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Title: Punch or the London Charivari, Vol. 93, December 10, 1887
Author: Various
Language: English
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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, Vol. 93, December 10, 1887" ***

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 VOL. 93.

 DECEMBER 10, 1887



 _One Ash, Rochdale, Saturday._


The address from which I write to you is familiar in the public ear in
connection with a long series which, such is the ignorance of mankind, I
have heard described as petulant, querulous, self-adulatory notes. I
have often wondered that it has not occurred to any one to notice the
singular appropriateness of the name of my humble home. It is not for
me, at my time of life, to claim anything like prescience of affairs. I
may have been right in my views of the succeeding events of the past
half-century, or I may have been wrong. I will just mention that my
friend, T-NN-S-N, who has a pretty faculty for poetry, once summed me up
in a couplet which I venture to think is not without its charm. "J-HN
BR-GHT," he wrote--

 Is always right.

He told me in confidence that he had at one time contemplated a
eulogistic poem of some seventy or eighty lines, price to the
_Nineteenth Century_ a guinea each. But, having thrown off this couplet,
it appeared in itself so sufficient, so comprehensive yet so precise,
that amplification would have rather reduced than increased its value.
Therefore it remains a brilliant fragment.

But I am wandering from the theme, which, in the present instance, is
not myself but my country address. What I thought might be interesting
to point out is the curious felicity of the nomenclature, and the
remarkable foresight of which it is proof. More than a generation ago it
received this singular appellation. At that time nothing seemed more
remote from ordinary apprehension than that in this year I should be
what we call "a Unionist," an ally and supporter of Lord S-L-B-RY,
pulling in the same boat as the H-M-LT-NS, and marching shoulder to
shoulder with ASHM-D B-RTL-TT. In those days I was wont to pour forth
torrents of angry contempt upon the Conservative party. D-SR-LI was my
wash-pot, over the Markiss I cast out my shoe; but even then my address
was One Ash, Rochdale. Do you begin to see what I mean? One Empire, One
Parliament, One Ash! Some of my old colleagues and disciples among the
Radicals scoff at me because of my new companions. But, as usual, I have
been right from the first. _I_ have always been what the _Marchioness_
called a "wonner." What has happened is that the Liberal Party and my
old companions have moved away from me, whilst the Conservatives have
moved towards me. I am the same to-day as yesterday, or as these fifty
years past. "J-HN BR-GHT, always right," and any change of relationship
or appearance is due to the ineradicable error and fatal foolishness of

What I feel, dear TOBY, in reviewing a long and honourable life, is the
terrible feeling of monotony. I sometimes find myself envying ordinary
men like GL-DST-NE, who, looking back over their past life, can put
their hand down and say, "There I blundered, there I was misled by
circumstances." For a long time GL-DST-NE kept pretty straight--that is
to say I agreed with him. But he has gone wrong lamentably on this Irish
Question, and all the righteous acts of his life--that is to say, steps
in which he has chanced to walk in time with me--are obliterated. It is
true that, at one time, it was I who was the foremost Apostle of Irish
National feeling. At this date people with inconvenient memories are
constantly raking up passages in my speeches about Ireland, and the
English yoke which, except that they are too finely cut, and of too
noble a style of eloquence, would exactly suit GL-DST-NE to-day. I said
these things then, it is true, and then they were right. I do not say
them to-day, and therefore they are wrong. _Quod erat demonstrandum._
(You will observe that since, with a distinguished friend, I have joined
the political company of gentlemen, I have forsaken my old habit of
keeping to the Saxon tongue, and sometimes, as here, I drop into Latin.
Occasionally I fall into French. _Autres temps, autres moeurs._)

My nearest approach to human frailty, is, perhaps, to be found in a
certain measure of absence of suavity. It is perhaps possible that my
temper was,--I will not say soured, but--not sweetened by the vile
attacks made upon me personally by Irish Members in Parliament during
the last ten years. You remember what B-NT-NCK said about me? I don't
mean Big Ben, or Little Ben, but Lord GEORGE B-NT-NCK. "If BR-GHT," he
said, "had not been a Quaker, he would have been a prize-fighter." I
think there is about the remark some suspicion of lack of respect. But,
also, it is not without some foundation of truth. I admit an impulse to
strike back when I am hit; sometimes when I am not. Through two
Parliaments the ragged regiment that live upon the contributions of
their poor relations in domestic service in the United States have
girded at me in the House of Commons. This was my reward for the
rhetorical services I did for Ireland a quarter of a century ago. They
pummelled me, kicked me, dragged my honoured name in the dust, and spat
upon me in the market-place. That gross ingratitude I could never
forgive, and if in reprisal, the cause I once advocated suffers, can I
be held blameable?

But this seems to be running into the groove of apology, and I never
apologised to anyone for anything in my life. For fear I should begin
now, I will close this letter, remaining, Your friend, J-HN BR-GHT.

P.S.--I observe that in my haste I have not called you a fool, or
directly stigmatised as such anyone alluded to in this letter. I am
afraid this will be regarded as a sign of growing weakness. But I will
bring up the average in the next letter I write for publication.

       *       *       *       *       *


_Composing the Song, "For O it is such a Norrible Tail!!"_

    "Our ancestor was an animal which breathed water, had a
    swim-bladder, a great swimming tail, and an imperfect
    skull."--_Darwin to Lyell._]

[Illustration: THE BABES IN THE CHRISTMAS WOOD. "The Cry is still they

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: PUTTING _HIS_ FOOT IN IT.



[_Is delighted with his neat little Compliment!_]

       *       *       *       *       *


The Publishers' Cantata.

_Various well-known Publishing Firms in the guise of Forest-trees
discovered shedding their leaves._


 See Christmas is upon us and the world around us living,
 Seeks us and asks the pretty gifts it soon would fain be giving.
 The stories thrilling, tender, sweet, to suit all tastes and ages,
 All gleaming with their covers gay and picture-covered pages;
 The dainty illustrated leaf, the paper softly tinted,
 In type, to suit young eyes and old, all exquisitely printed:
 Of artist's pencil, author's pen, the choicest, fairest flower,
 Behold as the glad season comes we thus upon you shower.


 Christmas leaves? Would you pick up the handsomest ones,
 First look at these scattered by BLACKIE & SONS.
 Here tales of home life and adventure in plenty,
 Have good names to vouch for them. Take G. A. HENTY,
 In "Bonnie Prince Charlie" and "Orange and Green,"
 He lays first in Scotland, then Ireland his scene,
 And thrills you with reading the hairbreadth escapes,
 Of the heroes he rescues from numberless scrapes.
 But while in "For the Temple," he ventures to tell
 How in ages long past great Jerusalem fell;
 Yet if less ancient horrors are more to your mind,
 In the reign of the "Terror" material you'll find;
 And if you would learn how pluck never goes wrong,
 You've but to go straightway to "Sturdy and Strong."
 Next ELIZABETH LYSAGHT in "Aunt Hesba's Charge,"
 On the virtues of old Maiden Aunts doth enlarge,
 And relates in "Our General" by a small head,
 How a family through all its trials may be led.
 Then J. PERCY GROVES in "The War of the Axe,"
 Tells a stirring Cape story of Caffre attacks,
 And "The Seven Wise Scholars" supply ASCOTT R. HOPE,
 For knocking off seven good tales, ample scope,
 He in "Old Renown" stories, too, brilliantly writes
 Of the deeds done of old by brave heroes and knights;
 While E. BROOKES harking back with his "Chivalric Days,"
 Of the boys and the girls of old times sings the praise.
 "Girl Neighbours," allows SARAH TYTLER to say,
 On the whole she prefers the girl of the day;
 In "Miss Willowbrown's Offer," how traitors may fail,
 SARAH DOWDNEY describes in a well-written tale.
 With "The Babbling Teapot," to a little girl changed,
 Mrs. CHAMPNEY has well into Wonderland ranged.
 Out of "Willie," who here "Gutta Percha" is named,
 GEORGE MACDONALD, an excellent story has framed,
 And has shown how he finds life's troubles prove plastic,
 Possessing a brain which his friends deem elastic.
 In "The Princess" and "Goblin" he tries a new scheme,
 And sweeps you along with his mystical theme;
 But when she meets "Curdie" he now and then treads
 On ground that is over his young readers' heads.
 If a truant's adventures, fair reading you find,
 The good ship "Atalanta," you'd bear in your mind,
 And you'll follow "aboard" it, the hero whose fate
 HENRY FRITH'S thrilling pages know how to relate.
 Next in "Chirp and Chatter" from field and from tree,
 Young children taught lessons by L. BANKS you'll see.
 "Queen Maud," with her "orders" by LOUISA CROW,
 Shows pride in a haughty young maiden brought low:
 While in the "Squire's Grandson," J. CALLWELL proves how
 A small boy can make up a family row.
 The stories of WASA and MENZIKOFF tell
 Two historical tales, and do it right well.
 In his "Dick o' the Fens," one Fen,--MANVILLE FENN,--
 Gives some capital studies of Lincolnshire men;
 But in "Sir Walter's Ward," the age of Crusades,
 Mr. WILLIAM EVERARD brightly invades.
 The "Girlhood" of "Margery Merton" relates,
 The struggle that oft a young artist awaits,
 And how in the end her brave efforts prevail,
 ALICE CORKRAN unfolds in her well-written tale.
 And if "Clogs," well selected for children to wear,
 You're in need, AMY WALTON will find you "a pair."
 If the "Secret" of "Rovers" is more to your taste,
 HARRY COLLINGWOOD follow,--your time you'll not waste.
 In field, forest, or stream, would you "Insect Ways" learn,
 For their "Summer Day's" life to J. HUMPHREYS turn.
 But to close:--GORDON BROWNE, whose famed pencil so skilled,
 Of the foregoing pages so many has filled,
 Crowns the whole by contributing last, but not least,
 His new "Hop o' my Thumb" and "The Beauty and Beast."


 Are you seeking for young children picture-books to please the eye?
 Then your need GEORGE ROUTLEDGE and his Sons will readily supply.
 Here's "Little Wide-Awake," designed to suit the earliest age,
 Bound brightly, with a picture too on nearly every page;
 And then there's "Sunny Childhood," with its colouring so gay,
 Where Mrs. SALE BARKER has such pleasant things to say;
 And in "Our Friends" and in "Our Home" she takes them by the hand,
 And talks to little readers in the words they understand.
 "Our Darlings," too, by MARS, show how our little darlings fare
 Who by their MARS (and Pa's as well) are taken everywhere.
 If "Fairy Tales" you're seeking, LABOULAYE'S collected lore,
 With new ones, and unheard before, will furnish up your store.
 And if young heroes of all climes should come within your scope,
 You'll turn to "Youngsters' Yarns," and will have faith in ASCOTT HOPE.
 Then "Herbert Massey's" doings in "Eastern Africa" you'll find,
 Told by Commander CAMERON, quite of a thrilling kind.
 "The Children of the New Forest," that MARRYAT wrote of yore,
 PAUL HARDY and JOHN GILBERT join to illustrate once more.
 "Round Nature's Dial," by H. M. BURNSIDE, tells full and clear
 The shifting story of the times and seasons of the year.
 The "Annual" for "Every Boy" affords all boys a treat,
 Which, thanks to EDMUND ROUTLEDGE, may be held as quite complete.
 Here "Caldecott's last 'Graphic' Pictures" come in handy guise,
 While by her "Book" consulting, the "Young Lady" may grow wise.
 How good we'd be if all, before they do, to think would tarry
 On what Miss EDGEWORTH taught to "Lucy," "Rosamond," and "Harry."
 "Natural History," Illustrated "for Young People," must do good,
 As a text-book for young children, ably done by F. G. WOOD.
 The "Funny Foxes and their Feats" and doings "at the Fair,"
 With some of ERNST GRISET'S happiest efforts may compare.
 "The 'Shall Nots' of the Bible" and "Loving Links" combine,
 In page illuminated, human verse and text divine.
 "Play and Earnest" tells of children who their playing much enjoy,
 In a story quaint and charming of a plucky little boy.
 Then "Sunbeam Stories," "Storm" and "Sunshine," told in prose and
 And "Stories" for a "Holiday," as also "Pets' Pastime."
 These, with "Sindbad's" famed Adventures, new to many we suppose,
 With KATE GREENAWAY'S bright Almanack our list must fitly close.


 Surely "Little Miss Peggy" will work you the spell
 Mrs. MOLESWORTH'S charmed pen weaves so deftly and well,
 For this quaint little lady, with ways sweet and bright,
 Her small nursery readers can't fail to delight.
 In "An Unknown Country" pen and pencil beguile
 Him who tempts it to visit his own Sister Isle.
 The text he'll find art a true handmaid to wait on
 In the exquisite work of F. NOEL PATON.

       *       *       *       *       *

Christmas Cards.

 Of Christmas Cards a splendid show
 This year! Wherever you may go
 You see them. When you're told, you know
               They're Christmas Cards.
 In such a game of Cards the thing
 Before the eyes of all to bring
 Is Christmas, but they're Summer, Spring,
               Most Christmas Cards.

       *       *       *       *       *

 Taking high rank among the Christmas Cards,
 The artistic reproductions, MARCUS WARD'S,
 Of two of RAPHAEL'S best-known Madonnas
 Must, at this season, carry off the honours.
 Both from one Pitti Palace--need we name them?--
 'Twould be a thousand pities not to frame them.

(AIR--"_King of the Cannibal Islands._")

 Here's an "Opal Souvenir,"
 Lovely _mem_ of present year,
 And it comes from, as we hear,
 Among the Cards the best designs
 Are those by WEEDON, WILSON, HINES,
 BOTHAMS, DEALY also shines,
 KILBURNE, DRUMMOND, on like lines,
 SIGIMUND, artistic crew,
 All at work their best to do

(AIR--"_Rare Ben._")

         RAPHAEL TUCK!
         Here's luck!
       Rejoice! no dumps!
 Why, all your Cards are trumps!
       And all applied
     To merry Christmas-tide!
     In these un-Christmas days,
 _Punch_ says 'tis greatly to thy praise.
         So, RAPHAEL TUCK,
           My buck,
         Here's luck!

_To Mr. Punch._

 "Such books, cards, and crackers," cries Poet, perplexed,
 "As remain on the list, I will give 'in our next.'"

       *       *       *       *       *


_An apology--Eloquent Peroration by our Vice-President_--NAYLOR _offers
some critical remarks, and_ KIRKSTONE _relates a humorous anecdote_.

I am in a position this week to redeem my promise, and raise the
hitherto impenetrable veil that has long shrouded the proceedings of the
Gargoyle Club from the Public Eye. In the exercise of the discretion
with which I have been entrusted, I have somewhat departed from the form
of report originally contemplated, and selected only the more striking
and characteristic deliverances of my fellow Gargoyles, interspersed
with such short notes and descriptions as may best serve to bring out
their several mannerisms and idiosyncrasies. Should I offend by this I
shall deeply regret it, but I find that there are traditions and customs
in the management of a facetious periodical which, however exacting and
absurd in themselves, must be respected by those who would furnish it
with literary matter.

Having thus apologised in advance to any honourable Gargoyle who may
consider himself misrepresented or insufficiently reported, let me
present, as the first instalment of these papers, some extracts from
notes taken at a most instructive debate last session upon the motion
(brought forward by PLUMLEY DUFF; opposed by GASPARD HARTUPP), that:

"In the opinion of this House, Science has been productive of more real
benefit to the Human Race than Art."

Somehow, although I know that DUFF'S speech was compounded of plain
common sense interspersed with abundant facts (all DUFF'S speeches are
like that), I did not begin to take notes that evening until HARTUPP had
reached his peroration, which was in this form:--

"Sir," said HARTUPP (_with an inflection of unspeakable pathos in his
voice, which ought to make_ PINCENEY _shed tears--but does not_),
"before I sit down--before, Sir, I resume my seat,"--(_this solemnly, as
if he has a deep presentiment that he may never resume another
seat_)--"let me ask the Honourable Member who is responsible for the
Motion on the paper this evening--let me put to him this single inquiry,
this solitary question--and I shall await his answer with considerable
curiosity." ... (_Here_ HARTUPP _gazes with an air of challenge at_
DUFF, _who, however, is drawing_ EUCLID'S _first proposition upon his
blotting-pad, an occupation which seems to absorb the whole of his
faculties for the moment_.) "Is he here to-night to deny the existence
of any good that is not visible, that is not tangible, that cannot be
measured with a tape, or weighed in scales? _Sir_, that is the
philosophy of the volatile sparrow, of the soulless hog, that skims the
vault of the azure empyrean, and wallows content in the mire of his
native sky--I _should_ say" (_with an air of careless concession to
prosaic accuracy_), "stye! That bird, Sir, that pig, like the Honourable
Proposer himself"--(_a titter here from the more frivolous_; DUFF _rubs
his nose, and evidently wonders whether_ HARTUPP _has been saying
anything worth noticing_)--"would find the universe none the poorer had
PRAXITELES carved nothing more immortal than an occasional cold fowl;
had HOMER swept his lyre, not in commemoration of the fall of an ancient
Troy, but to celebrate the rise of a new soap (HARTUPP _rather prides
himself on his talent for antithesis_); "and had TITIAN lavished all his
wealth of glowing colour and gorgeous hues upon the unretentive surface
of some suburban pavement! But, _Sir_, I hope that we, by our vote
to-night, will afford no encouragement to the gross and contemptible
materialism which is the curse of the present day, and of which, I am
compelled to add," (_here he glances reproachfully at the unconscious_
DUFF, _who is sharpening a pencil_), "we have been afforded so
melancholy an example this evening. Let us proclaim to the world without
that we, as Gentlemen and as Gargoyles, repudiate, that we loathe, that
we abhor, that we abominate," (HARTUPP _seems to be screwing all these
verbs out of himself, and throwing them defiantly at_ DUFF,) "the
grovelling tendency of our animal nature to ignore the joys of the soul
and the pleasures of the intellect, and place its highest enjoyment in
the ignoble pursuit of creature comforts!"

[_Here_ HARTUPP _sits down amidst applause, and applies himself
diligently to his whiskey-and-water_.

At a later period in the evening, just as the debate was beginning to
languish, NAYLOR started to his feet with a long strip of paper which,
being shortsighted, he held close to his nose. NAYLOR invariably takes
elaborate notes, with the intention of pointing out and refuting the
errors of all previous speakers. Unfortunately, as he cannot always read
the notes, and seldom remembers the objections he meant to urge, his
criticisms are not as effective as could be desired. On this occasion,
NAYLOR said:--"I'm not going to make a speech, Sir, I only want to point
out one or two things which struck me as requiring to be met. I'll take
them in their order." (_Here he fumbles with his strip of paper, which
will get upside down when he wished to refer to it_). "Oh, here it is!
There was a Gargoyle who said--I believe it was the Proposer of this
motion--_didn't_ you?" (_To_ DUFF, _who shakes his head in solemn
disclaimer_). "Well, it was somebody, anyway, but he told us that----."
(_Here_ NAYLOR _again refers to his notes_). "I'm afraid I can't exactly
make out what he did say--but I don't agree with him. Then there was
another speaker who said, (I took it down at the time) that he'd rather
have a good traction-engine than the finest poem ever written! Well, my
reply to _that_ is----" (_here_ NAYLOR _has another wrestle with his
notes and comes up triumphant_) "that's _his_ opinion. I wouldn't. Next,
someone asked, 'What practical use was SHAKSPEARE to any man?'" (_A
pause._) "I've got an answer to that on my notes, somewhere, only I
can't find it. But, anyhow," (_cheerfully_) "I know it was rather
sticking up for SHAKSPEARE, to a certain extent. Then, didn't someone
else say, 'Music elevated the mind?'" (_A Member acknowledges the
responsibility of this bold sentiment._) "Well, I don't say it
doesn't--only, _how_? you know, that's the point!" (_A long pause,
during which_ NAYLOR _and his notes appears to be getting inextricably
involved_). "There was a lot of other things I meant to say, but I'm
afraid I don't quite remember them at this moment."

With this, NAYLOR sat down suddenly, apparently very little depressed by
the total absence of applause--he knew that a fearless critic is never

After that we had a little speech from dear old KIRKSTONE, who rose to
tell us an anecdote, which the subject had suggested to him. Appropriate
anecdotes are always occurring to KIRKSTONE, and he applies them in the
neatest and happiest manner, being gifted with the keenest sense of
humour of any one in our Society. In fact, the very keenness of
KIRKSTONE'S appreciation operates almost as a disadvantage, as will be
seen from the following extract, taken on the spot.

_Kirkstone (rising, and playing with his watch-chain)._ "Sir, whilst
listening to the speeches of Honourable Members this evening, I could
not help being reminded of a story I heard the other day." (_Here a
slight spasm passes over his ample cheeks, and we all settle down in
delighted anticipation_). "There was an old farmer--one of the regular
old-fashioned sort." (_Faint preliminary chuckle down in_ KIRKSTONE'S
_throat_.) "Well, he had a daughter, who--_tchick!_--played on
the--_tehee!_--the piano, and one day he was induced to go in for
a"--(_convulsion, followed by sounds like the extraction of a very
refractory cork_)--"for a Steam-plough! Soon afterwards he happened to
meet a friend--another farmer, or the parson, I forget which, and it
don't signify. Well, and the friend asked 'how he got on with his
Steam-plough.' And the old farmer says--_hork-hork!_--he says, 'Don't
talk to me 'bout no Steam-plough--_ki-hee-hee!_--when there's my darter
at home, and she--_crick, crick, criggle!_' (KIRKSTONE _proceeds
gallantly, but is unintelligible until the close_)--'with her darned
pianner--_haw-haw-haw!_' Well, the House can apply the moral of that
themselves--I thought it was rather to the point myself. That's all I
got up to say."

I am afraid KIRKSTONE thinks we are all of us rather dull.

       *       *       *       *       *



Mr. FREDERIC H. COWEN'S dramatic Oratorio, _Ruth_, was produced last
Thursday at St. James's Hall, and the verdict on the entire work from
"bar one" to bar last was emphatically favourable. The Composer has
nothing to regret on this score. The workmanship throughout is
thoroughly good, and in some instances admirable, though the First Part
is not distinguished by any very striking originality.

In the Second Part, which begins appropriately with Harvest or "Half-est
time," Mr. BOAZ LLOYD gave a very trying _scena_ magnificently. But why
does he pronounce "excellent" as "ex_cee_lent?" Perhaps he has
ascertained on undeniable authority that this is the way _Boaz_ would
have pronounced it. _À propos_ of this eminent tenor, on one occasion,
not this, there was very nearly being a duel about his identity. An
Irish gentleman, turning to his friend, informed him, "That's SIMS
REEVES," whereupon his better informed companion returned, "He! LLOYD!"
which, but for a toimely explanation, begorra, would have led
to a challenge!

To resume. The "Dance of Reapers and Gleaners" must have sounded rather
out of place in Worcester Cathedral, where _Ruth_ was first produced. In
the Chorus of the Reapers and Gleaners, who were not in the least out of
breath with their dance--but perhaps these had only been delighted
spectators--full justice was done to the finest number in the
Oratorio--at least, so it appeared to the humble individual who had the
honour of representing you on this occasion. Then in the duet,

   As _Boaz_ and _Ruth_,
 Were perfect, no blarney,
   I'm telling the truth.

The applause was enthusiastic: indeed, not only in this instance, but
throughout the performance, these two sang magnificently. _Boaz_ must
have been a very kind man; at all events, as _Boaz_ and _Ruth_ are
invariably heard of together, it is clear that he could never be accused
of being Ruthless.

Now, just one question: the Book of Words with musical phrases, is sold
in the room, and on the title-page we read that "the words are
selected,"--most judiciously too--by Mr. JOSEPH BENNETT, and "the Book
of Words" is fitted "with analytical notes by JOSEPH BENNETT,"--though
we should have thought that Mr. COWEN'S notes were sufficient by
themselves. Then we find the analytical Noter saying at the end of Part
I., "_The assertion may safely be made, that no poetical situation in
dramatic Oratorio, has been treated more successfully than the
foregoing._" Now, suppose this were a book of a new Opera, would it be
right and proper for the librettist who had adapted the subject from
SHAKSPEARE, for example, to give his opinion on the work of his
_collaborateur_? Wouldn't this be taking an unfair advantage of his
position? It doesn't matter in this case, as I perfectly agree with him,
but it is the principle, whatever it may be, for which I contend, and
sign myself,

 Your Musical Representative,      PETER PIPER.

       *       *       *       *       *

UNCLE REMUS ON C. S. P-RN-LL.--"Brer Fox he lay low."

       *       *       *       *       *



Amongst entertainments of a pleasing character the performances of "Mr.
and Mrs. GERMAN REED" hold their own gallantly. At the present moment a
little play called _Tally Ho_ is occupying the boards, much to the
delight of those serious pleasure-seekers who consider a box at a
theatre wicked, but find no particular harm in the stalls of St.
George's Hall. Mr. ALFRED REED and Miss FANNY HOLLAND are as amusing as
ever, and the music is all that could be desired. The dialogue of the
piece, or entertainment, or whatever it is, is not too new. I fancy the
author must have seen _London Assurance_, and listened to _Lady Gay
Spanker's_ description of the fox chase. And having seen the piece and
heard the speech, possibly read the burlesque thereon by the late
GILBERT ABBOTT À BECKETT, in the _Scenes from Rejected Comedies_,
published as long ago as the forties. "How time flies!" as a lady behind
me observed, after expressing her opinion that Mr. CORNEY GRAIN was
better than his pupil--JOHN PARRY! "I remember him as far back as a
quarter of a century," continued the fair dame, "and didn't you hear him
say he was over fifty years old when he sang that song calling himself
an old fogey?" Mr. GRAIN fails to do himself justice when he assumes an
elderly air inconsistent with the number of his summers. Such an
assumption can but cause pain--to his contemporaries!

On Thursday last _The Woman Hater_ was produced for the first time in
London at Mr. TERRY'S Theatre (on the grounds that familiarity breeds
contempt, I prefer to allow the actor to retain his titular prefix),
with more or less success. On the whole I condole with our country
cousins if they have been allowed to see this strange play very
frequently. Personally I would not care to form a part of any audience
at Mr. TERRY'S Theatre during its run, which I am bound to add I am
afraid will not be a long one. The construction of the three-act farce
(as it is called) is feeble in the extreme, and suggests that the
author, from a literary point of view, has a great deal to learn. I do
not think (unless his future pieces are very unlike _The Woman Hater_)
that he will have much chance of gaining a permanent position in the
Temple of Fame. This is merely a matter of opinion, but, speaking for
myself, had I a theatre (which I should call of course Mr. Thingembob's
Theatre, or the Theatre Royal Dash Blank, Esq.), I believe I should
somehow or other instinctively avoid the works of Mr. DAVID LLOYD for
some time to come. That is to say if he confined his pen to farce and
comedy. It is quite possible he may be much more at home in tragedy. As
a fact, there is a sort of gloomy glamour about _The Woman Hater_ that
suggests the reflection that, after all, the play might have been more
exciting if a murder had been skilfully introduced into Act I., and it
had been written throughout in blank verse. I think the lover, _Tom
Ripley_, might thus have been murdered with or without (for preference,
with) his sweetheart. Early in Act II. the character very nicely played
by Mr. KEMBLE might have committed suicide, with one or two others; for
choice, others. Act III. might have been allowed (after the necessary
alterations had been made to fit it to the requirements of the novel
development of the original plot) to stand as it is. In its present form
the incidents connected with the spiriting away (after a desperate and
revolting fight with the keepers) of the hero to a Lunatic Asylum, are,
to say the least, unpleasant. Mr. BISHOP, as the psychological
specialist (the resident medical superintendent of the licensed house),
was excellent. It is a question, however, whether those well-intentioned
representatives of the LORD CHANCELLOR, the Commissioners in Lunacy,
would have been entirely satisfied with his action in connection with
the incarceration of one sane patient in the place of another patient
equally free from mental disease. But that is a matter affecting the
author rather than the player. Miss M. A. VICTOR, as a widow lady of
great wealth and superior position, was, of course, quite in her
element, and gave an admirable sketch of a British matron from Belgravia
or Mayfair. Mr. TERRY, too, deserves a word of praise for his own droll
performances, which caused more than once, on the first night, a burst
of hearty laughter. Pleasantry apart, in spite of the acting, good all
round, I fear _The Woman Hater_ will soon have to return to the
provinces, to make room for something just a little better suited to the
London requirements of Mr. TERRY and the audiences of Mr. TERRY'S

       *       *       *       *       *

NEW BOOK.--_The Green Ways of England._ By a Warwickshire Man.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: SO VERY LIKELY.

_Small Rustic (to Brown, whose Champion North-Caspian Bear-hound has
just gobbled up one of Farmer Rackstraw's Prize Rabbits, which had got
out of the hutch)._ "IF YER'LL GI' ME TUPPENCE, ZUR, I'LL SWEAR _IT WOS

       *       *       *       *       *


_Master of Hounds, loquitur_:--

 "_Slow in pursuit, but matched in mouths like bells.
 Each under each._" So SHAKSPEARE'S _Theseus_ tells
   The merits of his tuneful Spartan pack.
 Would I could echo it concerning mine!
 Tut, tut! They're off again on their own line.
   Come back, ye fools, come back!

 I envy _Theseus_! Just the sort of hounds
 For a true Tory huntsman; kept in bounds
   By discipline none ventures to defy.
 With such a pack I should be well content;
 But some of mine are keen on a false scent,
   And off on a wild cry.

 Oh, these young dogs! They think disorder's dash;
 Heedless of horn, rebellious to the lash;
   Just now, too, when our quarry is so clear!
 Oh, hang the howling, yelping, whimpering lot!
 On a fine herring-trail the fools have got.
   They'll spoil the chase, I fear.

 Come back! Come back! What, "VINCENT," "BARTLETT," ho!
 This sort of thing won't pay at all, you know.
   We are not, now, after _that_ sort of game.
 Ah, sweet _Sir Roger_, our _Spectator's_ friend.
 What would you say to this? Come, let it end.
   For shame, ye curs, for shame!

 ADDISON'S "good old Knight" was happier far.
 In his well-ordered pack the casual jar
   Of a raw dog or "noted Liar" met
 No recognition; no, "he might have yelped
 His heart out," but the row had nothing helped
   The hounds astray to set.

 Here be "notorious Liars" in full force
 (The epithet is technical, of course).
   "TORRINGTON," back! Back, "STANLEY"! "ECROYD," back!
 Heed "the old hounds of reputation" here.
 This shindy must be stopped, or 'twill, I fear,
   Demoralise the pack!

       *       *       *       *       *


At the house of NAT LANGHAM young men were taught how to use their hands
skilfully years agone; at the home of _the_ LANGHAM their hands are
trained with equal care and discretion, with a different end in view. At
the former they were excited, at the latter they are soothed. The
spirits of the last are finer, if less ardent, than those of the first.
Friday cannot be unlucky, for all their sketches are produced on that
proverbially unfortunate day. A subject is given, and in two hours, over
pipes and coffee, it is completed. Marvellous these rapid acts of
sketchmanship! The Impressionists nowhere! The result? Well, go to the
Gallery, 23, Baker Street. Look at the collection of pictures--on the
two hours' system--by Messrs. STACEY MARKS, CALDERON, FRED WALKER,
and other clever gentlemen, and see if _Mr. Punch_ is not right in his
commendation. The Langham Sketching Club has existed over half a
century, and this is its first public exhibition. Ah! well, it is never
too late to mend.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Winter's Tale at the Lyceum.

 There's a charm in her innocent glances,
 A charm in her step when she dances,
           For _Perdita_, "nary
           A one," like our MARY,
 The sweetest of Sweet Willum's fancies.

 To those who may not have heard it, a
 Chance most distinct will be _Perdita_.
           So, see now, we say,
           MARY ANDERSON play,
 You'll regret, when too late you've deferred it, Ah!

       *       *       *       *       *

The Latest and Best from Berlin.

The Crown Prince was reported last week to be decidedly better. May it
be so, and so go on. "His Imperial Highness," wrote the Correspondent of
the _Standard_, "continues to express the fullest confidence in Sir
MORELL MACKENZIE." And _Mr. Punch_, in the name of all Englishmen who
are uninfluenced by any feeling akin to professional jealousy, "says
ditto," to the Crown Prince. _Prosit!_

       *       *       *       *       *

Mrs. R. is astonished that the English do not name streets and places
after the names of their great Poets and their works. She says she only
remembers two exceptions; one was a _Hamlet_ in the Country, and the
other was _Wandsworth_; the latter being so called after the Poet who
wrote _The Excursion_,--probably, she thinks, a cheap excursion to this
very spot, which is within a cab-fare of town.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Third Edition of Mr. FRITH'S Recollections is now out. We hear it is
dedicated to Archdeacon SUMNER, and that the motto selected is the
nautical quotation, "Port it is!"

[Illustration: ON THE WRONG SCENT.


       *       *       *       *       *


       *       *       *       *       *


DEAR SIR,--Mr. DONNELLY'S cryptogram, showing BACON to be the author of
all SHAKSPEARE'S plays, is a wonderful discovery. The principle only
needs to be applied with sufficient ingenuity and perseverance, to
revolutionise the whole field of literary history. I myself have only
had time to apply it in a few instances, but have already got the really
valuable result that NEGRETTI and ZAMBRA wrote most of the works of
MILTON. DAY and MARTIN LUTHER wrote _Sandford and Merton_, and Sir
WALTER SCOTT wrote the ballad with the refrain "_Two Lovely Black
Eyes_." CHARLES THACKERAY'S works were entirely written by WILLIAM
MAKEPEACE DICKENS. Hence the cryptogrammatic name. I am working as hard
at the theory as the somewhat unelastic rules of this establishment will
permit, and this morning I caught a cryptogram crawling up the
window-pane. Aha! excuse my glove, I must dissemble,

 _Colney-Hatchwell_.      Yours,      THE "B" IN BOTH.

SIR,--You are performing a truly noble and philanthropic work in
throwing open your columns to a subject which must inevitably seem
"_caviare_ to the general" (BACON). To myself, personally, the raising
of the controversy at the present time is annoying, because I happen to
have hit independently on exactly the same idea as Mr. DONNELLY'S; viz.,
that there is an underground narrative running through SHAKSPEARE.
DARWIN and WALLACE, you may remember, discovered the origin of species
simultaneously, so why not I and DONNELLY the origin of SHAKSPEARE? But
my cryptogram leads to an entirely different result from Mr. DONNELLY'S,
who has, I am certain, being led off on a false scent. Instead of
multiplying every 270th word, as he does, by the number of full-stops in
the page, and then dividing the result by the number of years during
which ANNE HATHAWAY is supposed to have resided at Stratford-on-Avon, he
should first have discovered the total quantity of words in all
SHAKSPEARE'S plays and sonnets, and after that the quantity in the
_Novum Organon_; then reducing the probable salary which BACON received
as Lord Chancellor, _each year_, down to farthings, he should have
divided (_not_ multiplied) them all into each other, and brought them to
decimals, and then applied _that_ result to the plays. The process is a
little complicated, but I can't make it clearer at present. Anyhow, the
entrancing interest of the story so obtained can be judged from the
headings of the chapters.

"Lord BACON arrives at Stratford disguised as a bargee. His midnight
visit to SHAKSPEARE'S house. The poaching plot hatched. In the
churchyard. The Ghost among the tombs. The Ghost discovered to be Queen
ELIZABETH, who had followed BACON to Stratford disguised as a Tilbury
fish-wife. The Queen buried alive in Stratford churchyard by BACON and
SHAKSPEARE. The good Vicar bribed. Their scheme to dress up ANNE
HATHAWAY as Queen. Its success. ANNE HATHAWAY reigns twenty years,
everybody taking her for ELIZABETH. SHAKSPEARE (stricken with remorse)
appears suddenly at the bedside of BACON. Threatens to disclose all.
BACON murders SHAKSPEARE. Takes all SHAKSPEARE'S Plays (hitherto
unacted, having been rejected by the Managers of the period as 'wholly
devoid of dramatic power') out of his pocket, and produces them next day
as his own. Success of this plot also. How BACON repents at last.
Invents the Cryptogram. Inserts it in the Plays on his deathbed."

You will see from this abstract that there are elements of far greater
interest in my theory than in Mr. DONNELLY'S, and my publishers
sincerely trust that you will insert this letter, as a gratuitous
advertisement may help the sale of my forthcoming work, entitled, _Who
Killed Shakspeare and Queen Elizabeth?_

 Your obedient servant,      ARTFUL PLODDER.

SIR,--Surely it is impossible to doubt any longer that BACON wrote
_Hamlet_. Why, in that play you find him actually confessing his
cowardice in not claiming the authorship of his own plays! What else
_can_ these words mean?

    "What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven?
    We are _arrant knaves all_."

Then occurs this truly remarkable sentence:--

    "God hath given you one face, and you make yourselves another."

Given _whom_? Why, BACON himself! Did he not make his face into
another's, namely, SHAKSPEARE'S? The case is as clear as noonday. Let
the insular cavillers at DONNELLY, just because he is an American, hide
their diminished heads.


DEAR SIR,--Would one of your readers kindly inform me how Friar BACON
could have written SHAKSPEARE? I see by _Little Arthur's History of
England_ that the former lived three hundred years before SHAKSPEARE was
born. This seems to be a conclusive proof that Mr. DONNELLY is wrong;
but though I am very fond of history, I do not profess to be a great
historical critic.


SIR,--In looking over _Macbeth_, I have found a really remarkable
confirmation of Mr. DONNELLY'S cryptographic story. The story relates
how, when CECIL told Queen ELIZABETH that SHAKSPEARE'S plays were
treasonable, she "rises up, beats HAYWARD with her crutch, and nearly
kills him." In Act III., Scene 4, of _Macbeth_, occurs this line,--

 "It will have blood; they say, blood will have blood"--

_i.e._, Queen ELIZABETH, being a person of good blood, or high lineage,
_will_ have blood, _i.e._, from the head of the person she beats with
the crutch.

A few lines further on is a striking confirmation of this.

_Macbeth_ says,--

 "How say'st thou, that MACDUFF denies his person
 At our great bidding?"

_Macduff_ here is cryptographic for SHAKSPEARE. When summoned by the
Queen to answer CECIL'S charge, SHAKSPEARE _did_ deny his person at her
bidding. Mr. DONNELLY'S is a great discovery. The world _does_ advance,
in spite of Lord SALISBURY. Yours, RADICAL.

DEAR SIR,--How long will the British public allow an impudent Yankee to
lead it astray? Mr. DONNELLY has evidently never read my historical
novel, _A Tale of the Invincible Armada_, which somehow failed to meet
with the enthusiasm it deserved, or he would know that CECIL valued
SHAKSPEARE most highly. In my book he never addresses the Bard without
saying, "Marry, Gossip," or "I' faith, good coz." I am sure your readers
will be glad of this information; also to hear that I am bringing out a
cheap popular edition of the same book, price only three-and-sixpence.
Order at once, Yours, M. AINCHANCE.

SIR,--Perhaps, after all, the best solution of the SHAKSPEARE-BACON
puzzle is one analogous to that suggested by a learned Don in the HOMER
controversy--viz., that the person who wrote the plays was not
SHAKSPEARE, but another man of the same name.


       *       *       *       *       *


 "'The policy of worry' shan't be strained;
 They'll drop it in my gentle reign next Session."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "AN OPPORTUNIST."



       *       *       *       *       *

A WOULD-BE "LITERARY GENT."--The following is from the _Daily

    LITERARY.--A gentleman who erst wrote for recreation, is driven,
    through cruel misfortune, to resume his pen for a livelihood.
    Fugitive lines, reviews of English, French, and Italian literature,
    topics of the day.

What a condescension! How good of him! He "first wrote for
recreation"--whose?--his own probably, and that of his friends who were
as easily amused as were those of Mr. PETER MAGNUS,--who signed himself
P.M., or afternoon, for the entertainment of his correspondents,--and
now he is "driven through cruel misfortune to resume his pen." Very
cruel! Perhaps already his friends are beginning to suffer from this
spiteful freak of Fortune. But as he can knock off with ease a variety
of literary work, he is rather to be envied than pitied; and already he
may be on the high road to literary fame which he will despise, and
solid wealth which he will appreciate.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE NEW SIXPENCE.--On the face is to be the QUEEN'S effigy with
inscription, and on the reverse its value inscribed, surrounded by an
olive-branch and an oak-branch. More appropriate for the face would have
been the QUEEN'S effigy surrounded by olive-branches.

       *       *       *       *       *

M. PASTEUR is the man for the successful treatment of hydrophobia. Does
the Australasian Government appeal to him for assistance because it
finds itself in a rabbit state?

       *       *       *       *       *


(_Humbly imitated from Henry Luttrel's "Burnham Beeches."_)

 A Bard, dear Muse, who pluck would sing,
   Your friendly aid beseeches.
 Help me to touch the lyric string
   On--brave O'BRIEN'S breeches!

 What though the splendour of my lines
   To SWINBURNE'S height ne'er reaches?
 The theme, if not the thrummer, shines;
   That theme's--O'BRIEN'S breeches!

 They wouldn't let O'BRIEN talk,
   Or make "seditious" speeches.
 They quodded him, his plans to baulk,
   And--tried to bag his breeches!

 But brave O'BRIEN'S blood did burn
   (Say, who his pluck impeaches?)
 He up and swore in accents stern,
   "I _won't_--wear convict breeches!"

 Those gaolers deep about him hung,
   They stuck to him like leeches.
 But he, the eloquent of tongue,
   Stuck to--O'BRIEN'S breeches!

 If "sermons be in stones," I'll bet
   A prison patience teaches.
 The prisoner to bed must get;
   They watched--and boned his breeches!

 The captive of the cold complains,
   His breechless bones it reaches.
 But yield? No, rather he remains
   In bed--without his breeches!

 In vain the prison-clothes they show;
   Badge of dishonour each is.
 Patriots prefer to lie below
   Bed-clothes--without their breeches!

 But friends unto the dungeon hie,
   No gaoler marks (or peaches),
 They hand O'BRIEN, on the sly,
   _Another_ pair of breeches!

 Black BALFOUR'S myrmidons are fooled!
   A lesson high this teaches:
 A plucky people is not ruled
   By--stealing patriot's breeches!

 BRIAN BORU they sang of yore,
   But when her goal she reaches,
 Erin will sing, from shore to shore,
   O'BRIEN--and his breeches!

 Her bards will praise the patriot true,
   His long and fiery speeches,
 His bearding BALFOUR'S brutal crew;
   But, above all,--his breeches!

 Oh, ne'er may the potheen pass round
   But--Erin so beseeches--
 The Isle may with one theme resound,--
   O'BRIEN--and his breeches!

 Hold! Though I'd fain be jingling on,
   One rhyme, experience teaches,
 You can't ring on for aye! I've done.
   Farewell, O'BRIEN'S breeches!

       *       *       *       *       *

The Shakspearian Question.

_An Actor's opinion on the Bacon v. Shakspeare controversy, expressed in
a strictly professional cryptogrammatic style._

"SHAKSPEARE written by a chap called BACON, my boy? Very likely; I
always found 'lots of fat' in it."

_Another (at Brighton, by an Ancient Mariner who sticks to the "Old

"BACON wrote SHAKSPEARE? Well, perhaps he did. He was a clever chap, was
dear old ARTHUR BACON; but still, somehow, I don't think he wrote
SHAKSPEARE. At least not all of it."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: INTERIORS AND EXTERIORS. No. 54.


       *       *       *       *       *


SIR,--I used to be a very regular attendant at the Theatres. I am not so
now, and I find that by staying away, I have time at my disposal, which
I never had before, for reading, study, and social intercourse. I save
my money and preserve my health. And for this I have most sincerely to
thank the Managers of our London Theatres, who, within the last few
years, have adopted a style of pictorial advertisement, which, though
possibly attractive to simple-minded folk, or restless youth, exercises
a singularly deterrent effect on the middle-aged playgoer, and on all
imaginative and timid persons, especially of the feminine gender.

For example, speaking as a mediævalist, or one of the middle-ages, if I
see a huge coloured picture on a hoarding representing several
sensational situations which form a frame for the culminating horror of
the play in the centre, as an old stager I know that play from beginning
to end, and take in the whole plot at a glance. I can imagine the
dialogue without doing much injury to the author, and, as I have seen
the principal actors and actresses, I can, in my own mind, furnish the
piece with a cast probably far superior to that at the particular
theatre where the melodrama, thus pictorially advertised, is being
performed. The scenery and costumes I have before me on the hoarding.
This applies to several theatres. As to timid ladies they shrink from
seeing the realisation of the terrible situations depicted on the
picture-poster. They have seen quite enough: they will wait until
something less startling shall be substituted for this display of crime,
cruelty, and violence.

It is really very kind of the Managers to provide for outsiders in this
way, but the outsiders remain outsiders, and have no desire to enter
these chambers of Dramatic Horrors. As a supporter of shows and
exhibitions, with considerable experience, I know well enough that the
representation outside the booth is very much superior to the reality
within; for example, the outside picture of a Fat Woman exaggerates the
corpulence of the Lady on view inside the caravan; the Mermaid is most
attractive in the picture, probably floating about playing a harp, while
the reality is a dummy figure composed of a monkey's and cat's skin sewn
together and stuffed. I hope the Managers will develop their pictorial
advertisements still further; I speak selfishly, as if everyone takes my
view, where will the audiences be?

The only advertisements that ever attract me, and cause me to say, "Ah!
I should like to see _that_!" are those which, on closer inspection,
I find to be only the artistic trade-marks of some new soap,
beetle-powder, peculiar whiskey, sewing machines, or soothing syrup.
Pray, Sir, do all you can to encourage Theatrical Art in Mural
Decorations, and save the time and money of,

 Yours,       PATER FAMILIAS.

P.S.--I shall take my boys in holiday time the round of the hoardings,
and tell them all about the plays. Cheap entertainment, eh?

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. BLUNDELL MAPLE, M. P. elect for Dulwich--not by any means a dullidge
sort of constituency in the opinion of the Conservative Candidate's
Agent--is to be congratulated on attaining his majority. When he has
prepared his maiden speech for the House, he may hum to himself:--

    "Now I'm furnished, Now I'm furnished for my flight!"

       *       *       *       *       *


_A Sketch founded on the Suggestions of "The Greatest Briton."_

PART I.--_Before the G. B. took the matter in hand._

"I am heartily glad you have come," said the Commander-in-Chief
(patented), throwing down the _Fortnightly_, "because this article upon
the present condition of the Army, by the Author of _Greater Britain_,
has put me out completely."

[Illustration: "En Retraite."]

"I glanced at it, but could not get through it," replied _the_ Field
Marshal. "What does he say?"

"Well, so far as I can make out, that in the time of war all the Militia
will be drafted into the Army, and all the Coast Guards into the Navy,
and both will disappear together with the Army and the Navy in the first

"Anything else?"

"Well," continued GEORGE RANGER, re-opening the Magazine, "he seems to
think that we have got enough men, if we can't get more, but that we
must defend India with the aid of compulsory service, although, for
various 'religious and commercial reasons, almost peculiar to England,
the non-adoption of Conscription is certain."

"From this I take it the article is slightly mixed?"

"It is--and I am bothered entirely!" replied the poor Duke, who had a
habit, when worried, of returning to the brogue he used as Prince GEORGE
in Ireland, in his youth. "What will I do? Look there now, we have cut
down everything to starvation proportions, to please Lord GRANDOLPH, to
say nothing of upsetting the entire machinery of the War Office, to save
the salary of the Surveyor-General of the Ordnance. Sure, what more will
I do?"

"Read this," replied _the_ Field Marshal, giving to H. R. H. a packet.
"If War is declared, open it, and act upon the orders contained in it."

And, with this, _Punch_, the greatest modern strategist, bowed, and

PART II.--_After the G. B. took the matter in hand._

Two months later Europe, shaken by the mightiest conflict of this
century, was beginning to regain her composure. It would be unwise (for
it might offend foreign susceptibilities) to give the names of the
victories that had added fresh lustre to the British arms. Suffice it to
say that not a single reverse had been recorded. Once more _the_ Field
Marshal entered the room of the Commander-in-Chief (patented).

"Well, GEORGE, how goes it?" asked the foremost soldier of the age. The
Commander-in-Chief (patented) fell upon his knees and kissed the spurs
of his master's boots.

"Nay, this show of gratitude is pleasing, but embarrassing. Remember,
GEORGE, you are of Royal Blood," and _the_ Field-Marshal gently and
kindly assisted the Patented One to rise.

"I cannot help it," returned GEORGE, with a burst of almost painful
emotion. "You have done so much for us."

"Not at all," observed _Punch_ with a smile, "that packet certainly
contained a few suggestions of some value."

"Why, they saved the country! How should we have horsed the Cavalry and
Artillery, if we had not entered on peace contracts with the Directors
of Pickford's, the London General Omnibus Company, the Road Cars, the
Tramways, and the Herne Bay Bathing Machine Owners. The last were not
easily persuaded to act with us, as somehow the requisition of their
quadrupeds seemed to interfere with the success of the Thanet Harriers."

"But they gave in at last?"

"Certainly, patriotism was the rule without exception. Then the
compulsory service of their _employés_ in the Volunteers, insisted upon
by all the West End Tradesmen and employers of labour throughout the
land, had the best effects. Why some of the finest troops in the world
came from SCHOOLBRED'S, WHITELEY'S, the Army and Navy Stores, and SMITH

"And the Inns of Court, the Universities, and the Medical Colleges also
insisted upon continued efficient service in the Volunteer ranks to
secure the advantage of audience in the Courts and Registration as
Doctors, didn't they?"

"Certainly! Oh, it was grand! Then we got as much Cavalry as we required
from the farmers, and the Yeomanry, and purchased the entire stock of
guns from the Continent.--Just as you told me to do."

"Quite right," said _Punch_, "after all, guns and ammunition are only a
question of figures. I suppose the British Army in India was recalled
home and distributed amongst the Colonies, as I suggested, and the
Native Troops that were not quite trustworthy treated in the same

"Assuredly, yes, and they have given an admirable account of themselves
in Australia and Canada." Then GEORGE hesitated. "But you would not tell
me how you supplied their places in India. You merely asked for
transport for your Army of Reserves."

"Quite so," said _Punch_, with a smile. "But, now that peace is decided
upon, and all but declared, I need keep silence no longer. The fact is,
I fought the Russians with an Army of Germans and Italians, under the
command of my friend Sir FREDERICK ROBERTS."

"Germans and Italians! Where _did_ you get them from?"

"From places where they were ruining our working-poor and doing
themselves no permanent good. I shipped them from Hatton Garden and
Whitechapel. My country saved, the welfare of the world in general
demands my restored attention. It shall have it."

And full of this truly benevolent intention, _Mr. Punch_ returned to
Fleet Street.

       *       *       *       *       *


From _The Personal Remembrances_ of Sir FREDERICK POLLOCK (MACMILLAN &
CO.) I had, I confess, expected a great deal more than I found in the
two volumes. And I hold that I had a right to expect something more than
usually interesting from the Remembrances of the Queen's Remembrancer.
What Sir FREDERICK remembers as Remembrancer to the QUEEN is
very little, though quite sufficient for the office; but his own
recollections as his own Remembrancer are very pleasant reading, being
full of information given in an, unpretentious conversational style,
about Cambridge University life, the Bench and the Bar, and Literary
Society generally. There is a good deal of eating and drinking
recorded--not too much, perhaps, for the necessities of social life; and
the "C. C. S.," or Cambridge Conversazione Society seems to have been
very regular in its intellectual gatherings at various places where good
food is provided. This Club, limited to twelve members, was called
somewhat profanely "The Twelve Apostles," though of what they were
Apostles I cannot make out. They have evidently an Apostolic Succession,
as the Club is still in existence, I believe. Altogether, among this
sudden glut in the market of literary confidences in the shape of ducal,
journalistic, artistic, and egotistic recollections, this may be taken
up as a chatty and readable book.

[Illustration: Odd Volumes.]

_Woman's World_ for December, edited by our OSCAR WILDE, is full of
woman's wit, and some of the illustrations, especially in the department
of The Fashions, are charming. What a change from the old style of
painted doll inanities, dressed up in a style never seen in real life!
The picture of the three pretty women preparing for a ball is a candle
to attract male moths--"male moths" being obviously the opposite to
"ma'am--moths," as that undefeated punster SAMUEL JOHNSON would have
said under certain circumstances. Mrs. CAMPBELL PRAED'S account of Royat
is very amusing; but, though I have been several times up to La
Charrade, yet never have I had the good fortune to come across Madame
GRENON, who, if her portrait, as given in this number, is a genuine
likeness, ought to be one of the attractions of the environs of Royat.
Good, honest, kindly faces I saw at Charrade, but why this uncommonly
pretty one hid herself, as she must have done whenever she saw this
distinguished water-drinker coming to Charrade is a charade to me. The
general remarks on the Stage by the lamented Authoress of _John
Halifax_, whose recent loss we all deplore, are very interesting, as
recording the impressions of a good, pure-minded woman, whose
acquaintance with the _vie intime_ of the Theatre was limited. The
portraits of Miss ANDERSON are not particularly flattering--rather
shady, which is the one thing that no one shall ever unchallenged say of
our sweet and gentle _Perdita_ in the hearing of your rather deaf


       *       *       *       *       *

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

[Transcriber's Note:

Alternative spellings retained, punctuation normalized.

Italics denoted by underscore (_).

P. 268: "impenetrable veil that has long shrouded the proceeedings of
the Gargoyle Club" changed to read "impenetrable veil that has long
shrouded the proceedings of the Gargoyle Club".]

*** End of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Punch or the London Charivari, Vol. 93, December 10, 1887" ***

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