Volume 100 — SPECIMENS FROM MR. PUNCH'S SCAMP-ALBUM.
Reading edition
No. III.—THE BIOGRAPHER.
We will ask you, reader, this week, to compel your fancy to take a further flight, and kindly imagine yourself a worthy merchant, who has exchanged the turmoil of City-life for the elegant leisure of a suburban villa—let us say at Norwood. You are in your dining-room, examining the sky, and thinking that, if the weather holds up, you will take your big dog out presently for a run before lunch, when you are told that a gentleman is in the study who wishes to see you "on particular business." The very word excites you, not unpleasantly, nor do you care whether it is Churchwarden's business, or the District Board, or the County Council—it is enough that your experience and practical knowledge of affairs are in request—and, better still, it will give you something to do. So, after a delay due to your own importance, you march into your study, and find a brisk stranger, with red whiskers and a flexible mouth, absorbed in documents which he has brought with him in a black bag.
"Your Visitor has his Note-book out."
"I have the pleasure of addressing Mr. MARK LANE, I think?" he says. "Just so. Well, Mr. MARK LANE, I consider myself extremely fortunate in finding you at home, I assure you, and a very charming place you have here—abundant evidence of a refined and cultivated mind, excellent selection of our best-known writers, everything, if I may say so, elegant in the extreme—as was to be expected! Even from the cursory glimpse I have had, I can see that your interior would lend itself admirably to picturesque description—which brings me to the object of my visit. I have called upon you, Mr. LANE, in the hope of eliciting your sympathy and patronage for a work I am now compiling—a work which will, I am confident, commend itself to a gentleman of your wide culture and interest in literary matters." (Here you will look as judicial as you can, and harden your heart in advance against a new Encyclopædia, or an illustrated edition of SHAKSPEARE's works.) "The work I allude to, Mr. LANE, is entitled, Notable Nonentities of Norwood and its Neighbourhood." (Here you will nod gravely, rather taken by the title.) "It will be published very shortly, by subscription, Mr. LANE, in two handsome quarto volumes, got up in the most sumptuous style. It is a work which has been long wanted, and which, I venture to predict, will be very widely read. It is my ambition to make it a complete biographical compendium of every living celebrity of note residing at Norwood at the present date. It will be embellished with copious illustrations, printed by an entirely new process upon India and Japanese paper; everything—type, ink, paper, binding, will be of the best procurable; the publishers being determined to spare no expense in making it a book of reference superior to anything of the kind previously attempted!" (As he pauses fur breath, you will take occasion to observe, that no doubt such a work, as he contemplates, will be an excellent thing—but that, for your own part, you can dispense with any information respecting the Notabilities of Norwood, and, in short, that if he will excuse you—)
"You may have to wait."
"Pardon me, Mr. LANE," he interrupts, "you mistake my object. I should not dream of expecting you to subscribe to such a work. But, in my capacity of compiler, I naturally desire to leave nothing undone that care and research can effect to render the work complete—and it would be incomplete indeed, were it to include no reference to so distinguished a resident as yourself!" ("Oh, pooh—nonsense!" You will say at this—but you will sit down again) "Norwood is a singularly favoured locality. Sir; its charms have induced many of our foremost men to select it for their rus in urbe. Why, in this very road—May I ask, by the way, if you are acquainted with Alderman MINCING? Alderman MINCING has been good enough to furnish me with many interesting details of his personal career, a photo-gravured portrait of him will be included, with views of the interior and exterior of 'The Drudgeries,' and a bit from the back-garden." (You do know MINCING—and you cannot help inwardly wondering at the absurd vanity of the man—a mere nobody, away from the City!) "Between ourselves," says your interviewer, candidly, having possibly observed your expression, "I am by no means sure that I shall feel warranted in allotting Alderman MINCING as much space as I fear he will consider himself entitled to. Alderman MINCING, though a highly respectable man, does not appeal to the popular imagination as others I could mention do—he is just a little commonplace!" ("Shrewd follow, this!" you think to yourself—"Got MINCING's measure!") "But I should feel it an honour, indeed, if such a man as yourself, now, would give me all the personal information you think proper to make public, while, as a specimen of what Norwood can do in luxurious and artistic domestic fittings, this house, Sir, would be invaluable! I do trust that you will see your way to—" (At first, you suggest that you must talk it over with your Wife—but you presently see that if MINCING and men of that calibre are to be in this, you cannot, for your own sake, hold aloof, and so your Visitor soon has his note-book out.) "Any remarkable traits recorded of you as an infant, Mr. LANE? A strong aversion to porridge, and an antipathy to black-beetles—both of which you still retain? Thank you, very much. And you were educated? At Dulborough Grammar School? Just so! Never took to Latin, or learned Greek? Commercial aptitudes declaring themselves thus early—curious, indeed! Entered your father's office as clerk? Became a partner? Married your present lady—when? In 1860? Exactly!—and have offspring? Your subsequent life comparatively uneventful? That will do admirably—infinitely obliged to you, I am sure. It would be useless to ask you if you would care to have a copy of the work, when issued, forwarded to you—we can do it for you at the very nominal sum of two guineas, if paid in advance—a gratifying possession for your children after you have gone, Mr. LANE! I may put you down? Thank you. For two copies?" (On second thoughts, you do order two copies; you can send one out to your married Sister in Australia—it will amuse her.) "One, two, three, four guineas—quite correct, Mr. LANE, and you shall have an early opportunity of revising a proof, and we will send down a competent artist, in a day or two, to take the photographs. Quite an agreeable change in the weather, is it not? Good day!"
He is gone, leaving you to wait for the proof, and the photographer, and the appearance of that great work. Notable Nonentities of Norwood,—and it is not at all unlikely that you may have to wait a considerable time.
Iago on the Great Sermon Question.
Good name in Mayor or Parson, dear my public, Is the immediate jewel of their souls. Who steals my sermon, steals trash; 'tis something, nothing; 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been mouthed by dozens; But he who "splits" on me as plagiarist, Robs me of that which is no good to him, And leaves me poor—in credit.
"WHEREVER WE WANDER," &c.—A new book of advice for intending Travellers has recently been published, entitled, "Where to Stay." It is both ornamental and useful; but so much depends on ways and means, that, after careful consideration, Mr. Punch, when asked "Where to Stay," considers the safest answer will always be, "At home."
"CHUCKED!"
["The Bookmakers are in consternation, the Chamber having yesterday (Feb. 28), by 330 Votes to 144, rejected a Bill legalising the pari mutuel, and the Government having pledged itself to enforce the law against gambling."—Times Paris Correspondent.]
The Bookie
. "ALL RIGHT, MOSSOO, I'M OFF TO ENGLAND! THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE 'OME!"
(Extract of Letter from DICKY DIDDLUM, Bookmaker, Paris, to BOUNDING BOB, ditto, Newmarket.)
"... Our game here appears to be as decidedly hup as the top of the Awful Tower! Regular mugs, these Mossoos, after all. Thought we had taught 'em a bit about Ler Sport by this time: but, bless yer, BOB, once a Pollyvoo, always a Pollyvoo! No Frenchy really hunderstands a 'Oss, or knows 'ow to make a Book!
"Abolish Betting!!! Wot next, I wonder? Wot with County Councils, dunderheaded Deppyties, and Swells who do the Detective bizness in their own droring-rooms, pooty soon there won't be a safe look in for a party as wants to do a nice little flutter—unless, of course, he's a Stock-Exchange spekkylator, or a hinvester in South American Mines. Then he can plunge, and hedge, and jockey the jugginses as much as he's a mind to. Wonder how that bloomin' French Bourse 'ud get along without a bit o' the pitch-and-toss barney, as every man as is a man finds the werry salt of life. Yah! This here Moral game is a gettin' played down too darned low for anythink. And wot's it mean, arter all? Why, 'No Naughtiness, except for the Nobs!' That's about the exact size of it, and it's blazing beastly, BOB!
"Only one of the dashed Deppyties talked a mossel o' sense, fur as I see. A certain MOSSOO DER KERJEGU, a Republican, too, bless his boko! said as 'races were essential to 'orsebreeding, and that without betting there would be no races.' O.K. you are, MOSSOO DER K.! And then they up and chuck hus Bookies! No bookies, no betting; no betting, no races; no racing, no 'osses; no 'osses, no nothink! That's how it runs, BOB, or I'm a sossidge!
"But this here bloomin' Republick is too rediklus for anythink. Look at the kiddish kick-up along o' the visit of the Hempress! Why, if we 'ad that duffer, DEROULÈDE, on Newmarket 'Eath, we should just duck him in a 'orsepond, like a copped Welsher. Here they washup him, or else knuckle under to him, like a skeery Coster's missus when her old man's on the mawl, and feels round arter her ribs with his bloomin' high-lows. That's yer high-polite French Artists and brave booky-banishin' Dippyties! Yah!
"'Owsomever, I suppose, BOB, I must clear out of this. MOSSOO CONSTANS, he said, 'if the Bill were carried there would be an end to bookmakers.' And it was carried, by 340 mugs against 144 right 'uns. And arter all me and my sort has done for Parry! It's mean, that's wot it is, BOB. P'raps they'll chuck British jockeys next! Much good their Grong Pree, ancetrer, will be then, my boy. Our 'osses, our jockeys, and our bookies has bin the making of French Sport,—and werrv nice little pickings there's bin out of it take it all round. Wot'll Ler Hig Life, and Hart, and Leagues o' Patriots, and miles o' bullyvards, and COOK's Tourists and Awful Towers do for Parry without hus, I wonder? We shall see! Ah, Madame lar Republick, maybe you'll be sorry, you and your bullyin' jondarms, for chucking o' me afore you're through. As MAT MOPUS put it:—
It was all werry well to dissemble yer love, But wy did yer kick me down-stairs?
Chucked it is, though, and I shall probably see yer next week, BOB. Thanks be, the Flat Season's at 'and! Arter all, there's no place like 'ome! No!—
'Mid Boises and Bullyvards tho' we may roam, Be it hever so foggy, there's no place like 'ome; A smile from the Swells seems to 'allow sport there, Wich, look where you will, isn't met with elsewhere. 'Ome, 'ome, Sweet, sweet 'ome, Be it hever so fog-bound, there's no place like 'ome!
A hexile from Parry, I'm off o'er the main;
Ah! give me my native Newmarkit again;
The mugs, smiling sweetly, wot come at my bawl,
Give me these, and the "pieces," far dearer than all.
'Ome, 'ome,
Sweet, sweet 'ome,
"Mean to sing that at our next 'Smoker,' BOB. But till then, Ta—ta!!"
Desdemona to the Author of "Dorian Gray."
(A propos of his paragraphic Preface.)
"These are old fond paradoxes, to make boys crow i' the Club corner. What miserable praise hast thou for him that's foul and foolish?"
SOMETHING IN A NAME.—A recent theatrical announcement informed us that a new comedy would be produced from the pen of a Mr. HENRY DAM. If successful, imagine the audience calling for the Author by name. If a triumph, the new dramatist will be known as "The big, big D."
By a Tired and Cynical Critic of Current Fiction.
A "School for Novelists," they say, has risen. A School? What's really wanted is a Prison. Life-long confinement far from pen and ink Might cure the crowd of fictionists, I think. Or, if by Lessons you'd arrest the blight, Go teach the Novelist how not to write!
ATHLETICS.—It is said that the County Council are resolved to forbid the popular feats of raising heavy weights, upon the ground that it may lead to shoplifting.
WORKING AND PLAYING BEES.—Lady B-ountiful first, at the Garrick, and Lady B-arter at the Princess's.
OLD FRIENDS.
Big Ben. "OH, FLATTERY'S THE BANE OF FRIENDSHIP! JUST LOOK AT YOU AND ME, OLD MAN! WHY, I'VE ALWAYS TOLD YOU THE TRUTH ABOUT YOURSELF, HOWEVER DISAGREEABLE! IT'S A WAY I HAVE. AND YET WE'VE BEEN FAST FRIENDS FOR FORTY YEARS, AND I LIKE YOU BETTER THAN ANY FRIEND I POSSESS! INDEED, YOU'RE ABOUT THE ONLY FRIEND I'VE GOT LEFT!"
Little Dick (dreamily). "AH, BUT YOU MUST REMEMBER THAT I'VE NEVER TOLD YOU THE TRUTH BACK AGAIN!"