[To each man of the Crews of the three Life-boats stationed in the Isle of Wight, at Brighstone, Brook and Atherfield, respectively, Mr. Punch has had pleasure and pride in presenting an illuminated copy of the Picture and Poem entitled "MR. PUNCH TO THE LIFE-BOAT MEN," which appeared in his issue of February 13. The names of the coxswains and crews of these three boats, the Worcester Cadet, the William Slaney Lewis, and the Catherine Swift, are inscribed thereon (as they should be in the memories of all true Britons), as follows:—Of the Worcester Cadet, JAMES COTTON (Coxswain), ROBERT BUCKETT (Second Coxswain), ROBERT SALTER, WILLIAM BARTON, FRANK EDMUNDS, FRANK BUCKETT, GEORGE NEW, GEORGE MORRIS, GEORGE SHOTTER, GEORGE HAWKER, EDGAR WHITE, WILLIAM MERWOOD, and JAMES HEDGECOCK.
Of the William Slaney Lewis, JOHN HAYTER (Coxswain), BEN JACOBS (Second Coxswain), ROBERT COOPER, W. JACOBS, J. COOKE, G. WHITE, W. CASSELL, T. HOOKEY, J. NEWBURY, J. COOPER, J. HOOKEY, R. WOODFORD, M. CASSELL, WILLIAM HAYTER, W. BLAKE, and W. HOOKEY.
Of the Catherine Swift, WILLIAM COTTON (Coxswain), DAVID COTTON (Second Coxswain), JAMES COTTON, THOMAS COTTON, FRANK COTTON, JOHN COTTON, CHARLES COTTON, WALTER WOODFORD, WALTER WHITE, CHARLES HARDING, and B. WHILLIER.
These names thus receive—as they deserve—honourable record "For distinguished bravery and gallant conduct whilst on duty on the occasion of the wreck of the s.s. Eider, January 31, 1892."]
On the Scroll! And why not? Be you sure that it bears
Many entries less worthy of record than theirs,
The rough sea-faring fellows, whose names now go down,
With applause from their Sovereign to swell their renown,
To posterity's ears. And right pleasantly, too,
They should sound on those ears; for, run over each crew
And you'll find that those names have a true homely smack
Both of country and kinship; there's JIM, there is Jack,
There is BOB, there is BILL, TOM and GEORGE, CHARLIE, FRANK;
Can you not hear them sound o'er the waves as in rank
They go down to their work, ringing right cheery hail
Through the shrieks of the storm that shall not make them pale,
Those bold Britons? They're brothers, sires, cousins, and sons,
For see how the "family name" through them runs
Those COTTONS could make up a crew at a pinch!
Whilst the HOOKEYS and WHITES from that task need not flinch.
Yes, these names sound as well on the Scroll, after all,
As NAPOLEON or CÆSAR; and when the Great Call
Of the last human Muster Roll comes, some plain "BILL,"
Whose business was rather to save than to kill,
May step before mad ALEXANDER.
Well, brothers,
(You BUCKETTS, and WOODFORDS and COOPERS and others,
Whose names he need hardly string into his rhymes,)
Punch hopes you may look on this Record sometimes
With pleasant reflections. Mere words, he well knows,
Will not—"butter your parsnips"—(to put sense in prose):
But you have his hearty good will, and you know it,—
Right gladly he takes this occasion to show it!
And when or wherever another should come,
Be sure your friend Punch won't be careless or dumb!
I am really fond of the game, which is fortunate, though my partners don't think so; but I am free to confess, that nothing short of an absorbing admiration for it and desire to excel, could tempt me to brave the sarcasms, even insults, to which I am subjected. Your thoroughgoing Whist-player as such—admirable in private life as I personally know him to be—the moment he begins the daily business of his life, seems to cast his better nature to the winds. At another time and place he would lend a sympathetic ear to any tale of woe; now and here nothing seems to interest him but his own immediate welfare, which he pursues with concentrated energy and earnestness. I verily believe that if, at one of two adjoining tables, the chandelier fell on the players' heads to their exceeding detriment, the occupants of the other table would scarcely lift their eyes or interrupt their rubber for one moment. Fiant chartæ ruat coelum—let the cards be made whatever chandeliers fall.
The players at my Club are all good, one especially so, a retired Colonel of a West Indian regiment, of whom I stand in mortal dread. He has short shrift for any failings, even of players nearly as good as himself, whilst as for me! though he has never yet resorted to personal violence with a chair-leg, yet that would not surprise me; and my pestilent fate in defiance of all mathematical odds in such case made and provided, is to cut him as my partner three and four times in succession in an evening. I sometimes have glimmerings of sense, and in hands presenting no particular difficulty, if they contain plenty of good cards—can manage to scrape along in a way I think fairly satisfactory even—to him, though he never encourages me by saying so. But an awful thing happened the other night. I had played one rubber with him and won it, though it was only a rubber of two instead of a bumper, as it would have been if I had played properly—for being in doubt and remembering the adage, I had led a trump, but it subsequently turned out that the adversaries had called for them. Now I never see an adversaries' call, and but rarely those of my partner, unless when made glaringly conspicuous by a ten and a two, so I led this wretched card with disastrous results.
However, my partner accepted the situation with unexpected suavity, merely remarking pleasantly, as an item of general interest, "The only time my partner ever leads a trump is when the adversaries call." I smiled inanely—what else could I do? for I was dimly conscious that the stricture might have justification in fact. Yes, this was bad; but worse remains behind. In the last hand of the next rubber, my partner had four trumps; so had I; he had, besides a very long suit; hence he extracted the trumps, and we were left with the last two between us, mine being the better. I got the lead, of course, exactly at the time I did not want it; although everyone else knew where the smaller trump was, I did not, so I drew it from my partner's hand, and then led him a card of which he had none in the suit; this card, as ill-luck would have it, belonged to an enormously long suit, of which one of the adversaries had entire control. So this gentleman got in and made about six tricks in it, finishing up with the two; he therefore made with his spades all—indeed, I rather think more tricks than the Colonel ought to have made in his diamonds, each of which, now losing cards, he successively banged down with increasing anger and turbulence of gesture, as the enormity of my crime was borne in upon him. It was the deciding game of a rubber; the adversaries' score had stood at one, while we were at two, and besides, we had had two by honours; as they made four by cards, they went out—and so did I—not without an obbligato accompaniment on muted strings; unwhispered whispers of "confounded blockhead!" "blundering idiot!" "well, of all the born fools!" and similar objurgations.
When I came to think the matter over in cold blood, I could see that my proper course would have been to lead the losing card before drawing my partner's trump. I merely made a mistake (a fatal one I grant) in the order of playing them. That was all.
My friend goes on to make learned remarks about "American leads," "the fourth best," and the difficulties of playing a knave; lead him at once, I think, on Dogberry's principle: and "thank heaven you are rid of a knave."
The depths of my guilt may be guessed from the fact that many of my Mentor's explanations are Hittite to me. People talking of laying up a wretched old age by not playing, I should be laying it up for other people if I did play much. Half-crown points, a partner who knows how to score (those counters and candlesticks, or the machines with little bone grave-stones that shut up with a snap, bother me), and amiable conversation on well-chosen topics while the game goes on, make the kind of Whist that I enjoy. We used to play it in Common Room in the happy past; it was easier than Loo, which I never quite understood. The rigour of the game is the ruin of Whist.
"Sich a Nice Man Too!" is one of the latest, and greatest, successes of the clever Coster Laureate, Mr. ALBERT CHEVALIER, who, "Funny without being Vulgar," proves that he, the Muse of the Market Cart, and Bard of the Barrow, "Knocks 'em in the Old Kent Road,"—and elsewhere—with well-deserved success. As is ever the case with the works of genuine genius, "liberal applications lie" in his "patter" songs, the enjoyment of which need by no means be confined to the Coster and his chums. For example, at Caucus-Conferences and places where they sing—and shout—the following might be rendered with relish:—
There's party-men yer meets about
What wins yer 'eart instanter;
Of their success there's ne'er a doubt,
They romps in in a canter.
There's one as means to lick the lot,
Brum JOE, the artf'llst dodger.
For 'im we Rads went 'ot and 'ot;
Sez we, "Yus, JOE's the codger!"
Sich a smart man too! Sich a very smart man!
No Tory pride, no toffish affectation!
Yet 'e somehow makes yer feel
That in 'im yer 'ave to deal
With a gent, if not by buth, by edgercation!
'E made 'is pile in a snide way,—
"Down on ther nail," 'is motter—
Went to the front, and came to stay;
Whigs might pertest and potter.
'Is game wos doin' the poor good,
And doin' of it 'andsome.
JACK CADE they called 'im,—which wos rude—
'Acos 'e talked o' ransom!
Sich a smart man too! Sich a very smart man!
No "Lily" pride, no blue—blood affectation!
Yet he somehow made yer feel
That in 'im yer 'ad to deal
With a gent by nature and by edgercation!
You ought to seen 'im on the stump,
Smart frock and stiff shirt collar;
Got up regardless, clean-cut chump,
Orchid for button-'oler!
'E cocked a snook at pride o' race.
We shouted "Brayvo, BRUMMY!
Peg on, we'll put yer in fust place;
Then won't old WEG look rummy?"
Sich a smart man too! Sich a very smart man!
No Rip wan Winkle HARTY affectation!
Yet 'e somehow made yer feel
That 'e jest knowed 'ow to deal
With the "Gentlemen" by buth and edgercation.
Acrost 'is phiz there stole a smile,
Like sunshine in November.
Sez 'e, "I'm for the Sons o' Tile!"
O yus, don't we remember!
We fancied JOE wos one of hus,
A cove we might ha' trusted.
Now you should 'ear the Corkus cuss
At the Brum bubble—busted!
Sich a smart man too! Sich a very smart man!
No orty scorn, no "arm-cheer" affectation!
One as somehow made yer feel
'E alone knowed 'ow to deal
With Allotments, Taxes and Free Edgercation!
'E chose to play at hodd man hout;
'E ain't the fust by many
Wot's tried to Tommy-Dodd the rout
With a two-'eaded penny.
It's broke our trust; 'e can go 'ome
With Toffdom for next neighbour.
'E won't cut Capital's cockscomb
In the 'Oly Cause o' Labour!
Sich a snide man too! Sich a very snide man!
And now,—but that's 'is hartful affectation!
'E would like to make hus feel
As he only "plays genteel,"
To give Toffs a Demmycratic Hedgercation!
House of Commons, Monday, March 7.—JOKIM in a bad way to-night. People are wanting to know how it has come about that TATE's offer of £80,000 for Picture Gallery, with £80,000 worth of pictures thrown in to start it, has, after long correspondence with CHANCELLOR OF EXCHEQUER, been withdrawn. JOKIM rises to explain.
"What I should really like to do," he whispered to me, in confidence, "is to give him one for his tête, as we say in cribbage. But suppose I must speak him fair." Did his best in that direction though undercurrent of observation in lengthy paper he read decidedly set in direction of making TATE out as a cantankerous wrong-headed person who, proposing to bestow some £160,000 in way of free gift, expected to have his wishes consulted in such matter of detail as selection of site for Gallery.
"I venture to hope," said JOKIM, in conclusion, "that the door is not finally closed on the establishment of a gallery for British Art."
"That's not quite it," said Young Father DILLWYN, with hand to ear, listening from corner seat below Gangway he shares with that other eminent statesman, the SAGE OF QUEEN ANNE'S GATE. "What we complain of is, that you have so managed matters that the door hasn't been opened."
"Ah, well," said JOKIM, wringing his hands, "it's no use my trying anything. Remember once seeing in dock of police-court at Lyons, a sailor brought up charged with some offence. On his arm was tattooed the legend, 'Pas de chance.' He told long story of honest endeavour, combined with strict honesty and tireless industry, ever frustrated by malign accident. In short, he was no sooner out of prison than he was sent back upon fresh conviction. He had no chance, and one time, in enforced retirement from the world, he indelibly inscribed the legend on his forearm. Moi aussi, je n'ai pas de chance. Ever since I joined this Government things have gone wrong with me, whether in Budget Schemes, when acting as Deputy Leader of the House, with £1 notes, and now in this affair, where I run my head against TATE (sort of tête-à-tête), and, though I'm innocent as a lamb, everybody will have it that I've muddled things and lost the nation a munificent gift. Pas de chance; cher Toby; pas de chance!"
HANBURY been looking into our Army Service, and behold! it is very bad. Condemns it, lock, stock, and barrel. Things no better than they were in time of Crimean War. Our Army costs more, and could do less than any in the world. Curious to find statement like this gravely made in presence of twenty-eight Members, all told, including the SPEAKER. Suppose it's true, Empire on verge of precipice, into which, on slightest impulse, it may totter and disappear. Hon. Members, in the main, care so little that they busy themselves writing letters, chatting in Lobby, gossipping in Smoke-room; the few present admirably succeed in disguising terror that must possess them as HANBURY, in solemn voice, utters his lamentation.
"HANBURY," said CRAIG, looking across the House at tall figure below Gangway, "reminds me of the old party that rust LOCHIEL, and told him his prospects in the next war were at least doubtful,—
'LOCHIEL, LOCHIEL, beware of the day
When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle-array.'"
LOCHIEL STANHOPE recks no more than the Northern Chieftain; makes speech nearly two hours long, proving to empty, but interested Benches, that never since Peninsular War had Great Britain an Army so large or so fully equipped. When midnight struck, the few Members present shook themselves, yawned, and went home. Business done.—In Committee on Army Estimates.
Tuesday.—Never saw in the flesh procession of Russian Convicts starting on their journey to Siberia. Have read about it, though; have even seen pictures thereof. The most saddening and soul-depressing of these came back to mind just now, when PULESTON, PELLY and BURDETT-COUTTS forlornly filed forth at command of Chairman of Committees, amid cheers of heartless Opposition. If they'd only been a little more ragged in appearance, and, above all, if they had been connected by leg-chain, illusion would have been complete. Members on Front Benches, as they passed them, wearily faring forth, could not have resisted natural impulse to feel in their waistcoat pocket for a kopec or two to bestow upon the unfortunates.
It was the suddenness of the sentence, the swift falling of the blow, that made it so cruelly heavy. Last Friday these three Members had supported a vote subsidising East Africa Co. in matter of preliminary expenses of railway through their territory. Someone had discovered they were pecuniarily interested in undertaking. To-day SWIFT MACNEILL raised the question of parliamentary law in such cases. Moved Resolution that vote of three Members be disallowed.
Nothing could exceed gentleness of MACNEILL's demeanour. Rather in sorrow than in anger he moved in the matter, anxious, as all Irish Members are, for purity of Parliamentary practice and sanctity of constitutional principles. Almost blubbered in BURDETT-COUTTS's waistcoat; embraced PELLY and PULESTON in comprehensive smile of amity.
Encouraged by this attitude, the three Members assumed easy, almost jaunty, manner. True, PULESTON admitted he would not have done it if he'd thought anyone would have made a row about it—"as the little boy said when he was being spanked for putting his fingers in the jam-pot," observed MARJORIBANKS, sotto voce. BURDETT-COUTTS almost haughty in his defiance of the descendant of the Uncle of JONATHAN SWIFT, Dean of St. Patrick's.
PELLY pensive in manner and enigmatical in allusion; felt it particularly hard thus to be placed in the dock, as if he were an Irish County Councillor under Prince ARTHUR's new Bill. Only last Friday, in debate preceding the very Division now under discussion, he had delivered an Address which disclosed intimate acquaintance with topographical bearings of rarely trodden wilds in Central Africa. Had shown how an Agent of East Africa Company, setting forth from So-and-so, had, after perilous passage, reached So-on. After a night of broken rest, his pillow soothed by the roar of GRANDOLPH's nine lions, he had set out again. Crossing the River So-forth he wandered for hours, carrying the flag of his country through the limitless plains of Etcetera.
House listened entranced, whilst PELLY hurried them from So-on to So-forth.
"Excellent speech," said the SQUIRE OF MALWOOD, himself not unfamiliar with land-surveying; "but the country seems a little monotonously named."
"It's not that," cried PELLY, interrupting; "the fact is, I can't pronounce the names in the despatches, and call them So-on."
House delighted with this explanation; PELLY found himself at one bound in front rank of Parliamentary orators. This only last Friday; to-day called upon to defend himself from charge of breaking written law of Parliament. Bad this, but worse to come. When PELLY's pensive voice died away, COURTNEY rose from Chair and sternly said, "In accordance with practice of the House, the three Hon. Members will now withdraw." So they strode forth, clothed with innocence. PULESTON first, with ghastly smile on his face; BURDETT-COUTTS next, wondering what they would think of this in Stratton Street; PELLY bringing up the rear, the forlornest file that ever passed between ranks of jeering spectators, slowly making their way from So-on to So-forth. Business done.—None.
Thursday.—"The Leadership isn't all beer and skittles, is it?" I said to Prince ARTHUR just now, trying to put the best face on a melancholy business.
"No," he said, shortly, "and it isn't public business at all."
Quite true. What officers in command of sham-fights call "the general idea" of the Sitting to-night, was—questions beginning at half-past three; over probably at four; House in Committee; take up Army Estimates; peg away at them till midnight; then "Who goes home?" Time-table of what actually took place slightly, but firmly different. House met at three; prayers, which appropriately prefaced HENRY FOWLER's motion to permit Salvation Army to go its own way on quiet Sabbaths at Eastbourne. Debated this till twenty minutes past six, the SOLICITOR-GENERAL heartily joining in the service; then questions, seventy or eighty of them, not seven or eight of public interest, the rest of character that might be raised on dull days in Vestry-hall.
At half-past seven, time to dress for dinner. Still, Members think they'll just wait and see business commenced. "Instead of which," as the Judge said, up gets SWIFT MACNEILL, asking permission to move Adjournment of House in order to discuss famine in India, and shortcomings of Indian Government. SPEAKER invites those who support application to rise in their places. Gentlemen below the Gangway, with hearts bleeding for famished fellow-creatures in far-off Ind (subject reminds them, by the way, that dinner is nearly ready), leap to their feet. Twice the forty necessary thus forthcoming; leave given, and SWIFT MACNEILL proceeds to open his budget. Then strange thing happens. The eighty Gentlemen who sprang up to secure hearing for MACNEILL, being on their legs, conclude that, as it's so near dinner-time, scarcely worth while resuming their seat; so they bundle forth, MACNEILL, somewhat ungratefully (for they had secured his opportunity) urging them to "be off, if they didn't want to hear about the sufferings of their fellow-creatures."
At ten o'clock MACNEILL episode closed. Prince ARTHUR moved, with intent to expedite business, a Resolution taking Report of Supply after midnight. Talked on this till twenty minutes to twelve. Business reached at last, but since Debate closes at midnight, no time to do anything. Committee of Supply accordingly postponed, and Members begin chatting about Gresham College, admitting in course of conversation that there is nothing to talk about, since Government have adopted suggestion of objectors to scheme.
Business done.—None.
Friday.—MACNEILL the Avenger to the front again, with his Motion about the Siberian Exiles. "JEMMY" LOWTHER, in most judicial manner, supports Motion, that votes of PELLY, PULESTON and BURDETT-COUTTS on Mombasa Affair shall be struck out. Prince ARTHUR argues on other side; Mr. G. throws weight of his authority into scale against the Exiles; JOKIM feebly attempts to reply. On Division, in full House, Government defeated by five votes. MACNEILL's smile, as he announced the figures, simply enormous. "At first I thought it was an earthquake," said STANHOPE, shuddering. Nerves shattered by second defeat of Government in the week. Business done.—Looks as if the Government's was—very nearly.
NOTICE.—Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.