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Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 101, August 22, 1891
Author: Various
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 101, August 22, 1891" ***

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VOL. 101.

August 22, 1891.



    SCENE--_On the Coach from Braine l'Alleud to Waterloo. The
    vehicle has a Belgian driver, but the conductor is a true-born
    Briton. Mr. CYRUS K. TROTTER and his daughter are behind
    with PODBURY. CULCHARD, who is not as yet sufficiently on
    speaking terms with his friend to ask for an introduction, is
    on the box-seat in front._

_Mr. Trotter_. How are you getting along, MAUD? Your seat pretty

_Miss Trotter_. Well, I guess it would be about as luxurious if it
hadn't got a chunk of wood nailed down the middle--it's not going to
have anyone confusing it with a bed of roses _just_ yet. (_To PODB._)
Your friend mad about anything? He don't seem to open his head more'n
he's obliged to. I presume he don't approve of your taking up with me
and Father--he keeps away from us considerable, I notice.

_Podb._ (_awkwardly_). Oh--er--I wouldn't say that, but he's a queer
kind of chap rather, takes prejudices into his head and all that. I
wouldn't trouble about him if I were you--not worth it, y' know.

_Miss T._ Thanks--but it isn't going to shorten my existence any.

    [_CULCH. overhears all this, with feelings that may be

_Belgian Driver_ (_to his horses_). Pullep! Allez vîte! Bom-bom-bom!

_Conductor_ (_to CULCHARD_). 'E's very proud of 'is English, _'e_ is.
'Ere, JEWLS, ole feller, show the gen'lm'n 'ow yer can do a swear.
(_Belgian Driver utters a string of English imprecations with the
utmost fluency and good-nature._) 'Ark at 'im now! Bust my frogs!
(_Admiringly, and not without a sense of the appropriateness of the
phrase._) But he's a caution, Sir, ain't he? _I_ taught him most o'
what he knows!

_A French Passenger_ (_to Conductor_). Dis done, mon ami, est-ce qu'on
peut voir d'ici le champ de bataille?

_Conductor_ (_with proper pride_). It ain't no use your torkin to
_me_, Mossoo; I don't speak no French myself. (_To CULCHARD._) See
that field there, Sir?

_Culchard_ (_interested_). On the right? Yes, what happened _there_?

[Illustration: "Leesten, I dell you vonce more."]

_Cond._ Fine lot o' rabbits inside o' there--big fat 'uns. (_To
another Passenger_.) No, Sir, that ain't Belly Lions as you see from
'ere; that's Mon Sin Jeean, and over there Oogymong, and Chalyroy to
the left.


    _CULCHARD, who has purchased a map in the Waterloo Museum as
    a means of approaching Miss TROTTER, is pounced upon by an
    elderly Belgian Guide in a blue blouse, from whom he finds it
    difficult to escape._

_The Guide_ (_fixing CULCHARD with a pair of rheumy eyes and a
gnarled forefinger_). You see vere is dat schmall voodt near de vite
'ouse? not dere, along my shdeek--so. Dat is vare PEECTON vas kill,
Inglis Officer, PEECTON. Two days pefore he vas voundet in de ahum. 'E
say to his sairvan', "You dell ennipoddies, I keel you!" He vandt
to pe in ze bataille: he _vas_ in ze bataille--seven lance troo im,
seven; PEECTON, Inglis Officer. (_CULCHARD nods his head miserably._)
Hah, you 'ave de shart dere--open 'im out vide, dat de odder
shentilmans see. (_CULCHARD obeys, spell-bound._) Vare you see dat
blue gross, Vaterloo Shirshe, vere Loart UXBREEDGE lose 'is laig. Zey
cot 'im off and pury him in ze cott-yardt, and a villow grow oudt of
'im. 'E com 'ere to see the villow growing oudt of his laig.

_Culch._ (_abandoning his map, and edging towards Miss TROTTER_).
Hem--we are gazing upon one of the landmarks of our national
history--Miss TROTTER.

_Miss T._ That's a vurry interesting re-mark. I presume you must
have studied up some for a reflection of that kind. Mr. PODBURY, your
friend has been telling me-- [_She repeats CULCHARD's remark._

_Podb._ (_with interest_). Got any _more_ of those, old fellow?

    [_CULCHARD moves away with disgusted hauteur._

_The Guide_ (_re-capturing him_). Along dat gross vay, VELLAINTON meet
BLUSHAIR. Prussian général, BLUSHAIR, VELLAINTON 'e com hier. I see
'im. Ven 'e see ze maundt 'e vos vair angri. 'E say, "Eet is no ze
battle-fiel' no more--I com back nevare!" Zat aidge is vere de
Scots Greys vas. Ven they dell NAPOLEON 'oo zey are, 'e say. "Fine
mens--splendid mens, I feenish dem in von hour!" SOULT 'e say, "Ah,
Sire, you do not know dose dairible grey 'orses!" NAPOLEON 'e _not_
know dem. SOULT 'e meet dem at de Peninsulaire--'e know dem. In dat
Shirsh, dventy, dirty dablets to Inglis officers. NAPOLEON 'e coaled
op 'is laift vink, zey deploy in line, vair you see my shdeek--ha, ze
shentelman is gone avay vonce more!

_Miss Trotter_ (_to CULCHARD, who has found himself unable to keep
away_). You don't seem to find that old gentleman vurry good company?

_Culch._ The fact is that I much prefer to receive my impressions of a
scene like this in solitude.

_Miss T._ _I_ should have thought you'd be too polite to tell me so;
but I was moving on, anyway.

    [_She goes on. Before CULCHARD can follow and explain, he
    finds himself accosted by Mr. TROTTER._

_Mr. T._ I don't know as I'm as much struck by this Waterloo field as
I expected, Sir. As an Amurrcan, I find it doesn't come up to some of
our battlefields in the War. We don't blow about those battlefields,
Sir, but for style and general picturesqueness, I ain't seen nothing
_this_ side to equal them. You ever been over? You want to come over
and see our country--that's what _you_ want to do. You mustn't mind me
a-running on, but when I meet someone as I can converse with in my own
language--well, I just about talk myself dry.

    [_He talks himself dry, until rejoined by the Guide with
    PODBURY and Miss TROTTER._

_Guide_ (_to PODBURY_). Leesten, I dell you. My vader--eighteen, no in
ze Airmi, laboreur man--he see NAPOLÉON standt in a saircle; officers
roundt 'im. Boots, op to hier; green cott; vite vaiscott; vite laigs--

_Podbury_. Your father's legs?

_Guide_. No, Sare; my vader see NAPOLÉON's laigs; leedle 'at, qvite
plain; no faither--nossing.

_Podbury_. But you just said you _had_ a faither!

_Guide_. I say, NAPOLÉON 'ad no faither--vat you call it?--_plume_--in
'is 'at, at ze bataille.

_Podbury_. Are you sure? I thought the history books said he "stuck a
feather in his hat, and called it Macaroni."

_Miss T._ I presume you're thinking of our National Amurrcan
character, Yankee Doodle?

_Guide_. My vader, 'e no see NAPOLÉON viz a Yankedoodle in 'is 'at; 'e
vear nossing.

_Podbury_. Nothing? What became of the green coat and white waistcoat,
then, eh?

_Guide_. Ah, you unnerstan' nossing at all! Leesten, I dell you vonce
more. My vader--

_Podbury_. No, look here, my friend; you go and tell _that_ gentleman
all about it (_indicating CULCHARD_); he's very interested in hearing
what NAPOLEON wore or didn't wear.

    [_The Guide takes possession of CULCHARD once more,
    who submits, under the impression that Miss TROTTER is a

_Guide_ (_concluding a vivid account of the fight at Houguymont_).
Bot ven zey com qvite nearer, zey vind ze rade line no ze Inglis
soldiers--nossing bot a breek vall, viz ze moskets--'Prown Pesses,'
you coal dem--shdeekin out of ze 'oles! Ze 'oles schdill dere. Dat vas
Houguymont, in the orshairde. Now you com viz me and see ze lion. Ze
dail, two piece; ze bodi, von piece; ze ball, von piece. I sank you,
Sare. 'Ope you com again soon.

    [_CULCHARD discovers that the TROTTERS and PODBURY have
    gone down some time ago. At the foot of the steps he finds his
    friend waiting for him, alone._

_Culch_. (_with stiff politeness_). Sorry you considered it necessary
to stay behind on my account. I see your American friends have already
started for the station.

_Podbury_ (_gloomily_). There were only two seats on that coach, and
they wouldn't wait for the next. I don't know why, unless it was that
they saw you coming down the steps. She can't stand you at any price.

_Culch._ (_with some heat_). Just as likely she had had enough of your

_Podb._ (_with provoking good humour_). Come, old chap, don't get your
shirt out with me. Not my fault if she's found out you think yourself
too big a swell for her, is it?

_Culch._ (_hotly_). When did I say so--or think so? It's what you've
told her about me, and I must say I call it--

_Podb._ Don't talk bosh! Who said she was forward and bad form and all
the rest of it in the courtyard that first evening? She was close by,
and heard every word of it, I shouldn't wonder.

_Culch._ (_colouring_). It's not of vital importance if she did.
(_Whistling._) Few-fee-fee-foo-foodle-di-fee-di-fa-foo.

_Podb._ Not a bit--to her. Better step out if we mean to catch that
train. (_Humming._) La-di-loodle-lumpty-leedle-um-ti-loo!

    [_They step out, PODBURY humming pleasantly and CULCHARD
    whistling viciously, without further conversation, until they
    arrive at Braine l'Alleud Station--and discover that they have
    just missed their train._

       *       *       *       *       *


       *       *       *       *       *



    [A decree issued by the Emperor of CHINA (in connection with
    the recent anti-foreign agitation in that country) points
    out that the relations between the Chinese and the foreign
    missionaries have been those of peace and goodwill, and that
    the Christians are protected by treaty and by Imperial edicts,
    and commands the Governors and Lieutenant-Governors to protect
    the Christians and put down the leaders in the riots.]

  Many writers remark,--
    And their language is plain,
  That for cruelty dark,
    And for jealousy vain,
  The Heathen Chinee is _peculiar_,--
    In future perhaps they'll refrain.

  AH-SIN has his faults,
    Which one cannot deny;
  And some recent assaults
    On the mis-sion-a-ry,
  Have been worthy of--say Christian Russia,
    When dealing with small Hebrew fry.

  But the EMPEROR seems stirred
    Persecution to bar,
  Which it might be inferred
    That I mean the White CZAR;
  But I don't. On the Muscovite CÆSAR
    Such charity clearly would jar.

  _He's_ always the same,
    And he'll not stay _his_ hand;
  The poor Jews are fair game
    In a great "Christian" Land;
  But the Lord of the Pencil Vermilion
    Rebukes _his_ fanatical band.

  A Heathen--of course!--
    (Whilst the CZAR is a Saint)
  But a sign of remorse
    At the Christian's complaint
  May be seen in the edict he's issued,
    Which might make a great Autocrat faint.

  A Christian, 'tis true,
    To a Heathen Chinee
  Is as bad as a Jew
    Must undoubtedly be
  To an orthodox Christian of Russdom,
    Too "pious" for mere Char-i-tee.

  So one Emperor stones
    His poor Israelites,
  Whilst the other one owns
    Even Christians have "rights,"
  And, although they're (of course) "foreign devils,"
    Their peace with good-will he requites.

  Which is why, I maintain
    (And my language is free)
  That the CZAR, though he's vain
    Of his Or-tho-dox-y,
  Might learn from his Emperor cousin,
    Though he's only a Heathen Chinee!

       *       *       *       *       *

NEWS OF "OUR HENRY" (_communicated by Mr. J.L. T-LE_).--To our
interviewer the eminent actor replied, "Yes, suffering from bad
sore throat, but may talk, as it's _hoarse exercise_ which has been
recommended. A stirrup-cup at parting? By all means. My cob is an
excellent trotter, so I pledge you, with a bumper well-in-hand.
Good-day!" And so saying, he gaily waved his plumed hat, and rode

       *       *       *       *       *

"RATHER A LARGE ORDER."--"The Order of the Elephant" conferred on
President CARNOT by the King of Denmark. This should include an Order
for the Grand Trunk, in which to carry it about. The proper person to
receive this Order is evidently the Grand Duke of Tusk-any.

       *       *       *       *       *



       *       *       *       *       *




  Tell me not in many a column,
    I must pull up all my drains;
  Or with faces long and solemn,
    Threaten me with aches and pains.
  Let me end this wintry summer,
    'Mid the rain as best I may,
  Without calling in the plumber,
    For he always comes to stay.

  I appreciate the Prince's
   Shrewd remarks about our lot;
  But the horror he evinces
   At our dangers, frights me not.
  Science in expostulation,
   Shows our rules of health are wrong;
  But in days when sanitation
   Was unknown, men lived as long.

  If the air with microbes thickens,
    Like some mirk malefic mist,
  Tell me prithee how the dickens
    We can manage to exist.
  From the poison breathed each minute,
    Man ere this had surely died;
  When we see the fell things in it,
    On the microscopic slide.

  I'm aware we're oft caught napping,
    And the scientist can say,
  That our yawning drains want trapping,
    Lest the deadly typhoid stay.
  Even with your house in order,
    If you go to take the air,
  So to speak, outside your border,
    Lo! the merry germs are there.

  Doctors vow, in tones despotic,
    I must dig 'neath basement floors,
  Lest diseases called zymotic
    Enter in at all my pores.
  PARKES, of sanitation master,
    Wanted "purity and light;"
  I'm content to risk disaster,
    With unhygienic night.

       *       *       *       *       *

QUEER QUERIES.--HYMENEAL.--I have been asked to attend the wedding of
a friend, and respond to the toast of "The Ladies." I have never done
such a thing before, and feel rather nervous about it. My friend says
that I must "try and be very comic." I have thought of one humorous
remark--about the "weaker sex" being really stronger--which I fancy
will be effective, but I can't think of another. Would _one_ good joke
of that sort be sufficient? _À propos_ of the lady marksman at Bisley,
I should like to advise all ladies to "try the Butts," only I am
afraid this might be taken for a reference to the President of the
Divorce Division. How could I work the Jackson case in neatly? Would
it be allowable to pin my speech on the wedding-cake, and read it off?
Also, could I wear a mask? Any hints would be welcomed by--BEST MAN.

       *       *       *       *       *

NOT QUITE POLITE.--The Manager of the Shaftesbury Theatre advertises
"three distinct plays at 8·15, 9·15, and 10." Distinct, but not quite
clear. Anyhow, isn't it rather a slur on other Theatres where it
implies the plays, whether at 8·15, 9·15, or 10, are "indistinct."

       *       *       *       *       *


    _Prospect of Holiday--An Entrée--A Character
    in the Opening--Light and Leading--French
    Comedian--Exit--Jeudi alors--The Start_.


I am sitting, fatigued, in my study. I have not taken a holiday this
year, or last, for the matter of that. Others have; I haven't. Work!
work! work!--and I am wishing that my goose-quills were wings ("so
appropriate!" whisper my good-natured friends behind their hands to
one another), so that I might fly away and be at rest. To this they
(the goose-quills, not the friends) have often assisted me ere now.
Suddenly, as I sit "a-thinking, a-thinking," my door is opened, and,
without any announcement, there stands before me a slight figure,
of middle height, in middle age, nothing remarkable about his dress,
nothing remarkable about his greyish hair and close-cut beard,
but something very remarkable about his eyes, which sparkle with
intelligence and energy; and something still more remarkable about the
action of his arms, hands, and thin, wiry fingers, which suggests the
idea of his being an animated semaphore worked by a galvanic battery,
telegraphing signals against time at the rate of a hundred words a
minute, the substantives being occasionally expressed, but mostly
"understood,"--pronouns and prepositions being omitted wholesale.

"What! DAUBINET!" I exclaim, he being the last person I had expected
to see, having, indeed, a letter on my desk from him, dated yesterday
and delivered this morning, to that he was then, at the moment of
writing, and practically therefore for the next forty-eight hours--at
least; so it would be with any ordinary individual--in Edinburgh.
But DAUBINET is not an ordinary individual, and the ordinary laws of
motion to and from any given point do not apply to him. He is a Flying
Frenchman--here, there, and everywhere; especially everywhere. So
mercurial, that he will be in advance of Mercury himself, and having
written a letter in the morning to say he is coming, it is not
unlikely that he will travel by the next train, arrive before the
letter, and then wonder that you weren't prepared to receive him.
Such, in a brief sketch, is _mon ami_ DAUBINET.

[Illustration: "He is a Flying Frenchman."]

"Aha! _me voici!_" he cries, shaking my hand warmly. Then he sings,
waving his hat in his left hand, and still grasping my right with his,
"_Voici le sabre de mon père!_" which reminiscence of OFFENBACH has
no particular relevancy to anything at the present moment; but it
evidently lets off some of his superfluous steam. He continues, always
with my hand in his, "_J'arrive! inattendu! Mais, mon cher_,"--here
he turns off the French stop of his polyglot organ, and, as it were,
turns on the English stop,--continuing his address to me in very
distinctly-pronounced English, "I wrote to you to say I would be
here," then pressing the French stop, he concludes with, "_ce matin,
n'est-ce pas?_"

"_Parfaitement, mon cher_," I reply, giving myself a chance of airing
a little French, being on perfectly safe ground, as he thoroughly
understands English; indeed, he understands several languages, and, if
I flounder out of my depth in foreign waters, one stroke will bring
me safe on to the British rock of intelligibility again; or, if I
obstinately persist in floundering, and am searching for the word as
for a plank, he will jump in and rescue me. Under these circumstances,
I am perfectly safe in talking French to him "_Mais je ne vous
attendais ce matin_"--I've got an idea that this is something
uncommonly grammatical--"_à cause de votre lettre que je viens de
recevoir_"--this, I'll swear, is idiomatic--"_ce matin. La voilà!_" I
pride myself on "_La_," as representing my knowledge that "_lettre_,"
to which it refers, is feminine.

"_Caramba!_" he exclaims--an exclamation which, I have every reason
to suppose, from want of more definite information, is Spanish.
"_Caramba!_ that letter is from Edinburgh; _j'ai visité_ Glasgow,
the _Nord et partout, et je suis de retour_, I am going on business
to Reims, _pour revenir par Paris,--si vous voudrez me donner le
plaisir de votre compagnie--de Jeudi prochain à Mardi--vous serez mon
invité,--et je serai charmé, très charmé._"

[Illustration: "Au revoir!"]

Being already carried away in imagination to Reims, and returning by
Paris, I am at once inclined to reply,

"_Enchanté!_ with the greatest pleasure."

"_Hoch! Hoch! Hurrá!_" he cries, by way of response, waving his hat.
Then he sings loudly, "And--bless the Prince of WALES!" After which,
being rather proud of his mastery of Cockneyisms, he changes the
accent, still singing, "Blaass the Prince of WAILES!" which he
considers his _chef d'oeuvre_ as an imitation of a genuine Cockney
tone, to which it bears exactly such resemblance as does a scene
of ordinary London life drawn by a French artist. Then he says,
seriously--"_Eh bien! allons! C'est fixé_--it is fixed. We meet
Victoria, _et alors, par_ London, Chatham & Dover, from Reims _viâ_
Calais, _très bien,--train d'onze heures précises,--bien entendu. J'y
suis. Ihr Diener! Adios! A reverderla! Addio, amico caro!_" Then he
utters something which is between a sneeze and a growl, supposed to
be a term of endearment in the Russian tongue. Finally he says in
English, "Good-bye!"

His hat is on in a jiffy (which I take to be the hundredth part of a
second) and he is down the stairs into the hall, and out at the door
"like a flying light comedian" with an airy "go" about him, which
recalls to my mind the running exits of CHARLES WYNDHAM in one of
his lightest comedy-parts. "_Au revoir! Pour Jeudi alors!_" I hear
him call this out in the hall; the door bangs as if a firework had
exploded and blown my vivacious friend up into the air, and he has

"_Jeudi alors_" arrives, and I am at Victoria for the eleven o'clock
Express to the minute, having decided that this is the best, shortest,
and cheapest holiday I can take. I've never yet travelled with
my excellent French friend DAUBINET. I am to be his guest; all
responsibility is taken off my shoulders except that of my ticket and
luggage, and to travel without responsibility is in itself a novelty.
To have to think of nothing and nobody, not even of oneself! Away!

       *       *       *       *       *


POLITESSE.--The following version of our great popular Naval Anthem
will be issued, it is hoped, from Whitehall (the French being supplied
by the Lords of the Admiralty in conjunction) to all the musical Naval
Captains in command at Portsmouth. The graceful nature of the intended
compliment cannot escape the thickest-headed land-lubber:--

  Dirige, Madame la France,
  Madame la France dirigera les vagues!
  Messieurs les Français ne seront jamais, jamais, jamais,

The effect of the above, when the metre is carefully fitted to the
tune (which is a work of time), and sung by a choir (with accent) of a
thousand British Blue-jackets, will doubtless be quite electrical.

       *       *       *       *       *

any Classical author, Latin or Greek, so difficult as is the passage
between Dover and Calais on a rough day, and yet, strange to say, the
translation is comparatively easy.

       *       *       *       *       *

A PICTURE ON THE LINE.--Sketch taken at the Equator.

       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration: Professor Ginnifer exhibiting Sims' and Buchanan's

DEAR MR. PUNCH,--As Englishmen are so often accused of want of
originality, I hope you will let me call your attention to an occasion
when it was conclusively proved that at least two of the British race
were free from the reproach. The date to which I refer was the 1st of
August last, when "a new and original drama," entitled _The Trumpet
Call_, was produced at the Royal Adelphi Theatre, and the two
exceptions to the general rule then proclaimed were Messrs. GEORGE R.
SIMS and ROBERT BUCHANAN, its authors. The plot of this truly new
and original piece is simple in the extreme. _Cuthbertson_, a young
gentleman, has married his wife in the belief that his Wife No. 1 (of
whom he has lost sight), is dead. Having thus ceased to be a widower,
_Cuthbertson_ is confronted by Wife No. 1 and deserts Wife No. 2.
Assured by the villain of the piece that she is not really married
to _Cuthbertson_, Wife No. 2 prepares to marry her informant. The
nuptials are about to be celebrated in the Chapel Royal, Savoy, when
enter Wife No. 1 who explains that she was a married woman when she
met _Cuthbertson_, and therefore, a fair, or rather unfair, bigamist.
Upon this _Cuthbertson_ (who is conveniently near in a pew, wearing
the unpretentious uniform of the Royal Horse Artillery), rushes into
the arms of the lady who has erroneously been numbered Wife No. 2,
when she has been in reality Wife No. 1, and all is joy. Now I need
scarcely point out to you that nothing like this has ever been seen on
the stage before. It is a marvel to me how Messrs. SIMS and BUCHANAN
came to think of such clever things.

[Illustration: An Altared Scene.]

But if it had been only the plot that was original, I should not have
been so anxious to direct attention to _The Trumpet Call_. But the
incidents and characters are equally novel. For instance, unlike _The
Lights o' London_, there is a caravan and a showman. Next, unlike
_In the Ranks_, there are scenes of barrack-life that are full of
freshness and originality. In _Harbour Lights_, if my memory does not
play me false, the hero enlisted in the Guards, in _The Trumpet Call_
he joins the Royal Horse Artillery. Then, again, unlike the scene in
the New Cut in _The Lights o' London_, there is a view by night of
the exterior of the Mogul Music Hall. Further, there is a "Doss House"
scene, that did not for a moment (or certainly not for more than
a moment) recall to my mind that gathering of the poor in the dark
arches of a London bridge, in one of BOUCICAULT's pieces. By the way,
was that play, _After Dark_, or was it _The Streets of London_? I
really forget which. Then, all the characters in the new play are
absolutely new and original. The hero who will bear everything for his
alleged wife's sake, and weeps over his child, is quite new. So is
the heroine who takes up her residence with poor but amusing showmen,
instead of wealthy relatives. That is also quite new, and there was
nothing like it in _The Lights o' London_. The villain, too, who will
do and dare anything (in reason) to wed the lady who has secured his
affections, is also a novelty. So is a character played by Miss CLARA
JECKS as only Miss CLARA JECKS can and does play it. And there are
many more equally bright and fresh, and, in a word, original.

So, my dear _Mr. Punch_, hasten to the Royal Adelphi Theatre, if you
wish to see something that will either wake you up or send you to
sleep. Go, my dear _Mr. Punch_, and sit out _The Trumpet Call_, and
when you have seen it, you will understand why I sign myself,

  Yours faithfully,

       *       *       *       *       *



_From Admiral Gervais to My Lor' Maire._

  Much we regret, Lor' Maire, _mon cher_,
    Your banquet to refuse;
  But if you fear not _mal de mer_,
  Pack up your _malle de mer, mon cher_,
    And join us in a cruise.

_From My Lor' Maire to Admiral Gervais._

  _Mon cher_ GERVAIS,
  Can't say "_Je vais_,"
  Except "_Je vais
  L'autre côté._"
  GERVAIS, _tu vas,--
  Moi--je ne vais pas._

       *       *       *       *       *



_Ollendorff_--Servian--in French, German, Russian, and any other
Eastern tongues, as yet published.

Twelve dozen Boxes of Tin Soldiers.

Ditto, ditto, Bricks to Match.

_Complete Letter Writer_ (with addenda), specially added by his
"Papa," as models to be followed more or less closely when addressing
his mother on matters of a homely and domestic character.

The Boy-King's Guide to the proper and decent method of presiding at
a Cabinet Council, showing how the same may be conducted conjointly
with the introduction of Ninepins, or some other equally interesting,
intellectual, and manly game.

List of the best Sweet-stuff Shops.

Ditto, ditto of what's going on, and most worth looking up in places
we visit.

Hand-Book to _Leger de Main_, with special reference to Practical
Joking at State Functions, and other High Jinks!

Shilling Hand-Book to _Home Made Fireworks_, with Permanent Order
signed by War Minister for supply of necessary materials.

       *       *       *       *       *


  Hygiene and Demography! Never before
    With such wonderful names has a Conference met,
  With statistics by thousands and papers galore
    As to what Demos wants, as to what he's to get.
  It's not always perfectly clear what they mean.
    Yet, perhaps an outsider is right when he thinks
  Though no doubt they would die for beloved Hygiene,
    As a matter of fact they indulge in High Jinks.

       *       *       *       *       *

NEW WORK BY SIR AUGUSTUS DRURIOLANUS--to be included in the "_Opera
Omnia_," by the same Author writing under a _nom de plume_, entitled,
"_Legs Taglionis; or, Little Steps for Babes in the Ballet. By a Pa'
de Quatre_." Also "_Classes and Lasses_," same series.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A PIOUS FRAUD!


       *       *       *       *       *


  The French are all coming, for so they declare,
  Of their fleet and their tars all the papers advise us;
  They're to come o'er the sea and to Portsmouth repair,
  Their squadrons at Spithead will please, not surprise us.
  Their fleet is to come for a right friendly spree;
  To promise them "skylarks" is hardly presumption.
  They're welcome to NEPTUNE's old "Halls by the Sea."
  Of powder and grog there'll be mighty consumption,
  In toasts and salutes, for they're friends and invited;
            JOHN and JOHNNY clasp paws,
            And drink deep to the Cause
  Of NEPTUNE's two guests and brave Neighbours United!

  The scribes and the specials report wondrous things,
  Of the grand preparations, the routs and the rackets.
  Gone the old days of huge wooden walls and white wings,
  We now meet without mutual dusting of jackets.
  Well so much the better! Our seas let them try,
  Their squadrons are welcome to float 'em and swim 'em.
  Like good _Cap'n Cuttle_ we'll smile and "stand by,"
  Friendly bumpers we'll empty as fast as they brim 'em
  To welcome his guests Father NEPTUNE's delighted,
            He'll clasp both their paws,
            And drink deep to the Cause
  Of Sailors as shipmates and Neighbours United!

  Old NEP is "At Home" to the Sailors of France.
  Old foes turn new friends as their reason grows riper;
  "All hands for Skylarking!" A measure we'll dance,
  With friendship for fiddler and pleasure for piper.
  'Tis a good many years since they sought our white shore;
  Once more at hands'-grip we are glad to have got 'em.
  As to Jingos or Chauvinists,--out on the bores!
  Such Jonahs should promptly be plumped to the bottom;
  Poor swabs! For this party _they_ are not invited;
            Shall they come athwart hawse
            As we drink to the Cause
  Of Shipmates for ever and Neighbours United?

  Yes, we know that humanity fondly may scheme
  For Peace, of all ills the supposed panacea:
  We know that Utopia's only a dream,
  Unbroken good fellowship but an idea.
  Old NEP knows his great Naval Show is now on,
  And ARMSTRONG and WHITWORTH's huge works he's aware on;
  He sees what our shipwrights and gunsmiths have done
  To send foes o'er the Styx in the barque of old Charon.
  At sight of War's murderous monsters half frighted,
            E'en valour may pause,
            And drink deep to the Cause,
  Of Good-will among Nations and Neighbours United!

  But, gushing apart, 'tis a sight for sad eyes
  To see ancient rivals on joint messmate duty.
  A French ship in our waters and not as a prize
  Might once have perturbed British Valour and Beauty.
  But now Father NEPTUNE, "At Home," calmly grips
  His trident, and smiles with most friendly benignity.
  We welcome French Sailors, and shout for French ships,
  Without an abatement of patriot dignity.
  To see any friend of JOHN BULL NEP's delighted.
            He holds out his paws,
            And will drink to the Cause
  Of Peace on the Ocean and Neighbours United!

  Then shout, Britons, shout, while the neighbouring crews
  Hob-nob, as the symbol of neighbouring nations;
  Whilst NEPTUNE at Home welcomes brave Brother Blues,
  And serves out the stingo to each in fair rations.
  Your spirits, ye sturdy old seadogs, might smile
  On a friendship which to your true hearts is no treason.
  The Sea-God makes free of his favourite Isle
  The French lads he once would have shied, and with reason.
  Now to greet brave GERVAIS and his tars he's delighted.
            Midst general applause
            Let us drink to the Cause.
  Hooray for NEP's Visitors, Neighbours United!

       *       *       *       *       *




       *       *       *       *       *



    ["Believing firmly in the absolute justice of woman's claim
    to the 'Parliamentary' franchise, I shall at all times support
    that claim."--_Mr. Logan, the new M.P. for the Harborough


  O woman, in our hours of ease.
  The mockery of false M.P.'s!
  When an Election comes in sight,
  E'en Ministers admit thy "right."
  Believe them not; they do _not_ dote
  On the Political Petticoat.
  'Tis all a politic pretence.
  Some of them are upon the fence;
  Some of them have "political" wives,
  And shirking stings in their home-hives,
  Take up "the Cause" with a sham zeal,
  Which not five in five thousand feel.
  But hear them over a Club-dinner
  Chuckling about the "pretty sinner"
  Who hankers for that finer Club,
  The House o' Commons! There's the rub!
  They do not want you there, my dears;
  The prospect of your "franchise" queers
  Wire-pullers' plans, and party reckoning--
  Hope, in male guise, stands blandly beckoning.
  He--_Codlin_--is the friend, _not Short_,
  But, in his heart he's making sport.
  Of course 'tis wickedest of shames,
  But--recollect Sir HENRY JAMES,
  Your open enemy avowed,
  Did not the House o' Commons crowd
  Of frauds and shams play up to him,
  And shelve "the Female Franchise" whim
  Only the other day? Sheer diddle!
  Have you not _nous_ to read the riddle?
  How wondrous prompt was W.G.
  To back up SMITH! With what sly glee
  The "Woman's-Rightists" did subside.
  And--_sub silentio_--let _you_ slide!
  Your Grand Old Man, dears,--well, _he's_ human.
  He doesn't want some Grand Old Woman
  As colleague or as rival. WOODALL?
  Well, he is gentle, genial, good all;
  But there's a twinkle in his eye
  Persuades me that _he_ would not die
  Did you consent to drop your "claim."
  And now there comes another name
  To raise for Shes the party slogan.
  Well, trust, dears--if you like--to LOGAN;
  He "will support you _at all times_!"
  Keep your eye on him! SHAKSPEARE's rhymes
  Tell you "Men were deceivers ever."
  M.P.'s wise, foolish, crass, and clever,
  Are--nominally--on your side,
  And--privately--your cause deride.
  Take the straight tip, my dears--I glean it
  From private talk--_they don't half mean it!_

       *       *       *       *       *



BORN, FEB. 22, 1819. DIED, AUG. 12, 1891.

    "We could not have been prouder of him had he been one of

  Bard of two worlds, and friend of both,
    As ripe in years as culture, verily
  To miss that voice two worlds are loth,
    In which much wisdom spake so merrily.
  A voice, and no mere echo, thine,
    Of many tones, but manly ever.
  Thy rustic _Biglow's_ rugged line
    A grateful world neglecteth never!
  It smote hypocrisy and cant
    With flail-like force; sleek bards that ripple
  Like shallow pools--who pose and pant,
    And vaguely smudge or softly stipple,--
  These have not brain or heart to sing
    As _Biglow_ sang, our quaint _Hosea_,
  Whose "Sunthin in the Pastoral line,"
    Full primed with picture and idea,
  Lives, with "The Courtin'," unforgot,
    And worth whole volumes of sham-Shen-stone.
  Yes, you could catch, as prigs may not,
    Pure women's speech and valiant men's tone.
  _Zekle_ and _Huldy_ in our hearts
    Have found a place. But a true Poet,
  Like SHAKSPEARE's Man, plays many parts.
    You chid us sharply, well we know it,
  For you'd the gift of Satire strong,
    And knew just how to lay the lash on.
  You smote what you thought British wrong,
    Well, _that_ won't put us in a passion.
  "I _ken_ write long-tailed if I please,"
    You said. And truly, polished writer,
  More like "a gentleman at ease,"
    Never touched quill than this shrewd smiter.
  Your "moral breath of temperament"
    Found scope in scholarly urbanity;
  And wheresoever LOWELL went
    Sounded the voice of Sense and Sanity.
  We loved you, and we loved your wit.
    Thinking of you, uncramped, uncranky;
  Our hearts, ere we're aware of it,
    "Run helter-skelter into Yankee."
  "For puttin' in a downright lick
    'Twixt Humbug's eyes, there's few to metch it."
  Faith, how _you_ used it; ever quick
    Where'er Truth dwelt, to dive and fetch it.
  Vernacular or cultured verse,
    The scholar's speech, the ploughman's patter
  You'd use, but still in each were terse,
    As clear in point as full in matter.
  You'd not disdain "the trivial flute,"
    The rustic Pan-pipe you would finger,
  Yet could you touch "Apollo's lute"
    To tones on which Love's ear would linger.
  Farewell, farewell! Two countries loved,
    Two countries mourn you. None will quarrel
  With English hands, which, unreproved,
    Lay on your bier an English Laurel!

       *       *       *       *       *

AN OLD SCHOOL BUOY.--Under the heading of "Church and Schools," the
_St. James's Gazette_ gave an interesting illustration of "public
spirit in schools." It recounted how "An Old Bedford Boy"--no relation
to ROBERT, the Waiter, we believe--in the course of returning thanks,
said, "I have bathed in all the great rivers of the world." Then he
added, "the water of the sluggish Ouse is the sweetest of them all."
Oddly enough his name was "ZINCKE," though evidently he must be a
first-rate "Zwimmer." With genuine love for his old school, he might
have added that he wished he was a Buoy again. But he seems to have
got on swimmingly everywhere.

       *       *       *       *       *


    The following advertisement appeared some little time since in
    the columns of a daily contemporary:--

    To those who have not time to give their dogs sufficient
    exercise in London.--A Lady, experienced, would EXERCISE DOGS
    in the Park. Terms, one hour daily, 5s. a week; two hours, 7s.
    6d.--Address, &c.


  Listen to this, _Rover_, my hound!
    This passes expectation!
  A "Lady Guide," who'll trot you round
    For scant remuneration!

  When pain and anguish wring my brow
    Because I'm doomed to hark
  To your "Why-not-go-out?" bow-wow,
    _She_'ll take you to the Park!

  Cometh this ministering sprite,
    Smiling upon us meekly,
  And says, "I'll make your burden light
    For seven-and-sixpence weekly."

  They talk of "woman's sphere," when sole,
    Her hemisphere, when mated;
  But surely here she's reached the goal
    For which she was created!

  She'll _chaperon_ you down the Row,
    With silken cord she'll lead
  Your footsteps where the flowerets blow,--
    A "lucky dog," indeed!

  She'll win your love by bits of cake,
    She'll let you bark, or growl,
  And fight with other dogs, and make
    War on the water-fowl.

  Yet is it right your wayward tramp
    Her maiden steps should hamper?
  No one who knows you for a scamp
    Would take you for a scamper!

  And oh!--a thought most base and black,
    That puts me in a fluster--
  My _Rover, would she bring you back?_
    No, no, I will not trust her!

  The offer tempts--(again that bark!)--
    But no--'tis weak to falter;
  The chain that leads _you_ to the Park
    May lead _me_ to the Altar!

       *       *       *       *       *

keeping up quite Craig-y-noces. High jinks up here. Craig-y-nos means
the 'Rock of the Night,' but, mind you, no rock has been required by
any of us when we did go to bed, even though we had real Welsh rabbits
for supper. Madame PATTI, who takes the Patti-cake here, is far too
wiry ever to be a _Patti de foie gras_. Delicious air here, as any air
must be in which PATTI has a voice.--Yours truly,


       *       *       *       *       *


       *       *       *       *       *


_Question_. You properly attended the Congress last week?

_Answer_. Certainly, by wearing a small brooch pinned on the flap of
my coat.

_Q._ What effect had this on the cabmen?

_A._ To cause them to charge me just double the customary fares.

_Q._ Did you go to the Inaugural Meeting?

_A._ Of course, but as it was so crowded, I could get no further than
the door.

_Q._ Did you hear the speech of the Prince of WALES?

_A._ Unfortunately not; but I had the advantage of seeing the top of
his Royal Highness's head.

_Q._ Did you go to the _Soirée_ in Lincoln's Inn Fields, at the Hall
of the Royal College of Surgeons?

_A._ I did, and was much amused at finding myself drinking claret cup
in the museum devoted to skeletons.

_Q._ Did you go to the reception at Guildhall?

_A._ Certainly, and was greatly gratified at the amusements supplied
to the Lord Mayor's guests.

_Q._ What were those amusements?

_A._ So far as I could see, the Band of the Grenadier Guards,
conducted by Lieut. DAN GODFREY in undress uniform, playing before Sir
JOSEPH SAVORY, Bart.; and some charters under a glass case.

_Q._ Was that all?

_A._ Well, I heard some harps, and then of course there were the Lord
Mayor's trumpeters.

_Q._ Did you get your hat and coat in comfort?

_A._ In great comfort--after I had fought like a wild beast with
other wild beasts for an hour and a half to get up to the place of

_Q._ Was this part of the programme badly managed?

_A._ It was not managed at all. The City Authorities had not even had
the sense to put the numbers available at each counter _en évidence_.

_Q._ Did you derive any linguistic learning from this struggle?

_A._ Certainly. I heard bad language in sixteen different tongues.

_Q._ And what (as a connoisseur) did you think of the oaths?

_A._ That none were comparable to that English expletive which is
equally suggestive of a barrier in a river, the mother of a lamb, and
the observations of an angry man.

_Q._ Did you go anywhere else?

_A._ The entertainments I attended were so numerous that it is
impossible to remember a tithe of them.

_Q._ And what did you do about Science?

_A._ Left it for discussion until the meeting of the Congress to be
held next year!

       *       *       *       *       *


_An Optical Illusion in a Lady's Orchestra._]

       *       *       *       *       *



My Amerrycane Frend has cum back again to the "Grand Hotel." He has
bin with us nearly a month, and says he finds it, as before, the werry
best Hotel anywheres for a jowial Bacheldore. I thinks as he's about
the coolest card as I ever seed, tho as good natured as a reel Lady,
and I don't think as that's at all a bad karacter. When he heard as
the Germun EMPRER was a cummin to Gildhall, he acshally arsked me
to interdooce him to the Lord MARE, as he wanted a few tickets for
hisself and frends! And when I told him as that coudn't be manidged,
he arsked where he coud buy a few, as he supposed as money coud buy
anythink, and praps he wasn't so werry rong arter all. He had two
or three Amerrycan frends to dinner the other day, and didn't they
jest tork away. One of 'em arsked me if I didn't think as it was
shamefoolly xtravagant to give the Lord MARE of our little City jest
the same salary for governing his one little square mile, as they in
Amerrykey gave their Presedent for governing their hole country, altho
it was about thirty times larger than ours. To which I boldly replied
most suttenly not, becoz I had herd as there was lots of Presedents in
the World, but ony one Lord MARE of London, to which my frend shouted
out, "Bravo, ROBERT, that's one to you!"

Amost all their tork was about what they calls their "World's Show,"
as is to be held at Chickargo, I thinks they called it, the year after
next, and what they have naterally come here for, is to arrange for
the Lord MARE and his too Sherryffs, with their State Carridges, and
state Footmen, and state Robes, to go over and show 'em how to open
it! And the funniest one of the lot acshally said as I must go with
'em, for the World's Show woud not be a perfect show without they had
in it the most horiginal specimen of a reel London Hed Waiter to show
to their 50 million peeple! And I am to have the werry biggest tip as
ever a Hed Waiter had. And I'm quite sure as they meant it all, for
they larfed all the while as they torked about it.

This same one had a Ticket for Guildhall the hother heavening, when
about four thowsand gests was there, and jolly fun he says it was, for
they all seemed to begin a drinking of werry good Shampane about Nine
a Clock, and kep on at it for above three hours, for there wasn't not
nothink else for 'em to do, and so they did that, and did it well.

He arsked me if I coud remember what outlandish names the principal
gests was all called, and when I told him I thort they was HIGH-GIN
and DEMMY-GROGGY, they all roared again, and shouted out, "that's
another to you ROBERT; go ahead, my tulip!" Tho what they meant I'm
sure I don't kno.

Our gentlemanly Manager looked in to see how they was a getting on,
and when they told him what they called my last joke, ewen he larfed
away like the best on 'em. The fust time I gets a chance I'll ask him
to explain it all to me.

What seemed to have struck the Amerrycan most, was what he described
as the twelve most bewtifool Angels, all most bewtifoolly drest, in
most bewtifool close, a playing most bewtifool toons on most bewtifool
Arps! which he said reminded him more of Heaven than anythink he had
ever seen or heard. He arsked me the name of the bewtifool hair as
they played three times, and when I told him as I believed as it was
a Welsh wun, and was called "_The March of the Men of Garlick_," he
wonderd how men with such bad taste could have written such sweet

They can tell jolly good staggerers they can! Why one on 'em said
as how we was a getting so scrowged up in the old Country, that they
thort of giving us jest a little slice of theirs, and as theirs was
about thirty times as big as ours, they could easily spare it.

But this I must and will say, they are perfect Gennelmen, and, as the
best possibel proof of it, they is allers werry libbral to me.


       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration: Sensational.]

Interesting romance is MARION CRAWFORD's _Witch of Prague_: the witch
novel might easily have been told in one volume instead of three.
Skipping is good exercise.

The casual reader, and the travelling reader or journey-alist, won't
get much better entertainment for his money than he will find in
_Stories of Old and New Spain_, by THOMAS A. JANVIER. No April foolin'
around on the part of JANVIER with metaphysical digressions, but all
straight to the point. For sensation, try _Saint Mary of the Angels_.
Adelphi melodrama isn't in it with this story. Also in _San Antonio_
there is a simple, quiet humour; and _The Legend of Padre José_ is
singularly touching. Altogether a book this of infinite variety.

       *       *       *       *       *

"HOW'S THAT FOR HY"-GIENIC?--In spite of the London Season being over,
the Hygienic Congress had what 'ARRY would call a "'igh old time" of
it in London last week. In anticipation of their next merry meeting,
a distinguished member of the Association is already busily engaged
in preparing a paper on "The Real and Apparent Connection between
'Hygiene' and 'High Jinks.'"

       *       *       *       *       *




  Oh, where shall I go, and what shall I do?
  Turn which way I will, I am under the screw.
  Every Voter must feel a tight clutch on the throat
  Of my conscience--poor thing!--ere he'll promise his vote.
  PAT late was my patron,--'twas only his fun!
  Now he's "three single gentlemen" _not_ rolled in one.
  If I partly please one, I make foemen of two.
  Hang Ireland! And Scotland is getting as bad.
  The S.H.R.A. will insist on their fad;
  And their plan, too, is "pressure!" It's just nought but "squeeze."
  And the poor M.P.'s life is one long "Little-Ease."
  TAFFY too takes his turn at the merciless rack,
  And there isn't a faddist, fanatic, or quack
  But has his own Screw, which he wants to apply.
  The Temperance Man "Direct Veto" would try,
  And if I'm not found to accept it with glee,
  He's vicious, and puts direct veto on _me_.
  Ungenerous hot Anti-Jennerites claim
  My vote against vaccine, or howl at my name;
  The Working-Man wants his Eight Hours, or, by Jingo,
  _He_'ll give me--at polling--particular stingo.
  The Socialist wants me to do with the Land
  A--well, a dashed _something_ I can't understand;
  The Financial Reformer, 'tis little he "axes,"
  _He_ only requires me to take off all taxes!
  And now, with the General Election in view,
  I'm dashed if a poor M.P. knows _what_ to do.
  How to live on the rack is a regular poser.
  By Jove, I'm half tempted to turn a--Primroser!
  The soft "Primrose Path" _may_ conduct to the fire,
  But 'tis easy at least, and of Screwing I tire!

       *       *       *       *       *


    SCENE--_Exterior of a Board School. Enter R. and L.
    well-meaning Philanthropist and long-headed Artisan. They
    greet one another with differing degrees of cordiality._

_Philanthropist_ (_heartily_). Ah, my good friend, and how are you
taking advantage of this great boon--the enormous privilege of free

_Artisan_ (_doggedly_). By not sending my lad to school.

_Phil._ (_with pained astonishment_). You surprise me.

_Art._ I don't see why I should. I'm only following SAWNIE's lead.
It's what they did in Scotland. They gave _them_ free education, and
that's the way to read it, and a good way too!

_Phil._ Well, at least you ought to be grateful.

_Art._ Grateful! Grateful for what?

_Phil._ Why, for free education--for education, you know, that costs
you nought.

_Art._ Oh, it costs nought, does it? Then thank you for nothing!

    [_Exeunt--in very different directions!_

       *       *       *       *       *


MR. FARMER-ATKINSON, M.P., has announced that during the Recess he
will deliver political addresses interspersed with songs and music.
To assist him we have prepared a specimen "utterance," which, for the
sake of convenience, we have thrown into a dramatic form.

    _Enter Mr. FARMER-ATKINSON, M.P., with an assortment of
    musical instruments which he places on a table in front of
    him. Immense applause, during which the Hon. Gentleman picks
    up a Cornet and plays a solo. Enthusiasm._

_Mr. Farmer-Atkinson_ (_bowing after recovering from his exertions_).
Ladies and Gentlemen. (_Hear, hear!_) Thank you, Ladies and Gentlemen,
for your cordial reception. (_Applause._) And you must know, Ladies
and Gentlemen, that although I have given you a solo on the cornet, I
did not visit this flourishing town (_cheers_), this highly civilised
town (_renewed applause_), this model town (_hearty cheering_), with
the intention of blowing my own trumpet. (_He pauses--silence._) Don't
you understand? I did not want to blow my own trumpet--joke, see? (_A
laugh._) Thank you! And now about the Irish Question. Well everybody
harps upon it. So will I. "_Come back to Erin._" (_Plays and sings the
touching melody--a harp accompaniment--applause._) Thank you! And now
about the Triple Alliance. Well, I think I can illustrate that, both
musically and politically. Triple means three. Well, I will take
this drum on my back, beating it with the sticks that are bound to my
shoulders; then I will apply my mouth to this set of pipes, while I
beat a triangle with my hands. There! (_Plays the musical instruments
simultaneously--applause._) Thank you! You see I get some sort
of music. A little unattractive possibly ("_No! no!_"), but still
sufficiently pleasing to elicit your admiration. ("_Hear, hear!_")
Thank you! Well, this effect reminds me of the Triple Alliance. We
may take the drum to represent Italy, the set of pipes Germany, always
fond of making a shrill noise, and the triangle will ably represent
Austria. See? (_Great applause._) And now I am very unwilling to weary
you further. ("_No, no!_") Thank you! But I myself have an appointment
which I must keep, so therefore, I must conclude my entertainment--I
should say speech. Otherwise you would grow weary of me? ("_No, no!_")
Thank you! But before bidding you good-bye, I must sing you one more
song that I think will please everybody. It is called "_Home Sweet
Home_." (_Thunders of applause._) And now I will just get the right
key and fire away. (_He tunes up harp, and prepares to play._) And
now, Ladies and Gentlemen, silence please, while I sing the most
touching song in my _répertoire_. (_Sings with immense feeling, "Home,
Sweet Home."_) Now then, Ladies and Gentlemen, chorus, please--

  "Home, sweet home!
    Where'er we wander,
  There's no place like ho--o--o--ome!"

    [_The chorus is repeated as Mr. FARMER-ATKINSON disappears
    behind a curtain on the platform, and the audience fade away._

       *       *       *       *       *



The youth, without a moment's hesitation, dashed manfully into the
sea. He was watched by the excited spectators, who cheered him as
he breasted the waves that beat against the head of the Admiralty
Pier. It must, indeed, have been a great prize in view that could
have caused such a daring feat. That was the thought of the old
Coast-guardsman, as he watched the lad (he was scarcely more than a
boy) as he took stroke after stroke for Calais. Now he rested on the
back of a treacherous porpoise that soon cast him away.


"Will the steamboat lend him a helping hand, or rather rope?" muttered
the veteran salt, as he watched the seemingly fragile figure of the
swimmer. "Ah, by Neptune! well done! Strike me flat with a lubberly
marling-spike, but a kindly act indeed!"

The action that had extorted the admiration of the aged seaman was a
rope that had been thrown over the steamboat's bulwarks. The now weary
swimmer gratefully accepted the boon. It saved his life.

"Will you pay the difference, and come on board, young Sir?" asked the
Captain of the packet, facetiously.

"Were it not that I am very poor," gasped out the tired, and shivering
lad, "I should not have undertaken this gigantic but necessary task."

He held on bravely, and in good time the coast of France was sighted,
neared, and reached. Although as cold as stone, owing to the exposure
to the waves, the swimmer was now refreshed. He threw away the rope,
and once more struck out.

"Adieu!" he cried to the crew of the steamboat. "I can finish the rest
of the distance without assistance."

He was as good as his word. Soon he was standing on French ground
buying a post-card for India.

"And why have you come in this strange fashion?" asked an aged
missionary of British extraction.

The weary lad replied in a faint voice, "Because at Calais a post-card
to India costs a penny, at Dover twopence! Yet both posts surely are
conveyed by the same mail. By swimming from Dover to Calais I have
saved a penny!" And as he recorded this undoubted fact he fainted.

       *       *       *       *       *

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 Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 101, August 22, 1891" ***

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