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 PUNCH,

 OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

 VOL. 93.

 DECEMBER 31, 1887


ANOTHER "BUTLER;" OR, A THORNE IN HIS SIDE.

[Illustration]

Taking for granted the improbabilities of Mr. AUTHOR JONES'S plot--which
seems to use up again the materials of _Aurora Floyd_, and one or
two other novels, including the _Danvers Jewels_--and a certain
maladroitness of construction, _Heart of Hearts_ is both interesting and
amusing. All the characters are distinctly outlined excepting
one, and this one, strange to say, is _James Robins_, the hero of the
piece, a part apparently written rather to suit Mr. THOMAS THORNE'S
peculiarities, than to exhibit any marked individuality of character.

_James Robins_, _Lady Clarissa Fitzralf's_ butler,--who is of course the
intimate friend of Mr. and Mrs. MERIVALE'S butler at Toole's Theatre
round the corner,--has secretly married his mistress's sister, and her
niece is openly to marry his mistress's son. Now, how about the
character of _James Robins?_ Is he honest? Hardly so. Is he sly?
Certainly. Is he crafty? It cannot be denied. Yet the sympathy of the
audience is with him. Why? Well, chiefly because he is played by Mr.
THORNE, and secondarily, because he is very fond of his brother's child,
whom he has brought up because his brother, having got into trouble and
been compelled to "do his time," has delivered her into his care. This
nice father returns, comes to see his child, and steals a ruby bracelet,
this ruby being the "heart of hearts." Whereupon one _Miss Latimer_, a
malicious schemer, fixes the theft on _Lucy Robins_. What more natural,
considering the name? The father, _Old Robins_, has stolen the jewel;
the daughter, _Lucy Robins_, has been accused of doing so. Quite a
robbin's family. Of course exculpation and explanation wind up the play,
though I regret to say I was compelled to leave before hearing how Mr.
AUTHUR JONES deals with that old reprobate Cock _Robins_, the parent
bird, who, in view of the future happiness of _Mary_ and _Ralph_, would
be about as presentable a father-in-law to have on the premises as that
old "unemployed" reprobate, _Eccles_, in _Caste_. I am sorry he wasn't
somehow disposed of, having of course previously confessed his guilt to
the bilious detective, _March_, and expired under the assumed name of
_Mister Masters_. By the way, AUTHUR JONES is not happy in nomenclature.

The dialogue is good throughout, even when it only indirectly developes
character or helps the action, and so is the acting. Mr. THORNE as
_James_ is admirable; representing the character as a man gifted
with an overpowering appreciation of the humorous side of every
situation,--including his own as a butler,--in which either accident or
design may place him. I do not believe that this was the author's
intention, but this is the impression made upon me by Mr. THORNE'S
acting, and I am sure it could not be better played. Miss KATE RORKE is
charmingly natural; Mr. LEONARD BOYNE is unequal, being better in the
last Act than the first. My sensitive ear having been struck by the
mellifluous accents of _Lucy_ and the Corkasian,--I think, though, it
may be Galwaisian,--tones of her lover, I could not help wondering why
the author, after the first few rehearsals, did not slightly alter the
dialect and lay the scene in Ireland. The play is well worth seeing, and
begins at the easy hour of 8·45. There should be _matinées_ of a new
operetta, entitled _The Two Butlers_, characters by J. L. TORNE and
THOMAS THOOLE.

       *       *       *       *       *

CORNET AND PIANO.

AT A JUVENILE PARTY.

_Cornet._ Ready? Yes, _I'm_ ready--but I'm not going to begin before I'm
asked. If they want us to strike up, let 'em come and ask us, d'ye see?

_Piano._ Well, but there are all the children sitting about doing
nothing----

_C._ _Let_ 'em sit! They'll see you and me sittin' all the evenin',
strummin' and blowin' like nigger slaves, and a lot they'll care! Don't
you make no mistake, young Pianner, there ain't no sense in doin' more
than you're obliged--you'll get no credit for it, d'ye see? And don't
keep that programme all to yourself. Ah, one Swedish, one Sir Roger, and
a bloomin' Cotilliong--_they_'ll take two hours alone! We shan't work
this job off much before one, you see if we do. (_To Hostess._) Commence
now? By all means, Madam. Send us a little refreshment? Thank you,
Madam, we shall be exceedingly obliged to you. (_The refreshment
arrives._) Here's stuff to put liveliness in us, Mate--_Leminade!_

[_Puts jug under piano with intense disgust._

_P._ Well, I should think you'd lemon enough in you already.

_C._ I _'ate_ kids, there--and that's the truth of it! It makes me
downright sick to see 'em dressed out, and giving themselves the airs
and graces of grown-ups. (_To Small Child._) Yes, my little dear, it's a
worltz this time. (_To Pianist._) Strike up, young P. and O! (_A little
later._) I'm blest if I don't believe you're _enjoying_ this, Pianner,
settin' there with that sort of a dreamy grin on your pasty countinance!

_P._ And if I am, where's the harm of it?

_C._ It's easy to see you ain't bin at it long, or you wouldn't take
that interest in it. Much they thank you for takin' a interest, these
bloated children of a pampered aristocracy! Why, they don't mind you and
me more than the drugget under their feet. Even gutter kids have got
manners enough to thank the Italian as plays the orgin for 'em to dance
to. Are _we_ ever thanked? I arsk you.

_P._ The Italian plays for nothing. We don't.

_C._ There you go, redoocin' everything to coppers. You're arguin'
beside the question, you are. Ever see a well-dressed kid give a orgin a
penny without there was a monkey a-top of it? _I_ never did. If you
chained a monkey to your pianner now, they might condescend to look at
yer now and then--not unless.

_P._ Well, you can't deny they're a nice-looking set of children here.
Look at that one with the long hair, in the plush--like a little
Princess, she is.

_C._ And p'raps she ain't aware of it, either! Why, there's that little
sister o' yours, that's got hair just as long, ah, and 'ud look as
pretty too, if she'd a little more colour; but you can't have colour
without capital. It's 'igh-feeding does it all, and money wrung from the
working-classes, like you and me.

_P._ I don't know what _you_ call yourself. I'm a professional, and see
no shame in it.

_C._ You can be as purfessional as you please, but you needn't be
poor-spirited. Come on; pound away! Ain't you got a uglier worltz than
that?

AT SUPPER.

_C._ I must say I ardly expected this--after the leminade. But you're
eatin' nothin', young Pianner. (_To Servant._) Thank 'ee, my pretty
dear, you may leave that raised pie where it is; and do you think you
could get us another bottle o' Sham, now--for my young friend here? (_To
Pianist._ You needn't think you've made a conquest with that moony mug
of yours. She's only lookin' after you to make _me_ jealous, d'ye see? I
know these minxes' ways, bless you.)

_P. (with lofty bitterness)._ I've no wish to dispute it with you.

_C._ Ah, you've had _your_ eye on the governess all the evening. I saw
you!

_P. (blushing)._ You're talking folly, Cornet, and what's more, you know
it.

_C._ That's her playin' upstairs now. I know a governess's polker--all
tum-tum and no jump to it. Wouldn't you like to go up and help her, eh?

_P._ If I _am_ a wretch doomed to misery, it's not for you to remind me
of it, Cornet. It's not a friendly act, I'm blowed if it is!

_C._ You're a regular Tant--Tarantulus, you know, that's what you are!
You'll be goin' mad on your music-stool--"I saw her dancin' in the
'All"--that sort o' thing, hey?

_P. (with dignity.)_ It seems to me you've had quite enough of that
Champagne, and we've been down half-an-hour.

_C._ You don't 'pear to unnerstand that a Cornet's very mush thirstier
instrumen' than a iron-grand out o' tune--but you're a good young
feller--I li' a shentimental young chap. I'm a soft-arted ole fool
myshelf!

AFTER SUPPER.

_C. (with emotion.)_ Loo' at that now, ain't that a sight to make a man
o' you? All these brit appy young faces. I could play for 'em all
ni'--blesh their 'arts! Lor, what a rickety chair I'm on, and thish
bloomin' brash inshtrumen's gone and changed ends. Now then, quicken up,
let 'em 'ave it--you are a shulky young chap!

_P._ It is not sulks but misery. I swear to you, Cornet, that each
hammer I strike vibrates on my own heart-strings!

_C._ Then you can be innerpennant of a pianner.

_P._ I am young--but the young have their sorrows, I suppose. Is it
nothing to have to minister to others' gaiety with a bitter pang in
one's own breast?

_C._ Thash wha' comes o'shtickin' to the leminade!

A LITTLE LATER.

_P. (aghast)._ I say, what _are_ you about? You mustn't, you know!

_C. (smiling dreamily)._ It'sh all ri', dear boy! If a man fines he
can't breathe in 'sh bootsh--on'y loshical coursh 'fore him is to play
in socksh--d'ye see?

AT PARTING.

_The Cornet (to hostess, with benignant tenderness.)_ Goori', Madam,
Gobblesh you, I do' min' tellin' you, you've made me and the pianner
here, and ah, 'undreds of young innoshent arts very 'appy, Madam, you
may ta' that from _me_. I hope we've given complete satisfaction, 'm
sure we've had mosht pleasant shupper--I mean pleashant evenin'--_sho_
glad we came. And you mushn't ta' no notish my young fren, he'sh been
makin' lil too free with the leminade, d'ye see? _Goo_ ri! [_Exit
gracefully, and is picked up at bottom of Staircase by the Pianist._

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: TOBY'S GREETING.]

       *       *       *       *       *

A NEW YEAR'S CARD.

 _Library, House of Commons,
 New Year's Eve._

 HONOURED SIR,

I find in the Letter Bag a communication from that eminent statesman
GRANDOLPH. But I think it will keep for a week, and on this New Year's
Eve I will put in the Bag a letter of my own, addressed to him who, take
him for all in all, (as BACON wrote) is the most Eminent Man of the
century. No one, a cynic has said, is a hero to his own valet--meaning,
I suppose, that the closer a man is looked into the less profound his
valley appears. It has been my lot to sit at your feet for close upon
half-a-century, perched upon the pile of volumes which, oddly enough,
never grows an eighth-of-an-inch higher through the revolving years. You
have honoured me with your closest confidence. I have known your inmost
thoughts. I have often seen you, as you are weekly presented to an
admiring public, chuckling with finger to nose and brightened eye over
the inception of a joke, and I have observed you afterwards a little
depressed on reading it in the proof, struck with the conviction that it
was not quite so good as you thought. I am not your valet. But you are
truly my Hero.

It may be said that I am prejudiced by receipt of personal favours. You
took me literally out of the streets to be your daily companion, and, at
friendly though still humble distance, to consort with the Beauty and
Brilliance that throngs your court. But for you I might years ago have
followed the historic precedent, gone mad to serve my private ends, bit
some unwholesome person and died. But you took me by the paw, lifted me
into your company, placed me on the pedestal of your ever-increasing but
never-swelling bulk of volumes, whence it was an easy matter to step on
to the lower level of the floor of the House of Commons. The prestige of
your name was sufficient to secure for me the suffrages of one of the
most important and one of the most enlightened county constituencies of
this still undivided Empire.

As I sit here alone in this dimly-lighted chamber there glide along with
silent footfall an interminable procession of familiar faces and figures
that have passed through this room since I first took the oath and my
seat for Barkshire. DIZZY walks past, looking neither to the right nor
to the left, but conveying to the mind of the onlooker a curious
impression that he sees all round; and here comes kindly STAFFORD
NORTHCOTE and burly BERESFORD-HOPE, and TOM COLLINS, with the faded
umbrella he used to bring down through all the summer nights and
solemnly commit to the personal charge of the doorkeeper. And there goes
dear ISAAC BUTT, wringing his hands because of Major O'GORMAN'S revolt,
and W. P. ADAM, disappointed after his long fight which ended with
victory for his Party and something like a snub for himself. Here is
NEWDEGATE frowning at the scarlet drapery of a reading lamp; and behind
him, WHALLEY, wondering whether he was really in earnest when he
denounced him before the House of Commons as "a Jesuit in disguise."
Here, too, poor Lord HENRY LENNOX with his trousers turned up, and Sir
THOMAS MAY with a Peerage looming within hand's reach, and Captain
GOSSET steering his shapely legs towards his room to drink Apollinaris
and read up Hansard. All, all are gone, the old familiar faces, and the
New Year, which the bell-ringers are waiting to welcome in, is nothing
to them. Over there in the corner are the two chairs on which the form
of JOSEPH GILLIS reclined on the first all-night sitting that ever was,
when, the thing being fresh to Members, they were eager to stop up all
night, to walk round the recumbent form, dropping pokers and heavy
volumes with innocent attempt to disturb the slumberer. But JOSEPH
GILLIS slept, or seemed to sleep. He was giving the Saxon trouble, and
was not greatly inconvenienced himself.

I have taken down from the shelves two volumes among the most recent and
most prized addition to our Library, and, turning over the leaves, come
upon fresh testimony to my Honoured Sir's prescience. Turning over _John
Leech's Pictures of Life and Character_, garnered from the Collection of
_Mr. Punch_, I find under date twenty-five years back, women of all
degrees presented under cover of monstrous hoops. Everybody wore
crinoline in those days. It was the thing, the only possible thing, and
the average human mind could not grasp the idea of there being any other
way of arraying the female form. But the prophetic eye of one of the
most brilliant of _Mr. Punch's_ Young Men peered into the future and
beheld what was to come.[1] In the very midst of delineations of these
everyday monstrosities, fearful in the drawing-room, grotesquely
exaggerated in the kitchen, JOHN LEECH flashed forth a view of the
future. There are three sketches of girls, two in the eelskin dress that
marked the rebound from the hideous tyranny of crinoline, and the third
showing a style of dress that might have been sketched to-day in Bond
Street, not forgetting the upper rearward segment of the crinoline which
survives at this day to hint what has been. _Ex pede Herculem._ It
seemed at the date a monstrous idea, a nightmare fancy, peradventure a
joke. But _Mr. Punch's_ calm eye pierced the veil of the future, and
saw then, as he has always seen, what was to be.

[Footnote 1: There is a later example of this gift in the date of
another Young Man's letter.--ED.]

This, Sir, is only a solitary instance of your prescience cited in
accidentally turning over the collected pages that seem so familiar and
are still so fresh. I could quote indefinitely as I turn over the
leaves. But time is shorter than usual this evening. There is less than
an hour left of 1877. The procession I spoke of just now has passed out
and closed the doors. Under brighter and more inspiriting auspices comes
another group. May I present them to my honoured Master? EIGHTEEN
EIGHTY-EIGHT this is _Mr. Punch_ of whom you may have heard. _Mr.
Punch_, this is EIGHTEEN EIGTHY-EIGHT of whom I expect you will hear a
good deal. And here, happier in his possessions than _King Lear_, are
his four daughters--Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter. They come to
wish you a Happy New Year in which no one joins so heartily as your
humble friend and servitor,

 TOBY, M.P.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: WHAT OUR ARTIST HAS TO PUT UP WITH.

_Friendly Critic._ "HUMPH! A LITTLE _WOOLLY_ IN TEXTURE, ISN'T IT? OF
COURSE I DON'T MEAN THE _SHEEP_!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

FROM A COUNTRY COUSIN.

MY DEAR MR. PUNCH,

I thank you for your advice. You were right when you told me to go and
see Mrs. BERNARD BEERE in _As in a Looking Glass_. Indeed, she does hold
the mirror up to "nature,"--which is in this instance what ZOLA calls
_la bête humaine_,--and in it is reflected the worn face, so weary of
wickedness and so hopeless of the future, of _Lena Despard_. The moral
of the story--for moral there is--is never out of date. If we can ever
retrace any of our steps in life, which I doubt, there are at all events
some false steps that never can be retraced. Our deeds become part and
parcel of ourselves, and we can no more rid ourselves of them than we
can jump off our shadows.

 "Our deeds our angels are, or good or ill;
 Our fatal shadows that walk with us still."

And yet _la bête humaine_, has not quite killed the soul of this
adventuress, for she is still capable of a real love, and of proving its
reality by an awful self-sacrifice. This is not a Christmas spirit, is
it? But you see I went before Christmas, and having done with tragedy, I
am looking forward to pantomimical stuff and nonsense. I had not read
the novel,--_you_ have, but considerately refrained from telling me the
plot,--so I enjoyed the performance without my memory compelling me to
compare it, for better or worse, with the original story.

I have never seen Mrs. BEERE play anything before this, nor have I seen
SARAH BERNHARDT, who, as you tell me, was in other pieces this lady's
model. A London Cousin of mine, who is a theatre-goer, and knows several
of the leading actors and actresses "at home," tells me that in this
piece the individuality of the actress is completely merged in the part,
and that it is only when she is saying something very cynical, that he
was reminded by a mannerism peculiar to this actress how bitter this
BEERE could be on occasion. It is a pity her name is BEERE, because when
I asked my cousin (do you know him--JOSEPH MILLER?) if, off the stage,
this lady was really thin and tall, he replied, "Yes--Mrs. BEERE was
never stout, and was never a half-and-half sort of actress."

And then, when I pressed him for serious answer, he said, "Well, she's
_Lena_ on the stage, as you see." What is one to do with a joker like
this, except go with him to a Pantomime, Burlesque, or Circus?

                   Yours,   LITTLE PETERKIN.

P.S.--The Opéra Comique is not the Theatre for a _tragédienne_. Joe
says, "Yes it is--for Mrs. BEERE, because of the 'Op in it."

       *       *       *       *       *

"DE DEUX SHOWS, UNE."

On Thursday night, Mr. WILSON BARRETT, brought out a new piece at the
Globe, and in Leicester Square, the Empire Variety Show was inaugurated.
The good-natured "Visible Prince," who is always ready to encourage Art
in any form, and willing to "open" anything from a Cathedral to an
Oyster, was present at this _première_ of the New Music Hall. Poor W. B!
"How long! How long!" By the way, it may be necessary to explain to some
simple persons, that _The Empire_ has nothing whatever to do with The
Imperial Institute.

       *       *       *       *       *

A Christmas Tip.

"Tally ho! Yoicks, over there!" Which being translated, means go and see
the Sporting "Illustrations" at GERMAN REED'S--not "German" at all, for
you must always take this title _cum corney grano_, but "So English, you
know." And CORNEY GRAIN'S song afterwards, that marvellous duet between
Corney and Piano,--excellent!

       *       *       *       *       *

There is now an Examination for everything. A man can't even become a
Bankrupt without passing an examination. Very hard this.

       *       *       *       *       *

SOMETHING TO SWALLOW.--TOM TOPER says, "SHAKSPEARE'S plays were written
partly by SHAKSPEARE and partly by BACON. It was a 'split B. & S.'"

       *       *       *       *       *

THE RECENT PRIZE-FIGHT.--What the French thought of it: an In-Seine
proceeding.

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

[Illustration]

I have just come across something on Modern Wiggism in the shape of an
amusing advertising book on the Wigs supplied to leading actors by the
theatrical perruquier FOX. "Nothing like leather," said the tanner; and
judging from the collection of illustrations and notices, it is, in Mr.
FOX'S opinion, more what is outside the head than what is in it, that
insures success on the Stage. The perruquier makes the wig, and the wig
makes the actor. There are portraits of various theatrical celebrities,
including one or two of Mr. TOOLE, in various wigs, whose presentments
in these pages may entitle the work to be called FOX'S _Book of
Martyrs_--willing martyrs, of course, and many of them after they've
strutted and fretted for several hours on the stage, quite ready to go
cheerfully to "The Steak."

Mr. FREDERICK BARNARD'S CHARACTER SKETCHES FROM DICKENS have been
republished. They are the work of a true artist; but he should have left
_Mr. Pickwick_ alone. Who cares for an artistic _Mr. Pickwick?_ No; let
him ever remain the burlesque eccentricity invented by Mr. SEYMOUR, and
founded on DICKENS'S creation. But Mr. BARNARD'S _Mrs. Gamp_ and _Bill
Sikes_ are both quite truly Dickensonian.

 BARON DE BOOK WORMS.

       *       *       *       *       *

NUGGETS IN NORTH WALES.

 There is legends, and traditions told, and narratives, and tales,
 Of wealth in mountain crannies, caves, and cells of ancient Wales.
 The dens of dwarves and fairies, sprites and goblins, imps and elves,
 Where they, like misers, look you, kept their treasures to themselves.

 A cockatrice, a griffin, or a wivern watched the hoard,
 In the coffers of the crystal rocks, and stone-strong chambers stored,
 Breathed fire and flames, and ramped and raved in form to tear and rend,
 And scratch and bite, and sting with tail, barbed arrow-like on end.

 The lions and the eagles and the snakes together linked,
 The cockatrices, wiverns, and their tribes is all extinct.
 No dragons could PENDRAGON, if alive yet, find to slay,
 And the dwarves, and fays, and fairies all alike have gone away.

 Now GRIFFITHS is the Safe Man, and a griffin guards no more
 The secret riches of the rocks--they lie concealed in ore;
 The lodes and veins, and minerals, there's quantities untold
 In the quarries and the crystals, and the quartzes, full of gold.

 It is an El Dorado, found in Mawddach's happy vale;
 It is Mr. PRITCHARD MORGAN'S, look you, no romancer's tale.
 And mines besides Gwmfynydd mine 'tis like there's them that owns;
 Peradventure Mr. JENKINS, Mr. EVANS, Mr. JONES.

 North Wales will be a Golden Chersonesus, though the phrase
 Is a little solecisms, indeed, suppose quartz-crushing pays.
 And, moreover, in Welsh diggings what if nuggets there be found,
 As large as leeks, and weighing from a scruple to a pound?

 A Golden Age in Wales, look you, there's goodly ground to hope,
 And a theme of song besides to give the Bards unbounded scope,
 And prizes at Eistedfoddau for poetry and odes,
 On the find of gold in the quartzes and the metal-veins and lodes.

       *       *       *       *       *

SOCIAL ROMANCE.

_A "Fragment," extracted from the "Dim and Distant Future," as
imagined by Mr. Frederic Harrison._

It was a delightful summer evening, and East London was looking
its brightest. The eight hours of daily toil were over, and the crowds
of cheery-voiced and happy-faced working people were returning in
merry groups to their respective homes, scattered here and there
amid the splendid Co-operative Palaces that reared their decorated
fronts to meet the last golden glories of the setting sun, and break
the soft progress of the gentle evening breeze laden with the sweet
scents of the myriad flowers blooming freshly amid the verdant
_parterres_ and winding woodland walks by which they were divided
and surrounded. Here a rippling fountain made silvery music in
the air, while yonder the noisy brooklet could be traced cleaving
its headlong way to the lovely Thames flowing seaward tranquilly
beneath, its translucent surface being broken now and again only by
the leap from an occasional seventy-pound salmon revelling for very
joy in the highly hygienic quantity of the pure and crystal water in
which he was existing. Above was the faultless deep-blue glory
of an Italian sky. Beneath rare forest trees, amidst which the
graceful oleander and wild tamarisk flourished with all their native
strength, produced a grateful shade. So sparkling and smokeless
was the pervading atmosphere that merely to inhale it was a physical
pleasure. Sanitary and social science had indeed worked their
wonders here. East London had become to all those who dwelt amid
its fairy labyrinths a veritable earthly Paradise. And as he cast his
shapely but workmanlike frame with an elegant ease on to one of
the hundred comfortable lounges that at intervals fringed its green
swards throughout their entire length and breadth, no one in the full
flush of this glorious summer evening appreciated the fact more
keenly than did JEREMIAH HALFINCH.

"Ah! this is delicious!" he cried, with enthusiasm; "just a few
moments' rest here to solve this problem, and then--_pour me rendre
chez moi!_" He spoke with all the easy grace and perfect _ton_ of a
West-End _raconteur_, and as he opened his basket of tools and produced
from it a translation of a new work on German Philosophy, in
the pages of which he was speedily engrossed, it was impossible not
to be struck by his general appearance. His frame was that of an
Herculean Apollo, while his head, with its finely-chiselled features
and long tawny moustache, nobly set upon his shoulders, might have
belonged to a Captain in the Guards. There was in his eyes something
of the look of an intelligent Chief Justice, and whenever he
moved it was with all the commanding dignity of a Lord Mayor.
In short, it needed only a glance at JEREMIAH HALFINCH to set him
down for what he was,--a fair specimen of the average type of the
working-man of the day.

He was not, however, destined to be long in solving his philosophical
problem, a light step on the gravel-path caught his ear. He looked up.
"Ah! Miss BETSY JANE," he said, rising with a courtly grace as his eye
rested on the trim neatly dressed form of a girl of nineteen; "so you,
too, are enjoying the Elysian fragrance of this lovely evening?"

The fair girl blushed slightly. She was very lovely. Her golden hair
crowned her beautifully shaped brow in broad deep bands. Her mouth had
that indescribable sweetness that is often met with in those in whom a
marvellously active intelligence is united to a strongly poetic
temperament. Her eyes were like two exquisite saucers of liquid blue,
from whose sapphire depths light and laughter seemed to sparkle up
unbidden with every variation of her mobile and ever changing
countenance. Yet she was only a poor work-girl making her £2 16_s._
6_d._ a week, under the new scale of prices, by button-holeing.

"I am enjoying the evening, for who would not, Mr. HALFINCH?" she
answered, half demurely, with a pretty pout, "but I have just come from
my Hydrostatic Class, and was thinking of looking in at the Opera on my
way home. They are doing "_Tristan und Isolde_," and a little _Wagner_
is such a pleasant close to the day. Do not you think so?"

"Indeed I do," he answered eagerly, "and I will accompany you--that is,
if I may," he added, apologetically.

"If you _may_!" was the arch reply. In another minute they were
strolling leisurely along, side by side, towards the "Great Square of
Recreation," that was already scintillating in the distance, lit up with
the electric light as with the full blaze of day. As they were emerging
from the garden-path, they passed a small child. She was carrying a
little stone funereal urn, and she nodded to them. They stopped for a
moment.

"Why, POLLY, dear, what have you got there?" asked BETSY JANE, stooping
down to kiss the child.

"Oh! it's only Great Grandmother," went on the little speaker, volubly.
"I'm fetching her from the _Crematorium_. She was only _ashed_
yesterday, you know, and father says he would like to have her on the
parlour chimney-piece as soon as possible; and so I am bringing her
home."

"Well, my little woman," threw out HALFINCH, kindly. "Take care you
don't drop your Great Grandmother, that's all."

"Oh no! I can carry her well enough," was the prompt response; and
little POLLY was soon bounding away across the grass merrily, with her
ancestral burthen.

       *       *       *       *       *

BETSY JANE and JEREMIAH HALFINCH had presented their passes at the door
of the Opera House, listened to an Act of WAGNER'S incomparable music,
and were now once more coming homewards. Their conversation had had a
wide range, touching at one moment on the Norse _Saga_, and at another
on the Binomial Theorem; now on the Philosophy of EPICTETUS, and now on
the latest speculations as to the basis of Nebular Matter. They were
deeply interested in their talk, and it was not till they were suddenly
arrested in their progress that they became aware that their path was
stopped by a Policeman who was kindly stooping over a little child who
was crying over something she had dropped.

"Oh! it is little POLLY; and she has let her Great Grandmother fall!"
cried BETSY JANE, much concerned.

"Yes, and I have spilled her; and father will be so cross!" added the
child in tears, pointing to the broken vase and to some white ash that
laid upon the gravel path.

"Never mind, my little woman, we will soon make it all right," answered
HALFINCH, at the same time taking an evening paper from his pocket, and
carefully collecting the broken fragments of the vase and its contents,
and making them up into a neat parcel. "There," he added, "he'll have to
get a new vase. But you may tell your father I think he'll find his
Grandmother all there. So wipe your eyes and get home as fast as you
can."

       *       *       *       *       *

They watched the figure of the receding child.

"You don't have much work down this way nowadays?" inquired HALFINCH
amiably of the Policeman.

"Much work! Why, bless you, Sir, beyond occasionally running in an
Unemployed Sweater, we have none at all."

"Well, good night, Miss BETSY JANE," said HALFINCH.

"Good night, Mr. HALFINCH," responded the lovely girl.

Then they each turned to their brilliantly-lighted Co-operative Palace
homes. Silence soon fell upon the scene. Another happy East-End day had
come to its luxurious close.

       *       *       *       *       *

NEW YEAR MEMS.

_Lord S-l-sb-ry._ Smother HOWARD VINCENT & CO.--at least in public. Give
private tip to HARTINGTON, BRIGHT, and GOSCHEN, to get me talked about
as a "second COBDEN."

_Mr. W. E. Gl-dst-ne._ _Mem._--Feel a little "chippy" this morning. Go
out axing. Send New Year's Card to DOPPING. Forgive and Forget. Write
fewer letters, make fewer speeches, avoid railway station oratory;
CH-MB-RL-N'S imitating me there. Shall have him next taking to chopping
trees in Prince's Gardens. _Mem._--Return to use of post-cards; shall
also give up writing magazine-articles and devote myself more to
commercial pursuits; there's a good deal to be done in chips if one
gives his mind to it. Why not leave Hawarden and reside at Chipping
Norton?

_Mr. B-lf-r._ Gingerly manipulate the "Crimes Act" across the Channel
for the next few weeks. _Mem._--Parliament opens Feb. 9th. Be careful
what I say or write about anybody. Consult Solicitor.

[Illustration: Special.]

_C. S. P-rn-ll._ Change my name and address next year, call myself
B-CKLE of the _Times._

_Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n._ Retire from "Fisheries'" as gracefully and as
soon as possible. As J-SSE C-LL-NGS would say, "Hook it." CODLING'S
the man.

_The Lord Ch-f J-st-ce of Engl-nd._ Shall begin New Year by
leaving off voice lozenges, or may be called a "Sucking Ch-f
J-st-ce." Shouldn't like this, and I know of one worldly journalist
who wouldn't hesitate to write it.

_The Right Hon. J. G. G-sch-n, M.P._ Think I shall go back to
the Liberal Party for a year at least; have tried them all round; find
the last rather worse than others. R-ND-LPH says I should by this
time be an authority on the principle of the "Theory of Exchanges."

_Sir W-ll-m H-rc-rt, M.P._ Shall begin to get up every morning
at seven during recess, and go out for walk in glades of New Forest
before breakfast. Find it a capital place to think out _impromptus_
for my speeches.

_Monsignor P-rs-co._ _Mem._--Keep myself to myself, and don't say
nothing to nobody.

_Archbishop Cr-ke._ Ask THOS. O'DW-ER of Limerick to dinner.
Cut National League on first opportunity.

_Archbishop B-ns-n._ Study the Calendar of State Papers, time of
HENRY THE EIGHTH, carefully. Get portrait of myself done in full
canonicals, with the two acolytes in scarlet skull-caps and cassocks,
as we appeared at Truro. Pretty subject: great scope for artist.

_Bishop of L-nd-n._ "Oblige B-NS-N." Ask ST-W-RT H-DL-M to
take me to the Alhambra. Try and get a copy of that now extinct
work, _Essays and Reviews_.

_Lord D-nr-v-n._ Must find out what I really mean by "Fair
Trade." Write to _Notes and Queries_, and see if I can't get a
definition somehow.

_Mr. O'Br-n._ Continue to pose as the "Martyr of Tullamore."
Meantime, endeavour to get supplied with still more fashionable
clothes. Why not a cheque suit, from America?

_Cardinal M-nn-ng._ Do something of everything. _Mem._--Buy
new Filter.

_The L-rd Ch-nc-ll-r._ Must really show some reason for my being
in this exalted position. Find comfortable quarters for a few of my
nephews, cousins, and sons-in-law who are still among "the
Unemployed."

_The Right Hon. J-hn Br-ght, M.P._ _Mem._--J-HN BR-GHT, Always
right. Politeness costs nothing. Get someone to give me a short
manual of this almost-lost art, like prize-fighting. The latter being
revived. Practise both.

_Mr. C. V-ll-rs St-nf-rd._ Inaugurate my Professorship in style.
Get to work, and show 'em I'm the best man to turn out a genuinely
successful first-class English Opera.

_Professor H-xl-y._ Study SP-RG-N'S Sermons for jokes and style,
and read some theology, with a view to carrying out the great
object of my life--smashing W. S. L-LLY.

_Mr. W. S. L-lly._ Write more _Chapters of History_. Devote five
minutes, one day when I have the leisure, to smashing H-XL-Y.

_Mr. Justice St-ph-n._ Read up everything. After doing this, at
last give my attention to the study of law. _Mem._--Who was "The
_Master of the Sentences_?" Must get his work, and revise some of
my own.

_Sir F. L-ght-n, P.R.A._ Commence getting up Academy Speech
for opening day. _Mem._--Read _Lemprière's Classical Dictionary_
for subject for big R.A. picture.

_Sir J. E. M-ll-s, R.A._ Knock off a few pictures for Illustrated
papers of Christmas, 1888. Any model with fair hair will do.
Write to P-RS' S--p people.

_W. P. Fr-th, R.A._ Write more Recollections. _Note._--Wish
I'd taken to this sort of thing earlier in life.

_Mr. L-b-ch-re, M.P._ Must get rid of BR-DL-GH; always been
rather a drag on me. Try and hit on some other popular notion as
good as _Truth's_ Christmas Toys. Keep Eye on "EDMUND."

_Mr. Edm-nd Y-t-s._ Write more Recollections and Experiences.
Call them _Moi-Mêmeries_. Keep eye on "HENRY."

_Mr. J. L. T-le._ Spend all my spare time in arranging jokes for
speeches. Note them down every morning when shaving. Send
an occasional letter to friend IRV-NG.

_H. Irv-ng._ Refuse title if offered. Tell friend T-LE to do the same.

_Mr. J. L. S-ll-v-n (Pugilist)._ Challenge somebody. "Excuse
my glove."

_Mr. J. Sm-th (Pugilist)._ Challenge S-LL-V-N, and fight him.

_Sir A. S-ll-v-n (Composer)._ Leave Society to the other S-LL-V-N.
Have had enough of it. Get back to my music. Give up G-LB-RT
as soon as possible.

_Mr. W. S. G-lb-rt._ Hang music. Write something or other
without it. As soon as possible, give up S-LL-V-N. Also dispense
with GR-SSM-TH.

_F. L-ckw-d, Q.C., M.P._ Renounce Law and Politics. Draw for _Punch_.
Ask H. F-RN-SS to give me a few lessons.

_Right Hon. D-vid R. Pl-nk-t, M.P._ Take a walk about London every
morning _at least_, with view to rivalling _Sam Weller_ in extent, if
not peculiarity, of my knowledge of this "Vast Metrolopus."

_Mrs. B-rn-rd B-re._ Look after the acting rights of _La Tosca_. Get as
good a play (if I can) as _As in the Looking-glass_, from the author of
the novel. Go to Paris, and see dear SARAH. Find a better theatre than
the Opéra Comique.

_Mr. S-ntl-y._ Learn "_The Vicar of Bray_," and "_Father O'Flynn_," as I
have not added many new songs of late years to my _répertoire_.

_Mr. S-ms R-v-s._ Keep all my notes for my Autobiography. What title?
_Apologia?_

_M-d-me P-tti._ Have "_Home, Sweet Home_," translated into foreign
languages, to give it an air of novelty. Leave Wales to the Welshers.

_Mr. A-g-st-s H-rr-s._ Commence Pantomime for 1888-89. Entertain
everybody. Send Life Pass for the Queen's Box, to the Assistant
Architect of the Metropolitan Board of Works. Must be presented at Court
this year. Should look well in Court suit.

_Dr. R-bs-n R-se._ Must invent something new in the diet line for New
Year; shall cut off claret and hot water and their dry toast. _Mem._--To
write article in _F-rtn-ghtly_ on "The Here and There of London Life,"
and point out the absolute necessity of consulting me on every subject.
Recommend (as something novel), taking soup after cheese. This advice
ought to increase my practice considerably.

_The Rev. Dr. P-rk-r._ Shall stay at home; at least, won't go again to
United States; too vast.

_Mr. B-s-nt._ Keep my name well before the public. Think New Novel, _All
Sorts of Mortiboys_, by Sir W-LT-R B-S-NT, Bart., would have good effect
with publishers. Get W-LS-N B-RR-TT to dramatise with me, of course.
Shall ask him not to act in it. Off to Africa, to get away from "London
blacks."

_Mr. N-rm-n L-cky-r._ Write _Magnum Opus_, on the action of Snowballs in
Space.

_Sir M-r-ll M-ck-nz-e._ Make careful study of the peculiar diseases
incident to "Rumour's lying throat"--especially in Germany.

_Ch-rm-n of M-ddl-s-x M-g-str-t-s._ Attend some Metropolitan
Music Hall every night of my life.

_Ed-t-r of P. M. G._ Get Stead-ier every day.

_Mr. Punch._ To wish a Happy New Year to everybody generally.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE PENNY READING.

(ANNALS OF A QUIET NEIGHBOURHOOD.)

_Distinguished Amateur Vocalist (both Serious and Comic)._ "I CAN'T SAY
YOU HAVE A VERY APPRECIATIVE PUBLIC UP HERE! I NEVER SANG '_VILIKINS AND
HIS DINAH_' BETTER--BUT NOBODY LAUGHED A BIT!"

_Horrid Boy._ "OH, BUT THEY DID WHEN YOU SANG '_THE DEATH OF NELSON_.' I
SAW THEM!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE INFANT PHENOMENON.

 What will he play? Oh! young New Year,
   Precocious power and baby skill
 To Music's zealots are strangely dear;
   The tiny fingers that thump and trill,
 That sweep the keyboard with splendid speed,
   Like rattling rain-drops, or fairy-feet,
 Are sure of flattery's fullest meed,
               And praise is sweet.

 An early _début_, my little man!
   The dimpled digits you swiftly spread
 The sounding octaves can scarcely span,
   The pedals hardly your toes can tread.
 Yet here you are, and the public ear
   Is all agog for the opening chords,
 With breathless mingling of hope and fear,
               Too deep for words.

 The Future's Music before you stands,
   Time at your elbow is prompt to turn.
 'Twill tax the force of your infant hands,
   Prodigies even have much to learn.
 MOZART, or HOFFMANN, or LISZT, of course,
   You may turn out in your own new line;
 May give us freshly the fire and force
               Of RUBINSTEIN.

 The hour, young Hopeful, seems something scant
   In present promise of Harmony;
 Our leading music is militant.
   Touch us a stave in a cheerful key!
 We have abundance of crash and blare,
   Drums and trumpets make angry noise;
 Most of us long for a Lydian air,
               O, best of boys!

 Something Arcadian, manly-sweet,
   Blending notes of the lyre and flute;
 Pastoral Symphony gaily fleet,
   Moaning chords in the minor mute.
 Something stirring to lift the heart,
   Something merry to move the toes;
 Melody pure with a mirthful start
               And a moving close.

 Charges, marches, bugle-blasts,
   Clarion-calls to the onset, tire;
 Martial music a sadness casts,
   Too long blown, e'en on hearts of fire.
 Still the trumpet, and drop the drum!
   Bid the fife for a moment cease!
 Boy, we'll bless you if you'll but strum
               The notes of Peace.

 Wagner-worry of key and string
   Has its power, and holds its place;
 Touch to-day, boy, the chords that sing
   Of love and gladness, of mirth and grace.
 The future's Music you fain must play?
   True! Yet turn ere a chord is struck.
 A bumper, boy, to a brighter day!
               Here's health and luck!

       *       *       *       *       *

UNCOMMON.

Mr. PUNCH lately learned to his extreme astonishment and delight that he
is one of the independent Electors of the Ward of Farringdon Without. He
gathered this important information from the receipt of a highly
illustrated card from one of the numerous candidates to represent him in
that illustrious body the Court of Common Council, during the coming
year, soliciting the honour of his vote and interest.

The Candidate in question described at length his various qualifications
for the office he sought. He kindly informed _Mr. Punch_ that he was a
Citizen, a Loriner--whatever that mysterious occupation may mean--and a
People's Caterer, and any doubt that might have been entertained with
regard to the especial business for, which he catered was at once
removed by the perusal of the last line of his canvassing card, which,
after kindly informing Mr. Punch that he had no less than sixteen votes
at his disposal, finished with the remarkable request, "Kindly PLUMP for
your Little SAUSAGE MAKER!"

Naturally wondering why a little Sausage Maker should be considered as
so peculiarly eligible for the office of Common Councilman, that every
elector should plump for him, _Mr. Punch_ again examined the mysterious
card, and found on its back a graphic representation of a race for the
"Pork Sausage Derby," showing the Candidate, mounted on a decidedly
thoroughbred Pig, coming in an easy winner with the rest nowhere, amid
the chorus of the surrounding multitude.

Doubting whether a Large Tripe Dresser, or a Middle-sized Mutton-Pieman,
would not have equal claims upon his Plumper to that of a Little Sausage
Maker, _Mr. Punch_ decided to take no part in the Election for Common
Councilmen until the real meaning of the word "Common" is better
understood than it evidently is at present by some aspirants to the
Office in question.

[Illustration: THE INFANT PHENOMENON.

LITTLE 1888. "WHAT SHALL I PLAY?"

FATHER TIME. "THE 'MUSIC OF THE FUTURE,' MY DEAR, OF COURSE"!!!]

       *       *       *       *       *

DOLL-CE DOMUM.

One of the prettiest and most seasonable sights we have seen for a long
while was the display of toys collected by the proprietor of _Truth_
from the readers of that entertaining periodical, exhibited in Willis's
Rooms before distribution amongst the children of our hospitals and
work-houses. The dolls (there were thousands and thousands of them)
seemed to be bidding the fashionable world adieu before entering, like
so many Sisters of Mercy, upon a mission of tender charity to the sick
poor. There was a private view on Sunday, a week before Christmas Day,
and those who examined the treasures revealing the glories of Regent
Street and the Lowther Arcade, could not help thinking "Mr. _Labouchere_
must have a heart as good as his head, and be a very kind man _au
fond_." We wonder whether that confirmed cynic, the proprietor of
_Truth_, would make the same admission?

       *       *       *       *       *

The reasons given in the correspondence published in the _Times_ of last
Thursday for discharging Mr. HIGHTON from his offices in connection with
the Westminster Play seem to us inadequate. Instead of his work tending
to lower the tone of the performance, surely its effect would obviously
be to Highton it.

       *       *       *       *       *

Of course SMITH and KILRAIN passed their Boxing-Day together.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "TO PUT IT BROADLY."

_Improvised Butler (to Distinguished Guest)._ "WILL YE TAKE ANNY MORE
DRINK, SOR?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

ROBERT ON THE FRENCH TUNG.

[Illustration]

I begins to feel as how the older one gits the more a little bother
seems to worry him. There was a time when I could look bothers in the
face with the same carm look as I lissens to a gent when he tries to
perswade me as how as that port isn't '47 Port, but them times is gorn
I'm afeard, never to return.

My present bother came upon me amost like a moderate size thunderbolt,
and was summut in this way. The Manager of one of my best Hotels took me
into his privet room, one day larst week, and had sum werry sollem tork
with me. He was werry kind, and werry considerate, but he was also werry
furm, and what he said was summut like this:--

"You see, ROBERT," said he, "things is a changing in Hotels as is amost
all other things, and all things as is jest a leetle old fashoned and a
leetle rusty, as it were, must be jest pollished up a bit, and made a
little fresher like. Now take our Hotel, for xample. See what lots of
forren gents comes and stays here, and many on 'em so orful ignorant
that they carnt not hardly speak a word of Inglish! Well, if they arsks
one of our Hed Waiters a plain common question in French, which they all
on 'em seems to know how to tork, they natrally expecs a anser. Now,
what French do you know?"

I confess I was so taken aback at the suddenness of the question, that I
was amost speechless. But I pulled myself together, like a man and a Hed
Waiter, and said, "Not werry much, Sir, but when I was in Brussels two
years ago, witch, I bleeves is sumwheres in France, I lernt jest a few
words from the gassons at the Flarnders Hotel, witch I have treasured up
in fond memory, and may find usefool sumtimes." "Oh," said he, "I didn't
know you had travelled, so perhaps you will be able to manage."

I didn't think it worth while to tell him that I had only been in
Brussells two days, and that it rained all the time, as I was told it
amost always does there, hence so many Brussells Sprouts, but I at wunce
made up my mind to strike up a closer acquaintence with one of our yung
French Waiters to himprove myself in his tung, and himprove him in ours.
And I'm getting on quite wunderfool. Why, ony yesterday a forren gent
said to me, "Encore de Pulley, Gasson!" to which I at wunce replied, "Be
hanged! Mossoo," and took him some. I was a good deal emused at his
calling me a boy, but my young French friend told me as it was only
their way, and didn't mean no offense, so I forguv him. But wot a
langwidge! to encore a biled chicking as if it was a comick song! Of
course I sumtimes makes mistakes, who woodn't? Last Munday, for
instance, a forrener asked me for some raisins, and of course I took him
some and some armonds with 'em, but he larfed quite artily, and kindly
sed, "I sink as you calls 'em grapes," but wot ignorance, not to know
one from the other!

I find too, werry much to my discumfort and worry, that I am xpected to
bussel about jest as if I was the mere boy as the French gents calls me,
witch is of coarse so werry different to what I have for so many years
bin akustomed to in the dear, old, quiet, respecktable City, that I
sumtimes wunders whether I shall be able to stand it for long. Another
thing too as I misses terribly, is the hutter habsence of Toastes. No
loyal Toastes, nor no Army and Navy and Wolluntears, and no blushing
Churchman's helth, nor no Lord Mayor's helth, but dreckly as they've dun
their dinner away they goes to the Play or some such frivolus emusement,
insted of setting for ours and ours over their wine, and lissening
with rapshure to the long speaches, as full of wit as they is of
wisdom, which has made us what we are, the sollemest, and the most
respectablest, and the most diningoutest peeple in Urope, and the best
frends to the pore hardworking Waiters of any other nation.

What a glorious free-drinking race we must have bin in days gone by! How
one's respect rises up when one hears of a digneterry of the Church who
lived to the green old age of 80, becoz he always drunk a bottle of old
port every day of his life from his youth upwards. How artily I wish I
coud afford to foller his brillyant xampel! and so gain the profound
admiration of my fellow men, as he did. Why, to such a man his dinner
must have bin to him the one great object of his life, as it ort to be
to every reel Gentleman. My son WILLIAM, who is a good calculator, tells
me that this trewly reverend Diwine must have drunk a hole Pipe of Port
ewery two years of his life! What a time of it his rewerend Butler must
have had! ROBERT.

       *       *       *       *       *

SWIVELLERIANISM.

From the Police Reports we have discovered that there is a Society
called "The Social Trumps." What a Swivellerian title! The dispute which
made these trumps Police Court Cards turned on a question of money, and
the Magistrate, Mr. LUSHINGTON (could there have been a more
significantly appropriate name for a justice having to decide a
Swivellerian case?) recommended the Social Trumps to settle their little
difficulty amicably among themselves. We hope the Trumps went and had a
jolly blow out together, enlivened with songs about "The Rosy" and
"Glorious Apollo," and sentiments to the effect that none of them "might
ever want a friend or a bottle to give him." The "Social Trumps" must be
enjoying their Christmas festivities. Their Christmas, of course, is The
King of Trumps.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: INTERIORS AND EXTERIORS. No. 56.

MR. PUNCH'S NEW YEAR'S DAY RECEPTION.]

       *       *       *       *       *

CHRISTMAS CRIMES.

(_Dedicated to the unfortunate Concocters of Sensational Leading
Articles._)

"A merry Christmas! And why not a Merry Christmas, we should like to be
informed? Is it not far better to be joyous and mirthful than to be----"
(&c. Supply vigorous epithets here). "A black-souled tyrant like CÆSAR
BORGIA could, no doubt, spend his Yule-tide in----" (&c., &c. Invent
some revolting anecdote about CÆSAR B.) "Yet even those insufficiently
clad progenitors of ours, the ancient Druids, seem to have understood as
though by instinct the solemn nature of the season which to-day ushers
in, and in what Mr. FREEMAN----" (or was it Lord TENNYSON? Never
mind--chance it!)--"calls the 'dateless dawn of history,' they first
employed the mistletoe bough for ritual, and perhaps even for osculatory,
purposes, and habitually gave themselves an extra coat of paint on the
25th of each recurrent December. And who can blame them?" (Recollect
that interrogatories, addressed to nobody in particular, add force to a
style.) "What though our modern Yule-tide ceremonies are a mere survival
of----" (Here bring in anything you know about the Roman Saturnalia, say
something pretty about holly being Scandinavian, and that "Waits" were
quite common in Athens in SOPHOCLES' time, especially on the stage. Then
go on triumphantly and truculently, as if you had proved your point down
to the ground)--"What difference does it make? It is the great holiday
of the Winter----" (This will be a novel idea to most of your readers.)
"For the children, who gather round the cheerful fire, and listen to the
ghost-story invented by some eloquently mendacious uncle, the season
positively sparkles and scintillates with happiness."

"How exquisitely pleasant it is to hear the childish voices," &c., &c.
(to any amount).

"Even for the elders, too, there is a mirth and joy about the Sacred
Season, as they calmly retire to their beds just when the row
down-stairs is becoming unbearable, and locking their doors, look
carefully round the room to see that the jug is filled in readiness for
the midnight serenaders of this blissful time.

"When DICKENS drew his immortal picture of----" (&c., &c. Here gush at
length about _Gabriel Grubb_, _Tiny Tim_, and anybody suitable, from
_The Christmas Chimes or Carols_), "or when WASHINGTON IRVING depicted
the more than feudal merry-makings at"--(&c., &c. Try to cook up as much
about _Bracebridge Hall_ as you think the public will stand. Perhaps a
few practical words at the end would be advisable, as follows):--

"And after our traditional Yule-tide offerings are over; after the
preposterous claims of the postman and the lamp-lighter have been
liquidated by liquor or satisfied by sixpences; then can we forget that
besides this private bounty we also have a duty to our country? Lives
there the man with soul so dead, Whose heart within him has not bled,
And who, quite promptly has not fled, at mention of that grandest of
Nineteenth Century inspirations, the Jubilee Imperial Institute? The
Imperial Institute is----" (Here mention what it is. If you don't quite
know, you can count upon none of your readers being any the wiser. Then
add appeals for cash, a few more Yule-tide common-places, and a general
and genial wind-up.)

       *       *       *       *       *

When a judgment is re-versed, ought not the original to have been in
rhyme?

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: hand] 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.




[Illustration: INDEX]


 ABSURD to a Degree, 13

 Actor's Progress (The), 203

 Adam Slaughterman, 88

 Addio, Adelina! 286

 Advice Gratis, 246

 Albert Hall Concert, 244

 All in Play, 49, 88, 100, &c.

 All the Difference, 82, 222

 "All the Talents," 300

 Almost too Good to be True, 251

 Alteram Partem, 278

 Amen! 253

 American China, 146

 American Chorus, 249

 Another "Butler;" or, A Thorne in his side, 301

 Another Chance for Joe and Jesse, 215

 Arms and the (Police) Man, 17

 'Arry at the Sea-side, 111

 'Arry on Angling, 45

 'Arry on his Critics, 280

 'Arry on Law and Order, 249

 'Arry on Ochre, 169

 Artist's Holiday (The), 94

 At Hawarden, 226

 At Home with Atoms, 114

 At the Lyceum, 26

 At the Naval Review, 30

 At the Oval, 61

 Autumn Lay (An), 189


 BABES in the Christmas Wood (The), 267

 Backing Baco, 126

 Bacon Again, 288

 Bacon v. Shakspeare, 286

 Bad News for Tea-Drinkers, 192

 Ballade of the House (A), 82

 Ballade of the Timid Bard, 185

 Ballet (The), 97

 Bard at Henley (The), 5

 Barr Drink (A), 137

 Bartlett's Baby, 214

 Battle of the Way (The), 157

 "Bearing of it lies in the Application" (The), 219

 Bicyclists of England (The), 145

 Big Work and Little Hands, 184

 Bishop and Port, 254

 Black Affair at Hayti (A), 217

 Blessings in Disguise, 29

 Bob Sawyer Redivivus, 179

 Bogey in Bond Street, 190

 "Bon Voyage!" 93

 Bounties to Foreigners, 205

 Boy and the Bear (The), 142

 Brigand's Doom (The), 129

 Burly Gentleman (A), 232

 Burning Question (A), 96

 By a Canterbury Belle, 69

 By George! 231


 CASE-o'-my-Banker, 118

 Chairs to Mend, 190

 Change, 75

 Change of Name, 106

 Channel Talk, 81, 191

 "Charles our Friend," 222

 Chess-shire Cheese (A), 58

 Chimes (The), 294

 Christmas Crimes, 310

 "Christmas is Coming!" 243

 Circular Note (A), 293

 Circus Performances, 117

 Clear as Crystal; or, All about it, 29

 Cloud of Yachts (A), 193

 "Cold id by Doze," 196

 Complaint of the Cockney Clerk (The), 167

 Confessor's Costume (A), 244

 Conscientious Apparition (The), 298

 Conventional Politeness, 210

 Cornet and Piano, 301

 Correct Card (The), 62

 Country Cousin's Vade Mecum (The), 46

 Court Circular (The), 40

 Crossing the Bar, 165

 Cry from the Counting-house (A), 285


 DARK Look-out (A), 17

 Day Out (A), 26

 Dear Departed (The), 298

 Derby and Gladstone, 203

 Despatch with Economy, 38

 Difficult Navigation, 54

 Disputed Will (A), 273

 Doll-ce Domum, 309

 Down-y Philosopher (A), 261

 Dramatic Oratorio (A), 269

 Drury Lane with Pleasure, 113

 Duke's Motto (The), 123

 Dustman and the Barge-Owner (The), 239


 'EAT of Discussion (The), 145

 Echoes from St. James's Palace, 178

 Elegant Extracts by Eminent Men, 61

 End of the Jubilee (The), 62

 End of the Summer (An), 133

 Epitaph (An), 40

 Essence of Parliament, 11, 23, 35, &c.

 Euthanasia, 203

 Eviction, 74

 Extra Special, 246


 FATHER of the Man (The), 123

 Ferdinand and Ariel, 76

 "Finis Coronat Opus," 76

 Fire and Water, 78

 First in the Field, 112

 Fishers (The), 219

 Fistic Crack, Smith (The), 286

 Fling at Fair Traders, 277

 Floreat Maschera! 3

 Fly and the Farmers (The), 106

 For an Irish Trip, 118

 Foreign Language Competition, 70

 Forest Talk, 166

 Foul is Fair, 40

 Founded on Fact, 291

 Four Noble Burglars (The), 216

 From a Country Cousin, 303

 From Mr. Henry Irving's Note-Book, 201

 Furnishing Fictionists, 292

 Future Position of the Army (The), 276


 GARDEN, Lane, and Market, 5

 Garden Talk, 153

 Gentle Johnny Bull, 208

 Gentle Shepherd! 173

 "Gesta Grayorum," 16

 Gladstone Bait (The), 230

 "Glass Falling!" 66

 Gog and Magog at the Ball, 9

 Gold and Steel, 158

 "Good Gun" (A), 90

 Grandolph's Teachings, 21

 Grasp your Thistle, 161

 Great News for the Impecunious, 141

 Great Thirst Land (The), 40


 HAVOC! 61

 Hazard of A-dye (The), 66

 Heavy Lightning, 145

 Henry Mayhew, 53

 Hibernia to the Queen, 9

 Hints for the Unemployed, 202

 Hint to the Howlers (A), 113

 His First Appearance at the Café des Ambassadeurs, 218

 Holiday Hints, 105

 "Homes in the Hills," 102

 "Home, Sweet Home!" 12

 House and Home, 129

 How Then? 166

 How to Escape the Fog, 258

 Humility, 221

 Hydropathic Art, 278

 Hygienic, 153


 IMPERIAL Institutors, 204

 Important Summing-Up (An), 255

 In Convocation, 24

 Infant Phenomenon (The), 306

 Ingratitude of Grandolph (The), 227

 Insurer's Phrase-Book (The), 77

 In their Crackers, 297

 In the Nick of Time, 292

 Invitation (An), 87

 Irish Net Profit, 108

 "Irish Prosecutions," 183


 JACK'S Response, 38

 Jaw-holding, 220

 Jenny Lind, 219

 Jest in Earnest, 63

 Jills in Office, 4

 Joe's Jaunt, 189

 Jupiter Tonans! 102


 KEPT In, 250

 Knight Thoughts, 197


 LADIES' Law, 65

 Lady Godiva and her Portraits, 14

 Laissez-Faire, 110

 Land Measure, 73

 Lane and Garden, 33

 Larks and the Roses (The), 261

 Larks for Legislators, 34

 Last of the Go-he-cans (The), 221

 Last (Signal) Man (The), 162

 Last Visit (but One) to the Academy (The), 9

 Latest Addition to Fairy Land, 250

 Latest and Best from Berlin (The), 270

 Latest from Lord's (The), 2

 Latest Street Improvement, 15

 Lawful (?) Latitude, 84

 Lay of Lawrence Moor! 292

 Learned Protest (A), 297

 Learning the Language, 117

 Legion of Dishonour (The), 182

 Lesson for the Day (The), 242

 Lesson of the Royal Review (The), 28

 Letter-Bag of Toby, M.P., 173, 184, 196, &c.

 Lichfield House of Call (A), 180

 Light from the Wind, 133

 Lighting the Dublin Beacon, 258

 Line for Browning (A), 237

 Literary Find (A), 252

 Loaded with Presents, 174

 "Long expected come at Last!" 5

 Lord Mayor's Day in Dublin (A), 170

 Lord Salisbury's Shakspeare, 273

 Lords and Ladies, 21

 Lost Record (The), 130


 MAGAZINES in Bulk, 205

 Making it Easy, 42

 Manners and Customs of the City of London, 228

 Marble Arch (The), 73

 "Margarine," 34

 May in November, 242

 Measure for Measure, 96

 Medical New Year's Day (The), 166

 Messenger of Peace (The), 186

 "Mi Lor Maire," 240

 Mixed Pickles; or, A Very Late Party, 14

 More Advice Gratis, 130

 More Jills in Office, 17

 More Realism, 221

 More Reminiscences, 232

 Morning's Reflections (The), 157

 Mr. Gladstone on the Fifth of November, 208

 Mr. Punch's Manual for Young Reciters, 25, 37, 64, &c.

 Muse in Manacles (The), 192

 "My Lawyer," 26

 Mysterious Paper (A), 225


 NAPPY Holiday (A), 228

 Necessary Explanation (A), 278

 Negative Results, 238

 Ne Plus Ulster, 191

 New, and Bad, "Hatch" (The), 6

 New North-West Passage (The), 174

 New Quixote (The), 194

 New Sixpence (The), 274

 Newton and the Apple, 18

 New Version, 231

 New Wersion of an Old Song (A), 72

 New Year Mems, 305

 New Year's Card (A), 302

 Not a "Deus ex Machinâ," 150

 (Not at all) Bad Homburg, 155

 (Not so) Bad Homburg, 143

 Nottingham v. Sunderland, 201

 Novel Reader's Vade Mecum (The), 105

 Nu Dikshonary (The), 165

 Nuggets in North Wales, 304


 O'BRIEN'S Breeches, 274

 Obviously, 237

 Octopus of Romance and Reality (The), 171

 Official Object Lessons, 22

 Of the Maske-aline Gender, 28

 Old Doggerel Adapted, 22

 Oldest Sketching Club in the World (The), 270

 "On his Own Hook!" 114

 On the Stump, in Two Senses, 141

 On the Wing, 138

 On the Wrong Scent, 270

 Open Question, 264

 Operatic Confusion, 1

 Our Advertisers, 149, 197, 209

 Our Booking-Office, 165, 180, 192, &c.

 Our Christmas Booking-Office, 281

 Our Debating Club, 245, 268

 Our Exchange and Mart, 49, 69

 Our Ignoble Selves, 121

 Our Theatrical Picture-Posters, 275


 PALACE of (Advertising) Art (The), 263

 Papers from Pumphandle Court, 241

 Parliamentary Ballyhooly (The), 62

 Parliamentary Notices, 61

 Paving the Way for him, 22

 "Paying their Shot," 147

 Peccant Member (The), 114

 Philosopher's Stone (The), 252

 Philosophy at the Popping-Crease, 25

 Piccadilly Players, 293

 Plea for the Birds (A), 125

 Pleasant Traveller's Conversation-Book (The), 73

 Plentiful Lac (The), 226

 Pluck of Gggrrandddolllmann's Camp (The), 285

 Point of Law (A), 161

 Poor Old England! 162

 Powers that be (The), 245

 Pretty Centenarian (A), 122

 Pretty Kettle of Fish (A), 154

 Price of Support (The), 85

 Private Banker's Pæan (The), 77

 Privileged Pistols, 73

 Pro Bono Publico, 197

 Professor at the Dinner-Table (The), 287

 Progressive Programme (A), 193

 Promenading, 246

 Protest (A), 186


 QUEEN at Hatfield (The), 26

 Quite a Little Holiday, 179, 193

 Quite Chrismassy, 281

 Quite English, 134

 "Quite English, you know," 282


 RALEIGH too Bad, 6

 Rapture, 93

 Rasher Theory of Bacon (A), 278

 Rather Mixed, 232

 Real Grievance Office (The), 170

 Real "Inky Flood" (A), 110

 Real Sporting Event (A), 118

 Reasons Why, 246

 Recent Prize-Fight (The), 303

 Regular Cell (A), 137

 "Re-Joyce!" 278

 Reminiscence of the Naval Review (A), 52

 Richard Jeffries, 93

 Rise in Balloons (A), 89

 Robert at Lillie Bridge, 159

 Robert at Kilburn, 255

 Robert at Marlow, 125

 Robert at the Academy, 13

 Robert at the American Exhibition, 10

 Robert at the Guildhall Ball, 33

 Robert at the Ministerial Bankwet, 81

 Royalty at the Palace, 4

 Robert at Spithead, 57

 Robert on Lord Mayor's Day, 237

 Robert on Luxury, 206

 Robert on Spelling, 183

 Robert on the French Tung, 309

 "Room and Verge," 75

 Roses in December, 289

 Row in the Gallery (A), 221


 SAILOR'S Slip (The), 57

 Salubrities Abroad, 65, 76, 86, &c.

 Sardou and Sara, 258

 Scarcely Worth While, 25

 Scarletina at Truro, 225

 Schoolmaster of the Future (The), 234

 Sea-Dreams, 70

 Seeing his Way, 39

 Shakspeare Up Again, 289

 Shakspearian Question (The), 274

 Shows Views, 185, 208, 220, &c.

 Shrimp Cure (The), 240

 Sidonian Shakspeare, 46

 Sigh of the Season (The), 106

 Social Romance, 304

 Society Sibyls, 279

 Some More Official Jills, 50

 Some Notes at Starmouth, 97, 120, 132, &c.

 Something to Swallow, 303

 Song by Sir Abel Handy, 24

 Songs at Stamboul, 21

 Soothing Song for August (A), 69

 So Seasonable, you know, 245

 Sound Opinion (A), 285

 "Special" Reasons, 243

 Stable Companion (A), 167

 Straight Tip (The), 277

 Strange Adventures of Ascena Lukin-glass, 109

 Strictly Private, 232

 Studies from Mr. Punch's Studio, 41, 204

 Summer Boating Song, 58

 Summer Soliloquy (A), 108

 Suspiria, 229

 Swivellerianism, 309


 TALE of Terror (A), 110

 Testimonial (A), 18

 Theatrical Noes to Queries, 168

 Theatrical Reciprocity, 277

 Theory and Practice, 233

 To a Lady Dentist, 195

 To his Mistress, 249

 Tom Brown & Co.'s Schooldays, 256

 Too Clever by Half, 293

 Too Much of a Good Thing, 3

 "To Tea-pot Bay and Back," 121

 To the Incomplete (Political) Angler, 209

 To the Modern Men of Gotham, 281

 To the Unemployed, 245

 Town Mouse's Trials (The), 231

 Toying with Truth, 286

 Traveller's Vade Mecum (The), 64

 Turning to the Left, 169

 'Twill Illume, 243

 Two Goats (The), 180

 Two Canons and Bean-Baggers (The), 258

 Two French Presidents rolled into One, 254

 Two Voices (The), 198

 Tympanum (The), 156


 UNCOMMON, 306

 Unemployed, 298


 VENICE Unpreserved, 98

 Verb Sap., 33

 Very Annoying, 26

 Very like a Wales, 62

 Very Pretty Tale by Anderson (A), 124

 Vicarious Whipping, 159

 Visit to "The Licensed Vistlers", 291

 Virtues of Omission 99

 Voces Populi, 201, 214, 226, &c.


 WAIL of Messrs. Burt and Fenwick, 145

 Wail of the Male (The), 126

 Wail of the Wire (The), 242

 Waiting his Orders, 300

 Wanted, a Theseus, 150

 Way of the Wind (The), 99

 Well Protected, 280

 Welsh for the Welsh, 73

 What was it? 138

 Whistling Relief (The), 106

 Whitman in London, 101

 Why he Went, 82

 Woes of the Water Consumer (The), 250

 Words in Season, 123

 Worth Cultivating, 290

 Worth Mentioning, 14

 Would-be "Literary Gent" (A), 274


 LARGE ENGRAVINGS.

 All the Difference, 223

 Chimes (The), 295

 Convention-al Politeness, 211

 Difficult Navigation, 55

 "Final Tableau" (The), 127

 "Fire Fiend" (The), 79

 "Glass Falling!" 67

 "Good Gun" (A), 91

 Grand Old Janus (The), 247

 Infant Phenomenon (The), 307

 Jupiter Tonans! 103

 Justice at Fault, 163

 Lighting the Dublin Beacon, 259

 Making it Easy, 43

 Messenger of Peace (The), 187

 New "Hatch" (The), 7

 New North-West Passage (The), 175

 Newton and the Apple, 19

 "On his own Hook!" 115

 On the Wrong Scent, 271

 "Overlooked!" 139

 "Quite English, you know," 283

 Schoolmaster of the Future (The), 235

 Spithead, July 23, 1887, 31

 Two Voices (The), 199

 Wanted, a Theseus, 151


 SMALL ENGRAVINGS.


 Academy Pictures, 9, 13

 Alderman's Reason for drinking Champagne, 226

 Amateur Vocalist at a Penny Reading (An), 306

 'Arry, 'Arriet, and the Indians, 18

 Artist and his Rich Patron (An), 94

 Artists and School-Board Notice, 46

 Aunty and the Policeman, 231

 Babes in the Christmas Wood (The), 266

 Baby Bottesini (The), 38

 Baby Gorilla (The), 214

 Birds on the Telegraph Wires, 155

 Boatman's Opinion on a Dress-Improver, 126

 Bogeyish Pictures, 190

 Boulanger-Ferry Duel (The), 63

 Brown's Boarhound and the Rabbit, 270

 Brown's Experience of Squalls, 118

 Bulgar Boy and the Bear, 142

 Buying Grouse, 135

 Cannibal Uncle (A), 70

 Chamberlain and the Gladstone Bait, 230

 Children's Day in the Country (A), 30

 Chimney-Sweep not in Black, 130

 Chinaman on Tricycle (A), 50

 Chorister Boys with the Mumps, 217

 Churchill at the Battle of the Estimates, 39

 Clergyman and the Widow (The), 263

 Colour of the Gorse (The), 111

 Comte de Paris and his Manifesto, 134

 Costumes for the Recess, 143

 Country Ladies and Street Boys, 291

 Cricket at Lord's, 12, 28

 Dachshund's Sore Throat (A), 278

 Darwinian Ancestor (A), 265

 Débutante's Series of Suppers (A), 222

 Disadvantage of being an Aristocrat, 110

 Division Lobbies (The), 11

 Don Chamberlain Quixote, 194

 Duke evicting the Volunteers (The), 74

 Dumb Crambo's School-Book Review, 37

 East Countrymen on Disestablishment, 219

 English and American Yachts, 157

 Fag-end of the Session (The), 83

 Family Starting for the Seaside, 90

 Finding the Law Courts, 129

 First Meet of the Season (The), 227

 F.-M. Punch's Parliamentary Review, 23

 Footman's Opinion of the Unemployed, 243

 German Belle's English (A), 62

 Gladstone and Jenny Jones, 290

 Gladstone's Sale of Chips, 202

 Gondolier and the Steam-launch, 98

 Good-woodcuts, 48

 Grandpapa, Johnny, and the Irish Stew, 298

 Grand Parliamentary Cricket-Match, 71

 Grouse Prospects, 60

 Guest's Departure and the little Trees, 210

 Hampstead Ponds (The), 198

 Hansom Cab in a Hampstead Pond, 246

 Honeymoon Riddle (A), 75

 Host treading on Lady's Skirt, 213

 House "Up" at Last (The), 131

 How We Advertise Now, 262

 Hungry Professor at a Pic-nic, 186

 Improvised Butler and Distinguished Guest at Dinner-Table, 309

 In Lowther Arcadia at Christmas Times, 299

 Innings of the Two Bills, 2

 "Instantaneous Photography" in Ireland, 238

 Irish Waiter and Bow-legged Traveller, 195

 Jack and Effie on the Sea-shore, 78

 Japanese and the Lady's Feet (A), 267

 John Bull and Miss Columbia, 122

 John Bull and the Jubilee Gifts, 178

 King of the Belgians and Ostend Fishery, 154

 Ladies wilfully mistaking Identity, 42

 Lady's Long-lasting Voice (A), 82

 Laurie growing too rapidly, 159

 "London Quite Empty!" 167

 Long Sight or Short Arms? 203

 Lordly Cecil and his Queen (The), 87

 Lord Lytton translated into French, 218

 Madame France's Next Fashion, 27

 Making Good Use of the Square, 6

 Mamma and her Selfish Daughters, 102

 Matthews and the Police, 207

 McScrew's Glasgow Friends, 179

 Minister's Retort on Free Kirk Elder, 251

 Missionary who couldn't convert the Sultan, 45

 Miss Tomkyn's return from the Concert, 66

 Modern Autolycus (The), 182

 Money-making Schoolboy (The), 256

 Mother-in-law's Return (A), 286

 Mr. Punch's Parliamentary Naval Review, 35

 Nelson as a Special Constable, 243

 New French President (The), 279

 Newly-titled Lord and an Old Chum, 225

 New Shylock (The), 285

 Nizan of Hyderabad and Britannia, 158

 Northern Belle and Provincial Masher, 22

 Not in Love--this Season, 274

 Octopus of Romance and Reality, 171

 Old Butler and Her Ladyship's Music, 234

 Old Gent and Small Boy on Beach, 137

 Old Lady and Cabman, 183

 Old Lady forgets where she Dined, 26

 Parliamentary Alpine Club, 59

 Parliamentary Cattle-Show (The), 275

 Parliamentary Harvest (The), 107

 Pic-Nic Parties disturbed by Rain, 150

 Pigheaded Attack on the Immortal Bard, 273

 Pricing an Artist's Masterpiece, 3

 Probable Pictures for Christmas, 250

 Professional Cricketers, 53

 Professor's Opinion on Long Words (The), 255

 Public School Boy and his Grandfather, 123

 Punch and the Police Recruit, 191

 Punch as Apollo, 1

 Punch at Portsmouth, 54

 Railway Station Puzzle, 93

 Record of the Session--Dead Heat, 133

 Regretting not having eaten more Oysters, 294

 Returning Home from Seaside, 162

 Robert and Stingy Old Gent, 81

 Rough Day at the Sea-side, 138

 Sacred Music in French, 189

 Salisbury awaking the Crocodile, 160

 Science appealing to John Bull, 51

 Scotch Wife and the Minister's Tricycle, 166

 Seeing the Blondin Donkey, 99

 Set Fair at Whitby, 114

 Several Boxing Encounters, 287

 Sharp Boy and Papa's Sixpence, 209

 Sir W. V. Harcourt as Falstaff, 254

 Sketching a Lady Sketcher, 174

 Snap-shots for the Twelfth, 69

 Society's Pugilistic Pet, 282

 Speaker using the Birch (The), 47

 Special Constable and Lady Cook, 258

 Speechifying on Railway Platforms, 215

 Street Puzzle--in the Strand, 117

 Sultan's Appeal to Mr. Punch, 153

 Teacher of Shorthand (A), 170

 Times, Salisbury, and National League, 40

 Toby's New Year's Greeting, 302

 Tradesmen clearing Regent Street, 15

 Triangular Duel of Operatic Managers, 21

 Turning on Whiskey and Water, 106

 Unemployed Man's Shovel (An), 206

 University Coach and Volatile Pupil, 34

 Unwelcome Lady Visitor (An), 86

 Utilising a Theatrical Poster, 216

 Watching a Couple on the Balcony, 58

 Wearing a Real Engagement Ring, 239

 Whim-buildin', 17, 29

 Willow-Pattern Plate (The), 146

 Wolff and the Sultan, 29

 Wonderful Sporting Dog (A), 147

 Woolly Landscape, but not Woolly Sheep (A), 303

[Illustration]

LONDON: BRADBURY AGNEW & CO., PRINTERS WHITEFRIARS.

[Illustration: PUNCH VOL 93

LONDON:

PUBLISHED AT THE OFFICE, 85, FLEET STREET,

AND SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLERS.

1887.]

 LONDON:
 BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.

[Illustration]

SCENE--_A snug and sequestered if cloudy corner of the Elysian Fields.
Present, the Shades of_ SHAKSPEARE _and_ BACON, _engaged in reading_ Mr.
DONELLY'S _egregious lucubrations, not without such mild and mitigated
mirth as becomes the locality. To them enters a small and sprightly
Personage, light-footed, but of seeming cis-Stygian solidity._

 _Bacon_      } (_together_). Hillo!
 _Shakspeare_ }

_Mr. Punch._ _That_ sounds human. Savours rather of my own Fleet Street
than of the realms of the _other_ Rhadamanthus. What cheer, sweet WILL?
How fare you, Brother FRANCIS? [_Salutes courteously._

_Bacon._ 'Twere affectation to ask _who_ you are, Sir. The question,
"How gat you here?" may perchance be more pertinent--and pardonable.

_Mr. P._ (_airily_). Oh, I had been for--say, the _x_th time--to see
"Our MARY" in _The Winter's Tale_, and being more inclined for
profitable talk than for sleep, I just took you on my way home.

_Bacon_ (_smiling_). Marry, Mr. PUNCH, were the statement of sequence
equivalent to the explanation of causation, yours would be a most
satisfactory answer.

_Shaks._ (_mildly_). Be not too scientifically scrutinising, Brother
BACON. Mr. PUNCH, _Puck_ and _Ariel_ in one, is free of all places, lord
of all latitudes, penetrator of all spheres, permeator of all elements.

_Mr. P._ True, sweet WILL! How much more catholic, in comprehension, as
in charity, is the creative mind than the merely critical one!

_Bacon._ Humph! That sounds Sphinxian. HERACLITUS the Obscure was
pellucid in comparison.

_Mr. P._ And yet, I warrant you, Master SHAKSPEARE here could play the
"Diver of Delos" where your pundit's plummet should not find bottom.
However, "broad-browed VERULAM," let not that brow's breadth cloud or
corrugate in vexation at my persiflage. What do you read, Sir?

_Shaks._ "Words, words, words!"

_Mr. P._ "I mean the matter that you read."

_Shaks._ "Slanders, Sir." For the coney-catching rogue--one
DONELLY--says here----but of course you know _what_ he says. [_The trio
laugh Homerically, until the asphodels wag their white heads and
convulse their starry corollas in sheer sympathy._

_Bacon._ By DEMOCRITUS, laughter in these latitudes is seldom enough of
this sort and compass.

_Mr. P._ To succeed in shaking the sides--of BACON, _here_, is somewhat
indeed, the greatest triumph, be sure, that awaits the incongruous
Cryptogrammatist.

_Shaks._ Would that BEN JONSON were with us to join in the glorious
guffaw.

_Mr. P._ Conceive Rare BEN being jockeyed into accepting _you_, his
contemporary and tavern-companion, as the author of such "unconsidered
trifles" as _Hamlet_ and _Lear_, _Othello_ and _Macbeth_, _The Tempest_
and _The Midsummer Night's Dream_! Wer't ever at the "Mermaid," VERULAM?

_Bacon._ Verily, Mr. PUNCH, I should like mightily to have joined in
that company, just for once, and to have discussed the Cryptogram with
the "Spanish great galleon" and the "English man-of-war" (as FULLER puts
it), whom DONELLY now desires to knock, as it were, into one curiously
composite craft. Did not this same maker of mare's-nests indite a
fantastic tome, full of bottomless argument and visionary particularity,
concerning that fabled island or continent of Atlantis, which the
Egyptian priest told SOLON had been swallowed up by an earthquake?

_Mr. P._ Like enough, my Lord, like enough. Once a mare's-nester, always
a mare's-nester. Nephelo-Coccygia was _terra firma_ compared with the
elaborate but evanescent Cloud-Cuckoolands of riddle-reading
theory-mongers.

_Shaks._ When OEDIPUS gets crotchet-ridden the sooner the Sphinx
devours him the better.

_Mr. P._ True, O Swan! Let the Great Brethren of British Genius be
brethren still--twins, if you please, but twain. Verily it might almost
pass the might of Mother Nature to round two such splendid orbs into
one. Rare BEN had his tribute for you also, my VERULAM. "No man ever
spake more neatly, more purely, more weightily, or suffered less
emptiness, less idleness in what he uttered." Might have been said of
ME!

_Bacon._ Praise shared with you is praise indeed! But the language of
the Realm of Phantasy--WILL'S own world--the speech of Arcady, of Arden,
of shadowy Elsinore, of _Prospero's_ enchanted Isle--WILL'S native
tongue--passeth many a league-long step beyond the "neatness" of the
judgment-seat, or the "fulness" of the _Novum Organum Scientiarum_.

_Mr. P._ Well said, Wisdom!

_Shaks._ (_chortling softly_). Why, who knows? One day, perchance,--æons
hence, of course,--some puzzle-headed pragmatist may propound the
preposterous question, "Who wrote _Punch?_" From out the fathomless
deeps of its many thousand wit-stored tomes the DONELLY of that dim and
distant future may readily dip up, in his poor bucket, a Cryptogram, to
show that they were produced by a scientific syndicate, including
FARADAY and MILL, HUXLEY and HERBERT SPENCER, DARWIN and the Duke of
ARGYLL. [_At the mention of the Olympian and autocratic Scottish
Sciolist, Homeric laughter bursts forth anew in yet fuller force._

_Bacon._ Prithee, sweet WILL, don't! Shadowy sides can ache, I find, and
then, what will Rhadamanthus think?

_Mr. P._ As Jupiter did when the adventurous Ixion intruded into
Olympus, perhaps. Well, well, put aside that preposterous book, which,
as you, my Lord BACON, said of the Aristotelian method, is "only strong
for disputations and contentions, but barren of works for the benefit of
the life of man," and, I may add, of immortals.

_Shaks._ (_yawning_). Not all reading, my FRANCIS, makes a full
man--save in the sense in which one may be filled with the East wind.
_My_ books were men. Not much that is novel in Nature, human or
otherwise, to study in these shadowy realms. I miss the "Mermaid," and
the mazy world which was my stage. DONELLY'S book is dull, however.
Canst furnish us with a substitute, excellent Mr. PUNCH?

_Mr. P._ That can I, sweet WILL. To that end indeed came I hither. As a
popular stage-character--not one of your own--saith, "I hope I don't
intrude." Ah, I thought not; but you needn't try (ineffectually) to
wring my hands off, the pair of you. Behold!!!!!!

As Mr. PUNCH reluctantly turned his back upon Elysium, he left the two
Illustrious Shades, prone side by side and cheek by jowl upon an
asphodel bank, eagerly and diligently perusing his

Ninety-Third Volume!

[Illustration]

[Transcriber's Note:

All apparent printer's errors retained.

Italics denoted with underscores (_).]