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Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 93, December 17, 1887
Author: Various
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 93, December 17, 1887" ***

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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 93.



DECEMBER 17, 1887.



THE LETTER-BAG OF TOBY, M.P.

FROM THE MINISTER TO PERSIA.

_Hampstead, Saturday._

DEAR TOBY,

I am, as you will understand, so busy in my preparations for departure,
that I fear I may not find time to call upon you, _p.p.c._, and
therefore take up my pen to write these few lines, hoping they will find
you well, as they leave me at present. It is an odd reflection to one
who has reached my time of life, that henceforward sixteen-shilling
trousers shall have no more interest for me. Already, in the privacy of
my room, I don the flowing robes of the East, and sit by the hour as you
see me in a little sketch I have had made, and beg your acceptance
herewith. It is all very strange to me yet. As GR-ND-LPH says, it is the
oddest thing in the world that the Ark and I, after much tossing about
in troublous waters, should finally settle down in the neighbourhood of
Ararat. If I had had my choice, I would not have gone so far afield. The
wise men, you know, come from the East, they do not go there; at least,
not further than Constantinople, which would have suited me admirably.
Rome I have eyed askance. I could have dressed the part for St.
Petersburg. Berlin would not have been bad; and I feel that I was born
for Paris. But the Markiss of course has his way, and he has mapped mine
out for Teheran.

It is odd to reflect (and as I sit here trying to grow accustomed to the
hookah, I feel in a reflective mood) that if BR-DL-GH had not been
elected for Northampton in 1880, I would never have been Her Majesty's
Minister at the Court of the SHAH. Do you remember the night, nearly
eight years gone, when I jumped up from my seat below the Gangway and
physically barred BR-DL-GH'S passage up the House? In the loose way
history is written, GR-ND-LPH gets the credit of incubating the Fourth
Party. But if it had not been for me, that remarkable cohort would never
have existed, and the history of English politics for the last seven
years would have been written differently. GR-ND-LPH was actually not in
the House when I created the BR-DL-GH difficulty. Three weeks earlier,
on BR-DL-GH'S first presenting himself, FREDDY C-V-ND-SH had moved for a
Select Committee to consider his claim to make affirmation. ST-FF-RD
N-RTHC-TE had seconded the hum-drum motion, the Committee was agreed to,
and there the matter ended. When GR-SV-N-R moved to nominate the
Committee, I came to the front, was snubbed by H-LK-R at the instance of
our respected Leaders, but stuck to it then and after, till presently,
the Conservative Party, seeing the advantage, came round to my view and
poor ST-FF-RD N-RTHC-TE had to eat his words. GR-ND-LPH came on the
field and the ball was set rolling; but it was I who gave it the first
kick.

And now behold me solemn, sedate, responsible, the Representative of the
greatest of Western Powers at the Court where once ARTAXERXES ruled! In
quitting Parliamentary life I leave behind me an example which young
Members will find it profitable to study. The opportunities I possessed
were held in common with hundreds of others whom I leave in obscurity. I
had no particular gifts that promised the comfortable pre-eminence I
have reached. The coarsest flatterer could not accuse me of oratorical
ability. GR-ND-LPH, I confess, excelled me there, and so did G-RST, an
abler man than either of us, but lacking in the quality that brought
GR-ND-LPHand me to the front and kept us there. What I did, was to keep
myself in evidence, and to make myself as disagreeable as possible to
people in authority. If the object of attack were GL-DST-NE, good; if it
were N-RTHC-TE, better, as showing more independence, and as securing
the favourable attention of the Opposition. It is a commonplace,
ordinary thing to be cheered by your own side. What the young aspirant
to Parliamentary distinction should look to, is to gain the applause of
the Benches opposite. R-B-CK knew that in old days, and so did H-RSM-N,
and in these later times GR-ND-LPH better and more successfully than
either.

I quit the House of Commons with unfeigned regret, tempered only by the
anticipated pleasure of watching from Teheran the coming cropper of my
old friends. The deluge is surely coming for them, whilst I loll landed
high and dry upon Ararat. I like to make B-LF-R uneasy by telling him
this. But he boasts of an infallible receipt the Government have for
keeping up their Parliamentary majority. Here and there a bye-election
may reduce it, "but," says B-LF-R, "we can always play next, and win.
For every bye-election lost we clap an Irish Member in gaol, or, for the
matter of that, a Radical, and thus maintain an even balance. We lose
Coventry and they lose O'BR-N'S vote. Spalding goes, and T. H-RR-NGT-N'S
vote is crossed out. Northwich is lost, and the Lord Mayor of Dublin is
lagged. We lose a vote in the Exchange Ward, Liverpool, and they are
bereft of SHEEHY, whilst we have left to the good COX and E. H-RR-NGT-N,
with P-NE safe within the mud walls of his castle."

That is all very well, but evidently it cannot go on indefinitely. I at
least am out of the scuffle happily, and in good time, and, political
life's fever over, shall live well.

 Yours faithfully,
 H. D. W-LFF.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE STRAIGHT TIP.

(_To All whom it may concern._)

  Hasty assumption, by spite inspired,
  Spouting in public before you've inquired
  Basis of fact or authority's worth;
  Wriggles, provoking much cynical mirth,
  Roundaboutation, sophistical fudge;
  Then retractation, but done with a grudge!--
  Gentlemen, gentlemen, _is_ this good form?
  Would you political citadels storm
  Like Heathen Chinees with (word) "stinkpots"? For shame!
  This is not manfully playing the game.
  It is not "good business," believe me, but bad,
  Whether you're Tory or whether you're Rad.
  Young and conceited, or old and grand,
  To tell taradiddles--at second-hand!


       *       *       *       *       *

THEATRICAL RECIPROCITY.

First of all came The London Savoyards, who, after sending their D'OYLY
CARTE _de visite_ in advance, showed our cousins-German the way to
perform Burlesque Opera of native English growth. Then followed HERR
WYNDHAM, and FRAÜLEIN MOORE, who have just been instructing the
Berliners in the art of playing Comedy, and have achieved an undeniable
success in _David Garrick_. Odd international combination this, English
actors playing before a German audience a piece adapted by an English
author from a French play translated into German. Our actors and
actresses will go in for the study of German, and as we now hear in
England that German labour ousts native labour from the market, so we
may expect very soon to hear German actors protesting against the influx
of English Theatrical Companies who are taking the bread out of their
mouths. What will be the next move in this game? Will SARDOU adapt _The
Butler_ to be played here by COQUELIN, in TOOLE'S part, and at his
theatre, with SARAH BERNHARDT as the Cook, just to strengthen the cast?
Herr WYNDHAM appeared at the Residenz Theatre. We hope he is not going
to take up his Residenz there, as we can't spare him.

       *       *       *       *       *

Fling at Fair-Traders.

_Duet in the "Tempest."_ STEPHANO _and_ TRINCULO.

  "Flout 'em and scout 'em, and scout 'em, and flout 'em.
  Trade is free."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A MALADE IMAGINAIRE.

"WHY!--HAS YOUR DACHS GOT A SORE THROAT, LIZZIE?"--"NO; BUT HE _THINKS_
HE HAS!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

ALTERAM PARTEM.

SIR,--The reason why I have not hitherto contributed to the controversy
on the recent unhappy (Police) Divisions is, because I have been laid up
in the Hospital. Never mind which Hospital--but I have not been so
comfortable since I had the mumps, years and years ago, at school. Being
a born economist, I naturally turned out in my myriads to assist at a
gratis show in Trafalgar Square; and, Sir, I never came so near
realising what a "dead head" was in the whole course of a chequered (not
to say chuckered) career. But do I turn round and abuse the Police? Why,
ever since that fortunate Sunday, I have enjoyed, at no expense to
myself, the most delicate of viands, the tenderest of nursing, and a
complete immunity from even the suggestion of getting anything to do;
and, in addition to all this, the satisfaction of having employed the
services of a force to whose maintenance I have never contributed one
farthing. But soft, a nurse approaches, and I must dissemble.

  Yours, in Clover,
  FREEMAN GRUBBER.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Re-Joyce!"

  The Woodford tenants
    Must have liquor'd
  To hear of the penance
    Of Lord CLANRICARDE.

       *       *       *       *       *

A RASHER THEORY OF BACON.

  DEAR MR. PUNCH,

I. It is plain that the _soi-disant_ SHAKSPEARE was poor to the end of
his days. This is proved by MILTON'S sonnet beginning--

  "What needs my SHAKSPEARE for his honour'd bones?"

This shows that the person in question was in the habit of selling his
kitchen refuse, and more noteworthy still, that MILTON was in the habit
of buying it. Whether out of respect for the vendor, which would go a
long way towards proving the esteem in which he was held, or because
MILTON was in the marine store line at this period, I leave to Mr.
DONNELLY to decide.

II. It is certain that there is a cypher in the _Midsummer Night's
Dream_. _Pyramus_ has the line, "O, dainty duck. O, dear!" Now "duck"
stands with cricketers for 0, and 0 is a cypher (or is it figures that
are cyphers? but, never mind). Therefore we have here the expression,
"O, dainty cypher, O, dear!" which proves conclusively, that the cypher
was dainty,--exquisite, elaborated; and also that BAKSPEARE was heartily
tired of it, unless, "dear" refers to the terms he had to pay to SHAKON
to hold his tongue. But the fact that the supposed author used to sell
bones, and inferentially rags, to MILTON, rather militates against this
hypothesis. And here note what a flood of light is thrown upon the
disappearance of the manuscripts. They were indubitably sold, with the
honoured rags and bones to MILTON, who has certainly more than one
suspicious coincidence of thought and phraseology, especially in his
earlier poems.

III. My play, _Piccoviccius_, contains the clue to the whole matter.
There is a picture on the title-page of a boy blowing an egg, while an
elderly gentlewoman, who is remarkably like the bust of the poet in
Stratford Church, looks on with every appearance of interest. Underneath
is the legend, "Lyttel FRANCIS teaching his Crypto-gra'mother." I am
firmly convinced that _Piccoviccius_ was _written by both of them_. The
style is not the least like that of either, which proves that they
didn't want everyone to know. I subjoin a specimen. The scene is the
palace of the usurping Duke _Jingulus_, who is about to wed the Lady
_Rachel_.

Yours,
RODERICK TWEDDLE.

JINGULUS, RACHEL, PHILOSTRATE, _and others_.

  _Jing._ Say, PHILOSTRATE, what abridgment have you for
  This dull, three-volumed day?

  _Phil._     There is, my lord,
  A show of cats and tame canary birds.
  The cats, sleek sleepy creatures, well content,
  Doze fur in fur, the while the nimble birds
  Climb ladders, carry baskets, beg for pence:
  Which given, they in bills receive, and take
  With hops, well-satisfied unto their keepers,
  Then the sleek cats sit up and 'gin to spar,
  And get sleek heads in furry chancery.

  _Jing._ That will we not see at our wedding-time,
  No sparring, nor no caging. Well, what next?

  _Phil._ A hunch-back'd man, long-nosed, there is, my lord,
  Who in a curtained tabernacle dwells,
  Himself, his wife, his child, a helpless babe,
  His dog, of rare sagacity, though small,
  Is full as large as all the family.
  The man a cudgel bears, and carries it
  As though he lov'd it. Spurning household cares,
  To pity dead, he through the window flings
  His wailing, helpless babe, nor spares the pæan
  Of nasal triumph and the drumming foot.
  The mother thus bereav'd, such comfort gets
  As in the cudgel lies, and joins too soon
  Her infant sped. Again the nasal song
  Shrills, and the blood-stained tabernacle shakes
  With heels triumphant tapping. All who come--
  Many there are who come--learn soon or late
  The flavour of the cudgel. At the end
  All human powers defied, the hangman trick'd
  By childlike wile, and hois'd with his own halter,
  A day of reckoning comes. The unseen world
  A minister sends forth who terrifies
  The heart that knew no terror; turns the song
  Of triumph to a long wail of despair;
  And this most wicked puppet goes below
  The curtain of his booth.

  _Jing._ A moral play!
  This we will see. Command it. Lords, away!

  [_Exit in State._

       *       *       *       *       *

HYDROPATHIC ART.--"O give me the sweet shady side of Pall-Mall," sang
Captain MORRIS, the Laureate of the Old Beef-steak Club. At the present
period of the year we have a greater liking for the sunny side. And the
sunniest spot on the sunny side we have discovered during the last week
is undoubtedly in the rooms of the Sanatorium presided over by Sir JOHN
GILBERT. The Royal Society of Painters in Water Colours is a capital
hydropathic establishment at this season of the year.

       *       *       *       *       *

A NECESSARY EXPLANATION.--Considerable remark has been excited by the
sudden departure from London of Count CORTI, the Italian Ambassador. The
fact is, Count CORTI was compelled to appear at Rome, in person, as an
answer to the imperious order of recall which (to translate the legal
process exactly) is of the nature of a "County Corti Summons."


       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "M. LE PRÉSIDENT FAUTE-DE-MIEUX."]

       *       *       *       *       *

SOCIETY SIBYLS.

    [Palmistry is now a fashionable amusement at bazaars and at evening
    parties.]


  The Sibyl in the times of old,
    Who dealt in charms unlawful,
  Had hair unkempt and eyes that rolled
    'Mid conjurations awful.
  The prophetess of modern days,
    Who dabbles in divining,
  A pair of pleasant eyes will raise,
    'Neath hair that's soft and shining.

  The latest "fad" appears to be
    Commingled fact and fancy,
  What led of old LEUCONÖE
    To trust to chiromancy.
  Which is, the victim understands,
    That each vice or perfection
  Can be discovered in his hands
    By Sibylline inspection.

  She'll tell us all the Mounts and Lines
    Of Saturn and of Venus;
  With man and wife her skill divines
    What shadows come between us.
  She sees in hands a taste for Art,
    For Music, or for Letters,
  And knows how often each poor heart
    Has yielded to Love's fetters.

  It's rather hard to stand and hear
    Your character decided,
  And imperfections that appear,
    By captious friends derided.
  Yet if you'll listen to advice,
    You'll smile, and looking pleasant,
  Trust only prophecies when nice,
    Of either past or present.

       *       *       *       *       *

'ARRY ON HIS CRITICS.

[Illustration]

  DEAR CHARLIE,

  I'm much obligated for that there _St. James's Gazette_
  As you sent me larst Satterday's post. I 'ave read it with hintrest,
      you bet;
  Leastways, more pertikler the harticle writ on "yours truly," dear
     boy;
  Wich the paper is one as a gent who is reelly a gent can enjoy.

  _I_ shall paternize it with much pleasure; it's steep, but it's
      puffect good form.
  Seems smart at the "ground" and the "lofty," _and_ makes it
      tremenjusly warm
  For WILLYUM the Woodchopper. Scissors! His name's _never_ orf of their
      lips.
  Wy, it's worth a fair six _d_ a week jest to see 'em a slating Old
      Chips!

  Proves as 'ARRY is well to the front wen sech higperlite pens pop on
      _him_,
  Does me proud and no herror, dear pal; shows we're both in the same
      bloomin' swim.
  Still, they don't cop my phiz _quite_ ker-rect; they know GLADSTONE
      right down to the ground;
  But _I_ ain't quite so easy 'it off, don'tcher see, if you take me all
      round.

  Old Collars is simple as lyin', becos he's _all_ bad, poor old 'ack,
  And you can't be fur out in his portrait as long as you slop on the
      black.
  But I'm quite another guess sort; penny plain, tuppence coloured, yer
      see,
  May do all very well for the ruck; but they'll find it won't arnser
      for me!

  I'm a daisy, dear boy, and no 'eeltaps! I wish the _St. James's_ young
      man
  Could drop into my diggings permiskus; he's welcome whenever he can;
  For he isn't no J., that's a moral; I don't bear no malice; no fear!
  But I'd open 'is hoptics a mossel concernin' my style and my spere.

  The essence of 'ARRY, he sez, is high sperrits. _That_ ain't so fur
      out.
  I'm "Fiz," not four 'arf, my dear feller. Flare-up is my motter, no
      doubt.
  Carn't set in a corner canoodling, and do the Q. T. day and night.
  My mug, mate, was made for a larf, and you don't ketch it pulling a
      kite.

  So fur all serene; but this joker, I tell yer, runs slap orf the track
  Wen he says that my togs and my talk are "the fashion of sev'ral years
      back."
  The slang of the past is my patter--_mine_, CHARLIE, he sez! Poor
      young man!
  If _I_ carn't keep upsides with the cackle of snide 'uns, dear
      CHARLIE, who _can_?

  Wot _is_ slang, my dear boy, that's the question. The mugs and the
      jugs never joke,
  Never gag, never work in a wheeze; no, their talk is all skilly and
      toke,
  'Cos they ain't got no bloomin' hinvention; they keeps to the old line
      of rails,
  With about as much "go" as a Blue Point, about as much rattle as
      snails.

  MAVOR'S Spellin' and Copybook motters is all they can run to. But
      slang?
  Wy, it's simply smart patter, of wich ony me and my sort 'as the 'ang.
  Snappy snideness put pithy, my pippin, the pick of the _chick_ and the
      hodd,
  And it fettles up talk, my dear CHARLIE, like 'ot hoyster sauce with
      biled cod.

  "Swell vernacular"? _Swells_ don't invent it; they nick it from hus,
      and no kid.
  Did a swell ever start a new wheeze? Would it 'ave any run if he did?
  Let the ink-slingers trot out _their_ kibosh, and jest see 'ow flabby
      it falls.
  Bet it won't raise a grin at the bar, bet it won't git a 'and at the
      'Alls.

  And fancy _my_ slang being stale, CHARLIE! Gives me the needle, that
      do.
  In course I've been in it for years, mate, and mix up the old and the
      new;
  But if the _St. James's_ young gentleman fancies hisself on this lay,
  I'll "slang" him for glasses all round, him whose patter fust fails
      'im to pay.

  Then he sez, "'ARRY'S always a Londoner." Shows 'ARRY ain't no bad
      judge.
  "Wot the crockerdile is to the Nile 'ARRY is to the Thames." Well,
      that's fudge.
  _That's_ a ink-slinger's try-on at patter. Might jest as well call me
      a moke.
  Try another, young man; this is kibosh purtending to pass for a joke.

  Wen he sez my god's "go,"--well he's 'it it. Great Scott! wot is life
      without "go"?
  But "loud, slangy, vulgar"? No, 'ang it, young man, this is--well,
      there, it's _low_.
  _Me_ vulgar! a Primroser, CHARLIE, a true "Anti-Radical" pot!
  No, excuse me, St. J., I admire you; but this is all dashed tommy-rot.

  Stale, too, orful stale, my young josser. It's wot all the
      soap-crawlers say,
  If a party 'as "go" and "high sperrits"--percise wot you praise me
      for, hay?--
  If he "can laugh aloud," as you say I can, better than much finer
      folk,
  Will you ticket 'im "vulgar," _for doin' it?_ Oh, you go 'ome and eat
      coke!

  Leastways I don't mean that exackly; I like you too well; you're my
      sort;
  But you ain't took my measure kerrect, I'm a Tory, a patriot, a
      "sport."
  So wy should _you_ round on me thusly? I call it a little mite mean.
  If I took and turned Radical now; but oh! no, 'ARRY isn't so green.

  'Owsomever in one thing you've nicked me. No marriage
  for 'ARRY, sez you.
  O, right you are, chummie! I'm single, you bet, though I'm turned
      twenty-two,
  And I've 'ad lots o' chances, I tell yer; fair 'ot 'uns, old man, and
      no kid.
  But I'll 'ave a free run for _my_ money, as long as I'm good for a
      quid.

  Yah! Marriage is orful queer paper; it's fatal, dear boy, as you say,
  It damps down the rortiest dasher, it spiles yer for every prime lay.
  No; gals is good fun, wives wet blankets, that's wot my egsperience
      tells,
  And the swells foller me on that track, though _you_ say as I follers
      the swells.

  Wot odds arter all? We're jest dittos! I'm not bad at bottom, sez you.
  Well, thankye for nothink, my joker. As long as I've bullion to blue,
  I mean to romp round a rare buster, lark, lap, take the pick of the
      fun,
  And, bottom or top, good or bad, keep my heye on one mark--Number One!

  There, CHARLIE, that's 'ow I should answer my criticks. They ain't
      nicked me yet,
  Not even the pick o' the basket, 'im of the _St. James's Gazette_.
  He's not a bad sort though, I reckon. Laugh, lark, cut a dash, never
      marry!
  Yus, it only want's my fillin' in to make that a fair photo, of

'ARRY.

       *       *       *       *       *

WELL PROTECTED;

OR, WHAT IT WILL COME TO.

A Demonstration was held yesterday afternoon at St. Giles's Hall, in
connection with the Imperial Association, for the raising of
Agricultural and other Prices, "to protest still further against the
late unrestricted ability to live on their means enjoyed by the British
Middle Classes," and "to take ulterior measures for rendering it more
impossible." A large number of members of the Association were
assembled, among whom were the Duke of GLUTLAND, the Right Hon. JAMES
MOWTHER, Mr. GRUNTZ, Mr. C. W. BRAY, M.P., and others.

Mr. FLOWERD MISPENT, M.P., said he was proud to take the chair on such
an occasion, and to congratulate the assembly on the immense progress
made in the country of the principles they were met to advocate.
("_Hear, hear!_") Their great object had been, by forcing the Government
to put a prohibitive tax on all foreign imports whatever, to so
stimulate home industries, that while the producer flourished at the
expense of the consumer, the latter, representing four-fifths of the
nation, was driven to the verge of desperation by a general rise of
prices, that he was powerless either to stave off or meet. (_Loud
cheers._) He thought that the great bulk of the Middle Classes of the
country must, if not already hopelessly ruined, at least have got it
pretty hot. (_Laughter._) Take his own case. Owing to the new import
duties levied on foreign wool and silk, the tweed suit in which he stood
up before them on that platform had been charged to him by his tailor at
£37 15s. (_laughter_), while his hat, for the appearance of which he
could not say much, had cost him £5 18_s._ 6_d._ (_Renewed laughter._)
Such prices as these must tell in the long run on the pocket of that
great enemy of national industry, the "Consumer." (_Cheers._)

The Chairman then read letters of apology from the Duke of TWICKENHAM,
Lord STARCH, and Baron DIMOCK, M.P., who declared their readiness to
favour any motion calculated to stimulate a still further rise of
prices. Mr. JOLLIS, M.P., wrote in a similar sense, and in a letter
expressing regret that he was unable to be present, Lord HAPENCE
said:--The brilliant future that is now dawning on the prospects of the
British Agricultural Interests must be patent to all. Only yesterday I
was charged 18_s._ 6_d._ in a local hotel bill for a small _omelette_,
and, on asking for some explanation, was informed by the waiter that
since the importation of French eggs had ceased, the market price of
those procurable from English poultry had risen to 4_s._ 6_d._
(_cheers_), and they were not to be relied on at that. This is as it
should be. Need I say I paid my bill, not only without a murmur, but
with positive satisfaction. (_Loud cheers._)


       *       *       *       *       *

Sir EDWARD MULLIGAN, M.P., wrote:--"Your meeting is a very important
one, and has my cordial support. But with British-made ladies' gloves at
£1 3_s._ 6_d._ a pair, British-made chocolate at 17_s._ 6_d._ a pound,
and British-made silver watches at £38 a piece, it cannot be denied that
the absence of foreign competition has favourably affected home prices.
May this encouraging catalogue be continued. I hear, too, that since
prohibitive duty has been imposed on the importation of petroleum the
coarsest kinds of composite candles have been selling at 9_s._ 6_d._ a
pound. Living for the Middle Classes must be getting unendurable. I hail
the prospect as a hopeful sign of the times." (_Cheers._)

Mr. JOYNTER, the Chairman of the Association, then rose to move the
first Resolution:--"That in consideration of the fact that, though the
threepenny halfpenny loaf was now at 3_s._ 9_d._, and that though the
agricultural labourer was paying 4_s._ 7_d._ a pound for bacon, £3
17_s._ for a smock, and £1 15_s._ 6_d._ for a second-hand spade, and
that yet, notwithstanding these fiscal advantages, he did not seem
entirely satisfied with his improved condition, the meeting should urge
upon the State, the necessity of imposing still further prohibitive
duties on foreign imports in the hope of introducing even greater
complications into the vexed question of how to make the British
Consumer entirely support the British Producer."

Mr. WAITLAND seconded the motion. He added, however, that
notwithstanding the undeniably flourishing condition of British trade at
home, he could not regard its prospects as equally satisfactory abroad.
Owing to the retaliatory action of Foreign Governments, our Exports
appeared somehow entirely to have disappeared. (_Laughter._)

Mr. GRUNTZ, said that was so. Still there could be no doubt as to its
healthy progress in our midst, and that reflection ought to quiet the
misgivings and comfort the heart of the ardent Imperial Associationist.
He had in his pocket at that moment a British-made cigar. (_Cheers._) It
hadn't a nice flavour, it wouldn't draw, and it cost him 12s.
6d.--(_laughter_)--still, it was made of British-grown tobacco, and that
was everything. (_Hear, hear!_) Perhaps it was in their wine that people
of his class suffered most. In the old days he used to drink Dry
Monopole; but since a Government duty of £20 a dozen was imposed on all
imported Champagne, he had had to have his from the "British
Home-manufactured Wine Company;" and, though they charged him eleven
guineas a dozen for it, and he believed it frequently made his guests
seriously ill, still he felt he was supporting a "home industry," and
did not scruple to put it freely before them. (_Roars of laughter._)

After the enthusiastic singing of "_Rule Britannia_" by the whole
meeting, a vote of thanks to the Chairman brought the proceedings, which
were of a very animated character, to a conclusion.

       *       *       *       *       *

To the Modern Men of Gotham.

  "Fiscal Reform"? A pretty phrase
  To mark the old exploded craze;
    But, Gothamites, you're surely blind!
  Think you to reach "Protection's" goal
  By squatting in that leaky bowl,
    And whistling for a (Fair Trade) Wind?

       *       *       *       *       *

NEW WORK BY MR. O'BRIEN.--Under the general heading of _Tullamore
Tales_, we are to expect a good story, entitled, _Reverses on the other
side of the Tweed_.

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR CHRISTMAS BOOKING-OFFICE.

"King Diddle," by H. DAVIDSON, deals with the wondrous sight, Seen by
two little children in a lumber-room one night.

And "Rider's Leap," by LANGBRIDGE,--no, not by RIDER HAGGARD, Shows how
a brave and noble youth, can never be a blaggard.

[Illustration: Wrapped Up in a Book.]

       *       *       *       *       *

(AIR--"_Zurich's Fair Waters._")

  The Christmas Number of London _Society_--_Society_!
  With STRANGE WINTER, GRIFFITH, and FENN,
  Gives us all a most pleasing variety--Variety!
  There's a tale from the CAMERON pen.

       *       *       *       *       *

  If sly FRANCIS BACON was SHAKSPEARE _incog._,
  His publisher nowadays ought to be HOGG,
  Whose books for the Season, the "Stories and Yarns,"
  Must prove to us all that "one lives and one larns."
  But "Cocky and Clucky and Cackle," I fear,
  Which is from the German, is not very clear.

       *       *       *       *       *

  GRIFFITHS AND FARREN, farren-aceous food
  For children's taste provide--all very good.

       *       *       *       *       *

  In his story of the "Willoughby" two "Captains," T. B. REED
  Shows how a public school-boy's life both pride and courage need.
  In your "Walks in the Ardennes," which some may prefer to Surrey--
  PERCY LINDLEY'S is a Guide-book--to be re-named "LINDLEY-MURRAY."
  Here's "Bo-Peep" and also "Little Folks," with prose and verse
      combined,
  Wherein the smallest readers may find something to their mind.
  The charming "Rosebud Annual,", with pictures, we confess
  Is a book all little gardeners should certainly possess.

       *       *       *       *       *

  The Sporting Cards of HARDING, funny.
  HAZELBERG'S "Diadem" worth the money.

       *       *       *       *       *

(AIR--"_The Flowers that bloom._")

  For toys that pop up with a spring,
                           Tra la!
  Or toys not at all in that line,
  To CREMER'S you'll go, and you'll sing
                           Tra la!
  I want to lay out a shil-_ling_,
                           Tra la!
  For which you will get something fine
  That cheapness and taste will combine.
  For "_Modes et robes_ pour _les dames et les
  en_fants,"
  And toy model series amusing and strong,
            To CREMER, tra la!
            To CREMER, tra la!
            Junior CREMER, go!

       *       *       *       *       *

Paintings on leather, satin, whence this show?
We reply, "WALKER"--meaning JOHN & CO.

(_Chorus to "En revenant de la Revue."_)

  You're searching out for something very new
    These diaries, all shapes and sizes, view, Sir.
  Instead of "_En revenant de la Revue_,"
    With "date cards" _reviendrez_ DE LA RUE, Sir.

       *       *       *       *       *

  WIRTHS BROTHERS' cards we like, and for this reason--
  They are in keeping with the Christmas season.
  Of Christmas Cards you ask well where on earth's
  Their point? Quite so: but here's your money's wirths.

       *       *       *       *       *

(AIR--"_John Peel._")

      Do you ken TOM SMITH
      As you ought to do,
      He is coming with
      Some Crackers new,
  Crackers and costumes not a few,
  To make merry a Christmas ev'ning.

       *       *       *       *       *

(AIR--"_The Jolly Young Waterman._")

  Oh, did you ne'er hear of the name ARTHUR ACKERMANN,
  Who imports Christmas Cards called after PRANG,
  They are American, 'tis safe to back a man,
  Who holds for landscape cards premier rang.

       *       *       *       *       *

  The MARION Album intended for photos,
  Three-quarter pictures with scant legs and no toes.

       *       *       *       *       *

  Cards neat and droll, not too elaborated,
  Come from card-houses, which are CASTELL-ated.

       *       *       *       *       *

  "Take a Card," says BENNETT, "do,"
  And a satin card-case too.

       *       *       *       *       *

  The SOCKL Court Card much delighted the Bard.
  And FAULKNER'S are charming. I "speak by the Card."

       *       *       *       *       *

_The exhausted Poet addresses Mr. Punch._

  Joy! Joy! my task I've done! and I, sweet Sire,
  Vainly, Macbeth-like, strike the slavish lyre.[1]
  I'll sing no more. Books! cards! go on the shelf.
  Sooner than strike my harp, I'll "strike" myself!
  My holiday's begun. Accept my benison!
  Signed MORRIS-BROWNING-AUSTIN-SWINBURNE-TENNYSON.

[Footnote 1: "Lyre and slave! (_strikes him._)"--_Macbeth_, Act v., sc.
5.]

       *       *       *       *       *

QUITE CHRISTMASSY.

    "DANCING DOLLS IN CHANCERY.--The solicitors' table was cleared of
    papers, and the ballet-girl doll, having been wound up, commenced to
    dance on the table, to the amusement of a crowded court. Mr. Justice
    KAY watched the performance with evident interest, and when the
    dance was concluded the doll was handed up to him and carefully
    examined. He then handed it to the Registrar of the Court, with an
    injunction 'not to hurt it.'"

    _Daily News._


  Sing a song of Justice
      KAY up in his place,
  Four-and-twenty dancing dolls
      All in a case;
  When the case was opened
        The dolls were made to play,
  Wasn't that a pretty sight
          For Mr. Justice KAY?

  The Judge sat in the Court-house
      Thinking it so funny,
  The dolls were on the table
      Worth a lot of money,
  His Lordship said, "The ballet-
      Girly-dolly I'll inspect,"
  Which he did, and then pronounced it
      "Quite O Kay," or "Orl Kayrect."

       *       *       *       *       *

Occasionally our Mrs. RAM likes to display her perfect knowledge of the
French language. "I've just been reading," she said, "a most interesting
work, the life of Monsignor DUPANLOUP, who was the Bishop--or, as they
call it in French--the _Equivoque d'Orléans_."


       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: SOCIETY'S NEW PET.

_Delacruche (the rising young Tragedian at the Parthenon)._ "OH, THE
FICKLENESS OF WOMAN! LOOK AT THAT IDIOT THEY'RE ALL SWARMING OVER _NOW_!
UGH! I SHOULD LIKE TO _KICK_ HIM, IF EVER I GET AN OPPORTUNITY!"

_Brown, F. R. S., &c., &c. (who is fond of Tragedies, but dislikes
Popular Tragedians)._ "OH, _DO_, MY DEAR FELLOW, _DO_! AND, I _SAY, LET
ME BE THERE TO SEE THE RESULT._"

_Delacruche._ "HUMPH! WHO _IS_ THE BEAST?"

_Brown._ "SLOGG, THE PUGILIST FROM CALIFORNIA, CHAMPION OF THE WORLD!"
[_Delacruche thinks better of it!_]

       *       *       *       *       *

"QUITE ENGLISH, YOU KNOW."

(_Latest Version, as sung by President Cleveland._)

  May I ask you, Columbia, this lady to note?
    She's English, you know; quite English, you know.
  (What effect will this have on the Democrat Vote?
    She's English, I know; quite English, I know.)
  She comes from a country that's cursed with a throne;
  Yet I think, in your interest, she ought to be known.
  She may help you to deal with your Surplus o'ergrown.
    (That's not English, you know; not English, you know.)

  _Chorus._

  I'll ask you, Columbia, this lady to hear;
    She's English, you know; quite English, you know.
  Her form, which is slim, and her eyes, which are clear,
    Are English; quite English, you know.

  Just now, Ma'am, our Surplus has reached such a size,
    (Not English, you know; not English, you know,)
  The difficulty I can no more disguise.
    (Plain English, you know; plain English, you know.)
  Why, every year,--it reads like a romance--
  That Surplus, by millions, fails not to advance.
  If at this young lady you'd give just a glance!
    (She's English, you know; quite English, you know.)

  _Chorus._

  Her words, Ma'am, may please, if you'll deign but to hear;
    They're English, you know; quite English, you know.
  If you banish her _now_, she must soon reappear.
    Still English, quite English, you know.

  What Columbia has done she of course can undo
    (That's English, you know; quite English, you know);
  Our old fiscal system has gone all askew.
    (Like the English, you know; say _some_ English, you know.)
  Protection has got to the street that's called Queer;
  Free Trade!--well, her advent may distant appear;
  Anyhow, _do_ just glance at this lady, my dear.
  She's English, you know; quite English, you know.

  _Chorus._

  Mark the things she will say which 'twere prudent to hear,
    They're English, you know; quite English, you know.
  Our system's not solid or stable, I fear.
    Not English, not English, you know.

  Protection and you very long have been friends
    (That's Yankee, you know; quite Yankee, you know);
  But sure such a Surplus serves no useful ends.
    To Yankees, you know, robbed Yankees, you know.
  Humph! Yes, English "Chambers of Commerce" _do_ pule
  Just now for Protection; they're playing the fool.
  But they'll hardly score much off the old Free Trade School.
    That's English, you know; quite English, you know.

  _Chorus._

  Heed not all the VINCENTS and BARTLETTS you hear,
    Though English, you know; mad English, you know.
  Economists know they are very small beer,
    Though English, half English, you know.

  For SALISBURY, GLADSTONE and BRIGHT all agree
    (They're English, you know; all English, you know,)
  That this new Fair Trade fad is pure fiddle-de-dee.
    (Not English, you know; _not_ English, you know.)
  The Farmers and Landlords want prices to rise,
  So they look on Fair Trade with encouraging eyes;
  But they'll hardly get Statesmen to be their allies,
    Who're English, you know; true English, you know.

[Illustration: "QUITE ENGLISH, YOU KNOW."

PRESIDENT CLEVELAND (_to_ COLUMBIA). "WILL YOU ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE
THIS YOUNG LADY?"]

  _Chorus._

  Trade Chambers may vote, Tory delegates cheer
    (They're sure to, you know; quite sure to, you know);
  But "Fiscal Reform" won't fool many, I fear,
    Who're English; wise English, you know.

  Columbia, _may_ I present my young friend?
    She's English, I know; quite English, I know.
  I _don't_ say adopt her; I _do_ say--attend,
    Though she's English, you know; quite English, you know.
  At any rate deign to vouchsafe her a smile,
  I fear my Republican friends she will rile;
  But she may prove a friend, though she comes from the Isle
    That's English, you know; quite English, you know.

  _Chorus._

  The things I have said 'tis high time you should hear,
    In English, you know; plain English, you know.
  So let me present this young lady, my dear,
    Though she's English, quite English, you know!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE NEW SHYLOCK.

_From a Portrait sketched by the Great McDermott, Q.C., during a recent
Irish Trial._]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE PLUCK OF GGGRRANDDDOLLLMANN'S CAMP.

(_A Story of the Welsh Gold Fields._)

BY BRITT PART.

There was commotion in Gggrrandddolllmann's Camp. It could not have been
a fight, for in those days, just when gold had been discovered on Welsh
soil, such things as fights were unknown. And yet the entire settlement
were assembled. The schools and libraries were not only deserted, but
JONES'S Coffee Palace had contributed its tea-drinkers, who, it will be
remembered, had calmly continued their meal when even such an exciting
paper as the _Grocers' Journal_ had arrived. The whole Camp was
collected before a rude cabin on the outer edge of the clearing.
Conversation was carried on in a low tone, but the name of a man was
frequently repeated. It was a name familiar enough in the Camp--"W. E.
G.--a first-rate feller." Perhaps the less said of him the better. He
was a strong, but, it is to be feared, a very unstable person. However,
he had sent them a message, when messages were exceptional. Hence the
excitement.

"You go in there, TAFFY," said a prominent citizen, addressing one of
the loungers; "go in there, and see if you can make it out. You've had
experience in them things."

Perhaps there was a fitness in the selection. TAFFY had once been the
collector for a Trades Union Society, and it had been from some
informality in performing his duty that Gggrrandddolllmann's Camp was
indebted for his company. The crowd approved the choice, and TAFFY was
wise enough to bow to the majority.

The assemblage numbered about a hundred men. Physically they exhibited
no indication of their past lives and character. They were ordinary
Britons, and there was nothing to show they had been less contented than
their neighbours; and yet these men, in spite of their loneliness, had
never wanted for a single reform. Until now they had been absolutely
satisfied with their lot.

There was a solemn hush as TAFFY entered the Post Office. It was known
that he was reading the despatch. Then there was a sharp querulous
cry--a cry unlike anything heard before in the Camp. It was muttered by
TAFFY. He told them that the document called upon the whole community to
ask for Disestablishment and Home Rule. The Camp rose to its feet as one
man. It was proposed to explode a barrel of dynamite in imitation of the
Irish Nationalists, but in consideration of the position of the Camp,
which would certainly have been blown to pieces, better counsels
prevailed, and there was merely a cutting of bludgeons from the trees
the levelling of which W. E. G. was known to love so well.

Then the door was opened, and the anxious crowd of men, who had already
formed themselves into a _queue_, entered in single file. On a table lay
the document they had come to read.

"Gentlemen," said TAFFY, with a singular mixture of authority and _ex
officio_ complacency; "gentlemen will please pass in at the front door
and out of the back. Them as wishes to contribute anything towards the
carrying out of the written wishes of the document will find a hat
handy."

The first man entered with his hat on; he uncovered, however, as he
looked at the writing, and so unconsciously set an example to the next.
In such communities good and bad actions are catching. As the procession
filed in, comments were audible. "A lot for the money!" "Just like him!"
"Gets a deal into three lines!" And so on. The contributions were as
characteristic. A life assurance policy, a pledge to abstain from
intoxicating drinks, several volumes on political economy.

So the despatch was read and re-read a score of times, and it was found
necessary to give it a name. The natives of Wales are generally
sagacious, and so they gave it the name of the Pluck. For the sake of
the Pluck they did everything. It was certain, of late, they had not
been very successful. They had certainly not paid their rents, and
refused to patronise the Parson, and so the work of degeneration began
in Gggrrandddolllmann's Camp. Instead of working as of old, the
inhabitants gave up labour and shouted to one another. They repeated the
phrases of the despatch crying, "Be worthy of yourself, gallant little
Wales," "Remember Michelstown!" and went to sleep. Before the arrival of
the despatch they had been a clean, hard-working, thrifty race.
Latterly, however, there had been a rude attempt to let things go from
bad to worse. The newly discovered mines were deserted and all industry
was at a discount. "It is the Pluck of Gggrrandddolllmann's Camp that's
doing it," said TAFFY, as he gazed at the document as it lay on the
table before him.

But at length things came to a crisis. The converted miners, as it has
been explained, refused to work, and then neglected to pay their rents.
Then came evictions, supported by the law. There was a confusion of
staves and bayonets, buck-shot and black-thorn sticks. The Camp
disappeared amidst much excitement. Some of the Campers emigrated, and
others were sent to gaol. TAFFY was missing. At length he was found in a
ditch, holding a postcard bearing some warlike words, and signed "W. E.
G."

"I have got the Pluck with me now," he said, as he was arrested; and the
strong man, clinging to the thin document so full of wild advice, as a
drowning man is said to cling to a straw, was marched off to prison!

       *       *       *       *       *

A Cry from the Counting-House.

_English Clerk loquitur_:--

                    The times have been
  When German brains no bout with us would try;
  We ruled the roast. Now Teuton scribblers come,
  With twenty languages upon their tongues,
  And push us from our stools!

       *       *       *       *       *

A SOUND OPINION.--Our Own French-Pronouncing Impressionist says that the
new Cabinet in Paris cannot possibly be a success, as it commences with
a FALLIÈRE.


       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A FESTIVE PROSPECT!

_Husband._ "DIDN'T I TELL YOU NOT TO INVITE YOUR MOTHER BACK IN MY----"

_Wife._ "DEAR, THAT'S THE VERY THING SHE'S COME ABOUT! SHE READ YOUR
LETTER!"

[_Tableau!_]

       *       *       *       *       *

ADDIO, ADELINA!

As Madame PATTI would have said, if she had thought of quoting BACON
last Tuesday week, and as somebody probably will say after reading this,
and then send it, a few months hence, to _Mr. Punch_ as quite new and
original, "When my KUHE comes, call me." And when her KUHE (English
pronunciation) did come, she came up to time and tune, and came up
smiling. Of course with such names as Mmes. PATTI, TREBELLI, Messrs.
LLOYD and SANTLEY with Miss EISSLER on the violin, Mr. LEO STERN ("Leo
the Terrible") on the 'cello (sounds uncomfortable this), Miss KUHE on
the pianoforte (unpleasant position), Mr. GANZ as "accompanyist," (what
an ugly word!) and the Great Panjandrum himself, Mr. W. G. CUSINS
(Sir W. G. CUSINS as is to be,--which was our Jubilee Midsummer Knight's
Dream) as Conductor, what could the result be, but success? Every seat
taken; up gets the Conductor, "Full inside, all right!" and on we goes
again! And after this, off goes Madame PATTI to America to earn any
amount of dollars by singing her well-known _répertoire_, which, with
one or two exceptions, she may leave t'other side of the Atlantic, and
return to tell us of "The songs I left behind me," and to chant with
feeling "_I cannot sing the old Songs_." _Au plaisir!_ ADELINA, and all
good Engels guard thee! I beg to sign myself, re-signing myself to the
absence of the Diva,

THE CRITIC ON THE HARP.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE FISTIC CRACK, SMITH.

AIR--"_The Village Blacksmith._"

  Before the applauding British P.
    The fistic crack, SMITH, stands,
  JEM SMITH a mighty man is he,
    With smart and smiting hands;
  And the muscles of his legs and arms
    Stand out like steely bands.
  His hair is fair, and closely cropped,
    His pink face bears no tan;
  His brow is low, his wits seem slow,
    He "gates" whate'er he can!
  But he gets more cheers than SALISBURY'S self,
    Or e'en the Grand Old Man.

  Whene'er their Champion spars at night
    Excited Britons go,
  To see him swing his left and right
    With slogging force though slow;
  And the guests are scarce a pretty sight,
    They're loud and rather low.
  Green youngsters scarce released from school
    Flock in at the open door.
  They love to see him "kid" and feint,
    And pay their bobs therefor;
  And if his right he does let fly
    Great CÆSAR, _how_ they roar!

  At length he into training goes,
    Attended by "the bhoys,"
  Punches the ball, pickles his hands,
    With other training joys,
  Which in the penny sporting prints
    Abroad his backers noise,
  To read the which boys about town
    Esteem it Paradise;
  They buy the accounts and o'er them pore,
    Though probably all lies,
  And to each other whisper them
    With wonder-rounded eyes.

  Bouncing, belauding, gammoning,
    Onward the game still goes;
  But whether in the fistic ring
    The Champions will close,
  Why, that is quite another thing,
    Which nobody quite knows.
  Thanks, thanks to thee, my fistic friend,
    For the lesson thou hast taught.
  If pugs can get a barney up,
    Whereby the crowd is caught,
  What matters it whether they'll fight
    Or whether they _have_ fought?

       *       *       *       *       *

TOYING WITH TRUTH.--The Annual _Truth_ Toy Exhibition, which shows the
toys provided for any number of Children in our hospitals, workhouses,
and infirmaries at Christmas time, will be held at Willis's Rooms,
December 19 and 20. No further intimation is necessary. When there a
Will is, there a Way is.

       *       *       *       *       *

BACON v. SHAKSPEARE.

I.

      Says Misther DONELLY,
      Who writes so funnily,
  "Sure, BACON'S side I _am_ on."
      "The side of BACON,"
      Says _Punch_, "you've taken
  Against our WILL, is--gammon."

II.

(_With some allowance made for taking a false quantity._--ED.)

    American-Irish DON_EL_LY,
    You're cunning as MICKY O'VELLY,
        As you've undertaken
        To prove SHAKSPEARE BACON.
    Howld your whisht! "_Porker verba_,"
          I tell 'ee.

       *       *       *       *       *

SONG FOR MR. PRITCHARD-MORGAN, OF
MAWDDACH VALLEY, NEAR DOLGELLY.--"_Darling MINE!_"

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: SEVERAL ROUNDS.

[Prize-Fighting having once again come into fashion, the above
Pugilistic Encounters must be recorded as anticipations of
"Boxing-Day."]]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE PROFESSOR AT THE DINNER-TABLE.

Professor MAHAFFY'S book on _The Art of Conversation_, seems witty, and
(in parts) wise. People who want to learn to talk well in society had
better consult the genial Professor, who declares that the art can be
acquired. In fact he hands to each of his readers, across the visionary
"walnuts and the wine," the pinch of Attic Salt which seasons
dinner-parties. The theory must, of course, be taken _cum grano_. A few
hints (strangely omitted in MAHAFFY'S "Haffy Thoughts,") are here
appended:--

Should you happen to be in company with a number of eminent Statesmen
belonging to one Party (say, at a dinner, when they can't get away from
you,) mind and point out in a loud voice what you conceive to have been
the chief errors of policy which they committed in their last Ministry,
and what would have been _your_ line in their place. If they are
smarting under recent defeat, and have just been turned out of Office,
they will be sure to thank you heartily for your kind advice.

Supposing politicians of every shade of opinion to be present, your best
course will be to at once introduce some "burning" subject of the
day--say, Home Rule, or the personal character of Mr. GLADSTONE or Lord
SALISBURY. Your host will be delighted, and you will be surprised to
find what a brisk conversation you have initiated.

Always talk "shop." It gives local colour to your style. For instance,
if you are a lawyer, and you see another legal gentleman at table,
engage him in a conversation as to "that curious Equity point in the
case of _The Queen_ v. _the Executors of Muggins, deceased_, before the
V.-C." Make your comments as technical as possible. If you don't soon
"get the table in a roar," it will be astonishing. By the way, there are
two kinds of "roar."

Avoid the least appearance of shyness. This is a pushing age. If you are
really bashful by nature, assume a haughty and forbidding demeanour to
cover it. This will make you universally liked.

Spice your talk with jokes. Invent at least six good puns for use at any
dinner to which you may be invited, and bring them out,--naturally, if
you can, but at any rate _bring them out! E.g._ If you are in Dublin,
in a company consisting of fervid Nationalists, who bitterly resent the
imprisonment of their Chief Magistrate, remark jocosely that "you hope
his Lordship is not suffering much from _mal de Mayor_!" Conversely,
when present at a dinner of Loyalists, refer to the eminent
Liberal-Unionist Leader as "HALF-HARTINGTON." In either case your host
is sure to ask you to come again.

_Monopolise_ the conversation. CARLYLE did this, and so did MACAULAY, so
why shouldn't you? You may be a MACAULAY without knowing the fact.

Remember that people like _anecdotes_. This is how HAYWARD got his
reputation. Don't hesitate because somebody has said that "all the good
stories have been told." If so, tell them again without flinching.

Practise allusive and apparently unconscious swagger in private. When
you are sure that you can refer to "my friend the Duke of St. DAVID'S,"
at a dinner-party without the slightest change of inflexion in your
voice and in a perfectly natural manner, you are fitted to adorn any
society--even the lowest.

Never humour women who try to talk learnedly. Bring the conversation
down to feeding-bottles and keep it there. They will in reality
appreciate your kindness and knowledge of female nature, even if they
appear at the moment to resent it deeply.

       *       *       *       *       *

VOCES POPULI.

SCENE--_An Italian Restaurant--anywhere in the Metropolis. Only a few of
the small dining-tables are occupied as Scene opens. Near the buffet is
a small lift communicating with the kitchen, and by the lift a
speaking-tube._

_Enter an_ Adorer _with his_ Adored; _he leads the way down the centre
of the room, flushed and jubilant--he has not been long engaged, and
this is the very first time he has dined with Her like this_.

_Adorer (beaming)._ Where would you like to sit, PUSSY?

_Pussy (a fine young woman--but past the kitten stage)._ Oh, it's all
the same to _me_!

_Adorer (catching an aggrieved note in her tone)._ Why, you don't really
think I'd have kept you waiting if I could help it? There's always extra
work on Foreign Post nights! (PUSSY _turns away and arranges hat before
mirror_). Waiter! (_A Waiter who has been reading the "Globe" in the
corner, presents himself with_ Menu.) What shall we have to begin with,
eh, PUSSY?

[_The_ Waiter, _conceiving himself appealed to, disclaims the
responsibility with a shrug, and privately reflects that these stiff
Englishmen can be strangely familiar at times._

_Pussy._ Oh, I don't feel as if I cared much about anything--_now._

_Adorer._ Well, I've ordered Vermicelli Soup, and _Sole au gratin_. Now,
you must try and think what you'd like to follow. (_Tentatively._) A
Cutlet?

_Pussy (with infinite contempt for such want of originality)._ A
Cutlet--the _idea_!

_Adorer (abashed)._ I thought perhaps--but look down the list. (PUSSY
_glances down it with eyes which she tries to render uninterested._)
"_Vol au vent à l' Herbaliste_,"--that looks as if it would be rather
good. Shall we try that?

_Pussy._ You may if you like--I shan't touch it myself.

_Adorer._ Well, look here, then, "_Rognons sautés
Venézienne_,"--Kidneys, you know--you _like_ kidneys.

_Pussy (icily)._ Do I? I was not aware of it.

_Adorer._ Come--it's for you to say. (_Reads from list._)
"_Châteaubriand Bordelaise_," "Jugged Hare and Jelly," "Salmi of
Partridge." (PUSSY, _who is still suffering from offended dignity,
repudiates all these suggestions with scorn and contumely._) Don't like
any of them? Well, (_helplessly_) can't you think of anything you
_would_ like?

_Pussy._ Nothing--except--(_with decision_)--a Cutlet.

_Adorer (relieved by this condescension)._ The very thing! (_Tenderly._)
We will _both_ have Cutlets.

_Waiter (who has been waiting in dignified submission)._ Two Porzion
Cutlet, verri well--enni Pottidoes?

_Pussy (sharply)._ Potted what?

_Adorer (to Waiter)._ Yes. (_To_ PUSSY, _aside, in same breath._)
Potatoes, darling. (_The_ Waiter _suspects he is being trifled with._)
Do you prefer them _sautés_, fried, or in chips,--or what?

_Pussy (with the lofty indifference of an ethereal nature)._ I'm sure I
don't care how they're done!

_Adorer._ Then--Potato-chips, Waiter.

_Pussy_ (_as_ Waiter _departs_). Not for me--I'll have mine _sautés_!

_Adorer (when they are alone, leaning across table)._ I've been looking
forward to this all day!

_Pussy (unsympathetically)._ Didn't you have any lunch then?

_Adorer._ I don't mean to the dinner--but to having you to talk with,
quite alone by our two selves.

_Pussy (who has her dignity to consider)._ Oh, I daresay. I wish you'd
do something for me, JOSHUA.

_Adorer (fervently)._ Only tell me what it is, darling!

_Pussy._ It's only to get me that _Graphic_--I'm sure that gentleman
over there has done with it.

[_The_ Adorer _fetches it with a lengthening face_: PUSSY _retires
behind the "Graphic," leaving him outside in solitude. At length he
asserts himself by fetching "Punch," (which he happens to have seen)
from an adjoining table. A Bachelor dining lonely and unloved on the
opposite side of the room, watches them with growing sense of
consolation._

AT THE SPEAKING-TUBE.

_Waiter._ Una voce poco fa maccaroni! _(At least, it sounds something
like this. A little cupboard arrives by the lift containing a dish which
the_ Waiter _hastens to receive. The new arrival is apparently of a
disappointing nature,--he returns it indignantly, and rushes back to
tube._) La ci darem la mano curri rabbito Gorgonzola!

_A Voice (from bottom of lift--argumentatively)._ Batti, batti; la donna
é mobile risotto Milanaise.

_Waiter (losing his temper)._ Altro! Sul campo della gloria vermicelli!

_The Voice (ironically)._ Parla tele d'amor o cari fior mulligatawni?

_Waiter (scathingly)._ Salve di mora casta e pura entrecote sauce
piquante crême à l'orange cotelettes pommes sautés basta-presto!

[_Corks up tube with the air of a man who has had the best of it._

AT ANOTHER TABLE.

_Two Brothers are seated here, who may be distinguished for the purposes
of dialogue as the_ Good Brother _and the_ Bad Brother _respectively.
The_ Good B. _appears (somewhat against his will) to be acting as host,
though he restricts his own refreshment to an orange, which he eats with
an air of severe reproof._ The Bad B. _who has a shifty sullen look and
a sodden appearance generally, is devouring cold meat with the intense
solemnity of a person conscious of being more than three parts drunk.
Both attempt to give their remarks an ordinary conversational tone._

_The Bad B. (suddenly, with his mouth full)._ Will you lend me five
shillings?

_The Good B._ No, I won't. I see no reason why I should.

_The B. B. (in a low passionate voice)._ Will you lend me five
shillings?

_The G. B. (endeavouring to maintain a virtuous calm)._ I don't _think_
I will.

_B. B._ You've been giving money away all the afternoon to people after
_I_ asked you for some!

_G. B. (roused)._ I was _not_. It's dashed impertinence of you to say
such a thing as that. I'm sick of this dashed nonsense--sick and tired
of it! If I hadn't some principle left still, I should have gone to the
East long ago!

_B. B._ I'm glad you didn't. I want five shillings.

_G. B._ Want five shillings! You keep on saying that, and never say what
you want it _for_. You must have some object. Do you want it to go and
get drunk on?

_B. B. (with a beery persistence)._ Lend me five shillings.

_G. B. (reflectively)._ I don't intend to.

_B. B. (in a tone of compromise)._ Then lend me a sovereign.

_G. B. (changing the subject with a chilling hospitality)._ Would you
like anything after that beef?

_B. B. (doggedly)._ I should like five shillings.

_G. B. (irrelevantly)._ Look here! I at _once_ admit you've got more
brain than I have.

_B. B. (handsomely)._ Not at all--it's you that have got more brain than
me.

_G. B. (rejecting this overture suspiciously)._ I've more principle at
any rate, and, to tell you the truth, I'm not going to put up with this
dashed impertinent treatment any longer!

_B. B._ You're not, eh? Then lend me five shillings.

_G. B. (desperately)._ Here, Waiter--bill. I pay for this gentleman.

_Waiter (after adding up the items)._ One and four, if you please.

[_The G. B. pays._

_B. B._ And dashed cheap too!

[_A small Cook-boy in white comes up to_ Waiter _and whispers_.

_Waiter._ Ze boy say zat gentilman (_pointing to_ B. B.) tell him to
give twopence for him to ze Cook.

_G. B. (austerely)._ I have nothing to do with that--he must settle it
with him.

_B. B. (with fierce indignation)._ It's a lie! I gave the boy the money.
It was a penny!

_Waiter (impassively)._ Ze boy say you did not give nosing.

_B. B. (to G. B.)._ Be d----d! Don't you pay it--it's a rascally
imposition! See, Garcong, I'll tell you in French. _J'ai donné l'homme,
le chef, doo soo (holding up two fingers) pour lui-même-à servir._

_G. B._ I'm sorry to have to say it--but I don't believe your story.

[_To the B. B._

_B. B. (rising)._ I'm going to have it out with Cook. (_Lurches up to
door leading to kitchen and exit. Sounds of altercation below. Re-enter
B. B. pursued by Voice. B. B. turning at door._) What did you say?

_Voice._ I say you are dronken Ingelis pig, _cochon, va_!

_B. B. Well,--_it's just as well you didn't say any more. (_Goes
up to_ Waiter, _confidentially_). That man down there was mos'
insultin'--_mos'_ insultin'. But, there, I'll give _you_ the
penny--there it is. (_Presses that coin into_ Waiter's _hand and closes
his fingers over it._) Put it in your pocket, quick--say no more 'bout
it, Goo' ni'. Only--remember (_pausing on threshold à la Charles the
First_) if anyone wantsh row--(_with recollection of Duke's motto_)--I'm
here! That 'sh all. (_To G. B._) I shall say goo' ni' to _you_ outside.

[_Exit B. B. unsteadily._

_The G. B._ (_solemnly to_ Waiter). I tell you what it is--I'm ashamed
of him. There, I _am_. I'm _ashamed_ of him!

[_He stalks after his Brother; sounds of renewed argument without, as
Scene closes in._

       *       *       *       *       *

BACON AGAIN.--An erudite student informs us that "the crest of
SHAKSPEARE'S mother's family was a boar," so that there is something
Baconian about the Immortal Bard.

       *       *       *       *       *

_À PROPOS_ OF THE WELSH GOLD FIND.--Advice Gratis:--Beware of Welshers.

       *       *       *       *       *

[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:

Italic text indicated by underscores (_) at the start and end.

Alternative spellings retained.]





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