Punch, or the London Charivari | Page 5

in the ribs with
one of its elbows_). Eh, look here now--'pon my--(_He attempts to rise,
and finds himself tightly pinioned by the arms of the chair._) There's
some confounded fool inside this chair!
The Simple Little Thing (_tickling him under the chin with her fan_).
Shouldn't call yourself names! I'm going--don't get up on my account.
[_She goes off, laughing; a crowd collects and heartily enjoys his
situation._
_The M.M._ (_later--very red after his release_). If I could have found
a policeman, I'd have given that chair in custody! It's scandalous to call
that coming in Fancy Dress! [_Exit indignantly._
* * * * *
THE BROWN-JONES INCIDENT.
(_ADAPTED FROM THE FRENCH._)
SCENE--_A Street. Enter BROWN and JONES. They meet, and regard

one another for a moment, fixedly. Then they salute one another
respectfully._
_Brown._ I have been looking for you everywhere.
_Jones._ Then I am delighted to have met you.
_Brown._ I have said of you that you are a trickster, a scoundrel, a fool,
and an idiot!
_Jones._ Yes--and I have regretted the saying, because it shows to me
that you have misunderstood the great literary movement of the present
day, in its vast and varied effort.
_Brown._ Of that I know nothing, for I confess I have never read your
books.
Jones (_reproachfully_). Yes--and yet you accuse me of being a
trickster, a scoundrel, and a fool, without knowing my works?
_Brown._ It was my duty. But still I had no wish to be guilty of an
outrage.
_Jones._ An outrage--how an outrage?
_Brown._ Had I known you had been present to hear me I would not
have caused you the pain of listening to me.
Jones (_with admiration_). But it was the act of a brave man! Did it not
occur to you that had I been within reach of you that you too would
have suffered pain?
_Brown._ It did not, I was unconscious of your presence. I would have
preferred to have spoken behind your back. It is brutal to speak before
any face. It might lead to an unpleasantness.
_Jones._ No, it is your duty to do what you think is right. It is also my
duty to do what I think is right. We are now face to face. Have you
anything further to say to me?

Brown (_hurriedly_). You have immense gifts--gifts which are those of
genius.
_Jones._ I thought you would understand me better when we met. My
dear friend, I am delighted at this reconciliation. Give me your hand.
Brown (_clasping palms_). With all the pleasure in the world. But still I
owe you reparation. How can I--
Jones (_interrupting_). Not another word, my dear friend. That is a
matter we can leave in the hands of our Solicitors.
[_Scene closes in upon the suggestion._
* * * * *
[Illustration: A SOLILOQUY.
_Youthful Mercury._ "WHAT'S THIS 'ERE ON THE PLYTE?
'KNOCK AND RING'! BLOWED IF THEY WON'T BE HARSKING
YER TO '_WALK HINSIDE_,' NEXT!!"]
* * * * *
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
[Illustration: "Oliver asking for More."]
It is curious to find a coincidence in style and in idea between an
earnest, witty and pious English author of the Sixteenth Century, and
an American author of our own day. Yet so it is, and here is the parallel
to be found between the quaint American tales about the old negro,
_Uncle Remus_, by JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS, in this year of Grace,
1892, and the fables writ by Sir THOMAS MORE in 1520, or
thereabouts, which he represents as if told him by an old wife and nurse,
one Mother MAUD. Here are "The Wolf,"--"Brer Wolf"--and the
simple-minded Jackass, both are going to confession to Father
Fox--"Brer Fox." Æsop is, of course, the common origin of all such
tales. The extracts which I have come across, are to be found in a small

book compiled by the Rev. THOMAS BRIDGETT, entitled, The Wit
and Wisdom of Sir Thomas More. The Baron wishes that with it had
been issued a glossary of old English words and expressions, as, to an
ordinary modern reader, much of Sir THOMAS MORE's writing is
well-nigh unintelligible; nay, in some instances, the Baron can only
approximately arrive at the meaning, as though it were a writ in a
foreign language with which his acquaintance was of no great
profundity. Certes, the learned and reverend compiler hath a keen relish
for this quaintness, but not so will fifteen out of his twenty readers,
who, pardie! shall regret the absence of a key without which some of
the treasure must, to them at least, remain inaccessible. With this
reservation, but with no sort of equivocation, doth the Baron heartily
recommend The Reverend BRIDGETT's compilation of Sir THOMAS
MORE's "English as she is writ" in the Sixteenth Century, to all lovers