Produced by Punch, or the London Charivari, Malcolm Farmer
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 109.

AUGUST 17, 1895.




"THE SECRET OF SUCCESS."

 (_Modern Version of the Story of the Idle and Industrious
 Apprentices._)

MR. GOODCHILD was admittedly the most successful of merchant
princes--not only financially, but morally. From a boy the great trader
had advanced on the road of commerce by leaps and bounds. His parents
were of humble birth and in poor circumstances, and yet he had risen to
the top of the tree of commercial prosperity. Mr. GOODCHILD
had shops, warehouses, wharfs, and a fleet of ships. He had never had
a reverse. All he had touched had turned to gold. This is so well
understood that a description of his enormous wealth in detail would be
entirely superfluous.

"Do you really want to know the secret of my pecuniary triumph?" asked
Mr. GOODCHILD, when he was questioned on the subject.

"Why, certainly," was the reply. "How is it that your companion, the
idle apprentice, came to such signal grief?"

"Because he was always reading the worst of literature. He knew the
history of every felon recorded in the _Newgate Calendar_, original
edition, and added chapters. That brought my 'colleague as a boy' to
such dire disaster."

"And you never perused the pernicious documents?"

"Never. And I can prove my statement to the hilt."

"You never perused them! And why not?"

"Because," returned the prosperous capitalist with a gentle smile,
"those in whose hands my future rested had my true interest at heart.
_I was never taught to read!_"

And with this suggestive announcement (well worthy of the attention
of ratepayers who can control the expenditure of the School Board)
the history of the two apprentices is brought to a conclusion at once
pleasing and instructive.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: DISCRIMINATION.

_Young Man from the Country_ (_with the affable condescension he
supposes marks the Man about Town_). "'MORNING, COACHMAN! STREETS
RATHER BUSY THIS MORNING, EH?"

_Metropolitan Driver._ "YUSS--A BIT THE USUAL WAY, SIR. 'OW'S 'OPS
LOOKIN'?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

ARITHMETICAL EXERCISE.

_Letter to the Editor._

"SIR,--I read in the Money Market article last week that
Dumbells Co., Isle of Man, paid 17 per cent. Now, Sir, a long time ago
I invested in Dumbells, and use them regularly every morning; also
I recommend everybody to invest in Dumbells. But where is my 17 per
cent.? I've never received it. I am certainly considerably better in
health and muscular development than I was before my investment in
Dumbells. But, putting this at 5 per cent. better, I still want the
other twelve. I apply, Sir, to you, for further information, and am,
yours hopefully,

  "A. WYSE AKER."

       *       *       *       *       *

A QUERY.

(_By Omar Khayyam._)

 ["WANTED.--An UP and DOWN GIRL; aged 16; English;
 strong."--_Advertisement in "Times," August 7._]

[Illustration]

  Tell me, mysterious maiden, when and whence
  And where and wherefore and on what pretence
    You're "up-and-down"--this riddle rede, I pray,
  And rid my bosom of a care immense!

  Does "up" mean sky-high, "down," upon the ground?
  Is't on a see-saw that you bob and bound?
    There's more in this than meets the eye, I fear--
  I cannot rest until the clue be found.

  Are you a damsel, too, that's in-and-out,
  And there-and-back, and also round-about?
    You may be all at once for aught I know,
  For all I know is clouded o'er with doubt.

  Pray, have you golden hair all down your back
  A-hanging? Is there something that you lack
    To play with, love, adore--as, say, a bike
  Whereon to travel up and down a track?

  What though I've never met you in the throng,
  I'm glad you're English-born, sixteen, and strong;
    Life has its ups and downs (more downs than ups),
  But you're a _new_ sort--hence this idle song!

       *       *       *       *       *

JOVE'S JESTER INTERVIEWED.

(_A Page of Mythology written up to Date._)

The Traveller from the Earth left his balloon and trod the cloud that
seemed prepared to receive him. As he did this there was a peal of
laughter which echoed far and wide.

"Where am I?" asked the explorer in English, for he was British-born.

"You have come to the head-quarters of waggery," returned the Resident,
recovering from a violent fit of merriment. "We are never dull here, we
have so much to amuse us."

"Indeed! And how is that?"

"Why, I take a delight in effecting the most comical transformations
imaginable. By the simplest means I can cause an inhabitant of the
Earth to change his costume five times in as many hours. The jest is
provocative of limitless mirth, especially amongst the doctors and the
undertakers."

"And what are the simplest means?"

[Illustration]

"Why, I will serve up on Monday a sun worthy of the most fiery day
in an unusually sultry August. On Tuesday I will send a gale and
hailstones, suggestive of the arctic regions at Yule-tide. On Wednesday
I will resume the oppressive heat until streams dry up, and water rises
to a premium. Then on Thursday I will cover the ground with snow, and
finish up the week with a deluge."

The Stranger raised his hat and answered, "The Clerk of the Weather, I
presume?"

"Quite so," was the immediate response. "And now you must leave me to
my work, or Englishmen will have nothing to talk about."

And the balloon once more continued its progress amidst a perfect salad
of the elements.

"Very amusing," thought the Traveller, and then he added aloud,
speaking incidentally the opinion of all his countrymen, "but
distinctly inconvenient!"

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: MERELY A SUGGESTION.

_Mr Punch_ (_to the Shahzada_). "WOULDN'T YOUR HIGHNESS LIKE TO SEE
THE NORTH POLE?"

["At the weekly meeting of the Balloon Society on the 6th inst., Herr
S. A. ANDRÉE read a paper on the projected Polar balloon
expedition.... He intended, he said, to go to Spitzbergen and wait for
a southerly wind, which would take him very quickly into the Polar
regions."

  _Pall Mall Gazette, August 7, 1895._]

       *       *       *       *       *

TO CHLOË.

  You're mine "in haste"--and so it ends,
    The usual scrambling, headlong letter;
  Long vanished are the days of friends
    Not otherwise more kind or better,
  Who yet excelled in this respect--
    In that they grudged not time or trouble
  The choicest phrases to select,
    Nor wrote their letters "at the double"!

  You're mine "in haste." It's not your fault,
    You're but unconsciously reflecting
  Our modern life, we cannot halt,
    The vice is now beyond correcting,
  But yet we sigh for old-world days
    When lighter far was toil and worry,
  When life was spent in peaceful ways
    Without the least idea of hurry.

  You're "mine in haste"--but as I'm told
    (The saying's not precisely novel)
  That all that glitters is not gold,
    The fairy palace proves a hovel,
  So, possibly, that age was dull,
    And since you've graciously consented
  To live to-day--it's wonderful
    And wrong, perhaps--but I'm contented!

  You're "mine in haste." I must devote
    Five minutes to a swift endeavour
  To pen an answer to your note,
    But let me sign myself, "Yours ever";
  'Tis not an antiquarian taste
    Which makes your phrase earn my displeasure
  So much as that "you're mine in haste"
    Suggests that I'll "repent at leisure"!

       *       *       *       *       *

ONE OF THE CHURCH MILITANT.--The Venerable Archdeacon
DENISON celebrated his ninetieth birthday last week. He has
been in all the hard fighting, and never shirked. May he yet long be a
Denizen amongst us. _Prosit!_

       *       *       *       *       *

Mrs. R. says that, though she has known it all her life, yet she could
never quite make out what is the meaning of the old saying that "One
man can only stand at a door, while another may look over a house."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: REASSURING.

"LOR' BLESS YER, SIR, THAT'S ALL RIGHT, SIR! _THAT_ AIN'T A FLY,
SIR!--_THAT_'S A BIT OF DIRT!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

BALLAST FOR THAT BALLOON;

_Or, Rubbish to be Shot at the Pole._

 Dr. ANDRÉE, if you're going to the Pole by a balloon,
 (_Punch_ hopes you'll be successful, and he trusts you'll come back soon,)
 _Could_ you find a little room for some companions in your car?
 We have some whom we should like to see thus travelling afar.
 _Place aux dames!_ There's the New Woman whom we really do not want,
 And the Female-suffrage female, and the shrieking slave of Cant;
 There's the Fashionable Mother who constricts her daughters' waists,
 There's the Woman with a Past, who so pollutes the public tastes;
 There's the female who is masculine, the male effeminate,
 The Hedonist of hollow heart and paradox-muddled pate;
 There's that big bore the Degenerate, he'll turn up, divil doubt him!
 And that other bore, almost as big, who writes big books about him;
 There's the pedlar of Emotions, and the petty foe of Morals,
 There's the stirrer up in newspapers of journalistic quarrels;
 There's the thorough paced denouncer of Creation's horror--Man;
 There's the muckrake wielding maunderer on the Mysteries of Pan;
 There's the dirty dynamiter, the neurotic novelist!--
 Oh, take them to the Pole, Sir, I'll be happy to assist,
 And drop them there--and _leave_ them there--"they never will be missed!"

       *       *       *       *       *

On account of the vogue for cycling in Battersea Park this summer, the
past two months will be remembered as the "Bike-at-Batterseason '95."

       *       *       *       *       *

BY OUR NOTES-AND-QUERY-MAN.

_Mem. for the next Historian of England._

It is probable, from recent discoveries in the Archives of the State
Paper Office, that immediately after the time of CRANMER,
in consequence of his having recanted two or three times, the See of
Canterbury was to have been re-named "The See of Recanterbury." Also
the question as to the origin of the name is, we believe, finally
settled by the fact having come to light, that, every Archbishop,
in consequence of the extent of his diocese and the necessity of
his taking exercise, was compelled to be (as was Dr. TAIT,
and as is the present Archbishop, Dr. BENSON) an excellent
equestrian, and that the favourite pace for proceeding comfortably
and expeditiously was "a canter." The origin of the "bury" has yet
to be accounted for, as it has been spelt at various times "_bery_,
"_berry_", "_berie_," "_burrie_," "_bury_." But Kent being an hop
county, and beer the popular beverage from time immemorial, it is
highly probable that as "_canter_" referred to the horse, so "_bery_"
(with the "_e_" long "_beery_") referred to the refreshment for
man (not for beast) required during the journey. This is from an
antiquarian point of view most interesting.

       *       *       *       *       *

"THE COWES WEEK."--This, read out aloud to a dairyman and a
butcher, sounds bad; as the first would be anxious as to the milk, and
the second as to the veal: for he would argue, "If the cow's weak,
what'll the calf be?"

       *       *       *       *       *

THE POET LAUREATESHIP IN ABEYANCE.--Why not go to the City for
our Poet Laureate? If a name be any indication, the choice ought at
once to fall upon "Alderman RYMER."

       *       *       *       *       *

THE COUNTRY OF COCKAIGNE.

A MONOLOGUE--WITH A MORAL.

SCENE--_An airless Court in a London back street._
TIME--_August._

_Jimmy_ (_aged eight, to_ FLORRIE, _aged seven_). No, I ain't
comin' to the Reckereation Groun', not jess yit, I carn't.... I'm goin'
ter wyte about 'ere till the lidy comes.... Why, 'er as is comin' to
see my Muvver 'bout sendin' me fur a fortnight in the kerntry.... Yus,
where I was larst year.... It's settled as I'm ter go agine--leastways
as _good_ as settled. My Farver 'e've sent in a happlication to the
K'mitty, and Teacher 'e sez 'e kin reckermend me, an' Mr. and Mrs.
DELVES--them as 'ad the cottidge where I went afore--they've
arst fur to 'ave me agin--so yer see, FLORRIE, it's all
_right_. On'y I carn't settle to nuffink afore I know when I'm goin',
an' about the trine an' that. Yer 'ave ter roide in a trine ter git
to the kerntry, yer know.... Wot, ain't yer never bin there?... Yer'd
wanter fawst enough if yer knoo what it was loike.... There's grorss
there, an' trees an' that.... Na-ow, a _lot_ better 'n the Reckereation
Groun'--that's all mide outer old grivestones as the deaders 'as done
wiv. There's 'ills an' bushes an' 'edges where yer can pick flowers.
...There ain't no perlice to _git_ yer locked up.... An' everyfink
smells so lovelly, kinder 'elthy like--it mikes yer feel 'ungry....
Not like sassages an' inions azackly--'tain't that sorter smell....
On'y 'ere an' there, an' yer'd 'ardly tell they _was_ shops, they kerry
'em on that quoiet.... Yer wouldn' call it poky if yer was there. Mr.
DELVES 'e _was_ a kind man, 'e was; mide me a whistle outer
a sickermore brornch, 'e did; an' Mrs. DELVES she lemme 'elp
her feed the chickings.... They 'ad a garding beyind, an' there was
rasberries an' gooseberries a growin on bushes--strite, they was--I
ain't tellin' yer no lies--an' eat as many as yer like, yer could.
An' they 'ad a dog--_Rover 'is_ nime was--'e was a koind dog, lemme
lay insoide of 'is kennel orfen, 'e would.... I'd like ter 'ave a run
over thet Common agen, too. I dessay as I shell--p'reps the d'y arter
to-morrer.... There's a pond on it, an' geese, an' they comes at yer a
stritching out their necks an' a-'i sin' thet sevidge.... Na-ow, yer've
on'y got ter walk up to 'em, an' they goes orf purtendin' they took
yer fur somebody else, an' wasn't meanin' no offence. I ain't afride
o' no geese, I ain't--nor yet LILY wasn't neither. We sor a
pig 'aving a ring put froo 'is nose one day. 'E 'ollered out like 'e
was bein' killed--but 'e wasn't. An' there was a blecksmiff's, where
they put the 'orse's shoes on red 'ot, an' the 'orse 'e never took no
notice. Me an' LILY used ter go fur long walks, all under
trees. Once she showed me a squill--"sqerl" _she_ kep' a-callin' of
it, till I tole 'er 'ow--an' it run up a tree zigzag, and jumped on
to another ever so fur. That was when we was pickin' nuts. We went a
blackberryin', too, one day.... Na-ow, there warn't nobody dead. An'
LILY.... LILY DELVES 'er nime was, b'longed to them I
was stoppin' wiv.... I didn't notice partickler.... Older nor you, an'
bigger, an' lots redder 'bout the cheeks.... She wasn't a bad sort--fur
a gal.... I dunno; I liked _all_ on 'em.... Well, there was Farmer
FURROWS, 'e was very familiar, said as 'ow I might go inter
'is horchard an' pick the happles up as was layin' there jest fur the
arskin'. An' BOB RUMBLE, 'im as druv Mr. KENNISTER
the grocer's cart, 'e used ter gimme a roide along of 'im when 'e
was tikin' round porcels an' that. We'd go along lanes that 'igh
yer couldn't see nuffink fur leaves; and once 'e druv along a Pork
with tremenjus big trees in it, an' stagses walkin' about underneath
with grite big 'orns.... Suthink like 'im as is drawed outside the
public round the corner--on'y they warn't none o' them gold. I 'speck
them gold ones is furrin.... An' the grub--we 'ad beefstike pudd'n
o' Sundays, an' as much bread an' treacle every day as ever I could
eat, an' I _was_ 'ungry when I was in the kerntry.... An' when I come
away Mrs. DELVES she gethered me a big noseguy fur to tike
'ome to Muvver--kissantimums, marigoles, an' dyliers, all sorts there
was--an' Muvver she put 'em in a jug, an' soon as ever I shet my eyes
an' sniffed, I could see that garding an' _Rover_ an' LILY as
_pline_--but they went bad, an' 'ad to be froed aw'y at larst. I shall
see 'em all agine very soon now, though, won' thet be proime, eh?...
Whatsy? 'Ere, FLORRIE, you ain't _croyin'_, are yer?... Why
don't yer arsk yer Farver if 'e won't let _you_ go.... Oh, I thought as
yer _wanted_ to go. Then what _are_ yer----?... No, I ain't gled to git
aw'y from you.... A-course I shell be gled to see 'er; but that ain't
why, it's jest----You ain't never bin in the kerntry, or you'd know 'ow
I'm feelin'.... There's the lidy comin' now. I must cut across an' 'ear
what she sez to Muvver.... Don' tike on--'tain't on'y fur a fortnight,
anyway.... Look 'ere, I got suthink for yer, FLORRIE, bought
it orf a man what 'ad a tray on 'em--its a wornut, d'yer see? Now open
it--ain't them two little choiner dolls noice, eh?... I'd rorther you
'ad it nor 'er, strite, I would!... I'll be back in a minnit.

[Illustration]

AFTER AN INTERVAL OF TWENTY-FOUR HOURS.

No, _I_ ain't bin nowhere partickler.... Settled? yus, it's all settled
'bout me goin' ter the kerntry.... To-morrer? no, I ain't goin'
_to-morrer_.... Nex' week? not as I _knows_ on.... You wanter know sech
a _lot_, you do!... If I _do_ tell yer, you'll on'y go an' larf....
Well, I ain't goin' at all--_now_ I 'ope you're pleased.... What's the
good o' bein' _sorry?_... Oh, I don't keer much, I don't.... Set down
on this step alonger me, then, and don' you go sayin' nuffink, or I'll
stop tellin' yer.... You remember me goin' in yes'day arternoon to 'ear
what the lidy said? Well, when I got in, I 'eard 'er s'y, "Yus, it'll
be a great disappintment fur 'IM, pore boy," she sez, "arter
lookin' forward to it an' all; but it can't be 'elped." An' Muvver, she
sez, "'Is Farver'll be sorry, too; it done JIMMY ser much good
larst time. 'E can't pay not more nor 'arf-a-crownd a week towards it,
but he can manage that, bein' in work jes now." But the lidy sez, "It's
this w'y," she sez, "it costis us neelly arf a suffering over what the
parints pays fur each child, and we ain't got the fun's fur to send
more 'n a few, 'cos the Public don' suscroibe ser much as they might,"
she sez. "An' so this year we're on'y sending children as is delikit,
an' reelly _wants_ a chinge." So yer see, I ain't a goin'. I dunno as
I'm delikit; but I _do_ want the kerntry _orful_ bad, I do. I wish I
never 'adn't bin there at all, 'cos then preps I shouldn' mind. An' yit
I'm gled I bin, too. I dreamt about it larst night, FLORRIE,
I did. I was a-settin' on this 'ere step, sime as I am now, an' it
was 'ot an' stoiflin', like it is; an' all of a suddink I see Mr.
KENNISTER'S cart wiv the grey 'orse turn into our court an'
pull up hoppersite, an' _Bob Rumble_ 'e was a-drivin' on it. An 'e sez
"Jump up!" he sez, "and I'll tike yer back to Mr. DELVES'S
cottidge." And I sez, "May FLORRIE come too." An 'he sez,
"Yus, both on yer." So up we gits, an' we was droivin' along the lanes,
an' I was showin' yer the squills an' the stagses, an' jes as we come
to the turn where yer kin see the cottidge----Well, I don' remember no
more on it. But it was a noice dream so fur as I got wiv it, an' if I
'adn't never bin there, I couldn' ha' dreamt it, _could_ I, eh? An',
like as not, I'll dream the rest on it anuvver night.... An' you must
try an' dream your share, too, FLORRIE. It'll be a'most like
bein' in the kerntry in a sort o' w'y fur both on us, won't it?

THE MORAL.--The offices of the Children's Country Holidays
Fund are at 10, Buckingham Street, Strand, and contributions should be
made payable to the Hon. Treasurer.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Now I'm set up!" as the first page in type observed to his companion
pages in MS.

       *       *       *       *       *

"RULE, 'BRITANNYER'!"

_Being a loyal letter from Mr. Jeames, at Cowes Regatta, to Mary in
Mayfair._

  DEAR MARY,--"_Rule, Britannyer!_" To that sentiment I'm partial,
  As there isn't not one like it, not to make a man feel martial,
  Pattryottic, and all that, dear. But at this serblime conjunction--
  Of ryalties and regattas--wy I hutters it with hunction.
  Rule, _Britannyer!_ As you'll understand I mean the Ryal yot!
  Hah! Haitch-Har-Haitch--Eving bless him!--knows hexactly wot is wot
  In the way of yots and racing; wich I'm free to own, my dear,
  As I _don't_. And moresomever it do make me faint and queer
  When I think of Hengland's 'Ope aboard that skittish, sloping thing,
  As looks to my shore-going eyes like a white bird _all wing_.
  Well, I own I'm not a Wiking; all _I_ want of the blue sea
  Is a kipper for my breakfust, and a winkle with my tea.
  But the Guv'nor, _he_'s a topper at the nortickle. Great Scott!
  'Ow he _do_ put on the Brayvo 'Icks when once aboard a yot!
  He's a puffeck pocket Neptune, wich a chubby little chap,
  Looks perticularly fetchin' in a trotty yotting cap.
  Then he loves the swells--like I do--and it's sweet to 'ear him tork
  Of his pal the P. of W. and his chum the DOOK O' YORK.
  He's just like a locomotive on the everlastin' puff,
  He enjys hisself like fifty, and he's never 'ad enuff:
  I _do_ like to 'ear him patter to the cumpany ashore,
  He keeps his friends a-bustin', and the table in a roar.
  I on'y wish, dear MARY, I could phonygraff his chat,
  And kinettyscope his haction; you would roar all round your 'at.
  The Cowes Week _would_ 'ave been rippin' if it 'adn't bin for rain;--
  (As was bad for Ryal Princes, and likeways for Messrs. PAIN).
  And them tuppenny-apenny "trippers," as did ought to be kep out
  When hus gentry is a-swarmin', and there's Ryalties about.
  The Solent should be cordon'd hoff for Hemperors once a year,
  For a mix o' Margit manners, and Salvationists, and beer,
  Ain't no welcome for a Kyser, no, nor yet a Shazydar,
  As demmocrycy is gettin' too permiskus like, by far.
  A orty OWEN ZOLLERN didn't ought to be mixed hup
  With Bank 'Olidays and bikes, when _he_'s a runnin' for a Cup.
  'Tis his seventh Solent wisit, and things went a trifle rum;
  And if he took the Himperial 'Ump and nex' year _didn't come_,
  W'y it wouldn't be serprisink, and hus BULLS, and Cowes, would suffer.
  Whate'er that HEMPEROR _may_ be, he ain't no idle duffer!
  The Guv'nor, he hadmires him most tremenjus; so do _hi_.
  It is suthink a'most touchin' for to see him, smart and spry
  In his simple yotting costoom, with his snowy cap an' ducks,
  A-taking it so heasy, though he'd none the best of lucks.
  And his hironclads!!! Great Gumbo--as the Guv'nor loves to say--
  They do not spare the powder, and if this is but their play,
  _I_ don't want to see'em _workin'_. The young HEMPEROR whisked about--
  With our Guv'nor on his track, too, don't you make no sort of doubt--
  His hork-heye--the Guv's--wos heverywhere. He watchin' each puff an' pop.
  From the scrubbin' of a binnycle or the twirlin' of a mop,
  To polishin' the funnel-tops with rottenstone and ile,
  Wich he said he watched each mornin', Guv wos in it all the while.
  He fair shaddered the young KYSER. And the story he'd reherse,
  With a eloquence and hunction quite like droppin' into werse.
  And he always soots the haction to the word in sech a way,
  That when fairly on the cackle he's as good as any play.
  But, O, MARY! it wos orkerd, and yumillyhating too,
  When our yot--her name's the _Polywog_--to git a better view,
  Shoved 'erself a bit too forrad, and, amidst a general skoff,
  Wos tackled by a snortin' tug, and coolly carted hoff!
  Guv swore he'd tell his pal the Dook but p'r'aps that wos his fun;
  He also said he'd arsk him why the _Meteor_ didn't run.
  Owsomever "_Rule, Britannyer_" is quite good enuff for _me_
  (Though the "_Hail, Sir_" 'ad a hinnings). I am nuts on Germany,
  But when Haitch-Har-Haitch wos winnin', why I felt a bustin' throb
  Swell this buzzum, for I thinks, thinks I, "Old England's on the job!"
  Wich to see _her_ rule the waves, dear, is the hackmy of _my_ dreams,
  So no more at present, MARY, from your fellow-servant,

  JEAMES.

       *       *       *       *       *

At a banquet given in Bristol in honour of the invincible bicyclist,
Mr. A. A. ZIMMERMAN, a reverend gentleman suggested that
the Town Councillors should present the freedom of that city to the
two champions W. G. GRACE and A. A. ZIMMERMAN.
Another spokesman, on the same festive occasion, remarked that he had
heard of a book called _Zimmerman on Solitude_. He had never seen
ZIMMERMAN on Solitude, but he had beheld him on a safety.
Really in Bristol their badinage is quite brilliant!

       *       *       *       *       *

ESSENCE of PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

[Illustration]

_House of Commons, Monday, August 12._--Back in the old place. Same
address; same walls; same benches; same stage in short, but almost
entirely new company. SQUIRE OF MALWOOD lends friendly
look to Front Opposition Bench. But there are many vacant places to
right and left of him. Where is JOHN MORLEY, and ARNOLD
MORLEY, and SHAW-LEFEVRE who saved our Commons but could
not save his seat among them? What has become of JOHN HIBBERT,
gentlest mannered man that ever repulsed attack on the public purse?
And GEORGE RUSSELL and LEVESON-GOWER? Was not even
a BRAND plucked from the burning? Was "BOBBY," in
laager behind his collar, cut off in the full fragrance of youth and
beauty?

SARK, looking round on other quarters of House, cannot refrain
from dropping a salt if silent tear. "You call this the House of
Commons," he said, bitterly, "and find in it no place for ALPHEUS
CLEOPHAS? One black man may be as good as another, and even
better; that is the MARKISS'S affair. As VIRGIL wrote
of _Trojan_ and _Tyrian_,"

  BHOWNAGGREE NAOROJI mihi nullo discrimine agetur.

But how is Parliament going to limp along without our
CONYBEARE, our SEYMOUR KEAY, and our DON'T KEIR
HARDIE? I suppose it's all right. The SPEAKER will take
Chair at usual hour; questions will be put and answered; Bills will
make progress and 'the House will now adjourn.' But if the House of
Commons is itself without the eminent persons I have mentioned, I at
least shall not be able to recognise its identity."

"Oh, cheer up," said ST. JOHN BRODRICK, Premier-maker,
Destroyer of Majorities, sort of Parliamentary WARWICK.
"You don't know what the future may have in store for you. There are
fathomless possibilities in this unfamiliar crowd. It's true no new
Members, as far as I observed, came down in a brake accompanied by
trumpets also and shawms. But DON'T KEIR HARDIE didn't live
up to that introduction. The fact is, it probably had something to do
with his distinct failure. It raised expectation too high, and even his
collarless shirt, his short jacket, his Tweed cap, and his tendency
to shed papers out of his over-stuffed pockets as he walked about the
premises, didn't make up what was lacking."

Whilst WARWICK BRODRICK talking, he was constantly turning
over things in his pockets. Thought at first it was money. "Been
drawing your salary a quarter in advance?" I asked, anxious to learn
the habits of the new Ministry.

"No," said WARWICK, "it's not that. See," he said, picking
out handful of small bullets; "these are what we use in the new rifles
fired with cordite. Nice things you know. Will hop across two miles
before you know where you are. In the other pocket got a few charges of
cordite. No! Rather not see them? Well, no accounting for prejudice. I
mean to keep a supply always on hand, or rather in pocket. Opposition
not likely to do anything much yet awhile. But they'll try and form
up by-and-by. When they do, I'll show 'em a cordite cartridge, rattle
a few of these bullets, with their cupro-nickel jackets, and, poof!
they're off just as they were when I defeated the late Government in
June. Can't have too much of a good thing. What cordite's done once it
may do again."

And the Financial Secretary to the War Office walked off,
ostentatiously rattling the contents of his pockets as he passed
CAWMELL-BANNERMAN, who visibly faltered.

_Business done._--NEW SPEAKER elected.

       *       *       *       *       *

Arcades Ambo.

  The Heathen Chinee and Unspeakable Turk
  Seem largely alike, in Gehenna's black work.
  The earth would smile fairer, methinks, were it free
  Of Unspeakable Turk and of Heathen Chinee.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: IDLE SPEECHES.

"AND SO _THAT_'S HER HUSBAND, IS IT? LOOKS AS IF SHE'D WON HIM IN A
RAFFLE!"

"AND AS IF THE TICKETS FOR THAT RAFFLE HADN'T BEEN VERY
EXPENSIVE!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE OLLENDORF GUIDE TO KNOWLEDGE.

THE CHEAP EXCURSIONIST.

Did the good neighbour go by the cheap excursion? Yes, the good
neighbour did go by the cheap excursion, and so did his wife, his
wife's mother, and his six children. Did he catch the cab of the early
driver? No, he did not catch the cab of the early driver, but he used
the omnibus of the sleeping coachman, who took him as far as half-way
(half-way as far as). Had the good neighbour to finish the journey to
the railway station on foot? Yes, he had, and so had his wife, his
wife's mother, and his six children. Are they in a good temper, or
a bad temper? They are in a bad temper, because it is raining, and
because the mother of the wife of the good neighbour had not wished to
go. Have they found the right train? No, they have not found the right
train, but are entering carriages bound for another destination. Has
the guard of the wrong train disturbed the good neighbour, his wife,
his wife's mother, and his six children? The guard of the wrong train
has disturbed them, and has thrust them into the bad carriages of the
right train. Were not the bad carriages of the right train already
crowded? They were already crowded with the hairdresser, the artist's
model, the plasterers, the builders, the sweeps, the fruiterers, and
the quiet young man who contributes poetry to the columns of a local
paper. Did not the entrance of the good neighbour, his wife, his
wife's mother, and his six children, inconvenience the hairdresser,
the artist's model, the plasterers, the builders, the sweeps, the
fruiterers, and the quiet young man who contributes poetry to the
columns of the local paper? It did, and caused most of them to use
bad language (_i.e._, oaths). Did the quiet young man who contributes
poetry to the columns of a local paper use bad language? No, the quiet
young man who contributes poetry to the columns of a local paper
did not use bad language, because he was in a fit. How did the good
neighbour enjoy his journey? The good neighbour did not enjoy his
journey, because he had to submit to the smoke of the hairdresser, the
lavender water of the artist's model, the snuff of the plasterers, the
smoke of the builders, the concertinas of the sweeps, the comic songs
of the fruiterers, and the gasps of the quiet young man who contributes
poetry to the columns of a local paper. Did the good neighbour have
to submit to any further inconvenience? Yes, he was abused by his
wife, bullied by his wife's mother, and plagued by his six children.
Was the weather at the destination of the good neighbour favourable?
No, it was not favourable, as it rained heavily all day. Did the good
neighbour find time hang heavily on his hands? Yes, he did find time
hang heavily on his hands; but not so heavily as his wife, his wife's
mother, and six children. Did the good neighbour, his wife, his wife's
mother, and his six children get sufficient to eat? No, they did not
get sufficient to eat; but they discussed the broken scraps left at
a shilling ordinary (_i.e._, ordinary price one shilling). Were they
happy to get home? Yes, they were happy to get home; but had to return
with the hairdresser, the artist's model, the plasterers, the builders,
the sweeps, the fruiterers, but not the quiet young man who contributes
poetry to the columns of a local paper. Were the hairdresser, the
artist's model, the plasterers, the sweeps, and the fruiterers more
noisy at night than they had been in the morning? Yes, they were more
noisy, because they had all been drinking the much-adulterated beer of
the prosperous but dishonest publican. Did the good neighbour arrive at
home at last? Yes, the good neighbour did arrive at home at last, but
more dead than alive (_i.e._, aliver than more dead). Will the wife of
the good neighbour, her mother, and her six children go on a similar
trip on the next suitable occasion? They will go, but they will not be
accompanied, if he can help it, by the good neighbour. Will the good
neighbour be able to help it? No, the good neighbour will not be able
to help it; so he will accompany his wife, his wife's mother, and his
six children, protesting. Will the good neighbour use good language?
No, the good neighbour will use bad language. Will the bad language of
the good neighbour be very wrong? Yes, the bad language of the good
neighbour will be very wrong, but it will not be unnatural.

       *       *       *       *       *

On the Cards.

  M'CARTHY a-cudgelling HEALY now starts,
    And HEALY mild JUSTIN remorselessly drubs.
  Alas, that long over-due "Union of _Hearts_,"
    Will become a Collision of _Clubs!_

       *       *       *       *       *

MONOPOLY.--M. MAX O'RELL, who has commonly "a guid
conceit o' himsel'," and shows it, with more than Scottish--or, as _he_
says, Scotch--simplicity, dislikes the monopolist egotism shown in the
phrase "an English gentleman." "A gentleman of France" would perhaps
less shock his fine altruistic sensibilities. He suggests that speaking
of a courteous Scot we dub him "an _English_ gentleman," but were he a
murderer should call him "a _Scotch_ murderer." Perhaps he will write
a new book, and call it "JOHN BULL and his _Bile_." "It is
wonderful" (he continues) "how JOHN BULL manages to monopolise
all that is good, and let the rest of the world partake of what he does
not want." Well, not entirely, perhaps. For example, JOHN BULL
does not wish to "monopolise" MAX O'RELL himself, though, of
course, he is "good," and full of "good things."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "The Sooner the Better."

FIRST PORTER (A. J. B.) "COME MATE! PUT YOUR BACK INTO
IT--WE'VE GOT TO SHUNT _THIS_ BEFORE WE CAN GO OFF DUTY!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: JUSTIN THE TERRIBLE!

_J. M'Carthy_ (_with dim recollection of Mr. Penley as the "Rev. Robert
Spalding"_). "DO YOU KNOW, TIMOTHY, IF YOU GO ON LIKE THIS, I SHALL
HAVE TO GET _VERY CROSS_ WITH YOU; I SHALL REALLY HAVE TO GIVE YOU A
_GOOD HARD KNOCK!_"

       *       *       *       *       *

HARRY ON 'ARRY.

 ["There is no doubt whatever that a large number of Englishmen
 abroad conduct themselves in a manner which brings discredit on our
 country.... Such demonstrations, indeed, are taken to mean that our
 countrymen desire thereby to show their consciousness of superiority
 over foreigners.... We do not want "HARRYS" to disgrace us,
 no matter whether the "trippers" ride in first, second, or third-class
 carriages."

 _The "Echo" on "English Tourists Abroad."_]

  Dear BERTIE,--I _have_ got the needle, and got it exceedingly sharp.
  This 'ARRY--I mean the cad-cockney well known to "the 'Eath and the
   'Arp"--
  Is becomin' no end of a nuisance all round; but I think you'll agree
  It is playin' it pretty low down when they mix up that mongrel with me!

  One would think the dropped aitch and apostrophe ought to have labelled
    _that_ brand,
  Which the Comics, in picture and patter, have scattered all over the
    land;
  But surely some new Trades Mark Act must be wanted exceedingly bad
  When HARRY, the travellin' Briton, is jumbled with 'ARRY the Cad.

  Just glance at the cutting enclosed. Now I travel, in silks, as you know,
  And Paris and Lyons to me are familiar as Bradford or Bow.
  But a gent _is_ a gent, though in trade, and abroad just as much as at
    home,
  And the manners that pass in Pall Mall _ought_ to do for Berlin or for
    Rome!

  I'm sick, my dear fellow, of readin' about British Cads on the trip,
  And the way that they rough-up the foreigners. Every French barber or
    snip,
  With a back that's all hinges and angles, will read us a lesson on form,
  And the penny-a-liners at home back him up, and we--bow to the storm!

  It's rot, and there's no other word for it! _I_ mean rebellin' for one.
  All this talk about 'Arries Abroad, which the ink-slingers think such
    prime fun,
  Is all unpatriotic knock-under, poor tame cosmopolitan cant.
  And as much a true bill as the chat of that sour Mrs. ORMISTON CHANT.

  If there's anythin' gives me the hump, it is hearin' Old England run
    down;
  And your Rads, and your Cads, and your Cocktails, all haters of Class
    and the Crown,
  Are eternally bastin' JOHN BULL on his bullyin' airs and stiff back.
  O it gives me the very go-nimble to hear their contemptible clack!

  They charge us with bounce and bad manners, with trottin' around in
    queer togs,
  With chaffin' the waiters at _cafés_, and treatin' the porters like dogs.
  They say we raise shines in their churches, and mock their processions
    and priests;
  In fact, if you'd only believe them you'd class us as bullies and beasts.

  Now _I_ say a Briton's a Briton wherever he happens to go.
  He has got to be "taken as written," with freedom his briar to blow,
  His flannels and bowler to sport, his opinions and tastes to express,
  As he would in Hyde Park or the Strand, _and he won't be contented
    with less_.

  He takes "_Rule, Britannia_" along with him, young JOHNNY BULL does,
    you bet;
  And it's no use for Germans to grunt, and it's no use for Frenchmen
    to fret.
  We've got to be _free_, my dear fellow,--no matter if welcome or not,--
  And to slang us as "'Arries Abroad" _for_ that freedom is all tommyrot.

  That Johnny who writes about 'ARRY--in _Punch_ don'tcher know--is a Rad,
  I can see it as plain as be blowed; and he labels the lot of us "Cad",
  If we've patriot hearts and high spirits, talk slang, and are fond of a
    spree,
  But _his_ 'ARRY's no class, and it's like his dashed cheek to confound
    him with _me!_

  He's done heaps of mischief, that joker, along of his levellin' trick,
  Of tarrin' the classes and masses, without any judgment or pick,
  With one sweepin' smudge of his tar-brush. Cad! Cad! Cad!--all over
    the shop!--
  I'm sure _he_'s a bloomin' outsider, and wish _Punch_ would put on
    the stop.

  _I_ like easy ways and slang-patter, _I_'m Tory and patriot all round,--
  As every true Englishman _must_ be who isn't an ass or a hound,--
  But your ill-spellin', aitch-droppin' howler, with "two quid a week"--as
    he brags--
  Isn't _me_, but a Battersea bounder with big bulgy knees and loud bags.

  I _did_ do the boulevards once in striped knickers and straw, I admit;
  And once in a Catholic church I will own I did laugh fit to split.
  But then, foreign tastes are so funny, and foreign religions so rum;
  And if they _will_ play mumbo-jumbo, how _can_ a smart Johnny keep mum?

  It is all the dashed foreigners' fault. They don't relish _our_
    up-and-down style;
  They smirk and they play monkey-tricks and then scowl if we happen to
    smile.
  They hate us like poison, and swear 'tis because of our "swagger and
    bounce,"
  But it's BULL'S fightin' weight that they funk, and by gad, they know
    that to an ounce!

  There! I've let off the steam, and feel better! We need "Coalition"
    all round,
  We gents, against Cad-dom, _and_ Rad-dom,--_they_ don't differ much,
    I'll be bound--
  We've got it in Parliament--rippin'!--and if the same scheme we can carry
  In social arrangements, why _then_ 'ARRY won't be confounded with

  HARRY.

       *       *       *       *       *

SCRAPS FROM CHAPS.

ON A CROSS BENCH.--The Union of Hearts does not seem to have
spread as far as Limerick, if the meetings of the Limerick Rural
Sanitary Board are any test. One member expressed an opinion that the
Conservative Government would do as much for the labourers as the Whig
Government had done.

 Mr. M'MAHON.--We'll give them a chance.

 Mr. M'INERNEY.--We have got very little out of the Liberal
 Government.

 Mr. MORAN.--Bad is the best of them.

 The discussion then ended.

This is unkind to Mr. MORLEY. Perhaps a stave of a popular
Irish melody will run thus,--

  Och, these dhrivellin' Saxon Governments,
    They dhroive us patriots mad!
  The worst of 'em's unspakable,
    And the best of 'em is bad!

       *       *       *       *       *

"A LITTLE MORE CIDER TOO."--"The National Association of Cider
Makers," says the _Bristol Mercury_, "is taking energetic measures
to ensure more attention being given to the cider competitions at
agricultural shows." And it can't make its measures too energetic--not
even if it turns an average consumption of a pint-measure into a quart.
What beverage beats cider cup--unless it be perry cup? At present the
only people at the shows who are allowed to taste the cider are the
judges. But the public want to taste, too--give them a taste _of_
cider, and they'll get a taste _for_ it in no time. And rival makers
want to taste each other's products, so as to make their own better.
"Cider on tap" is the motto for the shows, and the West country will
thus be given a deciderdly useful "leg-up."

       *       *       *       *       *

PUERIS REVERENTIA!--The advertisement question in tram-cars is
"up" again before the Glasgow bailies. The Town Council has banished
these disfigurements, but it seems there are still Philistine bodies
who long for the good old flaring coloured-poster days. Witness this
account of a recent meeting:--

 Mr. BATTERSBY pointed out that a large revenue could be
 derived from advertisements on the cars, and he did not see why the
 committee should look over such a thing.

 Bailie PATON said that personally he was dead against putting
 advertisements on the cars. If any necessity arose they had that
 source of revenue. He would not spoil the beautiful appearance of the
 cars by vulgarising them.

 Mr. BATTERSBY.--That is all sentiment of a very puerile
 description.

Perhaps. But as there happens to be a large balance to the good on
the working of the cars, why not allow the "puerile sentiment" to
have play? We could do with a lot of this kind of puerility and
sentimentality down south.

       *       *       *       *       *

GOOD OLD SAM!--Our belief even in the "respectability" of
SAMUEL PEPYS is gone for ever. The Bright light recently
thrown on him by the indefatigable MYNORS BRIGHT has done
the trick. This skilled and uncompromising decipherer of the Pepysian
shorthand will be remembered in connection with these volumes as
"_Under_-MYNORS BRIGHT."

       *       *       *       *       *

APPROPRIATE SPOT FOR A PROVINCIAL BICYCLE CLUB.--Some Rural
Wheellage in the Wheel'd of Kent.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: WHAT, INDEED!

"LOOK HERE, DOCTOR, MY SON WANTS ME TO SEND HIM TO _COLLEGE_, AND
HE SPELLS IT _COLIDGE_. WHY HAVEN'T YOU TAUGHT HIM BETTER?"

"AH--I'M AFRAID THAT MERE SPELLING IS NOT TAUGHT IN OUR
CURRICULUM!"

"THEN WHAT ON EARTH _IS_ TAUGHT IN YOUR CURRICULUM?"

 [_The Doctor suddenly remembers that the Sixth Form are waiting for
 his Lecture on Sophocles._]

       *       *       *       *       *

IN RE THE I. O. C. R. V. C.

The suggestions I was permitted to make on a recent occasion concerning
the future of "the Devil's Own" having been productive of a perfect
torrent of letters, I hope that I may be allowed to reply, before the
commencement of the fast-approaching Long Vacation, through the columns
of a paper that for more than half a century has been the recognised
organ of the Bench, the Bar, and the other branch of the legal
profession. First let me repudiate, with the scorn it justly merits,
and indignation which has moved me to tears, the contention that in
calling attention to the comparatively falling fortunes of the Inns of
Court I was "making a bid for the chiefship of the battalion." Although
willing (no doubt in common with every other Englishman of right
feeling) to shed my blood to its last drop in defence of my country,
I can see no possible good in accepting "the crown and star" of the
I. O. C. R. V. C. No, I prefer the "stuff" of the ranks to the "silk"
of command. So the forensic wag, who apparently found time during the
pauses of a contested election in a wavering constituency to depict
me as a colonel with PORTINGTON as my orderly, was at fault
in his conclusions. His rough-and-ready pen-and-ink sketch, although
strongly resembling Sir HENRY IRVING in the character of _Don
Quixote_, was not without a certain rude kind of merit. When I inspect
it (and probably I shall examine it frequently) I shall be reminded
of the talents of one who, had he not been a "Q.C., M.P.," might have
become the rival of ROWLANDSON, the peer of GILRAY,
and the modern extinguisher of the less serious of the Old Masters of
the sixteenth century. But to return more immediately to the subject of
my correspondence.

"The Brightest Ornament of the British Bench" writes to me to say that
he considers "The Brook Green Volunteer" was the precursor of the
Inns of Court. I respectfully submit to his Lordship that he is in
error. The Brook Green Volunteer was the solitary representative of
his battalion. I am happy to be able to say that the "Devil's Own,"
although no doubt reduced in numbers, has never on parade presented
so insignificant a "field state." Consequently, the statement that
"the regiment is likely to diminish to its original proportions" is a
prophecy founded upon a misunderstanding and nourished upon a fallacy.

The proposal of "One who bows daily to his Lordship during Term Time"
is excellent. My correspondent suggests that the Junior Bar, not
immediately concerned in the business of the Courts, should drill
silently in open Court. Of late it has been ordained by the Red-book
that commands may be conveyed by gesture. Thus, a Judge trying a case,
by raising or depressing his arms, or clenching his fist, might cause
the not-immediately-employed Bar to "turn" to the right or left, or
even to "lie down." This last command might be deemed satisfied by
the Wig-wearers "coming to the sitting posture smartly." At the close
of the day's proceedings, his Lordship might raise his left arm to
the height of his elbow, upon which the temporarily-unemployed might
take up their dummy briefs, and hold them at "the recover." The hand
of his Lordship brought towards the face, with the thumb pointing in
the direction of the nose, might cause the juniors to "turn" right
and left. "Then, when the senior usher raised both his arms towards
the ceiling, the stuff-gownsmen might march to their front through
the corridors until they dismissed without further gesture of command
in the robing rooms." Altogether capital! "One who bows daily to his
Lordship during Term Time" should publish his suggestions in pamphlet
form, to be sold at the popular price of a penny.

"A Junior of Fifty Years' Standing" considers that no one should be
admitted to an Inn of Court who was unwilling to join the "Devil's
Own." He declares that he himself has done infinitely more work as a
rifleman than as a counsel. "And yet," he adds, "I found the labour
very light. I do not believe I attended more than one parade in the
course of a year on the average." I may add, that possessing the name
of "A Junior of Fifty Years' Standing," I can vouch for my learned
friend's accuracy, eminence, and ability.

"A Judge who prefers Newmarket to the Law Courts," proposes that the
corridors should be utilised as a drill-ground. "Let the Briefless
Brigade drill therein during Term time, so that they may be ready to
hand if needed." A very valuable suggestion.

"One who takes three years of practice to earn a quarter of chambers'
rent" suggests that "The Devil's Own" should adopt as its regimental
motto, "Retained for the Defence." Considering the numbers of the
battalion, I am afraid the device would have a sarcastic significance.
And now, in all sober seriousness, can nothing be done to put the grand
old corps on its former satisfactory footing? It has an illustrious
past--most of the best known men at the Bar belonged to it--is it
impracticable to secure for it an equally illustrious future? Men
who, for half a lifetime, have stood shoulder to shoulder in defence
of their clients' causes can surely adopt the same satisfactory and
honourable position to protect the interests of the ancient battalion.
Let Bench and Bar work with a will, and "The Devil's Own" will be
worthy of its title. And with this prophecy (which sounds well, but
is delivered subject to counsel's revision) I bring my communication,
already too long, to an abrupt conclusion.

  (_Signed_)

  _Pump Handle Court, Aug. 10, 1895._

  A. BRIEFLESS, JUN.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: SOCIAL PRECEDENCE.

GENTLEMEN ENTITLED TO BARE ARMS.]

       *       *       *       *       *

A MOST SILENT AND DISCREET ECCLESIASTIC.--There is a most
reverend personage who, every year, and especially during the summer
season, must hear any number of _Amantium confessiones_, and his name
is "Father Thames." Let lovers beware of a "babbling brook."

       *       *       *       *       *

REACTION, 1895.

(_See the "Daily Chronicle" of August 6._)

  Reaction's in the air, and (so to speak)
    Its trail is o'er the _Chronicle's_ own pages--
  Witness "An Unknown Quantity" this week,
    Whose meditative J-pen disengages
  _De rebus omnibus_ a keen critique.

  Extravagance, and levity, and fads
    Have been o'erdone, it seems, since Eighteen-eighty
  (Or thereabouts); but, our observer adds,
    JOHN BULL has this year grown more wise and weighty,
  Less "new," less yellow--and has chucked the Rads.

  Reaction's the reverse of retrograde,
    If we recede from decadent excesses,
  And beat retreat from novelists who trade
    On "Sex," from artists whose _chef-d'[oe]uvres_ are messes--
  'Tis time indeed such minor plagues were stayed!

  Then here's for cricket in this year of GRACE,
    Fair-play all round, straight hitting and straight dealing
  In letters, morals, art, and commonplace
    Reversion unto type in deed and feeling--
  A path of true Reaction to retrace!

       *       *       *       *       *

CAUGHT WITH A "CATCH."--The idiotic catch-line of a Parisian
Café-Concert ditty--"_En voulez-vous des z'homards?_" has been taken
up by the citizens of the gay French capital with as much avidity
as characterized their seizure upon shares in the Russian loan. The
Comtesse Y., in sportive mood, twitted her butler--a very ancient
retainer of the family--upon his antiquated, out-of-date manners, and
chaffingly suggested that he should attempt to be more _fin-de-siècle_.
The veteran _maître-d'hôtel_ assured Madame la Comtesse that he would
give her no further cause for complaint. Accordingly, on the same
evening, while handing round wine at the dinner-party, he promptly
bellowed forth "_En voulez-vous du Pommard?_"

       *       *       *       *       *

TRIFLES LIGHT AS HAIR.

However much Kentish farmers may grumble about the agricultural
outlook, their strop-and-razor colleagues, the barbers of that county,
should now replace any grief in which they also may be indulging in
reference to _their_ industry, with great gaiety, for there is every
prospect of a long and prosperous run of hirsute harvests. The High
Constable has decreed that, unless his men can grow "well regulated
beards or military moustaches," they are to be clean-shaven. Farewell
the festive "mutton-chop" whisker and the jovial goatee! Henceforth
"Bobby" will be beardless, and as he drinks the mid-day pint of that
frothing beverage whose main ingredient--more or less--is malt, the
upper-lip hops-tacle, upon which the foam was wont to find a brief
resting-place, will be conspicuous by its absence--not lost exactly,
but s(h)aved before.

[Illustration]

       *       *       *       *       *

ROUNDABOUT READINGS.

President ANDREWS, of Brown University, has contributed to
the _North American Review_ an article entitled "Are there Too Many of
Us?" Personally, I should answer with an unhesitating yes, especially
after Bank Holidays, or _fêtes_ and galas such as those with which the
provinces teem. And it may be noted, by the way, as a curious fact in
the natural history of amusements, that no genuine _fête_ is ever found
without a gala. Conversely a gala without a _fête_ cannot be imagined.
From the presence in your neighbourhood of one of the two you are at
once entitled to infer the presence of the other.

       *       *       *       *       *

I return, however, to Professor ANDREWS. He proves by a series
of elaborate and convincing calculations that if the world started with
a population of two, the increase in 3,000 years would have become "two
quintillion human beings; viz., to every square yard 3,333-1/3 persons.
Or the earth would be covered with men in columns of 833-2/3 each,
standing on each others heads. If they averaged five feet tall, each
column would be 4,166-2/3 feet high."

       *       *       *       *       *

All this sounds highly stupendous. As I am no mathematician, I cannot
compete with Professor ANDREWS of Brown University on equal
terms, but to my non-mathematical mind the only inference to be drawn
from the Professor's calculation appears to be that the world is not
much more than thirty years old, or, let us say, 30-1/3. In another
ten years or so, I suppose we shall have to start work on the columns.
Personally, I am not impatient. I am quite willing to let 832 of my
friends get into position first. I can then climb up and complete
the column. How the fractional third is to be made up I know not,
unless--happy thought--there is to be an extra allowance of three
tailors to every column.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Social Democratic Federation has been meeting in conference
at Birmingham. Comrades QUELCH, BELCHER,
SHAYER, GEARD, TOOTH, TEMPEST,
WATTS and WENLINGTON were all on the spot. Some
discussion took place with reference to _Justice_, the official organ
of the Federation.

 Mr. BELCHER (Lincoln), in the course of discussion, thought
 they ought to induce the workers to take up shares, and to back
 _Justice_ to the fullest extent. They were inclined to sneer at
 capitalists, but they could not carry on the Federation work without
 taking a leaf out of the capitalist's book. (_Hear, hear._)

 Mr. M'PHERSON, as one of the auditors, said the branch
 accounts in reference to _Justice_ were a disgrace. A great deal was
 heard about the immorality of capitalists, but a little more morality
 was wanted in some of the branches in regard to the paying of accounts.

This, of course, is most lamentable. Even a Social Democrat, it seems,
cannot alter hard facts or get on without money. And at present
nobody seems in want of the particular kind of justice which Messrs.
QUELCH, BELCHER and other comrades are anxious to
purvey.

       *       *       *       *       *

I like to rescue from the dark unfathomed caves of ocean any gem
of purest ray serene. Here is one extracted from the speech of Mr.
POWELL WILLIAMS, M.P., at the recent dinner of the Birmingham
Conservative Club.

 Mr. POWELL WILLIAMS, M.P., proposed "The Press," and said
 that before he spoke of the Press he would like to correct a statement
 which Sir MEYSEY THOMPSON made. That gentleman thought that
 Yorkshire was peculiar, inasmuch as it had got rid of something
 objectionable in the shape of fever called Shaw-Lefevre. He put in a
 claim for distinction for the county of Cornwall. In Cornwall they
 would tell you that they had got rid of the worst kind of beer that
 anyone ever tasted, and that they called Conybeare.

Later on Mr. WILLIAMS said that, although the Gladstonian
Press was more numerous than the Unionist Press, it had not been able
to persuade the nation to swallow eighty Irish members--which is,
perhaps, fortunate; since, to take only one, I am sure Mr. TIM
HEALY would prove a very tough morsel to digest.

       *       *       *       *       *

And here is a rose that, but for me, might have blushed unseen in the
report of the proceedings of the South Dublin Union:--

 Mr. LENEHAN moved, in accordance with notice--"That the
 pauper inmate nurses be removed from the male and female Roman
 Catholic hospitals, and also from the Protestant male and female
 hospitals, and trained nurses engaged to look after the sick poor."
 During the course of a lengthened address, delivered in a remarkably
 loud voice, he urged that the present system of nursing was bad, that
 militiamen were employed for the purpose, and that reliance could not
 be placed on the paupers at present engaged in the hospitals. He said
 that there were at present 184 inmates employed in nursing, and he
 proposed to put a trained nurse in each ward, that would be 43, and
 two nurses in each hospital, that would be 8, or 51 in all. These 51
 nurses, at £30 a year, or 11_s._ 6_d._, would be a little over £29
 (_laughter_), or a saving of some shillings (_laughter_).

 Mr. SYKES.--What in the world is the meaning of that
 calculation?

 Mr. LENEHAN repeated his statement amidst great laughter.

 Mr. O'REILLY said he would second the motion for the sake of
 discussion, as Mr. LENEHAN complained that his resolutions
 were never seconded.

 Mr. BYRNE was surprised that Mr. O'REILLY had
 seconded the resolution, for Mr. O'REILLY was a sensible
 man----

 Mr. LENEHAN.--I deny that (_laughter_).

 Mr. BYRNE said it was all braggadocio, and a desire to obtain
 notoriety, that made Mr. LENEHAN bring this forward.

After this no one will be surprised to hear that Mr. LENEHAN
withdrew his motion. It must be a terrible thing to be accused of
braggadocio and a desire to obtain notoriety.

       *       *       *       *       *

And finally here is an estimate of Mr. BALFOUR from a
correspondent of the Birmingham _Daily Gazette:_--

 THE UNIONIST MAJORITY.--_To the Editor of the "Daily
 Gazette."_--SIR,--Among the many causes assigned for the
 above, no one, so far as I know, has suggested the following one. Is
 it too much to hope that the statesmanlike character of Mr. A. J.
 BALFOUR has influenced greatly the country at large? His simple
 dignity, both in majority and minority, his pluck and energy as Irish
 Secretary, are still remembered. The _Spectator_ publishes an article
 on "Mr. Balfour's Benignity," and at the reception given to the
 Medical Association at the Imperial Institute he and his sister were
 received with deafening cheers. Lastly, we shall hear nothing from
 himself. Surely all parties recognize and admire such a statesman, and
 willingly confide in his future.--AN OUTSIDER.

But why are we to hear nothing from Mr. BALFOUR himself. As
one who likes good speaking on either side of the House, I hope we may
hear a great deal from Mr. BALFOUR.

       *       *       *       *       *

There have been great doings at Cirencester. At a _fête_ (and gala)
in Earl BATHURST'S park, the chief attraction was the
announcement of a captive balloon, which was expected to make trips
during the afternoon. Unfortunately, however, the gas-main in the
Tetbury Road, where the balloon was filled, was not so large as was
desirable, and the result was that the balloon was not filled till
after five o'clock. It was then taken to the scene of the _fête_ at
Pope's Seat, where every effort was made to make up for lost time.
The Hon. B. BATHURST, M.P., the newly elected member for
the division, made a short speech from the balloon, being received
with loud cheers. The "right away" ascent was afterwards abandoned.
The evening, which proved fine, closed with an excellent display of
fireworks by Professor WELLS.

  If a captive balloon should refuse to inflate,
    And should linger too long flopping loose on the grass,
  Just insert an M.P. in the car to orate,
    And you'll promptly secure an abundance of gas.

       *       *       *       *       *

TO TRICKASTA.

  A note of pain was sounded when you said
    That we had better never meet again.
  My nerves were shattered and my heart was lead--
                           A note of pain.

  Far other had it been when down the lane
    You graciously inclined your pretty head
  To listen to me. Yes, I was insane
    Enough to hope that one day we might wed,
  Until your double-dyed deceit grew plain.
    I like to think my letter was, when read,
                           A note of pain.

       *       *       *       *       *

"SITTING ROOM ONLY."--The election of Sir L. LYELL
for Orkney and Shetland on Saturday last brought the General Election
to a conclusion. By this final result the House became quite full, if
not quite FULLERTON.