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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 102.



April 9th, 1892.




BOAT-RACE DAY.

    _The Reader will kindly imagine that he has crossed Hammersmith Bridge,
    and is being carried along by a jostling stream of sightseers towards
    Mortlake. The banks are already occupied--although it still wants half
    an hour to the time fixed for the start--by a triple row of the more
    patient and prudent spectators. On the left of the path, various more
    or less_ Shady Characters _have established their "pitches," and are
    doing their best to beguile the unsophisticated._

_First Shady Character_ (_presiding over a particoloured roulette board
with a revolving and not unmanageable index_). Three to one any colour you
like! Fairest game in the world! I'm a backin' I'm a layin'.... Pop it on,
you sportsmen! (_Two_ Sportsmen--_a couple of shop-boys_--"_pop it on_,"
_in coppers_.) Yaller was your colour--and it _is_ a yaller cap, sure
enough! _I_'m a payin' this time. Try it again! (_They do._) Blue's your
fancy this turn, my lord. And green it _is_! Good ole Hireland for ever!
Twenty can play at this game as well as one! Don't be afraid o' yer
luck--'ave another go. _Red_ did you put your coppers on? And it's _yaller_
again--and _you _ lose! (_The_ Sportsmen _pass on--with empty pockets_.)
Fairest game _in_ the world!

_Second S.C._ (_who has been conducting a Confidence Auction from a barrow
and egg-box_). Well, I 'ope you're all satisfied, and if you ain't
--(_candidly_)--it don't make no bloomin' difference to me, for I'm
orf--these premises is comin' down fur alterations. [_He gets off the
barrow, shoulders the egg-box, and departs in search of fresh dupes._

_A Vendor._ Now all you who are fond of a bit o' fun and amusement, jest
you stop and invest a penny in this little article I am now about to
introdooce to your notice, warranted to make yer proficient in the 'ole art
and practice of Photography in the small space of five seconds and a
arf--and I think you'll agree with me as it ain't possible to become an
expert photographer at a smaller expense than the sum of one penny. 'Ere I
'old in my 'and a simple little machine, consistin' of a small sheet of
glorss in a gilt frame. I've been vaccinated five 'underd-and-forty-one
times, never been bit by a mad dog in my life, and all these articles have
been thoroughly fumigated before leaving the factory, therefore you'll
agree with me you needn't be afraid o' catchin' the Inflooenza. They tell
me it's nearly died out now--and no wonder, with everythink a cure for
it--but this article is a _certain_ remedy. All you've got to do is to bite
off a corner of the glorss, takin' care to be near a public 'ouse at the
time, chew the glorss into small fragments, enter the public 'ouse, call
for a pot o' four ale, and drink it orf quick. It operates in this way--the
minoot portions of the glorss git between the jaws of the microbe,
preventin' 'im from closin' 'is mouth, and thereby enablin' you to
suffocate 'im with the four ale. (_To the Reader._) Will you allow me to
show you how this little invention takes a photograph, Sir? kindly 'old it
in your 'and, breathe on it, and look steadily on the plate for the space
of a few seconds. (_All of which the Reader, being the soul of courtesy,
obligingly does--and is immediately rewarded by observing the outline of a
donkey's head produced upon the glass._) Now if you'll 'and that round,
Sir, to allow the company to judge whether it ain't a correct likeness--
         [_But here the Reader will probably prefer to pass on._

_Third S.C._ (_who is crouching on ground by a tin case, half covered with
a rug, and yelling_). Ow-ow-ow-ow!... Come an' see the wonderful little
popsy-wopsy Marmoseet, what kin tork five lengwidges, walk round, shake
'ands, tell yer 'is buthday, 'is percise age, and where he was keptured!

    [_Crowd collects to inspect this zoological phenomenon, which--as soon
    as an inconvenient Constable is out of hearing--reveals itself as an
    illicit lottery. Speculators purchase numbered tickets freely; balls
    are shaken up in the tin box--and the popsy-wopsy invariably gets
    distinctly the best of it._

[Illustration: "I'm ole Billy Fairplay, _I_ am!"]

_Fourth S.C._ (_an extremely disreputable-looking old gentleman, with a
cunningly curled piece of tape on a board_), 'Ere, I'm ole BILLY FAIRPLAY,
_I_ am! Come an' try yer fortins at little 'Ide an' Find! Arf a crown yer
don't prick the middle o' this bit o' tape. Bet arf a crown, to win five
shillin's! (_A school-boy sees his way to doubling his last tip, and
speculates._) Wrong agin, my boy! It's old BILLY FAIRPLAY'S luck--for
_once_ in a way!             [_The School-boy departs, saddened by this
most unexpected result._

_Fifth S.C._ (_a fat, fair man, with an impudent frog-face, who is trying
desperately hard to take in a sceptical crowd with the too familiar
purse-trick_). Now look 'ere, I don't mind tellin' yer all, fair _an_'
frank, I'm 'ere to get a bit, if I _can_; but, if you kin ketch me on my
_merits_, why, _I_ shan't grumble--I'll promise yer that much! Well,
now--(_to a stolid and respectable young Clerk_)--jest to show you don't
know _me_, and I don't know _you_--(_he throws three half-crowns into the
purse_). There, 'old _that_ for me. Shut it. (_The Clerk does so,
grinning._) Thank you--you're a gentleman, though you mayn't look like
it--but perhaps you're one in disguise. _Now_ gimme 'arf a crown for it.
Yer won't? _Any_ one gimme arf a crown for it? Why--(_unprintable
language_)--if ever I see sech a blanky lot o' mugs in _my_ life! 'Ere,
I'll try yer once more! (_He does._) _Now_ oo'll gimme arf a crown for it?
(_To a Genteel Onlooker, with an eyeglass, who has made an audible
comment_) "See 'ow it's done!" So yer orter, with a glazier's shop where
yer eye orter be! Well, if anyone had 'a told me I should stand 'ere, on
Boat-Race Day too, orferin' six bob for arf a crown, and no one with the
ordinary pluck an' straightforwardness to take me at my word, I'd have
suspected that man of tellin' me a untruth! (_To a simple-looking
spectator._) Will _you_ 'old this purse for me? Yer will? Well. I like the
manly way yer speak up! (_Here the_ Gent. Onl., _observing a seedy man
slinking about outside, warns the company to "mind their pockets"--which
excites the_ Purse-seller's _just indignation_.) "Ere!--(_to the_ G.O.) you
take _your_ 'ook! I've 'ad enough o' you. I 'ave. You're a bloomin' sight
too officious, _you_ are! Not much in _your_ pockets to mind--'cept the key
o' the street, and a ticket o' leave, I'll lay! If you carn't beyave as a
Gentleman _among _ Gentlemen, go 'ome to where you 'ad your 'air cut
last--to Pentonville! (_The_ G.O. _retires._) There, we shall get along
better without '_im_. 'Ow long are you goin' to keep me 'ere? Upon my word
an' honour, it's enough to sicken a man to see what the world's come to!
Where's yer courage? Where's yer own common sense? Where's your faith in
'umin nature? What do yer _expect_? (_Scathingly._) Want me to wrop it up
in a porcel, and send it 'ome for yer? Is _that_ what yer waitin' for!
Dammy, if this goes on, I shall git wild, and take and give the bloomin'
purse a bath! (_The_ Simple Spectator _feels in his pockets--evidently for
a half-crown_.) 'Ere, _you_ look more intelligent than the rest--I'll try
yer jest this once. Jest to show yer don't know me, and--(_Shouts of
"They're off! They're coming!" from the bank; the_ Purse-seller's _audience
suddenly melts away, leaving him alone with the_ Seedy Slinker.) 'Ere, JIM,
we may as well turn it up. 'Ere come them blanky boats!

_A Juvenile Plunger_ (_with rather a complicated book on the event_). If
Oxford wins, I've got ter git a penny out of 'im, and if Kimebridge wins,
you've got ter git a penny outer _me_!

_Crowd_ (_as the Crews flash by_). Go it, Oxford! Ox--ford! No, Kimebridge!
Well rowed, Kimebridge!... Oxford wins! No, it don't. _I'll_ lay it don't!
Splendid rycin'. Which on 'em was Oxford? The inside one. No, it worn't--
they was _outside_. Well, Oxford was _leadin_', anyway!... There, _that's_
all over till next year! Not much to come out for, either--on'y just see
'em for a second or so. Oh, _I_ come out for the lark of it, _I_ do....
There goes the pidgins orf.... We shan't be long knowin' now.... 'Ere's the
Press Boat comin' back.... There, wot did I _tell_ yer, now? Well, they
didn't orter ha' won. that's all--the others was the best crew.... 'Ere
they are, all together on the launch, d'ye see? Seem friendly enough, too,
considerin', torkin' to each other and all. Lor, they wouldn't bear no
malice now it's over!

    [_Crowd disperse, and patronise_ "_Popsy Wopsy_," _the Roulette_, _Ole
    Billy Fairplay_, _&c._, _&c._, _with renewed zest._

       *       *       *       *       *

Mrs. RAMSBOTHAM is staying with her niece in the country. She is much
delighted with the rich colour of the spring bulbs, and says she at last
understands the meaning of "as rich as Crocus."

       *       *       *       *       *

WILLIAM THE WHALER, AND HIS GREAT LONE WHALING EXPEDITION.

MODERN IMPERIAL GERMAN VERSION. (BY BIZZY THE PILOT.)

["The arrangements for the German Emperor's Whale-hunting excursion have
been made."--_The Times._]

[Illustration]

  'Twas arter he'd got rid o' Me,
                  Brave boys.
  When Will-I-AM he did sa-a-a-ail,
      In a bit of a boat
      Which would scarcely float,
  And he went for to catch a Whale,
                  Brave boys!
  All alone for to catch a Whale.

  His Sire and his Grandsire trusted Me,
                  Brave boys!
  Who was never known for to fa-a-a-il;
      But _he_ thought he knew
      More than Cap'en _and_ crew,
  In the matter o' catching a Whale,
                  Brave boys!
  In the matter o' catching a Whale.

  He'd inwented a new harpoon,
                  Brave boys
  As was shaped on a whoppingish sca-a-a-le
      And he thought with delight,
      (The "magnanimous" mite!)
  He was _going_ to catch that Whale,
                  Brave boys!
  He made cocksure o' catching that Whale!

  There were several Whales about,
                  Brave boys!
  Here and there a twitching a ta-a-a-il;
      And he thinks, thinks he,
      "I will catch all three,
  But pertikler that big black Whale,
                  Brave boys!
  Most pertikler that big black Whale."


  Enraptured with his bit of a boat,
                  Brave boys!
  He set forth to sea in a g-a-a-a-le;
      Which was altogether
      The wrong sort o'weather
  For a novice to capture a Whale,
                  Brave boys!
  A mere nipper for to capture a Whale.


  I gives him the best of adwice,
                  Brave boys!
  For I knowed he was bound for to fa-a-a-il;
      But he ups, and he offs,
      And he snubs me, and he scoffs
  At the notion of a-missing that Whale,
                  Brave boys!
  The mere notion of _not_ catching that Whale.

  And he bobbles about on the waves,
                  Brave boys!
  And his stout heart doth not qua-a-a-ail;
      He's a foolish little chuck,
      But he's got a lot o' pluck,
  Still, he will not catch that Whale,
                  Brave boys!
  He ain't going for to catch that Whale.

  There was three whopping Whales in the offing,
                  Brave boys!
  And them he did loudly h-a-a-ail;
      But to such a voice as his'n
      They worn't a-going to listen,
  Especially that big black Whale,
                  Brave boys!
  Most especially that big black Whale.

  He crept up with his big harpoon,
                  Brave boys!
  That monster to impa-a-a-ale,
      And stubbornly he kep' on
      A hurling of his weapon,
  Till he managed to hit that Whale,
                  Brave boys!
  He managed to prick that Whale.

  Then he thought he'd done a mighty clever thing,
                  Brave boys!
  But the Whale gave a fhwisk! with his ta-a-a-ail,
      And then vanished from his view,
      _With the harpoon wot he threw_,
  And WILL-I-AM nearly followed that Whale,
                  Brave boys!
  Wos werry near to _following_ that Whale:

  Then WILL-I-AM the Whaler looked dumfoozled,
                  Brave boys!
  And _I_ sings out--a being within ha-a-a-il--
      "I told you, noble Cap'en,
      Exactly wot would happen!"
  So--he didn't catch that Whale,
                  Brave boys!
  _No--he never caught that Whale!_

       *       *       *       *       *

"NAMES AND THEIR MEANING."--_À propos_ of some correspondence in the
_Morning Post_ under the above heading, we would ask, Why not make the
Second Chief Commissioner for the Behring Straits Difficulty, Mr. SEALE
HAYNE, M.P., with Lord SAY AND SELE to speak on the subject, and then sign
the official documents?

       *       *       *       *       *

MRS. R. has heard much lately about the "Sandringham Stud" and the "St.
Andrews Links," both of which, she understands, are very large. She can't
make out how gentlemen prefer them to nice, neat little shirt-buttons!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A BROTHER PASTELLIST.

[Messrs. GOUPIL admit Artists and Students free to Mr. WHISTLER'S
Exhibition.]

_Gatekeeper (stopping squalid Stranger)._ "NOW THEN, WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

_S.S._ "COME TO SEE JIMMY'S SHOW."            _Gatekeeper._ "ONE SHILLING,
PLEASE!"

_S.S._ "NOT ME! I'M A ARTIST--CORNER O' BAKER STREET--CHALKS. LE'MME
THROUGH!"            [_Chucked!_]

       *       *       *       *       *

"Signs" of the Times.

    ["He was brought up to speak in the ante-stumping era."--_Lord Rosebery
    on Lord Granville._"]

  You do well, my dear Lord, to spread GRANVILLE'S renown.
  Knightly, loyal, and courteous to monarch or clown,
    He had pluck, and swift speech, though no mere Party Pump.
  To our late platform level he hardly worked down;
  But the popular sign of _his_ day was "The Crown,"
    Of _ours_ 'tis "The Magpie and Stump."

       *       *       *       *       *

      A PROPHECY AS TO THE U.B.R.

  When the Eights are reaching Chiswick,
  One will give the other physic.

       *       *       *       *       *

TWO DROMIOS.--One day last week at Highgate, a certain or uncertain WILLIAM
PEA, horsedealer, was summoned by the Police for furious driving. The
Police knew him well by sight, but not well enough, as he clearly proved
what _Mr. Weller Senior_ called "a alleybi." Evidently Mr. PEA has a
double, and "as like as two Peas" is peculiarly applicable in this case.
For if the other one isn't a Pea, he has been taken for one by the
Pee-lers.

       *       *       *       *       *

QUESTION OF POLITENESS.--Except in the case of a man's father having been
"a big gun" at any time, to call anyone "a Son of a Gun," has hitherto been
considered a gross insult. Is it equally insulting to speak of a Lady as "a
Daughter of a Canon?"

       *       *       *       *       *

AN EMPTY TRIUMPH.

(_A Story of Show Sunday._)

It was Show Sunday; lovers of Art were streaming in and out of every Studio
they could hunt up, fired with a laudable ambition to break the record by
the number they visited in the hours between luncheon and dusk.

[Illustration]

The residence of so rising a painter as TINTORETTO TICKLER was naturally a
place in which no person of any self-respect would neglect to be seen; and
on this particular afternoon the entrance-hall, sitting-rooms, and studio
were simply choked with an eager throng of friends, acquaintances, and
utter strangers; for TINTORETTO'S lavish hospitality was well known, and no
expense had been spared to give his guests as favourable an impression of
his talent as possible. A couple of knights, clad in complete steel--the
local greengrocer and an Italian model--took the guests' hats, and
announced their names; there were daffodils and azaleas in profusion; the
Red Roumanians performed national airs in the studio-gallery; Italian
mandolinists sang and strummed on the staircase, and, in the dining-room,
trim maid-servants, in becoming white caps and streamers, dispensed coffee,
claret-cup, and ices to a swarm of well-conducted social locusts.

Just outside his painting-room stood TINTORETTO TICKLER, at the receipt of
compliment, which was abundantly and cheerfully paid. Indeed, the torrent
of congratulation and delicately-expressed eulogy was almost overwhelming.
One lovely and enthusiastic person told him that the sight of his "_Dryad
Disturbing a Beanfeast_" had just marked an epoch in her mental
development, and that she considered it quite the supreme achievement of
the Art of the Century. A ponderous man in spectacles, whom TICKLER had no
recollection of having ever met before in his life, encouraged him by his
solemn assurance that his "_Jews Sitting in a Dentist's Waiting-room, in
the reign of King John_," was perfectly marvellous in its realism and
historical accuracy, and that it ought to become the property of the
Nation; while an elderly lady, in furs and a crimped front, declared that
the pathos of his nursery subject--a child endeavouring to induce a
mechanical rabbit to share its bread-and-milk--was sending her home with
tears in her eyes. Some talked learnedly of his "values," his "atmosphere,"
and the subtlety of his modelling; all agreed that he had surpassed himself
and every living artist by his last year's work, and no one made any
mistake about the nature of his subjects, perhaps because--in consideration
for the necessities of the British Art-patron--they had been fully
announced and described in the artistic notes of several Sunday papers.

When they got outside, it is true, their enthusiasm slightly evaporated;
TICKLER was going off, he was repeating himself, he had nothing that was
likely to produce a sensation this year, and most of his pictures would
probably never be seen again.

As, however, these last remarks were not made in TINTORETTO'S presence, it
might have been thought that the unmistakable evidences of his success
which he did hear would have rendered him a proud and happy painter,--but
if he was, all that can be said was that he certainly did not look it. He
accepted the most effusive tributes with the same ghastly and conventional
smile; from feminine glances of unutterable gratitude and admiration he
turned away with an inarticulate mumble and an averted eye; at times he
almost seemed to be suppressing a squirm. If expression is any index to the
thoughts, he was neither grateful nor gratified, and distinctly
uncomfortable.

A painter-friend of his, who had been patiently watching his opportunity to
get a word with him as he stood there exchanging handshakes, managed at
last to get near enough for conversation. "Very glad to find there's no
truth in it!" he began, cordially. "No truth in _what_!" said TICKLER, a
little snappishly, for he was getting extremely fractious, "the
compliments"?

"No, no, my dear boy. I mean in what a fellow told me outside just
now--that some burglars broke into your studio last night, and carried off
all your canvasses--a lie, of course!"

"Oh, _that_?" said TICKLER, "that's true enough--they left nothing behind
'em but the beastly frames!"

"Then what on earth----?" began the other, in perplexity, for another group
was just coming up, beaming with an ecstasy that demanded the relief of
instant expression.

"Well--er--fact is," explained poor TICKLER, in an undertone, "I _did_
think of shutting the studio up and getting away somewhere--but my wife
wouldn't hear of it, you know; said it would be such a pity to have had all
the expense and trouble for nothing, and didn't believe the mere absence of
pictures would make any particular difference. And--er--I'm bound to say
that, as you can see for yourself, it _hasn't_!"

And even as he spoke, he had to resign himself once more to a farewell
burst of positively fulsome appreciation.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE KING AND THE CLOWN.

[Illustration: PAYNFUL PROCEEDINGS; OR, AFTER THE PANTOMIME'S OVER.

[See _Times_ Report, Friday last, April 1st, "All Fools' Day."]]

KING HERBERT CAMPBELL THE FIRST, and HARRY PAYNE, the Clown, were sitting
together, quaffing, after hours, and when work was done, just as in the
good old times was the wont of _The King and the Cobbler_, or _The King and
the Miller_. To them entered a Constable, intent on duty, and no respecter
of persons. Often had he seen the Clown maltreat a policeman on the stage,
nay, had seen him unstuff him, cut his head off and blow him limb from limb
from a gun, and then put him together again; the only mistake being that
the unfortunate official's head was turned the wrong way. So this
Constable, too, looking backwards, as had done the poor pantomimic
policeman, remembered all the slights, insults, and injuries, publicly
inflicted on his cloth for many years, and now rejoiced--Ha! ha!--at last
at having the Clown, the original JOEY, nay, the last of the JOEYS, in his
grasp.

Poor KING HERBERT the Merry Monarch the Constable pitied, but still
"constabulary duty must be done," as he had heard sung; and remembering
that my Lord Chief Justice, in days gone by, had sent off the Heir Apparent
to prison, so now he the Constable, in the name of the Law, would hale KING
HERBERT before the Magistrate. So King and Clown were had up accordingly.
Did the Clown whimper, and cry, "Oh, please, Sir, it wasn't me, Sir; it was
t'other boy, Sir!" and did the good King prepare to meet his fate like a
man? and was he ready to put his head cheerfully on the wig-block and
declare with his latest breath (up to 12.55 P.M.) that in his closing hours
he died for the benefit of the Public? We know not--except that both
delinquents were let off--like squibs--and Mine Host, the Boniface, had to
pay all the fines. He at all events had a Fine old time of it! _Sic
transit_! So fitly ends the long run of a good Pantomime. _Finis coronat
opus_!

       *       *       *       *       *

The Volunteer Review at Dover.

_General Idea of Officers in Command._--To make as few mistakes as possible
in handling some thousands of imperfectly-drilled and entirely
undisciplined bodies of men.

_The same of the Rank and File._--To spend an annual holiday in marching
and counter-marching, and then, after thirty miles of moving over a heavy
country, to return to London dead beat.

       *       *       *       *       *

EFFECTIVELY SETTLING IT.--A "par" in the _Daily Telegraph_ last Friday
informed us that "The Bishop of EXETER administered, yesterday, the rite of
confirmation to thirty-eight patients of the Western Counties' Idiot Asylum
at Starcross. This is the first time such a rite has been conferred upon
inmates of this institution." Very hard on these inmates, as, previous to
the ceremony there might have been some hope of their recovery; but now
they have become "confirmed idiots."

       *       *       *       *       *

ODE TO A GIRAFFE.

(_On hearing that the Solitary Specimen at the Zoo had just died._)

[Illustration]

  So Death has paid the Zoo a call,
    And claimed you for his own,
  Who "neck or nothing" had been left
    To bloom--and die--alone.
  From far I gazed into your face,
    I did not know your name,
  You looked uncomfortable, but
    I loved you all the same.

  Your neck _was_ just a trifle long,
    I think you must confess.
  I've often thought if, as a fact,
    You could have done with less.
  But we must take you all in all,
    And so I hear with pain
  That probably we shall not look
    Upon your like again.

  I could have spared a buffalo
    Or elephant with ease,
  An armadillo, or a bear,
    A dozen chimpanzees.
  When _Jumbo_ left for foreign skies,
    I did not shed a tear,
  For though his _Alice_ mourned his loss,
    I knew that _you_ were here.

  You've gone to heaven, if that's where
    The good giraffes all go.
  I wonder if you'll ever see
    What happens down below.
  I hope, for your own comfort, not,
    But, if you ever do,
  Please recognise me as the Man
    Who sadly haunts the Zoo.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE POET AND THE SONGS.

[Illustration]

  I HAD a thought, a dainty thought,
    A quaint and cunning fancy,
  I said, "A theme with humour fraught
    Within my grasp I can see.
  This thought will work into a set
    Of verses fit for singing."
  A voice rasped, "Oh, a deal o' wet!"
    And off that thought went winging.

  And once again that thought returned,
    With yet more brightness on it--
  This time with the desire I burned
    To weave it in a sonnet.
  I'd get an artist chum to do
    The subject in a rare cut.
  Alas! before 'twas grasped it flew,
    Alarmed by, "Git yer 'air cut!"

  I strayed in silent solitude
    That lost thought to recover,
  And, as my journey I pursued,
    'Twould still around me hover.
  Almost I grasped, one fatal day,
    That fancy, quaint and clever,
  A cad shrieked, "Tara-boom-de-ay!"
    And off it flew--for ever!

       *       *       *       *       *

SUNDAY OBSERVANCE.

[Illustration]

  WHAT a shocking state of things,
    Oh, my goodness, Mrs. GRUNDY!
  There's a man that plays and sings
    In a Blackpool hall on Sunday!

  Oh, what wickedness, oh, dear!
    Sunday music! What a scandal!
  Folks might even go and hear
    Things by HAYDN or by HANDEL!

  Rush and find some obsolete
    Act of wise and pious GEORGES,
  Which will help us to defeat
    Such abominable orgies!

  But here's worse news, I declare;
    Gracious patience, Mrs. GRUNDY!
  Eastbourne people cannot bear
    Nice Salvation bands on Sunday!

  Acts, not words, again we need,
    Just to show them they are silly.
  Sunday Music stopped? Indeed,
    They _must_ like it, willy nilly!

       *       *       *       *       *

THEATRES AND MUSIC HALLS COMMISSION.

(_A Matinée, by Our Own Reporter._)

[Illustration]

IN reply to Mr. WOODALL, Mr. J.L. TOOLE said he was happy to come there.
_Name is JOHN LAWRENCE TOOLE_? Yes. "JACK with my familiars,"--hem!--
SHAKSPEARE. Being in Witness-box,--JACK in the Box. _What he would take_?
Nothing, thanks, not even his oath. He was quite prepared to kiss the
book--in the absence of the belle. Little joke that--has heard of "bell,
book, and candle." Couldn't bring the candle in,--would if he could,
though, just to--ahem!--make it a light entertainment. Would they excuse
his glove? What did they want to know? _Whether the sanitary arrangements
at his Theatre were good_? Rather--he could only say they were "fust-rate."
A 1, in fact, like the performance. The house held over two thousand
pounds, and was crowded nightly to see _Walker, London. Did he consider the
structure safe_? Of course he did--safe as Houses--that is, safe as his
houses for _Walker, London_ were going to be for the next three years and a
half, when his tenancy would expire, and he should then be in the Army.
_Did the Committee want to know how it was that he would be in the Army_?
He'd tell them; because, when he gave up that Theatre, he would be a "Left
Tenant." Not bad that, for a beginner. We're a getting on, we are. As to
ventilation--well, he couldn't have too much ventilation for _Walker,
London_. He should like it aired everywhere. _Then the Committee might take
it that he was satisfied with the structure_? Well--if they put it in that
way--yes--he thought the structure a bit faulty---but what's the odds as
long as the public like the piece? He didn't consider _Walker, London_, a
model of dramatic construction, but he looked upon the House Boat built on
the stage as quite a model of construction; the end of the piece was a bit
hazy, and he didn't yet know why everybody allowed him to go off with the
punt, which they wouldn't get back, unless his friend, Mr. SHELTON, who was
splendidly made up as a riverside boatman, brought it back, and, begging
the Committee's pardon if they'd excuse his glove, he couldn't tell; not
that it was a secret, because the clever author, a very nice retiring chap
called BARRIE, hadn't confided it to him,--but--what was he saying?--oh,
yes--he couldn't tell how it was all the characters on board didn't see
ELIZA JOHNSON as _Sarah_ in the punt. But as _Walker_ says, "Oh, that's
nothing! that's nothing!" _The Chairman wished to know if there is an
egress at the back of the Theatre?_ He (Mr. TOOLE) did not remember ever
having seen a negress there. There were two beautiful young ladies--Miss
IRENE VANBRUGH and Miss MARY ANSELL--now playing, and, he might say it who
shouldn't, playing charmingly in _Walker, London_. _The Chairman didn't
mean that_. No? But _he_ (Mr. TOOLE) did, and he might add, though "it was
nothing, a mere nothing," that the performance of his three young men--Mr.
C.M. LOWNE, as the sensible lover; Mr. SEYMOUR HICKS, as the young medical
student; and Mr. CECIL RAMSEY, as "W.G.," a youthful athlete, was
admirable. They were all in _Walker, London_. In reply to Mr. T.H. BOLTON,
who wished to know _if the Witness considered his Theatre a substantial
edifice_, Mr. TOOLE said that he certainly did, because, you see, the
Theatre would never go to pieces as long as the pieces went to the Theatre,
and as long as it was supported by the public. _Have I any complaint_?
Nothing to speak of, except a touch of gout. Oh, beg pardon, you meant
_complaint as to the Theatre_? Oh, no, except it's not large enough to hold
the millions who can't be crammed in nightly. Has an excellent Acting
Manager in Mr. GEORGE LEE, and as to friend BILLINGTON'S stage-management
of the House Boat (the scene, he might say, was painted by Mr. HARKER, a
name not unknown at the Mansion House), it is the best thing of the sort
ever done. Any evening that Mr. PLUNKET, Mr. WOODALL, or Mr. BOLTON, or any
other of the Honourable Gentlemen would like to look in and see _Walker,
London_, they have only to send to the Box Office, or any of the Libraries,
and book in advance--he couldn't say fairer than that--because it was
advice that he always gave to "Friend IRVING," and which he had adopted. No
more? Hope he doesn't intrude. Would the Committee excuse his glove? Yes?
Then, remember, _Walker, London_.

Mr. J.L. TOOLE then hurried out. After his departure it was found that all
the spectators had on their backs adhesive labels advertising _Walker,
London_.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A WARNING.

_Archie_ (_to his Sister, who has been reading him Fairy Tales_). "WON'T
THERE BE A LOT OF _US_, IF NONE OF US GO AND GET MARRIED? WORSE THAN _HOP
O'MY THUMB_!"

_Sister._ "YES; BUT YOU KNOW _I_ MEAN TO BE MARRIED!"

_Archie._ "DO YOU MEAN TO SAY YOU'D GO AND LIVE ALONE WITH A MAN AFTER
READING _BLUEBEARD_?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

A WAITING GAME.

WARY WILLIAM, _loquitur_:--

  _Drat that dog_!
    Dogs are mixed,--like men.
  Few know how to _jog_;
    Hasty tongue and pen,
  Many a bungler bog,
    Steady! _I_'ll say when!

  Lots of dogs I've bred.
    Most want whip, a deal.
  This one, be it said,
    Is more hot than leal;
  Wants to go ahead,
    Hates to come to heel!

  Skies are overcast;
    Slowly comes the spring,
  Quarry's tracked--at last,
    Strong, though, on the wing.
  Steady! Not so fast!
    Waiting game's the thing.

  'Tother WILLIAM'S style
    Rather spoiled this pup.
  _Steady_! Wait awhile!
    H-RC-RT's like a Krupp.
  I can stroll, and smile--
    Till the birds get up.

  Half-bred dogs--well, well,
    Mustn't talk like that!
  Else they'll call _me_ "swell."
    _Down! What are you at_?
  Scurry and pell-mell
    Do not 'bell the cat.'

  Sport is not a mere
    Game of "Spill and pelt"
  Patience! End is near.
    _Down_! Brute wants a welt!
  Modern breed runs queer;
    That I long have felt.

  'Tother WILLIAM snorts,
    L-BBY only grins;
  But at most all sports
    It is _judgment_ wins.
  Breed, though, now consorts
    With mongrels--for its sins!

  Long the sport I've loved,
    Mean to try again,
  I should be reproved
    Did I speak too plain:
  But--are dogs improved
    By that Irish strain?

  Steady, my lad, steady!
    Nearly slipped me then!
  You're too hot and heady--
    (Like no end of men!--)
  _Near_!--but not _quite_ ready.
    Steady! _I_'ll say when!

       *       *       *       *       *

VESTRYMEN CLIMBING DOWN.--Say the unfortunate Nonconformist Vestrymen of
St. George's, Southwark,--"We won't pay the Rector's Rate; but we won't go
to prison, at any rate."

       *       *       *       *       *

PRUDES AND NUDES.

    [An "Officer of high rank" has written to _Truth_, complaining of the
    naked statues and pictures he saw at Londonderry House, at a sale on
    behalf of Irish Home Industries.]

  ATTEND and hear the story of a most uncommon _militaire_,
    Whom the sight of naked statues caused to tingle to his boots,
  Who was seen to beat his breast, and (which was far more flat and silly)
      tear
    His hair by blushing handfuls from its shocked and modest roots.

  It was dreadful! There were Duchesses (Heav'n bless their handsome
      faces!)
    And a host of pretty Countesses, and Maidens by the score,
  And they sold some Irish Industries--embroideries and laces--
    And MADGE described to AMY all the pretty frocks they wore.

  But the statues and the paintings didn't seem at all to worry them,
    Having work to do they did it just as quiet as a mouse,
  Though this soldier took his daughter and his wife, and tried to hurry
      them
    In the cause of outraged virtue far from Londonderry House.

  So when next he goes where statues are, we'll do our best to hide them,
    Since to prudes all things are prudish, lest his modesty take hurt.
  Though some one else, perhaps, may write, and say he can't abide them,
    When Apollo stands in trousers, or when Venus wears a skirt.

       *       *       *       *       *

FROM ROBERT.--"Sir, I'm proud of my furrin co-profeshunal LHÉROT, the
himminint Waiter, wot nobbled the bomb-ta-ra (hif I may so igspress my
sentimenx) waggybun, RAVACHOL. This Waiter is wot my french frend calls a
'_Tray bong Gassong_,' and the wunnerful manner the french Waiters has of
carryin a tray loded with drinkabels is worthy of the hippythep. He sez
orlso has is name, hinsted of LHÉROT, ort to be andid down to posterittory
as 'L'HÉROS'--wich word as rote down by hisself means 'The Hero.' He got a
1000 Franks, wich is rayther more nor wos ever got by one BOB."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A WAITING GAME.

THE OLD KEEPER. "GENTLY! GENTLY!--MY BEAUTY! I'LL SAY '_WHEN_'!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: REALLY PLEASANT!

SIX MILES FROM HOME, HORSE DEAD LAME, AWFULLY TENDER FEET, AND HORRIBLY
TIGHT BOOTS.]

       *       *       *       *       *

MR. PUNCH'S BOAT-RACE NOVEL.

STONYBROKE.

CHAPTER I.

IT was the eve of the University Boat-Race. In the remote East the gorgeous
August sun was sinking to his rest behind the purple clouds, gilding with
his expiring rays the elevated battlements of Aginanwater Court, the
ancestral seat of His Grace the Duke of AVADRYNKE, K.C.B., G.I.N., whose
Norman features might have been observed convulsively pressed against the
plate-glass window of his alabaster dining-hall. There was in the
atmosphere a strange electric hush, scarcely broken by the myriad voices of
hoarse betting-men, raucously roaring out the market odds of "Fifty to one.
Oxbridge!" or "Two ponies to a thick 'un, Camford!" Well would it have been
for the Duke of AVADRYNKE had he never offered the hospitality of his
famous river-side residence to the Oxbridge Crew. But the Duke had the
courage of his ancient boating-race whose banner waved proudly upon the
topmost turret, bearing upon its crimson folds the proud family motto,
"_Dum Vivo Bibo_."

And the sun went down, and within Aginanwater Court the sounds of wild
revelry shook the massive beams.

CHAPTER II.

THE Oxbridge Crew still sat in the marble supper-room, amid the _débris_ of
the feast that the Duke's Seneschal had laid out for them. The floor was
paved with Magnums and Maximums of the best Heidanseekerer champagne, most
of them as empty as the foolish head of the Duchess of AVADRYNKE, which was
at that moment reposing upon the brawny chest of Lord PODOPHLIN, the
celebrated No. 5 of the Oxbridge Crew. On a raised dais at the end of the
room the ladies of the Tarara _corps de ballet_ were performing the final
steps of the Sinuous Shadow-dance, specially dedicated to the Oxbridge Crew
by the _chef d'orchestre_ of Tarara's Halls.

"May I be jiggered," observed the Oxbridge President, Sir WELFORARD
LONGSTROKE, as he selected his fourth regalia from the Duke's pearl-
encrusted box, and lit it with all the _abandon_ of a Society darling, "may
I be jiggered if this is not ripping! What say you?" he continued,
addressing young PULYER WRIGHT, the Coxswain, and tossing him playfully
four times to the raftered ceiling--"shall we not beat the dastard foe from
Camford to-morrow?" A roar of applause sprang from the smoking mouths of
his seven companions.

But at this moment the Duchess of AVADRYNKE and Lord PODOPHLIN rose
unobserved and quitted the room. In another minute the sound of hurrying
wheels, gradually growing fainter in the distance, was heard by no one in
the avenue. And the dance went on, and revelry rose to its maddest pitch.
But no one, who, as has been recorded above, had heard the sound of the
wheels, gave a thought to the Duke of AVADRYNKE, as he sat tearing his hair
in the violet bedroom, having learnt from the faithful Seneschal the
terrible news of the Duchess's elopement with the heir to the house of
PODOPHLIN.

CHAPTER III.

THE morn of the race dawned clear and sparkling. Far as the eye could
reach, the banks of the river were rich with Millions, and firm enough to
bear any run upon them however heavy. But Sir WELFORARD LONGSTROKE was ill
at ease. His No. 5 had fled leaving no trace, and he had no one to fill the
vacancy. He looked the very model of an aquatic hero. His broad chest was
loosely clad in a pair of blue satin shorts, and his fair hair fell in
waving masses over his muscular back. His thoughts were bitter. The Camford
crew had started on the race some ten minutes ago, and the Oxbridge craft
still waited idly in the docks for want of a No. 5.

"Surely," Sir WELFORARD thought to himself, "PODOPHLIN might have postponed
the elopement for one day." A confused noise interrupted his meditations.
Some ten yards from him a man roughly clad, but with the immense muscular
development of the Arri Furnese Apollo, was engaged in fighting three
bargees at once. As Sir WELFORARD stepped forward, this individual struck a
terrible blow. His ponderous fist, urged by the force of a thirty-inch
biceps, crashed through the chest of his first foe, severed the head of the
second from his body, and struck the third, a tall man, full in the
midriff, propelling him through the air into the middle of the river.
"That's enough for one day," he said, as with an air of haughty melancholy
he removed his clay-pipe from his mouth. His face seemed familiar to Sir
WELFORARD. Who could he be? All doubt was removed when he advanced, grasped
Sir WELFORARD by the hand, and, in tones broken with emotion, said, "Don't
you recognise me? I am your old College chum, Viscount STONYBROKE."

CHAPTER IV.

"SAVED! Saved!" shouted Sir WELFORARD, joyously--"there is yet time!" Then,
rushing into rhyme, he asked, "Will you row in the race, In PODOPHLIN'S
place?"

[Illustration: Touching Finale.]

"Will I row in the race?" repeated Lord STONYBROKE--"just won't I!" And,
without removing his hobnails, or his corduroys, he sprang lightly into the
Oxbridge racing-boat. The rest is soon told. In less time than it takes to
narrate the story, the Camford lead was wiped out. The exertion proved too
much for seven men in the Oxbridge Crew, but the gigantic strength of the
eighth, Lord STONYBROKE, was sufficient of itself to win the race by fifty
lengths. And that night, when the Prime Minister handed to him the reward
of victory in the shape of a massive gold dessert service, he was also able
to announce that the STONYBROKE estates and the STONYBROKE title had been,
by the Monarch's command, restored to their original possessor, as a reward
of conspicuous valour and strength.             [THE END.]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE HOUSE OF COMMONS WAX-WORKS. THE CHIEF GROUPS.]

       *       *       *       *       *

Walt Whitman.

  "The good grey Poet" gone! Brave, hopeful WALT!
  He might not be a singer without fault,
  And his large rough-hewn rhythm did not chime
  With dulcet daintiness of time and rhyme.
  He was no neater than wide Nature's wild,
  More metrical than sea-winds. Culture's child,
  Lapped in luxurious laws of line and lilt,
  Shrank from him shuddering, who was roughly built
  As cyclopean temples. Yet there rang
  True music through his rhapsodies, as he sang
  Of brotherhood, and freedom, love and hope,
  With strong wide sympathy which dared to cope
  With all life's phases, and call nought unclean.
  Whilst hearts are generous, and whilst woods are green,
  He shall find hearers, who, in a slack time
  Of puny bards and pessimistic rhyme,
  Dared to bid men adventure and rejoice.
  His "yawp barbaric" was a human voice;
  The singer was a man. America
  Is poorer by a stalwart soul to-day,
  And may feel pride that she hath given birth
  To this stout laureate of old Mother Earth.

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR CRICKETERS.--The English Cricketing Team came to the end of their
Australian tour last week, where, under the leadership of Lord SHEFFIELD,
out of twenty-six matches they won thirteen, lost two, and eleven were
drawn. The Eleven of course were drawn over and over again, _i.e._,
photographed. It will henceforth be a recommendation for any Cricketer to
say he was out under this distinguished captaincy, as to this introduction
the host will rejoin, "Ah, I know that man, he comes from SHEFFIELD." Not
only were the English team successful playfully, but also artistically, as
in every match they played with GRACE.

       *       *       *       *       *

BRAWLING AT HOME AND ABROAD.--On the same day in the papers appeared
accounts of brawling in a Church in Paris, where a free fight ensued and no
police interfered, and of a row in a Church in London Road, when the police
walked off with an anti-curate and put an end to the disturbance. Some
things we _do_ manage better in England.

       *       *       *       *       *

COCKNEY CLASSICS.--Of the Guildhall Loan Collection, Mr. Deputy HORA is the
Chairman. As a Deputy must be a representative officer--except, perhaps, in
the case of a "Depitty Sawbones," _vide Sam Weller_--the temporary motto of
the Deputy's Ward might well be, "_Hora pro nobis_."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A NEW COMET.

["Mr. DENNING, whose name is well known as a comet-finder, discovered a
_small_ FAINT _Comet_ on Friday, March 18, at Bishopton, Bristol."--
_Times_.]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: HASTY!

_Mary._ "IF MISSUS DON'T WITHDRAW WHAT SHE HAS SAID TO ME, I SHALL LEAVE
THE HOUSE!"

_Thomas._ "WHAT DID SHE SAY?"

_Mary._ "SHE SAID, 'I GIVE YOU A MONTH'S NOTICE!'"]

       *       *       *       *       *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

[Illustration: Seymour-Keay.]

_House of Commons, Monday. March 28._--Strange sight witnessed in House
to-night. Subject of Debate, Indian Council Bill; Benches nearly full. Pup
and dog, I've known the House for nineteen years, and never before saw the
like. Explanation not found in fact of CURZON making his maiden speech as
Minister in charge of Bill, though that had some influence at outset. Able
speech it proved, our newest Minister having the great gift of lucidity. It
was later than that when House filled, nearly two hours later, for in
meantime SCHWANN had delivered Address as long as the Ganges, and MACLEAN
(who was waiting his turn to speak) says, nearly as muddy.

Curious how India seems to affect eminent orators, making them for the time
pointless, dull, and above all, verbose. Probably no subject other than
India could unite such galaxy of born orators and debaters. SWIFT MACNEILL,
RICHARD TEMPLE, SAMUEL SMITH, OCTAVIUS MORGAN, JULIUS 'ANNIBAL PICTON and
SEYMOUR-KEAY--one followed the other as in a necklet of diamonds gem
succeeds gem, till the wearied eyesight can scarce decide which is the more
brilliant. SEYMOUR-KEAY was, indeed, too much for the SPEAKER, who thrice
called him to order, the last time with stern voice and threatening brow
that made SEYMOUR tremble from the altitude of his boot-heels.

It was none of these who filled the House with Members listening intently
to a speech on internal affairs of India, It was Mr. G. who performed the
miracle. No one expected to find him in this galley; being there, the banks
were rapidly crowded with a throng lost in admiration of his strong, swift,
graceful stroke. Difficult to say which the most admirable, the lofty
height, far above the littleness of Party conflict, from which he surveyed
the topic, the charm of his language or the dexterity with which, without
seeming to rebuke the follower who had moved the Amendment and the eminent
men who were prepared to support it, he sustained the Ministry in their
effort to reconstruct the Indian Councils, and suggested that the Amendment
should with all haste be put into the fire. Whilst SCHWANN appropriated an
hour of the Sitting, and SEYMOUR-KEAY exceeded that time, twenty-five
minutes served Mr. G. for a speech delivered without note, apparently
without preparation, and which left nothing more to be said.

"Upon my word, Sir," I said, a little out of breath trying to keep pace
with him running up the Duke of YORK'S steps going home to dinner, "you
grow younger every year, and, if I may say so, mellower."

"You certainly may say so, TOBY, if you like," he smilingly replied, "but
the calendar says otherwise."

"What," I asked--

  "What has the calendar to do
    With Mr. G.? What Time's fruitless tooth
  With gay immortals such as you,
    Whose years but emphasise your youth?"

"Ah, I know that--with a slight difference. LOWELL wrote it to WENDEL
HOLMES on his seventy-fifth birthday. I knew HOLMES too; he used to crow
over me because he was just four months older, and yet, as he said, whilst
I pleaded age as a reason why I could not visit the United States, he
crossed the Atlantic at seventy-seven. Perhaps when I've got this Home-Rule
question off my hands, I may find time to go to the United States."

"Yes," I said, "you'll be another year younger then, and more at leisure."

_Business done._--Indian Council Bill read Second Time.

[Illustration: R. Cuninghame Graham.]

_Tuesday._--Some sensation created at Morning Sitting by discovery of
CUNINGHAME GRAHAM addressing House from Conservative Benches. There was a
well-known Member of the Parliament of 1874 who hit upon new device for, as
he reckoned, doubling his chance of catching SPEAKER'S eye. Noted that
SPEAKER called alternately upon Members from either side. If debate were
opened from Opposition Benches, SPEAKER would next turn to other side of
House, and call on Ministerialist. Happy thought occurred to our old
friend. After rising several times from his seat below Gangway on
Opposition Benches, and been passed over by SPEAKER in favour of another,
he, whilst Member was speaking, crossed floor of House, and, when speech
concluded, jumped up from other side. Being again ignored by the startled
SPEAKER, went back to own place again to try his chances there. Don't
remember that the manoeuvre was a success. Certainly not been generally
adopted.

GRAHAM seems now to have recurred to it; or can it be the case that he,
too, has joined "the Gentlemen of England"? House so agitated by this
problem, that it quite loses thread of debate; a thrilling discussion, to
which FERGUSSON contributed a luminous speech, upon the Telephone.

WILFRID LAWSON much interested in new development of affairs.

"The Government," he says, "if only with the instincts of self-
preservation, should hasten the Dissolution. If they go on a little longer,
no saying what they may come to, with JOE as their principal champion in
town and country, with JOHN REDMOND as their favourite orator; led into the
Lobby the other day by BURT against the Eight Hours Bill, they only want to
recruit CUNINGHAME GRAHAM to their ranks to make the medley complete. If
they go on another three months, we shall see them some Sunday following
CUNINGHAME GRAHAM'S red flag as he leads them to Trafalgar Square, there to
be addressed by Alderman JOHN BURNS."

_Business done._--Got into Committee on Civil Service Estimates.

[Illustration: "Crude and wasteful."]

_Thursday._--Scotch Members made a night of it. Great muster of the Clans.
Government have £265,000 to make over to Scotland in relief of Local
Taxation and promotion of Education. Scotch Members don't object to the
money, but take exception to its plan of distribution. Member after Member
rises from Opposition Benches, biting at hand that proffers the boon.
"Crude and wasteful," BUCHANAN calls this scheme, and Scotch Members
lustily cheer.

A capital debate of its kind, but not picturesque; Benches empty, only the
LORD-ADVOCATE on the Treasury Bench.

"I'll tell you how you can manage these fellows, my dear CASABLANCA," said
JEMMY LOWTHER, crossing the Gangway, and seating himself for a moment by
the solitary Minister.

"Beg your pardon, my name is PEARSON."

"Of course," said JEMMY, "I know very well; only a quotation; thinking of
the Boy who stood on the burning deck, whence all but he had fled, doncha.
Was going to tell you how you can get out of this trouble. Fellows opposite
righteously indignant at your proposed disposition of money. Very well; you
get up, say you're sorry to have offended; had no idea you'd made such a
mistake; only atonement you can offer is to withdraw the proposed grant
altogether. Then you'll see how they'll sit up."

"Excellent idea," said LORD-ADVOCATE. "Shall mention it to GOSCHEN when he
comes back--if he ever does," he added with weary voice, looking down the
deserted Bench. Scotch Members, all unconscious of JEMMY LOWTHER'S
machination, went on talking till midnight, when debate stood adjourned.

_Business done._--None.

_Friday._--In Committee of Supply; SAGE OF QUEEN ANNE'S GATE thinks
opportunity favourable for Prince ARTHUR to tell all he knows about
Dissolution. Prince ARTHUR quite agreeable, but really knows nothing.
Radicals look angry at being thus put off; show signs of intention to
discuss the matter. Mr. G. interposes; makes one of his bland speeches;
wouldn't press question now (a suggestion that pleases Ministers);
by-and-by time will come, then we shall see; whereat SAGE and his friends
brighten up; Mr. G. sits down having pleased everybody; storm blown off.

Curious to note the altered condition in atmosphere of House since Mr. G.
came back. Turmoil stopped; restlessness soothed; Ministerial work goes on
smoothly, whilst the GRAND OLD PACIFICATOR looks on benevolently.

"Yes," said PRINCE ARTHUR, uneasily, "this is all very well. He holds back
the curs that would snap at our heels; but it's only because he, a wilier
tactician, knows that no practical advantage is to be gained from that kind
of sport. Wait till he thinks the hour has struck, and you'll see he'll not
only let slip the dogs of war, but lead the rush himself."

_Business done._--In Committee of Supply.

       *       *       *       *       *

REMBRANDT, TITIEN, VÉLASQUEZ, ET CIE. WHISTLER, SUCCESSEUR.

[Illustration]

  Oh, what a catalogue! Whatever made you think
    Numbers should mix in a way never seen?
  3, that's a flood of milk, 20, a flood of ink,
    Touching a gruel-like sea, that's 15.

  Next time, to make a delightful variety,
    Hang upside down all the works in your show,
  Whilst, on their heads, the _élite_ of Society,
    Gasp, "_Fin de Siècle_, quite _chic_, don't you know!"

  Why play such pranks to draw people who scoff? It is
    They to whose critical words you are deaf.
  Though in your country you are not a prophet, is
    This how you make one, that's spelt with an F?

  Strange that the only kind critic you mention
    Is French. He compares you with REMBRANDT & CO.;
  His words seem the sole ones that claim your attention:
    We'll end in his tongue, like the list of your show.

  _Cher Monsieur_ VISTLAIRE, _allez chez la nation_
    _Voisine, et emportez ces oeuvres_ "_splendides_,"
  "_Destinées à l'éternité des admirations_,"
    _Ainsi que dit ce critique candide_!

       *       *       *       *       *

--> NOTICE.--Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed
Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no case be
returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope,
Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.