Punch, or The London Charivari

Punch, Or The London
Charivari, Vol. 101, August 29,
1891

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Title: Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol. 101, August 29, 1891
Author: Various
Release Date: September 20, 2004 [EBook #13503]
Language: English
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PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 101.

August 29, 1891.

STORICULES.
I.--THE SUICIDE-ADVERTISEMENT.
[Illustration]
As you stood before the automatic machine on the station platform,
making an imbecile choice between a packet of gooseberry nougat and
a slab of the gum caramel, you could not help seeing on the level of
your eye this notice:--"BLACKING-CREAM. ASK FOR
HIGLINSON'S, AND TAKE NO OTHER."
Similar announcements met you on every hoarding, in almost every
paper and magazine, on every omnibus. Neat little packets of
HIGLINSON's Blacking-cream were dropped through your letter-box,
with a printed request that you would honour Mr. HIGLINSON by
trying it. Leaflets were handed you in the street to tell you what public
analysts said about it, and in what great hotels it was the only blacking
used. Importunity pays. Sooner or later you bought HIGLINSON's
Blacking-cream. You then found out that it was just about as good as
any other, and went on buying it.
In one way this was very good for Mr. HIGLINSON, because he
became very rich; in other ways it was not so good for him. For a long
time he had nothing to do with public life; the public never thought
about his existence; to the public he was not a man at all--he was only
part of the name of the stuff they used for their boots. If he had
introduced himself to a stranger, giving the name of HIGLINSON, it is
probable that the stranger would have remarked jocularly, "No relation
to the Blacking-cream, I presume?" HIGLINSON knew this, and it
pained him deeply, for he was a sensitive man.
Because he was sensitive and felt things so much, he wrote a volume of
very melancholy verses. He was unmarried and lonely, and he wanted
to lead a high life. He said as much in his verses. But what comes well
from Sir GALAHAD comes ill from the proprietor of a Blacking-cream;
and--from idiotic notions about pluck and honesty--he had put his own
name to his book. Unfortunately, those who feel much are not always
those who can express much; and HIGLINSON could not express
anything. So critics with a light mind had a very fine time with these
verses. They quoted them, with the prefatory remark:--"The cream of

the collection--perhaps we might say the Blacking-cream of the
collection--is the following," and they wound up their criticism with
saying that the book must have been simply published as an
advertisement. Mr. HIGLINSON could hardly have been mad enough
to have printed such stuff from any other motive.
Of course HIGLINSON should have changed his name, and should
have married. But the idiotic notions about pluck prevented him from
changing his name; and he would not marry a woman who accepted
him from only mercenary motives. He was so unattractive that he did
not think it possible a woman would marry him for any other reason.
However, he could not always be superintending the manufacture of
Blacking-cream; and it was obvious to him that he could publish no
more verses. So he devoted himself to philanthropy in a quiet and
unostentatious way. He attempted the reclamation of street-arabs. He
worked among them. He spent vast sums on providing education,
training, and decent pleasures for them. A man who wrote for The
Scalpel found him out at last. Next day there was a pretty little
paragraph in _The Scalpel_, showing Mr. HIGLINSON up, and
suggesting that this was a clever attempt to get the London shoe-blacks
to use HIGLINSON's Blacking-cream. The Blacking-cream, by the
way, had never been advertised in The Scalpel.
HIGLINSON was furious. He spent a little money in finding out who
had written the paragraph. Then he walked up to the writer in a public
street, with raised walking-stick. "Now, Sir," he said, "you shall have
the thrashing that you deserve."
[Illustration]
But it happened that the writer was physically superior to HIGLINSON;
so it was the writer who did the thrashing, and HIGLINSON who took
it. Next day, The Scalpel amused itself with HIGLINSON to the extent
of half