Punch, or The London Charivari | Page 3

Prodigue_ is now all the go, he keeps himself up to date by performing the Musical Prodigy Son's, I mean MENDELSSOHN'S "Songs without Words;" and this so effectively, that the last wordless song he was obliged to repeat, and much obliged the audience by repeating. Then the good fellar played _La Campanella_, Which I prefer to _Gentle Zitella_, The Princess LOUISE, &c., were there, and "&c." was really looking uncommonly well considering the heat. Bravo, PADDY REWSKI! Ould Ireland for ever!
* * * * *
OFF TO MASHERLAND.
(_By Our Own Grandolph._)
(FIRST LETTER--A.)
1.--_From Paddington to the first comma is a comparatively slight stop._
Left Paddington. Was compelled to leave Paddington, as train started from that station. "The Great Western!" What boundless ideas are suggested by this title, &c., &c. (_This part I'll send to Daily Graphic._)
REASONS FOR THE JOURNEY.
Well, never mind my reasons. I had made up my mind to go. That's enough. "_Marlbrook s'en va t'en guerre," mais_ as MARLBROOK Junior I may say, "_Je reviendrai."_ Politics to the winds! or, colloquially, Politics be blowed! I'm off to TOM TIDDLER'S ground. Nice fellow, TIDDLER. Knew him years ago. He is now a Limited Company, "TIDDLER & Co."
[Illustration]
THE COMPOSITION OF THE PARTY.
Well, you know what it was once upon a time. There was A BALFOUR--beg pardon, should say, THE BALFOUR--and DRUMMY WOLFFY, and De GORSTIBUS non disputandum ("no arguing with GORST"), and self. As good a quartette, though I say it who shouldn't, as ever sat down to a concerted piece, with myself as First Fiddle. But now--"Where am dat barty now?"--I don't know if I quote correctly; quoting correctly is not my forte. "Dat barty," suggests WOLFF; he was the "barty" of our party, in the merry days of old. Now--none of 'em here, and I with my ink-stand before me, a pencil, a pen, note-books galore, and any amount of foolscap, represent "the composition" of our party. I must get on with my "compo." Is reminds me of doing a "Theme" at Eton. This is a holiday task. One, two, three, off!--and away!
ALL ABROAD.
Before I know where we are, so to speak, we have left London, and are at Lisbon. On the voyage Captain G. WILLIAMS suggests these lines, to which I append my own translation. BALFOUR rather behind me in Latin at Eton (I hear by private wire that he admitted as much in his recent speech at the fourth centenary celebration), and so, perhaps, couldn't give the translation as easily as I do. Here is the Captain's reminiscence, and my translation when he isn't looking:--
"Ille terrarum mihi pr?ter omnes Angulus ridet, ubi non Hymetto Melle decedunt, viridique certat Bacca Venafro.
"Vir ubi longum tepidusque pr?bet Jupiter brumas, et amicus Aulon, Fertili Baccho nimium Falernis Invidet uvis."
Which translated means:--
He, the Englishman (_Angulus_), beside me (that is, "sitting on deck by my side") laughs at all people on shore when he is quite certain (_certat_) that he can't get good tobacco from VENAFER'S (a local tobacconist). (This) man prefers the long clay pipe, which gets so soon hot, for, by Jove, you'll burn yourself (_brumas_), and being a friend of AULON'S ("all on," local joke), he envies those who can smoke the green tobacco, and doesn't wonder that they go in for Falernian (_classic metaphor for Cape wine_).
I think that's pretty good for an old Etonian who could give BALFOUR (the "Four" of the Fourth Party, a four-oar without a steerer) a mile over any course of VIRGIL or OVID, and beat him easily.
WHERE ARE WE NOW?
[Illustration: The Fifth of November anticipated in Quite Mad-eira.]
_En route_, called on the Bey of Biscay. Found him in amiable temper--not a bit rough. Lisbon delightful. Chatsworth not in it with the smallest flower-and-kitchen garden here. Dined at the "Brag"--short for Braganza. Suddenly inspired--wrote drinking song:--
Sancho Panza At Braganza, Quaffed no end of cup, But Don Quixit Said "Don't mix it-- Let us go and sup."
Have composed my own music to this--call it my musical cup-yright. Shan't publish it, for fear of pirates. No other rates at sea, except pi-rates, and the rate we're now going at--i.e., two knots an hour, and ties pay the dealer. Hoorah! I enclose portrait of self after the above symposium, carried round the town to the air of "_Please to Remember_," &c. Too Novembery perhaps, but everything too previous here, and it's summer even in winter, and winter's nowhere, except in some other places. This is the meteorological or illogical rule, the "Summa Lex." Look at my bearers! These are heads of the people, eh? Carried round town in triumph, and then back to the ship, which I now look upon as my native place, or _the land of my berth!_
"ONCE MORE ABOARD THE LUGGER!"
[Illustration]
Here we are, off the Cape of Good Hope. HOPE, as you know, was a worthy