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Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 108, February 16, 1895
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 108, February 16, 1895" ***

This book is indexed by ISYS Web Indexing system to allow the reader find any word or number within the document.


Volume 108, February 16th, 1895.

_edited by Sir Francis Burnand_


_Question._ Having no cash you wish to make a living. Kindly tell me
the objections to sweeping a crossing?

_Answer._ A small sum of money would be necessary to purchase a
broom--a preliminary step that could not be surmounted.

_Q._ Quite so. And would a like difficulty arise to prevent you
selling lucifers?

_A._ Certainly, for matches suitable for street hawking cannot be
obtained on credit.

_Q._ Would a clerkship be within your reach?

_A._ Scarcely, as a new suit, or a nearly new suit of clothes would be
requisite to give one the air of respectability necessary for securing
an audience with an employer.

_Q._ Could you not become a company promoter?

_A._ Not with safety, now that the winding-up business is
superintended by a judge capable of understanding the intricacies of
city finance.

_Q._ Is there any opening for you as a cab-driver?

_A._ No, as a license cannot be obtained for love, but must be bought
with money.

_Q._ Surely you have a chance as a slave to journalism?

_A._ Writing for the press is at all times precarious, and is,
moreover, a calling which cannot be followed without a small but
impossible expenditure on pens, ink. and paper.

_Q._ Has not life sometimes been supported by the successful attempts
to borrow from one's friends?

_A._ Yes, but this financial condition will have been enjoyed and
abandoned before one can truthfully style oneself an ex-capitalist.

_Q._ The sale of information of an interesting character to those
concerned has sometimes--has it not--been found of a profitable

_A._ Occasionally, but this again is not only an unpleasant but a
dangerous operation, and if resisted, may end with an entirely
embarrassing prosecution at the Old Bailey.

_Q._ Then having no cash, no credit, and no references, what career is
open to you?

_A._ But one--to become the responsible manager of a theatrical
company touring in the provinces.

       *       *       *       *       *

"TEMPORA MUTANTUR."--In these days of very late dining hours a
performance at 5 P.M., if over at 7, or 7.15 at latest, ought to suit
those whose daily work is over about 4 or 4.30, and who dislike
"turning out" after dinner if they are at home, and who cannot get
away from any dinner party if they are out in time to see even half of
the entertainment. The _matinée_ at two is a very difficult time, as
it clashes with lunch; but as tea can be taken in the _entr'actes_,
five o'clock seems a very reasonable hour, that is, if the show be
over at 7.15, and the dinner hour be 8 or 8.15.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: TRUE DIGNITY.




       *       *       *       *       *


Do not venture on the ice until you can skate properly. Practice the
various steps and evolutions before a looking-glass in your bed-room.

There is a great art in falling gracefully, and it is surprising what
a number of interesting, complicated, and unlooked-for attitudes and
figures can be thus developed. To ensure perfect confidence at the
critical moment, it is as well to hire somebody, say a professional
wrestler or prize-fighter, to trip you up and knock you down in all
the possible methods. A mattress may be used for beginners to fall on.
The more improbable your manner of tumbling, the greater success will
you achieve in the eyes of the on-lookers.

When skating with a lady, you may cross hands, but it is unusual for
you to put your arm round her waist. This is only done in great
emergencies, or in a thick fog, or when you have the pond to
yourselves. It is generally found that this proceeding is equivalent
to skating on very thin ice, and will lead to dangerous consequences.

If, however, a lady, who evidently has not complete control of
herself, and does not readily answer her helm, steers straight into
your arms, you should accept the situation in your best ball-room
manner. Do not attempt to avoid a collision, as if you dodge suddenly,
the lady, on failing to meet your support, will probably sit down
abruptly on the ice, or get entangled with a sweeper.

Should you, owing to any unforeseen circumstance, find yourself
prostrated at a young lady's feet, do not place your hand on your
heart and say she is the only girl you ever loved. These little scenes
are apt to collect a crowd. Merely say you stopped to examine the
thickness of the ice, or any little _plaisanterie_ you feel capable of
inventing. Then retire to a discreet distance and rub yourself.

If the ice gives way, and you find yourself in the water, get out as
speedily as possible. I do not advise drowning. It is always a wet and
uncomfortable process, and has very few recommendations. It is,
moreover, quite fatal to true enjoyment, and only those who are
morbidly anxious for a "par" in the papers will habitually resort to
this mode of creating a sensation.

Do not hit people much with any stick you may think it _de rigueur_ to
brandish about. Such personal attentions are best performed when you
and a string of ten or twelve other 'Arries are banded together. You
can then stand up without fear for the rights of the high-spirited
young citizen to enjoy himself.

There is nothing that figure-skaters so much appreciate as the sudden
inroad of hockey-players in their midst. It adds immensely to their
zest to feel they are liable to be knocked over in the middle of an
exciting "rocker" or "mohawk"; and, of course, they like their
combined figures to be nicely disarranged, as it enables them to show
their skill in sorting themselves again. Hockey should therefore be
indulged in anywhere and everywhere.

Lastly, if you prefer sliding to skating, do not slide in a top-hat
and frock-coat, unless you are a member of the Skating Club, and even
then it looks ostentatious. Dress appropriately in some quiet costume
of kickseys and pearlies, with a feather in your hat. Wear your
billycock at the back of your head, as it will break your falls.
Always shout at the top of your voice.

       *       *       *       *       *


  Once we dreamed of a magical clime,
    Powerful fairies lived there then,
  Ready to change, in the shortest time,
    Men to fishes, or fish to men;
  Science, alas, assails the land,
    Down the magical palaces fall,
  Fairies and elves, we understand,
    Never could really exist at all.

  Still remain to us spectres strange,
    Headless horsemen and monks severe,
  Some that arrive each night in the Grange,
    Others (like Christmas) once a year;
  Yet they linger, a fearful joy,
    Elderly relics of childhood's day.
  Now our "scientists" would destroy
    All their humorous, mild array!

  Mr. MASKELYNE, learned man!
    Scoff at Theosophists as you will,
  Spot each fraudulent gambler's plan,
    Only allow us our Bogies still!
  Little we value prosaic truth,
    If it must scatter these shadowy hosts;
  Spare us a single belief of youth,
    Leave us, ah, leave us at least our Ghosts!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: GOING TO THE DOGS.

_Candid Vet_ (_who has been called in to look at Mr. Noodle's new
purchase, which is somehow amiss_). "AH, YER WANT TO KNOW WHAT TO DO

       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration: "ROUGE GAGNE"?


  Make your Game! Is't fortune, fame,
    Power supreme, mere notoriety,
  'Tis mere gambling all the same,--
    Craving knowing not satiety.
  Marquis or Gavroche, what matter?
    Rabagas or Noble Red;
  How the bullion's clink and clatter
    Fires the eye and heats the head!
    At the sight in shadow grins;
  And the player, at his ease,
  With a dream his heart may please,
          Red wins!

  _Will_ it win, or, winning, will
    _La République_ lose or gain?
  Is the game chance _versus_ skill,
    Sly intrigue 'gainst heart and brain?
  Sanguine as sanguineous,
    The Mob-loving Marquis sits.
  Exile, will _finesse_ and fuss,
    Clack of tongues, and clash of wits,
  Play the patriotic game?
    Fall the cards, the ball re-spins!
  Blood a-fire and walls a-flame
  Menace if--to Wisdom's blame--
          Red wins!

       *       *       *       *       *

THE LONG FROST.--Sportsmen are coming up to town in despair. Their
hunters are "eating their heads off," and very soon there will be
nothing left to tell the tail!

       *       *       *       *       *

IN THE LORDS.--Lord BATTERSEA "the Flower of the Flock."

       *       *       *       *       *


(_From Mr. Punch's Very Special Correspondents._)

Reports from all parts of the country are eloquent of the phenomenal
nature of the weather experienced everywhere. By an extraordinary
coincidence, of which it is hardly possible to make too much, the
intense cold has been accompanied by a lowness of temperature--on the
(Fahren) height.

The Oldest Inhabitant has had a high old time, and been in immense
form. To prevent the extinction in future years of this interesting
individual, oxen have been roasted freely, and, wherever at all
practicable, carriages have been driven over frozen rivers.
Occasionally irreverent descendants have roasted the Oldest

It is reported, on the authority of Lord SALISBURY, that the Liberal
Party intend at once to engage in snowballing the House of Lords. As
the ex-Prime Minister has promised to play the game with no lack of
mutuality, interesting developments are expected.

A very remarkable occurrence comes from abroad--considerations of an
international character make it advisable not to particularise
further. A bishop went out in the middle of a raging blizzard.
Although the bishop was suitably attired in episcopal dress, so that
no mistake as to his identity was possible, it went on blizzarding,
and the spiritual dignitary was put to extreme temporal temporary

Ice floes have penetrated to London Bridge. Mr. SEYMOUR HICKS'S
topical song in the _Shop Girl_--"Oh, floe! ice and snow, you
know"--is received every night with even greater enthusiasm than

The following letter will NOT appear in an early number of _The



DEAR SIR,--I desire to draw your attention to what I think I may
fairly describe as a wonderful instance of animal sagacity. During the
recent severe frost a large number of birds and rabbits were fed every
day in my garden. On Friday, for the first time, I noticed a fine
hare, which, from its appearance, evidently felt the cold bitterly. I
fed it, but shivering set in, and pained by its suffering (for I have
a kind heart) I took it into the kitchen. Half-an-hour afterwards the
cook came to tell me that the kitchen-maid was in hysterics. I went
down and found out the reason--the girl had been frightened, when
taking up a large jug which stood on the ground, to find the hare in
it! The hare, poor thing, preferred a warm death to a cold existence,
but, denied the possibility of human speech, had taken this graphic
way of indicating its wishes. I have only to add that they were
respected at dinner yesterday.

      Yours faithfully,
        PEIL ITON.

    _Stickiton Rectory._

       *       *       *       *       *

MEM.--It would not be logical to conclude that Sir ARTHUR SULLIVAN is
a good cricketer because of his capital scores.

       *       *       *       *       *


       *       *       *       *       *



    _An elevation and rockery in_ FRÜYSECK'S _back-garden, from
    which--but for the houses in between--an extensive view over the
    steamer-pier and fiord could be obtained. In front, a
    summer-house, covered with creepers and wild earwigs. On a bench
    outside_, MOPSA _is sitting. She has the inevitable little
    travelling-bag on a strap over her shoulder._ BLOCHDRÄHN _comes up
    in the dusk. He, too, has a travelling-bag, made of straw,
    containing professional implements, over his shoulder. He is
    carrying a rolled-up handbill and a small paste-pot._

_Sanitary Engineer Blochdrähn_ (_catching sight of_ MOPSA'S
_handbag_). So you really _are_ off at last? So am I. _I_'m going by

_Mopsa_ (_with a faint smile_). Are you? Then _I_ take the steamer.
Have you seen ALFRED anywhere about--or SPRETA?

_San. Eng. Bloch._ I have been seeing a good deal of _Mrs._ FRÜYSECK.
She asked me to come up here and paste one of these handbills on the
summer-house. To offer a reward for Little MOPSËMAN, you know. I've
been sticking them up everywhere. (_Busied with the paste-pot._) But
you'll see--he'll never turn up.

_Mopsa_ (_sighing_). Poor SPRETA! and oh, poor _dear_ ALFRED! I really
don't know if I _can_ have the heart to leave him.

_San. Eng. Bloch._ (_pasting up the bill_). I shall not believe it
myself until I actually see you _do_ it. But why shouldn't you come
along with me, if you _are_ going--h'm?

_Mopsa._ If you were only a married man--but I have to be so careful
_now_, you know!

_San. Eng. Bloch._ It tortures me to think of our two handbags each
taking its own way; it really does, Miss MOPSA. And then for me to
have to plumb all by myself. Though, to be sure, one can always get
round the district surveyor alone.

_Mopsa._ Ah, yes, _that_ you can surely manage alone.

_San. Eng. Bloch._ But it takes two to connect the ventilating shaft
with the main drainage.

[Illustration: "It takes two to connect the ventilating shaft with the
main drainage."]

_Mopsa_ (_looking up at him_). Always two? Never more? Never many?

_San. Eng. Bloch._ Well, then, you see, it becomes quite a different
matter--it cuts down the profits. But are you sure you can never make
up your mind to share my great new job with me?

_Mopsa._ I tried that once--with ALFRED. It didn't quite
answer--though it was delightful, all the same.

_San. Eng. Bloch._ Then there really _has_ been a bright and happy
time in your life? I should never have suspected it!

_Mopsa._ Oh yes, you can't think how amusing ALFRED was in those days.
When he distinguished himself by failing to pass his examinations, and
then, from time to time, when he lost his post in some school or
other, or when his big, bulky manuscripts were declined by some
magazine--with thanks!

_San. Eng. Bloch._ Yes, I can quite see that such an existence must
have had its moments of quiet merriment. (_Shaking his head._) But I
_don't_ see what in the world possessed ALFRED to go and marry as he

_Mopsa_ (_with suppressed emotion_). The Law of Change. Our latest
catchphrase, you know. ALFRED is so subject to it. So will _you_ be,
some day or other!

_San. Eng. Bloch._ Never in all my life; whatever progress may be made
in sanitation! (_Insistently._) Can't you _really_ care for me?

_Mopsa._ I might--(_looking down_)--if you have no objection to go
halves with ALFRED.

_San. Eng. Bloch._ I am behind the times, I daresay; but such an
arrangement does _not_ strike me as a firm basis for a really happy
home. I should certainly object to it, most decidedly.

_Mopsa_ (_laughs bitterly_). What creatures of convention you men are,
after all! (_Recollecting herself._) But I _quite_ forgot. I am
conventional _myself_ now. You are perfectly right; it _would_ be
utterly irregular!

_Alfred_ (_comes up the steps_). Is it you, BLOCHDRÄHN, that has
posted up that bill? On the new summer-house!

_San. Eng. Bloch._ Yes, Mrs. FRÜYSECK asked me to.

_Alfred_ (_touched_). Then she _does_ miss Little MOPSËMAN, after all!
Are you going? Not without _MOPSA?_

_San. Eng. Bloch._ (_shaking his head_). I did invite her to accompany
me; but she won't. So I must make my jobs alone.

_Alfred._ It's so horrible to be alone--or _not_ to be alone, if it
comes to that! (_Oppressed--to himself._) My troll is at it again! I
shall press her to stay--I _know_ I shall--and it will end in the
usual way!

_Spreta_ (_comes up the steps, plaintively_). It _is_ unkind of you
all to leave me alone like this. When I'm so nervous in the dark, too!

_Mopsa_ (_tenderly_). But I _must_ leave you, SPRETA, dear. By the
next steamer. That is----Well, I really _ought_ to!

_Alfred_ (_almost inaudibly, hitting himself on the chest_). Down, you
little beggar, down! No, it's no use; the troll _will_ keep popping
up! (_Aloud_) Can't we persuade you, dear MOPSA? Do stay--just to keep
SPRETA company, you know!

_Mopsa_ (_as if struggling with herself_). Oh, I want to so much! I'd
do _anything_ to oblige dear SPRETA!

_San. Eng. Bloch._ (_to himself, dejectedly_). She is just like that
Miss HILDA WANGEL for making herself so perfectly at home!

_Spreta_ (_resignedly_). Oh, _I_ don't mind. After all, I would rather
ALFRED philandered than fretted and fussed here alone with me. You had
better stay, and be our Little MOPSËMAN. It will keep ALFRED
quiet--and that's _something_!

_Mopsa._ No; it was only a temporary lapse. I keep on forgetting that
I am no longer an emotional Cuckoo heroine. I am perfectly
respectable. And I will prove it by leaving with Mr. BLOCHDRÄHN at
once--if he will be so obliging as to escort me?

_San. Eng. Bloch._ Delighted, my dear Miss MOPSA, at so unexpected a
bit of good luck. We've only just time to catch the steamer.

_Mopsa._ Then, thanks so much for a quite _too_ delightful visit,
SPRETA. So _sorry_ to have to run away like this! (_To_ ALFRED, _with
subdued anguish_.) I am running away--from _you_! I _entreat_ you not
to follow me--not _just_ yet, at any rate!

_Alfred_ (_shrinking back_). Ah! (_To himself._) If it depends upon
our two trolls whether----. (MOPSA _goes off with_ Sanitary Engineer
BLOCHDRÄHN.) There's the steamer, SPRETA.... By Jove, they'll have a
run for it! Look, she's putting in.

_Spreta._ I daren't. The steamer has one red and one green eye--just
like MOPSËMAN'S at mealtimes!

_Alfred_ (_common-sensibly_). Only her lights, you know. She doesn't
mean anything _personal_ by it.

_Spreta._ But they're actually mooring her by the very pier
that----How can they have the _heart!_

_Alfred._ Steamboat companies have no feelings. Though why _you_
should feel it so, when you positively loathed the dog.

_Spreta._ After all, you weren't so particularly fond of him yourself;
now _were_ you, ALFRED?

_Alfred._ H'm, he was a decent dog enough--for a mongrel. I didn't
_mind_ him; now you _did_.

_Spreta_ (_nods slowly_). There is a change in me now. I am easier to
please. I could share you with the mangiest mongrel, if I were only
quite sure you would never again want to follow that minx MOPSA,

_Alfred._ I never said I _did_ want to; though I can't answer for the
troll. But I must go away _somewhere_--I'm such a depressing companion
for you. I shall go away up into the solitudes--which reminds me of an
anecdote I never told either you or MOPSA before. Sit down and I will
tell it you.

_Spreta_ (_timidly_). Not the one about the night of terror you had on
the mountains, ALFRED, when you lost your way and couldn't find a
policeman anywhere about the peaks? Because I've heard _that_--and I
don't think I _can_ stand it again.

_Alfred_ (_coldly and bitterly_). You see that I have really nothing
to fill up my life with, when my own wife refuses to listen to my
anecdotes! Now MOPSA always---- What is all that barking down there in
the town?

_Spreta_ (_with an outburst_). Oh, you'll see, they've found Little

_Alfred._ Not they. He'll _never_ be found. Those handbills of yours
were a mere waste of money. It is only the curs fighting in the
street--as usual.

_Spreta_ (_slowly, and with resolution_). Only that, ALFRED. And do
you know what I mean to do, as soon as you are away solitudinising up
there in the mountain hotels? I will go down and bring all those poor
neglected dogs home with me.

_Alfred_ (_uneasily_). What--the whole _lot_ of them, SPRETA?
(_Shocked._) In our Little MOPSËMAN'S place!

_Spreta_ (_firmly and decidedly_). Every one. To fill Little
MOPSËMAN'S place. They shall dig up his bones, lie on his mat, take it
in turns to sleep in his basket. I will try to--h'm--lighten and
ennoble their lot in life.

_Alfred_ (_with growing uneasiness_). When you simply detest all dogs!
I don't know _anyone_ less fitted than you to manage a Dog's Home. I
really don't!

_Spreta._ I must fill the void in my life _somehow_--if you go and
leave me. And I must educate myself to _understand_ dogs better,
that's all.

_Alfred._ Yes, that you would _have_ to do. (_As if struck with an
idea._) Before you _begin_. Suppose I take up my big fat book on
_Canine Idiosyncrasy_ once more, eh? That would teach you how to
purify and ennoble every poodle really scientifically, you know. Only
you must promise to wait till I've got it _done_.

_Spreta_ (_with a melancholy smile_). I am in no hurry ALFRED. Only to
write that you would have to remain at home.

_Alfred_ (_half evasively_). Not necessarily. I _might_, of
course--for a while, that is. But I shall have many a heavy day of
work before me, SPRETA, and you will see, now and then perhaps, a
great slumberous peace descend on me as I toil away in my brown
study--but I shall be making wonderful progress all the same.

_Spreta._ I shall quite understand _that_, ALFRED. Oh, dear, who in
the world's this?

    [The VARMINT-BL[=O]K _appears mysteriously in the gloom_.

_The Varmint-Bl[=o]k._ Excuse me, Captin, and your sweet ladyship, but
I just happened to drop my eye on one of those lovely little
hand-billikins here, and took the liberty to step up, thinking it
might so happen that you'd been advertising the very identical dawg
what followed me home the other day. You may remember me passing the
remark how wonderful partial dawgs was to me. So I brought him up on
the chance like.

    [_He produces_ Little MOPSËMAN--_in mufti--from a side-pocket_.

_Spreta._ It _is_ our Little MOPSËMAN! So you are _not_ some
supernatural sort of shadowy symbol after all, then?

_The Varm.-B._ (_hurt_). Now I ask you, lady--do I look it? Here's my
professional card. And if you _should_ have the reward handy---- (_As_
ALFRED _pays him_.) Five Rix dollarkins--correct, my lord, and thankee
kindly. (_As he departs._) You'll find I've learned that sweet little
mongrel a thing or two; take the nonsense out of any rat in Norway
_now_, he will. And just you ask him to set up and give three cheers
for Dr. IBSEN--that's all!

    [_He goes out, chuckling softly._

_Alfred_ (_holding out_ Little MOPSËMAN _at arms' length_). H'm; it
will be a heavy day's work to purify and ennoble this poodle after all
he has been through, eh, SPRETA? I think, as you seem to have
developed quite a taste for such tasks, I shall allow _you_ to
undertake it--all by yourself.

_Spreta_ (_turns away with her half-teasing smile_). Thanks!


       *       *       *       *       *


"Before you finish your whiff and depart to dress for dinner," quoth
the Baron, "just read through Mr. ESCOTT'S article in the
_Fort-nightly_." If you lived in Literary Bohemia many years ago, it
will revive pleasant memories, and if you didn't, it will interest
those who did with whom, in conversation at dinner, you can start the
subject. Bohemia exists always; only, as Mr. LAUDATOR TEMPORIS ACTI
will, of course, sing, it was at its best in

    "The days when _we_ went gipseying
      A long time ago!"

"Glad to see Mr. ESCOTT'S pen at work again," quoth the kindly

      BARON DE B.-W.

       *       *       *       *       *


_Kindly Gentleman_ (_from True Blue Club_). "AND WHAT HAS BROUGHT YOU

_Gentleman of the Pavement_ (_spotting his man_). "NO, INDEED, SIR; MY

    [_Immediate relief on a generous scale._

       *       *       *       *       *


  _An awful night!_ I do believe it's snowing!
    Who from his "ain fireside" would wish to roam?
  Only a fool would go--and yet I'm going--
            To Mrs. A.'s At Home!

  The burden of At Homes! The bore of dressing!
    I must be wielding razor, brush, and comb
  (The snow has almost stopped--Come, that's a blessing!)
            For Mrs. A.'s At Home.

  Why am I going? Well, to me the reason
    Looms large and clear as Paul's cathedral dome:
  The reason's--NANCY, whom I met last season
            At Mrs. A.'s At Home.

  Hi, hansom! Off we go! Although sweet NANCY
    Since then has vanished like a fairy gnome,
  Yet I shall see her (sweet conceit) in fancy
            At Mrs. A.'s At Home.

  "Thankee, my lord!"--he's earned that extra shilling,
    We've come along, the horse is flecked with foam--
  Slowly upstairs I go, the rooms are filling
            At Mrs. A.'s At Home.

  Then--why, good heavens! No! It isn't fancy!--
    "Can it be you? I heard you were in Rome.
  Just fancy meeting you"--the real NANCY!--
            "At Mrs. A.'s At Home!"

  To-night and NANCY--rhyme excuses fiction--
    Might, if I sang them, fill a ponderous tome:
  _A perfect night!_ I breathe a benediction
            On Mrs. A.'s At Home!

       *       *       *       *       *






       *       *       *       *       *


    His task demands sinews and nerves
      As tough and as supple as hickory;
    He's done if he stumbles or swerves,
      This Titan-like pet of Terpsichore.
    What wonder he seems strung on wires
      From the tip of his trunk to his very toe,
    Performing a feat which requires
      The joint skill of BLONDIN and CERITO?
  Ah, JUMBO! stretch balance-wise tail-whisp and trunk,
  For you'll never get through if you fumble or funk.

    Scarce "light" is his ponderous form,
      And his footing is hardly "fantastic."
    It makes one grow nervous and warm
      To watch this colossus gymnastic.
    Can't "trip it,"--although he may _trip_,--
      His tentative toes throb and tremble;
    He waggles his tail like a whip:
      There's danger, but _he_ must dissemble;
  And though he an imminent downfall may dread,
  Must walk o'er the bottles with confident tread.

    For Titan to dance on a tub
      As steady as--CECIL'S majority,
    Is easy, but--oh! there's the rub--
      The bottle-trick has the priority.
    It comes first "by special request,"
      And there isn't a chance of evasion.
    Poor JUMBO must fain do his best,
      Though he'd rather postpone the occasion.
  Titan-_Turreydrop_ now on St. Stephen's new floor
  Can't choose his own figures or steps any more!

    There are plenty of "turns" he'd prefer,
      And numbers of tricks he'd do better.
    His "Gradation Dance" made a great stir.
      But, alas, for the goad and the fetter!
    As his enemies pipe he must dance,
      To public opinion he's plastic;
    And so, with a dubious glance,
      He essays this untried "Light Fantastic."
  From bottle to bottle slow picking his way,
  As an overture forced to the programme he'd play!

       *       *       *       *       *


(_Communications Intercepted in Transit._)

_From a School Boy to his Younger Brother._--My dear BOBBIE,--How are
you getting on at home? We are having a high old time at SWISHERS'.
All the pipes frozen, and no water to be got anywhere! And it is so

      Yours, &c.,

_From a Firm of Coachbuilders to one of their Customers._--Dear
Sir,--As there is every reason to believe that the present severe
weather will last for a considerable time, may we have the honour of
building for you a sleigh? We shall be pleased to have the vehicle
ready for you in the course of a month, or at the latest six weeks.
Should the weather break in the meanwhile, it will be available under
similar conditions next year or the year after. It will also be quite
possible to carry the sleigh to Siberia, where it will at all times be
found, not only a luxury, but a necessity. We are, dear Sir, awaiting
your esteemed order,


_From a Dramatist to an Intimate Friend._--My dear BILL,--Thank you
for the marked paper you have forwarded to me. But the statistics are
misleading. Talk about this being the greatest frost on record! You
would not say so if you had been present at the first night of my
play, _The Force of Circumstances_.--Yours gloomily,


_From a Celestial Official to the Public._--Poor creatures,--You think
you have seen the worst of the winter! Just like your presumption!
When I can manage a sky salad of rain, fog, snow, thunderbolts and
sunshine all mixed together in the course of ten minutes and set it
before a London audience in the midst of a modern January, don't you
be too sure of anything! Wait, my melancholy maniacs, and you shall
see what you may possibly live to witness.--Yours disrespectfully,


       *       *       *       *       *


    "There is an exception to every Rule."

      _Bayliss's "Mayden Lane."_

  'Tis the voice of the Oyster,
    I heard him complain,
  "You have woke me too soon,
    I must slumber again.
  I'm fat and quite well--
    Have no doubt on that head--
  But say that I'm ill,
    And _do_ leave me in bed.

  "Just a little more sleep,
    Just a little more rest;
  How sweet, my dear friends,
    I shall be at my best!
  Oh, let me repose
    Say till May--May the one'th--
  When, as everyone knows,
    There's no 'R' in the month!"

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "THE LIGHT FANTASTIC!"


       *       *       *       *       *


(_And a Remonstrance._)


  This day to yow, dere ladye, wol I schowe
  Myn hertes wissche--_cum privilegio_.
  Of alle seintes nis ther more benigne
  To man and mayden noon thanne Valentyne;
  Sith everych yeer on that swete seintes day
  Man can to mayden al his herte displaie
  (Bye Cupid arwes smit in sory plighte--
  One grote al pleyn, and twayn ypeinted brighte).
  Then wol I mak my playnte, so maist ye knowe
  Yon whele, dere ladye, don me mochel wo.
  Algates I greve, whanne that scorchours I mete
  That riden reccheles adoun the strete:
  I praie, bethynke yow, swiche diversioun
  Ben weel for mayde of mene condicioun,
  But ladye fayre in brekes al ydighte
  Certes meseems ne verray semelye sighte.
  Swiche gere, yclept "raccionale," parde,
  Righte sone wol be the dethe of chivalrye;
  And we schal heren, whanne that it be dede,
  The verdite, "Dethe by--Newe Womman-hede."
  Heede then theffect and end of my prayere,
  Upyeve thy whele, ne mannissche brekes were,
  Contente in graces maydenlye to schyne,
  So mote ye be myn owen Valentyne.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Just the weather for receiving a sharp retort," observed our laughing
Philosopher, with his snow-boots on. Naturally his friend wished to
know why. "Because," replied Dr. CHUCKLER, "with the temperature below
zero, no one can object to having _a wrap over the knuckles_." Then
away he went merrily over the unartificial ice on the Serpentine.

       *       *       *       *       *


    [_À propos_ of cropping dogs' ears, a letter from Sir F. KNOLLYS
    appeared last week in the _Stock-Keeper_, informing an inquirer
    that H.R.H. had never allowed any dog of his to be "mutilated,"
    and was pleased to hear that "owners of dogs had agreed to abandon
    so objectionable a practice."]

  We humbly thank the Prince of WALES,
  Henceforth we'll keep our ears and tails
  Intact, and shall not dread the shears
  Which used to crop our tails and ears.
  As novelists in magazines,
  And writers of dramatic scenes,
  By editorial scissors caught
  Object to have their tales cut short,
  So we, gay dogs: for gay we'll be,
  Henceforth the best of company!
  Convivial we around a joint,
  And not a tail without a point.
  Not cropped like convicts from the gaols!
  "Ear! Ear!" and "Bless the Prince of WALES!"


       *       *       *       *       *

MUSICAL NOTE.--The title of a song, "_Come where the Booze is
Cheaper_," has become widely known owing to a recent trial. We believe
we are correct in saying that this song about "the Booze" is _not_
published by the well-known firm of "BOOSEY & CO."

       *       *       *       *       *


(_By Mr. Punch's own Short Story-teller._)


I ought to mention that the Ranee, the aunt of my darling CHUDDAH, was
as susceptible as she was haughty and ferocious. During my stay in the
capital I had had several interviews with her, and I could not
disguise from myself--why should I?--that she regarded me with no
common favour. Indeed, she had taken the somewhat extreme step of
informing me semi-officially (so that she might afterwards, if
necessary, be at liberty to disavow it) that, if I would only consent
to marry her, she would undertake to poison Sir BONAMY BATTLEHORN. I
should thus be elevated not only to the supreme command of the British
forces, but also to the throne of the Diamond City. But I withstood
her blandishments, captivated, as I was, by the tender maidenly
loveliness of CHUDDAH, and the wicked old woman had sworn to have her
revenge. I had, of course, a staunch ally in her brother, the MEEBHOY,
but in his disabled condition, that veteran warrior could be of little
real use to me. Still he knew of my love for his niece CHUDDAH, and,
knowing all my worth, he had already consecrated with his blessing our
prospective union. On this particular evening I found CHUDDAH in her
cosy little boudoir alone, save for the presence of her stout and
comfortable old Ayah or Nana. The darling girl sprang up as I entered
the room and threw herself into my arms in a passion of affection. I
gently disengaged her arms from about my neck, and proceeded, as best
I could, to inform her that I had come to take leave of her for a
short time. Her grief was terrible to witness.

"Oh, my own!" she sobbed (I translate her language); "my very, very
own, my tall and gorgeously beautiful son of the fair-faced English,
my moon of radiant splendour, my star of aspiring hope, say not thou
art come to say farewell, say it not my dearest Duffadar, for CHUDDAH
cannot bear it."

"But, my darling," I urged, "duty calls, and CHUDDAH would not have
her ORLANDO flinch."

The beautiful girl admitted the force of this appeal and a renewed
scene of affectionate leave-taking took place. Suddenly the Ayah, who
up to this moment had been dozing in her arm-chair, rose, and holding
up a warning hand said, "Hist!"

We did so, alarmed by the impressive air of the good old nurse.

"Hist! What is that sound?"

[Illustration: "Hist! What is that sound?"]

I listened intently, and sure enough heard a faint tapping, proceeding
apparently from the floor under my feet.

"I suspect treachery," continued the Ayah hurriedly. "'Twas only
yester morn I saw YOUBYOUB scowling at us as we passed by on our early
walk. Oh, beware, my lord, of YOUBYOUB."

This YOUBYOUB, I ought to say, was the young and bloodthirsty Prince
of the Lozen Jehs, a tribe of wild warriors from the north. Betrothed
to the beautiful CHUDDAH at an early age, he naturally viewed with
hatred the advent of one on whom nature had bestowed her favours so
bountifully, and who was bound, therefore, to make himself dear to
CHUDDAH. I knew he detested me, but I had hitherto scorned him. I was
now to discover my mistake.

Scarcely had the words left the Ayah's lips when a loud rumbling made
itself heard: the floor seemed to heave in one terrific crash, there
was a horrible explosion, and before I had time to realise what had
happened we three, CHUDDAH, the Ayah and I, were being propelled
upwards into space at the rate of at least a thousand miles an hour.

(_To be continued._)

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "_ARE_ YOU COMIN' 'OME?"


       *       *       *       *       *


(_Being an unflattering Tale of Hope._)

"There's ingratitude for you," said the Rag Doll marked

"Where?" I asked, rousing myself from my meditation on my tambourine
and drumsticks.

She pointed to a figure which had just been placed in the second row.
He was dressed very smartly in a red coat trimmed with tinsel. But he
had an unmistakeable air of second-hand.

"I made that man," said the Rag Doll, "and now he cuts me dead before
them all! It's atrocious! Why, but for me he would have been bought
for five shillings, and would have been the property of the plainest
child in London."

"Not that," I pleaded; "think of----"

"Well, very plain, anyhow. I was ready to bow to him. I almost did."

"In fact, you did."

"I didn't. I declare I didn't."

"Oh, well, you didn't, then. It only looked like it."

"He first came here," said the Rag Doll, "three weeks ago. At that
time he was--quite presentable. He was everything he should be. He
stood firmly on his legs without toppling over, and had his cocked hat
firmly fixed on his head. And his sword----"

"Where did he wear that?"

"He _carried_ that, Mr. WHYTE RABBIT. Don't be silly. Wore it by his
side, you know, and had epaulettes, too."

"He has changed outwardly at least."

"Yes, I know; well, I did that. I took him in hand, and I just taught
him, and now----!"

"Yes, I know. But how did you teach him?"

"I fell upon him. I knocked him from his perch, and in the fall broke
his wretched sword with my own weight!"

"What very arbitrary distinctions you draw!"

"I don't know what you mean. I do like a plaything to be smart,
anyhow. Don't you, Mr. WHYTE RABBIT? You don't play your tambourine
properly. Now I shall take you in hand." And she slipped toward me.

"I prefer to use my own drumsticks. I can make enough noise in the
world without extraneous assistance."

"How silly you are. I don't want to see you spick and span, as if you
were ready to be given away with a pound of tea."

"Still, I don't see why I should alter my drumming----"

"Oh, you are stupid! Of course you admire me!"

"As he did. I see."

"You seem to think that very funny."

"Not a bit."

"Then we are agreed. There is not much fun in our talk."

"You're always so observant. There is not. Short sentences."

"And a _soupçon_ of the unexpressed."

"Which means so very much. When understood?"

She swayed from one side to the other. There was an easterly wind
blowing full from the open north door of the Arcade. I looked unhappy.
There is an understanding that I shall look unhappy except when I am
beating my tambourine with my drumsticks.

"What was I saying before--before you--you know--oh, about our talk,
of course, being rather flat and not very profitable?"

"I have no more to say," said I.

"But he was very angry, for in my fall I broke his nose."

"I have a bad nose, too."

"What's the matter with your nose?" asked the Rag Doll smiling.

"The joint is injured and some of the fur has come off my head--in
fact, I am as bald as the ball of an eighteen-penny bagatelle-board,"
and I contrived (with the assistance of the draught) to roll away a

"You find carriage exercise good for your poor nose?" bubbled the Rag

Now when the Rag Doll bubbles--an operation which includes a sudden
slipping down the shelf, the lighting up of glass eyes, a dart of a
kid-covered arm with vague fingers, and a gurgling gust of slipping
drapery--I am in the habit of ceasing to argue the question.

"Well, your fall will not damage the machinery. You have nothing to do
but look--you understand. While I have to beat my tambourine with my

"But I won't fall upon you. I reserved my weight for the warrior that
was once valued at five shillings and is now reduced to half-a-crown."

"Because you--educated him?"

"Yes. And now he cuts me dead! Why he will be bought by some one with
poorer means, and will be all the more appreciated."

"Of course you did not care for the impoverished soldier?"

"Not a little bit."

"Nor any one else?"

"Oh, well----"

Then I repeated the question several times in such a way that if
written a line of space would be given to every query. It was a notion
of ALEXANDRE DUMAS _père_ to do the same in his novels. And his
sentences were worth a franc a line. At least, so it has been related.

The Rag Doll looked straight in front of her.

"Hullo, old chappie," I said to myself; "where did you spring from?"

"Why, it's my proprietor!" said the Rag Doll, ceasing to bubble, and
becoming all propriety.

The toy merchant took no notice of what we had said. How could he when
our voices were inaudible? But he dusted us with his feather-brush,
and left us ready for another dialogue. For all that the Rag Doll
didn't think he was coming just then. No more did I.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "ANIMAL SPIRITS."



       *       *       *       *       *


(_An Unionist's Forecast._)

    [The measures in the Government Programme are ten in number (says
    the _Westminster Gazette_), viz., 1, Irish Land Reform; 2, Welsh
    Disestablishment; 3, Local Veto; 4, One Man, one Vote; 5,
    Charging Election Expenses on Rates; 6, Unification of London; 7,
    A Factory Bill; 8, Establishment of Conciliation Boards; 9,
    Completion of Scottish County Government; 10, Relief of

  Ten little measures hung upon the line,
  One went up to the Lords, and then there were nine.
  Nine little measures asked their turn to wait,
  One shoved in to the front, and then there were eight.
  Eight little measures promising us heaven,
  One met a Witler host, and then there were seven.
  Seven little measures crossing the Lords' Styx,
  One of 'em tumbled in, and then there were six.
  Six little measures a-trying to look alive,
  One was talked clean off his head, and then there were five.
  Five little measures on the Session's lea shore,
  One saw GOG and MAGOG there, and then there were four.
  Four little measures as weak as weak could be,
  One o'er an Amendment tripped, and then there were three.
  Three little measures a-looking precious blue,
  One met K-R H-RD-E'S frown, and then there were two.
  Two little measures a-trying a last run,
  One of them had "special Scotch," and then there was one.
  One little measure then aspired to "cop the bun,"
  H-RC-RT coolly chucked it up, and then there were None!

    [_And then the Government went out, and Unionists had fun!_

       *       *       *       *       *



_House of Commons, Tuesday, February 5._--Almost thought just now we
were going to have another BRADLAUGH business. House crowded; Members
on all sides eager for the fray. At the bar, closely packed, stood
group of newly-elected Members. Seen some of them here before.
BROADHURST back again after what seems years of exile. ELLIOTT LEES,
deep in thought as to where he shall next go for his groceries in
Birkenhead, in centre of the group. The new Solicitor-General, our old
friend FRANK LOCKWOOD, like a tall maple (not Sir BLUNDELL), lifts his
head and smiles.

"Members desiring to take their seats will please come to the table,"
says the SPEAKER.

BROADHURST, in the van, sprang forward. Had made a fair start when
HENRY JAMES, watchful in aerie on corner bench below gangway, leaped
to feet and proposed to discuss the legality of situation. Objection
founded on abstruse mathematical problem. Two writs had been moved to
fill vacancies in the representation of Leicester. There had been only
one election. There should, HENRY JAMES argued, have been two.
Consequently, election invalid; the two new Members for Leicester not
Members at all, only strangers, intruders across the bar, liable to be
whipped off in custody of Sergeant-at-Arms.

Here was a pretty prospect for opening of Session to which SQUIRE OF
MALWOOD had come with his pocket full of Bills! Sergeant-at-Arms
glanced uneasily at BROADHURST retreating before interruption. What if
repetition of the old process were imminent? Were there to be more
carpet-dances on floor of House through summer afternoons, as was the
wont of Captain GOSSET pirouetting to and from the Mace, House not
quite sure whether he was clutching BRADLAUGH or BRADLAUGH him? Then
the merry scenes in the outer hall, BRADLAUGH fighting at long odds,
finally thrust down the staircase, breathless, his coat torn, his
stylographic pen broken. BROADHURST a stone or two lighter than
BRADLAUGH. But was he equally nimble-footed? Certainly he had not yet
acquired the practice which in the second Session of the controversy
enabled BRADLAUGH and the Sergeant-at-Arms to advance, retire,
_chasser_, and clasp hands across the middle, in perfect time.

But a great deal has happened in the fifteen years that have sped
since, from a corner seat on the side of the House facing HENRY JAMES,
DRUMMOND WOLFF rose, and with emphatic gesture barred BRADLAUGH'S
progress to the table. By striking coincidence that strange chapter in
Parliamentary history, opening by chance accident and leading to
stirring consequences, was finally closed this very night, when
AKERS-DOUGLAS moved writ to fill vacancy created in South Paddington
by death of "Right Hon. RANDOLPH HENRY SPENCER CHURCHILL, commonly

HENRY JAMES had not concluded his sentence when SPEAKER interposed
with ruling that there must be no interference with Members desiring
to take their seats. So incident closed. Members for Leicester sworn
in. BROADHURST, in exuberance of moment, made as though he would
publicly shake the hand the clerk held out to take writ of return. But
REGINALD FRANCIS DOUCE PALGRAVE not made K.C.B. for nothing. "The
writ, the writ!" he hoarsely murmured, waving back the friendly hand.
BROADHURST hastily produced document from breast-pocket, and thus
fresh scandal was averted.

_Business done._--Address moved.


_Wednesday._--Exceptional interest in this afternoon's proceedings in
view of circumstance that ELLIS ASHMEAD-BARTLETT (Knight)--what was it
GRANDOLPH said about mediocrity with double-barrelled names?--would
appear in his new character as SILOMIO. Title conferred during recess
by delegates from Swaziland. Curiosity quickened by report that
_début_ would be made in character. Yesterday we had mover and
seconder of Address in velvet suits with silver buttons and brands
Excalibur at their side. Why no _Silomio_ in the native dress of the
nation that has adopted him? Some disappointment when he turned up in
ordinary frock-coat. Understood that weather responsible for this.
Swazi morning dress picturesque, but with nine degrees of frost in
Palace Yard a little inadequate, especially for a beginner.

Even in commonplace English dress SILOMIO made a striking figure as he
stood at the table, and belaboured it for "Swaziland, my Swaziland."
Looked at times as if he were going to leap over, and seize by the
throat SYDNEY BUXTON provokingly smiling on the other side. Last
week's handkerchief hanging out from his coat tail pocket, in liberal
measure though crumpled state, lent a weird effect to back view, not
interrupted by inconvenient crowding on front Opposition Bench. Odd
how SILOMIO'S colleagues in late Ministry find business elsewhere when
he rises to orate.

_Business done._--Talking round Address.


_Thursday._--Rather painful scene in House to-night. CHAPLIN resuming
debate on Address led its course gently by the still waters of
bimetallism. Somehow that a subject that has never quite entranced
attention of frivolous Commons. It works certain subtle spell upon
them. At clink of sovereign and shilling between argumentative finger
and thumb they slink away. So it was to-night whilst CHAPLIN spoke.
Faithful among the faithless found was JEMMY LOWTHER. He sat attentive
beside the orator with an expression of profound wisdom, unmitigated
by boyish habit of keeping his hands in his trouser pocket, not
without suspicion of furtively counting his marbles or attempting to
open his knife with the fingers of one hand.

[Illustration: Spoiling his Peroration]

JEMMY and CHAPLIN rank amongst oldest boys in the school. One took his
seat for mid-Lincolnshire in December, 1868; saw the rise to supreme
power of Mr. G. and, with some intervals, suffered it up to the end.
The other rode in triumphantly from York one July day in 1865. Thus
their united Parliamentary ages if fifty-seven, a record hard to beat.
Shoulder to shoulder they have, through all this time, resisted
attacks on British Constitution. Now, suddenly, publicly, in eye of
the scorner, came sharp parting of the ways.

CHAPLIN viewing state of things depressing industrial communities
admitted it was very bad. Mills closed, mines empty, ship-building
yards silent, workmen starving. Only one thing would save the
State--Bimetallism. "Is there anyone," said the orator with
magnificent wave of arm round desolate benches; "who has any other
suggestion to make for the salvation of these industries?" Then up
spoke JEMMY LOWTHER. "I have," he said with final tug at the blade of
the knife hidden in his pocket.

CHAPLIN stood aghast. Could it be possible--his own familiar friend?
He turned, looked down on him, gasping for breath. Then in a hollow
voice he added, "What has my right hon. friend been doing all this
time? Why doesn't he make his proposal?"

Here was an opening for apology, recantation, or at least, submissive
silence. But JEMMY evidently gone to the bad; got the bit between his
teeth and bolted. "I've made it over and over again," he growled,
thinking resentfully of his much crying in the wilderness for that
blessed thing Protection. Ribald House roared with laughter. CHAPLIN,
cut to heart, avoided repetition of painful incident by bringing
oration to early conclusion.

"Let's put this matter to practical test, TOBY," he said. "Come along
with me, and we'll consult the Unemployed."

Not far to go. On Westminster Bridge a hollow-cheeked man leaning over
low wall stared at ice-floes silently gliding down with the tide. "My
good man," said CHAPLIN, "you look unemployed, and I daresay you're
hungry. Now, in order to put you straight, which would you rather
have, Bimetallism or Protection?"

"Well, if you don't mind, master," said the Unemployed huskily, "I'd
like a chunk o' bread."

"Ah!" said CHAPLIN, "these people are so illogical." And he gave him

_Business done._--Drifted into debate on Bimetallism. Business can

_Friday._--SQUIRE OF MALWOOD left sick room to take part in debate and
division on JEFFREYS' Amendment to Address. Self-devotion dangerous on
foggy, frosty night. But the result worth it, at least for crowded
House that heard the speech. Best thing of the kind done in House
since DIZZY'S prime. SQUIRE evidently profited by necessity for
rapidity of composition. The sharpest barbs aimed at quivering figure
of JOKIM sitting opposite.

[Illustration: A Trifle for the Unemployed!]

"Wot's this he means about stealing my clothes when I was bathing?"
said HARDIE, with puzzled look. "With thirteen degrees of frost under
the fog I DON'T KEIR less than ever about bathing. As for my clothes,
they might suit PRINCE ARTHUR, but they wouldn't quite fit him."

_Business done._--Amendment to Address defeated by twelve votes in
House of 534 Members.

       *       *       *       *       *

Superior Studies.

_Literature and Philosophy Class for Female Students._

_Master._ What is the analogy between _Hamlet_ and MIRABEAU?

_First Girl_ (_rising_). I know. (_Pause, then suddenly, and with
determination._) MIRABEAU didn't get on well with his father, and
_Hamlet_ was at daggers drawn with his uncle.

    [_Reseats herself triumphantly._

       *       *       *       *       *

RESETTING AN OLD SAW.--The descriptive writer in the _Daily
Telegraph_, giving his account of the opening of Parliament, observed
that "Hypercritics have combated the generally accepted axiom that one
pea entirely resembles another," and he went on to show how one
parliamentary crowd resembled any other parliamentary crowd at the
initial ceremony. Assuming therefore this similarity, suppose we
re-set the old saw, and say, "_As like as two M.P.'s_."

       *       *       *       *       *

Note: [=O], [=o] represent O-macron, o-macron.

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