Punch, or The London Charivari | Page 2

him enormous profits. But if he attempted to spend those profits on any object, good or bad, it was always insisted that he was simply doing it for advertisement. The public became interested in HIGLINSON; and untrue stories about his private life appeared freely in personal columns. He was rich enough now to have relinquished his business, but those idiotic notions about pluck prevented him from doing this. He meant to go through with it, and to make the public believe in him just as much as they believed in the Blacking-cream. He found about this time someone who did believe in him; he began to change his views about marriage; he was to some extent consoled.
He was passing over the bridge one night, and had just bought an evening paper. His own name caught his eye. It was the usual paragraph, not more hateful to him than others that had appeared, as far as he himself was concerned; but her name was in it as well, and he imagined to himself just how she would feel when she read it. He walked on a few paces, and then his pluck all vanished suddenly, as if it had been blown away into space, and it did not seem to be worth while to stop in such a world any longer.
The jury returned the usual verdict; but The Scalpel did not hesitate to hint that this suicide had simply been intended as an advertisement, and that HIGLINSON had always supposed that his rescue would be a certainty.
He might have saved himself all this, of course, by a few full-page advertisements in The Scalpel. But then he had those idiotic notions about pluck, and he was reluctant to bribe his enemies. It is a very dangerous thing to have notions about anything.
* * * * *
WANTED, A WORD-SLAYER.
_Fin de Siècle!_ Ah, that phrase, though taste spurn it, I Fear, threatens staying with us to eternity. Who will deliver Our nerves, all a-quiver, From that pest-term, and its fellow "modernity"?
* * * * *
[Illustration: AT THE DOOR; OR, PATERFAMILIAS AND THE YOUNG SPARK.
Electric Light. "WHAT, WON'T YOU LET ME IN--A DEAR LITTLE CHAP LIKE ME?"
Householder. "AH! YOU'RE A LITTLE TOO DEAR FOR ME--AT PRESENT."]
* * * * *
AT THE DOOR; OR, PATERFAMILIAS AND THE YOUNG SPARK.
(_AN ELECTRICAL ECLOGUE._)
["The cost is still heavy, no doubt, and the electric light still stands in the category of luxuries which are almost beyond the reach of average middle-class incomes."--_The "Times" on the growth of Electric Lighting in London._]
_ELECTRIC SPRITE._
Old boy, let me in! Come, now, don't you be stupid! Why stand at your door in that dubious way? Like the classical girl who was called on by Cupid, You seem half alarmed at the thought of my stay. With meanings of mischief my mind is not laden; Be sure, my dear friend, that I shall not sell _you_, As the artful young archer-god did the poor maiden, Who let him in only his visit to rue. I hope you've not listened to enemies' strictures, They've warned you, perhaps, against letting me pass, I shan't soil your ceiling, I shan't spoil your pictures, Or make nasty smells like that dirty imp, Gas! You're prejudiced clearly, and that is a pity, Why, bless you, I'm spreading all over the place! My spark is pervading the whole of the City; The dingy old Gas-flame must soon hide its face. I'm brilliant, and clean, and delightfully larky; Just look at my glow and examine my arc! _Fwizz!_ How's that for high, and for vivid and sparky! I obviate dirt, and I dissipate dark. You just let me in; the result you'll be charmed at. Objections, Old Boy, are all fiddle-de-dee. Come now! I'm sure you cannot be alarmed at A dear little chap like me!
_PATERFAMILIAS._
A dear little chap! Very true; but I'm thinking That you're just a little too "dear" for me--yet! Ah, yes! it's no use to stand smiling and winking; I like the bright ways of you, youngster,--you bet! You're white as the moon, and as spry as a rocket; No doubt all you say in self-praise is quite true, But you see, boy, I must keep an eye to my pocket! The Renters and Raters so put on the screw, That a "middle-class income" won't stand much more squeezing, And Forty or Fifty Pounds more in the year. For your bright companionship, albeit pleasing, Would come pretty stiff, my boy. That is my fear. Just cheapen yourself, in supply and in fitting, To something that fits with my limited "screw," And you will not find me shrink long from admitting A dear little chap like you!
* * * * *
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
[Illustration]
The Baron's Assistant Reader reports as follows to his chief--If you want a really refreshing book, a book