Produced by Punch, or the London Charivari, Joke Van Dorst,
Malcolm Farmer and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net









PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 109.

OCTOBER 19, 1895.




[Illustration: "POOR LITTLE DICKEY BIRDS! DEAR LITTLE DICKEY BIRDS!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE THIRTY-ONE-AND-SIXPENNY DREADFUL.

(_By Mr. Punch's Own High-Class Police News Reporter._)

At the Grosvenor Square Criminal Court the case of Lady D'EDBROKE came
on for hearing at the head of the list. Interest in this alleged crime
in high life drew together a vast galaxy of Society women, and His
Worship was with difficulty accommodated with a seat on the bench.
Opera-glasses ruled from one-and-sixpence-in-the-slot. The first charge
brought against her ladyship was that of refusing alimony to her
husband. A second dealt with the desertion of her children.

The prosecution undertook to prove that Sir BENEDICK had been found at
night on the doorstep of the d'Edbroke Mansion without a latchkey or
other visible means of subsistence. Lady D'EDBROKE (_née_ SWAG) was
described as the daughter of a wealthy Birmingham manufacturer of
antiques. By her marriage into the ancient and honourable house of the
D'EDBROKES she had relieved the fortunes of the three-and-twentieth
baronet, whose assets at the moment had been _nil_. Two children had
been born of the marriage, and these had recently been discovered in a
state of emaciation in a Park Lane _crèche_.

Counsel would call her ladyship's maid to give evidence of the kind of
literature to which her mistress had been addicted. That domestic would
admit that she (the domestic), being bored by the feeble and fatuous
character of the Penny Dreadful as a guide to immorality, had been in
the habit of utilizing her mistress's left-off thirty-one-and-sixpenny
and other expensive shockers. He hoped to show that this class of work,
though not above the level of the Penny Dreadful in point of literary
qualities, was of a mere seductive piquancy. At the time of the
prisoner's arrest her drawing-room and boudoir were littered with
printed matter, from the titles of which he would select four specimens:
_A Melodrama of Spasms_, _The Superfluous Male_, _A Neo-Platonic
Passion_, _An Edenless Adam_. From the last of these he ventured to read
an extract or two, in the selection of which he had been assisted by the
pencil marks and marginal comments of the prisoner. The book, he might
add, was from a lending library.

"A veritable Dian, flame-red with the shame of maternity, the young
mother of twins faced her cowed and miserable husband. Mentally she
threw up the sponge ready for the next round, for she had still a shot
in her locker with which to run a mucker."

Council here explained that the writer, a simple woman, was still
feeling her way in the use of sporting language.

"'JAMES,' she said, 'I was an ignorant girl when I married you for your
wealth, you me for my beauty of soul. There I thought that the bargain
had ended. How was I to know that women have a tendency to bear
children? No one ever pointed out to me any precedent for this. In my
innocence it had never occurred to me that I might myself have been
originally born.'"

Here a Juror intervened to request that he might, as a family man, be
allowed to retire. Leave being refused, he then asked if ladies ought to
listen to such extracts. His Worship thereupon ordered all decent women
to leave the court. No one moved, and the extract was resumed.

"'And now, in the full pride of my sexlessness, I have had a painful
fall. I am branded with the mark of servitude. The laughing-stock of my
emancipated sisters, I shall go down to posterity as _a mother!_'

"Lord JAMES winced. The mother of twins continued.

"'Had mine been the wealth and yours the beauty of soul--and of this you
can never have even been suspected--my course would be plain. I should,
by the right of the Married Women's Impropriety Act, banish you from
this house. Never should you darken these doors again, though you might
linger on the doorstep, an Edenless ADAM, a worm, a periwinkle at the
gate of Paradise! As it is, being compelled from lack of filthy lucre to
tolerate existence under your roof, I insist that these signs of my
degradation'--here she pointed defiantly at the twins, who howled--'be
kept for ever from my eyes under the tutelage of hired menials, in a
nursery with padded walls to be built out over the billiard-room.
Otherwise I propose to leave you and become a _Tableau Vivant!_'"

At this point the usher rebuked applause in the galleries.

A second extract ran as follows:--"A year later, in the height of the
season at Battersea Park, a remarkable tandem was the object of
universal comment. It consisted of Lord and Lady JAMES, or, more
strictly, Lady and Lord JAMES, for Lady JAMES steered from the front,
clad in high collar, starched shirt, breeches and gaiters, while Lord
JAMES followed in a blouse and divided skirt, doing all the work. A
symbol this of the conditions under which he was now admitted to the
privilege of communion with her. That the man should be compelled to do
the work, itself a mark of serfdom, was but one of many conditions laid
down by the predominant partner. Another was that he should not offend
decency by appearing in the recognised costume of a woman. Hence the
blouse and divided skirt, lately relegated to male use."

Here His Worship observed that this extract failed to bear upon the
issue, and it was then shown that the pencil-mark, with the comment
"Good again!" was the work of another subscriber to MUDIE'S. A third
extract, taken from a new book of the Six-Shilling-Shocker series--_A
Melodrama of Spasms_--began: "I am glad that these sins of your magenta
breeding are no irony of fate." The foreman of the jury demanded an
elucidation, which Counsel was unable to produce. Court still working at
enigma when report left.

       *       *       *       *       *

A HYDE-OUS DANGER.--"Hyde Park" should be our Show Park. At present it
is the Hiding Park for all the scum of the town. _Mr. P._ summons First
Commissioner of Works, Commissioner of Police, and "GEORGE RANGER," who,
he believes, has not yet retired from this office, to step out at once
and do their duty.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Brother Jonathan._ "SAY, JOHN! YOU'D BETTER GO INTO
TRAINING AGAIN!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: EASILY EXPLAINED.

_Huntsman_ (_having just drawn large covert blank_). "WELL, MR. LEGGINS,
WE CAN'T FIND THAT LITIER YOU'VE BEEN BRAGGING ABOUT!"

_Keeper_ (_who objects to being styled "Leggins"_). "YOU SURPRISE ME,
MR. TOOTLE! MOST EXTRAORDINARY!"

_Huntsman._ "OH, NOT AT ALL! YOU SEE THERE IS SUCH A SHOW OF PHEASANTS
AND HARES--I EXPECT THEY MUST HAVE EATEN THE POOR LITTLE BEGGARS BETWEEN
THEM!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE COMMAND OF THE ARMY.

    NEW STYLE--IN THE FUTURE. SCENE--_Interior of the Council
    Chamber at the War Office. Committee of National Defence in
    Consultation._

_First Member._ Well, really, I think the troops should advance.

_Second Member._ Certainly, but how about their uniforms?

_Third Member._ Oh, I am responsible for that department. Everything
fairly well. At least, I think so.

_1st M._ Oh, if you only "think so," we had better break off for a
while.

    [_The Committee "break off for a while" and then reassemble._

_3rd M._ Now everything's right. I thought there was some trouble about
the new forage caps. Well, the difficulty has been surmounted, and all
is as correct as can be.

_1st M._ Pleased to hear it. Ammunition up to the mark?

_4th M._ That's _my_ special department. It may be, but----

_3rd M._ Oh! Don't you think we had better adjourn a bit?

_1st M._ Why, certainly.

    [_They "adjourn a bit," then reassemble._

_4th M._ Glad I had an opportunity of looking into the affair. Fact is,
although we had a lot of cordite, there was certainly----

_1st M._ Yes, I know. But is it all right now?

_4th M._ Right! Of course! It never was wrong, but----

_1st M._ Quite so. Don't let's waste time. How about the transport?

_5th M._ I am responsible for that. If you really want to move the
troops any distance, perhaps I had better----

_1st M._ It's very annoying! but as you say "you had better" do
something or other, let's scatter for a time.

    [_They "scatter for a time," and reassemble._

_5th M._ Lucky I overhauled my department. If I hadn't you wouldn't have
been able to move the troops a dozen yards.

_1st M._ But is it all right now? Equipment, ammunition, transport? Are
you all right?

_Chorus._ Yes, Sir.

_1st M._ (_through telephone_). Quick, march!

    [_The troops are moved._

OLD STYLE--IN THE PAST. SCENE--_Anywhere in front of an Army._

_Commander-in-Chief._ I vouch for everything! I have only to give the
word of command. Quick, march!

    [_The troops are moved._

       *       *       *       *       *

THE JOLLY YOUNG WATERMAN.

(_Up to Date._)

  And did you not hear of the East London Watermen,
    Who our requirements failed to supply,
  If the weather was hot or was cold in severity
    Their pipes and their cisterns were equally dry.
  In cold or in heat they charged as steadily,
  But water to drink we couldn't get readily;
    Yet water or none, with an impudent air,
    They charged all the same, and it didn't seem fair.

  What sights of distress there were seen in the district,
    Its drains were unflushed, and were tainted withal,
  (There was always a cause--some "Progressive" obstruction,)
    But the party supporting them grew very small;
  And often would there be both swearing and sneering,
  But 'twas all one to them the complaining and jeering;
    For cursing and praying they little did care--
    But charged us for water--it didn't seem fair.

  But, only to fancy how strangely things happen,
    While rates were collected for nothing at all,
  The Government Board held a special inquiry,
    Which sat for a while in the Hackney Town Hall.
  And should this report (to the Company's sorrow)
  Be issued to-day, next month, or to-morrow,
    The East London Company'd better take care--
    As charging for nothing is scarcely quite fair.

       *       *       *       *       *

NO JOE-K.--A Tory "of the old school" has adapted the well-known
Virgilian hexameter thus:--CH-MB-RL-N _væ miseræ nimium vicina
Carltonæ_!

       *       *       *       *       *

WRECKS AND CASUALTIES.--The barque _Metropolitan Improvements_ stranded
on the County Council Sands.

       *       *       *       *       *

SKETCHES FROM SCOTLAND.

AT THE DRUMQUHIDDER HIGHLAND GATHERING.

    SCENE--_A meadow near Drumquhidder, South Perthshire, where the
    annual Highland Games are being held. The programme being a long
    one, there are generally three events being contested in various
    parts of the ground at the same time. On the benches immediately
    below the Grand Stand are seated two Drumquhidder worthies_, Mr.
    PARRITCH _and_ Mr. HAVERS, _with_ Mrs. MCTAVISH _and her niece,
    two acquaintances from Glasgow, to whom they are
    endeavouring--not altogether successfully--to make themselves
    agreeable_.

_Mr. Havers_ (_in allusion to the dozen or so of drags, landaus, and
waggonettes on the ground_). There's a number o' machines hier the day,
Messis MCTARVISH, an' a wonderfu' crood; there'll be a bit scarceness
ower on yon side, but a gey many a'thegither. I conseeder we're est
awfu' forrtunate in the day an' a'.

    [Mrs. MCTAVISH _assents, but without enthusiasm_.

_Mr. Parritch._ I've jist ben keekin' into the Refraishmen' Tent. It's
an awfu' peety they're no pairmeetin' ony intoaxicans--naethin' but
non-alcohoalic liquors an' sic like, an' the hawm-sawndwiches no verra
tender. (_With gallantry._) What do ye say, noo, Messis MCTARVISH--wull
ye no come an' tak' a bite wi' me?

_Mrs. McTavish_ (_distantly_). Ah'm no feelin' able for't jist the noo,
Mester PAIRRITCH.

_Mr. Parr._ Ye'll hae a boatle o' leemonade at my expense? Ye'll no?
Then ye wull, Mess RAWSE. (_With relief, as_ Miss ROSE _declines also_.)
Aweel, I jist thocht I'd pit the quaistion. (_To a friend of his, who
joins them._) An' hoo's a' wi' ye, Mester MCKERROW? Ye're a member o'
the Cawmittee, I obsairve, sae I'll hae to keck up a bet row wi' ye.

_Mr. McKerrow_ (_unconcernedly_). Then ye'll jist to hae to keck it doon
again. What's wrang the noo?

_Mr. Parr._ I'd like to ask ye if ye conseeder it fair or jest to
charrge us tippence every time we'd go aff the groon? Man, it's jist an
extoartion.

_Mr. McKerr._ I'm no responsible for 't; but, if _I_'d ben there, I'd
ha' chairged ye twa shellins; sae ye'd better say nae mair aboot the
maitter.

    [Mr. PARRITCH _does not pursue the subject_.

_Mr. Havers_ (_as a detachment of the Black Watch Highlanders conclude
an exhibition of musical drill_). Ye'll be the baiter o' haeing the
Block Wetch hier the day. Man, they gie us a colour! It's verra pretty
hoo nicely they can pairforrm the drill.... An' noo them sojers is gaun
to rin a bet race amang theirsels. This'll be an extry cawmpeteetion, I
doot. (_As the race is being run._) It's no a verra suitable dress for
rinnin'--the spleughan--or "sporran," is it?--hairrts them tairible.

_Mr. McKerr._ (_contradictiously_). The sporran does na hairrt them at
a'.

_Mr. Havers._ Man, it's knockin' against them at every stride they tak'.
(_His attention wanders to a Highland Fling, which three small boys are
dancing on a platform opposite._) He's an awfu' bonnie dauncer that wee
laddie i' the meddle!

_Mr. McKerr._ Na sae awfu' bonnie, he luiks tae much at his taes. Yon on
the richt is the laddie o' the lote! he disna move his boady at a'....
This'll be the Half Mile Handicap they're stairting for down yonder.
It'll gae to JOCK ALISTER--him in the blue breeks.

_Mr. Parr._ Yon grup-luikin' tyke? I canna thenk it.

_Mr. Havers._ Na, it'll be yon bald-heided man in broon. He's verra
enthusiastic. He's ben rinnin' in a' the races, I obsairve. "SMETH" did
ye say his neem was? (_To_ Miss ROSE, _pawkily_.) Ye'll hae an
affaictionate regaird for thet neem, I'm thenking, Mess Rawse?

_Miss Rose_ (_with maidenly displeasure_). 'Deed, an I'm no
unnerstanding why ye should thenk ony sic a thing!

_Mr. Havers_ (_abashed_). I beg your pairrdon. I don't know hoo it was I
gethered SMETH was your ain neem. (Miss ROSE _shakes her head_.) No?
Then maybe ye'll be acquaint with a Mester ALEXAWNDER SMETH fro'
Paisley? (Miss ROSE _is not, nor apparently desires to be, and_ Mr.
HAVERS _returns to the foot-race_.) The bald-heid's leadin' them a', I
tellt ye he'd---- Na, he's gien up! it'll be the little block fellow,
he's peckin' up tairible!

_Mr. Parr._ 'Twull no be him. Yon lang chap has an easy jobe o't. Ye'll
see he'll jist putt a spairrt on at yon faur poast--he's comin' on
noo--he's.... Losh! he's only thirrd after a'; he didna putt the spairrt
on sune eneugh; that was the gran' fau't he made!

_Mr. Havers._ They'll be begenning the wrustling oot yon in the
centre.... (_As the competitors grip._) Losh! that's no the way to
wrustle; they shouldna left the ither up; they're no allowed to threp!

_Mr. McKerr._ That's jist the game, I'm telling ye; ye know naething at
a' aboot it!

[Illustration: "That's jist the game, I'm telling ye; ye know naething
at a' aboot it!"]

_Mr. Havers._ I'd sthruggle baiter'n that mysel', it's no great
wrustling at a', merely bairrns' play!

_Mr. McKerr._ (_as a corpulent elderly gentleman appears, in very pink
tights_). Ye'll see some science noo, for hier's MCBANNOCK o'
Balwhuskie, the chawmpion.

_Mr. Havers_ (_disenchanted_). Wull yon be him in the penk breeks. Man,
but he's awfu' stoot for sic wark!

_Mr. McKerr._ The wecht of him's no easy put doon. The rest are boys to
him.

_Mr. Parr._ I doot the little dairk fellow'll hae him ... it's a gey
sthruggle.

_Mr. McKerr._ He's not doon yet. Wull ye bait sexpence against
MCBANNOCK, Mester PAIRRITCH?

_Mr. Parr._ (_promptly_). Aye, wull I--na, he's got the dairk mon doon.
I was jist mindin the sword-daunce, sae the bait's aff. (_Three men in
full Highland costume step upon the platform and stand, proud and
impassive, fronting the grand stand, while the judges walk round them,
making careful notes of their respective points._) What wull _they_ be
aboot?

_Mr. McKerr._ It'll be the prize for the mon who's the best dressed
Hielander at his ain expense. I'm thenkin they'll find it no verra easy
to come to a deceesion.

_Mr. Parr._ Deed, it's no sae deeficult; 'twill be the mon in the
centre, sure as deith!

_Mr. Havers._ Ye say that because he has a' them gowd maidles hing on
his jocket!

_Mr. Parr._ (_loftily_). I pay no attention to the maidles at a'. I'm
sayin' that DOUGAL MACRAE is the best dressed Hielander o' the three.

_Mr. Havers._ It'll no be MACRAE at a'. JOCK MCEWAN, that's furrthest
west, 'll be the mon.

_Mr. Parr._ (_dogmatically_). It'll be MACRAE, I'm tellin' ye. He has
the nicest kelt on him that iver I sa'!

_Mr. Havers._ It's no the _kelt_ that diz it, 'tis jist the way they pit
it on. An' MACRAE'll hae his tae faur doon, a guid twa enches too low,
it is.

_Mr. Parr._ Ye're a' wrang, the kelt is on richt eneugh!

_Mr. Havers._ I know fine hoo a kelt should be pit an, though I'm no
Hielander mysel', and I'll ask ye, Mess RAWSE, if DOUGAL MACRAE'S kelt
isn't too lang; it's jist losin his knees a' thegither, like a lassie he
looks in it!

    [Miss ROSE _declines, with some stiffness, to express an opinion
    on so delicate a point_.

_Mr. Parr._ (_recklessly_). I'll pit a sexpence on MACRAE wi' ye, come
noo!

_Mr. Havers._ Na, na, pit cawmpetent jedges on to deceede, and they'll
be o' my opeenion; but I'll no bait wi' ye.

_Mr. Parr._ (_his blood up_). Then I'll hae a sexpence on 't wi _you_,
Mester MCKERROW!

_Mr. McKerr._ Nay, I'm for MACRAE mysel'.... An' we're baith in the
richt o't too, for they've jist gien him the bit red flag--that means
he's got firsst prize.

_Mr. Parr._ (_to_ Mr. HAVERS, _with reproach_). Man, if ye'd hed the
speerit o' your opeenions, I'd ha won sexpence aff ye by noo!

_Mr. Havers._ (_obstinately_). I canna thenk but that MACRAE'S kelt was
too lang--prize or no prize. I'll be telling him when I see him that he
looked like a lassie in it.

_Mr. Parr._ (_with concern_). I wouldna jist advise ye to say ony sic a
thing to him. These Hielanders are awfu' prood; and he micht tak' it gey
ill fro' ye!

_Mr. Havers._ I see nae hairrm mysel' in jist tellin' him, in a
pleesant, daffin-like way, that he looked like a lassie in his kelt. But
there's nae tellin' hoo ye may offend some fowk; an' I'm thenking it's
no sae verra prawbable that I'll hae the oaportunity o' saying onything
aboot the maitter to him.

       *       *       *       *       *

MR. BRIEFLESS IS INTERVIEWED.

"A gentleman to see you, Sir," said my admirable and excellent clerk
PORTINGTON, a few days since, as I was looking through the circulars
that had accumulated on my table in Chambers during the earlier portion
of the long vacation.

"A client?" I queried.

"No, Sir, I think not," was the reply, supplemented with a card placed
on my desk. "At least, I do not remember the name in your fee-book."

"You do not believe he has called on any errand of an unpleasant
character?"

"Oh no, Sir!--the rates have been in for a fortnight. If I might hazard
a suggestion, I should say he was a literary gentleman."

I smiled, but was a little uncertain as to the better course of action.
No doubt the man of letters was seeking an interview with a view to its
subsequent reproduction. I am not altogether in favour of these public
betrayals of private affairs, but considered that there could be no harm
in this instance if I consented to see the journalistic intruder. To
tell the truth, of late--much to my annoyance--reports have been in
circulation rather prejudicial to my pecuniary credit. I am not a rich
man. In these hard times who is? But for all that I am able to keep the
wolf from the door, and maintain a position not derogatory to the status
of barrister-at-law. It occurred to me, as I requested PORTINGTON to
admit the visitor, that perhaps the meeting might lead to satisfactory
results. If the caller happened to be an interviewer, I might "inspire"
him.

[Illustration]

"Mr. A. BRIEFLESS, Jun., I think," said the new comer, as he seated
himself in a chair and referred to a pocket-book. I bowed. "This is not
your private address--these are your chambers?"

"Certainly," I returned; "but perhaps, before we go further, you will be
so good as to tell me what you want?"

"Well, briefly, a statement of your affairs for the last three years. I
will not trouble you for anything of an earlier date."

I again inclined my head. I was not altogether pleased with my visitor's
manner. He was certainly abrupt, and he adopted a tone of authority that
jarred upon my nerves. Possibly he wished to give the account of our
interview to our cousins across the Atlantic. If this were so, I need
not be over-scrupulous in my statements. Americans are accustomed to the
rouge of exaggeration on the cheek of fact. So I would convey a false
impression if I omitted, so to speak, the magnifying cosmetic.

"You do not propose to make public anything in this country?"

"Assuredly not," he replied. "All you say will be treated
confidentially, save with the necessary exceptions."

I was satisfied. Of course the exceptions would be the people in the
Republic of the West. I told him that my practice was a large one.

"Indeed?" As it struck me that the exclamation savoured of surprise, I
thought it advisable to repeat the statement with emphasis.

"Yes," I continued, "there are many of my brethren at the Bar, better
known to the world than I am, who would be pleased to change places with
me. Because my name does not appear very frequently in the newspapers
you must not imagine that I am idle. On the contrary, my chamber
practice is immense--distinctly immense."

"Really," he murmured, and then mentioned the names of two or three of
my learned friends whose incomes were decidedly considerable, and asked
me if I deemed my practice equal to theirs.

"You put me in rather a delicate position," I returned with a smile. "Of
course, I do not know the exact amount of the takings of the gentlemen
to whom you have referred, but personally, I should consider my own
practice more lucrative than theirs."

"Well, I _do_ know their receipts," said my interviewer, "so I can
estimate yours. Thank you very much. And now is there any other source
of income omitted? Have you houses or shops, or anything of that sort?"

"As a barrister, I am prevented from trading," I replied, again with
hauteur. And then I continued: "I am afraid you take too deep an
interest in the commercial side of my career. What you should wish to
learn, as my introducer to the American public, is my opinion on matters
of the day. Now, for instance, I believe----"

"Pardon me," interrupted my visitor, rather brusquely. "But you have
told me all I desire to know."

I bowed, and then I asked in what publication I might expect to see the
interview.

"See the interview!" exclaimed the caller. "What interview?"

"Why," I explained, rather angrily, "the interview between you and me.
You are a journalist, are you not?"

"A journalist! Certainly not! What made you think that?"

"Then, Sir," I cried, indignantly, "what right had you to force yourself
into my presence, and waste my time in asking a number of useless, and,
I may add, impertinent questions?"

"I had the right, and the questions were neither useless nor
impertinent."

"Explain yourself, Sir."

"With pleasure;" and then he added, with a smile that did not provoke
its fellow on my own countenance, "you must know that I am an assessor
of income tax!"

Comment would be superfluous!

  (_Signed_) A. BRIEFLESS, JUN.

  _Pump-handle Court, October 10, 1895._

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

Messrs. BLACKWOOD have got as far as _Felix Holt_ in the re-publication
in popular form of the works of GEORGE ELIOT. It would be interesting to
know how the venture has fared with the popular fancy for which it was
designed. It is said young men and maidens of the present date cannot
read the CHARLES DICKENS whose books enthralled their fathers and
mothers. How does GEORGE ELIOT, who in her day held a position with the
novel-reading public second only to CHARLES DICKENS, withstand the
changes of fancy and fashion? My Baronite has been trying the experiment
on himself by reading again, after the lapse of many years, _The Mill on
the Floss_. He reports that he finds the first volume flag a little, by
reason of the minute record of childhood's troubles and schoolday tasks.
But in the second volume, where the tragedy of love is worked out with
surpassing power and infinite skill, the old spell is woven again. _The
Mill on the Floss_ is certainly one of the best of GEORGE ELIOT'S
novels, being completed before the malign influence of schoolmaster
GEORGE HENRY LEWES made itself felt. To this extent, it is not a fair
test of the problem suggested. But the collection as a whole is rich in
value. In "the Standard edition" Messrs. BLACKWOOD present it in
daintiest form, and at a marvellously cheap price.

[Illustration]

_The Shoulder of Shasta_ is not a new joint from an entirely new animal,
as those who are tired of "the Shoulder of Mutton" may be sorry to hear;
but, it is a charming romance, in one volume, written by BRAM STOKER at
his best. The heroine's name is "_Esse_"; and the whole interest of the
story lies in the question, "_Esse_ or _non Esse_"--"to be or not to be"
the wife of "_Mr. Dick_." For there is a "_Mr. Dick_"--not in any way
related to DICKENS'S "_Mr. Dick_,"--who is a kind of Buffalo Bill among
the Indians. There is a _Miss Gimp_, a governess, whose peculiarities
certainly do recall those of _Mrs. Nickleby_. Mr. BRAM STOKER'S plot is
a _boîte à surprise_, and yet a most simple and natural story. Go to
your butcher's and order _The Shoulder of Shasta_, to be served up "_à
la_ STOKER." N.B.--For "butcher's" read "bookseller's"; 'tis published
by "A Constable" who "knows what subjects to take up," says the
thoughtful

  BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

       *       *       *       *       *

Cursory Rhyme.

(_By an Elderly Victim of Cyclomania._)

  Rush-a-by, rush-a-by, biking man!
  Kick up a shindy as loud as you can.
  Frighten me, floor me, then chortle with glee,
  And fly away fast from the gutter and me.

       *       *       *       *       *

RACING NOTE.--"_Fiorizel II._" seems to be an unfortunate name for a
horse expected and intended to be "_Fiorizel the First_."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: UNLUCKY SPEECHES.

"WHAT A LOT OF PEOPLE THERE WERE AT THE WORTLEBURYS LAST WEEK--AND YET
HOW DULL IT WAS!"

"YES, DEAR. BUT IT WAS MUCH BRIGHTER AFTER YOU LEFT."]

       *       *       *       *       *

FOUND WANTING.

  Appoint a Poet Laureate, some prate,
    But that's impossible, and wise men know it,
  Because, 'midst many a would-be Laureate,
    We cannot find a--Poet!
  Well, there is _one_; but him both Whig and Tory hate;
  Whence he, although a Poet, is not Laureate!
  And, after all, JOHN BULL is little loth
  To wait, until he finds one who is both.
  For, after TENNYSON, the choice, we see,
  Doth lie 'twixt--Tweedledum and Tweedledee!
  Because they are not good enough who crave it,
  Whilst one or two more worthy will not have it.

       *       *       *       *       *

ADDITION TO MAGISTRATE'S DECISION.--Professor to be henceforth entitled
"_Il Ré Galantuomo_." Who? RAY! Hooray!

       *       *       *       *       *

SCRAPS FROM CHAPS.--A SPIRIT LICENCE.--At the Limerick Quarter Sessions,
a landlord at Loughgur sought a new licence for his inn.

    The applicant stated that he intended to keep a boat there for
    the convenience of tourists.

    _His Honour_--What are the features of antiquity there?

    _The Applicant_--there are old castles and ruins.

    _Mr. Lowndes_--And the White Knight of Desmond crosses the lake
    once every five or ten years.

    _His Honour_--And he is only seen by your patrols. (_Laughter._)
    If this licence were granted, I suppose the White Knight would
    cross the lake every night! (_Laughter._)

Of course he would! A phantom in a boat, if properly advertised, would
probably "draw" the Saxon tourist in his hundreds. Here is a chance for
the Psychical Research Society.

       *       *       *       *       *

WOODMAN, SPARE _NOT_ THAT TREE!

    (_Song of the Suburban tree-slaughtering savage, whose axe and
    saw and cord are rapidly making umbrageous neighbourhoods
    hideous._)

  Woodman, spare not that tree!
    Leave not a single bough!
  In youth it sheltered me,
    So I'll destroy it now.
  Tall trees infest the land,
    Rurality is rot!
  Nought but a stump shall stand
    On this once shady spot.

  An old umbrageous tree
    Makes suburb less like town;
  It spreads too far for me,
    Up, axe, and hew it down!
  Woodman, ply stroke on stroke,
    Till prone on earth it lies;
  (Oh! isn't it a joke?)
    Once towering to the skies!

  Woodman, and woodman's boy,
    Bring axe, and saw, and spade,
  Hack, lop and top, with joy;
    Destruction is your trade!
  It grew for many a year;
    It's growth, fools say, is grand.
  Eh? Spare its charms? No fear!
    No bough of it shall stand!

  When comes again the spring
    No leafage forth 'twill send;
  No bird thereon shall sing,
    No breeze its branches bend.
  Old tree, no more thou'lt wave
    O'er this suburban spot!
  If _I_ my will might have,
    The axe should fell the lot!

       *       *       *       *       *

"HOI ADELPHOI" (the Messrs. GATTI), the Adelphians, or, as friend WAGG
would necessarily call them, the "Fill-adelphi-uns," have a stirring
Life-boat Scene in Messrs. SCOTT and THOMAS'S drama _The Swordsman's
Daughter_. Where there are so many rapiers flashing--not one of them
pointless--the piece might have suffered from cutting. As it is, the
display of fence is most exciting. Mr. TERRISS the swordsman, Miss
MILLWARD his daughter, are excellent; and this is true of the entire
performance. As for Mr. ABINGDON, he is becoming a greater villain in
every play of his life. He'll end by being hung in the Royal Academy. Of
course, first of all, he will have to be "taken from life" by the hand
of some distinguished painter.

       *       *       *       *       *

POT-LUCK.--A sportsman named Mr. ALLAN GILMOUR, junior, has been
credited with recently shooting "the first specimen of the solitary
snipe" that had been seen in England. Writing to a Scotch paper, he
says, "As snipe-shooting has been my favourite sport for the last
twenty-eight years, during which time I have killed over 4,000 snipe
without ever getting a shot at a 'solitary,' I am naturally very
pleased."

  For years he'd hunted all in vain,
    But when the time was ripe,
  His fortune changed--he really bagged
    A solitary snipe.

  There are who find their chiefest joy
    A friend, a feast, a pipe;
  But Mr. GILMOUR'S heaven is here--
    A solitary snipe.

  O PETER MAGNUS[A] GILMOUR, we
    Must tears of envy wipe
  That you can count it bliss to pot
    A solitary snipe!

[A: "'It is calculated to cause them the highest
gratification,' said Mr. Pickwick, rather enjoying the ease with which
Mr. Peter Magnus's friends were amused."]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "LA GLOIRE!"

FRENCH SOLDIER. "I SUFFER--I DIE! NO MATTER!--OUR VICTORY WILL ANNOY
JOHN BULL!" (_Vide French Press._)

"What the French have to consider is the balance of advantages for
France, not the balance of disadvantages for England."--_Times, Oct.
9._]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: WANTED, A REPARTEE.

"PLEASE, SIR, GIVE ME A PENNY!"

"YOU SHOULDN'T BEG, MY BOY. WHY SHOULD I GIVE YOU MY MONEY ANY MORE THAN
YOU SHOULD GIVE ME YOURS?"

"I AIN'T GOT NO MONEY, AND YOU 'AVE!"

"AH, BUT SUPPOSE YOU'D GOT A PENNY AND I HADN'T!"

"THEN I'D GIVE MINE TO _YOU!_"]

       *       *       *       *       *

CABBY; OR, REMINISCENCES OF THE RANK AND THE ROAD.

(_By "Hansom Jack."_)

    No. VIII.--MORE HARMONY--BUSTER'S LATEST--"HI! FOUR-WHEELER!"--A
    CAB'S A CAB FOR ALL THAT.

  "Harmony Hall," or the "Hullaboo Brothers," as chippers will call us
          when chaffy or teasy,
  Was O. K. last night. Missis CHUFFING 'ad given a tittivate-up to our
          own Free-and-Easy.
  CHUFFING'S the Bung, and 'is wife is a wonder; a sort of a woman as
          straight as they make 'em,
  Yet jolly as June. _They_'re the helpmeets for men; and my tip is
          whenever you find 'em _you take 'em!_

  Bless 'er blue ribbings! She beams like a sunflower in a back yard to
          a chap lyin' seedy,
  Women like 'er _is_ the sunshine of life, and make up for the swarms
          as are grubby and greedy.
  Touched up our room for Benevolence Night till the sandy-floored back
          parlour warmed our old noses.
  Wonderful wot female fingers can do with a green branch or two and a
          few paper roses.

  "BARNEY THE BARD" 'ad been "Wooing the Mooses" agen--so 'e put it--and
          faked up some patter
  For our "Extry-Speshul," and, set to a tune free and fetchin', it went
          with a good clitter-clatter.
  _I_'ad to pipe it this time, and I tell you I'd stood lots o' chipping
          from chums, and lost fares, too,
  Whilst mugging the words on my box at odd moments, to be
          "letter-puffeck" as all our chaps cares to.

  "You _do_ break down," says B. B., "and I'll bash you!" The smart
          "little mush," five foot nix in 'is 'igh-lows,
  Emagines 'isself quite a small pocket-Samson, and swears 'e 'as got
          knotty muscles, "like MILO'S."
  "MILO?" sez I; "no, nor yet a arf-MILO!" "Oh, cheese it," sez BUSTER.
          "Don't show you've _no_ knowledge."
  BUSTER'S a bit of a scholard, no doubt, and 'e swears--when well
          on--that 'e once went to College.

  Anyhow, _'e_'s a good sort, and _can_ patter. 'E gave the poor Growler
          a look-in this journey,
  Seein' as how our whip-round was for one, and B. B. is as wide-oh as
          WICKS, our attorney.
  Old BUNGO, our chairman, called on me. I rose, and got such a
          reception, a regular squealer.
  And soon as the loud sisserary was over, I tipped 'em, _kon bryo_, the
          BUSTER'S "_Four-wheeler!_"

    HI! FOUR-WHEELER!!

  "Hansom up!" may be the cry when the day is fine and dry,
    But wait till it comes night, and a fair drencher.
  Then they lead me a rare dance, and don't give me arf a chance,
    Of a doss, a peck, a pipe, or modest quencher.
  Then through dark, and frost, and wet, there's another cry, you bet,
    From the mouth of shiverin' swell, or shoutin' Peeler.
  Toffy dames drag cloak and skirt round damp hankles from the dirt,
  As they shrink from the chill wind, and the shower's sputtery squirt,
    And the cry is then--_Four-wheeler! Hi!! Four-wheeler!!!_

  Ah, it's all pertikler well for smart beauty and 'er swell,
    When a-toolin' to the concert or theayter,
  Up the Forder's step to trip, and into the 'Ansom skip,
    Like a fawn or other nimble, slim-shank'd craytur.
  But returnin' through thick fog, or a roadway like a bog,
    When the 'Ansoms turn deaf hears to the swell squealah;
  When a friend or two turns hup, and they arsk 'em 'ome to sup,
  Then a very 'umble phiz wears the supersillyass pup
    As 'e bellers hout--_Four-wheelah! Hi!! Four-wheelah!!!_

  Yus! I'm only "Grumpy GAPES," with my arf-a-dozen capes,
    And my sticking-plarster 'at and mulberry boko
  (_That_'s pine-happle rum, they blether, 'lowing nothink for the
          weather),
    And I 'ave to give my poor old crock hot toko,
  Just to myke 'er break 'er trot, when the toffs put on the pot
    (Then they bully me and say they'll call the Peeler).
  But so 'elp me JIMMY JONES, tho' I'm stiff in my old bones,
  There _are_ times when swells appeal to me in most perthetick tones,
    And bleat out a sad--_Four-wheeler! Hi!! Four-wheeler!!!_

  Then there's 'orty Mistress BROWNE,-when she's goin' out o' town,
    With five kiddies, and a arf-a-ton o' boxes;
  Wot's the use, I arsk you, Sir, of a "Shrewsbury" to _'er?_
    These yer middle-clarss mammas are sly as foxes.
  Know the distance to a hinch, and will 'aggle, bate, and pinch,
    With the sharpness of a 'Ebrew ole clo-dealer.
  They are wuss than mean old codgers, some old female Artful Dodgers,
  And I'd sooner 'ear the ghost of Missis JACKERMETTY PRODGERS
    Callin' hout to me--_Four-wheeler! Hi!! Four-wheeler!!!_

  Then a little lot of gents, wot 'as met with "hac-ci-dents"
    (In the matter of a trifle too much "tiddley"),
  Who tune up like hanything, though whene'er they try to sing
    They will mix up "_Tarblow Vivong_" with "_Bob Ridley_."
  Hah! "There's a picture for yer!" 'Ow they waste yer time and bore
          yer,
    Then mix theirselves up, reglar 'ead-and-'eeler!
  'Ansom cab for them? Oh, no! _They_ want room to _sprawl_, and so,
  Though, when sober, they'd cock snook at me as fusty and too slow,
    When bosky, 'tis--_Four-wheeler! Hi!! Four-wheeler!!!_

  Yah! Though every cad and 'owler sniffs at me and calls me Growler,
    I'm the old original, useful 'ackney carriage.
  I'm a "Clarence." That's _my_ style, though the ignerant my smile,
    And at outing, sick case, funeral or marriage,
  I lick the 'Ansom wholly, and knock out the cabrioley.
    Yus! I feel the touch of Time, that pleasure-stealer.
  But old Grumpy GAPES, you bet, braves the frost, and fog, and wet,
  And whilst luggage and bad weather lasts, for many a long day yet,
    London's cry will be--_Four-wheeler! Hi!! Four-wheeler!!!_

  "_Four-wheeler!_" went down well as "_Hansom Up!_" Yessir! When
          Harmony's on and Benevolence guides it,
  A Growler's a _cab_, just the same as a Forder, and 'e aint no
          "Cabby," true grit, as derides it.
  Cape Clubs and Rug Clubs is all very proper, and so is your Sick Fund
          and Friendly Society,
  But a friendly whip-round, with a sing-song worked in, and no swagger
          or fuss, is _my_ favrit variety.

       *       *       *       *       *

"A BIG, BIG 'D.'"--The _Times_ of last Thursday reports that a scheme
was submitted to the Chester Town Council "_for damming the river Dee_."
The scheme was approved of, and the Council cried, as in chorus,
"Dee-cidedly! Dam the Dee!" _Minute._--That the Dee be damm'd
accordingly.

       *       *       *       *       *

DR. PARKER'S RESPECTFUL FEW WORDS TO THE POPE.--"_Parker Verba._"

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: SCENES AT THE UGANDA EXHIBITION OF 1900.

No. II.--THE "COSTER" VILLAGE WAS A NEVER-FAILING SOURCE OF AMUSEMENT TO
THE VISITORS!]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Middle-aged Novice._ "I'M JUST OFF FOR A TOUR IN THE
COUNTRY--'BIKING' ALL THE WAY. IT'LL BE FOUR WEEKS BEFORE I'M BACK IN MY
FLAT AGAIN."

_Candid Friend._ "AH! BET IT WON'T BE FOUR HOURS BEFORE YOU'RE FLAT ON
YOUR BACK AGAIN!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

ROUNDABOUT READINGS.

I am at Davos. Be careful about the pronunciation: put the accent
broadly on the second syllable, and you have it. With me, if I may say
so, it is a case of _Davos non vobis_, for I have come here not for my
own health, but to act as travelling-companion to one of the best
fellows in the world, who seeks health and strength in this quiet and
beautiful valley. God be with him, and with all his fellow-sufferers
here. Here are some notes taken on the way.

_Hall of the Grosvenor Hotel, 10.30 A.M._--A mixed crowd of anxious
French and English people: a sprinkling of Americans. Desperate
inquiries from an elderly French lady for her box. A moment ago the box
was visible, a monumental box peacefully reposing near the door. Now it
has vanished. Is the box to be added to the questions pending between
France and England? No; it is found--on a truck. The French Ambassador
may rest in peace. On a sofa reclines a magnificent Arab, tall, stately,
bronzed, aquiline, robed in a waving burnous and a turban of dazzling
white. How he casts our puny, ditto-suited, cloth-capped civilisation
into the shade. An almost irresistible impulse comes over me to change
my ticket, break every tie and make a dash with him for his native
desert, to live a free and untrammelled life, to head a successful
insurrection against the French oppressor, to be laid after death in a
splendid tomb with a cupola amidst the lamentations of thousands of
lithe and dusky warriors.

_11 A.M._--We are off; handshakings, wavings of handkerchiefs. Still
dreaming of Algeria, I am recalled to actuality by a stoppage at Herne
Hill.

_Calais._--The home of the _demi-poulet_, not forgetting the
_flageolet_. Perpetual entrances of imperturbable officials with chorus
"_Les voyageurs pour...._" Consequent series of shocks inimical to quiet
eating. At last our turn comes. Each of us has bagged a _demi-poulet_ in
record time. Why all this hurry? At any rate we are off.

_Laon, 7 P.M._--Dinner. English traveller wants whisky. "_Avez vous doo
visky?_" Lady of restaurant shakes her head. "_Visky Ecossais. Eau de
vie Ecossais._" A brilliant inspiration, but the landlady, protesting
she can supply _eau de vie_, denies all knowledge of the Scotch variety.
"Perhaps," says a helpful old lady, an English fellow-traveller, looking
at the tariff-board on which the word "_rhum_" figures, "perhaps they
call it 'room.'" Suggestion received with enthusiasm: "_Avez vous doo
room?_" Enter guard: "_Les voyageurs pour Bâle._" Only just time to pay.
Off we go again.

_Bâle, 5.30 A.M._--Train stops: consultation of watches. Can't be Bâle:
not due till 6.30. Another hour for sleep; turn over, when door opens
suddenly and an alarmed Swiss porter ejaculates "_Mais deshendez donc,
Monsieur, le drain fa bartir_." Out we go: the sky becomes dark with
hats, sticks, wraps, handbags. Have we got everything? Yes--no--where is
my waistcoat? Quite forgot I had discarded it at night: it contains
watch, money, everything. Approach of beaming porter carrying waistcoat
like a banner. Transference of silver from self to porter. He beams more
and more. Unduly early arrival explained by fact that we are now under
Central European time. Breakfast.

At Bâle I purchase the Paris _Temps_ of to-day's date. An article on the
Swiss Referendum. At last I am at close quarters with the Referendum.
Question for decision was, is the sale of matches to be a State
monopoly? The Swiss voter has said no by an overwhelming majority. The
_Temps_, analysing results, sees in this "a victory of the individualist
spirit, and of French tradition over the German spirit instilled in the
universities of Zurich, Berne, and Bâle, or brought home by Swiss
writers and politicians who have studied in Germany itself." Sédan is
avenged. It appears, too, that the Swiss voter is getting bored with
Referendums. He has had too many of them, and on this occasion barely
half of him recorded his vote. Merry Swiss voter, awaking on a Sunday
morning, inquires of his merry Swiss wife, "Any voting to-day, my dear?"
"Only those silly matches," replies M. S. W. "Oh, drat they matches,"
says merry Swiss voter (or words to that effect). "I'm not going to
trouble about _that_," and turns over to sleep again. Anyhow, matches
are not to be a State monopoly. Long live the Referendum!

_On the way to Landquart._--Sudden alarm of my companion. He clutches my
arm, and points to the roof of railway carriage, saying, in an
awe-struck voice, "What does that mean; why do they put that word
there?" Following with my eyes the direction of his finger, I notice
white dial, with moveable hand, let into roof. Plainly painted in bold
letters on one side of the dial is the word "hell." On the other side,
however, I see the German word "dunkel," which, of course, makes things
clear. Quite natural, though, that apparatus for turning light up and
down should, at first sight, be mistaken for a Salvation Army warning.

_Landquart, 1.16 P.M._--Lunch. Here the toy railway to Davos begins. We
have still more than 3000 feet to climb before reaching our destination.
Obtain beautifully-coloured little pamphlet with map. Learn that we are
about to travel on "highest adhesion railway in Europe." Prepare
ourselves to be as adhesive as possible by taking in immense amount of
ballast in the shape of lunch. On consulting map, presumably drawn to
scale, find that Davos is at least five times the size of London, which
figures minutely in upper left-hand corner. This is delightful. Delight,
however, dashed by observing that the distance from Landquart to Davos
is nearly three times as great as from London to Bâle. Still, after the
shock of finding ourselves under Central European time, we are prepared
for most things. At last the little toy engine puffs violently,
metaphorically takes off its coat, and, like _Mr. Snodgrass_, announces
in a very loud tone that it is going to begin. We start! Hurrah, we
adhere!!

       ***

Up, up, and still up we climb, hanging on here and there by our eyebrows
to mountain precipices, and peering down into chasms on the other side.
Still we adhere and the gallant little engine puffs away like mad.
Amiable Swiss guard takes a paternal pride in it, in the train, in the
scenery, and (after usual transference of silver) in us. Have we ever
been at Davos before? No? In that case, it appears, we must prepare for
pleasures before which the overrated amusements of Paris and Vienna pale
and dwindle. Davos at last.

       ***

_Davos._--Wonderfully hearty reception at the Hôtel d'Angleterre. Mr.
DEMMER smiles, Mrs. DEMMER smiles, the boots, the waitress, the
housemaid all smile. We smile, too, and find everything prepared in
rooms of the most brilliant cleanness: dinner, and so to bed.

Conversation in Davos is of great simplicity. We are all either invalids
or the friends of invalids. At first hearing it would appear as if a
gigantic ball, at which nobody danced, was perpetually taking place.
"Have you been sitting out much to-day?" "Yes, I sat out nine hours."
"Ah, I only managed to get in seven," &c., &c. For the pure and perfect
air is the main element of the cure at Davos, and in nearly all weathers
the invalids are on the verandahs drawing in these draughts of new life
and vigour.

On the following morning I stroll. Remember that, curiously enough, I
haven't seen a single soldier since I arrived in Switzerland. Here,
however, is a photographic group of non-commissioned officers of the
Davos section of some infantry regiment. All their implements of warfare
are drawn, a martial defiance gleams from every eye. In the centre of
the group two of the most warlike cross their protecting swords in front
of a tall lady, allegorically attired in cloak and scale-armour to
represent Helvetia. I immediately abandon contemplated invasion and
annexation of Switzerland.

A band is playing under an arcade of glass in front of the _Kurhaus_.
They play really admirably--as good a band, as I have heard for a long
time. But they are all, to a flute, dressed in black frock-coats,
tightly buttoned, and black top-hats, for all the world like a
provincial British municipality out for a holiday. Everything, save for
the band, is wonderfully peaceful. A few cows browse in the valley,
their pleasant bells drowsily tinkling. The surrounding mountains have
donned their white crowns in our honour: the snowy, silent peaks glitter
in the brilliant sun. In front of our hotel a retriever puppy, with an
imperfect control over his paws, engages in a romp with a little white
dog. He bowls over the little white dog, and, before he has quite
recovered from the shock, bowls him over again. This is too much for the
white dog's dignity: he bites the retriever violently in a tender part
of the back. Woe, woe, the game is over, and the puppy flies homeward.
In the afternoon the colony sits out again; it sits out finally after
dinner. And so the quiet days proceed, for the time of toboggans and
skates is not yet. It is a peaceful, a delightful spot, and on every
hand are to be met hale and hearty folk who drifted hither, derelict
wrecks, to be towed into haven and made sound for many a voyage. The
tales of complete cures vary the conversational record of hours of
sitting out. St. Luke, the good physician, is the patron saint of the
little English Church here, and might well be the patron saint of Davos
itself.

       *       *       *       *       *

A COUNCIL OF WAR.--The pugnacity which tradition tells us was the chief
characteristic of the Kilkenny Cat Conferences finds a parallel in a
recent meeting of Aberdare District Councillors, at which, among other
compliments, such as members bluntly accusing each other of falsehood,
the chairman advised a counsellor to go to the ---- gentleman whose name
is usually omitted in polite converse. The seconder of a motion proposed
by a Justice of the Peace, had the following remarkable and withering
invective hurled at him from the chair: "You know _nothing_ about it,
Mr. GEORGE knows but little, and _you know less_," while another
counsellor observed, "I should show at least that I had a little
brains." This gentleman is to be congratulated upon his consciousness of
superior cerebral strength, and if the council possesses but "little
brains" this deficiency is amply supplied by a corresponding wealth of
choler and a copious flow of wrathful language.

       *       *       *       *       *

"BONNIE DUNDEE."

[Illustration: Bonnie Dun-dee!]

There was something exceedingly pretty in the doings at Dundee the other
day when the burghers assembled to do honour to their old Member Mr.
ARMITSTEAD. In the Parliament of 1880-5 Mr. ARMITSTEAD'S commanding
presence was a familiar and welcome feature. Since then, having piloted
Mr. GLADSTONE in successive journeys about the continent, his
personality has obtained a wider field of recognition. When, at Biarritz
and elsewhere, the population, tracking Mr. GLADSTONE, came upon this
tall, straight figure, with flowing beard and kindly honest eyes, they
thought he must be the Grand Old Man of whom they had heard so much.
They, it is said, cheered him accordingly, leaving Mr. GLADSTONE free
from embarrassing attention. That is probably a fable. Certainly, in
Dundee, where Mr. ARMITSTEAD lived and worked for forty years, there is
no chance of his being mistaken for any other G. O. M. Having retired
from public life, Dundee wanted to have a portrait of its most honoured
citizen. That was very nice, but as acceptance of the suggestion would
have involved his presence at the installation of the portrait, and the
making of a speech in response to all the kind things said, Mr.
ARMITSTEAD modestly shrank from the ordeal. But he managed, after all,
to gratify Dundee. He sat for his portrait at his own expense, gave it
to the city, and, represented to the life on canvas, felt at liberty to
absent himself from the public meeting at which the Lord Provost
accepted the picture on behalf of Dundee. Thus beyond the timorous Tweed
do Merit and Modesty dwell together.

       *       *       *       *       *

QUITE CORRECT.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,--In your number of Oct. 5, "AN INCONSTANT TRAVELLER"
quotes _Mrs. Malaprop_ as saying "Caparisons are odorous." Perhaps it
may interest him to know that the quotation correctly reads thus:--

"_Mrs. Malaprop._ No caparisons, Miss, if you please. Caparisons don't
become a young woman.--_The Rivals_, Act IV., Sc. 2."

"Comparisons are odorous," occurs in _Much Ado about Nothing_, Act III.,
Sc. 5.

  Yours,

  HETTIE SETTERER.

P.S. Enclosed advertisement is from the _Willesden Chronicle_:--

Young person, 23, short, dark, strict disciplinarian, wishes to
correspond with gentleman between 40 and 50, with view to matrimony.

What a "strict disciplinarian" to begin in this way. _And after?_

       *       *       *       *       *

A BACHELOR "BOWL'D."--What with many a "maiden over" and the taking of
three hundred wickets in first-class matches, TOM RICHARDSON is _facile
princeps_ in the bowling averages of the past cricket season. Now he has
"made a match" on the Matrimonial Ground, and among the numerous
presents received upon the auspicious occasion that which, perhaps, is
of most interest to the "fastest trundler" takes the shape of a
magnificent piano, the gift of a "syndicate" of admiring friends. His
favourite tune on a winter evening will, of course, be "_Tom Bowling_";
and what more appropriate, after some stirring anecdote relating to the
"hat-trick," than a spirited "_Bolero_"? Then, too, music descriptive of
a "leg-bye" may surely be found among PAD-EREWSKI'S compositions. By the
way, the Christian name of THOMAS, as shared by LOATES, RICHARDSON, and
MORRIS, stands high in the annals of contemporary sport.

  One strides the racing saddle and excels upon the flat,
  Another proves his power, with the leather, o'er the bat,
  A third is lion of the links--the Golfer's ecstacy;
  Thus "TOMMY" trebly triumphs in serene supremacy

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"ATHELSTANE THE UNREADY."--_Note from Dr. Brewer's Reader's Handbook:
"'Unready' does not mean 'unprepared,' but 'injudicious.'"_ Almost
everybody is angry with him. Bull-baiting is nothing to the new game of
Riling RILEY, the injudicious one! So chorus, gentlemen of the School
Board, if you please, and take the air from the composer of
"_Ballyhooly_,"--

        Is that Mr. RILEY?
        Our ATHELSTAN RILEY?
  Is that Mr. RILEY who rings the Church bell?

        It _is_ Mr. RILEY!
        He does nothing slily,
  And yet doesn't do it remarkably well.

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COVENT WINTER GARDEN.--Opera Wagnerensia in full bloom. Consule
Druriolano, Magistro Lorinerio, Equite. Sir DRURIOLANUS must introduce a
dance of Love-lorn Loriners.