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PUNCH,

VOL. 99.

November 1, 1890.

MODERN TYPES.

Those who live much in the society of the very middle-aged, hear from them loud and frequent complaints of the decay of courtesy and the general deterioration, both of manners and of habits, observable in the young men of the day. With many portentous shakings of the head, these grizzling censors inform those who care to listen to their wailings, that in the time of their own youth it was understood to be the duty of young men to be modest, considerate, generous in their treatment of one another, and chivalrous in their behaviour to women. And every one of them will probably suggest to his hearers that he was intimately acquainted with at least one young man who fulfilled that duty with a completeness and a perfection never since attained. Now, however, they will declare, the case is different. Young men have become selfish and arrogant. Their respect for age has vanished, their behaviour to ladies is familiar and flippant, their style of conversation is slangy and disreputable, they are wanting in all proper reverence, they are pampered, luxurious, affected, foolish, and disingenuous; unworthy, in short, to be mentioned in the same breath with those who have preceded them, and have left to their degenerate successors a brilliant but unavailing example of youthful conduct. These diatribes may or may not be founded to some extent in truth. At the best, however, their truth is only a half-truth. So long as the world endures, it is probable that young men will have a large allowance of follies, of affectations, of extravagances, and the young men of to-day are certainly not without them. But, in the main, though the task of comparison is difficult, they do not appear to be at all inferior in manliness, in modesty of bearing, and in reverence to the generations that have gone before. Here and there in London the antics of some youth plunged into a torrent of folly before he had had time even to think of being wise, excite the comments of the world. But London is not the school to which one would look for youth at its best. To find that in any considerable quantity one must travel either to Cambridge or to Oxford, and inspect the average undergraduates, who form the vast majority at both these Universities.

Now the Average Undergraduate, as he exists, and has for ages existed, is not, perhaps, a very wise young man. Nor does he possess those brilliant qualities which bring the Precocious Undergraduate to premature ruin. He has his follies, but they are not very foolish; he has his affectations, but they are innocent; he has his extravagances, but they pass away, and leave him not very much the worse for the experience. On the whole, however, he is a fine specimen of the young Englishman--brave, manly, loyal, and upright. He is the salt of his University, and an honour to the country that produces him.

The Average Undergraduate will have been an average schoolboy, not afflicted with too great a love of classics or mathematics, and gifted, unfortunately, with a fine contempt for modern languages. But he will have taken an honourable part in all school-games, and will have acquired through them not only vigorous health and strength, but that tolerant and generous spirit of forbearance without which no manly game can be carried on. These qualities he will carry with him to the University which his father chooses for him, and to which he himself looks forward rather as a home of liberty slightly tempered by Proctors, than as a temple of learning, moderated by examiners.

During the October term which makes him a freshman, the Average Undergraduate devotes a considerable time to mastering the etiquette of his University and College. He learns that it is not customary to shake hands with his friends more than twice in each term, once at the beginning, and again at the end of the term. If he is a Cambridge man, he will cut the tassel of his academical cap short; at Oxford he will leave it long; but at both he will discover that sugar-tongs are never used, and that the race of Dons exists merely to plague him and his fellows with lectures, to which he pays small attention, with enforced chapels, which he sometimes dares to cut, and, with general disciplinary regulations, to which he considers it advisable to submit, though he is never inclined to admit their necessity. He becomes a member of his college boat-club, and learns that one of the objects of a regular attendance at College Chapel is, to enable the freshman to practise keeping his back straight. Similarly, Latin Dictionaries and Greek Lexicons are, necessarily, bulky, since, otherwise, they would be useless as seats on which the budding oarsman may improve the length of his swing in the privacy of his own rooms. These rooms are all furnished on the same pattern. A table, a pedestal desk for writing, half-a-dozen ordinary chairs, a basket arm-chair, perhaps a sofa, some photographs of school-groups, family photographs in frames, a cup or two, won at the school athletic sports, a football cap, and a few prints of popular pictures, complete the furniture and decorations of the average College rooms. Of course there are, even amongst undergraduates, wealthy aesthetes, who furnish their rooms extravagantly--but the Average Undergraduate is not one of them.

On the fifth of November the freshman sallies forth only to find, with a sense of bitter disappointment, that the rows between Town and Gown are things of the past. He will have discovered ere this that undergraduate etiquette has ordained that while he wears a cap and gown he must forswear gloves, and leave his umbrella at home, even though the rain should pour down in torrents. All these ordinances he observes strictly, though he can neither be "hauled" nor "gated" for setting them at defiance. Towards the end of his first term he begins to realise more accurately the joys and privileges of University life, he has formed his set, and more or less found his level, he has become a connoisseur of cheap wine, he has with pain and labour learned to smoke, he has certainly exceeded his allowance, and he returns to his home with the firm conviction that he knows a great deal of life. He will terrify his mother with tales of proctorial misadventures, and will excite the suspicions of his father by the new brilliance of his attire. Indeed it is a curious fact that whatever the special pursuit of the Average Undergraduate may be, and whatever may be the calling and profession of his father, the two are generally engaged in a financial war. This always ends in the triumph of the older man, who never scruples to use the power which the possession of the purse gives him in order to discomfit his son. From a University point of view, the average father has as little variety as the average son.

It must be noted that away from the University or his family circle, and in the society of ladies, the Average Undergraduate is shy. The wit that flashed so brilliantly in the College Debating Club is extinguished, the stream of humour that flowed amidst shouts of laughter in the Essay Society is frozen at its source, the conversation that delighted the frequenters of his rooms is turned into an irresponsive mumble. But as soon as he returns to the academic groves, and knows that petticoats are absent, and that his own beloved "blazer" is on his back, Richard is himself again. He has his undergraduate heroes whom he worships blindly, hoping himself to be some day a hero and worthy of worship. Moreover, there are in every College traditions which cause the undergraduate who is a member of it to believe that the men of that particular society are finer fellows than the men of any other. These traditions the Average Undergraduate holds as though they were articles of his religion.

The Average Undergraduate generally takes a respectable position as a College oarsman or cricketer, though he may fail to attain to the University Eight or to the Eleven. He passes his examinations with effort, but still he passes them. He recks not of Honours. The "poll" or the pass contents him. Sometimes he makes too much noise, occasionally he dines too well. In London, too, his conduct during vacations is perhaps a little exuberant, and he is often inclined to treat the promenades at the Leicester Square Variety Palaces as though he had purchased them. But, on the whole, he does but little harm to himself and others. He is truthful and ingenuous, and although he knows himself to be a man, he never tries to be a very old or a very wicked one. In a word, he is wholesome. In the end he takes his degree creditably enough. His years at the University have been years of pure delight to him, and he will always look back to them as the happiest of his life. He has not become very learned, but he will always be a useful member of the community, and whether as barrister, clergyman, country gentleman, or business man, he will show an example of manly uprightness which his countrymen could ill afford to lose.

Look on London with its Smells-- Sickening Smells! What long nasal misery their nastiness foretells! How they trickle, trickle, trickle, On the air by day and night! While our thoraxes they tickle. Like the fumes from brass in pickle, Or from naphtha all alight; Making stench, stench, stench, In a worse than witch-broth drench, Of the muck-malodoration that so nauseously wells From the Smells, Smells, Smells, Smells, Smells, Smells, Smells-- From the fuming and the spuming of the Smells.

Sniff the fetid sewer Smells-- Loathsome Smells! What a lot of typhoid their intensity foretells! Through the pleasant air of night, How they spread, a noxious blight! Full of bad bacterian motes, Quickening soon. What a lethal vapour floats To the foul Smell-fiend who glistens as he gloats On the boon. Oh, from subterranean cells What a gush of sewer-gas voluminously wells! How it swells! How it dwells In our houses! How it tells Of the folly that impels To the breeding and the speeding Of the Smells, Smells, Smells, Of the Smells, Smells, Smells, Smells, Smells, Smells, Smells-- To the festering and the pestering of the Smells!

JUST NOW THE CHIEF NILE-IST IN PARIS.--CLEOPATRA.

SEEING THE STARS.

"Those who were out of doors in Edinburgh at three o'clock on Saturday morning were startled by the appearance of a brilliant meteorite in the northern hemisphere. Its advent was announced by a flash of light which illuminated the whole city. A long fiery streak marked its course, and remained visible for more than a minute. At first this streak was perfectly straight, but, after it had begun to fade, it broke into a zig-zag."

The phenomenon so graphically described, though remarkable, is not, we believe, in the circumstances, entirely novel. Perhaps it is noteworthy as coming a little early in the year. We understand that on New Year's Day, "those who are out of doors in Edinburgh at three o'clock in the morning," are not unfrequently startled in somewhat similar manner.

THE MOAN OF THE MAIDEN.

Oh, well for the man of my heart, That he bets on the "holes" and the play Oh, well for the "caddie" that carries The "clubs," and earns his pay.

He puts his red coat on, And he roams on the sandy hill; But oh for the touch of that golfer's hand, That the "niblick" wields with a will.

Golf! Golf! Golf! Where the "bunkers" vex by the sea; But the days of Tennis and Croquet Will never come back to me!

OYSTERITIES AT COLCHESTER.--Last Wednesday the Annual Oyster Feast was held at Colchester. Toasts in plenty: music of course. But why was there absent from the harmonious list so appropriate a glee as Sir Henry Bishop's:--

"Uprouse ye then, My merry merry men, It is our opening day!"

Why wasn't Deputy-Sheriff BEARD asked? Is he already shelved?

THE LAST OF "MARY'S LAMB."

Mary had a little lamb, Which she desired to send Across the mighty ocean as A present to a friend.

That friend was partial to lamb chops, Likewise to devilled kidney; So friendly MARY promptly went Unto "a firm in Sydney."

Then Mary wept. She said, "My lamb Has wool as white as snow; But packed in ice? It don't sound nice, No, Sydney Merchant, No!

"Refrigerate my darling! Oh! It makes my bosom bleed. Still, go it must. I think you said, 'Delivery guaranteed!'"

MORAL.

Science, though it pays "cent. per cent.," Is destitute of pity; And makes hash of the sentiment Dear to the Nursery ditty.

ROBERT AS HUMPIRE.

I need ardly say that, being all quite fust-rate swells, they receaved me in the most kindest manner, and ewen smiled upon me most freely, which in course I felt as a great complement.

One on 'em then adrest me sumwot as follers, "I'm sure, Mr. ROBERT, we are all werry much obliged to you for coming so reddily at my request." At which they all cried, "Here! here!" "You of coarse understand what we wish you to do." To which I at once replide, "Quite so, my noble swells." At which they all larfed quite lowd, tho' I'm sure I don't kno why. He then said that it was thort better not to menshun the names of any of the Gents present, and he then presented me with a little packet, which he requested I woud not open till I got home, and then proseeded to xplain the Wager, somthink like this. Two of the noble Lords present, it apeared, had disagreed upon a certain matter, and, wanting a Humpire of caracter and xperience to decide between them, had both agreed to a surgestion that had bin made, that of all the many men in London none coudn't be considered more fitter for the post than Mr. ROBERT, the sillybrated Citty Waiter!

I rayther thinks as I blusht wisibly, and I knos as I bust out into a perfuse prusperashun, but I didn't say a word, but pulled myself together as I can ginerally do when I feels as it's necessary to manetane my good charackter. He then said, "The question for you to deside is this: At a great and most himportant Dinner that is about to be held soon, at which most of the werry grandest swells left in Lundon will be present, we intends to hinterduce 'The Loving Cup;' not," he added, smiling, "so much to estonish the natives, as to stagger the strangers. The question, therefore, that you, as the leading Citty Waiter of the day, have to settle, is, How many of the Gests stand up while one on 'em drinks?" Delighted to find how heasy was my tarsk, I ansers, without a moment's hezzitation, "Three!" One on 'em turned garstly pale, and shouted out, "What for?" To which I replied, "One to take off and hold up the cover, the second to bow, and drink out of the Cup, and the third to protect the Drinker while he drinks, lest any ennemy should stab him in the back."

The garstly pale Gent wanted to arsk more questions, but the rest shouted, "Horder! Horder!" and the fust Gent coming up to me again, thanked me for what he called my kindness in cumming, so I made 'em my very best bow, which I copied from a certain Poplar Prince, and took my departure.

PATTI, take, PATTI, take, Grand Old Man! Give him voice lozenges soon as you can. Pack them, address them, as neat as can be, And courteously hand them to W.G.!

Mellifluous Nightingale, melody's source Our Golden Eagle hath grown a bit hoarse; But though Aquila's husky with age and long fights, His sweet Philomela will set him to-rights.

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE

THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

WINTER OPERA.

PROGRESS--FIN DE SI?CLE!

TIPPERARY JUNCTION.

Oh, politics puzzle, and partisans vary, In holiday autumn on Albion's shore; But och! there's good business in New Tipperary, So to take a look round I will take a run o'er. Prince ARTHUR looks proud, but his policy's poor-- No doubt, he'd be happy to show me the door; But the Paddies will welcome an English grandee-- They've had SHAW-LEFEVRE, they'd rather have me! So I laugh at all fears of things going contrairey , I'm sure there's good business in New Tipperary! In New Tipperary!

Faith! JOHN MORLEY thinks he's leary, And he's off to Tipperary; My policy he thinks he'll be a thorn in; But before he comes away He will find to spoil my play He must get up very early in the mornin'. Wid his bundle on his shoulder, He thinks no man could look boulder, And he's lavin' for Auld Ireland widout warnin'. For he lately took the notion For to cross the briny ocean, And to start for Tipperary in the mornin'.

When they tould me I must shpake a pace, I tried to kape a cheerful face, Though obvious lack of matther I was mournin'! But, oh sombre-faced JOHN MORLEY! Ye desired to help me surely, When ye went for Tipperary widout warnin'! Though your tale could scarce be boulder, Yet my hits straight from the shoulder Will make ye mourn the hour that ye were born in. And I think ye'll have a notion Ye were wrong to cross the ocean, And raise rucktions in ould Ireland in the mornin'!

I may yet have to sail o'er the blue seas to-morrow, Once more sail away to the Isle o' the West, They yet may subpoena me, much to my sorrow, And then my strange tale will be put to the test. But BALFOUR shall find, when once more I come back, Of matter for speeches I shall have no lack. O'BRIEN and DILLON from judgment have flown, But with BALFOUR, I fancy, I'll still hold my own. That flight in the boat was a funny vagary, But the picture I'll paint will make SALISBURY scary, And set the bells ringing in New Tipperary! In New Tipperary!

TO ENGELBERG AND BACK.

"Oh! he's ever so much better. Why he only had two stumbles, and one cropper, doing his three hundred yards this morning. That beats the record, anyhow."

Young JERRYMAN is describing the effect the Engelberg air is already having on the Dilapidated One to several people, who have either been invalided themselves, or have had invalid relatives, or met, seen, or heard of invalids who have had similar satisfactory experiences.

"You know, I think the dining has a great deal to do with the beneficent effects of the place," remarked, meekly, a mild-mannered Clergyman, who, had been brought up here apparently to "get tone." "You can't sit down to table with three hundred people," he continued, meditatively; as if the solution of the social problem had caused him some anxious thought, "without being inclined to launch out a little more than one does under ordinary conditions at home. Only I wish they wouldn't think it necessary to keep their dining-saloon at such an excessive temperature, and waste quite so much time between the different courses."

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