Mr. Punch in Bohemia by Various (dark academia books to read txt) 📖
- Author: Various
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Art Student (engaging rooms). "What is that?"
Landlady. "That is a picture of our church done in wool by my daughter, sir. She's subject to art, too."
[Pg 110]
THE SUB-EDITOR'S AUNT"I always buy your paper my dear Horace," said the old lady, "although there is much in it I cannot approve of. But there is one thing that puzzles me extremely."
"Yes, aunt?" said the Sub-Editor meekly, as he sipped his tea.
"Why, I notice that the contents bill invariably has one word calculated to stimulate the morbid curiosity of the reader. An adjective."
"Circulation depends upon adjectives," said the Sub-Editor.
"I don't think I object to them," the old lady replied; "but what I want you to tell me is how you choose them. How do you decide whether an occurrence is 'remarkable' or 'extraordinary,' 'astounding' or 'exciting,' 'thrilling' or 'alarming,' 'sensational' or merely 'strange,' 'startling' or 'unique'? What tells you which word to use?"
"Well, aunt, we have a system to indicate the adjective to a nicety; but——"
"My dear Horace, I will never breathe a word.[Pg 112] You should know that. No one holds the secrets of the press more sacred than I."
The Sub-Editor settled himself more comfortably in his chair.
"You see, aunt, the great thing in an evening paper is human interest. What we want to get is news to hit the man-in-the-street. Everything that we do is done for the man-in-the-street. And therefore we keep safely locked up in a little room a tame man of this description. He may not be much to look at, but his sympathies are right, unerringly right. He sits there from nine till six, and has things to eat now and then. We call him the Thrillometer."
"How wonderful! How proud you should be Horace, to be a part of this mighty mechanism, the press."
"I am, aunt. Well, the duties of the Thrillometer are very simple. Directly a piece of news comes in, it is the place of one of the Sub-Editors to hurry to the Thrillometer's room and read it to him. I have to do this."
"Poor boy. You are sadly overworked, I fear."
"Yes, aunt. And while I read I watch his face, Long study has told me exactly what degree of interest is excited within him by the announcement. I know instantly whether his expression means 'phenomenal' or only 'remarkable,' whether 'distressing' or only 'sad,' whether——"
"Is there so much difference between 'distressing' and 'sad,' Horace?"
"Oh, yes, aunt. A suicide in Half Moon Street[Pg 115] is 'distressing'; in the City Road it is only 'sad.' Again, a raid on a club in Whitechapel is of no account; but a raid on a West-End club is worth three lines of large type in the bill, above Fry's innings."
"Do you mean a club in Soho when you say West-End?"
"Yes, aunt, as a rule."
"But why do you call that the West-End?"
"That was the Thrillometer's doing, aunt. He fell asleep over a club raid, and a very good one too, when I said it was in Soho; but when I told[Pg 116] him of the next—also in Soho, chiefly Italian waiters—and said it was in the West-End, his eyes nearly came out of his head. So you see how useful the Thrillometer can be."
"Most ingenious, Horace. Was this your idea?"
"Yes, aunt."
"Clever boy. And have the other papers adopted it?"
"Yes, aunt. All of them."
"Then you are growing rich, Horace?"
"No, no, aunt, not at all. Unfortunately I lack the business instinct. Other people grow rich on my ideas. In fact, so far from being rich, I was going to venture to ask you——"
"Tell me more about the Thrillometer," said the old lady briskly.
AT THE WRESTLING MATCH.
Enthusiastic Old Gent. "Go on, sonny! Stick 'old of 's 'ead."
GOING TO THE BADAll the way from the National Gallery
Unto the Royal Academy
As I walked, I was guilty of raillery,
Which I felt was very bad o' me.
Thinking of art's disasters,
Still sinking to deeper abysses,
I said, "From the Old Masters
Why go to the new misses?"
[Pg 111]
PREHISTORIC PEEPS
A visit to an artist's studio.
[Pg 113]
He. "Awfully jolly concert, wasn't it? Awfully jolly thing by that fellow—what's his name?—something like Doorknob."
She. "Doorknob! Whom do you mean? I only know of Beethoven, Mozart, Wagner, Handel——"
He. "That's it! Handel. I knew it was something you caught hold of!"
[Pg 114]
OUR ARTIST
"If you please, sir, here's the printer's boy called again!"
"Oh, bother! Say I'm busy."
[Pg 117]
"'Tis hard to give the hand where the heart can never be!"
SONGS AND THEIR SINGERS
[Pg 118]
"Only this"
SONGS AND THEIR SINGERS
[Pg 119]
Horse Dealer. "Did that little mare I sold you do for you, sir?"
Nervous Horseman. "Nearly!"
[Pg 120]
"Optics."
Lecturer. "Now let anyone gaze steadfastly on any object—say, for instance, his wife's eye—and he'll see himself looking so exceedingly small, that——"
Strong-minded Lady (in front row). "Hear! Hear! Hear!"
[Pg 121]
"After the Fair." (Country cousin comes up in August to see the exhibition of pictures at the Royal Academy!).—Porter. "Bless yer 'art, we're closed!"
Country Cousin. "Closed! What! didn't it pay?!!"
[Pg 122]
Jones. "How is it we see you so seldom at the club now?"
Old Member. "Ah, well, you see, I'm not so young as I was; and I've had a good deal of worry lately; and so, what with one thing and another, I've grown rather fond of my own society."
Jones. "Epicure!"
The True Inwardness of Art.—Photographs by the R�ntgen rays.
Man who has a Turn for Music.—An organ-grinder.
[Pg 123]
The Phonograph Cannot Lie.
German Dealer "Now, mein Herr! You've chust heerd your lofely blaying rebroduced to berfection! Won't you buy one?"
Amateur Flautist. "Are you sure the thing's all right?"
German Dealer. "Zertainly, mein Herr."
Amateur Flautist. "Gad, then, if that's what my playing is like, I'm done with the flute for ever."
[Pg 124]
Private Inquiry.
Surveyor of Taxes (to literary gent). "But surely you can arrive at some estimate of the amount received by you during the past three years for example. Don't you keep books?"
Literary Gent. (readily). "Oh dear no. I write them!"
Surveyor. "Ahem—I mean you've got some sort of accounts——"
Literary Gent. "Oh yes, lots"—(Surveyor brightens up)—"unpaid!"
[Pg 125]
"There's a boy wants to see you, sir." "Has he got a bill in his hand?" "No, sir." "Then he's got it in his pocket! Send him away!"
[Pg 126]
What our Artist has to put up with.
He. "By Jove, it's the best thing I've ever painted!—and I'll tell you what; I've a good mind to give it to Mary Morison for her wedding present!"
His Wifey. "Oh, but, my love, the Morisons have always been so hospitable to us! You ought to give her a real present, you know—a fan, or a scent-bottle, or something of that sort!"
[Pg 127]
TRIUMPH
Frame Maker (in ecstasies). "By Jove! Jemima—every one of 'em on the line again!"
[Pg 128]
HOW TO BE AN AUTHORMr. Punch, having read the latest book on the way to write for the press, feels that there is at least one important subject not properly explained therein: to wit, the covering letter. He therefore proceeds to supplement this and similar books.... It is, however, when your story is written that the difficulties begin. Having selected a suitable editor, you send him your contribution accompanied by a covering letter. The writing of this letter is the most important part of the whole business. One story, after all, is very much like another (in your case, probably, exactly like another), but you can at least in your covering letter show that you are a person of originality.
Your letter must be one of three kinds: pleading, peremptory, or corruptive. I proceed to give examples of each.
I.—The Pleading Letter.199, Berkeley Square, W.
Dear Mr. Editor,—I have a wife and seven starving children; can you possibly help us by[Pg 130] accepting this little story of only 18,000 (eighteen thousand) words? Not only would you be doing a work of charity to one who has suffered much, but you would also, I venture to say, be conferring a real benefit upon English literature—as I have already received the thanks of no fewer than thirty-three editors for having allowed them to peruse this manuscript.
Yours humbly,
The McHardy.
P.S.—My youngest boy, aged three, pointed to his little sister's Gazeka toy last night and cried "De editor!" These are literally the first words that have passed his lips for three days. Can you stand by and see the children starve?
II.—The Peremptory Letter.Sir,—Kindly publish at once and oblige
Yours faithfully,
Eugene Hackenkick.
P.S.—I shall be round at your office to-morrow about an advertisement for some 600 lb. bar-bells, and will look you up.
[Pg 132]
III.—The Corruptive Letter.Middlesex House, Park Lane, IV.
Dear Mr. Smith,—Can you come and dine with us quite in a friendly way on Thursday at eight? I want to introduce you to the Princess of Holdwig-Schlosstein and Mr. Alfred Austin, who are so eager to meet you. Do you know I am really a little frightened at the thought of meeting such a famous editor? Isn't it silly of me?
Yours very sincerely,
Emma Middlesex.
P.S.—I wonder if you could find room in your splendid little paper for a silly story I am sending you. It would be such a surprise for the Duke's birthday (on Monday).—E. M.
Before concluding the question of the covering letter I must mention the sad case of my friend Halibut. Halibut had a series of lithographed letters of all kinds, one of which he would enclose with every story he sent out. On a certain occasion he wrote a problem story of the most advanced kind; what, in fact, the reviewers call a "strong" story. In sending this to the editor of a famous[Pg 134] magazine his secretary carelessly slipped in the wrong letter:
"Dear Mr. Editor," it ran, "I am trying to rite you a littel story, I do hope you will like my little storey, I want to tell you about my kanary and my pussy cat, it's name is Peggy and it has seven kitens, have you any kitens, I will give you one if you print my story,
"Your loving little friend,
"Flossie."
Proverb for the Council of the Royal Academy.—"Hanging goes by favour."
The Enraged Musician.—(A Duologue.)
Composer. Did you stay late at Lady Tittup's?
Friend. Yes. Heard Miss Bang play again. I was delighted with her execution.
Composer. Her execution! That would have pleased me; she deserved it for having brutally murdered a piece of mine.
[Exeunt.
The Gentility of Speech.—At the music halls visitors now call for "another acrobat," when they want a second tumbler.
[Pg 129]
THE WRITING ON THE WINDOW
Portrait of a gentleman who proposes to say he was detained in town on important business.
[Pg 131]
AWARDING THE BISCUIT
Dingy Bohemian. "I want a bath Oliver."
Immaculate Servitor. "My name is not Oliver!"
[Pg 133]
"Sending-in" Day.
Indigo Brown takes his picture, entitled "Peace and Comfort," to the R.A. himself, as he says, "Those picture carts are certain to scratch it," and, with the assistance of his cabby, adds the finishing touches on his way there!
[Pg 135]
AN UNDOUBTED OLD MASTER
(By Himself)
[Pg 136]
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