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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI

VOLUME 104, MAY 13TH 1893

edited by Sir Francis Burnand







MIXED NOTIONS.

No. X.--THE BEHRING-SEA ARBITRATION.


(_Scene and Persons as usual._ _The Conversation has already begun._)

_First Well-informed Man_ (_concluding a tirade_). ---- so what I want
to know is this: are we or are we not to submit to the Yankees? It's
all very well talking about Chicago Exhibitions and all that, but if
they're going to capture our ships and prevent us killing seals, why,
the sooner we tell 'em to go to blue blazes the better. And as for its
being a _mare clausum_----

[Illustration]

_Inquirer_ (_interrupting_). Who was she? What's she got to do with
it?

_First W. I. M._ (_laughing vigorously_). Ha! ha! that's a good 'un.

_Inquirer_ (_nettled_). Oh, laugh away, laugh away. That's you all
over.

_First W. I. M._ My dear chap, I'm very sorry, but I really couldn't
help it. There's no woman in the business at all. _Mare clausum_
merely means the place where they catch the seals, you know; _mare_,
Latin for sea.

_Inquirer._ Oh! I should have known that directly, if you'd only
pronounced it properly. But what does _clausum_ mean?

_First W. I. M._ Well, of course, that means--well, a clause, don't
you know. It's in the treaty.

_Average Man_ (_looking up from his paper_). It used to be the Latin
for "closed," but I suppose it's altered now.

_First W. I. M._ (_incredulously_). It can't mean that, anyhow. Who
ever heard of a closed sea, I should like to know?

_Second W. I. M._ (_hazarding a suggestion_). It _might_ mean a
harbour, you know, or something of that sort.

_Average Man._ I daresay it _might_ mean that, but it doesn't happen
to be a harbour (_relapses into paper_).

_Second W. I. M._ Oh, well, I only made the suggestion.

          [_A pause._

_Inquirer._ But what are they arbitrating about in Paris? It says
(_reading from newspaper_) "When Mr. CARTER, the United States
Counsel, had concluded his speech, he was complimented by the
President, the Baron DE COURCEL, who told him he had spoken on
behalf of humanity." I thought old CARNOT was President of the French
Republic.

_First W. I. M._ So he is.

_Inquirer_. But this paper says Baron DE COURCEL is President.

_Second W. I. M._ Oh, I suppose that's one of CARNOT's titles, All
these blessed foreigners are Barons, or something of that sort.

_Inquirer._ Ah, I suppose that must be it. But what have the French
got to do with the Behring Sea? I thought it was all between us and
the Yankees.

_First W. I. M._ So it is--but the French are arbitrating. That's how
they come into the business. I can't say, personally, I like these
arbitrations. We're always arbitrating now, and giving everything
away. If we think we're right, why can't we say so, and stick to it,
and let the French, and the Yankees, and the Russians, and all the
rest of 'em, take it from us, if they can?

_Second W. I. M._ Take what from us?

_First W. I. M._ Why, whatever it happens to be, the Behring Sea, or
anything else. We're so deuced afraid of everybody now, we never
show fight; it's perfectly sickening. But of course you can't expect
anything else from old GLADSTONE.

_Second W. I. M._ That's right--shove it all on to old GLADSTONE.
But you're wrong this time. It was JO CHAMBERLAIN, one of your
own blessed Unionists, that you're so proud of, who arranged this
arbitration.

_First W. I. M._ I know that, my dear boy; but CHAMBERLAIN was a
Radical then; so where are you now?

          [_A pause._

_Inquirer_ (_who has continued his reading, suddenly, with a puzzled
air_). I say, you know, this is too much of a good thing, bringing
the Russians into the business. It says--(_reads_)--"documents were
submitted, on behalf of the United States, to prove that Russia had
never abandoned her sovereign rights in the manner suggested by Great
Britain." How, on earth, does Russia manage to crop up everywhere? And
where is this confounded Behring Sea?

_Second W. I. M._ (_vaguely_). It's somewhere in America, or
Newfoundland, or thereabouts.

_Inquirer._ But how about Russia?

_Second W. I. M._ Oh, Russia shoves her oar in whenever we get into a
difficulty of any kind anywhere.

_Inquirer_ (_persisting_). Yes--but how can she have any "sovereign
rights" in America?

_Second W. I. M._ (_haughtily, but evasively_). My dear fellow, if
you had followed the thing properly, you wouldn't ask the question.
There's no time now to explain it all to you, as it's very
complicated, and goes back a long way. But you may take it from me
that Russia has got certain rights, and that she means to make things
as disagreeable for us as she can.

          [_A pause._

_Inquirer._ It's rather a rum start, isn't it? sending out Sir
CHARLES RUSSELL and Sir RICHARD WEBSTER. They're on opposite sides of
politics.

_First W. I. M._ That's just why they send 'em. RUSSELL has got to put
the Liberal view, and WEBSTER the Conservative.

_Inquirer._ Of course, of course; I never thought of that. By the way,
have you ever seen a seal?

_First W. I. M._ They've got one at the Zoo. Catches fish, and kisses
the keeper, and all that sort of game.

_Inquirer._ What, that big beast that looks as if it was made of
india-rubber, with long whiskers and a sort of fish-tail?

_First W. I. M._ That's it.

_Inquirer_ (_with profound disgust_). Well, I _am_ blessed! Is _that_
all they're jawing about?

          [_Terminus._

       *       *       *       *       *

IN MEMORIAM--"THE DEVIL'S OWN."

    ["Notwithstanding the efforts made by the Inns of Court
    Rifles, supported by the Authorities of the Inns, to increase
    the strength of the corps, the additional enrolments lately
    made have been judged by the War Office not sufficient
    to warrant the continued maintenance of the corps as an
    independent battalion; and orders have been given for its
    reduction from six to four companies, for the withdrawal of
    the Adjutant, and for the attachment of the corps to the 4th
    Middlesex Rifles."--_Daily Paper._]

  Oh, how bright were the days when we all of us saw
  In their martial equipment the limbs of the Law.
  With their helmets and rifles, and pouches complete,
  (May I quote from the ladies), they "really looked sweet."
  The Colonel, the Major, and all their attendants,
  Appeared not as counsel, since all were defendants;
  And no soldierly spirit could equal the Bar's,
  When Themis, its goddess, was mated with Mars.

  No more shall they charm us; harsh Fate with her shears
  Has severed the thread of the Law's Volunteers.
  And, whatever the cause was, 'twas certainly true
  That these fee-less defenders at last were too few.
  So now they're absorbed, and, no longer the same,
  They lose by attachment their being and name.
  And the old Devil's Own, from their discipline loosed,
  Have gone to their owner; _i.e._, they're _re-duced_.

       *       *       *       *       *

ENGLISH AS SHE IS SPOKE.

(_In the House and out of it._)

The Parliamentary Committee appointed to consider the best mode of
reporting in the House, have decided that it will be advisable to
allow Members to have an opportunity of revising their speeches after
they have been "taken down" verbatim. The result of this suggestion
will probably be as follows:--

[Illustration: "Spoke? Rather!"]

MR. SYMPLE-STUTTER'S SPEECH.

(_Verbatim Report._)

Mr. SPEAKER, Sir, What I mean to say, I venture to think is that the
British Empire--yes Sir--that is what I venture to think, and _I_ am
a young Member. For I do not believe--no not now--or in fact, when
otherwise. For envy and malice are together. I venture to think that
sometimes the British Empire. Yes Sir, for the enemies are at our
gates with the past and the future. When the sun sinks--not that it
follows--at least so I venture to think. You may believe me, Sir,
that it is farthest from my thoughts when the British Empire and the
sinking sun which I venture to think is--in point of fact the setting
sun, and I venture to think the British Empire, and that is I venture
to think was my proposal in the past--which has the terrors of the
present from generation to generation.

(_Revised Report._)

Mr. SPEAKER, Sir, at a time like the present--when the enemies of the
Empire are clamouring at our gates, when envy walks hand-in-hand
with malice, and our fate is in our own hands--we should be bold and
resolute. It is not for a young Member like myself to point out the
course that we should pursue, but I venture to think that, by ignoring
the terrors of the past with the courage of the present, we shall
avert the dangers of the future. It has been said--and truly
said--that the sun never sets upon the British Empire. Let us believe
in that sun, and find in its rays an earnest of that glory which was
the birthright of our ancestors, and which, should be the birthright
of our descendants from generation to generation.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

_Antony_ ... JOHN BULL. _Cleopatra_ ... EGYPT. _Mecænas_ ... H.
L-B-CH-RE. _Enobarbus_ ... GL-DST-NE.

_Mecænas_ (_aside to_ ENOBARBUS). "NOW ANTONY MUST LEAVE HER UTTERLY."

_Enobarbus_ (_aside to_ MECÆNAS). "NEVER; HE WILL NOT." (_Apart._) "AT
LEAST, NOT YET."

  _Ant. and Cleo., Act II. Scene 2, adapted._

       *       *       *       *       *

MR. GLADSTONE'S CHANGE OF NAME.

  He was "The People's WILLIAM." He will
  Be known in future as "Our Home-Rule BILL."

       *       *       *       *       *

HIGH NOTES FOR A VIOLIN.--Last week a Stradivarius (_vide Daily
News_), a real genuine "Strad," sold at PUTTICK AND SIMPSON'S for
£860. Fiddle de L. S. Dee!

       *       *       *       *       *

IN THE TIME OF THE RESTAURATION.--They're going it! Feeding, feeding
everywhere, and not a bit to eat--without paying for it pretty
heavily. We gather from a note in _Sala's Journal_, that LONG'S Hotel
now possesses a "Restauration." Of course, those who live in "Short's
Gardens," won't be able to patronise "LONG'S." The management is
announced as under the direction of a "M. DIETTE," and, as he has
obtained no inconsiderable renown (so we are informed) at the Berkeley
and Bristol, patrons of LONG'S may expect something superior, by way
of "DIETTE-ary."

       *       *       *       *       *

MR. PUNCH TO THE BETROTHED PAIR.

(_The Duke of York and the Princess May of Teck._)

MAY 3, 1893.


  'Mid the bird-chorus of the May,
    From glade and garden madly ringing,
  There sounds one welcome note to-day,
    Round the glad world its way 'tis winging.
  You hear--you hear the general cheer
    That greets it! 'Twill suffice to show you
  That all who love you joy to hear.
    And all who love are all who know you!

  Soft music of the marriage-bell
    Seems woven 'midst the world's Spring Voices.
  In truth, there's little need to tell
    How in the prospect _Punch_ rejoices.
  His well-pleased eye has watched your way;
    His loyal heart has shared your sadness;
  Now on this bright Betrothal-Day
    Your gladness he acclaims--with gladness!

       *       *       *       *       *

How is Mr. F. LUKE FILDES, R.A.?--In excellent health we sincerely
hope, but from seeing daily, in the front sheet of the _Times_, an
advertisement commencing "The Doctor after LUKE FILDES, R.A." Many
friends began to feel anxious. We are glad to be able to add, that, in
answer to the numerous inquiries made at 39, Old Bond Street, a most
satisfactory report has been obtained.

[Illustration: "HONOURS EASY."

_First Undergraduate._ "I SAY, OLD MAN, DID YOU WIN YOUR MONEY?"

_Second Un._ "'COURSE NOT; WON SOMEBODY ELSE'S. _YOU_ LOST _YOUR_
COIN, DIDN'T YOU?"

_First Un._ "MY COIN! WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? I LOST THE
GUV'NOR'S!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

MUSE v. MECHANIC.

["Mr. NORMAN GALE--the Muse of orchards and pretty girls with polished
knees; a charm often left unsung."--_Mr. Andrew Lang on the Poems of
"A Country Muse."_]

  "A Country Muse" sings, if you please,
  Of pretty girls "with polished knees"!
    One would not quite demolish
  The graphic rhymester's stock-in-trade,
  But if bare knees must be displayed,
    He _might_ forego the polish.

  It smacks of fustian! Workmen's "bags"
  Are very "polished" where the "sags"
    From salient joints protuberant,
  Grow shiny with continual friction;
  But "polished knees" in poet's diction
    Strike one as too exuberant.

  Say varnished elbows, burnished knuckles,
  And you'll elicit scornful chuckles
    From Muse and from Mechanic!
  Selections from the terms of trade
  Would put, I'm very much afraid,
    Parnassus in a panic.

  The bards are sometimes rather free
  With feminine anatomy;
    Their catalogues erotic
  Of pretty girls' peculiar "points,"
  Their eyes and limbs, and curves and joints,
    Are often idiotic.

  But if we must be told, sometimes,
  Ladies have limbs, then that your rhymes
    May not offend or fog any,
  Don't _mechanise_ a maiden's charms;
  Leave "polishing" to legs and arms
    Of walnut or mahogany.

       *       *       *       *       *

RHYMES ON THE DECAY OF ROMANCE.

(_Suggested by Mr. Frederic Harrison's recent Article in "The
Forum."_)

  Oh, list to Mr. HARRISON lamenting from _The Forum_,
  Imagination done to death by latter-day decorum!
  "Good boys and girls" we've all become, and modern men and maidens
          see
  The world with such prosaic eyes, Romance is in decadency!

  We're too absorbed in Politics, enamoured of Monotony,
  To give an ear to Geniuses (supposing we had _got_ any!)
  But First-Class in our Fiction Mr. HARRISON abolishes,
  Indeed most Authors travel Third, their talent so toll-lollish is.

  It's all the _Fin-de-Siècle's_ fault--and this, of course, a true
          bill is;
  For Genius puts its shutters up when centuries pass their jubilees!
  As Mr. HARRISON can prove by references historical,--
  And any utterance of his is equal to an oracle.

  We cannot stand a novel now, he says, if there's a shock in it;
  Prefer our heroine angular, her eye must have a cock in it,
  Unless she's dull and middle-aged, no sympathy have _we_ with her,
  Her sole excitement is to ask a plainer friend to tea with her!

  He thinks, were _Pickwick_ written now, we'd view it with a cooler
          eye,
  And term the Trial Scene a piece of "riotous tomfoolery;"
  While _Jane Eyre's_ thrilling narrative of _Rochester's_ sad
          revelries
  Of "shilling shockers" scarcely would to-day above the level rise!

  An age that's given up its gas to read by Electricity
  Would naturally be repelled by THACKERAY'S causticity,
  And scorn the characters of SCOTT, because they had Glengarries on,
  An inference which is obvious--to Mr. FREDERIC HARRISON!

  How scathingly does he denounce our Literature degenerate,
  With not a real Romancer left--or only two at any rate!
  By "desperate expedients," each the old tradition carries on--
  "But it's no good"--as they're informed by Mr. FREDERIC HARRISON.

  For Mr. STEVENSON can write no stories worth hurraying at,
  While he upon Pacific Isle persists in _Crusoe_ playing at!
  And Mr. KIPLING's ceased to count--no heart in what he does is
          there--
  He longs for death in far Soudan, a-fighting Fuzzy-Wuzzies there!

  So we've only Mr. MEREDITH--(oh, what a sad disgrace it is!)
  Though Mr. BLACKMORE writes romance--how poor and commonplace it is!
  While Messrs. THOMAS HARDY, BLACK, and BESANT, it would seem, are
          all
  Unworthy serious notice, mere nonentities ephemeral!

  Some people like Miss BRADDON, Mrs. OLIPHANT, Miss BROUGHTON, too.
  They're only lady-novelists--so serious readers _oughtn't_ to,
  And those who've been convinced by his invidious comparisons,
  In future will eschew romance--excepting Mr. HARRISON'S.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE DARWINIAN THEORY EXEMPLIFIED.--At the Zoo is now being exhibited
"Three White-tailed Gnus,"--"The Latest Gnus." with the best possible
intelligence,--"and a Black-capped Gibbon." This last is evidently a
descendant of the great historian; though, if this exemplifies "the
survival of the fittest," where are the others of the race? Then
"Black-capped" sounds ominous, as if this particular Gibbon stood
self-condemned, and was soon to disappear. Should this be the case,
the Zoo Authorities ought to advertise the fact, and give visitors a
chance before it is too late.

       *       *       *       *       *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

_House of Commons, Monday Night May 1._--Demonstrated in Debate on
Second Reading Home-Rule Bill that House may talk and talk through
twelve long nights, and not affect single vote--not even SAUNDERS'S.
To-night shown how a single speech may cause to collapse what was
expected and intended to be big Debate. It was Mr. G. performed the
miracle. Looked in at House on his way from Downing Street, where
he had received deputation on Eight Hours Question, and delivered
important speech. That might have served as day's work for ordinary
man, Mr. G., not to put too fine a point upon it, is not ordinary man.
Being here, sat listening to DILKE with close attention. DILKE thinks
time has come to evacuate Egypt. Stated his case in luminous speech;
sustained his reputation of knowing more about Egyptian Question than
most men except perhaps TOMMY BOWLES.

Mr. G. made no outward and visible sign of intention to follow; took
no notes, and sometimes, as he sat with drooping arms and closed eyes,
seemed to sleep. DILKE done and down, he sat bolt upright, looked
round with almost startled air, "Well, really," he seemed to be saying
to himself, "since I am here, and no one else is disposed to follow, I
might as well say a few words."

Spoke for half an hour, without reference to a note, and without
faltering for a word. Preserved throughout that studious assumption
of having accidentally looked in which marked his appearance at
table. Evidently desired to minimise as much as possible importance
of occasion. Subject broached, he was, possibly, expected to say
something; certainly not going to make a speech, much less deliver
oration. Carried out this subtle fancy to such extent that, pitching
voice on low conversational tone, sometimes difficult to catch full
length of sentences. This added to impressiveness of scene. Crowded
House sitting breathless; Members opposite leaning forward lest
they might miss a phrase. Everyone conscious that at the door also
listening were jealous France, the wily Turk, the interested Egyptian,
the not entirely disinterested CZAR, and the other Great Powers
concerned for peace of Europe.

Mr. G., for all his affectation of unpremeditation, evidently had in
mind these listeners at the door. To their shadowy presence was, for
him, added consciousness of keen eyes watching him from all quarters
of the House; some of his friends waiting for sign of readiness to
quit Egypt; the Opposition ready to catch at any token of tendency to
scuttle. Occasional passages he delivered at rapid rate; but you could
see him weighing every word with due consideration of these manifold
and conflicting interests and influences.

When he sat down, there was consciousness that the massive figure of
important Debate that had loomed over House whilst DILKE was speaking
had melted away. JOKIM and GORST had intended to speak from Front
Bench; great authorities on Foreign Policy in other parts of House
had proposed to say something, more or less soothing. Mr. G. had left
nothing for anyone to say, unless it were ALPHEUS CLEOPHAS, and the
TALENTED TOMMY, who, sitting immediately opposite the PREMIER, had,
whilst he spoke, taken voluminous notes, only occasionally withdrawing
eyes from manuscript to fix them with look of calm distrust upon the
aged and unconscious statesman.

"I always like, when I look in," said MARJORIBANKS, smiling
beneficently from the Bar, "to find TOMMY in his place, taking notes.
Gives one a sense of security. I feel, when I'm in the Lobby, looking
after things, it's all right in the House. BROWNING said something of
that sort. Don't remember exactly how it ran; something in this way:

  TOMMY BOWLES is in his place;
  It's all right with the Empire."

_Business done._--Mr. G. excelled himself.

_Tuesday._--Seven-leagued Boots not needed by TALENTED TOMMY. He moves
about universe with ease and grace, unmindful of mountains, regardless
of ravines, reckless of rivers, oblivious of oceans. Last night, Forty
Centuries looked down upon him whilst he showed how, in Egypt, Mr. G.
is wrong, and DILKE, who criticised Ministerial policy, is not right.
To-night he stands on the Roof of the World, a solitary, colossal
figure upright on the lone Pamirs. His attitude is of manifold
mien. Defiant of Russia, suspicious of ROSEBERY, patronising towards
Afghanistan, he takes young China familiarly by the elbow, and bids
it be of good cheer, for TOMMY BOWLES is its friend. Since NAPOLEON
crossed the Alps, and was caught in the act by the brush of the
painter, the world has not seen so moving a picture as TOMMY throned
on the grandly desolate Pamirs.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A PATRON OF OLD CHINA. (_Vide "China Bowles
Collection."_)]

       *       *       *       *       *

House almost empty whilst the Talented One discoursed on the subject.
Mr. G., who misses nothing, happily in his place, listening with
eager hand at ear whilst TOMMY spoke familiarly of Asiatic rivers
and mountains, not one with name of less than five syllables. DICKY
TEMPLE, who really knows something about this mysterious region,
looked on in blank amazement at TOMMY'S erudition. EDWARD GREY, who
would presently have to answer this damaging attack, tried to seem
indifferent. But his young cheek paled when TOMMY put his ruthless
finger on that Foreign Office dispatch, out of which a line of print
had been dropped. This a Machiavellian device that had hitherto
escaped detection. TOMMY'S falcon eye had noted it, his relentless
foot had followed up the tracks, and he had discovered, on reference
to the original, that the criminally-deleted line of print embodied
a reference to the Oxus. That was all. "Only the Oxus!" he said,
with withering sarcasm. Then changing his tone and manner, he shook
a minatory forefinger at the shrinking form of the PREMIER, and cried
aloud, in voice strengthened with long warring with the winds on the
Pamirs: "Sir, the stream of the Oxus has been entirely omitted from
this paragraph."

"Poor Mr. G.!" said W. J. LOWTHER, present in his capacity as
Ex-Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs. "What with LABBY one night and
TOMMY BOWLES the next, he has a sad time of it."

"Yes," said PLUNKET, sole companion on the Front Bench. "It's a hard
fate for a Prime Minister to stand between L. and TOMMY."

_Business done._--Miscellaneous talk on going into Committee of
Supply.

_Thursday._--Little difficulty arisen in connection with Budget.
SQUIRE faced by deficit of million and half. This he met by expedient
that will be historical, as affording JOKIM opportunity for a popular
jape. The SQUIRE has dropped his penny in the slot, in accordance with
directions, pulls out the drawer, and finds there is something more
than the sum necessary to balance the year's account. That is all
very well; but there are some amateur CHANCELLORS of the EXCHEQUER who
would do great things with the odd £20,000 or £30,000 which remains as
surplus. CLARK wants Graduated Income-tax; BARTLEY proposes Abatement
on Incomes below £200; whilst GRANT LAWSON would let farmers off with
half the proposed increase. Best of all is, ALPHEUS CLEOPHAS, who
would straightway abolish the tax on tea. The keen insight of ALPHEUS
notes the little difficulty about the deficit.

"The CHANCELLOR of the EXCHEQUER," he observed, in his most judicial
manner, "may ask me to suggest another source of revenue." The SQUIRE
pricked up his ears; the Committee sat attentive. If ALPHEUS CLEOPHAS
had given his great mind to consideration of the subject, it might be
regarded as settled. All waited for his next utterances. "That," he
continued, in steely tones, "is the CHANCELLOR of the EXCHEQUER'S
business. Mine is to carry out the Newcastle Programme." ALPHEUS
CLEOPHAS thereupon resumed his seat, leaving the SQUIRE gloomily
facing the dead wall of his deficit.

_Business done._--Budget Bill passed report stage.

_Friday Night._--Some young bloods below Gangway, on Ministerial side,
in distinctly low spirits. On Tuesday night, stage of Budget Bill
being taken, with ten minutes to spare, ASQUITH nimbly moved reference
of Employers' Liability Bill to Grand Committee. Opposition, who want
it referred to Select Committee, were under impression Mr. G. had
promised discussion should not be taken till Thursday or Friday. Last
night CHAMBERLAIN protested that they had been betrayed, and deceived.
Young bloods below Gangway disposed to chuckle over this spectacle.
Mr. G., on contrary, takes it seriously to heart. Having got Bill
referred to Grand Committee, positively agrees to rescind Order, and
begin all over again.

"It's very seldom," says the SAGE OF QUEEN ANNE'S GATE, in most
melancholy mood, "that our side show themselves capable of doing a
smart thing. When, by chance, it is accomplished, Mr. G. comes along,
and coolly undoes it."

To-day, nearly two hours spent in discussing question; Bill,
eventually, remitted to Grand Committee, as it had been left at
midnight on Tuesday.

"Shan't play!" cries CHAMBERLAIN. "All very well for you, with your
majority, to bowl us over, but you won't gain any time by it. You may
take a horse to the Grand Committee, but you can't make him discuss
your Bill."

_Business done._--Budget Bill through.

       *       *       *       *       *

Q. E. D.

(_By a Grumpy Old Bachelor._)

  "'Tis a mad world, my masters!" Grim LOMBROSO
    Corroborates mild SHAKSPEARE in this matter.
  And, though _his_ demonstration seems but so-and-so,
    No doubt the world's as mad as any hatter,
  The sweeter sex especially! 'Tis sad,
    But that rule's absolute, depend upon it!
  'Tis obvious all women _must_ be mad,
    Because--there is a "b" in _every_ bonnet!

       *       *       *       *       *

WILDER IDEAS;

_Or, Conversation as she is spoken at the Haymarket._

_The Disciple._ Ah, that supper after the Theatre! It was the
unspeakable following the unplayable. I feel so seedy!

_The Master._ Nay, but have I not told you that the two letters to
follow "X. S." are "S. and B.?" And you have yourself said that "Soda
and Brandy is the last refuge of the--digestion."

_The Disciple._ Hang it! I can survive everything--except the cast-off
clothes of my own epigrams,--or, by the bye, death.

[_Exit from this life, to prove it._

       *       *       *       *       *

Mem. on the Behring-Sea Business.

  A Forty-hours' speech by magniloquent CARTER!
  That Behring Tribunal has caught a Tartar!
  Whatever the upshot one cannot but feel
  'Tis a fine illustration of "Say and Seal!"
  Though _Bunsby_ might say of this lengthy oration,
  "The _Behring_ will lie in the application."

       *       *       *       *       *

APPROPRIATE SONG (_for anybody connected with the Tourist-Managing
firm of Gaze, on hearing a Lady say that she was "going to try a
Cook."_)

  "Ah me! she has gone from our Gaze,
    That beautiful girl from our door!"

(_The remainder can be added ad libitum, and sung whenever opportunity
permits._)

       *       *       *       *       *

"A MOVE ON THE BOARD" IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION.--Our Surprising
School-Board has voted in favour of allowing its Industrial School
youths to enjoy "reasonable recreation" on Sundays. Its version of Sir
WILLIAM JONES'S distich would be something as follows:--

  The morn at Church, the afternoon at play,
  Will serve to while the Day of Rest away.

Apparently it looks favourably on a modicum of Sunday Cricket or
Football, and does not taboo even the enormity of Lawn-tennis.
As against that eminently strict Sabbatarian, Mrs. GRUNDY, the
tennis-player may defend himself by a reference to the "services" in
which he is engaged.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: OBVIOUS.

"WANT ANYTHING ON IT, SIR?"

"YES--CONFOUND YOU! MORE HAIR!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

A SWINBURNE!

(_See "Nineteenth Century."_)

  I.

  Three times one are always three;
  Waves are stormy on the sea;
  Bonnets oft contain a bee;
      Bear delights in bun.
  The ALGERNON, that ever
  Is linked to CHARLES, shall never
  From poet SWINBURNE sever,
      The three appear as one.

  II.

  Once he lashed and slashed the Priest,
  Chopped him up to make a feast,
  Called him brute and called him beast,
      Black as crows are black.
  But now he rhymes "together"
  (See CALVERLY) with "weather":
  He might have thrown in "heather,"
      A rhyme that men call "hack."

  III.

  Clash the cymbal, beat the gong;
  Sense is weak, but sound is strong;
  Such is SWINBURNE'S latest song,
      Made by him alone.
  See WATTS and KNOWLES around us,--
  JAMES KNOWLES with cheques hath bound us
  To write; the Muse hath found us
      With Putney Hill as throne.

  IV.

  When the wind's Nor-West by West,
  Man and beast are rarely blessed.
  Sometimes I like mutton best,
      Often I like veal.
  A poet (_not_ a puny 'un)
  Who raves about the Union,
  And hymns the States Communion,
      Takes none the less his meal.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the City. Thursday Last.

_First Member of Stock Exchange_ (_Unionist_). I say, JONES, you
weren't in it! Why didn't you join us marching in procession, with
CLARKE carrying the Union Jack, eh?

_Second Member of the House._ Why didn't I join you? Because I didn't
want to make a Union-Jack-ass of myself!

[_Exit, before the retort is possible._

       *       *       *       *       *

A Pair of Spectacles.

(_After hearing a much interrupted Speech in the Commons._)

  When a batsman has to go
  To the tent with a "round O,"
    He knows _he's_ not made a hit.
  When a Statesman's hitting well,
  The round "Oh's" around him swell
    (Dullards' substitutes for wit).
  In debate or cricket score,
  The "round O" means _nought_--no more!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THINGS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE EXPRESSED DIFFERENTLY.

_Fair Hostess._ "GOOD-NIGHT, MAJOR JONES. WE'RE SUPPOSED TO BREAKFAST
AT NINE; BUT WE'RE NOT VERY PUNCTUAL PEOPLE. INDEED, THE LATER YOU
APPEAR TO-MORROW MORNING, THE BETTER PLEASED WE SHALL ALL BE!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

May 10, 1893.

MR. PUNCH'S VISION AT THE OPENING OF THE IMPERIAL INSTITUTE.

  _This Spring's soft beauty is a joy for ever;
  Its loveliness increases; it will never
  Pass to forgetfulness; we still must keep
  Fond memories of this Maytime, calm as sleep
  Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
  Therefore, on this May morning are we wreathing
  A flowery band, to bind us round the earth,
  Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
  Of patriot natures, Mammen-ridden days,
  And Toil's unhealthy and o'erdarkened ways
  Made for our mending: yes, in spite of all
  This Mayday Vision moves away the pall
  From our dark spirits!_

  KEATS _adapted to the occasion._

  Thy pardon, _Adonais_, pray,
    That on this memorable morning
  We twist those lovely lines astray,
    As modish maid, her charms adorning
  A trail may twine of eglantine
    Into the formal "set" of Fashion.
  Yet wouldst thou gladly lend thy line
    To present need; for patriot passion,
  Love of the little sea-girt land,
    Has ever fired our English singers.
  Of England's fame, from strand to strand,
    Their songs have been the widest wingers.
  So, _Adonais_, this great day
  Were "Welcome as the flowers in May!"

  The "flowery band" of KEATS'S song
    Our Empire's sons to-day are wreathing;
  Long may it bind, and blossom long.
    The May-flower's fragrance round us breathing
  Is nothing sweeter than the thought
    To patriot hearts of loyal union.
  Together we have toiled and fought,
    But gay to-day is our communion.
  BRITANNIA'S helm is crowned with flowers,
    BRITANNIA'S trident's wreathed with posies,
  And Fancy sees in Flora's showers
    Thistles and Shamrocks blent with Roses.
  The Indian Lotus let us twine
    With gorgeous bloom from Afric's jungles
  Canadian Birch with Austral Pine.
    Tape-bound Officialdom oft bungles;
  Some blow too hot, some breathe too cold,
    O'er-chill are some, and some o'er-gushing;
  But the same blood-stream, warm and bold,
    Through all our veins is ever rushing;
  And so to all true hearts to-day
  Comes "Welcome as the flowers in May!"

  A QUEEN is with us, to evince
    Imperial sympathy unfailing;
  And pleasant to our genial PRINCE
    This proof that all seems now plainsailing;
  With his great purpose. Some sneered, "Whim!"
    But general shouts now drown their sneering.
  A special salvo's due to _him_
    Amidst to-day's exuberant cheering.
  Hail the Imperial Institute!
    And hail the patient Prince promoter!
  The man who's neither cynic brute,
    Nor phrase-led sycophantic doter,
  May echo that. Our patriot tap
    Is old, well-kept and genuine stingo;
  Not the chill quidnunc's cold cat-lap,
    Nor crude fire-water of the Jingo,
  But sound as good old English ale,
    Full-bodied, fragrant, mild, and mellow.
  To try that tap _Punch_ will not fail,
    Nor any other right good fellow.
  A bumper of that draught to-day
  Is "Welcome as the flowers in May!"

  Weave on! And may that "flowery band"
    Be surer bond than forged steel fetters.
  Ho! Hands all round! Whilst hand-in-hand
    We need not fear the fierce sword-whetters
  Who'd make the pleasant earth a camp,
    And stain blood-red the white May-flowers.
  May echoes of no mailèd tramp
    Disturb ye in your Spring-deck'd bowers,
  Glad garland-weavers! Heaven bestow
    "Sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing,"
  One thing above all others know,
    Ye who the earth-round band are wreathing,
  To-day, to-morrow, _any_ day,
  You're "Welcome as the flowers in May!"

       *       *       *       *       *

"PLAYING THE DUSE."--MR. HORACE SEDGER announces the engagement at the
Lyric of Mlle. DUSE. The Manager must be prosperous; at all events,
_he_ is not going to the Duse, but the Duse is coming to him. And as
to the Theatre--well, if it isn't a success, the Duse is in it!

       *       *       *       *       *

"SHE ANSWERED 'YUSS'!"--The most recent and most important change of
name is from "I MAY" to "I WILL."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: MAY 10, 1893.

"THEREFORE ON THIS BRIGHT MAY DAY ARE WE WREATHING A FLOWERY BAND TO
BIND US ROUND THE EARTH."--KEATS, _slightly altered._]

       *       *       *       *       *

THANK YOU!

(_For a Photograph, inscribed "With Ethel Travers's kind regards."_)

[Illustration]

  It was only a week in the brightest of summers,
    We played tennis and golf, and, when ended the day,
  We made furious love as two amateur mummers,
    Whilst Act IV. saw us One in the orthodox way.

  So my holiday ended. I begged a reminder,
    I asked you to send me a portrait that should
  Be a sweet recollection, and you, who were kinder
    Than I ever deserved or dared hope, said you would.

  Then we parted. Life seemed to be painfully lonely,
    Though I dreamt of a future with you by my side,
  Till my common-sense seemed to say, "_You_, who are only,
    Just a poor needy teacher, have _Her_ for a bride!"

  It was true, and I knew it. Yet why had I met you?
    Why had Fate kept such bitter-sweet fortune in store?
  So determined I set myself then to forget you,
    And to let my thoughts dwell on yourself nevermore.

  First your hair with its gold, next your eyes with their laughter,
    I forgot in a thoroughly workman-like style.
  Persevering, I never desisted till after
    Many months I but faintly remembered your smile.

  I completely forgot you (I thought) and the warning
    Was to save me, I chortled, a future of pain,
  But you undid it all with your picture this morning,
    And the same old, old trouble starts over again.

  The Fates are a trifle hard, putting it mildly,
    For they well might have spared me this finishing touch
  Of your portrait, which speaking quite calmly yet Wildely,
    I admire all the more since I hate it so much.

  I shall treasure it, though. Thanks--a thousand--to you, dear.
    When in sweet meditation your fancy runs free,
  Is it asking too much that a stray thought or two, dear,
    From your kindness of heart may come straying to me?

       *       *       *       *       *

POLITICS AND POLITENESS.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,--I see that the Duke of ARGYLL, when he received the
freedom of the Burgh of Paisley, the other day, told the following
interesting story:--

    "I was going once to call on a lady in London, and when the
    door was opened and the servant announced my name, I saw
    the lady advancing to the door with a look of absolute
    consternation on her face. I could not conceive what
    had happened, and thought I had entered her room at some
    inconvenient moment, but, on looking over her shoulder, I
    perceived Mr. and Mrs. GLADSTONE sitting at the tea-table, and
    she evidently thought that there would be some great explosion
    when we met. She was greatly gratified when nothing of the
    kind occurred, and we enjoyed a cup of tea as greatly as we
    had ever done in our lives."

Now, my dear _Mr. Punch_, I have great sympathy with "the Lady," and
think (with her) the meeting, as described by his Grace of ARGYLL, was
mild in the extreme. If something out of the common had taken place,
it would have been far more satisfactory. To make my meaning plainer,
I give roughly (in dramatic form) what should have happened to have
made the action worthy of the occasion.

SCENE--_A Drawing-room. Lady entertaining_ Mr. _and_ Mrs. G. _at tea.
A loud knock heard without._

_Mrs. G._ (_greatly agitated_). Oh dear, I am sure it is he!

_Mr. G._ (_with calm dignity_). Do not fear--if he appears, I shall
know how to deal with him.

_Lady_ (_pale but calm_). Nay, my good, kind friends, believe me, you
shall not suffer from the indiscretion of the servant.

_Mrs. G._ (_pushing her husband into a cupboard_). Nay, WILLIAM, for
my sake! And now to conceal myself, so that he may not suspect his
presence by my proximity. [_Hides behind the curtains._

_The Duke of Argyll_ (_breaking open the door, and entering
hurriedly_). And now, Madam, where is my hated foe? I have tracked him
to this house. It is useless to attempt to conceal him.

_The Lady_ (_laughing uneasily_). Nay, your Grace, you are too
facetious! Trace the PREMIER here! Next you will be saying that he and
his good lady were taking tea with me.

_The Duke_ (_suspiciously_). And, no doubt, so they were! This empty
cup, that half-devoured muffin--to whom do they belong?

_The Lady_ (_with forced gaiety_). Might I not have entertained Mr.
and Mrs. JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN, my Lord Duke?

_The Duke_ (_aside_). Can I believe her? (_Aloud._) But if it is as
you say, I will send away my clansmen who throng the street without.
(_Opens window and calls._) _Gang a waddy Caller Herring!_ They will
now depart. (_A sneeze heard off._) What was that?

_The Lady_ (_terrified_). I fancy it was the wind--the cold wind--and
now, believe me, Mr. GLADSTONE will abandon Home Rule.

_Mr. G._ (_suddenly appearing_). Never! I tell you to your face that
you are a traitor! [_Sneezes, and hurriedly closes the window._

_The Duke_ (_savagely_). That sneeze shall be your last!

[_Takes up a knife lying on the table._

_Mr. G._ (_repeating the action_). I am ready, Sir!

_Mrs. G._ (_rushing between them_). Oh, WILLIAM! Do not fight!

_The Lady_ (_falling on her knees_). I prithee stay!

_Mr. G._ Never! May the better man win!

_The Duke._ So be it!

[_The Scene closes in upon a desperate duel. Curtain._

_There, Mr. Punch!_ What do you think of that? Still, perhaps, under
the circumstances of the case, it is better as it is.

  Yours most truly,
  ONE WHO NEVER PAID TWOPENCE FOR MANNERS.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE LITIGANT'S VADE MECUM.

_Question._ Can you tell me the best possible regulations in the
universe?

_Answer._ Certainly English Common Law.

_Q._ Is English Common Law accessible to everyone?

_A._ Certainly, and if a litigant please, he or she (for sex makes no
difference) can become his or her own advocate.

_Q._ When a litigant prefers to conduct a case in person, does the
proceeding invariably save expense?

_A._ Not invariably, because a litigant may have odd views about the
importance of evidence and the time of professional advisers.

_Q._ When a litigant is afflicted with this lack of knowledge what is
the customary result?

_A._ That the defendants have to undergo the expense of a
several-days' trial with counsel to match.

_Q._ Supposing that a journalist, sharply but justly, criticises the
actions of a man of straw--what can the man of straw do?

_A._ With the aid of some speculative Solicitor, he can commence an
action for libel.

_Q._ What benefit does the speculative Solicitor obtain?

_A._ The speculative Solicitor, if he can persuade a judge and jury
to agree, will get his costs, and if the journalist wins he will find
that the prosecutor or plaintiff is, indeed, a man of straw.

_Q._ Is there any redress?

_A._ None; but a wise journalist will never criticise sharply.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE PICK OF THE R.A. PICTURES. No. 2.

No. 139. _Ça donne à penser._ Not a more suggestive pose does any
portrait possess throughout the Galleries. It is described _tout
court_ as "ALBERT BRASSEY, Esq.," and 'tis the work (and the pleasure)
of W. W. OULESS, R.A. "'Tis a fine work!" says BOB to 'ARRY. "O'
course," returns 'ARRY JOKER. "Great! _'Ow less_ could be expected of
'im tho', I dun no." It represents an undecided moment in Mr. ALBERT
BRASSEY'S life. It is as if he were Mr. "_All but_" BRASSEY,
and wasn't quite certain of what he should do next. There is the
writing-desk,--shall he indite a letter? If he does so, shall he
take off his thick-fur coat? Or shall he go hunting, since he has on,
underneath the furrin' fur, the pink of hunting perfection? Likewise
he has his whip and his horn, also his boots! He's "got 'em on!" He's
"got 'em _all_ on!" Or shall he hail the 5,000-ton yacht that's lying
in the roads just a few yards from his open window, and go out for a
cruise? He looks happy, but puzzled.

[Illustration: No. 543. _The_ Picture of the Year. Lamp-light reading;
or, Mr. Punch among the Pretty Pets. "_Dulce est dissipere in joco_."
H. H. La Thangue.]

No. 167. _The Right Hon. H. H. Fowler, M.P._ "Presentation Portrait,"
painted by ARTHUR S. COPE. "When the Right Hon. Gentleman rose to
speak, the House, with the exception of a clerk at the table and
two small boys (whose presence within the precincts has never been
satisfactorily accounted for) was empty."--_Extract from The Imaginary
Times Parliamentary Report of that date._

No. 350. _Mrs. Keeley at the age of Eighty-six._ Looking so well and
sprightly, that the Artist must have been at considerable pains to
induce her to sit still just one moment for her portrait. Long may she
remain with us! Our compliments to the Artist, JULIA B. FOLKARD.

No. 434. Mr. SOMERSCALES has given us the best sea-piece of the year.
It shows a "_Corvette shortening sail to pick up a shipwrecked crew_."
"A sale in sight appeared!"--and as the picture, so it is said, was
immediately sold, so also were those who came too late to make a bid.

No. 524. _Gentleman writing._ "A nice quiet corner for a little
composition away from all those speaking likenesses." J. W. FORSTER.

No. 533. This is a sad-looking little girl, painted by WILLIAM CARTER.
She has an unsettled expression. Is she suffering from what the Clown
calls "teezy-weezies-in-the-pandenoodles," and, as Sir JOHN MILLAIS'S
"_Bubbles_" served P**RS for an advertisement, is it beyond the range
of probability that this, being associated with the name of "CARTER,"
should be intended as a pictorial advertisement for the well-known
"L-ttle L-v-r P-lls"?

No. 535. Portrait (presumably) of _C. R. Fletcher Lutwidge, Esq._ By
ST. GEORGE HARE. Ha! Ha! Ha! By St. George you Ha're bound to laugh
directly you look at it. You can't help it. "C. R. F. L." is chuckling
to himself and saying, "Ha! Ha! I've just thought of _such_ a funny
thing! Ha! Ha! Ha!" And he _is_ enjoying it so! As the song says, "O
Mister (I forget the name), what a funny little man you are!"

No. 553. This, by Mr. MARKHAM SKIPWORTH, is a portrait of _Dr. E. Ker
Gray, LL.D_ of St. George's Chapel, Mayfair. "KER GRAY!" it ought to
be "Ker Scarlet."

No. 862. _Portrait of a Gentleman_, by PHIL R. MORRIS, A. The
Portrait, annoyed at being next to SIDNEY COOPER'S, R A., "_Be it ever
so humble, &c._," representing head of a jackass, and some sheepish
sheep, is evidently saying to itself, "Hang the Hanging Committee!
They show me as next door to a donkey."

No. 888. _The Wedding Gifts._ The pretty Bride is a bit frightened at
seeing the Groom leading up two bare-back'd steeds. "Oh!" she cries,
"I can't ride _them_! Why (_to her husband_) did you give me these?"
"My dear," says he, "why not? Here are the bare-backed steeds, and
you've already got the Ring." S. E. WALLER.

No. 892. "_Your Health!_" A Birthday Party at Mr. ERNEST HART'S.
Painted by S. J. SOLOMON. As a subject, the wisdom of SOLOMON is
questionable as a specimen of Hacademie Hart--ahem! However, to the
toast of "_Your Health_!" as addressed to Mr. ERNEST HART, Master SOL
might have added the words, "_Most Ernestly and Hartily_."

No. 928. _Exhibition of Miss Biffin_, "who has no legs to speak of."
"If you saw my ancles," said _Miss Mowcher_, "I should go home and
kill myself." But ARTHUR HACKER, whose capital work it is, calls it
"_Circe_."

No. 937. "_It might have been_," by F. STUART SINDICI, represents
NAPOLEON and WELLINGTON out walking together, in 1847, near the Horse
Guards. "It might have been" _if_ .... But it wasn't--though F. STUART
SINDICI went nap on it, and dreamt it. Why shouldn't JULIUS CÆSAR and
Lord BROUGHAM have hobnobbed together over Pommery '74 at FRASCATI'S
in Regent Street, or why shouldn't the Great Duke of MARLBOROUGH and
Admiral HAMILCAR of Carthage, after leaving _Hoi Adelphoi_ at the
theatre, have taken supper at RULE'S in Maiden Lane? Why not? "It
might have been"--of course; why, when you come to think of it,
there's hardly anything that mightn't have been, _if_ it had only
taken place. Such possible subjects would fill the most vast picture
gallery in the _Château d'If_.

[Illustration: An Artist's work "on the Line."]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: PICK OF THE PICTURES.

(_New Gallery, Regent Street. Summary of Sixth Summer Exhibition._)]

[Illustration: No. 40. The Bather Bothered. Appropriately painted by
Mr. Waterhouse, R.A. "Why," exclaims the horrified nymph, "he's lying
on my clothes!"]

[Illustration: No. 216. Night-Mares. Neptune's Horses, but more
suggestive of Night Mares. Walter Crane.]

[Illustration: No. 22. "Mr. G." in Churchwarden Church. "Here endeth
the Second Reading." Sydney P. Hall.]

[Illustration: No. 195. Hurried Moments! An Elopement!! "Never mind
your things!" he shouted, at the same time that, catching her up and
holding her in his strong right arm, he started off at a fast run.
"Better to lose your clothes than miss your train!" C. W. Mitchell.]

[Illustration: No. 27. Posed and Painful! Standing for her photograph,
and feels that the head-rest is no rest for the head. J. J. Shannon.]

[Illustration: No. 96. The Haunted Glen; or, The Bird-nesting
Trespasser Conscience-struck. "Oh! I'll pretend I don't see them!"
Hon. John Collier.]

[Illustration: No. 92. "'Fling' Defiance!" Professor Herkomer's
Heel-and-toe lads, "Jock and Charlie," back themselves against (No.
108) Mr. Alfred Hartley's "Harry and Neil,'" sons of Lord Rosebery,
attired as they are for a reel or a fling, or any form of National
Sc(h)ottische dance.]

PICK OF THE PICTURES.

(_New Gallery--continued._)

No. 11. "_Her First Ball_;" or, "_Train 'em up in the way she should
bowl_." Portrait of little girl preparing to be a Lady-Cricketer. She
has the ball in her hands, and is only waiting to cry out "Play!" G.
P. JACOMB-HOOD.


No. 15. _Charming Picture of Nobody Nowhere_, Miss ANNA ALMA-TADEMA.

No. 20. _Portrait of W. Matthew Hale, Esq._ By JOHN PARKER. "All
Hale!"

No. 37. "_Silver Mist._" This ought to have been the picture of a
gentleman in search of a threepenny piece; but it isn't. FRED HALL.

No. 66. _The Departing Guest._ E. BURNE-JONES.

  The ending of the party see,
  "O let us get a cab for thee!"
  "Nay," quoth the guest, "I've wings! so I,
  Like to the trout, will take a fly."

No. 112. _Alderman J. Stone-Wigg._ First Mayor of Tunbridge Wells.

  Indeed you look an Alderman,
  'Tis true I've seen a balder man.
  "J. STONE-WIGG" is the name I see,
  Which "Lost or Stolen-Wig" should be.

No. 160. _Portrait of Lady Simpson. Bravo_, Mr. VAL PRINSEP, A.R.A.
Uncommonly good. A parody of the old song should have been selected by
the Artist as a motto for the picture:--

  Lady SIMPSON has a dog--
    I don't know its name--
  Pretty tail has dog, _incog._
    Ribands round the same.

No. 170. "_The Spirit of Life._" By ARCHIE MACGREGOR. "Eh, ARCHIE
mon! aiblins, 'tis just the whusky-still the Leddie's at, takin' a wee
drappit i' the 'ee. And why did ye nae ca' it, 'Still Life'"?

No. 177. _Portrait of Mrs. George Lewis._ Excellent, Mr.
Colour-SARGENT! N.B.--Very few "Sergeants" left; but Mr. GEORGE LEWIS
has secured the best of them to paint this portrait.

No. 194. Very charming is "_The Closing of an October Day._" By GEORGE
H. BROUGHTON, A.R.A. He has caught the "Early Closing Movement" to the
life.

No. 242. "_In the Grip of the Sea-Wolf_"; or, "_Early Bathing at
Boulogne_." E. M. HALE.

No. 324. And a good Judge too! _Portrait of Sir Douglas Straight._ The
DOUGLAS, "bearded in his den"! Quarter (Sessions) Length. Sad end to a
distinguished career to be "quartered, drawn, and hung"! Congratulate
Artist, Miss VERA CHRISTIE, on good likeness.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: EVOLUTION EXTRAORDINARY.

_British Tourist_ (_who has been served with a Pig's foot_). "WHAT'S
THIS? I ORDERED QUAIL!"

_Negro Waiter._ "WALL--Y'EV GOT QUAIL!"

_British Tourist_. "QUAIL! WHY A QUAIL'S A BIRD!"

_Negro Waiter._ "NOT HERE!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

Anti-Epidemic Treatment.

(_Being Summary of Robson Roosetem Pasha's Article in New Review._)

    Boil Bacillus,
    Or he'll kill us.
  From Filter filthy grown
    Don't drink water,
    Save rates per quarter,
  And so "Leave _well_ alone."

       *       *       *       *       *

COMPANION WORKS.--Shortly to appear: _My Wife's Bodice_. By the Author
of _His Wife's Soul_.

       *       *       *       *       *

TO MY UMBRELLA.

  Good, faithful friend, it seems an age
    Since last we met and walked together!
  Upon the _Daily Graphic's_ page
    For weeks I've watched the coming weather;

  The meteorologic girl,
    Despite cold arms, seemed almost jolly,
  And made no effort to unfurl
    That wonderful archaic brolly.

  So I, grown reckless, did as she.
    And gave you quite a Long Vacation;
  Such weather cannot always be,
    Or you would lose your occupation.

  Think how I've treated you! A pet
    Might envy all the care I gave you;
  When worn-out with work and wet,
    Think how I did my best to save you!

  You soon looked well, and eased my fears--
    Recovered after over-pressure.
  When you "took silk" in other years,
    Think what I paid for each "refresher"!

  When last it rained I had to roll
    You up quite wet; you've been forgotten.
  It rains once more. What's this? A hole?
    By Jove, the silk's completely rotten!

       *       *       *       *       *

THE STAGE-COACH FIASCO.--The Meet, which was ordered for 11:30 last
Thursday, wasn't done, and so there was no Lunch.

       *       *       *       *       *

ON THE INCOME-TAX.

[By an already over-burdened tax-payer who derived neither
enlightenment nor comfort from the wordy war about a "Graduated
Income-Tax" between Mr. BARTLEY and Sir WILLIAM HARCOURT.]

    "Graduation" seems vexation,
    "Differentiation" looks as bad.
          Their the-o-rie
          It puzzles me.
  But their _practice_ drives me mad!

       *       *       *       *       *

"THAT'S SWEAR IT IS!"--In bygone days, when the Princess's was under
the management of Mr. and Mrs. CHARLES KEAN, there was a fine imposed
on any member of the company who should make use of bad language
in the Green-Room. One evening a distinguished actor so far forgot
himself as to let slip an expletive of three simple letters, whereat
Mrs. KEAN held up her hands in horror and quitted the room, followed
by the actresses who happened to be present. Subsequently some wag at
the Garrick Club wrote a song whereof the burden was "The Man who said
'dam' in the Green-Room." _Tempora mutantur_, and now, at the Avenue
Theatre, under the management of Mr. and Mrs. KENDAL in the Green-Room
and behind the scenes, as well as on the stage, "DAM" will be in
everyone's mouth, as this happens to be the name of the Author of
their latest successful production.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE NEWEST TALE OF A TUB.

(_By a Sufferer from the Modern Laundry System._)

          Rub-a-rub-rub!
          Three ghouls at a tub:
  Our shirts and our collars they savagely scrub.
          The fronts they make baggéd,
          The wristbands quite jaggéd,
  And send home our linen all rotten and ragged!

          Scrub-a-scrub-scrub!
          Three fiends at a tub:
  In chemical bleachings they dabble and grub.
          Our shirts each bespatters
          Then brush them to tatters.
  The wearers get mad as March hares or as hatters!

          Rub-a-scrub-scrub!
          Three hags at a tub:
  They scrape with a wire-brush, and pound with a club!
          Smash buttons, burst stitches,
          And--swell Laundry riches!
  _Who'll save us from this cauldron-tub's dread Three Witches?_

       *       *       *       *       *

The Stock Exchange, _Mr. Punch_ understands, has gone into politics.
With a view to test the knowledge of the brokers who "proceshed" to
the Guildhall, he asks them,--What is the Commission upon Evicted
Tenants? All sellers, no buyers.




       *       *       *       *       *




Transcriber's Note:

Sundry broken punctuation has been corrected.