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Read Ebook: Punch or the London Charivari Volume 103 September 17 1892 by Various
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Ebook has 118 lines and 13174 words, and 3 pages
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
VOL. 103
SEPTEMBER 17, 1892
HEARING HIMSELF.
He went into the Cyclops' cave To see what he could spy out; He slew his oxen, stole his sheep, And then he poked his eye out,
as the ribald doggerelist has it. Sounds a little "predatory," perhaps, as SALISBURY would say. But quite capable of being "spiritualised" into a sound Liberal policy, directed against the purblind Poluphemos of Property and Privilege.
On the whole, I had a high old time among the Orientalists. But when discussion ensued, I longed to throw off my disguise and rush, Achilles-like, into the fray. But MAX might have thought that inconsistent with my "colossal humanity;" so, very unwillingly, I refrained.
UP ALOFT.--The most elevated title in the Peerage, and belonging to the upperest part of the Upper House, is "Lord MOUNTGARRET." There can be but one higher, and that will have to be created in the person of a future "Lord TOPOCHIMNEPOT." Though, perhaps, the title of "Lord COWLEY," if it were altered into Lord CHIMNEPOT-COWL-Y, would be the highest of all.
INNS AND OUTS.
I had intended to have written, this week about "Loggosh"--including that mysterious canvass hand-box which contains all that a foreigner cares to carry about with him by day, and often pillows him when travelling by night; but the very mention of luggage brings me back to the Porter. I abominate him. I am "one who has suffered." So here goes!
"Imposing," best describes the H?tel porter; a very Grand H?tel has at least two of these impositions--the House Porter and the Omnibus Porter. The latter you only see twice in your H?tel existence, but he is the most futile and the deadliest fraud of the two.
I am too exhausted to curse, and leave the rival Porters to fight it out themselves, after paying off the ragged regiment of Station-men. On the drive to the H?tel, the Porter tries to propitiate me.
I never saw the brute again until the time of my departure; I had taken a carriage to the Station this time, thinking thereby to avoid the Porter-omnibus. I had registered my traps myself, and was looking out for some one to carry them to the den in which you are penned till the train arrives, when, lo! the chucker-out! smiling and bowing as if he had never seen me before--"Is better I retchistar de loggosh, Sar; pity shentlemans like you, Sar, retchistar de loggosh."
I turn on my heel with an imprecation which "Ingleese-spikers" understand. But he still waits there, smiling, and expecting to be tipped, Let him wait. So much for the Omnibus-Porter--at once the Gamp and Undertaker of my Grand H?tel existence.
THE "BLOWER" BURST UP!
The "Blower" came down, like the braggart he was, And of winning the fight was peculiarly "poz;" And the voice of his backers was loud in their glee;-- "We shall lick him in two rounds--or certainly three!"
Like the "Champion Slugger," in trunks of bright green, The "Big Fellow" at Eight fifty-two might be seen: Like a truculent Titan, blind, baffled, and blown, At Ten thirty-seven the brute was o'erthrown.
For CORBETT smote fiercely, and CORBETT fought fast, And the bullying bounder was beaten at last; And the cheeks of the coarse woman-puncher were chill, He rolled over, and struggled to rise, and lay still.
And there stood his foe with his nostrils all wide, And the shouts of his backers rolled on in their pride. The swells of the Ring and the stars of the Turf Surged round like the waves of the storm-beaten surf.
A ROUNDABOUT RAMBLE.
The sharp, bright little Traveller made his way to the Cabinet of M. CARNOT, and disturbed him at work.
"Do you know, M. Le Pr?sident," said he, "that the Russians are in secret treaty with the English, and the Russo-French Alliance is all nonsense--the most unreliable of broken reeds?"
"Well, no," replied CARNOT, "I have not heard anything of the sort; and, if anyone should be up in it--"
But the Traveller did not want to hear the rest, for he was once again on his road, telling everyone he met the disquieting intelligence, and, consequently, the French people were greatly troubled.
He was soon in Berlin. He did not ask for an interview with the KAISER, but took one.
"Well, no," said the Emperor, "I have not heard this; and if anyone should know anything about it, I fancy--"
But the Traveller did not wait for the KAISER to finish the sentence, but was off again, telling everyone he met the disquieting intelligence. And, consequently, the German people were greatly troubled.
Then the Traveller obtained admission, in the same unceremonious fashion, to the apartment occupied by the Emperor of AUSTRIA.
"King of HUNGARY," said he, "are you aware that you cannot possibly rely upon your German neighbour, because the KAISER has a secret understanding with the CZAR, by which the Principalities will be included in Russian territory, and the Rhine secured from French invasion?"
"No, I have not heard it," was the answer; "and, if it had been the case, I imagine that--"
But again the Traveller left without waiting for the completion of the sentence, and went his way telling everyone he met the disquieting intelligence. And consequently, the Austro-Hungarian peoples were greatly troubled.
And now the Traveller was in the presence of the Emperor of ALL THE RUSSIAS. Again he had obtained admission without the preliminary of an official introduction.
"Little Father," said the Traveller, "are you aware that your youthful relative in Berlin is coquetting with France and England, and you may find the whole of Europe marshalled against you?"
"Well, no I have not heard it," returned the CZAR; "and I really think--"
But the Traveller never learned what the CZAR really thought, for he was away before His Imperial Majesty had completed the sentence. And as he went away, after his usual fashion, he spread the disquieting intelligence, and consequently the Russian people were greatly troubled.
And now the Traveller was in Cairo. He presented himself before the KHEDIVE without waiting for the English adviser.
"Your Highness, do you know that the British Army of occupation is on the eve of departure?" said he.
"What, in spite of Lord ROSEBERY going to the Foreign Office!" exclaimed the SULTAN's vassal, in a tone of considerable astonishment.
"Of course," replied the visitor. "Everything was settled long ago, and before Christmas there won't be a red-coat in Egypt!"
"Indeed," returned His Highness, "I certainly have not heard it, and I fancy--"
But the Traveller departed without ascertaining the drift of the KHEDIVE's fancies, and on his road, strictly according to precedent, spread the disquieting intelligence, and consequently the Egyptian people were greatly troubled.
And now the Traveller was once more back in London. He entered Capel Court and rested himself. He said nothing. It was unnecessary, for he was well known, and his stories had already been discounted.
"Ah, my little friend RUMOUR," said Mr. BULLBEAR; "you have come back again! And now you can rest for awhile, until we want you after the next account."
So RUMOUR is waiting in the Stock Exchange until he is wanted after the next account!
LETTERS TO ABSTRACTIONS.
I approach you with fear and trembling. Somewhere in the Cave of the Winds you 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, who has attracted the applause of a Party by an opportune speech, compiled by the industry of a humble Secretary. From that moment his nature changes. Though he may have been simple and beloved, yet, through you, he shall become pompous, and abhorred. His fellow-creatures are thenceforth mere material for his trampling feet; he swells into regions to which no criticism can reach; he covers himself in a triple hide of vanity, ostentation, and disdain; he hails himself continually as the unaided Saviour of his country, and dies in the odour of braggadocio, without a genuine friend to mourn his loss.
Or, again, you select some common, smug-faced Clergyman, capable, no doubt, if he were left alone, of guiding his flock quietly into the strait paths of goodness and humility. You turn him into a loud-voiced Clerical quack, vending his wretched patent medicines of salvation in a style of offensive denunciation that would have ruined a host of Dulcamaras, trained in the insinuating methods of the ordinary trade. But on this the Clergyman thrives, and weak women fall prostrate before his roaring insincerity.
"'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--'
"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 The cold smooth skull, the brain retained her throne."
Amid these uncomfortable surroundings CHEPSTOWE described himself as penetrated with raptures of fierce joy at having shaken himself free from the world and its puling insincerities to dwell amid "Unpitying shapes of death's dread twin despair," where "Rapine and slaughter raged, and none rebuked." Another reviewer observed that "The soul of ARCHER's, the tavern-brawler's glorious victim, KIT MARLOWE, has taken again a habitation of clay. She speaks trumpet-tongued by the mouth of Mr. CHEPSTOWE. We note in these outpourings of dramatic passion an audacity, an energy, an enthusiasm, that are calculated to shake Peckham Rye to its centre, and make Balham tremble in its ridiculous carpet slippers. Who--to take only one example--but Mr. CHEPSTOWE or MARLOWE could have written thus of 'Rapture'?--
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