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Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 103, October 1, 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, October 1, 1892" ***

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

VOL. 103, OCTOBER 1, 1892***


VOL. 103

OCTOBER 1, 1892



    [The young Indian Gentleman, Mr. H. RANJITSINHJI, has "secured
    his century" at Cricket no less than eleven times this

  O H.S. RANJIT--(spelling a wild venture is!)
  Wielder of willow, runner-up of "centuries"!
  What's in a name? A name like RANJITSIN--
  (_Can't_ finish it, was foolish to begin!)
  How many miles was it you ran, O RAN--
  (Bowled out again. Am sorry I began!)
  In running out those hundreds, RANJITSINGHJ--
  (A man were a patched fool, a perfect ninny,
  Who'd try to spell that name, Ask _Bully Bottom!_)
  With such a name to carry, how you got 'em,
  O RANJ--(that sounds like Orange!)--those same "notches"
  Is quite a wonder. Were they "bowls" or "cotches"
  That got you out at last, those times eleven?
  (Where is GRACE now? He has not scored _one_ even,
  This season, though as close as ninety-nine to it.)
  Applause has greeted you; let me add mine to it,
  O RAN-JIT-SIN-HJI! (Those last three letters
  What _do_ they spell?) Orthography's cold fetters
  Shan't chill my admiration, smart young Hindoo!
  Say, did you smite a sixer through a window,
  Like Slogger THORNTON in _his_ boyish prime,
  O RANJITSINHJI? Got it this time!
  That is, it _spelt_ all right. E'en admiration
  Shan't tempt me to attempt _pronunciation_!
  Eleven centuries we to Indian skill owe!
  Will the East lick the West at its own "Willow?"
  Here's luck to India and young RAN--Och, murther!
  RAN-JIT-SIN-SIN--How's that! _Out_? Can't get further!
       *       *       *       *       *

"OH NO, WE NEVER MENTION IT."--The KENDALS have got a Play by a young
American Author with the very uncompromising name of DAM. He, or his
Play, may be Dam good, or just the reverse: still, if he does turn out
to be the "big, big D," then all the Dam family, such as Amsterdam,
Rotterdam, Schiedam, and so forth, will be real proud of him. Future
Dams will revere him as their worthy ancestral sire, and American
Dam may become naturalised among us (we have a lot of English ones
quite a _spécialité_ in that line, so the French say), and become
Dam-nationalised. What fame if the piece is successful, and DAM is
on every tongue! So will it be too, if unsuccessful. Englishmen will
welcome the new American playright with the name unmentionable to
ears polite, and will recognise in him, as _the_ Dam _par excellence_,
their brother, as one of the uncommon descendants of A-DAM. By the
way, the appropriate night for its production would be Christmas
Eve. Fancy the cries all over the House, calling for the successful

       *       *       *       *       *




       *       *       *       *       *



  Although thy name is wrongly spelt
  Upon thy case, what joy I felt
  To find a place where thou hast dwelt,
            My Punsch!

  Yet wit and wisdom, even thine,
  Can't wake up Berne, where folks supine
  All go to bed at half-past nine,
            My Punsch!

  What art or jokes could entertain,
  Such sleepy people? True, they feign
  It's later, for they say "_halb zehn_,"
            My Punsch!

  My German "_Punsch_," what gender thine?
  They who accept, likewise decline,
  "_Das Weib_" might feminine assign--
            Die Punsch!

  No matter which, if I behold
  Thy pages, worth their weight in gold--
  It's true they're more than three weeks old,
            My Punsch!

       *       *       *       *       *

AN ODD FELLOW OUT.--The Church-breaking thief (_vide_ the _Standard's_
provincial news) who was arrested at Oswestry (fitting that a
Church-thief should have been arrested by Os-Westry-men--which sounds
like a body of mounted ecclesiastical police), explained that he was
a "monumental mason of Dublin." Perhaps the Jury will find him
monu-mentally deranged.

       *       *       *       *       *


    [It is reported that the latest move is for ladies to combine
    profit and pleasure by going "hopping."]

  Fair Woman longs for novelty,
    Her daily task is apt to cloy her,
  The pastimes that were wont to be
    Diverting now do but annoy her.
  The common joys of life are spent
    So tired of tennis, shooting, shopping,
  She turns in her despair to Kent,
    And tries her 'prentice hand at hopping.

  Now girls whom you would scarce believe
    Would not turn up their nose at soiling
  Their dainty hands, to dewy eve
    From early morn keep ever toiling.
  There's ETHEL of the golden hair
    Who flutters through existence gaily
  (Her father is a millionnaire),
    Hops hard and does her twelve hours daily.

  Then pretty MAUD, with laughing eyes,
    Who hardly knew what daily wage meant,
  To everybody's great surprise
    Proceeds to cut this, that engagement.
  Amid the vines she daily goes,
    And picks till weary fingers tingle,
  The sweetest music now she knows
    Is hearing hard-earned sovereigns jingle.

  This latest move, it's very true,
    Appears to be a rather rum thing,
  But yet for idle hands to do
    We know that Someone will find something.
  Will fashionable hopping last?
    Well, this it's safe to lay your cash on,
  Before another year has passed
    There'll be another female fashion.

       *       *       *       *       *

HOLLINGSHEAD, "Ve've la rain. It comes pouring down on the stage, and
the people come pouring in to see it. I suppose," says he, "they'll
now call me 'The Wetter'un?" The ballet is very effective, not a drop
too much, and "not a drop in the business" in front of the house,
though there is, as is evident, on the stage. If Manager JOHN liked
to quote SHAKSPEARE with a difference, in his advertisements, he might
say, "With a hey, ho, the Wind and the Rain! For the Rain it raineth
every night!" For some time to come this show will be the raining
favourite at the Alhambra. By the way, the _Sheffield Telegraph_,
describing the alterations and improvements in front at the Alhambra,
wrote--"The ceiling has been bevelled with porous plasters so as to
hide the girders." We know that hand:--it's Our "Mrs. RAMSBOTHAM,"
and she "comes from Sheffield." However, "porous plasters" would be
another attraction at the Alhambra, or anywhere, as they certainly
ought to _draw_.

       *       *       *       *       *


_Mount Street, Grosvenor Square_.


Unlucky Leicester was even more unlucky than usual--and when the big
race was run last Wednesday, so thick was the rain, that the horses
could only be seen for the last half mile! Of course this made all
the difference to the horse I selected--_Windgall_--who finished
second;--as he only gives his _best_ performances _in public_, and
as he doubtless _knew he couldn't be seen_, he thought it was only a
private trial until he got close home, when his gallant effort was too
late to be of any use!--at least, this is how _I_ read the result of
the race, and who can know more about a horse than the racing-prophet,
I should like to know?

I was told by Sir WALTER GREENINGTON, that the public "tumbled over
each other" to back _Breach_, but I must say I didn't notice anything
of the sort, and it was not the kind of day anyone would choose for
a roll on the turf, the state of which was detrimental to any kind of
_Breach_!--The believers in "coincidences"--(of which I need hardly
say _I_ am one--a coincidence being a truly feminine reason for
backing a horse)--had no option but to back the winner, _Rusticus_;
as he drew the same berth he occupied in last year's race, which he
alsop--(I mean also)--won for Mr. HAMAR BASS!--_Stuart_ was a great
eleventh hour tip--(why _eleventh_ hour I wonder?--more than any
other--and who fixes the precise moment when the _eleventh_ hour
commences?)--but history tells us the STUARTS were mostly unreliable;
and though I am told he ran a "great horse"--I thought him rather on
the small side myself!

I hear that Mr. LEONARD BOYNE has received a "licence to ride" from
the Jockey Club, and that his ambition is to ride the winner of the
"Grand National"--to which end he has started "schooling" a well-known
chaser over the private training-ground in Drury Lane, belonging to
Sir AUGUSTUS HARRIS--if he hopes to escape observation by training
at night, I fear his design will be frustrated, as, on the evening, I
went to witness this "new departure" in training, I found most of the
London racing-touts present, with the inevitable field-glasses!

Next week sees us once more at our beloved Newmarket First
October--(this is a Jockey-Club joke, as the meeting _always_ takes
place in _September_! But what does a little paradox of this kind
matter to such an _August_ body!)--and I shall append my selection
for the most important race of Wednesday, but I also wish to give a
hint to the "Worldly Wise" not to miss the October Handicap, or the
match, for which _Buccaneer_ will be favourite at the "fall of the
flag!"--(The flag may _fall_, but such a _Buccaneer_ as this is will
never "strike his flag" I feel sure!) Being absolutely overloaded
with prophecy, I must also have a word to say on the Rutland
Plate, which aristocratically-named race could only be won by the
aristocratically-named _Buckingham_!--Yours devotedly, LADY GAY.


  Though good his chance to win the prize,
    "Lord HENRY" soon detected,
  That greatest danger would arise,
    From Colonel NORTH's "_Selected._"

       *       *       *       *       *


"On July 4th, Lieutenant PEARY, in his great sledge journey, commenced
on May 15th last, in Greenland, came on a glacier which he named The
Academy Glacier."--_Times_.]

       *       *       *       *       *




Pen was a busy personage. He was flying from place to place, and
had much importance. He was pompous and mysterious, and puzzled many
people. Pen was accompanied by a sheet of paper that he called Treaty.
Pen took Treaty everywhere. To Russia, to France, to Rome, and to
Turkey. No one knew exactly what Treaty was like. Pen said he was
satisfied with Treaty, and as Pen and Treaty were such constant
companions, Pen's word on the subject was accepted as authentic.

But one fine day there was a breeze, and Treaty was blown away by the

"Can I not assist?" asked Pen. "Things seem to have gone wrong."

"No, thanks," replied Sword, grimly; "when it comes to close quarters,
we find ink not quite so useful as gunpowder!"

       *       *       *       *       *

THE STRAND THEATER.--"_Niobe_ all tiers" (full).

       *       *       *       *       *


"And," asked our deferential Interviewer, "what did your Lordship
reply to the deputation about Uganda?"

Lord ROSEBERY at once answered, "I said little, but I--"

"_Ment-more_," interrupted the Private Secretary, sticking a label on
his Lordship's travelling bag.

"Quite so," said Lord ROSEBERY, and off he went.

       *       *       *       *       *

BAD FOR WOULD-BE "ENGLISH WIVES"--It is reported that "Yankee Girls
and American Belles were the feature of the Miscellaneous Market."
This should put our young men on their mettle--tin, of course, for
choice. No reasonable offer refused.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "HOW IT'S DONE!"

(_Hard on Sketchley, who was there at the time and in the thick of it,
and has just had his Picture photographed._)


       *       *       *       *       *




  It wasn't that he blacked the plate
    And rouged the boots, and breathed, half-choking,
  Half-snorting, when he leaned to wait;
    Although these habits _are_ provoking.

  It wasn't that he sang his fill,
    Although his mouth with food was giving;
  This latter, as a feat of skill,
    Might have procured the lad a living.

  It wasn't that he'd purchase hosts
    Of squibs and sweets to mess the pantry;
  That horrid boy, and broomstick-ghosts
    On timid JANE would oft, and ANN try.

  These petty peccadilloes might
    Have all improved with careful training.--
  It was his shameless appetite
    That gave us cause for most complaining.

  He swilled and stuffed as never mere
    Adult voracity can own to;
  He was a "growing boy," I fear;
    I wonder much what he has grown to!

  He wore away our forks and spoons
    With hard, incessant gormandizing;
  The Baker's, and, for some blue moons,
    The Milkman's bill were quite surprising.


  He cost us more in Butcher's meat
    And Grocer's tea, and things from Cutlers,
  He cost, I solemnly repeat,
    Far more than two or three big Butlers.

  And thus his fat increased until't
    Became a show that sight bewilders;
  We trembled for our mansion built,
    You see, by noted Jerry-builders.

  At length (you'll scarce the fact believe)
    One evening, as we sat at dinner,
  And strove our senses to deceive
    By just imagining him thinner;

  We heard a crack, a burst, a groan,
    We felt a broadside round us battered,
  We _saw_ his buttons fiercely blown
    About our heads, and piecemeal scattered!

  The suit had split; the boy was bare
    Of clothes designed to last for ages;
  We gave him notice then and there--
    This _volume_, so to speak, of pages!

       *       *       *       *       *

should we wait till to-morrow? See _Queen of Manoa_ to-night!"

       *       *       *       *       *


    _The car, drawn by four horses, and crowded with Excursionists
    on pleasure bent, is toiling up the steep streets of St. Peter
    Port, when it comes to a sudden halt._

[Illustration: "Endeavours to assume a knowing and horsey

_Excursionists_ (_impatiently_). Now then, what's this? What are we
stopping here for?

_The Driver_. Ladies and Gentlemen, you will thoroughly understand
that it is customary for the car to stop here, in order that the
party may be photographed, thus providing an agreeable souvenir of
the trip, and a useful means of identification at Scotland Yard. (_A
Photographer appears in the road with a camera, and the party prepare
themselves for perpetuation in a pleased flutter_.) P'raps, Sir--(_to
a Mild Man on the box-seat_)--you'd like to be taken 'andling the
ribbons? Most of our Gentlemen do.

    [_The Mild Man accepts the reins, and endeavours to assume a
    knowing and horsey expression._

_A Timid Lady_ (_behind_). I _do_ hope no Gentleman will take the
reins, unless he is thoroughly accustomed to driving four-in-hand.
Suppose they took it into their heads to run away suddenly!

_Driver_ (_solemnly_). Don't you alarm yourself about that, Ma'am, in
the very slightest degree. These 'osses take that pride in themselves,
they'd stop here all day rather than spoil their own likenesses!

    [_The M.M. intimates that he is no novice in the art of
    driving, which is fairly true as regards a pony-trap--and the
    fears of the_ T.L. _are allayed._

_Photographer_. Now, steady all, please, those at the further ends of
the seats stand up so as to come into the picture, a little more to
the right, please, the gentleman in the straw 'at, turn your 'ead a
trifle more towards the camera, the lady in the pink shirt,--that's
better. Better take off your spectacles, Sir. Now then--are you ready?

_A Comic Exc._ 'Old on a bit--I've a fly on my nose.

    [_Some of the party giggle; the photograph is successfully
    taken, and the car proceeds._

_The Driver_. On your left, Ladies and Gentlemen, you have the
Prison--the cheapest Hotel in the Island for parties who intend making
a protracted stay here. On our right we are now passing "Paradise."
You will observe that someone has 'ung his 'at and coat up at
the entrance, not being certain of getting in. Notice the tree in
front--the finest specimen on the island of the good old Guernsey

    [_He keeps turning from time to time to address these
    instructive remarks to the passengers behind him._

_The Timid Lady._ I wish he wouldn't talk so much, and look more where
he is going--we're _much_ too near the hedge!

_Driver_ (_standing up, and turning his back on the horses, as they
trot on_). Ladies and Gentlemen, you will all thoroughly understand
that the roads in this Island are narrow. Consequently, you must look
after the branches and briars yourselves. I've enough to do to look
after my 'orses, I assure you, and it looks bad to see 'ats and
bonnets decorating the 'edges after the car has passed. (_Some of the
Excursionists look at one another uneasily._) The glass-'ouses you see
in such quantities, are employed in the production of early grapes and
tomators for the London Market. This Island alone exports annually--

    [_Here the car rounds a corner rather sharply, and he sits
    down again._

_The Mild Man (with a Mild Man's thirst for information_). What are
those buildings over there with the chimney?

    [_Here he is conscious of being furtively prodded in the
    back--but decides to take no notice._

_Driver_ (_rising as before_). Those buildings, Ladies and Gentlemen,
are Chemical works for extracting iodine from seaweed. The seaweed,
after being dried, is then boiled, and from the ash--

    [_Here the Mild Man, who has been listening with much
    interest, is startled by receiving a folded piece of paper,
    which it passed up to him from behind._

_The M.M._ (_to himself, as he reads the message_). "Keep the Driver
quiet. He is drunk." Good Gracious! I never noticed--and yet--dear me,
I hope they don't expect _me_ to interfere!

_The Timid Lady_ (_to the Driver_). For goodness sake never mind about
iodine now--sit down and attend to your driving, like a good man!

_Driver_. You will thoroughly understand, my horses require _no_
attention. (_Sleepily._) No attention whatever. I assure you I am
perfectly competent to drive this car and give you information
going along at the same time. (_The car takes another corner rather
abruptly._) Simply matter of habit. (_Gravely._) Matter'f habit!

_A Serious Exc._ (_in an undertone._) A very _bad_ habit, I'm afraid.
It's really time somebody else took the reins from him!

_The M.M._ (_overhearing_). I'm afraid they mean me--I wish now I'd
never touched the reins at all!

_Driver_. The Church we are now coming to, is St. Martin's, built in
the year eleven 'undred.

_A Female Exc._ (_critically_). It _has_ got an old-fashioned look
about it, certainly.

_A Male Exc._ There's nothing to see inside of these old churches. I
went in one the other day, and I was looking up at the rafters, and
I saw a sort o' picture there, and I said, "Ullo--they've been
advertising Pears' Soap here, or something." But when I looked again,
it was only an old fresco. I was so little interested I walked out
without tipping the Verger!

_The Female Exc._ That Church we went to on Sunday evening is very

_Her Comp._ Is it? How do you know?

_The F.E._ Why, my dress was covered with bits of fluff out of the

_Driver._ The carved stone figure you see by the gate, is supposed
to be a portrait of Julius Cæsar's Grandmother, and very like the
old lady. (_The Excursionists nearest him smile in a sickly way, to
avoid hurting his feelings, as the car moves on--to halt once more at
Icart Point._) It is customary to alight here and go round the point,
and I can assure you, Ladies and Gentlemen, the scenery is well worth
your inspection and will give you a little idea of what the Island

_Excursionists_ (_taking advantage of the opportunity to discuss the
situation_). I noticed it the minute I set eyes on him--he never
ought to have been sent out like this ... He's been to a wedding this
morning, so I heard, and it's upset him a little, that's all ... Upset
_him_--we're lucky if he doesn't upset _us_. What a fidget you are! I
shan't take _you_ into Switzerland next year, if you're like this...
If Switzerland's full of a lot of drunken men, I don't want to go...
Well, what had we better _do_ about it? Perhaps _this_ gentleman
would--Oh, no, I couldn't take the responsibility, really, not without
knowing the way. Well, we can't _walk_ back, that's certain--we must
trust to luck, that's all! Pretty bit of the coast you get here ...
Oh, don't talk about the scenery _now_, when, for all we know!--&c.,

    [_The car starts again, and presently arrives at a winding
    and precipitous road leading down to Petit Bot Bay, where the
    Driver again rises with his back to the horses, and proceeds
    to address the Excursionists, as they sit paralysed with

_Driver_. Ladies and Gentlemen, at this point I shall explain the
scenery. (_The Timid Lady protests that she is content to leave
the scenery unexplained._) Pardon me, this is a portion of the
scenery--(_Here his eyes close and reopen with an effort_)--a portion
of the scenery that can only be properly enjoyed coming out on one of
these cars. If you go out with ordinary drivers, they take you along
the main roads, and you come away fancying you've seen the Island.
Now the advantage of coming along with _me_--(_His eyes close once
more--the Excursionists implore him to attend to his team_.) You will
thoroughly understand there is not the slightest cause to apprehend
any danger. I've driven this car fifteen years without least
accident--up to _present_. So you can devote your whole attention
to the scenery, without needing to keep an eye upon the Driver.
(_He points to the abyss_.) That is the _shortest_ way down--on this
occasion, however, I shall endeavour _not_ to take it. (_He whips up
his horses, and accomplishes the descent at a brisk pace_.) There,
didn't I _tell_ you there wouldn't be no accident? Very _well_, then.
P'rhaps you'll believe me another time!

_Mild Man_ (_alighting at Hotel for luncheon_). We've had a remarkably
lucky escape--I never felt more thankful in my life!

_A Gloomy Exc._ Don't you be in too great a hurry, Sir! We've got to
get _back_--and he's bound to be worse after he's had his lunch!

    [_The M.M.'s appetite for lobster is entirely destroyed by
    this sinister prediction; but whether the Driver has been
    unjustly maligned, or whether he has sobered himself in
    the interval--he reappears in a more sedentary, and less
    discursive mood, and the journey home proves agreeably devoid
    of sensation._

       *       *       *       *       *


"Be always kind to animals wherever you may be."


RUBY, although she was something of a tomboy, was a pretty and clever

But, like many pretty and clever little ladies, she was sometimes very
naughty. When she was good, she was as good as gold, but when she was
naughty, she was as naughty as pinchbeck.

The other day, when her dear Mamma was away for the morning, it
happened to be one of her pinchbeck times. Nothing would please
her--she was cross with her governess at breakfast, she quarrelled
with her bread-and-milk; and even when her favourite tame Rook,
Cawcus, came hopping on her shoulder, she refused to give it anything
to eat, but hit it on the beak with her spoon.


Miss DUMBELL was very much grieved at the way in which her pupil
lolled in her chair, gave sullen answers, and put flies in the
milk-jug, and pinched the cat's tail. "Mind, RUBY," said Miss DUMBELL,
"at eleven o'clock I shall expect you in the school-room with that
page of French phrases quite perfect." RUBY's eyes flashed as she
went out of the room; she pouted, she swung her skirts, and shook her
shoulders, so that even Miss DUMBELL, the most patient and kindest of
governesses, quite longed to slap her.

RUBY went to the school-room; she immediately flung the French
phrase-book from one end of the room to the other. She took some
story-books, and a little basket full of apples, bath-buns and
"three-corners," and ran down to a little plantation called the
Wilderness, at the bottom of the garden. She selected one of the
tallest elms, and as she could climb like a kitten, she was soon at
the top of it, quite hidden from view among the leaves.

"So much for old DUMMY and her French phrases!" said the naughty girl,
as she settled herself in a comfortable position and brought out her
story-book. The stable-clock had struck twelve, and she heard her
name called in all directions, by JORGINS, the gardener, BRILLIT,
the buttons, and long-suffering Miss DUMBELL. They could not find her
anywhere, and her Most Serene Naughtiness sat screened by the leaves
and shook with laughter.

Presently "Cawcus," her pet Rook, came fluttering amid the leaves,
and began to caw. RUBY offered him bits of Bath bun, and even a whole
three-corner, in order to keep him quiet.

But he remembered his treatment at breakfast, and refused all
these bribes with scorn. He declined to be petted, he continued to
hover over the tree, and circle around it, giving vent to the most
discordant shrieks. Presently she heard the clear measured tones of
her Mamma's voice saying, "RUBY, come down at once. I know you are
up in the elm." Cawcus, whom she had maltreated, had betrayed her

RUBY dared not disobey. Quite subdued, and with garments grievously
greened, she descended. Mamma took her little daughter indoors, and
improved the occasion. RUBY eventually appeared, with tears in her
eyes, and subsequently apologised to her governess, recited the page
of French phrases without a mistake, and promised to be a good girl.
Though she sometimes forgot herself, and was rude to Miss DUMBELL
afterwards, she never failed to treat Cawcus the Rook with most
profound consideration and reverence.

       *       *       *       *       *




  I remember--do you?--the remarkable sky light
    That flooded the heavens one evening in May,
  How together we talked _tête-à-tête_ in the twilight,
    When the glow of the sunset had faded away.
  Then you showed me your album. I looked at its pages.
    With yourself as my guide and companion went through
  Its contents--there were people of all sorts and ages,
    But the portrait I fancied the most was--of you.

  And you saw that I did. Which perhaps was the reason
    Of your "No!" when I asked "May I have it?" You swore
  You were going to be shot at the close of the season,
    And you couldn't spare that, as there weren't any more.
  But at length I prevailed, or at least you relented,
    After ever so many excuses--in fine
  We agreed to a compact, you only consented
    On condition I gave you a portrait of mine.

  Well, I promised, of course. And I write you these verses
    With your face--you'll forgive me--quite close to my own.
  There's a charm in your look that completely disperses
    All my cares in a way that is yours, dear, alone.
  And although I am pleased, since I won in the end--a
    More ridiculous bargain has never, I vow,
  Been arranged than a picture of pretty MELENDA,
    In exchange for the photograph sent to you now.

  We did not meet again through some horrible blunder,
    Which a merciless Fate must be asked to explain,
  And I sometimes sit smoking, and wearily wonder
    If I ever _am_ destined to see you again.
  Yet wherever the future may possibly find you,
    To this final request do not answer me Nay,
  When I ask that this gift of myself may remind you
    Of the friend who was with you that evening in May.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: BREAKING THE ICE.

SCENE--_Public Drawing-room of Hotel in the Engadine._

_The Hon. Mrs. Snebbington_ (_to Fair Stranger_), "ENGLISH PEOPLE ARE

       *       *       *       *       *



    ["Owing to advancing years, Mr. ---- has been compelled to
    resign his position as ----" _Extract from any Daily Paper_."]

  Advancing years! It cannot be.
    What, JACK, the boy I've known--God bless me!
  Why yes, it was in '43
    That first we met, and--since you press me--
  The time has sped without my knowledge,
    That's close on fifty years ago;
  Like some deep river's silent flow,
    Since JACK and I first met at College.

  'Twas on a cloudy Autumn day.
    Fast fading into misty twilight;
  The freshmen, as they trooped to pray,
    Stepped bolder in the evening's shy light.
  As yet we did not break the rules
    In which the College deans immesh men,
  We fledglings from a score of schools,
    That far October's brood of freshmen.

  Like one who starts upon a race,
    The Chaplain through the service scurried.
  From prayer to prayer he sped apace;
    I marked him less the more he hurried.
  My prayer-book fell--my neighbour smiled;
    Reversing NEWTON with the apple,
  I, by that neighbour's eye beguiled,
    Quite lost my gravity in chapel.

  And so we smiled. I see him still,
    Blue eyes, where darting gleams of fun shine,
  A smile like some translucent rill
    That sparkles in the summer sunshine,
  A manly mien, and unafraid,
    Crisp hair, fair face, and square-set shoulders,
  That made him on the King's Parade
    The cynosure of all beholders.

  And from this slight irreverence,
    Too small, I hope, to waste your blame on,
  We grew, in quite a Cambridge sense,
    A sort of PYTHIAS and DAMON.
  Together "kept," together broke
    Laws framed by elderly Draconians,
  And I was six, and JACK was stroke,
    That famous night we bumped the Johnians.

  How strong he was, how fleet of foot,
    Ye bull-dogs witness, and ye Proctors;
  How bright his jests, how aptly put
    His scorn of duns, and Dons, and Doctors.
  We laughed at care, read now and then--
    Though vexed by EUCLID on the same bridge--
  Ah, men in those great days were men
    When JACK and I wore gowns at Cambridge.

  We paid our fines, we paid our fees,
    And, though the Dons seemed stony-hearted,
  We both got very fair degrees,
    And then, like other friends, we parted.
  And when we said good-bye at last
    I vowed through life to be his brother--
  And more than forty years have passed
    Since each set eyes upon the other.

  And so through all these changing years
    With all their thousand changing faces,
  Their failures, hopes, successes, fears,
    In half a hundred different places,
  JACK still has been the same to me,
    As bright within my memory's fair book
  As when we met in '43,
    And smiled about that fallen prayer-book.

  Ah well, the moments swiftly stream
    Unheeded through the upturned hour-glass;
  I've lived my life, and dreamed my dream,
    And quaffed the sweet, as now the sour glass.
  But old and spent my mind strays back
    To pleasant paths fresh-strewn with roses,
  And I would see my old friend JACK
    Once more before the curtain closes.

       *       *       *       *       *

ANNOUNCEMENT.--The Earl of LATHOM (who, being quite six feet or
more, cannot be described as Small and Earl-y) is to lay the
foundation-stone of "The Cross Deaf and Dumb School for N. and E.
Lancashire." Now the Deaf and Dumb are, as a rule, exceptionally
cheerful and good-tempered. It is quite right, therefore, that
exceptions to this rule should be treated in a separate establishment,
and that the "Cross Deaf and Dumb" ones should have a house to
themselves. _Prosit!_

       *       *       *       *       *

_The Bells._

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: TUNING THE HARP.]

       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration: 1. "Don't be alarmed, Jack--it's only her way. She
always does this at starting. Never knew her to come over."]

[Illustration: 2. "May as well get out. She always makes me walk up

[Illustration: 3. "Look sharp, Jack, and get the reins from under her
tail or we'll have an accident!"]

[Illustration: 4. "Curious thing how she hates trains!"]

[Illustration: 5. "Better be on the look-out for a soft spot, old

[Illustration: 6. "Now this is the second time she has turned me out
just here!"]

       *       *       *       *       *



  PROFESSOR GARNER goes to the Gaboon
  To garner Monkey talk; a dubious boon!
  Stucco Philistia shows in many shapes
  The babble of baboons, the chat of apes.
  Why hang, Sir, up a tree, in a big cage,
  To study Simian speech, which in our age
  May be o'erheard on Platform or in Pub,
  And studied 'mid the comforts of a Club?
  And yet perchance your forest apes would shrink
  From Smoke-room chat of apes who _never_ think,
  But cackle imitatively all round,
  Till their speech hath an automatic sound.
  Put the dread name of GL-DST-NE in the slot
  SMELFUNGUS calls his mouth, and rabid rot
  Will gurgle forth in a swift sewer-like gush
  Of coarse abuse would make a bargee blush.
  SMELFUNGUS is a soldier, and a swell,
  But--the Gaboon can scarce surpass Pall-Mall
  In vicious, gibbering vulgarity
  Of coarse vituperation. Decency,
  Courtesy, common-sense, all cast aside!
  Pheugh! GARNER, in his cage, would open wide
  His listening ears, did Jacko of the forest
  So "slate" a foeman when his head was sorest.
  Strange that to rave and rant, like scullion storm,
  Like low virago scold, should seem "good form"
  To our Society Simians, when one name
  Makes vulgar spite oblivious of its shame!
  "Voluntary and deliberate," their speech,
  "Articulate too"--those Apes! Then could they teach
  Their--say _descendants_,--much. Does Club or cage
  Hear most of rabid and unreasoned rage?
  "Apes' manner of delivery shows" (they say)
  "They're conscious of the meaning they'd convey!"
  Then pardon, GARNER! Apes, though found in clans.
  Are _not_, of course, political partisans.
  Tired of the Club-room's incoherent rage,
  One pines for the Gaboon, and GARNER's cage.
  For what arboreal ape _could_ rage and rail
  Like him, with fierce Gladstonophobia pale,
  That Smoke-room Simian, though without a tail!

       *       *       *       *       *


The _Daily Graphic_ published a specific against cholera, alleged to
have been invented by Doctor PICK, a German. Evidently "Our pick'd
man of countries." As it is something to drink, and not to eat,
the inventor is under no necessity to be known henceforth as Dr.
PICK-AND-CHEWS. His remedy is to treat the _bacilli_ to Rhine
Wine. The result of experiments has been "so much the worse for the
_bacilli_." Substitute for the first vowel in "grapes" the third of
the vowels, and it is of that the poor bacillus suffers, and dies. As
the poet GROSSMITH sings of the German Rhine,--

      "_That_ of the Fatherland,
      The happy Fatherland,
  Gives the greatest pain inside."

However, the Bacillus is an enemy, and if he can be got rid of by
_grape-shot_, pour it in and spare not.

       *       *       *       *       *

NEW PUBLICATION.--"_The Dumb D._" Musical Novel. Companion to _The
Silent Sea_, by Mrs. MACLEOD.

       *       *       *       *       *



"And efery time _he_ gif a shoomp, _he_ make de winders sound."

I do not allude to the white wooden Venetian work that shades the
Grand Hôtel windows. It is of the clique who insist on shutting the
windows that I write. Briefly speaking, the inmates of the Grand
Hôtel may be divided into two classes--the window-openers and the
window-shutters. The former are all British. The same Britons who
at the Club scowl at a suspicion of draught, and luxuriate in an
asphyxiating atmosphere, band against "the foreigners" in this
respect. We have a national reputation to keep up. We are the nation
of soap, of fresh air, of condescending discontent; and when we are on
the Continent every one else, including the native, is "a foreigner;"
we carry our nationality about with us like a camp-stool; we squat on
it; we are jealous of it; it is a case of "_Regardez, mais ne touchez


_Original Genius_ (_soliloquising_). "Lor, it 'id bin a crool Shame to
miss an Opportunity like this 'ere. The gov'nor oughter lemme 'ave Ten
Bob on that job!"]

This patriotic obtrusiveness culminates in the Battle of the Windows.
It is an oppressive evening. The _Table d'Hôte_-room is seething like
a caldron; a few chosen conspirators and myself open the campaign
early; we "tip" ADOLF "the wink." That diplomatist orders the great
window to be half-opened. If things go smoothly, he will gradually
open out other sources of ventilation. The Noah's Ark procession files
in--all shapes and all languages, like the repast itself; DONNERWITZ,
TARTARIN, SHIRTSOFF, SCAMPELINI; there is nothing in common
between them--save the paper collar; they would hail international
declarations of war to-morrow; but the sight of us, and that speck
of air leagues them. "_Mein Gott, Die Engländer!_" coughs DONNERWITZ;
"_Ce sont de fanatiques enrhumés!_" hisses TARTARIN; SHIRTSOFF sneezes
the sneeze of All the Russias; "_Corpo di Bacco!_" cries SCAMPALINI;
still nothing is done; the "_Potage à la reine_,"--so called from the
predominance of rain-water--ebbs away in the commingled smacks and
gulps of the infuriated Powers; "_Saumon du Rhin, sauce Tartare_"
is being apportioned to the knives of all nations; it is perhaps
the sight of his knife, from which soup only is sacred, that nerves
the fuming DONNERWITZ to lead the attack. "Hst!" he shouts to the
studiously unheeding ADOLF; "'nother bottil Pellell--ver' well sare!"
chirrups ADOLF reassuringly to _me_; DONNERWITZ raises his knife;
I fear for the consequences; he brings it down with a clang on
the hardened tumbler of the Grand Hôtel; the timid _pensionnaire_
of numberless summers starts and grows pale; SHIRTSOFF looks with
peremptory encouragement towards the Teuton; "_Ach, gräsglich!_"
rattles out DONNERWITZ, and strikes again; the cobra-like gutturality
of that "_Ach_" is heart-rending; still no ADOLF; at a gold-fraught
glance from my companions, he has ordered another detachment to the
front; a fresh current of air invades the room. DONNERWITZ's knife is
now brandishing peas; his offended napkin chokes him; with the yell
and spring of a corpulent hyena, he rises and rushes to the windows.
The timid _pensionnaire_ and her shrinking sisterhood follow him,
under the misconception that he is summoning them to admire the
sunset; the sunset is their evening excitement, and DONNERWITZ can be
sentimental in his calmer moments; but no "_Wie wunder, wunderschön!_"
escapes him; a Saxon word, that even they can understand, is on his
lips; the ring on his forefinger gleams luridly; bang, bang, bang; he
opens fire; down go the windows, and DONNERWITZ resumes his seat of
war, his napkin waving like a standard before him. It is now my turn;
I don't like it; but my co-conspirators expect me to maintain the
honour of our country: ADOLF cannot be trusted further; I advance
furtively; the eyes of Europe are upon me; one by one I open them
again and subside; a terrible silence supervenes. What next?--that is
the question!

But DONNERWITZ is not only a MOLTKE, he is also a BISMARCK; flushed
and moist with exertion, he has foreseen this move; it is the hour of
that inevitable "_Bavaroise_"; the fork has succeeded to the knife:
his mouth is at last free to confabulate with his neighbour--the Lady
from Chicago.

"Wal, I call that slap-up rude," I hear her remark. "In Amur'ca we
should just hev' him removed; but Englishmen are built that way; they
fancy, I s'pose, they discovered CO-LUMBUS;" and then DONNERWITZ
leans over the table and, grasping the united weapons of fork,
knife, and spoon, addresses me with effervescent deliberation.
"Pardon,--Mister,--but--dis--leddy,--haf--gatarrh; in a Sherman
shentleman's house--most--keep--first--de--leddy zimmer; so!" I
don't fully understand, but I feel that my chivalry is impugned. My
confederates, too, round upon me; "Of course," they whisper, "had no
idea the lady was an invalid." The brutes! I stutter an apology, and
"climb down;" the windows are again hermetically sealed; and, as I
slink away. I hear "_Viva_!" "_Hoch_!" and clinking glasses. Then
ADOLF hurries up surreptitiously, and whispers, "Tell you vat, Sare:
to-morrer you shoost dine on de terass; dere, plenty breeze, hein?"
"Plenty breeze!"--and you pay three francs extra, and catch a cold.

       *       *       *       *       *


    ["The disinfecting process has ruined all the dresses of Miss
    COLLINS."--_New York Telegram_.]

  Sigh no more, LOTTIE, sigh no more,
    Those gowns have gone for ever;
  You've cut some capers on that shore
    That you expected never;
  Then sigh not so, but let them go,
    And be you blithe and bonny,
  Converting all your sounds of woe
    To Tarara--boom--de nonny.
  Sing that vile ditty yet once more,
    And win almighty dollars
  From Yankees who have spoilt your store
    Of frocks, frills, cuffs and collars;
  The air will run in their heads like one
    O'clock, till it makes the same ache.
  While on you shines prosperity's sun.
    Your Tarara-boom-de hay make!

       *       *       *       *       *

AT THE PATTENMAKERS' BANQUET.--At the Court Dinner of the
Pattenmakers, held at the Metropole. the eulogies of the Worshipful
Master, Sir AUGUSTUS DRURIOLANUS (now Master of Horse at Drury Lane),
were plentiful, and he had a considerable amount of _patten_ on the
back from all his guests. The great dish of the evening was _Partridge
au Patten_, an English substitute for _Perdrix au chou_.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: FANCY PORTRAIT.]



(_With Song_)--"_Here's to the Health of the Parley Mow_!"

       *       *       *       *       *



  Electric lighting, dear to modern mind,
    Bright in this dungeon! Switzerland, thou art
    Too mad for things quite _fin-de-siècle_ smart!
  Surely the trains, that rumble just behind,
  And Vevey tramcars, in my thoughts consigned
    To even hotter place, had been enough
    To scare SAND, HUGO, SHELLEY, in a huff;
  Make BYRON cast his poem to the wind!
  Chillon, thy prison may become a place
    With little marble tables in a row,
  Where tourists, dressed with artless English grace,
    May drink their _bock_ or _café_ down below,
  And foreign penknives rapidly efface
    The boasted names this light is meant to show.

       *       *       *       *       *

MUSICAL NOTE.--The most tranquillising, or even somniferous melodies
ever composed, must have been those written by the celebrated LULLI.
The first thing by LULLI was a "_Lulliby_."

       *       *       *       *       *

SECRETARY for IRELAND:--"_'Tis all for good luck, quoth bould Rory

       *       *       *       *       *

ALL THE DIFFERENCE--between "_Sir_ G.O.M." and "_The_ G.O.M."

       *       *       *       *       *



1. What are the principal duties of an Editor? State what you would do
if you were visited by bores of the following kinds:--(1), a friend;
(2), an enemy; (3), a proprietor.

2. Show how a political article may be written, saying as little as
possible in the greatest amount of space? Give specimens of "writing
round a subject" without offending susceptibilities.

3. What are the duties of a Dramatic Critic? Show, by a specimen
article, how a critique of a bad play, indifferently performed, can
yet be made to give satisfaction to the Author, the Manager, the
Company, and the Public?

4. What are the duties of a Special Correspondent at a Seat of War?
Give a short descriptive article of a battle written in such a manner
that the readers of your paper may learn everything without your
getting shot as a spy, or drummed out of camp as an informer.

5. What are the duties of a Reviewer? Describe the process of
log-rolling, and give specimen of notices of books:--(1), when the
Author is your friend, but you object to the Publisher; (2), when you
hate the writer, but must not offend the gentleman whose name appears
as the distributor, and (3), when you know nothing of the volume
and its producer, but suspect that the Author reviews for another
periodical, and that you may possibly get an order from his literary

6. What are the duties of a Musical Critic? Show how it is feasible to
write a most scientific notice without being able to distinguish the
National Anthem, MASCAGNI's "_Intermezzo_," or "_The Wedding March_,"
from "_The Slue Bells of Scotland_."

7. Distinguish the difference between "Our Own Commissioner" and "Our
Own Correspondent," and "Our Special Reporter" and "An Occasional
Contributor." Give the rates of remuneration (if any) attaching to
each office.

8. What is "City Intelligence?" Is it affected by the rise and fall
of the advertisement columns? State the difference between "News
Specially Communicated" and a puff paragraph.

9. Give the statistics (if you are able) of the number of aspirants to
Journalism who have risen and fallen. Show that a small certainty in
the City is better than an occasional ten-pound note earned in Fleet

10. Write an essay upon the subject that Journalism is better as a
stick than a crutch, and show that it is useless to take up your pen
if you have not already provided (from other sources) for the payment
of your butcher's book.

       *       *       *       *       *


  Farewell to thee, Cricket,
    Thy last match is o'er;
  Thy bat, ball, and wicket,
    Are needed no more.
  To thy sister we turn,
    For her coming we pray:
  Her worshippers burn
    For the heat of the fray.

  Hail! Goddess of battle,
    Yet hated of Ma(r)s,
  How ceaseless their tattle
    Of tumbles and scars!
  Such warnings are vain,
    For thy rites we prepare,
  Youth is yearning again
    In thy perils to share.

  Broken limbs and black eyes,
    May, perchance, be our lot;
  But grant goals and ties
    And we care not a jot.
  Too sacred to name
    With thy posts, ball, and field,
  There is no winter game
    To which thou canst yield.

       *       *       *       *       *

NEW TRANSLATION--"VERY CHOICE ITALIAN,"--"_Sotto voce_;" i.e., in a
drunken tone of voice.

       *       *       *       *       *




SIR JOHN HENRY NEVILLE WOODMERE was the most considerate of men, and
he had a very considerate family, and a large circle of considerate
acquaintances. He was obliging to the last degree, Among those he
knew, and to whom he owed a deep debt of gratitude (for they had
furnished him with an old family mansion, a stud of racers, and passes
for himself and circle to Paris) were AUGUSTE LE GRAND, and HENRI LE

[Illustration: Voluptuary, carrying weight, winning the Great
Metropolitan Drury Lane Stakes. Everybody up.]

"My good friend," said HENRI, "your daughter is charming. She has been
well brought up, and has the finest sentiments; but it is necessary
that she should run away to Paris, and dodge the parson. Otherwise,
how could she be called _The Prodigal Daughter_?"

Sir JOHN saw the force of this reasoning, and consented.

"And stay," said AUGUSTE, "we must really have a good set, and you
must go a fox-hunting. You must have armour, and a breakfast, and all
of you must wear hunting-coats. And look here, we can't do without
flowers, and coats-of-arms, and open windows."

"But," objected Sir JOHN, "if I am going a fox-hunting, surely it
should be in the winter or spring. And how about the flowers?"

"You have got them from Nice," replied AUGUSTE.

So it was thus arranged. Sir JOHN's daughter, who was called ROSE
MILLWARD WOODMERE, eloped and broke her father's heart.

"But," exclaimed her bereaved parent, preparing to mount a horse that
was waiting for him on the lawn amongst the flower-beds, "although my
heart is breaking, I will show the world I am a true English gentleman
by starting off to head the chace!"

And he said this out of consideration for AUGUSTE and HENRI, because
he knew they wanted what is technically known as a Curtain. And by
this means he gave them one. And a good one too.


And then Sir JOHN and all his considerate family and acquaintances
went to Paris to stay at the Grand Hôtel, which seemed to have been
surrendered to them (at convenient times) for their special use. Sir
JOHN was accompanied by a most useful villain, who showed the depth of
his depravity by wearing a moustache of the deepest dye. So that this
depth might be better known, he called himself DEEPWATER.

"Sir JOHN," said this villain, "your daughter has come to Paris with
Captain HARRY VERNON, and you should trounce him."

"I will," replied Sir JOHN, heartily; "but surely I have seen my
daughter, and my niece, and Captain HARRY BOYNE VERNON, and the Hon.
Peer), and his wife (a converted Quakeress), and DUDLEY J.L. SHINE
ROPER, a wicked but amusing Hebrew, hanging about. Cannot we meet for
two minutes, and set everything to-rights?"

"My dear Sir JOHN," returned MAURICE FERNANDEZ DEEPWATER, "pray
consider yourself mistaken. As you say, if we all met together for
two minutes in a room, the whole thing would be settled. But then I
am distinctly under the impression that AUGUSTE LE GRAND and HENRI LE
PETTITT would be confoundedly annoyed."

"Oh," exclaimed Sir JOHN, "if you think _they_ would be annoyed, do
not say another word about it!"

So the various characters gave one another a clear berth, and missed
each other at the nick of time.

But after awhile ROSE was left alone with the Hon. JULIAN BELFORD.

"It is not very clear to me why we haven't married," said he.

"Nor to me either!" she replied. "We dawdled a bit, and I daresay put
it off because what one knows can be done at any moment is often not
done at all."

"Well, hadn't we better go to the British Embassy?"

"Why, yes." she replied, with some hesitation; "but I really think
you had better say you will marry my cousin. I fancy it would please

"Anything to oblige them," returned the Hon. JULIAN.

"That being settled, please leave me, as I have to fall in a dead
faint--must get an effective Curtain, you know!"

The HON. JULIAN KNIGHT BELFORD nodded his head, and then ROSE MILLWARD
WOODMERE fainted--with the desired result.


And now Sir JOHN and his considerate circle had come to England, and
were close to Liverpool.

"My dear people," said HENRI, "never mind your love-making, never mind
your plot, leave it to AUGUSTE, and he will pull you through."

And HENRI was quite right. AUGUSTE went to work with a will, and did
pull them through. He took them to the Grand National Steeple Chace,
and showed them and all the world a sight the like of which they had
never seen before. There were real horses, real touts, and a real
winner. Oh, how it went! It was magnificent! And, before this great
race, AUGUSTE (helped by HENRI this time) showed a training-stable,
and how a favourite can be nobbled. It didn't in the least matter
why it was done, or where it was done. It was a lovely sight to see
somebody or other giving the wrong horse beans. And the horse liked
them, and eat them with a zest, and felt none the worse for them. On
the contrary, the beans seemed to give the creature sufficient vigour
to carry on the running until Christmas at Drury Lane, with a trot
to Covent Garden to follow, and then back again, perhaps to the old
quarters, up to Easter.

[Illustration: Oss-tentation; or, "Giving him Beans."]

"Ah, that will make all things right!" cried AUGUSTE. "_Voluptuary_
will carry the whole of us--Authors, Managers, and Actors--to
victory!" And he was right--_Voluptuary_ did carry them to success--a
gigantic one.


And Sir JOHN and his considerate circle acted up to their principles
to the very end.

"ROSE, come to my arms!" said he, to his child; "you have
been prodigal enough, it is now time for your reformation and

"Then may we marry?" asked the Hon. JULIAN.

"Certainly!" was the reply.

And the other couples were also satisfactorily accounted for.

"Are you contented?" asked Sir JOHN, of AUGUSTE and HENRI.

"How does it end?" was the answer, taking the shape of a question.

"Happily for all. Not only for us, but for you and the Public

And AUGUSTE, HENRI, _Box_ and _Cox_, and in fact everybody who was
anybody, were satisfied. As indeed they should be.

       *       *       *       *       *

NOTICE.--Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS.,
Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no
case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed
Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.

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