Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 101, November 7, 1891
Author: Various
Language: English
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PUNCH,

OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 101.



November 7, 1891.



ONLY FANCY!

[Illustration]

We learn by telegraph from Berlin that some uneasiness exists in that
capital owing to demonstrations made by the photographists and artists
in plaster-of-Paris, who have been accustomed to reproduce likenesses
and busts of His Imperial Majesty. They complain that, owing to a
measure of uncertainty about the EMPEROR's personal appearance from
day to day, they have large stocks thrown on their hands, and are
reduced to a condition approaching bankruptcy. The crisis has been
precipitated by the circumstance that, just when the combined trades,
recovering from their first disaster, had produced a Christmas stock
of portraits and busts, showing His Majesty with a beard, he shaved
it off, and once more they have their goods returned on their hands.
Prussian 3½ per Cents. have fallen to 83-85.

       *       *       *       *       *

When Sir AUGUSTUS DRURIOLANUS read in the _Times_ that Signor LAGO
had been granted the QUEEN's permission to prefix "Royal" to his opera
entertainment at the Shaftesbury Theatre, it gave him so great a shock
that, but for the opportune ("opera-tune," Sir AUGUSTUS jocosely put
it) arrival of Dr. ROBSON ROUSTEM PASHA, the shock might have had a
serious effect.

       *       *       *       *       *

On Monday last, at half-past three, the King of SPAIN cut a new tooth,
His Majesty's seventh acquisition in this class of property. The happy
event was celebrated by a salute of seventeen guns.

"What's that?" asked His Majesty, awakened by the roar from his
siesta.

"Sire," said the Field-Marshal commanding the troops, bringing his
trusty Toledo to the salute, "your Majesty has condescended to cut a
tooth."

"That's all very well to begin with," said the King; "but, when I grow
a little older, I mean to cut a dash."

       *       *       *       *       *

Previous to the appointment of Mr. ARTHUR BALFOUR, much speculation
was indulged in as to the succession to the Leadership of the House of
Commons. In Conservative circles there was an almost universal desire
to see the place filled by a noble Baron well-known for the assiduity
with which he arrives in town to transact business in Bouverie Street,
returning to his country seat the same evening.

       *       *       *       *       *

During the interval after it had been made known that the Leadership
of the House of Commons had been offered to Mr. BALFOUR, and whilst
his decision was anxiously awaited, Sir WILLIAM HARCOURT was asked
whether he thought the Chief Secretary would take the place.

"Who can say, TOBY _mio_?" answered the Squire, stroking his chin,
with a far-away glance. "The situation reminds me of an incident that
came under my notice when I represented Oxford borough. One of my
constituents, a worthy pastor, had had a call to another and much
wealthier church. He asked for time to consider the proposal. One
afternoon, a fortnight later, I met his son in High Street, and
inquired whether his father had decided to take the new place. 'Well,'
said the youngster, 'Pa is still praying for light, but most of the
things are packed.'"

       *       *       *       *       *

We understand that an innovation will be introduced at Guildhall on
the occasion of the Lord MAYOR's dinner. The Lord MAYOR elect being
a Welshman, intends to substitute the leek for the loving cup. At
the stage of the festival where the loving cup usually goes round, a
dish of leeks will be passed along, and every guest will be expected
publicly to eat one. This will necessitate an alteration in the
time-honoured formula of the Toastmaster. On the 9th of November it
will run: "My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen, the Right Hon. the Lord
MAYOR pledges you with a loving leek, and bids you HALL a 'arty
welcome."

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR OWN FINANCIAL COLUMN.

(_BY CROESUS._)

    [_Mr. Punch_ has decided that it is absolutely necessary
    for him to publish every week a financial article. The best
    treatises on Political Economy lay it down as an axiom
    that, where the desire for acquisition is universal, and the
    standard of value absolute, a balance between gain and loss
    can only be reached by the mathematical adjustment of _meum_
    and _tuum_. Acting upon this principle, _Mr. Punch_ has, in
    the interests of everybody, retained the services of one of
    the most, if not _the_ most, eminent contemporary financiers,
    whom modesty alone prevents from signing his own name to his
    benevolent and comprehensive articles. Those, however, who
    care to look beneath the surface, will have no difficulty
    in determining the identity of one of the greatest modern
    monetary authorities, a man whose nod has before this
    shattered prosperous empires, and whose word is even better
    than his bond, could such a thing be possible. _Mr. Punch_ has
    only one thing to say to those who desire to be rich. It is
    this. Follow implicitly the advice of CROESUS.]

SIR,--You have asked me to devote some of my spare time to the
enlightenment of your readers on matters connected with the
money-markets of the world. The request is an easy one to make. You
talk of spare time, as if the man who controlled millions of money,
and could _at any moment_ put all the Directors of the Bank of England
in his waistcoat pocket, had absolutely nothing to do except to devote
himself to the affairs of other people. Such a man has no leisure.
When he is not engaged in launching loans, or in admitting to an
audience the Prime Ministers of peoples rightly struggling to free
themselves from debt by adding largely to their public liabilities,
when, I say, he is not thusly or otherwisely engaged, his mind must
still busy itself with the details of all the immense concerns over
which he, more or less, presides. However, I am willing to make an
exception in your case, and to impart to you the ripe fruits of an
experience which has no parallel in any country of the habitable
globe. Without, therefore, cutting any more time to waste, I begin.

[Illustration]

(1.) _Mines_.--There can be no doubt that in this department a largely
increased activity may soon be expected. I am aware that in "Shafts"
there has been a downward tendency; but I am assured by the Secretary
of the "Dodjâ Plant Co." (19½, 6/8, 54·2½, 7/8), that the prospects
of this branch of investment were never more brilliant. The latest
report of the Mining Expert sent out to investigate this mine, runs
as follows:--

"I have now been three days in the interior of the Dodjâ Plant. I can
confidently state that I found no water, though there was evidence of
large deposits of salt, which could be worked at an immense profit.
The gold is abundant. I have crushed ten tons of quartz _with my own
hands_, and found the yield in florins extraordinary. The natives
guard the mouth of the mine. Please relieve promptly. My assistant
became a Salmi yesterday."

There is some obscurity (intentional, of course) in the last
few words. I may, therefore, state that a Salmi is one of the
most important native bankers. The profession is only open to
millionnaires. I therefore say, emphatically, buy Dodjâs.

(2.) _The Carbon Diamond Fields_.--The latest quotations are 14-5/8 to
the dozen, with irregular falls. Carbon Prefs. unaltered. Trusts firm.
This is a good investment for a poor man. In fact there could not be
a better. No necessity to deal through an ordinary stockbroker. Wire
"CROESUS, City." That will find me, and by return you shall have
address of banker, to whom first deposit for cover must be immediately
paid.

(3.) _Italian Cattivas_ quieter. A Correspondent asks--"What do you
recommend a man who has laid by £20 to do in order to hold £1,000 at
the end of a month?" I say at once, Try Cattivas (19-2/5 Def.; Deb.
Stk. 14--15). Wire "CROESUS, City."

(4.) _South-African Pih Kroost_ short. Gold continues to be in good
demand. Anybody wishing to make a quick profit out of a small sum,
such as from two to five sovereigns, wire "CROESUS, City" anytime
before 12·30. In all cases of telegraphing, the message must be
"Reply-Paid," or no notice will be taken of the communication.
Remember "Time is Money." Keep up a good supply of both, and you'll
live to bless "CROESUS."

_Advice Gratis_.--Make (Brighton) "A," while the sun shines,

Inquiries as to _The Para Docks Company_, and _The Jerrie Myer Bilder
Company_, I will answer squarely and fairly next week. Don't move in
these without the straight and direct advice of "CROESUS."

As to the _Turpin, Sheppard, and Abershaw Highways Company_, I shall
have something to say next week. Investors who want a real good thing,
just hold your coin in hand for a week, till I say "Go," and then go
it. This Company will be a big thing, _and, mind you, safe_.

For the present I close the account, to re-open it next week, and, to
show my good faith, send you my subscription, which you may read here,
as I subscribe myself, "CROESUS, CITY."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Greek: THAE PROTEKTED PHEMALE.]

[Illustration]

    ["For our part we do not believe in protected studies. Greek
    came into the Western world, poor and needy, three centuries
    ago. By her own unaided charms she has won her way. By
    those charms we believe that she will hold her own against
    all competitors until literature and civilisation are no
    more."--_Times_.]

  Protected Greek! Protected Greek!
    BALFOUR may doubt, the _Times_ demur,
  And chattering "correspondents" seek
    Against the goddess strife to stir,
  But while the Senate rules, you bet,
  The Goths shan't smash the Grecians yet.

  When Don meets Don injurious fray
    Then comes in sooth the tug of war;
  And on this memorable day
    They gather in from near and far,
  To whelm the unnatural ones who'd seek
  To set the "Grace" against the Greek.

  SWETE looks on JEBB and JEBB on BROWNE,
    And BATESON looks on ROBERTSON SMITH.
  They cry, "Of WELLDON 'tis ill-done!"
    But THOMSON is a man of pith,
  And GRIMTHORPE, that scalp-hunting "Brave"
  Will tomahawk the "Modern" slave.

  The Proctors sat with serious brow,
    Within the swarming Senate House,
  Voters in hundreds swarmed below,
    Fellows of scholarship and _nous_.
  They counted votes, and, when 'twas done,
  _Non-placets_ had it, three to one!

  And where are they, Granta's fell foes,
    The champions of the Modern side?
  Five twenty-five emphatic "Noes"
    Have squelched their schemes, and dashed their pride.
  Hurroo! for those so prompt to vindicate
  Compulsory Greek against the Syndicate!

  Thus sang, or would, or could, or should have sung,
    The modern Greek, in imitative verse;
  Meanwhile the Goddess, grave, though ever young,
    Stood, Psyche-like, untempted to rehearse
  The ragings--angrier ink was seldom slung--
    Uttered by BYRON in Minerva's Curse.
  She simply stood, as stately-proud as Pallas,
  Looking so calm, some might have deemed her callous.

  Amusing sight this game! _Don_ versus _Don_
    Mixed in a sort of classic Donny brook.
  A lethal weapon is a Lexicon
    When rivals make a bludgeon of the book.
  By her unaided charms the Goddess won
    Her way. _This_ is the language of her look.
  (The Laureate's) "Judge thou me by what I am,
  "So shalt thou find me, fairest"--_sans_ Compulsory Cram!

       *       *       *       *       *

BETWEEN THE ACTS.

    SCENE--_Europe. The Great Powers discovered in Council._

_Russia_. Now, I think I have arranged matters fairly well. I shall
myself lend a hand to France, and that will keep the balance decently
level, so far as Germany is concerned.

_Germany_. Will it? I can fight you both!

_Austria_. Now, keep quiet. If we are to be partners, you must not be
so impulsive.

_Italy_. Just what I say. Why can't he take it calmly!

_Russia_. Well, of course it's not my business; but if you want to
break up the Triple Alliance, that's the way to do it! Well, then,
France employed with you boys on the Rhine, I shall move down south,
and quietly occupy Constantinople. Now, no one could object to that!

_Germany_. Why, I should, and so would Austria, wouldn't you?

_Austria_. Of course. But what could we do, if we were hard at work
with France?

_Italy_. Yes; and fancy the Mediterranean becoming a Russian lake!

_Russia_. Oh, you would soon grow accustomed to it! Then I should move
on to Afghanistan, and quietly make my way to India. But all this has
to be done after the first step is taken. England must scuttle out of
Egypt.

_England_. Scuttle out of Egypt? Why, certainly! After consideration!
[_Left considering._

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: MISUNDERSTOOD.

_Young Lady_ (_in Contralto tones of remarkable depth and richness_).
"HAVE YOU GOT ANY _LOW_ FRENCH SONGS?"

_Music Publisher_ (_indignantly_). "_CERTAINLY_ NOT, MISS! YOU MUST
TRY SOME OTHER ESTABLISHMENT!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

ROBERT ON THE COMING SHO.

[Illustration]

What a prowd and appy day dear old Whales is about for to have on the
werry next Lord Mare's Day, as is cumming, which it's the ninth of nex
month, which it's nex Monday. Not only is wun of the werry populusest
of living Welchmen a going for to be made Lord MARE on that werry day,
but the Prince of WHALES hisself, who was inwited but karnt kum cos
he's keepin' his hone Jewbilly at ome that appy and horspigious day.
Praps Madam HADDYLEANER PATTY (wich is quite a Welch name) would kum
up an give us a treat on this okashun.

Praps my enthewsiasm in the cause of Whales may be xcused when I
reweals the fack that I am myself arf a Welchman, as my Mother was
a reel one before me, and so, strange to say, was my Huncle, her
Brother. There was sum idear of dressing me up as a Bard with a Arp,
and I was to jine in when the rest on us struck up "_The March of the
Men of Garlick_," but I prudently declined the temting horffer. I need
scarcely say that Welch Rabbits will be a werry striking part of the
Maynoo, being probably substituted for the Barrens of Beef.

I'm told as all the Ministers is a cumming.

BROWN, with his ushal raddicle imperence, says it's becoz they knos
as it's for the larst time. Yes, much BROWN knos about it, when he sed
jest the werry same thing larst year! I'm told as Mr. BALFOUR and Mr.
GOSHEN is to be seated nex to each other, so that they can take the
Loving Cup together. So that will be all rite. We are going to have a
splendid Persession--the werry longest and the werry hinterestingest
of moddern times! So I adwise all my many kyind paytrons and Country
Cuzzins to "_cum erly_." There's no telling what dredful changes may
take place in these horful rewolushunary times, and ewen the "Sacred
Sho" may be stript of sum of its many attrackshuns, or ewen erbolished
altogether! But that is, of course, only a fearfool wision, begotten,
as SHAKSPEARE says, of too much supper last nite, "a praying on my
eat-oppressed Brane!" No, no! There are things as is posserbel, and
there are things as ain't, and them as ain't done werry often happen.

ROBERT.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE TWO GRACES.

    [Miss MAUDE MILLETT was at Cambridge last week, when the
    Grace of the Senate for an inquiry into the Compulsory Greek
    question was _placeted_ by a large majority.]

  The tug of war, when Greek met Anti-Greek
    In deadly feud, was over in a trice.
  They spoke out promptly, when they had to speak--
    They would not have the Grace at any price.
  But undergraduates of every race
    Flocked to the Theatre, each night to fill it.
  The Grace THEY _placeted_ was just the Grace
    Of one fair maiden--pretty Miss MAUDE MILLETT.

       *       *       *       *       *

A CHILI PICKLE.--The following advertisement is sent us, extracted
from the _Chilian Times_:--

    CASA QUINTA!--TO LET in Viña del Mar the first story of a
    comfortable house, with beautiful garden and yard, situated
    in the finest part of the villa, and consisting of eight rooms,
    baths, gas, cellar and all other comforts, etc., against rent
    or board to a matrimony--Apply, &c., &c.

If Chilians can treat English like this, Americans will stand a poor
chance "_against rent or board to a matrimony_." The terms of the
lease in Chilian Legal English would probably "afford employment for
the gentlemen of the long robe."

       *       *       *       *       *

The _Observer_ recently warned us that--

    "LOUISA Lady AILESBURY must not be confounded with MARIA
    Lady AILESBURY, who is the widow of the elder brother of her
    husband."

There is surely some misapprehension here. Lady "A." did not marry her
deceased husband's brother, whether "elder" or younger.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS.

NO. XIII.

    SCENE--_A hundred yards or so from the top of Monte Generoso,
    above Lake Lugano. CULCHARD, who, with a crowd of other
    excursionists, has made the ascent by rail, is toiling up the
    steep and very slippery slope to the summit._

_Culchard_ (_to himself, as he stops to pant_). _More_ climbing! I
thought this line was supposed to go to the top! But that's Italian
all over--hem--as PODBURY would say! Wonder, by the way, if he
expected to be asked to come with me. I've no reason for sacrificing
myself like that any longer! (_He sighs._) Ah, HYPATIA, if you could
know what a dreary disenchanted blank you have made of my life! And I
who believed you capable of appreciating such devotion as mine!

_A Voice behind_. My! If I don't know that back I'll just give up!
How've _you_ been getting along all this time, Mr. CULCHARD?

_Culch._ (_turning_). Miss TROTTER! A most delightful
and--er--unexpected meeting, indeed!

[Illustration: "Struggling with a long printed Panorama."]

_Miss Trotter_. Well, we came up on the cars in front of yours. We've
taken rooms at the hotel up here. Poppa reckoned the air would be kind
of fresher on the top of this mountain, and I don't believe but what
he's right either. I guess I shall want another hairpin through _my_
hat. And are you still going around with Mr. PODBURY? As inseparable
as ever, I presume?

_Culch._ Er--_about_ as inseparable. That is, we are still travelling
together--only, on this particular afternoon--

_Miss T._ He went and got mislaid? I see. He used to stray
considerable over in Germany, didn't he? Well, I'm real pleased to see
_you_ anyway. And how's the poetry been panning out? I hope you've had
a pretty good yield of sonnets?

_Culch._ (_to himself_). She's really grown distinctly prettier.
She might show a little more _feeling_, though, considering we were
almost, if not quite--(_Aloud._) So you remember my poor poems? I'm
afraid I have not been very--er--prolific of late.

_Miss T._ You don't say! I should think you'd have had one to show for
every day, with the date to it, like a new-laid egg.

_Culch._ Birds don't lay--er--I mean they don't _sing_, in the dark.
My light has been--er--lacking of late.

_Miss T._ If that's intended for me, you ought to begin chirping right
away. But you're not going to tell me you've been "lounjun round en
sufferin'" like--wasn't it _Uncle Remus's_ Brer Terrapin? (_Catching_
C.'s _look of bewilderment._) What, don't you know _Uncle Remus_?

_Culch._ (_politely_). Mr. TROTTER is the only relation of yours I
have had the pleasure of meeting, as yet.

_Miss T._ Why, I reckoned _Uncle Remus_ was pretty most everybody's
relation by now. He's a book. But likely you've no use for our
national humorous literature?

_Culch._ I--er--must confess I seldom waste time over the humorous
literature of _any_ nation.

_Miss T._ I guess that accounts for your gaiety! There, don't you
mind _me_, Mr. CULCHARD. But suppose we hurry along and inspect this
panorama they talk so much of; it isn't going to be any sideshow. It's
just a real representative mass-meeting of Swiss mountains, with every
prominent peak in the country on the platform, and a deputation down
below from the leading Italian lakes. It's ever so elegant,--and
there's Poppa around on the top too.

_ON THE TOP. TOURISTS DISCOVERED MAKING MORE OR LESS APPROPRIATE
REMARKS._

_First Tourist_ (_struggling with a long printed panorama, which flaps
like a sail_). Grand view, Sir, get 'em all from here, you see! Monte
Rosa, Matterhorn, Breithorn--

    [_Works through them all conscientiously, until, much to
    everybody's relief, his panorama escapes into space._

_Second T._ (_a lady, with the air of a person making a discovery_).
How wonderfully small everything looks down below!

_Third T._ (_a British Matron, with a talent for incongruity_).
Yes, dear, very--_quite_ worth coming all this way for, but as I
was telling you, we've always been accustomed to such an evangelical
service, so that our new Rector is really _rather_--but we're quite
_friendly_ of course; go there for tennis, and he dines with us, and
all that. Still, I _do_ think, when it comes to having lighted candles
in broad daylight--(&c., &c.)

_Fourth T._ (_an equally incongruous American_). Wa'al, yes, they show
up well, cert'nly, those peaks do. But I was about to remark. Sir, I
went to that particular establishment on Fleet Street. I called for
a chop. And when it came, I don't deny I felt disappointed, for the
plate all around was just as _dry_--! But the moment I struck a fork
into that chop, Sir,--well, the way the gravy just came _gushing_ out
was--there, it ain't no use me trying to put it in words! But from
that instant, Sir, I kinder realised the peculiar charm of your
British chop.

_Fifth T._ (_a discontented Teuton_). I exbected more as zis. It is
nod glear enough--nod at all. Zey dolt me from ze dop you see Milan. I
look all aroundt. Novere I see Milan! And I lief my obera-glass behint
me in ze drain, and I slib on ze grass and sbrain my mittle finger,
and altogedder I do not vish I had com.

_Miss T._ (_presenting CULCHARD to Mr. CYRUS K.T._). I guess you've
met _this_ gentleman before!

_Mr. T._ Well now, that's _so_. I didn't just reckon I'd meet him
again all this way above the sea-level though, but I'm just as pleased
to see him. Rode up on the cars, I presume, Sir? Tolerable hilly road
all the way, _ain't_ it now? There cann't anybody say we hain' made
the most of _our_ time since you left us. Took a run over to Berlin;
had two hours and a haff in that city, and I dunno as I keered about
making a more pro-tracted visit. Went right through to Vi-enna, saw
round Vi-enna. I did want, being so near, to just waltz into Turkey
and see that. But I guess Turkey'll have to keep till next time. Then
back again into Switzerland, for I do seem to have kinder taken a
fancy to Switzerland. I'd like to have put in more time there, and
we stayed best part of a week too! But Italy's an interesting place.
Yes, I'm getting considerable interested in Italy, so far as I've got.
There's Geneva now--

_Miss T._ You do beat anything for mixing up places, Father. And
you don't want to be letting yourself loose on Mr. CULCHARD this
way. You'd better go and bring Mr. VAN BOODELER along; he's round
somewhere.

_Mr. T._ I do like slinging off when I meet a friend; but I'll shut
down, MAUD, I'll shut down.

_Miss T._ Oh, there you are, CHARLEY! Come right here, and be
introduced to Mr. CULCHARD. He's a vurry intelligent man. My
cousin, Mr. CHARLES VAN BOODELER,--Mr. CULCHARD. Mr. VAN BOODELER's
intelligent too. He's going to write our great National Amurrcan
novel, soon as ever he has time for it. That's so, isn't it?

_Mr. V.B._ (_a slim, pale young man, with a cosmopolitan air and a
languid drawl_). It's our most pressing national need, Sir, and I
have long cherished the intention of supplying it. I am collecting
material, and, when the psychological moment arrives, I shall write
that novel. And I believe it will be a big thing, a very big thing; I
mean to make it a complete compendium of every phase of our great and
complicated civilisation from State to State and from shore to shore.
[CULCHARD _bows vaguely._

_Miss T._ Yes, and the great Amurrcan public are going to rise up in
their millions and boom it. Only I don't believe they'd better start
booming just yet, till there's something more than covers to that
novel. And how you're going to collect material for an Amurrcan novel,
flying round Europe, just beats _me_!

_Mr. V.B._ (_with superiority_). Because you don't realise that
it's precisely in Europe that I find my best American types. Our
citizens show up better against a European background,--it excites
and stimulates their nationality, so to speak. And again, with a big
subject like mine, you want to step back to get the proper focus. Now
I'm _stepping_ back.

_Miss T._ I guess it's more like skipping, CHARLEY. But so long as
you're having a good time! And here's Mr. CULCHARD will fix you up
some sonnets for headings to the chapters. You needn't begin _right_
away, Mr. CULCHARD; I guess there's no hurry. But we get talking and
_talking_, and never look at anything. I don't call it encouraging the
scenery, and that's a fact!

_Mr. T._ (_later, to CULCHARD_). And you're pretty comfortable at your
hotel? Well, I dunno, after all, what there is to keep _us_ here. I
guess we'll go down again and stop at Lugano, eh, MAUD?

    [_CULCHARD eagerly awaits her reply._

_Miss T._ I declare! After bringing all my trunks way up here! But
I'd just as soon move down as not; they're not unpacked any. (_Joy of
C._) Seems a pity, too, after engaging rooms here. And they looked real
nice. Mr. CULCHARD, don't you and Mr. PODBURY want to come up here and
take them? They've a perfectly splendid view, and then we could have
yours, you know! (_C. cannot conceal his chagrin at this suggestion._)
Well, see here, Poppa, we'll go along and try if we can't square the
hotel-clerk and get our baggage on the cars again, and then we'll see
just how we feel about it. I'm perfectly indifferent either way.

_Culch._ (_to himself, as he follows_). Can she be really as
indifferent as she seems? I'm afraid she has very little heart! But
if only she can be induced to go back to Lugano ... She will be at
the same hotel--a great point! I wish that fellow VAN BOODELER wasn't
coming too, though ... Not that they've settled to come at all yet!...
Still, I fancy she likes the idea ... She'll come--if I don't appear
too anxious about it! [_He walks on, trying to whistle carelessly._

       *       *       *       *       *

WAR IN A FOG.

(_A RECORD OF THE NEXT CAMPAIGN OF THE COMING MOLTKE._)

Our Army was now advancing in good order. We had the "A" Division
of the enemy on our right, and the "B" Division on our left, but of
course we had lost sight of Division "C." It was the morning after we
had taken the fortress that had unexpectedly appeared before us on our
right front, and had found ourselves to our surprise by the side of a
river. The Chief of my Staff entered my tent whilst I was engaged in
studying a map not very successfully.

[Illustration]

"General," said he, "military music can be heard in the distance, from
which I take it it must be the other part of our Army." "This is most
fortunate," I replied; "but are they supposed to be in this part of
the country? I fancied they were besieging the enemy's metropolis.

"So it was reported," returned my subordinate; "but it appears that,
taking the first turning to the right, instead of the second to the
left, they lost their way, and instead of capturing the capital,
surrounded a harbour, in which, to their astonishment, they found his
fleet."

"I suppose that the movements of Division 'C' are shrouded in
mystery?"

"They are," returned the Chief of the Staff, saluting. "It is presumed
that the commander is wandering somewhere near the frontier. A spy
from his Army says that he had entirely lost touch of the country,
and was continually asking his way. But how about our friends, the
remainder of our Army, who are now approaching towards us? What shall
we do?"

"Give them a fitting reception," was my reply.

In a moment our Army halted and pitched their tents. Accustomed to
State functions of every sort and description, it was no difficult
matter to them to decorate the line of march appropriately. Suddenly
there was the sound of firing, and five minutes later an officer
wearing the uniform of the enemy entered my tent and surrendered his
sword.

"General," said he, "I yield to your superior knowledge of military
tactics. I had expected to find friends, and now I have come across
foes. And you number more than half a million of men, do you not?"

"Well, no; you may mean my brother commander, who has that force under
his orders. But we have only about twenty thousand."

"And I have given up my arms for nothing," said my visitor.

"To whom have I the honour of speaking?" I asked, haughtily. "I
presume, the Captain of the 'A' Division?"

"The 'A' Division! Why, they are miles away! and so are the 'B'
Division."

"Then, who on earth are you?"

"Why, surely you know we are the 'C' Division?"

At this moment the Chief of my Staff again appeared. "Sir," said he,
"are we to advance or retire? I must know at once, with a view to
arranging satisfactorily the requirements of the Commissariat."

"One moment, Gentlemen," I replied, and then entered an inner recess.
I searched my pockets, and finding my tossing half-crown, spun it into
the air. I eagerly ascertained the result.

"We will advance, Sir," said I to the Chief of the Staff on my
return. And my tone suggested both strong determination and peremptory
command.

       *       *       *       *       *

LULLABY OF AN INFANT SPECULATOR.

1891.

(_A LONG WAY AFTER SIR WALTER SCOTT._)

    [Packets called "Lucky Sweets," in which the bait is the
    chance of "prize gifts," are having a large sale amongst
    children.]

[Illustration]

  Oh, hush thee, my babie! thy sire is a "bear,"[1]
  Thy mother a "booky," both leary and fair,
  And the spirit of bold Speculation, I see,
  Heredity's taint hath stirred early in thee.
    Oh, two to one bar one! Heigh! dance, babie, dance!
    Oh, tiddley-um, diddley-um, back the off-chance!

  Oh, hear not thy rattle, though loudly it goes;
  Oh, suck not thy fingers! Oh, count not thy toes!
  The "Last Odds" and "Share List" to thee shall be read
  To-night ere thou'rt cosily tucked up in bed.
    Oh, two to one bar one, &c.

  Oh, hush thee, my babie! Thy sire will soon come,
  With "Surprise Packets" for thee. Oh, ain't it yum-yum?
  And "Lucky Sweets," babie, will catch thine off eye.
  Not "Hush-a-bye, babie!" but rather, "Buy! Buy!"
    Oh, two to one bar one, &c.

  My lullaby, babie, 's not that of old nurse;
  The pillow for thee has less charms than the purse;
  It is not that "Sweets" from those packets you'd suck;
  No, babie, your yearning's to try your young luck.
    Oh, two to one bar one, &c.

  You eagerly buy them, the "Prizes" to seek
  (You "blued" two-and-tenpence, my babie, last week),
  Those "Lucky Sweets," babie, are babydom's "play."
  But as for the sweets, why you chuck _them_ away!
    Oh, two to one bar one, &c.

  Oh, princes may "punt," babie; nobles may "plunge,"
  But, babie, that chubby fist's cynical lunge
  Means craving for nothing that babyhood _eats_:
  No, babie, you'd fain do a "flutter" in sweets.
    Oh, two to one bar one, &c.

  The tuck-shops, my babie, are well up to date;
  They know Speculation now rules the whole State;
  It sways all the classes, all ages, each sex;
  So now we're provided with "Nursery Specs."
    Oh, two to one bar one, &c.

  Shall Court, Camp and Counter all yield to the spell
  And Cradledom not be considered as well?
  Shall betting fire Oxford, and gambling witch Girton,
  And Infancy not put its own little shirt on?
    Oh, two to one, bar one, &c.

  Oh, hush thee, my babie! the time will soon come
  When at Baccarat boards you'll sit sucking your thumb.
  Meanwhile "Lucky Sweets," babie, buy while you may,
  They will teach simple childhood the charms of high play.
    Oh, two to one, bar one! Heigh! dance, babie, dance!
    Oh, tiddley-um, diddley-um, back the off-chance!

[Footnote 1: In the Stock Exchange sense, of course.]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A DOMESTIC DIAGNOSIS.

_Jones_ (_who has come with his Wife to call on the new Neighbours_).
"WONDER IF THEY'VE BEEN MARRIED LONG, HYPATIA?"

_Mrs. Jones._ "OH NO. EVIDENTLY NEWLY-MARRIED."

_Jones._ "HOW CAN YOU TELL?"

_Mrs. Jones._ "DRAWING-ROOM SMELLS OF TOBACCO-SMOKE!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE IDLE AND THE INDUSTRIOUS APPRENTICE.

(_AN OLD-FASHIONED APOLOGUE WITH A MODERN APPLICATION._)

GRANDOLH and ARTHUR were two young Apprentices, bound betimes to the
ingenious and estimable Art or Craft of _Cabinet-Making_. Both of
them were youths of a Sprightly Genius, and of an Alert Apprehension,
attended, in the case of GRANDOLPH, with a mighty heat and ebullition
of Fancy, which led early to a certain frothiness or ventosity in
speech. ARTHUR, on the other hand, though possessed of excellent
Parts, appeared to be of a more phlegmatic temperament, and took on
a more languorous, not to say saturnine demeanour.

So it came about that for the time GRANDOLPH seemed to carry it over
his fellow Apprentice, who indeed, amongst superficial observers,
incurred the reproach of indolence and lackadaisical indifference,
and although both were of creditable repute in the _Craft_, yet did
GRANDOLPH shine the more prominently and give the greater promise
of pre-eminence, ARTHUR seeming content, as men say, to _play second
fiddle_ to the more pushing Performer.

'Tis, however, within the purview of the Wise and the common
observation of the Judicious, that _things are not always as they
seem!_

GRANDOLPH, at an early epoch in his Apprenticeship, did found a
sort of Comradeny or Free Company, which, from the number of its
constituent items, came to be intituled _The Fourth Party_, in the
which ARTHUR modestly took subordinate place, with unobtrusive ease
and languid resignation. This Party did push matters in the _Craft_
with a high hand and a talkative tongue. For as the ingenious Earl
of SHAFTESBURY saith in his _Soliloquy_, "Company is an extreme
provocative to Fancy, and, like a hot bed in gardening, is apt to
make our Imaginations sprout too fast."

That GRANDOLPH was obnoxious to this charge of "sprouting too fast"
may seem made manifest by the sequel. He indeed pushed himself into
the front place by dint of copious verbosity, and militant oppugnancy.
But (as the same SHAFTESBURY saith) where, instead of Controul,
Debate, or Argument, the chief exercise of the wit consists in
uncontroulable Harangues and Reasonings, which must neither be
questioned nor contradicted; there is great danger lest the Party,
thro' this habit, shou'd suffer much by Cruditys, Indigestions,
Choler, bile, and particularly by a certain _tumour_, or _flatulency_,
which renders him, of all men, the least liable to apply the
wholesome _regimen_ of self-practice. 'Tis no wonder if such quaint
practitioners grow to an enormous size of Absurdity, whilst they
continue the reverse of that practice, by which alone we correct
the Redundancy of Humours, and chasten the exuberance of Conceit and
Fancy.

Whether this particular "quaint practitioner" (our Idle Apprentice,
GRANDOLPH) plagued "the Party" too much with his "Cruditys, Choler,"
&c., or whether he found himself unable to correct his own "Redundancy
of Humours," certain it is that, at the very Pinnacle of Promise,
and Height of Achievement, GRANDOLPH broke his indentures of
Apprenticeship, and _ran away!_

And now, indeed, came the Opportunity of the true Industrious
Apprentice, the hitherto calm and languid-looking, but, in verity,
valorous, and vigilant, and virile ARTHTUR. Whereof, to be sure,
he made abundant use, burgeoning forth into full blossom with
astonishing suddenness, seizing Opportunity by the forelock with manly
promptitude, and gaining golden opinions from all sorts of people;
so that, after brief probation, he slipped, by general acclaim, into
that very premier place so strangely, suddenly, and intempestively
abdicated by the Idle Apprentice, GRANDOLPH.

Concerning the latter, the latest reports are not reassuring. Like his
celebrated prototype of fable, the ill-fated "Don't Care," he runneth
a chance of being "devoured by lions"! At least he appears to have
sought the company of those parlous beasts in their _native Afric
wilds_. We hear that "the lions kept him tucked up one night," which
same news (--gathered from a diurnal intituled the Johannesberg
_Star_--) hath a fearsome and ill-boding sound. That he is--for the
time at least--in every sense "tucked up," is only too obviously
true. Peradventure he may yet think the better of it, correct his
Frothy Distemper and Vagrant Disposition, and (as the agonising
advertisements have it) return to his friends that all may be forgiven
and much forgotten!

But the last accounts of him picture him as lying languidly asprawl
upon a Mausoleum in Mashonaland, _playing dice with himself!_ The tomb
would indeed appear to be, in the sombre words of the Mystick Poet:--

  "The vault of his lost Ulalume,"

the runic-sounding word, "Ulalume," being taken perchance as the
African synonym for "Reputation." Whether the cheering word _Resurgam_
will ever be appropriate to _that_ Tomb remaineth to be seen. But
it would appear only too plain that GRANDOLPH (in the words of the
aforesaid SHAFTESBURY) "hath been a great frequenter of the woods and
river-banks, where he hath consum'd abundance of his breath, suffer'd
his Fancy to evaporate, and reduc'd the vehemence both of his Spirit
and Voice." In short, that the erst ambitious and aspiring GRANDOLPH
is still content, for the time at least, to play the part of _The Idle
Apprentice_.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE IDLE AND THE INDUSTRIOUS APPRENTICE.

(_A long way after Hogarth._)]

       *       *       *       *       *

"WHYS"--WISE AND OTHERWISE.

(_BEING QUEER QUERIES._)

[Illustration]

  I wonder why, whene'er a four-
  Wheeler advances to a door,
  (A common thing on Britain's shore,)
    I wonder why,
  At once some aged man will stand
  And stare until its inmates land,
  As if enchained by something grand,
    Or weird, or high.

  I wonder why the powers that mend
  The streets should root them up, and rend
  The roads with giant pipes on end
    And bricks awry,
  Just when we turn to town again;
  Though nothing stirred while West Cockayne
  Lay waste--a huge, deserted lane--
    I wonder why.

  I wonder why athwart the Row
  Stray loafers linger, loth to go
  Past the mid-crossing, and are so
    Resolved to die,
  Hoping that, as you gallop near
  You'll maul them by your mad career--
    I wonder why.

  I wonder why, when theatre Stalls,
  Are "papered" by Professionals,
  And children arch in Thespis' halls
    Their gambols ply,
  Why the Box-office has the face
  To offer _me_, who book place--
  A Stall that would the Pit disgrace,
    I wonder why.

  I wonder why, whenever pressed
  A little money to invest
  In something which is quite the best
    Affair to buy,
  I _always_ read next morning that
  Not _I_, but it (in parlance pat
  Of City articles) was "Flat,"
    I wonder why.

       *       *       *       *       *

CONTRIBUTION TOWARDS NURSERY RHYMES.

(_FOR USE OF INFANT STUDENTS IN NEW SCHOOL OF DRAMATIC ART._)

  'Tis the voice of the Prompter,
    I hear him quite plain;
  He has prompted me twice,
    Let him prompt me again.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE PRETTY SIMPLETON.

    [The _Spectator_ warns men against marrying simpletons,
    pointing out that "there is no bore on earth equal to the
    woman who can neither talk nor listen, and who has no mental
    interests in common with her husband."]

[Illustration]

  When fair BELINDA sweetly smiles,
    And airily before you trips,
  You're captured by her artless wiles,
    And must admire her rosy lips.
  You know that she is very fair,
    You see that she has splendid eyes;
  But ah, rash lover, have a care,
    And find out if BELINDA's wise.

  For beauty, trust us, is not all
    A wife in these days should possess;
  Her conversation's apt to pall,
    If she can talk of naught but dress.
  She need not be too deeply read,
    You do not want a priggish bride;
  But still take care the pretty head
    Can boast some little brain inside.

  In courtship all she said was sweet,
    For you had died to win a glance;
  Her little platitudes seemed neat,
    Breathed 'mid the pauses of the dance.
  You would have felt a heartless fiend
    To criticise, when by her side;
  Nor would the lady have demeaned
    Herself to answer, had you tried.

  But when you've won her for a wife,
    And ante-nuptial glamour dies,
  What food for matrimonial strife
    Her crass inconsequent replies.
  How terrible to find her dense,
    And never grasping what you mean;
  You'll think one gleam of common sense
    Worth more than finest eyes e'er seen.

  Days come when love no longer gives
    Illusions as in hours of yore;
  And hapless is the man who lives
    To find his wife become a bore.
  Then keep, if you'd avoid that day,
    The wise _Spectator's_ golden rule:
  Don't be by beauty led away,
    And choose for wife a pretty fool.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the _Times'_ book advertisement column, the S.P.C.K. announces the
following new publication:--

    THE OUSE. By the Rev. A.J. FOSTER, M.A.

This, we suppose, is the first of a new unaspirated ARRY SERIES.
The next Volume being _The Ome_, and, after that, _Books of Ighgate,
Amsted, Olloway, and other Ills_.

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

[Illustration]

The Baron recognises, with pleasure, the actuality of the dramatic
scenes _In Cambridge Courts_, by Mr. LEHMANN. The dialogues during
rehearsal at the A.D.C., and of the Classic Play, are about the best
of the many best things in the book. Mightily disappointed is the
Baron with Mr. J.H. SHORTHOUSE's _Lady Falaise_, which, beginning
so strongly, ends so feebly. Powerful it promised to be; exciting it
promised to be; but weak it becomes, and, now and again, wearisome.
Sorry for this is

THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

       *       *       *       *       *

QUERIES FOR CANDIDATES (L.C.C.)

(_WHAT THEY MAY COME TO._)

As the County Council now has power over the Tramways of London,
will you pledge yourself to see that smoking carriages, comfortable
cushions, waiting-rooms at street-corners, and constant civility, are
provided for passengers?

Will you abolish the irritating and nefarious Ticket System?

How long do you think it will be before the electric light is
universally established in the cars?

What is your view as to the provision of suitable places for wet
umbrellas?

Will you at once vote for "Free or Assisted Locomotion"?

If a wheel of your private carriage comes off owing to skidding in
the Tramway line, will you pledge yourself not to bring any claim for
compensation against the Rates?

Will you vote for the summary dismissal of any Conductor who proceeds
to count the passengers after being informed that he is "full inside"?

Is it a fact that you have promised to introduce "Pullman Palace
Restaurant Cars, with free lunches," on the Tram-lines? If so, do you
contemplate providing the cost out of your own resources, or how?

You state in your Address to the Electors that you "are desirous of
reducing the hours of Tram _employés_ to four a day, with two months'
holiday in the year, and of giving a general rise of wages up to
about £2 extra per week." Will you kindly say how you reconcile this
desire with your expressed intention to "run the concern on the most
economical plan, so as to save the pockets of the Ratepayers"?

It is reported that you have pledged yourself, if elected, to see
that the Tram Conductors "get their Saturday to Monday at Brighton as
a regular thing." How do you propose to carry out this part of your
programme?

Do you consider yourself justified, in face of the above statements,
in characterising the rival Candidate for the Council as "attempting
to catch the Labour Vote by an impudent combination of insincere
flattery, and fraudulent promises"?

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: MR. PUNCH ON TOUR. A REMINISCENCE OF THE RYDE SEASON.]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A RECOMMENDATION.

_Dealer_. "NOW THERE'S HACTION FOR YOU, SIR! PUTS HER FEET DOWN AS IF
SHE WAS A STEPPIN' ON HEGGSHELLS, DON'T SHE, SIR?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

"BELOW THE BELT!"

(_EXTRACTS FROM THE POLITICAL "FISTIANA" OF THE PERIOD._)

I.--_BY THE "BRUMMAGEM BANTAM" (AS REPORTED IN THE "INJUDICIOUS
BOTTLEHOLDER")._

"The 'Arwarden Old 'Un, Gemmen? Lor bless yer, _he_ ain't no account,
nohow. Can't 'it a 'ole in a pound o' butter, _'e_ can't. Allus _was_
a muff and a muddler; middling showy style, and a bit dodgy with his
dooks, but neither a slogger _nor_ a stayer, and, atween you and me
and the post, allus ready to hist the white feather when 'ard pressed.
Wot's that you say? _His_ 'Travelling Company'? A reglar swindle, and
a fair frost, Gemmen. Went 'round the country' on false purtences, and
never did no good nowheres. Awful poor lot o' Pugs, _that_ gang. Not
in it with the ''Atfield Combination Troupe,' as _can_ fight a bit,
and 'as some smart scrappers in it. No, Gemmen, the 'Old 'Un' _allus
were_ a fraud. Couldn't stand up to a Froggy, _'e_ couldn't. His
Company muddled the 'ole bag o' tricks, and made a hawful mess of it.
Ah, and _would_ agen, mark yer, if they got the chance. Should a'most
like to see 'em _'ave_ another shy, if only for the bloomin' fun o'
the thing; but it 'ud be a bit too expensive, and bring discredit on
our Noble Hart, besides."

(_Comments of the I.B.H. "Brayco, Brummagem Bantam! His style of
hitting is straight and smart, in the ring or out of it. Hope the
over-rated Hawardian Old 'Un and his Company relish the pepper
young JOE has administered to the shifty Veteran and his parasitic
'Items'!"_)

II.--_FROM THE "NEWCASTLE NOBBLER," ALIAS "HONEST JOHN."_

"Werry much surprised to see as that windictive Bounder, the
'Brummagem Bantam,' has bin a letting out wicious like at his old
pals, the 'Arwarden Old 'Un and his Pugilistic Company. '_They_
was muffs and muddlers,' he sez. Well, he ought to ha' said 'we,'
considerin' as _he wos one on 'em_!!! The Old 'Un was his first
patron, and me and other members of the Company his pertikler pals,
and _then_ he used for to crack us all up sky-high. _Now_ he rounds
on us for 'making a mess of it.' Well, praps if _all_ wos knowed--but
no matter! Only, to quarrel with your old pals, and then go about
a-sneerin' and a-jeerin' at them for wot you yerself wos a party to,
_I_ call 'hitting below the belt'"!

(_Comments of the I.B.H. "Bosh! 'Honest JOHN' is a shrew, and not a
Practical Pug. Is one prizefighter never to criticise another's style
because he's once been in the same Company with him? Might as well say
he must therefore never improve his own style. Besides, any stick is
good enough to beat the Grand Old Pug-dog with!"_)

III.--_REJOINDER OF THE "BRUMMAGEM BANTAM."_

"'Itting below the belt be jolly well blowed! Honest JOHN don't
believe a word 'e sez--it's ony his narsty spite. Makes hisself the
wiaduck for the 'Arwarden Gang's witrol and winegar, _e_' do. In
course I wos one o' the Old 'Un's Company, wus luck! But I've larned
a bit since then. Wot do _you_ think? When I larruped my old pals, and
called 'em mugs, messers, and muddlers, in corse I included myself,
tacit-like. _But there was no call for to say so!_ As to not showing
of 'em up acos I wos one of 'em--Wal_ker_!!! If _that's_ the Newcastle
Nobbler's 'theory' of fair-play, 'e may jest go 'ome and eat coke!"

(_Comments of the I.B.H. "The B.B. is quite right. If a Pug may not
round on his old pals for doing what he helped them to do, it follows
that he himself must never try to do better. Which is absurd! Go it,
JOE!"_)

IV.--_SURREJOINDER FROM "HONEST JOHN."_

"My 'theory' ain't a bit wot the B.B. says it is. My 'theory' is that
it's mean, and unfair, and unperfessional to curry favour with one's
present backers by 'olding hup one's old pals to public redicule
for doing wot we 'elped 'em to do, and at the time praised 'em _for_
doin'. I call that 'hitting below the belt!' And I believe every
'onest and manly Pug from FIGG to SAYERS would ha' said ditter to
''Onest JOHN.' That's all, Gemmen!"

(_Comment of the I.B.H. "Bosh! JOE's style of hitting is no doubt
uncomfortable--for the Old 'Un and his pals. THAT'S EXACTLY WHY WE
LIKE IT! What's the use of hitting above the belt only when the foe's
only vulnerable below it? We rejoice to see the B.B. knocking the
sawdust out of the Grand Old Fistic Fetish, and squelching the cant
and claptrap out of 'Honest JOHN.'"_)

       *       *       *       *       *

STORICULES.

VII.--GAZEY.

"You're the fust pineter whort I've knowed," said JULIA SANBY,
demurely. "Father works at a plumber's, but 'e ain't industr'us. 'E
ain't a good man. An' mother drinks. Orful!"

JULIA SANBY had consented, in consideration of money received, to let
me make a sketch of her. She was a tall thin child, with a dirty and
very intelligent face, great grey eyes, and long reddish hair. She was
very bright and talkative; and yet she amazed me by being distinctly
sanctimonious. She looked critically round my studio on her entrance.

[Illustration]

"You ain't got no tex' 'ung up," she remarked, disparagingly. "We 'as
two tex' in our kitching. I 'ung 'em up myself. An' father beat me for
it. But I didn't keer, 'cos I knew I wos doin' good."

She pressed her thin lips together, and looked like a mangled martyr.

"Do you go to Sunday School?" I asked, as I got to work.

"I goes reggler, an' I'm first in the School, and I knows more colics
than any of 'em, excep' teachers. I ain't like GAZEY."

"Who's GAZEY?"

"She's a girl what I 'ites. She's a bad girl. We calls 'er GAZEY, 'cos
it's short for GEHAZI; but that ain't 'er real nime. She's a liar.
She's allus tellin' lies--seems as if she couldn't storp doin' it."
JULIA SANBY sighed sadly.

"What kind of lies?"

"She don't tell no lies to get 'erself out of nothin'; 'cos she's so
bad that she don't keer whort rows she gets inter. But she tells other
sorts. She just sits up on the fence what goes roun' the green, an'
mikes up things, an' a lot of the children ain't got no more sense
than to sit roun' an' listen to 'er. That just mikes 'er worse. She
sits theer, a-tellin' stories, an' sweerin' they're all true. You
never 'eard such stories."

"What are they all about?"

"Mostly about gran' things an' wunnerful things--kings, an' carridges,
an' angels, an' firewux, an' dreams what she says she's 'ad. An'
she'll sweer they're true. My word, it is wicked of 'er! She's allus
pretennin' to be things what she ain't, too. One Sat'dy arf'noon she
said she was a steam-injun. An' she got 'old of a little boy, BOB
COLLINGS, and said 'e was the tender. An' BOB COLLINGS 'ad to foller
close be'ind 'er all that arf'noon, else she'd a' nigh killed 'im. 'E
got rather tired, because she kept runnin' about, bein' a express an'
'avin' cerlishuns. Lawst of all she wived 'er awms about, and mide a
kind o' whooshin' noise. 'Now,' she said, 'my biler's bust, an' I'm
done for!' So she lay flat on the wet groun', an' the tender went 'ome
to 'is tea."

"What's she like to look at?"

JULIA SANBY confessed, with apparent reluctance, that GAZEY was very
pretty. "She's prettier nor I am, nor any of the other childrun roun'
'ere. She's got golding 'air, an' blue eyes. But I 'ite 'er, 'cos
she's so bad, an' 'cos she mikes the other children bad. I don't never
listen to none of 'er mike-ups now."

"Would she let me make a sketch of her?"

"Dunno. You wouldn't like 'er. She's low in the wye she talks. The new
curick don't like 'er. Nobody don't like 'er."

Now, just in this sentence, I fancied that the sanctimoniousness of
JULIA SANBY had become mixed with some real feeling. I also reflected
on the fact that, although most children are egoists, JULIA SANBY
seemed to take more pleasure in talking about GAZEY than in discussing
herself. I had distinct suspicions.

"Could you remember any of GAZEY's stories?"

"Might, p'raps."

"Go on, then. Tell me one."

She began a story, which was obviously an improvisation, with little
incidents taken from other stories added to it. It was full of the
wildest imaginings. She told it without the least nervousness or
embarrassment. Her assumption of demureness and sanctity vanished
utterly. She became vivid and dramatic. "An' I'd tike my gorspil oath
it's all true," she added, at the conclusion, as if from force of
habit.

"JULIA SANBY," I said, "GAZEY has not got golden hair nor blue eyes,
neither is she pretty. _You_ are GAZEY."

"I swear I ain't. I'm a good girl, and knows my colics; GAZEY's
something orful."

"Very well," I answered, and went on finishing the sketch, as though
I took no interest in her. After a few seconds' silence, she added,
quite calmly,

"Owdjer know? I can pretend proper, cawn't I? But I 'adn't never
talked about myself as if I was someone else afore. That pickshur
ain't much like me."

"It will be when it's finished. Come to-morrow at the same time."

"Do you think I'm a liar?"

"You're either a liar or an artist, but I'm not sure which."

GAZEY put on her exceedingly frowsy hat. "The new curick needn't a bin
so cock-sure about it then. G'mornin'."

       *       *       *       *       *

THE LATEST FROM BOBBY.

(_AN INTERCEPTED LETTER._)

_Schoolhouse, Swishborough._

_Thursday._

[Illustration]

DEAREST DARLING MOTHER,

I was so glad to get the hamper, and it has done me much good, all the
fellows were pleased with the cake, and the sardines were first-rate,
and the potted stuffs were awfully good. I am sorry you forgot the
bottles of acidulated drops, but you can send them in the next
hamper as soon as you like. There are only sixty-two days to the
holidays--1688 hours including nights! Isn't that jolly!

And now, my dear Mother, I want to write most seriously to you upon a
matter of great importance. You know I have been doing "Music" as an
"extra." Well, it does not agree with me. The fact is, it is an hour
every week in my playtime, when the Doctor says it is good for my
health that I should be enjoying myself. And "Music" is an extra,
like "Sausages for breakfast." And, of course, one has to think of
all that. How hard dear Papa works to get his living; and, of course,
I oughtn't to waste anything, ought I? Well, I really think I could
give up "Music." After all, it's awful rot, and only fit for a pack of
girls! So this is the great favour I'm going to ask you--and mind you
say "Yes." May I give up "Music," and take up "Sausages for breakfast"
instead?

Always your most loving Son, BOBBY.

       *       *       *       *       *

IF THE FASHION SPREADS.

    SCENE--_Interior of a Fashionable Church. The Incumbent has
    read the Banns of Marriage between JOHN PLANTAGENET DE SMITH
    and MARY STUART DE BROWN, and asks the usual question._

_Counsel_ (_rising in pew_). I beg to object.

_Incumbent_ (_surprised, but self-possessed_). You will be good enough
to communicate with us in the Vestry, at the end of the service,

_Counsel_. But I prefer to raise my objections at once. I may say,
Reverend Sir, that I am here on behalf of Mr. JOHN PLANTAGENET DE
SMITH, who is my client. I am instructed by the Messrs. CAPIAS of
Bedford Row, and I contend that since the Members of the London County
Council have instructed counsel to appear on their behalf at meetings
in which they themselves act judicially, the right extends to Places
of Public Worship.

_Incumbent_. Perhaps we might hear you later. If you were kind enough
to raise your objections in the Vestry, it would be--

_Counsel_ (_interrupting_). Pardon me, that would scarcely be
satisfactory. We do not wish any hole-and-corner agitation. I
am instructed by my client to say, that he courts the fullest
investigation. Now, the facts are these:--

    [_Gives the facts, and ends an eloquent speech with a
    magnificent peroration._

_Incumbent_. In consequence of the rather long argument of our dear
and learned brother, the customary quarter of an hour's sermon will
not be given on this occasion. [_Curtain._

       *       *       *       *       *

AL FRESCO OPERA.--_Cavalleria Rusticana_ at the Royal Shaftesbury,
and _Le Rêve_ in the Winter (Covent) Garden kept by Ex-Sheriff
DRURIOLANUS. "About the latter," says Sir DRURIOLANUS, "some
enthusiasts quite _rave_. See?" (_Exit Ex-Sheriff, to note this down
for the forthcoming Pantomime._)

       *       *       *       *       *

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, Volume 101, November 7, 1891" ***

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