"When a Champion Batsman's performance extolling,
'Tis well to distinguish, 'twixt batting and bowling!"
EXCHANGE NO ROBBERY.—According to Mr. Punch's sharp contemporary, the Lancet, the effect of bagpipe-playing upon the teeth is to blunt them; in fact, in course of time, to wear them away. To the auditor the music has a contrary effect. Mr. Punch is able to say, from experience, that he has never listened to the National instrument of Grand Old Scotland without having his teeth set on edge.
SIR,—Kindly contradict the rumour, which I find is widely spread and appears to be credited in some quarters, that an extensive sewage farm has been established in front of the most fashionable terrace in Slushborough-on-Sea, and that a Smallpox Hospital is about to be built upon the Pier. "Salubrious Slushborough" still continues (in spite of the machinations of jealous Northbourne) to be the most select, popular, and healthy resort on the British coasts.
Yours disinterestedly, THE MAYOR OF SLUSHBOROUGH.
SIR,—A report (proceeding, I have reason, to believe, from ill-conditioned residents at Slushborough) is being disseminated to the effect, that the water-supply of Northbourne is largely tainted with typhus and diphtheria germs, and that an epidemic is already ravaging this place. As a matter of fact, the only case of illness of any kind in this town at present is a patient brought over from Slushborough in the last stage of blood-poisoning, owing to the defective drainage system there, and who, in this salubrious and invigorating atmosphere, is now rapidly recovering.
I remain, Yours &c., THE MAYOR OF NORTHBOURNE.
SIR,—In view of the correspondence with regard to the present condition of our popular seaside resorts, it will, I feel sure, interest your readers to learn that an examination of the air of Whitecliffe lately made by a local analyst, reveals the fact that it contains fifty-five per cent. more ozone than is to be found on the top of Mont Blanc! I publish this piece of intelligence purely in the interests of science, and as I am writing I may perhaps take the opportunity to mention that apartments here are both good and reasonable, and the bathing first-rate. The same analyst incidentally discovered that the air at Chorkstone is largely laden with poisonous bacteria.
Yours truly, THE MAYOR OF WHITECLIFFE.
SIR,—At this time of year, when our glorious Lees are in the full radiance of their summer beauty, it becomes a mere act of Christian duty to warn intending holiday-makers to avoid Whitecliffe, and to select Chorkstone as their place of sojourn instead. An eminent local medical man asserts that morbiferous germs exist to a very dangerous degree in the Whitecliffe atmosphere, and that the Whitecliffe water is rendered almost solid by the multitude of bacilli it contains. Another Chorkstone resident, who lately visited Whitecliffe, found the air so relaxing that he fainted away, and had it not been for the kindness of the landlord of a certain hotel, who had him carried out of his bar and driven off in a trap to his own home, he believes he would have succumbed! Comment is needless.
Yours impartially, THE MAYOR OF CHORKSTONE.
SIR,—There is not the slightest foundation for the ridiculous canard as to the inhabitants of this picturesque and abnormally fashionable town being "in a state of complete panic, owing to the fact that all the convicts recently confined at Shortland have broken out, and are indulging in frightful excesses in the neighbourhood." The convicts have not broken out; but an epidemic of gratuitous mendacity has done so, it appears.
Yours indignantly, THE MAYOR OF CURDSMOUTH.
P.S.—Have you heard about the sanitary state of Shutmouth? Shocking!
SIR,—As I hear that it is rumoured that M. PASTEUR has discovered an entirely new and most dangerous kind of bacillus in the neighbourhood of pine-trees, perhaps I may mention, in order to reassure our myriads of intending summer visitors, that the death-rate at this town is one in ten thousand, and that we should have had no death-rate at all last week, if the one person referred to had not met with an unfortunate accident. All the Shutmouth doctors are starving.
Yours, THE MAYOR OF SHUTMOUTH.
P.S.—Ought not something to be done to check the mortality at Curdsmouth? It is disgraceful!
CAINE'S action shakes the Unionists' dominion;
Against it piteous appeals seem vain;
But 'tis, in his late colleagues' pained opinion,
Not "the nice conduct of a clouded CAINE!"
"We propose soon to take our rescued Street-Arabs for 'A Fortnight's Holiday under Canvas'—by the sea, if possible."—Appeal of Mr. J.W.C. Fegan, of the Boys' Home, Southwark.
Thalatta! Thalatta! Not XENOPHON'S Greeks, O benevolent Public, but "Nobody's Boys,"
Wild Arabs of London, by tenderness tamed, at the sight of the sea vent exuberant joys
In vociferous shoutings! Imagine the rapture of wrecks from the gutter and waifs from the slum,
When first on their ears falls the jubilant thrill of the sky-soaring lark, or the wild bee's low hum!
Imagine the pleasure of plunging at will into June's leafy copses of hazel and lime,
Of scudding through acres of grasses knee-high, and of snuffing the fragrance of clover and thyme.
But what is all this to the dumb-stricken wonder, swift followed by outbursts of full-throated glee,
Which fancy can picture, when London's pale outcasts from some grassy cliff catch first sight of the Sea!
Thalatta! Thalatta! There's many a lad who has never before had a glimpse of the wave;
For these are of those who, from London's dark wastes 'tis the aim of their leaders to rescue and save.
"Nobody's Boys," the lost waifs of the city, foredoomed, but for aid, to debasement and crime,
Possible gallows-birds,—they with wan faces late cleansed from the rookery's hideous grime,
Snatched from the gutter whilst boyhood bears hope with it, gathered and tended with vigilant care.
Servants of soul-thrift their volunteer champions! Weeds of the slum, with fresh soil and sweet air,
Grow into grace and fair fruitage. These pariahs, "Southwark Boys," strays from the slime-sodden east,
FEGAN takes forth in gay troops to the meadows, in freshness of nature to frolic and feast,
Climb in the woodlands and plunge in the waters, ramble and scramble through tangle-hedged lanes,
Fish in the pools with youth's primitive tackle, breathe quickening vigour through bosoms and brains.
Picture the boys "camping out" on the commons, and gipsying gaily in tents midst the heather,
Armed with their canvas and blankets and boilers and pannikins well against hunger and weather.
Picture them—CALLOT'S free brush might have managed it—gathered in pow-wow around the camp-fire,
Sun-tanned and wind-browned, in picturesque raiment, with wisp of the wild hop or trail of the briar
Hat-wreathed or button-holed. BURNS should have sung of them; trim-skirted Muse, with punctilious tastes,
Were not at home with these waifs from the rookery, pastured at large in free Nature's wild wastes,
Bounding, and breathing fresh air, romping, wrestling, and disciplined only to cleanness and order.
Otherwise free as the tent-dwelling Arabs, or outlaws of Sherwood, or bands of the Border.
Picture it! FEGAN'S pink pamphlet has pictured it. Read it, all lovers of Nature and youth,
All who have care for the wrecks of humanity, all who are moved by the spirit of ruth.
Ere Spring returns, far Canadian homesteads will house their contingents of "Nobody's Boys."
Let them take with them kind thoughts of Old England, and memories sweet of its rare rural joys.
Let them "camp out" once again, by the ocean, and plunge in the billow, and rove on the sands;
Know the true British brine-whiff by experience. Help, British Public, their friends' kindly hands.
Good is the work, and the fruit of it excellent; giving poor wastrels a fair start in life,
Taste of true pleasure, and wholesome enjoyment, aid in endeavour, and strength for the strife.
What better use for spare cash at this season? Come then, Punch readers, right willingly come!
Mr. Punch knows scarce a cause more deserving, or worthy of aid, than the Southwark Boys' Home!
Mem.—Mr. J.W.C. FEGAN, of the Boys' Home, Southwark, the writer of the pleasant pamphlet entitled Camping Out, makes appeal towards the expenses of giving "a fortnight's holiday under canvas—by the sea, if possible"—to the waifs and strays in Mr. FEGAN'S Homes. To that gentleman, and NOT to Mr. Punch, subscriptions should be sent. Remittances may be made to him (by P.O.O., payable at General Post-Office, or by cheque crossed "London and County Bank") at the Boys' Home, 95, Southwark Street, London, S.E.
House of Commons, Monday, June 23.—A gleam of glory in sombre chamber of the Peers; a thin streak of red making its devious way between the table and the Benches. At the head comes Black Rod, giving some relief to the glittering spectacle; Garter King-at-Arms, without whom British Constitution would be a vain thing, follows. Then the Prince of WALES, looking a trifle anxious; is bringing out his son and heir to take his place in the hereditary chamber; anxious that all should go well. Next the new Duke of CLARENCE, looking very well in his new Peer's robes, on which his fair mother, seated with her daughter in side galleries, casts approving glance. Then the Duke of EDINBURGH, with the stalwart Hereditary Grand Marshal, Jockey o' Norfolk, and Aveland, Lord Great Chamberlain.
Procession strolled in in quite casual way; passed Woolsack to which HALSBURY lent grace and dignity; New Peer handed his credentials to LOBD CHANCELLOR; but HALSBURY, above all things, man of cautious habits. No doubt everything was right and in order; presence of Prince of WALES guarantee of it; but HALSBURY not to be taken in. All very well, but all in due order. So new Peer taken charge of by the Reading Clerk; Procession moved on to table; documents mumbled over; oath taken; roll signed. New Peer turned to look at LORD CHANCELLOR; decidedly more friendly; haughty, forbidding, distrustful look, vanished from his ordinarily genial countenance. Young Peer encouraged to venture on friendly nod; LORD CHANCELLOR in response, lifted three-cornered hat, and on replacing it, was observed to cock it slightly on one side. Procession now moved on towards doorway by side of Throne, where was set three chairs.
"A little slow isn't it, Sir," said Duke of CLARENCE to H.R.H.; "suppose we sit down here a bit; Black Rod will go and fetch us a flagon of Malmsey wine; am told they always keep a butt on the premises for stray Dukes."
"No Malmsey for you, CLARENCE," said the Gracious Parent; "but if you'd like to sit down a moment, you may."
So new Peer sat in middle chair, Father and Uncle anxiously regarding him. LORD CHANCELLOR slewed round on Woolsack to see what was going on behind him. New Peer, making himself quite at home, put on hat; finding LORD CHANCELLOR staring at him, uplifted it; LORD CHANCELLOR did same with his. Duke tried it
again; LORD CHANCELLOR, comically half turned round on the Woolsack, followed suit.
"Do it a third time, CLARENCE," whispered H.R.H., entering into fun of thing. So the new Peer, always with his eyes gravely fixed on LORD CHANCELLOR, who, in the excitement of the moment, had got his left leg cocked over the Woolsack, did it a third time; LORD CHANCELLOR did the same; Princesses in the Gallery sweetly smiling; Garter King-at-Arms totting off the number of salutes; and Black Rod thanking his stars that presently, when they left the House, he could walk face forward, not as when he visited the Commons, walking backward like a crab.
"I think that'll do," said H.R.H. "HALSBURY is in very uncomfortable attitude; besides this is a sort of game that palls after the third round. Go and say good-bye to HALSBURY, and we'll go and have a cup of tea with your mother."
Procession reformed; New Peer led up to Woolsack, where LORD CHANCELLOR, with little gesture of surprise, as if he had only now caught sight of him for first time, shook hands with him. Prince of Wales lifted his cap to LORD CHANCELLOR; LORD CHANCELLOR lifted his cap to Prince of WALES; the other Princes followed suit; Black Rod toddled off; and the gay and gorgeous procession disappeared through the doorway, leaving the Chamber in sudden twilight, as if the sun had dipped below the horizon.
An exceedingly friendly meeting all round; quite contagious.
"TOBY, M.P., I presume?" said BROADHURST, as I walked out. He had been looking on, and had quite caught the graceful manner of the LORD CHANCELLOR. I raised my hat three times, and went on to the Commons, where there were wigs on the Green.
Business done.—In Commons, Compensation Clauses withdrawn.
Tuesday.—TIM HEALY puts final spoke in wheel of Compensation Bill. Rose after questions on paper disposed of, and asked for ruling of SPEAKER on an important point affecting Parliamentary Procedure. TIM'S manner boded ill for the Government—deferential, low-voiced, with total absence of self-assertion or aggression, TIM stood, the very model of a modest young man.
"Yes," said Prince ARTHUR, "but I hope he's not going to say anything about Irish business. When he's in this mood, I prefer he should address himself to my dear friend JOKIM."
TIM had anticipated Prince ARTHUR'S wishes. It was about Compensation Bill that he desired to consult SPEAKER. JOKIM, as last turn in devious course, had proposed to dodge difficulty about Compensation by accumulating proceeds of increased till some indefinite period, when great reform of Licensing should be introduced. "But," says TIM, almost begging pardon for interposing, "in Budget Bill it has been specifically decreed that proceeds of tax should be appropriated during present Session." Accumulation, TIM urged, with a vague notion that he was dropping into poetry, is not Appropriation. SPEAKER agreed with him: consternation on Treasury Bench; Ministers tried to put bold face on affairs; could not discuss question now; would do so by-and-by; confident they could show there was nothing in TIM'S objection. An hour later, when time came to resume Committee on Compensation Bill, OLD MORALITY announced that it would be postponed to give Ministers opportunity to consider point suggested by TIM. Shout of exultation went up from Opposition Benches: prolonged fight had been won at last; the obnoxious Bill was floored, and TIM had done it.
OLD MORALITY, standing at table in attitude where natural nobility of character struggled with accidental depression, said: "Success, Mr. SPEAKER, is a mark no mortal wit of surest hand can always hit. For whatsoe'er we perpetrate, we do but row; we are steered by fate, which in success often disinherits, for spurious causes, noblest merits. Great occasions, Mr. SPEAKER, are not always true sons of great and mighty resolutions, nor, I may add, do the boldest attempts bring forth events still equal to their worth. That may be the case with us; but at least we shall carry to our homes the consciousness that we have diligently striven to do our duty to our QUEEN and our country." General cheering at this little speech, and scarcely dry eye on Treasury Bench.
Business done.—Compensation Bill in fresh difficulties.
Thursday.—Sitting remarkable for two speeches from ordinarily silent Members. Began and ended proceedings. First was by WHARTON, on presenting petition signed by over half a million persons in favour of Compensation Clauses of Licensing Bill. Petition brought down in three cases by PICKFORD'S van. Conveniently disposed on floor of House; occupied the whole space. Perturbation on Treasury Bench at the report that there was Royal Commission going forward in other House. Time of the Session when these are frequent. Black Rod arrives; requests attendance of Members to hear Commission read. Advances towards table, bowing to chair; retires backward; SPEAKER follows him. How would it be to-day, with floor blocked with towering cases? Black Rod an old sailor, might haul himself up hand-over-hand, and skip across tops of cases; but never do for the SPEAKER so to scramble out. Hasty and anxious inquiry made. Turned out to be no Royal Commission to-day; so new disaster for Ministers avoided.
WHARTON succeeds somehow when presenting Petition in casting sort of Cathedral Close air over proceedings. Life-long association with cathedrals and their precincts have invested him with placid charm of manner: would have made an excellent Dean; gone off capitally as a Canon; now, as he waves his hand towards the space lately crowded by the Petition, wears subtle, indescribable, but unmistakable air, as if he were taking part in a Confirmation Service.
The other orator, GRIMSTON, considerably less ecclesiastical in his manner. Appeared suddenly on scene at midnight: maiden speech; very effective. "Mr. COURTNEY, Sir," he said, diffidently hiding his hands in his trousers' pockets, "I claim the indulgence the House always extends to young Members, in rising to address it for the first time. I beg to move that the question be now put," Question put accordingly; debate Closured, and so home.
Business done.—Quite a lot. Licensing Clauses finally dropped; Allotments Bill read Third Time; Barracks Bill through Committee.
Friday.—Police in possession of House to-night. MATTHEWS moved Second Reading of Bill dealing with Force. Quite unusual consensus of approval, considering it is a Government Bill. Only for GEORGE CAMPBELL, chorus would have been unanimous. But GEORGE, looking in from Zanzibar, where he had called after a brief trip through Jerusalem and Madagascar, denounced the measure as "thoroughly bad." House thereupon passed Second Reading without division.
Business done.—Police Bill read Second Time.
"The Oof Bird" is the Auk, as Cornhill Mag. says its eggs cost £170 apiece,—of course when fresh. What a big lark!—Yours, 'ARRY.
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