O youth of Wien, what does this mean?Can you forget you areAllhochgeborenas of yoreWas KingCophetua?To wed a lot of girlssans dotIs strange, and yet you areNo more afraid of beggar maidThan KingCophetua.But if you break the vow you take,And dowries get, you areA thousand pound to forfeit bound,Which beatsCophetua.So you by stealth can't marry wealth,Not if in debt you are;But, as we see, resemble theLate KingCophetua.O men elsewhere, Mammas declareHow hard to net you are!You can't be led poor girls to wedLike KingCophetua.Consider, then, these noble men,And you'll regret you areUnmarried still, and quickly willDo likeCophetua!
O youth of Wien, what does this mean?Can you forget you areAllhochgeborenas of yoreWas KingCophetua?
O youth of Wien, what does this mean?
Can you forget you are
Allhochgeborenas of yore
Was KingCophetua?
To wed a lot of girlssans dotIs strange, and yet you areNo more afraid of beggar maidThan KingCophetua.
To wed a lot of girlssans dot
Is strange, and yet you are
No more afraid of beggar maid
Than KingCophetua.
But if you break the vow you take,And dowries get, you areA thousand pound to forfeit bound,Which beatsCophetua.
But if you break the vow you take,
And dowries get, you are
A thousand pound to forfeit bound,
Which beatsCophetua.
So you by stealth can't marry wealth,Not if in debt you are;But, as we see, resemble theLate KingCophetua.
So you by stealth can't marry wealth,
Not if in debt you are;
But, as we see, resemble the
Late KingCophetua.
O men elsewhere, Mammas declareHow hard to net you are!You can't be led poor girls to wedLike KingCophetua.
O men elsewhere, Mammas declare
How hard to net you are!
You can't be led poor girls to wed
Like KingCophetua.
Consider, then, these noble men,And you'll regret you areUnmarried still, and quickly willDo likeCophetua!
Consider, then, these noble men,
And you'll regret you are
Unmarried still, and quickly will
Do likeCophetua!
Put a Stop to It!—A Correspondent, signing himself "O'Noodle," asks, "What does this mean? See Cook'sGuide-Book to Paris, page 23:—'Visitors should take the precautions against pickpockets recommended by the Administration.'" A comma or a dash after "precautions," and another after "pickpockets," or put pickpockets into brackets—handcuff 'em, in fact—and thenO'Noodlewill get at the sense of the paragraph.
Easter.—Wonder what the effect of theBishop'sappeal to the "loyal laity," to come down heavily with Easter Offerings to the Clergy, will be? Rather an exciting day for me. Hard-up is not the word for my condition at present. Can't keep myself, and have to keep a Gardener and a Curate!
A lot of cast-off clothes arrive from "A Sympathetic Parishioner!" How degrading! WishBishop of Worcesterhadn't said that he knew a Clergyman who stayed in bed because he had no decent clothes to wear. Congregation seem to think he meantme! Two blankets, and a rig-out of "Cellular under-clothing," from "Church Defence," addressed to "Our Beloved but Impoverished Incumbent." Quite insulting! Give blankets to Gardener, and send the Cellular things to Curate, as his tendencies are distinctly monastic.
Letter from a Newmarket Bookmaker! Says he hears I'm in want of Easter Offerings, so he offers to "put me on to a good thing for the Derby." I am, apparently, to forward him a £5 note, and he returns me £50 "without fail." Tempting, but haven't got a £5 note to send.
Arrival at my quiet Vicarage of a donkey, a cow, two pigs, and a dozen barndoor fowls! Perhaps, in honour of the pigs, I might call this a "sow Easter!" The whole menagerie sent by neighbouring farmers. Wish they'd send me arrears of rent for glebe instead; yet I daren't ask for them. Evidently intended as Easter "gifts in kind;" but not the kind I want. Send donkey on to Curate, and tether cow in back-yard, not having a field. Pigs temporarily accommodated in back kitchen. Cook threatens to give notice.
Church. Offertory goes tometo-day! Don't half like it. Feel like a schoolboy expecting to be tipped. Curate rather glum. Finds he thinks my sending the donkey to him was meant to insult him. When I assure him it wasn't, he cheers up, and says he'll hold the plate. Does so. Seems very heavy. Curate distinctly winks at me, which is against the Rubrics, no doubt, but still seems to be an augury of happy tidings about the sum collected. On his way to Vestry, Curate whispers to me "Two-fifty!" What does he mean? Is it two fifty pounds, or shillings? It's neither—it'spence! Really, if this is all the "loyal laity" can do, I may as well disestablish myself.
Best Easter Offering of all comes by post. Offer of position as Under-Cashier in a firm of eminent Bone-boilers. Write to accept offer with thanks. Better to boil bones for other people than to have all the flesh taken off my own.
Art will now adorn our purses,Hitherto an artless place;More than pictures, songs, or verses,This should elevate the race.Is it safe to be prophetic?Will the miser, once abused,Be considered quite aesthetic,With the connoisseur confused?Will the banker, grown artistic,Talk a jargon new and strange?Will this feeling, subtle, mystic,Even reach the Stock Exchange?Will it from the City banishDress that artists should eschew?Will the hallowed "topper" vanish,And the frock-coat fade from view?Will the cabman now be willing,After driving half a mile,To accept a high-art shilling,Not with oaths, but with a smile?Will the porter at the stationWhile his thanks pause on his lip,Gaze in silent admirationAt the beauty of his tip?"Music hath," soCongrevestated,"Charms to soothe the savage breast";Numismatic art is fatedMay be to be likewise blest.
Art will now adorn our purses,Hitherto an artless place;More than pictures, songs, or verses,This should elevate the race.
Art will now adorn our purses,
Hitherto an artless place;
More than pictures, songs, or verses,
This should elevate the race.
Is it safe to be prophetic?Will the miser, once abused,Be considered quite aesthetic,With the connoisseur confused?
Is it safe to be prophetic?
Will the miser, once abused,
Be considered quite aesthetic,
With the connoisseur confused?
Will the banker, grown artistic,Talk a jargon new and strange?Will this feeling, subtle, mystic,Even reach the Stock Exchange?
Will the banker, grown artistic,
Talk a jargon new and strange?
Will this feeling, subtle, mystic,
Even reach the Stock Exchange?
Will it from the City banishDress that artists should eschew?Will the hallowed "topper" vanish,And the frock-coat fade from view?
Will it from the City banish
Dress that artists should eschew?
Will the hallowed "topper" vanish,
And the frock-coat fade from view?
Will the cabman now be willing,After driving half a mile,To accept a high-art shilling,Not with oaths, but with a smile?
Will the cabman now be willing,
After driving half a mile,
To accept a high-art shilling,
Not with oaths, but with a smile?
Will the porter at the stationWhile his thanks pause on his lip,Gaze in silent admirationAt the beauty of his tip?
Will the porter at the station
While his thanks pause on his lip,
Gaze in silent admiration
At the beauty of his tip?
"Music hath," soCongrevestated,"Charms to soothe the savage breast";Numismatic art is fatedMay be to be likewise blest.
"Music hath," soCongrevestated,
"Charms to soothe the savage breast";
Numismatic art is fated
May be to be likewise blest.
(Lord Dufferin and the Gallic Vermin.)
[At the Annual Dinner of the British Chamber of Commerce in Paris, LordDufferintook occasion to refer trenchantly, but temperately, to the long series of calumnies lately directed against him by certain sections of the French Press.]
[At the Annual Dinner of the British Chamber of Commerce in Paris, LordDufferintook occasion to refer trenchantly, but temperately, to the long series of calumnies lately directed against him by certain sections of the French Press.]
Yes,Dufferin, yes, the Reptile PressIs not confined to realms Teutonic.You squelch it—could you well do less?—With an urbanity fine, ironic.France is too chivalrous, too polite,To back these crawlers, venomous, "varment"!—But our Ambassador does quite rightTo—brush them lightly from his garment.
Yes,Dufferin, yes, the Reptile PressIs not confined to realms Teutonic.You squelch it—could you well do less?—With an urbanity fine, ironic.France is too chivalrous, too polite,To back these crawlers, venomous, "varment"!—But our Ambassador does quite rightTo—brush them lightly from his garment.
Yes,Dufferin, yes, the Reptile Press
Is not confined to realms Teutonic.
You squelch it—could you well do less?—
With an urbanity fine, ironic.
France is too chivalrous, too polite,
To back these crawlers, venomous, "varment"!—
But our Ambassador does quite right
To—brush them lightly from his garment.
Q.Who wasProcrustes? What was the Bed ofProcrustes?
A.He was an ancient philosopher who never would get up in the morning. Hence the word for a person who puts off or delays; viz., "One who Procrustinates."
The Whittington Record Broken.—"Mr.Hurst,"The Athenæumgossip informs us, "has been four times Mayor of Bedford." He ought to be perfect in the part, for certainly it has been wellre-hearsed.
EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.
House of Commons, Monday, February 13.—House filled from floor to topmost range of gallery. Terrible rumour that it is also peopled underneath. Members sitting on two front benches evidently restless through opening passages of Mr. G.'s speech. Weird whispering heard, apparently rising from boots ofFirst Lordof theTreasury.Grandolphpricks up his ears; fancies he recognises voice familiar in Harley Street. First thought, whispered commentary must come from Ladies' Gallery. Right Hon. Gentlemen look up, and conclude it is too remote. Besides, Ladiesnevertalk in the Gallery.
"Moreover than which," saidFergusson, staring stolidly at open network of iron floor, "it comes from quite different quarter."
GENTLEMEN OF THE HOUSE OF COMMONS TAKING THEIR SEATS, MONDAY, FEBRUARY 13, 1893.
Even Mr. G., absorbed as he was with great topic, evidently noticed the odd state of things, for towards end of magnificent speech he dropped his voice right down through the grating into the chamber below, so that Strangers in distant Gallery lost the purport of his words. Above-board—or rather above iron grating—House presented spectacle worthy of occasion. Last time anything like it seen was in April, 1886, when first Home-Rule Bill introduced. Singularly like it this afternoon, with chairs blocking the floor in fashion to whichLord-Chamberlain, looking down from Peers' Gallery, admitted he would not permit in any other theatre. Side-galleries filled; Members thronging Bar, sharing the steps ofSpeaker'sChair, peeping round from behind its recess, sitting on the Gangway steps. The Lords' Gallery thronged, with somewhat disorderly fringe of Viscounts jostling each other on the steps. Not an inch of room to spare in the Diplomatic Gallery, whilst happy strangers rose tier beyond tier on the benches behind. Over the clock H.R.H.,debonnaireas usual, able to extract fullest pleasure and interest out of passing moment. By his side, his son and heir; not the one who sat there on the April night nine years ago, but the younger brother, with CousinMayfacing him through thegrilleof Ladies' Gallery. Many other gaps filled up on floor of House, the biggest those created by the flitting ofBrightandParnell.
The figure at table answering to Speaker's call, the "First Lordof theTreasury" is the same, though different. Marvellously little different, considering all that has passed since '86, and remembering the weight of added years when they come on top of fourscore. Scantier the hair, paler the face and more furrowed; but the form still erect, the eye flashing, the right hand beating vigorously, as of yore, on the long-suffering box; the voice even better than it was for a certain period towards close of 1880 Parliament; the mental vision as clear; the fancy as luxuriant; the logic as irresistible; the musical swing of the stately sentences as harmonious. For two hours and a quarter, unfaltering, unfailing, Mr. G. held the unrivalled audience entranced, and sat down amid a storm of cheering, looking almost as fresh as the posy in his button-hole.
Business done.—Mr. G. introduces Home-Rule Bill.
Tuesday.—Colonel Saundersongoing about to-day just as if nothing had happened yesterday.But something did.Little misunderstanding arose in connection with appropriation of a Seat. The Colonel, of course, in the row at the door of the House, between eleven and noon. Two hundred Members waiting to get in as soon as doors opened. "Nothing like it seen in civilised world since the rush for Oklahoma," says LordPlayfair, who has been in the United States. "Then, you remember, the intending settlers, gathering from all parts, bivouacked on line marked by military, and on appointed day, at fixed hour, at sound of gun, made the dash into the Promised Land. Lack some of those particulars here. But the passion just the same; equally reckless; every man first, and the Sergeant-at-Arms take the hindmost."
Playfairhimself came down two hours later, intending to take his seat in Peers' Gallery, but, finding another mob at entrance, almost as turbulent, concluded he would not add to the tumult by wrestling with anybody for a place in the front rank. So, meeting a Bishop, who had come down with similar intent and abandoned endeavour from analogous reason, they went for a walk in the Park.
Saundersonnot a man of that kind. Thoroughly enjoyed himself for exciting three-quarters of hour. Was in first flight of heated and dishevelled senators who crossed the Bar when door flung open, and elderly Messenger was simultaneously flattened at back of it.Saundersondropped on to first convenient seat; folded his arms; beginning to view the scene when, like the person in the pastoral poem, "he heard a voice which said,"—"You're sitting on my hat!"
"Well," replied Colonel, genially recognising Irish Member of same Province, but another faith, "now you mention it, I thought I did hear something crunch." On examination, found remains of hat.
"Come out of my seat!" said the other Ulster man.
"Not at all," said the Colonel.
"Then I'll take you!" said the Ulster man.
"Do so," said the Colonel. Ulster man seized Colonel by collar and coat, and tugged violently. Rest of conversation was carried on with the Ulster man lying on his back, at full length, partly under his seat. "There was no hat here when I arrived," said the Colonel.
MR. PUNCH'S HISTORICAL CARTOONS. MR. G.'S ROOM IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.
"Then how did it get there?" said the Ulster man, under the seat.
"That's for you to explain," said the Colonel, politely assisting Ulster man to rise. "If, when a gentleman is taking his seat, an Hon. Member places his hat upon it, accidents will happen."
Ulster man threatens to bring question under notice ofSpeaker. "Begad, I hope he will," said the Colonel, smiling grimly. "If you know the gentleman,Toby, tell him I'll keep him in hats through Leap Year if he'll only do it. I should like to give the House an unadorned narrative of the incident.John Roche'sdeer-stealing story would be nothing to it."
Business done.—Debate on Home-Rule Bill.
Thursday.—Grandolphback again at old post on Front Opposition Bench. All the Parliamentary world gathered to greet him. H.R.H. in old familiar seat over clock, whence, up to Monday, his pleasant presence had long been missed. Not a seat vacant on floor of House. Galleries crammed, whilst, throughgrilleof Ladies' Gallery, bright eyes rained influence.Grandolphhad arranged to resume Debate on Home-Rule Bill; should have come on bright and fresh as soon as questions were over. Meanwhile sat on Front Opposition Bench, awaiting the signal to dash in. Incessantly playing with beard, in fashion that testified to high state of nervousness.
Everything excellently planned, the man, the hour, and the surroundings. Only thing forgotten was the dog—dog, you know, that has a little place down at Epsom, and turns up on course just as the ranged horses are straining at the bit, and the flag is upheld for the fall. On this occasion, Irish dog, of course. Introduced in artfullest way.Esmonde, mildest-mannered man that ever whipped for Irish party, casually, as if he were inviting him to have a cigarette, askedWolmeracross House whether it was true that he had called Irish Members "forty paid mercenaries"?Wolmer, an equally well-dressed, civil-spoken young man, smilingly admitted that it was quite true he had couched a remark in the terms quoted, but had certainly not meant anything offensive to Irish Members. Indeed, general aspect of noble Lord, and his tone, suggested feeling of surprise thatEsmondeand his friends should not rather have felt complimented by the observation challenged.
This turned out to be polite crossing of swords before duel to the death, a shaking of hands before deadly set-to without gloves.Sextonsuddenly dashed in, and, with back-handed stroke atWolmer, went for theTimeswho had adopted and improved upon the Viscount's genial remarks. Assault admirably planned; carried on with irresistible vigour, sweeping down earlier resistance ofSpeaker. Showed whatSextoncan do when so deeply moved as to forget himself, and resist besetting temptation to play the fatal windbag.
An hour-and-half's tussle all round House; at end Irish held the field, and, without dissentient voice,Timesarticle declared to be "gross and scandalous breach of privileges of House."
But the hour and half had passed, and with itRandolph'schance of supreme success. House of Commons, though greedy for excitement, will never stand two doses in quick succession. After scene like that, which to-night filled House with fire and smoke, anything that follows is anti-climax. It was a cruel fate, whichGrandolphbore uncomplainingly, and fought against with quiet courage. Painfully nervous when he broke the silence of two years, the still crowded House had difficulty in catching his opening sentences. But, as he went on, he recovered himself, and regained mastery over an audience evidently eager to welcome his permanent return to position of old supremacy.
Business done.—The Wanderer returned. Slow music. Air—"Come, Kill the fatted Calf."
Saturday, 12:50,A.M.—Mr. G. just brought in Home-Rule Bill, amid ringing cheers from Ministerialists, who rise to their feet, and wildly wave their hats asPremierpasses to table. Been some effective speaking on this last night of Debate.Chamberlain,Blake, andJohn Morley, each excellent in varied way. Only few Members present to hearBodkininsert maiden speech in dinner-hour. A remarkable effort, distinguished, among other things, by necessity ofSpeakertwice interposing, second time with ominous threat thatBodkincould not be tolerated much longer.Bodkin, resuming thread of his discourse, humbly apologised, kept his eye (Bodkin'seye) warily onSpeaker, and, when he saw him preparing to rise for third time, abruptly resumed his seat,—returned hurriedly to the needle-case, so to speak,—and thus avoided worse things.
Business done.—Home-Rule Bill read a First Time.
No doubt of it! A great diplomatic stroke on the part of Mr.John Hareis this revival ofDiplomacy—i.e.,Sardou'sDorain an English-made dress—at the Garrick Theatre. An unequivocal success (of which more "in our next") on Saturday night for everybody; and, after the Play was over, the audience, inspired by "the gods," called Mr. and Mrs.Bancroftbefore the curtain. Mrs.Bancroft, in the course of an admirable little speech, said, "If I stood here till next week, I should not be able to express all I feel." Now as, by the right time, it was exactly 11:54P.M.Saturday night, this clever lady would certainlynothave been able in the time to express all she felt, or to say all she would have liked to say, seeing there were only six minutes left before "next week" began.
"GOING FOR THE TIMES!"—CHARGE OF "MERCENARIES.""Once more unto the breach (of privilege) dear Friends!"—Henry the Fifth, Act iii. s. 1.
"Once more unto the breach (of privilege) dear Friends!"—Henry the Fifth, Act iii. s. 1.
(After a Well-known Original.)
"You are old, 'Le Grand Français,'" the young Frank said,"And your hair has become very white.Yet the Judges award you five years, it is said—I can't think, at your age, it's quite right.""Such Gaul gratitude, boy!"Le Grand Françaisreplied,"As it brightens history's page;In my youth I served France, was her boast and her pride;And France has forgotten my age."
"You are old, 'Le Grand Français,'" the young Frank said,"And your hair has become very white.Yet the Judges award you five years, it is said—I can't think, at your age, it's quite right."
"You are old, 'Le Grand Français,'" the young Frank said,
"And your hair has become very white.
Yet the Judges award you five years, it is said—
I can't think, at your age, it's quite right."
"Such Gaul gratitude, boy!"Le Grand Françaisreplied,"As it brightens history's page;In my youth I served France, was her boast and her pride;And France has forgotten my age."
"Such Gaul gratitude, boy!"Le Grand Françaisreplied,
"As it brightens history's page;
In my youth I served France, was her boast and her pride;
And France has forgotten my age."
"I hear," said Mrs. R., "that there is some question of real or sham Constables at Burlington House. Why not refer it to the Chief Commissioner of Police?"
Your journalist may be a scribe of sense, or comicality,Avoiding the sensational, the silly, and the shoppy;But he can never make a claim to true originality,His contributions always being recognised as "copy."
Your journalist may be a scribe of sense, or comicality,Avoiding the sensational, the silly, and the shoppy;But he can never make a claim to true originality,His contributions always being recognised as "copy."
Your journalist may be a scribe of sense, or comicality,
Avoiding the sensational, the silly, and the shoppy;
But he can never make a claim to true originality,
His contributions always being recognised as "copy."
☞NOTICE.—Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of 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.