The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, November
4th 1893, by Various

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license


Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, November 4th 1893

Author: Various

Editor: Sir Francis Burnand

Release Date: April 5, 2012 [EBook #39381]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH ***




Produced by Malcolm Farmer, Lesley Halamek and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net






[pg 205]

Punch, or the London Charivari

Volume 105, November 4th 1893

edited by Sir Francis Burnand


SELF-HELP.

Monday.—Am sick of paying all these doctor's bills. Have just seen an advertisement of The Domestic Doctor, a Dictionary of Medicine, issued in monthly parts. The very thing for a man like me, somewhat delicate. Hasten to secure Part I. Shall now be able to doctor myself and save all fees. Delightful! To celebrate emancipation ask Jones and Robinson to dinner at club. No need for economy now. Jolly good dinner. That club port is excellent.

Tuesday.—Feel rather seedy. Pain in head. No appetite. Just the time to make use of Domestic Doctor. Capital book. Hullo! Well, I'll be hanged! Never thought of that. The beastly thing's alphabetical, and only gets to "Chilblain." No good to look out "Headache." Ah, perhaps "Ache." No go. "Appetite?" But appetite isn't a disease, except in men like Banting. Absolutely no use whatever. Still, will not be conquered. Shall get another part in a month. Until then take great care only to have complaints up to Ch. Can always fall back on Chilblain. Take it easy, with B. and S. in moderate doses when required, and begin to feel better.

Wednesday.—Just cut my finger. Feel somewhat nervous. Remember vaguely that lock-jaw often follows a wound on the hand. Ha! My dictionary. "Cuts." Ah, no. "Cuts" come after "Chilblain." They will be in Part II. Bandage wound, and prepare for the worst. Sit with mouth wide open as best attitude for approaching lockjaw. Can then at least be fed. If, however, it really comes, shall be dead before Part VII. of the Dictionary is out. Anyhow, will not send for a doctor.

Thursday.—Hooray! Finger and jaw both well. Somehow left boot feels uncommonly tight. Can't walk at all. That fool Phust has made this pair too narrow. Feels as though there were something on my toe. By Jove, so there is! Where's the Dictionary? Chilblain? Can't be a chilblain this mild weather. Of course not; it's a corn. Look out "Corn." Oh, hang it, just too far! But, bright idea, perhaps it's a bunion. Look out "Bunion." Hullo, what's this? "Bunion, see Corn." Well, of all the confounded——Positively can't walk till next month. Lie on sofa under open window to get as much air as possible. Fall asleep. Heavy shower comes on. Get quite wet.

Friday.—Sneezing like mad, and coughing. Blow my cough! Blow my nose! No good looking out "Cold" or "Cough" in Dictionary, unless—of course "Catarrh." Seize my priceless treasure, and read, "Catarrh, Latin catarrhus, from Greek"—oh, hang the derivation!—"an affection of the mucous membrane, commonly called a cold. See Cold." Foiled again! Must do what I can with domestic remedies till Part II. comes out. Fires, hot grog, hot bath, hot gruel, lots of blankets. Nearly suffocated.

Saturday.—Very much worse. Awful cough. Sit close to fire wrapped in thick dressing-gown. Jones looks in. "Hullo, old man," he says, "what's wrong? Seedy?" I choke out some answer. "Why don't you send for the doctor?" In my indignation nearly burst my head with coughing. At last show him Dictionary, and write on scrap of paper, "Can you suggest some complaint like mine beginning with A or B, or C up to Ch?" Impetuous fellow, Jones. Starts off wildly—"Influenza, Pneumonia, Pleurisy, Diphtheria, Sore Throat, Inflammation of the Lungs——" Then I manage to stop him, and to gasp, "Up to C." "No difficulty about that," says he. "Cold. Cough——" I shake my head feebly. "Well, then, Bronchitis." Of course. The very thing. Look it out. "Bronchitis, from Greek"—blow the derivation!—"inflammation of the membrane of the bronchia. This serious disease requires skilled attention. Keep the patient warm, and send at once for a medical man." What a miserable swindle, when I hoped to save all doctor's fees! Was warm before. Simply boiling with indignation now. Pass the book to Jones in speechless disgust. "Quite right too," he remarks; "just what I said. Capital book! I'll send the doctor as I go home." And so he does, in spite of my protests. Doctor comes and lays his head on my chest. Then he says, cheerfully, "Only a little cough. You'll be all right to-morrow. What's that you say? Bronchitis? Bosh!"


Horsey Party. 'I want your Table d'Oat Dinner!'

Horsey Party. "Aw—I want your Table d'Oat Dinner!"


A LAWYER'S CHORTLE.

(A long way after "The Throstle.")

Vacation is over, vacation is over,

I know it, I know it, I know it.

Back to the Strand again, home to the Courts again,

Come counsel and clients to go it.

Welcome awaits you, High Court of Justice,

Thousands will flock to you daily.

"You, you, you, you." Is it then for you,

That we forget the Old Bailey?

Jostling and squeezing and struggling and shoving,

What else were the Courts ever made for?

The Courts 'twixt the Temple and grey Lincoln's Inn,

They're not yet entirely paid for!

Now till next year, all of us cry,

We'll say (for a fee) what we're bidden.

Vacation is over, is over, hurrah!

And all past sorrow is hidden.


The Pickwickian Examination Paper.—Pickwickian students are well to the front. The first answer to our question in last week's number was sent from Maidstone. Fitting that it should come from Dickens's favourite county, Kent. Yes. The only mention of champagne in Pickwick is when Mr. Tupman drank a bottle of it after an exhilarating quadrille.


DAMON OUT OF DATE.

Here is the lovely summer going by,

And we know nought about it, you and I,

Being so far away

One from the other; yet to outward eye

We both are summer gay.

And people talk; although no pulses stir

However much I laugh and dance with her,

My temporary fate;

And you, perhaps as carelessly, prefer

That one your will to wait,

Who, the dance over, from his strict embrace

Gallantly frees you, mops his sun-tanned face,

And asks in accents low

Whether you'd like an ice, or what, in case

You breathe a doubtful "No."

Oh, the striped awning and the fairy lamp,

The cool night fragrance, the insidious damp,

And, more insidious still,

The sweet effrontery of the beardless scamp

Who babbles at his will.

Here, by the sea, which in the darkness sings,

On the free breeze I give my fancy wings,

And in a sudden shrine

Your image throned appears, while the wind swings

Its sea-incense divine.

Breathless I worship in the waiting night

The sparkling eyes, that sometimes seem all light,

The cheek so purely pale,

The sacred breast, than whitest dress more white,

Where whitest thought must fail.

Thin arms, with dimpled shadows here and there,

The curl'd luxuriance of your soft, dark hair

Its own bewitching wreath,

And perfect mouth that shows, in smiles too rare,

The radiant little teeth.

You cannot live on dances and delights,

Or fêtes by day and dance-music by nights.

Time foots it fleeter far

Than all the surging crowd your beauty smites

Like some coruscant star.

The ruthless social dragon will not spare

Your sweet girl nature, withering in the glare,

Or peeping out by stealth.

Wealth's prize is beauty, and to make all fair,

Beauty's desire is wealth.

I cannot keep a carriage for you, dear;

No horses on three hundred pounds a year

My lacking stables grace.

Yet the swift Hansom to the whistle clear

Will always speed apace.

I cannot give you wines of vintage rare,

There is no room for them beneath the stair

Which is my cellar's space.

Yet with Duke Humphrey we could often fare

With more than ducal grace.

Ah, loves, like books, are fated from the first,

One gets no cup of water for the thirst

The whole stream would not slake;

Another dims with tears the springs that burst

To sunshine for his sake.

When this vain fervour sadly sobers down,

I'll love you still, white maid, with eyes so brown

And voice so passing sweet,

And haply with Apollo's laurel crown

My love's foredoomed defeat.


[pg 206]

WHEN THE "CAT"'S AWAY!

Air—"The Sergeant's Song."

WHEN THE CAT'S AWAY!

When the "Cat" is not engaged in its employment—

Right employment,

Of laying its nine tails on brutal backs—

Brutal backs,

Street gangs of roughs are free to find employment—

Bad employment,

In beleaguering the cit's returning tracks—

Homeward tracks.

Our feelings we with difficulty smother—!

'Culty smother,

At finding ruffian hordes at rowdy "fun"—

Rowdy fun.

Taking one consideration with another—

With another,

One feels that something stringent should be done—

Promptly done!

[pg 207]

There's the pistol-bearing burglar boldly burgling—

Boldly burgling,

There's the female fiend engaged in cruel crime—

Cruel crime.

There's the bashed, half-throttled traveller lying gurgling—

Faintly gurgling,

And the "Cat" is lying idle all the time—

All the time.

There's the brutal bully kicking wife or mother—

Wife or mother,

The unnatural father torturing his son—

Childish son!

Ah, take one consideration with another—

With another,

It's surely time that something stern were done—

Quickly done!

When the "Cat" was laid about the brute garrotter—

Cur garrotter,

He soon found it inadvisable to choke—

'Ble to choke.

And the lout who of street-outrage is a plotter—

Callous plotter,

Would not deem the nine-tailed lash a little joke—

Pleasant joke.

The woman-beating brute would hardly smother—

Scarcely smother,

His howlings when the lash was well laid on—

Well laid on.

So, take one consideration with another—

With another,

The "Cat" should once again be called upon—

Called upon.

The "corner-boys," and larrikins, and suchlike—

Louts and suchlike,

Who rove the streets at night in rowdy gangs—

Robber-gangs,

The tingling o' the nine tails might not much like—

Would not much like,

But that need not stir sentimental pangs—

Maudlin pangs.

"Gang-boy" to brute Garrotter is just brother—

Simply brother.

The "Cat" away such vermin prowl—for "fun"—

Savage fun!

Yes, take one consideration with another—

With another,

The "Cat" should wake again, says Punch for one—

Punch for one!

The policeman seems unequal to the job—

Toughish job.

The constabulary fails to quell the mob—

Rowdy mob.

So, as, very plainly, something must be done—

Promptly done,

The suggestion of the "Cat"'s a happy one—

Happy one!

[And Mr. Punch, with picture and poem (grimly earnest, though of Gilbertian tone) urges its application energetically home, upon the powers that be.


AGRICULTURAL MANNERS.

AGRICULTURAL MANNERS.

SceneHounds running across Land occupied by Non-sporting Tenant.

Sportswoman. "Now, my Boy, open the Gate, please, and let me through."

Young Hodge. "My Orthers is—'Jim, you oppens that there Gāate for no man!' And ar'm denged if ar dis for a Woman!"


NOTE BY OUR OWN PHILOSOPHER.

The breakfast-eating practical joker, who can be credited with the humorous invention of placing the shell of an egg (the edible contents of which he has previously extracted and swallowed) inverted in an egg-cup, so as to deceive the first hungry person arriving late into fancying that the others have considerately deprived themselves in order that he may not be without his favourite delicacy, this originator, I say, was decidedly a genius. His work after hundreds, nay, thousands of years, remains, fresh as is the new laid egg itself! After being used a million billion times, it gives now the same pleasure as ever it did when it first issued from the brain of its brilliant creator! Such a practical joke as this is "not for an age, but for all time," until there shall be no longer left a hen to lay an egg, or, if there be an egg left by the expiring hen, there shall be no longer a person remaining to eat the egg left by the egg-spiring hen; or, if the person and the egg be there, the last man and the last egg, there shall be no ten minutes allowed for refreshment, as there will be no more time for anything!! Socrates, Homer, Ovid, Horace, Plautus, Terence, Shakspeare, Watt, Sir Isaac Newton, cum multis aliis! their names are remembered, and their fame is to the end of the world! While, alas, the name of the True Wit who first chuckled over his stroke of genius, is lost for ever, no work of art perpetuates his name. But his humour is usque ad finem omnium rerum!


Mrs. R. is not surprised that the Valkyrie did not win, when it broke its pinnacle and did not have a centipede.


[pg 208]

UNDER THE ROSE.

(A Story in Scenes.)

Scene XII.—Another box at the Eldorado. TimeAbout 9.30 P.M.

Enter Mrs. Merridew and Althea, followed by Colonel Merridew and Captain Alchin.

Mrs. Merridew. Frank, the man did say Walter Wildfire hasn't sung yet, didn't he? Yes? then that's all right! Oughtn't you and I to sit at the back, Thea? Well, you shall have this corner at any rate, and then the curtain will hide you. Captain Alchin, will you come between us, please, and then you can explain any of the jokes we don't understand.

[They settle down.

Captain Alchin. Pleasure! (To himself.) Think I see myself explainin' the jokes and that! (Aloud.) Afraid I shan't be of much use, really. Rather out of my line this sort of thing, you know!

Mrs. M. I'm sure you must know more about it than Miss Toovey and I do. Tell me who is this rather good-looking girl in kneebreeches with the horrid voice and the blue eyelids, and why does she walk like that?

'See us lurch along in line, with a straggle serpentine.'

"See us lurch along in line, with a straggle serpentine."

Capt. Alch. (off his guard). Oh, that's Miss Lardie Lushboy; it's her usual business—drinkin' song, young man about town, and all that.

Mrs. M. There, you see, you know all about her!

[Capt. A. hastens to explain that her name is on the programme.

Miss Lardie (sings)—

See us lurch along in line, with a straggle serpentine,

[She suits the action to the word.

For we've done a heavy fuddle, and we never pass a "pub"!

And if you want a proof how we chuck about our "oof"—

Why, come along and have a drink with the Rowdy Razzle Club!

Mrs. M. I suppose that's intended as a satire on noisy young men, isn't it, Captain Alchin?

Captain Alch. (who hadn't thought of it in that light). Well—ha—that depends on how you take it, don't you know.

Mrs. M. That's the way I shall take it, and then it's quite moral. (A Low Comedian, in a broad-brimmed hat and a rough black wig, makes his appearance.) This must be Walter Wildfire, I suppose. Thea, do you see? he looks quite nice, and not really vulgar. Now he's going to sing. Isn't he too delightfully funny! What, Frank? Not Wildfire? Mr. Alf Redbeak. Are you sure? I was wondering what there could possibly be in such a common little man as that to make such a fuss about. And what language? Captain Alchin, what does he mean by saying that he was "dotted on the crust by a copper," and "went off his onion"?

Capt. Alch. (who foresees rocks ahead if he once undertakes to interpret). Oh, well, they're always inventin' some new slang, you know, Mrs. Merridew; no use tryin' to keep up with it.

[Miss Cissie Cinders appears as a bedraggled maid of all work, and sings a doleful ditty to the effect that—"Her missis will not let her wear no feathers in her 'at, so her sojer's gone and given 'er the chuck."

Mrs. M. (delighted). Isn't she refreshing—so deliciously vulgar! I do hope she hasn't finished. Thea, you're sitting as quiet as a little mouse in that corner. I hope you're not too dreadfully shocked? I'm not—at least of course I am, really; but it's not nearly so bad as I expected.

Althea. Oh, I'm not in the least shocked, Cissie, thanks; only I don't quite understand it all.

Mrs. M. My dear, no more do I. I don't understand any of it—but that makes no difference!

Alth. (To herself). I don't like to say so, but I am disappointed. Mr. Curphew said it would be like a Penny Reading; but it's not a bit, it's ever so much stupider. But he never goes himself, so of course——

Mrs. M. It's quite a respectable audience; I thought we should be the only people in evening dress, but we're not. I do wish they wouldn't allow quite so much smoking, though; the atmosphere's getting something too awful. Oh, Thea, do look in that box just opposite. Can you see through that lace curtain? Ah, you can't see now!

Alth. (looking round the edge of the curtain). Where, Cissie, who is it?

Mrs. M. Why, quite the typical British Matron—the most tremendously proper-looking person; so if she doesn't see any harm in being here, I'm sure we needn't. I'll tell you when she pops her her head out again. There, quick! Thea, quick! Did you see her that time?

Alth. (faintly). Y—yes. I—I saw her that time. (To herself.) Is this a wicked conscience—or what? It was so like Mamma! But how could it be?

Mrs. M. Did you ever see such a grim old frump, Thea? I wonder what possessed her to come to a place like this? She doesn't look as if it was amusing her much.

Alth. (distractedly). Doesn't she? (To herself.) If it should be Mamma! If she has found out in some way that we were to be here to-night and followed us! But how could she know? Suppose she were to see me, and—and come round and fetch me away; how awful it would be! But she can't see me through these curtains. I don't believe it is Mamma. I—I wish I dared look again. Oh, why did I get Cissie to bring me here?

Capt. Alch. May I borrow your opera glass for a moment, Mrs. Merridew? Thanks, awf'ly. (As he looks through it.) There's goin' to be a row in that opposite box. Your British Matron's gettin' her quills up—give you my word she is.

Mrs. M. Oh, do let me see! (She holds out her hand for the glass, which Capt. A. surrenders.) Yes, I do believe you're right. Somebody's just come in and——Now there's another, a young man, and—oh, Thea!

Alth. (in an agony). What is it, Cissie? do tell me! (To herself.) It must be Charles—I'm sure it's Charles. Then that's why—and it is Mamma! (Aloud.) Mayn't I have the glass?

Mrs. M. I think you had better not, dear. The British Matron has boxed the poor young man's ears—she has really. I wonder what—but well, it doesn't matter. Now she's turned him out of the box. He's coming back—alone. Yes, the old lady has certainly gone—it's all over. I'm so sorry; it was ever so much more interesting than that big fat man who's singing!

Alth. (tremulously). Mayn't I look now, Cissie, if it's all over? (She almost snatches the glass, and directs it at the young man in Box C—then to herself, with relief.) Why, it isn't Charles—it's not even like him. Then—oh, what a goose I've been! It wasn't Mamma either. It was all my fancy, and she had on rather the same kind of bonnet. As if Mamma would come to a music-hall and box the ears of somebody she didn't know! But what a fright it gave me!

[She begins to feel capable of enjoying the performance.

[pg 209]

Col. Merridew (later). Now we're going to see the great man, Cecilia. Wildfire's down to sing next.

Capt. Alch. Don't you be too sure, Frank. They haven't put the number up yet, you see. As likely as not they'll put in an "extra turn," and he won't come at all. I've known that happen lots of times when you come on purpose to see somethin', don't you know.

Mrs. M. Really, Captain Alchin, I shall begin to suspect that you are more of an authority about music-halls than your modesty would admit at first.

Capt. Alch. (in some confusion). No, really now, Mrs. Merridew, all I mean is Wildfire's bringin' out a play or somethin' to-night at the Hilarity, so he mayn't be able to turn up here, don't you see.

Mrs. M. I won't have you predicting evil like that; it's not at all nice of you, and you're quite wrong, too; for there's his number in the frame now!

[The Scene on the Stage changes once more from an Oriental Palace to a London Street; a bell tingles; the Orchestra dashes into the air of "The Hansom Cabman," which the bulk of the audience hail with delight; then a stream of limelight is thrown on the boards, and Walter Wildfire appears.

Mrs. M. (after the first verse). I don't know what it is, but there's something about him very different from all the others. And they say he writes all his own songs and music—so clever of him! Quite a striking face he has, rather handsome, with that drooping moustache. Don't you think he's handsome, Thea? (Althea does not answer; Wildfire sings the last verse; as he concludes, the house is hushed for an instant, and then breaks into a thunder of applause.) It's quite beautiful that last verse; poor, poor fellow! it all seemed so real, somehow! Ah, he's not going to sing the last verse again. I'm rather glad, for I very nearly howled, and it would be too silly to cry at a music-hall. (Interval.) Here he is again; how different he looks. I suppose it's the sandwich-boards. (Wildfire goes through the second song with the small child; in the midst of the second stanza, he suddenly falters, and only recovers himself by a violent effort; Althea has bent forward out of the shadow of the curtain.) It's too frightfully pathetic; he's such a dear, isn't he? (The applause is more rapturous than ever; an encore is clamoured for; Wildfire reappears, looking ghastly pale, and makes a mute plea for indulgence; after he has finally retired, the clamour still continues, until the scene and the number are shifted.) He won't sing any more—how sad! Wasn't he charming with that child? (In an undertone.) Why, Althea, darling!

Alth. (in a shaken voice). D—don't speak to me just yet, Cissie. I know it's very foolish of me; but I can't bear it.

Capt. Alch. (to himself). Gad, I'd give somethin' to sing like that Johnny, and make her eyes shine like that!

Mrs. M. Frank, we may as well go now, there's nothing else worth staying for, and I'm sure this horrid tobacco is ruining my poor pearls; or would you rather stay a little longer, Thea?

Alth. Oh, no, no; I don't want to hear anybody else—after that. (To herself, as Capt. A. helps her on with her cloak.) And that is the man Mr. Curphew said nothing would induce him to go and see. And I actually persuaded myself that—— But I am wiser now. He can never be anything to me!

[She leaves the box with her party.

END OF SCENE XII.


OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

Colonel Colvile chivalrously takes upon himself responsibility for the title of the volume in which his wife has recorded their joint experience of a trip round the coast of Africa. Round the Black Man's Garden is about as bad a title as a book could have. Happily, Mrs. Colvile's clever travel notes triumphantly carry the weight. The travellers commenced their journey at Suez, visiting places in the Red Sea which voyagers by the P. and O. steamers pass by on the other side. They made their way down the west coast by all the most uncomfortable means of conveyance attainable, culminating in the filanzana, in which instrument of torture they were carried across the hills and through the swamps of Madagascar. Colonel Colvile, just now enjoying himself amid the privations of the journey up country to Uganda, is well known as an indomitable traveller. In Mrs. Colvile he found a worthy companion. On a merry page of the narrative of life in Madagascar, it is incidentally mentioned that the travellers arrive at Malatsy with their luggage soaking after a dip in the river. They dine in a whitewashed hut, with an army of big cockroaches overrunning the walls. Resuming their journey next morning they "entered a dense cloud of singularly malignant little black flies." The half-naked porters were soon streaming with blood, and the passengers' faces were in a similar condition. "Luckily," writes Mrs. Colvile, in her cheery way, "we were soon clear of the infested belt, to move in the course of half-an-hour into a flight of locusts." Mrs. Colvile takes as the motto of her book the proverb, Qui suit son chemin arrive à la fin. My Baronite arrived at the end of Mrs. Colvile's fascinating narrative full of admiration for her courage and good temper. But as long as Piccadilly and Pall Mall are not "up," he will be content with them, and would rather not follow her road.

Baron de Book-Worms & Co.


THE CABMAN'S GUIDE TO POLITENESS.—No. I.

(In short, easy Lessons, arranged after the fashion of the Child's Handbook to Useful Knowledge.)

THE CABMAN'S GUIDE TO POLITENESS.--No. I.

[pg 210]
THINGS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE EXPRESSED DIFFERENTLY.

THINGS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE EXPRESSED DIFFERENTLY.

"Don't go, Canon; I want to introduce you to a Lady who wishes to make your acquaintance."

"Oh—er—I'm rather in a hurry; some other day, perhaps—er—er."

"It's my Wife, you know."

"Oh, that's different. I thought you said a Lady! I shall be charmed!"


THE BLACK SHADOW.

We're near to the gloomy Guy Faux anniversary,

Nigh to the gorging of Lord Mayor's Day,

But though 'tis November, there's joy in the Nursery

Ruled by Nurse Gladstone out Westminster way.

The summer's long troubles are laid on the shelf

And "Nana" looks quite like enjoying herself.

That bothersome bantling, the big Irish baby,

Is tucked up in bed for a long forty winks.

(Though its shrill Banshee howl will be heard again, maybe,

From waking it, yet, even Nana G. shrinks.)

So now for a nice quiet time, if you please,

With the brace of most sweet-tempered bairns on her knees.

They're English—quite English, and easy to handle,

Won't raise horrid noises and anger the House.

They're pleasant to see and delightful to dandle,

And Nana opines that, with nursery nous,

They'll be got "nicely off"—if she makes no mistakes—

Before that Hibernian worry awakes.

"To market, to market, to buy a fat piggy!

(But O, not a poor Irish pig—in a poke!)"

So pipes Nana Gladstone so jocund and jiggy

She ekes out her Nursery lilt with a joke.

"We've done, for a season, with row-de-dow-dow,

And there's no 'Bogey Man,' dears, to bother us now!"

Nurses, we know, find the "Black Man" most handy

To frighten their charges to quiet at times;

But now 'tis all "Hush-a-bye, Babes!" "Handy-pandy!"

And such soothing carols and quieting rhymes,

No need for a "black ugly thing in the garden"

To quiet these babes, thinks old Nana from Hawarden!

Alas, and alas! Bogey Men are such rum 'uns,

And some Ugly Things are "too previous," or worse.

How oft the Black Shadow appears without summons,

And terrifies not the poor babes, but their Nurse!

Nana's not disturbed—yet—by the Irish babe's squall,

But—what means that black-boding shade on the wall?

The African Bogey! Inopportune, very!

It's really a nuisance, it does seem a shame

That just as Nurse G. is prepared to make merry

With two such sweet bantlings this Spook spoils the game!

Uganda! Mashonaland!! Nurse, I'm afraid

The Dark Continent casts o'er your babes a Black Shade!


THE THREE V'S.

(Voice, Vote, and Veto.)

[What the brewers want is a Reform Bill by which "every adult resident with a throat should have a vote."

Westminster Gazette.]

"When wine is in the wit is out"

Was once held wisdom past all doubt;

But now 'twould seem that every throttle

That hath capacity for the bottle,

Must have it also for the suffrage.

No more need rowdy Rad or rough rage.

Throat-suffrage should please everybody

Who lets out noise or takes in toddy,

By way of a capacious throat

Can drink and shout—One Throat, one Vote!


From Mr. Cormorant, St. James's Park.—"Thank you, Sir. Mother and child, Master Cormorant and Mrs. Cormorant, are doing uncommonly well. Hope for the best. But permit me, accidents will happen, and I should like to make provision—you understand. How? In my newspaper I see advertised 'Eagle Insurance Co.,' 'Pelican Life Insurance Co.' Why are the Eagle and the Pelican to be benefited, and not the Cormorant—and others? But never mind the others. I speak for myself, and am yours Devouringly, Captain Cormorant."


Something in a Name.—Most appropriate official to make a "Budget Statement"—Sir George "Dibbs."


A Strike Motto.—"'Tis true, 'tis pitty; and pitty 'tis, 'tis true."


[pg 211]
THE BLACK SHADOW.

THE BLACK SHADOW.

Nurse Gladstone. "NOW, MY LITTLE DEARS, WE SHALL HAVE A NICE QUIET TIME—ALL TO OURSELVES!"

"Uganda! Mashonaland!! Nurse, I'm afraid The Dark Continent casts o'er your Babes a Black Shade!"


[pg 212]
[pg 213]

THE ADVENTURES OF PICKLOCK HOLES.

(By Cunnin Toil.)

No. VI.—THE UMBROSA BURGLARY.

During one of my short summer holidays I happened to be spending a few days at the delightful riverside residence of my friend James Silver, the extent of whose hospitality is only to be measured by the excellence of the fare that he sets before his guests, or by the varied amusements that he provides for them. The beauties of Umbrosa (for that is the attractive name of his house) are known to all those who during the summer months pass up (or down) the winding reaches of the Upper Thames. It was there that I witnessed a series of startling events which threw the whole county into a temporary turmoil. Had it not been for the unparalleled coolness and sagacity of Picklock Holes the results might have been fraught with disaster to many distinguished families, but the acumen of Holes saved the situation and the family-plate, and restored the peace of mind of one of the best fellows in the world.

The party at Umbrosa consisted of the various members of the Silver family, including, besides Mr. and Mrs. Silver, three high-spirited and unmarried youths and two charming girls. Picklock Holes was of course one of the guests. In fact, it had long since come to be an understood thing that wherever I went Holes should accompany me in the character of a professional detective on the lookout for business; and James Silver though he may have at first resented the calm unmuscularity of my marvellous friend's immovable face would have been the last man in the world to spoil any chance of sport or excitement by refraining from offering a cordial invitation to Holes. The party was completed by Peter Bowman, a lad of eighteen, who to an extraordinary capacity for mischief, added an imperturbable cheerfulness of manner. He was generally known as Shock-headed Peter, in allusion to the brush-like appearance of his delicate auburn hair, but his intimate friends sometimes addressed him as Venus, a nickname which he thoroughly deserved by the almost classic irregularity of his Saxon features.

Propelled by an athletic young fellow.

"Propelled by an athletic young fellow."

We were all sitting, I remember, on the riverbank, watching the countless craft go past, and enjoying that pleasant industrious indolence which is one of the chief charms of life on the Thames. A punt had just skimmed by, propelled by an athletic young fellow in boating costume. Suddenly Holes spoke.

"It is strange," he said, "that the man should be still at large."

"What man? Where? How?" we all exclaimed breathlessly.

"The young puntsman," said Holes, with an almost aggravating coolness. "He is a bigamist, and has murdered his great aunt."

"It cannot be," said Mr. Silver, with evident distress. "I know the lad well, and a better fellow never breathed."

"I speak the truth," said Holes, unemotionally. "The induction is perfect. He is wearing a red tie. That tie was not always red. It was, therefore, stained by something. Blood is red. It was, therefore, stained by blood. Now it is well known that the blood of great aunts is of a lighter shade, and the colour of that tie has a lighter shade. The blood that stained it was, therefore, the blood of his great aunt. As for the bigamy, you will have noticed that as he passed he blew two rings of cigarette-smoke, and they both floated in the air at the same time. A ring is a symbol of matrimony. Two rings together mean bigamy. He is, therefore, a bigamist."

For a moment we were silent, struck with horror at this dreadful, this convincing revelation of criminal infamy. Then I broke out:

"Holes," I said, "you deserve the thanks of the whole community. You will of course communicate with the police."

"No," said Holes, "they are fools, and I do not care to mix myself up with them. Besides, I have other fish to fry."

Saying this, he led me to a secluded part of the grounds, and whispered in my ear.

"Not a word of what I am about to tell you. There will be a burglary here to-night."

"But, Holes," I said, startled in spite of myself at the calm omniscience of my friend, "had we not better do something; arm the servants, warn the police, bolt the doors and bar the windows, and sit up with blunderbusses—anything would be better than this state of dreadful expectancy. May I not tell Mr. Silver?"

"Potson, you are amiable, but you will never learn my methods." And with that enigmatic reply I had to be content in the meantime.

The evening had passed as pleasantly as evenings at Umbrosa always pass. There had been music; the Umbrosa choir, composed of members of the family and guests, had performed in the drawing-room, and Peter had drawn tears from the eyes of every one by his touching rendering of the well-known songs of "The Dutiful Son" and "The Cartridge-bearer." Shortly afterwards, the ladies retired to bed, and the gentlemen, after the customary interval in the smoking-room, followed. We were in high good-humour, and had made many plans for the morrow. Only Holes seemed pre-occupied. Once I heard him muttering to himself, "It's bound to come off properly; never failed yet. They wired to say they'd be here by the late train. Well, let them come. I shall be ready for them." I did not venture at the time to ask him the meaning of these mysterious words.

I had been sleeping for about an hour, when I was suddenly awakened with a start. In the passage outside I heard the voices of the youngest Silver boy and of Peter.

"Peter, old chap," said Johnny Silver, "I believe there's burglars in the house. Isn't it a lark?"

"Ripping," said Peter. "Have you told your people?"

"Oh, it's no use waking the governor and the mater; we'll do the job ourselves. I told the girls, and they've all locked themselves in and got under their beds, so they're safe. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"Come on then."

With that they went along the passage and down the stairs. My mind was made up, and my trousers and boots were on in less time than it takes to tell it. I went to Holes's room and entered. He was lying on his bed, fully awake, dressed in his best detective suit, with his fingers meditatively extended, and touching one another.

"They're here," I said.

"Who?"

"The burglars."

"As I thought," said Holes, selecting his best basket-hilted life-preserver from a heap in the middle of the room. "Follow me silently."

I did so. No sooner had we reached the landing, however, than the silence was broken by a series of blood-curdling screams.

"Good Heavens!" was all I could say.

"Hush," said Holes. I obeyed him. The screams subsided, and I heard the voices of my two young friends, evidently in great triumph.

"Lie still, you brute," said Peter, "or I'll punch your blooming head. Give the rope another twist, Johnny. That's it. Now you cut and tell your governor and old Holes that we've nabbed the beggar."

By this time the household was thoroughly roused. Agitated females and inquisitive males streamed downstairs. Lights were lit, and a remarkable sight met our eyes. In the middle of the drawing-room lay an undersized burglar, securely bound, with Peter sitting on his head.

"Johnny and I collared the beggar," said Peter, "and bowled him over. Thanks, I think I could do a ginger-beer."

The man was of course tried and convicted, and Holes, who had explained how he had been certain that the burglary was contemplated and had taken his measures accordingly, received the thanks of the County Council.

"That fellow," said the great detective to me, "was the best and cleverest of my tame team of country-house burglars. Through him and his associates I have fostered and foiled more thefts than I care to count. Those infernal boys nearly spoilt everything. Potson, take my advice, never attempt a master-stroke in a house full of boys. They can't understand scientific induction. Had they not interfered I should have caught the fellow myself. He had wired to tell me where I should find him."


Precept and Practice.—It's not sufficiently recognised that a Bishop is bound to side with the masters, as by the terms of his contract he engages to be "no striker."


"How To Make England Sober."—"It can't be done," says the Bishop of Chester, "sans Jayne."


A Striking Headline (all rights reserved).—Loch Out in Matabeleland!


A Jingo Paradox.—We pot the natives to preserve ourselves.


[pg 214]

A MISTY CRYSTAL.

Darlings, I am growing old,

Silver threads among the gold.

Cannot see beyond my nose,

Must have glasses I suppose.

At the fair I bought a pair,

Golden rimmed, of pebbles rare,

Paid the money then and there,

Glad my spectacles to wear.

But, how strange! I could not see

What was just in front of me!

Took them off and rubbed them well;

Cleaned they seemed; but, strange to tell,

When I put them on again

Everything was plain as plain,

But reflected from behind!

Then I found that tho' so blind,

Many little things I saw

Which I had not seen before.

First, my page, of doubtful age,

Put me in a dreadful rage;

Dipped his fingers in the cream;

(Turned and faced him—made him scream!)

Dropped the pot, upset a lot—

Caught it from me pretty hot.

Next the footman kicked my cat

Sleeping on its lamb's-wool mat.

Loosed my dicky from its cage

(Shall deduct this from his wage).

When the housemaid scrubbed the floor,

Watched her through the open door

At my eldest making eyes.

Packed her off to her surprise,

Heeding not her tears and cries.

Truly blindness makes one wise!

Then I caught my little son

Putting mustard in a bun;

Going to give it to the pug.

Seized him by the nearest lug,

Boxed it hard. He howled with pain;

Never teased the dog again.

Saw my girl of twenty-three

Kiss the curate, after tea.

Sent the pair to right about.

(Wondered how I found them out!)

So, you see, I really find

Much amusement of a kind.

Eyes before and eyes behind,

Is there anyone would mind

Being just a little blind?


TRUE COMPUNCTION.

TRUE COMPUNCTION.

Young Hopeful (who has been celebrating, not wisely but too well, the last day of his Exam.). "Look here, Major! If You don't tell my Father of my D'sgrasheful Conduck, I shall!"


N.B. !

[In the "Report of the Royal Commission on Labour" it is said that "domestic economy is not now practised among the Scotch peasants with such closeness as formerly; wives have ceased to use oatmeal and other simple fare, and buy from the passing cart inferior goods which they could very well prepare at home." The married labourer's clothing is "finer, but less durable," and he himself is "less unknown in places of amusement."]

Scots, wha hae on parritch fed!

Scots, in thrifty habits bred!

Air ye leavin' barley bread,

And frugality?

Now's the day, much more the night,

For stickin' to your bawbees tight!

See approach proud Fashion's might,

Chains o' luxury!

Wha will to the flesher's wend,

Buy thin breeks that will na mend,

Wha sae base as saxpence spend

On an evenin' spree?

Wha for Scotland's knitted hose,

Oaten cakes and homespun clo'es,

Now will deal some auld-warld blows?

He will live, not dee!

By each braw and kilted laddie,

Gudeman douce, and gude-boy caddie,

Ye may weel at once eradi-

-cate frivolity!

Strike, and break amusement's yoke,

Or your ainsells may be broke!

Siller's saved in every stroke

Of economy!


First-rate Foreign Advertisement for a Medical Friend of Ours.—Every dinner in France is now served "à la Roose."


A WALK IN DEVON.

PART II.—THE FINISH.

Notes from the Travel Diary of Toby, M.P.

The Cottage, Burrow-in-the-Corner, Devon.

Very awkward to have missed the Post; being Saturday night means delay of twenty-four hours.

"Seen the postman?" I asked Old Gentleman.

"Seed ee two minits ago. Gone up the hill. I'll call him back."

New idea this. Never remember when just too late for last pillar-box clearance in London suburb running after postman, bringing him back, and getting him to make special clearance. Old Gentleman evidently thought nothing of it; skipped out of garden with remarkable agility; in middle of road in a twinkling; shouting "Hi! hi!" and waving green umbrella wildly over his narrow-brimmed top hat, round which the rime of age modestly lurked. Postman did not seem at all annoyed; came back promptly, unlocked box, and trudged off again on his rounds.

Here's where my misfortune began. Way back clear by the road I had come; inviting lane passed Old Gentleman's house; was there anyway along it to Burrow-in-the-Corner? "Why, yes," said Old Gentleman, whose desire to accommodate was illimitable. "Follow this lane till you come to four cross roads, then turn to left, and keep on." Nothing plainer than this: getting used to four cross roads in these parts; came upon this particular assortment after quarter of an hour's walk; a sign-post too; so thoughtful; no difficulty about four cross roads when there's a sign-post. Walked up to it and round it; not a single letter remaining intact of the direction. Sign-post older than Old Gentleman with the umbrella, and not nearly in such state of preservation. Not a soul in sight; "no footfall breaking silence of closing day." Old Gentleman said turn to left; so left must be right; take it, and walk on.

Pretty broad highway; must be main road leading somewhere. Why not to Burrow-in-the-Corner? Quarter mile off come upon bifurcation. Which is main road? Instincts of trapper assert themselves; carefully examine which way traffic mostly goes; not many cart-ruts, but majority turn to left; that must be the way to Burrow-in-the-Corner. Take it; find it a ditch between lofty hedges going up a hill, and then, like the late Duke of York, going down again. Half a mile of this; then another bifurcation; a gentle curve, insidious, but unmistakable, one horn of my dilemma leading to right, the other to left. Take the right this time, by way of change; leads into a road running at right angles. Should I turn right or left? Do a little of both in succession; can see nothing of the lay of country, by reason of wall-like hedges; presently come to gate in field; country chillingly unfamiliar.

Situation beginning to grow serious; dusk closing in apace. In spite of it I see my mistake; took the wrong turning when I examined the traffic-mark; must turn back there, and peg along the other road; get into narrow lane again; this time, varying manœuvre of Duke of York, go down a hill, and then go up again.


[pg 215]
LIKA JOKO'S JOTTINGS.—No. 3. STAG HUNTING.

LIKA JOKO'S JOTTINGS.—No. 3. STAG HUNTING.


[pg 216]

Trapper instinct, before alluded to, made me note heap of broken stones at this particular bifurcation. Here it is; no mistake about that; take other turning, and press on full speed; can't be more than two miles now; straight road, and there you are. Can do it under half-an-hour. Nothing so delightful as walk in country lane in cool of evening. This particular lane rather long; roads and lanes cutting off to right and left; at least no bifurcation. Not a house in sight; every soul in the country apparently turned in. Cottar's Saturday night, of course; should have thought of that before; explains everything.

Apparently no end to this road; suddenly seems to disappear; only a dip down a hill; think at first, from steepness, it must be road into Tipperton; but Tipperton is miles away. Getting on for dinner-time; better run down hill; do so; see light flickering at end; probably The Cottage windows; hum "A light in the window for me"; find I've no breath to spare for musical entertainments; shut up, and run. Light comes from farm-house; enter yard cautiously in case of another dog being there. In the twilight see second Old Gentleman; this time in his shirt-sleeves, sitting meditatively on an upturned bucket set on a barn floor. "Is this the way to Burrow-in-the-Corner?" I ask, a little out of breath. Old Gentleman stares; perhaps he is deaf; looks deaf, but find he is only chuckling; repeat question louder. "No," says he, "but that be;" and he waves a horny hand up the wall of a hill down which I had scrambled.

For the last twenty minutes I'd been running away from Burrow-in-the-Corner as if we didn't dine at 7.30.

Old Gentleman not accustomed to seeing joke; made most of this; when he recovered I learned that if I walked back up hill a mile, and took first turning to right, I should be on the road to Burrow-in-the-Corner. Nice pull up hill; kept keen look out for turn to right; after quarter of hour's rapid walking passed on left openings of two lanes in close contiguity. Through one I had forty minutes earlier walked on to this very road. If I had then turned to left instead of going back I should have been at The Cottage by this time—supposing, of course, the road leads thither.

No use repining; must get on; feeling peckish; walk in middle of road to make most of twilight shut out by hedges; can't see time by watch; doing something more than four miles an hour. At end of what seems half-hour am apparently no forrader; no house; no passer-by; no friendly light over ghostly expanse peeped at through occasional gates.

Begin to think of story heard the other day. Belated parson went to take evening service for friend at church close by post-office where I made acquaintance of first Old Gentleman. Only three miles from his own house; after sermon set off to walk home; thinking of many things, turned off at wrong point; knew country pretty well, but darkness came on; hopelessly lost; found forlornly sitting on a gate at eleven o'clock by farmer's son fortuitously delayed on his return home; took stranger home with him; woke up family, and gave him shakedown for night.

"It was bad enough, Toby," rev. gentleman said, "and might have been worse. But what rankles most bitterly in my breast at present day is remark of farmer's wife when her son shouted up at open window that he had brought home a clergyman who had lost his way and wanted a bed. 'Clergyman!' she cried, with cruel scorn. 'Get away with you. No clergyman would be out at this time of night.'"

One comfort it's not raining; rained in torrents when my friend the parson had his Sunday night out. Road evidently not leading towards The Cottage; suppose that once more I am walking away from it! Trapper instincts already alluded to have evolved a plan which I hold in reserve. Remember (or think I remember) the turns on the way back to post-office where I made acquaintance of first Old Gentleman; terrible trudge, but better than sleeping in ditch or shed; shall turn back and face it. Halt and hesitate; no sign of Cottage or other light; hedges are black shadows; a few feet in front and an equal distance behind is wall of darkness; decide to take a hundred paces forward. If then no sign of habitation shall turn back and grope way by post-office.

At eightieth pace a turn in the road; a light across the roadway; then The Cottage, and through the open window, into the dark still night, floats the music of Schumann's "Frühlingsnacht." It is the Cook singing, while the Housemaid spreads the cloth for dinner.


WIREPROOF.

WIREPROOF.

Sir Harry Hardman, mounted on "Behemoth," created rather a stir at the Meet. He said he didn't care a hang for the Barbed or any other kind of Wire.


NO RAISON D'ÊTRE!

["The custom of dancing, I am informed on good authority, has of late years lost its popularity with our gilded youth!"—Mr. James Payn.]

A Singing-bird which will not sing, a watch that will not go,

A working-man who scorns to work, a needle that won't sew,

Are things whose inutility are obvious at a glance,

But what are they compared with "gilded youth" who do not dance?


Mystified.—Somebody at Mrs. R.'s was saying that a certain friend of theirs, a well-known Queen's Counsel, was a first-rate pianist. "By the way," inquired a young barrister, "doesn't he usually practice in Mr. Justice Romer's court?" Mrs. R. held up her hands in amazement. "Well," she exclaimed; "I had no idea that music was allowed in a law court. But I suppose it's in the interval, while the Judge is at luncheon."


An Expostulation.

(On the recent revision of "The Tempter.")

Mr. Tree, what have you done?

Hang it all! there's no exempting

You from blame for risks we run

With The Tempter yet more tempting.


Query.—Has the want of rain this summer, and consequent failure of the hay crops, affected the market for Grass Widows?







End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari,
November 4th 1893, by Various

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH ***

***** This file should be named 39381-h.htm or 39381-h.zip *****
This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
        http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/3/8/39381/

Produced by Malcolm Farmer, Lesley Halamek and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net


Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
will be renamed.

Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
redistribution.



*** START: FULL LICENSE ***

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
http://gutenberg.org/license).


Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works

1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works.  See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.

1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
States.

1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
copied or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license

1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
1.E.9.

1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.

1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.

1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg-tm License.

1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
that

- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."

- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
     License.  You must require such a user to return or
     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
     Project Gutenberg-tm works.

- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
     of receipt of the work.

- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.

1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
your equipment.

1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.

1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.

1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.


Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm

Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org.


Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
http://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.

The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
page at http://pglaf.org

For additional contact information:
     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
     Chief Executive and Director
     gbnewby@pglaf.org


Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
particular state visit http://pglaf.org

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate


Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works.

Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.


Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.


Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:

     http://www.gutenberg.org

This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.