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Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 105 December 23rd, 1893
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, Vol. 105 December 23rd, 1893" ***

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       *       *       *       *       *

  Punch, or the London Charivari

  Volume 105, December 23, 1893.

  _edited by Sir Francis Burnand_

       *       *       *       *       *



THE ADVENTURES OF PICKLOCK HOLES.

(_By Cunnin Toil._)

No. VII.--THE STOLEN MARCH.

I think I have already mentioned in the course of the articles which I
have consecrated to the life and exploits of PICKLOCK HOLES that this
extraordinary man was unmarried. There was some mystery about certain
love-making episodes in the early stages of his career which nothing
could induce him to talk about. If I ever chanced to mention the
subject of matrimony in his presence, a hard, metallic look came over
his features, and his lips closed with the tightness and vehemence of
a pair of handcuffs. Naturally, I was not encouraged by these symptoms
to pursue the matter. However, from what I have since been able to
glean from other sources, I think I am justified in saying that HOLES
was at one time, while quite a young man, engaged to the daughter of
an eminent church dignitary, a charming girl who united good looks
to a comfortable balance at her bankers. One morning, however, HOLES,
whose mind was constantly occupied in the solution of deep and complex
psychological problems, suddenly startled Miss BELLASYS by informing
her that from certain indications he had concluded that she had two
large moles on the upper portion of her left shoulder-blade. It was in
vain that the unfortunate girl protested with tears in her eyes that
she was ignorant of this disfigurement; that, as a matter of fact,
she had the best reason for believing that no such moles existed,
and that, if they did, it was not her fault, but must be due to a
momentary oversight on the part of her nurse, a woman of excellent
character and sound church principles. HOLES was, as usual,
inexorable.

[Illustration]

"My dearest ANNABELLA," he observed, "I am never mistaken. Within the
last ten minutes while I have been discussing with you my new theory
of clues I have noticed your left eye--the right I cannot see--slowly
close twice, while at the same moment your head drooped on to your
left shoulder. Thus you were twice blind on the left side. Moles, as
we learn, not merely from books on natural history, but from our own
observation, are blind. You have, therefore, two moles on your left
shoulder. The fact is indisputable."

Terrified by this convincing demonstration, poor Miss BELLASYS
released the great detective from his engagement, and retired shortly
afterwards from the world to enrol herself in the ranks of a nursing
sisterhood.

These, I believe, are the facts connected with my friend's
only engagement, and I merely state them here in order that the
deeply-interesting story of his life may be as complete as laborious
and accurate research on my part can make it. It is perhaps not to be
wondered at that the man should have been to some extent soured by the
tragic termination of a love affair which seemed full of the promise
of happiness for all concerned.

But it must not be supposed that the life of PICKLOCK HOLES was
entirely destitute of the domestic joys. He would often tell me when
we met again after an interval during which he had disappeared from my
ken that he had been giving the old folks at home a turn, and that
he felt himself in a measure reinvigorated by the simple and trusting
affection lavished upon him by his family circle. I gathered that this
consisted of his father and mother, Sir AMINADAB and Lady HOLES, his
two younger brothers, curiously named HAYLOFT and SKAIRKROW HOLES, his
widowed sister, Mrs. GUMPSHON, with various children of all ages left
as pledges of affection by the late Colonel GUMPSHON of the Saltshire
Bays, as gallant an officer as ever cleft the head of an Afghan or
lopped an Egyptian in two. Often had I felt, though I had been far too
discreet to express it openly, an ardent desire to become acquainted
with a family which, if I might judge by my friend PICKLOCK, must
be one of the most remarkable in the world for brain power and keen
intelligence. My wish was to be gratified sooner than I looked for.

One evening, as HOLES and I were sitting in my bachelor rooms in
Belgrave Square, there came a sudden knock at the door. We were
smoking, and I remember that HOLES had just been explaining to me that
it was customary to infer an assassin from the odour of Trichinopoly,
whilst a Cabana denoted a man of luxurious habits and unbridled
passions. From Bird's-eye tobacco a direct line of induction, he said,
brought one to a Cabinet Minister, whilst Cavendish in its uncut
stage led to a mixture of a smuggler, a Methodist minister, and a
club-proprietor in reduced circumstances. I was marvelling at the
singular acumen of the man when, as I say, there came a tap at the
door, which interrupted our discussions. The door then slowly opened,
and a small female child, of a preternaturally sharp expression, slid,
as it were, inductively into the room. It was the youthful ISABEL
GUMPSHON, one of HOLES'S nieces. "All right, ISABEL," said the great
detective, "we will come with you;" and in another moment a swift
four-wheeler was conveying us to Fitzjohn's Avenue, where Sir AMINADAB
and his lady had their dwelling-place.

No sooner had we arrived than I felt that we were indeed in a home of
mystery, to which the Egyptian Hall of Messrs. MASKELYNE and COOKE was
a mere baby. There was in the air a heavy odour of detection, a sort
of clinging mist of inductive argument, a vaporous emanation of crimes
logically discovered and inferentially revealed, a pervading miasma
of obtuse police-inspectors relieved by complimentary magistrates and
eulogistic judges. The description may seem highly-coloured, but it
represents with literal accuracy the impression made upon my mind by
my entrance into the ancestral mansion of the HOLES family. Nor
was this impression removed as we ascended the stairs. On the first
landing we found Mrs. GUMPSHON engaged in teaching her youngest boy,
AUGUSTUS O'BRIEN GUMPSHON, a correct system of guess-work. The boy, a
bright little fellow of five, was at that moment in disgrace. He had
courageously attempted to guess his mother's age, and having in an
excess of rashness fixed the figure at forty-two, he had been severely
punished, and was at that moment languishing in a corner of the
landing. In the drawing-room we found the rest of the family. Sir
AMINADAB, it appeared, had murdered the footman some ten minutes
before our arrival, and had contrived by the aid of a pair
of blood-stained braces, which were one of his most cherished
possessions, to fix the guilt upon Lady HOLES, in whose basket-trunk,
moreover, the dismembered body of the unfortunate menial had been
discovered by the cook. The ingenuity of this diabolical plot had for
some nine minutes baffled the whole family. Lady HOLES was just about
to resign herself to the inevitable arrest, when HAYLOFT HOLES, with
an appearance of calm nonchalance, eminently suited to his impassive
features, had produced from his father's waistcoat pocket two of
the unfortunate footman's silver buttons, and had thus convicted Sir
AMINADAB of the crime. As we entered the drawing-room we were almost
overwhelmed with the shouts of joy that welcomed this wonderful
exhibition of the family talent. SKAIRKROW HOLES, who was of a more
reflective turn of mind, had, it seemed, been looking out of the
window at the passers-by, and had just proved triumphantly to his
youngest niece, JEMIMA, that a man whom she had taken for a vendor
of cat's meat was in reality a director of a building society who
had defrauded the miserable investors of fifty-two thousand pounds,
eighteen shillings, and ninepence halfpenny. It was into this happy
family party that HOLES and I, led by ISABEL GUMPSHON, intruded on the
memorable evening of which I speak.

  (_To be continued._)

    NOTE.--There are, it seems, rumours about to the effect that
    my marvellous friend, PICKLOCK HOLES, is dead. Some even go
    so far as to assert that he never existed. I leave these two
    factions to fight the matter out. If he is dead he must have
    existed; if he never existed he cannot have died. This shows
    the folly of relying on rumour.--SAMUEL POTSON.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE LORD CHANCELLOR'S SONG.

(_The Up-to-date Version._)

  Oh! pity the lot of a harassed Lord Chancellor,
    Suffering badly from too much to do.
  Appointments to give, and appointments to cancel or
    Magistrate making, not knowing who's who.

  Work of a quantity highly distressing,
    Jack-like it's dull with all work and no play.
  I start in the morning when hurriedly dressing.
    And stick to it then for full twelve hours a day.

  Selecting with care and the utmost propriety,
    I wade through long lists of the would-be J.P.'s,
  Who wish to be benched for the sake of Society,
    Till I sigh for repose and a quantum of ease.

  It's hard--ANANIAS would hardly deny it,
    After all it's £10 000 a year at the most.
  Resignation's a virtue. I'm minded to try it;
    A chance for some aspirants--who's for the post?

       *       *       *       *       *

MOTTO FOR EDITORS OF VERY-LATEST-NEWS-EVENING-JOURNALS (_hard up far a
paragraph_).--"When in doubt play JABEZ BALFOUR."

       *       *       *       *       *

MRS. R. ON THE DYNAMITE OUTRAGE IN THE FRENCH CHAMBER.--"Hanging's too
good for such a scoundrel," said Mrs. R., indignantly; "but they don't
hang in France, so the wretch will be taken and gelatined."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE WERE-WOLF OF ANARCHY.]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "BUSINESS FIRST."

_Favourite Son of M.F.H. (to old Huntsman)._ "NO, SMITH, YOU WON'T SEE
MUCH MORE OF ME FOR THE REST OF THE SEASON; IF AT ALL."

_Smith (with some concern)._ "INDEED, SIR. 'OW'S THAT?"

_Son of M.F.H._ "WELL, YOU SEE I'M READING HARD."

_Smith (interrogatively)._ "READIN' 'ARD, SIR?"

_Son of M.F.H._ "YES, I'M READING LAW."

_Smith._ "WELL, I LIKES TO READ A BIT O' THEM PERLICE REPORTS MYSELF,
SIR, NOW AN' THEN; BUT I DON'T ALLOW 'EM TO HINTERFERE WITH A HONEST
DAYS 'UNTIN'."]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE WERE-WOLF.

    [Anglo-Saxon _wer_, a man, and wolf--a man in the form of a
    wolf.

    "The garments are changed into hair, his arms into legs; he
    becomes a wolf, and he still retains vestiges of his ancient
    form. His hoariness is still the same, the same violence
    appears in his features; his eyes are bright as before; he
    is still the same image of ferocity."--_Ovid, on the
    metamorphosis of King Lycaon into a wolf._]

  _WOLF! Wolf!_ The cry that wakes
  The slumbering shepherds, shakes
    The faint-hearts of the fold with shuddering fear.
  The flock's ferocious foe
  Compassion doth not know,
    His breathing's heard, his furtive foot-fall's near.
  It is no season for slack guard,
  But watchful care and unrelaxing ward.

  This is the Man-Wolf, theme
  Of ancient classic dream,
    And mediæval myth, at last made fact.
  Worse than the lupine pest
  Upon whose hoary crest
    Old monarchs laid a price! 'Gainst him a pact
  Of all the peoples must be made;
  Rapine's his life, red ruin his dread trade.

  The old grey wolf who prowled
  Around the fold, and howled
    Impotent rage to the black wintry skies,
  Was no such foe as this,
  Our Were-Wolf, whom the abyss
    Of yawning chaos looses, whose red eyes,
  Half human and half bestial, glare
  Malignant menace from his secret lair.

  Such subter-human guise,
  Such fiercely fiendlike eyes,
    Arcadian Lycaon. Jove-changed, bore
  When mortal hate took on,
  At the Olympian frown,
    Its fitting shape. The lessons of old lore,
  Magic-divested, myth-stripped, still
  Commend themselves to human wit and will.

  Humanity must urge
  Against this lupine scourge
    Civilisation's forces banded close.
  The watch-dogs, as of old,
  Must guard the human fold
    Against this last and worst of order's foes;
  And the world's sleuthhounds led by Law
  Must hunt this Were-Wolf of the insatiate maw.

  Hunt him from every lair,
  Till, outlaw everywhere,
    This friend of carnage and sheer chaos finds
  A foe at every turn.
  A foot to crush or spurn,
    The warning cry of "Wolf!" on all the winds,
  And wheresoe'r the ravener stray
  Civilisation's light must search--and slay!

       *       *       *       *       *

"TRÈS BANG!"--To T-M SM-TH, of the Wholesale Crackery Warehouse,
with _Mr. Punch's_ compliments. Certainly, at Christmas-time. T. S.'s
crackers "get the pull!" At least, so says his Lordship the pop-ular
Bishop of GO-BANGOR.

       *       *       *       *       *

Dr. R-bs-n R-se

(_In the "Fortnightly" this month_).

  To be in perfect health live well and wisely:
  This just sums up my article concisely.

       *       *       *       *       *

QUITE ON THE CARDS.--In last Saturday's _Daily Graphic_ there was an
interesting picture on a pretty subject, to which was subscribed the
legend: "The New Governor of the Isle of Man being Sworn in at Castle
Rushen." Suppose by some printer's-devil's error the "at" had been
placed before the "in"! "O what a difference in the morning," when it
would have read: "being Sworn at in Castle Rushen."

       *       *       *       *       *

DUCAL DOINGS.

    "Lord A. B. C. will return to town to-morrow."--[_Any
    "Fashionable Intelligence" column._]

  I'm but a plebeian, I know,
    But feelings as ardent as mine
  May feel a legitimate glow
    On reading this eloquent line;
  Though Fate has denied me as yet
    A fame or a fortune renowned,
  By items like these I can feel when I please
    An aristocrat down to the ground!

  The fact that I never have seen
    The gentleman mentioned--as soon
  I'd fly as distinguish between
    Himself and the Man in the Moon--
  Has little to do with the case;
    My knowledge, I frankly confess,
  Of the doings of those who our "classes" compose
    Is wholly derived from the Press.

  But eagerly over my tea
    My eyes on this volume I cast,
  I read of engagements to be,
    Of dances and _fêtes_ of the past,
  I learn with the deepest regret
    That the Duke of X. Y. is unwell,
  And with pleasure I glow that the Marquis of O.
    Has dined with the Duchess of L.!

  In fact, as I muse in a dream,
    The charm that this column extends
  Makes all the nobility seem
    My intimate personal friends;
  Political leaders are bosh,
    And Foreign Intelligence stuff,
  Just print up to date the deeds of the great,
    And I shall be happy enough!

       *       *       *       *       *

  MR. LECKY AND THE SCOTCH.

--Dear _Mr. Punch_,--If Mr. LECKY is deserving of censure, surely some
public notice should be taken of the insult offered to the Scotch,
Welsh, Irish, and Manx nations by Lord NELSON in his celebrated
signal. That signal should surely have run:--"England, Scotland,
Wales, Ireland, the Channel Islands, and the Isle of Man, expect that
every man this day will do his duty."

  --Yours truly, AN INDIGNANT MANXMAN.

       *       *       *       *       *

  MOTTO FOR HAIRDRESSERS.--

"Cut and comb again!"

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: PREHISTORIC PEEPS.

OWING TO HIS NOTORIOUS ECCENTRICITY THEIR RELATIONS WITH THE LOCAL
MAMMOTH WERE SOMEWHAT STRAINED.]

       *       *       *       *       *

BANK HOLIDAY BEAUTY.

(_Protest by a Pretty Girl at the Crystal Palace._)

  That "Beauty's decaying among us!"
    By certain old fogies we're told.
  Many poets have ceaselessly sung us!
    But then even poets _grow old_.
  SMELFUNGUS has "been to the Palace,"
    And Beauty, he thinks "going out."
  Now can it be folly or malice?
    Is he blind, or bald-headed and stout?
  I think 'tis most likely the latter.
    He's fifty, no doubt, if a day.
  Yes, that I suspect's "what's the matter";
    And then, who cares what _he_ may say?
  When he went to the Palace of Crystal,
    He puffed, I've no doubt, and swigged port,
  And what wonder then if he missed all
    The Vision of Beauty at sport?
  At Kiss in the Ring we were playing,
    He envied us, that's where it is,
  Because if near us he came straying
    He knew we'd refuse _him_ a kiss.
  And so (as TOT puts it) he "telled a lie,"
    To cover his nasty mean spite.
  No, pessimist purblind and elderly,
    Our looks weren't in fault, 'twas your sight!
  What with Tennis, and one thing and t'other,
    We're prettier than ever all round;
  _I_'m nearly as strong as my brother,
    Tall, straight, nimble, healthy, and sound.
  And as to my teeth!--you don't know them,
    Or else you have told what's not true;
  You'd retract, were I only to show them,
    And I feel I _could_ show them--_at you_!

       *       *       *       *       *

EVIDENT.--In drinking the health of the Italian Parliament, the
Toast of the evening ought to be,--as indeed every Toast when well
done ought to be,--"_Crispi_."

       *       *       *       *       *

AN ODE OF ODOURS.

(_A Poem of Recognition._)

  Oh, what is this faint perfume that I smell,
  And smelling seem, somehow, to know so well?
  What recollections should it start again,
  What memories of the past bring in its train?
  Is it a whiff of country come to-day,
  Of mangel-wurzels, or of new-mown hay?
  Or was it when She witched me with a glance
  The subtle odour reached me--at the dance?
  Where'er it was, I'm certain that I know it,
  As certain as I am I'm not a poet,
  But stay, was it when influenza gripped us?
  It was! _Eureka!_ Yes, it's Eucalyptus!

       *       *       *       *       *

On Certain Philistine Pedagogues.

  Greek and Philosophy but tire and twist 'em.
    Duncedom they praise, and dub it "democratic,"
  And their abuse of the great Attic system
            Is systematic!

       *       *       *       *       *

MEM. FROM ACCRINGTON.--Liberal party in a fix here. Naturally anxious
to keep a LEESE-hold on the constituency, it looks a little awkward to
pose as the labourer's friend, and at the same time to keep (HERMON)
HODGE out of Parliament!

       *       *       *       *       *

MEM. BY A HORSE-BUYER WHO HAS BEEN "HAD."--"Novice" does not always
mean no vice.

       *       *       *       *       *

MUSIC AND LAW.

During a recent trial, Mr. EDWARD SOLOMON, the plaintiff testified
that his work was worth to him about thirty-nine pounds per diem.
"Why," exclaimed Mr. Justice LAWRANCE, "if you write a good many
(what?) it is better than----" Whereupon interposed Mr. PAUL
TAYLOR, Counsel for the plaintiff, "Better than the Bar, my lord."
(_Laughter._) Why, of course, Mr. PAUL TAYLOR! Was there no one in
Court with knowledge of the simplest arithmetic sufficient to inform
you that to work at _several bars_ must be worth much more than
to work at _one Bar_? Hasn't Sir ARTHUR SULLIVAN, by composing the
lightest possible operas in the world, achieved that best of all
"possible probable" tunes, a for-tune, that even a judge, whether of
music or at law, might envy? Why, certainly. And the GILLIVAN-SULBERT
Savoyards could, if they liked, tell Judge LAWRANCE that "thirty-nine
pounds per diem" is not an over-estimate of the share apportioned to
each of the three leading scions of the House of the Savoy, composer,
librettist, and manager, during the run of one of their real
successes, such, for example, as was _The Mikado_. 'Tis a pity
Composer SOLOMON did not call Composer SULLIVAN to testify to what
might be the pecuniary value of a successful composition. We wish the
deserving TAYLOR better luck with the next suit he takes in hand.

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

Good supply of all sorts of game at Christmas, and especially from the
preserves of Messrs. DE LA RUE. Try "Animal Snap" and see how you like
it. Thanks to DEAN AND SON--_i.e._, Senior DEAN and Junior DEAN--for
their _Golden Hours_, _The Prize_, _Peeps into Paradise_, and _The
Venetian Blind Moveable Picture Book_, the last being the best of
all. And DEAN'S Cracker Toy-books will certainly go _off_ well. _As we
Sweep through the Deep._ "Quite the light publishers for tales of the
sea are 'NELSON AND SONS,'" quoth the Baron, "and no doubt they
hope that every man will do his duty at Christmas time and go in for
Nelsonian boys and girls books." "_As we Sweep_" is by that true Horse
Marine (if there is anything in a name), yclept Dr. GORDON STABLES,
R.N.

[Illustration]

The Baroness recommends _The Rosebud Annual_. A lovely posy of
pictures and tales to be found on the shelf of JAMES CLARKE & CO.,
Publishers, and, the Baroness supposes, Nursery Gardeners. "Natural
this," quoth a Baronite, "here is a _Miss Parson's Adventures_ told by
a Clark RUSSELL!" If you want it send to CHAPMAN AND HALL. And all
the Baronites say many thanks to MACMILLAN & CO. for a delightful new
edition of Miss MARY MITFORD RUSSELL'S _Our Village_.

Our compliments to Mrs. LOVETT CAMERON on _A Tragic Blunder_. A blow
given by mistake to the wrong person nearly ruins the entire happiness
of several people, but it all comes right at the end of two vols. from
Mrs. CAMERON'S pen. It is a nice light entertainment with which to
while away an hour or two.

"I like _Richard Escott_," says the Baron, laying down the
Macmillanitish one-volume novel of that name written by E. H. COOPER.
"It is an interesting story, and might be the first of a series
similar to the _Rougon Macquart_ family, as, when this tale finishes,
there are sufficient _Escotts_ alive to carry on the story of their
family through many generations, only, unfortunately, the date of this
story cannot be taken further back than, say, about ten years ago,
if that. To give the family breathing-time, we should require some
stories about the ESCOTTS under Queen ANNE and the GEORGES, and then
we could return to the fortunes of the sons and daughters the _Richard
Escott_.

"With fear and trembling, yet with a sensation of enjoying some secret
wicked pleasure," quoth the Baron, confidentially, "I retired with Mr.
ASHBY STERRY'S _Naughty Girl_ into my _sanctum_, which, as its name
implies, is just the very place to which I ought to retire with a
young lady bearing such a character." _A Naughty Girl_ is published in
the "Modern Library Series" brought out by Messrs. BLISS, SANDS, AND
FOSTER; and how happy would SANDS be--run out, of course--and where
would FOSTER be unless foster'd by the other two--without BLISS, who
makes quite a little 'eaven below of this Publishing Firm. Blissful
must have been Mr. ASHBY STERRY'S state when he wrote so excellent
a Dickensian description, as he has done in the earlier part of this
book, of Boxing Night at Drury Lane, and when he gave a finishing
touch to this story in showing how _Beryl_ and _Jack_ were brought
together in spite of a temporary misunderstanding and estrangement.
"Bravo Pantalaureate of many a frilling poem! A Happy Christmas to you
and your readers!" quoth the warm-hearted and appreciative

  BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: An "Up to Date" Young Man.]

       *       *       *       *       *

"'TWAS IN TRAFALGAR"'S THEATRE.

As in the case of the old farcical play _The Three Hunchbacks_, on
which an _opéra bouffe_ was founded, and of all plays ancient and
modern depending for their success on the exact physical resemblance
existing between three distinct persons, directly the audience
has grasped the fact, they enter heartily into the humour of the
complications. Now, in _Tom, Dick and Harry_, the audience, having
once mastered and allowed the given thesis, viz., that Mr. CHARLES
HAWTREY, Mr. ERNEST PERCY, and Mr. ARTHUR PLAYFAIR are so exactly
alike that even their own wives and sweethearts are unable to
distinguish one _Antipholus_ from another _Antipholus_, and both or
either from a third _Antipholus_, then the fun of the confusion gains
upon them, and Mrs. R. PACHECO'S three-act farce at the Trafalgar
Square Theatre gives the spectators fits, which assume the proportion
of convulsions of laughter absolutely dangerous to the safety of
various individuals. For this deponent can testify to the effect of
the fun of the farce on a small boy in a box, who literally jumped
with joy--quite a little Jack-in-the-Box--and in his excitement would
have precipitated himself into the stalls, but for the united energies
of the family party, which retained him amongst them by sheer force.
He had been less wildly enthusiastic about _Pickwick_, owing, perhaps,
to the restraining appearance of _Tommy Bardell_, whose presence on
the stage the Boy in the Box might, perhaps, have been inclined to
view with disfavour, though giving a rapturous welcome to Miss JESSIE
BOND'S charming impersonation of _Mrs. Bardell_, to Mr. LITTLE'S
life-like _Pickwick_, and to Mr. CHARLES HAWTREY'S sentimental but
sulky _Baker_. However he made up for any show of envy towards _Tommy_
by cordially applauding Mr. EDWARD SOLOMON's catching melodies, which
are not less humourously than skilfully orchestrated; and his (I am
still speaking of the Boy in the Box) genuine applause throughout the
evening quite led that of the house, and was a real treat to witness,
culminating as it did in a volcanic eruption of irrepressible joy at
the conclusion of the second act of _Tom, Dick and Harry_. Miss VANE
FEATHERSTON, the Misses ESMOND and WILLIAMS, the ever-clever Miss
SOPHIE LARKIN, in a difficult part, Mr. W. F. HAWTREY as _Dr. Wagner_,
the Specialist--specially good--and Mr. JOHN BEAUCHAMP, who quite
revives the otherwise worn-out peppery stage-Indian General of old
Haymarket and Adelphi farces,--all do their very best, and, with Mr.
C. HAWTREY,--make the piece what it is, a thorough-going success. At
least such is the opinion of

  THE OTHER BOY.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE WESTMINSTER PLAY.

SCENE--_The Dormitory of St. Peter's College._

  For three or four centuries Westminster's taught us
  To struggle with TERENCE and wrestle with PLAUTUS;
  This time the _Trinummus_ once more reappears,
  With a "run" on the boards of two thousand odd years.

  Alma _Mater_ of Comedy truly's the "Dorter,"
  Where long may each _rôle_ find a youthful supporter!
  If ever from "college" they're driven away,
  The Queen's Scholars' fate were "All work and no Play!"

       *       *       *       *       *

SEASONABLE DUETT FOR THE ZIERENBERGS (_adapted for their use by Henry
Labouchere, Esq., M.P._). "Home, Home, Home, Sweet Home!"

       *       *       *       *       *

TOAST FOR THE INHOSPITABLE.--"Friends--_at a distance!_"

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "SPEED THE PARTING GUEST."

"SO YOU AND GEORGE HAVE BEEN STAYING WITH MY DEAR OLD FRIENDS SIR
ISAAC AND LADY LINCRUSTA WALTON! DIDN'T YOU FIND THEM VERY NICE TO
YOU?"

"YES; ESPECIALLY WHEN WE WERE LEAVING!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

A MESSAGE FROM THE SEA.

_Father Neptune loquitur_:--

  John Bull, my friend, if an ear you'll lend
      to your true old messmate Neptune,
  It may do you good. We are mates in
      mood, and our hearts have always kept tune.
  The Isle that's right, and extremely tight--
      which I trust that mayn't mean "groggy"--
  Is our care, old chum! Well, the outlook's
      rum, and the prospect rather foggy!
  Oh! keep on your hair! There's no cause
      for Scare, though some party men, and papers,
  Do their best to raise a new Naval Craze.
      These be old, old party capers;
  For your angry Outs _always_ swell with
      doubts, whilst the Cocksure Ins, complacent,
  Swear that cause for care may be found--
      Nowhere, or the parts thereto adjacent.
  You are not so green that mere party spleen,
      and the bogus bosh of boobies,
  Can play the fool with your judgment cool;
      'tis a richer dower than rubies.
  Still a Fleet, old boy, is no party toy, no
      theme for factious scoffing,
  And--well, JOHN, I spot a tremendous lot of
      "furrin'" ships in the offing!
  Keep a weather eye upon sea and sky, and I
      think JOHN, altogether,
  You will deem it right to get all things tight,
      and prepare for dirty weather.
  "Britons never, never," sounds bold and
      clever; Britannia won't act as "slavey,"
  But if "Missus" would keep her "home on
      the deep," you _must_ keep up a spanking Navy!
  Statistics fog, and there's no such bog as
      the brain of an average Briton
  When his Naval Nobs, and Finance Dry Bobs
      have got their fighting fit on.
  They talk great bosh, half their "facts"
      won't wash, and as to their figures endless,--
  If from stern to stem you could see through
      _them_ you would _have_ more, JOHN, and _spend_ less!
  A word in your lug! There is no Hum-bug
      like that of a Naval Oracle,
  When he's "out in the wet"; on that you
      may bet--ah! an ironclad to a coracle!
  He _may_ mean well, but The Truth to tell in
      a fashion straight and steady,
  Without "cavort" or a "list to port," is as
      hard--as song to a Neddy!
  JOHNNY, old boy, you must just employ
      _your own wits_ on this business;
  Party debate will addle your pate, _ex-parte_
      "facts" bring dizziness.
  Look for yourself, and you'll save much
      pelf, and good value get for your money,
  Squelch party fudge, be your own best judge,
      and you'll floor the croakers, JOHNNY!

  Still, JOHNNY mine, on my breadths of brine,
      you must keep first place, or perish.
  'Tis with that thought you have paid and
      fought, and that thought you still must cherish.
  Better plank down your last half-crown, than
      lose the Crown _I_ gave you,
  Let gold _and_ blood flow in full flood, than let
      the foe enslave you!

  A rhyme, a rhyme for the Christmas time!
      It may not, JOHN, sound jolly,
  But to pipe and dance _whilst your foes
      advance_, were the maddest sort of folly.
  With pockets full Peace's pipe to pull, or
      to sip your grog and slumber,
  Is nice; but you'll wake to a huge mistake
      _if your foes your Fleet outnumber_!
  Get your Fleet, old man, _cheap_ if you can,
      but at all costs _get your Fleet_, JOHN!
  Ships, guns and crew more than any two of
      the foes you are like to meet JOHN!
  Take your old friend's tip, let _no_ chance
      slip, and be foiled by _no_ pretence, JOHN;
  Keep eye on the foe, build all you know, and
      big big D the expense, JOHN!

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR BARTERERS.

BICYCLE.--Thoroughly heavy, lumbering, out-of-date machine, recently
doctored up to look like new, for sale. Cost, second-hand, six years
ago. £4. Will take £12 for it. Bargain. Would suit a dyspeptic giant,
or a professional Strong Man in want of violent exercise.

SAFETY CYCLE.--Pneumatic tyres. A real beauty. Makers well known in
Bankruptcy Court. Owner giving up riding in consequence of the frame
being thoroughly unsafe, and the tyres constantly bursting. Would
exchange for one of BROADWOOD'S grand pianos or a freehold house in
the country.

TURKEY CARPET.--Never used, as seller is not an absolute fool.
Wretched condition guaranteed. As it has been kept for a year or
two in a mouldy attic at a second-hand furniture shop, it is simply
teeming with moths, but it is confidently anticipated that it will
not fall to pieces in time for a purchaser to detect the fraud. Price,
only double that of a first-rate new carpet of same kind.

RARE OPPORTUNITY.--A ten-pound note will buy my genuine Spiderette
Arabesque Dunmow Beestof a Patent Safety Tricycle. Weighs only sixteen
ounces. Seventy-four championships won on it, including that of Sierra
Leone. Runs away up-hill. Impossible to stop it down-hill. Folds into
a small biscuit tin. Every part equally fragile. A collar-bone and six
ribs broken off it in one week's practise. Made at Coventry, and ought
to be sent there. First applicant has it.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "A MESSAGE FROM THE SEA."

FATHER NEPTUNE. "LOOK HERE, JOHN, THERE'S A JOLLY SIGHT O' THEM
FURRIN' CRAFT ABOUT, TAKE A TIP FROM YOUR OLD FRIEND--BUILD ALL YOU
KNOW--AND _DASH_ THE EXPENSE!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

TO BOBBY.

(_To the tune of "To Tommy."_)

    BLUE BOBBY, brave and strong,
    They begin to right your wrong.
  Silent shoes, and now revolvers! That will do!
    Now I hope you'll make things plain
    To the brutal burglar train;
  And, Bobby, _Punch's_ best respects to you!

    May "tips" swell your smallish pay
    On the coming Boxing Day;
  (For I know they're rather screwy with your "screw.")
    Shod and armed upon your round,
    Heaven keep you safe and sound,
  And, Bobby, JOHN BULL'S best respects to you!

       *       *       *       *       *

THE LILLY'S LESSON.--Mr. LILLY, in the _New Review_, reminds DIVES
that "there is no excuse for riches which are divorced from public
obligation." This cuts deeply! Possibly DIVES would retort upon the
author of "Shibboleths" that riches _require_ no "excuse." At any
rate we do not often find men making excuses for being rich, though
apologies for poverty are common enough. All the same, _Mr. Punch_
would strongly recommend DIVES--especially at this festive season--to
"consider the (W. S.) LILLY"!

       *       *       *       *       *

"A LONG BREAK."--_À propos_ of our picture in last week's issue, we
have received the following suggestion:--"Sir, if MR. GLADSTONE, the
great billiard player, wishes to continue his 'long break,' wouldn't
it be advisable for him '_to take a rest_.'--Yours truly, BREAKERS A.
HEAD."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: AT THE COURTS OF JUSTICE.

_First Litigant._ "I'M BANKRUPTCY. WHAT ARE YOU?"

_Second L._ "I'M DIVORCE."

_First L._ "THEN YOU STAND LUNCH!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

SEASONABLE REFLECTION.

(_By an Old Fogey._)

  We are hearing a lot of "the Buffer State";
  Faith! it comes to us all--after Forty-eight!
  When from gout, and the pretty girls' scorn, we suffer,
  We have all arrived at the state of the "Buffer."

       *       *       *       *       *

"FOR THIS RELIEF--MUCH THANKS." _Shakspeare._--A correspondent in the
_Pall Mall Gazette_ recently complained of the disappearance of "Thank
you," and the substitution of "Thanks" and "Thanks awfully." Why not?
It is but a revival of the ancient Latin form "_gratias_," and surely
plural "Thanks" indicates indefinitely more thankfulness than an
uneffusive, frigid, singular "Thank you," signifying "I thank you."
Let us be Shakspearianly classical, as in the quotation above given,
and say "Much thanks." So again, "I am poor in thanks--but I thank
you." Here the relative value of the plural and the singular in thanks
is well brought out.

       *       *       *       *       *

BALL _VERSUS_ BALL.

  LYTTELTON and LANG--with all
    Whom pure prejudice can't fetter,--
  Say--concerning games at ball--
    Golf is good but Cricket better.
  Wisdom owns an ounce of practice
  Worth a ton of theory. Fact is,
  Those who set that saw a-run,
  Had not seen a LYTTEL-TON!
  Who performs as well as teaches,
  And can practice what he preaches.

       *       *       *       *       *

"AFTER THE BALL" IN PARIS.

MY DEAR MONS. PUNCH,--I am delighted! I am overjoyed! Why, your Oxford
College has accepted the challenge of our Racing Club to play a game
of _kic bal_ this month of December! It is good! It is very good
indeed! It makes cold, so I can not go for to see the sport.

But permit me, I would propose these rules in the cause of humanity,
for the sake of civilisation. I give them below. They are not many:--

_Proposed Rules for "le jeu de kic bal" between Oxford College and
Racing Club._

1. No kickers to approach closer to one another than six yards
distance.

2. The scrimmage to be interdicted. Sergent de ville to be on guard on
the ground to prevent assaults even of the most trifling character.

3. Boots not to be worn, but dancing-pumps.

4. The players to wear fur-lined coats, and to take arm-chairs on the
ground for their comfort.

5. The "kic bal" to be made of inflated india-rubber, with a hole in
the centre, so that it shall collapse without causing injury.

6. No game of "kic bal" to last more than five minutes, and after
every game a pause of one hour to be permitted, so that the players
may have necessary rest and proper refreshment.

And yet one more suggestion. But this shall not be a rule but only
an offering. I make you a present of the idea--so charming--as a
compliment of the season. Let the goals be made of Christmas-trees,
let the "kickers" be covered with holly and mistletoe (like
your "Jack-in-the-Green"), and instead of a brutal, rough, hard,
uncomfortable globe of leather, let the "kic bal" be a veritable plum
pudding!

Your hand! I wish you "Joking Christmas Amiable New Year." Your
friend--and brother, "gentlemans ridere,"

_Paris in December_.

  (_Signed_) JULES.

       *       *       *       *       *

NEWS FROM MONTE CARLO.--Mr. J-HN M-RL-Y is, we are glad to hear, much
better. _Rouge gagne._

       *       *       *       *       *

A WINDY CORNER AT BRIGHTON.

(_By an Impressionist._)

  Old lady first, with hair like winter snows,
                          Makes moan.
  And struggles. Then, with cheeks too richly rose,
                          A crone,
  Gold hair, new teeth, white powder on her nose;
                          All bone
  And skin; an "Ancient Mystery," like those
                          Of HONE.
  Then comes a girl; sweet face that freshly glows!
                          Well grown.
  The neat cloth gown her supple figure shows,
                          Now thrown
  In lines of beauty. Last, in graceless pose,
                          Half prone,
  A luckless lout, caught by the blast, one knows
                          His tone
  Means oaths; his hat, straight as fly crows,
                          Has flown.
  I laugh at him, and---- Hi! By Jove, there goes
                          My own!

       *       *       *       *       *

MOTTO FOR LADY CHAMPAGNE DRINKERS.--"Sweetness and light!"

       *       *       *       *       *

THE BLUE BELLES OF SCOTLAND.

(_Latest prose version from the Modern Athens._)

  SCENE--_A Dressing-room._
  TIME--_The Present._
  CHARACTERS--_A_ Mistress _and her Maid_.

_Mistress._ Now then, MARY, you really must make haste or I shall not
be in time. Have you got my latest bonnet from Paris?

_Maid._ Yes, Madam. I told JOHN to put the foot-warmer and the
carriage rug in the brougham.

_Mistress._ Quite right; and now have you got my fan?

_Maid._ Yes, Madam, and I suppose you will want your opera-glasses?

_Mistress._ Naturally; how could I see anything distinctly without
them? There is sure to be such a crowd. And, by the way, have you got
me a packet of literature?

_Maid._ Yes, Madam. Three novels, and all the illustrated papers.

_Mistress._ If there are many delays I shall be able to pass the time
pleasantly. And the luncheon basket?

_Maid._ Yes, M'm. Cold fowl, flask of sherry, some celery, a pound
cake, knives, forks, glasses, plates, salt, mustard, bread, and a
bottle of soda-water. Is there anything else?

_Mistress._ Well, perhaps I might carry in my muff my pocket camera.
'Tis just possible I may be able to get a snap-shot at the principal
character.

    (_Enters the carriage._)

You haven't given me my special ticket.

_Maid._ Here it is, Madam. Shall I tell JOHN to drive to the
Concert-room?

_Mistress._ No, no. Tell him to take me to the Court. I am going to
assist at a trial for murder!

       *       *       *       *       *

SEASONABLE SAYINGS.

There is many a slip between the house and the church on a frosty
morning.

You cannot make a respectable tradesman out of a grocer who offers
tips to a working-housekeeper.

You may take a dustman's token to a stingy man's portal, but you can't
get him to give you a Christmas-box.

A dun in need is a county court indeed.

It is a long dinner that has no earning.

People who live in glass houses should not throw away their coke and
coals.

Deal with the Stores and the private accounts will look after
themselves.

A penny saved by avoiding an omnibus is a florin lost by taking a
Hansom cab.

A single swallow never represents a family Christmas dinner.

Enough is often dearer than a feast, especially if you take the last
at the house of a friend.

Send an acquaintance an old card about Christmas on Boxing Day, and he
will return you a second-hand greeting on the 2nd of January anent the
New Year.

Give credit at Christmas and you will find you still have money owing
to you at Easter.

Christmas comes but once a year, and bores for the length of a
century.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A QUESTION OF THE SENSES.

_First County Councillor._ "I'M TOLD THE _ACOUSTICS_ OF THIS HALL
LEAVE MUCH TO BE DESIRED, MR. BROWN!"

_Second C. C._ (_delicately sniffing_). "INDEED, SIR POMPEY? CAN'T
SAY AS I PERCEIVE ANYTHINK AMISS, MYSELF; AND MY NOSE IS PRETTY SHARP,
TOO!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

_House of Commons, Monday, December 11._--Remarkable testimony to
catholicity of DICKY TEMPLE'S mind that he should just now have been
talking about Siam. Various other topics to the fore. The Featherstone
inquiry; Matabeleland, in which the SAGE OF QUEEN ANNE'S GATE takes
unfaltering interest; Betterment, and, incidentally, the Parish
Councils Bill. Only TEMPLE thinks of remote, unfriended, solitary
Siam. Wants to know when papers including most recent correspondence
will be published? EDWARD GREY taken at a disadvantage. Wasn't
thinking of Siam. Just been looking up map to find out precise
situation of Kilia mouth of the Danube. CAP'EN TOMMY BOWLES been, so
to speak, jumping down it. Suspects the CZAR of iniquitous intention
in this part of the world. CZAR evidently thought the CAP'EN, being
intent on the education of MUNDELLA in nautical affairs, would not
have time to keep an eye on the Kilia mouth of the Danube. CZAR knows
better now. So does EDWARD GREY. Spent quite an interesting quarter
of an hour with the map, and came at last upon this particular outlet.
Just congratulating himself that, as a rule, British rivers have only
one mouth, when TEMPLE sprang Siam upon him.

"Do you know," said Member for Sark, looking admiringly at the great
historiographer of Parliament, "I never see TEMPLE on his legs but
I think of OVID'S epitaph on the parrot. You remember how it runs in
English?--

  'I please the fair. So much this stone doth tell.
  What more? I talked, and, for a bird, talked well.'

"I have a theory, which, if you had time, I would illustrate by
half-a-dozen examples taken on glancing round the House, that three
out of five human faces have a strong resemblance to some particular
bird. Not that I mean to say TEMPLE'S like a parrot, except of course
inasmuch as he pleases the fair. He is a man of tireless industry,
sound judgment, wide knowledge of affairs and has, withal, an
old-fashioned courtesy of manner not too common in these days. Still,
as I say, when I watch him addressing the SPEAKER the parrot's epitaph
haunts my memory."

_Business done._--Clause XIII added to Parish Councils Bill.

_Tuesday._--To-night DON'T KEIR HARDIE, having left hands and face
unwashed for an extra day, his hair uncombed for an added week, put
on his worst Sunday suit and presented himself to House as model
working-man, champion of the unemployed. DON'T KEIR'S misfortune is
that he has not succeeded in recommending himself to good opinion
of other Labour Members. When he moves in House they move off;
consequence is he is left to support of aristocrats above the gangway.
They don't particularly admire DON'T KEIR, his ways or his cause. But,
as TOMLINSON says, under impression he is quoting from SYDNEY
SMITH, "any stick will do to beat a dog with." If DON'T KEIR moves
Adjournment, and best part of night can be taken for making speeches,
so much delay is interposed in way of Parish Councils Bill, and by so
much is chance bettered of Government failing in their intention of
passing the whole Bill. Therefore, though other Labour candidates will
have nothing to do with DON'T KEIR, there are four hours talk, an odd
quarter of an hour added for a division, and thirty-three Members,
chiefly belonging to the Gentlemen of England, going into Lobby with
the Leader whom ROWLANDS distantly alludes to as "The hon. Member for
West 'Am," cunningly conveying by inflection of voice the impression
that the cut is from a hopelessly inferior part.

Debate, on the whole, patchy, with hopeless air of unreality about
it. Nevertheless, worth having, if it were only for speech of PRINCE
ARTHUR. A scholarly philosophic deliverance, striking unaccustomed
note in Parliamentary debate. Pity Mr. G. wasn't there to hear it.
Or perhaps it isn't a pity. If he had been, he would have found the
temptation to reply irresistible; at least another half hour would
have been wasted.

_Business done._--Reached Clause XVI. Parish Councils Bill.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: LIKA JOKO'S JOTTINGS.--No. 6. A FOOTBALL MATCH.]

       *       *       *       *       *

_Thursday._--Spirits of good Ministerialists a little damped by
persistent and successful tactics of Opposition. As JESSE COLLINGS
said just now, with tears in his eyes, they are anxious, above all
things, to see Parish Councils Bill added to Statute Book. Only they
won't let it pass. Twentieth night in Committee; still not half way
through Bill as Clauses count. Been sitting on Saturdays; shall have
Christmas holidays cut down to 25th and Boxing Day; then begin
again, with prospect of more drudgery, and, when Bill through, and
prorogation possible, the new Session of 1894, young, fresh, and
lusty, waiting to be waltzed with. An infant in arms, looking in on
House from peep-hole by glass door, and finding TAY PAY on his legs
denouncing the Opposition, is deeply impressed.

[Illustration: Tay Pay frightens the Child.]

Later, at period of apparent collapse HALDANE happily appears on
scene. Not a man habitually prone to enthusiasm. No sign on his placid
visage of storm-swept soul. Circumstances sometimes stronger than man.
To-day they break away the icy barriers of lethargic habit. HALDANE,
unexpectedly rising from behind the harassed PREMIER, calls upon
him to stand firm, resisting all temptations to surrender. "Stage of
situation reached," he said, amid ringing cheers, "when we should
not halt, much less retire, but should press forward to the goal.
Ministers," he added, sternly regarding back of SQUIRE OF MALWOOD'S
head, "would be betraying their trust if they flinched by one hair's
breadth from the declarations they have made."

His clarion voice cleared air of doubt and perplexity. Ministerialists
elate; Opposition correspondingly cowed; the way quite clear now for
victory; only sit tight; to importunity present imperturbability; let
Opposition once know that, thanks to fidelity and self-sacrifice of
Liberal Members, House will sit till Bill is passed, and obstruction
will collapse.

HALDANE had saved the citadel; the rout of the besiegers only a matter
of time.

An hour later WALTER LONG got up and mentioned interesting
circumstance that HALDANE, whilst thus heroically inciting Ministers
and the rest to hold on, had made arrangements whereby he himself
would agreeably spend Christmastide in comfortable country quarters;
had even extended his holiday up to 10th of January, when resumption
of sittings of court would bring him back to town for private
business. Many inquiries on Ministerial benches for HALDANE. Seemed
to be general desire to say something to him. But he had judiciously
retired from scene.

_Business done._--Another motion for Adjournment. In smaller half
of sitting left for business, Clause XVIII. of Parish Councils Bill
reached.

_Friday._--Everyone grieved to hear that SPEAKER has temporarily lost
use of voice. Been absent from Chair since Tuesday. "How inscrutable
are the ways of Providence," says the Member for Sark. "There are
so many quarters of the House where the outbreak of such an epidemic
would be a public service. Yet these escape, and only the Chair is
attacked."

[Illustration: Sir Richard Parrot.]

The House can ill spare the SPEAKER, even for a day. The whole
atmosphere of the place, the tone of debate, are altered when his
stately presence and commanding influence are withdrawn. Still, talk
must go on, and there has been no lack of it to-night. But everyone
is wearied to death of the monotony and reiteration. As PRINCE ARTHUR
says in a moment of confidence, "If it were the only alternative, one
would rather have a parish funeral than another Parish Councils Bill."

_Business done._--Nothing worth speaking of.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE COUNTY COUNCIL'S PROGRESSIVE PROGRAMME.

Rise at seven. Called by public bell rung at the nearest fire-brigade
station. Light gas supplied from the Council's works at Beckton. Drink
glass of cold water from Council's new reservoir in the Kennet Valley.
Hurriedly slip into clothes made by gentlemen working an eight hours
day at not less than sixpence an hour.

Fish for breakfast bought at Council's Billingsgate Market; eggs from
Council's hens (warranted _very fresh_); also fruit from Covent Garden
sold by Council's salesmen. We keep no servants, being now obliged to
use their wages to pay rates. Compelled to open the front door myself.
Surveyor of Chimneys, acting on instructions (received from sweep),
calls to examine flues. Reports them foul, and notes me in his summons
book. Council's revenue inspector (Inland Revenue absorbed) peeping
through half-opened breakfast-room door, spies what my children call
"a duck on stilts" engraved on a fork. Reports me at once for not
having a license to use armorial bearings. Find in letter-box notice
of compulsory purchase by Council for "allotment purposes" of a choice
piece of land belonging to me just on border of county. Am privately
informed that Radical Labourers' League have moved half-a-dozen
good-for-nothing drunken chaps to apply for allotments! Mine is the
only land that will suit them, and they intend to take it whether I
like it or no.

Just starting for the City, when Council's Architect calls, to draw my
attention to a sky-sign insufficiently secured to an upper window. It
turned out to be eldest boy's socks, hung there to dry, as we have
now to wash at home, or send to the Council's laundries which are
relief-works for those usually unemployed in winter. Other casuals
have turned barbers. I am shaved by one every morning, after slipping
the coppers into a County Council "detector," which gives no change.
In street, find the pavement up, "unemployed" engaged in moving
"immovable objects by irresistible force," _i.e._, a frozen road, at
three shillings per cube foot; Council their own contractors. Tram
at last, with Council-driver, conductor, and horses (all tramways
absorbed), and then a penny Council steamer (Thames Conservancy and
Steamboat Companies absorbed), and, having landed at St. Paul's Pier,
trip over a hole in the road. Bring action against Council for damaged
ankle. (N.B. Lost it later on. Council not liable for non-reparation
of holes.)

At the Guildhall, find Labour Arbitration Court sitting. City and
County been amalgamated, huge coalheavers, dockers, and others occupy
seats of city fathers. Police outside useless. Their helmets and
truncheons in British Museum as relics of Barbarous Age.

Having business at a suburban town I hire cab (Council Number 23,351)
and drive to Liverpool Street. The progressive members have bought up
Great Eastern Railway within the county's boundaries, and are working
it on their own system--one class for all, penny fare, and no return
ticket. The guards, ticket-collectors, porters, and others civil
enough, but no trains running, in consequence of great strike having
occurred amongst Council's engine-drivers and the difficulty is just
being settled by arbitration at Guildhall. The men had struck for
_want_ of work and a general desire for "betterment." Thoughtfully
walked back to the office, and arrived just in time to find an
official poring over my ledger. He hands me his card, "Mr. INQUISITOR,
Spring Gardens." Somerset House being absorbed, he says he "has just
called to ascertain exactly what my income really is," and though I am
perfectly civil (under pains and penalties of "civility bye-laws"), he
tells me I must be "put up" next year. He departs, leaving front door
open.

Got a cup of tea, very poor staff, at the L. C. C. Restaurant. Walk
home. No gas in streets, and the Electric Light (lately absorbed) gone
out. Reached home very weary. Find on table demand-notes for Poor,
Police, Sewers, School Board, Highways, Gas, Electric Light, Baths,
Sanitary, Insanitary, Asylum, Water, Railway, Cab, Theatre, Market,
Sky Sign, Bar and Gates, Tramway, Prisons, Restaurants, Arbitration,
Establishment, Thames Conservancy, Submerged Tenth, and many other
rates. Is life worth living? Ask the L. C. C.

       *       *       *       *       *





*** End of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 105 December 23rd, 1893" ***

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