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Title: Punch, Or The London Charivari, Volume 102, March 19, 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, March 19, 1892" ***

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PUNCH,

OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 102.



March 19, 1892.



"ARE YOU HANSARD NOW?"

_MERCHANT OF VENICE._

    ["The entire stock of _Hansard's Parliamentary Debates_ ...
    was offered for sale. The vast collection, nearly 100,000
    volumes, scarcely fetched the price of waste paper."--_Daily
    Paper_.]

  The Auctioneer exclaimed,--"These Vols.
    Have neither fault nor blot.
  I think that I, without demur,
    May call them quite 'a lot.'

  "Speeches by RUSSELL, PAM, and BRIGHT,
    Good for the heart and head.
  Take them as spoken; if you like,
    Pray take them, too, as read."

  But when the Auction did begin,
    Bidders, alack! were lacking;
  Back numbers hove in sight in shoals,
    Yet seemed to have no backing.

  "Then this," quoth he, "appears to be
    The dismal situation;
  Though from these speeches statesmen quote,
    For them there's no quotation.

  "The eye has 'heavenly rhetoric,'
    Hear WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE cry;
  But heavenly rhetoric now, 'tis plain,
    Itself is all my eye.

  "A penny! Really such a bid
    I can't allow to pass;
  A man who'd offer coppers here
    Must be composed of brass.

  "'Progress' I cannot well 'report,'
    Unless this lot is bought in;
  The only progress seems to be,
    When there'll be no reportin'.

  "Such priceless gems, such wretched bids!"
    The hammer-man did shout;
  "If you desire, I knock them down--
    You first must knock _me_ out!

  "No higher offer? Then I'm forced,
    Pray pardon the suggestion--
  To take a hint from Parliament,
    And 'move the Previous Question.'"

       *       *       *       *       *

ANOTHER SHAKSPEARE!

[Illustration: Mysterious!]

The last play by M. BLAGUE VAN DER BOSCH has just been translated
into English. It is called _The Blackbeetle_, and is a purely domestic
drama. The following Scene from the last Act will give some idea of
the exquisite simplicity and pathos of this great work. M. VAN DER
BOSCH's admirers freely assert that SHAKSPEARE never wrote anything
like this. It will be noticed that M. VAN DER BOSCH, like M.
MAETERLINCK, does not always name his characters, but only mentions
their relation to each other.

    SCENE XXV.--_The Great Grandmother, the Mother-in-law,
    the Female First Cousin one remove, and the
    Brother-in-law's Aunt are discovered standing on the table,
    and the Half-sister's Nephew by marriage on a chair._

_The Mother-in-law_. Eh? eh? eh?

_The Female First Cousin one remove_ (_pointing to Half-sister's
Nephew by marriage_). He! he! he!

_The Great Grandmother_. Ay! ay! ay!

_The Half-sister's Nephew by marriage_ (_shuddering_). Oh! oh! oh!

_The Brother-in-law's Aunt_ (_to him_). You! you! you! [_The
Half-sister's Nephew by marriage descends and resolutely steps upon
the Blackbeetle. Curtain._

       *       *       *       *       *

ENTÊTEMENT BRITANNIQUE.

RONDEAU.

  _Mal à la tête_, _ennui_, _migraine_,
  We risk in trying to explain
    Why, though the Income-tax is high,
    This country never can supply
  Such galleries as line the Seine.

  Yet gifts are treated with disdain,
  Which gives the would-be donors pain,--
    We've now a name to call _that_ by,
      "_Mal à la_ TATE."

  Next time an offer's made in vain
  MACNEILL, or someone, will obtain,
    Or ask, at least, the reason why,
    And even dumber folks will cry,
  "By Jove! they've made a mull again,
     MULL _à la_ TATE!"

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

[Illustration: Brer Rabbit.]

Everybody who took delight in our old friend _Uncle Remus_ will
thoroughly enjoy _A Plantation Printer_, by JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS. The
Baron doesn't recommend it to be taken at one sitting, the dialect
being rather difficult, but a chapter at a time will be found
refreshing. The like advice may be acted upon by anyone who has
invested in the latest volume of the Library of Wit and Humour,
entitled _Faces and Places_. By H.W. LUCY. The "Faces" are represented
by a portrait of Ride-to-Khiva BURNABY, and one of the Author of these
entertaining papers. The first brief narrative, which ought to have
been called "How I met BURNABY," is specially interesting; and the
only disappointing thing in the book is the omission of "An Evening
with Witches," as a companion picture to "A Night at Watts's."

By the way, in my copy of _A Plantation Printer_, the English printer
has made one slip, a sin of omission, at p. 153, where, Miss CARTER,
a charming young lady, is watching a Georgian Fox-hunt. She sees
"a group of shadows, with musical voices, sweep across the Bermuda
fields."

"'O ow beautiful!' exclaimed Miss CARTER, clapping her little hands,"
and, we may add, dropping her little "h" in her excitement. "I can
put up with the loss of an 'h,' but not for a wilderness of aspirates
would I have lost this healthy, cheery chapter," says

THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

       *       *       *       *       *

TO A RAILWAY FOOT-WARMER.

  At first I loved thee--thou wast warm,--
    The porter called thee "'ot," nay, "bilin.'"
  I tipped him as thy welcome form
    He carried, with a grateful smile, in.

  Alas! thou art a faithless friend,
    Thy warmth was but dissimulation;
  Thy tepid glow is at an end,
    And I am nowhere near my station!

  I shiver, cold in feet and hands,
    It is a legal form of slaughter,
  They don't warm(!) trains in other lands
    With half a pint of tepid water.

  I spurn thy coldness with a kick,
    And pile on rugs as my protectors.
  I'd send--to warm them--to Old Nick,
    Thy parsimonious Directors!

       *       *       *       *       *

RICH V. POOR.

(_A NOTE KINDLY CONTRIBUTED BY OUR OWN GRAPHIC REPORTER._)

Nothing could have been more impressive than the closing scene of
a trial that was one of the features of the present Sessions. The
Counsel for the Prisoner made no pretence of hiding his emotion, and
freely used his pocket-handkerchief. Many ladies who had until now
been occupied in using opera-glasses, at this point relinquished
those assistants to the eyesight, to fall back upon the restorative
properties of bottles filled with smelling-salts. Even his Lordship
on the Bench was seemingly touched to the very quick by the Prisoner's
dignified appeal for mercy. Before passing sentence, the Judge glanced
for a moment at the number of titled and other highly respectable
witnesses who had testified to the integrity of the accused. Then he
addressed the Prisoner:--

"You have pleaded guilty to an indictment which charges you with
having misappropriated trust moneys. You have reduced a fortune of
£28,000 to £7,000. This means a wretched pittance to beneficiaries
who, before your fraud, were enjoying a fairly decent income. I am
aware that you are a distinguished Magistrate,--that you have belonged
to many Clubs,--that there is not a slur upon the cooking that used to
distinguish your dinner-parties. I know the severity of the sentence I
am about to pass, and I wish my conscience would permit me to give you
a lighter punishment. But I cannot."

The accused was then sentenced to five years' penal servitude.

A little later another prisoner was put in the dock for stealing
twenty shillings. The prisoner (who was a sailor) was sentenced to ten
years' penal servitude, and seven years' police supervision. The case
was of no public interest.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE MODESTY OF GENIUS.

  When TRAILL his list of Minor Poets drew,
  SPRUGGE's friends exclaimed, "Why, SPRUGGE, he's left out you!"

  To which SPRUGGE calmly answered, "Yes, I know it;
  And he is right. I'm not a Minor Poet."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration]

FROM AN IRISH REPORTER IN A TROUBLED DISTRICT.--"The Police patrolled
the street all night, but for all that there was no disturbance."

       *       *       *       *       *

NEW SONG OF TRIUMPH FOR SALVATIONISTS AT EASTBOURNE, ACCOMPANIED BY
DRUM AND IRRELIGIOUS CYMBALS.--"_Tra-la-la-Booth-te-ray_!"

       *       *       *       *       *

DEMEANING THEMSELVES so!--Mrs. R. cannot understand our aristocracy
being constantly Chairmen at public dinners. _She_ wouldn't be a
Chairwoman for anything.

       *       *       *       *       *

WHERE "GHOSTS" OUGHT TO EXIST.--"_Haunt 'un_ Street, W." It's an
artistic quarter. [Is this Hornton Street? Possibly.--ED.]

       *       *       *       *       *

PEOPLE WHO WOULD BE ALL THE BETTER FOR BECOMING TEMPERANCE MEN.--"The
Lushais."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "DIVIDED DUTY."

_Right Hon. the Minister for War_. "SURELY, MY LORD CHANCELLOR, YOU
CAN EXEMPT HIM FROM JURIES. THE 'REGULARS'--"

_Lord Chancellor_. "WELL, NO, MR. STANHOPE, I THINK NOT." (_Aside._)
"WE _MUST_ MAKE _SOME_ USE OF HIM!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

LIVING AND LEARNING.

MISS SYMPEL, who has never been out of London, saw an advertisement
headed "Salmon Flies" in a shop window. "Well!" she exclaimed, "I
never knew till now that Salmon was a flying fish!"

       *       *       *       *       *

"A cabinet Minister in the Casual Ward," was the heading of an article
in the _D.T._ last Friday, and it turned out to be all about the
Richie and the Poorie.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE BEHRING SEA QUESTION.--Some delay at present, but immediately
after signing we shall commence "sealing."

       *       *       *       *       *

THE FORCE OF EXAMPLE.

(_A STORY OF ADVENTURE NOT IN THE LEAST LIKELY TO BE TRUE._)

"Do you see what RITCHIE has been doing?" asked the Secretary of State
for War of one of his colleagues.

"If you mean visiting the Casual Wards, after attending a meeting
in the East End of London, I do," replied the Home-Secretary. "An
excellent idea, no doubt, suggested by that old story of the Amateur
Casual, which appeared some twenty or thirty years ago in the columns
of an evening paper."

"But don't you think it is playing it a little low?" suggested the
First Lord of the Admiralty.

"Well, I don't know," returned the Autocrat of the W.O. "After all,
there is nothing like personal experience."

And then all three were silent, lost in profound consideration.
Shortly afterwards they bade one another adieu, declaring that they
had greatly enjoyed their Cabinet Council.

It was some hours later that a soldier, wearing the uniform of the
Guards, appeared at the Wellington Barracks, and requested that he
might be permitted to undertake a spell of "sentry go." He was not
known by the Non-commissioned Officer on duty, but as his papers
appeared to be correct, permission was given him to act as substitute
for Private SMITH, who was next on the roster.

And about the same time a person, wearing the garb of a convict, made
his way to one of Her Majesty's Prisons, and requested an interview
with the Governor. His garb obtained for him immediate admission to
the precincts of the gaol.

"Well, my man," said the Governor, when his visitor appeared before
him; "what do you want?"

"If you please, Sir," replied the person in the garb of a convict, "I
shall be very much obliged if you will permit me to have an hour or so
at oakum-picking."

"Absolutely impossible," replied the Crown Official, "such luxuries
are only allowed to individuals who have been properly introduced to
us by a Judge and Jury."

"I fancied," returned the wearer of the felon's garb, "that an order
from the Home-Secretary would smooth all difficulties."

"Certainly," admitted the Governor, "but such documents are only
supplied to European Royal Personages, or other foreigners of extreme
distinction."

"I have the requisite document," replied the curiously-garbed
stranger, and he was bowed into a well-appointed cell, and furnished
with the tangled rope for which he had petitioned.

And about the same time a sea-faring man applied to be rated on one of
Her Majesty's Ships of War.

"Impossible!" was the immediate reply of the Captain, who was rather
short-tempered.

"Nothing is impossible to the Admiralty," said the sea-faring man;
"and, if you will glance at this paper, you will see that I have
special permission from Whitehall to be mast-headed, or to undertake
some other naval manoeuvre of a more modern date."

Suppressing an exclamation of a somewhat profane character, the
Captain gave the required permission, and a few minutes later the
sea-faring man was mounting (with some difficulty), the quivering
rungs of a rope-ladder.

A few hours after the happening of these events, a weary soldier,
a half-starved convict, and a sailor covered with bruises, met by
chance in the common room of a tavern. For some minutes they were
too exhausted to speak. At length, the convict declared that the
organisation of Her Majesty's Prisons was simply perfect.

"I greatly doubt it," replied the soldier; "but I can insist with
truth, that nothing can possibly equal the admirable condition of the
Queen's Barracks."

"I don't for a moment believe it," put in the sea-faring man; "but I
am prepared to swear that the arrangements of the Admiralty could not
possibly be better."

"Very likely," sneered the convict; "and no doubt they could not be
worse!"

Upon this the three men began quarrelling and boasting of the merits
of the institutions they had recently visited.

"Pardon me," at length observed the convict, "but I have had some
legal training, and it seems to me that you are both gentlemen of
great discernment. Nay, more, I should imagine that your education is
greatly in excess of that possessed by men of the same standing in the
professions you appear to have adopted."

"Not unlikely," replied the soldier, smilingly removing his disguise;
"because I happen to be the Secretary of State for War."

"And I," said the sailor, following suit, and emerging from his
sea-faring garb, which now was found to be covering an official
uniform--"And I am the First Lord of the Admiralty."

Before the two Ministers could recover from their surprise, the wearer
of the convict's garb had also divested himself of a part of his
costume, and the whole of his "make-up."

"You see you need not be ashamed of my company," he observed, with a
smile, "as I am the Home-Secretary."

Then the three Ministers laughed, and each one of them insisted that
his particular branch of the Government Service was better than the
branches of his colleagues.

"Let us change costumes," suggested the Home-Secretary, "and try for
ourselves. I will become a soldier, you can appear as a convict, and
subsequently we might make a further alteration, and allow our friend
of the Admiralty to try some oakum-picking." But both the First Lord
and the Secretary of State raised objections.

"And yet," urged the Home-Secretary, "I do not think you would find
much difference between oakum-picking and sentry-go, and a plank-bed
and a hammock on board a torpedo-boat have each great claim to points
of similarity."

"We readily believe you," replied the representative of the War
Office, "and therefore further test is unnecessary."

"Quite so," added the greatest living authority on Naval matters; "and
thus I think we can conveniently leave further personal investigation
to such enthusiasts as Mr. RITCHIE and his Private Secretary." And
so, perfectly satisfied with the result of their peregrinations,
the Ministers again bade one another adieu, and, this time, finally
separated.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE PITFALLS OF CULTURE.

_Friendly and Sympathetic Footman_. "WELL, THEY TELL ME, SIR, AS
MR. BROWN, THE DENTIST ROUND THE CORNER, IS QUITE AT THE 'EAD OF THE
PERFESSION,--IN FACT, WHAT YOU MIGHT CALL '_PRINCIPLY FORCEPS_,' SIR!"

[_No doubt the good man intended to say "Facile princeps," but he
didn't._]]

       *       *       *       *       *

A GREAT LOSS TO EVERYBODY.--It is a great source of disappointment to
_Mr. Punch_ that GRANDOLPH should have declined to be an Alderman.
It may be a question as to whether he would have enlarged the sphere
of his influence, but, by accepting the turtle, it is aldermanically
certain that within six months our GRANDOLPH would have doubled his
weight and increased his circumference.

       *       *       *       *       *

"HAIR-CUTTING, SINGEING, AND SHAMPOOING."

(_A SKETCH IN A HAIR-DRESSER'S SALOON._)

    SCENE--_A small but well-appointed Saloon, with the usual
    fittings. As the Scene opens, its only occupants are a
    Loquacious Assistant and a Customer with a more than
    ordinarily sympathetic manner._

[Illustration: "You _'ave_ been losin' your 'air!"]

_The Loquacious Assistant_. No, Sir, we're free to go the minute the
clock strikes. We've no clearing up or anythink of _that_ sort to do,
not bein' required to pufform any duties of a _menial_ nature, Sir.
'Ed a little more to the left, Sir.... Sundays I gen'ally go up the
river. I'm a Member of a Piskytorial Association. I don't do any
fishin', to mention, but I jest carry a rod in my 'and. Railway
Comp'ny takes anglers at reduced fares, you see, Sir.... No, Sir,
don't stay 'ere _all_ day long. Sometimes the Guv'nor sends me out
to wait on parties at their own residences. Pleasant change, Sir?
Ah, you're right there, Sir! There's one lady as lives in Prague
Villas, Sir. I've been to do _her_ 'air many a time. (_He sighs
sentimentally._) I _did_ like waitin' on _'er_, Sir. Sech a beautiful
woman she is, too,--with 'er face so white, ah! 'AWKINS her name is,
and her 'usban' a stockbroker. She was an actress once, Sir, but she
give that up when she married. Told me she'd 'ad to work 'ard all her
life to support her Ma, and she _did_ think after she was married she
was goin' to enjoy herself--but she _'adn't_! Ah, she _was_ a nice
lady, Sir; she'd got her 'air in sech a tangle it took me three weeks
to get it right! I showed her three noo ways of doin' up her 'air,
and she says to me, "What a clever young man you are!" Her very words,
Sir! Trim the ends of your moustache, Sir? Thankee, Sir. Yes, she was
a charmin' woman. She 'ad three parrots in the room with 'er, swearin'
orful. I enjoyed goin there, Sir; yes, Sir. Ain't been for ever sech
a while now, Sir. I _did_ think of callin' again and pertendin' I'd
forgot a comb, Sir, but I done that once, and I'm afraid it wouldn't
do twice, _would_ it, Sir? Sixteen her number is--a sweet number,
Sir! Limewash or brilliantine, Sir?... And I know 'er maid and her
man, too; oh, she keeps a grand 'ouse, Sir! (_Observing that the_
Sympathetic Customer _is gradually growing red in the face and getting
hysterical._) Towel too tight for you, Sir? Allow me; thank you, Sir.
(_Here two fresh_ Customers _enter._) Ready for you in one moment,
Gentlemen. The other Assistant is downstairs 'aving his tea, but he'll
be up directly

    [_The two fresh Customers watch one another suspiciously,
    after the manner of Britons. The first, who is elderly,
    removes his hat and displays an abundance of strong grizzled
    hair, which he surveys complacently in a mirror. The second,
    a younger man, seems reluctant to uncover until absolutely
    obliged to do so._

_The Grizzled Customer_ (_to the_ Other Customer, _as his natural
self-satisfaction overcomes his reserve_). 'Shtonishing how fast one's
hair does grow. It's not three weeks since I had a close crop. Great
nuisance, eh?

_The Other Customer_ (_with evident embarrassment_). Er--eh,
yes--quite so, I--I daresay.

    [_He takes up a back number of "Punch," and reads the
    advertisements with deep interest. Meanwhile, the Loquacious
    Assistant has bowed out the Sympathetic Customer, and
    touched a bell. A Saturnine Assistant appears, still
    masticating bread-and-butter. The Second Customer removes
    his hat, revealing a denuded crown, and thereby causing
    surprise and a distinct increase of complacency in the
    Grizzled Gentleman, who submits himself to the Loquacious
    Assistant. The Bald Customer sinks resignedly into
    the chair indicated by the Saturnine Operator, feeling
    apologetic and conscious that he is not affording a fair scope
    for that gentleman's professional talent. The other Assistant
    appears to take a reflected pride in his subject._

_The Loq. Ass._ (_to the Grizzled Customer_). Remarkable how some
parties _do_ keep their 'air, Sir! Now yours--(_with a disparaging
glance at the Bald Customer's image in the mirror_)--yours grows
quite remarkable strong. Do you _use_ anythink for it now?

_The Gr. C._ Not I. Leave that to those who are not so well protected!

_The Loq. Ass._ I was on'y wondering if you'd been applying our
Rosicrucian Stimulant, Sir, that's all. There's the gentleman next
door to here--a chemist, he is--and if you'll believe me, he was
gettin' as bald as a robin, and he'd only tried it a fortnight when
his 'ed come out all over brustles!

_The Gr. C._ Brussels, what? _Sprouts_, eh?

_The Loq. Ass._ Hee-hee! no, Sir, brustles like on a brush. But you
can afford to 'ave _your_ laugh, Sir!

_The Sat. Ass._ (_to the Bald Customer, with withering deference_).
Much off, Sir?

_The B.C._ (_weakly thinking to propitiate by making light of his
infirmity_). Well, there isn't much _on_, is there?

_The S.A._ (_taking a mean advantage_). Well, Sir, it wouldn't be
a very long job numberin' all the 'airs on _your_ 'ed, cert'nly!
(_Severely, as one reproaching him for carelessness_.) You _'ave_ been
losin' your 'air! Puts me in mind of what the poet says in _'Amlet_.
"Oh, what a fallin' off!" if you'll excuse _me_, Sir!

_The B.C._ (_with a sensitive squirm_). Oh, don't apologise--I'm
_used_ to it, you know!

_The S.A._ Ah, Sir, they do say the wind's tempered to the shorn lamb
so as he can't see 'imself as other's see 'im. But what _you_ ought
to 'ave is a little toopy. Make 'em so as you couldn't tell it from
natural 'air nowadays!

    [_The Bald Customer feebly declines this meretricious
    adornment._

_The Loq. Ass._ (_to his subject_). Know Mr. PARIS PATTERTON of the
Proscenium Theatre, Sir? 'E's 'ad to call in our Guv'nor, Sir. 'Is
'air's comin, off, Sir, dreadful, Sir. The Guv'nor's been tryin' a noo
wash on his 'ed.

_The Gr. C._ Ha, poor beggar! Wash doing it any good?

_The Loq. Ass._ (_demurely_). That I can't tell you, Sir; but it 'as a
very agreeable perfùme.

_The S.A._ I think I've taken off about as much as you can _spare_,
Sir!

_The Gr. C._ (_with a note of triumph_). Look here, you know, there's
a lot more to come off here--won't be missed, eh?

_The Loq. Ass._ No, Sir, you've an uncommon thick 'ed--of _'air_, I
mean, of course!

_The S.A._ If you'll take my advice, you'll 'ave yours singed, Sir.

_The B.C._ (_dejectedly_). Why, think it's any use?

_The S.A._ No doubt of that, Sir. Look at the way they singe a
_'orse's_ legs. [_The Bald Customer yields, convinced by this
argument._

_The Gr. C._ No singeing or any nonsense of that sort for _me_, mind!

    [_They are shampooed simultaneously._

_The B.C._ (_piteously, from his basin_). Th--that's c-cold enough,
thanks!

_The Gr. C._ (_aggressively from his_). Here, colder than _that_--as
cold as you can make it--_I_ don't care!

_The B.C._ (_drying his face meekly on a towel_). A--a _hand_-brush,
please, _not_ the machine!

_The S.A._ No, Sir, machine-brush would about sweep all the 'air _off_
your 'ed, Sir!

_The Gr. C._ Machinery for me--and your hardest brush, do you hear?

  _The Loq. Ass._  { _(together, to_    {Shall I put anything on
  _The S.A._       {_their respective_  {    your 'ed, Sir?
                   {  _patients_.)      {Like anything on your
                                        {     'air, Sir?

_The S.A._ Well, you may as well keep what little you _'ave_ got, Sir.
Like to try our 'Irsutine Lotion, capital thing, Sir. Known it answer
in the most desprit cases. Keep it in 'alf-crown or three-and-sixpenny
sizes. Can I 'ave the pleasure of puttin' you up a three-and-sixpenny
one, Sir? (_The Bald Customer musters up moral courage to decline,
at which the Assistant appears disgusted with him_.) No, Sir? Much
obliged, Sir. Let me see--(_with a touch of sarcasm_)--you part your
'air a one side, I _think_, Sir? Brush your 'at, Sir? Thankee, Sir.
Pay at the counter, _if_ you please. Shop--there!

_The Loq. Ass._ Think your 'air's as you like it now, Sir? Like to
look at yourself in a 'and-glass, Sir? Thank you, Sir.

    [_The Bald Customer puts on his hat with relief, and
    instantly recovers his self-respect sufficiently to cast a
    defiant glare upon his rival, and walk out with dignity. The
    Grizzled Customer after prolonged self-inspection, follows.
    The two Assistants are left alone._

_The Loq. Ass._ Pretty proud of his 'air, that party, eh? Notice how I
tumbled to him?

_The S.A._ (_with superiority_). I _heard_ you, o' course, but, as
I'm always tellin' you, you don't do it _delicate_ enough! When
you've been in the profession as long as I have, and seen as much
of human nature, you'll begin to understand how important it is
to 'ave tact. Now you never 'eard _me_ stoop to flattery nor yet
over-familiarity--and yet you can see for yourself I manage without
'urting nobody's feelings--however bald! That's _tact_, that is!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "INFLAMMABLE BUTTONS." UN PAGE D'AMOUR.]

       *       *       *       *       *

HORACE IN LONDON.

TO A WAITER. (_AD PUERUM._)

[Illustration]

  None of your mispronounced Gallic shams, Waiter;
  Call not "Potato" a "_Pomme-de-terre, maîter_
  _D'ottle_." I'd rather you styled it "Pertater,"
  As Britons, sure, may.

  As for _décor_, let the linen be stainless--
  Crowns of exotics are gauds for the brainless.
  _Crowns_, indeed! Here's half-a-crown; you would gain less
  Oft from a _gourmet_.

       *       *       *       *       *

MRS. R. has just purchased the first two volumes of _The History
of the Popes_ (edited by F. ANTROBUS), "because," she says, "I
particularly want to read about the time of the Reminiscence, with all
about FIFTUS THE SIXTH and the Humorists."

       *       *       *       *       *

SERIOUS CASE.--A patient who doesn't want it known that there's
anything the matter with him, has placed himself under the care of Dr.
ROBSON ROOSETEM PASHA, "because," he says, "his visits then are 'sub
Roose-ah!'" [Now we know what's the matter with him.--ED.]

       *       *       *       *       *

A PLEA FOR THE DEFENCE.

    SCENE--_Mr. Punch's Sanctum. Mr. PUNCH discovered, to him
    enter Mr. JOHN BULL._

_Mr. Punch_. Well, Mr. BULL, what can I do for you?

_Mr. Bull_. I want to know your opinion, _Mr. Punch_ on the report of
Lord WANTAGE's Committee on Recruiting?

_Mr. P._ Which of the reports, my friend? There seem to be two--one by
the Soldier Members, and the other by the Government Under-Secretary
of State for War.

_Mr. B._ Can't they be lumped together, _Mr. Punch_?

_Mr. P._ Well, yes, in the sense of being discarded. They are neither
satisfactory, although they contradict one another.

_Mr. B._ So I think, _Mr. Punch_. What is to be done?

_Mr. P._ I will do my best to answer you. But just as a preliminary
question, may I ask whether you insure your house, Mr. BULL?

_Mr. B._ Why, yes, certainly. I pay for guardianship and protection.
If I did not, I should have to start fire-engines and the rest of it
myself.

_Mr. P._ Quite so. And you find it cheaper in the long run.

_Mr. B._ To be sure. I have got much, too much to do to bother about
the details of security from fire.

_Mr. P._ Again quite so. Then why don't you pay for your Army?

_Mr. B._ But I do, and a precious round sum too!

_Mr. P._ However, it is difficult to get recruits. And in England any
and everything can be bought by money.

_Mr. B._ Pardon me, _Mr. Punch_, that's all nonsense. Abroad, they can
get soldiers at half the price that--

_Mr. P._ (_interrupting_). Quite wrong, Mr. BULL. Soldiers are just as
dear on the Continent as they are here. Only, you see, the foreigners
look after the fire themselves--they become soldiers, instead of
securing substitutes.

_Mr. B._ What do you mean?

_Mr. P._ That you must either pay the market price, or go in for
conscription. Your money--or your life!

_Mr. B._ Well, I really think I must consider it--I do, indeed!

_Mr. P._ And the sooner the better, Mr. BULL; and if you do not
believe me, give Lord WANTAGE's Committee Report a second reading.

    [_Scene closes in upon Mr. JOHN BULL giving the document
    reconsideration._

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THINGS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE LEFT UNSAID.

_To our M.P., who rather fancies himself a great political force in
the House._ (_Day before the Meeting of Parliament_.)

"_WELL_, MR. BINKS! AND WHAT BRINGS _YOU_ UP TO TOWN?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE BOGIE MAN.

(NEW AND STARTLING CIVIC VERSION.)

_Gog and Magog sing, sotto voce_:--

  Oh, huddle near us, cherished ones!
    Hushed is our civic glee.
  The Voters, they have played the fool
    About the L.C.C.
  Oh, Turtle, dear--at table--
    Oh, Griffin, spick and span,
  I hear the Civic Fathers say
    Here comes the Bogie Man!

  _Chorus._

  Oh, hush! hush! hush!
    Here comes the Bogie Man!
  _What_ hope, dears, when BEN TILLETT
    Is made an Alderman?
  Oh, whist! whist! whist!
    He'll catch ye if he can!
  Then vain you'll run, my popsey-wops,
    From this new Bogie Man!

  When we sit down to dinner,
    My giant chum and I,
  O'er calipash and calipee
    We're both inclined to cry.
  For if Progressist fingers
    Once dip into our pan,
  Aloud, but vainly, we may cry,
     Whist! whist! the Bogie Man!

  _Chorus_.--Oh, hush! hush! hush!
    Here comes the Bogie Man!
  Then hide your heads, my darlings;
    He'll catch ye if he can.
  Then whist! whist! whist!
    This new Progressive plan
  Would make our popsey-wopsey-wops
    Slaves to this Bogie Man!

  In vain the _Times_ might thunder,
    In vain the _Standard_ squall,
  To frighten little Moderates;
    They paid no heed at all
  When CHURCHILL tried yah-boohing,
    Away the Voters ran
  And voted straight, with hearts elate,
    For yonder Bogie Man!

  _Chorus_.--Oh, hush! hush! hush!
    Here comes the Bogie Man!
  He'll collar all our civic perks,
    'Tis his "Progressive" plan.
  Oh, whist! whist! whist!
    He'll catch ye if he can.
  Heaven save you, my own popsey-wops,
    From yonder Bogie Man!

  Oh, pets, it gives us quite a shock
    To think of your sad fate,
  If you _should_ lose your Guildhall rock,
    And _we_ be doomed by fate.
  For BURNS our pride would humble,
    No "giants" in his plan!
  Oh, Turtle sweet, oh, Griffin neat,
    Beware, yon Bogie Man!

  _Chorus_.--Oh, whist! whist! whist!
    Here comes the Bogie Man!
  GOG and MAGOG, choice wines, good prog.
    Are no parts of _his_ plan.
  Oh, hush! hush! hush!
    He'll catch ye if he can!
  Progressive "slops," my popsey-wops,
    _He_'ll give--yon Bogey Man!

  Oh, ROSEBERY turned tr-r-raitor,
    And LUBBOCK seemed to cool,
  MCDOUGALL, now, and PARKINSON
    May proudly play the fool.
  London's delivered to be ruled
    On the "Progressive" plan,
  And "BEN" can bear the honoured name--
    Ye gods!--of ALDERMAN!!!

  _Chorus_.--Oh, hush! hush! hush!
    Here comes the Bogie Man!
  Turtle, be cautious; Griffin, hide!
    You're under his black ban.
  Oh, whist! whist! whist!
    "We'll save ye, _if we can_,
  My pretty popsey-wopsey-wops,
    From yon bad Bogie Man!

       *       *       *       *       *

TO QUEEN COAL.

(_BY HER FOND BUT POOR LOVER._)

  "If thou art not dear to _me_,
  What care I how dear you be!"

       *       *       *       *       *

BUTTER AND BOSH.

    ["Many customers who want Margarine will not consent to
    buy it under that name, but insist on its being called
    'Butter.'"--_Daily Paper_.]

  Oh, Wisdom, surely here your words you waste
  On men who consciously deceive their taste;
  Who cheating self are blindest when they've seen,
  And call that Butter which is Margarine.
  "Give me," 'tis thus their sentiments they utter,
  "Firkins of Bosh, but label them as Butter.
  Who cares for honest names? they're all my eye.
  _Decipiatur qui vult decipi_."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE BOGIE MAN.

  "HUSH! HUSH! HUSH!
  HERE COMES THE BOGIE MAN!

  "THEN HIDE YOUR HEADS, MY DARLINGS;
  HE'LL CATCH YOU IF HE CAN!"
]

       *       *       *       *       *

"ON THE BLAZON'D SCROLL OF FAME."

    [To each man of the Crews of the three Life-boats stationed
    in the Isle of Wight, at Brighstone, Brook and Atherfield,
    respectively, _Mr. Punch_ has had pleasure and pride in
    presenting an illuminated copy of the Picture and Poem
    entitled "MR. PUNCH TO THE LIFE-BOAT MEN," which appeared in
    his issue of February 13. The names of the coxswains and crews
    of these three boats, the _Worcester Cadet_, the _William
    Slaney Lewis_, and the _Catherine Swift_, are inscribed
    thereon (as they should be in the memories of all true
    Britons), as follows:--Of the _Worcester Cadet_, JAMES COTTON
    (Coxswain), ROBERT BUCKETT (Second Coxswain), ROBERT SALTER,
    WILLIAM BARTON, FRANK EDMUNDS, FRANK BUCKETT, GEORGE NEW,
    GEORGE MORRIS, GEORGE SHOTTER, GEORGE HAWKER, EDGAR WHITE,
    WILLIAM MERWOOD, and JAMES HEDGECOCK.

    Of the _William Slaney Lewis_, JOHN HAYTER (Coxswain), BEN
    JACOBS (Second Coxswain), ROBERT COOPER, W. JACOBS, J. COOKE,
    G. WHITE, W. CASSELL, T. HOOKEY, J. NEWBURY, J. COOPER, J.
    HOOKEY, R. WOODFORD, M. CASSELL, WILLIAM HAYTER, W. BLAKE, and
    W. HOOKEY.

    Of the _Catherine Swift_, WILLIAM COTTON (Coxswain), DAVID
    COTTON (Second Coxswain), JAMES COTTON, THOMAS COTTON, FRANK
    COTTON, JOHN COTTON, CHARLES COTTON, WALTER WOODFORD, WALTER
    WHITE, CHARLES HARDING, and B. WHILLIER.

    These names thus receive--as they deserve--honourable record
    "For distinguished bravery and gallant conduct whilst on duty
    on the occasion of the wreck of the s.s. _Eider_, January 31,
    1892."]

  On the Scroll! And why not? Be you sure that it bears
  Many entries less worthy of record than theirs,
  The rough sea-faring fellows, whose names now go down,
  With applause from their Sovereign to swell their renown,
  To posterity's ears. And right pleasantly, too,
  They should sound on those ears; for, run over each crew
  And you'll find that those names have a true homely smack
  Both of country and kinship; there's JIM, there is Jack,
  There is BOB, there is BILL, TOM and GEORGE, CHARLIE, FRANK;
  Can you not hear them sound o'er the waves as in rank
  They go down to their work, ringing right cheery hail
  Through the shrieks of the storm that shall not make _them_ pale,
  Those bold Britons? They're brothers, sires, cousins, and sons,
  For see how the "family name" through them runs
  Those COTTONS could make up a crew at a pinch!
  Whilst the HOOKEYS and WHITES from that task need not flinch.
  Yes, these names sound as well on the Scroll, after all,
  As NAPOLEON or CÆSAR; and when the Great Call
  Of the last human Muster Roll comes, some plain "BILL,"
  Whose business was rather to save than to kill,
  May step before mad ALEXANDER.
                                 Well, brothers,
  (You BUCKETTS, and WOODFORDS and COOPERS and others,
  Whose names he need hardly string into his rhymes,)
  _Punch_ hopes you may look on this Record sometimes
  With pleasant reflections. Mere words, he well knows,
  Will not--"butter your parsnips"--(to put sense in prose):
  But you have his hearty good will, and you know it,--
  Right gladly he takes this occasion to show it!
  And when or wherever _another_ should come,
  Be sure your friend _Punch_ won't be careless or dumb!

       *       *       *       *       *

CONFESSIONS OF A DUFFER.

VI.--THE DUFFER AT WHIST.

(_CONTINUED._)

I am really fond of the game, which is fortunate, though my partners
don't think so; but I am free to confess, that nothing short of an
absorbing admiration for it and desire to excel, could tempt me
to brave the sarcasms, even insults, to which I am subjected. Your
thoroughgoing Whist-player as such--admirable in private life as I
personally know him to be--the moment he begins the daily business
of his life, seems to cast his better nature to the winds. At another
time and place he would lend a sympathetic ear to any tale of woe; now
and here nothing seems to interest him but his own immediate welfare,
which he pursues with concentrated energy and earnestness. I verily
believe that if, at one of two adjoining tables, the chandelier fell
on the players' heads to their exceeding detriment, the occupants
of the other table would scarcely lift their eyes or interrupt their
rubber for one moment. _Fiant chartæ ruat coelum_--let the cards be
made whatever chandeliers fall.

[Illustration: "When I come to think the matter over in cold blood."]

The players at my Club are all good, one especially so, a retired
Colonel of a West Indian regiment, of whom I stand in mortal dread.
He has short shrift for any failings, even of players nearly as good
as himself, whilst as for me! though he has never yet resorted to
personal violence with a chair-leg, yet that would not surprise me;
and my pestilent fate in defiance of all mathematical odds in such
case made and provided, is to cut him as my partner three and four
times in succession in an evening. I sometimes have glimmerings of
sense, and in hands presenting no particular difficulty, if they
contain plenty of good cards--can manage to scrape along in a way I
think fairly satisfactory even--to him, though he never encourages
me by saying so. But an awful thing happened the other night. I had
played one rubber with him and won it, though it was only a rubber
of two instead of a bumper, as it would have been if I had played
properly--for being in doubt and remembering the adage, I had led a
trump, but it subsequently turned out that _the adversaries had called
for them_. Now I never see an adversaries' call, and but rarely those
of my partner, unless when made glaringly conspicuous by a ten and a
two, so I led this wretched card with disastrous results.

However, my partner accepted the situation with unexpected suavity,
merely remarking pleasantly, as an item of general interest, "The only
time my partner ever leads a trump is when the adversaries call." I
smiled inanely--what else could I do? for I was dimly conscious that
the stricture might have justification in fact. Yes, this was bad; but
worse remains behind. In the last hand of the next rubber, my partner
had four trumps; so had I; he had, besides a very long suit; hence he
extracted the trumps, and we were left with the last two between us,
mine being the better. I got the lead, of course, exactly at the time
I did not want it; although everyone else knew where the smaller trump
was, I did not, so I drew it from my partner's hand, and then led him
a card of which he had none in the suit; this card, as ill-luck would
have it, belonged to an enormously long suit, of which one of the
adversaries had entire control. So this gentleman got in and made
about six tricks in it, finishing up with the two; he therefore
made with his spades all--indeed, I rather think more tricks than
the Colonel ought to have made in his diamonds, each of which, now
losing cards, he successively banged down with increasing anger and
turbulence of gesture, as the enormity of my crime was borne in upon
him. It was the deciding game of a rubber; the adversaries' score had
stood at one, while we were at two, and besides, we had had two by
honours; as they made four by cards, they went out--and so did I--not
without an _obbligato_ accompaniment on muted strings; unwhispered
whispers of "confounded blockhead!" "blundering idiot!" "well, of all
the born fools!" and similar objurgations.

When I came to think the matter over in cold blood, I could see
that my proper course would have been to lead the losing card before
drawing my partner's trump. I merely made a mistake (a fatal one I
grant) in the order of playing them. That was all.

       *       *       *       *       *

My friend goes on to make learned remarks about "American leads," "the
fourth best," and the difficulties of playing a knave; lead him at
once, _I_ think, on _Dogberry's_ principle: and "thank heaven you are
rid of a knave."

The depths of my guilt may be guessed from the fact that many of my
Mentor's explanations are Hittite to me. People talking of laying up
a wretched old age by not playing, I should be laying it up for other
people if I did play much. Half-crown points, a partner who knows how
to score (those counters and candlesticks, or the machines with little
bone grave-stones that shut up with a snap, bother me), and amiable
conversation on well-chosen topics while the game goes on, make the
kind of Whist that I enjoy. We used to play it in Common Room in the
happy past; it was easier than Loo, which I never quite understood.
The rigour of the game is the ruin of Whist.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE NEW L.C.C. WAXWORKS.

There has not been time yet to arrange the Figures.]

       *       *       *       *       *

POPULAR SONGS RE-SUNG.

    "_Sich a Nice Man Too!_" is one of the latest, and greatest,
    successes of the clever Coster Laureate, Mr. ALBERT CHEVALIER,
    who, "Funny without being Vulgar," proves that he, the Muse
    of the Market Cart, and Bard of the Barrow, "Knocks 'em in the
    Old Kent Road,"--and elsewhere--with well-deserved success.
    As is ever the case with the works of genuine genius, "liberal
    applications lie" in his "patter" songs, the enjoyment of
    which need by no means be confined to the Coster and his
    chums. For example, at Caucus-Conferences and places where
    they sing--and shout--the following might be rendered with
    relish:--

NO. VII.--SICH A SMART MAN TOO!

(_COSTER-JIM ON CORKUS-JOE._)

  There's party-men yer meets about
    What wins yer 'eart instanter;
  Of _their_ success there's ne'er a doubt,
    They romps in in a canter.
  There's one as means to lick the lot,
    Brum JOE, the artf'llst dodger.
  For 'im we Rads went 'ot and 'ot;
    Sez we, "Yus, JOE's the codger!"

[Illustration]

_Chorus._

  Sich a smart man too! Sich a _very_ smart man!
  No Tory pride, no toffish affectation!
    Yet 'e somehow makes yer feel
    That in 'im yer 'ave to deal
  With a gent, if not by buth, by edgercation!

  'E made 'is pile in a snide way,--
    "Down on ther nail," 'is motter--
  Went to the front, and came to _stay_;
    Whigs might pertest and potter.
  'Is game wos doin' the poor good,
    And doin' of it 'andsome.
  JACK CADE they called 'im,--which wos rude--
    'Acos 'e talked o' ransom!

_Chorus._

  Sich a smart man too! Sich a _very_ smart man!
  No "Lily" pride, no blue--blood affectation!
    Yet he somehow made yer feel
    That in 'im yer 'ad to deal
  With a gent by nature _and_ by edgercation!

  You ought to seen 'im on the stump,
    Smart frock and stiff shirt collar;
  Got up regardless, clean-cut chump,
    Orchid for button-'oler!
  'E cocked a snook at pride o' race.
    We shouted "Brayvo, BRUMMY!
  Peg on, we'll put yer in fust place;
    Then won't old WEG look rummy?"

_Chorus._

  Sich a smart man too! Sich a _very_ smart man!
  No _Rip wan Winkle_ HARTY affectation!
    Yet 'e somehow made yer feel
    That 'e jest knowed 'ow to deal
  With the "Gentlemen" by buth and edgercation.

  Acrost 'is phiz there stole a smile,
    Like sunshine in November.
  Sez 'e, "_I_'m for the Sons o' Tile!"
    O yus, don't we remember!
  We fancied JOE wos one of hus,
    A cove we might ha' trusted.
  Now you should 'ear the Corkus cuss
    At the Brum bubble--busted!

_Chorus._

  Sich a smart man too! Sich a _very_ smart man!
  No orty scorn, no "arm-cheer" affectation!
    One as somehow made yer feel
    'E alone knowed 'ow to deal
  With Allotments, Taxes and Free Edgercation!

  'E chose to play at hodd man hout;
    'E ain't the fust by many
  Wot's tried to Tommy-Dodd the rout
    With a two-'eaded penny.
  It's broke our trust; _'e_ can go 'ome
    With Toffdom for next neighbour.
  _'E_ won't cut Capital's cockscomb
    In the 'Oly Cause o' Labour!

_Chorus._

  Sich a snide man too! Sich a _very_ snide man!
  And now,--but that's 'is hartful affectation!
    'E would like to make hus feel
    As he only "plays genteel,"
  To give Toffs a Demmycratic Hedgercation!

       *       *       *       *       *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

_House of Commons, Monday, March 7._--JOKIM in a bad way to-night.
People are wanting to know how it has come about that TATE's offer of
£80,000 for Picture Gallery, with £80,000 worth of pictures thrown
in to start it, has, after long correspondence with CHANCELLOR OF
EXCHEQUER, been withdrawn. JOKIM rises to explain.

"What I should really like to do," he whispered to me, in confidence,
"is to give him one for his _tête_, as we say in cribbage. But
suppose I must speak him fair." Did his best in that direction though
undercurrent of observation in lengthy paper he read decidedly set
in direction of making TATE out as a cantankerous wrong-headed person
who, proposing to bestow some £160,000 in way of free gift, expected
to have his wishes consulted in such matter of detail as selection of
site for Gallery.

"I venture to hope," said JOKIM, in conclusion, "that the door is not
finally closed on the establishment of a gallery for British Art."

[Illustration: Young Father Dillwyn.]

"That's not quite it," said Young Father DILLWYN, with hand to ear,
listening from corner seat below Gangway he shares with that other
eminent statesman, the SAGE OF QUEEN ANNE'S GATE. "What we complain
of is, that you have so managed matters that the door hasn't been
opened."

"Ah, well," said JOKIM, wringing his hands, "it's no use my trying
anything. Remember once seeing in dock of police-court at Lyons, a
sailor brought up charged with some offence. On his arm was tattooed
the legend, '_Pas de chance_.' He told long story of honest endeavour,
combined with strict honesty and tireless industry, ever frustrated by
malign accident. In short, he was no sooner out of prison than he was
sent back upon fresh conviction. He had no chance, and one time, in
enforced retirement from the world, he indelibly inscribed the legend
on his forearm. _Moi aussi, je n'ai pas de chance._ Ever since I
joined this Government things have gone wrong with me, whether in
Budget Schemes, when acting as Deputy Leader of the House, with £1
notes, and now in this affair, where I run my head against TATE (sort
of _tête-à-tête_), and, though I'm innocent as a lamb, everybody will
have it that I've muddled things and lost the nation a munificent
gift. _Pas de chance; cher Toby; pas de chance!_"

[Illustration: Craig (not Ailsa).]

HANBURY been looking into our Army Service, and behold! it is very
bad. Condemns it, lock, stock, and barrel. Things no better than they
were in time of Crimean War. Our Army costs more, and could do less
than any in the world. Curious to find statement like this gravely
made in presence of twenty-eight Members, all told, including the
SPEAKER. Suppose it's true, Empire on verge of precipice, into which,
on slightest impulse, it may totter and disappear. Hon. Members, in
the main, care so little that they busy themselves writing letters,
chatting in Lobby, gossipping in Smoke-room; the few present admirably
succeed in disguising terror that must possess them as HANBURY, in
solemn voice, utters his lamentation.

"HANBURY," said CRAIG, looking across the House at tall figure below
Gangway, "reminds me of the old party that rust LOCHIEL, and told him
his prospects in the next war were at least doubtful,--

  'LOCHIEL, LOCHIEL, beware of the day
  When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle-array.'"

LOCHIEL STANHOPE recks no more than the Northern Chieftain; makes
speech nearly two hours long, proving to empty, but interested
Benches, that never since Peninsular War had Great Britain an Army
so large or so fully equipped. When midnight struck, the few Members
present shook themselves, yawned, and went home. _Business done._--In
Committee on Army Estimates.

[Illustration: Mr. Swift MacNeill's little joke.]

_Tuesday._--Never saw in the flesh procession of Russian Convicts
starting on their journey to Siberia. Have read about it, though; have
even seen pictures thereof. The most saddening and soul-depressing
of these came back to mind just now, when PULESTON, PELLY and
BURDETT-COUTTS forlornly filed forth at command of Chairman of
Committees, amid cheers of heartless Opposition. If they'd only been
a little more ragged in appearance, and, above all, if they had been
connected by leg-chain, illusion would have been complete. Members on
Front Benches, as they passed them, wearily faring forth, could not
have resisted natural impulse to feel in their waistcoat pocket for a
kopec or two to bestow upon the unfortunates.

It was the suddenness of the sentence, the swift falling of the blow,
that made it so cruelly heavy. Last Friday these three Members had
supported a vote subsidising East Africa Co. in matter of preliminary
expenses of railway through their territory. Someone had discovered
they were pecuniarily interested in undertaking. To-day SWIFT
MACNEILL raised the question of parliamentary law in such cases. Moved
Resolution that vote of three Members be disallowed.

Nothing could exceed gentleness of MACNEILL's demeanour. Rather in
sorrow than in anger he moved in the matter, anxious, as all Irish
Members are, for purity of Parliamentary practice and sanctity of
constitutional principles. Almost blubbered in BURDETT-COUTTS's
waistcoat; embraced PELLY and PULESTON in comprehensive smile of
amity.

Encouraged by this attitude, the three Members assumed easy, almost
jaunty, manner. True, PULESTON admitted he would not have done it if
he'd thought anyone would have made a row about it--"as the little
boy said when he was being spanked for putting his fingers in the
jam-pot," observed MARJORIBANKS, _sotto voce_. BURDETT-COUTTS almost
haughty in his defiance of the descendant of the Uncle of JONATHAN
SWIFT, Dean of St. Patrick's.

PELLY pensive in manner and enigmatical in allusion; felt it
particularly hard thus to be placed in the dock, as if he were an
Irish County Councillor under Prince ARTHUR's new Bill. Only last
Friday, in debate preceding the very Division now under discussion,
he had delivered an Address which disclosed intimate acquaintance with
topographical bearings of rarely trodden wilds in Central Africa.
Had shown how an Agent of East Africa Company, setting forth from
So-and-so, had, after perilous passage, reached So-on. After a night
of broken rest, his pillow soothed by the roar of GRANDOLPH's nine
lions, he had set out again. Crossing the River So-forth he wandered
for hours, carrying the flag of his country through the limitless
plains of Etcetera.

House listened entranced, whilst PELLY hurried them from So-on to
So-forth.

"Excellent speech," said the SQUIRE OF MALWOOD, himself not unfamiliar
with land-surveying; "but the country seems a little monotonously
named."

"It's not that," cried PELLY, interrupting; "the fact is, I can't
pronounce the names in the despatches, and call them So-on."

House delighted with this explanation; PELLY found himself at one
bound in front rank of Parliamentary orators. This only last Friday;
to-day called upon to defend himself from charge of breaking written
law of Parliament. Bad this, but worse to come. When PELLY's pensive
voice died away, COURTNEY rose from Chair and sternly said, "In
accordance with practice of the House, the three Hon. Members will
now withdraw." So they strode forth, clothed with innocence. PULESTON
first, with ghastly smile on his face; BURDETT-COUTTS next, wondering
what they would think of this in Stratton Street; PELLY bringing
up the rear, the forlornest file that ever passed between ranks of
jeering spectators, slowly making their way from So-on to So-forth.
_Business done._--None.

[Illustration: The Salvationist Solicitor-General.]

_Thursday._--"The Leadership isn't all beer and skittles, is it?"
I said to Prince ARTHUR just now, trying to put the best face on a
melancholy business.

"No," he said, shortly, "and it isn't public business at all."

Quite true. What officers in command of sham-fights call "the general
idea" of the Sitting to-night, was--questions beginning at half-past
three; over probably at four; House in Committee; take up Army
Estimates; peg away at them till midnight; then "Who goes home?"
Time-table of what actually took place slightly, but firmly different.
House met at three; prayers, which appropriately prefaced HENRY
FOWLER's motion to permit Salvation Army to go its own way on quiet
Sabbaths at Eastbourne. Debated this till twenty minutes past six,
the SOLICITOR-GENERAL heartily joining in the service; then questions,
seventy or eighty of them, not seven or eight of public interest, the
rest of character that might be raised on dull days in Vestry-hall.

At half-past seven, time to dress for dinner. Still, Members think
they'll just wait and see business commenced. "Instead of which,"
as the Judge said, up gets SWIFT MACNEILL, asking permission to
move Adjournment of House in order to discuss famine in India, and
shortcomings of Indian Government. SPEAKER invites those who support
application to rise in their places. Gentlemen below the Gangway, with
hearts bleeding for famished fellow-creatures in far-off Ind (subject
reminds them, by the way, that dinner is nearly ready), leap to
their feet. Twice the forty necessary thus forthcoming; leave given,
and SWIFT MACNEILL proceeds to open his budget. Then strange thing
happens. The eighty Gentlemen who sprang up to secure hearing
for MACNEILL, being on their legs, conclude that, as it's so near
dinner-time, scarcely worth while resuming their seat; so they bundle
forth, MACNEILL, somewhat ungratefully (for they had secured his
opportunity) urging them to "be off, if they didn't want to hear about
the sufferings of their fellow-creatures."

At ten o'clock MACNEILL episode closed. Prince ARTHUR moved, with
intent to expedite business, a Resolution taking Report of Supply
after midnight. Talked on this till twenty minutes to twelve. Business
reached at last, but since Debate closes at midnight, no time to do
anything. Committee of Supply accordingly postponed, and Members begin
chatting about Gresham College, admitting in course of conversation
that there is nothing to talk about, since Government have adopted
suggestion of objectors to scheme.

_Business done._--None.

_Friday_.--MACNEILL the Avenger to the front again, with his Motion
about the Siberian Exiles. "JEMMY" LOWTHER, in most judicial manner,
supports Motion, that votes of PELLY, PULESTON and BURDETT-COUTTS
on Mombasa Affair shall be struck out. Prince ARTHUR argues on other
side; Mr. G. throws weight of his authority into scale against the
Exiles; JOKIM feebly attempts to reply. On Division, in full House,
Government defeated by five votes. MACNEILL's smile, as he announced
the figures, simply enormous. "At first I thought it was an
earthquake," said STANHOPE, shuddering. Nerves shattered by second
defeat of Government in the week. _Business done._--Looks as if the
Government's was--very nearly.

       *       *       *       *       *

NOTICE.--Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS.,
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