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Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 103, July 9, 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 103, July 9, 1892" ***

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

VOL. 103, JULY 9, 1892***


VOL. 103

JULY 9, 1892

[Illustration: (Vol. CIII)]

       *       *       *       *       *


DEAR EX-CHANCELLOR WITH A PAST,--I am sorry to have to address you,
especially as to you I owe my promotion. But matters are coming to a
crisis, and the Fatherland is suffering from your indiscretions. You
are making a great mistake--you are, indeed.

Now, I ask you, what would you do under the following circumstances?
Supposing you were in my position, what would you do if your
predecessor held you up to ridicule, spoilt all your favourite
diplomatic plans, insulted your employer, and made himself generally
disagreeable all round? You must know, my good Prince, that you are
sowing dissension in every direction. You are embroiling us with
Russia, and running the chance of a war with France. Moreover, you
are breaking the very laws you made for the solitary purpose of
meeting the case you have raised yourself! So now, with every kindly
recollection of the past, tell me why I don't arrest you, why I don't
put you into prison, why I don't break your power once and for ever?

Yours truly,
VON C----.


DEAR CHANCELLOR WITHOUT A FUTURE,--I will answer you why you do not
arrest me? The simple reason is that you, my dear friend, are not

And I am, yours truly,
VON B----.

       *       *       *       *       *

A CORRESPONDENT signing himself "ONE WHO LIVES AND LEARNS," wishes to
know what is the meaning of the expression, "The Minute Gun at Sea?"
We will tell him. "A Minute Gun" is, of course, a very small one. When
it goes wrong, it is "at sea." No extra charge for this gun.

       *       *       *       *       *

MEM.--You can't expect much from the Speakers at a Convention, where
the Speeches must be Conventional.

       *       *       *       *       *

"HARPY THOUGHT!"--Mr. JOHN THOMAS's Grand Harp Concert.

       *       *       *       *       *




The licence for the production of his French Play of _Salomé_,
accepted by SARAH B., having been refused by the Saxon Licenser of
Plays, The O'SCAR, dreams of becoming a French Citizen, but doesn't
quite "see himself," at the beginning of his career, as a conscript in
the French Army, and so, to adapt the Gilbertian lines, probably--

  "In spite of great temptation
  To French na-tu-ra-li-sa-tion,
  He'll remain an Irishman!"

       *       *       *       *       *


    [A Correspondent writes to the _Standard_ in praise of pugs,
    as the most useful household dogs to prevent burglaries.]

  Who bears, despite a wrinkled skin,
  A heart that's soft and warm within,
  And hates a visitor like sin?--
            My puggy!

  Who has a little temper of
  His own, and sports a winter cough,
  And thinks himself a mighty toff?--
            My puggy!

  Whose voice, disturbing midnight rest,
  Do wily house-breakers detest,
  And move to some less guarded nest?--
            My puggy's!

  Who does not, like a stupid cat,
  'Gainst burglars' boots rub himself flat,--
  Soliciting a felon's pat?--
            My puggy!

  And when the burglar's body's half
  Inside the sash, with doggish laugh,
  Who masticates his nearest calf?--
            My puggy!

  Who owns a phiz (which _I_ could hug),
  That's called by stupid boys an ug-
  ly sulky unattractive "mug?"--
            My puggy!

       *       *       *       *       *

Our old friend, Mrs. RAMSBOTHAM, has been sightseeing in the country.
Being asked whether she had seen the Midgetts, she said, "Don't
mention 'em, my dear! I've seen 'em, and felt 'em--thousands of
'em--they very nearly closed my eyes up."

       *       *       *       *       *


    ["On the side of those poor men who constitute the Irish
    nation, with their few and disparaged leaders, we have found
    a consideration, a calmness, and a liberality of view, a
    disposition to interpret everything in the best sense, and
    to make every concession that could possibly bring harmony
    about."--_Mr. Gladstone in Edinburgh._]

AIR--"_The Wearing of the Green_."

_Ever-Green Statesman sings_:--

  Och, Erin dear, and did ye hear the cry that's going round?
  The Home-Rule plant they would forbid to grow on Irish ground.
  _I_ had my doubts at one time, but more clearly I have seen
  Since I took--in shamrock spectacles--to Wearing of the Green.


  I'm Ever-Green myself, ye know, so take me by the hand,
  And tell me how Ould Oireland is, and how our chances stand.
  'Tis the most disthressful country, dear, that ever yet was seen;
  But I'm sworn to right ye, darlint, now I'm Wearing of the Green!

  With unsurpassed frivolity and cruelty, 'tis said,
  That you, Mavourneen, wish to set your heel on Ulster's head.
  If _you_, who under Orange foot so long time have been trod,
  Would trample down your tyrants old, it would be passing odd.

_Chorus._--I'm Ever-Green myself, ye know, &c.

  When the law can stop your friends, my dear, from growing as they
  When the Tories stop my "flowing tide" from flowing as 'twill flow,
  Then I will change the colour, dear, that in my specs is seen,
  But until that day, please Heaven, I'll stick to Wearing of the


  I am Ever-Green myself as is your own dear Emerald Land,
  And that is why the Green Isle's case I've learned to understand.
  'Tis the most disthressful country, yours, that ever yet was seen;
  But _I'll_ right ye. Twig my glasses, dear! I'm Wearing of the

       *       *       *       *       *


  It will fade from mortal vision,
    So the fashion-plates ordain;
  Worthy subject of derision,
    Not the mail, but female, train!

  It has goaded men to mutter
    Words unhappily profane,
  Trailed in ball-room or in gutter,
    Whether cheap or first-class train.

  Far and wide, on floor and paving,
    Spread the dress to catch the swain;
  Sometimes long--in distance waving;
    Sometimes wide--a "broad-gauge train."

  It has dragged a long existence
    Through the dust, the mud, the rain,
  Great is feminine persistence,
    She would never lose the train.

  Booby-traps were beaten hollow,
    Hapless man stepped back in vain,
  Knowing what a trip would follow
    If he only caught the train!

  Oh, the anguish that it gave us,
    Quite unnecessary pain!
  WORTH, not WESTINGHOUSE, will save us,
    And at last will stop the train!

       *       *       *       *       *

MRS. R., hearing her Nephew say that he had been discussing some
"Two-year-old Stakes" with a friend, observed that she was afraid they
must have been dreadfully tough, adding, after consideration, "Perhaps
they were frozen meat."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: AN EXCITING TIME.


       *       *       *       *       *


(_In Answer to a Sweep asking for a F.O. Clerkship._)

MY DEAR MR. ----,

Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to secure for your
interesting son a Clerkship in the Foreign Office. The fact that he
has a distaste for the profession to which you belong would be no
disqualification. I agree with you that chimney-sweeping is better
than diplomacy. However, if he won't help you it can't be helped. I
am exceptionally busy just now, but please repeat the purport of your
letter after the Election. Who knows I may not be in a better position
then than now to assist you,

Yours sincerely,

(_In Answer to a Letter about meeting a Duchess._)


Yes, I have the honour of the Duchess's acquaintance. As you say, Her
Grace's "at homes" are charming, but of course they are not equal
to her dinners. I shall be only too pleased if I can bring about a
meeting with the Duchess.

I am exceptionally busy just now, but please repeat the purport of
your letter after the Election. Who knows I may not be in a better
position then than now to assist you.

Yours sincerely,

(_In Answer to all Letters generally._)

MY DEAR ----,

Of course I shall be only too delighted to help you in any way in
my power. You may always command me--only too pleased, only too
overjoyed. But the fact is, I am just now exceptionally busy. Please
repeat the purport of your letter after the Election. Who knows I may
not be in a better position then than now to assist you.

Yours sincerely,

(_Common Form Reply to Answers to the above._)

MR. SOPHT SAWDER, M.P., presents his compliments to ----, and begs to
say that he has no recollection of having promised anything. Mr. S.S.
regrets to say that he has no time for an interview.

       *       *       *       *       *


SIR,--I am delighted to observe that some Constant Contributors (to
other papers, not yours, Sir) are making dietetic experiments on
Nettles. Perhaps you would allow me to mention that Groundsel Salad
is a delicious dish, when you get used to it, and that a _Purée_ of
Chickweed rarely fails to create delighted astonishment at a crowded
dinner-table. Bramble Pie is another excellent recipe straight from
Dame Nature's Cookery Book. With great care, it is possible to cook
Thistles in such a way as to make them taste just like Artichokes. My
family often has these and similar delicacies at their mid-day meal,
when I am away in the City.

Yours truly,

SIR,--I saw that letter about eating Nettles. Of course it's all rot
(it you will excuse the expression), but I thought it would be fun to
try the nettle diet on my Uncle JAMES, who never gives me a tip when
I go to visit him, although my Mother says he's as rich as Creesers,
though I don't know who they are. So I got one or two good stinging
ones (I knew they were stingers, because I tried them on Cook first)
and cut off little bits and put them in Uncle JAMES's sandwiches,
which he always has for lunch. It was awful larks to watch him eat
them. I thought he'd have a fit. Then I said good-bye, and I haven't
been near him since. But I got Cook to take him in a dock-leaf from
me, and I hope he ate it after the sandwiches. I thought it might
do him good. I'm going to try nettle sandwiches on a boy I know at
school, who's a beast. I expect it will give him nettle-rash. No more
now from

Yours respectfully,

SIR,--I frequently recommend patients suffering from advanced atrophy
to try Nettle Broth. I must say that I am myself nettled, when they
reply that they prefer the advanced atrophy. A good counter-irritant
in cases of blood-poisoning is a stout holly leaf, _eaten raw_. In
serious cases of collapse, if a patient can be got to consume a cactus
or a prickly pear, the stimulative effect is really surprising. In
the absence of these products of the vegetable kingdom, a hedge-stake,
taken directly after a meal, will do equally well.

Yours professionally,

       *       *       *       *       *



_The Orator's Opening Discourse_ (_as heard in the back rows_). Ladies
and Gentlemen, I desire to draw your attention to an important fact.
It will be my pleasure to introduce to you ... ("_The real American
popcorn, equally famous in Paris and London, tuppence each packet!"
from Vendor in gangway_) ... history and life of the ... (_"'Buffalo
Bill Puzzle,' one penny!" from another vendor behind_) ... impress
one fact upon your minds; this is not ... (_roar and rattle of
passing train_) ... in the ordinary or common acceptation of ...
(_"Puff-puff-puff!" from engine shunting trucks_) ... Many unthinking
persons have said ... (_Piercing and prolonged scream from same
engine._) This is not so. On the contrary ... (_Metallic bangs from
trucks._) Men and animals are ... ("_Programmes! Opera-glasses on
hire!_") ... purely the creatures of ...

    [_Remainder of remarks hopelessly lost amidst the clank of
    coupling chains, whistles, snorts and puffs from shunting

_An Old Lady in Audience._ He has such a beautiful clear voice,
we _ought_ to hear every word. If _I_ were Buffalo BILL, I should
positively insist on the trains keeping quiet while the Orator was

_Orator_ (_during the Grand Processional Review_). A Troop of Arapahoe

    [_Band strikes up; a party of painted Indians gallop into
    Arena, uttering little puppy-like barks._

_An Artistic Lady_ (_shuddering_). Look at that creature with a
raw pink body, and a pea-green face--it's too _frightful_, and such
_crude_ yellows! I _wish_ they could be taught to paint themselves
some _decent_ colour!

_Her Sister._ Really, dear, as far as _decency_ is concerned, I don't
exactly see what difference the mere _colour_ would make.

_Her Husband._ That isn't quite what EMILY meant. She'd like to
enamel 'em all in Art shades and drape Liberty scarves round 'em, like
terra-cotta drainpipes or wicker-chairs--eh, EMILY?

_Emily_ (_loftily_). Oh, my dear HENRY, I wasn't speaking to _you_. I
know what a contempt you have for all that makes a home beautiful!

_Henry._ Meaning Indians? My love, I respect them and admire them--at
a distance; but, plain _or_ coloured, I cannot admit that they would
be decorative as furniture--even in _your_ drawing-room!

    [_EMILY endures him in silence._

_Orator._ A party of Women of the Ogallalla Tribe!

[Illustration: "I am perfectly aware of _that_, Euphemia!"]

    [_Three mounted Indian ladies in blankets--walk their horses
    slowly round the Arena, crooning "Aye-eia-ha-ya-hee-hi-ya!"
    with every sign of enjoying their own performance._

_A Poetical Lady._ What strange wild singing it is, JOHN! There's
something so creepy about it, somehow.

_John_ (_a prosaic but frivolous person_). There is, indeed. It
explains _one_ thing I never quite understood before, though.

_The Poetical Lady._ I thought it would impress you--but what does it

_John._ The reason why the buffalo in those parts has so entirely died

_A Rigid Matron_ (_during the Emigrant Train Scene_). I don't care
to see a girl ride in that bold way myself. I'm sure it _must_ be so
unsexing for them. And what _is_ she about now, with that man? They're
actually having a duel with knives--on _horseback_ too! not at _all_ a
nice thing for any young girl to do. There! she's pulled out a pistol
and shot him--and galloped off as if nothing had happened! I have
always heard that American girls were allowed a good _deal_ of
liberty--but I'd really no idea they went as far as this! I should
be sorry indeed to see any girl of _mine_ (_here the glances
instructively at three dumpy and dough-faced Daughters_) acting in
that forward and _most_ unfeminine manner. (_Reassuringly._) But I'm
very sure there's no fear of _that_, is there, dears?

    [_The Daughters repudiate with gratifying unanimity any desire
    to shoot gentlemen on horseback._

_A Bloodthirsty Boy_ (_as the hostile Indians attack the train_). Will
the Indians _scalp_ anybody, Uncle?

_His Uncle._ No, my boy, they don't let 'em get near enough for that,
you see! [_The Indians are ignominiously chased off by Cowboys._

_The Boy_ (_disappointed_). They'd a splendid chance of scalping the
Orator that time--and not one of them even saw it!

_Orator._ Captain JACK BURTZ, of the United States Army, will now give
you an example of his phenomenal Lightning Drill.

    [_The Captain takes up his position with an air of fierce
    resolution, and proceeds to do wonderful things with a
    rifle and fixed bayonet, which he treats with a familiarity
    bordering on contempt._

_A Lady_ (_to a_ Military Friend--_as the Captain twirls the rifle
rapidly round his neck_). Have you ever seen anyone drill like that

_The Mil. F._ Saw CINQUEVALLI do something very like it at the Empire.
But _he_ had a cannon-ball as well.

_The Lady._ Look at him now--he's making the gun revolve upside down
with the bayonet on the palm of his hand! Could _you_ do that?

_The M.F._ Not without drilling a hole in myself.

_The Lady._ It really is wonderful that he shouldn't feel the point,
isn't it now?

_The M.F._ Well, I don't see much point _in_ it myself--but so long as
it amuses him, I daresay it's all right.

    [_The Captain discharges the gun in the air and retires at the
    double, feeling that his country's safety is secure for the
    present. JOHNNY BAKER, the young American Marksman, appears
    and exhibits his skill in shooting upside down._

_The Rigid Matron._ He missed one that time--he's not quite such a
good shot as the girl was.

_One of the Daughters._ Oh, but, Mother, you forget! Miss ANNIE OAKLEY
didn't stand on _her_--

_The R.M._ (_in an awful voice_), I am perfectly aware of that,
EUPHEMIA; so pray don't make such unnecessary remarks!

    [_EUPHEMIA subsides in confusion._

_An Unsophisticated Spectator_ (_as Master BAKER, after rubbing
his forehead, discovers a brickbat under the mat where his head had
been_). Now, how _very_ odd! He found a brick in exactly the same
place when I was here before! Someone must have a grudge against him,
poor boy! But he ought to look _before_ he stands on his head, next

_Mr. Timmerman_ (_carelessly, to his wife, as the Deadwood Coach is
introduced_). It would be rather fun to have a ride in the Coach--new
experience and all that.

_Mrs. T._ (_who doesn't intend him to go_). Oh, do be _careful_ then.

_Mr. T._ (_feeling quite the Daredevil_). Pooh, my dear, what is there
to be careful about?

_Mrs. T._ It does look such a ramshackle old thing--it might break
down. Accidents do happen so quickly.

_Mr. T._ (_reflecting that they certainly do_). Oh, if it wasn't
perfectly safe, they wouldn't--

_Mrs. T._ Well, promise me if you go on the box to hold on tight round
the corners, then!

_Mr. T._ (_who doesn't see much to hold on by_). I shan't _go_ on the
box--I shall go inside.

_Mrs. T._ There mayn't be room. There are several people waiting to
go already. You'll have to make haste to get a seat at all. I shall be
_miserable_ till I see you safe back again!

_Mr. T._ (_who is not sure he doesn't share her feelings_). Oh well,
if you feel like _that_ about it, I won't--

_Mrs. T._ Oh, yes, do, I _want_ you to go--it will be so exciting for
you to see real Indians yelling and shooting all round.

_Mr. T._ (_thinking that it may be more exciting than pleasant_).
Might bring on one of my headaches, and there'll be such a smell of
gunpowder too. I hardly think, after all, it's worth while.

_Mrs. T._ If you feel in the least _nervous_ about it. (_Mr. T. denies
this indignantly._) Then go at once--you may never have the chance
again; only don't stay talking about it--go!

_Mr. T._ (_pulling himself together_). Very well, if you really wish
it.... Confound it! _Most_ annoying, really! (_Sits down relieved._)
They've started! It's all _your_ fault, if you hadn't kept me here

_Mrs. T._ (_humbly_). I _am_ so sorry--but there's another performance
in the evening; we might dine here, and then you could easily go on
the Coach afterwards if you're so anxious to!

_Mr. T._ And sit through the show twice in one day? No, good as it is,
I really--and I've some letters I must write after dinner, too.

    [_Mrs. T. smiles to herself discreetly, satisfied with having
    gained her point._

       *       *       *       *       *


On Saturday last, being the first day permissible under the statute,
the nomination of a Knight to serve in Parliament for the Shire of
Barks, was held in the county town. The proceedings were marked by
a pleasing unanimity, and an outburst of popular enthusiasm which
seriously tried the resources of the local police. There was only one
candidate--TOBY once more M.P. The nomination paper was signed by _Mr.
Punch_, Mr. GLADSTONE, Lord SALISBURY, and most of the Crowned Heads
of Europe.

The Sheriff inquired if it were desired to nominate any other
Gentleman. (_A Voice_--"_I should think not!_") There being no other
response, the Sheriff declared the Hon. Gentleman duly elected, and
said he would like to be permitted to forego his fees, if indeed any
were due.


In response to loud calls from the assembled crowd, _Mr. Punch_
said he had great pleasure in recommending his young friend to the
suffrages of this important constituency. (_Cheers._) He called him
young, for though he had been on his (_Mr. Punch's_) establishment for
over fifty years, he was very little altered. There were some people
who never grew old (_A Voice_--"_Bully for you, Mr. Punch!_") and
amongst them he might include his faithful follower, whom they had
just unanimously re-elected Member for Barks. He trusted that in the
future, his young friend would pursue the course honourably followed
by him in the past. ("_Hear! Hear!_") This was the fourth Parliament
to which he had been elected, and he trusted it would not be the
last. (_Cheers._) He might perhaps allude to a rumour current in
the ordinary channels of information, which seemed to point to their
friend's transference to another place. He had the authority of TOBY,
M.P., to say that, as far as his freedom of action is concerned--and
_Mr. Punch_ thanked Heaven this is still free England--(_loud
cheers_)--that prognostication would never be realised. The highest
honour ever done to his friend, was the selection of him by the men of
Barks to represent them in the Commons House of Parliament. (_Renewed
cheering._) His fullest pleasure was to retain their confidence and
to serve them and posterity to the utmost extent of his power and
opportunity. (_Disturbance at the rear of the hall; cries of "Put him
out!" "Sit on 'is 'ead!"_) _Mr. Punch_ begged they would do no such
thing. It would be sure to give way under pressure. (_Laughter._) In
conclusion, he begged to thank them for the honour they had done his
friend, and he might add, themselves.

There were loud cries for TOBY, M.P., but the Hon. Member begged to
be excused from making a speech on this occasion. For one reason he
shrank from coming into competition in the lists of platform-speaking
with his revered friend and Leader. Another thing was, he was really
so overcome by the honour just done him, that he could not trust
himself to speak. He would write--as soon as the new Parliament met.

After the customary votes of thanks had been carried by acclamation,
the new Member was hoisted shoulder-high by the enthusiastic mob, and
carried off to his country residence, The Kennel, Barks, where he will
remain during the Recess.

       *       *       *       *       *




       *       *       *       *       *


  "One Man, one Vote!" A fine, fair-sounding plan!
  Would we could also get "One Vote, one _Man_!"
  Then we might also reach, "One Vote, one value."
  But, England, you have never found, nor shall you,
  Alas! (despite the democracy's promoter)
  That real manhood always marks the voter;
  Or fearing neither knave's device, nor "rough" rage,
  We'd trust the State to a _true_ Manhood Suffrage!

       *       *       *       *       *


_First 'Arry._ I'll tell you a good name for a Riverside Inn--"_The

_Second 'Arry._ I'll tell you a better--"The 'Ave-a-lunch." Come

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: WHITE LIES.



[_Asks the Girl just behind him for three Waltzes and a Polka!_]

       *       *       *       *       *




  Closed! The long wild whillaloo
  That oft smacked of "Killaloe,"
    The contagious wrath of Buskin and of Sock
  Hath abated for awhile,
  And no more the Emerald Isle
    On the stage and in the green-room seems to shock.
  The curtain is rung down,
  The comedian and the clown,
    With the sombre putter-on of tragic airs,
  Are gone, with all the cast,
  And the Theatre, at last,
    Is "Closed for Alterations and Repairs."

      They may cheer for GLADSTONE hearty,
      This, that, or t'other party,
        As it pleases them to do.
      They may howl like Mænads crazy,
      For policies dark and hazy;
          New stars ere long
          The stage may throng,
        To play in pieces new.

  The managerial soul
  Though relieved, upon the whole,
    From the six years' run, and all its stir and strain;
  Feels anxiety, no doubt,
  As to "stars" which may go out,
    And others that may probably remain.
  He has run a popular play,
  Which the Treasury says will pay,
    Despite of gallery hisses, groundling blares;
  But there's care upon his face,
  'Tis a most expensive place,
    And 'tis "Closed for Alterations and Repairs."

          They may cheer, &c.

  No doubt there has been fun,
  But the piece has had its run.
    And now from stage and playbill disappears.
  Now east, west, north, and south,
  The quidnuncs are giving mouth,
    Till the Manager would gladly close his ears.
  Two companies, neither loth,
  Seek his suffrages, and both
    Have a _répertoire_ that half attracts, half scares.
  He's aware it will need _nous_
  To make choice. Meanwhile the House,
    Is "Closed for Alterations and Repairs."

          They may cheer, &c.

  Much money must be spent
  Ere the public is content.
    Says the Manager, "By Jingo, I'm perplext.
  Shall I keep on SALISBUREE,
  Or engage old W.G.,
    And what's the piece that I shall put on next?
  Well, no more need be said,
  Till July has fully sped
    And August brings the Autumn Season's cares,
  Then we'll learn the cast and play--
  'Tis sufficient for to-day
    That we've 'Closed for Alterations and Repairs.'

      "They may cheer the Old Man hearty,
      Brave BALFOUR, mild MCCARTHY,
      This, that, or t'other party,
        As it pleases 'em to do.
      Their noise half drives me crazy,
      The future's rather hazy,
          But interest strong,
          I trust, ere long,
        Will crowd my House anew!"

       *       *       *       *       *


AIR--"_John Anderson, my Jo!_"

  Oh, SAUNDERSON, my Colonel,
    You're stout and eloquent,
  But boding; as the raven.
    Knock ninety-nine per cent.
  From your Cassandra prophecies,
    As bogeyish as eternal,
  And you'll be nearer to the truth,
    Brave SAUNDERSON, my Colonel!

  Oh, SAUNDERSON, my Colonel,
    Could you but pull together,
  Orange and Green, a truce were seen
    To bigotry and blether.
  'Tis _they_ that keep the Emerald Isle
    In pother so infernal.
  Drop hate and fear, try love and trust,
    Brave SAUNDERSON, my Colonel!

       *       *       *       *       *

OBVIOUS.--The _Daily News_ reports the mysterious disappearance from
the Government Saw Mills at Portsmouth, of 2,570 feet of deal. "No one
can say," it is added, "what became of the wood." Why, it walked off
of course, with so many feet the temptation was irresistible.

       *       *       *       *       *



MR. JOHN BULL (_Manager and Proprietor_). "CAN'T TELL YET, MR.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A FUTURE DIPLOMAT.

(_Mummie helps him to some more sugar._) "_NOW_, MUMMIE, YOU HAVEN'T

[_Mummie helps him to more Strawberries!_]

       *       *       *       *       *



The excitement is getting terrific. In the principal streets party
flags are waving gaily. In the suburbs every other house is hidden
beneath vast posters, setting forth the merits of the rival parties.
The Association of Jam-Dealers held a private meeting last night.
I was, however, enabled to be present having disguised myself as
Mr. BLACKFORD, one of the Vice-Presidents of the Association, who
was taken ill at the last moment, and whose letter of excuse for
non-attendance I managed to intercept. The proceedings opened with
prayer, on the model of the recent Ulster Convention. After this,
the discussion began. A series of questions had, it appears, been
addressed to both Candidates. Here they are:--

(1) Will you oppose any attempt to increase the import of foreign

(2) Will you support a measure making it compulsory for the London
Cooperative Stores to sell only Jam manufactured by the Bunkham
Jam-Dealers' Association?

(3) Will you oppose any measure calculated to deprive the rising
generation of one of the necessaries of life in the shape of Bunkham
Jam? And will you therefore oppose, by all lawful Parliamentary means,
the use of the domestic rod as a punishment for so-called Jam-stealing
out of store-room cupboards?

(4) Which do you prefer, gooseberries, raspberries, or strawberries?

(5) Will you advocate a tax of twopence per pot on all jam not
manufactured in the Bunkham district?

Both Candidates had sent written replies. But it was generally felt
that on the answers to the fourth question, the vote of the meeting
would depend. Bunkham is a district in which raspberries and
gooseberries are almost exclusively grown. Now it is well-known that
Mr. PLEDGER, the Liberal Candidate, has an almost passionate affection
for strawberry-jam, and much interest was shown as to whether he would
be true to his favourite food, or renounce it in order to capture
votes. I am glad to say that the honourable gentleman refused to
palter with his convictions. In a manly and straightforward answer, he
declined to be a party to "a system of espionage which had invaded the
breakfast table, and might go far to make even luncheon intolerable."

"From my youth up," he continued, "I have never wavered in the
conviction, that of all known preserves, strawberry-jam is both the
best, and the most sustaining. I should disgrace myself if I were now,
at the eleventh hour, to declare a preference which I do not honestly
feel for gooseberry or raspberry."

This, of course, settled the matter. Mr. TUFFAN declared emphatically
against the obnoxious strawberry; and the result was that the
Association, by an enormous majority, decided to support him. The
Liberals were at first much discouraged, but they have now taken heart
again. One of their Canvassers, it seems, has succeeded in making
himself a _persona grata_ to a lady who occupies the position of
under-housemaid in the establishment of the TUFFANS. Through her he
obtained an empty pot of strawberry-jam, lately consumed by the
TUFFAN family. This has been fixed upon a long pole, with a placard
underneath it, to the following effect:--



And the device is now being carried all over the Town by the Junior
Liberal Association.

The polling takes place to-morrow. Both sides are confident, but,
on the whole, after reviewing all the circumstances of the case as
impartially as possible, taking into account everything that tells for
or against both parties, and not forgetting the effect produced by the
public secession of Mr. HONEYDEW, the tobacconist, and Ex-President
of the Liberal 500, I am disposed to believe in the victory of Mr.
PLEDGER; that is to say, unless Mr. TUFFAN should manage to secure a
sufficient number of votes to defeat his opponent.


       *       *       *       *       *


  To the Electors of the United Kingdom!
  I, PUNCH, who shoot at follies, and have wing'd 'em
  For fifty years, and shall for fifty more,
  Greet ye! It were to force an open door
  To ask ye one and all, to give your votes
  To ME! There, there, my boys! don't strain your throats!
  My tympanum is tender. _Punch_ rejoices
  To listen once more to "your most sweet voices,"
  Only you need not howl and make them raucous.
  I'm not a Party Nominee, no Caucus
  Has wire-pulled Me! I'd like to see 'em do so!
  I am _Man Friday_ to no party _Crusoe_,
  Are all on my Committee. MORLEY's notion
  (Shared for the nonce by JOE the shrewd and able),
  Is, that it's safe to sit at _my_ Round Table,
  Where they all hob-a-nob as friends, not foes!
  E'en the MACULLUM MORE cocks not his nose
  Too high in _Punch's_ presence; he knows better!
  Supremacy unchallenged is a fetter
  E'en to patrician pride, provincial vanity;
  Scot modesty, and Birmingham urbanity,
  Bow at my shrine, because they can't resist.
  Thus I'm the only genuine Unionist,
  While all the same, my British Public _you_'ll err,
  If you conceive I'm not a firm Home-Ruler.
  Perpend! There's sense and truth in my suggestions,
  And therefore, do not ask superfluous questions.
  You might as fitly paint Dame Venus freckled,
  As fancy _Punch_ will stoop to being "heckled."
  I have no "Programmes," I. My wit's too wide
  To a wire-puller's "platform" to be tied.
  I know what's right, I mean to see it done,
  And for the rest good-tempered chaff and fun
  Are my pet "principles"--till fools grow rash
  From toleration, _then_ they feel the lash.
  I am a sage, and not a prig or pump,
  Therefore I never canvas, spout or stump,
  I'm Liberal--as the sunlight--of all Good,
  Which to Conserve I strive--that's understood,
  But Tory nincompoop, or rowdy Rad,
  The thrall of bigotry, the fool of fad
  I hate alike. There's the straight tip, my bloaters!
  Now run and vote for _Punch_--all who are voters;
  And if some few have not that boon indeed,
  Well those who cannot run at least can _read_.
  There! that's enough, my lads! I'm off to lunch,
  You, go and do your duty; plump for PUNCH!!!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "SED REVOCARE GRADUM."

_Beauty_ (_with cool candour_). "OH YES, INDEED, I FREQUENTLY MAKE

_Sporting Youth_ (_trying to be sympathetic_). "REALLY? BUT I SUPPOSE

       *       *       *       *       *



And so they sat in the boat and looked into one another's eyes,
and found much to read in them. They ignored the presence of the
houseboats, and scarcely remembered that there were such things as
launches propelled by steam or electricity. And they turned deaf ears
to the niggers, and did not want their fortunes told by dirty females
of a gipsy type.

"This is very pleasant," said EDWIN.

"Isn't it?" replied ANGELINA; "and it's such a good place for seeing
all the events."

"Admirable!" and they talked of other things; and the time sped on,
and the dark shadows grew, and still they talked, and talked, and

At length the lanterns on the river began to glow, and Henley put on
its best appearance, and broke out violently into fireworks, it was
then Mrs. GRUNDY spied them out. She had been on the look out for
scandal all day long, but could find none. This seemed a pleasant and
promising case.

"So you are here?" she exclaimed. "Why, we thought you must have gone
long ago! And what do you say of the meeting?"

"A most perfect success," said he.

"And the company?"

"Could not be more charming," was her reply.

"And what did you think of the racing?" Then they looked at one
another and smiled. They spoke together, and observed:--

"Oh, we did not think of the racing!"

And Mrs. GRUNDY was not altogether satisfied.

       *       *       *       *       *

MEM. BY "ONE WHO MARRIED IN HASTE."--"The real 'Battle of Life' begins
with a short engagement."

       *       *       *       *       *


_The Look-out, Sheepsdoor, Kent._


My rest at the seaside has done me such a world of good that I feel
more lazy than ever! But I fear I am in danger of a relapse into
excitement, owing to a letter I received a few days ago from an old
military friend of mine, General ELECTION, in which he asks me to lend
my _invaluable_ assistance in "canvassing" for his nephew, the Hon.
CHARLIE HULLOTHERE, who is standing for Sheepsdoor.--Ah, how little
did I think that my reference to "canvas" shoes in my last letter
would be so prophetic! The General is very gallant, and fully
appreciates the usefulness of women in canvassing; and, in order
to be quite "up to date," I have ordered in a large supply of
gingerbread-nuts and oyster-shells, which I observe (see daily papers)
are distributed as marks of respect among Candidates and their wives!

Having also heard that a Brass Band is indispensable (the more brass
it is, the better), I have made friendly overtures (_musical_,
of course) to the Sheepsdoor Purveyors of Brassharmony, with the
flattering result that they now conclude every performance with my
specially composed "_Election War Cry_"--the refrain of which is most
effective when given by a chorus of trained Constituents!--

  He's the man for us;

    We respect him!
    We'll elect him!
  And we might do wuss!!

In fact, our Candidate is very popular, and is sure to "romp in
an easy winner"--which is another puzzling racing expression, as,
although I've seen plenty of horses indulge in a game of romps before
the start (notably, _L'Abbé Morin_, in the "City"), they seem to have
had more than enough of it before the finish!

I hear from Newmarket, that I missed an extremely pleasant week's
racing--and although my selection for the Stud Produce Stakes was
rather wide of the mark, I fairly hit the bullseye--(what a painful
operation this must be for the bull)--in my one "_Song from the
Birdcage_," which I warbled in the ear of a racing friend whom I met
down here; it was _à propos_ of the July Stakes and ran thus:--

  The night was dark when "_Portland Bill_" escaped by Chesil Beach!
  And hope beat high within his heart, that he the goal might reach!
  For "_Milford_" Haven lies in sight!--one effort and he's there!
  But see!--At last--he's caught!--he's passed!--just by the Judge's

Which really remarkable prophecy was fully borne out by the race, in
fact, so close a description might almost have been written _after the
race_--a great compliment to my powers of divination!

Next week takes us to Bibury and Stockbridge. and if this hot weather
continues, the motto of the Club should be, "_Dum vivo Bibere_"--or,
freely translated--"_Half_ the soda, please!" The race to which
I propose to give my attention is the Alington Plate, and as I am
nothing if not thorough, you will see that my tip is influenced by my
being at the Seaside?

Yours devotedly, LADY GAY.


  The storm was raging through the night,
    I tossed upon my pillow,
  And pitied any luckless wight
    Who tossed upon the "_Billow_!"

       *       *       *       *       *

A SLIGHT MUDDLE.--"I hear," said Mrs. R., "that the Cassocks are
performing at the Buffalo Bill place--though not knowing the gentleman
personally, I would prefer calling him BUFFALO WILLIAM or WILLIAM
BUFFELLOW, which would be a less outlandish name--and I confess I was
astonished, as I always thought that Cassocks were Clergymen, or had
something to do with the Clergy. I suppose I had connected them with
Hassocks, which are always in Church, and were, I believe, invented
by Mr. HASSOCK, or Squire HASSOCK, who made all his money by keeping
a gate on the old Brighton Coach Road. The station is still called
Hassock's Gate, in his memory. HER MAJESTY had all the Cassocks sent
down to her at Windsor. They must have been quite worn out by the end
of the day."

       *       *       *       *       *


       *       *       *       *       *


_Monday.--Lohengrin._ House full to hear Brother JOHN and Madame
MELBA. "Please, Sir, Mr. JOHNNIE DE RISKY ain't here," blurts out the
pale and trembling call-boy.

[Illustration: Cherubino takes the Chair at a small Meeting. A De
Risky situation.]

Sir AUGUSTUS calm, impassible. Crisis. If no one turned up, he would
act the part himself, and, it being Wagnerian music, the orchestra
would play what of the part had to be played. At that moment lounged
in Monsieur VAN DYCK, just to see how things were going on without
him. "I'm a little hoarse to-night," quoth VAN DYCK, pleasantly.
"Nonsense!" cries Sir DRURIOLANUS, cheerily, "a '_Van_' can never be
a little hoarse." Much merriment. "DYCK, my boy," continues Sir D.,
"you've come in the very nick of time--quite a Devil's Dyke, you
are,"--the accomplished vocalist was in ecstasies at his Manager's
joke,--"and you shall distinguish yourself to-night as _Lohengrin_!"
Oh, what a surprise! No sooner said than done. Armour for one ordered
immediately. ISAAC of York Street goes to work, and--presto!--VAN
DYCK is "ready in case." "Now," asks DRURIOLANUS, "what are we waiting

"Please, Sir, Madame MELBA isn't here!"

"MELBA not here to play _Elsa_!" exclaims Sir DRURIOLANUS, immediately
adding, with that wit which is always, like the British Tar, 'Ready,
aye ready!'--"then we must get somebody Else Sir!" and scarcely had
the words escaped his lips, than Madame NORDICA, who happened to
be passing by, sang out in an extempore recitative, "_Me voici!_"
"_Bravissima!_" cried Sir DRURIOLANUS. "Saved! Saved!" General dance
of joy.

So the Curtain was rung up, and the Opera, with Madame NORDICA (_vice_
MELBA) as _Elsa_, and VAN DYCK (_vice_ Little JOHNNIE THE RISKY) as
_Lohengrin_, made a big success. House crowded. All's well that ends
as well as this.

[Illustration: Sir Druriolanus, M.P.(ressario) for Covent Garden.]

_Tuesday with Mozart._--What a good starting idea for a Comic Opera
would be the notion of making those two types of knaves, _Leporello_
and _Figaro_, meet as counter-plotters. Monsieur MAUREL suggests
a step in this direction, when one night he impersonates the gay
Spanish Don, and on another he appears as the roguish Italian barber,
no longer an intriguing bachelor but a jealous bridegroom. Merry
Melodious MOZART! Old-fashioned he may be, like not a few of the best
melodies and the best stories. Elegant Countess is Madame EMMA EAMES.
Can she possibly ever have been _Rosina_, _Dr. Bartolo's_ tricky ward!
What a change matrimony makes in some folks! Old _Dr. Bartolo_ bears
not much resemblance to the other _Dr. Bartolo_, and _Don Basilio_, a
kind of Ecclesiastical lawyer, is quite a rollicking wag as compared
with the _Basilio_ of the Barber of Seville. Nothing could be better
than the _Susanna_ of Mlle. TELEKI, or sweeter than the duet, heartily
encored, between her and the _Countess_. EDOUARD DE RESZKÉ is a
magnificent representative of the gloomily-jealous Count, who, having
once been the gayest of the gay, still retains something of his old
sly-boots character in private. He is always going wrong, and always
being in the wrong when found out: a Count quite at a discount, for
whom there will perhaps be no rest until he is "par." with a family.
Needless to say, the part was well acted and sung by Brother NED, whom
a gentleman near me, who "knew all about it," mistook for his brother
JOHN, and criticised accordingly. As _Cherubino_, Mlle. SIGRID
ARNOLDSON is a delightfully boyish scapegrace, giving us just that
_soupçon_ of natural awkwardness which a spoilt sunny Southern lad of
sixteen, brought up in such mixed society as is represented by _Count
Almaviva's_ household, would occasionally show when more than usually
"spoony." Mlle. ARNOLDSON sings MOZART pure and simple, without
interpolating cadenzas, roulades, nourishes, or exercises of musical
fireworks, and the audience rewarded her artistically simple rendering
of "_Voi che sapete_" with an _encore_, which was as hearty as it was
well-deserved. Capital House. Parliamentary musicians conspicuous by
their absence. Ex-M.P.'s represented in a body by Sir H-NRY EDW-RDS
the evergreen.

It was reported in the House--the Opera House--that Sir DRURIOLANUS
was standing; but for what Constituency, was not mentioned. The rumour
was justified by his appearing at the Stall entrance, where he stood
for some time, but as he finely observed, "I am not in search of a
seat--in Parliament. No! Let who will make the people's laws, give
me the bringing out for them of their Operas and Pantomimes." So
saying, he bowed gracefully to nobody in particular (who happened
to be talking to him), and, with a refreshing wave of the hand, Sir
DRURIOLANUS was wafted away into the offing, and "lost to sight,"
while still "to memory dear."

_Trumpet Note in advance._--_The Trompeter of Sakkingen_ is announced
as "in active preparation." Needless to say more, as, of course, he
blows his own trumpet for himself. The question is, will it be a big
trump in the hand of Sir DRURIOLANUS?

_Saturday._--_Elaine_ changed her mind, and wouldn't come out

       *       *       *       *       *


"Planchette" can give such accurate information as it appears to
have done at Mr. CHARLES WYNDHAM's supper-party, and elsewhere, as
recounted in the _Daily Telegraph_, why is it not at once put into
general requisition? Why is there any Parliamentary debating? Why not
use "Planchette?" Why run any chance of losing on a race, but simply
"ask Planchette?" Only, by the way, if this were universal, and if
everyone is to win, who is to lose? Thus Planchette would put an end
to nearly all speculation. Planchette would inaugurate a new era
of complete and unqualified success. No doubt Mr. CHARLES WYNDHAM
consulted Planchette before producing _The Fringe of Society_, and
is in consequence being amply rewarded for placing his trust in
Planchette. Failure would be impossible except to the obstinate few
who should persistently refuse to pin their faith on the utterances
of "Planchette." But, suppose after doing enough to establish her
reputation, "Planchette," being feminine and therefore "_varium et
mutabile semper_," should suddenly deceive her followers, as did
_Zamiel's_ seventh charmed bullet (which ought always to have been
kept up _Caspar's_ sleeve--but _Caspar_ was an idiot), and the Weird
but Larky Sisters who captivated _Macbeth_?

"Trust her not, she's fooling thee, Beware! Beware!" and Planchette,
the little plank, will make more of her followers "plank down" than
pick up gold and silver.

       *       *       *       *       *


"_Mr. G._" (_to the Ardent Female Supporter, henceforth to be
historically known as "The Gingerbread-nut-Chucker"_):--

  'Twas all very well to dissemble your love,
  But why chuck the nut in my eye?

    [_Mr. G. is aware that the Divine WILLIAMS has spoken of
    ginger as "hot in the mouth," but Mr. G. says "he got it
    uncommonly hot in the eye."_]

       *       *       *       *       *

Paddington. The First to arrive.

       *       *       *       *       *

NOTICE.--Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS.,
Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no
ease 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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