PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOLUME 98.
May 24, 1890,
MR. PUNCH'S MORAL MUSIC-HALL DRAMAS.
Miss Polly
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By the Sisters Leamar. The Soldier DollThe Soldier Doll
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By the Two Armstrongs.Scene—A Nursery. Enter Miss Jenny and Miss Polly, who perform a blameless step-dance with an improving chorus.
Oh, isn't it jolly! we've each a new dolly,
And one is a Soldier, the other's a Tar!
We're fully contented with what's been presented,
Such good little children we both of us are!
[They dance up to a cupboard, from which they bring out two large Dolls, which they place on chairs.
Miss J. Don't they look nice!
Come, Polly, let us strive
To make ourselves believe that they're alive!
Miss P. (addressing Sailor D.). I'm glad you're mine. I dote on all that's nautical.
The Sailor D. (opening his eyes suddenly). Excuse me, Miss, your sister's more my sort o' gal!
[Kisses his hand to Miss J., who shrinks back, shocked and alarmed.
Miss J. Oh, Polly, did you hear? I feel so shy!
The Soldier D. (with mild self-assertion). I can say "Pa" and "Ma"—and wink my eye.
[Does so at Miss P., who runs in terror to Miss J.'s side.
Miss J. Why, both are showing signs of animation!
Miss P. Who'd think we had such strong imagination!
The Soldier Doll (aside to the Sailor D.). I say, old fellow, we have caught their fancy—
In each of us they now a real man see!
Let's keep it up!
The Sailor D. (dubiously). D'ye think as we can do it?
The Soldier D. You stick by me, and I will see you through it.
Sit up, and turn your toes out,—don't you loll;
Put on the Man, and drop the bloomin' Doll!
[The Sailor Doll pulls himself together, and rises from chair importantly.
The Sailor D. (in the manner of a Music-hall Chairman)—Ladies, with your kind leave, this gallant gent Will now his military sketch present.
[Miss J. and P. applaud; the Soldier D., after feebly expostulating, is induced to sing.
When I used to be displayed
In the Burlington Arcade,
With artillery arrayed
Underneath. Shoulder Hump!
I imagine that I made
All the Lady Dolls afraid,
I should draw my battle-blade
From its sheath, Shoulder Hump!
For I'm Mars's gallant son,
And my back I've shown to none,
Nor was ever seen to run
From the strife! &c.
Oh, the battles I'd have won,
And the dashing deeds have done,
If I'd ever fired a gun
In my life! &c.
By your right flank, wheel!
Let the front rank kneel!
With the bristle of the steel
To the foe.
Till their regiments reel,
At our rattling peal,
And the military zeal
We show!
[Repeat, with the whole company marching round after him.
The Soldier Doll. My friend will next oblige—this jolly Jack Tar Will give his song and chorus in charàck-tar!
[Same business with Sailor D.
In costume I'm
So maritime,
You'd never suppose the fact is,
That with the Fleet
In Regent Street,
I'd precious little naval practice!
There was saucy craft,
Rigged fore an' aft,
Inside o' Mr. Cre-mer's.
From Noah's Arks to Clipper-built barques,
Like-wise mechanical stea-mers.
But to navigate the Serpentine,
Yeo ho, my lads, ahoy!
With clockwork, sails, or spirits of wine,
Yeo-ho, my lads, ahoy!
I did respeckfully decline,
So I was left in port to pine,
Which wasn't azactually the line
Of a rollicking Sailor Boy,
Yeo-ho! Of a rollicking Sailor Bo-oy!
Yes, there was lots Of boats and yachts,
Of timber and of tin, too;
But one and all Was far too small
For a doll o' my size to get into!
I was too big On any brig
To ship without disas-ter,
And it wouldn't never do
When the cap'n and the crew
Were a set o' little swabs all plas-ter!
An Ark is p'raps The berth for chaps
As is fond o' Natural Hist'ry.
But I sez to Shem
And the rest o' them,
"How you get along at all's a myst'ry!
With a Wild Beast Show
Let loose below,
And four fe-males on deck too!
I never could agree
With your happy fami-lee,
And your lubberly ways I objeck to."
[Chorus. Hornpipe by the company, after which the Soldier Doll advances condescendingly to Miss Jenny.
The Sold. D. Invincible I'm reckoned by the Ladies.
But yield to you—though conquering my trade is!
Miss J. (repulsing him). Oh, go away, you great conceited thing, you!
[The Sold. D. persists in offering her attentions.
Miss P. (watching them bitterly). To be deserted by one's doll does sting you!
[The Sailor D. approaches.
The Sailor D. (to Miss P.) Let me console you, Miss, a Sailor Doll
As swears his 'art was ever true to
Miss P. (indignantly to Miss J.) Your Sailor's teasing me to be his idol! Do make him stop—spitefully—When you've quite done with my doll!
Miss J. (scornfully). If you suppose I want your wretched warrior, I'm sorry for you!
Miss P. I for you am sorrier.
Miss J. (weeping, R.). Polly preferred to me—what ignominy!
Miss P. (weeping, L.). My horrid Sailor jilting me for Jenny!
[The two Dolls face one another, c.
Sailor D. (to Soldier D.). You've made her sluice her skylights now, you swab!
Soldier D. (to Sailor D.). As you have broke her heart, I'll break your nob!
[Hits him.
Sailor D. (in a pale fury). This insult must be blotted out in bran!
Soldier D. (fiercely). Come on, I'll shed your sawdust—if I can!
[Miss J. and P. throw themselves between the combatants.
Miss J. For any mess you make we shall be scolded,
So wait until a drugget we've unfolded!
[They lay down drugget on Stage.
The Soldier D. (politely). No hurry, Miss, we don't object to waiting.
The Sailor D. (aside). His valour—like my own—'s evaporating!
(Defiantly to Soldier D.). On guard! You'll see how soon I'll run you through!
(Confidentially). (If you will not prod me, I won't pink you.)
The Soldier D. Through your false kid my deadly blade I'll pass!
(Confidentially). (Look here, old fellow, don't you be a hass!)
[They exchange passes at a considerable distance.
The Sailor D. (aside). Don't lose your temper now!
Sold. D. Don't get excited.
Do keep a little farther off!
Sail. D. Delighted!
[Wounds Soldier D. by misadventure.
Sold. D. (annoyed). There now, you've gone and made upon my wax a dent!
Sail. D. Excuse me, it was really quite an accident.
Sold. D. (savagely). Such clumsiness would irritate a saint!
[Stabs Sailor Doll.
Miss J. and P. (imploringly). Oh, stop! the sight of sawdust turns us faint!
[They drop into chairs, swooning.
The Sailor D. I'll pay you out for that!
[Stabs Soldier D.
Sold. D. Right through you've poked me!
Sailor D. So you have me!
Sold. D. You shouldn't have provoked me!
[They fall transfixed.
Sailor D. (faintly). Alas, we have been led away by vanity.
Dolls shouldn't try to imitate humanity!
[Dies.
Soldier D. For, if they do, they'll end like us, unpitied,
Each on the other's sword absurdly spitted!
[Dies. Miss J. and P. revive, and bend sadly over the corpses.
Miss Jenny. From their untimely end we draw this moral,
How wrong it is, even for dolls, to quarrel!
Miss Polly. Yes, Jenny, in the fate of these poor fellows see
What sad results may spring from female jealousy!
[They embrace penitently as Curtain falls.
THE ROSE-WATER CURE.
[The Report of the Sweating Committee says that "the inefficiency of many of the lower class of workers, early marriages, and the tendency of the residuum of the population in large towns to form a helpless community, together with a low standard of life and the excessive supply of unskilled labour are the chief factors in producing sweating." The Committee's chief "recommendations" in respect of the evils of Sweating seem to be, the lime-washing of work-places and the multiplication of sanitary inspectors.]
Seventy-one Sittings, a many months' run,
Witnesses Two Hundred, Ninety and One:
Clergymen, guardians, factors, physicians,
Middlemen, labourers, smart statisticians,
Journalists, managers, Gentiles and Jews,
And this is the issue! A thing to amuse
A cynic, the chat of this precious Committee,
But moving kind hearts to despair blent with pity.
Cantuar., Derby, and mild Aberdeen,
Such anti-climax sure never was seen!
Onslow and Rothschild and Monkswell and Thring,
Are you content with the pitiful thing?
Dunraven out of it; lucky, my lad!
(Though your retirement seemed caused by a fad)
Was the Inquiry in earnest or sport?
What is the pith of this precious Report?
Sweating—which all the world joined to abuse—
Is not the fault of poor Russians or Jews;
'Tisn't the middleman more than the factor,
'Tisn't, no 'tisn't, the sub-contractor;
'Tisn't machinery. No! In fact,
What Sweating is, in a manner exact,
After much thinking we cannot define.
Who is to blame for it? Well, we incline
To think that the Sweated (improvident elves!)
Are, at the bottom, to blame themselves!
They're poor of spirit, and weak of will,
They marry early, have little skill;
They herd together, all sexes and ages,
And take too tamely starvation wages;
And if they will do so, much to their shame,
How can the Capitalist be to blame?
Remedies? Humph! We really regret
We don't see our way to them. People must sweat,
Must stitch and starve till they almost drop;
But let it be done in a lime-washed shop!
To drudge in these dens is their destined fate,
But keep the dens in a decent state.
More inspectors, fewer bad smells,
These be our cures for the Sweaters' Hells!
Revolutions with rose-water cannot be made!
So it was said. But the horrors of Trade,
Competition's accursed fruit,
The woman a drudge, and the man a brute,
These, our Committee of Lordlings are sure,
Can only be met by the Rose-water Cure!
The Sweating Demon to exorcise
Exceeds the skill of the wealthy wise.
Still he must "grind the face of the poor."
(Though some of us have a faint hope, to be sure,
That the highly respectable Capitalist
No; the Demon must work his will
On his ill-paid suffering victims still;
But—he'd better look with a little less dirt,
So sprinkle the brute with our Rose-water Squirt!!!
HARDLY LIKELY.
(An Incident in a "Point to Point" Race.)
Fallen Competitor (to his Bosom Friend, who now has the Race in hand). "Hi, George, old Man! Just catch my Horse, there's a good Chap!"
An Entertainment of a Good Stamp.—The Penny Postage Jubilee Exhibition at the Guildhall.
SONG SENTIMENTIANA.
Example IV.—Treating of a passion which, in the well-meant process of making the best of it, unconsciously saddles its object with the somewhat harassing responsibility of competing with the Universal Provider.
Thou art all the world to me, love,
Thou art everything in one,
From my early cup of tea, love,
To my kidney underdone;
From my canter in the Row, love,
To my invitation lunch—
From my quiet country blow, love,
To my festive London Punch.
Thou art all in all to me, love,—
Thou art bread and meat and drink;
Thou art air and land and sea, love,—
Thou art paper, pens, and ink.
Thou art all of which I'm fond, love:
Thou art Whitstables from Rule's,—
"Little drops" with Spiers and Pond, love,—
Measures sweet at Mr. Poole's.
Thou art everything I lack, love,
From a month at Brighton gay
(Bar the journey there and back, love)
To the joys of Derby Day—
From the start from my abode, love,
With a team of frisky browns,
To the driving "on the road," love,
And the dry vin on the Downs!
Thou art all the world to me, love,—
Thou art all the thing contains;
Thou art honey from the bee, love,—
Thou art sugar from the canes.
Thou art—— stay! I've made a miss, love;
I'm forgetting, on my life!
Thou art all—excepting this, love,—
Your devoted servant's wife!
CHARLES THE FIRST.
Sir,—Did Charles the First walk and talk half an hour after his head was cut off, or not?
Yours,
A Verifier of Facts.
Sir,—Charles the First walked and talked one quarter of an hour, not half, as is erroneously supposed, after his decollation. We know this by two Dutch pictures which I had in my possession until only the other day, when I couldn't find them anywhere.
Yours,
Historian.
Sir,—King Charles the First lost his head long before he came to the scaffold. I have the block now by me. From it the well-known wood-cut was taken.
Consule Plauco.
Sir,—It is a very curious thing, but all the trouble was taken out of Charles's head and put into mine years ago by one of the greatest Charleses that ever lived, whose name was Dickens; and mine, without the "ENS," is
Yours truly,
"Mr. Dick."
P.S.—"'Mr. Dick sets us all right,' said My Aunt, quietly."
A CHAPTER OF DICKENS UP TO DATE.
Mrs. Gamp's apartment wore, metaphorically speaking, a Bab-Balladish aspect, being considerably topsy-turvey, as rooms have a habit of being after any unusual ebullition of temper on the part of their occupants. It was certainly not swept and garnished, although its owner was preparing for the reception of a visitor. That visitor was Betsey Prig.
Mrs. Gamp's chimney-piece was ornamented with three photographs: one of herself, looking somewhat severe; one of her friend and bosom companion, Mrs. Prig, of far more amiable aspect; and one of a mysterious personage supposed to be Mrs. Harris.
"There! Now, drat you, Betsey, don't be long!" said Mrs. Gamp, apostrophising her absent friend. "For I'm in no mood for waiting, I do assure you. I'm easy pleased, but I must have my own way (as is always the best and wisest), and have it directly minit, when the fancy strikes me, else we shall part, and that not friendly, as I could wish, but bearin' malice in our 'arts."
"Betsey," said Mrs. Gamp, "I will now propoge a toast. My frequent pardner, Betsey Prig!"
"Which, altering the name to Sairah Gamp, I drink," said Mrs. Prig, "with love and tenderness!"
"Now, Sairah," said Mrs. Prig, "jining business with pleasure, as so often we've done afore, wot is this bothersome affair about which you wants to consult me? Are you a-goin' to call me over the Carpet once more, Sairey?"
"Drat the Carpet!" exclaimed Mrs. Gamp, with a vehement explosiveness whose utter unexpectedness quite disconcerted her friend.
"Is it Mrs. Harris?" inquired Mrs. Prig, solemnly.
"Yes, Betsy Prig, it is," snapped Mrs. Gamp, angrily, "that very person herself, and no other, which, after twenty years of trust, I never know'd nor never expected to, which it 'urts a feeling 'art even to name her name as henceforth shall be nameless betwixt us twain."
"Oh, shall it?" retorted Mrs.
"Don't you say nothink against poicks, Betsey, and I'll say nothink against musicians," retorted Mrs. Gamp, mysteriously.
"Oh! then it was to call me over the Carpet that you sent for me so sudden and peremptory?" rejoined Mrs. Prig, with a smile.
"Drat the Carpet!!!" again ejaculated Mrs. Gamp, with astonishing fierceness. "Wot do you know about the Carpet, Betsey?"
"Why nothink at all, my dear; nor don't want to," replied Mrs. Prig, with surprise.
"Oh!" retorted Mrs. Gamp, "you don't, don't you? Well, then, I do, and it's time you did likewise, if pardners we are to remain who 'ave pardners been so long."
Mrs. Prig muttered something not quite audible, but which sounded suspiciously like, "'Ard wuck!"
"Which share and share alike is my mortar," continued Mrs. Gamp; "that as bin my princerple, and I've found it pay. But Injin Carpets for our mutual 'ome, of goldiun lustre and superfluos shine, as tho' we wos Arabian Knights, I cannot and I will not stand. It is the last stror as camels could not forgive. No, Betsey," added Mr. Gamp, in a violent burst of feeling, "nor crokydiles forget!"
"Bother your camels, and your crokydiles too!" retorted Mrs. Prig, with indifference. "Wy, Sairey, wot a tempest in a teapot, to be sure!"
Mrs. Gamp looked at her with amazement, incredulity, and indignation. "Wot!" she with difficulty ejaculated. "A—tempest—in—a—Teapot!! And does Betsey Prig, my pardner for so many years, call her friend a Teapot, and decline to take up Sairey's righteous quarrel with a Mrs. Harris?"
Then Mrs. Prig, smiling more scornfully, and folding her arms still tighter, uttered these memorable and tremendous words,—
"Wy, certainly she does, Sairey Gamp; most certainly she does. Wich I don't believe there's either rhyme or reason in sech an absurd quarrel!" After the utterance of which expressions she leaned forward, and snapped her fingers, and then rose to put on her bonnet, as one who felt that there was now a gulf between them which nothing could ever bridge across.
THE PATIENT AT PLAY.
Adviser. Have you ever been present at a performance of The Dead Heart?
Patient. No; and I know nothing of a Tale of Two Cities.
A. Then surely you are well acquainted with All for Her?
P. I regret to reply in the negative.
A. Perhaps, you have seen the vision in The Bells, or the Corsican Brothers?
P. Alas! I am forced to confess I am familiar with neither!
A. Dear me! This is very sad! Strange! I will give you a prescription. Go to Paul Kauvar. You will then be provided with a thoroughly enjoyable mixture.
[Exit Patient to Drury Lane, where he passes a delightful evening.
NELLIE AT THE SODGERIES.
The Lady once more left her frame in the Club Morning Room.
"So I was wrong," she murmured, as she wended her way towards the now familiar spot. "Poor Nellie, after all, was not forgotten. I am glad of it,—very glad indeed!"
And the flesh tints of Sir Peter Lely's paint-brush brightened, as a smile played across the canvas features.
"I' faith! the Military gentlemen are gallants, one and all! To be sure! Then how would it be possible that the foundress of a hospital should be overlooked? And one as comely as myself!"
So, well pleased, she journeyed on. As she reached the river, there was quite a crowd,—people were coming by rail, and boat, and omnibus. It was quite like the olden days of the Exhibitions at South Kensington. She passed through the turnstiles, and then found the cause of the excitement. There were all sorts of good things. A gallery full of pictures, and relics of battles ancient and modern, a museum of industrial work, a collection of everything interesting to a soldier. In the grounds were balloons, and fireworks, assaults at arms, and the best military bands. At length the Lady from the frame in the Club Morning Room stood before a portrait showing a good-natured face and a comely presence.
"And so there I am! And in my hands a model of the Hospital hard-by! 'Gad zooks!' as poor dear Rowley used to say, I have no cause for complaint! I thank those kind hearts who can find good in everything,—even in poor Nellie!"
And, thoroughly satisfied at the treatment she had received at the Sodgeries, Mistress Nell Gwynne returned to her haunt in the Club Morning Room.
A Glee Quartette.—Welcome to the Meister Glee Singers. Mr. Saxon, in spite of his name, is by no means brutal, though he might be pardoned for being so when he sees his colleague Mr. Saxton suiting everybody to a T. Mr. Hast has just as much speed as is necessary, and the fourth gentleman should be neither angry Norcross, since he always sings in tune. 'Tis a mad world, my Meisters, but, mad or not, we shall always be glad to hear your glees.
At the Dentist's.—"It won't hurt you in the least, and it will be out before you know where you are;" i.e., "You will suffer in the one minute and thirty-nine seconds I am tugging at your jaw, all the concentrated agony of forty-eight continuous hours of wrenching your crushed and tortured body off your staring and staggered head."
WEEK BY WEEK.
Wednesday.—Great Day everywhere. Mr. Punch appears. Crowds in Fleet Street. The Numbers up in the Office Window. Receptions, alarums, (eight day) excursions (there and back) to meet H.M. Stanley. Curfew at dusk. No followers allowed.
Thursday.—Crowds out to meet H. M. Stanley. Mrs. Nemo's sixth and last dance to meet Mr. H. M. Stanley, as he hasn't been to any of the others.
Friday.—Lecture by Mr. Charles Wyndham on "the block system," in the time of Charles the First. Admission by entrances only.
Saturday.—Centenary Celebration of a lot of things. Review of the events of the past month in Hyde Park, by the Editor of the Nineteenth Century, to meet Mr. Stanley. Ceremony of conferring the Order of the Adelphi on H. M. Stanley, by Messrs. Gatti.
Sunday.—Short services from Dover to Calais. No sermon. Collection in Hyde Park. H. M. Stanley goes to meet somebody else for a change.
Monday.—Expedition to find H. M. Stanley.
Tuesday.—Readings of the Barometer, and lecture on hot-house plants and French grapes, by Sir Somers Vine. At Tattersall's, Lecture on the approaching "Eve of the Derby," and the female dark races.
It has been finally settled that Mr. Phil Gorman, who will be remembered in connection with the catering department at all the public dinners held of late years in Sloshfield, is to be the next incumbent of the highest municipal office in that prosperous borough. Mrs. Gorman is a daughter of the celebrated local poet, James Posh, whose verse still occasionally adorns the Sloshfield Standard.
A remarkable incident is stated to have taken place at Lady B—— 's fancy dress ball. A gentleman, wearing the gorgeous costume of a Venetian Senator of the renaissance period, somewhat awkwardly entangled his spurs in the flowing train of a beautiful débutante, dressed to represent Diana the Huntress. Some of those in the immediate vicinity of the ill-used goddess aver that she was distinctly heard to say, "Pig!". Those who know her better declare, however, that, with her usual politeness, she merely remarked, "I beg your pardon." Hence the misconception, which is certainly pardonable.
The trees in the Park are now assuming their brightest verdure. It is interesting to note that the number of sparrows shows no signs of diminution.
Excellent subject Sir Arthur has chosen for his serious opera—Ivanhoe. It is now finally settled that the part of Rowena will not be entrusted to Mr. Herbert Campbell. It is whispered that the great effect will be the song of Isaac of York, magnificently orchestrated for fifteen Jews' harps, played by lads all under the age of twelve. They have already commenced practice under the eye of Sir Arthur, who himself is no unskilled performer on the ancient lyre of Jubal.
A RUM CUSTOMER.
They have bin so jolly busy lately at the "Grand Hotel," and a reel grand Hotel it is too, that they wanted sum assistence in the werry himportant line of Waiters; so they werry naterally sent for me, and in course I went, and a werry nice cumferal place it is for ewerybody, both Waiters and Wisiters, and I can trewly say as I aint had not a singel complaint since I have been here.
Well, one day a young Swell came a sauntering in, about 4 o'clock, and wanted to know if he cood have a lunch for a gentleman, and in the hansomest room as there was in the house. Of course I was ekal to the ocashun, and told him, yes, he coud, and not only in the hansomest room in that house but in the hansomest room in Lundon, and I at wunce showed him into our Marble Pillow Room, which I coud see at a glarnce made a werry deep impression on his mind, which I was not at all surprized at, for it is about as near a approach to Paradise as you can resonably expect so werry near the Strand.
So I sets him down at a sweet little round table, and I puts a lovely gold candlestick on it, with two darling little cherubs a climing up it, jest as if they was a going for to lite the candle, and then he horders his simple luncheon, which it was jest a cup of our shuperior chocolate and two xquisite little beef and am sandwitches, and wile he eat and drank 'em he arsked me sech lots of questyuns as farely estonished me. Such as, how much did the four Marbel Pillows cost? So I said, about 200 pound, for I allers thinks as an hed Waiter should be reddy to anser any question as he is arsked, weather he knos anythink about it or not.
Then he wanted to know where we got all our bewtifool flowers from, and I told him as we had 'em in fresh every morning from the South of France along with our Shampane, which was made a purpose for us by the most sellebrated makers, and consisted of two sorts, wiz.: dry for the higneramuses and rich for the connysewers. So he ordered a bottle of the latter, and drunk two glasses of it, and then acshally made me drink one two, and sed as it was the finest as he had ewer tasted. He then asked me what made us line all the room with such bewtifool looking glass, and I told him as it was by order of most of the most bewtifoolest Ladys in Lundon, who came to dine there wunce or twice every week. So he said as how he shood drop in now and then to see 'em, for he thort as they gave a sort of relish to a good dinner. He then got up, and saying as he didn't want not no Bill, he throwed down a soverain and saying, "I shall allus know where to cum to when I wants a reelly ellegant lunch, in a reelly ellegant room, and to be waited on by a reelly respectful Waiter," went away.
And now cums the strangest part of the hole affair, for presently in rushes our most gentlemanly Manager, and he says, says he, "Do you know, Robert, who that was as you've bin a waiting on?" "No, Sir!" says I. "Why it's no other than the young ——" But wild hosses shan't tear the name and title from me, as I was forbid to menshun it; but all I can say is, that if it was known when he was a coming next time, there wood be sich a crowd to see him as ewen our bewtifool Marble Pillow Room wouldn't hold.
Robert.
THE MODERN PISTOL.
"Base is the Slave that Pays!"
Reported Accident to a Colonel and an Alderman.—Members of the Ancient Corporation will do well to open their Royal Academy Guide very cautiously, at least when they come to the Sculpture Department, as, if come upon suddenly, their nervous system would receive a severe shock from the following announcement:—"2023. Colonel W. H. Wilkin—bust." We are glad to say that the worthy and gallant Alderman has pulled himself together, and is uncommonly well. By the way, it is but fair to the sculptor to state that his name is—ahem!—"Walker".
AN ANTEDILUVIAN SURVIVAL.
Æsthetic Party (looking over Furnished House). "A—I'm afraid, my love, that this is the kind of Dining-room—A—in which one would feel that one ought to dine at Six o'Clock!!!"
"NOT SUCH A FOOL AS HE LOOKS."
"NOT SUCH A FOOL AS HE LOOKS!"
H. M. Stanley. "NOW THEN, STOOPID! KEEP YOUR EYES OPEN!!"
Good Gentlemen both, you're on opposite tacks!
Well, your plans you are perfectly welcome to try on.
They talk of the patience of lambs, or park hacks;
They're not in it, my lads, with an elderly Lion.
A Lion, I mean, of the genuine breed,
And not a thin-skinned and upstart adolescent.
Dear me! did I let everybody succeed
In stirring me up, or in making things pleasant,
By smoothing me down in a flattering style,
I'd have, there's no doubt, a delectable time of it.
You think I look drowsy, and smile a fat smile;
Well, what if I do? Where's the very great crime of it?
A Lion, you know, is not all roar and ramp,
So, Stanley my hero, why worry and chivey?
Mere blarney won't blind me; I'm not of that stamp;
So don't hope to hypnotise me, good Caprivi.
Why, bless you, my boys, long before you were cubbed
I was charged, by your betters, with being too lazy;
But rivals have found, when outwitted or drubbed,
That a calm waiting game is not always so crazy.
In Indian jungles, American plains,
And far Eastern wilds, they have fancied me "bested,"
Because, when hot rivals were hungry for gains,
I kept my eyes open, and patiently rested.
A stolid and sleepy expression will steal
At times, I'm aware, o'er my leonine features;
But, when the time's ripe, my opponents may feel
I'm not the most easily humbugged of creatures.
In North as in South, in the East as the West,
Opponents have planted their paws down before me.
But where are they now, boys? J'y suis, j'y reste!
Staying power is the thing; so don't bully and bore me.
I hear you, my Stanley, I hear you and mark;
To snub you for patriot zeal were ungracious;
But—well, after all, on your Continent Dark
My footprints are plain, and my realm's pretty spacious.
I don't mean to say that a purblind content
My power should palsy, my policy dominate,
And Congos and Khartoums that pay cent. per cent.
Are tempting, but arrogant haste I abominate.
My "prancing proconsuls" not always are right,
Whose first and last word for old Leo is "collar!"
I'm not going to flare up like fury and fight
Every time someone else wins an acre or dollar.
But if you imagine I'm out of the hunt
Every time I take breath, you are vastly mistaken:
I know you're a brick, and like language that's blunt;
Well, Lions sleep lightly, and readily waken!
For you, friend Caprivi, your manners are nice,
Your style of caressing is verily charming;
How soothingly sweet is your placid advice,
Your mild deprecation is almost disarming;
Almost, but not quite, for 'tis true Teuton law
That unfailing defence is the root of the matter;
And Leo is fully aware tooth and claw
Must not be talked off e'en by friendlies who flatter.
Your prod, my good Stanley, Caprivi, your pat,
Are politic both; I've an eye upon each of you.
The lids may look lazy, but don't trust to that;
I watch, and I wait, and I weigh the 'cute speech of you.
I do not mind learning from both of your books,
But though you may think Leo given to slumber,
He may not be quite such a slug as he looks,
As rivals have found, dear boys, times out of number!
Amongst Cambridge cricketers Mr. Gosling and Mr. Henfrey may be trusted to avoid duck's eggs. Mr. Rowell prefers to bat well; and Mr. Leese wishes he had a freehold when he is at the wickets. With Woods, a Hill, a (Streat)field, a (Beres)ford and a (Cotte)rill, there's plenty of variety about Fenner's ground at present.