Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 104, February 25, 1893
Author: Various
Language: English
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VOL. 104, FEBRUARY 25, 1893***


PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI

VOL. 104.

FEBRUARY 25, 1893.



MIXED NOTIONS.

No. V.--AGRICULTURAL DEPRESSION.

(_Scene and Persons as usual._)

_First Well-informed Man._ There hasn't been much in this debate on the
Addresses.

_Second W. I. M._ Oh. I don't know. They've promised a pretty big list of
measures. How they're going to find time for the lot I can't make out.

_First W. I. M._ (_contemptuously_). Yes, that's always the way with these
Governments. They all talk mighty big at the beginning of the Session, and
then, at the end, they've done nothing, absolutely nothing; at least,
nothing that's any good to anybody. Parliament's getting to be nothing but
a bear-garden. The House won't be a fit place for a gentleman to be seen in
soon.

_Second W. I. M._ (_spitefully_). You didn't seem to think it would be such
a bad place for one gentleman, about eight months ago. You were after a
constituency yourself, weren't you?

_First W. I. M._ Well, and what if I was? I told you at the time why I
thought of standing. I thought I could do some good, but I precious soon
found they were a miserable lot, so I made 'em my bow. "Gentlemen," I said,
"you can worry it out among yourselves, and, when you've agreed, you can
let me know."

_Second W. I. M._ And they never did let you know, did they? Went and
elected another Johnny. Deuced bad taste I call it.

_Inquirer_ (_creating a diversion_). Look here, I say, what's all this talk
about Agricultural Depression? What does it mean?

_First W. I. M._ What does it mean! Why, my dear chap, I should have
thought that any schoolboy knew that our agriculture is being simply
ruined. If things go on like this, we shan't have a farmer left. They're
all on the verge of bankruptcy.

_Inquirer_ (_doggedly_). I daresay you're right; but, anyhow, I know, when
I was at Chilborough, the other day, I saw a lot of farmers about, and they
looked pretty fat and comfortable. That's why I can't make out what it all
means.

_First W. I. M._ (_resignedly_). Well, I suppose I must explain it all,
from the very beginning. The first point is, we've got Free Trade, and the
farmers want Protection; and old GLADSTONE and all the rest of them say
they're not to have it. Well, that isn't likely to put the farmers in a
good temper, is it? Then, of course, the Americans, and the Russians, and
the Indians see their chance, and they send ship-loads of food into this
country, and the taxes have to be paid all the same by our farmers.

_Second W. I. M._ (_interrupting_). What taxes?

_First W. I. M._ (_flustered_). I wish you wouldn't break in just as I'm
trying to make things clear. Why, the taxes on food, of course.

_Second W. I. M._ There aren't any taxes on food.

_First W. I. M._ Oh, indeed! Well, then, how do you explain Free Trade, and
rent, and all that?

_Second W. I. M._ Now you're getting a bit nearer. It's all a question of
rent. Free Trade's got absolutely nothing to do with it. What we want in
this country is a Sliding-scale.

_Inquirer._ What's a Sliding-scale?

_Second W. I. M._ (_taken between wind and water_). A Sliding-scale? Let me
see--it's very difficult to put these things shortly. A Sliding-scale is
a----well, it's a sort of patent mechanical contrivance for weighing out
things, so as to make it fairer than ordinary scales do. (_Plunges
recklessly._) You can make it slide up or down, you know, and fix it at any
point you like.

_Inquirer._ Really! What a rum-looking thing it must be. Have you ever seen
one?

_Second W. I. M._ Oh yes. They've got two or three in every big town.

_Average Man._ When did you last see it?

_Second W. I. M._ (_suspiciously_). Oh, I haven't seen one for some time.
It _may_ perhaps be a _little_ different now.

_Average Man._ Ah! [_A pause._

_Inquirer._ I see the Government's going to have an inquiry about
Agricultural Distress. How are they going to work it?

_First W. I. M._ Royal Commission, of course.

_Second W. I. M._ No, no. It's going to be a Select Committee.

_First W. I. M._ Well, what is the difference?

_Second W. I. M._ Surely _you_ know that. They only have Royal Commissions
for labour and that sort of thing. Committees don't get any pay, you know.

_Inquirer._ Of course. I ought to have remembered that. But who's this Lord
WINCHILSEA AND NOTTINGHAM, who's cutting about the country, talking about
agriculture! What does he know about it? I don't seem to recollect his
name.

_First W. I. M._ He's a Peer.

_Inquirer._ Yes, I know that; but why do they call him Lord WINCHILSEA
_and_ NOTTINGHAM?

_Average Man._ Because that's his name. [_A pause._

_Inquirer_ (_resuming_). But what is he driving at?

_First W. I. M._ He's got hold of the right end of the stick. It's just
this way. (_To_ Inquirer, _who winces under the imputation_.) You're a
foreign country, and I'm a British farmer. Well, you grow your corn for
nothing, and then you chuck it into my markets. Well, what I want to know
is, where do I come in? You may call that Free Trade, if you like--I call
it ruin. The result is, I'm smashed up, and the whole country goes to the
devil!

_Second W. I. M._ But you ought to consider the consumer.

_First W. I. M._ What do you mean by the consumer?

_Second W. I. M._ Why, myself, for instance. I get the benefit of it.

_First W. I. M._ Ah, you may _think_ you do, but you don't really. In the
end you've all to pay more for everything.

_Average Man._ Well, I'm pretty happy as things are.

_First W. I. M._ Oh, of course--and you'd let the land go out of
cultivation. That's mere selfishness.

_Inquirer._ How's that? Can't they work the land now?

_First W. I. M._ What a question! Of course they can't.

_Inquirer_ (_anxiously_). But I've seen 'em ploughing a bit lately.

_First W. I. M._ My dear Sir, they do it just to occupy time--they must do
something.

_Inquirer._ Of course--of course. [_Terminus._

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE RESOURCES OF CIVILISATION.

_M.P._ (_apostrophising ruined hat_). "VERY WELL, THEN, NEXT TIME THERE'S
GOING TO BE A RUSH, I'LL BRING A JAPANNED TIN HAT CHARGED WITH
ELECTRICITY--THEN LET HIM SIT ON IT!!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

Our amiable old friend, Mrs. R., came across a book entitled _Playthings
and Parodies_, by BARRY PAIN. "Oh, I _must_ buy _that_!" she exclaimed.
"I've seen him so often in the Pantomime at Drury Lane! And fancy his being
an Author, too! But I don't so much wonder at it, because I remember that,
when I was a little girl, there was a celebrated Shakspearian Clown at
Astley's called BARRY, and he sailed in a tub drawn by geese down the
Thames, and there was a wonderful Pantomime actor of the name of PAIN. And
now this talented gentleman turns out to be an Author as well!!"

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: RETURN OF "GRANDOLPH" THE WANDERER! "BE IT EVER SO HUMBLE,
THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE EVIDENCE OF WEALTH.

"AND WHO LIVES IN THE BIG HOUSE OPPOSITE?"

"MR. FLINDERS, SIR,--AND MRS. FLINDERS,--THE OLD VETERINARY SURGEON AND HIS
WIFE."

"THEY MUST BE PRETTY WELL OFF, I SHOULD THINK, TO LIVE IN A HOUSE LIKE
THAT?"

"OH YES, SIR, VERY RICH INDEED. WHY, THEY 'AD A GOLDEN WEDDING THERE, THE
WEEK BEFORE LAST!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

FINALITY.

     ["He was one of those who believed that, even in the ordinary
     legislation of the House, and still more in a measure of such
     complexity, it was the utmost folly to talk of finality!"--_Mr. J.
     Redmond the Home-Rule Bill._]

  Are our sage legislators, then, set upon finding
  A measure that's "final, conclusive, and binding,"
  As lawyer-phrase puts it? They might as well try
  To fix dawn in the East, or nail clouds to the sky!
  There's nothing that's "final" in infinite time,
  That great, goalless, measureless race-course sublime?
  In which relays of runners must keep up the race?
  There's nothing "conclusive" in limitless space;
  And "binding" man's soul to his best of to-day
  For the future of growth, in an absolute way,
  Were folly as futile as binding an oak
  To the seedling's first prop, or the sapling's first yoke;
  For provisional law, not for secular life,
  Such phrases are fit. Yet to heal age-long strife
  By the very best "betterment" now in our ken,
  Till--a better shines forth's the first duty of men.
  Do right to the height of our sight's actuality!--
  Yes, that is our best--and our only--Finality!

       *       *       *       *       *

An odd Advertisement frequently catches our eye. It is "_Dr. Gordon
Stables's Health Series_." Have the Gordon Stables anything to do with "the
Gordon Hotels"? If not, why not? as evidently they could work together to
their mutual benefit.

       *       *       *       *       *

_A History of Medicine_, by Dr. EDWARD BERDOE, is announced as shortly to
appear. It will be illustrated by a Black (-and-White) draughtsman.

       *       *       *       *       *

DESIGNS FOR MI-CARÊME.

(_To be worn as Costumes at the next International Fancy-Dress Ball._)

_The Emperor W-ll-m._--PAUL PRY on Tour.

_The Czar of R-ss-a._--Protection.

_The Sultan of T-rk-y._--Wrecked in Port.

_The Khedive of Eg-y-t._--Young Hopeful.

_The President C-rn-t._--A Dissolving View.

_Prince von B-sm-rck._--The Shadow of the Past.

_Count C-pr-vi._--The Substance of the Future.

_Vicomte de L-ss-ps._--A Lock on the Suez Canal.

_The Pr-m-r._--A Scotch Mixture of HOMER and Home Rule.

_Sir W-ll-m H-rc-t._--The latest of the Plantagenets.

_Mr. J-hn M-rl-y._--"To Dublin from _Pall Mall_."

_Lord R-nd-lph Ch-rch-ll._--The Prodigal Returned.

_Mr. Speaker P-l._--The chucker in.

_Mr. L-b-ch-re._--The Spirit of Te--ruth.

_The Marquis of S-l-sb-ry._--The Irish Emigrant.

_Mr. Arth-r B-lf-r._--Golf surviving Government.

_Mr. H-nry Irv-ng._--A Canterbury Pilgrim.

_Miss Ell-n T-rry._--A NUN, with none like her.

_Mr. J. L. T-le._--A Walker, Running, London and the Provinces.

       *       *       *       *       *

"I'M MANXIOUS TO KNOW."--The Isle of Man, it appears from Mr. SPENCER
WALPOLE'S book, has thriven on Home Rule. We all know that Club Land gets
on very well, Club-law being administered by men only, seeing that men only
are the governing and governed. But "Home" is the antithesis of the Club,
and Home Rule, domestically, means Female sovereignty. In the Isle of
Man-_sans_-Woman there can be no Home Rule properly so called. It must be
"_Homo Rule_."

       *       *       *       *       *

"HOME, SWEET HOME!"

(_Latest Parliamentary Version._)

_Returned Wanderer sings_:--

  'Mid gold-fields and lion-haunts though we may roam,
  Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home;
  A charm from the past seems to hallow us there,
  Which, trot round the globe, you will not meet elsewhere.
          Home! Home!
          Sweet, sweet home!
  Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home!

  An exile from home freedom dazzles in vain;
  Ah! give me my lowly front-bench seat again.
  The cheers, sounding sweetly, that come at my call,
  Give me these, and old pals of mine, dearer than all.
          Home! Ho-ome!
          Sweet, sweet home!
  Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home!

  (_Extra or encore verses on his own account._)

  The first seat was mine, but I forfeited _that_;
  Will they welcome the waif, kill the calf that is fat?
  Will dear ARTHUR rejoice to receive his lost chief?
  Will the Wanderer's return bring regret, or relief?
          Home! Ho-ome!
          Sweet, sweet home!
  Be it ever so humble (_winks_) there's no place like home!

  So _humble_! Oh yes! So seemed David, no doubt,
  Till he struck at GOLIATH and put him to rout.
  My giant--his name, too, begins with a G--
  Braves the whole of our hosts. I--no matter--_we_'ll see.
          Home! Ho-ome!
          Sweet, sweet home!
  Be it ever so humble (_grins_), there's no place like home!

       *       *       *       *       *

TREATS FOR TOMMY.--"What shall I do to amuse our little boy, aged fourteen,
when he returns home for Easter Vacation?" Why, certainly improve his mind.
Procure for him a free admission to the Geological Society, and let him
hear a paper on "Anthracite and Bituminous Coal-beds," likewise on
"Inclusions of Tertiary Granite." Take him to the Linnean Society, and
treat him to a lecture "On the Differentiation of the Protozoan Body
Microscopically Sectionised." Another evening may be given to "Mosses and
Sphagnums," not to be confounded with "Moses and Magnums." After this
little course, he may write to say that during the next vacation he would
prefer remaining at school.

       *       *       *       *       *

"I can't drink Champagne," quoth General BOOZER; "it gives me a red nose."
"No, it won't," replied his medical adviser; "that is, not if you drink
Pommery and _Grey-nose_."

       *       *       *       *       *

THE MAN FROM BLANKLEY'S.

A STORY IN SCENES.

     SCENE VIII.--_In the Drawing-room--Time, about 10._ Mrs. BODFISH _and_
     Mrs. DITCHWATER _are talking in confidential undertones on a settee_.
     Miss BUGLE'S _anxiety concerning her invalid Cockatoo has already
     obliged her to depart_. Mrs. GILWATTLE _is lecturing her Niece on a
     couch by the fire, while little_ GWENDOLEN _is in a corner with a
     Picture-book_.

_Mrs. Bodfish_ (_in a wheezy whisper_). If he had condescended to make
himself agreeable all round, I shouldn't say a _word_; but to sit there
talking to that little forward governess, and never an audible word from
first to last--well, I quite felt for poor dear Mrs. TIDMARSH being so
neglected at her own table.

_Mrs. Ditch._ Ah, my dear, if she _will_ have the aristocracy to dine with
her, she must put up with such treatment. I wouldn't stoop to such
presumption myself. And, if I _did_, I _would_ have a couple of _entrées_,
and everything carved _off_ the table! He'll go away with such a poor
opinion of us all!

_Mrs. Bod._ He must have noticed how the vegetable dishes were chipped! And
I'm sure I was ashamed to see she had put out those old-fashioned doyleys
with the finger-glasses. I wonder she never thought of getting some new
ones. I saw some the other day in the Grove, hand-worked, at only
five-pence three-farthings!

_Mrs. Ditch._ I could see _something_ was weighing on her mind, or she'd
have talked more to him. What is his title? It sounded like "STRATSPODDLE."
I must look it out in my Peerage. Would he be an Earl now, or what?

_Mrs. Bod._ I don't expect he's more than a Viscount, if so much. I do
think she might have _presented_ us to him, though!

_Mrs. Ditch._ It isn't the fashion to introduce, nowadays. But I consider
we are quite entitled to speak to him, if we get an opportunity--in fact,
he would think it very odd if we didn't! (_&c., &c._)

_Mrs. Gilwattle._ Well, MARIA, I say, as I said before, don't let it _turn
your head_, that's all! Depend upon it, this young nobleman isn't so
affable for nothing. He wouldn't dine with you like this unless he expected
to get _something_ out of it. What that something may be, you best know!

_Mrs. Tid._ (_to herself_). A guinea, at the very least! (_Aloud._) I'm
sorry you think my head's so easily turned, Aunt JOANNA! If you'd noticed
how I behaved to him, you wouldn't say so. Why, I scarcely _spoke_ to the
man!

_Mrs. Gilw._ I was _watching_ you, MARIA. And sorry I was to see that being
next to a member of the nobility overawed you to that extent you could
hardly open your mouth. So unlike your Uncle GABRIEL!

_Mrs. Tid._ (_hurt at this injustice_). Overawed, indeed! I'm sure it was
no satisfaction to _me_ to see him here! No, Aunt the only people I welcome
at _my_ table are those in my own rank of life--relations and old friends
like you and the others. And how you can think I was dazzled by a trumpery
title when I sent him in with the Governess----!

_Mrs. Gil._ Ah, you make too much of that girl, MARIA. I've noticed it, and
_others_ have noticed it. She takes too much upon herself! The _idea_ of
letting her forbid GWENDOLEN to recite--no wonder your authority over the
child is weakened! I should have _insisted_ on obedience.

[Illustration: Mrs. Gilwattle rises slowly, bristling with indignation.]

_Mrs. Tid._ (_roused_). I hope I know how to make my own child obey me.
GWENDOLEN, come out of that corner. Put down your book. (GWEN. _obeys_.) I
wish you to repeat something to your Auntie--what you refused to say
downstairs--_you_ know what I mean!

_Gwen._ Do you mean the thing Miss SEATON said I wasn't to, because you'd
be angry?

_Mrs. Tid._ (_majestically_). Miss SEATON had no business to know whether I
should be angry or not. She is only your Governess--_I_ am your Mother. And
I shall be extremely angry if you don't repeat it at once--in fact, I shall
send you off to bed. So you can choose for yourself.

_Gwen._ I don't want to go to bed ... I'll tell, if I may whisper it.

_Mrs. Tid._ Well, if you are too shy to speak out loud, you _may_ whisper.
You see, Aunt, I am not _quite_ such a cipher as you fancied!

     [GWEN. _puts her mouth to_ Mrs. GILWATTLE'S _ear, and proceeds to
     whisper_.


     SCENE IX.--_Breakfast-room--Time, the same as in the foregoing Scene._
     Mr. TIDMARSH, _after proposing to "join the ladies," much to the
     relief of_ Lord STRATHSPORRAN, _has brought him in here on the
     transparent pretext of showing him a picture_.

_Mr. Tid._ (_carefully closing the door_). I only just wanted to tell you
that I don't at all like the way you've been going on. It's not my wish to
make complaints, but there _is_ a limit!

_Lord Strath._ (_hotly_). There _is_--you're very near it now, Sir! (_To
himself._) If I quarrel with this little beggar, I shan't see MARJORY!
(_Controlling his temper._) Perhaps you'll kindly let me know what you
complain of?

_Mr. Tid._ Well, why couldn't you say you didn't smoke when my Uncle
offered you one of his cigars? You must have felt me kick you under the
table!

_Lord. Strath._ I did--distinctly. But I gave you credit for its being
accidental. And, if you wish to know, I said I smoked because I do. I don't
see why you should expect me to _lie_ about it!

_Mr. Tid._ I don't agree with you. I consider you ought to have had more
tact, after the hint I gave you.

_Lord Strath._ It didn't occur to me that you were trying to kick _tact_
into me. And, naturally, when I saw your Uncle about to smoke----

_Mr. Tid._ That was different, as you might have known. Why, _one_ cigar is
as much as my wife can stand!

_Lord Strath._ You--er--wouldn't wish her to smoke _more_ than one, surely?

_Mr. Tid._ (_outraged_). My wife smoke! Never did such a thing in her life!
She don't allow _me_ to smoke. She wouldn't allow Mr. GILWATTLE if he
wasn't her Uncle. And I can tell you, when she comes down in the morning,
and finds the curtains smelling of smoke, and hears you were the _other_, I
shall catch it!

_Lord Strath._ Sorry for you--but if you had only made your kick a trifle
more explanatory----

_Mr. Tid._ That's not _all_, Sir. When you saw me and my Uncle engaged in
talking business, what did you cut in for with a cock-and-bull story about
the Boxing Kangaroo being formed into a Limited Company, and say the
Kangaroo was going to join the Board after allotment? You couldn't really
believe the beast was eligible as a Director--an _animal_, Sir!

_Lord Strath._ Why not? They have _guinea-pigs_ on the Board occasionally,
don't they? But of course it was only a joke.

_Mr. Tid._ You weren't _asked_ to make jokes. My Uncle doesn't understand
'em--no more do I, Sir!

_Lord Strath._ No, I gathered that. (_Breaking out._) Confound it all, Sir,
what do you mean by this? If you didn't want me, why couldn't you tell me
so? You knew it before _I_ did! I don't understand your peculiar ideas of
hospitality. I've kept my temper as long as I could; but, dash it all, if
you force me to speak out, I will!

_Mr. Tid._ (_alarmed_). No, no, I--I meant no offence--you won't go and let
everything out now! It was a mistake, that's all--and there's no harm done.
You got your _dinner_ all right, didn't you? By the way, talking of that,
can you give me any idea what they'll charge me for this, eh? What's the
_regular_ thing now?

_Lord Strath._ (_to himself_). Extraordinary little bounder--wants me to
price his dinner for him! (_Aloud._) Couldn't give a guess!

_Mr. Tid._ Well, considering I sent round and all that, I think they ought
to make _some_ reduction--y'know. But _you_'ve nothing to do with that, eh?
I'm to settle up with BLANKLEY'S?

_Lord Strath._ I should say he would prefer your doing so--but it's really
no business of mine, and--er--it's getting rather late----

_Mr. Tid._ (_opening the door_). There, we'll go up. And look here, _do_
try and be a bit stiffer with my Uncle. It's too bad the way he goes on
my-lording you, y'know. You shouldn't encourage him!

_Lord Strath._ I wasn't aware I _did_. (_To himself._) Trying, this. But
never mind, I shall see MARJORY in another minute!

_Mr. Tid._ (_to himself_). The _airs_ these chaps give themselves! Oh, lor,
there's Uncle GABRIEL hooking on to him _again_. If he only knew! [_He
follows them upstairs uneasily._


     SCENE X.--_In the Drawing-room_; GWENDOLEN _is still whispering in_
     Mrs. GILWATTLE'S _ear_.

_Mrs. Gilw._ Eh? You're tickling my ear, child--don't come so close.
Louder. Yes, go on. "Sat next to him at dinner?" _Well_, what _about_
him?... _What?_... What's the child talking about now?... "A gentleman out
of BLANKLEY'S shop"!! "Hired for the evening"!!! Let her alone, MARIA, _I_
know who's telling the truth! So _this_ is your precious Nobleman, is it?
Oh, the _deceit_ of it all!

     [_The door opens, and_ Uncle GABRIEL _enters, clinging affectionately
     to_ Lord STRATHSPORRAN'S _arm_.

_Uncle Gab._ And when I take a fancy to a young fellow, my Lord, I don't
allow any social prejudices to stand in the way. I should say just the same
if you were a mere nobody. We ought to see _more_ of one another. I should
esteem it a distinguished favour if you'd honour me and my wife by dropping
in to a little dinner some evening; no ceremony; just a few quiet pleasant
people like ourselves. We'll see if we can't fix a day with my wife.

     [_He steers him across to_ Mrs. GILWATTLE.

_Lord Strath._ (_to himself_). Now, how the deuce am I going to get out of
_this_? And what have they done with MARJORY?

_Uncle Gab._ JOANNA, my love, I've been telling his Lordship here how
delighted and honoured we should be to see him at dinner some----

     [Mrs. GILWATTLE _rises slowly, bristling with indignation, and glares
     speechlessly at the unconscious_ Lord STRATHSPORRAN, _while_ Mrs.
     TIDMARSH _vainly attempts to appease her, as her husband and the other
     men enter. Tableau._

_End of Scene X._

       *       *       *       *       *

"At the Window."

  In dull days of sensational horrors, and wild would-be humorous hums,
  What delight to fly darkness, and watch the "Auld Licht," from "_A Window
            in Thrums_"!
  Let pessimists potter and pule, and let savages slaughter and harry;
  Give me _Hendry_, and _Tammas_, and _Jess_, and a smile, and a tear born
            of BARRIE.

       *       *       *       *       *

"The French," says Mrs. R., "have been shown up in a very queer light by
all these Panama candles."

       *       *       *       *       *

THE HOUSE THAT BILL (SYKES) BURGLED.

(Namely, that of Messrs. WALTER CROSS & CO., Jewellers, 8, Holywell Street,
Strand, as narrated in the _Times_ of the 16th inst.)

This is the House that BILL burgled.

This is the window, plastered with brown-paper and treacle, and then
broken, belonging to the House that BILL burgled.

This is the rope-ladder, attached to the window, plastered with brown-paper
and treacle, &c.

This is the show-case, reached by way of the rope-ladder attached to the
window, plastered with brown-paper and treacle, &c.

This is the "burglar-alarm," lately connected with the show-case, reached
by way of the rope-ladder, attached to the window, &c.

This is the bell that belonged to the "burglar-alarm," lately connected
with the show-case, &c.

This is the wire that rang the bell, that belonged to the "burglar-alarm,"
lately connected with the show-case, &c.

[Illustration]

This is the telephone that communicated with Bloomsbury, set in motion by
the bell, rung by the wire, &c.

This is the dog who barked at the bell, agitated by the telephone that
communicated with Bloomsbury, &c.

This is the man unshaven, unshorn, aroused from his sleep in the early morn
by the dog who barked at the bell, &c.

These are the "Bobbies," all forlorn, called on by the man unshaven,
unshorn, aroused from his sleep in the early morn, by the dog who barked at
the bell, &c.

[Illustration]

And this is the burglar, smiling in scorn, who escaped by the rope-ladder,
window-sill-borne, and evaded the Bobbies all forlorn, called on by the
man, unshaven, unshorn, aroused from his sleep in the early morn, by the
dog who barked at the bell, agitated by the telephone, set in motion by the
wire, attached to the burglar-alarm, connected with the show-case, reached
by way of the rope-ladder, hooked to the window, plastered with brown-paper
and treacle, belonging to the House that BILL burgled.

[Illustration]

       *       *       *       *       *

SUGGESTIONS FOR RIDE PARK.

"Many improvements," the _Daily News_ writes, "in the arrangement of the
Parks in the West End" have been made. Have they? Perhaps visible to the
eye assisted by _Mr. Weller's_ "pair o' patent double million magnifyin'
gas microscopes of hextra power." But why, for the hundredth time we ask,
and every equestrian asks as well, why aren't rides made across Kensington
Gardens from Princes' Gate to Bayswater? Beautiful rides they would be
under the trees, and thus varying the wearisome monotony of the round and
round squirrel-in-a-cage sort of routine exercise, to which the Rotten-Row
Riders are purgatorially bound. Also, why not a ride right across Hyde Park
from the Achilles Statue to an exit facing about Albion Street, Bayswater?
What difficulties can there be which a First Commissioner of Works
representing an actively Liberal and Progressive policy could not carry out
for the benefit of the Mounted Liver Brigade and the Light Cavalry?

       *       *       *       *       *

Old Father Thames is still rather dirty. We often hear of "The Thames
Basin." Why doesn't Father Thames use it,--with soap? What a chance here
for a P**rs' advertisement.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: FROM THE EMERALD ISLE.

"JUST MAKE IT A COUPLE OF SHILLINGS, CAPTAIN DEAR!"--"NO!" "EIGHTEENPENCE
THEN, MAJOR!"--"NO!"

"OCH THIN, COLONEL DARLING, JUST THREPPENCE FOR A GLASS O'
WHISKEY!"--"_NO_, I TELL YOU!"

"GIT OUT WID YE THIN, YE BOA CONSHTHRUCTOR, SURE AN' I KNOW'D YE ALL THE
TOIME!"

     [_N.B._--_The Fare is the Head of an eminent Firm of Furriers in
     Kilconan Street, and cultivates a martial appearance._]

       *       *       *       *       *

A BIG LION AMONG THE LITTLE 'UNS.

"Daniel in the Lions' Den" will occur to many on reading how HENRY IRVING
ventured into and actually dined as the distinguished guest of a society
styling itself "The Playgoers' Club." But after all, whether these were
real leonine cubs, or only "lions stuffed with straw," the Real Lion of the
evening was the Daniel come to Judgment, HENRY IRVING, who, having partaken
of the "chicken and champagne," and acknowledged the goodness thereof, gave
them the less smooth side of his own tongue with charming frankness.

"I do not hesitate to tell you," purred the Lion, sweetly, "that there have
been times when the genius of frankness which possesses the Club"--he did
not allude to the existence among them of any other sort of genius--"has
not appeared to be allied with the finest discrimination. (_Laughter._)"

Yes--the poor little Lions laughed--it was all they could do, unless they
had whimpered, and promised not to offend again. It must have been a
delightful evening. To what other banquets will our leading Histrion be
invited? To the Pittites' Club Dinner? To the Wreckers' Banquet? Will he be
entertained by the Dissentient Gallery-Boys' Club, and finish up with a
supper strictly confined to the upper Circles' Society? Instead of "Give
your orders, Gents--the Waiter's in the room!" of old days, the Chairman
will probably advise the enterprising Playgoers to "Ask for 'orders,'
Gents--the Manager's in the room." However, if these heaven-born dramatic
critics occasionally hear a few words of good advice from so honest a guest
as HENRY IRVING, such gatherings may perhaps serve some useful purpose.

       *       *       *       *       *

Gladstone's Aside on the Irish Members.

  You are, in faith, like women--divil doubt you!--
  For "there's no living with you, or without you."

       *       *       *       *       *

VERY BAD DRAINAGE.--Because the London School Board built schools with
defective drainage, the London Ratepayers are to be mulcted in £250,000. A
nice drain this on our pockets!

       *       *       *       *       *

THE POLITE SPEAKER.

(_Intended for the use of courteous Members of Parliament._)

_Question._ I trust you quite acknowledge that strong language is
absolutely unnecessary in Westminster?

_Answer._ Quite, especially when a compensating description can be found
for every suitable term of abuse.

_Q._ You grasp the idea. How would you describe NERO fiddling during the
burning of Rome?

_A._ I should say that he was a musician with a turn for pleasing
variations.

_Q._ Very good. And how would you speak of GUY FAUX on the eve of blowing
up the House of Commons?

_A._ An experimentalist who would have been a useful lecturer upon
chemistry at the Royal Institution.

_Q._ And could you refer to _Blue Beard_ after the discovery of the cause
of his last widowerhood without giving offence?

_A._ Yes; as a married man who objected on principle to the Mormon practice
of being wedded to more than one wife at a time.

_Q._ Yes. And what would you say of MARIE DE MEDICIS, who is reported to
have fired at the Huguenots from the Louvre?

_A._ I should say that her late Majesty took such an interest in field
sports, as nowadays would have secured her election to the Gun Club.

_Q._ And, lastly, were you asked to describe HENRY THE EIGHTH after he had
slaughtered most of his wives, plundered all the monasteries, and
imprisoned or executed many of his subjects, what would you call him?

_A._ Without hesitation I should refer to him as "an excited politician."

       *       *       *       *       *

"CONTINUOUS-SOUNDING MACHINES."--Lots of 'em on view in the House of
Commons. But, for the genuine article, consult a "Colomb" of the _Times_.

       *       *       *       *       *

"I love those cradle-songs," said Mrs. R. "The other day I heard--I forget
who it was--sing a most charming _alibi_."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A LULLABY.

  NURSE G. (_sings_). "'O HUSH THEE, MY BABY,
  TAKE REST WHILE YOU MAY'"----

  (_To himself._) "AND NOW I MUST GO AND LOOK AFTER THE OTHERS!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration]

TO SERAPHINE.

  Through happy years, that number now I ween
  A dozen, or--to be correct--thirteen,
  My comfortable better-half you've been,
          O SERAPHINE!

  The ups and downs of life we two have seen--
  From Camberwell, of stucco-fronted mien,
  To quaintly-decorated Turnham Green,
          O SERAPHINE!

  Till Grandma's money came with golden sheen,
  You lent a hand at SARAH'S weekly clean,
  And did not tilt your nose at margarine,
          O SERAPHINE!

  And now that I've been made a Rural Dean,
  Your figure is no longer slim, my Queen;
  You'd scarcely make a graceful _ballerine_,
          O SERAPHINE!

  But after dinner as you doze each e'en,
  From your disjointed mutterings I glean
  Your mind is running on a crinoline,
          O SERAPHINE!

  Oh, let me not appear to speak with spleen--
  Yet pause!--nor go to Madame ANTONINE
  To get yourself a--_you know what I mean_,
          O SERAPHINE!

  For if that huge and hideous machine
  Should thrust its bilious bulginess between
  A blameless couple, such as we have been,
          My SERAPHINE,

  I will not condescend to make a "scene,"
  But--if you needs _must_ have your crinoline--
  Good-bye!--you cannot have your Rural Dean,
          O SERAPHINE!

       *       *       *       *       *

DER COPHETUALISCHEHOCHZEITVEREIN.

     ["In Vienna a Club has been formed among young men of fashion for the
     encouragement of marriage with poor girls."--_James Payn, in
     "Illustrated News."_]

  O youth of Wien, what does this mean?
    Can you forget you are
  All _hochgeboren_ as of yore
    Was King COPHETUA?

  To wed a lot of girls _sans dot_
    Is strange, and yet you are
  No more afraid of beggar maid
    Than King COPHETUA.

  But if you break the vow you take,
    And dowries get, you are
  A thousand pound to forfeit bound,
    Which beats COPHETUA.

  So you by stealth can't marry wealth,
    Not if in debt you are;
  But, as we see, resemble the
    Late King COPHETUA.

  O men elsewhere, Mammas declare
    How hard to net you are!
  You can't be led poor girls to wed
    Like King COPHETUA.

  Consider, then, these noble men,
    And you'll regret you are
  Unmarried still, and quickly will
    Do like COPHETUA!

       *       *       *       *       *

PUT A STOP TO IT!--A Correspondent, signing himself "O'NOODLE," asks, "What
does this mean? See Cook's _Guide-Book to Paris_, page 23:--'Visitors
should take the precautions against pickpockets recommended by the
Administration.'" A comma or a dash after "precautions," and another after
"pickpockets," or put pickpockets into brackets--handcuff 'em, in fact--and
then O'NOODLE will get at the sense of the paragraph.

       *       *       *       *       *

A DOLE-FUL PROSPECT.

_Easter._--Wonder what the effect of the BISHOP'S appeal to the "loyal
laity," to come down heavily with Easter Offerings to the Clergy, will be?
Rather an exciting day for me. Hard-up is not the word for my condition at
present. Can't keep myself, and have to keep a Gardener and a Curate!

A lot of cast-off clothes arrive from "A SYMPATHETIC PARISHIONER!" How
degrading! Wish BISHOP OF WORCESTER hadn't said that he knew a Clergyman
who stayed in bed because he had no decent clothes to wear. Congregation
seem to think he meant _me_! Two blankets, and a rig-out of "Cellular
under-clothing," from "CHURCH DEFENCE," addressed to "Our Beloved but
Impoverished Incumbent." Quite insulting! Give blankets to Gardener, and
send the Cellular things to Curate, as his tendencies are distinctly
monastic.

Letter from a Newmarket Bookmaker! Says he hears I'm in want of Easter
Offerings, so he offers to "put me on to a good thing for the Derby." I am,
apparently, to forward him a £5 note, and he returns me £50 "without fail."
Tempting, but haven't got a £5 note to send.

Arrival at my quiet Vicarage of a donkey, a cow, two pigs, and a dozen
barndoor fowls! Perhaps, in honour of the pigs, I might call this a "sow
Easter!" The whole menagerie sent by neighbouring farmers. Wish they'd send
me arrears of rent for glebe instead; yet I daren't ask for them. Evidently
intended as Easter "gifts in kind;" but not the kind I want. Send donkey on
to Curate, and tether cow in back-yard, not having a field. Pigs
temporarily accommodated in back kitchen. Cook threatens to give notice.

Church. Offertory goes to _me_ to-day! Don't half like it. Feel like a
schoolboy expecting to be tipped. Curate rather glum. Finds he thinks my
sending the donkey to him was meant to insult him. When I assure him it
wasn't, he cheers up, and says he'll hold the plate. Does so. Seems very
heavy. Curate distinctly winks at me, which is against the Rubrics, no
doubt, but still seems to be an augury of happy tidings about the sum
collected. On his way to Vestry, Curate whispers to me "Two-fifty!" What
does he mean? Is it two fifty pounds, or shillings? It's neither--it's
_pence_! Really, if this is all the "loyal laity" can do, I may as well
disestablish myself.

Best Easter Offering of all comes by post. Offer of position as
Under-Cashier in a firm of eminent Bone-boilers. Write to accept offer with
thanks. Better to boil bones for other people than to have all the flesh
taken off my own.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE NEW COINAGE.

  Art will now adorn our purses,
    Hitherto an artless place;
  More than pictures, songs, or verses,
    This should elevate the race.

  Is it safe to be prophetic?
    Will the miser, once abused,
  Be considered quite aesthetic,
    With the connoisseur confused?

  Will the banker, grown artistic,
    Talk a jargon new and strange?
  Will this feeling, subtle, mystic,
    Even reach the Stock Exchange?

  Will it from the City banish
    Dress that artists should eschew?
  Will the hallowed "topper" vanish,
    And the frock-coat fade from view?

  Will the cabman now be willing,
    After driving half a mile,
  To accept a high-art shilling,
    Not with oaths, but with a smile?

  Will the porter at the station
    While his thanks pause on his lip,
  Gaze in silent admiration
    At the beauty of his tip?

  "Music hath," so CONGREVE stated,
    "Charms to soothe the savage breast";
  Numismatic art is fated
    May be to be likewise blest.

       *       *       *       *       *

NAILED!

(_Lord Dufferin and the Gallic Vermin._)

     [At the Annual Dinner of the British Chamber of Commerce in Paris,
     Lord DUFFERIN took occasion to refer trenchantly, but temperately, to
     the long series of calumnies lately directed against him by certain
     sections of the French Press.]

  Yes, DUFFERIN, yes, the Reptile Press
    Is not confined to realms Teutonic.
  You squelch it--could you well do less?--
    With an urbanity fine, ironic.
  France is too chivalrous, too polite,
    To back these crawlers, venomous, "varment"!--
  But our Ambassador does quite right
    To--brush them lightly from his garment.

       *       *       *       *       *

A "Plucky" Answer.

_Q._ Who was PROCRUSTES? What was the Bed of PROCRUSTES?

_A._ He was an ancient philosopher who never would get up in the morning.
Hence the word for a person who puts off or delays; viz., "One who
Procrustinates."

       *       *       *       *       *

THE WHITTINGTON RECORD BROKEN.--"Mr. HURST," _The Athenæum_ gossip informs
us, "has been four times Mayor of Bedford." He ought to be perfect in the
part, for certainly it has been well _re-hearsed_.

       *       *       *       *       *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

_House of Commons, Monday, February 13._--House filled from floor to
topmost range of gallery. Terrible rumour that it is also peopled
underneath. Members sitting on two front benches evidently restless through
opening passages of Mr. G.'s speech. Weird whispering heard, apparently
rising from boots of FIRST LORD of the TREASURY. GRANDOLPH pricks up his
ears; fancies he recognises voice familiar in Harley Street. First thought,
whispered commentary must come from Ladies' Gallery. Right Hon. Gentlemen
look up, and conclude it is too remote. Besides, Ladies _never_ talk in the
Gallery.

"Moreover than which," said FERGUSSON, staring stolidly at open network of
iron floor, "it comes from quite different quarter."

[Illustration: GENTLEMEN OF THE HOUSE OF COMMONS TAKING THEIR SEATS,
MONDAY, FEBRUARY 13, 1893.]

Even Mr. G., absorbed as he was with great topic, evidently noticed the odd
state of things, for towards end of magnificent speech he dropped his voice
right down through the grating into the chamber below, so that Strangers in
distant Gallery lost the purport of his words. Above-board--or rather above
iron grating--House presented spectacle worthy of occasion. Last time
anything like it seen was in April, 1886, when first Home-Rule Bill
introduced. Singularly like it this afternoon, with chairs blocking the
floor in fashion to which LORD-CHAMBERLAIN, looking down from Peers'
Gallery, admitted he would not permit in any other theatre. Side-galleries
filled; Members thronging Bar, sharing the steps of SPEAKER'S Chair,
peeping round from behind its recess, sitting on the Gangway steps. The
Lords' Gallery thronged, with somewhat disorderly fringe of Viscounts
jostling each other on the steps. Not an inch of room to spare in the
Diplomatic Gallery, whilst happy strangers rose tier beyond tier on the
benches behind. Over the clock H.R.H., _debonnaire_ as usual, able to
extract fullest pleasure and interest out of passing moment. By his side,
his son and heir; not the one who sat there on the April night nine years
ago, but the younger brother, with Cousin MAY facing him through the
_grille_ of Ladies' Gallery. Many other gaps filled up on floor of House,
the biggest those created by the flitting of BRIGHT and PARNELL.

The figure at table answering to Speaker's call, the "FIRST LORD of the
TREASURY" is the same, though different. Marvellously little different,
considering all that has passed since '86, and remembering the weight of
added years when they come on top of fourscore. Scantier the hair, paler
the face and more furrowed; but the form still erect, the eye flashing, the
right hand beating vigorously, as of yore, on the long-suffering box; the
voice even better than it was for a certain period towards close of 1880
Parliament; the mental vision as clear; the fancy as luxuriant; the logic
as irresistible; the musical swing of the stately sentences as harmonious.
For two hours and a quarter, unfaltering, unfailing, Mr. G. held the
unrivalled audience entranced, and sat down amid a storm of cheering,
looking almost as fresh as the posy in his button-hole.

_Business done._--Mr. G. introduces Home-Rule Bill.

_Tuesday._--COLONEL SAUNDERSON going about to-day just as if nothing had
happened yesterday. _But something did._ Little misunderstanding arose in
connection with appropriation of a Seat. The Colonel, of course, in the row
at the door of the House, between eleven and noon. Two hundred Members
waiting to get in as soon as doors opened. "Nothing like it seen in
civilised world since the rush for Oklahoma," says Lord PLAYFAIR, who has
been in the United States. "Then, you remember, the intending settlers,
gathering from all parts, bivouacked on line marked by military, and on
appointed day, at fixed hour, at sound of gun, made the dash into the
Promised Land. Lack some of those particulars here. But the passion just
the same; equally reckless; every man first, and the Sergeant-at-Arms take
the hindmost."

PLAYFAIR himself came down two hours later, intending to take his seat in
Peers' Gallery, but, finding another mob at entrance, almost as turbulent,
concluded he would not add to the tumult by wrestling with anybody for a
place in the front rank. So, meeting a Bishop, who had come down with
similar intent and abandoned endeavour from analogous reason, they went for
a walk in the Park.

SAUNDERSON not a man of that kind. Thoroughly enjoyed himself for exciting
three-quarters of hour. Was in first flight of heated and dishevelled
senators who crossed the Bar when door flung open, and elderly Messenger
was simultaneously flattened at back of it. SAUNDERSON dropped on to first
convenient seat; folded his arms; beginning to view the scene when, like
the person in the pastoral poem, "he heard a voice which said,"--"You're
sitting on my hat!"

"Well," replied Colonel, genially recognising Irish Member of same
Province, but another faith, "now you mention it, I thought I did hear
something crunch." On examination, found remains of hat.

"Come out of my seat!" said the other Ulster man.

"Not at all," said the Colonel.

"Then I'll take you!" said the Ulster man.

"Do so," said the Colonel. Ulster man seized Colonel by collar and coat,
and tugged violently. Rest of conversation was carried on with the Ulster
man lying on his back, at full length, partly under his seat. "There was no
hat here when I arrived," said the Colonel.

[Illustration: MR. PUNCH'S HISTORICAL CARTOONS. MR. G.'S ROOM IN THE HOUSE
OF COMMONS.]

"Then how did it get there?" said the Ulster man, under the seat.

"That's for you to explain," said the Colonel, politely assisting Ulster
man to rise. "If, when a gentleman is taking his seat, an Hon. Member
places his hat upon it, accidents will happen."

Ulster man threatens to bring question under notice of SPEAKER. "Begad, I
hope he will," said the Colonel, smiling grimly. "If you know the
gentleman, TOBY, tell him I'll keep him in hats through Leap Year if he'll
only do it. I should like to give the House an unadorned narrative of the
incident. JOHN ROCHE'S deer-stealing story would be nothing to it."

_Business done._--Debate on Home-Rule Bill.

_Thursday._--GRANDOLPH back again at old post on Front Opposition Bench.
All the Parliamentary world gathered to greet him. H.R.H. in old familiar
seat over clock, whence, up to Monday, his pleasant presence had long been
missed. Not a seat vacant on floor of House. Galleries crammed, whilst,
through _grille_ of Ladies' Gallery, bright eyes rained influence.
GRANDOLPH had arranged to resume Debate on Home-Rule Bill; should have come
on bright and fresh as soon as questions were over. Meanwhile sat on Front
Opposition Bench, awaiting the signal to dash in. Incessantly playing with
beard, in fashion that testified to high state of nervousness.

Everything excellently planned, the man, the hour, and the surroundings.
Only thing forgotten was the dog--dog, you know, that has a little place
down at Epsom, and turns up on course just as the ranged horses are
straining at the bit, and the flag is upheld for the fall. On this
occasion, Irish dog, of course. Introduced in artfullest way. ESMONDE,
mildest-mannered man that ever whipped for Irish party, casually, as if he
were inviting him to have a cigarette, asked WOLMER across House whether it
was true that he had called Irish Members "forty paid mercenaries"? WOLMER,
an equally well-dressed, civil-spoken young man, smilingly admitted that it
was quite true he had couched a remark in the terms quoted, but had
certainly not meant anything offensive to Irish Members. Indeed, general
aspect of noble Lord, and his tone, suggested feeling of surprise that
ESMONDE and his friends should not rather have felt complimented by the
observation challenged.

This turned out to be polite crossing of swords before duel to the death, a
shaking of hands before deadly set-to without gloves. SEXTON suddenly
dashed in, and, with back-handed stroke at WOLMER, went for the _Times_ who
had adopted and improved upon the Viscount's genial remarks. Assault
admirably planned; carried on with irresistible vigour, sweeping down
earlier resistance of SPEAKER. Showed what SEXTON can do when so deeply
moved as to forget himself, and resist besetting temptation to play the
fatal windbag.

An hour-and-half's tussle all round House; at end Irish held the field,
and, without dissentient voice, _Times_ article declared to be "gross and
scandalous breach of privileges of House."

But the hour and half had passed, and with it RANDOLPH'S chance of supreme
success. House of Commons, though greedy for excitement, will never stand
two doses in quick succession. After scene like that, which to-night filled
House with fire and smoke, anything that follows is anti-climax. It was a
cruel fate, which GRANDOLPH bore uncomplainingly, and fought against with
quiet courage. Painfully nervous when he broke the silence of two years,
the still crowded House had difficulty in catching his opening sentences.
But, as he went on, he recovered himself, and regained mastery over an
audience evidently eager to welcome his permanent return to position of old
supremacy.

_Business done._--The Wanderer returned. Slow music. Air--"_Come, Kill the
fatted Calf._"

_Saturday_, 12:50, A.M.--Mr. G. just brought in Home-Rule Bill, amid
ringing cheers from Ministerialists, who rise to their feet, and wildly
wave their hats as PREMIER passes to table. Been some effective speaking on
this last night of Debate. CHAMBERLAIN, BLAKE, and JOHN MORLEY, each
excellent in varied way. Only few Members present to hear BODKIN insert
maiden speech in dinner-hour. A remarkable effort, distinguished, among
other things, by necessity of SPEAKER twice interposing, second time with
ominous threat that BODKIN could not be tolerated much longer. BODKIN,
resuming thread of his discourse, humbly apologised, kept his eye (BODKIN'S
eye) warily on SPEAKER, and, when he saw him preparing to rise for third
time, abruptly resumed his seat,--returned hurriedly to the needle-case, so
to speak,--and thus avoided worse things.

_Business done._--Home-Rule Bill read a First Time.

       *       *       *       *       *

REAL "DIPLOMACY."

No doubt of it! A great diplomatic stroke on the part of Mr. JOHN HARE is
this revival of _Diplomacy_--_i.e._, SARDOU'S _Dora_ in an English-made
dress--at the Garrick Theatre. An unequivocal success (of which more "in
our next") on Saturday night for everybody; and, after the Play was over,
the audience, inspired by "the gods," called Mr. and Mrs. BANCROFT before
the curtain. Mrs. BANCROFT, in the course of an admirable little speech,
said, "If I stood here till next week, I should not be able to express all
I feel." Now as, by the right time, it was exactly 11:54 P.M. _Saturday
night_, this clever lady would certainly _not_ have been able in the time
to express all she felt, or to say all she would have liked to say, seeing
there were only six minutes left before "next week" began.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "GOING FOR THE TIMES!"--CHARGE OF "MERCENARIES."

"Once more unto the breach (of privilege) dear Friends!"--_Henry the
Fifth_, Act iii. s. 1.]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE OLD FRENCHMAN AND THE YOUNG.

(_After a Well-known Original._)

  "You are old, '_Le Grand Français_,'" the young Frank said,
    "And your hair has become very white.
  Yet the Judges award you five years, it is said--
    I can't think, at your age, it's quite right."

  "Such Gaul gratitude, boy!" _Le Grand Français_ replied,
    "As it brightens history's page;
  In my youth I served France, was her boast and her pride;
    And France has forgotten my age."

       *       *       *       *       *

"I hear," said Mrs. R., "that there is some question of real or sham
Constables at Burlington House. Why not refer it to the Chief Commissioner
of Police?"

       *       *       *       *       *

Sad, but True.

  Your journalist may be a scribe of sense, or comicality,
    Avoiding the sensational, the silly, and the shoppy;
  But he can never make a claim to true originality,
    His contributions always being recognised as "copy."

       *       *       *       *       *

NOTICE.--Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed
Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no case be
returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope,
Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 104, February 25, 1893" ***

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