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Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 102, June 25, 1892
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 102, June 25, 1892" ***

This book is indexed by ISYS Web Indexing system to allow the reader find any word or number within the document.

VOL. 102, JUNE 25, 1892***


VOL. 102

June 25, 1892



TABLEAU I.--The Park at Versailles. "_Gardeners_," according to the
"Argument" supplied with programmes, "_are seen busily preparing for
the arrival of King Louis the Fourteenth and his Court._" If tickling
the gravel gently with brooms, and depositing one petal a-piece
in large baskets is "busily preparing," they _are_. The Gardeners,
feeling that they have done a very fair afternoon's work, dance a
_farandole_ in _sabots_, after which Ladies and Cavaliers arrive
and prepare to dance too; the Cavaliers select their partners by
chasing them on tiptoe, the Ladies run backwards, and coyly slap
their favourites' faces with bouquets. Here, according to Argument,
"_refreshments are served by Pages_." Don't see any; these particular
Pages seem to have been cut. Dance follows: the _Vicomte Raoul de
Bragelonne_ arrives, but stands apart, taking no part in the dance,
and looking melancholy. Fancy he is wishing he had learnt dancing in
his boyhood, or else waiting for the refreshments to be served. On
referring to Argument, however, discover that "_his mind is occupied
by thoughts of Louise de Lavallière, who was betrothed to him in her
childhood._" Stupid not to see this for oneself. So obvious. Enter
_Louise_. Think _Raoul_ informs her in pantomime that one of the
bows on her dress has "come undone;" she rewards him for this act
of politeness by taking the bow off and pinning it on his breast.
_Raoul_ not satisfied, pleads for another, to put on his hat. _Louise_
refuses, can't ruin her new frock like that for _him_. Find I'm wrong
again. Argument says, "_he implores her to fulfil the wish of his
own and their parents' hearts by naming the nuptial day. Louise is
confused, and bids him wait._" He retires brokenhearted, in search of
the refreshments, and the Cavaliers, with whom a very little dancing
on gravel and a warm afternoon goes a long way, retire with him. The
ladies, left alone, "_now freely express their opinions on the merits
of their late companions_," which seems natural enough. _Louise_
dissents; doesn't see anything particularly rude in their conduct,
"Cavaliers _are_ like that--_will_ rush off for refreshments alone
after every dance and leave their partners." At least, that's how _I_
understood her. Missed the point again. Argument informs me she has
been answering, "_abruptly that the Sun (meaning the King) absorbs her
whole soul, and that she has no thoughts to bestow on mere planets_."
She said all that in a shake of the head and two shrugs, so "abruptly"
is quite the right word. Other ladies annoyed with her, and show it by
walking past and waggling their fingers in her face, which appears to
depress _Louise_ considerably. Then they go out, after the Cavaliers,
or the refreshments. Meanwhile _Louis the Fourteenth_ has entered
at the back and overheard all. _He_ knows what the shake and shrugs
meant, and smiles and nods knowingly to himself. "Oh, I _am_ an
irresistible Monarch, _I_ am!" he seems to be saying. "I'll follow
this up." So he struts down with a fixed smile on his face, like the
impudent young dog he is, and pats his chest passionately at her.
_Louise_ startled. "Don't go away," says _Louis_ in pantomime. "I say,
there's an arbour in that shrubbery,--let's go and sit in it--_do_!"
_Louise_ undecided; tries to excuse herself. "Earwiggy? not a bit of
it!" _Louis_ assures her (he wouldn't be so confident about it if he
had seen his Gardeners at work); "_come_ along!" _Louise_ still timid;
suggests spiders. _Louis_ vows that no spider shall harm her while he
lives to protect her, and draws her gently towards the shrubbery; he
does this several times, but on each occasion her dread of insects
returns, and she recoils shrinking. The King puts his arms round
her to give her courage, and at this instant, _Raoul de Bragelonne_
returns, sees the back of someone embracing the maiden who was
betrothed to him in childhood, draws his sword--and recognises his
Sovereign. "Whew!" his expression says plainly enough. "Now I _have_
put my foot in it nicely!" He takes off his hat and apologises
profusely; but _Louis_ is indignant. What's the use of being a _Roi
Soleil_ if you can't ask a lady of your Court to sit in an arbour
without being interrupted like this? He swells visibly, and intimates
that he will pay _Raoul_ out for this in various highly unpleasant
ways. _Louise_ kneels to him for pardon. _Louis_ subsides gradually,
but still shows the whites of his eyes; finally he tells _Raoul_ to be
off. _Raoul_ is submissive--only wants to know where he's to _go_ to.
_Louis_ points to Heaven, evidently regal politeness forbids him to
indicate any other place. _Raoul_ goes off perplexed, and no wonder.
Then, as the Argument explains, "_a trumpet-call is heard_," and
_Louise "bewildered_," perhaps because it is the signal to go and
dress for dinner, escapes to the palace; and _Louis_, feeling that
the arbour is only a question of time, follows. Then Musketeers come
off duty and get up an assault-at-arms, until their careful captain,
afraid that they will hurt themselves with those nasty swords, orders
them to stop, and the First _Tableau_ is over.

[Illustration: "He swells visibly."]

TABLEAU II.--Rich hangings have fallen close to the footlights,
to represent an "Ante-room in the Palace." Attendants bring on two
dressing-tables. Enter the two principal _danseuses_, who are about to
dress for the Grand Ballet, when _Lulli_, the Composer, and _Prévot_,
the _Maître de dance du Roi_, come in and very inconsiderately propose
a rehearsal, which of course must be an _un_dress rehearsal--then and
there. This not unnaturally puts both the ladies out of temper; they
object to the ballet-skirts supplied by the Management as skimpy, and
one of them throws up her part, which almost reduces _Lulli_ to tears.
The other undertakes it at a moment's notice, whereupon the first lady
tries to scratch her eyes out, and then has a fit of hysterics. Both
ladies have hysterics. A bell rings and, suddenly remembering that a
Royal Ante-room is _rather_ a public place to dress in, they catch
up the ballet-skirts and flee, Attendants remove the dressing-tables.
_Tableau_ over. Plot where it was.

TABLEAU III.--Grand Reception Room in the Palace. Enter the Queen,
sulky, because _Louis_ has taken all the Pages, and only left her
a couple of Chamberlains. Enter _Louis_, more impudent than ever.
They take their places on a _daïs_; the hangings at head of a
flight of steps behind are withdrawn, and the first "Grand Ballet
Divertissement" begins. _Louis_ frankly bored, knowing there's another
to come after that. Ballet charming, but he doesn't deign to glance
at it, gives all his attention to a stuffed lamb on the top of the
steps. Bevy after bevy of maidens disclosed behind hangings, each
more bewitching and gorgeously attired than the last--but they don't
interest _Louis_,--or else the presence of the Queen restrains him.
Instructive to note the partiality of the _Corps de Ballet_. When
Signorina DE SORTIS dances, they are so overcome that they lean
backwards with outstretched arms in a sort of semi-swoon of delight.
But the other lady may prance and whirl and run about on the points
of her toes till she requires support, and they merely retire up and
ignore her altogether. There is a dancing Signor in pearl grey, who
supports first one Signorina and then the other with the strictest
impartiality, and finally dances with both together, to show that he
makes no distinctions and has no serious intentions. All this time
_Louis_ has been getting more and more restless; now and then he makes
some remark, evidently disparaging, to the Queen, who receives it
coldly. But at last he can't stand it any longer. "Call this dancing!
_I'll_ show 'em how to dance!" his look says. "Where's LOUISE?" And he
gets up, pulls himself together, and invites her to come and dance a
minuet. Queen disgusted with him, but pretends not to notice. _Louis_
goes through minuet with extreme satisfaction to himself. Enter Page
with an immense cushion, on which is "_a bracelet of great value_"
(Argument again). Queen excited--thinks it's for _her_; but _Louis_
stops the dance, takes the bracelet, and gives it to _Louise_. "A
present from Paris. There, that's for being a good girl--take it, and
say no more about it." She does, and they finish the minuet. _Louis_,
on turning round to the _daïs_, discovers that the Queen has gone
away, which he seems to think most unreasonable of her--just when he
was dancing his very best! There is more ballet, after which the King
discovers that _Louise_ is missing too. Her Page comes on and hands
him a letter, which he opens triumphantly. "A _rendezvous_, eh? Never
knew jewellery fail yet! How I _am_ carrying on, to be sure!" says
his face. But, as he reads, his eyes begin to roll, and he has another
attack of swelling. Then the curtains at the back are withdrawn again,
and on the top of the steps, where the stuffed lambs were, he sees
_Louise de Lavallière_ in a nun's robe, entering a Convent. _Louis_
can't believe it; he thinks it must be part of the performance, though
not on the original programme. As he goes nearer to see, the curtains
close, open again--and there is nothing. And the baffled monarch
realises the melancholy truth--_Louise_ has gone into a nunnery,
without even returning the "bracelet of great value"! Whereupon the
Act-drop mercifully falls, and veils his discomfiture. And that's all!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: SO NICE OF HER!



       *       *       *       *       *


DEAR MR. PUNCH.--Several people who do not know me as the writer
of the "Selections," have told me that they took the tip about
"_Balmoral_" for the Manchester Cup, but backed it to _win_ instead of
to be _last_--thereby winning money!--now--of course the last thing
a tipster wishes, is that his prophecy should turn out successful,
therefore I am delighted at the result, as also was Sir MINTING
BLOUNDELL, who won a good stake, and is the only person who knows
the secret of my incognito. He congratulated me most heartily on my
success, which he said was the more wonderful as he knew the owner
did not much fancy the horse!--but, as I told him--if owners of
race-horses knew as much as some of the public--(to say nothing of the
prophets)--they would never lose the money they do, and would probably
give up racing! The selection was entirely my own "fancy." I need
scarcely say, I never _ask_ an owner anything, and if he volunteers
the information that he thinks his horse "has a good chance," I find
as a rule, it's just as well to "let the horse run loose," as they
put it; though that is an expression I never quite understood, as I've
never yet seen a horse "run loose" in a race, except on one or two
occasions when the jockey has been thrown at the start--which now I
come to think of it, may be the origin of the expression!

So Ascot is once more a departed glory! We all shivered on Tuesday,
got roasted on Wednesday, were comfortable on Thursday, and resigned
on Friday--and on the whole the toilette show was successful; though
I fancy some of the best gowns were held over for Goodwood--_one_
of mine was at all events--but my goodness!--if only our great
grandmothers could have seen some of our modern petticoats!--more
elaborate than any _dress_ they ever saw!--but then, as Lord HARPER
REDCLYFFE said, our great grandmothers never got off and on coaches
with an admiring crowd looking on, as _we_ have to do now-a-days; and
you have to be pretty smart not to get hung up on the wheels--though
as Lady HARRIETT ENTOUCAS said, "my dear Lady GAY--what _is_ the use
of wearing all this loveliness unless one--" but perhaps it will annoy
her if I tell what she _did_ say!

The Royal Hunt Cup was a beautiful race, although the winner was not
supposed to be the best of "JEWITT's lot;" but I am told he is one
of those who "will not do his best at home," being beaten in the
trial--and after all, how _very_ human that is--for how many men one
knows who are perfect _bears_ in their home circle!

Of the horses I advised my readers to "Keep an eye on," only one,
_Buccaneer_, put in an appearance, and won the Gold Cup; so that my
warning as to the difficulty of doing this, was fully borne out by
the result. My Gold Cup selection did not run, and had I known that
_Ermak_ would have been his sole opponent, I should have made him my
tip; but I do not pretend to be Ermakulate! (That's _awful_--please
forgive me, _dear Mr. Punch_!) From the way _St. Angelo_ won the
Palace Stakes, I can't help thinking he would have won the Derby
but for the French horse _Rueil_, who tried to _eat him_ during the
race--(how shameful to let the poor thing get so hungry)--and this of
course interfered with his chance--as you really cannot attend to two
things at a time with a satisfactory result, unless they be sleeping
and snoring!

I presume that this sort of thing is meant when one reads in the
sporting papers that such-and-such a horse was "nibbled at!"--but
I really think that those who saw _St. Angelo_ on Thursday, saw the
winner of the Leger! There is no race of any special importance next
week, either at Windsor or Sandown, but I will give my weekly tip
for the probable last in the Windsor June Handicap, and meanwhile I
may as well say that I shall grace with my presence the Newmarket
July Meeting, and, emulating the example of other tipsters who
send "Paddock Wires," I shall be happy to supply anyone with my
two-horse-a-day "_Songs from the Birdcage_," at five guineas
a-week--(a reduction to _owners_)--at which price my selections _must_
be cheap.

Yours devotedly, LADY GAY.


  If "SHAKSPEARE" spells "ruin," as Managers say,
    Tragedians all should be needy!
  But a fortune was made by the best of his day,
    And an Actor of "notes" was "_Macready_."

       *       *       *       *       *

Why is the Dissolution of Parliament like the human tongue?--Because
it is in everybody's mouth.

       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration: _Otto, the Wedding-Guest, singeth:_--]

  We never speak as we pass by!
    Alas! it was not always so.
  But now I cannot catch his eye,
    And, when I come, he's prompt to go.
  "_Il me reverra._" So I said
    When I resigned, his love to try,
  But see how WILHELM turns his head!
    We never speak as we pass by!

  _Not_ indispensable! Absurd!
    I built the Empire, made the Crown.
  Of Emperor WILHELM who had heard
    But for _my_ prowess and renown?
  And Emperor WILHELM cocks his nose,
    Regards me with averted eye;
  And, just as though, we now were foes,
    We never speak as we pass by!

  The boy, the ingrate, the young cock,
    Who thinks he's eagle when he crows;
  Old Aquila is _he_ to mock?
    I'll cut his comb ere matters close.
  And yet, and yet he keeps it up,
    And Germany demands not _why_!
  He bangs away like a big Krupp--
    We never speak as we pass by.

  My HERBERT, _you_ should hold my place,
    But you must share your sire's cold snub.
  Did I promote the lion's race
    To be kicked out by its least cub?
  This wedding-favour's gay and smart.
    I to Vienna's bridal fly;
  But something rankles in my heart;--
  We never speak as we pass by!

  Will FRANCIS-JOSEPH see his way
    To--help _Coriolanus_ back?
  I can't believe I've had my day;
    It makes ambition's heart-strings crack.
  But that imperious youngster shuts
    The door of hope howe'er I try.
  Are we for ever to be "cuts,"
    And _never_ speak as we pass by?

       *       *       *       *       *





       *       *       *       *       *


    SCENE--_A knick-knack stall outside the Wild West Arena.
    Behind the counter is a pretty and pert maiden of seventeen
    or so. A tall and stately Indian Warrior, wrapped in a blue
    blanket, lounges up, and leans against the corner, silent and

_The Maiden_ (_with easy familiarity_). 'Ullo, CHOC'LIT, what do
you want? (_The Chieftain smiles at her with infinite subtlety,
and fingers a small fancy article shaped like a bottle, in seeming
confusion._) Like to see what's inside of it? Look 'ere then. (_She
removes the cork, touches a spring, and a paper fan expands out of
the neck of the bottle; CHOCOLATE is grimly pleased, and possibly
impressed, by this phenomenon, which he repeats several times for his
own satisfaction._) Ah, _that_ fetches you, don't it, CHOC'LIT? (_The
Warrior nods, and says something unintelligible in his own tongue._)
Why don't yer talk sense, 'stead o' that rubbish?

    [_CHOCOLATE watches her slyly out of the corners of his eyes;
    presently he puts the bottled-fan inside his blanket, and
    slouches off in a fit of pretended abstraction._

_The Maiden_ (_imperiously_). 'Ere, come back, will yer? Walkin' off
with my things like that! Fetch it 'ere--d'jear what I _tell_ yer?
(CHOCOLATE _lounges over the counter of an adjoining Bovril stall, and
affects a bland unconsciousness of being addressed. After awhile he
peeps round and pats his blanket knowingly, and, finding she takes no
further notice of him, lounges back to his corner again._) Oh, _'ere_
you are again! Now jest you put that bottle back. (_The Warrior
giggles, with much appreciation of his own playfulness._) Look sharp
now. I know you've got it!

_Chocolate_ (_with another giggle_). Me no got.

    [_He intimates that the person at the Bovril stall has it._

_The Maiden._ You needn't think to get over Me that way! It's inside
o' that old blanket o' yours. Out with it now, or I'll make yer!
(_CHOCOLATE produces it chuckling, after which he loses all further
interest in it, his notice having been attracted by a small painted
metal monkey holding a miniature cup and saucer._) Want to buy one
o' them monkeys? (_She sets its head nodding at the Indian, who is
gravely interested in this product of European civilisation._) All
right, _pay_ for it then--they're ninepence each.

    [_The Warrior plays with it thoughtfully, apparently in the
    faint hope that she may be induced to make him a present of
    it, but, finding that her heart shows no sign of softening to
    such an extent, the desire of acquiring the monkey becomes so
    irresistible that, after much diving into his robes, he fishes
    up three coppers, which he tenders as a reasonable ransom._

_The Maiden_ (_encouragingly_). That's all right, so far as it _goes_;
you've on'y got to give me another sixpence--twice as much as that,
you know. Come on! (_CHOCOLATE meditates whether as an economical
Indian Chieftain, he can afford this outlay, and finally shakes his
head sadly, and withdraws the coppers._) Oh, very _well_, then;
please yourself, I'm sure! (_CHOCOLATE's small black eyes regard her
admiringly, as he tries one last persuasive smile, probably to express
the degree to which the possession of a nodding monkey would brighten
his existence._) It ain't a bit o' good, CHOC'LIT, I can't lower my
price for you; and what's more, I'm not going to!

    [_CHOCOLATE examines the monkey once more undecidedly, then
    puts it gently down with a wistful reluctance, and drifts

_The Maiden_ (_calling after him_). You like to do _your_ shoppin'
cheap, don't you, CHOC'LIT? Everythink for nothen' is what _you_ want,
ain't it? _I_ know yer!

    [_The Warrior stalks on impassively, ignoring these gibes;
    whether he is reflecting on the beauty and heartlessness of
    the Pale-face Maiden, or resolving to save up for the monkey
    if it takes him a lifetime, or thinking of something else
    totally different, or of nothing whatever, is a dark secret
    which he keeps to himself._

       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration: "How Abbey could I be with either!"]

O SARAH B.! O Mr. ABBEY! What un-ABBEY thought induced you to select
so dreary a play as _Pauline Blanchard_ wherewith to weary the
British Public? And what a finish! _Pauline_, all for the sake of
her disappointed lover, kills her husband with a sickle!--a sickle-ly
sight--and then reaps her reward. M. PERON, the Maire, was effective.
Ancient _Angelina_, Mme. GILBERTE FLEURY, "fetched" everybody, and in
her turn was fetched by M. FLEURY from a loft where stage-business
had taken her in the previous Act, in order to receive her share of
the plaudits. We hear that SARAH has accepted a One-Act piece called
_Salammbô_, by OSCAR WILDE. Naturally we all see SARAH in the first
part of _Sal_. Perhaps the "_ambo_" means SARAH and OSCAR. Being an
Eastern subject, SARAH sees the chance in it of a Sara-scenic success.
On Saturday last, with her wonderful _La Tosca_ in the afternoon, and
her _Dame aux Camélias_ (the "O'Camélias" sounds like an Irish title)
at night, SARAH regularly "knocked them" in the Shaftesbury Avenue.
No one interested in dramatic art should miss seeing SARAH, at all
events, in _La Dame aux Camélias_.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Saturday Review_ remarks in its notice of _Curzon's Persia_, "is
not the first of his family who has written a good book of Eastern
travel." The author, then, is not a first, but a second, or third
CURZON, and this particular work of authorship creates a new kinship,
as his travels are, now, related to the public.

       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration: Isolde, seated on a sham rock, awaiting the coming of
her lover. Alas! all ends unharpily!]

_Wednesday._--The Irish Question, heard for the first time
operatically, put by The O'WAGNER in his music-story of "_Tristan und
Isolde_." The story is decidedly a _triste 'un and is old_ no doubt
of it. Frau SUCHER first rate as the Irish Princess _Isolde_. Herr
ALVARY plays _Her Tristan_; good, but not great. All vary well. As
_Kurwenal_, Herr KNAPP, in spite of his name, kept everyone awake,
and did his very best; in fact, "went Knapp."

Fräulein RALPH was charming as _Braugäne_, and her manner of
inducing the Princess of the Most Distressful Country to take to the
bottle--KINAHAN's L.L.L.--deserved the encore which she ought to have
received. No matter--Fräulein RALPH played with spirit, which is a
dangerous thing to do as a rule. House crammed: not packed.

[Illustration: "HOW'S YOUR POOR FEET?"

The Pedicure Motif. Shepherd, with pipe, suffering from "Corno
Inglese," showing Triste 'Un, the Cornish Knight, where he may seek
relief from his Bunions' Pilgrim's Progress.]

_Thursday._--Long live the _Don_! _Vive_ MOZART! _Don Giovanni's_
taste as to ladies changed as he grew older. The two musical Duchesses
who accompany _Don Ottavio_ when he is singing are usually, fine and
large; but _Zerlina_, the _Don's_ latest fancy, is _petite_. Why does
Signor CARACCIOLO make _Masetto_ an idiotic old bumpkin? EDOUARD DE
RESZKÉ is admirable as the cowardly _Leporello_, and MAUREL fine as
the Im-maurel Don. With what an air he salutes _Zerlina_! The air
is MOZART's "_La ci darem_," and therefore perfect. ZÉLIE DE LUSSAN
delightful as that arrant flirt _Zerlina_. The Statue was rather in
the dark. The Stalls couldn't see him "noddin', nid nid noddin'."
Let Sir DRURIOLANUS look to this, and say to the Limelighter, quoting
GOËTHE, "More light! More light!"

_Friday._--_Carmen._ Commend me at once to Madame DESCHAMPS-JEHIN
as _Carmen_. Her name is too long, and there's a little too much of
her, figure-ratively speaking. A trifle over-size for quite an ideal
_Carmen_, but then Madame D.-JEHIN is so good that we cannot have
too much of her. Acting excellent. Madame EMMA EAMES EMMA-nently
first-rate as _Michaela_. We all know JEAN DE RESZKÉ'S _Don José_,
which up to now is hard to beat; so for LASSALLE as _Escamillo_,--the
great song encored, of course. Signor CARACCIOLO as _Dancairo_ (of
a mixed race, Irish Dan and Egyptian Cairo--a regular Bohemian), and
RINALDINI as _Remendado_, capital, not overdone. Mlle. BAUERMEISTER
as _Frasquita_, and AGNES JANSON as _Mercedes_, looked winning,
especially when playing cards.

_Saturday._--_Cavalleria Rusticana._ Most appropriate when everybody
is talking of the elections and "going to the country."

       *       *       *       *       *



(_From Miss Mary Logic to Miss Rosa Blackbord._)

_Coached Cottage._


I fancy I told you that my Uncle JACK was coming home from sea. I
had not seen him for six years--in fact he left England when I was a
child of four or so. As you know, I am now ten. I naturally was rather
curious to meet him. Well he is here, and I am fairly puzzled. He is
rather a nice fellow--partly educated. He is distinctly shaky with his
Classics, and has evidently forgotten half his Mathematics. However
we got on pretty well. He seemed to be interested in my lecture
upon Astronomy, and said "I seemed to be a hand at Chemistry." Well
so I am. As you know, when I was a mere child I was always fond of
experiments of an analytical character. He asked me if I had a doll,
and I suppose he referred to the old lay-figure that I was wont to
sketch before I took to studying from the nude. And now you will ask,
why I am writing to you, when both you and I are so busy--when we are
both preparing for matriculation? When we have so little spare time at
our disposal?

I will tell you. The fact is, he accuses me of ignorance in the
biographical section of my studies. He gave me the history of a
gentleman who used a blue dye for his moustache and murdered his wives
with impunity. Then he related the adventures of a lady who slept for
a hundred years from the wound of a spinning needle. I had to confess
(although a constant reader of the _Lancet_) I had never heard of the
case before. Then he recounted the adventures of a traveller who seems
to have had a life of considerable interest. This person obtained
quite a number of diamonds, with the assistance of a huge bird called
a Roc. Then he had much to say about a dwarf who defeated (in really
gallant style) several men of abnormally large stature. He laughed
when I had to confess that I had never heard of these people before.
He gave me their names. The wife-slaughterer was called _Bluebeard_;
the lady who slumbered for a hundred years, _The Sleeping Beauty_ (I
suppose she preferred to keep her anonymity); the traveller's name was
_Sindbad_, and the dwarf was _Jack the Giant-Killer_. Have you heard
of any of these people?

Your affectionate Cousin, MARY.


(_Reply to Same, from Miss Rosa Blackbord._)

_Algebra Lodge._


As you are many weeks my junior (to be precise, exactly two months),
I hasten to answer your letter. I have searched all my Biographical
Dictionaries, but cannot find the people of whom you are in search.
As for myself, I have never heard of _Bluebeard_, know nothing of _The
Sleeping Beauty_, and am sceptical of the existence of _Sindbad_ and
_Jack the Giant-Killer_. Like _Mrs. Prig_, who doubted the existence
of _Mrs. Harris_, "I don't believe there were no such persons." By
the way, you ought to read DICKENS. He is distinctly funny, and I can
quite understand his amusing our grandmothers. I generally turn to his
works after a long day with HOMER or EURIPIDES.

Your affectionate Cousin, ROSA.

       *       *       *       *       *

"NE PLUS ULSTER."--Decidedly, Ulster can't go beyond "its last," or
rather, its latest, most utter utterances. So far, "words, words,
words;" but from words to blows there is a long interval, especially
when their supply of breath having been considerably exhausted, there
is not much to be feared from their "blows." However, so far, the men
with Ulsterior views have been patted on the back by the _Times_, and
"approbation from Sir HUBERT STANLEY is praise indeed." Yet, had the
meeting been of Nationalists! "But," as Mr. KIPLING's phrase goes,
"that is another story." For, from the _Times_ leader-writer's point
of view, "that in the Orangeman's but a choleric word which in the
Nationalist is rank blasphemy." However, the steam is let off through
the spout, and by the time the Nationalist's dream of Home Rule is
realised, all efforts to the contrary on The part of gallant little
Ulster will probably be "_Ulster vires_."

       *       *       *       *       *

peculiar form of this painful complaint. We cannot understand why you
should feel "as if wind were always coming from your left ear." Try
blowing into the ear with the bellows three times a day. It may drive
the wind back. For the "fulness, throbbing, &c.," we should advise
ramming a good-sized darning-needle as far as it will go into the
orifice. After that--or even before--it might be best to consult a
competent medical man.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: EARLY MISGIVINGS.



       *       *       *       *       *



  Ye who have read in HOMER's mighty song
  How sage ULYSSES, AJAX towering strong,
  Met at the funeral games on Trojan sands,
  With knotted limbs and grip of sinewy hands,
  To wrestle for the prize, attend, draw near,
  And a new tale of coming tussle hear!

  When great ACHILLES called them to the lists,
  Those men of massive thews and ponderous fists,
  "Scarce did the chief the vigorous strife propose,
  When tower-like AJAX and ULYSSES rose.
  Amid the ring each nervous rival stands
  Embracing rigid with implicit hands."
  Now Greek meets Greek again, but wrestling now
  Is not as on old Ilion's shore, I trow;
  Not now the olive crown, the long-wool'd sheep,
  Is prize; 'tis Power they strive to win and keep.
  By diverse dodges and by novel "chips,"
  Subtler "approaches," and more artful "grips,"
  The rival champions strive to lock and fell,
  Gallia's devices, found to answer well
  In wary onset and in finish slow,
  Old Attic swiftness, seen in hold and throw.
  Supplement or supplant. When AJAX stood
  Before ULYSSES, neither seemed in mood
  For long manoeuvring. To the clutch they came
  With sinews of snap-steel and souls of flame.
  "Close lock'd above, their heads and arm are mix'd;
  Below their planted feet at distance fix'd:
  Like two strong rafters, which the builder forms
  Proof to the wintry winds and howling storms;
  Their tops connected, but at wider space
  Fix'd on the centre stands their solid base."
  So in old days. Now wrestlers shift like snakes,
  And dodge _à la_ DUBOIS, for mightier stakes
  Than olive, parsley, or the champion's belt
  Can furnish forth.
                     Long time hath it been felt
  That two superior champions, age-long foes,
  At last must come to a conclusive close.
  "Defiled with honourable dust they roll,
  Still breathing strife, and unsubdued of soul;
  Again they rage, again to combat rise,"--
  For one must win; these cannot _share_ the prize.
  Great GLADSTONIDES--place allow to age!--
  A chief of seasoned strength and generous rage,
  Fell, at their last encounter, to the skill
  Of him the swart of look, the stern of will,
  Broad-shouldered SALISBURION. Such defeat
  Valiant and vigorous veteran well might fret.
  He erst invincible, the Full of Days,
  The Grand Old One, full-fed with power and praise.
  ACHILLES-NESTOR, to no younger foe,
  Because of one chance slip and casual throw,
  The Champion's Belt is ready to resign;
  Nor may his foe the final fall decline.
  So "Greek meets Greek" in wrestling rig once more.
  Not AJAX or ULYSSES sly of yore,
  Was e'er more eager for the sinewy fight.
  Much time is spent in "getting into grips."
  Mark how each wrestler crouches, feints, and slips!
  Mark how they circle round and round the ring,
  Like wary "pug," like tiger on the spring,
  Cautious as one, though as the other bold,
  Eye, foot, and hand manoeuvring for a hold!
  And when indeed they close in mutual clutch,
  And put the champion honours to the touch,
  Strain every muscle, try each latest "chip,"
  Which man shall first relax his sinewy grip,
  Be hiped, back-heeled, cross-buttocked, or bored down,--
  That's just the question that now stirs the town.
  The funeral games of a dead Parliament
  Bring every hero eager from his tent:
  Say, will ULYSSES, for his art renown'd,
  O'erturn the strength of AJAX on the ground?
  Or will the strength of AJAX overthrow
  The watchful caution of his artful foe?
  Will SALISBURION fairly hold his own,
  Or be by white-lock'd GLADSTONIDES thrown?
  All ask, all wonder much, but who may say?
  "Another story" that, and for another day!

       *       *       *       *       *

MRS. RAMSBOTHAM's attention was directed to a letter in the
_Standard_, of June 14, headed:--"Nancy and the Cambridge Delegates."
She supposes that "this is another Spinning House case like that of
DAISY HOPKINS and the Cambridge Undergraduates." Mrs. M. is indignant.
"Delegate, indeed! most in-delegate _I_ call it."

       *       *       *       *       *

INHARMONIOUS COLOURS.--"It is understood," observes the _Observer_,
"that Mrs. BROWNE-POTTER and Mr. BELLEW part company." Evidently
BROWNE and B(EL)LEW don't go well together. Even the Potter's Art
cannot effect a successful blend.

       *       *       *       *       *

A "DEGREE BETTER."--Why should not a bankrupt who has successfully
passed his examination be granted a degree, and add "C.B."
("Certificated Bankrupt") to his name?

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK."]

       *       *       *       *       *



       *       *       *       *       *



_Thrasymachus-Shiptonides_ (_after introducing a Deputation_). What we
demand is a legal reduction of the hours of labour, and what we want
of you, SOCRATES, is your invaluable aid in getting it.

_Socrates_ (_smiling_). Most heartily do I wish you _may_ get it--in
both cases. But how say you; is the principle of permanence in a state
or community, or class, best effected by harmony, or as it were, unity
of action in all its members?

_All_ (_after looking at each other, and rubbing their chins_). How

_Socrates_ (_rubbing his hands_). Entirely so! And your class then are
unanimous in favour of a legal reduction of the hours of labour?

_Thrasymachus-Shiptonides_ (_bothered_). Well--ahem!--hardly so,
perhaps. But (_valiantly_), at least three-quarters of a million who
met in the Park gathering at sixteen platforms, were substantially

_Socrates._ Humph! Over forty-six thousand to each platform. That's
a far greater number than even _I_ ever addressed. How did you count
them, or ascertain their views?

_Thrasymachus-Shiptonides_ (_flustered_). Well, I've had twenty years'
experience of mob-mustering, and I think I _ought_ to know.

_Polemarchus-Steadmanides._ But will you, SOCRATES, give us your
opinions of the opinion of these three-quarters of a million.

_Socrates_ (_laughing_). By Hercules! that were a task more tremendous
than all his Labours.

_Cephalus-Pearsonides_ (_aside_). By Vulcan, this is his wonted irony.
He never inclines to answer a question forthrightly, but to use irony,
or evasion, or what the Hibernians call "shenanigan," rather than
answer, if anyone asks him anything.

_Thrasymachus-Shiptonides_ (_aside, hastily_). Yes, yes! But you must
not tell him that, here and now!

_Socrates_ (_blandly_). Friends, as you suggest that the proceedings
should be of a conversational or dialectical nature, a plan which
falleth in with my views also, I will, if you please, catechise you
categorically, so as to get further into the interior of the question,
and of your--ahem!--minds.

_Of this catechising, the reporter gives the following condensed

Do you suggest that I should turn my back on myself? _No, that would
be rude._ Or give myself away? _Nay, that were--unthrifty._ Can two
solid things occupy the same space at the same time? _By Zeus, no!_
Home-Rule--a _very_ solid thing--fully occupies my mind--for the
present. When a Gladstone-bag is _full_, can you put more into it?
_By Mercury, no! But could you not reconsider the packing!_ Not if the
contents consist of _one_ article only. You would like me to pack it
with your Eight Hours' Bill? _Prodigiously! Your strong personality,
would push forward even a worse thing._ How near are you to unanimity?
_As near as considerable difference of opinion will allow us to come._
Is an unascertained minority to coerce an unwilling majority? _Our
Council has not discussed that?_ Do you know the relative proportions
of majority and majority in organised and unorganised trades; how
their respective opinions are to be ascertained, and, if ascertained,
how legally enforced; if, and how, two millions and a half are to
commit eleven millions to certain binding laws, and involve them in
legal consequences? _No! Yes! Hardly! Not quite! More or less! Well,
we're not quite sure, &c., &c._

_Socrates_ (_smiling_). Now, tell me, THRASYMACHUS, is _this_ the
"harmony, or, as it were, unity of action," on which only, as we
agreed, we could found "the principle of permanency in a state or

_Thrasymachus-Shiptonides_ (_hurriedly_). Well, what you say,
SOCRATES, is very nice, and clear, and logical, and conclusive,
in an argumentative sense, and your attitude is very noble and
high-and-mighty--I mean highminded and all that. And we're _very_
grateful--but deeply disappointed that you couldn't say something
quite different--_in view of the General Election, you know!_

_Socrates_ (_mildly, but firmly_). It is not my political duty to say
pleasant things all round, but to ascertain--and tell--the Truth.

_All_ (_deferentially_). Well, we are all _tremendously_ thankful!
(_aside_) for small mercies! Logic scores in argument, but votes tell
at the poll. And if we do not run at least a hundred Labour Candidates
to enlighten you as to our "unanimity," call us--items! [_Exeunt._

       *       *       *       *       *

_Matinées_ of _Peril_ are advertised at the Haymarket. Most _Matinées_
deserve this description.

       *       *       *       *       *


    [At the Annual Meeting of the Curates' Augmentation Fund,
    Archdeacon KAYE, of Lincoln, urged the desirability of
    imposing some limitation to the number ordained to the
    Ministry of the Church of England, as three-fifths of the
    Clergy were in poverty.]

  "Oh, sad indeed it is to think,"
    Quoth good Archdeacon KAYE,
  "That though our Clergy are so 'High,'
    So low should be their pay!

  "They fly to money-lenders' lures,
    To speculative chances;
  Advancement they appear to lack.
    And so they get advances.

  "This 'Discipline of Clergy' Bill
    On us is rather rough;
  Surely the bills our tradesmen bring
    Are discipline enough!

  "A fresh supply of Rectories
    Must really soon be found;
  All would be _square_, if once there were
    Sufficient to go _round_.

  "To get the Clergy out of their
    Pecuniary holes,
  The sole and only cure I see
    Would be--a Cure of Souls!

  "'One man, one Vicarage!'--the cry
    To stir a thoughtless nation;
  But just at present let us try
    Restricted Ordination!"

  "Free Trade in Curates!" shout our girls,
    Responsive from their pew;
  "You say there are too many, but
    _We_ know there are too few!

  "Think of the budding Candidates
    For Orders, whom, no doubt,
  This limiting of out-put would
    Excessively put out!

  "If Curates now are destitute,
    A brighter future beacons;
  'Tis only fair that all should share
    The stipends of Archdeacons!"

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: HONORIS CAUSÂ.

[The University of Dublin has decided to confer the Degree of D.C.L.

_J.L.T._ (_to Dr. Irving_). "I SAY, HENRY,--'SCUSE MY GLOVE,--I'VE

       *       *       *       *       *

A GIFTED BEING.--The _Daily Telegraph_ of June 11, in giving us
some news from Cambridge about the Mathematical Tripos, had this

    "The Senior Wrangler, Mr. PHILIP HERBERT COWELL, son of Mr.
    H. COWELL, Privy Council Bar, was born in 1870, and was
    previously educated at Rev. E. St. JOHN PARRY's School, Stoke,

Now didn't such a start in life as being educated "_previously_" to
being "born," give Mr. COWELL a somewhat unfair advantage over the
other competitors? Very few come into the world with such a chance.
"Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness
thrust upon them," says SHAKSPEARE. But to come into the world, like
MINERVA, armed _College-cap-à-pie_, is, as _Dominie Sampson_ would
have said, "Pro-di-gi-ous!"

       *       *       *       *       *



[Illustration: "Francis George."]

_House of Commons, Monday, June_ 13.--House filled up in marvellous
style to-night. Through all last week Benches nearly empty; the few
Members present sunk in depths of depression. To-night, scene changed;
Benches crowded; buzz of conversation testified to ill-repressed
excitement. Mr. G., amongst others, back in his place. "And looking
uncommonly fit too," says FRANCIS GEORGE, Viscount BARING; "not at all
sure he won't, after all, outlive Our JOE. At any rate, he's in fine
condition for the little mill that's coming off."

[Illustration: "Scenting the Battle from afar."]

What everyone gathered to hear was Prince ARTHUR's views as to date
of Dissolution. He has, up to now, successfully maintained attitude
of absolute ignorance that Dissolution is even pending. Up to to-night
the blessed word on everyone's tongue has not passed his lips. When,
a fortnight ago, Mr. G. diplomatically approached topic, the Prince,
with charmingly puzzled look, talked of something else. Nearest
approach he can bring himself to make to topic, is to refer to
arrangements of public business. This afternoon, when he stood at
Table, a ringing cheer went up from serried hosts of Ministerialists;
answered by closed-up ranks of Opposition. "Ha! ha!" said STUART,
scenting the battle from afar, "that is the first challenge and
reply in the great fight. Soon as BALFOUR's finished I shall take the
Shoreditch 'bus, and look up my Constituents at Hoxton."

Prince ARTHUR, with eyebrows slightly raised, stood waiting for
opportunity to speak; evidently marvelling at this unwonted and
unaccountable outburst of clamour. When it ceased, he observed, quite
incidentally, that perhaps it would be convenient for him to make a
statement "as to prospects of concluding business before termination
of the Session." The Session, note. Not the life of Parliament, nor
anything to do with so disturbing a thing as Dissolution. Kept this
up through long business statement; only at conclusion accidentally
stumbled on the word, and then regarded the prospect as so
uninteresting and immaterial, that he could not come nearer to its
contemplation than an interval of seven days. Not before the end
of one week, and not after the middle of another, was as near as he
thought it worth while to approach such trifling contingency.

_Business done._--A great deal.

_Tuesday._--Quite touching to observe SQUIRE OF MALWOOD's friendly
interest in progress of public Bills. GORST, in arranging business
of Sitting, anxious not to appear too grasping, put down only limited
number of Bills on Orders. "Why not put down all you've got?" the
Squire asks, with mildly benevolent glance bent on Treasury Bench.
"Supposing list is run through, there is end of your opportunity;
whereas, if you put 'em all down you're ready to benefit by any
accident, and may some night do wonderful stroke of business, working
everything off."

[Illustration: MR. GLADSTONE has addressed a letter to the
Press:--"SIR,--The requests addressed to me by Liberal friends ... for
personal visits, speeches, and letters have at this juncture become so
numerous that it is impossible to reply to them,... or to do more than
to assure them that my time and thoughts are incessantly applied to
the best mode I can devise to the promotion of our common cause."]

Prince ARTHUR listens attentively, regarding with questioning look the
Grand Grey Figure on other side of Table. "When I was at school," he
says, "we were taught, in a foreign tongue, a maxim about fearing
the Greeks when they brought presents. Not quite sure the right Hon.
Gentleman is chiefly concerned for interests of Government and advance
of public business. But I'll consider his suggestion."

[Illustration: "Big with indignation."]

Business advancing by leaps and bounds; attendance small; Opposition
effaced itself; only CLARK and ALPHEUS CLEOPHAS take objection to
anything. Being in Committee of Supply they naturally want to know
about things. The Squire privily approaches them in turn and entreats
them to desist, which they regretfully do. Presently trouble breaks
out in fresh quarter. FERGUSSON takes opportunity on Post Office Vote
to ask Candidates at forthcoming Election to ignore appeal made to
them by Telegraph Clerks for pledge to vote for Select Committee to
inquire into working of Telegraph service. Says Mr. G. and Squire
concur with him in his protest. This brings up GEORGE HOWELL, big with
indignation at what he calls "a conspiracy against the Working Men
of the country." HARRY LAWSON and STOREY join in. FERGUSSON sorry he
spoke; didn't mean anything; Opposition mollified; vote agreed to.

_Business done._--Supply closed.

_Thursday._--Mr. G. hurried in just now, a little late. Been these two
hours at Carlton Gardens wrestling with representatives of the British
workman on Eight Hours' Question. A little out of breath with skipping
upstairs and running along corridor to be in time. Otherwise, as fresh
as if his afternoon had been spent lounging on lawn at Dollis Hill,
where the other night the Archbishop of CANTERBURY went to dine
with him. Wants to know about the date of Dissolution. It will be
convenient, he says, "at least, for those who have youth and vigour
sufficient again to submit themselves to the constituencies." Mr.
G.'s face wrinkled into smile as he uttered this witticism. House
spontaneously burst into cheer as hearty on the Conservative side as
with Opposition.

Rattling on with business. SPEAKER out of breath with putting the
question and declaring "the Ayes have it." Irish Education Bill not
only passed Committee, but reported and read a Third Time. SEXTON sits
content, having done good stroke of work in amending Bill. Managed
affair with skill, address and indomitable perseverance. Resisted all
temptation to make long speeches; pegged away at his Amendments, and
carried the most important in teeth of the Ulstermen.

"All very well," said DUNBAR BARTON, "JACKSON giving way to those
fellows, and Prince ARTHUR saying, as TOOLE does on the House-boat,
'Oh, it's nothing!' It may be nothing to him, but it's a good deal
to us. MACARTNEY and I have done our duty. For myself I shall say no
more. I was christened DUNBAR BARTON. Henceforth let me be known as

_Business done._--More than ever.

_Friday._--Met BROOKFIELD in corridor just now. Capital fellow
BROOKFIELD, though not very well known in House, much less to
fame outside. Was in the 13th Hussars; is now promoted to the
Lieutenant-Colonelcy of 1st Cinque Ports Rifle Volunteers. Has sat for
Rye these seven years, but never yet spoke. This the more remarkable
since he is a trained student of art of public speaking; has, indeed,
just written profound treatise on the business. FISHER UNWIN sent me
copy from Paternoster Square. Sat up all night reading it. The speech
of "our worthy Member," proposing "The Town and Trade of X," is
thrilling. Another, put into the mouth of "the youngest bachelor
present," responding for "the Ladies," makes your flesh creep.
BROOKFIELD's idea novel and ingenious. Sets forth what he calls a
conventional speech. This fills up Column A. In Column B. he comments
on it, rather severely sometimes; in Column C. throws out suggestions
which, duly followed, make speech perfect. All possible occasions
are dealt with, whether responding for Bishop and Clergy, Army, Navy,
Reserve Forces, House of Commons, or House of Lords. BROOKFIELD,
moreover, goes behind the scenes; shows the wretched man who has to
make speech preparing it. You see him making up his mind what he has
to say; jotting down a note; revising it after asking everyone he
meets what he thinks of it. Then you write out your speech; learn it
off; get up to address company; things swim before your eyes; tongue
cleaves to roof of mouth; and you sit down.

[Illustration: An Apt Pupil.]

Admirable book: useful on all occasions of daily life; invaluable
on eve of General Election. Surprised to find BROOKFIELD looking
miserably dejected. Tell him he ought to be quite otherwise. Explains
that, fact is, means to catch SPEAKER's eye. Parliament can't last
many more days; hasn't made maiden speech yet; must do it now, or
never; Rye getting anxious. Could I give him a few hints? With
great pleasure; full of the subject. Begin at the beginning. Ideas;
memoranda; methods: (a) The arrangement of speech, (b) the management
of the voice, (c) attitude or gesture. On this last I am very
particular. "Holding up one finger," I say, "is a favourite way of
bespeaking special attention to some 'point' which you are trying to
make; and waving the right hand, with outstretched arm, the forefinger
leading, is an easy and not ungraceful method of illustrating the
narrative portion of your speech. For the more vehement passages,
a sudden flourish of the hand upwards, over your head, generally
accompanies some aggressive, triumphant assertion, such as, 'I care
not _who_ he may be!' And a similar movement downwards, with both
hands, would indicate some indignant complaint, such as, 'And _never_,
from that day to this, have they fulfilled their promise.'"

"Excellent!" cried LEVESON-GOWER, who, as I spoke, involuntarily waved
the right hand, the forefinger leading.

"Yes." said BROOKFIELD, looking a little more uneasy than before;
"very clear, and to the point; but fancy--er--I've heard it before."

"Of course you have," I said. "It's in your book; see page 123. Mind
you let me know when your speech in the House is coming off, After
reading _The Speaker's A B C_, I wouldn't miss it for anything."
_Business done._--Dissolution postponed.

       *       *       *       *       *




  O well of Malvern, immaculate fountain;
  Worthy to blend with the Dew of the Mountain,
    To-morrow, thy rill, gushing brightly,
      SCHWEPPÉ shall aërate slightly;

  SCHWEPPÉ (pronounced with an accent as spelt, Sir.)
  SCHWEPPÉ, purveyor of soda and seltzer,
    And potass (for gout in one's joint meant.)
      Unto the QUEEN, "by appointment."

  Thee not the furnace of Sirius raging
  Touches; thy natural cool is assuaging,
    Unmixed, to the temperate classes,
      Mixed, for the thirst of wild asses.

  Malvern, with me for thy rhapsodist, what'll
  Rival the sparkle of bard and of bottle--
    The bottle in cups effervescent,
      In couplets the bard, as at present.

       *       *       *       *       *

"LIKE NIOBE" (_suggested advertisement for the Strand Theatre_).
Instead of boards up on which is inscribed, "_House Full_," "_No
Standing Room_," and so forth, why not simply, "Niobe--all tiers"

       *       *       *       *       *

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.

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