Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 93, November 5, 1887
Author: Various
Language: English
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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 93.



November 5th 1887.



THE LETTER-BAG OF TOBY, M.P.

FROM AN INTENDING EMIGRANT.

  _Liverpool, Saturday Noon._

[Illustration:]

DEAR TOBY,

My boat is on the shore, And my bark is on the sea, But before I
go, TO-BEE, I will write a line to thee. I am here to join the bark
aforesaid, which will presently convey JOSEPH and his fortunes to the
United States. As far as one can judge from the Press news telegraphed
here, the reception that awaits me is not very cordial. I have all my
life been conscious of a tendency to rub people down the wrong way.
Unhappily the consciousness is borne in upon me only after the evil
is effected. No succession of experience has effect upon my conduct.
HARTINGTON and I are pretty good friends now, but I daresay you will
remember the night, now a dozen years dead, when I rose from a seat
below the Gangway in the House of Commons and, amid frantic cheers
from the little Radical Party of which I was then a humble ornament,
denounced him as "_late_ the Leader of the Liberal Party." The Markiss
is now my friend and ally, and I might almost say patron. The time
is too short for me to recall a tithe of the nasty things I have
said about him and others who toil not, neither do they spin. With
GLADSTONE the process is reversed, but in the end is much the same. I
began by adulating him, and now no one can say that that is my precise
attitude towards him.

It is more or less well as far as individuals are concerned. But I am
afraid I put my foot in it when, in defiance of historic warning,
I framed an indictment against a whole nation. Going out to the New
World on a mission of peace, I began by aggravating Canada and setting
up the back of the United States. When I reflect how easy it
would have been for me to say nothing, I stand amazed at my own
indiscretion. The only recompense I find in the situation is the
chagrin of the Markiss and his friends. They thought they had done
a nice stroke of policy in engaging me on this business. It is, of
course, not a new procedure. If I were still on the other side, I
should take delight in showing that herein, as in the matter of the
Convention with France just completed, they have taken a leaf out of
the book of their political opponents, and re-issued it with their own
imprimatur. The last time a Commissioner was sent out from England to
reason with the United States, GLADSTONE was in the Markiss's place,
and he selected STAFFORD NORTHCOTE as the agent. It was an excellent
device, tying in advance the hands of the enemy, who could scarcely
denounce a policy for the initiation and direction of which one of
their principal men was chiefly responsible. But what a difference
between STAFFORD NORTHCOTE and me!--a difference which the Markiss is
already beginning to realise. The proposal suited me well enough. It
would take me away from the country at a time when my presence here
only involves me in embarrassing controversy. Moreover, if I made a
great hit, and insured a successful Treaty, it would pave the way
for my return to my old position in the popular esteem. As for the
Markiss, my acceptance of the work would secure for him an ally on the
Opposition benches in the event of future debate arising out of the
Treaty, and would draw into close, personal union with his Party what
only natural modesty prevents me from alluding to as a formidable
antagonist. That was the little game; and for the sake of saying
something bitter, under the temptation to gird at an adversary that
had affronted me, I hopelessly spoiled it.

Writing to you, _cher_ TOBY, in the confidence of friendly
correspondence (I suppose your letters are not opened at the Post
Office, Barkshire not being an Irish county) I will confess that I
really could not help it. It is not that I do not know better, but my
temper is perhaps a little peculiar. I am essentially a fighting-man.
If any one bites his thumb at me I will know the reason why, and no
considerations of what is politic will prevent me from returning a
blow. I know that some people think I'm almost to be pitied because
(as they put it) I have hopelessly thrown away a position which no one
but myself could have destroyed. They think I am politically done for.
We shall see. However it be, I shall not forget the wild joy of battle
that the events of the past year have purchased for me. I like it best
with my back to the wall in the House of Commons, when my old friends
jeer and howl at me, and the rapturous cheers of the Conservatives
testify their pleasure at seeing me of all men playing their game--as
they think. I confess things at the moment are not from any point of
view very bright. But I can afford to wait, strong in the assurance
that I can do better without the Liberal Party than the Liberal Party
can do without me. They call me a Dissentient, which reminds me of a
story I once heard about an aboriginal resident in the great country
whither I am now hastening. A red man was found wandering in the
depths of the forest with signs of perturbation manifest beneath
his manfully calm exterior. "Are you lost?" he was asked. "No," he
answered, "me no lost. Me here. Wigwam lost." It is not I that am a
Dissentient Liberal; it is the Liberal Party that is the Dissentient.

Now here is the Mayor come to say that luncheon's ready, and so,
dropping into poetry again, I will say good-bye, With a sigh to those
who love me, And a smile to those who hate, And, whatever sky's above
me, Here's a heart for every fate. Yours faithfully,

  J. CH-MB-RL-N.

       *       *       *       *       *

BOUNTIES TO FOREIGNERS.

_First Passenger (in Underground Railway)._ We're such a frightfully
_insular_ nation! Ignorant, exclusive, say-nothing-to-nobody sort of
people! Think there's nothing beyond Straits of Dover--or Atlantic
Ocean.

_Second Ditto (agreeing out of politeness)._ Horrible? By the bye,
that's a nice picture of the Paris Hippodrome, isn't it?

_First Passenger (indifferently)._ Is it? But, as I was saying,
insularity is our----

_Second Ditto (startled)._ Hullo! By Jove!--no, it can't be true! Yes,
it is--here's an English newspaper taken to giving a column, a whole
column, of French news _in French!_ (_Humorously._) Very insular,
isn't it?

_First Passenger (not understanding the point)._ Very. And, as I was
saying, it's our besetting sin. We hide our heads like ostriches, and
refuse to recognise the existence of foreigners. Then what does this
insularity mean? It means we're _isolated_--cut off from Europe--hated
by everybody.

_Second Ditto (roused at last)._ I don't know what you call being
insular and isolated. French Plays are on at a London Theatre. An
Italian Exhibition's coming to Earl's Court. We get our music from
Germany, our singers from Italy, and our butter and eggs from Belgium
and Brittany; and, on the whole, don't you think London's about the
most Cosmopolitan Capital to be found anywhere? Ah, here's my Station.
Good morning!

  [_Jumps out in time to escape indignant retort. Exit._

       *       *       *       *       *

MAGAZINES IN BULK.--It is as impossible to "sample" a magazine by
a monthly number as it is to estimate the quality of a wine by the
glass. If you take a bottle you know something about it. Thus when we
see the _English Illustrated_ in volume we are fully able to
estimate its worth. The present volume is in every way equal to its
predecessors. Volume Fourteen of _St. Nicholas_ is one of those good
gifts that Brother JONATHAN sends us. It is a delightful collection
of child-poems, child-pictures, and child-lore. The editor, Miss MARY
MAPES DODGE knows full well how difficult it is to please those keen
critics, the children, but she has "dodged" it.

       ***

THE MAC BATTENBERG.--_Mr. Punch_ is delighted to hear that mother and
child are doing well, and congratulates the Infant Princess on being
the first of the Royal Family to be born in Scotland since 1600.
Could not the next be born in Ireland? "The O'BATTENBERG," would be a
splendid title.

       ***

LATEST FROM LICHFIELD.--DR. JOHNSON loved "a good hater." He ought to
have flourished next year--Hatey-hate! Ha! ha!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "EMPLOYMENT."

_First Loafer._ "'SAY, MATE, IF THEY WAS TO PUT A SHOVEL IN YER 'ANDS,
AN' TELL YER TO GO TO WORK, WOULD YER TAKE IT?"

_Second Loafer._ "'COURSE I WOULD."

_First Loafer._ "WOULD YER USE IT?"

_Second Loafer._ "'COURSE I WOULD?--LIKE A SHOT! I'D SPOUT IT!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

ROBERT ON LUXURY.

Alderman Sir RENERY KNIGHT, late Lord Mare, and one of the werry best
as we ever had, and so was his good wife, the Lady Maress, hapening
for to be a setting at the Manshun House when the LORD MARE was gorn
out for a ride somewheres, had to receive what I thinks is called a
Deputytashun--though not a bit like reel Deputys, who is all werry
rich--of poor working-men as ain't got not no work to do, and, like
the kind gennelman as he is, he gave 'em sum such capital adwice as to
the utter stoopidity of making theirselves noisy and disagreeable when
they wants to make people kindly dispoged towards 'em, and as to the
well-known fackt, that the best friends of the working-classes is them
as spends their money the most freest and the most liberalist, that
he set the hole City a ringing with it, and as always happens alike
in exacly similar cases, up starts a mere upstart of a Pollytickle
Economist--how I hates the werry sound of that larst word, which is
ony another name for stingyness and meanness and sham forgitfulness
of the pore Waiter--and says as it ain't true! Like his imperance
I think, but of coarse ewery body has a right to his own opinion,
however ridicklus it may be. But being a Lecturer, and therefore
I spose acustomed to use his tung pretty freely, he mite have been
xpected to have kept a civil one in his head when he rote his reply to
Sir RENERY. Instead of which he fust calls him incorrygible, which
I beleeve means that he carnt be conwicted, as if a Alderman and
Magistrate could be! He then writes of his "Colossal ignorance!" I
don't quite know what it means but I'm quite sure that however small
the Alderman's may be, the Lecturer's is ever so much bigger, as I'll
prove from my own pussonal knowledge.

He acshally has the ordassity to adwise the Rite Honerable the LORD
MARE not to employ so many cooks! Poor hignoramus! has he ever dined
at the Manshun House on a trewly grate ocashun? Most suttenly not, or
he never would have written such a silly, not to say cruel sentence.
Not so many cooks indeed! Does he think that the Chef who has given
his whole mind to the preparing of the Thick and Clear Turtle, is not
so utterly xhausted that he has to drink two or three glasses of werry
old Madeary, and then lay down on his sophy and recover hisself
by slow degrees. Does he think that the Fish Cooks, with praps six
differing kinds of Fish to prepare, is fit for anything else? and how
about the Sauce Artists, let him try to emagine, tho' he'll try in
wain, what they has to go through in the tasting line. Then there are
the French gentlemen who superintend the production of those wunders
in what they calls the guestronommick line, wiz.: the _Ontrays!_ Is
it supposed by this "curlossal" hignoramus, that they can, after
achieving brilliant success in these wunders of hart, condescend to
turn their attention to such werry small deer as poultry and jints?
Suttenly not, the thing's absurd. But they requires cooks, tho' of
coarse, not of the same hi horder as the Hartists.

But, strange to tell, ewen this is not the wust. Not only is the LORD
MARE adwised not to employ so many Cooks, but the trewly wunderful
reason is given, becoz he can then employ more railway navvies! Shades
of FRANK HURTELLY and SWOYHAY, rest tranquil in your long graves!

But what a dedly hinsult to one of the werry noblest of all noble
perfessions, to compare for usefulness a mere railway navvy to a great
Chef. Is this strange economist aware that the great Earl of SEFTON,
prais to his memory! used to allow his Chef £300 a year and a Horse
and Broom for the Park! But all sitch conclusive arguments is I fear
utterly lost upon him.

However, there is just one matter for which I have to thank him. I
confess that my face werry possibly turned gashly pale as I read his
orful letter, I fornatrally thort if he is going to recommend less
Cooks he may werry posserbly be a going for to recommend less Waiters!
But no, he had the good taste to draw his line there, and for that I
thanks him. What a treat it is to turn from the wild projecks of the
Lecterer to the wise counsels of the Alderman. No doubt, he says, we
could all do without luxuries, but what would become of the millions
who produces them? No doubt, he says, we could all live on plain food
and drink water--what orful words for a Alderman to write down!--but
then what would become of the millions who earns their living
in preparing them, and he might have added, as a clencher to his
staggering argument, and what would become of Hus? If there is one
picter that presents itself to my orrified imagination, that more than
any other staggers it, it is that of the hole splendid Army of London
Waiters, with their full dress black coats a gitting jist a leetle
shabby, and their lovely white chokers jest a leetle shady, a parading
the London Streets, and a singing in Chorus, "We've got no work
to do!" But no, I feels as that orful dream will never live to be
realised, but, to use the classic langwidge as the Lecturer quotes
from some frend of his, and which I supposes as he intends as a
complement, "let the idol rich still take their proper place as
drones in the hive, gorging at a feast to which they have contributed
nothing," and he might have added, and never never forgetting the
Waiter.

  ROBERT.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration]

MR. PUNCH was pleased to notice that a certain noisy Salvationist, who
would insist on playing the cornet--did he profanely call it "The horn
of salvation?"--to the disturbance of quiet citizens, was made to move
on, and treated as a common street-organ nuisance by the Magistrate.
Wanted, as soon as possible, an Act to stop all unauthorised
Processions, be they what they may.

       ***

The disastrous fire at WHITELEY'S occupied the entire attention of
thirty-four steam fire-engines, "leaving," says the _Standard_,
"about a dozen for the rest of London." The "rest" of London will
be considerably disturbed if this state of things continues. We are
under-police'd and under-fire-brigaded. If GRANDOLPH the Great
is afraid of becoming one of the Unemployed, and so getting into
mischief, let him turn his attention to supply and demand in this
direction, and the ex-Chancellor of the Exchequer may do some good.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE NOT-AT-ALL-AT-HOME SECRETARY.

_Mr. General-Inspector Punch._ "NOW THEN, MATT, MOVE ON! DON'T
INTERFERE WITH THE POLICE IN THE EXECUTION OF THEIR DUTY."

    "_The change of tactics last week on the part of the Police,
    in permitting a Meeting in Trafalgar Square, was said to
    be due to the interference of the Home Secretary._"--_Daily
    Papers._
]

       *       *       *       *       *

T'other and Which; or, an Old Saw re-set.

_The Showman at Nottingham or Islington (exhibiting figures of G. O.
M. and Orchid Joe)._ Here you see the Separatist Party as large as
life!

_Dubious Elector._ Please, which is the Separatist Party?

_Showman._ Whichever you please, my little dear. You pays your money,
and you gives your vote.

       ***

FREE AND VERY OPEN.--In Canterbury Cathedral, the other day, there was
only one worshipper present at the Service! The occurrence is declared
to be unprecedented, four having been the previous low-water-mark of
attendance. It might be described as "one-man rule," only it isn't the
rule, but the exception, it seems. If this sort of thing spreads,
the craze for restoring our Cathedrals ought to give way to a cry
for restoring their congregations. Was the Service altered to "Dearly
Beloved Brother" or "Sister?"

       *       *       *       *       *

SHOWS VIEWS.

_By Victor Who-goes-Everywhere._

[Illustration]

M. COQUELIN is at the Royalty with an efficient French Company
appearing in a round of his best-known characters. He has already
taken part in _Un Parisien, Don Cæsar de Bazan_ and an entirely new
piece (first time in London and elsewhere) _L'Aîné_. This last I had
the pleasure of seeing the other evening, and was delighted to
find that it was a play that could be safely recommended as a fit
entertainment for their charge to the guardians of that apparently
very easily-influenced infant, "The Young Person." It is rather
suggestive of several English original pieces, amongst the rest
_Miriam's Crime_ and _Faded Flowers_. The adopted daughter (rescued
as a child from the gutter) of a millionnaire, after her protector's
death, undertakes the reformation of her benefactor's brother, who
takes, through intestacy, the whole of his senior's estate. To carry
this out effectively, the young lady prevents the heir from drinking
his _chasse_ after his coffee, and playing a game of _écarté_ with an
old friend, for love, and finally offers to marry him. The heir is as
quiet as a lamb under these inflictions, until he discovers that
his _fiancée_ loves some one else, when he proposes, at the earliest
possible moment, to commit suicide. This inconvenient intention is
prevented, the adopted daughter marries the man of her choice, and
the heir goes back to America, thus all ends happily. COQUELIN, as the
heir, was seen to very great advantage in the less sentimental parts
of the character, but was not quite so successful when he commenced
crying over the portrait of _L'Aîné_, which, by the way, was a very
excellent likeness (without the eyeglass) of the Right Hon. JOSEPH
CHAMBERLAIN. For the rest Madame MALVAU was rather a mature adopted
daughter, M. ROMAIN (as "_Georges_--her friend") a little too heavy in
more senses than one as the superfluous lover, and M. DUQUESNE a
very excellent lawyer. There is nothing particularly brilliant in the
writing, and only one line raises a laugh. When the vagabond friend
of the heir extends his hand, _M. Vivien_, without a movement, merely
asks, "_Combien?_" But on its repetition this admirable joke did not
"go" quite so well. Still there is a freshness in the central idea
of the play which is welcome. As a rule every one on the French stage
weeps over somebody's mother, but in this case the tears were reserved
for somebody's brother. It is said that the Author of the piece, M.
PAUL DELAIR, is a novice at stage-craft. This seems to me very
likely, as had he had more experience, I fancy he would have allowed
(especially if he had known that the character was going to be played
by M. ROMAIN) _M. Georges_ to have been shot dead in the First Act.
This would have been really a great improvement, especially had
_Yveline_ (the adopted daughter) been allowed to expire from grief
early in the Second. Joking apart, _L'Aîné_ is not half a bad piece,
although I cannot conscientiously go so far as to say that it is half
a good one. Before the engagement of M. COQUELIN is over, the talented
actor has promised to play _Gringoire_. No doubt this will be
produced for the benefit of Mr. BEERBOHM TREE, who richly deserves the
compliment.

[Illustration]

The Paris Hippodrome has once more taken possession of Olympia, where
it seems likely to remain until well into next year. The entertainment
is of the customary quality, which is saying a great deal in its
praise. There are excellent _troupes_ of acrobats and performing
dogs (with a wonderful black poodle that is the best clown that
has appeared in a Circus for many a long year), chariot-races, and
horsemanship in all its branches. This season the Ladies have it all
their own way. The last time M. HOUCKE visited us, Gentlemen drove
the team of thirty-two, and jumped over the hurdles with the tandem of
three; now their places are supplied by members of the fairer sex. The
horses who take part in these feats are so admirably trained that
the element of danger is entirely eliminated, and, consequently, the
change is an improvement. Then an accomplished cob and an elegant
elephant take a turn together in more senses than one, for they dance
_vis-à-vis_ a waltz and a polka. The novelty of the Show, however, is
kept for the second part, and is apparently a page from the Algerian
experiences of General BOULANGER. The attention of a tribe of Arabs
(seemingly on their road to church) having been attracted to a
military train containing a bugle-band of Turcos and some half-dozen
soldiers of the French line, devotions are temporarily abandoned for a
pitched battle. The Arabs fire upon the Europeans, who, however,
after a lively skirmish, succeed in "taking up a position" with the
bugle-band, and then retire. The Arabs bearing no ill-will, dancing
follows, and the fighting being quite over and forgotten, General
BOULANGER, accompanied by a Staff, swaggers in and assists at further
military exercises. Then the bugle-band heads the procession of French
and Arabs, and, after marching past BOULANGER, _exeunt_. The attack
upon the train, if a little perplexing from a purely historical point
of view, is capitally managed, and very exciting. Since the opening
night the large hall has been very well attended; and now that the
American Exhibition is closed, may be expected to be crowded--and a
crowded audience at the Addison Road cannot be recorded in less than
five figures. "The Wild West is gone--long live Olympia!"

A second visit to the Royal Westminster Aquarium has not improved my
opinion of "the Wolves, the Wolves, the Wolves!" (see Advertisement)
as a pleasure-insuring entertainment. I have already said that the
tricks of these animals cause a "creepy" sensation, and when I made
this observation I referred to the "kissing act," wherein a wolf
embraces the portly person in the Polish lancer's uniform who has
trained it. But the fights between master and brutes are even less
tolerable, as may be judged to be the case when I say that, on
a recent occasion when I was present, the trainer seemed to be a
good-half-hour (no doubt it was an infinitely less period of time) in
getting one of his wild beasts into its allotted cage. It is not at
all a nice sight to see a man beating a snapping and yelping wolf with
a whip, for one feels that there is the element of cruelty on both
sides. Take it allround, I prefer "the _belle_ FATMA,"--that is,
taking her all round, on which I need hardly say I should not
venture,--to "the Wolves, the Wolves, the Wolves!" And I sincerely
hope that FATMA (the old lady near her looks more like Fat Ma) may
always be able to keep the wolf from her door.

       *       *       *       *       *

GENTLE JOHNNY BULL.

  The way with "demonstrations" tyrants used to take was brief--
  Justices gave a rioter the guerdon of a thief!
  Not only durance vile--our gentler nature how it shocks--
  But whipping-cheer, and oh! they set their Brother in the Stocks!

  In those days a Stump-Orator had reason to take care,
  How he denounced, derided, and defied the Powers that were.
  And if he talked High Treason--Imagine this, my dears!
  They put him in the pillory, and sometimes clipped his ears.

  A People's Friend, unless he took good heed to what he said,
  Was liable to answer for his language with his head.
  How venerable soever, a too talkative old Cock,
  His eloquence might bring him, though a Statesman, to the block.

  But happily we, Brethren, now are men of milder mood,
  And not, as were our ancestors, vindictive, stern, and rude.
  So much has done the milk of human kindness to assuage,
  The bile of British hardihood in this forbearing age!

       *       *       *       *       *

MR. GLADSTONE ON THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER.

SIR,--You are wrong in supposing that the term, "Old Fireworks," was
originally applied to myself. I am of opinion, though I speak under a
certain amount of correction, not such, however, as my young friend,
GRANDOLPH, would like to supply, that the term Old Fireworks was first
applied to the celebrated _Mr. Pickwick_, though upon what occasion
and by whom I cannot at this moment call to mind. To your second
question, as to whether I approve of the conduct of _Mr. Samuel
Weller_ in resisting the Head Constable _Grummer_, I should say that,
considering the provocation offered, _Mr. Weller_ seems to have acted
with remarkable self-restraint.

  Yours faithfully,      G. O. M.

P.S. Chips, real good chips, warranted quite dry, and only waiting for
a match to set them in a blaze, may now be had at Hawarden Lodge at
the ridiculously small charge of three-pence a piece, or two shillings
and five-pence halfpenny per dozen. Immediate application personally
or by letter is recommended. Also a copy of Nottingham speech and the
Mitchelstown telegram, which, should any difficulty be experienced in
kindling a bonfire, will at once set the heap into a splendid blaze.
My song and chorus--

  Remember, remember,
  The Mitchelstown ember,

and so forth, ought to be ready at all respectable music-publishers
by November 3rd. 2s. 6d. per copy. Great reduction for clubs, schools,
&c. Chips! Chips! in the name of the Profit! Chips! G. O. M.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "LIKELY TO GET ON IN LIFE."

_Papa._ "IF I GIVE YOU SIXPENCE, AND TELL YOU TO BUY FIVE PENNY
PAPERS, HOW MUCH CHANGE WILL YOU BRING BACK TO ME?"

_Sharp Boy (considering)._ "WELL, PAPA--LET ME SEE--IF YOU GAVE ME
SIXPENCE----"

_Papa._ "YES--YES. HOW MUCH CHANGE TO BRING BACK TO ME?"

_Sharp Boy (readily, and with decision)._ "NONE--NOT IF YOU GAVE ME
THE SIXPENCE!"

    [_Papa determines to put the question in a different way next time._
]

       *       *       *       *       *

TO THE INCOMPLETE (POLITICAL) ANGLER.

  O BRUMMAGEM JOSEPH, my boy, will you halt on
    Your sturdy, but scarce diplomatical way,
  And take from an ancient disciple of WALTON
    A few friendly hints about patience and "play"?
  As an Angler you have _Mr. Punch's_ best wishes,
    But _do_ you consider it wise, ere you start
  To throw stones in the water, and stir up the fishes?
    That's scarcely the right piscatorial art.
  No, stillness and silence, and delicate tact, Sir,
    Are needed for handling the rod and the reel.
  You may pelt and may splash, but you'll find it a fact, Sir,
    Who frightens the fishes will not fill his creel.

       ***

HADWICE GRATIS.--The Vaudeville Theatre announces a new play by Mr.
ENERY HAUTHOR JONES, called _Heart of Hearts_. To popularise it for
Town use, much better call it _'Art of 'Arts_ at once.

       ***

NEW ORDER (_not issued from the Horse Guards._)--The entire British
Army to be submitted to a Fortnightly Review for the next three months
at least.

       ***

MEM. FOR POLICE BY GENERAL-INSPECTOR PUNCH.--Stop the Orators in
Trafalgar Square, and let the Fountains be the only ones to spout.

       ***

'ARRY STRATFORD-ATTE-BOW'S FRENCH MOTTO FOR THE FIFTH OF
NOVEMBER.--"_Toujours Guy._"

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR ADVERTISERS.

INVERTED, EDUCATIONAL, MEDICINAL, AND MISCELLANEOUS.

WANTED, BY AN INCORRIGIBLE LITTLE BOY, whose Parents have threatened
to send him away from home on account of his perpetually insufferable
conduct, a suitable domicile, where he will be afforded every facility
for continuing it without hindrance and interruption. A quiet old
country clergyman, and his wife, both a little short-sighted, and hard
of hearing, occupying a retired Vicarage, that is in want of a little
waking up, might write. House must be conveniently arranged for the
setting of booby-traps, possess a good old-fashioned striking-clock,
with accessible inside, a get-at-able upstairs' cistern, a
dinner-gong, and plenty of bells. Bedroom might be furnished with
a view to an occasional display of fireworks. Staircase with good
top-to-bottom slide-down balusters indispensable. Would be glad to
hear if there is a powerful garden-engine, in good working-order,
on the premises; and also whether there is a decent sweetstuff and
gunpowder-shop within easy distance. Apply by letter to "TARTAR,"
Scarum Hall, Flingover, Notts.

       ***

THE PRINCIPAL OF A YOUNG GENTLEMAN'S ACADEMY, who has, in turns, been
a Stock-jobber, a Solicitor struck off the Rolls, a Light Comedian, an
Undertaker, a Professor of Calisthenics, and a Hansom-cab Driver, and
has now taken to the Education of Youth as a last resource to make
ends meet, is anxious to hear from a sufficient number of dupes, in
the shape of parsimonious Parents, to enable him to start his scheme,
and see whether he can make anything out of it. They must be fools
enough to believe that a thoroughly high-class, commercial, and
classical education, including instruction in five modern languages,
fitting the recipients for immediate entry into either the Church,
the Army, or the Bar can be furnished, together with the use of an
extensive swimming bath and gymnasium, and an unlimited supply of the
very best diet, without any charge for washing, books, or extras,
for twenty guineas per annum. The fact that a retired waiter from a
Boulogne Restaurant takes charge of the Modern Languages, while the
Higher Mathematics and swimming are entrusted to a late Custom House
Officer, and the Classical and other Departments, are under the
immediate supervision of the Principal, may be taken as a guarantee
that the advertised curriculum is scrupulously and efficiently carried
out. Apply for further Particulars to "PRINCIPAL," Uncertificated
Tutors Association, S.E.

       ***

WANTED, BY THE PROPRIETOR OF A PATENT MEDICINE, a nervous and
confiding Client who after reading a whole newspaper advertising
column of diseases, and persuading himself that he is afflicted with
most of them, will believe that by an outlay of 1s. 1½d., he can
entirely cure himself of the whole lot of them on the spot. He must
not be disheartened if the first trial produces no effect. On the
contrary, if the nostrum appears to develop fresh and disagreeable
symptoms, he must manfully persevere, and face in turn neuralgia,
rheumatic gout, fever, lumbago, sciatica, incipient paralysis, and
even greater complications, rather than relinquish the remedy when he
has once had recourse to it. In this way, it is obvious, he will not
only be able to afford a permanent support to the sale of a dangerous
and deleterious compound, but will, by its continual use, effectually
and completely succeed in ultimately shattering his own constitution.
Apply, "PROPRIETOR," Jollop's Specific Restorator, Patent Medicine
Works, Pill Hill, N.E.

       ***

WANTED, A QUITE INEXPERIENCED HORSEMAN, to purchase, on the
recommendation of a tricky Job Master, a thoroughly unsound and
spavined Bay Cob that will be represented as having been "parted with"
by its late owner, "a sporting Duke," for "no fault whatever." The
creature, however, that is short in the wind, swollen at the hocks,
an ugly stepper, and has not a single good point about it, having
recently, when in the funeral business, kicked in a hearse, it has
been decided to palm it off on the first unsuspecting purchaser that
turns up as "quiet to ride" and going "nicely in harness," and it may
confidently be relied upon to throw an unskilful or aged rider, or
smash up a brougham at the very earliest opportunity. As it has also,
at a previous period in its career, served as a trick horse at a
Circus, and will, on meeting a German band, sit down on its haunches,
it might be safely secured by any equestrian to whom some astonishment
and a little music mingled with his morning's ride might prove a
pleasing experience. Can be seen at GULLY'S Stables, Blinder Street,
S.W.

       ***

A FEW THOROUGHLY UNSUSPECTING TENANTS wanted by a Jerry Builder, who
has just run up a terrace of new houses anyhow, and is anxious to see
if anybody can manage to live in them. None of the doors shut, all the
windows let in draughts, and there are practically no drains. As the
walls are one brick thick, and the playing of a piano can be heard
through six houses, neighbours of a conversational turn might find a
residence in them advantageous. Warranted to come down with a run in a
high wind. Apply, "Builder," Dustbin Terrace, Killingham Road, E.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THINGS ONE WOULD WISH TO HAVE EXPRESSED DIFFERENTLY.

_Guest._ "WELL, GOOD-BYE, OLD MAN!--AND YOU'VE REALLY GOT A VERY NICE
LITTLE PLACE HERE!"

_Host._ "YES; BUT IT'S RATHER BARE, JUST NOW. I HOPE THE TREES WILL
HAVE GROWN A GOOD BIT BEFORE YOU'RE BACK, OLD MAN!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

CONVENTION-AL POLITENESS.

_Madame France (with effusion)--_

  "And doth not a meeting like this make amends?"

I trust I have quoted with textual accuracy your so charming, and to
the actual situation happily appropriate poet?

_Mr. Bull (avec empressement)._ It does--or perhaps I should say
doth--indeed, Madam. As to the bit from the bard--well, may its
appropriateness never be less! How much pleasanter than the grim
dictum of an elder rhymester, who referred to your people as those

  "Whom nature hath predestined for our foes,
  And made it bliss and virtue to oppose."

_Madame France._ The barbarian! Oppose, indeed! Why should we oppose
each other, dear Monsieur BULL?

_Mr. Bull._ Why, indeed?

_Madame France._ True, your bellicose Lord PALMERSTON did oppose my
great FERDINAND'S grand idea, and that from motives the most insular
and unenlightened. Just as some few poltroons in your sea-girt isle
at present oppose the Channel Tunnel, which yet, in good time, will
doubtless become as benign an actuality as the Suez Canal itself.

_Mr. Bull._ Humph! PAM had perhaps his reasons, which, in the light
of subsequent events, one must admit not to have been without their
weight.

_Madame France._ Oh, Monsieur BULL! "Greater freedom of intercourse
between nations is the tendency of our industrial and social
development, and the tide of human intelligence cannot be arrested by
_vague fears_." So I read in a pamphlet on the Tunnel. How true, is it
not?

_Mr. Bull._ Doubtless; as true as that the tide of invasion could not
be arrested by cosmopolitan cant.

_Madame France._ Invasion? Fie, Monsieur BULL! In the new lexicon of
international amity there is no such word.

_Mr. Bull._ If the excision of the _word_ could absolutely abolish the
possibility of the thing, all would be well--between you and Germany,
for instance.

_Madame France._ _Sacre-e-e!_ I beg pardon. Expletives should also
be banished from civility's lexicon. But BISMARCK is a _monstre_, a
_miserable_,--whereas you----!    [_Bows sweetly._

_Mr. Bull._ Inarticulate flattery, Madam, is irresistible--and
unanswerable. The renewal--if, indeed, it was ever _really_
interrupted--of the _entente cordiale_ between us, is a blessed boon
not to be matched in value by a hundred--Tunnels!

_Madame France._ And this Convention is the sign and seal of that
renewal, _n'est-ce-pas_? I _knew_ you never intended to stop in Egypt.

_Mr. Bull._ Longer than was necessary--assuredly not, Madam. And I was
_certain_ the New Hebrides had no real charms to permanently arrest
your feet.

_Madame France._ Though a _pied à terre_ in Raraitea, of course--you
comprehend, Monsieur!

_Mr. Bull._ Perfectly. The questions of Egypt and the New Hebrides, of
our post near the Pyramids, and your Protectorate near Tahiti, have,
of course, no real connection.

_Madame France._ Obviously, Monsieur! Are they not dealt with in
separate Conventions?

_Mr. Bull._ Ah! if all quarrels--I beg pardon, political
problems--could as easily be settled by a Conventional Act!

_Madame France._ How welcome to you, Monsieur, to all parties in
your Parliament, to the "rescuers" as to the "retirers," to your
Lord CHAMBERLAIN, as well as to your Grand Old GLADSTONE, must be the
prospect of an early, not to say immediate withdrawal from the Land of
the Pharaohs! Surely the fugitive Israelites of old never left it with
such pleased promptitude as _you_ will--"scuttle out" of it! Have I
accurate memory of the Beaconsfieldian phrase, Monsieur?

_Mr. Bull._ Your memory, Madam, is miraculous. The forty
centuries--_or, however, many more there may happen to be there at
the moment of my departure_--will doubtless, in the words of your own
great phraser, "look down from the Pyramids" with emotions not less
marked than my own--and yours, Madam.

_Madame France._ My emotions at the present moment--and yours, I
hope, Monsieur--are simply of supreme joy at the so happy removal of
difficulties and the so complete restoration of amity between us by
this charming Convention, so satisfactory in its actual terms, so
much more so _in its promises for the future_. I felicitate you, dear
Monsieur BULL.

_Mr. Bull._ And I, Madam, reciprocate your felicitations. (_Aside._)
It pleases her, apparently, and I do not see that it can possibly hurt
me!    [_Left bowing._

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: CONVENTION-AL POLITENESS.

JOHN BULL. "DELIGHTED, MY DEAR MADAM! IT PLEASES YOU,
AND--(_Aside_)--IT DOESN'T HURT _ME_!!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: SPEEDING THE PARTING GUEST.

_Host (who has trod on the Lady's Skirt)._ "OH! FORGIVE ME! YOU SEE
IT'S MY NATURAL INSTINCT TO DETAIN YOU!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

"_My Autobiography and Reminiscences_," by W. P. FRITH, R.A. The
Modern Hogarth, painter of "_Ramsgate Sands_," "_The Derby Day_," and
"_The Road to Ruin_," can use his pen as well as his pencil. "Where
got thou that goose-quill?" as _Macbeth_ would have said, had
SHAKSPEARE wished him to do so. How is it that Mr. FRITH has never
employed his goose-quill before? Sometimes it is soft-nibbed, and
occasionally hard-nibbed, but it is almost always well pointed; and,
though he writes with an overflowing pen--for he frequently has to
check his impulsive waywardness--yet there is scarcely a blot on the
paper throughout the two volumes.

Mr. FRITH is, first and foremost, a humorist, and, in his humour,
so like THACKERAY, and so unlike DICKENS, that it is no wonder,
considering the consistent inconsistency of human nature, he should
have loved the latter, and disliked the former. Yet, with all
his aversion to THACKERAY, personally--and "all his works" too,
apparently, as he hardly mentions them--he records something very
remarkable about the Satirist of the Snobs which could not be guessed
at from THACKERAY'S own letters, nor from the anecdotes told about
him. And it is this; that THACKERAY could make, and on occasion did
make an excellent after-dinner speech. At the Macready banquet with
BULWER LYTTON and DICKENS present, Mr. FRITH tells us, "THACKERAY also
spoke well and very humorously." And there are three other instances;
so that THACKERAY, who has recounted his own failure at the Literary
Fund dinner, and whose utter collapse at the Cornhill Magazine dinner
is a matter of Literary history, was not always a mistake as an
after-dinner speaker. The modesty exhibited by Mr. FRITH in this
autobiography is an exhibition as novel and attractive as was FRITH'S
other exhibition in Bond Street,--because few autobiographers possess
so keen a sense of humour as to be able to laugh at themselves, and to
be candid about their own foibles and follies. Indeed some persons may
think, and indeed he inclines to this opinion himself, that he goes
too far in his frankness when narrating the practical jokes of that
unscrupulous and cruel _farçeur_ SOTHERN the actor, in some of which
the autobiographer appears to have played a small, but not altogether
unimportant part. In his way Mr. FRITH is as frank and open in his
revelations as to his past career, as was Cardinal NEWMAN in his
straightforward _Apologia pro suâ vitâ_. In fact in these SOTHERN
latitudes--there was a great deal of latitude in that quarter--Mr.
FRITH'S work is suggestive less of an autobiography than of a
naughty-biography. He owns that he feels "humiliated and pained" at
recounting THACKERAY'S rude jocularity towards himself, and from the
apologetic tone with which he introduces some of SOTHERN'S caddish
practical jokes, in which Mr. FRITH had no share, and of which he was
not the victim, it may be inferred that he had already begun to feel
"humiliated and pained" at having given so much space to such stories.
How glad he must now be that he kept a "dear Diary," which has been an
invaluable aid to his memory.

Another great merit in the book is that, without ever sacrificing its
character as an Autobiography, it is never egotistical; egoism being
the great "I-sore" of such works. Should the humble individual who
writes this necessarily brief notice ever arrive at the time for
publishing his Recollections, he is perfectly sure that the book will
be unequalled as a work of imagination. Mr. FRITH tells us how he
improved his pictures by touching them up,--some people, too, are
occasionally improved by the same process, if the "touching up" is
only done judiciously,--and his self-restraint is therefore really
admirable when he rejects the temptation to embellish, or spice, a
story which no one is likely to contradict. For instance, in what may
be called the Sass-age portion of his early life, he has some amusing
anecdotes about Mr. JACOB BELL, then an Art student. BELL drew a man
hanging, and SASS, the master, told him to leave the studio, "as
such a career," as the man hanging, "is a bad example to your
fellow-pupils." Now Mr. FRITH ought to have given BELL a triumphant
exit speech--he ought to have said to SASS, "Sir, I was only
illustrating what should be the fate of every one of your successful
pupils--_to be hung on the line_. Good day." Exit BELL. Then he
recounts how JACOB BELL, who, like SOTHERN, had a taste for such
practical jokes as are utterly indefensible on the score of good taste
and gentlemanly feeling, dressed up as a woman, and went to a
Quakers' Meeting House, where he sat among the female portion of the
congregation. Thinking he was discovered, this nice young man "took
fright," and bolted. Here Mr. FRITH should have made the jovial JACOB
subsequently explain that "he left because the women were all jealous
of him, as he was the only 'BELL' among them." Mr. FRITH, full of his
fun, jests, and humour, must be congratulated on having stuck to the
truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

And if anyone wants a first-rate ghost-story for the coming Christmas
time, let him get Mr. FRITH'S book, and read how the prosaic and
sensible Mr. WESTWOOD saw a ghost. It is simply but exquisitely told,
and were it not that Mr. FRITH had previously owned to his complicity
with SOTHERN in some of his "spiritualistic" demonstrations, there
would be no sort of ground for suspecting him capable of joking on
such serious subjects. The book is full of good stories, among which
_The Mysterious Sitter_ and _Beckford at Fonthill_ are about the best.
There is already a rail round MUDIE'S counter, and in front of all
SMITH'S stalls, to keep off the crowds from taking away FRITH'S latest
production without paying. Many of us are eye-witnesses to the fact
of the rails in front of SMITH'S bookstalls all the way down the
line wherever a train runs. Mr. FRITH'S very good health, and, as his
friend _Rip-Van-Winkle_ JEFFERSON used to say, "May he live long an'
prosber."

_De Omnibus Rebus_, by the author of _Flemish Interiors_. An odd book
to be taken up at odd times. Amusing and chatty with a good deal of
shrewd observation. He who rides may read; and as it is published by
NIMMO, this firm in this instance might adopt the old Latin motto,
"_'Nimmo' mortalium omnibus horis sapit_;" i.e. "NIMMO is wise to
bring out a book for the omnibus hours of mortals."

  OUR OWN BOOKWORM.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration]

Madame PATTI'S house, in some unpronounceable Welsh place, was broken
into by burglars. We hope they didn't rob her of any notes. The
thieves came from Town--they were not Welshmen, oh no! _Mr. Punch_ has
always asserted of the Welsh,--

    "Taffy's not a thief."

And it wasn't Taffy who went to PATTI'S house and stole a matter
of seven pounds' worth of French francs. They found a box of M.
NICOLINI'S cigars. But the thieves knew where to draw the line, and
chucked the lot away in the garden, among the other weeds. They
were "up to snuff," but not to tobacco in this form. Query, will M.
NICOLINI'S friends be delighted to accept cigars from his case in
future?

       ***

The Centenary of _Don Giovanni_ was celebrated at the two Universities
by a banquet of the principal Dons.

       *       *       *       *       *

BARTLETT'S BABY.

  Welcome little Stranger! You
  Are the darling of the Zoo,
  BARTLETT'S babe, the public pet.
  Lucky, lucky Zoo to get,
  At a cost scarce worth the mention,
  Living proof beyond contention
  Of--oh! well, of whatsoever
  _Savants_ sage and critics clever,
  On their controversial mettle,
  May--or maybe may _not_--settle.
  Six-and-twenty years ago
  (Buffers elderly may know)
  Rose the great Gorilla feud;
  Dr. GRAY was rather rude,
  Rather on DU CHAILLU down,
  And the shindy stirred the Town.
  OWEN, great on brains and bones,
  Lectured it in learned tones;
  HUXLEY to the battle rushed;
  Mutually they "pished" and "tushed"
  In that calm and courteous way
  _Savants_ have, when they're in fray.
  _Mr. Punch_, with ample reason,
  Called you "Lion of the Season,"
  Great Gorilla. Now 'tis plain
  The old fame revives again.
  Happy BARTLETT! Lucky Ape!
  Fortune comes in curious shape.
  You perchance, oh simian child!
  Might have roamed the Afric wild,
  Like a nigger unreclaimed.
  Unobserved, unknown, unnamed,
  Fame concerning you quite dumb,
  Even your "colossal thumb,"
  By the scribes who columns vamp us,
  Undescribed; your "hippo-campus"
  (Whatsoever _that_ may be)
  Not of notoriety.
  Now!--Ah, infantine Gorilla,
  Every small suburban villa
  With your rising fame will ring;
  All the sort of folk who bring
  Buns unto the prisoned bear,
  To your cage will come, and stare.
  Buns? Oh, BARTLETT,--master sage,
  Autocrat of den and cage!--
  Nothing will begrudge, I'm sure,
  That may nourish, please, or cure
  His prognathous little pet.
  Half the luxuries you'll get
  Would leave satiate and cloyed
  Any hungry "Unemployed."
  Cakes--and, if you like it, Ale--
  Oh, Gorilla, will not fail;
  GUNTER'S you may sack at will,
  Or, if you prefer to fill
  Otherwise your dainty maw
  Than with sweeties and stick-jaw,
  Like the indiscriminate bear,
  You may choose your Bill of Fare.
  Toys? Ah, bring them, baby, quick;
  Will a monkey on a stick
  Touch a sympathetic chord?
  Well, let's hope you won't be bored,
  Baby Ape, by BARTLETT'S love,
  And the crowds who'll stare and shove;
  Long for Afric wild but free,
  And a station "up a tree,"
  Watching, with prehensile thumb,
  For--whatever food may come.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "HERE'S ANOTHER GUY!"

OR, THE BABY GORILLA AT THE ZOO.

_Nurse Bartlett._ "HE SHALL HAVE A FIFTEEN-SHILLING PINE, HE SHALL!
AND FINEST ENGLISH HOT-HOUSE GRAPES, HE SHALL! AND GOLD-DUST TOO, IF
HE CRIES FOR IT, THE LITTLE DARLING!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

VOCES POPULI.

SCENE--_The People's Palace; In Building set apart for Poultry,
Pigeon, and Rabbit Show. Stream of Visitors inspecting animals in zinc
and wire pens._

_Amandus Milendius (to Amanda Milendia: coming to a halt before cage
containing "roopy"-looking fowl, with appearance of having been sent
out on pair of legs several sizes too tall for it)._ They've 'ighly
commended _'im_, yer see.

_Amanda M. (who does not converse with facility)._ Um!

    [_Looks at bird without seeing it._

_Amandus._ Yes, they must ha' thought 'ighly of 'im before they'd
commend him like that, yer know!

_Amanda (wishing she was readier of response)._ Ah! (_The fowl winks
slowly at her with his lower eyelid_). Come away--I don't like him!

    [_They move on._

_The Exhibitor (coming up and inspecting his bird with pride)._
'Ere--JOE! (_Fowl shuts both eyes with a bored expression_). B'longs
to _me_--that bird, Sir! (_To Bystander._)

_Visitor (from the West; anxious to be agreeable)._ Ha, a fine
bird--magnificent!

_Exhibitor._ Bred 'im myself, Sir--he's a bit sleepy just now.
(_Apologetically_). Wake up, ole chap! (_Fowl half opens one eye, and
closes it immediately on perceiving proprietor._) _Knows_ me, yer see!

_Visitor (with fatal rashness)._ A--a Brahma, isn't he?

    [_Wonders what made him say that, and tries to think what Brahmas
are like--when they are not locks._

_Exhibitor (in tone of pitying reproach)._ _No,_ Sir--no.--Black Red
_Bantam_, Sir!

_Visitor (wishing he had remained vague)._ Oh--ah, just so--good
evening.

_A Cock (derisively)._ Crorky--rorky--roo!

AT THE RABBIT PENS.

_Another Exhibitor (accompanied by Friend with Catalogue)._ I ain't
come across my Buck yet. He took a prize, I heerd. (_Stops at Cage._)
Ah, this looks like him.... Third Prize, yer see--not so bad, eh?
    [_Chuckles._

_The Friend._ Hold on a bit! (_Refers to Catalogue._) "Number seven
'underd and two. PARTON. Buck. Eight months." _Your_ name ain't
PARTON.

_Exhib._ Then it's mine in the next. _Second_ Prize! Better'n Third,
that, ain't it?

_The Friend._ They've got _that_ down as PARTON'S too.

_Exhib._ Well, I _thought_ some'ow as----_this_ is him anyway. Look
'ere! _First_ Prize! And deserves it, though I sez it myself!

_Friend (not without a certain satisfaction)._ No--no, you're wrong
again. I'll show you where _you_ are. See. "Seven 'underd and five. W.
CROPPER. Buck. Ten months." _That's_ you!

_Exhib. (incredulously)._ That? that ain't never _my_ cream buck!
(_The rabbit remains wrapt in meditation._) I'll soon show yer.
(_Blows in rabbit's face. Mutual recognition. Tableau._) It _is_ my
buck! And only 'ighly commended! (_Recovering himself._) Well, I arsk
you if he oughtn't to ha' done the other--him as they've given the
First Prize to? Why, there ain't no comparison between them two
rabbits!

_The Cock (encouragingly)._ Crorky-rorky-roo!

_The Friend (losing all further interest)._ Well, it's all chance
like. Let's go and 'ave a look at them Lops.

_Crowd of Admirers around pen containing gigantic gander._

_First Admirer._ That's _WILKINSES'_ gander, that is.

_Second Admirer._ A fine-grown bird, I _will_ say.

    [_Handsomely, as if he would hardly have expected such a person as
WILKINS to produce anything as good as THAT._

_Third Admirer._ Monster, ain't he? Why, yer might _ride_ on him!

_Small Child (pointing delightedly at the Gander)._ 'Ook, Mozzer,
pitty duck!

_Fond Parent (admiringly)._ I declare it's wonderful how quick he gets
the names--it _is_ a fine duck!

_The Cock (with a touch of correction)._ Crorky--rorky--roo!

_A Connoisseur (inspecting pigeon)._ Now, _there's_ a nice
pigeon--that _is_ a nice pigeon; but I tell yer what it is--he ain't
got the space to do hisself justice in there. Give him a bigger pen,
and a brick to stand on, and you'd soon see the difference!

_Fellow Conn._ They ought to ha' give him more room to show off his
tail in--else what's the good of a bird _'aving_ a tail, come to that?

_First Conn. (sententiously)._ Ah, you've 'it it.

_Competitor (apparently, unsuccessful)._ I say, (_with bitter
sarcasm_) 'Are yer seen the pair as take a Fust? Birds I wouldn't pick
up if I found 'em in the street--no, _that_ I wouldn't! Fust Prize to
them--hor-hor! Well, the world's comin' to a pretty pass, I must say!
Arter _that!_----    [_Eloquent aposiopesis._

_Amandus (tolerantly, to Amanda)._ Well, pidgings _are_ pretty much
alike, unless you've been brought up to know the differences. I 'ad a
_Uncle_ a breeder.

_Amanda (feeling that her ignorance is no longer a discredit)._ Then
_you'd_ know!    [_They go out arm-in-arm, silent but sympathetic._

       *       *       *       *       *

INTERIORS AND EXTERIORS. No. 52.

[Illustration: PLATFORM ORATORY. By Our Travelling Special.

[Our Politicians now, in humble imitation of the Great Original, are
adopting the fashion of making speeches from railway carriages,
or utilising the ten minutes allowed for refreshment by addressing
constituents on the platform. The Railway Companies, in order to
observe strict neutrality, should re-construct carriages to suit and
carry the political leaders, and should re-build or increase existing
stations on the line, so as to accommodate the public with various
"platforms."]]

       *       *       *       *       *

"Enter-tainments" are not now so much the object of our Fireproof
Theatrical Managers as "Exit-tainments." At TERRY'S new theatre
everyone feels perfectly secure. It is only the Lessee, who always
appears terry-fied.

       ***

DEPARTURE OF DISTINGUISHED FURRY-NERS.--The _Standard_ said last week
that two thousand live rabbits were on the eve of being despatched
to British Columbia. Fifty thousand onions should be sent with them.
What's a Rabbit without onions? _L'Onion fait la force._

       *       *       *       *       *

ANOTHER CHANCE FOR JOE AND JESSE.

Mr. CAVE, long associated with theatrical management--re-opens
Sadler's Wells on the fifth of November. We are assured that Mr.
CHAMBERLAIN'S recent visit to Merrie Islington had nothing whatever to
do with the forthcoming "good old-fashioned Grimaldi comic pantomime,"
with which Mr. CAVE promises to entertain his patrons at Christmas
time. Perhaps, after all, the Fisheries Commissioner is not going to
Canada, but is going to join A. CAVE at Islington, for what on earth
is the use of a "Grimaldi pantomime" without a "JOEY?" Then what
a chance for him, in the good old Grimaldi style, to sing "Hot
Collings," rewritten by his faithful accompanyist JESSE.

       *       *       *       *       *

TORCHLIGHT AND GUY FAWKES DAY.--Mr. GLADSTONE says that coming into
collision with the Police on the subject of torches, "he would rather
suffer torchers!"

       ***

MR. WILFUL BLUNT.--Whether the right of Free Speaking is permitted in
Ireland or not, we would decline just now to decide. But certain BLUNT
speaking was very soon stopped.

       ***

"AU PLAISIR."--Motto for AUGUSTUS DRURIOLANUS during the run of the
present piece.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE FOUR NOBLE BURGLARS.

  A Baron, a Marquis, a Duke, and an Earl
    Were dining together one evening at White's;
  They were all overdone by the worry and whirl
    Of a long London season's amusements and sights--
  By the luncheons that stupify, dinners that tire,
    Dull rides in the Row, deadly five o'clock teas,
  At which fashion condemns you to gasp and perspire
    While draining the cup of _ennui_ to the lees.

  No pleasure they took in the joys of the table;
    Though stalwart, they recked not to breakfast or sup--
  E'en to plunge at _bézique_ they no longer were able,
    For the fact was these nobles were deuced hard up!
  Moaned the Marquis, "We're all in a state of depression;
    As for me, my existence is simply a bore;
  Let us strike a new line out--adopt some profession
    Which no British Peer ever practised before."

[Illustration]

  Then the Baron cried, "Listen, old chappies; I've hit
    On a notion that's brilliant and perfectly new;--
  Why shouldn't we four try to burgle a bit,
    And wrest from the wealthy what's fairly our due?
  Garotting is vulgar, and cruel to boot,
    The pickpocket oft is despised when detected;
  But burglary's just the profession to suit
    A lover of enterprise, highly connected."

  A paper was fetched, and his Grace read aloud
    The following paragraph:--"Criminal Tips!
  Young Nobles and Gentlemen under a cloud
    Apply to Professor JEHOSHAPHAT FIPPS,
  At his residence, 2, Sheppard Buildings, E.C.,
    Where he nightly gives lessons, from seven till nine,
  To youngsters of spirit, from prejudice free,
    In arts which amusement with profit combine."

  Next evening the Peers, fully dressed for their parts
    In moleskin and highlows and flat beaver-caps,
  Sought out the Professor with quick-throbbing hearts,
    Their courage all but in a state of collapse.
  Mr. FIPPS gave them seats; then politely inquired,
    If aught to oblige them perchance he could do,
  And replied, when they told him what 'twas they required,
    "All right, noble sportsmen!--I'll soon put you through!"

  He taught them to handle the jemmy with grace,
    To frisk with the centrebit, toy with the file--
  To flourish the fitful dark-lantern apace,
    And wield the gay crowbar in elegant style;
  With skeleton-keys to pick counting-house locks,
    To ply the dumb saw and the chisel that's cold,
  To prize up the lid of a banker's strong-box,
    And the portals of burglar-proof safes to unfold.

  When their Lordships were thoroughly versed in their trade,
    And had passed their exams, in a masterly way,
  They agreed that a dashing attempt should be made,
    Their expertness to test without further delay.
  Should they first try their hands at a light, easy job,
    Not too risky, but graceful, artistic and neat,
  Or essay a bold stroke the Exchequer to rob,
    Or the merry Old Lady of Threadneedle Street?

  At last they resolved that the best thing to do,
    Was to try an experiment, just for a lark,
  (And to keep their hands in for a lucrative _coup_,)
    On a workman's abode near Victoria Park.
  They hankered for something quite simple and plain,
    Both suburban and poor, for their trial essay;
  So they picked out a one-storeyed house down a lane,
    Which they learned had been empty for many a day.

  They commenced their attack in the dead of the night,
    Scaled a wall, dug a tunnel, and cut through two floors,
  Wrenched a lock off with stern, irresistible might,
    And broke open some thoroughly unsecured doors.
  For booty they hunted below and on high--
    But naught could they find save a chunk of cold veal,
  Till, down in the basement, they chanced to espy,
    Near the back-kitchen sink a huge trapdoor of steel.

  In a second the trap from its fastness they tore,
    When, heaped up pell-mell, of all shapes and all sizes,
  The gratified Peers beheld score upon score
    Of grand and legitimate housebreakers' prizes,--
  Tiaras of rubies and diamond _rivières_,
    Superb jewelled bracelets and brooches and rings,
  Great emerald, sapphire, and pearl _solitaires_,
    And all manner of precious, magnificent things.

  As they gazed on these treasures with glittering eyes,
    Lightly handling the gewgaws with delicate touches,
  The Duke softly murmured, "Oh! what a surprise!
    Why, some of these trinkets belong to the Duchess!"
  "By Jove!" said the Marquis, "this carcanet here
    Has been worn scores of times by my dowager-aunt!"
  And the Baron rejoined, "It seems perfectly clear
    That this squalid abode is a regular plant!"

  "What a joke!" cried the Earl. "We have chanced on the ken
    Of professional brethren, our seniors in guile,
  And I think that, for young inexperienced men,
    We have collared their plunder in workmanlike style.
  Let us cull and remove these nefarious hoards--
    We can turn the whole lot into cash at our leisure;
  A delightful career is before us, my Lords,
    A bright future of usefulness, profit, and pleasure!"

  The next day they disposed of their swag for a plum,
    And invested the proceeds in Spaniards and Turks,
  After nobly deducting a moderate sum
    For the Burglar's Relief Fund and other good works.
  They paid all their creditors, kept up their rank.
    Betted ponies and monkeys like regular "toppers;"
  Till one night, as they'd just broken into a bank,
    These deserving young nobles were nailed by the "coppers."

  The Old Bailey was crowded one sunny May morn
    With ladies arrayed in superlative frocks,
  When the jury who sate on our nobles forlorn,
    Found them guilty at once, without leaving the box.
  And it thus came to pass, I regret to relate,
    That these earnest, industrious, well-meaning Peers,
  The pride of their order, the stay of the State,
    Were condemned to pick oakum for twenty-one years!

       *       *       *       *       *

A WORD FOR THE WAR-OFFICE.--Mrs. RAMSBOTHAM says it's all very well
to talk about the parsimony of the War-Office; but she hears that the
soldiers are provided with fatigue jackets, and thinks it's really
kind of the Authorities to supply the men with something special to
wear when they are tired.

       *       *       *       *       *

HOW WE ADVERTISE NOW.

[Illustration: SUGGESTION FOR UTILISING A NOW WELL-KNOWN MURAL
DECORATION(?)]

       *       *       *       *       *

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

       *       *       *       *       *



Transcriber's Notes

A small number of minor typographical errors have been corrected.





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 93, November 5, 1887" ***

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