In 1884, when the entertainer's platform was offering inducements superior to those of the stage, Mr. George Grossmith began a series of sketches in _Punch_, ent.i.tled "Very Trying," the fourth article of which contained a skit of Mr. Flowers, the Police Magistrate at Bow Street, under the heading of "The Good-humoured Magistrate," and another dealt with Mr. Vaughan. Then came his funny musical sketches, with a few bars of absurd music sprinkled here and there in imitation of the London concert books. A few songs he also contributed to the paper, "The Duke of Seven Dials" becoming "popular even unto Hackney." Then, in collaboration with his brother, Mr. Weedon Grossmith, he produced "The Diary of a n.o.body." It was a domestic record of considerable length, which dealt in an extremely earnest way with Mr. Samuel Porter, who lived in a small villa in Holloway, and had trouble with his drains, and was sometimes late at the office, with similar circ.u.mstances of striking interest and concern, which seemed to him to call for public notice. The "Diary" was afterwards republished in book form.

The light and dainty touch of Mr. Andrew Lang has not been denied to _Punch_. A number of trifles in verse appeared in 1883 and the two following years, the most important of them being a sonnet to Colonel Burnaby--the one contribution, it may be said, that the author has thought well to republish. Some years later he produced the laughable series "The Confessions of a Duffer"--papers so humorous that it is difficult to accept Mr. Lang's disclaimer that "a comic paper is a thing in which I have no freedom to write."

Besides Mr. W. Ralston, with his single contribution of "K.G.--Q.E.D."

(November 22nd, 1884), Miss May Kendall was the chief comer of the year 1885. This lady helps to make up _Punch's_ bevy of lady literary contributors--Miss Betham-Edwards, Mrs. Frances Collins, Lady Campbell, Miss Burnand (an occasional reviewer, or "Baronitess"), Miss Hollingshead, and Mrs. Leverson, being the others. She is one of the few lady humorists of any consequence in her day. Women, as a rule, are humorists neither born nor made. Often enough they are wits, more frequently satirists. They can make, we are told, but they cannot take, a joke; at any rate, they are usually out of their element in the comic arena. Moreover, as b.u.t.ts for the caricaturist they are unsatisfactory, for in proportion as his efforts are successful, his sense of chivalry is outraged; and we have seen how Keene and others recoiled from the idea. Only on one occasion did Mr. Furniss make the attempt, and that indirectly and in a sense unintentionally--and the circ.u.mstance brought a miniature storm about his ears. No woman has ever yet been a caricaturist, in spite of the fact that her femininity befits her pre-eminently for the part. That she has desisted is a mercy for which man may be devoutly thankful. At the present time the rule here laid down as to lady humorists is proved by an exception in the person of Miss Murphy, a lady, it is said, of much beauty, who worked her way up from a subordinate position to the editorship of "The Melbourne Punch,"

a really comic production; but the unequal battle that would follow any extensive imitation of her example is altogether too painful to contemplate.

Miss Kendall's first poems, which were introduced to the notice of _Punch_ by Mr. Andrew Lang in sincere admiration of their cleverness, were "The Lay of the Ancient Trilobite," and "Ballad of the Ichthyosaurus," which were printed in the numbers for January 24th and February 14th, 1885. It is Miss Kendall's peculiar talent that she is able to extract delicate humour out of the most unpromising subjects, and even in these lays, which together const.i.tuted her maiden effort, the characteristic is clearly shown. One verse may serve as an example; it is from the poem which shows how the Ichthyosaurus aspires to a higher life, and how the all-absorbent Ether remains in triumph after we have played out our little parts to their puny end:--

"And we, howsoever we hated, And feared, or made love, or believed, For all the opinions we stated, The woes and the wars we achieved, We too shall lie idle together-- In very uncritical case; And no one will win--but the Ether That fills circ.u.mambient s.p.a.ce."

Quaintly humorous ideas are spread among her score of contributions--and tenderness, too; but it is as a humorous versifier of refinement and originality that she has appealed strongly to _Punch_ readers, although, as she herself says, "it seemed very wonderful to be _in Punch_, which I had venerated from my youth up."

The single contribution of Mr. Brandon Thomas has a rather interesting story. It was a patriotic song of a stirring sort, called "Britannia's Volunteers," composed at a time--in 1885--when patriotism was thick in the air. It was put to music by Mr. Alfred Allen; and two days after it was written, Mr. Thomas was at the house of Mr. Woodall, M.P., and there he sang the song. An old gentleman, who covered his mouth and chin with his hand, sat in the front row, and levelled a piercing look at the singer, listening with intense interest. During the second verse Mr.

Thomas, who was much affected by the gazer, sang straight at the aged owner of the wonderful eyes:--

"They were no conscripts Marlbro' led, But freemen--Volunteers, A free-born race from fathers bred That won for us Poictiers; No conscript names were on the roll-- All heroes dead and gone-- That blazoned bright on Victory's scroll The name of Wellington: And Inkerman's immortal height Will tell for many a day How sternly sons of Freedom fight, Let odds be what they may.

Thus Liberty scorns vain alarms, And answers back with cheers!

_No conscript legions flogged to arms Have yet flogged Volunteers!_"

Then the masking hand was removed, and the face of Mr. Gladstone was revealed. The sight of him seemed to stimulate the singer, an enthusiastic Conservative, and as he gave forth the last verse, with singular effect, his eyes so filled with tears that he could hardly see the piano keys:--

"They think to crush old England, And take her mighty place!

When they wipe out from ev'ry land The language of her race; When Justice meekly sheathes her sword, And Freemen ne'er make laws; When Tyrants rule by force and fraud And dead is Freedom's cause; When Liberty shall see her home Low levelled with the turf, And watch each son in turn become A tyrant-driven serf; When Freedom's sacred name's forgot Within the hearts of men-- They'll crush us to the earth, but not-- By Heav'n!--but not till then!"

When it was finished, Mr. Gladstone applauded vigorously, as though unconscious of the pointed way in which the verse had been sung at him, or respectful perhaps of the sincerity of the singer; and Mr. Burnand, who was present, and had been watching the scene with much amus.e.m.e.nt, enquired, aside, "Who wrote that?" "I did." "When?" "Two days ago."

"Have you sent it anywhere?" "No." "Then let me have it." So with the metre slightly changed it appeared in _Punch_ on May 23rd.

Some of the most delicate and humorous _vers de societe_ of the day have come from Mr. Warham St. Leger, and some of the best have appeared since the end of 1886 in the pages of _Punch_. "The Lay of the Lost Critic"

was the first of his contributions, and it was sent in, not by its author, but by a friend who had read it. So well was it thought of that Mr. St. Leger was invited at once to become a contributor, and accordingly he sent in many poems during the four years that followed, together with odd papers in the form of letters, especially on pseudo-scientific lines. All these poems were collected into a volume ent.i.tled "Ballads from _Punch_" in which perhaps the most striking are that "To my Hairdresser," and the irresistibly comic satire on modern ordnance, in which during a naval battle, after all the fighting has been done by ramming, "the last stern order of the brave" is whispered through the ship: "We're going to fire the guns!!" This desperate course is taken and described--the air grows thick and dark with broken breech, flying tube, and disrupted armour-plate, and when all was over--

"... They punished the seven survivors For wasting the ordnance stores."

[Ill.u.s.tration: F. ANSTEY.

(_From a Photograph by Messrs. Ba.s.sano, Limited._)]

Mr. Anstey (Guthrie) was already famous for his little series of successful books, "Vice Versa," "The Giant's Robe," "The Tinted Venus,"

"The Black Poodle," and "A Fallen Idol," when he was invited to contribute to _Punch_. In each and all of these stories there had been a clear and original idea, worked out with ingenuity and invested with rich and delicate humour. Their author was clearly a man for _Punch_. So thought Mr. Burnand, and Mr. Anstey shared the opinion. On November 4th, 1885, therefore, appeared his first contribution "Faux et Preterea Nihil." His work was consistently good, and at the end of 1886 he was called to the Table, taking his place and eating his first Dinner in January, 1887.

Mr. Anstey's writings attracted attention from the beginning, and in their reprinted form have been no less successful--the truest test of quality. Among the most delightful of these was the "Model Music Hall Songs"--songs and dramas _virginibus puerisque_, adapted to the requirements of the members of the London County Council which sought out and found indecency in a marionette's pursuit of a b.u.t.terfly. The idea opened up to Mr. Anstey a comic vista, which he has developed for our delectation. The songs and dances, with their words and directions, are for the most part screamingly funny, consisting partly in the perfectly realised absurdity and inanity of the performance, and partly in that quality of absolute truthfulness to life which we are forced to realise in the presentation of them. Laughter is often produced by the mere faithfulness of an imitation, whether the thing copied is funny or not. Simple mimicry has the power to make us laugh; and over that power, in all its phases of motive, act, and talk, Mr. Anstey has absolute control. In addition, he has a genius for plot-making and verse-writing, be it original or parody, which in its own line is unsurpa.s.sed in modern literature. In his a.n.a.lysis of character and motive he seems to set before us our own weak selves laid bare, until his _voces populi_ become _voces animi_, the voice of the people speaking unpleasantly like the voice of conscience.

In this comic reproduction of actual experience Mr. Anstey has travelled over the road pointed out by Mr. Burnand in his "Happy Thoughts" and "Out of Town;" but, adding greatly to the scientific truth of it, he seems to have lost something of the geniality and joviality of the form.

Mr. Anstey has placed Society on the dissecting-table, and probing with a little less of the sympathy shown by Mr. du Maurier, he carries his observation, consciously or unconsciously, to a much farther and more merciless point. Not that he has no kindly feeling for his subjects; he has--but he reserves it for his good people. Towards his sn.o.bs and cads and prigs he is pitiless; he turns his microscope upon them, and with far less mercy than is to be found in a vivisector he lays bare their false hearts, points to their lying tongues, and tears them out without a pang of remorse. It is all in fun, of course; but it is unmistakable.

Still, who shall find fault with what is the essence of justice and truth, which mercy only interferes with to weaken?

The burlesques in the "Model Music Hall Songs" are often as good as their originals--just as some of the Rejected Addresses by the Smiths were as good as the genuine poems they parodied; and the representation of them is placed before the reader with more than photographic truth.

In "So Shy!" we see the lady "of a mature age and inclined to a comfortable embonpoint," who comes forward and sings--

"I'm a dynety little dysy of the dingle, So retiring and so timid and so coy-- If you ask me why so long I have lived single, I will tell you--'tis because I am so shoy."

It is a notable fact that songs of this sort were driven off the better-cla.s.s music-hall stage about this time, and there is little doubt that Mr. Anstey, to whom Mr. Bernard Partridge afterwards rendered artistic help, took yeoman's share in the campaign. More certain it is that with "Mr. Punch's Young Reciter" he effectively suppressed the drawing-room spouter. No one with a sense of humour who has read that series can now stand up and recite a poem of a sentimental or an heroic nature from the pens of Mr. Clement Scott or Mr. G. R. Sims without genius to back him; and no one who heard it could retain his gravity to the end. "Burglar Bill" melted almost to repentance by the innocent child who asked him to burgle her doll's house, and whose salvation was finally wrought by the gift of the baby's jamtart--killed the Young Reciter by dint of pure ridicule and honest fun. He has made an unsophisticated reciter as impossible as a sympathetic and sentimental audience.

And in "Voces Populi"--the popular dramas in dialogue, in which the conversation accurately and concisely describes the character, temperament, and tastes of the speaker--there is a humorous verbal photography of extraordinary vividness. 'Arry is no longer a symbol and a type, as he is in Mr. Milliken's hands; he is a definite person in one particular position in life and no other, and what he says could not, we feel, possibly have been said in any other way, nor by any other person.

And so along the whole gamut of the cla.s.ses through which Mr. Anstey leads us. The humour is penetrating, and it is difficult to say where the truth ends and the caricature begins. Who can forget the visit to the Tudor Exhibition, when Henry VIII's remarkable hat was on view?

"'Arry," says 'Arriet to her escort; "look 'ere; fancy a king goin'

about in a thing like that--pink with a green feather! Why, I wouldn't be seen in it myself!" 'Arry, who is clearly _farceur_, replies with a pretty wit: "Ah, but that was ole 'Enery all over, that was; he wasn't one for show. He liked a quiet, una.s.sumin' style of 'at, he did. 'None o' yer loud pot'ats for Me!' he'd tell the Royal 'atters; 'find me a tile as won't attract people's notice, or you won't want a tile yerselves in another minute!' An' you may take yer oath they served him pretty sharp, too!" And so it is all through; the talk of the people, of everybody in all sorts of positions in life, is recorded in these "Voces," and in all there is the same quality of nature.

In "Travelling Companions," nearly as amusing and quite as observant, we are made to feel that the two heroes detest each other hardly more than Mr. Anstey detests Culcherd, the more unsympathetic and contemptible of the two. They are nearly as despicable as they are funny, and their creator has little pity for them on that account. There is a "plentiful lack of tenderness," but an abundance of humour to excuse it. This quality is not visible in "Mr. Punch's Pocket Ibsen"--a parody so good that we sometimes wonder if the part we are reading is not really from the hand of the Norwegian master. Nothing, surely, could be truer, nothing touched with a lighter hand than "Pill-doctor Herdal"--an achievement attained solely by a profound study of the dramatist. Again, in "The Man from Blankley's" and in "Lyre and Lancet" we have social satires grafted on to a most entertaining plot--a creation in both cases which may be compared with Keene's drawings for observation, and with Goldsmith's and Moliere's plays for the happy construction of these comedies of errors. The plots a.s.suredly would have extorted the admiration of Labiche himself, so complicated and ingenious are they.

Besides, everything seems so natural, so inevitable, "so much of a lesson," that it is hardly to be wondered at that "The Man from Blankley's" was on more than one occasion actually given out as the text for a sermon delivered from the pulpit.

Another excuse for music-hall treatment of an exquisite sort is afforded by the story of "Under the Rose," which is inimitable. For example:--

THE SISTERS SARCENET (_on stage_): "You men are deceivers and awfully sly. Oh, you _are_!"

MALE PORTION OF AUDIENCE (_as is expected from them_): "No, we _aren't_!"

THE SISTERS S. (_archly_): "Now you _know_ you are!

You come home with the milk; should your poor wife ask why, 'Pressing business, my pet,' you serenely reply, When you've really been out on the 'Tiddle-y-hi!'

Yes, you _have_!"

MALE AUDIENCE (_as before_): "No, we've _not_!"

THE SISTERS S. (_with the air of accusing angels_): "Why, you _know_ you have!"

It is sometimes objected that the root of Mr. Anstey's success lies near the surface, and is nothing but the vividness of his dialogues. It is a great deal more; it lies in the truth of his characters, subtly drawn, but irresistible, and, now and again, tenderly pathetic. Thus may you see the optimist and pessimist, and the link between them, in the following scene in the Mall on Drawing-Room Day:--

CHEERY OLD LADY (_delighted_): "I could see all the coachmen's 'ats beautiful. We'll wait and see 'em all come out, John, won't we?

They won't be more than a hour and a half in there, I dessay."

A PERSON WITH A FLORID VOCABULARY: "Well, if I'd ha' known all I was goin' to see was a set o' blanky n.o.bs shut up in their blank-dash kerridges, blank my blanky eyes if I'd ha' stirred a blanky foot, s'elp me dash, I wouldn't!"

A VENDOR (_persuasively_): "The kerrect lengwidge of hevery flower that blows--one penny!"

In the composition of his "Voces" and kindred work, it has been the practice of Mr. Anstey to visit the needful spot, where he would try to seize the salient points and the general tone, the speakers and the scene, trusting to luck for a chance incident, feature, or sentence that might provide a subject. Sometimes he would have to go empty away; but as a rule he would find enough to provide the rough material for a sketch. Sometimes, too, he would combine hints and anecdotes received from his acquaintance with his own experience and invention; on rarer occasions he would happen upon an incident which could be worked up into a sketch very much as it actually occurred, though with strict selection and careful elaboration. On the whole it may be taken that the conversations are mostly what _might_ have happened, but that they never were shorthand reproductions of overheard talk; and the incidents are almost invariably invented. Occasionally something in an exhibition or show would suggest a typical comment, or a casual remark might provide an idea for a character; but a good deal is certainly unconscious reminiscence and fragmentary observation, and the residue pure guess-work.

Of the artistic quality of Mr. Anstey's work there can be no question--neither of its humour, nor of its value as a complete reflection of English, and especially of c.o.c.kney, life. Old-fashioned people may and do denounce it as newfangled; but does anyone doubt the sort of welcome that would have been accorded to it by Jerrold and Thackeray and Gilbert a Beckett if they had had the good fortune to have an Anstey in their midst half-a-century ago?

[Ill.u.s.tration: R. C. LEHMANN (_From a Photograph by Elliott and Fry._)]

Mr. R. C. Lehmann, grand-nephew of W. H. Wills, one of _Punch's_ early crew, had a good reputation as a Cambridge wit before Mr. Burnand captured him for _Punch_. In April, 1889, he began to edit "The Granta,"

the clever "barrel-organ of the Cambridge undergraduates," satirical, brightly humorous, and freshly youthful. On the 14th of the following December there appeared in _Punch_ his first contribution, a dialogue ent.i.tled "Among the Amateurs," which has since been reprinted in "The Billsbury Election."

Mr. Lehmann lost no time in devising series of articles, which all _Punch_ readers will remember. Such were "Modern Types" and "Mr. Punch's Prize Novels" (one of the most successful, including parodies of a score of the leading authors of the day), "In the Know," "The Adventures of Picklock Holes," "Letters to Abstractions," "Lord Ormont's Mate and Matey's Aminta," "Manners and Customs," and "Studies in the New Poetry." Within four months of his first contribution Mr. Lehmann was promoted to the Table--an unprecedentedly rapid promotion--and he has ever since been one of the most diligent of contributors. Literary merit apart, Mr. Lehmann's "Conversational Hints for Young Shooters" has probably been received with greater favour throughout the country, on account of its subject and its felicitous treatment, than any of the young author's works. Country readers are essentially sportsmen--in conversation, if not in fact; and nothing in humorous writing delights them more than a clever burlesque on their favourite topic. You may hear the book praised where one of the writer's more ambitious efforts may pa.s.s unnoticed; and one of its pa.s.sages is quoted with unction in many a shooting party. "Johnson, who was placed forward, again stood under a canopy of pheasants, and shot with brilliant success into the gaps....

The only theory which is accepted as explaining the catastrophe is one that imputes a malignant cunning to the birds."

The year that saw Mr. Lehmann's appointment witnessed also the calling of his kinsman, Mr. Barry Pain, one of the chief contributors to "The Granta." His story of "The Hundred Gates," printed in "Cornhill," struck Mr. Burnand as a work of promise; indeed, Mr. Burnand is reported to have found it so funny that he thought he must have written it himself.

The annexing of the writer was at once effected. One of his earliest contributions to _Punch_ was the amusing parody of Tennyson's "Throstle," just before Christmas, 1889; and a collection of comic Cambridge definitions in imitation of Euclid followed. Then came a set of short stories called "Storicules," and a series of articles const.i.tuting a mock guide to conduct for young ladies. Since 1892 Mr.

Pain's work has fallen away, probably only for a time; for _Punch_ has proved well-nigh irresistible to every genuine humorist who is anxious to bring his faculty to bear on the risibility of the English public.