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[Illustration: PUNCH VOL CIX]

  LONDON:

  PUBLISHED AT THE OFFICE, 85, FLEET STREET,

  AND SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLERS.

  1895.




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

       *       *       *       *       *

  PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

  VOL. 109.

  DECEMBER 28, 1895.




[Illustration: PREFACE]

A COLLOQUY IN CLOUDLAND.

    SCENE--_Cloudland, nigh to midnight of the last day of the Old
    Year. The Incomparable Sage of Fleet Street and "La Mancha's
    Matchless Knight" mounted on their respective wooden horses._

_Mr. Punch_ (_spurring the Spotted One_). Yoicks! Tallyho!! Hark
forward!!! Something like space-consuming speed this, eh, my dear Don?
Who talks now of a Horseless Age?

_Don Quixote_ (_turning the peg of Malambruno's magic steed_). Only
your scientific and sensational journals, who, dryasdust dogs! are,
after all, endless leagues behind Merlin the Enchanter, and the
magic-aided heroes of old romance.

_Mr. Punch._ Kim up, my timber-built timber-topper, and spotted
space-devourer! As though the much-talked of motor-carriage,
auto-cycle, or petroleum-propelled tram-car of these mouthing days of
modernity might compare with the Trifaldi's steed, my spotted Pegasus,
or even the peripatetic carpet of Persian story! Speed you well,
valorous knight!

_Don Quixote._ Heaven guide thee, undaunted Sage! Hah! How you fly
aloft! How you cut the air more swiftly than an arrow!! How you mount,
and soar, and astonish the world below!!!

_Mr. Punch._ Haha! Ours is no imaginary, bellows-blown flight, as was
yours, worthy knight, when seated with SANCHO on the wooden crupper of
Clavileno, pressed aforetime by the valourous PETER of Provence, and
the fair MAGALONA!

_Don Quixote._ Nay, indeed, Sir Knight of the Spotted Bucephalus--for
thou art no chivalry-scorning TRIFALDI--we are not now blindfolded,
and _thy_ Pegasus, _thy_ Brilladoro, _thy_ Bayarte, _thy_ Frontino,
_thy_ Clavileno el Aligero--or Wooden-Peg the Winged--might give a
lead even to my renowned Rosinante!

_Mr. Punch._ Blindfolded? Nay, dear knight, I am the Dazzling
Illuminator, not the Bewildering Blinder!

_Don Quixote._ I plainly perceive that thou art a Progressive.

_Mr. Punch._ I am a Progressive Moderate and a Moderate Progressive.
Badge me not therefore in any less comprehensive fashion, O Knight of
the Rueful Countenance.

_Don Quixote._ I presume, Sir Sage, that those same Progressives,
however, who claim to initiate all the forthright movement of the Age,
did originate and invent the motor-carriages, auto-cycles, and other
the horseless locomotive vehicles of which we spake but now?

_Mr. Punch._ Who better than yourself should know, my dear Don, that
all are not Progressives who make a stir about Progress? Like the
circumgyrators in the game of "Giant's Stride," many of them ramp
round in a circle, and "get no forrader." _I_ am the only true and
trustworthy Progressive, and my auto-motor cuts _all_ records!

_Don Quixote._ And is it propelled by petroleum?

_Mr. Punch._ By nothing so crude, flaring, and fuliginous, dear Don.
It is "motived" by--LIGHT!

_Don Quixote._ Wondrous machine! How would I like to mount it! Is it
in likeness of a horse?

_Mr. Punch._ Say not the witlings and wiseacres that we are on the
verge of a Horseless Age?

_Don Quixote._ They do. But, by the bones of my beloved Rosinante, the
idea liketh me not. The horse is indeed a noble animal----

_Mr. Punch._ And will continue to be "useful to man," our current
cyclo-and-auto-motormania notwithstanding. The cycle doubtless hath
its utility, and even charm, though in certain of its characteristics
it seems qualified to give mankind the hump!

_Don Quixote._ And womankind the wobbles!

_Mr. Punch._

  When lovely woman stoops to wheeling,
    And finds too late that bikes betray,
  Beauty, and grace, and finer feeling
    She'll see the sex hath chucked away!

_Don Quixote._ Verily, had my peerless DULCINEA herself bestraddled a
spinning-wheel in ungraceful posture and unseemly garb, I, her sworn
knight, should have deemed her the victim of diabolic enchantment.
Why, even the afflicted duenna, with her fair cheeks beard-begrown by
enchantment, she whom SANCHO called the Countess Three-Skirts, would
not--save under dire compulsion--have donned the modern divided skirt
and mounted the man-saddled steed of steel. Art sure, Sir Sage,
that after all it is _not_ enchantment that hath so far unsexed your
afflicted damosels and duennas, and that 'tis not my duty in their
defence to lay lance in rest----

_Mr. Punch._ Nay, sweet soul of chivalry, Mayfair is not La Mancha,
and you may safely leave its fair denizens to the defence--or, if need
be, chastening--of that knightly lance of to-day, my own invincible
and unerring _bâton_. But, verily, 'twere a punishment not
ill-deserved by certain of our mannish maidens and male-mimicking
matrons did MALAMBRUNO clap bristly scrubbing-brush hairs upon them as
upon your distressful Duenna of Toledo.

_Don Quixote._ Verily, Sir Sage, we are mounting skyward, dawn-ward,
New Year-ward in a wondrous manner! Thy spotted steed is surely
Pegasus itself, for Skyworld is full of myriad voices of wisdom and
melody.

_Mr. Punch._ But my Auto-Motor, comparable only with the Sun God's
glowing chariot, shall outsoar and outshine even our present empyrean
flight.

_Voice_ (_suddenly sounding behind them_). Wuff! Wuff! Wuff!

_Don Quixote_ (_looking round_). Saints preserve us! What is this new
marvellous enchantment? Hath Sirius itself broken loose?--doth the Dog
Star follow our trail?

_Mr. Punch._ What seest thou, Sir Knight?

_Don Quixote_ (_with awe_). I behold, as it were, an aerial
fire-wheeled car, shapen in the guise of a Titanic Tome, coruscating
comet-like in its career, whereon is mounted--yes, verily--a Dog--a
Dog of Dogs! What, Sir PUNCH, may be this portent?

_Mr. Punch._ Why, my dear DON QUIXOTE--who seems scarcely the Quixote
Quicksight of the nursery rhyme--what _should_ it be but TOBIAS
himself with that promised specimen of my Auroral Autocar, or
Mirific Motor-Carriage, self-impelled, self-steered, self-lighted,
self-heated, the most peerless outcome of the true Progressive spirit,
the true acme of sure and speedy Progress; in other words, dear Don,
and at your entire service, my

    =One Hundred and Ninth Volume!!!=

[Illustration]

       *       *       *       *       *

  PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

  Volume 109, July 6, 1895.

  _edited by Sir Francis Burnand_




[Illustration: VOL 109]

       *       *       *       *       *

A PATH OF PEACE.

(_The Baltic Canal, June 22, 1895._)

["Peace reigns over the whole fleet," &c.--_"Daily News" Special._]

  A work of Peace, whereto from near and far
  Gather the iron-bosomed brood of war,
  Like new Stymphalian birds, whose claws and wings
  The warrior welcomes and the poet sings.
  Oh, gentle Peace, how strange in our strange day.
  Thy mailèd retinue, thine armed array!
  Those flower-deck'd obelisks, that silken rope,--
  Bright illustrations of the Tales of Hope,--
  The royal speeches and the loyal cheers,
  Disguise misgivings as they silence fears.
  But Denmark's memories, and the thoughts of France,
  As through the stream that yacht's white bows advance,
  Breaking that slender cord from bank to bank,
  Might move reflections strange. Yet let us thank
  Adventurous skill which gives our ships to-day
  A shorter passage and a safer way!
  Not war alone, but trade, will take the track
  That shuns the wild and stormy Skager Rak;
  And may Brunsbüttel's now familiar name
  Be little linked with Empire's big War-Game
  May battle-echoes in the Baltic cease,
  And the Canal be a new Path for Peace

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

Our B. A. (_i.e._, "Baron's Assistant") begs to congratulate Mr.
GERALD CAMPBELL very heartily on the success of _The Joneses and
the Asterisks_ (JOHN LANE). It is no easy task to write a story in a
series of what may be called monological dialogues,--dialogues,
that is to say, in which only one party speaks while the rest are
understood,--and yet to keep that lightness of touch and that sparkle
of wit without which dialogues become mere barren boredom. This is the
task that Mr. CAMPBELL has brilliantly accomplished. _The Joneses and
the Asterisks_ is as keen and telling a piece of social satire as it
has been the B. A.'s good fortune to come across for many a long day.

Thursday. June 27, Mid-day. The Baron opens ventilators, doors,
windows. Then, at haphazard, he takes up a book. Its title, _What is
heat?_... Answer immediately given by thermometer, "95° in the shade."
That's heat! And if that isn't, what is? The second title of book is,
_A Peep into Nature's Most Hidden Secrets_. But the Baron is not _Paul
Pry_; he doesn't want to peep; at all events he cannot undertake
any exertion until about November, say, when he will be delighted
to peruse the work of Mr. FREDERICK HOVENDEN, F.L.S., F.G.S.,
F.R.M.S.,--"Three single Fellows rolled into one." "Let me descend
to the ice-cellar, or in cool grot let me sit, with a soothing iced
beverage and a choice Havannah; let me read there _About the North
Pole_, and _Gunter's Tales of Ices_," quoth the

  BURDENED BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

       *       *       *       *       *

SHAKSPEARE ON THE SITUATION.

  _Caius Marcius Coriolanus_      MR. CH-MB-RL-N.
  _Tullus Aufidius_               L-RD S-L-SB-RY.

_Act IV., Sc. 4. Antium_ (_Downing Street_). _Before Aufidius's
House._

  _Cor._ O world, thy slippery turns! Friends now fast sworn,
  Whose double bosoms seem to wear one heart,
  Whose hours, whose bed, whose meals, and exercise,
  Are still together, who twin, as 'twere, in love
  Unseparable, should, within this hour,
  On the dissension of a doit, break out
  To bitterest enmity: so, fellest foes,
  Whose passions and whose plots have broke their sleep,
  To take the one the other, by some chance,
  Some trick, not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends,
  And interjoin their issues. So with me:
  My birth-place hate I, and my love's upon
  This enemy town.       *       *       *       *

  _Auf._ (_entering, Sc. 5_).    Say, what's thy name?

  _Cor._  My name is CAIUS MARCIUS, who hath done,
  To thee particularly, and all the VOLCES,
  Great hurt and mischief.... Now, this extremity,
  Hath brought me to thy hearth.

  _Auf._                         O MARCIUS, MARCIUS!
  Each word thou has spoken hath weeded from my heart
  A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter
  Should from yond' cloud speak divine things,
  And say, "'Tis true," I'd not believe them more
  Than thee, all noble MARCIUS.--Let me twine
  Mine arms about that body, where against
  My grainèd ash a hundred times hath broke.
                          .... I do contest
  As hotly and as nobly with thy love
  As ever in ambitious strength I did
  Contend against thy valour.... Why, thou Mars! I tell thee
  We have a power on foot.... O, come, go in,
  And take our friendly senators by the hands....

  _Cor._                         You bless me, gods!

  _Auf._ Therefore, most absolute Sir, if thou wilt have
  The leading of thine own revenges, take
  The one half of my commission. But come in:
  Let me commend thee first to those that shall
  Say "Yea" to thy desires. A thousand welcomes
  And more a friend than e'er an enemy;
  Yet, MARCIUS, that was much. Your hand! most welcome!

    [_Exeunt_ CORIOLANUS _and_ AUFIDIUS.

       *       *       *       *       *

TOBY'S MEM.--_Wednesday, July 3._--"Dog Days begin." Go down to coast.
"My bark is on the sea!" Avoid going south for fear of the Muzzle-man.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: IN THE SHADE.

_Lord R-s-b-ry._ "WHO'D BE A MINISTER?"

_Sir W. V. H-rc-rt._ "WHO, INDEED? WHY I WOULDN'T DO IT IF _THEY
ASKED_ ME!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: HOW ROMANTIC!

_She._ "I SAY, _THIS_ IS PRETTY AWFUL! POOR LITTLE MISS MESSUP!--IT
SAYS HERE THAT 'SHORTLY AFTER THE WEDDING SHE DISCOVERED HE WASN'T
REALLY A BARON!'"

_He._ "WELL. THINK OF THE POOR JOHNNY WHEN _HE_ FOUND OUT SHE WASN'T
REALLY AN HEIRESS!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE CANDIDATE'S VADE MECUM.

_Question._ Why do you desire to enter the House of Commons?

_Answer._ Because, if I am honoured by my fellow-men by being chosen
to represent them, it is my ambition to serve them faithfully and
maintain in all its glorious integrity the time-honoured heritage of
this mighty empire.

_Q._ Yes, so you have said in your address to the electors; but have
you no other reason for wishing to occupy a seat in Parliament?

_A._ Certainly. The prestige bestowed by the letters "M.P." is
pleasing, and if the honour ultimately culminates in a baronetcy or a
knighthood the distinction will be gratifying to my wife.

_Q._ Then you would not be adverse to receiving promotion in the line
to which you have referred?

_A._ No; because I should consider that I acted merely as a trustee to
my constituents--that I, in fact, appeared in the character of their
personal representative.

_Q._ Yes, you said something of the sort the other evening at a
canvassing meeting in reply to a question put to you by one of your
voters; but surely the decoration would be desirable for some other
consideration?

_A._ It undoubtedly would have a certain market value in the City in
the eyes of promoters of public companies of limited liability.

_Q._ What measures have you taken to secure election beyond issuing
the very admirable address to which I have, more than once, referred?

_A._ For the last two or three years I have assiduously nursed the
constituency.

_Q._ What do you mean by nursing a constituency?

_A._ Obtaining a stake in the shape of land and a house in
the division, and making myself generally popular amongst my
fellow-ratepayers.

_Q._ How can you become popular?

_A._ By subscribing largely to local charities and institutions,
laying foundation stones, and opening fancy bazaars with untiring
energy.

_Q._ What considerations weigh with you when you are invited to add
your name to a subscription-list?

_A._ I take care to make the sum I give a little larger than that
contributed by my opponent, and take it as a general rule that lawn
tennis is of more importance than dispensaries, and polo, from a
benevolent point of view, takes precedence of associations established
to relieve dire distress.

_Q._ Is there any other method which may be adopted with advantage by
those desirous of nursing a constituency?

_A._ Speaking frequently in assembly rooms, taking nursery gardens for
the same purpose, and generally improving trade in the neighbourhood.

_Q._ Then the money paid for the hirings to which you refer is
commercially popular?

_A._ It is, and (joined of course to the eloquence of my friends and
myself) should distinctly influence the election.

_Q._ And should you be elected, what do you suppose you will have to
do?

_A._ To thoroughly enjoy the honour of being able to treat the House
of Commons as a club, and being asked by the leaders of my Party
to all their entertainments. I shall see my name in every newspaper
report when I have happened to take part in a popular function. I
shall find that I have mounted the social ladder by leaps and bounds,
and be able to pleasurably patronise or cut direct those who now
become my inferiors.

_Q._ And what consideration will support you in your general
demeanour?

_A._ The conviction that all I do, and have done, is and has been
actuated by the purest patriotism.

       *       *       *       *       *

"DALY NEWS! SPECIAL!"

Once again we welcome the return of Miss ADA REHAN, with JAMES LEWIS
the Lively, and Mrs. GILBERT the Good, to DALY'S, in Leicester Square.
But so short is their season, and so many are the pieces
announced, that to take more than a snap-shot at any one of them is
impracticable, seeing that the Daly changes are weekly. Ere anyone
sees these lines AUGUSTIN DALY'S train of thought will have passed
over, and beyond them. _The Railroad of Love_ will have served its
purpose, and become a siding. _Two Gentlemen of Verona_ will be
travelling first-class on Shakspearian main line leading to _Midsummer
Night's Dream_, which, with its fairy revels and its music, will
represent the terminus of this short journey. When will DALY & CO.
come to stay?

       *       *       *       *       *

THE SOMALIS AT SYDENHAM.

IN THE STABLES.

_Miss Simplicia Simpson_ (_looking at the native saddles on
brackets_). I suppose those are what they put on the ostriches!

_Her Companion._ They don't _ride_ ostriches.

_Miss Simpson_ (_in a tone of pity and reproof_). That only shows
you've never read your _Swiss Family Robinson!_

_A Gobe-mouche._ Well, I never see a white lamb with a black 'ed
before; that _is_ a curiosity, ain't it'?

_His Phlegmatic Friend._ Not arf such a curiosity as if it 'ad 'ad a
black 'ed be'ind.

_A Censorious Lady_ (_before a row of baby elephants_). Oh, _aren't_
they horrid! Look at their horrid little eyes. (_As one of them
protrudes a predatory trunk._) Oh, get away, _do!_ They are _the_ most
hideous creatures I've _ever_ seen! _Look_ at that one, all wrinkled
and baggy like an old man. See, it's wagging its head about like a
Chinese doll! I do think they're _quite_ loathsome, don't you?

_Her Companion_ (_a more Tolerant Person_). I daresay they would'nt
look so bad if they were varnished up a bit.

IN THE OSTRICH FARM.

_The Keeper_ (_who apparently considers his Show as moral as_
ARTEMUS WARD'S--_to the Public generally_). I've came over here From
California, whose golden waters kiss The mouth of her Sunny Sands, and
where there air strawberries all the year round. On the farm where I
live there were only fourteen days in all of lasst year when we had no
strawberries. The most Glorious climate In the World; and, if anyone
don't believe it, all they've got to _do_ is to die; and then, if
they've been good, they'll go there, and find out for themselves. I'm
not under Con-tràct To say a single word here, but I want to talk to
you about these birds, because they're generally misunderstood. They
walk en-tirely From the Toe, which gives them the graceful, springy
action you see. They air all named after the greatest people now
living on airth. This one close to the rails is called JIM BLAKE. Mark
well the Peculiarities, Life, Habits, _and_ Characteristics of the
Ostrich, and you will all of you go away And lead A moral life. The
only absolootly Purrfect Being on This ole Universe is the bird now
passing in front of me. Her name is GAIL HAMILTON, and She has The
Smallest Feet of anyone here present, _and_ the Smallest Head. She has
only one ounce of brains inside of it, and that is Sufficient for her
requirements, and nobody would have any use for more if they did not
suffer From swelled heads.... Yes, little girl, you're purrfectly
right--the ostrich _does_ run zig-zag, which is A Fact that is
Unknown to many Scientific men. The kick of the ostrich is as quick as
lightning--_quicker_ 'n lightning, be-cause you can see lightning, but
you _cann't_ see an ostrich's kick, which is four kicks to the second,
and kills a man every time. At certain seasons it is Impossible to go
among these birds except On horseback, and pro-vided with a stout pole
with a fork at the end for Self-defence. All of these birds are here
on Sale, and there is a large demand for them for Gentlemen's Parks
and Country seats.

_A Suburban Humourist_ (_to his_ Wife). What d'ye say to gettin' a
pair on 'em fur our back-yard, eh?

_His Wife._ 'Ow you _do_ tork, 'ENERY! 'Oo do _you_ suppose is goin'
to 'ang the washing out with two o' them great houtlandish beasts
lolloping around? Not _me_, and so I _tell_ yer. I've enough work on
_my_ 'ands without no austridges!

    [_She fans herself violently with her programme, and_ 'ENERY
    _is reduced to explain that his suggestion was not seriously
    intended._

IN THE STANDS--DURING THE NATIVE DISPLAY.

_Mrs. Keyveve_ (_to her brother_, Mr. FREDERICK FRIVELL, _as the
Somalis are performing a marriage dance_). It seems a curious kind of
wedding, doesn't it, FRED? Can you make out which are the bride and
bridegroom?

_Mr. Frivell._ Fancy that's the bride in red cotton, with her hair
down, prancing with maidenly gaiety between the first bridesmaid and
the best man, while the bridegroom, becomingly draped in a bath-towel,
may be observed capering up and down clapping hands with the
officiating clergy. A simple but impressive ceremony.

_Mrs. Keyveve._ Very. I wonder if they get any wedding presents.

_Mr. Frivell._ Rather. The sportsman in the rusty wig gave 'em
BROWNING'S poems and an afternoon tea-kettle, and the Johnny with
the feathers in his wool presented her with a dressing-bag. The
photo-frames, card-cases and carriage-clocks are all laid out in one
of the huts, according to the savage custom of the country, guarded
by a detective in the disguise of a wedding guest, armed with poisoned
spears.

_Mrs. Keyveve._ How silly you are! Look, they're rolling along a
great wicker-basket. What _can_ they have in it--the bride's luggage,
perhaps?... Why, it's an enormous snake! See, it's crawling out!

_Mr. Frivell._ It's the bride's going-away dress, that's all. Someone
ought to tell her that boas aren't worn this season, though.

_'Arriet_ (_in the Sixpenny Promenade, to_ 'ARRY). What are they
miking all that row about--are they supposed to be _torking_, or what?

_'Arry_ (_vaguely_). I expect they're declarin' war--against
_somebody_ or other.

_'Arriet_ (_reflectively_). I wonder if that little bit of 'air
stickin' up grows out of that feller's 'ed like that. Look at all them
little nippers runnin' about--(_with an air of discovery_)--I expect
they _belong_ to some of 'em.

    [_The Somalis perform a war-dance, which seems to consist in
    squatting down opposite one another in a double row, chanting
    "Razza-Ho! Ho-hoâ-ho-ho!" or words to that effect, while two
    of the party dodge between the ranks and cluck like poultry,
    after which all rise, knock their wooden shields together
    until they lose further interest in the affair, and stroll
    away satiated._

_Mrs. Keyveve._ Is that really their war-dance? It's very much the
same as the _marriage_ dance, isn't it?

_Mr. Frivell_ (_a contented bachelor_). Yes; subtle beggars, these
Somalis.

_'Arry_ (_during the Sham Fight_). 'Ark at one on 'em 'owlin'
"Oo-oo-oo!" he's took bad _agen_! Good ole Mop 'Ed got one in _that_
time! "Olla-olla-olla!"--he's sayin' the other bloke 'it 'im on the
jor.

_'Arriet._ There's one keeps sayin' "Pudd'n" as plain as possible.
There agen--"Pudd'n!" d'jear 'im? They orter bring that young
SHAZARDER chap to see this; he'd feel at _'ome_ 'ere, among all these
Injians, wouldn' 'e?

_'Arry._ They ain't Injians--they're _Afrikins_, didn't you know
_that_ much?

_'Arriet._ Oh, you're so partickler, _you_ are!

_Mrs. Keyveve_ (_during the Dromedary Race_). _How_ seasick one must
feel on those wobbly camels!

_Mr. Frivell._ The Camel has been beautifully called the "Ship of the
Desert."

_A Husband_ (_confidentially, to his neighbour_). Yer know, the Missus
ain't _enjoyin'_ all this, _she_ aint--you see. I'll arsk her, and
you 'ear what she sez. (_To his_ "Missus.") 'Ow d'yer _like_ it, eh,
Mother?

_His "Missus"_ (_with self-repression_). Oh--middlin'.

_Husband_ (_insistently_). Ah, I know what _that_ means; yer don't
_care_ about it. Now, _do_ yer?

_His "Missus."_ It's well enough--in its way. (_With irrepressible
candour._) I'd sooner see the Mow'ork Minstruels.

_Husband_ (_to his neighbour, with a mixture of chagrin and
complacency_). Didn't I _tell_ yer? That's where it is. I don't know a
more severer criteek anywheres than what my ole woman is!

_Miss Simpson._ Look at those dear ostriches running after one another
and opening their beaks. Now _that_'s not imitation, you know!

_'Arry_ (_with his characteristic eye for analogy--as the entire
caravan parades past in procession_). There they _are_, yer
see--_Comin' 'Ome from Southend!_

[Illustration: "There they _are_, yer see--Comin' 'Ome from
Southend!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

SMALL BY DEGREES AND BEAUTIFULLY LESS.--Our excellent contemporary
the _Northern Whig_ allows a correspondent to call attention to the
nuisance of cycling in Malone Park. Apparently our "fellow-subjects
of the sister kingdom" have followed the lead of "the beginners of
Battersea," and "made themselves a source of annoyance to the majority
of people resident in the locality." If "the nuisance" is permitted,
the correspondent suggests the Park will soon be deserted. When this
happens, the cyclist can appropriately alter his ride (by cutting off
a letter) around Malone to Alone.

       *       *       *       *       *

OPERATIC NOTES.

[Illustration: Zerlina Patti accompanied by her Squire on the
violoncello.]

Another two "turns" and PATTI is off. Delightful to see and hear her
as _Zerlina_ in immortal Opera _Don Giovanni_. "_Patti Patti_" with
"_Batti Batti_," "_La ci darem_," and all old friends admirably given
and heartily encored. After one of the encores MAGGIE MACINTYRE walks
off suddenly as if in search of lost pocket-handkerchief. In most
serious moments ever a twinkle in MAGGIE'S eye, and twitch at the
corners of MAGGIE'S mouth, as if giving audience clearly to understand
that she is "only purtendin'."

Second Act. Enter PATTI; sings, pauses; wonders; sings note, like
nightingale summoning mate; pauses; again wonders. "Some one had
blundered!" BEVIGNANI beaming but bothered. "He cometh not," they
said. Exit PATTI, shrugging shoulders. Curtain drops. Very short Act.
Audience, amused, applaud. Curtain up again. BEVIGNANI brightens.
Re-enter PATTI with merry _Masetto_, who privately explains that for
a few moments he had lost his voice and had been looking for it.
Fortunately, voice found; in chest; quite safe. Surely a little
modern dramatic polish might be used to furbish up utterly idiotic
old-fashioned stage-business of this ancient Italian Opera? Eh, Signor
DRURIOLANUS?

In the trio at end of Act II. somebody got off the line, and audience,
determined that they would be better for a little more practice,
called Ma'am ADINI, Miss MAGGIE, and Master BROZEL before the curtain,
and then made them go through their exercise once more. Nothing like
practice, to make perfect.

The Statuesque _Commendatore_ to be highly commended as represented
by aristocratic MANNERS. New Italian Opera proverb "Manners makes the
Commendatore." PATTI at premium. Royalty Restored to Box. Brilliant
night. Crammed, jammed house.

_In Lobby._--Much agitation among ancient Opera-goers on hearing
report that MARIO is to sing here on Saturday afternoon. "MARIO!" they
exclaim; "impossible!" Not at all: it turns out that _this_ "MARIO" is
a character in a new Opera by "ALICK MACLEAN" (pretty name, but nicer
if it were "A WASH MECLEAN"), entitled _Petruccio_ (not SHAKSPEAR'S
_Petruchio_), in which one _Mario_ is "_Elvira's little brother_;" and
so, possibly, he was quite an infant when sister _Elvira_ was cruelly
treated by _Don Giovanni_. Also in this new Opera appears "_Elvira's
mother_." In fact, it is rather lucky for _Don_ that he has gone below
with Stony _Commendatore_ to Stony Stratford, or elsewhere, as
the talented _Elvira_ family, with whom is associated _Rubino_, a
gentleman "formerly betrothed to _Elvira_," would make it rather too
hot for him.

_Tuesday._--GLÜCK'S _Orfeo_. "Gen'lm'n," if overtaken with wine, as
was _David Copperfield_ on a notable occasion, would say, "G'luck t'
you," that is, could any gentleman in such state be possibly admitted
to Covent Garden, and could dare to address JULIA RAVOGLI, admirable
as _Orfeo_, _Cavalleria_ to follow.

_Thursday._--Madame SEMBRICH nice as _Violetta Traviata_, "were
t'other dear charmer away!" Very hot night. MANCINELLI must for once
have wished himself a non-conductor? Result, MANCINELLI Melted.

_Friday._--_Adelina Zerlina Patti-cake_ and the Im-Maurel _Don G._
Why not in such hot weather give opera with ice in it; PATTI in skates
"_en Patti-neuse_."

_Saturday._--Welcome to Madame ALBANI, our _Valentine_ in what
WAGSTAFF calls "_Lay Hug-me-nots_." "Not bad title," he explains;
"after crowd of ecclesiastics in swearing scene, pleasing to find
two principal characters are 'lay': not 'lay-figures' but lovers not
permitted by hard Fate either to embrace each other or any opportunity
of eloping together; so '_Hug-me-not_' curiously applicable." So far,
WAGSTAFF. Strong cast this with GIULIA RAVOGLI as _Urbano_ the page of
music, MELBA as _Margherita_ the Queen with the top-notes in her
air; JUPITER-PLANÇON as _Marcel_, TAM AGNO as _Hug-me-not Raoul_, and
ANCONA as _Conte de Nevers-say-die_. Conducting orchestral army to
victory, Marshal MANCINELLI is Merry and Meritorious.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE BOY AND THE BAT.

["Who may describe a small boy's passion for his bat?"--_Daily News._]

_Jemmy Bilkins, aged Thirteen-and-a-half, loquitur_:--

  I've won it, BILL, I've won it! And it's pooty nigh full size!
  Leastways, anyhow, it _looks_ it. O, I tell yer, it's a prize.
  Yaller-backed, BILL, and cane-'andled, and its got a sort o' feel,
  As yer swing it wot reminds yer of a STODDART _or_ a STEEL.
  Last Saturday as ever wos I turned out afore six,
  And practised in our back yard, wiv three lumps o' deal for
          "sticks."
  Young POLLY she bowled to me, and I drove 'er, and I cut,
  And "swiped over the Pervilion"--which I mean our water-butt.
  POLL can do a fair round-armer _for_ a girl and no mistake,
  And she'll 'ave you, middle-stumpo, if yer don't look wide awake.
  'Twos the day of our School Match, BILL, and our gaffer, Mister
          BLORE,
  'Ad promised a cane-'andler to the boy as made top score.
  Oh I tell yer I meant 'aving it, if _practisin'_ would do,
  But _my_ bat 'ad split a lump off, and it seemed to 'it askew.
  'Ow _can_ yer "keep a straight bat" when your bat itself aint
          straight?
  But we did our level best, BILL, me an' POLLY.
  At our _fate_
  Out at Petersham I tell you as we done the thing to rights,
  None o' yer 'at-an'-coat piles for the wickets, as is sights
  A cricketer cocks snooks at, when 'e knows the _real_ game.
  No penny injy-rubber and a club! Though, all the same,
  Wiv a second-'and stripped tennis-ball, a little on the lop,
  Or even a ha'penny woodeny, an' the chump end of a mop,
  And my jacket on a stick for stump, I've 'ad a lot of fun,
  And wiv such on Gosling Green, BILL, I fust larned to 'it an' run.
  But to-day we did it different. Real stumps was pitched O. K.,
  We'd a scoring-sheet, _and umpire!_ We'd a red new ball to play,
  As it seemed a sin to slog at, 'cos it took the pooty out;
  But I tell yer we forgot that wiv the fust good 'it and shout.

  Lanky STEVE 'e made that 'it, 'e did. It scooted past long slip,
  At forty mile a hour or so. That STEVE _can_ make 'em skip.
  He tops me by a 'ed, too, and I feared he'd cop the bun.
  Yus, I thought the Bat was his'n when he'd piled up twenty-one!
  _I_ wanted fanning, BILLY, when I ups and takes my block,
  And the ball came thunderin' at me like a little earthquake shock.
  Seemed heverywhere, yet nowhere, if you understand me, BILLY.
  And pitched just in that orkud spot as always knocks yer silly.
  Coming off the pitch like pickles, as though aiming at yer heye;
  But I pulls myself together for a volley, an' let fly.
  And fust thing I knowed I heard it busting 'ard agin the fence;
  And I felt I'd scored a boundary, and the cheering wos emense.

  Then BILLY I lammed into 'em! They came as easy then
  As little POLLY'S easiest lobs. BILLY, they called _hus_ "Men!"
  "The next man in wos BILKINS" the reporter sez--that's me!--
  "An' e's a young phernomenon, a infant W. G.
  Who piled his quarter-century in fair Doctorial form!"--
  Just fancy! But them scribbling chaps _can_ pile it thick and warm.
  I won that Bat 'owever with a score of twenty-five,
  And POLLY--in the Press-tent!--wos the 'appiest girl alive
  While as for _me!_ O BILLY, when I drawed it from the baize,
  Caught the whiff of the fresh willow!--well the world looked all a
          haze.
  If "the Doctor" feels much 'appier when _his_ Testimonial comes--
  Well, though 'e's the pet of England, me a urchin from the slums,
  I jist guess he'll hunderstand me! Ony wish I'd got a bob
  To send the _Telygraft_, BILL. I should soon be on the job.
  _Ain't_ GRACE a 'Oly Stunner; and the Pride o' the Pervilion?
  Well I 'ope 'is Testymonial will run up to a Million!!!
  And when _he_ makes his next "Century" may _I_ be there to see!--
  Wich the Master says he'll take me, now I'm called "Young W. G."

       *       *       *       *       *

HOW TO FIX THE HAPPY DAY.--_Q._ When's the best day for a wedding?
_A._ Why, of course, "A _Weddin's day_."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: UNLUCKY SPEECHES.

_Host._ "YOU'LL HAVE A NICE DRIVE HOME!"

_Guest._ "YES; THAT'S THE BEST OF IT!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

DRESS À LA PREMIÈRE MODE.

(_A Dialogue Pastoral and Sartorial._)

    SCENE--_A Boudoir._ PRESENT--_A Lady and her Modiste._
    TIME--_The passing hour._

_Modiste._ No, Madame, it is utterly impossible for you to wear silks
and satins. They have quite gone out.

_Lady._ But hasn't alpaca come in a little?

_Modiste._ Scarcely. It may be used for divided skirts at Battersea
Park, but it is not really recognised.

_Lady._ Then what am I to wear?

_Modiste._ Flowers, Madame, flowers. Of course they should be fixed on
foundations, but they are the only materials used at the present time.

_Lady._ Are they not rather expensive?

_Modiste._ Well, no. I shall not charge more for them than velvet or
brocade. And, of course, if you choose to wear your dresses more than
once, your maid can get them renovated with new flowers at an almost
fabulous reduction.

_Lady._ I do not think a gown ever looks well when worn a second time.

_Modiste._ Quite so, Madame; quite so. Well, would you like a charming
dress of pink hyacinths, with bishop's sleeves of Gloire de Dijon
roses? The skirt would be of variegated lilac.

_Lady._ But could you get the material for the floral combination?

_Modiste._ Oh dear yes, Madame! Since the fashion for real flowers has
come in we are supplied daily from all parts of the world, and have a
large stock always at hand on the premises. Why, our greenhouses are
the finest in London. Will you want any other costume to-day?

_Lady._ Only one for a small dance to-morrow. I want something cool
and quiet.

_Modiste._ You can scarcely do better than wear a costume _d'Eden_,
or as it is facetiously termed in England, "a dress for EVE." It is an
arrangement in oak leaves and apples _à la mode de la première femme
du monde_.

_Lady._ Very well. Let me have it home by eleven.

_Modiste._ You can depend upon my punctuality, Madame. If you are
careful not to dance too much it will last until 2 A.M., and permit of
your partaking of supper. I would not say this with confidence of
all the gowns I turn out, but in this instance you will find leaves
stronger than flowers. And now, Madame, permit me to take your
measure.

    [_Scene closes in upon mysteries of the toilet._

       *       *       *       *       *

AFTER THE CONGRESS WAS OVER.

(_A Strange Fragment dealing with a Mystery._)

Every important question that could be considered had been thoroughly
examined and decided. The delegates, who had come from North, South,
East and West, had expressed their satisfaction with everything
they had seen in London. As for the British Empire generally, their
admiration knew no bounds. "It was magnificent." "It was beautiful."
"It was grand." And yet when they prepared to take their departure
there was a shade of disappointment upon their expressive
countenances.

"I wish I could have understood it," said one.

"It would have been a triumph of ingenuity to have comprehended it,"
observed another.

"The queries of the Egyptian Sphinx were the easiest of conundrums in
comparison," added a third.

And others chimed in to the same effect. But to the very last the
delegates tried their best to solve the problem. At length the company
departed. The hall in which the great assembly had been held was
empty. There was one striking object in the deserted apartment. It was
a book--a yellow-covered book. Evidently it had been much read. But,
in spite of the fingering, there was no distinct evidence that the
full meaning of its contents had been grasped by anyone.

In the quiet of the night the moonbeams illuminated the title-page.

The volume that rested so securely with its knowledge carefully
concealed between its paper covers was _Bradshaw's Railway Guide_.

       *       *       *       *       *

WHO WOULDN'T BE AN ALDERMAN?--I have often wished to be an Alderman,
and, after reading the following extract from the _Birmingham
Daily Gazette_, I have fixed upon West Bromwich as the scene of my
aldermanic labours. It must be glorious to joke with such ease:--

    "A WEST BROMWICH ALDERMAN'S JOKE.--Yesterday morning when the
    West Bromwich guardians entered the Board Room at the West
    Bromwich Workhouse, the blinds were all drawn, and as a
    consequence the room presented a very gloomy appearance. The
    business was about to be commenced, when Alderman R. WILLIAMS
    objected to the blinds being lowered. He inquired whether
    their lowering had a political significance, and whether the
    house was in mourning for the death of the Radical Government.
    If his assumption was true he considered they should
    not commence the business until the blinds were raised
    (_Laughter._) Two of the largest blinds were then raised, but
    six others were allowed to remain down."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE GREAT POLITICAL COMBINATION TROUPE.

S-L-SB-RY (THE STRONG MAN), B-LF-R, DUKE OF D-V-NSH-RE, AND JOE
CH-MB-RL-N (THE "CLIMBING BOY").]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: OMNISCIENCE.

_Son of the House._ "I'M GOING TO OXFORD FOR A WEEK, MARY, SO MIND AND
SEND MY LETTERS THERE. _YOU_ KNOW WHERE OXFORD IS?"

_Mary Elizabeth Jane_ (_the smart new Parlourmaid who knows
everything_). "YES, SIR. _CAMBRIDGE_, OF COURSE!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

ROUNDABOUT READINGS.

Some of us like our English short, others prefer it expanded. Some of
us, for instance, might say that "NERO fiddled while Rome burnt."
But this bald statement is obviously quite unsuited to the decorative
instincts of the age, for in the _Daily Telegraph_, only last week, I
read that "a notorious Roman Emperor is credited with the performance
of a violin solo during the raging of a serious conflagration in
the heart of his capital." The omission of NERO'S name gives to this
sentence a delicate parliamentary flavour, which brings it absolutely
up to date.

       * * *

But what a noble example it is! Henceforward, for instance, if it
should ever fall to my lot to write about HENRY THE EIGHTH of England,
I shall feel a mere fool if I state that he married seven wives. No,
no. A British monarch, celebrated in the books of the historians as
the Eighth, and hitherto the last of his name, is reported, on
the authority of the Ecclesiastical registers of his time, to have
entertained so warm and overpowering an affection for the connubial
condition commonly known as matrimony, as to have entered into it with
a comparatively light heart on as many occasions as would equal the
sum total of predecessors bearing his name who have supported the
burden of the crown of these realms. For a very slight increase of
salary I am prepared to double the length of this sentence without
adding a single fact to it.

       * * *

Here, too, is a delightful extract from a gorgeously illustrated
volume issued by a firm of house-agents in praise of what they very
properly term "an imposing structure in red brick." "It is difficult,"
they declare (and after reading their description one can well believe
it) "to conceive a more replete Town Mansion, embodying such artistic
and delicate schemes of decoration, one where wealth has wrought such
a revelation of harmonious and fitly fitments, or where the studious
consideration of the minutest detail contributing to health, enjoyment
and comfort has been more completely manifested. This, combined with
its advantageous position removed from any main thoroughfare with its
accompanying turmoil, renders it a perfect dwelling and an idealistic
London Home."

  No more by White Star or by Guion
    I leave my native land to roam.
  I've purchased and I occupy an
    Idealistic London Home.

  Last year my London I to quit meant;
    But now, with all an owner's pride,
  I gaze upon each fitly fitment,
    And, lo, desire for flight has died.

  Place me where schemes of decoration
    Give both to Art and Health increase,
  Where Wealth has wrought a Revelation--
    I ask no more, I rest in peace.

       * * *

Next let us contemplate a pure gem of descriptive English from a
sporting contemporary. It occurs in an account of the athletic contest
between Cambridge University and the United Hospitals:--

    Scarcely a cloud flecked the blue heaven yesterday afternoon,
    and a dazzling sky burnished the Stamford Bridge grounds into
    an acre of reflected sunshine. What a pleasant spot the tryst
    of the premier athletic club on which to hold athletic revels!
    It was not to be expected that the people would show a front
    at the carnival. So much to do nowadays, what with cycling at
    Hurlingham, and the Beauty wheel show on the Row in Battersea
    Park. Equal to the occasion though proved many English girls,
    and it was pleasing indeed to note their presence in the
    pavilion and enclosures. Bold as Britannia as a rule in this,
    the nineteenth century. And don't forget this, innocent as
    a posy all the while.... Think of this now. W. MENDLESON
    (C.U.A.C.), but by birth a New Zealander, figuratively
    speaking, gazed on the ruins (long jump ruins, of course) of
    Britishers at Stamford Bridge. It was with a quickened pulse
    that one watched the Hurdle Race. 'Pon our soul 'twas a
    difficult problem to solve a few steps from home to tell
    which would win, PILKINGTON or LOWE. The flag went up for the
    visitor from the banks of the Cam. Nevertheless, no one can
    assert but that the medical banner remained hoisted at the
    truck in honour of their representatives. Gallant seconds!...
    Of course H. A. MUNRO gave us a taste of his quality in the
    Three Miles. Verily he ran as though able to keep up pacing
    from sunrise to sunset. 'Twas a glorious victory that
    he gained. Neither must the plucky bid made by HORAN be
    forgotten. Ah! if he had only been MUNRO! But he wasn't, so
    there was no use in thinking about that.

How melancholy are these might-have-beens. If NAPOLEON had only been
WELLINGTON. But he wasn't. So there was no use in thinking about that.

       * * *

HENLEY Regatta, I understand, is to be an international festival
this year. A Dutch crew has entered for the Thames Cup, but it is not
stated that they carry a broom in their bows. Nor is it to be inferred
that they will make a clean sweep of the prize. Besides many English
crews they will meet a crew from France. Then from Toronto come four
Argonauts sailing not for the Golden Fleece, but for the Stewards'
Challenge Cap; and from Ithaca, N.Y., eight modern Trojans,
undergraduates of Cornell University, have set out intent on the
capture of the Grand Challenge Cup. To all of them _Mr. Punch_ extends
the right hand of good fellowship, though, being British to the
backbone, he cannot wish for their triumph over his own gallant
oarsmen. And amongst these he especially welcomes Mr. C. W. KENT, the
Hero of Leander, who, having four times stroked his crew to victory,
is once more seated on the slide of honour to defend possession of the
Grand,--KENT, the pride of joyous Moulsey, whom at his birth the
Fates endowed with the triple gifts of cunning, resource and courage,
bidding him wield an indomitable oar in undefeated crews. As when
a fox, emerging from the tangled covert----But I cannot pursue the
Virgilian method any further. Let the event next week speak for
itself. Here's luck all round, and may the best crew be an English
one. In any case, may the best crew win.

       * * *

The gentlemen from Cornell have brought over with them, in addition to
their boats and oars, a terrible battle-cry, "Cornell, yell, yell, I
yell Cornell." Manifestly the members of the London Rowing Club cannot
model themselves on this, for to cry, "London, done, done, I'm done,
London" would, I trust, be as inappropriate as it would certainly be
discouraging.

       * * *

My recent investigations into the condition of some of our great
provincial cities lead me to the depressing belief that something is
always wrong with some of their streets. Here, for instance, is "NEMO"
writing to the _Manchester Guardian_ to complain that "on Saturday
evening the Bury New Road was filthy, whilst the odour was equal to
that of the Ship Canal, but different. Formerly there seemed to be an
effort made to have the road brushed up on Friday ready for Saturday
and Sunday, when thousands of well-dressed and happy people--Jew and
Gentile--promenade it on their way to breezy Kersal Moor." But why,
may I ask, should there be no well-dressed and happy Christians
promenading on their way to Kersal Moor? It may be that they have
followed "our local representatives," who, "NEMO" suggests, "are
enjoying their holidays, or are immersed in golf," which I take to be
a delicate euphemism for bunkered.

       *       *       *       *       *

A LATE-AT-NIGHT RIDDLE.--_Q._ Why is it probable that the supper
provided by the Royal Academicians for their guests at their _soirée_
would be chiefly or entirely vegetarian? _A._ Because all the dishes
are "R. A. dishes."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE TRUE TEST.

_First Screever_ (_stopping before a Pastel in a Picture-dealer's
window_). "'ULLO 'ERBERT, LOOK 'ERE! CHALKS!"

_Second Screever._ "AH, VERY TRICKY, I DESSAY. BUT YOU SET THAT CHAP
ON THE PIVEMENT ALONGSIDE O' YOU AN' ME, TO DROR 'ARF A SALMON AN' A
NEMPTY 'AT, AN' WHERE 'UD 'E BE?"

_First Screever._ "AH!"

    [_Exeunt ambo._
]

       *       *       *       *       *

SCRAPS FROM CHAPS.

Is it well to temper justice with jokes? This important question has
been settled in the affirmative in many courts of law, but it has
been left for his Honour, Judge EDGE, to use his own name (instead of
somebody else's) in the playful manner requisite to excite "laughter
in the Court." A solicitor recently took upon himself to argue with
his Honour in the Plymouth County Court a question of costs in respect
of a case heard some months since. He conducted his argument with
much warmth and inaccuracy. This combination of bad law and bad temper
enabled the Judge to score an easy victory. "Stand down," said his
Honour; "if you play with edged tools you must pay for it." Thus
triumphed the Law and the Judge, and once more "unquenchable laughter
arose amongst the blessed gods" up in the gallery.

       *       *       *       *       *

The British earthquake has been sadly neglected. Therefore Mr. CHARLES
DAVISON, M.A., F.G.S., of Birmingham, is writing a _History of the
British Earthquakes of the Nineteenth Century_. With a view to add to
the completeness of this work, he has appealed to the readers of the
_Western Daily Mercury_ for "notices of British earthquakes, either
past or future, of any kind and from any place whatever." He specially
desires to become acquainted with earthquakes "of which descriptions
appear in the local press, or entries are made in private diaries."
All local papers should at once start a special earthquake
column--"Earthquakes Day by Day," or "Yesterday's Earthquakes"--and
writers of diaries would do well to dive into the past. There are so
many remarkable phenomena not otherwise recorded. Here is one. "Dined
with BROWN last night. Insisted on walking home, instead of taking
BROWN'S advice and a cab. Had not gone far when strange thing
happened. Pavement suddenly upheaved and hit me violent blow on
forehead. Fell prostrate. Taken home in dazed condition by friendly
policeman. No time to observe affect of earthquake on adjoining
houses. Shock very short, but exceedingly severe. In bed all
day. Large bruise on forehead. Headache, &c." There must be many
interesting entries of this kind in diaries which will afford valuable
material for Mr. DAVISON'S work. As to "notice of future earthquakes,"
which he requests, perhaps the Meteorological Office, the Geological
Society and Zadkiel will kindly oblige with probable dates and other
information.

       *       *       *       *       *

WIZARD AND WITTLES.--Long life to the Glasgow Sir Walter Scott
Club! It "promotes the study of Sir WALTER'S life and writings, and
encourages a more familiar acquaintance with the localities rendered
classic by his pen." Ninety members set off the other day to
Edinburgh, and drove in four-in-hands to the "beechy grove" at
Melville Castle, the Esk and DRUMMOND'S Hawthornden, and then on to
the castle and chapel at Roslin. Lunch at Dalkeith, dinner at the
Balmoral Hotel at Edinburgh, and back rejoicing at eventide to Glasgy,
"after the happiest and most successful excursion in the history of
the club." This is the way to keep up the dignity of literature. Far
better than knighthoods! An excursion "under the presidency of the
genial Sheriff SPENS," too; no Sheriff SAVES _this_ time; and a dinner
at the Balmoral to wind up--it's a Talisman to make the heart of
Midlothian leap up!

       *       *       *       *       *

A MUSICAL TREAT. A PRONOUNCEMENT AND A HINT.--Herr NIKISCH'S
performance is so brilliant, and has so much real fire in it, as to
have given rise to the suggestion that, to express the _diablerie_ of
his effects, both syllables of his name should be short, and that his
style should be henceforward known as the "Old Nickish" manner. When
the chance recurs, go and hear the symphony by TSCHAIKOWSKY. Only be
prepared. To pronounce this name correctly you must take pungent snuff
and sneeze violently while trying to utter the word "Whisky." Take
care to have a medical man ready at hand; also a tailor, with needle,
thread, and buttons.

       *       *       *       *       *

FROM the _South Wales Daily News_:--

    As Groom, Coachman, or Groom-Gardener, plain; wife good Cook;
    or otherwise, if required. Good references.

"Or otherwise, if required," is delicious. She would be a bad cook or
an indifferent one "if required." So convenient!

       *       *       *       *       *

Half-and-Half.

(_After Reading some recent Political Speeches._)

  Although in the queer Party story
    There's many a turn, and many a twist;
  _'Tis_ strange to see JOSEPH half Tory,
    And SALISBURY half Socialist!

       *       *       *       *       *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY M.P.

[Illustration: Jesse, the Pilot-Engine, clears the Line!]

_House of Commons, Monday, June 24._--Back to-day from the booming
Baltic to wan Westminster. Given up the company of Kings and Queens
which formed Don CURRIE'S daily fare; descended to level of Commons.
And what a state of things to come back to! Left less than a fortnight
ago, with House in almost comatose state. Even the Busy B's had ceased
to hum. TANNER no longer disturbed at hour of midnight by poignant
curiosity as to when the Dook would retire. SILOMIO, his head bandaged
after latest buffeting by EDWARD GREY and SYDNEY BUXTON, temporarily
silent. ALPHEUS CLEOPHAS for awhile content with management of House
by "my right hon. friend the CHANCELLOR OF EXCHEQUER." In a moment,
in the twinkling of ST. JOHN BRODRICK'S eye, crisis and chaos come.
Ministry blown up with charge of cordite, surreptitiously brought in;
concealed under Front Opposition Bench; fired in the dinner hour.

"Cordite?" said TOMLINSON. "What is this cordite they're all talking
about? Thought it was something they made trousers of."

"No, no," said Private HANBURY, up in all military matters. "You're
thinking of corduroy."

House crowded from furthest bench of side galleries to gangway steps
on floor. A buzz of excitement completes fulness of chamber. Only
two empty seats. These on front benches, where SQUIRE OF MALWOOD
and PRINCE ARTHUR were wont to face each other. JOSEPH'S seat below
gangway filled by COURTNEY, who, in honour of occasion, has put on a
white waistcoat and a smile. Wears both throughout proceedings. A loud
cheer welcomes arrival of PRINCE ARTHUR looking graver than usual.
Three minutes later another rings forth, and the SQUIRE OF MALWOOD
enters with slow step and countenance set, suitable to the obsequies
of an assassinated Ministry. JESSE COLLINGS comes in; startled by
cheer from Irish Members.

"JOE'S not far off," said TIM HEALY, grimly. "In times like these
sends JESSE on ahead, like the pilot-engine that goes before CZAR'S
train. If there were any murderous plot on hand, by JUSTIN MCCARTHY or
any other brigand, the blameless figure of JESSE would be blown into
space, and JOSEPH would proceed on his journey with his hair
unsinged."

On stroke of half-past three SQUIRE OF MALWOOD made formal
announcement of familiar fact that Government had resigned; THE
MARKISS had been sent for; Ministers kept their places only till their
successors were appointed.

"I would ask leave to say," the SQUIRE, with unwonted tremor in his
voice, observed, bringing to close his brief, business-like speech,
"that for every man who has taken part in the noble conflict of
Parliamentary life, the chiefest of all ambitions, whether in a
majority or in a minority, must be to stand well with the House of
Commons."

How in this respect the Leader of the House through two Sessions of
peculiar difficulty stands with both tides, testified to by a ringing
cheer, repeated when PRINCE ARTHUR, who always does these things well,
voiced the common feeling as he recognised in the blushing SQUIRE "one
of the greatest ornaments of this House."

"That's all very well, TOBY," said the SQUIRE, when I offered him
my congratulations on deliverance from a situation long become
intolerable. "You put it prettily. But I hope the experience of the
last fortnight will be a lesson to you. You hadn't been gone a week
and two days when the cordite bomb was exploded. Never forget what you
must have learned in your nursery kennel:

  When the dog's away,
  The rats will play."

All business set aside. All Bills dropped save Seal Fisheries. This
Cap'en TOMMY BOWLES, master of himself though Ministers fall, proceeds
to discuss as calmly as if nothing had happened. Whilst other Members
already have their eyes on their constituencies and their faces
towards the door, TOMMY, buttonholing Time as it were with his hooked
arm, leisurely discusses the close season for Seal Fishing.

_Business done._--The Government's.

_Tuesday._--House met again, expecting further particulars about the
Ministerial crisis. Benches full, but not so crowded as yesterday.
Again the SQUIRE, PRINCE ARTHUR, and JOSEPH absent. The two latter not
expected. When they reappear they will sit side by side on Treasury
Bench. But where was the SQUIRE?

Preliminary business finished. House waiting for next move. Must be
made by SQUIRE. Where was he? Members tossed about on seats. All
eyes strained towards space behind SPEAKER'S chair, whence Ministers
approaching Treasury Bench emerge. Minutes passed; SQUIRE still
tarried. Horrible rumour that cordite had done fresh stroke of work.
FREDERICK MILNER said he distinctly heard sound of explosion in
neighbourhood of room of Leader of House. Another report was that
SQUIRE had been kidnapped, shipped off to distant colony by direction
of new SECRETARY OF STATE. Whilst probability of these wild guesses
balanced, SQUIRE entered, whole and hale. Had been waiting to hear
from THE MARKISS. Nothing had come, so must adjourn.

_Business done._--House adjourned.

[Illustration: THEIR NEW SUITS.

_Admiral G-sch-n._ "Oh, I say, Joey old man, what a comical costume!
It does make me laugh!"

_Colonial Ch-mb-rl-n._ "Well, hang it, Jokey old boy, _you_ can't say
much!"]

_Wednesday._--All settled: SQUIRE announces that MARKISS has
undertaken to form new Ministry. Writs moved for elections to fill
vacancies consequent on acceptance of office. Amongst them West
Birmingham, JOSEPH having undertaken to care for the Colonies.
Prospect of "Our JOE," as SAGE OF QUEEN ANNE'S GATE affectionately
calls him, sitting in Cabinet Council with THE MARKISS, strangely
moves House. Irish Members in particular give vent to feelings in
cries that forebode lively times for new Minister.

House lost crowded appearance of earlier days of week. Interest
already transferred to constituencies. GORST among absentees. SARK
looking for him everywhere. Been reading article in magazine where
GORST writes:--"A lady resident in East London informed me that she
once knew a man who was attending fourteen doctors at the same time.
The man died."

SARK wants to know what was the matter with the doctors? Why the man
was attending them? And whether this is cited as case of overwork, or
of death resulting from infectious disease?

The worst of SARK is that his curiosity is almost feminine in its
intensity.

_Business done._--Foundation stones of new Ministry laid.

[Illustration: Cap'en Tommy Casabianca Bowles.]

_House of Lords, Thursday._--Quite a crowded House. THE MARKISS, not
seen in his place since he became Prime Minister, now there faced by
ROSEBERY. Large attendance and eager interest explained by attempt to
purloin Seals of SECRETARY OF STATE FOR WAR. In dim and distant future
this likely to rank with the Diamond Necklace Affair. SARK, who has
been reading Radical newspapers on incident, tells me all about it.

As soon as Vote of Censure passed on CAWMELL-BANNERMAN, MARKISS became
possessed of uncontrollable passion for instant possession of his
seals of office. How was it to be done? CAWMELL a Scotchman; not
easy to get loose property out of his grip. MARKISS, instinct with
influences of spacious times of Queen ELIZABETH, not to be trifled
with. Clapped his hands. Enter faithful henchman, one SCHOMBERG. A
stoutly-built man of herculean strength, bowed legs, grizzled beard,
short thick hair like hand-spikes standing up above pair of ears
resembling nothing so much as Tower Bridge when, in opening, either
flap stands out at angle of forty-five degrees. A certain piquancy
given to his features by front tooth protruding like tusk of wild
boar.

"SCHOMBERG," said THE MARKISS, hoarsely, "I want CAWMELL-BANNERMAN'S
Seals. His address is 6, Grosvenor Place, S.W. He comes home late,
with a latch-key. Take twenty stout fellows, as like yourself as the
country produces. Await his coming. Take the Seals. If he resists, a
slit weasand will scarcely be noticed in a population of (according to
the last census) 4,349,166. _But bring the Seals._"

That is SARK'S idea of the episode after reading the papers. THE
MARKISS'S version differs in some details.


_Business done._--THE MARKISS, challenged by ROSEBERY, says new
Ministry have no policy at present. However, since ROSEBERY seems
anxious on point, will send over to WHITELEY'S and see what can be
done.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: SUNDERED LIVES.

_Bertie._ "I THOUGHT YOU TWO NEVER MET WITHOUT KISSING. ANYTHING THE
MATTER? THE GREEN-EYED MONSTER?"

_Muriel._ "NO, YOU SILLY! HATS!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

A DISCOVERY IN LIQUEURS.

SIR,--You remember _Mr. Squeers's_ system of theoretical and practical
teaching, "'_W-i-n-d-e-r-s_.' Go and clean 'em"? Of course you do; and
if the quotation is not letter perfect, it is its "spirit," which is
more suited to my present theme, at all events. Well, Sir, "them's
my principles." Accordingly, after reading your advice as to taking a
Summer Sunday trip to Calais and back by _Calais-Doûvres_, or one of
the large boats in L. C. and D. service, I acted upon it, and went.
The _trajet_ was simply perfect! Such weather! Sea so calm! Breeze
refreshing! Company distinguished! Commander WATTELBLED, and First
Lieutenant CARINI, with all hands, waiting to give us (at a price as
fair and moderate as the Channel breeze on this occasion) excellent
refreshment. But to sing their praise is not my point; they do their
duty, and pay it too, as we _voyageurs_ have to do, on cigars,
teas, and tobacco. I had time to refer to hotel's list of wines and
liqueurs, and among the latter there appeared a name which brought
tears to the eyes of the wanderer far from his English home; and that
name, Sir, coming after "Kümmel, and Marasquin, and Whisky," was "_Old
Tom-Gim_"--"Tom Gi_m_" with an "m." How far superior to "Gin" with an
"n." It brought to mind early days of catechism, "_M. or N., as the
case may be_." This was a case of liqueurs. How preferable the soft
liquid "_m_" to the less soft "_n_" in making "_Gin_" into "_Gim_"!
And how much one would like to alter the spelling, and make it "_Old
Tom Jim_." Would he not be seized upon by a French librettist as the
very name, _par excellence_, for a typical Ancient English Mariner in
an opera? Don't you see it? "_Capitaine_ John Smith; _First Mate_ Old
Tom Jim" with song (nautical). _Vive_ Gim! Now, with my discovery,
I regain the good ship, and, once aboard the lugger ... by the way,
there is an eighteen-penny tax now levied by the French on those who
land at Calais. "_Happy Thought._ Don't land." But, _Unhappy Thought_,
if we don't land in the _pas-de-Calais_, the result will be _pas de
déjeuner_. So--"bang goes sax-pence," for "We don't kill a pig every
week."

  Yours,
  THOMAS LE VIEUX.

P.S.--And another one-and-sixpence extra on landing at Dover! All the
"fun of the fare," eh?

       *       *       *       *       *




Transcriber's Note


= = represents Old English font.

Page 12: 'Cawmel-Bannerman' corrected to 'Cawmell-Bannerman' (a.k.a.
Campbell-Bannerman, Sir Henry (1836-1908), Scottish statesman, M.P.)

"SCHOMBERG," said THE MARKISS, hoarsely, "I want CAWMELL-BANNERMAN'S
Seals."

       *       *       *       *       *