Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 98, April 12, 1890
Author: Various
Language: English
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  PUNCH,

  OR, THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

  VOLUME 98.

  APRIL 12, 1890.


A SUGGESTION FROM PUMP-HANDLE COURT.

MY DEAR MR. PUNCH,--As the representative of Justice in this country, I
appeal to you. And when I write this, you must not imagine that I claim,
in my own person, to represent Justice--no, Sir, I only to some extent
suggest the Law--a very different matter. But, Sir, as suggesting the
Law, I apply to you for redress on behalf of hundreds, nay, thousands,
of members of a very noble and learned profession. Sir, you will have
noticed that the Law Courts are congested. Look through the daily list
(this you can do when term recommences), and you will find, that
although Chancery is doing fairly well, there is scarcely a movement in
Common Law. The reason for this is obvious. Nearly all the Common Law
Judges are away, and business is simply at a standstill. Now, Sir, I am
very reluctant to give their Lordships more trouble than necessary, but
I do think, for all our sakes, that increased facility should be
afforded for trying cases single-handed. It should be managed in this
wise. But here, perhaps, in the cause of intelligibility, you will
permit me to describe my method in common (dramatic) form.

SCENE--_A Court in the Queen's Bench Division._ Judge _seated at a table
covered with telephones. Bar benches empty, two Litigants (laymen)
discovered in the well_.

_His Lordship._ Now, Gentlemen, as you are appearing in person, you can
say and do what you please. It does not matter to me in the least, to
use a colloquial expression, what you are up to. All I would ask is,
that I shall not be disturbed until the time comes for me to deliver my
ruling.

_Litigants (together)._ Certainly, my Lord. (_They both commence
quarrelling._)

_His Lordship (with C. C. C. telephone to ear, and mouth to
corresponding tube)._ Quite right. I agree with the verdict of the Jury,
and sentence the Prisoner at the Bar to seven years' penal servitude.
(_With Q. B. D. No. 4 laid on._) After carefully considering all the
evidence that has been submitted to the Jury, and giving due weight to
the fact that the Defendant's vehicle was admittedly on the wrong side
of the road, I have no hesitation in declaring £100 damages a just
award. (_Dropping tube, and taking up apparatus of Q. B. D. No. 5,
sitting as Divisional Court._) I entirely concur in the judgment my
learned Brother has just delivered. (_Dropping tube, and addressing_
Litigants _before him_). Well, and now you two gentlemen--how are you
getting on?

_Litigants (together)._ Oh, please, my Lord, we have made it up.

_His Lordship._ Ah! I see; you have had no lawyers to advise you. Well,
now that that matter is settled, the Court must stand adjourned until
to-morrow, as I have business requiring my attention in Chambers. (_To_
Usher). See that the telephones are switched on accordingly. [_Exeunt
omnes._

There, my dear _Mr. Punch_, could not some such arrangement as that I
have shadowed forth above be reached during the present Vacation? The
situation is really serious. _Entre nous_, PORTINGTON (my excellent and
admirable clerk) has not made an entry in my fee-book for more than a
fortnight--on my word of honour, Sir, more than a fortnight!

Yours truly,

(_Signed_) A. BRIEFLESS, JUNIOR.

_Pump-handle Court, Temple, 5th of April, 1890._

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: MAXIMS FOR THE BAR. No. IV.

"Show no mercy to the Police; they have few Friends."]

       *       *       *       *       *

ROUTLEDGE'S _Atlas of the World_ is not a short biography of Mr. EDMUND
YATES, but a pocketable (if you've got the opportunity) volume, with
sixteen coloured maps. It is pleasant to see that, though the Atlas
bears the _imprimatur_ of ROUTLEDGE, the name of AYR is not effaced from
the Map of Scotland. True that Ayrshire is coloured green, but Ayr is
quite outside this, in fact it has got outside the coast-line, and is
represented as being quite out at sea. More in this than meets the eye.

       *       *       *       *       *

BASTA, FASTER!

_Tuesday._--The fifty-sixth day of Signor DONTUCCI'S sixty days fast was
completed to-day. The Italian who, on the first day, weighed 140 lbs.,
has lost 100 lbs. up to the present, but he seems as confident and
cheerful as ever.

A somewhat disagreeable incident marred the harmony of yesterday's
proceedings. A boy, who was looking on, happened to drop half a penny
bun in the vicinity of the Signor, who reached towards it, and having
managed, after some struggles, which created much amusement amongst the
onlookers, to pick it up, was about to convey it to his mouth. He would
no doubt have eaten it if the senior member of the Medical Committee,
appointed to watch the proceedings, had not interfered. The fragment was
removed, and it was pointed out to DONTUCCI that such an act on his part
was unfair not only to himself, but to the large number of sportsmen who
had made bets on the event.

_Wednesday._--The fifty-seventh day of this marvellous feat was
signalised by the appearance of four of the Italian's rib-bones, both
his collar-bones, and one shin-bone. The Medical Committee treat this as
a comparatively unimportant development of the fast, but to the outside
public, who swarm to the exhibition, the Signor presents a decidedly
dilapidated and ludicrous appearance. He has lost eight pounds more
since yesterday. It was somewhat comical to watch him eyeing a stout
young nurserymaid, who had brought a plump baby with her. Such
cannibalistic desires show that our boasted civilisation is, after all,
only skin deep.

_Saturday._--An immense crowd had assembled to watch the completion of
the great fast. As the hour approached bets were freely hazarded on the
result, odds of five to four on the Signor's survival finding a ready
market. Much amusement was created by a feeble murmur from DONTUCCI, in
which he was understood to declare that he was starving, one well-known
patron of sport asking him, jocularly, if the smell of a beefsteak would
do him any good. On the first stroke of two o'clock an enthusiastic
shout rent the air, and a body of sympathisers insisted on carrying the
Italian shoulder-high through the building and the adjacent streets in
procession. We regret to say that, under their well-intentioned, but not
very gentle handling, DONTUCCI suffered severely. Should he succumb to
this comparatively rough treatment it will be a matter of regret, as his
contribution to scientific knowledge is considerable. From his condition
at the end of the fast, it may be now accepted as a fact, that a man who
never eats must ultimately die of starvation.

We understand that the proceeds of this wonderful exhibition of pluck
and endurance are sufficient to make a handsome dividend for the
shareholders an absolute certainty.

       *       *       *       *       *

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

CAVALRY EXPEDIENTS.--The startling announcement that appeared a few days
since in the papers, to the effect, that from the Official Returns at
the War Office it seems that for 18,000 men there are only 11,000 horses
available, certainly justifies you in your suggestion that the Cavalry
Regiments in Her Majesty's Service should at once be supplied with
Four-Wheeled Cabs. In this way, a seat could be provided for every
cavalry soldier in the Army; and as there would, instead of a deficiency
(for four Dragoons, Lancers or Hussars, _could ride in one cab_),
positively be a surplus of cattle, an extra horse could be strapped on
to the top of each vehicle. This animal, in the case of the one in the
shafts being disabled in action, could be hauled down and put in its
place. The Cabs might be iron-plated and so offer the advantages of
increased protection to the gallant soldiers inside. A charge of
"four-wheelers" would, as you suggest, be certainly a striking if not
imposing sight, and as they drew up on the field of battle, and
discharged each their freight of four, they would certainly surprise a
foreign foe. Anyhow this seems the only method, with the present limited
supply of horses, of bringing the English Cavalry Soldier, _mounted_,
into action.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: AT SEA IN AN EASTER EGG-SHELL.]

  All at sea in an (Easter) egg,
    Like a Witch of the good old days!
  What is it moves you, my _Puck_, I beg?
    Say, is it purpose, or simple craze?
          There is _nous_ and pluck
          In our modern _Puck_,
  And many admire him, and some wish him luck;
  But the Men of Gotham reached no good goal
  By going to sea in an open bowl.
  The business of brewing storms may do
  For a Witch, my GRANDOLPH, but scarce for you,
  And the Petrel-part, played early and late,
  Must spoil a man for a Pilot of State.
  The knowing Nautilus sets her sails
  In a way to weather the roughest gales;
  But an egg for bark, with an imp for crew,
  To navigate Politics' boundless blue,
          Looks crank and queer;
          Drifting comes dear--
  It may pay for a day, but scarce for a year.
  A Puck-like sprite it may please to see
  "All things befall preposterously."
  But pure perversity soon out-pegs,
  GRANDOLPH, "as sure as eggs is eggs!"

       *       *       *       *       *

ALL THROUGH LONDON FOR A SHILLING.--The Fine Art Society in Bond Street,
has a marvellous exhibition in the London-pictures by HERBERT
MARSHALL--he ought to be called for ever afterwards the City
Marshall--so well does he understand all moods of our great city, so
admirably can he translate every phase of its atmosphere, and each
subtlety of its colour. Just a hundred pictures this clever artist
shows, and everyone is a portrait of an old friend. This Gallery is the
very place to take country cousins to. Just turn them loose here for a
couple of hours, and they will get a better idea of what London is
really like, than if they stopped in the Metropolis for a month.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A TRUE VOCATION.

_She (after many vain attempts at conversation)._ "AND IS THERE _NO_
SUBJECT IN WHICH YOU TAKE AN INTEREST?"

_He._ "YES. CRIMINAL LAW!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

NAVAL INTELLIGENCE.

(_Not without a Precedent._)

Yesterday Her Majesty's First Class Battle-ship _Blunderer_, her
extensive repairs having been nearly completed, received her full
complement of men and stores, and proceeded up Channel, to try her two
strengthened but bent old muzzle-loading 79-ton guns, ringed and bound
on a new principle. Some apprehension was expressed that the discharge
might, owing to her high free-board, possibly do some serious damage to
her hull--a fear which happened to be only too well founded; for though
fired at an elevation of 97, the first shot carried away the davits,
forecastle, bridge, life-boats, gunwale companion and larboard
marling-spike, the water pouring in, literally in volumes, through the
shrouds, and rapidly extinguishing the fires. Further progress being
difficult under the circumstances, the Captain, acting under the advice
of the Civil Experimental Director of the Admiralty, thought it unwise
to continue the test without a farther thorough overhauling of the ship,
and she was in the course of the afternoon towed back once again to the
repairing-yard. No astonishment was expressed at the result of the
experiment. It is satisfactory to know that it is estimated roughly that
the cost of the damage effected by the one tentative shot will not
exceed £14,900.

The _Sluggard_, Coast Defence Seventh Class Armoured Cruiser, having had
the boilers from the old _Phlegethon_ fitted to her new triple revolving
expansion engines, made her experimental trip over the measured mile
yesterday afternoon, under forced draught. Somehow, the speed realised
under the circumstances, appeared to disappoint the experts who had come
to take note of the proceedings, for though the captain gave the order
"to pipe all hands to sit on the safety valve," and himself by putting
his own cabin furniture into the furnaces, managed to set both the
smoke-stacks on fire, only 5.08 knots could be got out of the ship.
This, under the existing conditions, was considered "bad going," and it
is probable that if the _Sluggard_ has to be attached, as it is stated
she is to be, in time of war, to a flying squadron in the Pacific, she
will have to be supplied with another set of boilers, a more powerful
engine, and possibly a new hull. The authorities at the Dockyard, it is
stated, are taking the matter under consideration, with a view to the
application of one or more of these remedial alternatives.

Her Majesty's First Class Battle-ship, _Hamilton_, has received the
second of the four 75-ton guns that are to complete her armament. It is
confidently hoped that if the same satisfactory rate of production can
be maintained, she will be nearly ready for active service at the end of
the year after next.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE FIRST SWALLOW!--Look out for it! It will be a rare sight! Quite
enough to "make" a summer at the Aquarium, when SUCCI takes his first
mouthful at a square meal.

       *       *       *       *       *

A (PITCHED) OUTING.

[Illustration]

_Monday._--Start off in the coach we've hired, for a week's jolly Easter
coaching trip in Southern counties. Just read "leader" in _D. T._ on
subject, and letter from "MACLISE" saying that _he_ did it with twelve
friends, and total cost only one pound a head per day! Lucky to have
secured such a good amateur whip as BOB to drive our four-in-hand. Don't
mind a pound a day--for one week. Original, and rather swell way of
taking a holiday. Lovely warm day when we start. Should say, when we're
off, only word "off" suggests unpleasant possibilities.

_Tuesday._--Only did ten miles yesterday. Ought to have covered
twenty-five. Provoking! BOB didn't seem accustomed to the reins. Said
they were "a rum lot, and _he'd_ never seen any like them before." Got
them entangled in legs of off hind horse (think this is what he's
called), and it took an hour, and the help of five wayfarers (down near
Putney), to disentangle them. Each of the five demanded (and got--to
save a row), half-a-crown for the job. BOB rather sulky. We had to put
up for the night at a country inn, somewhere beyond Raynes Park.
Gentlemen of party slept on kitchen floor, among suburban black-beetles.
Pic-nicky, but would have preferred beds.

To-day start very early, without breakfast, as resources of the country
inn exhausted. Do thirty miles without accident. Rather nervous work,
because one of "leaders" (unlike "leader" in newspaper) shies at
everything it meets. BOB half flicked the eye out of a man in passing
through Guildford--awful row! Row only ended by a five-pound note as
compensation. BOB says we shall all have to subscribe. Expenses mounting
up.

_Wednesday._--Frightfully cold East wind. _Is_ this enjoyment? Wish I
were in a snug railway carriage. Ladies of party retire into inside of
coach. Very selfish!

_Thursday._--Bad cold from yesterday. And to-day it's snowing! Thank
Heaven--only a week of it! BOB wants _me_ to drive! Says he feels he's
in for influenza. Real fact is that we've got into nasty hilly country,
and BOB'S rather afraid of horses bolting. Find now that he's never
driven anything but a donkey in a low pony-carriage before! Isn't he
driving donkeys _now_? Time will show.

_Friday._--Much too cold and wet to go on. Hurrah! Nice country hotel,
but charges awful. Proprietor doesn't often have a coaching party
billeted on him, and is determined to make most of it. Evidently
believes we're millionaires. Stupid of BOB to do this sort of thing.

_Saturday._--Off--I mean, on--again! Cost so far, has already risen to
two guineas a day per head, and as four of party have deserted us and
gone back (by train) to Town, expenses for return journey likely to be
still heavier.

BOB at breakfast, gives us the "straight tip"--says he's going to "tool
us back to Town in one day--only forty miles." Delighted at prospect. To
carry out his programme, BOB has to get extra speed out of horses.
Result--he gives us all the "straight tip"--down near Horsham--into a
neighbouring field!

A wheel off! Horse disabled! Telegraph to owner to come and fetch his
coach; we go back (dejectedly) by rail. Bruised all over. Expenses
enormous. Give me a jolly week in Paris next Easter!

       *       *       *       *       *

An "Indignant One" writes:--"Sir--our house is infested with mice.
Seeing a gentleman's name in the _Times_ with the words 'Mus. Doc.'
after it, I sent to him. If I had wanted to have a horse cured, and had
seen '_equus doc_.' after somebody's name, I should have acted in the
same manner. I have sent three times and obtained no answer. If I do not
hear from him by to-night's post, informing me why he does not come and
give me a prescription for curing this plague of mice, I shall publish
his name and address as an impostor, and the sooner he drops the 'Mus.
Doc.' the better." [We publish the grievance. Our Correspondent is too
learned. Let him call at the Royal Academy of Music.--ED.]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE TRIVIAL ROUND.

_Being the Utterances of Mrs. Jabberly Jones on Show Sunday._

[Not Intended for Publication.]

[Illustration]

Well, there, my dear child, it's no use making a fuss about it--one must
_do_ it, and there's an end of it! People in our position ought to be
ready to make some sacrifice for Art. I ordered luncheon half-an-hour
earlier on purpose. Last year I only did thirty studios, and I want to
do _much_ more than that this afternoon, if I can. Of course, I know I
shall be a perfect wreck to-morrow, but one expects that. I do wish
Artists wouldn't live in such out-of-the-way places. I'm sure CHANDLER
is out of temper already--I can tell by the way he is driving. Yes, this
will do nicely, CHANDLER; we will walk the rest. Quite a string of
carriages, you see. It would _never_ have done to have left Mr. MELBURY
out! No, he didn't exactly send me a card, but I've met him somewhere,
and that does quite as well. Oh, my dear, it will be all right; keep
close to me, and you needn't even open your lips. Very tastefully
decorated, isn't it? _Eccentric_, of course, but they're all like that.
Such a mass of azaleas. I daresay they're only hired for the Sunday, you
know, but a very charming effect. Straight on to the studio? Thank you,
I know the way perfectly. How _are_ you, dear Mr. MELBURY? I couldn't
dream of leaving _you_ out, you know. My daughter. Thanks; but I can see
beautifully where I am. Oh, of course I recollect the subject. How
clever of you to choose it, and _how_ originally you've treated it, too!
_Not_ for the Academy? Why, surely they'd never reject _that_! Oh,
because of the _glass_? _I see._ Well, I think _all_ pictures ought to
be glazed, myself--such an improvement. Good-bye, such a pleasure to
have seen it; so _many_ thanks. EUGENIA, dear, you must really tear
yourself away. So many places to go to; good-bye, good-bye!... Well, to
tell you the truth, my dear, the glass got in the way, and I've no more
idea what the picture was about than you have. Still, I'm very glad we
went in, all the same. Now where shall we go next? Most of the people
seem going into that studio across the road, so there's sure to be
something worth seeing there. No, I don't know whose it is, but what
_does_ that matter? they're always glad to see you on Show Sunday....

EUGENIA, my dear, I don't like to see you putting yourself forward so
much at your age. Of _course_ I knew as well as you did that it wasn't
JAMES THE FIRST that MONMOUTH rebelled against, though I'm not in the
school-room. It's not at all pretty of you to correct your mother in
that ostentatious manner, and don't let it occur again. There, you
needn't say another word. We'll just pop in here for a minute, and then
we must drive on somewhere else. I wish I could see you taking more
interest in Art, EUGENIA. I thought you would enjoy being taken out like
this!... Well, yes, I think we will have _just_ a cup....
Good-bye--thank you _so_ much--quite _the_ pictures of the year. Such a
treat--oh, not at all--I _never_ flatter.... By the way, EUGENIA, _did_
we go up and see his pictures? I _thought_ not. I was dying for a cup of
tea, and so,--and then, meeting Mr. HOLLAND PARK in the hall like that,
I naturally congratulated him. Oh, nonsense--we _can't_ go back
_now_--we shall see them some time, I daresay. I wish I could get
CULLENDER to send me up some of that pretty pinky-coloured cake for my
afternoons--it was really _quite_ nice. If I had only thought of it, I
would have asked Mr. PARK how it was made. And _what_ becoming caps
those maids had on! Models, no doubt. Drive as fast as you can,
CHANDLER, it's getting so late. Quite the other side of London--the
_poor_ horses, and on _Sunday_, too!--but it's a little education for
_you_, my dear ...

Look at the carriages--such grand ones, too, most of them; but I've
always heard he's a man of extraordinary talent ... Mrs. and Miss
JABBERLY JONES.... How do you _do_?...

Quite a distinguished gathering, wasn't it, EUGENIA? So pleasant coming
across dear Lady HIGHSNIFF like that. Your father and I met her in the
Riviera, you know. She knew me directly I introduced myself. That's one
thing about Art, it _does_ bring you into the very _best_ society. No, I
can't say I cared much about his pictures this year--portraits are so
very uninteresting, you know--they tell you nothing, unless you happen
to know the people, and _then_ you never recognise them. I thought all
his were dreadful. Oh, I know I said I should expect to see them all
hung on the line--but what of _that_? One can't be perfectly candid in
the world, my dear, much as one would wish to be. _What_ is that you're
saying? "On the Hanging Committee this year?" How can you possibly
_know_? "You heard him say so?" Then you ought to have stopped me,
instead of standing there like a shy school-girl. Not that he would
think I meant anything by a remark like that--why _should_ he? I'm sure
I _tried_ to say everything that was pleasant!

I hope I am the _last_ person to practise insincerity, my dear,--it's a
thing I have the greatest _horror_ of. Only one doesn't like to hurt
people's _feelings_, don't you see? One can only just _hint_ that a
picture isn't quite--especially when one doesn't pretend to know much
about it. Not that I am incapable of speaking out when I feel it my
duty. If one sees where a little improvement would make all the
difference, one _ought_ to mention it. And Artists are so grateful for
suggestions of that kind--they like to know how it strikes a perfectly
fresh eye. I remember telling the President last year that one of his
figures was just a _leetle_ bit out of drawing, and that the folds of
his drapery didn't hang right, and he bowed most beautifully and thanked
me--but when I came to see the picture exhibited, I found he hadn't
altered it a bit! So it really is hardly worth while speaking
plainly--painters are so very opinionated.

What a long way it is to Mr. FITZJOHN'S to be sure, and the afternoon
turning quite chilly--don't take _all_ the rug, my dear, _please_!

Oh, don't apologise, Mr. FITZJOHN--quite light enough for _me_, I assure
you. Thank you, I will sit down, we've been seeing pictures--good, bad,
_and_ indifferent--all the afternoon, so _fatiguing_, you know, so many
ideas to grasp. I don't mean that that's the case with _your_ pictures
... Yes, very nice, charming. Let me see, didn't you exhibit the large
one _last_ year? No? Ah! then it's my mistake, I seem to have seen it so
often before--a favourite subject with Artists, I suppose. So difficult
to hit on anything really original nowadays. But I daresay you despise
all that sort of thing. Well, good-bye, I mustn't keep my coachman
waiting any longer.

Perhaps, I _was_ a little annoyed, my dear, never offering us a cup of
tea or anything, after coming all that way, but I don't think I showed
it, _did_ I? Yes, I _am_ rather tired, and I really think that if it
wasn't that I can't bear disappointing people, I should turn back now.
But we must just drop in on that poor little Mr. HAVERSTOCK, now we
_are_ so near. The poor man was so anxious that I should see his
pictures--we needn't stay long.

There, Mr. HAVERSTOCK, you see I _haven't_ forgotten! though we're
rather late, and we shall have to drive back directly to dress--we're
dining out this evening, you know. What a nice studio! small, of course,
but then you don't want a large room, do you? What a quantity of
pictures! How you must have worked! If you send in so many, one of
them's _sure_ to get in, _isn't_ it? Still, I should have thought that
if you had painted only one or two, and taken great pains with _them_,
it might--oh, most of them are your friend's? and only _these_ two
yours? Well, no doubt you are quite right not to be too ambitious. Why,
this is quite charming--really _quite_ charming, isn't it, EUGENIA? Oh,
I quite understand it isn't _yours_, Mr. HAVERSTOCK. I suppose your
friend has been painting much longer than you have? No? _really!_
Younger, is he? but some people have a natural turn for it, haven't
they? Have you had many visitors this afternoon? Ah, well, they will
come some day, I daresay. Now I'm going to be very rude, and make a
suggestion. Perhaps if you burnt one or two pastilles, or those Japanese
joss-sticks, you know,--they're quite cheap--you'd get rid of some of
the smell of the paint and the cigarettes--or is it _pipes_? Oh, _I_
don't mind it, you know, but some do....

Poor dear fellow, I'm afraid he'll never get on. And _what_ a pig-stye
to paint in! Well, I'm glad I've done my duty, EUGENIA. Mind you
remember all the places we've been to. Home, please, CHANDLER.

       *       *       *       *       *

ROBERT'S COMMISHUNS.

[Illustration]

I ain't bin quite so owerwhelmed with my warious Comisshuns from my
lucky winners on the Boat Race as I hexpected to be, but the werry
smallest on 'em is allus welcome.

I rayther think as "S. B." who enclosed me a Post Order for 1_s._ 6_d._,
must have bin mistaken as to the price of my Book, which it is 2_s._
6_d._, so with that and the thrippence for Postage, I didn't git much
out of "S. B.," but I thanks him for his kind intentions.

The Gent who wrote from Tattersall's, and sined hisself "THE RIVER
PLUNGER," and enclosed me two bad harf-crowns, I must leave to his hone
cowardly conshence, and the arrowing reflexun that he werry nearly got
me into trubbel when I tried to pass one on 'em at our nayburing Pub.
Luckily, my rayther frequent wisits to that most useful mannerfactory
has made me werry well known there, so I was aloud to correct my littel
mistake.

The last letter which I has jest receeved is as follers:--

"GOOD OLD BOB!            "COLNEY HATCH, _April 1st_.

    "I won 2 tenners on the Boat Race, thanks to your straight tip, one
    on Cambridge, and one on Oxford, so I enclose you your Commission of
    20_s._

Yours truly,       UNCLE DICK."

Wood it be beleeved, the check was drawn upon Thames Bank! But there, I
must dress for my purfeshnal dooties. ROBERT.

       *       *       *       *       *

MR. PUNCH'S DICTIONARY OF PHRASES.

AUCTIONEERING.

"_Elegant Queen Anne Cottage_;" _i.e._, Delightful--if you could only
live entirely in the porch.

"_A Bijou Residence_;" _i.e._, Last occupant was a lady, with tastes as
dubious as her character.

"_A First-class Family Mansion_;" _i.e._, Two large reception-rooms, and
the rest kennels.

"_An Eligible Surburban Residence_;" _i.e._, A stucco box, with two
bay-windows, a slate roof, and a romantic or aristocratic
name--"Killiecrankie," "Glaramara," or "Penshurst," for choice.

SOCIAL.

"_Let me congratulate you on that last Article of yours in the 'Flail.'
Awfully smart, and will make some of them 'sit up' a bit!_" _i.e._, Most
malicious thing I ever read, and will make him hosts of enemies.

MUSIC.

"_I can't play without my Notes--if I'd only known_;" _i.e._, She should
have asked me to dinner, not merely to come in in the evening. Bah!

"_Thanks very much; I'll look at my list, and see what night I've got
free_;" _i.e._, Catch me accepting. Awfully slow party.

PLATFORMULARS.

"_I was told that the people of Furseborough were devoted to the good
cause, but I never expected such enthusiasm as they have displayed
to-night_;" _i.e._, Why the deuce don't they cheer all together, instead
of clapping here and clapping there? Must try to stir them up.

"_Now you are an audience of intelligent men_;" _i.e._, I wish that
bald-headed old fool, with a wart on his nose, would sit in a back row
where I couldn't see him.

"_You have all heard the details of what took place in a certain
district, not so very long ago_;" _i.e._, I wish devoutly I could
remember the details, the name of the district, and the date. However,
they don't know, so it's all right.

"_By that remark I am suddenly reminded of an incident, &c._;" _i.e._,
Here's an opportunity for bringing in that carefully prepared story!

"_A moral victory_;" _i.e._, Any electoral defeat which "sheer fudge"
can extenuate, or party sophistry explain away.

EDITORIAL.

"_Regret that it's not suitable to this Magazine_;" _i.e._, Rot.

"_Mr. So-and-So's MS. is under consideration_;" _i.e._, Beneath it.

AFTER A SONG.

"_Who's that by?_" _i.e._, Not that I care. But I'm nearest.

IN A STUDIO.

"_Ah! THAT'S a picture!_" _i.e._, And a thoroughly bad picture too.

IN COURT.

"_It will be within your Ludship's recollection_;" _i.e._, Your Ludship
has been asleep and forgotten all about it.

"_As your Ludship pleases_;" _i.e._, Stupid old Foozle!

MILITARY.

[Illustration]

"_Must do it for the sake of the Regiment_;" _i.e._, An excuse for any
folly or extravagance, from keeping a pack of hounds to entertaining
Royalty.

"_All our Privates (off parade) wear gloves and carry canes_;" _i.e._,
Colonel of Militia regiment, safe in the knowledge that the Battalion he
commands is three hundred miles away, thinks it wise to indulge in a
little fancy portraiture.

JOURNALISTIC.

"_It is reported, on reliable authority, that at the Cabinet Council
which took place yesterday afternoon, &c._;" _i.e._, The "authority" in
question being the cook's assistant's boy, who had taken in the
Under-Secretary's lunch, and had half-a-minute's confidential
conversation with the office messenger on the back staircase.

"_On the fall of the Curtain, there seemed to be some division of
opinion among the audience_;" _i.e._, A boy in the gallery hissed.

"_The Prisoner, who did not appear to appreciate the very serious,
&c._;" _i.e._, Formula to be used in all cases of crime of more than
ordinary brutality.

"_Much curiosity prevails in literary circles respecting the authorship
of that very remarkable Novel, 'Flat as a Pancake.'_" (Advt.)

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

[Illustration]

_A Daughter's Sacrifice._ By Messrs. F. C. PHILIPS, and PERCY FENDALL.
For the sake of appearances, one of these authors might have sacrificed
the first letter of his name, so that they could have been brought out,
at a premium of course, as PHILIPS and PHENDALL, or FILIPS and FENDALL.
However, this is nothing against the novel, which is a goodish sort of
bad one, or a baddish sort of good one. _Virginibus puerisque_? No, the
Baron thinks not; likewise the Baroness, who enjoyed it immensely and
read it at a single sitting, entertains the same opinion. There is more
genuine humour in some of the sketches of scenes and character, not
absolutely essential to the plot, in this book, than in any of Mr.
PHILIPS'S previous works,--as far, that is, as I can remember. The fault
of the story is the sanctification, as it were, of suicide. What is the
rule with Mr. PHILIPS'S heroines, as far as I am acquainted with them?
"_When in doubt, take poison._" With this reservation, the novel is
thoroughly interesting, well written, too spun out, but there is plenty
of exercise in it for our friend "The Skipper," who will, however, lose
much of the humour of the book by the process. It is published by WHITE
& CO.

In the _New Review_, Sir MORELL MACKENZIE warns smoking vocalists.
This is timely in this smoking-concert time. The Merry
ANDREW-RIDER-LANG-HAGGARD story starts well: may it so finish, and win
by two heads. Read "MARY DAVIES at Home" in _The Woman's World_:
interesting. E. A. ABBEY'S illustrations to ANDREW LANG'S--_encore_
LANG!--comments on _The Merchant of Venice_ are in his Abbeyest manner.

My faithful "Co." is employing his Easter holidays in reading
"shockers." He has already been dreadfully upset by A SOCIETY SCANDAL,
which, he declares, reminds him of "OUIDA" toned down with milk and
water. It is by "RITA," who, as author of _Mystery of a Turkish Bath_,
_Sheba_, _&c., &c., &c._ (see cover), can no longer be called a new
writer. _Fair Phyllis of Lavender Wharf_, by Mr. JAMES GREENWOOD (the
"Amateur Casual"), forms vol. 39 of "The Bristol Library." It is
scarcely up to the standard of _Called Back_, and others of Mr.
ARROWSMITH'S popular shilling publications, but is not uninteresting.
Mr. JAMES SKIPP BORLASE, in _The Police Minister_, tells "A Tale of St.
Petersburg." As an Irishman might say, no one could "Bore lase," so
there is really no necessity to Skipp him. It would scarcely be fair to
tell the plot of this thrilling narrative, but it may be hinted that
_The Police Minister_ is _not_ a chaplain attached to the Court at Bow
Street. The illustrated cover to _The Mynn's Mystery_, by Mr. G.
MANVILLE FENN, shows a gentleman in the act of thrusting a knife into
the shaggy body of Bruin, from which it may be gathered that the point
of the story is a little hard to bear. But perhaps the best title that
has appeared for many years is _Stung by a Saint_, which _should_ be the
sequel to a book called _Kissed by a Sinner_. My faithful "Co." has not
yet had time to read this last contribution to the shilling novelties,
but expects to find that the hero or heroine must be either a
right-minded wasp, or a more than usually conscientious mosquito.

  THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS & CO.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Penalties of Greatness.

  Be great, my son, and in the public eye
    All your life long you'll have to walk in fetters.
  Gossip your daily scourge; and when you die
    They'll make a market of your private letters,
  And try to mix you in some mess of scandal;
    'Tis question if the game is worth the candle!

       *       *       *       *       *

LEARNING BY ART.--The Painters in Water-Colours have done good service
to their Royal Institute by the exhibition of their works this season.
On the whole, or rather walls, a very worthy show. "_Royal Windsor_," by
Mr. KEELEY HALSWELLE, although suggestive of mist, is not likely to be
overlooked. Then Miss ROSE BARTON'S "_South Kensington Station_" seems
to give great satisfaction to those who can identify the coloured
bottles in the shop-window of a local chemist. Miss KATE GREENAWAY is
well to the front with "_The Portrait of a Little Boy_" and "_An Angel
visiting the Green Earth_" both of which are described by members of the
"so-called" fair sex "sweetly pretty." Mr. E. H. CORBOULD'S companion
paintings of "_At Home_" and "_Not at Home_," are suggestive of
incidents in the life of a Military Doctor, seemingly partial to wearing
his uniform habitually in a house that has been presumably decorated
under the direction of a heraldic stationer. The Military Doctor in the
second picture is winking. Altogether the subject is unconventional.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "THE YOUNG PEOPLE'S ORCHESTRAL CONCERT." ALL INFANT
PRODIGIES.

_Picture of a Rehearsal, by One who wasn't there._]

       *       *       *       *       *

AFTER THE REVIEW.

_Col. Punch loquitur:--_

  The usual Compliments! Of course, of course!
    If we could only thrive on casual flattery!
  But praise won't raise a troop of foot or horse,
    Equip a squadron, Sir, or mount a battery.
  Soft words won't butter parsnips--that's plain speech.
    Circumlocution is so hard to teach!

  Of course the boys behaved themselves right well,
    "As usual," so you say with great propriety.
  We've heard from many a military swell
    And bland civilian, even to satiety,
  Similar words; but if you think that praises
    Will satisfy us, you _must_ think us "daisies."

  Vulgar vernacular you'll please excuse,
    Camp-language is not that of a Committee.
  If folks conceive we muster to amuse
    Cheap-trippers, or ourselves, it is a pity.
  'Tis not for Easter sport we toil--and pay,
    "Stone-broke to make a British holiday."

  Pay! Yes, we're out of pocket, some of us,
    More than we can, or than we will, afford.
  Patriot spirit does not want to fuss,
    But carpet-knight and ornamental Lord
  Who for _their_ "work" are well remunerated,
    Don't know our case; 'tis time that it were stated.

  When good men are retiring, driven out
    From service by extravagant expenses,
  The virtues of the System you must doubt,
    Or any Englishman who's in his senses.
  If we are worth our salt, as you assure us,
    Surely from pocket-loss you might secure us!

  _Verb, sap._, Ask HAMLEY; he is "in the know,"
    And he has tried--with some success--to teach you.
  I know the usual fine official flow;
    'Tis time the voice of rough sound sense should reach you.
  A long, harsh dieting of stint and snubbing
    For patriot youth is not nutritious "grubbing."

  Reviewing the Review, you say nice things;
    Well, if we've done our duty, do yours also.
  Alternate verbal pats and scornful flings,
    Are scarce good policy, or what I call so.
  To do our duty is, of course, our pleasure,
    But to be fined for doing it's hard measure.

  To get ourselves equipped seems hard enough,
    But lots of us are always out of pocket
  By giving unpaid service! That's sheer stuff!
    If this shocks Government, I _wish_ to shock it,
  Because improvement hinges truth's success on;
    And this, I think, is a sound Easter Lesson.

       *       *       *       *       *

AN UNCHRISTIAN CAVEAT.

    [AGNES LAMBERT was charged at Marylebone Police Court with stealing
    a purse at a Confirmation service at Christ Church, Regent's Park.
    Mr. E. BEARD, barrister, submitted that there was not sufficient
    evidence for the case to go to a jury, Mr. BEARD remarking, that the
    place was a church. Mr. MARSHAM retorted, "Yes; and what right had a
    woman like her to be there?"]

  What right? A largish question, learned Sir,
    Larger, perchance, than struck your legal mind.
  Smitten with sudden anger against her
    Whose face in such a scene 'twas strange to find;
    Close the Church-doors to creatures of her kind?
  Stay, Rhadamanthus! Pharisaic taste
    Is no safe guide to Charity's true rule.
  Beware, lest like King DAVID, in his haste,
    You trust the zeal experience should school
    To thought more kindly and to care more cool.
  What right? Suppose her sinner, even then
    The sacred precinct hath far wider scope
  Than any dwelling set apart of men.
    This temple is the LORD'S, from base to cope.
    Here faltering Faith and half-extinguished Hope
  Find entrance unrebuked of Charity.
  What right? E'en so SIMON the Pharisee
    Might have demanded of the MAGDALEN,
  And with a fairer reason. But restrain
  The weariest waif from entrance to the fane
    Where pure young girls come for a special grace,
    Whither the smug-faced citizen may pace,
  The modish lady trail her silken skirt?
    Nay, Sir, it is too arbitrary-rash,
    This caveat, and with Charity must clash,
  Here sinful souls and spirits sorely hurt
    Find their last refuge and sole hope. Wherefore
    Against no soul that suffers close that door!
  Let MAGDALEN look on, if so she please,
  At these pure maidens. Can it injure these?
  Whilst the scene's influence on her spirit dark
  Not Rhadamanthus in his seat may mark.

       *       *       *       *       *

ANOTHER "COUNT OUT."--HERBERT BISMARCK.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: RIGHT HON. E. ST-NH-PE. "WELL, COLONEL,--YOU VOLUNTEERS
HAVE DISTINGUISHED YOURSELVES,--AS USUAL!"

COLONEL PUNCH. "AND I SUPPOSE, SIR, WE SHALL HAVE TO PAY FOR IT OUT OF
OUR OWN POCKETS,--AS USUAL!!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

MODERN TYPES.

(_By Mr. Punch's Own Type-Writer._)

No. VIII.--THE INVALID LADY.

[Illustration]

The Invalid Lady is, as often as not, the only daughter of parents whose
social position is higher than the figure of their yearly income.
Nevertheless, they contrive, by means of gallant struggles, to keep on
the high level of the sacred appearances. They are seen wherever smart
people ought to be seen, they do everything that smart people ought to
do; their Victoria is well appointed, their little house in Mayfair is
prettily furnished, and both they and their servants are always well
dressed. Upon the birth of the frail and solitary pledge of affection,
with which fate, after passing them by for many years, at length
afflicted them, their situation became almost desperate; but, by a
judicious curtailment here, and a discreet omission there, they managed
once more to strike a balance slightly in their own favour. Having
passed their child safely through the nursery into the school-room, they
combined with other parents to secure the services of governesses and
teachers, under whose instruction the square pegs of knowledge might be
fitted to the round holes of girlish brains. The future Invalid resented
this process by frequent head-aches, which were allowed to withdraw her
from her studies to the comfortable ignorance of the drawing-room sofa.
Eventually, however, she was considered to be finished, and, having been
carefully packed and labelled by her mother, was delivered, after a
journey through two seasons, to a rich and rising Member of Parliament,
who paid the carriage, and married the parcel.

And now the comforts of life, and its laziness, begin for her. For
whereas her parents were forced to pinch themselves in many places, in
order to assume the flush of wealth, and were unable to relax for a
moment the busy society vigilance in which their daughter had to bear
her part, there is, in the paradise of her new existence, a moneyed
repose, which permits her, on the pretence of weariness, to cease from
troubling herself about anything. This does not, however, prevent her
from becoming a cause of infinite trouble to others. Her maid is worn to
a shadow by the perpetual search for handkerchiefs and eau de Cologne,
with which to bathe the aching forehead of her mistress. Her friends are
distracted by the recital of her tales of shattered nerves, and
merciless _migraines_; her husband finds his existence embittered by a
constant change of butlers, and a perpetual succession of cooks, over
whom his feeble wife exercises about as much control as the President of
the French Republic over his short-lived Ministries. But, as yet, she
has not attained to the full and perfect glory of the Invalid's life.

During the next five years she is still to be seen occasionally at
evening parties and afternoon teas in the houses of her friends. She
also becomes the mother of two children, a boy and a girl. After her
second confinement she is prostrated by a slight illness, and during her
convalescence she makes up her mind that life is made tolerable only by
illness and the delicate attentions that accompany it. She is confirmed
in this opinion by the discovery that her figure is no longer adapted to
the prevailing fashion of everyday dress, and that her complexion looks
better in her own room and beneath her own arrangement of curtains than
in the vulgar glare of unmitigated daylight. She therefore enters with a
light heart and a practically unimpaired constitution, upon a prolonged
period of tea-gowns, _chaises longues_, and half-lights, and is
recognised everywhere as an Invalid.

Henceforward she takes no concern in the pleasant labours or the social
amenities of life. The busy hum of the great world beats outside her
chamber, men and women are born, and marry and die, society may be
convulsed with scandals, kingdoms may totter to their fall in a crash of
wars and tumults, but the Invalid lies through the tedious days propped
on pillows, and recks only of her own comfort. Her husband is raised to
high office in the Government of the day, her boy plays cricket at
Lord's or rows in his University Eight, her daughter grows in years and
beauty, but she herself reposes, strong in the blessed luxury of feeble
health, and in the impenetrable selfishness with which she exacts a
minute and unswerving devotion from those who surround her.

But her life is not altogether or even chiefly passed in England. Every
year with the approach of autumn she flits to the Riviera. Three slaves,
her husband, her daughter, and her maid, follow humbly the triumphal
procession of her invalid carriage, and thus she arrives at the charming
villa where for the next few months she will hold her court. For the
confirmed invalid is a more highly exalted being in Nice than in London.
Whereas beneath our own dull skies there is still some merit in being
robust and healthy, in the South of France, precedence both in rank and
social influence, often varies directly according to the nature and
length of an illness. The Invalid Lady, therefore, is in an unassailable
position, and may permit to herself slight indulgences, which in London,
might wreck her career as an invalid. She establishes an afternoon for
tea and ices and gossip, she attaches to herself a foreign prince, she
even organises pic-nics, and enters upon a mild flirtation with a
middle-aged Baronet, she reads French novels of the newest school and
discusses their tendency with a long-haired lyricist who has lately
published a volume of poems entitled, _Love and Languor_.

Once every winter the Invalid Lady gets up a bazaar for the benefit of
the _Petites Soeurs des Pauvres_. Her husband lends his garden, her
daughter writes all the letters, makes all the purchases, and, with her
young friends, completes all the arrangements, whilst the Invalid Lady
herself looks on in occasional disapproval of the work that others are
doing. When the great day arrives, and all the company of intending
purchasers is gathered together in the garden, the Invalid is drawn
gently into their midst in a long, wheeled chair. She is robed in a
tea-gown of exquisite taste and design, the prevailing colour of which
may be the new "_Eau de Carmes_," mixed with ivory-coloured chiffons. As
it is thoroughly understood that she cannot walk, her feet, which peep
from under her laces, are arrayed in delicately open and striped silk
stockings, and in tiny shoes, which are decorated each with a single
diamond sparkling in the centre of a black bow. Thus apparelled, she is
wheeled slowly about, to receive the congratulations of her intimates on
her charitable spirit, and on the organising power which would do a
strong man credit.

In course of time her daughter marries, and leaves her. She then
establishes by her side a poor but devoted friend, with whom she
eventually quarrels for not speaking with sufficient respect of one of
the five mortal ailments with which she believes herself to be
afflicted. Death, whom she apparently courts with a weary longing, will
have none of her. The hale and hearty drop off, but the invalid,
querulous, weak, and hysterical, survives into a remote future, and
having become a great grandmother, fades out of existence in the
possession of all her faculties.

       *       *       *       *       *

NOVEL ADVICE FROM LINCOLNSHIRE.

    "Real people with splendid mothers would seldom become novelists,
    because their mother's lore would prepare them for a safer career,
    or they themselves, I think, would seldom have that intense
    observant nature which a novelist must have. I suppose most of our
    greatest writers, who have not created good mothers, have been left
    much to themselves when they were young, either because their
    mothers had no sympathy with them, or because they were
    motherless."--"A LINCOLNSHIRE GIRL," _in the Daily News_.

  There's a girl away in Lincolnshire, where green is mostly worn,
    Who knows all about a novelist, and all about his trade.
  And, oh, ye English Novelists, repay her not with scorn,
    When she says that by his mother every novelist is made.
  If you fail she knows the reason, she can tell it at a glance--
  You have had a splendid mother, so you never had a chance.

  If your nature is observant, if your nature is intense,
    If you track elusive motives through the mazes of the mind;
  If you fly o'er plot and passion as a hunter flies a fence,
    And leave panting mediocrity a hundred miles behind;
  Why then you may be certain, though the thought may give you pain,
  That your mother wasn't splendid, or your toil would be in vain.

  An unsympathetic mother who neglects her baby boy,
    Oh, she knows not what advantages she showers on his head.
  Let her frown upon her infant and deprive him of his toy,
    _That's_ the training for a novelist who wishes to be read.
  He had better have a sea-cook for his mother, or a gun,
  Than one who, being splendid, blasts the future of her son.

  So, ye publishers of novels, if your mills are short of grist,
    Find a child whose mother loathes him, and adopt him as your own,
  Give him pens and ink and paper, saying, "Write, Sir Novelist,
    You are quite the biggest certainty that ever yet was known.
  You _may_ not write good grammar, or be careful how you spell,
  But your mother wasn't splendid, so your books are sure to sell!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Some amiable Statistician has recently been computing the amount of
pills taken in England annually. He has omitted "Club-Pilling." The
severe committee men are, _pace_ IBSEN, the real _Pillars of Society_.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: AMENITIES OF WAR!----AT OUR EASTER MANOEUVRES.

_Captain of Volunteers and Sub. (both conscious of a Pocket Pistol, and
both together)._ "HAVE A DROP O' SOMETHING SHORT?!"

[_They refresh horizontally, and feel better._]]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: Mr Punch's Suggestions for The Betterment of Parliament.

Why walk to House of Lords Committee Rooms &c. when the Electric
Tramway can be introduced?

This can be applied all over the Building.]

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

Extracted from the Diary of Toby. M.P.

_House of Commons, Monday, March 31._--PLUNKET had his annual innings,
defending Royal Palaces from attack of mob led by SAGE OF QUEEN ANNE'S
GATE. Vote under discussion on account of Royal Palaces. SAGE been
looking into matter; has come to conclusion that Kensington Palace might
be turned into popular _restaurant_. At one time knew something about
management and arrangement of Aquarium. Why not have sort of West-End
Aquarium at Kensington Palace? Grounds admirably suited for
merry-go-rounds and other popular devices for whiling a happy hour away.
Then Kew Palace. Who lived there? GEORGE THE THIRD was, he believed, the
last tenant, and during his term of occupancy His Majesty was
unfortunately cracked. There were other palaces and _annexes_, each lent
to some lady or gentleman. As they lived rent-free, SAGE thought the
least they could do would be to pay the cost of repairs.

CHAPLIN, sitting on Treasury Bench, listened to this conversation with
lowering brow. HER MAJESTY had but lately testified afresh to her wisdom
and discernment by calling him to her councils; and yet there were men
so lost to all sense of decency as to wrangle over the wages of a
rat-catcher at Buckingham Palace or the turncock at Kensington. PLUNKET
a little too mild with these gentry. Only let the Minister of
Agriculture loose on them, and they would learn a salutary lesson. But
Minister for Agriculture nothing to do in this galley. All he could do
was to stand at the Bar, with hands on hips, regarding the little band
of malcontents. Peradventure the sight of him might serve to bring them
to a better way of thinking.

Standing there when Bell rang for Division. Beaten off at Kensington,
the mob now marched down on Hampton; raiding on Hampton Court Park;
clamouring for admittance for the public who paid the piper. Committee
divided; Minister of Agriculture, with his breast aflame with righteous
indignation strode into Lobby; doors shut and locked; CHAPLIN looking
round, discovered he had been followed by remarkable contingent; There
was the SAGE, and PICKERSGILL, and CAUSTON, and CREMER, and PICTON
looking more than ever like "his great predecessor in spoliation, HENRY
THE EIGHTH." Was it possible that he had coerced them by the glance of
his falcon eye? Had they been unable to resist the moral persuasion of
his presence? They had surely meant to vote against money for Hampton
Court. Yet, here they were in the Lobby with him. CHAPLIN'S bosom began
to swell with more inflation than usual. Such a triumph rare in
Parliamentary history. PLUNKET been arguing, protesting, cajoling by the
hour, and had done nothing. CHAPLIN had only looked, and had drawn them
into the same Lobby as himself.

[Illustration: A Cabinet Minister.]

Pleased meditation broken in upon by a murmur growing into hilarious
shout. Unruly mob pressed around him laughing and jeering; wild with
delight. Truth suddenly dawned on CHAPLIN. Had in perturbation of
moment, walked into wrong Lobby. Got in with Radical mob. No way out; no
help for it; Vote must be recorded against estimates, against his
colleagues in the Government, against keeping up Hampton Court, and in
despite of the Gracious Sovereign of whom, a short hour ago, he had been
the favoured Minister. _Business done._--Supply. CHAPLIN votes against
the Government, refusing them Supply.

_Tuesday._--OLD MORALITY did great stroke of business to-day; completed
it in his usual innocent-looking fashion. When House met for morning
sitting large batch of votes to be dealt with; passed only two last
night; same proportion of advance would leave Departments in state of
pickle; money urgently needed; how to get it?

"You leave it to me," said OLD MORALITY, nodding mysteriously to
JACKSON.

JACKSON left it accordingly. When House met to-day secret out. Members
thought they were coming down for a morning sitting; might talk away
about Votes till Seven o'clock, let one or two pass, then go off for
Easter Holidays. Found OLD MORALITY had put spoke in their wheel. In
first place on Orders appeared Notice of Motion giving precedence to
Government business at evening sitting, and again to-morrow.

"What's this?" says SAGE OF QUEEN ANNE'S GATE, starting as if viper had
bit him.

"What's which?" says OLD MORALITY, blandly.

"Why," says SAGE, "this Notice of Motion. Thought all arranged that
House at its rising at Seven o'clock adjourn for Easter Recess."

"Ah, yes," says OLD MORALITY, his eyes fixed dreamily on the broadening
parting of SAGE'S hair. "The feathered race, as we all know, with
pinions skims the air; not so the mackerel, and still less the bear. Ah,
who has seen the mailed lobster rise, clap her broad wings, and claim
the equal skies? As the Hon. Member says, it was arranged that we should
rise at seven, and adjourn for Easter Holidays; only we must get Votes
first. I am most anxious, as far as is compatible with duty to QUEEN and
Country, to meet views of Hon. Members in all parts of House. That view
converges, as I may say, on the holidays. Well, the holidays need not be
impinged upon. We can all be off at Seven o'Clock, or even before, if we
pass the Votes; otherwise must sit to-night and to-morrow. Do not expect
it will be necessary; merely put down Motion as matter of precaution."
Precaution served. Members not liking prospect of coming back after
dinner, still less of spending Wednesday at Westminster, voted money
with both hands, and by Six o'Clock Class I. in Civil Estimates agreed
to.

"A wonderful man, OLD MORALITY," said R. N. FOWLER, walking off. "Only
you and me, TOBY, thoroughly appreciate him. Yah, yah!" _Business
done._--Adjourned till Monday, April 14.

       *       *       *       *       *

POLICE FUN.

(_An entirely Imaginary Sketch of an Utter Impossibility._)

6 P.M.--Return to town, to find that that very afternoon my house in
Bayswater has been robbed by my servants, who have all decamped. They
have taken my wife's jewel-case, containing diamonds to the value of
£7,000, cash-box full of securities, fifteen gold repeaters, all the
silver plate in the house, together with the dining-room sideboard, set
of skittles, twelve-light gas chandelier, drawing-room grand piano, two
original landscapes by TURNER, a set of family portraits, dinner
service, all my clothes, roasting-jack, and the umbrella-stand.
Instantly summon Policeman from over the way. Shakes his head
unconcernedly, and says it is "no business" of his, and he can't go off
his beat to attend to it. Hurry off to Local Office, and make my
complaint. They only smile. They regard me with the languid interest
that, say, a horse might exhibit were a lady to present herself in
leathers minus a riding-habit. Don't know why I think of a horse--later
on their presence calls to mind an animal traditionally far less
sagacious, and I don't mean a mule! Feel slightly irritable, and ask
them to send a Constable round at once, to see the condition of the
house. They decline. Ask them "Why?" They refuse to tell me. I express
astonishment, and again state my case categorically. They ask me if I
think they've nothing better to do than attend to "every cock-and-bull
story" that is brought to them. I get angry, and threaten them that I'll
complain to Scotland Yard. They tell me if I don't shut up they'll soon
finish the matter for me by "running _me_ in" myself. I am about to
point out the disgraceful character of their conduct to them, when,
noticing the Inspector whispering some orders to two of his
subordinates, I think it best to take to my heels, which I do, pursued
by a couple of Constables, whom I manage to escape, and, jumping into a
Hansom, drive to Head Quarters.

[Illustration: "Hullo! what are YOU?"]

8 P.M.--Have stated my case and written it all out, as requested,
"fully," twice on paper. Official says, "that will do." Ask him whether
he won't telegraph to Dover, Folkestone, Newhaven and Portsmouth, to
enable the Police to stop suspicious people leaving by to-night's Mails.
He says, "Certainly not." I ask him "Why?" He asks me what business is
that of mine? I answer that it is "every business of mine." He retorts,
"Oh! is it? Well, you had best be off. You won't get nothing more out of
us." Grow very angry at this, but express myself with moderation; am
about to remonstrate with him, when I notice that he is also whispering
some secret orders to two subordinates, and I think it best once more to
take to my heels, which I do, again hotly pursued by a couple of
Constables. Turning a corner, however, I fortunately manage to escape
them, and finding myself opposite the door of the Detective Department,
step in.

10 P.M.--Have again stated the whole of my case "fully." They think if I
am prepared to pay up pretty freely, they can help me, and recommend, as
a preliminary step, the despatch of ten Detectives, two each
respectively to Clapham Junction, Herne Bay, Margate, Gravesend and
Tooting Common. Pull out my cheque-book and arrange for this at a
handsome figure. Pass the night myself in company with an eleventh
Detective, in going over second-hand furniture establishments in the
Mile End Road, with a search-warrant, in the hopes of coming across my
dining-room sideboard and umbrella-stand, but to no purpose.

10 A.M. (_Next Morning_).--None of my missing property recovered, and
nothing more heard of any of it. The ten Detectives, however, return
from Clapham Junction, Herne Bay, Margate, Gravesend and Tooting Common,
each having arrested respectively, three people, answering vaguely the
description given by me of some of my servants. The whole thirty are
brought to my house at Bayswater, for "identification," but as they
contain among their number a Rural Dean, two M.P.'s. a Dowager Duchess,
a Major-General in the Army, a celebrated Medical Man, and a popular
Author, and as all are furious at what they call "a gross infringement
of their liberty," I am not likely, I fear, to hear the last of it.
However, let me hope, they'll do, as I have done, and call in the Police
to help them. As for me, my only chance of redress seems to be to write
to the papers. So--here goes!

       *       *       *       *       *

SIGNS OF THE SEASON.

(_By a West-End Shopkeeper._)

  The voice of the horse-dealer's heard in the land,
  The Season, it says, will be full, gay, and grand;
  He is happy, and gives the most hopeful accounts.
  Well, the horse-dealer rises by virtue of "mounts,"
  The thing in mid-March to keep hope well alive
  Was the prospect, in June, of a jolly full Drive,
  The wiseacres Long-Acre stir with delight.
  And oh! don't we hope the wiseacres are right!

       *       *       *       *       *

TWO HEADS NOT BETTER THAN ONE!

There is not the slightest truth in the report that the following short
story, said to have been written by MM. ERCKMANN and CHATRIAN _since_
their quarrel, will be more fully developed before republication.

  MOSCOW!

_Note._--This title is believed to have been furnished by M. ERCKMANN,
but will probably be changed to _The Baby's Niece_, by M. CHATRIAN.

  CHAPTER I. (_By M. E._)

NAPOLEON regarded the burning town with a feeling of dismay. He had
counted upon the ancient Russian capital as a basis of support when the
time should come to retire. As he looked at the fire, luridly reflected
in the snow, MARIE approached him and fell upon her knees.

"Sire!" she cried, "A boon! I ask you to save KOSMOF! I beg of you my
lover's life!"

The Man of Destiny gazed upon her with a cold smile, full of cruel
meaning, and replied, "Life for life--you know my conditions!" MARIE
gave a piercing shriek and sank into unconsciousness.


  CHAPTER II. (_By M. C._)

To wake again and find the sun shining brightly on her own Alsatian
home! Yes, all the nonsense about NAPOLEON and Moscow had been a dream,
more--a nightmare! The good _Curé_ was playing with the niece of her
baby brother. JULES was hard at work cutting down apples in the orchard,
which were soon to become cider in the press of the farmstead.

"My Father," said MARIE, with a coquettish toss of her pretty head, "and
so you think JULES too good for me?"

"Scarcely that, my daughter," replied the amiable old Priest, with a
sweet, calm smile; "but I feel that you must do a great deal to be
worthy of so brave a man."

"Brave?" echoed MARIE. "Why, what do we want with bravery in these
piping times of peace? Nowadays we have no NAPOLEON--all is tranquil."

"You are indeed right, my daughter," returned the old Priest, as he
walked towards the chapel. "We _do_ live in peaceful days--there is,
indeed, no NAPOLEON!"

[Illustration: At Sea with his Story.]

  CHAPTER III. (_By M. E._)

"LIAR!" shouted BUONAPARTE, coming up at the moment, at the head of the
remnant of his Army. "I will soon show you whether we live in tranquil
times or no!"

And, ordering up a cannon, MARIE, JULES, and the Priest were tied to the
wheels.

"Mercy!" they implored.

There was a flash, an explosion, and MARIE, JULES, and the Priest were
blown to atoms.

No one remained save _Napoleon_!

  CHAPTER IV. (_By M. C._)

YES, NAPOLEON, _and one other_--the Niece of the Baby! She was a fine
strapping wench of twenty. Shocked by the cruel outrage committed in her
quiet Alsatian home, this brave maiden seized the family blunderbuss,
and fired. It burst with such violence that both NAPOLEON and herself
were killed on the spot. Nay, more--thousands within miles! Besides, at
this moment there was an epidemic raging, that, in one single instant,
killed the Army, and all the Russians, and, in fact, everybody! There!

_Note by M. E._--My honoured _confrère_ is a spiteful pig!

_Note by M. C._--My esteemed colleague is a demented donkey!

_P.S. by M. E._--Pooh!      _P.S. by M.C._--Yah!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration] 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.

       *       *       *       *       *





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 98, April 12, 1890" ***

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