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Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 93. July 30, 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 30, 1887" ***

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  VOLUME 93.

  JULY 30, 1887.



A NATURAL anxiety that his pupils should be furnished with as complete a
repertory as possible, has prompted _Mr. Punch_ to command one of his
spare Poets to knock off a little dramatic piece founded (at a
respectful distance) upon a famous Transatlantic model. The spare Poet
in question--all reluctant as he felt even to appear to be competing
with the inimitable--had, as the minion of _Punch_ the Peremptory, no
option but to obey to the best of his powers. The special merit of the
present production will be found in the care with which it has been
watered down to suit the capacity of amateurs for whom the original
would offer difficulties well-nigh insuperable. This poem is
particularly recommended to diffident young ladies with a suppressed
talent for recitation. Some on reading it may imagine that its rough but
genuine pathos is scarcely adapted to feminine treatment--but wait until
you hear some young lady recite it! _Mr. Punch_, for his part, is
content to wait for almost any length of time. The Author calls it:--


_The Reciter is supposed to be in the Strand, facing the audience. As
you come on, the idea is that you are suddenly attracted by an
advertisement borne by the last of a string of Sandwich-men. You stop
him, and begin as follows. By the way, as you are enacting an American,
you will of course be careful to speak through your nose, whenever it
occurs to you. Now then:--_

  H'yur, you! bossing them boards--Jess you fetch up a spell!

    [_Rough good-nature expressed by forefinger._

  Don't go twitching your cords! (_Impatiently._) Lemme look at ye well:
  (_Genial amusement._) Why, I'm derned ef ye don't look as skeered as a
    tortoise growed out of his shell!
  What's the style of your show? This yer pictur looks gay:
  Why, ye don't tell me so! (_Homely gratification._) It's a
    _Murrican_ play!
  And you mosey along with the posters--wa'al, now, do ye find the
    job _pay_?
  (_With a kindly curiosity._) Say, what was it--_drink_? As has led
    to it....Stop!
  Wa'al, on'y to _think_--Ef it isn't _his_ shop!
  This identical theater as hires ye. Hev ye heerd on him?--HASDRUBAL JOPP!
  So ye _hev_, I declar! Oh, it's likely the same,
  Which I knew him out thar (_indicate the United States by a vague
    jerk of your thumb_). And I reckon it's _Fame_,
  If a broken-down blizzard like you--(No offence!)--kin look _so_
    at his name!

    (_By the word_ "so" _you should suggest a movement of pleased
    surprise on the part of the Sandwich-man_.)

  Can't ye stay for awhile--Till I've opened my head?
  So he's bin an' struck ile? Which the same's what _I_ said--
  Fur I see him in _Fish outer Water_, and sez I (_sententiously_),
    "A Tragedian _bred_!"
  Yes, I allays allowed, As he must make a hit;
  And not at all proud--No, _Sir_--all on him grit! (_Affectionately._)
  Jess you wait till he hears _I_'m around, and you mark the reception
    I git!
  For us two were such chums As ye don't often find.
  Lord! the way it all comes Scrouging in on my mind!--
  (_Abruptly._) This dern sun is that pesky an' strong, it's enough for
    to strike a man blind!

    (_Here you should convey the idea that this is a mere excuse for a
    not unmanly emotion; this is generally done by wiping the eye
    surreptitiously on the coat-sleeve._)

  A freehandeder cuss Never stepped on a street.
  Which he'd raise such a fuss, When we happened to meet--
  I could see he'd be hurt in his feelins ef he warn't not allowed
    to stand treat!
  So he's managed to climb To the top of the tree!

    [_Homely, unselfish satisfaction._

  But I'll bet every time--Big a boss as he be--
  He remembers his pardner in Frisco--Yes, he don't forgit little old Me!
    [_This proudly, but tenderly._

    (_Here the Sandwich-man is supposed to make some sort of assent.
    You turn upon him savagely, with an irritation assumed to
    conceal deep feeling._)

  What on airth do _you_ mean? By a' sayin' "_You're_ sure
  Of it." (_With half recognition._) Seems like I've seen Those yer
    featurs afore!

    [_Hand to chin, dubiously._

  A mistake? (_Roughly._) Well then, _you_ hold yer hosses, and don't
    interrup' me no more!

    (_The Sandwich-man here makes another attempt to escape_; _you put
    out two detaining fingers._)

  Come, you ain't going yet? (_Heartily._) H'yur, you lem me run on!
  Why, we've on'y jest met--And you want to be gone!
  I must hev _some_ critter, I tell ye, to practise chin-music upon!
  No, theer don't seem a doubt--He is cock of the school;
  And the stuffing's knocked out Of your IRVING and TOOLE!

    [_Outburst of rapturous exultation._

  Jest, to think o' JOPP busting up BARRETT!--thar, call me a
    soft-hearted fool!

    (_Second emotional display; half turn, and use your handkerchief
    with ostentation; the Sandwich-man is also affected, which you
    observe with some surprise._)

  Why, you _air_ lookin' queer! Derned ef _I_ kin see why!
  Sho! you thought 'twas a _tear_ As I've got in my eye?

  [_Rough shame at your own weakness._

  No, _I_ don't take no stock in hydraulics--it's on'y a dod-gasted fly!

    [_Resume with a proud anticipation._

  He'll be chipper an' smart.--But, fur all he has riz,
  He will open his heart _And_ a bottle of fizz
  Right away when he sees me! (_Here you seem to detect a lurking doubt
    in the Sandwich-man's eye._) Hightoned, Sir? You'd better believe
     that he _is_!
  _I_ ain't feared o' no change: JOPP'll be jest as _true_!

    [_Stop abruptly, and stare glassily._

  (_In a husky whisper._) Blame my cats--but it's strange!
    (_Take a step backwards._) What in thunder!... JOPP it's--YOU!!!

    [_With a shout._

  (_Crestfallen tone._) So ye're not _on_ the boards, but between 'em!
    (_Change to hasty and somewhat confused apology._) ... Ye'll excuse
    me--I've suthin' to do!

    [_Go off hurriedly, with air of a man recollecting an appointment._

It is hardly necessary to advise you that the effect you should aim at
is the securing of your audience's sympathy for _yourself_--as the
victim of such an unfortunate mistake--don't let them trouble themselves
about the unseen Sandwich-man.

       *       *       *       *       *


  THIS the burden of my song--
  Love me little, love me, LONG!

       *       *       *       *       *


THE following book, advertised in Messrs. RIVINGTON'S list, has
attracted the attention of our Mr. D. C.:--

A SCHOOL FLORA. For the use of Elementary Botanical Classes. By W.
MARSHALL WATTS, D. Sc. (Lond.), B. Sc. (Vict.)., Physical Science Master
in the Giggleswick Grammar School.


[Illustration: The Knock-down Blow. (One specimen.)]

[Illustration: The Birch. (Second Specimen.)]

[Illustration: "The Master of _Physical_ Science."]

[Illustration: Giggleswick Grammar School.]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: MODERN CRAZES.

(_The Last Thing in Musical Prodigies._)


       *       *       *       *       *


(_Minutes relative to a Misdirected Telegram, found not a hundred miles
from the G.P.O._)


_From Lucy to Flutterby, Peacock's Priory, Battersea._

"Ask JACK to dine with us at eight."

_First Minute._ This Telegram was sent to Peacock's Rest, but there
refused as Mr. FLUTTERBY was not there. It was re-directed to what was
supposed to be his address, "Morton's Repository, Whitechapel." It was
again refused. We cannot recover the sixpence. (_Official Initials._)

_Second Minute._ Who re-directed the Telegram, and why was it not paid
for before delivery? (_Initials as before._)

_Third Minute._ We cannot ascertain the name of the person who
re-directed the Telegram, and did not receive the sixpence because the
Telegram was never accepted. (_Initials as before._)

_Fourth Minute._ Who sent the Telegram originally? (_Initials as

_Fifth Minute._ We have sent an Officer to inquire, and find that LUCY
lives in Flower Cottage, Kensingbridge--she is the sender's wife. She
says she knows nothing about the telegram. (_Initials as before._)

_Sixth Minute._ Cannot the address of the sender be ascertained?
(_Initials as before._)

_Seventh Minute._ We believe the sender must also live in Flower
Cottage, Kensingbridge. Shall we send an Officer to inquire? (_Initials
as before._)

_Eighth Minute._ An Officer from the Head Office had better be sent.
(_Initials as before._)

_Ninth Minute._ An Officer from the Head Office has been sent. The
sender of the telegram is either out or says he is out. His wife
declares she knows nothing about it. (_Initials as before._)

_Tenth Minute._ Has the sender no other address besides Peacock's
Priory, Morton's Repository, and Flower House, Kensingbridge? (_Initials
as before._)

_Eleventh Minute._ What is being done about that missing sixpence? A
week since last reply. Its non-payment interferes with the Estimates.
(_Initials as before._)

_Twelfth Minute._ Nothing has been done. What can be done? (_Initials as

_Thirteenth Minute._ An Officer should call upon the sender of the
telegram and demand payment of the sixpence. (_Initials as before._)

_Fourteenth Minute._ An Officer has called several times, and cannot
find the sender in. His wife repeats she knows nothing about it, and
declines to give information. (_Initials as before._)

_Fifteenth Minute._ Has the sender no other address? He must pay the
sixpence. Let him be told this. (_Initials as before._)

_Sixteenth Minute._ We have found him at another address, but he still
declines to pay the sixpence, he says he has never received the
telegram. (_Initials as before._)

_Seventeenth Minute._ Try again. Let him be informed that if he does not
pay the sixpence, no further telegram of his will be directed.
(_Initials as before._)

_Eighteenth Minute._ He has been told so. He says he does not want his
messages re-directed. He has not as yet paid the sixpence. (_Initials as

_Nineteenth Minute._ Ten days since last communication. Has that missing
sixpence been recovered? (_Initials as before._)

_Twentieth Minute._ No. The sender of the telegram, we believe, has gone
abroad. (_Initials as before._)

_Twenty-first Minute._ Month since receipt of last information. Has that
missing sixpence been recovered? The sender must be asked for it again
if is has not been received. (_Initials as before._)

_Twenty-second Minute._ An equivalent to the money due on re-directing
the message has been recovered. The sender has given an Officer of the
Department a French franc. (_Initials as before._)

_Twenty-third Minute._ Let the French _franc_ be exchanged for English
money and paid into the account of the Department. Account of expenses
to the Department for collecting the sixpence should now be sent.
(_Initials as before._)

_Final Minute._ In compliance with instructions, account of expenses
incurred in collecting the sixpence will be forwarded forthwith. Some
time will be required in setting out the details. Being rather large, it
has been considered advisable to send the packet by Parcels Post.
(_Initials as before._)

       *       *       *       *       *


(_Spithead, July 23, 1887._)

    [IN replying to a Naval Deputation which waited upon the QUEEN with
    a Jubilee Album and Address, HER MAJESTY said, "she felt certain
    that the Navy would always uphold the honour of the Kingdom."]

  RIGHT Royal Lady on the throne!
    From stem to starn, from top to kelson,
  The British Fleet is all your own,
    To-day as in them times of NELSON.
  'Twill help you still to rule the wave,
    Though swabs may croak and lubbers twaddle;
  That Album MILNE our Admiral gave,
    Shows many a change in rig and model,
  But could they hail us at Spithead.
    To-day, old DRAKE, or HOWE or HOWARD,
  They'd find the race as never bred,
    To scour the brine, traitor or coward.
  What the old _Victory_ did of old,
    The _Ajax_ or the _Devastation_
  Would dare to-day, and JACK makes bold,
    In this here year of Jubilation,
  To answer to his Sovereign's trust,
    Like every British son of ADAM,
  ('Midst the enthoosiatic bust
    Of loud hoorays) _his_ "Aye, aye, Madam!"

       *       *       *       *       *



       *       *       *       *       *


THE _Times_ Correspondent at Berlin lately alleged that the cautious and
diplomatic attitude of Prince FERDINAND of Coburg had somewhat damped
the enthusiasm of the deputation that waited on him to offer him the
Bulgarian Throne. The following are a few of the "posers" that His
Serene Highness is said to have put to the delegates on the occasion in

What sort of a place is Sofia? Does the climate resemble that of
Hampstead, will it support two Italian Operas in the Season, can it
boast an Underground Railway, and does it contain any respectable agent
for the sale of Turkish cigarettes?

Does the Palace want repapering? Does it contain a throne, regalia, and
other royal appurtenances, left by the late tenant; and, if not, could
the deputation recommend any local emporium where these and other
suitable and necessary things could be temporarily secured at
advantageous terms on the three years' hire system?

Will the Royal Salary touch £300 a year, and will it be paid regularly
in cash, and not in promissory notes at uncertain intervals? Will the
great Sobranje vote an additional sum to the civil list for
boot-cleaning and the expenses of a weekly charwoman for the Royal
household? Will the Prince's cab-hire, on the occasion of his attending
Official banquets, be forthcoming from the same source?

Will the National party raise any objection to the Prince counting five
Russian Generals among the members of his Cabinet, as a slight means of
securing the amiable consideration of the CZAR?

In the event of a sudden night _émeute_ threatening the stability of the
throne, would it be the business of the Prime Minister to arouse the
Prince, bring him his boots and shaving-water, and, providing him with a
trick-wig and comic disguise, point out to him briefly in a local
_Bradshaw_ the best available trains starting before dawn for the

Finally, if the Prince consented to accept the throne, and hired his
crown and coronation-robes from a well-known costumier's for the
occasion, would the great Sobranje defray the cost, or, if with a view
to the situation being a permanency, he could secure them at the price
of second-hand goods, would they be prepared to come to some arrangement
for their purchase?

       *       *       *       *       *

A GROWING INDUSTRY.--Market-Gardening.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: PRODDING THEM ON.

_Times (loquitur--to S-l-sb-ry and B-lf-r)._ "NOW THEN, WHAT ARE YOU

       *       *       *       *       *



       *       *       *       *       *

Foul is Fair.

(_A Parliamentary Song of Sixpence._)

  THE Irish M.P.'s, who are born to the manner,
  Can't see any harm in the language of TANNER.
  In war for ould Ireland they boldly declare
  That the course they pursue is quite (Donnybrook) fair;
  And with joy each impulsive Milesian howler
  Cries, "If 'TANNER' be foul, there's 'BOB' that is FOWLER."
  But Stooping to Conquer is always their plight;
  Sir ROBERT'S, at worst, the Mistakes of a Knight.

       *       *       *       *       *


  WHY, in this clever age,
    So "point-device,"
  Is there no beverage
    Cool, cheap, and nice?
  It's safe to rile ye,
    Dog-days being here,
  When you're charged highly
    For iced ginger-beer.

  Who can be placid
    When sixpence is paid
  For sweet citric acid
    Dubbed lemonade?
  Is there no substitute
    Which we may quaff
  For tea with milk dilute,
    Or shandy-gaff?

  A sheer abuse is
    Ice joined to beer;
  Our gastric juices
    Hate it, and fear;
    When weather's hot,
  Barons or bakers,
    All go to pot.

  Should spirits tempt you,
    Need it be said
  Nought can exempt you
    From a racked head,
  Just like poor SISERA?
    Soda's a snare?
  Milk clogs the viscera;
    Of "fizz" beware!

  Brandy each new nipper
    Maketh go mad;
  Juice of the juniper,
    _You_'re berry bad!
  Now that so many men
    Counsel "Abstain!"
  It's _rum_ that any men
    Drink to their bane.

  In this heat tropical,
    He's a true friend
  Who, philanthropical,
    Bids our thirst end.
  Will no inventor
    Try a new shot?
  Here our hopes centre:
    Who is our WATT?

  Our British livers
    Don't care a rap
  For "corpse-revivers,"--
    A nauseous tap!
  Drink for the Million!
    Nor dear or heady;
  Bring me a chilly one--
    _But none is ready!_

       *       *       *       *       *


THE Levée held by Mr. JOHN CLAYTON, and Mr. ARTHUR CECIL, on Friday
night, was numerously attended. Excellent specimens of Mr. PINERO'S work
were presented in the first Acts of the recent Court successes--to wit,
_The Schoolmistress_, _Dandy Dick_, and _The Magistrate_. Mr. CLAYTON
made an excellent speech, which was enthusiastically applauded, and Mrs.
JOHN WOOD and Miss NORREYS received special calls. After a brief
interval, during which Court favour will be extended to King William
Street, Strand, a more spacious palace will be erected for the reception
of Courtiers in Chelsea, where a new Comedy, by Mr. PINERO, will be
presented. Mr. ARTHUR CECIL, though retiring from managerial cares,
will, when the new Theatre is finished, undertake what would be a
difficult task for anybody else, to fill his usual place on the boards.

       *       *       *       *       *

MAGAZINE TITLE (_applicable to the Police Station where Miss Cass was
temporarily locked up_),--"_Cass-cells._"

       *       *       *       *       *



"YOU must do it at a _Matinée_," said her little crowd of five o'clock
tea-visitors, "and get Mr. ELLISTON DRURY to play the Roman Poet."

One of the company was in earnest. Miss ELMIRA JENKS believed in her
hostess and friend. The others thought it "fun" to "egg on" Miss DE
GONCOURT to make herself ridiculous.


"And why not take the part of the heroine yourself, dear?--nobody in all
your intellectual set recites so well. Why not act in your own
Tragedy--how delightful it would be!"

"But you forget," said the Lady Dramatist, pouring out for her friend a
fresh cup of tea from a delicious specimen of Nankin blue into an
equally artistic cup of Oriental white. "You forget that I am thirty."

On the contrary, their memories were excellent.

"Thirty-five, if she's a day," was the silent verdict; aloud, it ran
thus:--"My dear, a woman is no older than she looks. You are
twenty-five, and, in the classic dress of the Roman Maiden, you will
appear twenty--not a day older."

"You are very kind," she said; "but flattery is pleasant when it
encourages one's dearest hopes."

"We do not flatter--we speak as critics, and friends," they replied.

Mr. ELLISTON DRURY, the new Tragedian of the Parthenon Theatre, who had
come from the Provinces to astonish London, was the only Actor who had
given Miss DE GONCOURT any real encouragement to persevere in the
direction to which her ambition pointed; but he was full of sympathy,
and knew what it was himself to fight against prejudice, not to say
conspiracy. He had literally hewn his way through the ranks of his
opponents to the position he now held at the Parthenon. It was not a
very high position, it was true, but he had been seen and heard; and the
future was before him.

Similarly, he had argued, in the interests of Dramatic Art, Miss DE
GONCOURT must fight her way. He used the aggressive verb metaphorically,
of course, and in its moral sense; but he meant it to imply all that was
fearless in the conduct of an earnest woman conscious of her literary
and dramatic power--she must fight her way! It had fallen to his lot to
read many original Dramas, but among all the unacted works of his time,
none were so full of promise as Miss DE GONCOURT'S _Before the Dawn_. He
could wish himself no better fortune than the opportunity of creating
the leading _rôle_ at a West End Theatre.

Miss DE GONCOURT hung upon the music of his words. At least such was her
confession to Miss ELMIRA JENKS, her admirer and satellite, (every
dramatic student has a human satellite, or a confiding dog, and the
latter is generally the most constant) who agreed with her that in Art,
sympathy is everything.

Miss DE GONCOURT may be said to have served an amateur apprenticeship to
the art of the playwright; it had begun at school with Charades; it had
progressed through several seasons of amateur theatricals; it had
culminated in five Acts of blank verse; and apart from the epistolary
appeals that had been made to London Managers, to save the reputation of
native modern dramatists by its immediate production, Miss ELMIRA JENKS
had discussed the work in a certain lady's journal, to which she
contributed, assuring the world that _Before the Dawn_ was worthy of the
noblest efforts of dramatic poetry. Miss DE GONCOURT was also put
forward as an honour to womanhood, having preferred the higher life of
Art to the lower mission of Matrimony; and all that she and her friends
now desired, was a fitting opportunity for the demonstration of the
integrity of her ambition, which was to follow in the footsteps of Mrs.
INCHBALD, JOANNA BAILLIE, and other distinguished lady dramatists. Miss
DE GONCOURT was a spinster and an orphan, with a settled income of three
hundred and fifty pounds a year; and she sat in her little Bedford Park
study from day to day, with a pen in her hand, and a smile on her lips,
a smile of hope and confidence.

It was a dainty room, with a grey dimity dado, that marked off a few old
engravings of poetic and dramatic subjects. The over-mantel was green
and white, with busts of SHAKSPEARE, SHELLEY, JOAN OF ARC, and FLORENCE
NIGHTINGALE, upon its little shelves. There were bookcases and cabinets
here and there, containing favourite authors and relics of great
actresses, such as hair-pins used by HELEN FAUCIT, a shoestring
belonging to RACHEL, and a brooch which had been worn by Mrs. SIDDONS.
Had not these geniuses, watched, waited and suffered? Then what right
had she to be impatient? It must have been a sweet nature that could
philosophise thus in face of an entire cabinet of rejected plays, bound
in white morocco, emblematic of their purity, though destined, it might
be, to revolutionise the present frivolous stage as soon as the
production of _Before the Dawn_ should send both actors and managers to
their author's door ravenous for the right to give her other works to an
astonished and delighted public.

This day of triumph might be nearer than either friends or scoffers
anticipated. Mr. ELLISTON DRURY had taken a warm interest in her work;
had indorsed the advice she had received to try _Before the Dawn_ at a
_Matinée_; had consented to play the leading character; and, what was
more interesting still, had volunteered to coach her in the part of the
heroine, if she was willing to impersonate that poetic and
self-sacrificing creation. Miss DE GONCOURT was willing to place herself
in the hands of Mr. ELLISTON DRURY; Miss DE GONCOURT did place herself
in his hands; and oh the rapture of hearing her words read to the
assembled company of "Artistes" in the Green Room of the Parthenon
Theatre on the day when the parts were distributed! The delight of those
first rehearsals! She felt so much at home on the Stage, that she began
to dream of a pre-existence in which she had been a priestess of Art,
somewhat after the manner of her Roman girl who, crowned with a poisoned
diadem, was sacrificed in the Temple, but to live again with the gods in
a sublimated world of song. Mr. ELLISTON DRURY accompanied her to the
train after each rehearsal, and paid her so much homage, that she began
to associate him in her tender feminine mind with the Roman youth for
whose love she was martyred at the shrine; and, long before the eventful
morning came, Mr. ELLISTON DRURY (who had received a fortnight's notice
at the Parthenon, but still had the future all before him) had made up
his mind to hang up his hat, for good, in the æsthetic little hall of
the DE GONCOURT inside the blue-and-white palings of the Bedford Park

"Was it not a success, then, _Before the Dawn_?" Ask the ring of
authors, the conspirators, the tribe of envy, hatred, and malice
assembled on that memorable occasion to crush the new authoress. Ask the
leading actors, who had always dreaded the day when Mr. ELLISTON DRURY
should play a star part in a Metropolitan Theatre. No, Ladies and
Gentlemen, _Before the Dawn_ was a failure. Certain prominent critics
were suborned to say so; and one of them, more cruel than the rest,
declared that all the humorous range of modern Burlesque did not supply
a reminiscence so positively comic as the scene in which the Roman
Maiden, staggering under her poisoned crown (which would fall into an
irresistibly funny angle with the Actress's un-Roman nose), hurled back
upon TIBERIUS CÆSAR the curse of the avenging gods.

But they have a consolation, the Lady Dramatist and her illustrious
husband (he did hang up his hat, and his coat, he had little else to
move from his garret in the Strand), in having possibly found a more
useful field of duty than that of an active participation in the work
before the footlights. It has been sarcastically, and we believe
wrongfully asserted by a Tory Earl that critics are men who have failed
as authors; but a similar calumny has been perpetrated by Miss ELMIRA
JENKS (whose satelliteship came to a violent end with the marriage of
her bright particular star to Mr. ELLISTON DRURY) who has not hesitated
to declare in her unscrupulous paper that the modern teachers of
elocution are ladies and gentlemen who have failed as actors and
actresses. Mr. and Mrs. ELLISTON DRURY nevertheless pursue the even
tenor of their way; their elocution classes are well attended; Mrs.
DRURY'S afternoons never lack interesting visitors; and her husband's
occasional Shakspearian recitals at Hammersmith and Putney, inspire the
local critics with eloquent expressions of regret that the degenerate
condition of the stage should condemn so rare an actor to the
drawing-room and the platform.

Mr. ELLISTON DRURY finds this a sufficient balm for his bruised soul;
and his admiring wife declares that walking along the vale of life hand
in hand with ELLISTON, is after all bliss enough, without the added and
questionable joy of being a popular Lady Dramatist.

       *       *       *       *       *

"THE SATURDAY REVIEW" AT SPITHEAD.--Our Special's account is too late
for this week. He went away on Friday last, and was last seen on board
the new P. & O. ship _Victoria_. Wire just received says, "Steamed
through Fleet in tug. Tender reminiscences. Big guns everywhere. We're
the biggest. Salutations." That's all!

       *       *       *       *       *

MRS. R. says she is glad her nephew became a good horseman before he was
called to the Bar, as he is always now going on Circus.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: FELINE AMENITIES.


_Mrs. de Vere Jones (rushing up to Mrs. Stanley Brown, whom she hates)._

[_Lady Wrymouth is said to be the plainest Woman in the whole British


[_Mrs. Cormoran is said to be the plainest Woman in the whole British

       *       *       *       *       *



_Shoemaker_... Lord S-L-SB-RY. _Customer_... Lord H-RT-NGT-N.

_Customer._ H-o-w-o-u-g-h!!!

_Shoemaker (solicitously)._ Beg pardon, m'Lord! Hurt you, m'Lord?

_Customer._ Hurt? I should think it did, indeed.

_Shoemaker._ Very strange, m'Lord. 'Tother one seems to fit you to a
nicety. (_Aside._) Fancied _that_ might be a tight fit now.

_Customer._ Humph! I can make shift with that. But this won't do at all.
Tight across the instep and pinches the toes awfully. (_Aside._) Hang
it! it's a beastly bad fit everyway; but that it wouldn't suit to me
change just now, I'd throw the confounded things on his hands and go

_Shoemaker (aside)._ He looks grumpy; I must mind my eye, or I shall
lose his custom. And that wouldn't suit my books a bit--just now.
(_Aloud._) Awfully sorry, I'm sure, m'Lord. We must try again.

_Customer._ You ought to have got the measure of my foot better than
this, especially when I handed you my old lasts.

_Shoemaker._ Well, m'Lord, you see, you've a bit--ahem!--_outgrown_ 'em
like, don't you see, m'Lord?

_Customer._ _Outgrown_ them? What do you mean? Feet don't _grow_ at my
time of life.

_Shoemaker (aside)._ How shall I put it so as not to huff him? Bunions
_are_ a growth; so are corns--of a kind. (_Aloud._) Why, m'Lord, I
think--I--a--fancy your last pair--Gladstone highlows they were--weren't
they?--trying shoes for tender feet, m'Lord--must have been just a
trifle too small, and--ahem!--compressed your feet a little, _at the
joints_, m'Lord.

_Customer (aside)._ By Jove, he's right. G.'s tight fits have galled me
for some time past, and the last pair he made me I simply couldn't get
on. (_Aloud._) Hang it, man, what has that to do with it? Your business
is to fit my feet as they are. If you can't do it----

_Shoemaker (hastily)._ _Can't_, m'Lord? No such word in our shop,
m'Lord. I flatter myself we could fit the biggest beetle-crusher ever
bunion'd into the shape of a giant potato or a Californian nugget. Much
more _your_ shapely foot, m'Lord, which, if it has been nubblyfied a
leetle by misfits, will soon recover its proper proportions--under
proper treatment.

_Customer._ Well, off with this boot, anyhow. You'll have to make it
longer and wider, ease it here and slacken it there, before _I_ can wear

_Shoemaker._ Very good, m'Lord. (_Aside._) Doosed imperative, but I
can't afford to offend him. Though I never expected an old-established
high-class firm like ours would have stooped to tout for any of botching
G.'s old customers. There's Mr. JOSEPH BRUMMAGEM, now, fancy my having
to kneel at _his_ feet, and take _his_ measure! More particular than
this one, if anything, and puts him up to half his objections, I
believe. Well, well, trade's bad, and we mustn't be too scrupulous, I
suppose. Besides, some of G.'s old customers seem drifting back to the
old shop we thought was just about shutting up, and that won't do at any

_Customer (irritably)._ What are you muttering and murmuring about?

_Shoemaker._ Murmuring, m'Lord? Oh dear no, m'Lord. Not at all, m'Lord.
Quite _the_ contrary. I was only blessing that there G. for spoiling the
Trade as he has done. Brought us down from Wellingtons, and even his own
smartly cut Oxonians to borough Bluchers and rustic highlows; and now
wants to set a new fashion all on a sudden, and make us all take to his
confounded badly cut Irish brogues. Yah! Chaps like G. ought to be
boycotted--ahem!--I mean Primrose-Leagued out of the profession. Wonder
any gentleman can condescend to deal with him. Now, _my_ customers, as
your friend Mr. JOSEPH kindly acknowledged t'other day, are gentlemen to
a man, and for cut, style, finish and polish, I _will_ say----

_Customer._ Oh, yes, no doubt. But the point just at present, my good
fellow, is _fit_. If you miss that you miss all.

_Shoemaker (eagerly)._ Oh, have no fear on that account, m'Lord.
Elastic's the word, m'Lord. We've any number of different trees, and our
leather is warranted to stretch to any extent. We'll even alter our
favourite old-fashionable cut to suit such customers as _you_!

[Illustration: MAKING IT EASY.

SHOEMAKER (_most accommodating_). "THE OTHER FITS ALL RIGHT,

_Customer._ Thanks. The fashion _is_ changing a
little, I fear. I don't want to leave you, and I won't go back to G.--if
I can help it. If his brogue should become the vogue--but there, it's
shocking to think of it. Give us a decent fit which we can wear in
public without reproach, and we'll stick to you. But how about this

_Shoemaker (with effusion)._ Oh, we'll alter it to _any_ extent, to suit
your taste, m'Lord, though it isn't exactly the cut upon which our House
has always prided itself. There! It _was_ a bit tight, but now I've
eased it you'll be able to wear it with perfect comfort. We can't afford
to lose _your_ custom, m'Lord!

       *       *       *       *       *


"Sir DRUMMOND WOLFF'S Mission is at an end."--_Papers generally._]

       *       *       *       *       *



        'Ow are yer, my arty, and 'ow does this Summer suit _you?_
  Selp me never, old pal, it's a scorcher! _I_ lap lemon-squosh till
    all's blue,
  And then feel as dry as a dust-bin. Want all SPIERS and POND'S
    upon trust,
  For it do make a 'ole in the ochre to deal with a true first-class thust.

  But it's proper, dear boy, yus it's proper, this weather is,
    took on the 'ole,
  And for 'oliday outings and skylarks it sets a chap fair on the roll.
  Where d'yer think as I spent my last bust up? I know you'd be out
    of the 'unt
  If you guessed for a 'ole month o' Sundays. I passed it, old pal,
    _in a punt!_

  "O Walker!" sez you, "that's 'is gammon!" No, CHARLIE, it's righteous,
    dear boy.
  It's quite true that to chivvy Thames hanglers is jest what we used
    to enjoy.
  Rekerlek that old buffer at Richmond, and 'ow we shoved foul of his swim,
  And lost him a middlin'-sized barbel and set his straw tile on the skim?

  Hangling isn't my mark, that's a moral, and fishermen mostly is fools;
  To chaff 'em and tip 'em the kibosh is one of my reglarest rules;
  And it ain't our sort only as does it, you take the non-anglers
    all round,
  An you'll find that in potting the puntist they're 'ARRIES right down
    to the ground.

  All our chicest stock-jokes and pet patter they mops up, like mugs as
    they are,
  For they _might_ cut their own chaff, eh, CHARLIE? not borrow it all
    from the bar.
  But I've seen little toffs in white weskits a slinging _our_ lingo
    to rights,
  About colds, and cock-salmons, and shop 'uns; it's one of the
    rummiest sights.

  Of course they all trot out SAM JOHNSON; you know the fine crusted
    old wheeze.
  I chucked it one day at a cove as lay stretched at the foot of
    some trees.
  "Fool at one end and worm at the other?" sez he. "Ah! that's neat,
    and _so_ new,
  And as you seem to be worm _and_ fool, one may say 'extremes meet'.
    Sir, in _you_."

  'Owsomever _I_'ve 'ad a day's 'ooking at last, and it wasn't arf bad.
  You know since I turned Primrose Leaguer I've mixed with the Toppers,
    my lad;
  And one on 'em, pal of the Prince, I believe, got JACK JOLTER a pass
  For some fine preserved waters; no pay, mate, and everythink fixed up

  JACK arsked me and BELL BONSOR to jine him, and seein' it didn't mean tin,
  And the 'ole thing seemed swell, with good grubbing and lots o'
    prime lotion chucked in.
  I was "on" like a shot. BELL'S a bloomer, and JACK, though a bit
    of a jug,
  Is too long in the purse to let slip; so the game looked all proper
    and snug.

  JACK'S a straw-thatched young joker in gig-lamps, good-natured, and
    nuts on the sport.
  He turns up with four rods and two bait-cans, and tackle of every
    dashed sort.
  Such rum-looking gimcracks, my pippin; lines coiled up in boxes
    and books,
  And live-bait, and worms all a-wriggle, and big ugly bunches of 'ooks.

  _I_ was a'most afraid to set down, for the things seemed all over
    the shop,
  And BELL she kep startin' and squeakin', a-settin' me fair on the 'op;
  Fust a fish as dabbed flop on her 'at, then a 'ook as got snagged
    in 'er skirt,
  It was one blessed squork all the time, mate, though nothink much
    'appened to 'urt.

  Pooty spot; sort o' lake green and windin', with nice quiet "swims"
    all about.
  Though I must say _I_ missed the Thames gammocks, the snide comic song,
    and the shout.
  No larks at the locks, no collisions, no landings for lotion, you know,
  And, but for Miss BELL and the bottle, it might a bin jest a bit slow.

  But the prog was A 1, and no kid. Though JACK stuck to his tackle
    like wax,
  BELL and me was soon stodging like winkles; that gal _did_ make play
    with the snacks.
  "_Strike!_" cries JACK--"you've a _bite_!" "Yes, I know it," sez I,
    with my mouth full of 'am.
  "Wot do _you_ think, Miss B.?"--and she larfed till 'er cheeks went
    like raspberry jam.

  JOLTER looked jest a mossel disgusted, and turned a bit rusty, for _him_,
  When we made the punt rock in our romps, which he said was "disturbing
    the swim."
  And when he had hooked a fine perch, and Miss BELL made a dash at
    the line,
  And the fish flobbered back with a flop, JACK'S escape from a cuss cut
    it fine.

  Then he pulled in his "trimmer," and, scissors! a jolly big jack
    came aboard,
  Wich flopped round us, and showed his sharp teeth, till Miss BONSOR
    went pasty, and roared.
  Reg'lar shark; made a grab at my pants when I tried to cut in
    to BELL'S aid;
  And I'm blowed if she didn't turn raspy, and chaff me for
    being _afraid_.

  Arter this things appeared to go quisby; BELL'S skirt 'ad got slimed,
    dontcher see.
  And she vowed it was spiled, while JACK looked jest as though he could
    scrumplicate me.
  So sez I, "Let us turn up this barney, and toddle ashore for some grub;"
  And we pulled up the stone and the hanchor, and made a bee-line for
    our pub.

  The dinner soon smoothed down our feathers, though JACK 'ad a sad
    sort o' look.
  Selfish fellows these hanglers are, CHARLIE, they carn't keep their
    heye off the 'ook.
  Bless yer 'art, 'cos we struck arter dinner, and chucked up the perch
    for a spree,
  And took a turn round, me a pulling, that JACK looked as blue as
    could be.

  'Owsomever we chaffed 'im a good 'un. Miss BELL and yours truly
    got thick,
  Wen I told 'er 'er lips wos true "spoon"-bait, _she_ twigged wot
    I meant pooty quick.
  "Oh, I carn't abide anglers," she whispered, "they're flabby and cold
    like their fish,
  'Ow I wish JACK would jest sling 'is 'ook, and leave hus,--well,
    _you_ know wot I wish."

  "Oh. I'm fly, dear," sez I, with a 'ug. So I nobbled the Guard
    with a tip,
  And we managed to nip in fust-class, and so gave Master JOLTER the slip.
  It give 'im the needle in course, being left in the lurch in this way,
  But the petticoats know wot is wot, and so wot's your true dasher to say?

  JACK 'as cut me since then at the "Primrose Club," bust 'im!
    I don't care a toss;
  Your angler is _always_ a juggins, so _he_'s no pertikler big loss.
  BELL BONSOR is mashed on me proper, and _if_ I'd a fancy to marry,--
  But _if_ there's a fish as _ain't_ easy to 'ook it's

    Yours artfully, 'ARRY.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "MODEL" LEGISLATION.

_Wandering Student (to his Companion, after reading Poster)._ "'CLASS OF
JIMMEY!?" [_Exeunt depressed!_]

       *       *       *       *       *


_Question._ So you have conscientiously done the Jubilee?

_Answer._ Certainly. For the last month I have scarcely ever been to

_Q._ Why? _A._ Somehow I have not retired to rest before it has been
time to get up.

_Q._ Did you go to the Abbey?

_A._ That I did! Most touching! Shall never forget----

_Q._ Thank you. I think I can supply as much as you want of that sort of
thing. I will not trouble you for any descriptions. Were you at the
Guildhall Ball?

_A._ I was, and saw all the foreign Royalties.

_Q._ How did the LORD MAYOR get through it?

_A._ On the whole, well; although the Remembrancer, in a full-bottomed
wig, rushing about, in a very energetic fashion, was suggestive of
_Fusbos_ in _Bombastes Furioso_.

_Q._ Were you at the Royal Academy _Soirée_?

_A._ Certainly. It was a very large gathering.

_Q._ And who did you see there?

_A._ The same persons as those I had noticed in the Abbey.

_Q._ And they were----

_A._ The persons I had seen at the Reform Club

_Q._ And they?

_A._ Were subsequently found at the Inner Temple Ball,
the Gray's Inn Maske, and the laying of the foundation-stone of the

_Q._ Was the _Maske of Flowers_ a success?

_A._ A very great success; but it was all I could do to keep awake--I
was so dead beat--in the Gray's Inn grounds at the Garden Party

_Q._ And the Volunteer Review--how did you like that?

_A._ Oh, splendid! Nearly thirty thousand men all marching past.

_Q._ And the Review at Aldershot?

_A._ Magnificent! Nearly seventy thousand men marching past.

_Q._ Did they all pass you?

_A._ Yes, all. They took three hours or more in doing it. They were all
alike. Seventy thousand men, all alike, for three hours. It was deeply

_Q._ Did you see the QUEEN?

_A._ I saw where she was, but HER MAJESTY was concealed from view by the
Long Valley dust.

_Q._ Did you go to the Lincoln's Inn Garden Party?

_A._ To meet Lord HERSCHELL, his friends, and the Prince and Princess?
Certainly. It differed from other Garden Parties in having in the
grounds a sort of bath containing a fountain, ducks, and (to the best of
my belief) turtles.

_Q._ Have you been to many Garden Parties?

_A._ Oh yes, to a large number. I have been to nineteen with Indian
Princes complete, and two without.

_Q._ Did you go to the Naval Review?

_A._ Oh yes; in the middle of the night. I came back before the dawn on
the following morning.

_Q._ Was it very beautiful?

_A._ Very--what I could see of it.

_Q._ What did you see of it?

_A._ Not much.

_Q._ Have you done anything else?

_A._ I have been in a chronic state of dinners, balls, operas, laying of
foundation-stones, fireworks, and marches past.

_Q._ Are you at all confused?

_A._ So much confused, that I have just head enough left to try, in a
feeble manner, to get back to the country.

_Q._ And if you do get back to the country, when shall you again visit

_A._ Well, it is my impression, not just immediately!

       *       *       *       *       *


IN a deep and dark recess, among the sepulchral chambers of Sidon, on a
splendid Sarcophagus in black stone, the delvers of the Palestine
Exploration Committee lately discovered an ancient Phoenician
inscription, which has been translated in a Beyrout newspaper as

    "I, TALNITE, Priest of Astarte, and King of Sidon, son of
    ESHMUNAZAR, Priest of Astarte, and King of Sidon, lying in this
    tomb, say:--Come not to open my tomb; there is here neither gold,
    nor silver, nor treasure. He who will open this tomb shall have no
    prosperity under the sun, and shall not find repose in the grave."

If the explorers who unearthed TALNITE'S epitaph had been able to read
it, they might have been fit to shake in their shoes; only that no
Archæologist now makes any bones whatever of rifling an ancient tomb.
Hereafter, perhaps, the Australian emissary of a British Exploration
Fund will not be deterred by a commination similar to the foregoing from
opening the tomb of SHAKSPEARE, and perhaps removing both that
Sarcophagus and its contents, should he find any remaining, to a
Melbourne Museum.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE OTHER "G. O. M."--G. OSBOURNE MORGAN. ("Mr. G." must copyright the

       *       *       *       *       *




_Monday, July 18._--Pretty incident in Lords to-night. Debate on Third
Reading of Coercion Bill. In middle of proceedings DENMAN remembered
four other lines for quotation from late Lord HOUGHTON'S poems. Last
time he recited from this source the reporters, as he complained, had
not reproduced the quotation. Evidently in strong force in Gallery
to-night; working away at high pressure. Now the time, or never. So
DENMAN rose and began--

"My name is NORVAL----"


Unfortunately GRANVILLE rose at same moment. Didn't seem at all
interested in further biographical details, and recurred to Coercion
Bill. DENMAN not to be turned aside.

"----On the Grampian hills,"

he continued; whereupon the Markiss rose and moved formal Resolution
that GRANVILLE be heard.

Evidently some misunderstanding; but DENMAN too polite to insist on
pushing himself forward; resumed his seat, and patiently awaited
conclusion of GRANVILLE'S speech. Thereupon promptly rose again, and
approached the table. So did the Markiss, and the two Statesmen stood
and glared at each other across the table.

"My name----" DENMAN began.

"My Lords," said the Markiss.

"Order! order!" shouted the Peers. Then GRANVILLE remembered what the
Markiss had done for him in similar circumstances, and, interposing,
moved that the Markiss be heard. House agreed, and _Norval_, retiring
from the Grampian hills, withdrew to the Lowlands by the Bar.

In Commons GRANDOLPH turned up in his favourite character as Economist.
Crammed to the moustache. Figures which he rattled out show that First
Lord and Board of Admiralty are spendthrifts. Quite a marvellous store
of learning, which hampered HAMILTON, baffled BERESFORD, riled REED and
flurried FORWOOD.

This, the serious business of the sitting, prefaced by a privilege case
which of course attracted much more attention. LONG complained that on
addressing TANNER in Lobby after debate of Friday, Member for Mid-Cork
had turned upon him and abused him in coarsest language. Old Morality
moved that TANNER be suspended for a month. Many Members of opinion that
O. M. need not have been so precise. As they _were_ hanging him up, a
month or two more or less would make no difference. Others laid the
blame on LONG, who opened the conversation.

"If a man touches pitch he must expect to be defiled," said Lady PARKER,
gyrating coquettishly in the Lobby. SEXTON moved adjournment of debate
till Thursday. In course of speech fell upon GENT-DAVIS standing at Bar,
"smiling," as SEXTON bitterly said, "in such a superior manner." Finding
a head there, SEXTON brought down shillelagh on it. Suddenness of
assault took away G.-D.'s breath. Very indignant when he recovered.

"What business had he to attack me?" he asked. "I'll interpolate the
SPEAKER, and see if this, too, isn't a Breach of Privilege."

_Business done._--Supply.

_Tuesday._--Seems TANNER not the only Member who has been "saying
things" in the Lobby. Alderman FOWLER accused of having sinned in a
similar way against HOWELL. Irish Members gleefully taken up case.
SEXTON gave notice that on Thursday, when Motion for suspension of
TANNER comes on, he will move that FOWLER be also suspended for a month.
"They can go away together for a month in the country," TIM HEALY says;
"or might take a trip to Norway. Anyhow, they'll be able to pair for the
remainder of the Session."

FOWLER makes light of the threat, but not at all a pleasant thing.
Parliamentary life, as a whole, getting rather a weariness to the flesh.
Only the other day he was sat upon in connection with the manufacture of
bogus petitions, now is to be brought up for using bad language in the
Lobby. Wishes he'd been made a Jubilee Peer.

[Illustration: "If a man touches pitch," &c.]

After questions, gallant little Wales came up, piping its eye.
Thirty-one men been arrested in connection with Tithe Riots near Ruthin.
Government, having got into swing in Ireland, proposed to change the
_venue_, and try prisoners by Special Jury. ELLIS moved Adjournment in
order to protest. Backed up by OSBORNE MORGAN, HARCOURT, DILLWYN, and
others. On other side, ATTORNEY-GENERAL justified course taken, and
SOLICITOR-GENERAL declared OSBORNE MORGAN'S speech "a scandal to the
House of Commons." Idea of OSBORNE MORGAN creating a scandal shocked the
House; CLARKE obliged to withdraw remark, and apologise.

Gem of the evening was SWETENHAM'S speech. Delightful the ease and
fluency with which he pronounced such words as Llanymrech and
Llansaintfraid, and others guiltless of a vowel. Delicious the way in
which he ogled OSBORNE MORGAN, slily insinuating his intimate knowledge
of the criminal classes. What with his remarks, and the accusation of
the SOLICITOR-GENERAL, House began to think there was more in OSBORNE
MORGAN than met the eye, and that it had, unawares, been nursing a viper
in its bosom.

_Business done._--Supply.

[Illustration: "Scandalous!"]

_Thursday._--Dr. TANNER and Alderman FOWLER both in their places at
Question Time. First business on paper was Adjourned Debate on Old
Morality's Motion to suspend TANNER for a month. SEXTON gave notice to
haul up the Alderman on charge similar to that which hung over meek head
of TANNER. TANNER in apologetic mood, but the Alderman defiant. In
course of debate HOWELL, alleged victim of Alderman's minatory
observations, attempted to introduce the subject. TANNER debate been on
for hour and half; began to flag a little. Time seemed opportune for
serving up the Alderman. But SPEAKER peremptorily interposed, and would
have none of it. Sufficient for the day was the TANNER thereof, and so
the Alderman, a pillar of the Church, a mainstay of the State, must go
down to posterity under charge of having used naughty words in the

TANNER episode proved lively enough. TANNER apologised for language used
to WALTER LONG, and duly expressed his regret. All eyes turned upon Old
Morality. Expected, as Leader of House, to interpose, and bring
unsavoury proceedings to swift close--and so, let us go to business. But
O. M. let LONG slip in with correction of TANNER'S version of what had
passed. Squabbled for half-an-hour as to what had really been said.
House got its back up. Opportunity for controlling it passed. Storm grew
higher as moments slipped by. HARCOURT in his element, thumping the
table and shouting at top of his voice in effort, sometimes vain, to
make himself heard amid clamour on opposite benches. Finally, WHITBREAD
appealed to SPEAKER to give his opinion. This awkward for SPEAKER, who
must needs offend one or other of angry parties. Acquitted himself
admirably. With infinite tact expressed his opinion that, as contended
from Opposition Benches, TANNER'S apology "formal, distinct, and
unreserved." Rather a snub this for Old Morality and HARTINGTON, who had
backed him up. But decision unanimously accepted, and the smile which
BIGWOOD reported he had "seen on the countenance of Dr. TANNER" when
first addressed in Lobby by LONG, returned.

[Illustration: "We've lost two hours' precious time."]

"We've lost two hours' precious time," said KENNAWAY, walking out, "and
the only person that's made anything out of it is TANNER. A week ago was
in low water, snubbed by his own friends, for whom his conduct was too
bad. Now elevated to position of persecuted hero, made the subject of
elaborate debate, dragged Government into fresh muddle, and brought upon
them rebuke from highest authority in the House."

_Business done._--Got into Committee on Land Bill.

_Friday._--House assembled this afternoon at Waterloo Station, bound for
Portsmouth and Southampton, to see the Review.

_Business done._--Took return-tickets.

       *       *       *       *       *

"DEAR me!" said Mrs. RAM, "I always thought that Margarine was a foreign
title. Wasn't there a Margarine of Hesse?"

       *       *       *       *       *


_By D. Crambo, Junior._

[Illustration: "Ham?--Steaks!"]

[Illustration: "Rich! mon'!"]

[Illustration: Fin-don.]

[Illustration: Little Time was lost in getting to the Post.]

[Illustration: Taking Inside Place.]

[Illustration: Drawing Out Clear].

[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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can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of any specific book is
allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Doctrine Publishing
ISYS search  means it can be used in any manner anywhere in the world.
Copyright infringement liability can be quite severe.

About ISYS® Search Software
Established in 1988, ISYS Search Software is a global supplier of enterprise
search solutions for business and government.  The company's award-winning
software suite offers a broad range of search, navigation and discovery
solutions for desktop search, intranet search, SharePoint search and embedded
search applications.  ISYS has been deployed by thousands of organizations
operating in a variety of industries, including government, legal, law
enforcement, financial services, healthcare and recruitment.