This weeks edition is the end of the 1st year of publication of The Days’ Doings. so page numbering is reset to start from 1.
ON THE BEACH.
Studying Nature at the Sea-side.
“A BATH in the sea this weather is perhaps the acme of summer delight. The plunge into the waves is most inspiring, and the sensation is as delicious as the result is beneficial. The women, too, seem so picturesquely outré in their newly-imported water suits that it is a positive pleasure to look at them. So our artistic friend seems to think, as he watches a party of nymph-robed females on the beach near Scarborough, and renders his observations more complete by the aid of his marine telescope.”
SINGULAR AND STARTLING INCIDENT NEAR MANCHESTER.
“AN extraordinary incident has taken place on the Manchester, South Junction, and Altrincham Railway. The other afternoon a carriage with two horses was standing in the grounds of Mr. Sedgley, of Homefield, between Brooklands and Sale., when the animals were startled, and set off at a rapid pace towards the railway. They leaped a high hedge separating the line from the turnpike road, which is nearly on the same level, dragging the carriage after them. On reaching the line they swerved round in the direction of Manchester, and continued their journey, dashing through Sale station at a furious rate, and to the consternation of a number of persons awaiting the arrival of trains from opposite points. The officials at Stretford were communicated with by telegraph and the animals were stopped just before reaching a train brought up in that station. The most singular part of the story is that neither the carriage nor the animals were injured, and a little boy who got into the vehicle just before the horses started also made the perilous journey unharmed.”
AN UNWELCOME CUSTOMER.
“THE other evening a horse, owned by Charles J. Day, undertaker, while being driven through the high street of a provincial town, became frightened and ran away, throwing out the driver, and, after upsetting a farmer’s cart, dashed through the plate-glass show-windows of a mourning warehouse.
The scene that ensued defies description. The animal lay amid, crape, lace, and satin, vigorously kicking; the showers of glass fragments flying and jingling, and the lady customers in the shop shrieking, fainting, or clambering over the counters, almost insane with terror. Finally the horse was rescued with but a few slight bruises.”
The big story this week, in terms of engravings at least, is the annual Wimbledon Camp, a gathering organised by National Rifle Association of the United Kingdom, an organisation founded in 1859 to promote marksmanship. From 1860 until 1899 they took over a large area of Wimbledon Common to host shooting matches. By 1871, the camp had become a well established part of the summer social scene.
In 1890 the annual shooting competition relocated to Bisley.
THE fortnight’s business and hard work, and the fortnight’s pleasure and picnic, for 1871, is at an end on Wimbledon Common. The weather during the first few opening days was sadly unfortunate, but St. Swithin, for once in the way, proved himself the friend of the English volunteers, and on and after Saturday last the camp put on an extra appearance of gaiety. “Windmill-street” — the Regent-street of the camp — was as well stocked with shops as in years past.
The governing idea of the trading interest in Windmill-street seems to be that a volunteer ought to arrive in camp in the same condition of “nothing on” as that in which he came into the world, and should immediately betake himself to the thoroughfare of emporiums, for the purpose of obtaining a complete rig-out. Suppose him to do so, and to enter from the parade end, he would first invest in some cigars, and then a supply of flowers, then that useful article a shirt would obtrude itself on his notice, to be followed in succession by a hat, a pair of boots, a binocular, and a camp chair. The “private-end” of Windmill-street, in the direction of the Victorias, contained as many eccentrically-named residences as ever. What manner of men could it have been who dwelt in a bower of bliss which arrogated unto itself the portentous appellation of “Raadoogoonavooooh Bungalow”? The Eastern potentate and his satraps who inhabited “The Sultan’s retreat,” on the other side of the way, seemed to have been ill-treated by the Association in the manner of sufficient accommodation for the zenana, which the complement of Oriental state, even in a condition of retirement requires. Did the dwellers in “Pork Pie Villa” mean to suggest to an inquiring public that they subsisted wholly on that toothsome, but occasionally dubious viand? and what wise man penetrated the meaning of the single mysterious word “Sweet,” written upon the placard of a tent at the further end?
Our enthusiastic and (early) rising artist took it into his head the other morning to visit the camp at the unholy hour of six a.m. Being struck with the unusual demand for “split sodas” and the saline “Soldier,” (caused no doubt by the excessive heat of the weather), a suggestion struck him to the effect that a smart corps of vivandières could with more advantage supply the morning “pick me up” than the back street purveyors, who have till now pervaded the camp. We present our readers with his suggestion.
HOW A VOLUNTEER LIVES LONG AND WELL.
“The following letter will explain our series over this head:-
“Wimbledon, July 18, 1871.
“DEAR SIR,—I promised some time since to give you some account of my habits of live, so far at least as regards diet, exercise, and occupation, so as to enable me to sustain the fatigue of the Wimbledon meeting. I am not sure that it will be of any use to you, although the system which I have observed seems to answer my purpose very well. i have reached a pretty advanced period of life, without the usual infirmities of old age, and with my strength, activity, and bodily faculties, generally, in pretty good preservation. How far this may be the effect of my way of life, adopted long ago, and steadily adhered to, is perhaps uncertain.
“I rise early; at this time of the year about 5 a.m. Immediately, with very little incumbrance of clothing, I begin a series of exercises, for the most part designed to expand the chest, and at the same time call into action all the muscles and articulations of the body. These are performed with dumb-bells covered with flannel, with a pole, a horizontal bar, and a light chair swung around my head. After a full hour and sometimes more, passed in this manner, i bathe from head to foot. When in the country, I sometimes shorten my exercises in the chamber, and, going out, occupy myself for half an hour or more in some work which requires brisk exercise. After my bath, if breakfast be not ready, I sit down until I am called.
My breakfast is a simple one—boiled milk and brown bread, or oatmeal porridge: animal feed I never take at breakfast. Tea and coffee I never touch at any time. Sometimes I take a cup of chocolate, which has no narcotic effect, and agrees with me very well. At breakfast I often take fruit, either in its natural state or freshly stewed.
“After breakfast I walk nearly three miles distant, and, after about three hours, return, always walking, whatever be the weather or the state of the streets. In the country I am engaged reading till a feeling of weariness drives me out into the open air, and I go upon my farm or into the garden, and prune the trees, or perform some useful work about them which they need, and then go back to my books. I do not often drive out, preferring to walk.
“In the country I dine early,, and it is only at that meal that I take either meat or fish, and of course but a moderate quantity, making my dinner mostly of vegetables. At the meal which is called tea, I take only a little bread-and-butter, with fruit if it be on the table. In town, where I dine later, I make burt two meals a day. Fruit makes a considerable part of my diet, and i eat it at almost every hour of the day without inconvenience My drink is water, yet I sometimes, though rarely, take a glass of wine. I am a natural temperance man, finding myself rather confused than exhilarated by wine. I never meddle with with tobacco, except to quarrel with its use.
“That I may rise early, I, of course, go to bed early—in town, as early as ten; in the country, somewhat earlier. For many years I have avoided, in the evening, every kind of literary occupation which tasks the faculties, such as composition, even to the writing of letters, for the reason that it excites the nervous system, and prevents sound sleep.”
INEBRIATED JEAMESES OUTSIDE WILLIS’S ROOMS ON THE NIGHT OF THE WAVERLEY BALL.
“IT is satisfactory to find, from a case which came before the magistrate at Marlborough-street police court the other day, that of 400 footmen waiting outside Willis’s Rooms on the occasion of the Waverley Ball only one-third of them were drunk. Two of the number, who were rather more drunk than the others, were fined forty shillings each, the magistrate at the same time expressing his regret that “more of the class of the prisoners were not brought before him, as it was time such ill-regulated persons should be taught better behaviour.” Without in any way seeking to palliate the conduct of these inebriated Jeameses, it is only fair to point out that if footmen as a class are “ill-regulated persons,” they are not primarily responsible for the foolish regulations which influence their conduct. These men, many of them mere lanky boys, engaged as footmen more with reference to their height than their characters, are generally during the London season out six nights in the week, and stand for hours exposed to all weathers outside the houses in which festivities are raging, until their master or mistress’s carriage is called. That they take to drinking under such circumstances is not surprising; however steady may have been their habits before they “plunged into the vortex” of London dissipation, they soon become morally and physically deteriorated. Numbers of them die early, and numbers become confirmed drunkards, but “society” is surely as much to blame as these victims of its folly. It has no right to make others suffer from the ill effects of its late hours and senseless arrangements. If it cannot devise some costume that will enable it to dispense with carriages, horses, coachmen, and footmen, and walk to its gatherings, it might at least keep earlier hours. Why, for instance, should not its balls and parties commence at eight o’clock and close at twelve or one, instead of taking place between 11 p.m. and 4 a.m. This would lessen much of the fatigue now entailed on its unfortunate employés. Society, however, can hardly be expected to interest itself in so trifling a matter as the demoralization of its footmen.”
WELL DONE. — A HEROIC MOTHER.
THE other day a Mrs. Moore, of the stuff heroines are made of, when her son fell down a well, twenty-four deep, in Yorkshire, neither fainted nor screamed, but instantly swung herself down “hand-over-hand,” caught the child with her feet, drew herself and her son and her son all the way up again, and then, woman-like, spanked the boy for falling in.
The first story this week is of floods in New Orleans following a breach of the east bank levee of Bonnet Carré by a swollen Mississippi River. The language of this article reflects the prevailing racist and sexist attitudes prevalent in the 19th century. One paragraph has therefore not been transcribed.
THE RECENT FLOOD AT NEW ORLEANS.
“BY the unusual overflow of the Mississippi, the river side of the city of New Orleans has been submerged; in many places the water reaching as high as the second stories of the dwelling houses. The damage caused by the inundation is almost incalculable at present, but it is estimated at many millions of dollars. We have the opportunity of giving our readers life-like pictures of aquatic street scenes and incidents, such as will give them a clear idea of the general effects of the inundation, and will, we are sure, both touch and amuse them.
One scene in Claiborne-street is very picturesque. A preponderance of square barges indicated timely precautions on the part of the majority; but dozens more, with their trousers rolled up to their thighs, floated about on planks and the most unseaworthy rafts. Placidly cruising over the troubled waters were men, boys, and girls, and even women, whose air of abandon and generous display of personal charms was more suggestive of quiet desperation than any less worldly feeling. Many appeared undecided whether to laugh or cry, and compromised the matter by snickering at the mishaps of others, and remaining very silent in contemplation of their own adversity.
A corpulent gentleman, whose forlorn attempt to propel himself to a neighbouring house on a great unwielding log, culminated in an artistic dive, created great merriment, and it was not until he had swallowed several mouthfuls of brackish water that the hilarity ceased, and he was fished out.
Skiffs were going down Claiborne-street, and every thoroughfare above it, in numbers, and the moving of furniture quite as lively as it was in 1869, while the usual sights—such as the coloured man with the solitary “dorg” on a raft; the little boys in their mothers’ washtubs having a boat race of their own; the old woman with the sow and the litter of young pigs in a skiff—were visible.
Then comes the dark side of the picture in the distress occasioned to the inhabitants of the quarter most affected by the overflow. Their sufferings were somewhat relieved by private charity. Police boats, nearly all of which carried from fifty to one hundred loaves of bread, plied to and fro among the sufferers, distributing food.
Early in the morning officers were despatched to the different bakeries with directions to purchase all the bread that could be spared. The majority of the bakers had only sufficient to supply their customers, and all the workmen were absent; but by a careful selection perhaps a thousand loaves were secured, and by three o’clock they were all distributed.
Perhaps twenty boats in all were engaged in this benevolent service, and many families werenot only prevented from famishing, but removed by them to places of refuge.”
SUMMER SPORTS IN THE COUNTRYSIDE.
Hide and Seek in the Hay.
OUR Saxon fathers did full rightly call
This month of July "Hay-month," when all
The verdure of the full-clothed fields we mow,
And turn, and rake, and carry off; and so
We build it up in large and solid mows.
If it be good, as everybody knows,
To "make hay while the sun shines," we should choose
Right "times for all things," and no time abuse.
“The sea-shore has had its poets ad infinitum—we had almost said ad nauseam—but the delights of “a life on a farm” have hitherto been sadly under-rated and unsung. And yet the illustration which we to-day publish, entitled, “Hide and Seek in the Hay,” will go far to convince many, we trust, that even an old barn can be made, under skilful management, to yield amusement. Truthfully speaking, a game of hide and seek in the hay, when the beaux are handsome, and the belles are not shy, is one of the nicest sports under the sun, and any of our readers who doubt this assertation are cordially invited to put it to the test of actual experiment.”
THE GREAT TICHBORNE CASE & THE TICHBORNE CLAIMANT.
The Tichborne Claimant would have been well known to the readers of The Days’ Doings as the civil case being pursued in the Court of Common pleas (Tichborne v. Lushington) had been running for about six weeks. The case was that of “The Claimant”, who claimed to be Roger Tichborne, the missing heir to the Tichborne family estate. He was seeking to eject the tenant of the family seat and resume residency of Tichborne Park and also confirm his claim to the baronetcy.
Roger Tichborne had been thought drowned several years previously in a shipwreck, though his mother, Lady Tichborne believed that he had survived and was in Australia. When “the claimant” came forward as a result of one of the many newspaper advertisements paid for by Lady Tichborne, he travelled to England and was accepted by her as the missing son. The rest of the Tichborne family remained unconvinced and the British public was gripped by the washing of so much aristocratic linen in the press and courts.
AWKWARD AND LUDICROUS ACCIDENT TO A MARKET GIRL IN BRITTANY.
“ONE of our artistic correspondents from Brittany sends us a humorous incident which came under his notice while on a sketching trip through the north of france. We gladly take his advice and present it to our readers. A buxom market wench, returning home from the market town, having disposed of her stock of butter and eggs, had comfortably seated herself in one of the empty panniers slung across her sturdy and useful donkey, and proceeded on her journey.
The bottom of the pannier, which is fastened by a stout wooden pin, was not quite equal to her weight, and through the basket went the luckless maid.
She fell upon her feet, however, but the crash caused the donkey to take fright, and off he started at a gallop. When our artist saw the pair, the damsel was in the position as depicted in his sketch—vainly trying to stop her companion, to whom she was secured, an unwilling prisoner, by the basket round her waist.”
BUFFALO SHOOTING ON THE PLAINS.
“THERE is a subject which, it is suggested, should occupy the immediate future of American (l)egislation, and that is the reckless manner in which the natural stock of game in the plains of the Far West is being depleted by the heedless amateur sportsmen who invade that region. As the traditional food of the Indian, if not the rightful burghurs of their prairie cities, the beasts of the plains should be guarded by some protective law, instead of being subjected to a meaningless and unproductive slaughter, as they now constantly are.
It is no uncommon circumstance, in the present state of things, for the trunks of a large proportion of a buffalo herd to be found rotting together on the prairie, their decomposition infecting the air for miles, and their bodies falling to the most utter waste, having been felled for the mere purpose of extracting the tongues, which are saved and cured as an article of commerce. Added to these freaks of reckless trappers, and still more deplorable, are now the odious murders committed by the new visitors brought into the region by the extension of the railways—sleek young commis-voyageurs, touters for mercantile establishments, aimless vagabonds with long purses, and other classes of amateurs, astonished at finding a gun or a pistol in their hands, and wild to hear it shoot. It has become the custom, in the not uncommon event of finding a herd of buffalo on the track, for the engine to be halted, and the travellers allowed the privilege of going out and “having a crack”—in a spirit of indiscriminate, wanton, idiotic, and depraved murder.
The grand brutes take little notice of the approach of the iron monster. Probably, to their dim perception, it seems like some animal of a kind not dissimilar to their own. They graze, and fight, and woo after their kind, apparently unconscious of an invader, while it is the declaration of engineers and conductors that not seldom a pair of burly bulls, climbing upon the slight elevation of the track, will engage in a desperate duel, to be seperated only by the final rush of the engine.
Our sketch, from the hand of an artistic traveller in the Far West, is a reliable representation of one of these scenes. It was taken on the line of the Kansas-pacific railroad, between Ellis and Kit Carson, and affords the most graphic delineation we have yet seen of this meeting of the grand forces of Art and Nature—the mammoth of the American prairie and the behemoth of human invention.”
“A SAD accident occurred the other morning in the Moray Firth, off the little fishing village of Avoch, by which no fewer than fourteen persons were drowned. It appears that at about 6 o’clock in the morning twenty persons, the greater number being women, got into a small boat or “coble” at Avoch, intending to get on board a larger vessel, then lying at anchor, in order to proceed to Inverness with the proceeds of the previous nights fishing. Several fishermen were of the party, but the greater number, as we have said, were women, who were proceeding to Inverness for the purpose of disposing of the fish. The circumstances under which they set out from shore were such as to occasion grave anxiety for their safety. Avoch is situated only a few miles below Inverness, and at this point the Firth, which is narrow, presents serious difficulties to navigation, as it is exposed to the dangers of a changing tide. A strong wind was blowing from the east at the time, and the boat is said to have overladen with passengers and the large quantity of fish on board. They got safely away from the shore, however; but when about twenty yards from the larger vessel the coble was caught in a heavy sea and accidently upset. The accident was seen from the shore, and immediately a boat put off to the rescue. Several of the passengers were picked up, but it has been ascertained that fourteen of those who were on board perished. We give an illustration on our front page which represents this heart rending scene. We learn that the sad list is made up of one married man and his son, two young men and ten women, five of whom were married and leave families, while the others were unmarried. Two of the bodies were washed ashore by 11 o’clock and the remaining twelve were recovered by one o’clock in the afternoon. All the crew were drowned with the exception of one man, who swam ashore with the greatest difficulty. The fishermen who were saved afterwards proceeded to Inverness, where their sad tale elicited much sympathy. The melancholy occurrence cast a deep gloom over the whole neighbourhood; and the village of Avoch, from one end to the other, was a scene of mourning and lamentation.”
“The village of Aroch (sic) (pronounced Auch), occupied, it is said, by the descendants of a Danish colony, who have preserved many Norse words and expressions in their Saxon tongue. The House of Aroch belongs to J.G. Mackenzie, Esq.”
Murray’s Hand-Book of Scotland, 1875
The Black isle fishing community has a strong link with Lowestoft as the fishermen and women would follow the herring down the east coast with many settling here in East Anglia. Bookseller number 1’s great grandmothers family name was Jack, which was, and still is a very common name in Avoch.
Signing the Marriage Register in St. Martin’s Vestry.
“After the marriage of Captain Martin van Buren Bates, and Miss Anna Hannen Swann was completed according to the ritual of the Church, another important legal ceremony was enacted in the vestry of St. Martin’s Church; namely, the signing of the register deposited there. Our artist being fortunate enough to be present at this interesting proceeding, has given an illustration which we engrave this week; he also informs us that he examined the signatures of Mr. and Mrs. Bates as they appeared in the parish records and noticed that they were unaccompanied by any trace of tears. We last week gave the particulars of the actual wedding ceremony itself, and have now only to chronicle the events which took place afterwards. A superb wedding breakfast was served at the hotel of their “best-friends.” The number of guests was limited, but included the names of many well-known persons. The bride and bridegroom, placed together at the head of the table, looked a picture of happiness on a large scale. When the proper time came the Rev. Dr. Roberts proposed their health in the neatest as well as the sincerest of terms, and took occasion to point out the international nature of the event then being celebrated—the bond between England and America, of which he believed it to be a pledge. Other toasts came of course; and among these the health of the Rev. Mr. Cochrane, followed by that of Miss Millie and Christine, the Two-headed Nightingale, who had taken an attractive interest in the proceedings, and attracted admiring attention on all sides. Mr. Nimmo had charge of this toast, and discharged his duties with a point and humour which won the loudest applause. The interesting subject of his address did not feel “equal” to making a speech, but they did better—they sang a duet, and a very charming performance it was. After this came another toast—the health of Colonel Bates, and Messrs. Ingalls, Smith, and Bexby. These gentlemen, as the hosts upon the occasion, duly acknowledged the tribute to their hospitality. The bride and bridegroom then started for a brief honeymoon, which was spent at the Star and Garter, at Richmond, and their parting was speeded in the pleasantest manner, as need scarcely be said. Shoes of various sizes, some not unlikely to fit the occupants of the carriages, but others altogether absurd for such a purpose, were flung after the happy pair, to whom all wished the good fortune thus mystically expressed. The happy pair have since their return to town been “at home” at Willis’s Rooms, and will remain there for some short time.”
“A FEW weeks ago we gave an amusing account of an expected fight between Jem Mace, our own champion, and one Joe Coburn, the Irish champion of America. The fight was advertised to come off near Port Dover, Canada ; an immense crowd assembled, and a large amount of money was staked on the result.
The fight lasted for one hour and twelve minutes; and during the whole of this period not a single blow was struck on either side. Charges have now been made by Coburn’s friends that Mace did not mean “business,” and did not wish to fight fair; while Mace’s friends aver that Coburn acted in every way like a coward and a sneak, and purposely delayed the fighting so as to have it stopped by the Canadian authorities. True it is that after dodging about for an hour and twelve minutes, and when neither of the gallant fellows were in the least distressed, the Canadian police arrived, headed by the venerable judge William L. Wilson, who read the riot act, and in the name of Queen Victoria commanded the assembly to disperse: while engaged in his official duties the judge’s pocket was picked of a valuable watch. This episode in the history of the contemplated fight has caused much amusement at Judge Wilson’s expense in New York.
We this week give a representation of the end of the so-called fight, and the abstraction of the judge’s watch whilst reading the Canadian Riot Act. On another page we engrave a number of humorous cuts, showing some of the incidents in this prize-fight fizzle.”
The preceding story and illustrations of the non-fight between Mace, a fighter born in Beeston, Norfolk, and Joe Coburn, a first generation Irish-American was described well in a Sports Illustrated article on Nov. 15th 1976
The cover illustration is of an actress with the stage name of Mademoiselle Cornelie D’Anka (a.k.a. Mrs JE Ingham) The “loaded pocket-book” refers to an incident when an unwanted suitor (a.k.a. stalker) had been so infatuated with Mdlle. D’Anka that when she declined his advances he eventually followed her carriage and shot at her with a small pistol.
The defeat of the Paris Commune was still being reported through a mixture of anecdote, gossip and flippant articles. This weeks edition had a double page spread of 7 illustrations, some of which relate to stories in previous issues.
DOINGS IN PARIS.
“A LITTLE girl, scarcely eight years of age, was arrested in Paris as she was in the act of throwing petroleum into a cellar. She said, “Ah, you will have enough to do if you want to take us all up, for there are 8,000 of us, and some smaller than i am.” The police are cramming the child with bonbons to elicit revelations from her which may put them on the track of these furies.”
THE MASSACRE OF THE DOMINICANS AT THE MAIRIE OF THE GOBELINS. The Days’ Doings printed a letter which was written by a Dominican father, the Abbé Grancolas, who had escaped from what seems to have been a cold blooded massacre of the clergymen who had been held captive by the communards for several weeks
COMMUNISTS IN A CHURCH IN PARIS DRESSING AN IMAGE OF THE VIRGIN IN VIVANDIERE COSTUME.
ASSASSINATION OF THE HOSTAGES.—DEATH OF FATHER CLERC.
A FEMALE FURY STABS A SOLDIER AT HIS POST.
LEVITY IN THE STREETS OF PARIS.—HEARTLESS CONDUCT OF LADIES OF THE DEMI-MONDE.
“We hear that, with stray shots still ringing in the distance, and untended wounded wretches dying amid the tomb-stones of Pèrela Chaise—with 6,000 terror-stricken insurgents wandering in an agony of despair in the labyrinth of the catacombs, and wretches hurried through the streets to be shot down in scores by the mitrailleuse—it was revolting to see the cafés filled with the votaries of absinthe, billiards, and dominoes; the abandoned women perambulating the Boulevards, and the sound of revelry disturbing the night from the cabinets particuliers of fashionable eating-houses.”
ARREST OF PASCHAL GROUSSET DISGUISED IN FEMALE ATTIRE.
“M. PASCHAL GROUSSET has been arrested and sent to Versailles. He had been living with his father and two sisters. He suddenly disappeared, and the family was increased by a third sister. This was Grousset in petticoats. Dressed as a woman, he went to visit his mistress in the Rue Condorcet, where he was taken on his passage to the Palais de l’Industrie. He was saved from the fury of the populace only through his being hurried into a cab. “
MONKEYS AT BILLIARDS.
“WE present our readers this week, besides other attractions, with an artistic treat in the shape of an engraving from the painting of Paul Meyerheim, the celebrated German artist. The subject is odd, and is treated in a fresh, original way. We commend it to the attention of our readers without more words, as the accuracy of the engraving warrants our leaving it to speak for itself.”
“REVOLUTIONS never exhibit more atrocious aspects than when women and children enter among their monstrosities. The women of Paris seem to have been animated by an insane rage. They could not have told, had they been questioned, on behalf of what right or what wrong they were fighting; there was no distinct purpose in their resistance to the Government which proved itself so imbecile in its warfare, and showed itself so merciless in its victory.
AMONG the prisoners driven to their deaths by the Versaillists were many gaily dressed in feminine apparel, decorated with epaulettes, however, booted, spurred , and plumed. We hear of them, tall, blue-eyed, and graceful, marching—at eighteen years of age—as though they had undergone a course of drill on the Champ de Mars. They have worn braid on their bosoms and gold bars on their sleeves. “Woman!” exclaimed a gendarme, “that woman, as you call her, killed my captain, lieutenant, and sergeant, with three shots from her revolver!”
IN the cemetery of Père La Chaise (sic.) the resting places of the dead have been defiled extensively. Bivouac fires have been fed with the wreaths of pious sorrow, and the trappings of woe have been torn down to make al fresco beds wherewithal.
SHELLS fell freely, but indiscriminately, in the cemetery of Pèrela Chaise . Most of the monuments are of soft stone, and the shells have ruined them terribly.
IN Pèrela Chaise the dead were measured not by the head, but by the yard and rood. They lay in a double tier on the grass, powdered over with a coating of chloride of lime—a hundred and fifty of them patent to the eye, besides what had been hidden by the earth which the grave-diggers flung upon them. Among the dead were many women. There, thrown up in the sun-light, was a well rounded arm with a ring on the finger; there a bust shapely in death; and there faces which made one sick to look upon—faces distorted out of humanity with ferocity and agony combined.
MANY of the prisoners shot in Paris turned their ears to the marksmen, not, as one would imagine, to escape seeing the guns levelled at them, but that they might be sure of a speedy death.
ALL the streets in Paris. are now open for traffic, the barricades have disappeared, the pavements and roads are repaired. The city is daily resuming its animated appearance, and perfect order prevails in all quarters.
CROWDS are pouring into Paris. A large number of English are among them; some coming on pleasures, others on business. Business orders are also coming into Paris faster than the houses can execute them.
PREPARATIONS for the execution of the insugents have been made in the forests of Saint Germain and Fontainbleau.
M. PASCHAL GROUSSET has been arrested and sent to Versailles. He had been living with his father and two sisters. He suddenly disappeared, and the family was increased by a third sister. This was Grousset in petticoats. Dressed as a woman, he went to visit his mistress in the Rue Condorcet, where he was taken on his passage to the Palais de l’Industrie. He was saved from the fury of the populace only through his being hurried into a cab.
IN a Paris church the rebels dressed as a vivandière a marble statue of the Virgin Mary, and made a hole in the mouth to insert a smoking pipe.
ON Sunday last the whole of Paris turned out to gratify its emotional instincts amid the exterior ruins, while in the evening the Théâtre-Français opened for the first time in an appropriate manner with “The Marriage of Figaro.”
AN examination for arms and weapons, to be extended to every room in Paris, is now being made, and the military authorities continue their active perquisitions for men and documents with tolerable success.
AMONGST the prisoners marched along the streets of Paris are to be seen well-dressed, gentlemanlike men, and modest, respectable-looking women, who seemed by no means either afraid or ashamed of the position in which they found themselves. Men, also of the bourgeoisie class are seen, very superior to usual prisoners, and boldly looking the crowd that follows them in the face. “
FEARFUL VENGEANCE IN PARIS.
Summary Execution of a Woman found Spreading Petroleum.
“WE have received the following horrible narrative from a correspondent and an eye-witness in the blood-stained city of Paris:—I took a walk down the Rue Rivoli towards the Hôtel de Ville, to judge of the amount of damage done, and at the corner of the Rue Castiglione became aware of the approach of a great crowd of people yelling and shaking their fists. The cortège was headed by a company of gendarmes, behind whom came two artillerymen, dragging between them a solid bundle of rags that tottered and struggled, and fell down under the blows that were showered upon it by all who were within reach. It was a woman, who had been caught in the act of spreading petroleum. Her face was bleeding and her hair streaming down her back, from which her clothing had been torn. On they dragged her, followed by a hooting mob, till they reached the corner of the Louvre, and there they propped her up against a wall, already half dead from the treatment she had received. The crowd ranged itself into a circle, and I have never seen a picture more perfect and complete in its details than was presented by that scene. The gasping, shrinking figure in the centre, surrounded by a crowd who could scarce be kept from tearing her in pieces, who waved their arms crying “à l’eau, à l’eau!” on one side a barrcade, still strewn with broken guns and hats—a dead National Guard lying in the Fosse—behind a group of mounted gendarmes, and then a perspective of ruined streets and blackened houses, culminating in the extreme distance in the still burning Hôtel de Ville. Presently two revolvers were discharged, and the bundle of rags fell forward in a pool of blood. The popular thirst for vengeance was satisfied, and so the crowd dispersed in search of further excitement elsewhere. “
MONKEY-ANA; OR, ANCESTRY ACCORDING TO DARWIN.
What the Ancestors of our celebrated People must have Looked Like if the “Development by Selection” Theory be True.
“WE are all mortal—and all monkeys. So says Darwin, and he ought to know. At least, if he does not, nobody else pretends to—at least, as regards the monkeys. We are fearfully, and monkey-anically made—this is the text of the Darwinian bible.
Fifty hundred thousands or so of years ago, we were all “elementalities,” mere original “atoms” of various shapes and sizes; then we become more atomic, and less elementary,; till, finally, we grew to be wholly apeish, but not at all atomic. So says the gospel, according to St. Darwin.
While in the ape phase of transformation—while in the molecular and monkey-icular stage of progress, there can be no possible doubt but that the types of ancestors, which we have presented in our full-page engraving, must have been correct—true to the life—for, even at the present day, one can trace, in the ancient and apeish lineaments depicted in our picture, striking resemblances to the notorious personages who, now upon this earth, continue their illustrious lines—only bereft of their ancestral tails. A study of our picture will reveal these wonderful resemblances, and will go far to establish the truth of the Darwinian hypothesis.”
This illustration is part of a long running feature that ran in The Days’ doings starting in Volume 1, No. 24, January 7th 1871. Initially they were humorous, gently satirical letters from people such as “Mademoiselle ALDINE CLASSIC DE BAS-BLEU to Prince AMADEUS DE GAUL, a distinguished foreigner, with a castle in Spain, currently residing at Scarborough.” (Vol. II.-No. 28, February 4th 1871) or “From TONY RUMMYBOY (Professional name, Signor Antonio Romeo Boyeo), Super at the Isosceles Theatre Royal, London to LIONEL COEUR DE LION LUMPKIN, first brigand of the Sensation Theatre, Liverpuddle.” (Vol. II.-No.30, February 18, 1871). That style was last seen with No. 16 in Vol II, No.42, May 13th. The headline “What we are coming to.” returned on May 27th with a short, single paragraph story about a German woman playing billiards against a man at a west-end hotel.. This weeks article under the same title carries on from that with a slightly snarky discussion about the changing position of women in society.
“WHAT WE ARE COMING TO.”
“Well, shall we join the Gentlemen?”
“”IMITATION” has been excellently well described as “the sincerest form of flattery,” and regarded under this definition, the “strong-minded” women, so-called, the “friends of progress,” and the “woman’s women,” as they call themselves, are the sincerest, finest flatterers men have ever had.
True, this class of women profess to regard man, base man, false man, proud man, usurping man, etc.., etc., as their natural, as well as artful foe; but what of that? A woman acts against her words every day, and as those females, all of them, do all in their power to “imitate” the very male animal they profess thus to hate and despise, we must really regard strong-minded femininity as the flatterer, and not the foe of masculinity.
For example—there is nothing that men do nowadays, or nowanights, but women want to do, try to do it, do do it.
Men transact business—women transact business, likewise, or try to transact it. men are brokers—and women are brokers, too, and both alike get broken sometimes on the wheel of commercial ruin. Men study professions and practise them—women pursue the same studies, and attempt the same results. Women now are divines as well as divinities, and lay down the law, not only at home, but in the office—not only in the parlour, but in the court. They also claim the right to put “Dr.” before their names, and “M.D.” after them. And to visit the sick professionally, and to send in their little bills for doing so. All of which is simply direct “imitation” and indirect flattery of the he-monster.
And what is all this but imitation—and what is imitation but flattery?
So let us now be “flattered” after all—and don’t moralize or get disgusted.
When we beheld a female smoker at the derby we said, “Poor thing! she really means to compliment us. Let us trust she will not ‘nauseate.'”
When we heard a woman quoting the language of the slums, we flattered ourselves that she did it in our honour.
And when, in course of years, it has come to this, as we have depicted it in our cartoon of the future, that the ladies monopolize the table, after the cloth is drawn, and the wine is on, while we, poor men, have retired to the peaceful drawing-room, where we wait gently, though longingly, for the moment when some fair Bacchante shall suggest to her fellow bacchantes, “Shall we not join the gentlemen?”
Let us, in this moral but inevitable state of things, console ourselves, in the end, with the dictum which we quoted in the beginning:— “Imitation is the sincerest flattery.”
A Reporter among the Monkeys.
“DURING the progress of a performance in a circus in the provinces, a number of the keepers in the canvas adjoining were engaged in feeding the animals and cleaning the cages. As usual, at that time, all the wild beasts are greatly excited and exceedingly ravenous, and more than usual care is generally taken to prevent accidents; but through some negligence the largest leopardess escaped as the door was opened to throw in food and, like a flash, the animal was crouching among the waggons. The tent was filled with a crowd of men, women, and children, and a scene of the wildest terror at once ensued. The latter ran screaming in every direction, and the valiant representatives of the stronger sex gave tongue as loudly, and were fully as agile in their efforts to escape.
As the leopardess struck the ground she made an effort to seize the leg of a man standing by, but fortunately he was protected by a heavy boot, and the teeth barely passed through. it is supposed that the screams from all sides frightened her before further harm was done, causing a retreat. A number of the employés of the circus obtained ropes as soon as possible, and after several efforts, and the display of considerable skill, succeeded in lassoing the animal, and hauling her back to her quarters.
When the panic had subsided and all fears were allayed by the capture, the surroundings were of the most ludicrous possible character. Several silver-badged and blue-coated gentlemen who were standing carelessly around when the alarm was given, had all mysteriously vanished, save one, who was seen descending from a point toward the top of the centre pole, up which he had climbed by the the aid of the guy ropes. A reporter who is evidently a believer in the Darwinian theory, and thought his first cousins might help him in case of an emergency, was safely perched on top of the cage of monkeys. But nothing whatever was to be seen of the woman with the babies or the six-foot countrymen, who rushed out with a yell at the first apparition of the flying beast, and fears are entertained that some of them are running yet. The keepers think themselves exceedingly fortunate in capturing the leopardess before she inflicted serious or fatal injuries on any of the people in the vicinity.”
WARNING. This weeks reports from the end days of the Paris commune contain some quite graphic reportage including an explicit eye-witness description of a beating to death. Some readers may wish to skip to the picture at the end. Which has a cat.
DOINGS IN PARIS.
“”PARIS THE BEAUTIFUL” is now Paris the ghastly, Paris the battered, Paris the burning, Paris the blood-spattered. What will be the next phase of the much-vexed city, and the territory of which she is the capital? Look to it. A military dictatorship—Empire, Monarchy, fictitious Republic,—what matters the appellation? The army is the new power in France, and whoever rules the army will rule France.
THE advance of the Versailles troops into Paris culminated in the horrors of incendiarism with which the Commune has signalized its fall. Doubt is no longer possible that this terrible deed was the result of a most diabolical intention on the part of the insurgents.. The carnage, too, which has attended these last days of the Commune has been frightful. “The soil of Paris,” says M. Thiers, in a circular to the departments “is strewn with the corpses of the insurgents.” Of the savage acts of brutality which must be laid to the charge of the troops of the Line, we have already sufficient accounts to indicate the horrible story which must be afterwards revealed. The burning of Paris was the result of a madness, a frenzy, begotten of despair; and the reckless men who vowed to destroy Paris rather than surrender it have so far kept their word that the fairest portions of the great and beautiful city are a wilderness of charred and smoking ruins.
PALACES that are linked not only with the history of France, but with all the great historical events of Europe, have been emptied of their splendour and ravaged, so that only bare walls remain; art collections for which the world had no parallel have disappeared for ever; and spacious thoroughfares that represented the wealth, the extravagance, and artistic predilections of the great holiday city, have been turned into a huge bonfire.
THE following awful account of an incident in the streets of Paris is from a correspondent to a morning paper:—”Voilà! the braves of France returned to a triumph, after a shameful captivity! They have found him, the miserable! Yes; they drag him out from one of the purlieus which Haussman had not time to sweep away, and a guard of six of them hem him round as they march him into the rue Saint-Honoré. A tall, pale, hatless man, with something not ignoble in his carriage. His lower lip is trembling, but his brow is firm, and the eye of him has some pride and defiance in it. They yell—the crowd—’Shoot him; shoot him!’—the demon-women most clamorous of course. An arm goes into the air; there are on it the stripes of a non-commissioned officer, and there is a stick in the fist. The stick falls on the head of the pale man in black. Ha! the infection has caught; men club their rifles, and bring them down on that head, or clash them into splinters in their lust for murder. He is down; he is up again; he is down again; the thuds of the gun-stocks on him sounding just as the sound when a man beats a cushion with a stick. A certain British impulse stronger than consideration for self, prompts me to run forward. But it is useless. They are firing into the flaccid carcase no, thronging about it like blowflies on a piece of meat. His brains spurt on my boot and plash into the gutter, whither the carrion is bodily chucked, presently to be trodden on and rolled on by the feet of multitudes and wheels of gun-carriages.
RELIGION ventures now to show itself again in Paris. The churches have been re-opened, and are well attended. Universal horror is excited by the murder of the priests.
WHEN the end came the remnants of the insurgent army were surrounded near the canal de l’Ourcq, and forced to surrender or be killed. Thus ended the most outrageous assumption of power by obscure revolutionists ever known.
THE heinous malefactors who have sought to consummate the ruin of their country, together with the ignorant and deluded bands of fanatics and enthusiasts whom they have betrayed to death and ruin, have perished horribly by thousands in the streets of Paris.”
This weeks edition of The Days’ Doings is longer than usual with 32 pages, double the usual 16. The price was also doubled, to sixpence. The edition is almost entirely devoted to reports and illustrations from the Derby at Epsom Downs. In keeping with the spirit of the painting by William Powell Frith just over a decade earlier, The Derby Day, it features very few horses but a lot of drunk revellers and the usual displays of ankles and décolletage.
Here are two non-Derby stories, the first of which appears on page 283, some 11 pages into this weeks edition. The second, a commentary upon the petty politics of London lawyers is from page 303. They are followed by all the Derby related engravings from this weeks issue.
“LORD BROUGHTON has just told the following anecdote:—The dinner at the Castle this day passed off agreeably, and when in the drawing room, the Queen sat down to chess with the Queen of the Belgians. Her Majesty had never played before. Lord Melbourne told her how to move, and Lord Palmerston also assisted her. I looked on for some time, without taking part in the game, and I might as well have abstained altogether: for when Melbourne and Palmerston gave up advising her Majesty, in order that I might succeed to them, I did not succeed better than my colleagues. I was very near winning the game, when I lost it by an oversight, and by being very often asked by her Majesty, “What must I do?” There was also some little confusion created by the two Queens on the board and the two Queens at the table. Her Majesty was not so discouraged by her defeat as to prevent her playing again the evening after this. Who played for the Queen I do not know, but her Majesty ran up to me laughing, and saying she had won. She asked me how she came to lose yesterday. I replied, “Because your Majesty had such bad advisers;” on which she laughed heartily, and so did the Queen of the Belgians, who, by the way, spoke English well.”
That Lord Palmerston died in 1865, and Melbourne even earlier, in 1848 and Broughton in 1869 makes it difficult to establish when this game of chess took place.
“A CORRESPONDENT sends the following account of a strange new practice in Chancery:—” My grievance is that I have been ‘weighed in the balance and found wanting.’ Somebody made me (a solicitor myself) defendant in a Chancery suit, and I had to put in an answer. This precious document was settled by counsel, engrossed by a law stationer, sworn to by myself, and then sent for filing. The officials noted the stamps, counted the words, counted again the lines on the paper, then actually measured with a portion of a yard measure the size of the paper, the width of the margin. All turned out right; and then they actually weighed my answer, as if it were sugar! and I was found to be a drachm short: one ounce one drachm, and not one ounce two drachms. Therefore my answer is returned to me unfiled. Thus I am in contempt because my stationer, like other tradesmen, has given me light weight. I cannot apply for protection to a judge because it is ‘vacation’ (no one knows why Chancery great men have vacations when no one else does), and I am(at) the mercy of the other side to look me up when and as they choose, for want of weight. It is needless to say that no one read the document. Sufficiency is judged of by size, weight and measure.”
DERBY DAY IMAGES
The following group of four engravings are under the title;