Punch, or the London Charivari, May 18th, 1895

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A splendid show, though some of the children are neither fair nor beautiful. Note No. 114, "The Chinese Boy," by Sir Joshua. He is a boy, certainly, but his complexion has a mahogany tinge not usually associated with loveliness. Catherine de Medicis, if we may judge by No. 67, was a plain, decent, housewifely body, with a family of four horrors, three male and one female, all of whom, eventually, wore a crown. Can it be possible that La Reine Margot ever looked like that? If so, the great Dumas is convicted of gross deceit. For a screaming farce in oil, let the visitor look at No. 155, "The Infant Johnson," by Sir Joshua. Some one has evidently suggested to the baby lexicographer that he should have a bath. Naturally enough he is furious at the idea. "Sir," he seems to say, "let us take a perambulator down Fleet Street, or anywhere else, but let us not bathe." Can there not be found a companion picture of the mighty infant in a cheerful mood, prattling out a "What, nurse, are you for a frolic? Then I'm with you." In a case labelled No. 454 are to be seen toys, dolls, and playthings found in Children's Tombs in Egypt. Here, too, is the "Mummy of a Baby." "I see the baby," observed an intelligent child-visitor; "but where is its Mummy? My Mummy never ties baby up like that."

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Not Due North.—The North British Daily Mail, referring to the rumour that the Prince of Wales may go to New York in the autumn to see the contest for the America Cup, says: "There will be better racing on the Clyde than there was last year. Let the Prince come north at midsummer this year." Very likely the race on the Clyde will be a good one. But our Scottish contemporary forgets that a visit to the United States on the part of H.R.H. would be to the advantage of two races—the American and the British. It would be sure to cause good feeling on either side of the Atlantic. Why should not Caledonia wait?

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By Our Own Cricket on the Hearth.—For any ordinary English team to attempt tackling the Australian Eleven coming over here next season, would show not so much the merit of the team, but its team-erity.

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Scene—Anywhere. Present, Brown and Jones.

Brown (perusing paper). Capital speech of Arthur J. Balfour at the Newspaper Society's Dinner the other evening. His compliments to the Press were in every way deserved.

Jones (also reading a journal). Quite so. I am glad to see that the admirable publication I am now devouring objects to gambling in all its branches.

Brown. So does this. There is an excellent leader on the fourth page exposing the scandals of the Stock Exchange.

Jones. And here I find on page two a most earnest attack upon the abuses of the turf.

Brown. Such intelligent comments should do a world of good.

Jones. I am sure of it. I know, speaking for myself, I feel much better after perusing a column that might have supplied the pabulum of a sermon.

Brown. Just my case. It really strengthens one's moral perceptions to come across such noble sentiments. Well, as we have both read the leaders, let us exchange papers.

Jones. With pleasure, only I want just to glance at the latest odds. This journal gives the latest information on all matters connected with racing and the turf generally.

Brown. Just so, that is why I wanted to read it. Well, I must fill up the time by looking at the money article. Commend me to the city editor of this favourite production when you want to have a gentle flutter!

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"Key-notes."—In anticipation of H.R.H. the Prince of Wales visiting the Isle of Man later in the year, though at present

the House of Keys has put every quay on the bunch at His Royal Highness's disposal for landing.

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Flower Shows and City Business.—"Preference Stocks. Chatham Seconds Rose." What a sweet combination of colour and scent per scent!

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"Inevitable" is the new cant phrase, and certain phrases are inevitable, it would seem.

It is inevitable, if you should happen to beg the pardon of one of the lower middle class, that he (or more generally she) will reply with "Granted!"

It is inevitable, if you converse with a young Oxonian of immature intellect, that he will murder the Queen's, or (as he would call it) Quagger's, English by some such expression as "What a beastly sensagger!" or invite you to "stagger for the dagger" (i.e. stay for the day). But competent authorities are inclined to think that this laborious form of undergraduate wit, or "wagger," is doomed to speedy "extigger."

It is inevitable that the would-be smart business person, when inditing a circular or club notice, will say, "Forward same," or, "I inclose same," instead of "it," whatever it may happen to be.

It is inevitable that, when 'Arry wishes to be familiarly polite at parting, he will take his leave with "So long."

It is inevitable that, when a young City man desires to express his disapproval of any individual or thing, he will dismiss it as "no class."

It is inevitable, if you make any surprising or absurd statement to a Yankee, that his comment thereon will be, "Is that so!"

It is inevitable, if you meet an actor "resting" in the Strand, that he will ask you to "Name it," and you will proceed to do so (possibly at your own expense) at one or more of the excellent drinking-bars in that locality.

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["Certain Members object to attending the Speaker's dinner or levées in full dress."]

Mr. Speaker.

The Members.

Mr. Speaker.

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Worthy Object.—It is encouraging to hear of a "Mission to Deep Sea Fishermen." The deeper the sea-fishermen are, the more necessary is the mission. These Deep Sea-Fishermen are generally supposed to be able to look after their own soles; but now they will receive aid in their work. As the Bishop of Liverpool is a prominent patron of this good work, it may be taken for granted that most of these deep 'uns are fishermen in his Lordship's See.

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An Acquittal.—With what a sense of relief does a bon vivant who has been brought up by Corporal Ailment before the Doctor's Court Martial hear the verdict of "Not Gouty!"

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(A Natural Development of the Modern System of Suppression.)

Scene—Interior of one of the Royal Courts. Customary occupants and surroundings. Witness in the box undergoing cross-examination.

First Counsel. And now will you give me the name of the person you met on that occasion?

Second Counsel. I do not wish to interfere without reason; but surely it is unnecessary to introduce third parties into this inquiry.

Witness. Perhaps I might follow the plan I adopted in my examination-in-chief and write the name on a piece of paper?

The Judge. That seems a reasonable course to pursue.

First Counsel. As your Lordship pleases. Then be so good as to give me the name as suggested. (Witness complies.) Thank you. (After reading the paper.) Do you spell the name with a final "e"?

Second Counsel. Really, my learned friend is carrying matters too far. If the anonymity of third parties is to be preserved, such a leading question would reveal the identity at once.

The Judge. I suppose you mean that the query about the final "e" would indicate that the veiled name was "Browne."

Second Counsel. Quite so, my lord; that is a conclusion that would be accepted by persons of the most ordinary intelligence.

First Counsel. But as a matter of fact, the name to which I refer is certainly neither Brown nor Browne. I will submit the paper to your lordship.

The Judge (after perusing the slip which has been handed to him by an usher). Dear me! I am greatly surprised!

Foreman of the Jury. May we, my lord, learn the name?

First Counsel. So far as I am concerned, I shall be only too pleased to allow the Gentlemen of the Jury to have the fullest information on the point.

Second Counsel. If I object, it is not because I have not the greatest confidence in the Jury's discretion, but simply as a matter of principle.

First Counsel. I do not see how the affair is a matter of principle, but if my learned friend objects I have no wish to push the point further. (Turning to Witness.) And now, where did you meet this person whose name we have arranged to leave undiscovered?

Witness. Perhaps you will allow me to write the locality on a piece of paper and pass it round?

The Judge. I think we may do that.

First Counsel. As your Lordship pleases. (Course suggested pursued.) And now, have you ever seen any one else on the subject?

Witness. Certainly. (Produces a scroll.) Here is a list. I have purposely written their names in shorthand, so that they may only be recognised by those who have a knowledge of Pitman's method.

The Judge. Certainly.

First Counsel. And that, my Lord, is my case.

[Sits down.

The Judge. And now, Gentlemen, before we proceed further, I would like to make a suggestion. When we commenced this trial we arranged that the names of the Plaintiff and Defendant should not be made public. Since then it seems to me that we should learn them. What do you say, Gentlemen?

Foreman of the Jury. We share your Lordship's curiosity.

The Judge (addressing Counsel). You hear.

First Counsel (after consultation with his opponent). My Lord, I need scarcely say that both my friend and myself are most anxious to meet the wishes of your Lordship. But as this is a point of great importance to our clients, we should like to have an opportunity of consulting them. No doubt the names asked for might only have a limited circulation—be known only to your Lordship and the Gentlemen of the Jury. Still there are objections to even so partial a publication as I have shadowed forth which make it most desirable that we should have an opportunity of giving the matter our fullest consideration. Perhaps we might adjourn until to-morrow morning?

The Judge. Oh, certainly, certainly.

[Court consequently adjourns to meet the necessities of the situation.

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Motto for the Vineyard Proprietors in a certain Champagne District.—"Make Ay while the sun shines."

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THE DUKE OF ARG-LL AND MR. GL-DST-NE "BROTHERS IN ARMS" AGAIN!

BULGARIA, 1876.            ARMENIA, 1895.

Hang it all! They have blocked the street and are laying it with asphalte; just in May, as usual. From early morning the quiet of my rooms is disturbed by the noise of the work, when I go out I scramble over heaps of rubbish, past smoking cauldrons of pitch, and when I come home at night my cab drops me nearly a quarter of a mile away. Moreover, one neighbouring house is being painted, and the other is being rebuilt. I fly from falling dust and brickbats, only to run against ladders and paint-pots. It is awful. And now my Aunt Jane is coming up from Bath, and has invited herself to tea at my chambers. Her rheumatism prevents her from walking more than a yard or two, she cannot bear any noise, and the smell of paint makes her ill. She is very rich, and could leave all she has to the poor. Accurately speaking, that class includes me, but in my aunt's opinion it does not. She is very suspicious, and, if I made excuses and invited her to tea anywhere else, she would feel convinced that I was hiding some guilty secret in my dull, quiet, respectable rooms. She is very prim, and the mere suggestion of such a thing would alienate her from me for ever. Why on earth can't she stop in Bath? And I shall have to go with her to May meetings! It is impossible; I must fly. But where? She has a horror and suspicion of all foreign nations, except perhaps the steady, industrious Swiss. Good idea—Switzerland. But what reason can I give for rushing off just now? Someone must send me. I have it. She knows I try to write a little, so I will say my editor requires me to go at once to Geneva to write a series of articles in the Jardin Alpin d'Acclimatation on Alpine botany. Botany, how respectable! Geneva, how sedate! Makes one think at once of Calvin and Geneva bands. These sound rather frivolous, something like German bands, but they are not really so, only, I believe, a sort of clerical cravat. Then I will start off to Paris, the direct way to Geneva.

Perhaps I shall never reach Geneva. Paris will do well enough. No streets there taken up in the Spring. No painting on the clean stone houses. No rebuilding on the Boulevards. No aunt of mine anywhere near. I shall escape all my troubles. I shall be able to smoke my cigarette lazily in the pleasant courtyard of the Grand Hôtel, and try to imagine that I see some of the people in Trilby—Little Billee, or Taffy, or the Laird—amongst the animated, cosmopolitan crowd. And the stately giant in the gilt chain will solemnly arrange the newspapers in all languages, and will supply me with note-paper. I must be careful not to write to my aunt a long description of the Jardin Alpin d'Acclimatation de Geneve on paper stamped "Grand Hôtel, Paris." And the attentive Joseph, with those long grey whiskers, sacred to the elderly French waiter and the elderly French lawyer, will exclaim, "V'là, M'sieu!" in all those varied tones which make the two syllables mean "Yessir!" "Coming, Sir!" "Here is your coffee, Sir!" "In a minute, Sir!" and so many things besides. And I shall be able to watch, assembled from all parts of the world, some younger and prettier faces than my Aunt Jane's. That settles it. A regretful letter to my aunt. And to-morrow en route!

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Change of Spelling?—Our dramatic friend known to the public through Mr. Punch as Enry Hauthor Jones appears to have recently altered the spelling of his name. He has left the Jones and the Henry alone, but in the Times of Friday he appears as "Henry Arther Jones," "U" out of it; and what was "E" doing there?

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Presentation to the Rev. Guinness Rogers.—Last week this worthy minister was presented by his Congregationalists with an address and a cheque for a thousand guineas, Mr. Gladstone, ex-minister, being among the subscribers. In future the bénéficiaire will be remembered as the "Reverend Thousand Guinness Rogers."

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Music Note (after hearing Mr. J. M. Coward's performance on the Orchestral Harmonium).—It would be high praise to say of any organist that "he attacks his instrument in a Cowardly manner."

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"Very Appropriate."—Last Wednesday the Right Hon. A. W. Peel became a "Skinner."

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(Prematurely Communicated by our Prophetic Reporter.)

Gentlemen of the Jury, for the last couple of years or so you have no doubt read any number of denunciations of the conduct of the man whose actions you are now about to investigate. You have heard him abused right and left. You have seen pictures of him, in which he has been held up to scorn and public ridicule. You have heard it announced in all quarters that he is a scoundrel and a thief. And as this has been the case, Gentlemen of the Jury, it is my duty to tell you that you must put aside the recollection of these attacks. You must treat the prisoner before you as if he were immaculate. In fact you must lay aside all prejudice, and give the man a fair trial; and, Gentlemen, it is my duty (sanctioned by precedent) to have the pleasure of informing you that I am sure you will! Yes, Gentlemen of the Jury, having regard to all the circumstances of the case, I repeat, I am sure you will!

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At the National Liberal Club, on Wednesday, Lord Rosebery told the company they were not dancing on a volcano. That may be true, but it is equally true that the Government, in proposing to remit the sixpenny duty on whisky, are riding for a fall in (or, shall we say, a drop of) the "crater."

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["Her Majesty's Government are about to entrust to one of our first sculptors a great historical statue, which has too long been wanting to the series of those who have governed England."—Lord Rosebery at the Royal Academy Banquet.]

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Among Mr. Le Gallienne's new poems there is one entitled Tree Worship. It is not dedicated to the lessee of the Haymarket Theatre by "an Admirer."

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"What's in a Name? A Rossa, &c."—Before being ejected from the House of Commons on Wednesday last, O'Donovan Rossa shouted out that "A stain had been put upon his name." Where is the ingenious craftsman who did it? He might try his hand next time at gilding refined gold.

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Query.—Can a champagne wine from the vintage of "Ay" be invariably and fairly described as "Ay 1"?

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["Neckties made of aluminium have just been invented in Germany."—Evening Paper.]

Visited my tailor's puddling works to-day. He has some really neat new pig-iron fabrics for the season. I am thinking of trying his Bessemer steel indestructible evening-dress suits.

Really this new plan of mineral clothing comes in very usefully when one is attacked by roughs on a dark night. Floored an assailant most satisfactorily with a touch of my lead handkerchief.

The only objection I can find to my aluminium summer suiting is its tendency to get red hot if I stand in the sun for five minutes.

I think I can now safely defy my laundress to injure my patent safety ironclad steel shirts.

I find, however, that there is no need of a laundress at all. When one's linen is soiled, sand-paper and a mop will clean it in no time.

My frock-coat has got a nasty kink in it; must send it to be repaired at the smelting furnace.

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Once Cut don't Come Again!—It was said by The Figaro last week that Japan would demand "an extra payment of one hundred millions of taels by China." But surely a hundred million Chinamen would evince a pig-headed obstinacy in parting with, or being parted from, their "tails" on any consideration.

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"A Lightship Sunk."—Impossible! couldn't have been a lightship, it must have been a very heavy ship.

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EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

House of Commons, Monday, May 6.—Welsh Disestablishment Bill on. So is The Man from Shropshire. Stanley Leighton, as George Trevelyan pointed out long ago, is irresistibly like the ruined Chancery Suitor of Bleak House. Always dashing into debate as The Man from Shropshire broke in on the business of the Court of Chancery. "Mr. Chairman!" he shouts, and waves his arms, as The Man from Shropshire cried aloud, "My lord! My lord!" and tried to seize the Lord Chancellor by wig or neck. After first ebullition, our Man from Shropshire quietens down. Argues with gravity of tone and manner that seem to imply he has something to say. Turns out he hasn't; but, on the Welsh Disestablishment Bill, that no matter.

Curious how this Church Bill brings to the front men who, if heard at all, certainly do not speak in chorus on any other question. After The Man from Shropshire comes Tomlinson, who, early in proceedings, displays irresistible tendency to discuss points of order with Speaker. New Speaker has, however, already got hand in, and, before Tomlinson, who remembers being on his feet addressing Chair, quite knows where he is, he finds himself sitting down again, Cranborne also on warpath, his very hair bristling with indignation at this fresh attack on the Church. Glib Griffith-Boscawen has a field-night; makes long speech on moving Instruction standing in his own name. His obvious, unaffected enjoyment of his own oratory should be infectious; but isn't.

Colonel Lockwood, that pillar of the Church, was the first called on in Committee to move amendment. Colonel not in his place. Report has it the devout man is in library reading Thomas À Kempis, or Drelincourt on Death. Here is opportunity for Glib-Griffith to make another speech. Dashes in; starting off with promise of good half-hour; desire for Lockwood's appearance irresistible. As Addison says, with hereditary disposition to drop into poetry, and the belief that he is quoting Tennyson,

Scouts sent out in all directions. The Colonel discovered in sort of oratory he has contrived in far recess of library. Brought back to House; found Boscawen bowling along. "This is my show," said the Colonel as he passed Boscawen on his way to his seat. More fierceness in his eye than befit the man or the occasion. Boscawen stared over his head, and went on with his speech. Opportunity too precious to be lost. If Lockwood meant to move his amendment he should have been there when called upon. He wasn't: Boscawen found it, so to speak, by roadside. Now it was his; would make the most of it; pegged along whilst the Colonel muttered remarks as he glared upon him. Some who sat by said it was a prayer. Others, catching a word here and there, said it was a quotation from Thomas À Kempis. Whatever it might have been, Colonel seemed much moved. Hardly pacified when, at end of twenty minutes, Glib-Griffith sat down, and Lockwood, finding himself in peculiar position of seconding his own amendment, delivered the speech he had prepared for moving it.

Business done.—Got into Committee on Welsh Disestablishment Bill.

Tuesday.—Pretty to see Prince Arthur drop down on George Russell just now for speaking disrespectfully of Silomio. That eminent patriot, having in his newly-assumed character of Patron Saint of Japan, cross-examined Edward Grey upon latest Treaty negotiations, accused Asquith of nothing less than stealing a county. "Filching" was precise word, which has its equivalent in Slang Dictionary in sneaking. Idea of Home Secretary hovering over the Marches in dead of night, and, when he thought no one was looking, picking up Monmouthshire, and putting it in his coat-tail pocket, amused scanty audience. But Silomio really wrath. "Always Anti-English this Government," he exclaimed, with scornful sweep of red right hand along line of smiling faces on Treasury Bench. "A stirring burst of British patriotism," George Russell characterised it. John Bull in excelsis. The more notable since, on reference to official record, he found the Knight from Sheffield was born in the United States, and descended from the Pilgrim Fathers.

"Which one?" inquired voice from back bench, an inquiry very properly disregarded. (A new phrase this, Sark notes, for use by retired tradesmen, setting up to spend rest of useful lives in retirement at Clapham or Camberwell. To trace their family tree back to transplantation at period of Conquest, played out. Instead of "Came over with the Conqueror," newer, more picturesque, equally historical to say, "Came over with the Pilgrim Fathers.")

Prince Arthur not in mood for speculation of this kind. Cut to the heart by remarks he suspected of slighting intent towards his friend and colleague. In Silomio Prince Arthur has long learned to recognise all the graces and all the talents. Apart from personal consideration, he feels how much the Party owe to him for having raised within its ranks the standard of culture and conduct. To have him attacked, even in fun, by an Under Secretary, was more than he could stand. So, in gravest tone, with no flicker of a smile on his expressive countenance, he declared that a more unfortunate speech he had never heard. "If the hon. gentleman intends," he added, "to take a considerable part in debate, I would earnestly recommend him either to change the character of his humour, or entirely to repress the exhibition."

Beautiful! In its way, all things considered, best thing Prince Arthur has done this Session. House grinned; but two big hot tears coursed down cheek of Silomio, making deep furrows in the war paint.

"That's tit for tat with Georgie Russell," said Herbert Gardner to Solicitor-General, with vague recollection of a historic phrase.

"Quite perfect," said Lockwood. "But what a loss the stage has sustained by Prince Arthur taking to politics? Tried both myself and know something about it." Business done.—An eight hours day with Welsh Disestablishment Bill.

Thursday.—Tanner's curiosity inconveniently uncontrollable. At end of sitting given up to Scotland no one thinking about Commander-in-Chief or Tanner either. Successive divisions had carried sitting far beyond midnight, that blessed hour at which, in ordinary circumstances, debate stands adjourned. Quarter of an hour occupied in dividing on question whether they should divide on amendment. Proposal affirmed; another quarter of an hour spent in fresh division. Nothing possible further to be done, Members streamed forth, scrambling for cabs in Palace Yard. Conybeare in charge of a Bill dealing with false alarms of fire, managed to get it through Committee unopposed. Members little recked how near they were to real alarm of worse than fire.

Twenty minutes earlier, when last division taken, over 330 Members filled House. Now the tide ebbed; only the thirty odd Members in their places jealously watching Speaker running through Orders of the Day. Tanner bobbing up and down on bench like parched pea. Heard it somewhere whispered that Duke of Cambridge, worn out with long campaign, about to unhelm, unbuckle his sword, hang up his dinted armour. Tanner feels he can't go to bed leaving unsettled the problem of truth or phantasy. Not a moment to be lost. Speaker risen to put question "That this House do now adjourn." Then Tanner blurts out the inquiry, "Is it true?" "Order! order!" says the Speaker. Well, if they didn't like the question in the form he had first put it, he would try again.

"I would ask," he said, adopting conditional mood as least likely to hurt anyone's feelings, "whether a member of the Royal Family who has really" (most desirous of not putting it too strongly, but really you know) "been drawing public money too long is going to retire?"

"Order! order!" roared the few Members present.

"I would ask that question," repeated Tanner, still in the conditional mood, but nodding confidentially all round.

The Blameless Bartley happily at post of duty. Broke in with protest. Speaker ruled question out of order. But the good Tanner came back like a bad sixpence.

"Is his Royal Highness going to retire?" he insisted, getting redder than ever in the face. "Order! order!" shouted Members in chorus. Thus encouraged, Tanner sang out the solo again, "Is his Royal Highness going to retire?"

That was his question. The Speaker, distinctly differing, affirmed "The question is that the House do now adjourn;" which it did straightway, leaving Dr. Tanner to go to a sleepless bed haunted by an unanswered question.

"What I should like," said Lieut.-General Sir Frederick Wellington Fitz Wygram, who served in the Crimea with H.R.H., has been in command of the Cavalry Brigade at Aldershot, and in other positions come in personal contact with the Commander-in-Chief, "What I should like," he repeated reflectively, stroking his chin, "would be the opportunity, enjoyed from a safe distance, of hearing the Dook personally reply to Tanner's interrogation."

Business done.—Wrangle all night round Scotch Committee.

Friday.—Squire sat through dull morning sitting listening with air of pathetic resignation to Members talking round Budget. Quilter led off with prodigiously long paper on the Art of Brewing Beer. Seems they fill up the cup with all kinds of mysterious ingredients. Brookfield, looking round and observing both Joseph and Jesse absent, whispered in ear of sympathetic Chairman that Birmingham has reputation in the Trade of making and drinking beer containing minimum of malt, maximum of sugar, and warranted to do the greatest damage to the system. Squire, momentarily waking up from mournful mood, observed that Birmingham is also headquarters of Liberal Unionism. Might be nothing in coincidence, but there it was. Rasch posed as the distressed agriculturist. Jokim tried to walk on both sides of road at same time, and Government got majority of 24. Business done.—Budget Resolutions agreed to.

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