefid and
rebellious roars.
Uncle. Tommy, did I hear you address your sister as a 44beast" ?
Come—come! And what are you all turning on the waterworks for,
eh ? Strikes me, Jane, you haven't quite hit off their tastes !
Jane {virtuously). I have only told you what I know Mother
would wish them to have, Uncle; and, even if I am to have my
ankles kicked for it, I'm sure I'm right!
Uncle. Always a consolation, my dear Jenny. I'm sure no
nephew of mine would kick his sister, except by the merest acci-
dent—so let's say no more of that. But it's no use getting 'em
what they don't like ; so suppose we stick to the fire-engine, and the
other concern—theatre is it, Johnny ?—Very well—and don't you
get me into trouble over 'em, that's all. And Winnie would like a
doll, eh ?—that's all right. Now everybody's provided for—except
Jane!
Jane {frostily). Thank you, Uncle—but you seem to forget I'm
not exactly a child! [She walks out of the shop with dignity.
Uncle. Hullo! Put my foot in it again! But we can't leave
Jenny out of it—can we ? Must get her a present of some sort over
the way . . . Here, Tommy, my boy, you can tell me something
she 'd like.
Bobby {later—to Tommy). What did you tell Uncle to get
for Jane ?
Tommy {with an unholy chuckle). Why, a box with one of those
Euff-things in it. Don't you know how we caught her powdering
er nose with Mother's ? And Uncle got her one too! Won't she
be shirty just!
[They ivalk out %n an ecstasy of anticipation, as Scene closes.
Mr. Punch's Paragraphist says, 4'he was never good at dates,"
not even when served in dishes, for they 're dry at the best; but, of
the very newest and best kind of Date Cards, Marcus Ward & Co.
have a capital selection. Among them the Grandfather's Clock
makes a pretty screen, and, being a clock, is, of course, always up to
the time of day.
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
The Baron's Diarist and Date Examiner makes the following ex-
haustive notes :—first that Mr. C. Letts describes some of his Pocket
Diaries as 44 The Improved." There is nothing so good but what it
could be better. Lett's admit this, and be satisfied with the latest edition
of Letts'Annuals, which are prizes, though, until Jan. 1, blanks.
******
The Paradise of the North, by David Lawson Johnstone. When
a gentleman chooses the North Pole as a Paradise, he must be allowed
any amount of Latitude and Longitude. This explorer leaves his
Chambers (the Publishers of that ilk) in order to get out of the
world by the coldest route.
******
A note on Innes & Co. 41 Innes " has several Outs this season.
Cheery name for a Christmas Publisher, 44 Innes." We take our
ease at our Innes, and we read with pleasure their dainty books
called, Bartlemy's Child, by Frances Compton, a very pretty story.
L. B. Walford (the authoress of Mr. Smith) condescends to write
For Grown- Up Children, a number of delightful tales.
******
Messrs. Osgood as good as ever. Why not follow up their Bret
Harte Birthday Book (most Harte-tistically got up) with a Sweet-
Heart Birthday Book ? Madame Van de Velde has compiled this.
Our sparklingest Baronite exclaims, 14 Velde done! "
******
Thanks to Marcus Ward & Co. for The Cottar's Saturday
Night, by Robbie Burns. 44 Oh, wad some friend the giftie gi'e
us! "—as anyone who would like this for a Christmas present may
say, adapting the poet to his purpose.
The Baron and his Christmas Books.
4 4 A most sweet story! A most charming story!;! " gurgled the Baron,
as, with sobs in his inner voice, talking to himself, he finished the
penultimate chapter of Dolly. 4 4 Now, Mrs. Burnett, if you dare
to kill your heroine, I swear I '11 never forgive you, and never read
another of your fatally-fascinating books." The Baron trembled as
he commenced the last chapter of the simplest, most natural, most
touching:, and most exquisitely-told story he has read for many a
day. How would it end ? A few lines sufficed. 44 Bless you, Mrs.
Burnett ! " snivelled the Baron, not ashamed of dabbing his eyes
with his kerchief. 44 Bless you, Ma'am! You have let 'em live!
May your new book go to countless editions! May it be another
Little Lord Fauntleroy, and may you reap a golden reward for
this, your masterpiece of simple work, your latest story—Dolly!"
The Baron is bound (44 bound in morocco" as the slaves were, poor
wretches!) to add that he wishes it had not been illustrated, for,
as good wine needs no bush, so a perfect story, such as is this, needs
no illustration; nay, is rather injured by it than not. There is
only one small item of common-place in it, and that is making the
would-be seducer a married man. Of course, to prove him so was
the easiest and shortest way of saving his vain and feather-headed
little victim. Perhaps an alternative would have involved complica-
tion, and might have marred the natural simplicity of the story.
So critically the Baron states his one very small objection, and
reverts with the utmost pleasure to the hours he spent over the tale,
absorbed in every page, in every line of it; and herewith doth he,
not only most strongly, but most earnestly recommend everyone to
procure this book (published by E. Warne & Co.),_ for it is one that can
be and must be given a place of honour by the side of Dickens and
Thackeray, to be read again and again, here a bit and there a bit,
when other works of fiction now enjoying a greater literary reputa-
tion (though 'twould be difficult to name them), shall be relegated
to the lowest shelves of books that have had their day. 44 Dixi!
Scripsi!" quoth The Learned Baron de Book-Worms.
NOTICE.—Bejeeted Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures ol any description, will
in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule
there will be no exception.
The V. M. Soldiers, eh ?—yes—but you see, it might turn out to
be a girl after all—and then-
Salesw. I see, you want something that would do equally well for
either. Here's a toy now.f {She brings out a team of little tin swans on
wheels.) You fix a stick in the end—so—and wheel it in front of
you, and all the little swans go up and down.
[She wheels it up and down without enthusiasm.
The V. M. {inspecting it feebly). Oh—the swans go up and down,
eh ? It isn't quite—but very likely it won't—May as well have that
as something else—Yes, you can send it to—let me see—is it Hamp-
stead or Notting Hill they 're living at now ? (To the Saleswoman, who
naturally cannot assist him.) No, of course, you wouldn't know.
Never mind, I '11 take it with me—don't trouble to wrap it up!
[He carries it off—to forget it promptly in a hansom.
A Genial Uncle {entering with Nephews and Nieces). Plenty to
choose from here, eh ? Look about and see what you'd like best.
Jane {the eldest, sixteen, and '"''quite a little woman"). I'm sure
they would much rather you chose for them, Uncle!
Uncle. Bless me, I don't know what boys and girls like nowadays
—they must choose for themselves !
Salesw. {wearily). Perhaps one of the young gentlemen would like
a dredging-machine ? The handle turns, you see, and all the little
buckets go round the chain and take up sand or mud—or there 's a
fire-engine, that's a nice toy, throws a stream of real water.
[Tommy, aged eleven, is charmed with the dredging-machine,
while the fire-engine finds favour in the eyes of Bobby,
aged nine.
Jane {thoughtfully). I'm afraid the dredging-machine is rather a
messy toy, Uncle, and the fire-engine wouldn't do at all, either—it
would be sure to encourage them to play with fire. Bobby, if you
say 44 blow!" once more, I shall tell Mother. Uncle is the best
juds?e of what's suitable for you !
Uncle. Well, there's something in what you say, Jenny. "We
must see if we can't find something better, that's all.
Salesw. I've a little Toy-stige, 'ere—with scenes and characters
in ''''Richard Cured o' Lyin' " complete and ready for acting—
how would that do ?
[Tommy and Bobby cheer up visibly at this suggestion.
Jane. I don't think Mother would like them to have that, Uncle-
it might give them a taste for theatres, you know!
Uncle. Ha—so it might—very thoughtful of you, Jane—Mustn't
get in your Mother's bad books ; never do! What's in these boxes ?
soldiers ? How about these, eh? boys ? [The boys are again consoled.
Jane {gently). They're getting rather too big for such babyish
things as soldiers, Uncle! I tell you what I think—if you got a nice
puzzle-map for Tommy—he's so backward in his Geography—and a
drawing-slate for Bobby, who's getting on so nicely with his draw-
ing, and a little work-box—not an expensive one, of course—for
Winnie, that would be quite-
[These sisterly counsels are rewarded by ungratefid and
rebellious roars.
Uncle. Tommy, did I hear you address your sister as a 44beast" ?
Come—come! And what are you all turning on the waterworks for,
eh ? Strikes me, Jane, you haven't quite hit off their tastes !
Jane {virtuously). I have only told you what I know Mother
would wish them to have, Uncle; and, even if I am to have my
ankles kicked for it, I'm sure I'm right!
Uncle. Always a consolation, my dear Jenny. I'm sure no
nephew of mine would kick his sister, except by the merest acci-
dent—so let's say no more of that. But it's no use getting 'em
what they don't like ; so suppose we stick to the fire-engine, and the
other concern—theatre is it, Johnny ?—Very well—and don't you
get me into trouble over 'em, that's all. And Winnie would like a
doll, eh ?—that's all right. Now everybody's provided for—except
Jane!
Jane {frostily). Thank you, Uncle—but you seem to forget I'm
not exactly a child! [She walks out of the shop with dignity.
Uncle. Hullo! Put my foot in it again! But we can't leave
Jenny out of it—can we ? Must get her a present of some sort over
the way . . . Here, Tommy, my boy, you can tell me something
she 'd like.
Bobby {later—to Tommy). What did you tell Uncle to get
for Jane ?
Tommy {with an unholy chuckle). Why, a box with one of those
Euff-things in it. Don't you know how we caught her powdering
er nose with Mother's ? And Uncle got her one too! Won't she
be shirty just!
[They ivalk out %n an ecstasy of anticipation, as Scene closes.
Mr. Punch's Paragraphist says, 4'he was never good at dates,"
not even when served in dishes, for they 're dry at the best; but, of
the very newest and best kind of Date Cards, Marcus Ward & Co.
have a capital selection. Among them the Grandfather's Clock
makes a pretty screen, and, being a clock, is, of course, always up to
the time of day.
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
The Baron's Diarist and Date Examiner makes the following ex-
haustive notes :—first that Mr. C. Letts describes some of his Pocket
Diaries as 44 The Improved." There is nothing so good but what it
could be better. Lett's admit this, and be satisfied with the latest edition
of Letts'Annuals, which are prizes, though, until Jan. 1, blanks.
******
The Paradise of the North, by David Lawson Johnstone. When
a gentleman chooses the North Pole as a Paradise, he must be allowed
any amount of Latitude and Longitude. This explorer leaves his
Chambers (the Publishers of that ilk) in order to get out of the
world by the coldest route.
******
A note on Innes & Co. 41 Innes " has several Outs this season.
Cheery name for a Christmas Publisher, 44 Innes." We take our
ease at our Innes, and we read with pleasure their dainty books
called, Bartlemy's Child, by Frances Compton, a very pretty story.
L. B. Walford (the authoress of Mr. Smith) condescends to write
For Grown- Up Children, a number of delightful tales.
******
Messrs. Osgood as good as ever. Why not follow up their Bret
Harte Birthday Book (most Harte-tistically got up) with a Sweet-
Heart Birthday Book ? Madame Van de Velde has compiled this.
Our sparklingest Baronite exclaims, 14 Velde done! "
******
Thanks to Marcus Ward & Co. for The Cottar's Saturday
Night, by Robbie Burns. 44 Oh, wad some friend the giftie gi'e
us! "—as anyone who would like this for a Christmas present may
say, adapting the poet to his purpose.
The Baron and his Christmas Books.
4 4 A most sweet story! A most charming story!;! " gurgled the Baron,
as, with sobs in his inner voice, talking to himself, he finished the
penultimate chapter of Dolly. 4 4 Now, Mrs. Burnett, if you dare
to kill your heroine, I swear I '11 never forgive you, and never read
another of your fatally-fascinating books." The Baron trembled as
he commenced the last chapter of the simplest, most natural, most
touching:, and most exquisitely-told story he has read for many a
day. How would it end ? A few lines sufficed. 44 Bless you, Mrs.
Burnett ! " snivelled the Baron, not ashamed of dabbing his eyes
with his kerchief. 44 Bless you, Ma'am! You have let 'em live!
May your new book go to countless editions! May it be another
Little Lord Fauntleroy, and may you reap a golden reward for
this, your masterpiece of simple work, your latest story—Dolly!"
The Baron is bound (44 bound in morocco" as the slaves were, poor
wretches!) to add that he wishes it had not been illustrated, for,
as good wine needs no bush, so a perfect story, such as is this, needs
no illustration; nay, is rather injured by it than not. There is
only one small item of common-place in it, and that is making the
would-be seducer a married man. Of course, to prove him so was
the easiest and shortest way of saving his vain and feather-headed
little victim. Perhaps an alternative would have involved complica-
tion, and might have marred the natural simplicity of the story.
So critically the Baron states his one very small objection, and
reverts with the utmost pleasure to the hours he spent over the tale,
absorbed in every page, in every line of it; and herewith doth he,
not only most strongly, but most earnestly recommend everyone to
procure this book (published by E. Warne & Co.),_ for it is one that can
be and must be given a place of honour by the side of Dickens and
Thackeray, to be read again and again, here a bit and there a bit,
when other works of fiction now enjoying a greater literary reputa-
tion (though 'twould be difficult to name them), shall be relegated
to the lowest shelves of books that have had their day. 44 Dixi!
Scripsi!" quoth The Learned Baron de Book-Worms.
NOTICE.—Bejeeted Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures ol any description, will
in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule
there will be no exception.