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Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 93, July 9, 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, July 9, 1887." ***

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  VOLUME 93.

       *       *       *       *       *

  JULY 9, 1887.

       *       *       *       *       *



I went on Saturday to hear the three operatic novelties so liberally
provided for us on the same night by Messrs. MAPLESON, LAGO and HARRIS.
I do not mix my liquors, and I endeavour, as a rule, to keep to the same
lyrical drama throughout the evening; nor is it my fault if a good dose
of strong BEETHOVEN, sweetened with GOUNOD and flavoured with MEYERBEER
had, on the occasion in question, a somewhat confusing effect on my
brain. At Her Majesty's, LILLI LEHMANN was all right as _Leonora_: not
_Leonora_ of _La Favorita_, but _Leonora_ the favourite wife of
_Manrico_--no, not of _Manrico_, but of another personage who, like the
unfortunate _Trovatore_, has to be rescued by his loving spouse from the
tyranny of a powerful baritone; whether VERDI'S _Count di Luna_ or
SHERIDAN'S _Pizarro_, I cannot just now call to mind. Mlle. LEHMANN is
not only a fine singer, but also a serious dramatic artist; and the
public was deeply impressed by her performance. She is a LEHMANN with
all the earnestness of a good clergyman; not that she had taken orders
as I (Box No. 70) had done.

From Her Majesty's Theatre, I drove in a rapid Hansom to Drury Lane. I
had told the cabman to take me to the Royal Italian Opera, and I was
about to remonstrate with him for conveying me to the wrong house, when
he promptly explained that there were now two Royal Italian Operas, one
at Covent Garden, the other at Drury Lane. New source of confusion!
"Confusion worse confounded!" as MILTON observes.

"How far have they got?" I inquired as I entered the theatre.

"_Valentine's_ death scene," replied my friend.

"_Valentine_ does not die, my dear fellow; _Valentine_ only faints," I
answered, I was thinking of course, of the new dramatic soprano, Mlle.
SANDRA, in _Les Huguenots_.

"You are evidently not an Opera-goer," I continued, "or you would know
that no one dies in this work, except, of course, in the last Act. But
that is always left out."

"Wrong again!" exclaimed JONES, with an amused look. "AUGUSTUS HARRIS
restores the last Act. See his prospectus."

"Well, never mind that. Is _Ella Russell_ singing the part of _Queen
Margaret_ as well as ever?"

"I did not know that _Margaret_ was a Queen. I always thought she was of
humble origin. The part in any case is being played by Mlle. NORDICA."

Determined to be no longer the victim of mystification, I wished JONES
good-bye, and hurrying in, found the curtain down. Afraid now to ask
what was being played, I waited patiently for the next Act, and when at
last the curtain went up, I found to my astonishment that some
representation entirely new to me was taking place. Will-o'-the-Wisps on
a dark back-ground. That was all I saw. I asked myself whether I had
gone mad, or whether the Drury Lane Pantomime was being played a little
earlier than usual. Then the dark scene gave place to a scene of great
brilliancy. There was a throne at the back of the stage, and again my
thoughts reverted to the _Huguenots_, and I fancied I could recognise
_Queen Margaret_. But her features were not the features of ELLA
RUSSELL. Besides, ELLA RUSSELL does not dance, not at least on the
Operatic stage; and this lady did.

"This is HELEN," said a gentleman in a stall on my right to a lady by
his side. Here was at least a clue; and when at the same moment the
baritone DE RESZKE stepped out of a group attired in the garb of
_Mephistopheles_, I said to myself that the performance had been
changed, and this was the last Act of BOÏTO'S _Mefistofele_, with new
details, or at least details that I had not noticed when the work was
performed at Her Majesty's Theatre and at Covent Garden. Now dancing
began in earnest, and I wondered much at the never-failing ingenuity of
Mr. AUGUSTUS HARRIS, who with a score of first-rate singers in his
Company, had nevertheless found himself compelled (probably at five
minutes' notice,) to change an Opera into a _ballet_. It reminded me of
a certain operatic Manager, who, being suddenly deprived of the services
of most of his vocalists, announced in his programme, that in
consequence of the departure of his principal singers, the music of _Don
Giovanni_, would be "replaced, for that night only, by lively and
expressive pantomime."

When, however, _Mephistopheles_ DE RESZKE and _Faust_ DE RESZKE both
began to sing, I saw that my supposition was untenable.

"What you have seen," said JONES, who meanwhile had come in, and who now
occupied a seat on my left, "is not _Mefistofele_ at all. It is GOUNOD'S
additional Ballet Scene for _Faust_. 'Dramatic _Divertissement_' it
ought to be called. Beautiful grouping, picturesque costumes,
magnificent scenery, delightful dance music! But you ought not to have
missed the new _Valentine_. That was a great mistake." I looked at my
watch. "Time enough for the new _Valentine_ even now," I reflected; and
I went over as fast as I could to Covent Garden.

Here there was a new _Valentine_ surely enough. A Russian lady, I was
told. Not a bit like the Russian ladies one has seen in _Fedora_, the
_Pink Pearl_, the _Red Lamp_, and other dramatic misrepresentations of
Russian life. But Mlle. SANDRA, or Mlle. PANAEFF, or whatever her name
may be, was not playing the part of a female Nihilist. She was
impersonating a well-bred, Catholic young lady of the Sixteenth Century.
JONES subsequently informed me that it was not Mlle. SANDRA'S
_Valentine_ that I ought to have seen, but VICTOR MAUREL'S, at the other

       *       *       *       *       *

NOTE AT THE GUILDHALL.--Now we know what the City Marshal has to do. We
saw him in his warlike costume, bareheaded, marshalling the carriages of
the Great Personages on their departure, and capitally he did it. Not a
single name was pronounced incorrectly. Everybody came up to time, and
got away comfortably. On these occasions, the City Marshal is a sort of
Glorified Linkman.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE LATEST FROM LORD'S.

_Land Bill._ "WELL, ANYHOW, YOU CARRIED YOUR BAT." _Crimes Bill._ "YES;

       *       *       *       *       *

SCENE--_The Cricket Field. The Bell has rung for the Second Innings._
Mr. LAND BILL _is just going to the wickets, and pauses to exchange a
word or two with_ Mr. CRIMES BILL, _who has had so long an innings in
the earlier part of the match_.

    _Crimes Bill (taking it easy on his bat)._ Hello, L. B. my lad,
      you're going in?

    _L. B. (buttoning his gloves nervously)._ Ye--e--s. Captain's orders!

    _C. B._ Well, I hope you'll win.

    _L. B._ I'll do my best; can Cricketer do more?

    _C. B._ No. But, by Jove! you'll find it hard to score.

    _L. B._ What? Bowling killing?

    _C. B._ Beastly! Talk of "shying"?
        CROSSLAND'S a lamb to HEALY.

    _L. B._ Ah! that's trying.
        But then they haven't got a SHAW, Sir, surely?

    _C. B._ No; but, by Jingo! they have more--a MORLEY!
        Straight on the middle stump. And then old GLAD
        Breaks awful, right and left, and shoots like mad.
        I say they ought to be disqualified
        For unfair bowling.

    _L. B._ Humph! that game's been tried;
        But Umpire doesn't always seem to see it.

    _C. B._ Ah! Umpires are such funkers.

    _L. B._ Well, so be it.
        Must do my best. What sort of wickets?

    _C. B._ Crumbling.
        Must meet the ball with a straight bat; no fumbling,
        Or out you go!

    _L. B._ And how's the fielding?

    _C. B._ Dicky!
        'Tis there you'll have the pull that wickets sticky
        Or cut up, through the influence of weather,
        Can't neutralise. _They're never all together._
        Some run like hares, some throw in like a Krupp;
        But what they fail in is in "backing up."

    _L. B._ Thanks be! I see my chance then. If they're loose
        In fielding I can slog 'em to the doose.

    _C. B._ But don't take liberties, my lad. No jumps
        In for a drive; they're always on the stumps.
        And then their wicket-keeper's like a cat.

    _L. B._ Well, anyhow _you_ carried out your bat,
        Despite the lot of them. Can "_crack_" do more?

    _C. B. (significantly)._ Yes!--I kept up my stumps, but
          _could not score_!
        A "Not out, nothing" may be meritorious,
        And very useful, but 'tis hardly glorious,
        A stolid SCOTTON'S worth his salt, at need;
        But, after all, he's not a GRACE or READ.
       _You_'ll have to hit, as well as guard your wicket,
        If you'd be popular. Blocking is not Cricket!

    _L. B._ Humph! no, not quite. My orders are to score
        And bring the House down.

    _C. B._ That will cause a roar
        When you take back your bat to the Pavilion.
        A Cricketer must smite to please the Million.

       *       *       *       *       *

ROUTLEDGE'S _Jubilee Guide to London_, is good, not only for such a
"high old time" as the Jubilee Week, but for the next three years or so
until the streets are re-named and a few new thoroughfares opened up.
The illustrations are excellent. There is only one objection to this
Guide as a companion, and that is it is rather too large. No Guide to be
useful should be bigger than the Handy-Volume Shakspeare size,
originally started at 85, Fleet Street. Some of the French Guides, not
the regiment, but the little books, JOANNE'S Series, are models in this

       *       *       *       *       *

PHILIPS' _Handy Volume Atlas_ is about the right size. "The World," it
is often said, "is a small place;" but for all that, it does not go so
easily in a tail-coat pocket, where Mr. PHILIPS' _Atlas_ can be
conveniently carried. It is an invaluable companion for everyday
newspaper reading. _Happy Thought_ for Travellers, to whom this little
volume is recommended, "PHILIPS on his way through the World."

       *       *       *       *       *


_Our Artist (showing his last and most important Picture, the work of


       *       *       *       *       *


(_Meteorological forecast for the Month._)

_6th._--Queen's Weather continues. Raspberry crop fails. Strawberries
sold by auction in Covent Garden Market, and fetch two guineas each.

_13th._--Queen's Weather still continues. All the grass in Hyde Park
turns brown, and suddenly disappears. Vegetables generally sell at
famine prices. Riot of Dukes attempting to secure a bundle of late
asparagus from a fashionable West End greengrocer's, suppressed by the

_17th._--Queen's Weather as settled as ever. Great drought commences.
London Water Companies cut off their supply. Five o'clock tea in
Belgravia made from boiled soda-water. Apollinaris supplied in buckets,
for washing purposes, at the rate of twenty guineas the dozen pint

_21st._--Queen's Weather showing no signs of departure, fifteen
umbrella-manufacturers go through the Bankruptcy Court, and commit
suicide. Dust in London becomes intolerable. A Nobleman in Mayfair has
Piccadilly watered with BASS'S India Pale Ale.

_27th._--Queen's Weather established. The Thames runs dry between
Vauxhall and Westminster. The SPEAKER gives a garden-party in the bed of
the river. _Café noir_, made of ink, served as a refreshment.

_31st._--Queen's Weather still continuing, seventeen ginger-beer
manufacturers who have become _millionnaires_ are raised to the
Peerage. The LORD MAYOR goes off his head, and, imagining that he is the
Old Pump at Aldgate, is removed, by general consent, to Colney Hatch.

       *       *       *       *       *


A GREAT deal of curiosity has been expressed about the Gray's Inn _Maske
of Flowers_, which has puzzled a number of people. The better informed
have replied, when asked, "What _was_ it?" "Oh, don't you know what a
Maske is? Why _Comus_ was a Maske, don't you know?" To save time and
temper, _Mr. Punch_ begs to inform all inquirers that:--

1. "Gray's Inn" is the Inn where the poet GRAY always stopped when he
came to town. It has always been associated with Poets.

2. This _Maske of Flowers_ is not Mr. CYRIL FLOWER, M.P.'s.

3. It is highly improbable that the Benchers of the Four Inns of Court
will appear in Fancy Costume at four o'clock in the morning, and
serenade the occupants of the Western Face of Gray's Inn Square from the

4. The Maske is not so called from everybody in Gray's Inn appearing in
"big heads."

5. The LORD CHANCELLOR is not introduced as Harlequin, and does not
dance a _pas seul_ with "Mr. SOLICITOR," founded upon some of the more
intricate steps of the _pavan_, or peacock's strut.

6. That it is not the duty of the Master of the Revels to teach the
Masters of the Bench how to execute with spirit a Morisco.

Having said what the Maske will _not_ be, _Mr. Punch_ goes a step
further--and stops, thinking it will be better to reserve particulars
until after the Performance.

       *       *       *       *       *

EVERY Etonian ought to go to the Gaiety and hear Mr. MERRIVALE'S new
piece, of which Mrs. BROWN-POTTER is the heroine. Why ought every
Etonian to do this? We forgot to mention that the name of the play is
_Civil Warre_. (If it isn't so spelt, it ought to be.)

       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration: Cockney notion of A-making.]

A HARD-WORKING three weeks has H.R.H. had of it. Morning, noon, and
night, here, there, and everywhere. _Mr. Punch_ was glad to see that
H.R.H. took his advice, given last week, and immediately visited the
Crystal Palace. The Fireworks were first-rate. The Prospect was
brilliant. Good omen for the C.P. If the B.P. could only get to the
C.P. in twenty minutes from Victoria, by Palace trains every twenty-five
minutes after a certain time in the afternoon, the future chances of
prosperity for the Palace would be considerably increased. By the way,
we thought we noticed some people, who had nothing to do with the
fireworks, speaking to the Lighters--the de-lighters--while in the
execution of their duty. If so, this ought to be stopped, and a notice
put up,--"You are requested not to speak to the Man at the (Catherine)

       *       *       *       *       *


SCENE--_Portion of a Stationer's Shop, used as Post Office. Two Young
Ladies (let them be distinguished as_ Miss CROSS and Miss ORTY)
_discovered behind wire-screen. At opening of scene, the public is
composed exclusively of the gentler sex, and the demeanour of_ Miss C.
and Miss O. _though firm, is not positively forbidding. Lady Customers,
having despatched their business move away, leaving the coast clear to
three_ MILD MEN, _who advance to screen with a meekness designed to
propitiate. Instant transformation in both_ Miss C. and Miss O., _who
gaze at them through screen with air of visitors at the Zoo who are not
fond of animals_.

_First Mild Man (with apologetic cough)._ Oh, good-day! [_Slight pause._

_Miss Cross to Miss Orty (in continuation of an interrupted anecdote)._
Yes, I said it to him just like that--it made me so wild!

_Miss Orty._ I shouldn't have taken any notice if it had been me.

_First M. M._ Can you oblige me with six stamps, if you please?

[Miss Orty, _without looking at him, opens drawer, tears off six stamps,
and tosses them contemptuously underneath the screen_.

_Second Mild Man._ Oh, I beg your pardon, I just called in to
inquire---- (Miss C. and Miss O. _regard him stonily, which has effect
of disconcerting him to some extent_). I--I ... there were some books I
sent off by Parcels Post from this Office the other day ... you may
remember it?--they were all in white wrappers. (Miss C. _and_ Miss O.
_wear the resigned look of people who feel themselves in for a dull
story_.) Some of my friends, er--I have been given to understand, that
two of the parcels have--well, failed to arrive as yet.... Could you

_Miss O. to Miss C. (with lifted eyebrows)._ Know anything about the

_Miss C. shakes her head in scornful repudiation, whereupon Miss Orty
selects a printed form, which she jerks towards Second M. M._ Fill up
that, and send it in to the Postmaster-General.

_Second M. M._ But are you quite sure they have not been mislaid _here_?
You see they are small books, and it struck me perhaps--er----

_Miss O._ Any remarks you have to make can be put in the form.

_Second M. M._ Quite so--but if you could only tell me----

_Miss O._ Can't do any more than I have done. (_To First M. M._) I gave
you your stamps some time ago, didn't I?

_First M. M._ Oh, yes--yes, I had the stamps, thank you. But--but (_with
manner of man who is compelled to enter on a painful subject_) there was
my change--I--I gave you half a sovereign.

_Miss O. (with cold suspicion)._ Don't remember it. You should have
spoke about it at the time--but of course, if you say you haven't had
it--I suppose----

[_Deals out his change as if it was more than he had any right to

_Second M. M._ One moment--am I to leave this form with you?

_Miss C._ No. Send it to the General Post Office in the regular
way--they'll attend to it. You'll find all the directions there if you
take the trouble to look.

_Second M. M._ Thank you _very_ much. Good morning.

[Miss C. _and_ Miss O. _naturally take no notice of this piece of
familiarity, and_ Second M. M. _departs crushed, and gradually realises
that he is slightly annoyed_.

_Third M. M. (presenting a telegram)._ Will you send this off at once,

_Miss Orty (takes the form, and runs a disparaging eye over it, rather
as if it were an unwelcome love-letter from some detested adorer)._
"Post mortem's" _two_ words.

_Third M. M._ I have no objection--but it's rather important. I want it
delivered, and _soon_.

_Miss O._ You must put the address more full than "Rumbo," then.

_Third M. M._ But the telegraphic address is registered "Rumbo."

_Miss O. (who seems to consider_ "Rumbo" _somewhat too frivolous_).
Well, if you like to leave it so, I can _send_ it--it's at your risk.
(_She leaves the form on the counter._) Eightpence-halfpenny.

_Enter_ Footman, _with parcel_.

_Footman._ How much to pay on this, Miss, please?

[Miss Cross _takes it reluctantly, slaps it down on scales with infinite
contempt, flings in weights, and then tosses a stamp and label to_
Footman, _with the brief remark, "Fourpence," spoken aggressively_.
Footman, _after paying his fourpence, and gazing from stamp to label in
a hopeless manner, opens his mouth twice, and withdraws, too intimidated
to ask for further instructions_.

_Miss C. (still occupied with her anecdote)._ I _should_ laugh if he
came again next Sunday, just the same--shouldn't you?

_Miss O._ I'd let him see I wasn't going to put up with it, I know!

_Miss C._ Oh, he'll find out he won't have things all his way.
(_Perceives_ First M. M. _evidently awaiting her leisure_.) Was there
anything else you were waiting for?

_First M. M._ Er--yes. Can you let me have a Postal Order for

_Miss C. (with decision)._ No, I can't!

_First M. M. (surprised)._ But surely----!

_Miss C._ Give you two--one for five shillings, and one for
eighteen-pence, if _that_ will do?

_First M. M._ Of course, that's what I meant!

_Miss Cross._ It's not what you _said_--you said _a_ order. (_Makes out
the orders with much disdain._) Three-halfpence to pay.

_Second M. M. (returning)._ Oh, I quite forgot--will you kindly cash
this order for me?

_Miss O._ Not till you've signed it.

_Second M. M._ Bless my heart, I quite forgot it ought to be signed!
Could you oblige me with a pen for one moment?

_Miss O._ There's a desk over there for all that.

_Second M. M._ I--I thought if you would let me sign it here, it would
save time--the desk is occupied at present I observe.

_Miss O. (dabs a pen in the inkstand, and pushes it disdainfully through
the wire net-work.)_ Give it back when you've finished with it.

[_She is apparently alarmed lest it should be secured as a Souvenir._

_Enter_ Imperious Customer, _and approaches screen with lordly air_.

_Imperious Customer (blusterously)._ Here you--one of you, let me have a
penny stamp, and a packet of thin post-cards, and two half-penny
wrappers, will you? and look sharp!

_Miss C. and Miss O. (becoming instantly all smiles.)_ Certainly, Sir.
(_They vie with one another in activity._) Postcards in that drawer ...
I'll get the wrappers--ninepence-halfpenny, Sir, and thank you. Good
morning, Sir.

[_Exit_ Imperious Stranger _snatching up his purchases and ignoring
parting smiles from behind the screen_. Mild Men _store up the lesson
for use on future occasions. Scene closes in_.

       *       *       *       *       *

How's That?

  "THE A B C of Cricket you must get,"
    Says a great Critic, "if you would succeed."
  _Punch_ then presumes 'tis by that Alphabet
    A Cricketer may learn to (WALTER) READ!

       *       *       *       *       *

COINS OF THE REALM.--'ARRY remarks that the Tories are led by a "Bob"
(CECIL), the Parnellites can boast the possession of a "TANNER," whilst
the Liberal Unionists make the most of their "JOEY."

       *       *       *       *       *

ON THE JAR.--The French have a proverb, "_il faut qu'une porte soit
ouverte ou fermée_." This evidently does not apply to the Sublime Porte,
which seems generally "neither one thing nor t' other."

       *       *       *       *       *

IT was settled at the last meet of the Coaching Club that Mr. EATON,
M.P., the new Peer, is to be crowned not with laurels, but with his own

       *       *       *       *       *


(_A Reminiscence._)

[Illustration: Retirement after the Jubilee Fortnight.
  "Far from the Madding Crowd."]

  OH, Friday was lovely! The Bard who now sings
  Saw Princes, Princesses, a Duke, and two Kings,
  His Indian Highness, called RAS KUTCH THAKORE,
  NAWAB GAFFER JUNG and several more.

  They saw the best racing, then went to lunch with
  The Closuring Commoner, our Mr. SMITH.
  'Twas Jubilee Weather! the Course was well kept!
  Oh, champagne! and Oh, headache! I sighed--and then slept.

  I awoke, to find all my companions gone,
  And I, like the Rose, was left blooming alone.
  So I plunged in the freshening stream--down, down, down
  I dived, and I dived, then I came up--to town.

       *       *       *       *       *

A CASE AGAINST THE POLICE.--This was Miss CASE, who being arrested by a
Constable, was Miss-taken for somebody else. Gallant JOSEPHUS
CHAMBERLANIUS of the Orchid Squad has come to the rescue, and the
"MATTHEWS-at-Home" Secretary granted an inquiry. Before this paragraph
appears, the Public may be in possession of the truth. Justice must be
done, or the young woman may become Case-hardened. But whatever the
result may be, the Magistrate should study and get by heart, _Newton's

       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration: Note from "Mr. G." to Madame Albani.]

"MR. G."--the upper G.--went to hear _Puritani_ on Thursday night. Of
course he called on Madame ALBANI, and sang a few of the songs just to
give "Signor G." a hint. When the First Act was over, and the Closure
was moved by the Act-drop descending, Mr. G. went into the Lobby, and
voted with the Government of Covent Garden. Mr. G. was seen to be
several times in animated conversation with Mr. HALL, who was decorated
with a Covent Garden Order, and was wearing a _Shirtcollerado
Gladstonensis_ in his button-hole. It is, we believe, quite untrue that
Mr. HALL has refused to take office--box office--in the next Liberal
Cabinet; but whether he will be made an Extra Knight or not is still
uncertain. Mr. GYE is very Earnest about it, and at present we can say
no more except that the performance of _I Puritani_ was first-rate, as
naturally it would be, with ALBANI, enthusiastically received, GAYARRÉ,
and D'ANDRADE. There were numerous _encores_, and the applause was
bestowed with a warmth which increased the temperature considerably.

_At Drury Lane._--A prettier and sweeter voiced _Zerlina_ than Miss
ARNOLDSON, has not been seen or heard for some time. We must not venture
on comparisons, but in two respects Miss ARNOLDSON has the advantage
over Madame PATTI (who was singing in _Traviata_ on Friday night at the
Colonel's Opera House) but one of these is not voice. M. MAUREL played
and sang the im-Maurel _Don Giovanni_ admirably, and CIAMPI as
_Mazetto_, looked and acted like LIONEL BROUGH. A good performance.

[Illustration: "Approbation from Mr. P. is praise indeed!"]

       *       *       *       *       *


THE Imperial Institute has commenced. The first stone has been laid by
Her Gracious MAJESTY, and the Prince of WALES is sanguine as to the
result. The Institute is to be a House and Home, with gardens attached,
for special use of our Indian and Colonial cousins visiting England, and
it is also intended to keep perpetually before the eyes of the British
Public specimens of Indian and Colonial industry. To so useful a scheme
_Mr. Punch_ wishes every success.

Per varios casus, per tot discrimina rerum,
Tendimus in--Kensington.

The subjoined list of the Procession as it ought to have been, was
probably altered at the last moment; but there is no doubt it would have
been effective as it stood, or rather as it moved on:--

  Australian Lambs.    Organising Committee   Mr. BOEHM, R.A., and
  The Master of the    with various           Mr. GOSCHEN with
  Mint.                Organs.                new coinage tossing heads.

        Sir FREDERICK LEIGHTON, P.R.A., drawing himself.

  Groom of the Bedchamber                     "Lord's" in Waiting
  (on towel-horse).                       (Oxford and Cambridge Eleven).

      The Rajah of SHAMPOOAH, with Order of the Turkish Bath.

                             THE QUEEN.

    Her ROYAL HIGHNESS                H.R.H. Prince of WALES, K.G.
  The Princess of WALES.          ("K.G.," _i.e._, "Kensington Gained.")

            Any Kings and Queens who may be left in Town.

  Master of the Horse      Ladies in Waiting     Mistress of the Robes
    on a Buck-jumper.        to be asked.          ("dressing up.")

  Lots of Sticks in        A Serene Grand       "Mr. G," as "Umbrella
    Waiting (with banners   Transparency          in Waiting."
    of Advertisements       (personally           (N.B.--This is "Collar
    in _Era_.)              illuminated           day.")
                            by Mr. BROCK.)

        Any number of Trumpeters blowing their own Trumpets.

  Little Indian Pickles,    GEO. AUGUSTUS SALA,    Australian Wines,
    led, with taste, by      with "Echoes," and     headed by Sir
    Sir P. CUNLIFFE          driving four Quills    "WILL SOMERS"
    OWEN.                    at once.               VINE.

      Mr. LEWIS MORRIS, with his Ode Colonial, accompanied by
            Sir ARTHUR SULLIVAN, on a Grand Piano.

  Mr. HENRY IRVING.                      Mr. J. L. TOOLE.
    (Last appearance in London           (Last appearance in London
    previous to his departure             previous Aix-les-Bains.)
    for America.)

      Right Hon. W. H. SMITH, with banner of "Closure."

At a signal from the Archbishop the Chorus will strike up--

  The great Imperial Institoot,
  In Kensington has taken root,
  And as a tree up may it shoot!
  Our Institoot, Our Institoot!

Sir ARTHUR SULLIVAN was so overcome by this inspiration, that after
reading it, he could not compose himself. "No," he exclaimed, "I cannot
invent music which should be a worthy setting for so precious a gem!
Give me something more simple," and so it came about that Mr. LEWIS
MORRIS'S poem was chosen. Whether the above-quoted beautiful _chorale_
was written by the Earl of R-SSL-N, whose little Jubilee volume of poems
has so enchanted a select circle, or by another titled and
unprofessional poet, is a secret which wild horses should not make us
divulge. Hooray for the Institoot!

       *       *       *       *       *




       *       *       *       *       *


_Mr. Punch loquitur_:--

  WELL, PARTLET, old hen, here's a pretty fiasco
    The Poultry profession seems going to pot.
  You might search the whole kingdom, from Greenwich to Glasgow,
    And never encounter an uglier lot.
  They're crooked, and cranky, and wry-neck'd, and lanky;
    I cannot discover one point that is good.
  What, join in your cackle of triumph? No, thankye!
    We can't accept _this_ as a Jubilee brood.

  I did expect something a little bit better
    From one some crack up as the pride of the House.
  Of decentish broods you have been a begetter,
    And, though you are dowdy, I thought you had _nous_.
  But these scraggy scramblers, ill-fledged and ill-fashioned?
    By Jingo, old bird, they're a perfect disgrace.
  No wonder the public disgust grows impassioned;
    They simply degrade a respectable race.

  Just think of the beauties, the silver and gold chicks,
    That often have left that identical coop!
  I'm sure there's not one of those comely, plump, bold chicks
    That would not despise _this_ contemptible troop.
  They look like the work of a villanous vamper.
    Just take a glance at 'em, my PARTLET, I beg;
  They've too much top-hamper, they scarcely can scamper.
    A shabbier brood, PARTLET, never chipped egg.

  Pray how do you think that the Fancy will class them,
    So scraggy, and leggy, and bandy, and bald?
  You'll find it most difficult, PARTLET, to pass them;
    In fact, 'tis a pity they can't be recalled.
  I'm really ashamed of 'em; so, Ma'am, should you be.
    The kindliest hen-wife would banish the batch.
  What? Say one word for 'em? Now, don't be a booby:
    You must be aware they're a precious Bad Hatch!

       *       *       *       *       *


SIR WALTER RALEIGH'S old house at Brixton Rise, _Punch_ hears, "is about
to be sold by public auction", and the surrounding twelve acres of
"nobly-timbered park", given over--of course, like so much else in that
once leafy suburb--to the untender mercies of the Jerry Builder. Too
bad! In the olden days, QUEEN BESS used to be rowed in her barge up the
Effra (which now, like the Mole, "runneth underground", hidden by earth
and brickwork, but, not long since, was a visible stream) to visit Sir
WALTER at what was _then_ his Country House. There were no Interviewers
in those happy days, else would a "Sir WALTER RALEIGH At Home", with
"Gloriana" as his guest, be toothsome reading. And shall JUGSON, the
Jerry-builder, with his mud-bricks and slime-mortar, his warped timber
and his peeling stucco, banish even the memories of the great
Elizabethans from their ancient haunts? Forbid it, O Spirit of the
Jubilee Year! Let the Jubilators RALEIGH--we mean _rally_, round
RALEIGH'S old Mansion,--

  "Let not his house who witched Old England's eyes
  Before base JUGSON fall on Brixton Rise."

       *       *       *       *       *

BEN TROVATO AGAIN.--When the Papal Envoy arrived, His Eminence had
several mansions placed at his disposal. The one he fancied most was
that offered by Mr. H. LABOUCHERE, M.P., with the appropriate
designation of "POPE'S Villa, Twickenham."

       *       *       *       *       *

A Hard-worked Official.

  LORD CHAMBERLAIN LATHOM, exhausted is he
  After this season of Jubilee.
  "Farewell to my cares at holiday-tide,"
  Says LATHOM aloud, when he'll _lay them aside_.

       *       *       *       *       *

As to the Mission of Monsignor PERSICO to Ireland, an Horatian
Nationalist wrote--"PERSICO'S odi." And he probably does dislike it.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE NEW "HATCH."


[_Exit sadly._]]

       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration: No. 518. Left Leg Shrunk.]

[Illustration: No. 624. Her Serene Transparency.]

[Illustration: No. 413. Hard Hit in a Town and Gown Row.]

[Illustration: No. 647. What can we do with the Baby?]

[Illustration: No. 623. Warming his Back against the Soup Tureen.]

[Illustration: No. 253. Pulling the Stuffing out of Toy Terrier.]

A grand flare-up on Thursday last. A Jubilee _Soirée_ worthy of the
Jubilee Year and the Royal Academicians. Kings, Queens, Royal
Highnesses, Grand Dukes and Duchesses have become so common this Jubilee
month, that, when some _blasé_ and well-seasoned Londoner is asked who
such and such a decorated person is, he languidly replies, "Oh! only a
King, or something of that sort."

There was a private Royal Night on Wednesday, when only Royalty and The
Forty R.A.'s were present,--"The Forty" did something in the oil and
colour line, as we gather from _The Arabian Nights_, revised edition, by
Lady BURTON,--and, of course, _Mr. Punch_, who is everywhere on every
occasion, and who, in a general way, represents H.R.H. Everybody.

On Thursday night, T.R.H. Everybody and Everybody Else were present, and
the scene was brilliant. Sir FREDERICK, a Prince among Presidents and a
President among Princes, graciously welcomed the guests. He was assisted
by Sir EVERETT MILLAIS and Treasurer HORSLEY, who appeared rather weary,
perhaps tired of counting the shillings, or worried by the uncertainty
of the monetary value of the BOEHM silver currency.

The Queen of the Pictures is still Professor HERKOMER'S Lady in black
with the long gloves. She lingers in our memory, and will do so for many
a long day. May we never see her _in propriâ personâ_, or disappointment
might be our dole. The Lady in the picture cannot age. Even amidst all
the living breathing beauty collected within those walls on Thursday
last, the Lady on the wall, if we may so put it, "took the
cake,"--though she didn't take it all, as there was plenty left for Miss
MARY ANDERSON, Miss DOROTHY DENE, and some other charming ladies. One
more visit to the Royal Academy, and then the Show for 1887 will have
passed away. Then, after a brief holiday, the Artists will be again at
work, according to their individual taste and fancy, taking (lucky
_gourmets_!) each one just what best suits his palette. _Au revoir!_

       *       *       *       *       *


(_On the occasion of the Visit of Princes Victor and George of Wales._)

  YOUR MAJESTY'S Grandsons I welcomed with joy,
    At a time when I'm horribly worried;
  ALBERT VICTOR and GEORGE--he's a broth of a boy--
    Their visit was brief and too hurried.

  Ah, then, if your MAJESTY'S self we could see,
    Sure we'd drop every grumble and quarrel.
  Stay a month in the year with my children and me,
    'Twould be a nice change from Balmoral.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE Wild West Kensington Indians were not permitted to go to Henley last
week. It was thought that the sight of so many sculls would be too much
for them, and that they would immediately want to scalp everybody. Why
doesn't the Honourable Colonel BUFFALO BILL CODY engage "SQUASH," and
give him a show on a buck-jumper? Something amusing is wanted to enliven
the Wild West Scenes in the Circle, and "SQUASH" is just the sort of
droll required.

       *       *       *       *       *


        The Jubilee Ball,
        Held at Guildhall
  Last week, on Tuesday night,
        A great success;
        All must confess
  It was a glorious sight.

        The Giants twain
        Imbibed champagne.
  Says Magog to Gog, "What fun!"
        Says Gog, "For a crown
        I couldn't get down
  As we ought when the clock strikes one."

        Says Magog to Gog,
        "You jolly old dog,
  With the same idea I'm imbued.
        We ought to descend,
        But we can't, my friend;
  On our pedestals we're screwed."

        To save their renown,
        They didn't come down.
  Be sure they acted right.
        The jovial pair
        Remained where they were;
  Gog and Magog stopped up all night!

       *       *       *       *       *

THE President and Fellows having, at a recent meeting at South
Kensington, by their Resolutions shown, spite their difficulties, a
disposition to ride the high horse, their body will henceforth be known
as the Royal Haughty-cultural Society.

       *       *       *       *       *


I'VE paid my second wisit to this most emusing place, and have to report
a grate improvement in its inside, witch is gradawally a filling up like
an hungry Alderman at a nice rich fust class dinner.

But this time I paid speshal attention to the outside emusements, and
them as carnt find no fun and xcitement in them, had better go off at
wunce to the Amerrycan Bar for a "Coaxer," and that, as I found, will
soon pick him up. I never saw such a site as BUFFERLOW BILL'S Wild West
in South Kensington, the werry recklekshun of it sets me off so that I
must pull myself together with one of BERTRAM'S "Brighton Steadiers," or
I shall get too exsited to write strait.

[Illustration: Robert Tobogganing.]

Well, I spose it was because they was jest a little late that the whole
blooming lot of 'em, Amerrycans and Cow Boys, and Mexicans and Injians
with their Squalls and Porposes, and Gals a riding like gals generally
rides, and Gals a riding like men, all cum a galloping in at such a
whirling pace that it litorally took away all my pore breth, and they
screamed as they galloped, and their crimson and blue and scarlet and
yeller clokes all shone in the sunlight and fluttered in the breeze, and
when they came jest in front of me, where I was setting with dignerty in
a reserwed seat at the small charge of 1s., they pulled up bang, as if
they was all shot, and all sat as still as mice.

Well, then we had a hole carrywan of settlers for life attacked as they
was agoing quietly along by a hole army of wild Injians, and defended by
BUFFERLOW BILL and his bold Cow Boys, and a grand fight it was. Plenty
of firing, but not enuff execushun for to friten the ladies, for the
jest a few was killed in the dedly combat, they all got up and rode away
after the battle was over; so I spose as they was ony shamming jest to
deceeve the enemy.

[Illustration: A Little Indian Rubber.]

Curiosity, which is the Waiter's weekness, makes me inquire, why so many
Cow Boys when there aint not no Cows? We wound up with a Bufferlow hunt,
but as the animals was jest as uncurry-combed and as dirty as afore, I
gammoned Mrs. ROBERT, who was with me, that it was ardly a site for a
reel dellycat lady to witness, so we went off to see the Toboggening,
and grate fun it was to look at. But, to my extreme estonishment nothink
wood do but Mrs. ROBERT must try it, and, in spite of all my
remonstrances, I presently found myself a seated with my bitter arf on
the top of an high hill, about to be launched hedlong on our wild career
with ony a piece of rope to guide us and nothink to stop us. Oh, that
dedly moment of hezitashun! and then the rush through the hair with
sitch litening speed as made Mrs. ROBERT give jest a little squeal. How
any sane person having wunce tried this new game, which recalled to fond
memory the sensashun of my fust swing, can wish to repeat the dose, I
carnt understand. He suttenly ought to have the stummuck of a
Horsestrich rather than of a Halderman. The fond partner of my fate
having a little hedake after her rash xperryment, which she insisted
upon declaring was owing to the rifle-shooting, I adwised her to leave
the noisy scene and seek the cumfort of her quiet home, promising to
jine her hurly, so she went. I was afterwards asked to try the
Switch-back Railway, but learning from a prewious wictim as how the
sensation reminded him of the fust time as he crossed the Channel, I
declined with thanks.

Hoping to meet with the Kernel who had promised to introduce me to the
Hon. Mr. WILLIAM BUFFERLOW, Esquire, wulgerly called BUFFERLOW BILL, I
sauntered round to the Injians encampment, but was there told he had
gone to dine with some other Savages at the Savage Club, so I coudn't
see him. Howsumever I fell into conwersation with one of the tip-top
managers, and he introduced me to sum of the principal Braves, as they
calls 'em, and their Squaws, and porposes. They was worry affable and
perlite, as I'm told as all reel savages is, but I carnt say much for
their hartistick taste. There was one savage lady with a savage dorter
and a pickaninny about rising four, as grately surprised me. The yung
lady wood have bin werry good looking if her Ma had let her alone, but
she had painted her two cheeks such a brite skarlet that skarlet runners
is nothing to 'em, and as for the pore little chap his hole face was
painted a greenish yeller, like a werry bad case of jarndice, and all
his air a brite green. But such is my natral perliteness, that when his
fond Ma held him up to me and said, "Lookee, lookee, ain't him Booty?" I
said, "Oh! yessee, yessee!" I didn't dare to kiss it, for fear its face
wood have stuck to mine, witch woudn't ha bin nice.

I spent a werry plessent evening with the principle performers such as
RED SHIRT, and CUT MEAT, and sum others, and whenever the conwersashun
flagged I surgested a adjurnment to the Amerrycan Bar, and we allus
tried a new drink, and this I will say for my forren frends that they
took them all with the same coolness as if they had been the native
drinks of the Far West End. The larst one we tried was called "A Yard of
flannel," and for warmth and cumfort it was well-named, but somehows I
fancy it must ha bin rayther a staggerer, for I remember werry little of
what took place afterwards. But I have sum dim recklekshun of playing at
cards with two Chiefs and a Squaw, and that one of them had a dress on
sumthink like a porky-pine with his squills, and that I lost my money,
and that sum familyer voice said, "Why, ROBERT, you've lost your Injian
Rubber!" at witch we all larfed. How I got home I don't werry well
remember, but I do remember, and shall probberbly never forget, the
werry warm recepshun I met when at length I arrived there, or the nex
morning's hed hake. I don't think I shall try "a yard of flannel," again
in an hurry.


       *       *       *       *       *

The Children's Nautical Festival.

ON the occasion of the Great Naval Review, Lord CHARLES BERESFORD,
remembering Mr. EDWARD LAWSON'S Hyde Park success, intends to stand
treat to all the Buoys round the Coast. The Best Buoy will receive a
present from Her Gracious MAJESTY.

       *       *       *       *       *





_House of Commons, Monday, June 27._--Back again to the Coercion Bill.
Report Stage reached, and strong whips out on both sides in anticipation
of Division. Both Front Benches crowded like the rest. GLADSTONE in his
place, as eager to make speech as if it were his first on the subject.
HARTINGTON there too, and CHAMBERLAIN, making, with HENEAGE, a brave
show on end of Front Bench. GLADSTONE spoke early. A full House, but
everyone bored to death. Later, House thinned to degree that invited a
count; but at sound of bell Members held in hand for Division, swooped
down, got themselves counted, saved the sitting, and straightway fled

GEORGE CAMPBELL concerned in interests of Protestant Church. A Papal
Envoy been received by QUEEN to present Jubilee congratulations. Was
that an exceptional privilege for an Ecclesiastic? Would the Brahmin
Head of Benares be allowed to approach HER MAJESTY in similar way? No
answer. Would the Grand Imaum of Mecca?

The Under-Secretary of State shivered in his shoes, but still no

Then Sir GEORGE, uplifting his voice to its most melodious heights,
produced his poser:--"Would the Moderator of the Free Church of Scotland
enjoy such a privilege?"

Old Morality and his colleagues on the Treasury Bench began to grow
uneasy. No saying where CAMPBELL'S list might end. FERGUSSON whispered
to and nudged till, propped on his feet, he feebly urged that Moderator
of Free Church of Scotland does not come under the category of a Foreign
Potentate. A poor quibble this. But CAMPBELL generously disinclined to
push his advantage, and Government escaped immediate defeat.

Growing excitement as Division on JOHN MORLEY'S Amendment restricting
duration of Act to three years approached. RITCHIE has invented new way
of taking Division. Members as anxious to try it as nursery of children
to handle new toy. At first some little difficulty in understanding it.
Members crowded round RITCHIE and asked how it was done.

"Nothing easier or clearer," he said. "There are six doors, which we
will call A, B, C, D, E, and F. As soon as division bell rings, F is
closed. B is left half open. Members voting 'Aye' pass through the A
door and meet the 'Noes' coming through D. A and C are then
simultaneously shut. If B is open, the 'Ayes' and the 'Noes,' having
seen E closed, form in one stream, pass through, and there you are.
Don't you see?"

[Illustration: Young 'Olden.]

Everybody saw quite clearly. Quite a pleasure to see ISAAC HOLDEN
(_etat._ eighty, but full of youthful vigour) starting off to try the
new experiment. Got through all right. But, half an hour later, GILBERT
GREENALL found in recesses of ventilating cellars, where, he said, he
was "looking for door E."

_Business done._--Report on Coercion Bill.

_Tuesday._--WILFRID LAWSON made admirable suggestion to-night. Proposes
that, when titles or honours are conferred upon anyone, a statement
should accompany announcement, setting forth the public services on
account of which the honour has been conferred. It is so done in respect
of Victoria Cross. List of Honours conferred in connection with Jubilee
show the necessity of extending custom.

"Who's he?" said Sir BORTHWICK, Bart., looking down the _Gazette_ when
it came out. "Never heard of him, nor him either. I seem to be really
the only distinguished person in the lot."

List notable not only for what it includes but for what it omits. House
of Commons united in expectation of one recognition, looked for in vain.
If "Barnets" were to be made in Jubilee time, why was JOSEPH GILLIS
overlooked? This thought in everyone's mind, as JOEY B. turned up
to-night telling in a division against the Government. His public
appearance now so rare that its recurrence was an event. Since he came
into possession of Castle Butlerstown the alteration, long-working, made
sudden and complete advance. His moustache, now past the indefinite
stage, is an unquestionable reality, and to see JOEY B. twirling it _à
la_ RANDOLPH, is a delight to the quiet mind. JOSEPH feels his new
responsibilities. When reproached by TIM HEALY with his excessive
respectability he is not moved.

[Illustration: "Who's he?"]

"It's all very well for you, TIM, to be brow-beating the SPEAKER,
interrupting Hon. Members opposite, moving the adjournment and the like.
But it's different for a man who has a Castle, a drawbridge, a moat, and
a moustache."

Characteristic infelicity on the part of the Government to have
neglected this opportunity of recognising a reformed character. JOEY B.
is now a credit to the House. It would have been to the credit of the
Government had his friends been able to hail him as Sir JOSEPH GILLIS
BIGGAR, Bart., of Butlerstown Castle.

_Business done._--Coercion Bill again.

_Thursday._--"He! he!" said Old Morality, his white teeth shedding pale
light over Treasury Bench. "Capital joke! Hope they'll often repeat it."

Capital it was, and so unexpected, too. Secret admirably kept, and
sprung upon amazed House with marvellous effect. After questions, O. M.
moved Resolutions providing for discussion on Report Stage of Coercion
Bill being peremptorily closed at Seven o'Clock on Monday night.

"The Early Closing Association," said Sir WILFRID LAWSON, looking across
at Noble Lords and Right Hon. Gentlemen arrayed on Treasury Bench in
support of this Motion.

Parnellites of course hostile to Motion. But more particularly enraged
because O. M. in moving it had not spoken single sentence.

"Come, come," said JOHN DILLON, "this is too bad. If we are to lose our
liberties, let us, at least, have a speech in support of the

But O. M. obdurately silent, and debate kept up for three hours from
Opposition side. Then Division taken, and Motion carried by majority of
a round hundred. After this, Ministers looked forward to another
wearisome evening, with Friday to follow, and more talk through Monday
up to fatal Seven o'Clock. Here's where the joke came in. The
Opposition, returning from Division Lobby after voting on Closure
Proposition, continued their march through the House and cleared out by
the door. Ministers watched process with amazement, growing into
apprehension, and finally broadening into a grin of delight as the joke
flashed upon them. Having given Government the trouble of preparing,
moving and carrying Resolution, fixing closure of debate on Monday
evening, Irish Members not going to debate at all! The Government might
take their Report Stage; which they did, and before you could say "W. H.
SMITH," the Report Stage of the Coercion Bill was agreed to, and House,
scarcely recovered from surprise, was engaged upon miscellaneous
business of the Orders of the day.

_Friday, Midnight._--Since dinner-time there has been exhilarating scene
in Palace Yard. Nearly every 'bus that has passed has dropped a Duchess
at the gate. Four-wheelers, conveying Countesses, have regularly filed
in; whilst, what Sir ROBERT PEEL would call "Noble Baronesses," have
arrived on foot. As distinguished Novelist somewhere writes, "Lo! a
strange thing has happened." On ordinary days House of Lords, which
commences public business at 5.30, adjourns about 5.37. At this hour of
midnight House still sitting, and no sign of Adjournment. Irish Land
Bill under debate. Subject irresistible to Noble Lords. Have foregone
their late afternoon drive in the Park. More than one has patriotically
dined on a chop.

A flush of honest pride mantles many a noble countenance. All very well
for the Commons to boast of their long sittings; but see what the Peers
can do when duty calls! At first a little consternation at the arrivals
from without. But even that turns out well. There were stories of
anxious wives communicating with House of Commons during All-night
Sittings, and finding errant husbands not there. But here are Noble
Lords unflinchingly serving their country, remaining at their post,
whate'er betide.

A beautiful and a soothing sight, which affects to tears some of the
Commons, who sit in the Gallery, and look down upon it.

_Business done._--Lords pass Report Stage of Irish Land Bill.

       *       *       *       *       *


(_New Version, by a Much-Worn-out M.P._)

  "The welcome cry, 'Who goes home' sounds like a melancholy dirge
  through the rapidly-emptying lobbies."--Mr. OSBORNE MORGAN, M.P.,
  _in the_ "_Nineteenth Century_."

  MIDST clauses and paragraphs though we may roam.
  Be it ever so dirge-like, there's no cry like "Home!"
  A charm undefined seems to hallow it there,
  After TANNER'S loud shindy and CONYBEARE'S blare.
    Home! Home! Sweet, sweet "Home!"
    Be it ever so dirge-like, there's no cry like "Home!"

  An exile from office, I will not complain,
  Give me only my calm "beauty sleep" once again;
  The birds singing sweetly at dawn be my lot
  To hear, not loud torrents of partisan rot.
    Home! Home! Sweet, sweet "Home!"
    Be it ever so dirge-like, there's no cry like "Home!"

       *       *       *       *       *


_Hits by Dumb Crambo, Jun._

[Illustration: A Patient Innings.]

[Illustration: A Cut in front of Point.]

[Illustration: Over!]

[Illustration: Last Man. His usual form.]

       *       *       *       *       *

[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

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