summaryrefslogtreecommitdiff
path: root/12866-h/12866-h.htm
blob: 408682c05cea0da6dd91fb86f2d82e70d3ddf646 (plain) 
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
810
811
812
813
814
815
816
817
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917
918
919
920
921
922
923
924
925
926
927
928
929
930
931
932
933
934
935
936
937
938
939
940
941
942
943
944
945
946
947
948
949
950
951
952
953
954
955
956
957
958
959
960
961
962
963
964
965
966
967
968
969
970
971
972
973
974
975
976
977
978
979
980
981
982
983
984
985
986
987
988
989
990
991
992
993
994
995
996
997
998
999
1000
1001
1002
1003
1004
1005
1006
1007
1008
1009
1010
1011
1012
1013
1014
1015
1016
1017
1018
1019
1020
1021
1022
1023
1024
1025
1026
1027
1028
1029
1030
1031
1032
1033
1034
1035
1036
1037
1038
1039
1040
1041
1042
1043
1044
1045
1046
1047
1048
1049
1050
1051
1052
1053
1054
1055
1056
1057
1058
1059
1060
1061
1062
1063
1064
1065
1066
1067
1068
1069
1070
1071
1072
1073
1074
1075
1076
1077
1078
1079
1080
1081
1082
1083
1084
1085
1086
1087
1088
1089
1090
1091
1092
1093
1094
1095
1096
1097
1098
1099
1100
1101
1102
1103
1104
1105
1106
1107
1108
1109
1110
1111
1112
1113
1114
1115
1116
1117
1118
1119
1120
1121
1122
1123
1124
1125
1126
1127
1128
1129
1130
1131
1132
1133
1134
1135
1136
1137
1138
1139
1140
1141
1142
1143
1144
1145
1146
1147
1148
1149
1150
1151
1152
1153
1154
1155
1156
1157
1158
1159
1160
1161
1162
1163
1164
1165
1166
1167
1168
1169
1170
1171
1172
1173
1174
1175
1176
1177
1178
1179
1180
1181
1182
1183
1184
1185
1186
1187
1188
1189
1190
1191
1192
1193
1194
1195
1196
1197
1198
1199
1200
1201
1202
1203
1204
1205
1206
1207
1208
1209
1210
1211
1212
1213
1214
1215
1216
1217
1218
1219
1220
1221
1222
1223
1224
1225
1226
1227
1228
1229
1230
1231
1232
1233
1234
1235
1236
1237
1238
1239
1240
1241
1242
1243
1244
1245
1246
1247
1248
1249
1250
1251
1252
1253
1254
1255
1256
1257
1258
1259
1260
1261
1262
1263
1264
1265
1266
1267
1268
1269
1270
1271
1272
1273
1274
1275
1276
1277
1278
1279
1280
1281
1282
1283
1284
1285
1286
1287
1288
1289
1290
1291
1292
1293
1294
1295
1296
1297
1298
1299
1300
1301
1302
1303
1304
1305
1306
1307
1308
1309
1310
1311
1312
1313
1314
1315
1316
1317
1318
1319
1320
1321
1322
1323
1324
1325
1326
1327
1328
1329
1330
1331
1332
1333
1334
1335
1336
1337
1338
1339
1340
1341
1342
1343
1344
1345
1346
1347
1348
1349
1350
1351
1352
1353
1354
1355
1356
1357
1358
1359
1360
1361
1362
1363
1364
1365
1366
1367
1368
1369
1370
1371
1372
1373
1374
1375
1376
1377
1378
1379
1380
1381
1382
1383
1384
1385
1386
1387
1388
1389
1390
1391
1392
1393
1394
1395
1396
1397
1398
1399
1400
1401
1402
1403
1404
1405
1406
1407
1408
1409
1410
1411
1412
1413
1414
1415
1416
1417
1418
1419
1420
1421
1422
1423
1424
1425
1426
1427
1428
1429
1430
1431
1432
1433
1434
1435
1436
1437
1438
1439
1440
1441
1442
1443
1444
1445
1446
1447
1448
1449
1450
1451
1452
1453
1454
1455
1456
1457
1458
1459
1460
1461
1462
1463
1464
1465
1466
1467
1468
1469
1470
1471
1472
1473
1474
1475
1476
1477
1478
1479
1480
1481
1482
1483
1484
1485
1486
1487
1488
1489
1490
1491
1492
1493
1494
1495
1496
1497
1498
1499
1500
1501
1502
1503
1504
1505
1506
1507
1508
1509
1510
1511
1512
1513
1514
1515
1516
1517
1518
1519
1520
1521
1522
1523
1524
1525
1526
1527
1528
1529
1530
1531
1532
1533
1534
1535
1536
1537
1538
1539
1540
1541
1542
1543
1544
1545
1546
1547
1548
1549
1550
1551
1552
1553
1554
1555
1556
1557
1558
1559
1560
1561
1562
1563
1564
1565
1566
1567
1568
1569
1570
1571
1572
1573
1574
1575
1576
1577
1578
1579
1580
1581
1582
1583
1584
1585
1586
1587
1588
1589
1590
1591
1592
1593
1594
1595
1596
1597
1598
1599
1600
1601
1602
1603
1604
1605
1606
1607
1608
1609
1610
1611
1612
1613
1614
1615
1616
1617
1618
1619
1620
1621
1622
1623
1624
1625
1626
1627
1628
1629
1630
1631
1632
1633
1634
1635
1636
1637
1638
1639
1640
1641
1642
1643
1644
1645
1646
1647
1648
1649
1650
1651
1652
1653
1654
1655
1656
1657
1658
1659
1660
1661
1662
1663
1664
1665
1666
1667
1668
1669
1670
1671
1672
1673
1674
1675
1676
1677
1678
1679
1680
1681
1682
1683
1684
1685
1686
1687
1688
1689
1690
1691
1692
1693
1694
1695
1696
1697
1698
1699
1700
1701
1702
1703
1704
1705
1706
1707
1708
1709
1710
1711
1712
1713
1714
1715
1716
1717
1718
1719
1720
1721
1722
1723
1724
1725
1726
1727
1728
1729
1730
1731
1732
1733
1734
1735
1736
1737
1738
1739
1740
1741
1742
1743
1744
1745
1746
1747
1748
1749
1750
1751
1752
1753
1754
1755
1756
1757
1758
1759
1760
1761
1762
1763
1764
1765
1766
1767
1768
1769
1770
1771
1772
1773
1774
1775
1776
1777
1778
1779
1780
1781
1782
1783
1784
1785
1786
1787
1788
1789
1790
1791
1792
1793
1794
1795
1796
1797
1798
1799
1800
1801
1802
1803
1804
1805
1806
1807
1808
1809
1810
1811
1812
1813
1814
1815
1816
1817
1818
1819
1820
1821
1822
1823
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
1832
1833
1834
1835
1836
1837
1838
1839
1840
1841
1842
1843
1844
1845
1846
1847
1848
1849
1850
1851
1852
1853
1854
1855
1856
1857
1858
1859
1860
1861
1862
1863
1864
1865
1866
1867
1868
1869
1870
1871
1872
1873
1874
1875
1876
1877
1878
1879
1880
1881
1882
1883
1884
1885
1886
1887
1888
1889
1890
1891
1892
1893
1894
1895
1896
1897
1898
1899
1900
1901
1902
1903
1904
1905
1906
1907
1908
1909
1910
1911
1912
1913
1914
1915
1916
1917
1918
1919
1920
1921
1922
1923
1924
1925
1926
1927
1928
1929
1930
1931
1932
1933
1934
1935
1936
1937
1938
1939
1940
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
1946
1947
1948
1949
1950
1951
1952
1953
1954
1955
1956
1957
1958
1959
1960
1961
1962
1963
1964
1965
1966
1967
1968
1969
1970
1971
1972
1973
1974
1975
1976
1977
1978
1979
1980
1981
1982
1983
1984
1985
1986
1987
1988
1989
1990
1991
1992
1993
1994
1995
1996
1997
1998
1999
2000
2001
2002
2003
2004
2005
2006
2007
2008
2009
2010
2011
2012
2013
2014
2015
2016
2017
2018
2019
2020
2021
2022
2023
2024
2025
2026
2027
2028
2029
2030
2031
2032
2033
2034
2035
2036
2037
2038
2039
2040
2041
2042
2043
2044
2045
2046
2047
2048
2049
2050
2051
2052
2053
2054
2055
2056
2057
2058
2059
2060
2061
2062
2063
2064
2065
2066
2067
2068
2069
2070
2071
2072
2073
2074
2075
2076
2077
2078
2079
2080
2081
2082
2083
2084
2085
2086
2087
2088
2089
2090
2091
2092
2093
2094
2095
2096
2097
2098
2099
2100
2101
2102
2103
2104
2105
2106
2107
2108
2109
2110
2111
2112
2113
2114
2115
2116
2117
2118
2119
2120
2121
2122
2123
2124
2125
2126
2127
2128
2129
2130
2131
2132
2133
2134
2135
2136
2137
2138
2139
2140
2141
2142
2143
2144
2145
2146
2147
2148
2149
2150
2151
2152
2153
2154
2155
2156
2157
2158
2159
2160
2161
2162
2163
2164
2165
2166
2167
2168
2169
2170
2171
2172
2173
2174
2175
2176
2177
2178
2179
2180
2181
2182
2183
2184
2185
2186
2187
2188
2189
2190
2191
2192
2193
2194
2195
2196
2197
2198
2199
2200
2201
2202
2203
2204
2205
2206
2207
2208
2209
2210
2211
2212
2213
2214
2215
2216

<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN"
    "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd">

<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
<head>
    <meta http-equiv="Content-Type"
          content="text/html; charset=UTF-8" />

    <title>Punch, January 17, 1891.</title>
    <style type="text/css">
    /*<![CDATA[*/

    <!--
    body                 {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;}
    p                    {text-align: justify;}
    blockquote           {text-align: justify;}
    h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6    {text-align: center;}
    pre                  {font-size: 0.7em;}

    hr                   {text-align: center; width: 50%;}
    html>body hr         {margin-right: 25%; margin-left: 25%; width: 50%;}
    hr.full              {width: 100%;}
    html>body hr.full    {margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 0%; width: 100%;}
    hr.short             {text-align: center; width: 20%;}
    html>body hr.short   {margin-right: 40%; margin-left: 40%; width: 20%;}

    .note
    {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;}

    span.pagenum
    {position: absolute; left: 1%; right: 91%; font-size: 8pt;}

    .poem
    {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;}
    .poem .stanza        {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;}
    .poem p              {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
    .poem p.i2           {margin-left: 1em;}
    .poem p.i4           {margin-left: 2em;}
    .poem p.i6           {margin-left: 3em;}
    .poem p.i8           {margin-left: 4em;}
    .poem p.i10          {margin-left: 5em;}

    .figure, .figcenter, .figright, .figleft
    {padding: 1em; margin: 0; text-align: center; font-size: 0.8em;}
    .figure img, .figcenter img, .figright img, .figleft img
                       {border: none;}
    .figure p, .figcenter p, .figright p, .figleft p
                       {margin: 0; text-indent: 1em;}
    .figcenter           {margin: auto;}
    .figright            {float: right;}
    .figleft             {float: left;}

    .footnote            {font-size: 0.9em; margin-right: 10%; margin-left: 10%;}

    .side { float:right;
          font-size: 75%;
          width: 25%;
          padding-left:10px;
          border-left: dashed thin;
          margin-left: 10px;
          text-align: left;
          text-indent: 0;
          font-weight: bold;
          font-style: italic;}
    -->
    /*]]>*/
    </style>
</head>

<body>
<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12866 ***</div>

    <h1>PUNCH,<br />
     OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1>

    <h2>Vol. 100.</h2>
    <hr class="full" />

    <h2>January 17, 1891.</h2>
    <hr class="full" />
    <span class="pagenum"><a name="page25"
       id="page25"></a>[pg 25]</span>

    <div class="figcenter"
         style="width:50%;">
        <a href="images/25-1.png"><img width="100%"
             src="images/25-1.png"
             alt="&lt;h3&gt;OUR SPORT AND ART EXHIBITION.&lt;/h3&gt;DRAWING A BADGER." />
        </a>

        <h3>OUR SPORT AND ART EXHIBITION.</h3>DRAWING A BADGER.
    </div>
    <hr />

    <h2>VOCES POPULI.</h2>

    <h3>AT THE REGENT STREET TUSSAUD'S.</h3>

    <h4><i>Before the effigy of</i> Dr. KOCH, <i>who is represented
    in the act of examining a test-tube with the expression of
    bland blamelessness peculiar to Wax Models.</i></h4>

    <p><i>Well-informed Visitor</i>. That's Dr. KOCH, making his
    great discovery!</p>

    <div class="figleft"
         style="width:23%;">
        <a href="images/25-2.png"><img width="100%"
             src="images/25-2.png"
             alt="" /></a>
    </div>

    <p><i>Unscientific V.</i> What did <i>he</i> discover?</p>

    <p><i>Well-inf. V.</i> Why, the Consumption Bacillus. He's got
    it in that bottle he's holding up.</p>

    <p><i>Unsc. V.</i> And what's the good of it, now he <i>has</i>
    discovered it?</p>

    <p><i>Well-inf. V.</i> Good? Why, it's the thing that causes
    <i>consumption</i>, you know!</p>

    <p><i>Unsc. V.</i> Then it's a pity he didn't leave it
    alone!</p>

    <h4><i>Before a Scene representing "The Home Life At
    Sandringham."</i></h4>

    <p><i>First Old Lady</i> (<i>with Catalogue</i>). It says here
    that "the note the page is handing <i>may</i> have come from
    Sir DIGHTON PROBYN, the Comptroller of the Royal Household"
    Fancy <i>that</i>!</p>

    <p><i>Second Old Lady</i>. He's brought it in in his fingers.
    Now <i>that</i>'s a thing I never allow in <i>my</i> house. I
    always tell SARAH to bring all letters, and even circulars, in
    on a tray!</p>

    <h4><i>Before a Scene representing the late</i> FRED ARCHER,
    <i>mounted, on Ascot Race-course.</i></h4>

    <p><i>A. Sportsman</i>. H'm&mdash;ARCHER, eh? Shouldn't have
    backed his mount in <i>that</i> race!</p>

    <h4><i>Before "The Library at Hawarden."</i></h4>

    <p><i>Gladstonian Enthusiast</i> (<i>to</i> Friend, <i>who,
    with the perverse ingenuity of patrons of Wax-works, has been
    endeavouring to identify the</i> Rev. JOHN WESLEY <i>among the
    Cabinet in Downing Street</i>). Oh, never mind all that lot,
    BETSY; they're only the <i>Gover'ment</i>! Here's dear Mr. and
    Mrs. GLADSTONE in this next! See, he's lookin' for something in
    a drawer of his side-board&mdash;ain't that <i>natural</i>? And
    only look&mdash;a lot of people have been leaving Christmas
    cards on him (<i>a pretty and touching tribute of affection,
    which is eminently characteristic of a warm-hearted
    Public</i>). I wish I'd thought o' bringing one with me!</p>

    <p><i>Her Friend</i>. So do I. We might send one 'ere by
    post&mdash;but it'll have to be a New Year Card now!</p>

    <p><i>A Strict Old Lady</i> (<i>before next group</i>). Who are
    these two? "Mr. 'ENERY IRVING, and Miss ELLEN TERRY in
    <i>Faust</i>," eh? No&mdash;I don't care to stop to see
    them&mdash;that's play-actin', that is&mdash;and I don't 'old
    with it nohow! What are these two parties supposed to be doin'
    of over here? What&mdash;Cardinal NEWMAN and Cardinal MANNING
    at the High Altar at the Oratory, Brompton! Come along, and
    don't encourage Popery by looking at such figures. I <i>did</i>
    'ear as they'd got Mrs. PEARCEY and the prambilator somewheres.
    I <i>should</i> like to see that, now.</p>

    <h3>IN THE CHILDREN'S GALLERY.</h3>

    <p><i>An Aunt</i> (<i>who finds the excellent Catalogue a mine
    of useful information</i>). Look, BOBBY, dear (<i>reading</i>).
    "Here we have CONSTANTINE'S Cat, as seen in the '<i>Nights of
    Straparola</i>,' an Italian romancist, whose book was
    translated into French in the year 1585&mdash;"</p>

    <p><i>Bobby</i> (<i>disappointed</i>). Oh, then it <i>isn't</i>
    Puss in Boots!</p>

    <p><i>A Genial Grandfather</i> (<i>pausing before "Crusoe and
    Friday"</i>). Well, PERCY, my boy, you know who <i>that</i> is,
    at all events&mdash;eh?</p>

    <p><i>Percy</i>. I suppose it is STANLEY&mdash;but it's not
    very like.</p>

    <p><i>The G.G.</i> STANLEY!&mdash;Why, bless my soul, never
    heard of <i>Robinson Crusoe</i> and his man <i>Friday</i>?</p>

    <p><i>Percy</i>. Oh, I've <i>heard</i> of them, of
    course&mdash;they come in Pantomimes&mdash;but I like more
    grown-up sort of books myself, you know. Is this girl asleep
    <i>She</i>?</p>

    <p><i>The G.G.</i> No&mdash;at least&mdash;well, I expect it's
    "<i>The Sleeping Beauty</i>." You remember her, of
    course&mdash;all about the ball, and the glass slipper, and her
    father picking a rose when the hedge grew round the palace,
    eh?</p>

    <p><i>Percy</i>. Ah, you see, Grandfather, you had more time
    for general reading than we get. (<i>He looks through a
    practicable cottage window.</i>) Hallo, a Dog and a Cat. Not
    badly stuffed!</p>

    <p><i>The G.G.</i> Why that must be "<i>Old Mother
    Hubbard</i>." (<i>Quoting from memory.</i>) "Old Mother Hubbard
    sat in a cupboard, eating a Christmas pie&mdash;or a
    <i>bone</i> was it?"</p>

    <p><i>Percy</i>. Don't know. It's not in <i>Selections from
    British Poetry</i>, which we have to get up for "rep."</p>

    <p><i>The Aunt</i> (<i>reading from Catalogue</i>). "The absurd
    ambulations of this antique person, and the equally absurd
    antics of her dog, need no recapitulation." Here's "<i>Jack the
    Giant Killer</i>" next. Listen, BOBBY, to what it says about
    him here. (<i>Reads.</i>) "It is clearly the last transmutation
    of the old British legend told by GEOFFREY of Monmouth, of
    CORINEUS the Trojan, the companion of the Trojan BRUTUS, when
    he first settled in Britain. But more than this"&mdash;I hope
    you're listening, BOBBY?&mdash;"<i>more</i> than this, it is
    quite evident, even to the superficial student of Greek
    mythology, that many of the main incidents and ornaments are
    borrowed from the tales of HESIOD and HOMER." Think of that,
    now!</p>

    <blockquote>
        <p>[BOBBY <i>thinks of it, with depression.</i></p>
    </blockquote>

    <p><i>The G.G.</i> (<i>before figure of Aladdin's Uncle selling
    new lamps for old</i>). Here you are, you see! "<i>Ali
    Baba</i>," got 'em all here, you see. Never read your
    "<i>Arabian Nights</i>," either! Is that the way they bring up
    boys nowadays!</p>

    <p><i>Percy</i>. Well, the fact is, Grandfather, that unless a
    fellow reads that kind of thing when he's <i>young</i>, he
    doesn't get a chance afterwards.</p>

    <p><i>The Aunt</i> (<i>still quoting</i>). "In the famous
    work," BOBBY, "by which we know MASÛDI, he mentions the Persian
    Hezar Afsane-um-um-um,&mdash;nor have commentators failed to
    notice that the occasion of the book written for the Princess
    HOMAI resembles the story told in the Hebrew Bible about
    ESTHER, her mother or grandmother, by some Persian Jew two or
    three centuries B.C." Well, I never knew <i>that</i> before!...
    This is "<i>Sindbad and the Old Man of the Sea</i>"&mdash;let's
    see what they say about <i>him</i>. (<i>Reads.</i>) "Both the
    story of <i>Sindbad</i> and the old Basque legend of Tartaro
    are undoubtedly borrowed from the <i>Odyssey</i> of HOMER,
    whose <i>Iliad</i> and <i>Odyssey</i> were translated into
    Syriac in the reign of HARUN-UR-RASHID." Dear, dear, how
    interesting, now! and, BOBBY, what <i>do</i> you think someone
    says about "<i>Jack and the Beanstalk</i>"? He says&mdash;"this
    tale is an allegory of the Teutonic Al-fader, the red hen
    representing the all-producing sun: the moneybags, the
    fertilising rain; and the harp, the winds." Well, I'm sure it
    seems likely enough, doesn't it?</p>

    <blockquote>
        <p>[BOBBY <i>suppresses a yawn</i>; PERCY's <i>feelings are
        outraged by receiving a tin trumpet from the Lucky Tub;
        general move to the scene of the Hampstead Tragedy</i>.</p>
    </blockquote>

    <h4><i>Before the Hampstead Tableaux.</i></h4>

    <p><i>Spectators</i>. Dear, dear, there's the <i>dresser</i>,
    you see, and the window, broken and all; it's wonderful how
    they can <i>do</i> it! And there's poor Mrs. 'OGG&mdash;it's
    real butter and a real loaf she's cutting, and the poor baby,
    too!... Here's the actual casts taken after they were murdered.
    Oh, and there's Mrs. PEARCEY wheeling the
    perambulator&mdash;it's the <i>very</i> perambulator! No, not
    the very one&mdash;they've got <i>that</i> at the other place,
    and the piece of toffee the baby sucked. Have they really! Oh,
    we <i>must</i> try and go there, too, before the children's
    holidays are over. And this is all? Well, well, everything very
    nice, I <i>will</i> say. But a pity they couldn't get the
    <i>real</i> perambulator!</p>
    <hr />
    <span class="pagenum"><a name="page26"
       id="page26"></a>[pg 26]</span>

    <div class="figcenter"
         style="width:100%;">
        <h2>BURNS VERSUS BURNS.</h2>

        <h3>A SONG OF THE GREAT SCOTCH STRIKE. TUNE&mdash;"<i>Push
        about the
        Jorum!</i>"</h3><a href="images/26.png"><img width="100%"
             src="images/26.png"
             alt="" /></a>

        <div class="poem">
            <div class="stanza">
                <p>"Oh, let us not like snarling tykes,</p>

                <p class="i2">In wrangling be divided;</p>

                <p>Till slap comes in an uncoo loon</p>

                <p class="i2">And with a rung decide it.</p>

                <p>Be Britain still to Britain true,</p>

                <p class="i2">Among oursels united;</p>

                <p>For never but by British hands</p>

                <p class="i2">Maun British wrongs be righted!"</p>
            </div>

            <div class="stanza">
                <p class="i2">ROBERT BURNS's "<i>Dumfries
                Volunteers</i>."</p>
            </div>
        </div>

        <blockquote>
            <p><i>Shade of</i> BURNS, <i>loquitur</i>:&mdash;</p>
        </blockquote>

        <div class="poem">
            <div class="stanza">
                <p>O, rantin' roarin' JOHNNY BURNS,</p>

                <p class="i2">My namesake&mdash;in a fashion,</p>

                <p>You do my Scots the warst o' turns</p>

                <p class="i2">Sae stirrin' up their passion.</p>

                <p>Whence come ye, JOHNNY? Frae the Docks?</p>

                <p class="i2">Or frae the County Council?</p>

                <p>Sure Scots can do their ain hard knocks;</p>

                <p class="i2">We take your brag and bounce ill!</p>

                <p class="i10">Fal de ral, &amp;c.</p>
            </div>

            <div class="stanza">
                <p>Does Cockneydom invasion threat?</p>

                <p class="i2">Then let the louns beware, Sir!</p>

                <p>Scotland, they'll find, is Scotland yet,</p>

                <p class="i2">And for hersel' can fare, Sir.</p>

                <p>The Thames shall run to join the Tweed,</p>

                <p class="i2">Criffel adorn Thames valley,</p>

                <p>'Ere wanton wrath and vulgar greed</p>

                <p class="i2">On Scottish ground shall rally.</p>

                <p class="i10">Fal de ral, &amp;c.</p>
            </div>

            <div class="stanza">
                <p>A man's a man for a' that, JOHN,</p>

                <p class="i2">And ane's as good as tither;</p>

                <p>But that ship's crew is fated, JOHN,</p>

                <p class="i2">That mutinies in bad weather.</p>

                <p>Nae flouts to "honest industry"</p>

                <p class="i2">Shall fa' frae the
                Exciseman;</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page27"
                   id="page27"></a>[pg 27]</span>

                <p>But ane who blaws up strife like this,</p>

                <p class="i2">Wisdom deems not a wise man.</p>

                <p class="i10">Fal de ral, &amp;c.</p>
            </div>

            <div class="stanza">
                <p>Scot business may be out o' tune,</p>

                <p class="i2">True harmony may fail in't,</p>

                <p>But deil a cockney tinkler loon</p>

                <p class="i2">We need to rant and rail in't.</p>

                <p>Our fathers on occasion fought,</p>

                <p class="i2">And so can we, if needed;</p>

                <p>But windy words with frenzy fraught</p>

                <p class="i2">Sound Scots should pass unheeded.</p>

                <p class="i10">Fal de ral, &amp;c.</p>
            </div>

            <div class="stanza">
                <p>Let toilers not, like snarling tykes,</p>

                <p class="i2">In wrangling be divided,</p>

                <p>Till foreign Trade, which marks our Strikes,</p>

                <p class="i2">Steps in, and we're derided.</p>

                <p>Be Scotland still to Scotland true,</p>

                <p class="i2">Amang oursels united;</p>

                <p>'Tis not by firebrands, JOHN, like you</p>

                <p class="i2">Our wrangs shall best be righted.</p>

                <p class="i10">Fal de ral, &amp;c.</p>
            </div>

            <div class="stanza">
                <p>The knave who'd crush the toilers doun,</p>

                <p class="i2">And him, his true-born brither,</p>

                <p>Who'd set the mob aboon the Crown,</p>

                <p class="i2">Should be kicked out together.</p>

                <p>Go, JOHN! Learn temperance, banish spleen!</p>

                <p class="i2">Scots cherish throne and steeple,</p>

                <p>But while we sing "<i>God save the
                Queen</i>,"</p>

                <p class="i2"><i>We</i> won't forget the
                People.</p>

                <p class="i10">Fal de ral, &amp;c.</p>
            </div>
        </div>
    </div>
    <hr />

    <p>A LENGTHY NOVEL.&mdash;<i>A Thousand Lines of Her Own</i>,
    in 3000 vols., by the Authoress of <i>A Line of Her Own</i>, in
    3 vols. N.B.&mdash;What a long line this must be to occupy
    three vols.! A work of and for a lifetime.</p>
    <hr />

    <div class="figcenter"
         style="width:75%;">
        <a href="images/27.png"><img width="100%"
             src="images/27.png"
             alt="THINGS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE LEFT UNSAID." /></a>

        <h3>THINGS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE LEFT UNSAID.</h3>

        <p><i>Small Stranger</i> (<i>to Master of the house</i>).
        "OW MY! THE GENTLEMAN AS OPENS THE DOOR <i>WILL</i> GIVE IT
        YER, IF YER RING <i>THAT</i> BELL!"</p>
    </div>
    <hr />

    <h2>OPERATIC GOSSIP.</h2>

    <p>During the preparation of Sir ARTHUR SULLIVAN's new Opera,
    <i>Ivanhoe</i>, a grave objection to the subject occurred to
    him, which was, that one of the chief personages in the
    <i>dramatis personæ</i> must be "Gilbert"&mdash;<i>i.e.</i>,
    <i>Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert</i>. True, that <i>Sir Brian</i>
    is the villain of the piece, but this, to Sir ARTHUR's generous
    disposition, only made matters worse. It was evident that he
    couldn't change the character's name to <i>Sir Brian de
    Bois-Sullivan</i>, and Mr. D'OYLEY CARTE refused to allow his
    name to appear in the bill except as Lessee. "I can't put him
    in simply as <i>Sir Brian</i>," said the puzzled Composer,
    "unless I make him an Irishman, and I don't think my librettist
    will consent to take this liberty with SCOTT's novel." "But the
    name in the Opera isn't pronounced the same as W.S.G.'s,"
    objected D'OYLEY. "It will be outside the Opera by ninety out
    of a hundred," answered Sir ARTHUR. "But," continued D'OYLEY,
    persistently, "it isn't spelt the same." "No," replied Sir
    ARTHUR, "that's the worst of it; there's 'u' and 'i' in it;
    we're both mixed up with this <i>Guilbert</i>." Fortunately,
    the Composer and the Author made up their quarrel, and as a
    memento of the happy termination to the temporary
    misunderstanding, Sir ARTHUR, in a truly generous mood,
    designed to call the character "<i>Sir Brian de
    Bois-Gilbert-and-Sullivan</i>." Whether the mysterious
    librettist, whose name has only lately been breathed in the
    public ear, insisted on SCOTT's original name being retained or
    not, it is now pretty certain that there will be no departure
    from the great novelist's original nomenclature.</p>
    <hr />

    <p>A BREACH OF VERACITY.&mdash;According to the papers, the
    Chief Secretary's Lodge in Dublin is blocked with parcels of
    clothing designed for the poor in the West of Ireland, sent in
    response to the request of Lord ZETLAND and Mr. ARTHUR BALFOUR.
    We understand there is no truth in the report, that amongst the
    first arrivals was a parcel containing Mr. O'BRIEN's
    br&mdash;s, with a note explaining, that as he was about to go
    to prison again, he had no further use for the article.</p>
    <hr />

    <p>NEW IRISH DRINK.&mdash;The Parnellite "Split."</p>
    <hr />

    <h2>A REMINISCENCE OF C.K.</h2>

    <p>The excellent article in the <i>Times</i> on the 6th inst.
    upon CHARLES KEENE was worthy of its subject. The writer in the
    <i>P.M.G.</i> of a day earlier performed his self-imposed task
    with a judicious and loving hand, and, as far as I can judge,
    his account of our lamented colleague seems to be correct. As
    to our CARLO's Mastership in his Black-and-White Art, there can
    be but one opinion among Artists. Those who possess the whole
    of the <i>Once a Week</i> series will there find admirable
    specimens of CHARLES KEENE in a more serious vein. His most
    striking effects were made as if by sudden inspiration. I
    remember a story which exactly illustrates my meaning. An
    artistic friend was in KEENE's studio, while CARLO was at work,
    pipe in mouth, of course. "I can't understand," said his
    friend, "how you produce that effect of distance in so small a
    picture." "O&mdash;um&mdash;easy enough," replied KEENE. "Look
    here,"&mdash;and&mdash;<i>he did it</i>. But when and how he
    gave <i>the</i> touch which made the effect, his friend,
    following his work closely, was unable to discover. F.C.B.</p>
    <hr />

    <p>PARS ABOUT PICTURES.&mdash;There is always something fresh
    coming out at Messrs. DOWDESWELL's Articultural Garden in Bond
    Street. Their latest novelty is the result of a caravan tour
    from Dieppe to Nice ("Dieppend upon it, he found it very nice!"
    said Young PAR, regardless of propriety and pronunciation) by
    Mr. C.P. SAINTON. CHARLES COLLINS utilised such an expedition
    from a literary point of view in his inimitable "<i>Cruise upon
    Wheels</i>," and this young artist has turned similar
    wanderings to good artistic account. His <i>cartes de
    visite</i>&mdash;no, I beg pardon, his <i>caravans de
    visite</i>&mdash;are numerous and varied. Verily, my brethren,
    all is caravanity! Not altogether, for Mr. SAINTON, in addition
    to returning with his caravan and himself, has brought back an
    interesting collection of original and delicate works in oil
    and silver-point&mdash;in short, taken every caravantage of his
    special opportunities. Yours parlously, OLD PAR.</p>
    <hr />

    <p>"MAY IT PLEASE YOUR 'WARSHIPS.'"&mdash;Twenty-three American
    ships, 118 guns, and 3,000 men; six British ships, 52 guns,
    1,229 men; and seven German ships, 42 guns, and 1,500
    men&mdash;all in "Pacific" waters! Looks like Pacific, doesn't
    it?</p>
    <hr />
    <span class="pagenum"><a name="page28"
       id="page28"></a>[pg 28]</span>

    <h2>MR. PUNCH'S PRIZE NOVELS.</h2>

    <h3>No. XI.&mdash;THE BOOK OF KOOKARIE.</h3>

    <h4><i>By</i> READER FAGHARD, <i>Author of "Queen Bathsheba's
    Ewers," "Yawn," "Guess," "Me," "My Ma's at Penge," "Smallun
    Halfboy," "General Porridge, D.T.," "Me a Kiss," "The
    Hemisphere's Wish</i>," &amp;c., &amp;c.</h4>

    <blockquote>
        <p>[In a long communication which accompanied the MS. of
        this novel, the Author gives a description of his literary
        method. We have only room for a few extracts. "I have been
        accused of plagiarism. I reply that the accusation is
        ridiculous. Nature is the great plagiarist, the sucker of
        the brains of authors. There is no situation, however
        romantic or grotesque, which Nature does not sooner or
        later appropriate. Therefore the more natural an author is,
        the more liable is he to envious accusations of
        plagiarism.... Humour may often be detected in an absence
        of leg-coverings. A naval officer is an essentially
        humorous object.... As to literary style, it can be varied
        at pleasure, but the romantic Egyptian and the plain South
        African are perhaps best. In future my motto will be,
        '<i>Ars Langa Rider brevis</i>,' and a very good motto too.
        I like writing in couples. Personally I could never have
        bothered myself to learn up all these quaint myths and
        literary fairy tales, but LANG likes it."]</p>
    </blockquote>

    <h4>CHAPTER I.</h4>

    <div class="figright"
         style="width:50%;">
        <a href="images/28.png"><img width="100%"
             src="images/28.png"
             alt="Then a strange thing happened." /></a>"Then a
             strange thing happened."
    </div>

    <p>My name is SMALLUN HALFBOY, a curious name for an old fellow
    like me, who have been battered and knocked about all over the
    world from Yorkshire to South Africa. I'm not much of a hand at
    writing, but, bless your heart, I know the <i>Bab Ballads</i>
    by heart, and I can tell you it's no end of a joke quoting them
    everywhere, especially when you quote out of an entirely
    different book. I am not a brave man, but nobody ever was a
    surer shot with an Express longbow, and no one ever killed more
    Africans, men and elephants, than I have in my time. But I do
    love blood. I love it in regular rivers all over the place,
    with gashes and slashes and lopped heads and arms and legs
    rolling about everywhere. Black blood is the best variety; I
    mean the blood of black men, because nobody really cares
    twopence about them, and you can massacre several thousands of
    them in half-a-dozen lines and offend no single soul. And,
    after all, I am not certain that black men have any souls, so
    that makes things safe all round, as someone says in the <i>Bab
    Ballads</i>.</p>

    <h4>CHAPTER II.</h4>

    <p>I was staying with my old friend Sir HENRY HURTUS last
    winter at his ancestral home in Yorkshire. We had been shooting
    all day with indifferent results, and were returning home
    fagged and weary with our rifles over our shoulders. I ought to
    have mentioned that COODENT&mdash;of course, you remember
    Captain COODENT, R.N.&mdash;was of the party. Ever since he had
    found his legs so much admired by an appreciative public, he
    had worn a kilt without stockings, in order to show them. This,
    however, was not done from vanity, I think, but rather from a
    high sense of duty, for he felt that those who happened to be
    born with personal advantages ought not to be deterred by any
    sense of false modesty from gratifying the reading public by
    their display. Lord, how we had laughed to see him struggling
    through the clinging brambles in Sir HENRY's coverts with his
    eye-glass in his eye and his Express at the trail. At every
    step his unfortunate legs had been more and more torn, until
    there was literally not a scrap of sound skin upon them
    anywhere. Even the beaters, a stolid lot, had roared when old
    VELVETEENS the second keeper had brought up to poor COODENT a
    lump of flesh from his right leg, which he had found sticking
    on a thorn-bush in the centre of the high covert. Suddenly Sir
    HENRY stopped and shaded his eyes with his hand anxiously. We
    all imitated him, though for my part, not being a sportsman, I
    had no notion what was up. "What's the time of day, Sir HENRY?"
    I ventured to whisper. Sir HENRY never looked at me, but took
    out his massive gold Winchester repeater and consulted it in a
    low voice. "Four thirty," I heard him say, "they are about
    due." Suddenly there was a whirring noise in the distance.
    "Duck, duck!" shouted Sir HENRY, now thoroughly aroused. I
    immediately did so, ducked right down in fact, for I did not
    know what might be coming, and I am a very timid man. At that
    moment I heard a joint report from Sir HENRY and COODENT. It
    gave on the whole a very favourable view of the situation, and
    by its light I saw six fine mallard, four teal and three
    widgeon come hurtling down, as dead as so many door-nails, and
    much heavier on the top of my prostrate body.</p>

    <p>When I recovered Sir HENRY was bending over me and pouring
    brandy down my throat. COODENT was sitting on the ground
    binding up his legs. "My dear old friend," said Sir HENRY, in
    his kindest tone, "this Yorkshire is too dangerous. My mind is
    made up. This very night we all start for Mariannakookaland.
    There at least our lives will be safe."</p>

    <h4>CHAPTER III.</h4>

    <p>We were in Mariannakookaland. We had been there a month
    travelling on, ever on, over the parching wastes, under the
    scorching African sun which all but burnt us in our
    <i>treks</i>. Our <i>Veldt</i> slippers were worn out, and our
    pace was consequently reduced to the merest <i>Kraal</i>. At
    rare intervals during our adventurous march, we had seen Stars
    and heard of Echoes, but now not a single <i>Kopje</i> was
    left, and we were trudging along mournfully with our blistered
    <i>tongas</i> protruding from our mouths.</p>

    <p>Suddenly Sir HENRY spoke&mdash;"SMALLUN, my old friend," he
    said, "do you see anything in the distance?"</p>

    <p>I looked intently in the direction indicated, but could see
    nothing but the horizon. "Look again," said Sir HENRY. I swept
    the distance with my glance. It was a sandy, arid distance,
    and, naturally enough, a small cloud of dust appeared. Then a
    strange thing happened. The cloud grew and grew. It came
    rolling towards us with an unearthly noise. Then it seemed to
    be cleft in two, as by lightning, and from its centre came
    marching towards us a mighty army of Amazonian warriors, in
    battle-array, chanting the war-song of the Mariannakookas. I
    must confess that my first instinct was to fly, my second to
    run, my third, and best, to remain rooted to the spot. When the
    army came within ten yards of us, it stopped, as if by magic,
    and a stout Amazon, of forbidding aspect, who seemed to be the
    Commander-in-Chief, advanced to the front. On her head she wore
    an immense native jelibag, tricked out with feathers; her
    breast was encased in a huge silver <i>tureene</i>. Her waist
    was encircled with a broad girdle, in which were stuck all
    manner of deadly arms, <i>stuhpans, sorspans, spîhts</i>, and
    <i>deeshecloutz</i>. In her left hand she carried a
    deadly-looking <i>kaster</i>, while in her right she brandished
    a massive <i>rolinpin</i>, a frightful weapon, which produces
    internal wounds of the most awful kind. Her regiments were
    similarly armed, save that, in their case, the breast-covering
    was made of inferior metal, and they wore no feathers in their
    head-dress. The Commander held up her hand. Instantly the
    war-song ceased. Then the Commander addressed us, and her voice
    sounded like the song of them that address the
    <i>butchaboys</i> in the morning. And this was the
    <i>torque</i> she hurled at us,&mdash;</p>

    <h4>CHAPTER IV.</h4>

    <p>"Oh, wanderers from a far country, I am
    She-who-will-never-Obey, the Queen of the Mariannakookas. I
    rule above, and in nether regions, where there is Eternal Fire.
    Behold my Word goes forth, and the Ovens are made hot, and the
    <i>Kee-chen-boi-lars</i> are filled with Water. Over me no
    Mistress holds sway. All whom I meet I keep in subjection, save
    only the <i>Weeklibuks</i>; them I keep not down, for they
    delight me. And the land over which I reign is made glad with
    fat and much stored up <i>Dripn</i>. Who are ye, and what seek
    ye here? Speak ere it be too late!" And as she ceased the whole
    army broke forth into a chorus, "She-who-will-never-Obey has
    spoken! The Word is gone forth! Speak, speak!" I confess I was
    alarmed, and my fears were not diminished when two of the
    <i>Skulrimehds</i> (a sort of native camp-follower) came up to
    COODENT and me, and actually began to make love to us in the
    most forward manner. But Sir HENRY maintained his calm
    demeanour. "She-who-will-never-Obey," he said, "we are peaceful
    traders. We bring no Commission&mdash;" how his sentence would
    have ended will never be known. Certain it is that what he said
    roused the Amazons to a frenzy of passion. They yelled and
    danced round us. "He who <span class="pagenum"><a name="page29"
       id="page29"></a>[pg 29]</span> brings no Commission must
       die!" they shouted; and in a moment we found ourselves bound
       tightly hand-and-foot, and marching as prisoners of war in
       the centre of the Mariannakookaland army.</p>

    <h4>CHAPTER V.</h4>

    <p>It is unnecessary to go through the details of our
    marvellous escape from the lowest dungeon of the royal Palace
    of SURVAN TSAUL, where for months we were immured on a constant
    diet of suet pudding. Of course we did escape, but only after
    killing ten thousand Mariannakookas, and then swimming for a
    mile in their blood. COODENT brought with him a very pretty
    <i>Skulrimehd</i> who had grown attached to him, but she
    drooped and pined away after he lost his false teeth in
    crossing a river, and tried to replace them with orange-peel, a
    trick he had learnt at school. Sir HENRY's fight with
    She-who-will-never-Obey is still remembered. He will carry the
    marks of her nails on his cheeks to his grave. I myself am
    tired of wandering. "<i>Home, Sweet Home</i>," as the <i>Bab
    Ballads</i> have it, is the place for me.</p>

    <center>
        THE END.
    </center>
    <hr />

    <h2>AN UNREHEARSED EFFECT.</h2>

    <h4>(<i>By Our Own Reciter.</i>)</h4>

    <div class="figright"
         style="width:30%;">
        <a href="images/29-1.png"><img width="100%"
             src="images/29-1.png"
             alt="" /></a>
    </div>

    <div class="poem">
        <div class="stanza">
            <p>I went to see the Pantomime this Christmas in our
            town.</p>

            <p>We laughed enough the opening night to bring the
            theatre down.</p>

            <p>The piece was <i>Burleybumbo</i>, <i>the Old Giant,
            and his Men</i>;</p>

            <p><i>Fairy Starlight, Little Popsey, and the Demon of
            the Glen</i>.</p>

            <p>The Supers were collected from the local talent
            round,</p>

            <p>And for <i>Burleybumbo's</i> servant the Blacksmith,
            JOHN, they found;</p>

            <p>A stalwart varlet was required to carry off his
            foes</p>

            <p>To Burleybumbo Castle, where he ate them as he
            chose.</p>

            <p>His minions, who wore hideous masks, had nothing
            much to say,</p>

            <p>So an IRVING was not wanted to do their part of the
            play.</p>

            <p>On this eventful night the house was packed from
            roof to pit,</p>

            <p>And the Manager was jubilant at having made a
            hit.</p>

            <p>The Curtain drawing slowly up, revealed a flowery
            glade,</p>

            <p>In which the <i>Fairy Starlight</i> and her lovely
            maidens played.</p>

            <p>The wicked Demon then came on, and round the stage
            did glower;</p>

            <p>No mortal man could e'er withstand his wrath or evil
            power.</p>

            <p>Last of all came <i>Burleybumbo</i> with his crew, a
            motley horde,</p>

            <p>Our old friend, Blacksmith JOHN, was in attendance
            on his lord.</p>

            <p>They were singing and carousing, when a man rushed
            in to say</p>

            <p>That a dozen wealthy travellers were coming down
            that way.</p>

            <p>The band dispersed, and hid themselves, in hopes
            that they might plunder</p>

            <p>The unsuspecting wayfarers. Alas! now came the
            blunder:</p>

            <p>Old JOHN he wouldn't hide himself, but coolly walked
            about</p>

            <p>Advancing to the footlights, he looked
            around&mdash;but hark! a shout:&mdash;</p>

            <p>"Confound you! Dash my&mdash;! Just come off! Hi,
            you! Who are you? JOHN!"</p>

            <p>"Not if I knowsh it, jolly old pal! I've only just
            come on!"</p>

            <p>Thus saying, he lumbered round the stage. The
            Prompter's heart had sunk:</p>

            <p>No doubt about the matter&mdash;<i>Burleybumbo's</i>
            man is drunk!</p>

            <p>"Come off! Come off!" from every wing was now the
            angry cry.</p>

            <p>"Me off, indeed! Oh, would yer? Sh'like to see the
            feller try!"</p>

            <p><i>Burleybumbo</i> then appeared, and vainly tried
            to drag him back.</p>

            <p>JOHN stove his pasteboard head in with a most
            refreshing crack.</p>

            <p>The wicked Demon now rushed on; his supernatural
            might</p>

            <p>Was very little use to him on this surprising
            night.</p>

            <p>He tried to push him down the glade, but here again
            JOHN sold him;</p>

            <p>He caught the Demon round the waist, and at the
            Prompter bowled him.</p>

            <p>Ah! such a shindy ne'er was seen, such riot and such
            rage&mdash;</p>

            <p>It was the finest "rally" ever seen on any
            stage!</p>

            <p>'Mid shrieks and cat-calls, whistles shrill,
            hysterics and guffaws,</p>

            <p>They rang the Curtain down amidst uproarious
            applause.</p>

            <p>The piece is still a great success; but, I regret to
            say,</p>

            <p>JOHN's name appears no longer in the bills of that
            fine play!</p>
        </div>
    </div>
    <hr />

    <h2>NOT INSIDE OUT.</h2>

    <div class="poem">
        <div class="stanza">
            <p>Fair Maiden, you're looking a vision of beauty,</p>

            <p>You may comfort yourself you've no rival to
            fear;</p>

            <p>But you won't take it ill if I feel it my duty</p>

            <p>To whisper a word of advice in your ear.</p>
        </div>

        <div class="stanza">
            <p>Now, the word would be this&mdash;when the daylight
            is dawning,</p>

            <p>Or, at any rate, when it's more early than late,</p>

            <p>Pray remember the coachman, who, fitfully
            yawning</p>

            <p>Outside in the street, finds it weary to wait.</p>
        </div>

        <div class="stanza">
            <p>You reck not at all of the hours that are
            fleeting,</p>

            <p>You ask for an "extra"&mdash;you can't be
            denied.</p>

            <p>But though, doubtless, soft nothings may set your
            heart beating,</p>

            <p>Yet they're awfully cold for the people outside.</p>
        </div>

        <div class="stanza">
            <p>Want of thought, not of heart, is the reason as
            ever,</p>

            <p>So if you find leisure to read through this
            rhyme,</p>

            <p>When you order your carriage, in future
            endeavour</p>

            <p>To prevent any waiting&mdash;by being in time,</p>
        </div>
    </div>
    <hr />

    <h2>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h2>

    <p>The Publisher of <i>The Century Illustrated Monthly
    Magazine</i>, earnestly requests the reviewer, appealing to his
    heart in the reddest of red ink, on a slip of paper pasted on
    to the cover of the Magazine, not to extract and quote more
    than one column of "Talleyrand's Memoirs," which appear in this
    number for January. The Publisher of the <i>C.I.M.M.</i> does
    not appeal personally to the Baron&mdash;who is now the last,
    bar one, of the Barons, and that bar one is one at the
    Bar,&mdash;but, for all that, the Baron hereby and hereon takes
    his solummest Half-a-Davey or his entire Davey, that he will
    not write, engrave, or represent, or cause to be, &amp;c, for
    purposes of quotation, one single word, much less line, of
    <i>Tallyho</i>&mdash;beg pardon, of
    <i>Talleyrand</i>,&mdash;extracts from whose memoirs are now
    appearing in the aforesaid <i>C.I.M.M.</i> But all he will say
    at present is this, that, if the secret and private Memoirs
    haven't got in them anything more thrilling or startling, or
    out of the merest common-place, than appears in this number of
    the <i>C.I.M.M.</i>, then the Baron will say that he would
    prefer reading such contributions as M. de BLOWITZ's story of
    "How he became a Special," or <i>The Pigmies of the African
    Forest</i> by HENRY M. STANLEY in the same number of this
    Mag.</p>

    <div class="figright"
         style="width:25%;">
        <a href="images/29-2.png"><img width="100%"
             src="images/29-2.png"
             alt="" /></a>
    </div>

    <p>What the Baron dearly loves is, ELLIOT STOCK-IN-TRADE <i>The
    Book-worm</i>, always most interesting to Book-worms, and
    almost as interesting to Book-grubs or Book-butterflies. By the
    way, the publishing office of <i>The Book-worm</i> ought to be
    in Grub Street. For what sort of fish is <i>The Book-worm</i>
    an attractive bait? I suppose there are queer fish in the Old
    Book trade that can take in any number of Book-worms, as is
    shown from a modern instance, well and wisely commented upon in
    this very number for January, No. 38, which is excellent food
    for worms; the whole series, indeed, must be a very Diet of
    Worms. Success to the <i>Book-worm</i>! May it grow to double
    the size, and be a glow-worm, to enlighten us in the bye-paths
    of literature. "<i>Prosit!</i>" says the Baron.</p>

    <p>I would that some one would write of BROWNING's work as
    HENRY VAN DYKE has written of TENNYSON's. To the superficial
    and cursory reader of the Laureate, the Baron, sitting by the
    fire on a winter's night, the wind howling over the sea, and
    the snow drifting against the window, and being chucked in
    handfuls down the chimney, and frizzling on the fire, says, get
    this book, published by ELKIN MATHEWS: <i>ça donne à
    penser</i>, and this is its great merit. "Come into the Garden,
    Maud"&mdash;no, thank you, not to-night; but give me my
    shepherd's pipe, with the fragrant bird's-eye in it, with
    [Greek: ton grogon], while I sit by the cheerful fire, in the
    best of good company&mdash;my books.</p>

    <p>Our Mr. GRIFFITHES (CHESTER, MAYHEW, BROOME, AND GRIFFITHES)
    has been all the way <i>From Bedford Row to Swazieland</i>, and
    has written a lively narrative of his perilous journey. He went
    on a professional retainer. You don't catch Bedford Row in
    Swazieland on other terms. Being there, he kept his eyes open,
    saw a good deal, and describes his impressions in racy fashion.
    He did not like the coffee served <i>en route</i>, and was
    disappointed with the Southern Cross; but on the whole enjoyed
    the trip. One would naturally expect that the price of his book
    would be six-and-eight-pence, or, regarding it in the form of a
    letter, three-and-fourpence, but BRADBURY, AGNEW, &amp; Co.
    issue it at a shilling.</p>

    <p>THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS &amp; Co.</p>
    <hr />
    <span class="pagenum"><a name="page30"
       id="page30"></a>[pg 30]</span>

    <div class="figcenter"
         style="width:100%;">
        <a href="images/30.png"><img width="100%"
             src="images/30.png"
             alt="WHAT OUR ARTIST HAS TO PUT UP WITH." /></a>

        <h3>WHAT OUR ARTIST HAS TO PUT UP WITH.</h3>

        <p><i>Our Artist</i>. "WELL, HOW DO YOU LIKE THE PORTRAITS,
        MISS BUNNY? THE SITTERS ARE ALL OLD FRIENDS OF YOURS, I
        BELIEVE?"</p>

        <p><i>Miss Bunny</i> (<i>triumphantly</i>). "YES; AND, ONLY
        THINK, I'VE ACTUALLY MANAGED TO GUESS THEM ALL!"</p>
    </div>
    <hr />

    <h2>ARBITRATION.</h2>

    <blockquote>
        <p><i>Seal, suddenly emerging, loquitur</i>:&mdash;</p>
    </blockquote>

    <div class="poem">
        <div class="stanza">
            <p>Belay, you two lubbers, avast there! avast
            there!</p>

            <p class="i2">What signifies squalling and
            squabbling?</p>

            <p>You're both argufying a good bit too fast there,</p>

            <p class="i2">Whilst that which you stand on seems
            wobbling.</p>

            <p>You'll be in a mess, Messmates, shortly, the pair of
            you.</p>

            <p class="i2">Give <i>me</i> a thought in the
            matter!</p>

            <p><i>My</i> interest's at stake, and it isn't quite
            fair of you</p>

            <p class="i2">Me to ignore 'midst your clatter.</p>
        </div>

        <div class="stanza">
            <p>If 'twere not for me, Mates, this cold Behring's
            Sea, Mates,</p>

            <p class="i2">Would hardly strike you as so
            tempting.</p>

            <p>Do grant your poor prey, if I may make so free,
            Mates,</p>

            <p class="i2">From slaughter some annual exempting!</p>

            <p>I'm worried and walloped without intermission</p>

            <p class="i2">Until even family duties</p>

            <p>Quite fail, whilst your countrymen cudgel and fish
            on.</p>

            <p class="i2">By Jingo, some of 'em are beauties!</p>
        </div>

        <div class="stanza">
            <p>My poor wife and children have not half a chance,
            Mates.</p>

            <p class="i2">That's not to your interest, I
            reckon.</p>

            <p>Cease shindy, and on a new course make advance,
            Mates,</p>

            <p class="i2">Where sense and humanity beckon.</p>

            <p>There's not much of either in cruelly clubbing</p>

            <p class="i2">My progeny all out of season;</p>

            <p>And if you are bent upon mutual drubbing,</p>

            <p class="i2">You must quite have parted with
            reason.</p>
        </div>

        <div class="stanza">
            <p><i>Mare clausum</i>, be blowed! That's all BLAINE's
            big bow-wow, Mates.</p>

            <p class="i2">Men can't thus monopolise oceans.</p>

            <p>Diplomacy <i>must</i> find a compromise now,
            Mates,</p>

            <p class="i2">And, well&mdash;I have told you <i>my</i>
            notions.</p>

            <p>Give me a close-time,&mdash;I shall be very
            grateful&mdash;</p>

            <p class="i2">And leave the Sea open! What more,
            Mates?</p>

            <p>For brothers like you to be huffing, is hateful.</p>

            <p class="i2">Be friends, think of me,
            and&mdash;<i>bong swor</i>, Mates!</p>
        </div>
    </div>

    <blockquote>
        <p>[<i>Dives under.</i></p>
    </blockquote>
    <hr />

    <h2>UP-TO-TIME TABLE, FROM THE NORTH.</h2>

    <table summary="Timetable"
           align="center"
           border="1">
        <tr>
            <td></td>

            <td align="center">Morning<br />
            Fast.</td>

            <td align="center">Mineral<br />
            and Parl.</td>

            <td align="center">General<br />
            Express.</td>

            <td align="center">Traffic and<br />
            Even. Mail.</td>
        </tr>

        <tr>
            <td align="left">Edinburgh<br />
            (Waverley Station)</td>

            <td align="center">7 A.M. to<br />
            9.30</td>

            <td align="center">11 A.M. A</td>

            <td align="center">Noon F</td>

            <td align="center">9 P.M. L</td>
        </tr>

        <tr>
            <td align="left">Carlisle</td>

            <td align="center">12.15</td>

            <td align="center">...</td>

            <td align="center">...</td>

            <td align="center">...</td>
        </tr>

        <tr>
            <td align="left">Hawick</td>

            <td align="center">4.30</td>

            <td align="center">B</td>

            <td align="center">...</td>

            <td align="center">...</td>
        </tr>

        <tr>
            <td align="left">Galashiels</td>

            <td align="center">9.45</td>

            <td align="center">...</td>

            <td align="center">2.15 G</td>

            <td align="center">1 A.M. M</td>
        </tr>

        <tr>
            <td align="left">
            Motherwell<big><big><big><big>{</big></big></big></big></td>

            <td align="center">1 P.M.<br />
            (Stopped<br />
            by riot)</td>

            <td align="center">
            <big><big><big><big>}</big></big></big></big>4 P.M.
            C</td>

            <td align="center">3.19 H</td>

            <td align="center">3.20 N</td>
        </tr>

        <tr>
            <td align="left">St. Margaret's Works</td>

            <td align="center">3.30</td>

            <td align="center">5 D</td>

            <td align="center">...</td>

            <td align="center">...</td>
        </tr>

        <tr>
            <td align="left">Perth</td>

            <td align="center">9.45 A.M.</td>

            <td align="center">...</td>

            <td align="center">11.26 I</td>

            <td align="center">...</td>
        </tr>

        <tr>
            <td align="left">Glasgow</td>

            <td align="left">12.30 P.M.</td>

            <td align="center">...</td>

            <td align="center">...</td>

            <td align="center">...</td>
        </tr>

        <tr>
            <td align="left">Aberfeldy</td>

            <td align="left">6.13</td>

            <td align="center">...</td>

            <td align="center">...</td>

            <td align="center">...</td>
        </tr>

        <tr>
            <td align="left">Dundee</td>

            <td align="left">1.12 A.M.</td>

            <td align="center">3 A.M.to 9</td>

            <td align="center">...</td>

            <td align="center">...</td>
        </tr>

        <tr>
            <td align="left">Inverness</td>

            <td align="left">9.23</td>

            <td align="center">...</td>

            <td align="center">3.5 J</td>

            <td align="center">...</td>
        </tr>

        <tr>
            <td align="left">Aberdeen</td>

            <td align="left">11.6</td>

            <td align="center">7 P.M.? E</td>

            <td align="center">1 A.M. K</td>

            <td align="center">O</td>
        </tr>
    </table>

    <p>A&mdash;Takes delayed pig-iron and third-class passengers.
    B&mdash;Half of train stops here through breaking an axle-pin.
    C&mdash;Passengers, for protection, get under seats of
    carriages. D&mdash;Stops for repairs. E&mdash;Having had a
    collision at the junction for Aberfeldy, will come on, if there
    are any passengers equal to finishing the journey.</p>

    <p>F&mdash;Starts under the management of a Director, and,
    owing to a misunderstanding, dashes off to Aberdeen, without
    stopping. G&mdash;Doesn't stop, but knocks over a
    station-master. H&mdash;Is pelted as it tears through the
    station by <i>ex-employés</i>. I&mdash;Knocks over another
    station-master. J&mdash;Meets a pilot-engine, which it splits
    in half. K&mdash;Goes at full speed through the end of the
    terminus, depositing the passengers in a heap in the middle of
    the town.</p>

    <p>L&mdash;Train starts, made up of horse-boxes and
    luggage-vans full of three weeks' arrears of parcels,
    first-class carriages, Post-office van, fifty coal-trucks, and
    a wild beast show, the Directors wishing to make up for lost
    time. M&mdash;Train breaking down here, mail and passengers
    only forwarded. N&mdash;Train attacked by rioters. Pitched
    battle with the passengers. O&mdash;Telegram from Motherwell
    saying, that owing to police intervention, train starts the day
    after to-morrow.</p>
    <hr />
    <span class="pagenum"><a name="page31"
       id="page31"></a>[pg 31]</span>

    <div class="figcenter"
         style="width:100%;">
        <a href="images/31.png"><img width="100%"
             src="images/31.png"
             alt="ARBITRATION." /></a>

        <h3>ARBITRATION.</h3>

        <p>THE SEAL. "BELAY, YOU TWO JOHNNIES!&mdash;AVAST
        QUARRELLING! GIVE ME A 'CLOSE-TIME,' AND LEAVE THE 'SEA' AN
        OPEN QUESTION."</p>
    </div>
    <hr />
    <span class="pagenum"><a name="page33"
       id="page33"></a>[pg 33]</span>

    <div class="figcenter"
         style="width:60%;">
        <a href="images/33.png"><img width="100%"
             src="images/33.png"
             alt="SHOCKING!" /></a>

        <h3>SHOCKING!</h3>

        <p><i>Fair New-Englander</i> (<i>spending the Winter in the
        Old Country</i>). "OH, WHAT A LOVE! AND IS IT THE FIRST YOU
        HAVE SHOT THIS YEAR, CAPTAIN RASPER?"</p>
    </div>
    <hr />

    <h2>TOO CIVIL BY HALF; OR, PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE.</h2>

    <h4>(<i>A Drama Founded&mdash;more or less&mdash;upon
    Facts.</i>)</h4>

    <blockquote>
        <p>ACT I.&mdash;"PAST."&mdash;<i>Interior of the Savings
        Bank Department of the G.P.O.</i> Employés <i>engaged upon
        their work. The hour for customary cessation of labour
        strikes.</i></p>
    </blockquote>

    <p><i>Official of a Higher Grade</i>. Officers and Gentlemen,
    the exigencies of the Public Service require your presence for
    some time longer. I beg you to continue your work.</p>

    <p><i>A Hundred Employés</i>. Never! (<i>Aside.</i>) Ha! ha!
    the employment of Female Clerks is avenged!</p>

    <p><i>Off.</i> (<i>almost in tears</i>). Reconsider your
    decision, I beg&mdash;I implore!</p>

    <p><i>Another Hundred Employés</i>. Never! (<i>Aside.</i>)
    Seven hours a day and no longer&mdash;shall be secured at one
    fell swoop!</p>

    <p><i>Off.</i> (<i>with indescribable emotion</i>). Oh, my
    country! Oh, my Savings Bank Depositors! Oh, my dignity of the
    Civil Service!</p>

    <blockquote>
        <p>[<i>Faints in the arms of faithful</i> Employés,
        <i>whilst the other Clerks defiantly depart.
        Tableau.</i></p>
    </blockquote>

    <blockquote>
        <p>ACT II.&mdash;"PRESENT."&mdash;<i>Magnificent apartments
        of the</i> P.-M.-Gen. <i>in the G.P.O. Deputation of
        contrite</i> Employés <i>listening to the eloquent speech
        of their Official Chief.</i></p>
    </blockquote>

    <p><i>P.M.G.</i> (<i>in effect</i>). I am delighted that you
    are such good fellows. Your conduct in owning that you were
    wrong in refusing to work after regular official hours, almost
    effaces a painful page in the history of St. Martin's-le-Grand.
    Let it be clearly understood that extra work is <i>not</i>
    compulsory, <i>but</i>, if <i>not</i> undertaken, may lead (as
    in the present instance) to immediate suspension, if not
    dismissal. Surely no one can object to that? (<i>Contrite</i>
    Officials <i>express mournful approval.</i>) And now good-bye,
    and A Happy New Year. As for the future&mdash;hope, my good
    friends, hope!</p>

    <blockquote>
        <p>[<i>Exeunt the contrite</i> Employés, <i>leaving the</i>
        Officials of a Higher Grade <i>agitating the nerves
        controlling their eyelids spasmodically.</i></p>
    </blockquote>

    <blockquote>
        <p>ACT III.&mdash;"FUTURE."&mdash;<i>Same Scene as Act
        I.</i> Venerable Employés <i>discovered, after twenty
        years' further service.</i></p>
    </blockquote>

    <p><i>First Venerable Employé</i>. Remember the words spoken a
    score of winters ago&mdash;Hope, brother, hope!</p>

    <p><i>Second Venerable Employé</i>. Yes&mdash;Hope, brother,
    hope!</p>

    <blockquote>
        <p>[<i>As the Scene closes, the entire Establishment are
        left continuing the self-sustaining, but rather profitless
        employment, indefinitely. Curtain.</i></p>
    </blockquote>
    <hr />

    <p><i>A Son of the Pool</i>. By the Author of <i>A Daughter of
    the Pyramids</i>.</p>
    <hr />

    <h2>Charles Keene</h2>

    <h4>BORN AUGUST 10, 1823. DIED JANUARY 4, 1891.</h4>

    <div class="poem">
        <div class="stanza">
            <p>What words avail to honour friends departed,</p>

            <p class="i2">Gone from the gatherings which so long
            they graced?</p>

            <p>What phrase seems fit when comrades
            loyal-hearted</p>

            <p class="i2">Mourn a loved presence late by death
            displaced?</p>
        </div>

        <div class="stanza">
            <p>No formal elegiacs fashioned coldly,</p>

            <p class="i2">Beseem the memory of that manly soul,</p>

            <p>Whose simple, downright spirit trod so boldly</p>

            <p class="i2">Life's most sequestered ways from start
            to goal.</p>
        </div>

        <div class="stanza">
            <p>Not rank's trim pleasaunce, nor parades of
            fashion</p>

            <p class="i2">Tempted his genius; his the great
            highway</p>

            <p>Where, free from courtly pride and modish
            passion,</p>

            <p class="i2">Toil tramps, free humours crowd, rough
            wastrels stray.</p>
        </div>

        <div class="stanza">
            <p>Therein his magic pencil laboured gladly,</p>

            <p class="i2">Fixing for ever on his chosen page</p>

            <p>In forms fond memory now reviews so sadly</p>

            <p class="i2">The crowded pageant of a passing age.</p>
        </div>

        <div class="stanza">
            <p>What an array! How varied a procession!</p>

            <p class="i2">The humours of the parlour, shop, and
            street;</p>

            <p>Philistia's every calling, craft, profession,</p>

            <p class="i2">Cockneydom's cheery cheek and patter
            fleet.</p>
        </div>

        <div class="stanza">
            <p>Scotch dryness, Irish unction and cajolery,</p>

            <p class="i2">Waiterdom's wiles, Deacondom's pomp of
            port;</p>

            <p>Rustic simplicity, domestic drollery,</p>

            <p class="i2">The freaks of Service and the fun of
            Sport;</p>
        </div>

        <div class="stanza">
            <p>And all with such true art, so fine, unfailing,</p>

            <p class="i2">Of touch so certain, and of charm so
            fresh,</p>

            <p>As to lend dignity to Cabmen railing,</p>

            <p class="i2">To fustianed clods and fogies full of
            flesh.</p>
        </div>

        <div class="stanza">
            <p>Nor human humours only; who so tender</p>

            <p class="i2">Of touch when sunny Nature
            out-of-doors</p>

            <p>Wooed his deft pencil? Who like him could render</p>

            <p class="i2">Meadow or hedgerow, turnip-field, or
            moor?</p>
        </div>

        <div class="stanza">
            <p>Snowy perspective, long suburban winding</p>

            <p class="i2">Of bowery road-way, villa-edged and
            trim.</p>

            <p>Iron-railed city street, where gas-lamps
            blinding</p>

            <p class="i2">Glare through the foggy distance dense
            and dim?</p>
        </div>

        <div class="stanza">
            <p>All with that broad free force, whose
            fascination</p>

            <p class="i2">All felt, and artists most, that
            dexterous sleight</p>

            <p>Which gave our land the unchallenged
            consummation</p>

            <p class="i2">Of graphic mastery in
            Black-and-White.</p>
        </div>

        <div class="stanza">
            <p>Pleasant to dwell on, and a proud possession,</p>

            <p class="i2">Now the tired hand that shaped that world
            is still,</p>

            <p>Leaving an ineffaceable impression</p>

            <p class="i2">Upon the age that fired its force and
            skill.</p>
        </div>

        <div class="stanza">
            <p>Honoured abroad as loved at home, how ample,</p>

            <p class="i2">The tribute to that modest spirit
            paid!</p>

            <p>To pushing quackery a high example,</p>

            <p class="i2">A calm rebuke to egotist parade!</p>
        </div>

        <div class="stanza">
            <p>Frank, loyal, unobtrusive, simple-hearted,</p>

            <p class="i2">Loving his book, his pipe, his song, his
            friend,</p>

            <p>Peaceful he lived and peacefully departed,</p>

            <p class="i2">A gentle life-course, with a gracious
            end.</p>
        </div>

        <div class="stanza">
            <p>Irreparable loss to Art, deep sorrow</p>

            <p class="i2">To those his comrades, who so loved the
            man,</p>

            <p>And who had hoped for many a sunny morrow</p>

            <p class="i2">To greet that gallant spirit in the
            van.</p>
        </div>

        <div class="stanza">
            <p>That tall, spare form, that curl-crowned head, the
            knitting</p>

            <p class="i2">Of supple hands behind it as he sat,</p>

            <p>That quaint face-wrinkling smile like sunshine
            flitting,</p>

            <p class="i2">The droll, dry comment, the quotation
            pat;</p>
        </div>

        <div class="stanza">
            <p>The small oft-loaded pipe, of ancient moulding,</p>

            <p class="i2">The brazen box that held the well-loved
            weed;</p>

            <p>Who shall forget who once was graced by holding</p>

            <p class="i2">In friendship's clasp the hand now still
            indeed?</p>
        </div>

        <div class="stanza">
            <p>Farewell, great artist, comrade staunch and
            loyal!</p>

            <p class="i2">Few simpler lives our feverish age hath
            seen.</p>

            <p>Could pomp high-pinnacled, or trappings royal,</p>

            <p class="i2">Add honour to the memory of CHARLES
            KEENE?</p>
        </div>
    </div>
    <hr />
    <span class="pagenum"><a name="page34"
       id="page34"></a>[pg 34]</span>

    <div class="figcenter"
         style="width:100%;">
        <a href="images/34.png"><img width="100%"
             src="images/34.png"
             alt="O'Rip Van Winkle" /></a>

        <h3>GOBLIN TRANSFORMATION SCENE FROM THE IRISH EXTRAVAGANZA
        OF THE O'RIP VAN WINKLE.</h3><i>Where the Home-Ruler of
        Butt's time awakes to find all the would-be dic-taters
        suddenly become mere mushrooms.</i>
    </div>
    <hr />
    <span class="pagenum"><a name="page35"
       id="page35"></a>[pg 35]</span>

    <h2>THE SHAH (LEFEVRE) AND THE SULTAN.</h2>

    <div class="figleft"
         style="width:45%;">
        <a href="images/35.png"><img width="100%"
             src="images/35.png"
             alt="" /></a>
    </div>

    <p>Over a series of weeks preceding Christmas, Europe was
    disturbed by rumours of a momentous interview reported to have
    taken place on the banks of the unsuspecting Bosphorus. One of
    the parties to the conference was his Imperial Majesty the
    SULTAN. The other was an English Statesman, the trusted
    counsellor of an Ex-Premier, and believed in family circles to
    be the real author of some of his supreme measures. The
    naturally retiring disposition of the Statesman in question,
    and his inviolable reticence in respect of any matter
    concerning himself, made it difficult to arrive at the truth.
    Doubtless the stupendous event&mdash;the possible consequences
    of which on European affairs Time will work out&mdash;would
    have remained for ever hidden but for the ruthless action of
    "the London Correspondents of various provincial papers, who
    gave in their London letters more or less inaccurate reports of
    the event." How they came to know anything about it admits of
    only one conclusion. <i>The SULTAN must have told them</i>. The
    event was too important to be left to this haphazard kind of
    record, and, accordingly, the <i>Speaker</i> has been favoured
    with a narrative of what took place, the signature disclosing
    the fact that the other party to the interview was the SHAH
    LEFEVRE.</p>

    <p>The SHAH's account, regarded as a record of a historical
    event, is manifestly hampered by that modest and insatiable
    desire for self-effacement which marks this eminent man. We see
    anonymous "persons who had access to the SULTAN approaching"
    the SHAH, and "suggesting to him that he ought to apply for an
    audience." We see him "declining to do so on the ground that,
    having taken an active part in the agitation in England on the
    subject of the Bulgarian atrocities in 1877, it would not be
    right that I should thrust myself on the attention of the
    SULTAN." It is generally thought at Stamboul and elsewhere that
    Mr. GLADSTONE was chiefly responsible for the memorable
    agitation referred to. But the SHAH is not the man to hide the
    truth. Also, "I wished to be free to say what I thought about
    the condition of Turkey on my return to England." That was only
    fair to waiting England. No use the SULTAN trying to "nobble"
    this relentless man. So it came to pass that he went to the
    Palace, reluctant, but "feeling we could not refuse such a
    command from the Sovereign of the country." He talked with
    CHAKIR PACHA and WAHAN EFFENDI; saw the SULTAN's horse; hung
    about for hours; no SULTAN appeared; went back to hotel
    quivering under the insult. Had framed telegram ordering the
    British Fleet to the Bosphorus, when VAMBÉRY turned up, pale
    and trembling; besought the SHAH to do nothing rash; explained
    it was all a mistake. This followed up by invitation to dine at
    the Palace the following day.</p>

    <p>All this, and what followed at the dinner; how there were
    "excellent wines, electric lights, and a great display of
    plate"; how the SULTAN, concentrating his attention on the
    SHAH, and forgetful of poor FREDERICK HARRISON, who had,
    somehow, been elbowed into obscurity, paid court to this
    powerful personality; how he received him on the daïs, and now
    cunningly, though ineffectually, he endeavoured to secure on
    the spot the evacuation of Egypt, is told in the SHAH'S
    delicious narrative.</p>

    <p><i>Mr. Punch</i>, sharing in the thrilling interest this
    disclosure has created throughout the civilised world, has been
    anxious to complete the record by supplementing the SHAH's
    account of the interview, with the SULTAN's own version. This
    was, at the outset, difficult. Obstacles were thrown in the
    way, but they were overcome by the pertinacity and ingenuity of
    Our Representative, who at last found himself seated with the
    SULTAN on the very daïs from which SHAH LEFEVRE had conferred
    with his Imperial Majesty whilst other of the forty guests,
    "including the Austrian Ambassador," looked on, green with
    envy.</p>

    <p>"It's a curious thing," said the SULTAN, laying down a book
    he had been reading when Our Representative entered, "that,
    when you were announced, I had just come upon a reference by
    your great Poet to your still greater Statesman. You know the
    line in Lockandkey Hall,&mdash;</p>

    <div class="poem">
        <div class="stanza">
            <p>"'Oh the dreary, drear LEFEVRE! Oh the barren,
            barren SHAW!'"</p>
        </div>
    </div>

    <p>"That," Our Representative writes, "is not precisely the
    line as I remember it; but I make it a rule never to correct a
    SULTAN."</p>

    <p>Accordingly His Majesty proceeded: "And so, my good Cousin,
    <i>Mr. Punch</i>, wants to know all about this interview, the
    <i>bruit</i> of which has shaken the Universe. His wishes are
    commands to me. In the first place, I will tell you (though
    this is not for publication), that it was by the merest
    accident I had the advantage of knowing your great countryman.
    I heard there had come to Constantinople one FREDERICK
    HARRISON, head of a sect called the Positivists. I am, you
    know, in my way, and within the limits of my kingdom, one of
    the most absolute Positivists of the age. I wanted to see the
    English apostle, and told them to ask him to dinner. Somehow
    things got mixed up, and, at the preliminary morning call, the
    SHAH LEFEVRE walked in. Had never heard of him before, but
    gathered from CHAKIR PACHA, who had been talking to WAHAN
    EFFENDI, who, had seen WOODS PACHA, who had spent an hour with
    VAMBÉRY, upon whom SHAH LEFEVRE had called, that the SHAH was
    really the mainspring of the Liberal Party in England,
    GLADSTONE being merely figure-head, HARCOURT in his pay, and
    CHAMBERLAIN suffering in exile under his displeasure. Allah is
    Good! Here was a chance thrown into my hands. I forgot all
    about FREDERICK HARRISON; told CHAKIR PACHA and WAHAN EFFENDI
    to entertain the SHAH in the ante-chamber with coffee and
    cigarettes, drawing him out on Armenia and Egypt. Meanwhile I
    crept under the sofa, and heard every word. The SHAH very stern
    about Armenia, could not be drawn about Egypt. At end of hour
    and half began to get tired under sofa; managed to stick in
    WAHAN EFFENDI's Wellington boot a note, on which I had written,
    'Take him to see my horse.' So they went off to stable, and, as
    soon as coast was clear, I crept out; shut myself up in room
    for rest of day. Heard afterwards that they came back, the SHAH
    much impressed with appearance of my horse; resumed
    conversation on Armenia and Egypt for another hour; at last got
    rid of SHAH.</p>

    <p>"At night VAMBÉRY, disguised as melon-seller, entered Palace
    and gained access to my room. Told me fearful mess had been
    made of matters. The SHAH really didn't care about seeing the
    horse; wanted to see me. Talks about ordering round the Fleet.
    'Better ask him to dinner,' said VAMBÉRY; so despatched Grand
    Chamberlain in carriage and six. The SHAH mollified; gave him a
    good dinner: plenty of electric lights. Afterwards he was good
    enough to see me on the daïs. Tried to get him to promise
    alteration in attitude of English Liberal Party towards me;
    also wanted him to settle at once withdrawal of troops from
    Egypt, But, though most urbane in manner, exceedingly cautious.
    Not to be drawn. Talk about Eastern statecraft! nothing to you
    English, as represented by jour SHAH LEFEVRES. When I pressed
    him to come to point about Egypt, he said, 'On this subject I
    can only speak my own views. I am not authorised to speak on
    behalf of those I am politically associated with, but
    personally I am opposed to the occupation of Egypt by English
    troops.' There's an answer for you! Your MACHIAVELLIS, your
    TALLEYRANDS not in it. Felt I had wasted some time, and given
    away a dinner all for nothing, except the memory that will ever
    rest with me of having been privileged to see this remarkable
    man standing on my daïs."</p>

    <p>Here the SULTAN clapped his hands three times, and Our
    Representative, being carefully placed in a sack, was dropped
    into the Bosphorus, whence he was rescued in time to send off
    this despatch for publication in the current Number.</p>
    <hr />

    <p>ACCIDENT ON THE ICE.&mdash;The other day a gentleman, well
    known in the world of Sport and Art, was skating on the
    Serpentine, and fell in with a friend. Both were getting on
    well when our reporter left.</p>
    <hr />
    <span class="pagenum"><a name="page36"
       id="page36"></a>[pg 36]</span>

    <h3>Extract from Report of the G.O.M.'s Birthday Speech at
    Hawarden:&mdash;</h3>

    <div class="figright"
         style="width:30%;">
        <a href="images/36-1.png"><img width="100%"
             src="images/36-1.png"
             alt="The G.O.M." /></a><i>G.O.M.</i> (<i>to
             himself</i>). "I hope Lawson isn't looking at me."
    </div>

    <p>"And I do not hesitate to betray to you this secret, that
    not infrequently in the summer months, when winding my way
    homewards after midnight, sometimes very long after it, from
    the House of Commons, I have stopped my course for a moment by
    the side of the drinking fountain in Great George Street,
    Westminster, when there was nobody to look at me, and have
    indulged in the refreshing draught which was there afforded me,
    feeling at the same time that I was not performing any action
    which could expose me to the resentment or displeasure of my
    excellent friend whose name is well known to you all&mdash;Sir
    WILFRID LAWSON."</p>
    <hr />

    <h2>I'D BE A CRIMINAL.</h2>

    <h3>A SONG OF THE RULING SENSATION.</h3>

    <h4>TUNE&mdash;<i>I'd be a Butterfly</i>.</h4>

    <div class="poem">
        <div class="stanza">
            <p>I'd be a criminal, born in a slum,</p>

            <p class="i2">Where refuse, and rowdies, and raggedness
            meet;</p>

            <p>For when to the court for my trial I come,</p>

            <p class="i2">I'll be gazed on by all that is gracious
            and sweet.</p>
        </div>

        <div class="stanza">
            <p>Fair dames of the land will acknowledge my
            power,</p>

            <p class="i2">And Scientists sage will be slaves at my
            feet;</p>

            <p>Offers of marriage I'll get in full shower,</p>

            <p class="i2">And fools in my cause in their thousands
            will meet.</p>
        </div>

        <div class="stanza">
            <p>They'll trot out each new "scientific" vagary,</p>

            <p class="i2">Some hope of escape to my prison to
            bring,</p>

            <p>And scribes on my case will be sportive and airy</p>

            <p class="i2">And tell how I look, eat, sleep, dress,
            talk or sing.</p>
        </div>

        <div class="stanza">
            <p>Those I have butchered will get scant attention,</p>

            <p class="i2">Interest's sure to be centred in me.</p>

            <p>Painters will picture me, poets may mention,</p>

            <p class="i2">Beauties discuss me at five o'clock
            tea.</p>
        </div>

        <div class="stanza">
            <p>Mad doctors will fight o'er my mental condition,</p>

            <p class="i2">Hypnotists swear I was somebody's
            tool;</p>

            <p>And if I'm condemned, why a Monster Petition</p>

            <p class="i2">Will promptly be signed by each faddist
            and fool.</p>
        </div>

        <div class="stanza">
            <p>Murder&mdash;and good Dr. LIÈGOIS of Nancy</p>

            <p class="i2">Will back you, LABRUYÈRE will help you
            away.</p>

            <p>I'd be a Murderer, that is my fancy,</p>

            <p class="i2">He is the only true Hero to-day!</p>
        </div>
    </div>
    <hr />

    <h2>THE AMUSING RATTLE'S TOPICAL NOTEBOOK.</h2>

    <h4>(<i>For the Use of Diners-out and other Amateur
    Entertainers.</i>)</h4>

    <p><i>The Strike in Scotland</i>.&mdash;You might suggest, that
    were it in Ireland, one might see a <i>rail</i> way out of it,
    or rather in it. This jest may be expected to be appreciated by
    a parson's wife of the sharper sort. Something ought to be got
    out of the visit of the agitator BURNS to the North. Example of
    what can be done in this direction:&mdash;"People who play with
    fire (persons who go in for strikes) must expect BURNS."
    However, be careful not to say this to a Scotchman, or he may
    want your blood before you get to the cigarettes. North Britons
    are very jealous of the reputation of their national poet, and
    permit no jokes upon the subject. You see, in letting off your
    witticism at a Scotchman, you would have to explain that it
    <i>was</i> a joke. You might also hint that it was "hard lines"
    for the Railway Companies concerned; but this will provoke
    gloom rather than gaiety amongst those who have invested in
    Caledonians and North British. If you talk about the riots in
    connection with the movement, you might say that the pugnacious
    rioters remind you of safety matches, "for they not only
    strike, but strike on the box!"</p>

    <p><i>The Parnell Negociations in France</i>.&mdash;You can say
    something about O'BRIEN's invitation to Mr. PARNELL to pay him
    an evening visit on the French coast, reminds you of the once
    popular song, "<i>Meet me by Moonlight, Boulogne</i>." If you
    are told that "Boulogne" should be "Alone," return,
    "Precisely&mdash;borrowed a word&mdash;Boulogne was a loan."
    This ought to go with roars. At a Smoking Concert you might
    suggest that Mr. O'BRIEN was just the man to settle a quarrel,
    because even when he was in prison he took an absorbing
    interest in <i>the proper adjustment of breeches</i>!</p>

    <p><i>The Row at the Post Office</i>.&mdash;As the Savings'
    Bank Department has for years been the Cinderella of the Civil
    Service, this is a subject that will not create much interest;
    however, you might possibly extract a pleasantry out of the
    name of the present Postmaster-General in connection with the
    now-appeased <i>employés</i>. With a little trouble you should
    be able to say something quite sparkling about what the
    "officers" <i>hoe</i> to <i>Raikes</i>!</p>

    <p><i>The Portuguese Difficulty in Africa</i>.&mdash;Rather a
    good subject at a Christmas Dinner, where relatives (on
    particularly affectionate and intimate terms) are gathered
    together. Say you have got to the dessert, and you start the
    subject. Observe that it is fortunate that the SULTAN OF TURKEY
    is not interested in the matter, or there would be further
    trouble of a like character. To the question, "Why?" reply,
    taking up a bottle of red wine to point your witticism, "would
    it not be a second difficulty with the <i>Porte, you
    geese</i>?" To make the jest perfect, connect Turkey in Europe
    with the <i>dindon aux marrons</i>, of which you will have just
    partaken.</p>

    <p><i>The Weather</i>.&mdash;If forced to fall back upon this
    venerable subject (which should only be broached in the wilds
    of Cornwall, or other equally primitive spots), of course you
    can speak of a hard frost being "<i>an ice</i> day for a
    hunting-man, although he is sure to swear at it." If the
    weather breaks, you may observe, "<i>You thaw so</i>," but not
    when you have to shout the quibble through the ear-trumpet of a
    deaf old maid. And this, with the other witticisms recorded
    above, should carry you (by desire) into the middle of next
    week.</p>
    <hr />

    <p>A DEADLY KISS.&mdash;The Hotch-kiss.</p>
    <hr />

    <h2>A PANTOMIMIC REVERIE.</h2>

    <h4>(<i>By a "Slippered Pantaloon."</i>)</h4>

    <div class="figright"
         style="width:30%;">
        <a href="images/36-2.png"><img width="100%"
             src="images/36-2.png"
             alt="" /></a>
    </div>

    <div class="poem">
        <div class="stanza">
            <p>Tax-gatherers molest one's door,</p>

            <p class="i2">The streets are choked with messy
            mist;</p>

            <p>I'm the proverbial Bachelor,</p>

            <p class="i2">An old, prosaic Pessimist.</p>

            <p>Yet somehow&mdash;who can tell me why?&mdash;</p>

            <p class="i2">Urged by the Past's dim Phantom, I'm</p>

            <p>Disposed my cosy Club to fly,</p>

            <p class="i2">And prank it at the Pantomime.</p>
        </div>

        <div class="stanza">
            <p>A Phantom weird of things forgot!</p>

            <p class="i2">My mother, proud of me at her</p>

            <p>Sweet side&mdash;our yellow chariot&mdash;</p>

            <p class="i2">The long, long drive&mdash;the
            theatre&mdash;</p>

            <p>My fear to miss&mdash;my thrill when in&mdash;</p>

            <p class="i2">The Fairy Queen, the jolly
            King&mdash;</p>

            <p>The laughter flung at Harlequin,</p>

            <p class="i2">And Pantaloon arollicking.</p>
        </div>

        <div class="stanza">
            <p>And sister PRUE, and brother TIM,</p>

            <p class="i2">(I scarcely recollected them),</p>

            <p>Magnificent in gala trim:</p>

            <p class="i2">Dear me, how I respected them!</p>

            <p>I deemed them quite grown up, so bold</p>

            <p class="i2">Seemed they, glared so defiantly:</p>

            <p>Yet they, too, cowered to behold</p>

            <p class="i2">Prone before JACK the Giant lie.</p>
        </div>

        <div class="stanza">
            <p>Yes! Where is TIM, where PRUE, alack!</p>

            <p class="i2">Where mother fondly pliant now?</p>

            <p>Where for that matter too is JACK,</p>

            <p class="i2">And where the grisly Giant now?</p>

            <p>In lonely stall, with vacant brow</p>

            <p class="i2">I sit and eye the <i>coryphées</i>:</p>

            <p>In my time they were Fairies; now</p>

            <p class="i2">They seem to me but sorry fays.</p>
        </div>

        <div class="stanza">
            <p>The pageantry is twice as grand,</p>

            <p class="i2">The wealth of wealth embarrasses;</p>

            <p>And yet this is not elfinland</p>

            <p class="i2">But great AUGUSTUS HARRIS's.</p>

            <p>The <i>blasé</i> children vote it flat,</p>

            <p class="i2">When Mister Clown cries, "Here's a
            go!"</p>

            <p>Yes, there's the box where erst we sat</p>

            <p class="i2">And laughed so, sixty years ago.</p>
        </div>

        <div class="stanza">
            <p>The very box: I think, you know,</p>

            <p class="i2">The reason I'm so queer to-night</p>

            <p>Is merely because long ago</p>

            <p class="i2">Here faces were not here to-night.</p>

            <p>I'd best be off&mdash;Bless me! no Clown?</p>

            <p class="i2">No Stage?&mdash;no Past invidious?</p>

            <p>No Orchestra?&mdash;but simply BROWN</p>

            <p class="i2">Snoring the midnight hideous!</p>
        </div>

        <div class="stanza">
            <p>No Drury Lane?&mdash;no tinsel flare?&mdash;</p>

            <p class="i2">No pirouetting Bogeydom?&mdash;</p>

            <p>Only a Club, and one who there</p>

            <p class="i2">Forgot in sleep his Fogeydom!</p>

            <p>Welcome my Transformation Scene;</p>

            <p class="i2">I'm dull once more, and every</p>

            <p>Old Bachelor like me, I ween,</p>

            <p class="i2">May muse at times his reverie.</p>
        </div>
    </div>
    <hr />

    <p>NOTICE.&mdash;Rejected Communications or Contributions,
    whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any
    description, will in no case be returned, not even when
    accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or
    Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.</p>
    <hr class="full" />

<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12866 ***</div>
</body>
</html>
generated by cgit v1.2.3 (git 2.25.1) at 2026-02-01 10:25:27 +0000