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Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 93, August 13, 1887
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 93, August 13, 1887" ***

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VOL. 93.

AUGUST 13, 1887.



(_By One of the Fifty Thousand._)

_Enthusiastic Surreyite loquitur_:--

[Illustration: Lo! man!]

[Illustration: Shrews--bery!]

[Illustration: Gunn and Barnes.]

  _Hooray!_ Oh, you _must_ let me holloa. I'm one of the famed "Surrey
  And a roar for a win such as _this_ is, can_not_ be too long or too loud.
  Won by four wickets! As good as though WALTER had scored half a million,
  Great Scott! what a rush from the ring! what a crowd round the crowded
  LOHMANN! MAURICE READ!! SHUTER!!! they shouted. KEY!!! KEY!!! LOHMANN!!!
  "Took down the number" of Notts, Sir, and _she's_ a redoubtable foeman.
  _We_ haven't licked her for years, and she crowed, Sir, and not without
  And now, under SHUTER, we've done it at last, Sir, and twice in one
  After a terrible tussle; how oft was my heart in my mouth, Sir.
  Luck now seemed to lean to the North, and anon would incline to the
          South, Sir.
  Game wasn't won till 'twas lost. Hooray, though, for Surrey! 'Twas _her_
  We missed our WOOD at the wicket, Notts squared it by missing her
  Both with smashed fingers! Rum luck! But then cricketing luck _is_ a
  And SHERWIN turned up second innings. _Did_ you twig his face when he
          missed her,
  That ball from J. SHUTER, our Captain? It ranked pretty high among
  But Surrey _did_ make _some_ mistakes, Sir, and Notts----well, they
          _couldn't_ hold catches.
  SHUTER shone up, did he not? Forty-four, fifty-three, and _such_ cutting!
  Hooray! Here's his jolly good health, and look sharp, for they're close
          upon shutting.
  Partial be blowed! I'm a Surreyite down to my socks, that's a fact, Sir.
  _Must_ shout when my countymen score, and don't mind being caught in the
          act, Sir.
  Cracks didn't somehow come off. ARTHUR SHREWSBURY, Notts' great nonsuch,
  Didn't make fifty all told, and our WALTER--the world holds but _one_
  A poor twenty-five and eighteen--a mere fleabite for W. W.
  Still, he's our glory; and _if_ you can spot such another, I'll trouble
  _GRACE?_ Why, of course, in his day he was cock of the walk--that's a
  I won't say a word against _him_; but our WALTER!--well, there, we won't
  I'm Surrey, you know, as I said. I remember JUPP, HUMPHRY, and STEVENSON,
  Burly BEN GRIFFITH, and SOUTHERTON! Well, if it ever was evens on
  Match, it was surely on _this_ one. Oh, yes, _I_ gave points, six to
          five, Sir,
  But then I have always backed Surrey, and _will_ do so whilst I'm alive,
  And t'other was Notts, don't you see, so _I_ couldn't well show the white
  Ah! well, 'twas a wonderful match; such a crowd, such a game, and such
  K. J. K. (that's Mr. KEY) showed remarkably promising cricket--
  I _did_ feel a little bit quisby when SHERWIN snapped him at the wicket.
  'Twas getting too close, Sir, for comfort; two hundred and five takes
          some making--
  When BARNES nicked READ, SHUTER, and HENDERSON, 'gad, there were lots of
          hearts quaking.
  Seventy-eight for a win, Sir, and five of our best wickets levelled.
  Notts then began to pick up, and I own I felt rather blue-devilled;
  But Surrey has got a rare team, and you see, when the toppers do fail,
  They look at it this way, my boy,--there is all the more chance for the
          "tail," Sir.
  That's what I call true cricket pluck, and so, even when MAURICE READ
          quitted him,
  That's what young LOHMANN perceived; the place wanted cool grit--and it
          fitted him.
  His thirty-five, and not out, was worth more, Sir, than many a "Century."
  Played like an iceberg, he did; style neither too tame nor too venture-y.
  Poor crippled WOOD backed him bravely, and he made the winning hit, he
  Won by four wickets! Hooray! Gallant Surrey at last has succeeded
  In knocking the dust out of Notts. I've hoorayed till my tongue feels
          quite furry.
  Yes, _I_ like the best side to win,--but I'm thundering glad, though,
          it's Surrey!!!

       *       *       *       *       *

"OVER THE WATER WITH LAWSON" (_Change of Name_).--Jack Tar to be
known in future as Tom Fool.

       *       *       *       *       *


_House of Commons for August._


Legalised Duels (England) Bill--Report.

Shillelagh (Irish) Supply Bill--Second Reading.

Ways and Means (Assaults)--Committee.

Speaker's Wig Destruction Bill--As amended to be considered.


_Mr. Dillon._--Whether Her Majesty's Government contemplate allowing Mr. DE
LISLE to smile, and if so, whether any precautions will be taken to prevent
his receiving a thrashing.

_Dr. Tanner._--To ask the Chief Secretary of the Lord-Lieutenant whether he
has any objection to tread upon the tail of his coat.

_Colonel Saunderson._--To ask the First Lord of the Treasury as to the
condition of the eyes and noses of certain Members of the Nationalist


_Mr. T. Healy._--Physical Force, House of Commons (England)--Bill to
facilitate the establishment of a Bear Garden in St. Stephen's.

       *       *       *       *       *


  In wrath redundant SWINBURNE turns and rends
  The "good grey" bard. Alack for SWINBURNE'S "friends"!
  He worshipped once at thy red shine, Revolt,
  Now thou'rt a mark for his Olympian bolt;
  But when he rounds on poor barbaric WALT,
  One can but gasp, and wonder where he'll halt.
  Coupled with BYRON in one furious "slate"?
  O poor Manhattan mouther, what a fate!
  ALGERNON'S blunderbuss is double-barrelled;
  Down at one shot go "_Drum Taps_" and "_Childe Harold_."
  Just fancy being levelled down to--BYRON!
  Alas! what woes the poet's path environ.
  What next, and next? BYRON called SOUTHEY "gander."
  But then the lordly rhymester railed at LANDOR,
  One of the SWINBURNE fetishes, enough
  To prove that all he wrote was soulless stuff--
  But stop! Who knows that SWINBURNE, on the ravage,
  May not, next time, pitch into WALTER SAVAGE?
  The idols he once worshipped now he'd burn,
  So e'en MAZZINI yet may have his turn--
  Nay, since the hour for palinodes has struck,
  At Hugomania he may run amuck;
  And, VICTOR being laid upon the shelf,
  There'll be but one to round upon--himself.

       *       *       *       *       *


A very interesting article appears in the current number of the
_Fortnightly Magazine_, in which the favourite "quotations" of many
celebrated persons are introduced with much effect. Always ready to take a
hint, _Mr. Punch_ has asked everyone he knows to furnish him with his
predilections. The following is the result:--

Mr. BRIEFLESS, Junior, of Pump-handle Court writes, "I have carefully
considered the circular you have forwarded to me, and am distinctly of
opinion that my favourite reading is, 'With you the Attorney-General.'"

"ROBERT" says that his favourite phrase is, "'Ere's 'alf a sovereign for
yourself, but you deserves more!"

"'ARRY" says he can't think of anything more "fust class" than, "The 'orn
of the 'unter is 'eard on the 'ill."

And (more or less) the whole world declares that there is no pleasanter
announcement than "_Punch, or the London Charivari_, is published every

       *       *       *       *       *

Mem. for Our Muddlers.

It _cannot_ be in the interests of peace that we turn our swords
into--corkscrews, and our bayonets into--button-hooks. That extremely
secular reading of a sacred passage, appears to be the accepted one,
however, in Ordnance Departments, and other places where they play the

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: GERMAN ENGLISH.


       *       *       *       *       *


  I've been to the Abbey, the Naval Review,
  The Maske at Gray's Inn and the Institute too;
  In fact I feel just like the Wandering Jew,
    Or other historical rover:
  I've turned day into night and the night into day,
  In a regular rollicking Jubilee way,
  And now I can truly and thankfully say,
    I'm uncommonly glad that it's over.

  I've been to a number of Jubilee balls,
  And I'm really worn out by the parties and calls;
  I've fed in the City 'neath shade of St. Paul's,
    And ate little fish by the river:
  I've been to big picnics both up and down stream,
  I've wallowed in strawberries smothered in cream,
  Which, following lobster, most doctors would deem
    Was remarkably bad for the liver.

  I've read all the Jubilee articles, loads
  Of Jubilee leaders and Jubilee odes,
  And seen how each poet his Pegasus goads,
    Though gaining but slight inspiration;
  A chaos of Jubilee Numbers I've seen,
  And Jubilee pictures and lives of the QUEEN,
  And the Jubilee coinage that's greeted, I ween,
    With anything but jubilation.

  But, now all is over, sincerely I trust
  The Nation no longer will kick up a dust,
  The Jubilee really has done for me just
    As "_Commodious_" scared _Mr. Boffin_:
  Any more jubilation would finish me quite,
  As it is I've a horrible dream every night
  That a Jubilee demon is screwing me tight
    Down into a Jubilee coffin!

       *       *       *       *       *

The Correct Card.

MR. GOLDWIN SMITH says:--"The one thing certain about Tory-Democracy,
besides its origin, is, that it is the card of a political gamester." It
may perhaps help the ponderous Professor, in a future philippic, to know,
in addition, that the associations of Tory-Democracy at once suggest
"Clubs," and the game it is playing, the "deuce."

       *       *       *       *       *



  There's a dashing sort of bhoy who was once his country's joy,
    But his ructions and his rows no longer charm me,
  He often takes command in a fury-spouting band
    Called the "Ballyhooly" Parliamentary Army.
  At Donnybrook's famed fair he might shine with radiance rare,
    A "Pathriot" he's called, and may be truly,
  It is catching, I'm afraid, for when _he_ is on parade
    There seems scarce a sober man in "Ballyhooly."


    Whililoo, hi ho! Faith they all enlist, ye know,
      Though their ructions and their shindies fail to charm me,
    Bad language, howls, and hate put an end to fair debate
      In the "Ballyhooly" Parliamentary Army.

  The SPAYKER, honest soul, finds they're quite beyond control,
    Discussion takes a most extinded radius,
  It's about as fine and clear as the stalest ginger-beer,
    But the "bhoys," they never seem to find it "tadyious."
  And what is worse, to-day all the Army march one way,
    That is in being ructious and unruly,
  If a Mimber in debate wants to argue fair and straight,
    Faith they howl him out of court in "Ballyhooly."
            _Chorus_--Whililoo, hi, ho, &c.

  They're supposed to hould debate in the interests of the State,
    Which one and all they do their best to injure;
  I have said their talk's as clear as the stalest ginger-beer,
    And they mix the vilest vitriol with the ginger.
  The bhoys are not alone, for in sorrow one must own
    The young Tories are as noisy and unruly,
  And the Rads they rave and rail till one longs to lodge in gaol
    The intemperate brigade of "Ballyhooly."
            _Chorus_--Whililoo, hi, ho, &c.

  There's a moral to my song, and it won't detain yez long,
    Of Party spirit e'en the merest "nip" shun.
  It's poison, that is clear, Ballyhooly "ginger-beer,"
    As ye'll own when I have given the prescription.
  You take heaps of Party "rot," spirit mean, and temper hot,
    Lies, blasphemy, and insult; mix them duly;
  For sugar put in salt, bitter gall for honest malt,
    Faith, they call it "Statesmanship" in "Ballyhooly."
            _Chorus_--Whililoo, hi, ho, &c.

  _Encore Verse._

  Since you're kind enough to crave just another little stave,
    I'll explain the furious ferment that now leavens
  A tipple once so sound is just Party spite all round,
    And of course _my_ Ballyhooly is St. Stephen's.
  'Twill be very long before you will wish to cry "Encore!"
    To the row that makes our Parliament unruly;
  For good sense would put a stop on the flow of Party "Pop"
    That makes a Donnybrook of "Ballyhooly."


    Whililoo, hi, ho! 'Tis a huge mistake, ye know,
      To let ructions and recriminations charm ye.
    If they don't abate their hate, they'll bring ruin on the State,
      Will the Ballyhooly Parliamentary Army.

       *       *       *       *       *

Very Like a Wales.

The zeal of the Actor who blacked himself all over to play _Othello_, is at
last outdone--by Mr. GLADSTONE, who, it is stated, is learning the Welsh
language, under the tuition of Mr. RICHARD, M.P., in order to deliver his
speech at the forthcoming Eisteddfod in TAFFY'S own tongue. "Not for
CADWALLADER and all his goats," as _Pistol_ says, would an ordinary
politician go through such an ordeal for such an end. "Gallant Little
Wales" will, however, no doubt be duly grateful, and, by lending its
support to her adroit flatterer, enable him to say, with _Gower_, to the
opponents of Home-Rule, "Henceforth let a Welsh correction teach you a good
English condition."

       *       *       *       *       *


_MM. Boxe et Coxe._

_M. le Général Boxe._ "SAVEZ-VOUS VOUS BATTRE?" _M. Coxe_ (_homme d'état_).

_M. le Général Boxe._ "EH BIEN, ALORS! ALLONS-Y-DONC!"

(_Translation._--"Can you fight?" "No!" "Then come on!")]

       *       *       *       *       *

Jest in Earnest.

(_What might have happened._)

_Monday._--The Fleets started on their manoeuvres. Before leaving, the
Ironclads ran down, accidentally, all the unarmoured vessels in the

_Tuesday._--Collision. Sinking of the _Ajax_.

_Wednesday._--Mistake in steering. Foundering of the _Minotaur_.

_Thursday._--Error in seamanship. Loss of the _Neptune_.

_Friday._--Misapprehension of signal. Ramming of the _Devastation_.

_Saturday._--Something wrong somewhere. The remainder of the Fleet goes to
the bottom.

       *       *       *       *       *



It is a charming characteristic of the Young Amateur Entertainer
that--whether he possesses or not the smallest acquaintance with any
language beyond his own--he is always prepared to impersonate a foreigner
of any given nationality at a moment's notice; and _Mr. Punch_ is confident
that the most backward of his Pupils will be perfectly at home (and how his
audience will envy him!) with the following Anglo-German recitation, which
may be given under the following title:--


(_To do this effectively, you must assume an air of childlike candour._)

  I deach my dong in Engeland for dventy years and more;
  And vonce I dvell at Vigmore Shtreet, ubon ze zegond floor--

  (_Pull yourself up suddenly._)

  Bot dat has nodings hier to zay--zo, blease, (_professorial air for
          this_) you vill addend!
  I gom to dell you gurious dings vat habbened mit a vriend.
  He vas a hanzom-headed man, zo like me as a pea,
  And eferyveres I valk about he gom along mit me;
  Bot all ze efenings, beaceful-quiet, he shtay in-doors and shmoke.
  And choggle at himzelf at dimes in hatching out a yoke;
  Ontill von day his choggling stobbed--he'd tombled deep in lôf,
  And he bassed ze dime vith gissing at a leedle vemale glôf!
  Ubon two shpargling eyes he dink, von deligate cock-nose--
  Dill zoon his dinkings vork him op mit gourage to bropose.
  Zen, ach! zat nose vas dilted more, and gruel vorts she shpoke:
  "I vill not dwine aroundt no heart vat shmells zo shtrong mit shmoke!
  Vor you yourzelf I might, vith dime, bersuade myzelf to gare--
  Bot nevare mit no ogly bipes vill I avection share!"
  (_Pause, and glance round your audience with a slightly pained air._)
  I dink I hear zom laty make a symbathetic shniff--
  You Englisch shendlevomens dreats a shmoker var too shtiff!
  For look--meinzelf I shmoke a bipe, mit baintings on ze bowl,
  I shtoffs him vith dat sheepstabak vat's dwisted in a roll,
  I gif my vort it ton't daste pad--zough yust a leedle veak--
  Shtill, ven I schmokes inzide a drain,--I vinds zom laties seeck!
  (_Amiable surprise, as you mention this instance of insular
  Bot, zere, you makes me chadderbox, and dakes op all my dime!
  I vant to dell you how mein vriend behafed himself sooblime:
  "If you vill pe mein Braut," he zaid, "tobaggo I'll renounce,
  And shvear to nefer puy no more von solidary ounce!"
  Zo she gif him out her lily hand, and shmile on him zo shveet:
  "Vith sodge a sagrifice," she zaid, "you brove your lôf indeet!
  And I dakes you--on your zolem vort mit shmoking to ged rid,
  Pe off and purn your bipes and dings!" vich--boor yong man, he--did!
  Dree sblendid bipes he sacrificed, in china, glay, and vood,
  He vatched zem craggle in ze vlames--I vonder how he _could_!
  And mit zem vent his brime zigars of pest Havana prandt,
  Imborted hier vrom Hampurg, in his own dear Vaderlandt!

  [_With sentiment._

  Henzefort he lif a shmokeless life, vor vear to lose his bride,
  And nefer vonce gomblained to her of soferings inzide!
  Bot--zough she gif him zentiment and rabdures ven zey met--
  Zomdimes he vish she vouldn't mind von leedle zigarette!      [_Pause._
  Now game along ze night pefore his veddings was to pe--
  And he dried to galm his jomping soul mit bonderings and tea--
  Ven, zoddenly--he hear a zound, as eef zom barty knock,
  And it gom vrom his tobaggo-jar, long embdy of its shtock!
  "Gom in! I mean--gom _out_!" he cried (he was a viddy chap!)

  [_Here you should be convulsed with inward laughter._

  "For nonn of your nockdurnal knocks I do not gare von rap!"
  Bot--vile he yoked--ze lid fly off, and sblash into his cop,

  [_Business here._

  And a kind of leedle voman's form inzide the jar sbring op!
  Her face vas yust the golour of a meerschaum nod quide new,
  And her hair vas all in ribbling vaves--like long-cut honnydew!
  In golden silber she vas roped, all shpangled o'er mit shtars,
  For it zeemed as eef she dress herzelf mit baper round zigars,
  And like an eel his bagbone squirmed, his hair god up erect,
  For beoples in tobaggo-jars is tings you ton't exbect!
  "Bervidious von!" she shpeak at him, zo broud as any queen,
  "Pehold your homage-objects vonce--ze goddess Nigodeen!
  I galls to know ze reason vy you leafs my aldars cold,
  And nefer purns me incense like your bractice vas of old?"
  "To bay you more resbects, I must," he plurted out, "degline,
  For I'm vorshibing at bresent mit an obbosition shrine."
  "And zo you makes yourzelf," she gries, "a dankless renegade
  To von who, oftendimes invoked, yet nefer vailed her aid
  To charm avay your lonely dimes, and soffogate your care!
  If dat's your leedle games, mein vriend, dake my advice--bevare!"
  "I'd gladly zend mein zoul inzide a himmeldinted gloud,
  Bot as a Penedick," he zaid, "I vill not pe allowed!
  I dells you vrank"--(I haf exblained he vas a vonny vellow!)--
  "Mitout mein bipe, ze honnymoon shall nod daste quide so mellow!"
  "Enoff!" she said, "you vatch your eye, and zee vat vill bekom!"
  She bopped inzide ... he search ze jar--'twas embdy as a drom!
  And zen he vipe his sbecdagles, and shtare, and rob his head,
  (_Business._) And dink he'd grown too vanziful, and pedder go to bed.

  [_Impressive pause, and continue in lowered voice._

  Vell, next day, on ze afdernoon, his honnymoon pegan----
  And Dandalus vas nodings to zat boor dormented man!
  For ven he dry to giss his vife ubon her lips zo ripe--
  Petween his own brojected fort a pig soobyectif bipe!
  And efer more, in sbite of all ze dender vorts he zay,
  Ze sbegtral image of a bipe kept gedding in his vay!
  Ondill ubon ze burple sky shone out ze efening shtar--
  And zen ze bipe dransform himzelf, and change to a zigar!
  Bot, vorst of all, his vife vould veel no bity for his fate!
  She dink it all a hombogsdrick--and zoon zey sebarate;
  And benidently he redurned, and zaid to NIGODEEN:
  "Forgif, and nefer more I'll pe ze vool I vonce haf peen!
  I lôfed my vife--but now I vind I gares for you ze most--
  And I'm dired of shmoking dings vat is no pedder as a ghost!"
  Zo NIGODEEN she dakes him back, begause his vife vas gone,
  And now ze bipe he shmokes is _nod_ an immaderial von!
  You vonder how I goms to know?--Brebare yourzelves to jomp!--
  (_Sensationally._) I vas zat yong boor man meinzelf--der Herr Brofessor

       *       *       *       *       *


_Question._ I understand that you are leaving Town. Why?

_Answer._ Because it is the fashion.

_Q._ Have you any plans?

_A._ I am a little undecided. At first I thought of going to an English
watering-place, but abandoned the idea because the papers said I should be
sure to be laid up with typhoid fever, German measles, or something equally

_Q._ Had it not been for this dread, should you have gone?

_A._ I suppose so. We are acclimatised to the discomforts of seaside
lodgings, the discords of second-rate German bands, and the disillusions of
country views.

_Q._ For the sake of argument, abandoning the English watering-place--where
shall you go?

_A._ My wife says Paris--and means it.

_Q._ Do you object yourself to the gay capital?

_A._ Well--just now--yes; chiefly because it is not gay.

_Q._ I suppose you would prefer the principal theatres to be open?

_A._ If I could attend them without being sure that I should find the "hot
room" of a Turkish bath considerably cooler. Not that there would not be a
risk of being grilled to death on the Boulevards and bored out of my life
by running across hundreds of personally-conducted tourists.

_Q._ Then why should you go?

_A._ Because my wife wishes to see the bonnets.

_Q._ Could she see them nowhere else?

_A._ Not to her satisfaction, although I believe she could find their
counterparts in Tottenham Court Road and the Westbourne Grove.

_Q._ After Paris where shall you go?

_A._ Either to Switzerland, Italy, or Holland.

_Q._ Do you expect much amusement?

_A._ Not much, because I know them by heart. Still I know the best hotels,
or rather the best _table d'hôtes_.

_Q._ Is that all you care for?

_A._ Nearly all. However it is a languid satisfaction to compare St.
Peter's with St. Paul's to the disadvantage of the former, and to think
there is nothing in Switzerland to equal the Trossachs, Loch Maree and the
Cumberland Lakes.

_Q._ But the Art treasures?

_A._ May be found _en bloc_ at the South Kensington Museum.

_Q._ Then you travel in rather a gloomy mood.

_A._ Rather. Still I am buoyed up with a delightful prospect in the future.

_Q._ A delightful prospect! What prospect?

_A._ The prospect of returning home!

       *       *       *       *       *

SCARCELY "BUTTER."--To change the nickname of MADGE to Margarine.

       *       *       *       *       *



Some little while since a book was published for the exclusive benefit of
the fair sex, which purported to teach men's mothers, sisters, cousins, and
aunts, the advantages bestowed upon them by the Married Women's Property
Act, and other statutes of a like character. No doubt the volume was an
excellent guide to females fond of litigation; but still there are many who
prefer, in spite of everything, to retain their own fixed opinion on the
subject of law. For that feminine majority the following congenial hints
are published:--

If a woman makes a will, she can never revoke it, and is likely to die soon
afterwards, as it is not only unnecessary, but unlucky.

A marriage without bridesmaids is nearly illegal. This applies, in a lesser
degree, to marriages where children, dressed in Charles the First costumes,
are not employed to hold up the bride's train.

A mortgage is a sort of thing that causes a house to become the possession
of a dishonest Agent, who is usually a Solicitor.

The best way of settling a County Court summons, brought in the absence of
the master of the house, is to ask the man into the dining-room, and tell
him about the accomplishments of the children. This will soften his heart,
and get him to prevent the Judge from sending everyone to prison.

A nice Solicitor never contradicts a Lady, and therefore knows the law
infinitely better than the disagreeable fogies, who are so obstinate. And,
lastly, the best way to learn the real provisions of the law, is to study a
modern novel by a lady Authoress.

       *       *       *       *       *


"_Salubrities at Home_" (_pace_ Mr. ATLAS, who will recognise this
temporary adaptation of his world-renowned title) I should say are Buxton
(for most people), Bath (for some), Harrogate (for others), and,--besides a
variety of North, South, East and West, too numerous to be mentioned in
these notes,--Ramsgate for nearly all.

"_Salubrities Abroad_" are Homburg, Aix-les-Bains, Carlsbad, &c., &c., and
Royat, where I find myself again this year. "Scenes of my bath-hood, once
more I behold ye!" There is "A Salubrity at Royat," which people of certain
tendencies cannot easily find elsewhere. It is a cure for eminent persons
of strong Conservative tendencies. Lord SALISBURY was here last year, and
my friend Monsieur ONDIT, who is in everybody's confidence, tells me that
his Lordship will revisit a place where the _traitement_ did him so much
good. I believe he underwent the "Cherry-cure," at all events his Lordship
was seen in public constantly eating them out of a paper-bag. _What did he
do with the bag?_ My answer is, "he popped it." Down went the cherries, and
bang went the bag and fifty centimes. Well, did not Royat effect some
change in his conservatism? What has been the result? But I am not here to
talk politics.

       *       *       *       *       *

Everybody is talking of the BOULANGER-FERRY incident. This is Aug. 4, and
nothing has happened.

  "Il n'y a pas de danger,"
    Dit Général BOULANGER;
  "Tout va, je crois, s'arranger,
      Chez FERRY, mes amis."

I haven't time to proceed with this, but, so far, the idea is at any poet's
disposition to continue as he pleases, my only stipulation being that the
air to which it is to be sung shall be "_Marlbrook_."

My other friend, BENJAMIN TROVATO, of Italian extraction, tells me that
BOULANGER is half English, and had an English education. BEN informs me
that the General has never forgotten the rhythms he learnt in his happy
English nursery; and that, when he read that M. FERRY had called him a
"_St. Arnaud de Café-Concert_," he sang out, recollecting the old catch,--

  A Note, a Note!
  Haste to the Ferry!

in which his friends were unable to join, owing to their ignorance of the
words and tune.

When driving through Clermont-Ferrand from the Station up to Royat, we
(three of us) had a small omnibus to ourselves. One of the party (a wag, of
whom, and of the circumstances of our meeting, more "in my next") insisted
on our calling out, "_Vive_ BOULANGER!" We did this several times in the
most crowded parts, but the cry obtained no response, and aroused no
excitement, as, being uttered with the greatest caution (at my instance),
nobody heard it.

       *       *       *       *       *

But what a thing to fight about! If duelling were an English fashion, how
fruitful of "incidents" this Session would have been. How often would Mr.
TIM HEALY have been "out"? And Mr. DE LISLE'S life would have hung upon a
Lisle thread!

       *       *       *       *       *

Note for strangers about to visit Royat.--The Continental Hotel has lost a
little territory, as half of what was its terrace has been returned to the
present proprietor of the hotel next door, with whom we Continentals have
no connection, not even "on business," it not being "the same concern" and
under one management as it was last year. But what the Continental Hotel
has sacrificed in domain, Monsieur HALL, our obliging landlord, has more
than made up in comfort and cooking. Dr. BRANDT sees his patients in a
charming Villa of Flowers. The weather is lovely.

       *       *       *       *       *

We are all surprised at seeing one another here. Each person (or each
couple or party) seems to think that he alone (or they alone) possess the
secret of Royat's existence. We certainly are not a mutual admiration
society at Royat. When we come upon one another suddenly, each exclaims,
"Hallo! what are _you_ here for?" is if the other were a convict "doing his
time." Everyone thinks he knows what he is here for, but very few tell what
he thinks he knows. And, by the way, the best-informed among us doesn't
know very much about it.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the Reading-room of the _Cercle_ there ought to be (as advertised in a
local journal) at least three English newspapers daily. I have not seen
them as yet. The only London paper arriving here regularly, and to be
purchased every day early at the Newsvendor's, is the _Morning Post_.
_Vive_ Sir ALGERNON! Can this be the attraction for Lord SALISBURY? Why
come out so far afield to read the _Morning Post_? Or wasn't it here,
during Lord SALISBURY'S visit last year, and is he still ignorant of its
having been subsequently demanded and supplied this season? And when he
comes and finds it--"O what a surprise!"--no, thank goodness, we have
escaped from this song--for a time, at least.

       *       *       *       *       *

Too hot to write any more journal. The hundredth bell is sounding for the
fiftieth _déjeuner_. My _déjeuner_ is finished. There are bells here
perpetually. All day and all night. In vain would Mr. IRVING as _Mathias_,
put his hands to his ears and close the windows. The bells! The bells!
Distant bells, near bells, sheep-bells, goat-bells, a man with pipe (not
tobacco but tune, or what he and the goats consider a tune), dinner-bells,
guests'-bells, servants'-bells, church-bells (not much), chapel-bells
(early and occasionally), horse-bells, donkey-bells, breakfast-bells,
supper-bells, arrival-bells, departure-bells, tramway bells, crier's-bells,
with variations on drum or trumpet, and several other bells that I shall
notice in the course of the twenty-four hours, but have forgotten just now.

       *       *       *       *       *

The "_petits chevaux_" have not been stopped by the Government; they are
running as fast as ever. There are two bands, playing morning, afternoon,
and evening. The _Casino Samie_ is as lively as ever, or, as my waggish
acquaintance at once expressed it, in that vein of humour for which he is
so specially distinguished, "The Samie old game," and to sit out in the
garden, with a fragrant cigar and coffee, before retiring for the night, is
indeed a calm pleasure, or would be but for the aforesaid waggishness, of
which more anon.

       *       *       *       *       *

Soldiers about everywhere, Boulangering. Up in the hills is a splendid
echo. This morning, having caught the very slightest cold, I went up into
the mountains to get it blown away. Suddenly I sneezed. Such a sneeze! It
reverberated all over the mountain like the firing of a battery. Again!
again! These sneezes nearly shook me off the rock, and sent me staggering
on to the _plateau_ below. The effect must have been alarming, as the third
sneeze fetched out the military, horse and foot, at full gallop, and the
double. _L'ennemi? C'était moi!_ They scoured the mountain sides, but I did
not sneeze again. I have a sort of idea that my sneeze upset the entire
preconcerted arrangements for a review. The Boulangerers retired--so did I.

       *       *       *       *       *

'Tis the hour of _douche_. RICHARD, the attendant, will be there to give it
me. _Douche-ment, douche-ment._ Gently does it! O RICHARD, O _Mon
Roy-at_!... _Au revoir!_

       *       *       *       *       *

Mrs. R. went to see the _première_ of a new piece about which there had
been considerable excitement in the theatrical world. "It was quite a
novelty for me," said the good lady to a friend; "every literal person was
there of any imminence, and my nephew, who is connected with papers
himself, told me that the stalls were full of crickets. He pointed them all
out to me. Most interesting."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "LE MONDE OÙ L'ON S'AMUSE."

_Miss Ponsonby de Tomkyns_ (_just out_). "OH, PAPA! SUCH AN _EXQUISITE_



       *       *       *       *       *


_Head of the House, loquitur_:--

  Dear me! Going back? I can hardly conceive it.
    I thought we were in for a spell of "Set Fair."
  A serious change? No, I will not believe it;
                    I _can't_, I declare.

  I've tapped it with confidence morning by morning,
    This glass which has never deceived me before;
  And now to go wrong in this way, without warning!--
                    It's really a bore.

  Of course it's too bad to be _true_, for the weather
    So settled has seemed, and has promised so well,
  And why it should go and break up altogether
                    Nobody can tell.

  Tap! Tap! Yes, it's true, it is certainly dropping.
    Things seem--for the moment--a bit out of joint,
  For of course there is not the least fear of its _stopping_
                    At such a low point.

  No, no, that's absurd; the idea makes one pallid.
    This many and many a day from my door
  Without a top-coat or a gingham I've sallied;
                    And now, will it pour?

  O nonsense! The omens have all been so cheery;
    _The Times_, in its forecasts, have been so cock-sure.
  Can we all have been wrong? Nay, a prospect so dreary
                    I cannot endure.

  Some local disturbances truly I've heard of.
    Our foes make the most of such little mishaps;
  But then they mean nothing; it's really absurd of
                    The ignorant chaps.

  At Spalding or Coventry weather may vary;--
    And yet, when the "area of change" gets too wide,
  Men fancy it's more than a passing vagary;--
                    Ay, even _our_ side.

  Tap! Tap! Yes there _is_ a perceptible tumble.
    One can't "square" the weather or "get at" the glass.
  A storm? Oh! 'twas merely the least little rumble,--
                    'Twill probably pass.

  Yes. Up in the North there 'tis always unsettled;
    I fancy we shan't be so shifty down South.
  No, really there's not the least call to be nettled,
                    Or down in the mouth.

  I'll take my umbrella,--a useful possession,
    Yes, even in summer with wind in the east.
  But this--oh! it's merely a "local depression";--
                    I _hope_ so, at least!

       *       *       *       *       *


Supposing that when our soldiers and sailors were armed with worthless
bayonets and useless cutlasses, a war had broken out.

And supposing that our Army had been defeated on account of those worthless

And supposing our sailors had been slaughtered by hundreds on account of
those useless cutlasses.

And supposing the country had been successfully invaded because the nation
had improper arms of defence.

And supposing, wild with ruin, revenge, and misery, the remains of the Army
and Navy had met Sir JOHN ADYE.

Supposing they had. Well, what then?

       *       *       *       *       *

PRIZE PARLIAMENTARY PUZZLE.--"The End of the Session."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "GLASS FALLING!"


       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration: Taking a Pull on the Watery Main.]

  Far from placid pleasure
    Fashion's nomads roam;
  Wisdom finds the treasure
  In its fullest measure
    Peacefully at home.

  Free from by-the-way bores
    Of hotel and train,
  Rest we from our labours,
  With our fair young neighbours
    Round us once again.

  Bees in drowsy fettle
    Lazy lilies rob;
  Slumbrously they settle,
  Thrumming like a kettle
    On the Summer's hob.

  Flies their mystic mazes
    Intricately thread,
  Where the sunshine blazes
  Through the cedarn hazes,
    Just above my head.

  Pussy, with her fur feet
    Curled beneath her breast,
  Drowzes where the turf-heat
  Soothes her with a surfeit
    Of delicious rest.

  Now a laughing quarrel
    Stirs the stilly air,
  Where, beyond the laurel,
  With their white apparel
    Glistening in the glare,

  Boys and girls together
    Make a gallant crew,
  Boys in highest feather,
  Girls like summer weather,
    Bright and sweet and true.

       *       *       *       *       *



proclivities, who has lately, through the demise of a great-uncle, come
into the possession of a Penny Steamer in a very fair condition of repair,
is anxious to meet with one or two persons of similar tastes who would be
disposed to start with him on a Summer Tour, for the purpose of leisurely
navigating the vessel, in a tentative fashion, round the British Isles. As
he would not take a Pilot with him, but proposes when in doubt either to
ask his way from the nearest Coastguard by signal, or run in shore and get
out and walk, he thinks the voyage would not be without excitement and
variety, and would be likely to afford some novel seafaring experience to
the naval amateur in search of pleasing adventure. The course, as at
present mapped out, would be from Putney Bridge to Margate, Plymouth,
Holyhead, Skye, Aberdeen, by the German Ocean past Hull, Yarmouth,
Clacton-on-Sea, Southend, back again, finishing the journey at Battersea
Reach, but it would probably be varied by wind and weather, the exigences
of which would naturally have to be taken into account. The crew will
consist of three experienced Channel stewards, a bargee, a retired pirate,
and a cabin-boy, and will be under the command of the advertiser, who,
though fresh to the work, has little doubt but that, with a friendly hint
or two from his fellow-yachtsmen, he will be able to manage it. N.B.--Each
Passenger provided with a Royal Humane Society's drag. For all further
particulars apply to "PORT-ADMIRAL," 117, Rope Walk, Chelsea, S.W.

       *       *       *       *       *

in the North of England, who can himself stand residence in it no longer,
is anxious to meet with a suitable Tenant for his Family Mansion likely to
appreciate the mysterious horrors with which, owing to the crimes of his
ancestors in times past, it is now nightly associated. The chief
manifestation consists in the appearance, after midnight, in an
oak-panelled bedroom, of a huge black wolf, accompanied by a little old man
in a bag-wig and faded blue velvet coat, who, looking sadly at the
occupant, and saying, in a mournful voice, "I've lost my return-ticket!"
vanishes suddenly, together with his swarthy companion, into the
linen-cupboard. As this apparition is frequently followed by the sound as
of a man in a complete suit of armour falling head-over-heels down six
flights of stairs, and ultimately, amidst prolonged and piercing shrieks,
apparently lodging in the coal-cellar, a member of the Society for
Promoting Psychical Research could not fail to find the whole experience a
singularly pleasing one. Several people having already been frightened into
fits through passing a night in the castle, a practical joker, who wished
to have a little fun at the expense of an aged and invalid relative or two,
could not do better than ask them down for a week, and let them take turns
at sleeping in the bedroom in question. Address, "BARONET," Goblynhurst,

       *       *       *       *       *

who, having taken charge of a Menagerie for an invalid friend, has had the
misfortune to let nearly the whole of it escape and get loose in his
parish, would be glad to have the assistance of several Sportsmen of wide
Indian and African experience, who would be willing to join him in an
effort either to kill, or, if possible, recapture it at the very earliest
opportunity. Though the Advertiser has succeeded in temporarily securing
three lions, a chimpanzee, a couple of hyænas, and a young hippopotamus in
the Vicarage drawing-room, and has managed to envelope a boa-constrictor in
a lawn-tennis net, yet, as five full-grown Bengal tigers, and about thirty
other wild beasts of a miscellaneous character are at large in the village,
and have, to his knowledge, already devoured the Postman, the Curate, a
School Inspector, and both the horses of the Local Railway Omnibus, he
feels that no time ought to be lost in replying to his appeal. One or two
Experts, armed with Hotchkiss Guns, would be of use, and might write. Would
be glad to hear from a Battery of Horse Artillery. Address, The VICAR, High
Roaring, Notts.

       *       *       *       *       *

who has long been suffering from a chronic affection of the eyes, and has
been recommended by his medical adviser to try the stimulating effect of
mountain air, having conceived the idea of procuring it for himself by
making an ascent in a second-hand and slightly damaged balloon that he has
purchased for the purpose, will be glad to hear from one or two thoroughly
skilled and experienced Aëronauts similarly afflicted, who would regard the
beneficent results of being able to accompany him as an equivalent for the
professional services they might render to the carrying out of the
undertaking. As the Advertiser's idea is to start from some convenient
Gas-Works in the Midland Counties, and keep a steady northward course by
holding on, before the wind, with a line and grappling-hook to the system
of telegraphic wires running alongside one of the great central railways,
and as he proposes merely stopping occasionally _en route_ to unroof the
house of some local medical man when any of the party are in need of
advice, he confidently anticipates that the trip will not be devoid of
novel and exciting features that will invest it with a distinctively fresh
and exhilarating character. For full and further particulars of the
enterprise, which have been carefully thought out, apply, by letter, to "IN
NUBIBUS," Uppingham Lodge, Mount-Rising, Ayrshire.

       *       *       *       *       *

THREE THOUSAND BLAZING ACRES TO LET.--A Scotch Laird, who has, by some
accident in celebrating Her Majesty's Jubilee, managed to set fire to his
entire property, the whole of which, after smouldering for a season, has
since burst into a violent conflagration, which he can neither diminish nor
control, would be willing to let it at a comparatively low rental to a
London Sportsman sufficient novice in grouse-shooting not to be surprised
at picking up his birds already roasted in the heather. As at the end of a
day's trudging in the blinding heat of a Sahara through smoking covers,
accompanied by a powerful steam fire-engine, he will probably discover that
he has only succeeded in making a bag consisting of one singed "cheeper,"
the "shooting" is likely to prove more attractive to the amateur unfamiliar
with the rifle, but accustomed to the tropical heat of a Central African
Summer, than satisfactory to a professional marksman counting on
dispatching from a breezy moorland fifty brace or so to his relatives and
friends.--For terms, &c., apply to THE MAC SALAMANDER, Flaimhaugh, Glen
Blayse, N.B.

       *       *       *       *       *

By a Canterbury Belle.

(_Song at the End of the great Cricket Week._)

  Fine weather, fair cricket, the bold "Men of Kent"
    To flirt and bet gloves--thirty pairs are my winnings!--
  Why, yes, on the whole I'm extremely content;
    'Tis the nicest of _outings_ to witness such _innings_.

  _Chorus_--A Cricketer _should_ be an excellent match
      Because he is certain to be "a good catch."

       *       *       *       *       *


An Extended Tract of Moor.

A Second Laying.

Heavy Bags are Difficult to Secure.]

       *       *       *       *       *


_Little Nephew._ "UNCLE, YOU MUST BE A SORT O' CANNIBAL, I----"

_Uncle_ (_on a visit_). "A WHAT, SIR!? WHA'D'YER MEAN, SIR?"


       *       *       *       *       *


CARE EDITOR,--SENTIO obligatus scribere ad te propter extraordinariam novam
departuram quam Gubernator recenter fecit. (Scribo Latinè, quia si ille
legit hoc, _non poterit intelligere_! Prætendit intelligere Classica
perfectè, sed habeo graves dubitationes de illo. Hoc est inter nos.)

Sunt nostri holidies nunc, ut tu sine dubio es awarus; et, alio mane, Pater
subito nunciavit suam intentionem detrahere me de Etonis, et mittere me ad
aliquem Tutorem in Germaniâ, "in ordinem ut discam modernas linguas, sic
importantes (ille ait) in cursu vitæ nunc-dies."

Fui attonitus, ut tu potes imaginare. Nam Gubernator, ut totus mundus
noscit, semper fuit laudator Classicorum. ("Omne ignotum pro magnifico,"
intelligis; habeo illum illic, nonne? Hoc quoque est inter nos.) In facto,
pro momento ego fui "percussus omnis cumuli," ut dictum est.

Habere linquere Etonas, tam jolliam scholam! Et ire ad istos Teutones, qui
non possunt ludere vel cricketum vel footballum, et sunt generaliter
horribiles muffi! Id est nimis malum pro verbis.

Vide explanationem paternæ inconsistentiæ! Forsitan vidisti, O PUNCHE,
quomodo aliqui journales pestilentes recenter abusi sunt Classicas linguas.
Bene, Gubernator legit hos journales, et nunc odit Græcum et Latinum. Ego
ipse odi Græcum, sed Germanum est multo pejus, si possibile. Ut pro
Gallico, non est ita difficile, exceptâ pronunciatione, quæ est bestiissima
res umquam inventa. Sed "malo mispronunciare ad Etonas, quam in Continenti
rectè dicere," ut CICERO dicit.

Protestavi contra novam ideam Gubernatoris tantum quam audeo; sed habeo
esse cautus, quia Gubernator non amat contradictionem. Fit cereus, si
contradicitur. Argui tamen ut obliviscar omnia mea Classica in Germaniâ
celerius quam potes dicere "Johannes Robinson;" nam unum caput non potest
tenere Græcum, Latinum, Germanum, _et_ Gallicum. Gubernator iracundè
respondit ut "_meum_ caput non potest tenere aliquam rem, ut videtur." Hoc
est abominabilis libellus (inter nos iterum).

Tunc posui ante eum pericula duellorum. Juvenes Teutonici omnes ineunt pro
duellis, ut habeo auditum. Pater (crudelis!) fecit extremè leve hujus
periculi. "Si redeam sine naso, quid tum?" dixi. "Erit propria poena,"
Gubernator sarcasticè respondit, "pro negligente NASONEM ad scholam." Ille,
percipis, "ridet ad cicatrices, quia nunquam sensit vulnus." Laudat
Caput-Magistros Marlburienses et Harrovienses et Winchesterenses pro
expellendo Græcum de Intranti Examinatione pro illis scholis. Sperat ut "in
nullo tempore ero bonus Germanus scholaris"; sed ego dubito. Dixi ad eum ut
sola Germana verba que nosco sunt "Die Wacht am Rhein." Gubernator
respondit ut meus Tutor donaret mihi "die whacks am Rhein" si negligo
curriculum studiorum. Jocus est extremè pauper. Admiror si Tutor verè
donabit id mihi calidum? O care Editor, nonne potes facere aliquam rem pro
retinente me ad Etonas? Tuus disconsolatus,


       *       *       *       *       *


_By John Bull_ à propos _of the Naval Manoeuvres._

  FALMOUTH in flames! By Jove, that _sounds_ a stunner!
  FREMANTLE'S given HEWETT a fair "oner,"
  Somehow I feel I'd rather by a hantle,
  HEWETT had given toko to FREMANTLE.
  I dare say it's all right; yet there's no telling,
  What might be the result of _real_ shelling.
  Like the far-famed young lady of Devizes,
  FREMANTLE'S _forte_ appears to be surprises,
  Splendid no doubt, but, after all expenses,
  I feel more interested in _defences_.
  Of course for FREMANTLE to dumfog HEWETT,
  (And show a world of watchers _how to do it_)
  Is first-rate practice; an eye-opener verily;
  Only I fancy I should laugh more merrily,
  If _my_ eyes were the only optics gazing,
  Upon a feat that's no doubt most amazing;
  The Thames' mouth occupied by a fine fleet!
  The sight--as the fleet's mine--of course is sweet,
  But there's one thought that rather makes me blench:--
  _Supposing that FREMANTLE had been French?_

       *       *       *       *       *

"BOOTIFUL."--The good people of Stafford have given HER MAJESTY as a
Jubilee present a cabinet containing about two hundred pairs of boots and
shoes. Evidently the stock is intended to last until HER MAJESTY reaches
her next Jubilee, when, no doubt, the gift will be repeated!

       *       *       *       *       *

STRIKING EFFECTS.--For further particulars, apply to the Midland Railway

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: INTERIORS AND EXTERIORS. No. 50.


(_Facsimile of Sketch by Our Electric Special._)]

       *       *       *       *       *



_Monday Night, August 1._--Prince Louis of BATTENBERG had better be making
inquiries as to return trains for Germany. W. REDMOND "has had his
attention called to him," and PICKERSGILL has his eye upon him. German
Prince been appointed to command of _Dreadnought_ over thirty British
Officers who had precedence for promotion. W. REDMOND elicited more general
cheering than usually falls to his lot when he wanted to know what reason
could be given for so extraordinary a mark of confidence? GEORGY HAMILTON
explained that there was best possible reason. Prince LOUIS a heaven-born
sea-Captain. No one like him among ordinary Britishers. Appointed to
_Dreadnought_ simply because he was best possible man. Then PICKERSGILL
came to front. Couldn't object to First Lord's personal preference, but
gave notice that if Prince LOUIS were confirmed in command of _Dreadnought_
he would move that his salary be disallowed. More cheers. Idea of German
Princeling holding office, however honourable, without drawing a salary
struck Commons as comical. Subject seemed to drop here. But COMMERELL,
having by this time had another question on other subject put and answered,
collected his thoughts, rose and begged to say that "Prince Louis of
BATTENBERG served under me, and a more efficient officer----" Here sentence
came to abrupt conclusion. Angry cries of "Order!" stormed round gallant
Admiral. COMMERELL a man of proved valour, as the Victoria Cross worn on
his breast on Jubilee Day and other high festivities testifies. But his
bronzed cheek blanched under this assault. He stared round a moment
speechless, and resumed his seat.

House in Committee through long hours on Irish Land Bill. Dulness enlivened
towards midnight by encounter between CHAMBERLAIN and GRANDOLPH.
CHAMBERLAIN began it; GRANDOLPH by no means backward. Rebuked CHAMBERLAIN
for "characteristic sneer," upon which CHAMBERLAIN smartly retorted. The
interesting episode concluded by HARTINGTON announcing his intention to
vote against CHAMBERLAIN and with the Government. HARCOURT much pleased.

[Illustration: E. H. P-ck-rsg-ll.]

[Illustration: M-cl-n interposes.]

"This is only the beginning," he said. "GRANDOLPH and CHAMBERLAIN have
evidently quarrelled. HARTINGTON doesn't bind himself to go with
CHAMBERLAIN; and altogether the Unionist Party seems a little disunited."

_Business done._--Irish Land Bill in Committee.

_Tuesday._--Questions over there was a pretty scene. JOHN DILLON complained
of allegation in provincial newspaper that he had applauded a statement
that in a riot at Belfast several children and a young lady school-teacher,
the daughter of Lord SLIGO'S Agent, were seriously hurt. Hadn't proceeded
far with explanation when voice from neighbourhood of Treasury Bench called
out, "It is true!"

"Who says it's true?" shouted JOHN, flashing a baleful glance on Treasury

At first he thought the interrupter was Old Morality, but his air of
perfect innocence repulsed suspicion. Was it DE WORMS, turning as, it is
written, his family sometimes do? EDWARD CLARKE looked more guilty, so JOHN
"named" him; denied the soft impeachment. HALSEY admitted it, and was
backed up by half-a-dozen Members, including MACLEAN. Bore personal
testimony to having heard the applause when incident was mentioned.

"I say it is true!" they repeated one after the other.

"And I say it is false!" JOHN DILLON roared, and proceeded to denounce
Members opposite in language which speedily brought up the SPEAKER.

After a while MACLEAN again interposed. Demanded to be heard whilst he
asserted in detail the general accuracy of the newspaper paragraph, whilst
of course acquitting DILLON "if he said he did not join in applause."
Parnellites, oddly enough, left all the fighting to JOHN, who was finally
put down by SPEAKER. After this pleasant interlude, House resumed Committee
on Land Bill. Proceedings dolorous, and House empty. At one time sitting
nearly brought to end by a Count.

_Business done._--Irish Land Bill.

_Thursday._--Enter TREVELYAN; exit EDWARD RUSSELL, the latter carrying with
him the consciousness of that rare possession--popularity with both sides
of the House. Everybody sorry he has gone, especially "the Dissentient
Liberals." As PLUNKET says, "He was the gentlest-mannered Radical in the
House." Crowded House. TREVELYAN brings his sheaves (1401) with him, in
shape of rattling majority won at Glasgow. Everybody there but HARTINGTON
and CHAMBERLAIN. Meeting in such circumstances with old colleague would
have been too touching. But older colleagues, under wing of GLADSTONE, in
full force. Determined to kill the fatted calf for the returning prodigal.
GLADSTONE would, of course, play the part of Aged Parent; TREVELYAN the
repentant son. But who was to stand for the fatted calf? General impression
that HARCOURT best suited by natural gifts for the character. HARCOURT'S
habitual modesty not to be overcome. "Wouldn't," he said, "like to play
such a prominent part." Finally agreed that they should "imagine the calf."
All went admirably well. Might have been managed by that veteran strategist
the Sage of Queen Anne's Gate.

[Illustration: Enter Tr-v-ly-n.]

[Illustration: Exit R-ss-ll.]

CHILDERS and CAMERON (both out of step with new Member) personally
conducted him to Table. Enormous cheering, which CHILDERS gently
deprecated. "No, my good friends," he said. "This is very kind of you. But
there's really no credit due to me. I bring our young friend up because I,
too, am a Scotch Member. Perhaps my success at Edinburgh may have given
fillip to Liberalism in the Lowlands. But pray don't mention it. Any little
services I may have rendered are overpaid by this magnificent ovation."

More cheers when new Member was introduced to SPEAKER. Delighted to see
him. Had often heard his name. Pleased with this opportunity of making his
personal acquaintance. Should be sure to know him again if he met him. All
this lively and entertaining. But great scene artistically conceived for
end of play. TREVELYAN, passing round back of SPEAKER'S chair, proceeding
in search of quiet seat, beheld strange spectacle on Front Opposition
Bench. There was the Aged P. signalling from his tent. Signal taken up by
retainers and carried down crowded bench. Only in the place of honour must
the new Member sit. Never made so much fuss of before. Last time took oath
and seat, no particular notice taken of double event. What had happened in
meantime? Had he grown more eloquent; had he performed some conspicuous
service; or had he increased in personal esteem of those who know him? The
latter impossible. In the former no change. He had merely kicked over
traces and was now come back to run in them. Thought of this with some
bitterness. But reception well meant. There was the Aged P. violently
beckoning with venerable forefinger, and the errant son made his way up to
him, fell on his neck and kissed him----this of course in a Parliamentary

_Business done._--Army Estimates.

_Friday._--House of Lords rent to its centre by deadly, blood-curdling,
butter-melting controversy. Question is, shall it be Butterine or
Margarine? The usually hostile camps streaked with enemies. A Noble Lord,
who stands stoutly for Butterine, finds himself seated with another Peer,
who swears by Margarine, and _vice versâ_. When division comes there is
woful cross-voting. It is BASING who appropriately brings on subject, and
WEMYSS who moves that the compound be called Butterine, instead of
Margarine. Everyone in high spirits, sustained by a free collation, served
out at the door. This attraction rather militated against full success of
debate. Noble Lords "asking for more," of course having to linger outside
till they'd eaten it. BASING (long known to us as SCLATER-BOOTH) revelled
in his subject, and thanked the Markiss he was made a Peer in time to take
part in discussion. ARGYLL brought his massive mind to bear on Butterine;
GRANVILLE toyed with the subject; and WEMYSS was more than usually
emphatic. BRAMWELL had promised to speak for Butterine. Place empty when
turn came.

"Where's BRAMWELL? He should be up next," said WEMYSS.

"Ah," said ROSEBERY,

  "Would you know where last I saw him,
  He was eating bread and butterine."

Messengers despatched to corridor and BRAMWELL brought in with his mouth
full. A stirring debate, but Butterine was nowhere. BRAMWELL having
demonstrated Margarine was "not the correct name for the substitute known
as Butterine," their Lordships by large majority voted for Margarine.

_Business done._--In Commons Land Bill again.

       *       *       *       *       *


(_By a thorough Port-soakian._)

  The LORD MARE leads an appy life,
  He has no cares of party strife,
  He drinks the best of hevry wine,
  I wish the LORD MARE'S lot was mine.

  And, yet all appy's not his lot,
  Although he has his title got;
  He hardly once alone can dine--
  would not that his lot was mine.

  A Alderman more pleases me,
  He leads a life of jollitee:
  He nobly dines, has naught to pay,
  And has his health drunk ev'ry day.

  And though he has to sham delite
  At weary speeches nite by nite,
  And to administer the Law
  Without no blunders or no flaw,

  Still, though I but a Waiter be,
  The LORD MARE'S life would not suit me,
  But, while I drains my flowing can,
  I'll fancy I'm a Alderman!


       *       *       *       *       *

POETRY OF PARLIAMENT.--A debate in the House of Commons corresponding to
the verse named Alexandrine--"Which, like a wounded snake, drags its slow
length along."

       *       *       *       *       *


       *       *       *       *       *

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.

*** Transcriber's Note: "I" inserted into the beginning of the last line of
the sixth stanza of "Glass Falling", page 66.***

*** End of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 93, August 13, 1887" ***

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