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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13491 ***
+
+PUNCH,
+
+OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
+
+VOL. 101.
+
+
+
+August 15, 1891.
+
+
+
+
+A TERRIBLE TALE.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+  Alas! it had of course to be!
+    For weeks I had not left my room,
+  When one fell day there came on me
+           An awful doom.
+
+  A burly rough, who drank and swore,
+    Without a word--I could not shout--
+  Attacked me brutally, and tore
+           My nails right out.
+
+  Then, dragging me out to the air--
+    No well-conducted conscience pricked him--
+  He mercilessly beat me there,
+           His helpless victim.
+
+  With cruel zest he beat me well,
+    He beat me till in parts I grew--
+  I shudder as the tale I tell--
+           All black and blue.
+
+  But what on earth he was about,
+    I could not guess, do what I would;
+  But when at length he cleaned me out
+           I understood.
+
+  Yet do not shed a tear, because
+    You've heard my story told in metre,
+  For I'm a Carpet, and he was
+           A Carpet-Beater.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+LEAVES FROM A CANDIDATE'S DIARY.
+
+_Thursday, June 12_.--Letters from Billsbury arrive by every post,
+Horticultural Societies, sea-side excursions, Sunday School pic-nics,
+cricket club _fêtes_, all demand subscriptions, and, as a rule,
+get them. If this goes on much longer I shall be wound up in the
+Bankruptcy Court. Shall have to make a stand soon, but how to begin is
+the difficulty. Pretty certain in any case to put my foot down in the
+wrong place, and offend everybody. Amongst other letters came this
+one:--
+
+    _4, Stone Street, Billsbury, June 10._
+
+[Illustration: "I will give any security you like."]
+
+Sir,--I venture to appeal to your generosity in a matter which I am
+sure you will recognise to be of the highest importance. My services
+to the Conservative Party in Billsbury are well-known. I can safely
+say that no man has, during the last ten years, worked harder than I
+have to promote Conservative interests, and for a smaller reward. My
+exertions at the last election brought on a violent attack of malarial
+fever, which laid me up for some months, and from which I still
+suffer. The shaky character of my hand-writing attests the sufferings
+I have gone through, and the shattered condition of my bodily health
+at the present moment. I lost my situation as head-clerk in the Export
+Department of the Ironmongers' Association, and found myself, at the
+age of forty, compelled to begin life again with a wife and three
+children. Everything I have turned my hand to has failed, and I am in
+dire want. May I ask you, under these circumstances, to be so good
+as to advance me £500 for a few months. I will give any security you
+like. Perhaps I might repay some part of the loan by doing work for
+you during the election. This must be a small matter to a wealthy
+and generous man like you. To me it is a matter of life and death.
+Anxiously awaiting your early and favourable reply, and begging you to
+keep this application a secret,
+
+I remain, Sir, Yours, faithfully, HENRY PIDGIN.
+
+That sounded heart-breaking, but I happened to know that Mr. PIDGIN's
+"malarial fever" was nothing but _delirium tremens_, brought on by
+a prolonged course of drunkenness. Hence his shaky handwriting, &c.
+BLISSOP had warned me against him. Wrote back that, in view of the
+Corrupt Practices Act, it was impossible for me to relieve individual
+cases.
+
+Called on the PENFOLDS this afternoon. They are up from Billsbury
+for their stay in London, and have got a house in Eaton Square. To
+my surprise found Mrs. BELLAMY and MARY there. That was awkward,
+especially as MARY looked at me, as I thought, very meaningly, and
+asked me if I didn't think SOPHY PENFOLD sweetly pretty. I muttered
+something about preferring a darker type of beauty (MARY's hair is as
+black as my hat), to which MARY replied that perhaps, after all, that
+kind of pink and white beauty with hair like tow _was_ rather insipid.
+The BELLAMYS it seems met the PENFOLDS at a dinner last week, and
+the girls struck up a friendship, this call being the result. Young
+PENFOLD, whom I had never seen before, was there and was infernally
+attentive to MARY. He's in the 24th Lancers, and looks like a barber's
+block. Mrs. BELLAMY said to me, "I've been hearing so much about you
+from dear Lady PENFOLD. They all have the highest opinion of you. In
+fact, Lady PENFOLD said she felt quite like a mother to you. And how
+kind of you to buy so many things from Miss PENFOLD at the Bazaar.
+What are my father's noble lines?
+
+  "True kindness is no blustering rogue that struts
+  With empty mouthings on the stage of life,
+  But, like a tender, timid plant that shuts
+  At every touch, it shrinks from noisy strife."
+
+(And so forth, I've forgotten the rest.) "I love kindness," continued
+Mrs. BELLAMY, "in young men. By the way, will you excuse a short
+invitation, and dine with us the day after to-morrow? All the PENFOLDS
+are coming." I said yes, and made up my mind that I must settle
+matters with MARY one way or another before complications got worse,
+or young PENFOLD made any more progress. I felt all the afternoon as
+if I'd committed a crime.
+
+_Friday, June 13th_.--Three cheers. I've done it. Called on the
+BELLAMYS to-day. Found MARY alone. She was very sarcastic, but at last
+I could stand it no longer, and told her I had never loved and never
+should love anybody but her. Then she burst into tears, and I--anyhow
+she's promised to marry me. Have to interview Mrs. BELLAMY to-morrow.
+No time to do it to-day, as she was out till late. Chuck her up!
+
+Mother received the news very well. "Accepted you, my darling boy?"
+she said. "Of course she did. How _could_ she do otherwise? Bring
+her to see me soon. She shall, of course, have all the family jewels
+immediately, and the dining-room furniture too. There'll be a few
+other trifles too, I daresay, that you'll be glad of." Dear Mother,
+she's the kindest soul in the world. _Carlo_ has been informed of the
+news, and is said to have manifested an extraordinarily intelligent
+appreciation of it, by insisting on a second helping for supper. He's
+a remarkable dog.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"SEMPER EADEM."
+
+    ["The position of the Jews in Russia becomes daily more
+    terrible. An order that they are henceforth to work upon their
+    Sabbath and holy festivals is about to be issued and put in
+    force."--_Standard_.--"A most pertinent illustration of the
+    falsity of repeated rumours and reports representing in some
+    cases a strong disposition, and in others an actual decision,
+    on the part of the CZAR and the Russian Government, to
+    alleviate the miseries of the Jews."--_Times_.]
+
+  Who said the scourge should slacken? Who foretold
+  The goad should cease, the shackle loose its hold?
+  The wish, perchance, fathered once more the thought,
+  Though long experience against it fought.
+  Not so! The CZAR's in Muscovy, and all
+  Is well with--Tyranny! The harried thrall
+  Shall still be harried, though, a little while,
+  The Autocrat on the Republic smile;
+  The Jew shall be robbed, banished, outraged still,
+  Although the tyrant, with a shuddering thrill
+  Diplomacy scarce hides, for some brief days
+  Must listen to the hated "_Marseillaise_!"
+  Fear not, Fanatic! Despot do not doubt!
+  The rule of Orthodoxy and the Knout
+  Is not yet over wholly. France may woo,
+  Columbia plead, the Jew is still the Jew;
+  And, spite of weak humanitarian fuss,
+  CÆSAR be praised, the Russ is still the Russ!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A GROUSE OUTRAGE.--Shooting them before the Twelfth.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"WON'T WORK!"
+
+AIR--"_ST. PATRICK'S DAY IN THE MORNING_." _IRISH SPORTSMAN SINGS_:--
+
+[Illustration]
+
+         St. Patrick, they say,
+         Kicked the snakes in the say,
+  But, ochone! if he'd had such a hound-pack as mine,
+         I fancy the Saint,
+         (Without further complaint)
+  Would have toed the whole troop of them into the brine.
+         Once they shivered and stared,
+         At my whip-cracking scared;
+  Now the clayrics with mitre and crosier and book,
+         Put the scumfish on me,
+         And, so far as I see,
+         There's scarce a dog-crayture
+         But's changed in his nature.
+  I must beat some game up by hook or by crook,
+         But my chances of Sport
+         Are cut terribly short
+  On St. Grouse's Day in the morning!
+
+         With a thundering polthogue,
+         And the toe of my brogue,
+  I'd like to kick both of 'em divil knows where!
+         Sure I broke 'em meself,
+         And, so long "on the shelf"
+  They ought to be docile, the dogs of my care.
+         O'BRIEN mongrel villin,
+         And as for cur DILLON
+  Just look at him ranging afar at his will!
+         I thought, true as steel,
+         They would both come to heel,
+         Making up for the pack
+         Whistled off by false MAC,
+  As though _he'd_ ever shoot with _my_ patience and skill!
+         To me ye'll not stick, Sirs?
+         What divil's elixirs
+  Tempt _ye_ on the Twelfth in the morning?
+
+         Plague on ye, come back!
+         Och! ye villainous pack,
+  Ye slaves of the Saxon, ye blind bastard bunch!
+         Whelps weak and unstable,
+         _I_ only am able
+  The Celt-hating Sassenach wholly to s-c-rr-unch!
+         Yet for me ye won't work,
+         But sneak homeward and shirk,
+  Ye've an eye on the ould spider, GLADSTONE, a Saxon!
+         He'll sell ye, no doubt.
+         Sure, a pig with ring'd snout
+         Is a far boulder baste
+         Than such mongrels! The taste
+  Of the triple-plied thong BULL will lay your base backs on
+         Will soon make ye moan
+         That ye left _me_ alone
+  On St. Grouse's Day in the morning!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+TO LORD TENNYSON.
+
+_ON HIS EIGHTY-SECOND BIRTHDAY, AUGUST 6, 1891._
+
+  Ay! "After many a summer dies the Swan."[1]
+    But singing dies, if we may trust the Muse.
+  And sweet thou singest as when fully ran
+    Youth's flood-tide. Not to thee did Dawn refuse
+  The dual gift. Our new Tithonus thou,
+    On whom the indignant Hours work not their will,
+  Seeing that, though old age may trench thy brow,
+    It cannot chill thy soul, or mar thy skill.
+  Aurora's rosy shadows bathe thee yet,
+    Nor coldy. "Give me immortality!"
+  Tithonus cried, and lingered to regret
+    The careless given boon. Not so with thee.
+  Such immortality is thine as clings
+    To "happy men that have the power to die."
+  The Singer lives on whilst the Song he sings
+    Charms the world's heart. Such immortality
+  Is better than unending lapse of years.
+    For that the great god-gift, Eternal Youth,
+  Accompanies it; the failures, the chill fears
+    Tithonus knew thou may'st be spared in truth,
+  Seeing that thine Aurora's quickening breath
+    Lives in thee whilst thou livest, so that thou
+  Needst neither dread nor pray for kindly Death,
+    Like "that grey shadow once a man." And now,
+  Great Singer, still we wish thee length of days,
+  Song-power unslackened, and unfading bays!
+
+[Footnote 1: "_Tithonus_."]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: VICISSITUDES OF A RISING PERIODICAL.
+
+_The Proprietor_. "I'LL TELL YOU WHAT IT IS, SHARDSON, I'M GETTING
+SICK OF THE 'OLE BLOOMIN' SHOW! _THE KNACKER_ AIN'T SELLING A
+SCRAP--NO NOTICE TOOK OF US ANYWHERE--NOT A BLOOMIN' ADVERTISEMENT!
+AND YET THERE AIN'T 'ARDLY A LIVIN' ENGLISHMAN OF MARK, FROM TENNYSON
+DOWNWARDS, AS WE 'AVEN'T SHOWN UP AND PITCHED INTO, AND DRAGGED 'IS
+NAME IN THE MUD!"
+
+_The Editor_. "DON'T LET'S THROW UP THE SPONGE YET, OLD MAN! LET'S
+GIVE THE DEAD 'UNS A TURN--LET'S HAVE A SHY AT THACKERAY, BROWNING,
+GEORGE ELIOT, OR, BETTER STILL, LET'S BESPATTER GENERAL GORDON AND
+CARDINAL NEWMAN A BIT,--_THAT_ OUGHT TO FETCH 'EM A FEW, AND BRING US
+INTO NOTICE!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+WHAT HOE! RAIKES!--When King RICHARD--no, beg his pardon, Mr. RICHARD
+KING--says, as quoted in the _Times_, "That he can only assume that
+Mr. RAIKES purposely availed himself of a technicality to cover a
+statement which was a palpable _suggestio falsi_," he throws something
+unpleasant into the teeth of RAIKES. It is as well to remember that
+rakes have teeth.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"LATINÉ DOCTUS."--A Cantab, neither a first-rate sailor nor a
+first-class classic, arrived at Calais after a rough passage, looking,
+as his friend, who met him on the _quai_, observed, "so changed he
+would hardly have known him." "That's it," replied the staggering
+graduate, "_quantum mutatus ab billow!_" Oh! he must have been bad!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE SONG THAT BROKE MY HEART.
+
+    I paused in a crowded street,
+    I only desired to ride--
+  Only to wait for a Hammersmith 'bus
+    With room for myself outside;
+    When I caught the nastiest tune
+    My ear had ever heard,
+  And asked the Police to take it away,
+    But never a man of them stirred.
+
+    So the singer still sang on;
+    She would not, would not go;
+  She sang a song of the year before last
+    That struck me as rather low.
+    She followed with one that was high,
+    That made the tear-drops start,
+  That was "_Hi-tiddly-i-ti! Hi!-ti!-hi!_"
+    The song that broke my heart!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+WHAT is A "DEMOGRAPHER"?--Those Londoners who ask this question will
+have already obtained a practical answer, as, this week, London
+is full of Demographers, to whom _Mr. Punch_, Grand Master of all
+Demographers (or "writers for the people"), gives a hearty welcome.
+All hail to "The New Demogracy!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+'ARRY ON A 'OUSE-BOAT.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+  Dear CHARLIE,--It's 'ot, and no error! Summer on us, at last, with a
+      bust;
+  Ninety odd in the shade as I write, I've a 'ed, and a thunderin'
+      thust.
+  Can't go on the trot at this tempryture, though I'm on 'oliday
+      still;
+  So I'll pull out my _eskrytor_, CHARLIE, and give you a touch of my
+      quill.
+
+  If you find as my fist runs to size, set it down to that quill, dear
+      old pal;
+  Correspondents is on to me lately, complains as I write like a gal.
+  Sixteen words to the page, and slopscrawly, all dashes and blobs.
+      Well, it's true;
+  But a quill and big sprawl is the fashion, so wot is a feller to do?
+
+  Didn't spot you at 'Enley, old oyster--I did 'ope you'd shove in
+      your oar.
+  We 'ad a rare barney, I tell you, although a bit spiled by the pour.
+  'Ad a invite to 'OPKINS's 'Ouse-boat, prime pitch, and swell party,
+      yer know,
+  Pooty girls, first-class lotion, and music. I tell yer we did let
+      things go.
+
+  Who sez 'Enley ain't up to old form, that Society gives it the slip?
+  Wish you could 'ave seen us--and heard us--old boy, when aboard of
+      our ship.
+  Peonies and poppies ain't in it for colour with our little lot,
+  And with larfter and banjos permiskus we managed to mix it up 'ot.
+
+  My blazer was claret and mustard, my "stror" was a rainbow gone
+      wrong;
+  I ain't one who's ashamed of his colours, but likes 'em mixed
+      middlingish strong.
+  'EMMY 'OPKINS, the fluffy-'aired daughter, a dab at a punt or canoe,
+  Said I looked like a garden of dahlias, and showed up her neat navy
+      blue.
+
+  Fair mashed on yours truly, Miss EMMY; but that's only jest by the
+      way,
+  'ARRY ain't one to brag of _bong four tunes_; but wot I wos wanting
+      to say
+  Is about this here "spiling the River" which snarlers set down to our
+      sort.
+  Bosh! CHARLIE, extreme Tommy rot! It's these sniffers as want to
+      spile sport.
+
+  Want things all to theirselves, these old jossers, and all on the
+      strictest Q.T.
+  Their idea of the Thames being "spiled" by the smallest suggestion of
+      spree,
+  Wy it's right down rediklus, old pal, gives a feller the ditherums,
+      it do.
+  I mean going for them a rare bat, and I'm game to wire in till all's
+      blue.
+
+  Who are they, these stuckuppy snipsters, as jaw about quiet and peace,
+  Who would silence the gay "constant-screamer" and line the Thames
+      banks with perlice;
+  Who sneer about "'ARRY at 'Enley," and sniff about "cads on the course,"
+  As though it meant "Satan in Eden"? I'll 'owl at sich oafs till I'm
+      'oarse!
+
+  Scrap o'sandwich-greased paper'll shock 'em, a ginger-beer bottle or
+      "Bass,"
+  Wot 'appens to drop 'mong the lilies, or gets chucked aside on the
+      grass,
+  Makes 'em gasp like a frog in a frying-pan. Br-r-r-r! Wot old mivvies
+      they are!
+  Got nerves like a cobweb, I reckon, a smart Banjo-twang makes 'em jar.
+
+  I'm Toffy, you know, and no flies, CHARLIE; swim with the Swells, and
+      all that,
+  But I'm blowed if this bunkum don't make me inclined to turn Radical
+      rat.
+  "Riparian Rights," too! Oh Scissors! They'd block the Backwaters and
+      Broads,
+  Because me and my pals likes a lark! Serve 'em right if old BURNS
+      busts their 'oards!
+
+  Rum blokes, these here Sosherlist spouters! There's DANNEL, the
+      Dosser, old chap.
+  As you've 'eard me elude to afore. Fair stone-broker, not wuth 'arf
+      a rap,--
+  Knows it's all Cooper's ducks with _him_, CHARLIE; won't run to a pint
+      o' four 'arf,
+  And yet he will slate me like sugar, and give me cold beans with his
+      charf.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+  Sez DANNEL--and dash his darned cheek, CHARLIE!--"Monkeys like
+      you"--meaning _Me_!--
+  "Give the latter-day Mammon his chance. Your idea of a lark or a spree
+  Is all Noise, Noodle-Nonsense, and Nastiness! Dives, who wants an
+      excuse
+  For exclusiveness, finds it in _you_, you contemptible coarse-cackling
+      goose!
+
+  "Riparian rights? That's the patter of Ahab to Naboth, of course;
+  But 'tis pickles like you make it plausible, louts such as you give it
+      force.
+  You make sweet Thames reaches Gehennas, the fair Norfolk Broads you
+      befoul;
+  You--_you_, who'd make Beulah a hell with your blatant Bank Holiday
+      howl!
+
+  "Decent property-owners abhor you; you spread your coarse feasts on
+      their lawns,
+  And 'ARRY's a hog when he feeds, and an ugly Yahoo when he yawns;
+  You litter, and ravage, and cock-sky; you romp like a satyr obscene,
+  And the noise of you rises to heaven till earth might blush red
+      through her green.
+
+  "You are moneyed, sometimes, and well-tailored; but come you from
+      Oxford or Bow,
+  You're a flaring offence when you lounge, and a blundering pest when
+      you row;
+  Your 'monkeyings' mar every pageant, your shindyings spoil every sport,
+  And there isn't an Eden on earth but's destroyed when it's 'ARRY's
+      resort.
+
+  "Then monopolist Mammon may chuckle, Riparian Ahabs rejoice;
+  There's excuse in your Caliban aspect, your hoarse and ear-torturing
+      voice,
+  You pitiful Cockney-born Cloten, you slum-bred Silenus, 'tis you
+  Spoil the silver-streamed Thames for Pan-lovers, and all the
+      nymph-worshipping crew!"
+
+  I've "reported" as near as no matter! I don't hunderstand more than
+      arf
+  Of his patter; he's preciously given to potry and classical charf.
+  But the cheek on it, CHARLIE! A Stone-broke! I _should_ like to give
+      him wot for,
+  Only DANNEL the Dosser's a dab orf of whom t'ain't so easy to score.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+  But it's time that this bunkum was bunnicked, bin fur too much on it
+      of late--
+  Us on 'OPKINS's 'Ouse-boat, I tell yer, cared nix for the
+      ink-spiller's "slate."
+  _I_ mean doin' them Broads later on, for free fishing and shooting,
+      that's flat.
+  If I don't give them dash'd Norfolk Dumplings a doing, I'll 'eat my
+      old 'at.
+
+  Rooral quiet, and rest, and refinement? Oh, let 'em go home and eat
+      coke.
+  These fussy old footlers whose 'air stands on hend at a row-de-dow
+      joke,
+  The song of the skylark sounds pooty, but "skylarking" song's better
+      fun,
+  And you carn't do the rooral to-rights on a tract and a tuppenny bun.
+
+  As to colour, and kick-up, and sing-song, our party was fair to the
+      front;
+  But we wosn't alone; lots of toppers, in 'Ouse-Boat, or four-oar, or
+      punt,
+  Wos a doin' the rorty and rosy as lively as 'OPKINS's lot,
+  Ah! the swells sling it out pooty thick; _they_ ain't stashed by no
+      ink-spiller's rot.
+
+  Bright blazers, and twingle-twang banjoes, and bottles of Bass, my
+      dear boy,
+  Lots of dashing, and splashing, and "mashing" are things every man
+      must enjoy,
+  And the petticoats ain't fur behind 'em, you bet. While top-ropes I
+      can carry,
+  It ain't soap-board slop about "Quiet" will put the clear kibosh on
+
+  'ARRY.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+HOW TO SPEND A HOLIDAY ON SCIENTIFIC PRINCIPLES.
+
+(_A PAGE FROM THE DIARY OF AN ENTHUSIAST IN SEARCH OF REST._)
+
+    ["It is a good rule of practice to devote one portion of a
+    short vacation to the serious and necessary business of doing
+    nothing, and doing it very thoroughly too."--_Letter to the
+    Times._]
+
+At last my time for rest has arrived. Musn't be idle, though. Dr.
+MORTIMER GRANVILLE says it would be most injurious to my health. Must
+hunt up precedents for leisure leading to no results. Let me see--why
+not try the British Museum? Sure to find something useful there--and
+useless, which will be more appropriate.
+
+Take an omnibus. See one in the distance. Hail it. Conductor takes
+no notice! Shout and hurry after it. Try to attract attention of the
+driver. Failure. Capital commencement to my labours. Had my run for
+nothing!
+
+Victory! Stopped one partially occupied. No room outside. Enter
+interior. Six passengers on one seat. Five on the other. The half
+dozen regard me with contemptuous indifference. The five make no room.
+Explain that I want a seat. Remark received in silence. Sit down on
+knee of small boy. Mother (next him) expostulates--angrily. Chorus of
+indignant beholders. Conductor is impertinent. Ask for his number,
+he asks for my fare. Pay him. While this is going on, young woman has
+entered omnibus, and taken vacant seat. Conductor counts places, says
+there is no room. Can't carry me. Won't give back fare--has torn off
+ticket. Says I must get out. Say I will report him. Impudent
+again. Getting out drop ticket. Incident subsequently (to my later
+satisfaction) leads to nothing!
+
+Won't have anything more to do with the omnibuses. Enter hansom--old
+man (the driver) smiles civilly when I say "British Museum." Now, I
+must seriously rest. Go to sleep. Slumber until awakened by a jolt.
+Look out. Find myself near the river. Strikes me that the Thames is
+not close to the Museum. Appeal to cabman through the hole in the
+roof. Difficulty in attracting his attention. Stop him at last. Ask
+him why he did not take me to the Museum. He smiles and says he didn't
+hear me--he is deaf! Very angry. He expostulates, civilly. He saw I
+was asleep and didn't wish to disturb me! He has been driving up and
+down the Thames Embankment for the last three hours--charge seven and
+sixpence. Don't see my way out of the difficulty, except by payment.
+He thanks me, and suggests that he shall now drive me to the Museum
+for eighteen-pence. Very angry and refuse. He is hailed by someone
+else, and is off to pick up his new fare. On consideration it seems to
+me that my anger has led to nothing. Nothing--just what I wanted, but
+not exactly at the right moment.
+
+Rather hungry. Enter a restaurant. Crowded with gentlemen wearing
+hats--who seem to be on intimate terms with the waiters. Get a bill of
+fare which is thrust into my hands by an attendant loaded with dishes.
+Let me see--what shall I have? "Lamb's head and peas." Have never
+tried this dish. Might be good. Waiter (who seems to be revolving,
+like the planetary system, in an orbit) reaches me, and I shout what
+I want. He replies, "Sorry, Sir, just off," and vanishes. Look up
+something else. "Liver and bacon." Not had it for years! Used to like
+it. On reappearance of the planetary waiter, give my order. He nods
+and vanishes. Wait patiently. Rather annoyed that my nearest neighbour
+has used my part of the table for a dish containing broad beans. Glare
+at him. No result. Planetary waiter has passed me twice--stop him
+angrily the third time. He is less busy now--he pauses. He thrusts
+bill of fare before me, and asks me "what I would please to want."
+Explode and shout in tones of thunder, "Liver and bacon!" He
+disappears, and comes back a few minutes later, saying, "Very sorry,
+but when I first ordered it, liver and bacon _was_ on--now it's off.
+Will I have a chop?" Reply angrily, "No." Same answer to "Steak,"
+"Duck and green peas," "A cut off the beef joint," and "Irish stew."
+Waiter asks (with forced civility), "What _will_ I have!" I return, as
+I leave the restaurant, "Nothing!" On regaining the street (although
+hungry) I am pleased to think that I am still obeying Dr. MORTIMER
+GRANVILLE's directions!
+
+No use trying cab or omnibus. Both failures. Why not walk? Good way
+of wasting time, so begin to go northward, and in due course get to
+Bloomsbury. Enter Museum. Umbrella seized. Approach Reading Room.
+Civil attendant informs me that the Library is closed--taking stock,
+or something! Then I have come all this way for nothing! Angry, but
+inwardly contented. Doing nothing "very thoroughly!"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Turn back. Why not go to a theatre? Certainly. Go to four in
+succession, and find them all closed! Well, good way of wasting time,
+Shall I visit one of the Exhibitions? Chelsea or Earl's Court? After
+consideration, come to the conclusion that this would be worse than
+doing nothing. Must draw the line somewhere!
+
+After all, there is no place like home. Or shall I go to my Club? Yes.
+Get there. Find it is being repaired, and that the members are taken
+in somewhere else. Hate new scenes and new faces. Return to my first
+idea, and make for my private address; but feel that it may be rather
+dull, as my wife and the children are at the seaside. Still, somebody
+can get me a little supper. At least, I hope so. Find my latch-key
+is of no use, on account of the chain being up. Ring angrily, when
+a charwoman in a bonnet appears, and explains that the servants,
+not expecting me home so early, have gone to the play, having
+locked up the larder. Charwoman agrees with me that it is
+disgraceful--especially the locking up of the larder.
+
+However, it can't be helped. Make up my mind to go to bed, and get
+fast asleep, thoroughly tired out with the labours of a day spent
+in doing absolutely nothing! Hope (in my dreams) that Dr. MORTIMER
+GRANVILLE will be satisfied!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"OUR CHILDREN'S EARS."
+
+  Whether they'll be as long as those of Midas,
+  Or stand out salient from either side as
+  A close-cropped ARRY's, at right angles set
+  To his flat jowl, we cannot settle, yet;
+  But in one thing, at least, a score they'll chalk--
+  They will not hear the stuff their fathers talk!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+DEFINITION.--"_La haute Cuisine_"--the kitchen on the top flat of a
+ten-storey'd mansion.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: AN INSINUATING WHISPER.
+
+'JUST LOOK, LAURA! WHAT A LOVELY LITTLE DOG THAT OLD GENTLEMAN'S GOT!
+HOW I WISH HE WAS MINE!" 'SHALL OI _GIT_ 'IM FOR YER, LYDY?"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"HAVE WE FORGOTTEN GORDON?"
+
+    [Lord TENNYSON, under this heading, writes appealing to
+    Englishmen for subscriptions to the funds of the "Gordon Boys'
+    Home" at Woking, which is in want of £40,000. Contributions
+    should be sent to the Treasurer, General Sir DIGHTON PROBYN,
+    V.C., Marlborough House, Pall Mall.]
+
+  Are we sleeping? "_Have_ we forgotten?" Like the thrust of an Arab spear
+  Comes that conscience-piercing-question from the Singer of Haslemere.
+  Have we indeed forgotten the hero we so be-sang,
+  When across the far south sand-wastes the news of his murder rang?
+
+  Forgotten? So it had seemed to him, as alone afar he lay,
+  With the Nile to watch for laggard friends, fierce foes to hold at bay;
+  Though the tired red lines toiled onward up the Cataracts, and we
+  Dreamed of the shout of the rescuing host _his_ eyes should never see.
+
+  When chivalrous BURNABY lay slain, with a smile in the face of death,
+  And for happy news from the hungry wastes men yearned with bated breath;
+  When WILSON pushed his eager way past torrent-swirl and crag,
+  Till they saw o'er GORDON's citadel wave high--the MAHDI's flag.
+
+  That shame was surely enough, enough, that sorrow had a sting
+  Our England should not court again. The Laureate's accents ring
+  With scorn suppressed, a scorn deserved indeed, if still our part
+  Is to forget a purpose high that was dear to GORDON's heart.
+
+  "This earth has borne no simpler, nobler man." So then sang he
+  Who sounds a keen reveille now. "Can you help us?" What say we?
+  Oh, out on words, that come like WOLSELEY's host too late--too late!
+  Do--_do_, in the simple silent way that made lost GORDON great.
+
+  Surely these Boys that GORDON loved in the Home with GORDON's name
+  Should speak to every English heart that cares for our England's fame;
+  And what be forty thousand pounds as an offering made to him
+  Who held so high that same bright fame some do their worst to dim!
+
+  Fit task for patriot poet, this! TYRTÆUS never stood
+  More worthily for heroic hearts or his home-land's highest good.
+  Give! give! and with free hands! His spirit's poor, his soul is hard,
+  Who heeds not our noblest Hero's appeal through the lips of our noblest Bard!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A REMINISCENCE AND A QUOTATION.--It is reported that two Gaiety
+burlesque-writers are about to re-do _Black-Eye'd Susan_ "up to
+date," of course, as is now the fashion. As the typical melodramatic
+tragedian observes, "'Tis now some twenty-five years ago" that FRED
+DEWAR strutted the first of his five hundred nights or so on the stage
+as _Captain Crosstree_, that PATTY OLIVER sang with trilling effect
+her "_Pretty Seeusan_," and that DANVERS, as _Dame Hatly_, danced like
+a rag-doll in a fantoccini-show. To quote the Poet CRABBE, and to go
+some way back in doing so,--
+
+  "I see no more within our borough's bound
+  The name of DANVERS!"
+
+Which lines will be found in No. XVII. of the Poet's "Posthumous
+Tales."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE MODERN TRAVELLER.
+
+  In a restaurant-Pullman he books
+    His seat, a luxurious craze.
+  Most travellers now take their Cooks,
+    And everyone's going to Gaze.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+IBERIAN-HIBERNIAN.--Sir,--In Ireland since the time when the Armada
+came to grief on its coasts, there have always existed Spanish names,
+either pure, as in the instance of Valencia, or slightly mixed. In
+Spain the Celtic names are found in the same way, and an instance
+occurs on the border-land of Spain and Southern France, in the name of
+the place to which the Spanish Premier has gone for his holiday, viz.,
+Bagnères-de-Bigorre. If "Bigorre" isn't "Begorra," what is it? DON
+PATRICK DE CORQUEZ.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "HAVE WE FORGOTTEN GORDON?"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A LOVER'S COMPLAINT.
+
+(_THOROUGHLY NEW STYLE._)
+
+[Illustration]
+
+  Belinda dear, once on a time
+    I doted on your every feature,
+  I wrote you _billets doux_ in rhyme
+    In which I called you "charming creature."
+  No lover half so keen as I,
+    Than mine no ardent passion stronger,
+  So I should like to tell you why
+    I cannot love you any longer.
+
+  When I was yours and you were mine,
+    Your hair, I thought, was most delightful,
+  But now, through Fashion's last design,
+    It looks, to my taste, simply frightful!
+  Though why this should be I don't know,
+    For I can think of nothing madder
+  Than hair decked out in coils that go
+    To make what seems to be a ladder.
+
+  Unhappy day, when first you dressed
+    Your tresses thus--how you must rue it!
+  For you yourself, you know, confessed
+    It took you several hours to do it.
+  Oh, tell me, is it but a snare
+    Designed to captivate another,
+  Or do you merely bind your hair
+    Because you're bidden by your mother?
+
+  Again--you will not take it ill--
+    You are, my dear, distinctly dumpy:
+  A flowing cape it's certain will
+    Well--_not_ become one short and stumpy.
+  Yet since, although you are not tall,
+    You wear a cape, you may take my word
+  That in the mouths of one and all
+    You have become a very byword.
+
+  So this is why my love has fled--
+    If ever there should come a season
+  When you shall show some sense instead
+    Of such an utter lack of reason,
+  If I should still be fancy free,
+    Why then it's only right to mention
+  That, if you care to write to me,
+    I'll give your claims my best attention.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A NOTE.--In _Black and White_ for August 8 there is a large picture
+representing a group of English Dramatists, amongst whom please
+specially notice a figure intended for Mr. W.S. GILBERT (it was
+thoughtful and kind of the artist to put the names below), who is
+apparently explaining to a select few why he has been compelled to
+come out in this strange old coat and these queer collars. All the
+Dramatists look as cheerful as mutes at a funeral, their troubled
+expression of countenance probably arising from the knowledge that
+somewhere hidden away is a certain eminently unbiassed Ibsenitish
+critic who has been engaged to do the lot in a lump. From this
+exhibition of collective wisdom turn to p. 203, and observe the single
+figure of a cabman, drawn by an artist who certainly has a Keene
+appreciation of the style of _Mr. Punch's_ inimitable "C.K."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "BURYING THE HATCHET".
+
+(_Vide Report of the L.C. & D. Chairman's Speech, "Times," August
+6._)]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A LESSON FROM THE R.N.E.
+
+(_FOR THE USE OF SAILORS PROPOSING TO JOIN THE ROYAL NAVY._)
+
+[Illustration: Boxing the Compass.]
+
+_Question_. I think you have been to the Royal Naval Exhibition at
+Chelsea.
+
+_Answer_. I have. I was induced to make the journey by an advertising
+placard posted on two official boards outside the Admiralty.
+
+_Q._ What was your first impression on reaching the grounds usually
+open to the public, but now reserved for commercial purposes?
+
+_A._ That the Public were extremely benevolent to permit so long an
+infringement of their right of way and other privileges.
+
+_Q._ After you had entered the Exhibition, what was your initial
+impression?
+
+_A._ That a great number of the exhibits were not very appropriate
+advertisements.
+
+_Q._ Did you see Seamen of the Royal Navy making an exhibition of
+themselves in the Arena?
+
+_A._ I did; and could not help contrasting with the feebly-histrionic
+display the recent order in Paris forbidding the French soldiers to
+take part in theatrical representations.
+
+_Q._ Was the display of these seamen of the Royal Navy particularly
+impressive?
+
+_A._ No, and I fancy that some of the audience who had paid an extra
+sixpence to see it from the Grand Stand, were slightly disappointed.
+
+_Q._ Besides the cutlass and gun drill, did you see these seamen
+(wearing Her Majesty's uniform), take part in any other performance?
+
+_A._ I did, and for this, too, an extra sixpence was charged for the
+use of the Grand Stand. They waded about in a sort of tank or large
+bath with models of ironclads on their heads.
+
+_Q._ So far as you could see was this last display conducive to the
+maintenance of strict discipline?
+
+_A._ I should say not, the more especially as I noticed towards
+the close of the display that the men seemed inclined to indulge in
+larking.
+
+_Q._ Has this raree show caused you to wish to enlist in the Royal
+Navy?
+
+_A._ Certainly not. The gun and cutlass drill before a paying audience
+reminded me of _The Battle of Waterloo_ at Astley's.
+
+_Q._ But would you not like to join the Royal Navy, so that you might
+be qualified to perform in a tank?
+
+_A._ No; for on consideration I think if I wished to do anything in
+the "comic water-tournament line," I could make better terms with Mr.
+SANGER than the Lords of the Admiralty.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+QUEER QUERIES.--POPULAR PRICES.--Would any reader inform me what is
+the lowest price at which _wholesome_ aërated waters are sold? I
+have been drinking some "Shadwell Seltzer, special _cuvée_," at a
+penny-halfpenny the syphon, and I fancy this may have something to do
+with my present symptoms, which include partial paralysis of the left
+side, violent spasms, an almost irresistible tendency to homicide,
+together with excruciating pain in every part of the body. My doctor
+says the lead in the syphons has "permeated my system." When I am
+better, I intend to prosecute the manufacturer. My doctor discourages
+the notion. He says he does not know if an action would "lie," but he
+is sure the manufacturer would!--TEETOTALLER.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+HELVETIAN SIXTH-CENTURY MOTTO.--"_'Tell' est La Vie!_"--_en Suisse_.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: WORK FOR THE RECESS.
+
+MISS PARLIAMENTINA PUTS HER HOUSE IN ORDER, WITH THE ASSISTANCE OF THE
+COMMITTEE ON VENTILATION, ETC.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+OFF TO MASHERLAND.
+
+(_BY OUR OWN GRANDOLPH._)
+
+A FEW REMINISCENCES.
+
+[Illustration: Grandolph and the Wild Turkey.]
+
+Begin to regret dinners on board the _Grantully Castle_. The other
+day was regretting the Amphitryon. Don't go so far back as the
+Albemarle-Street Amphitryon, quite satisfied with a simple Donald
+Currie. [_Mem._--The proverb hath much truth in it that saith, "Go
+farther and fare worse."] Sick of chicken. With poetic epigrammacy
+might say, "Quite sick Of chick." Stringy chickens, too! One has to
+tug at them; sort of game of "poulet-hauly"--as DRUMMY would say.
+Though were he here, I doubt if he would say anything. He certainly
+would eat nothing: probably would only open his mouth to observe, "I'm
+off!" and then we should see him no more. Quite right. So would I--but
+for "my oath, my Lord, my oath!" (N.B.--This is a quotation. Sure
+of it. Where from? Don't know. Tragedy probably; sounds tragic. No
+matter. Can give it with effect in a speech, and Members turn to one
+another and ask, "What's that from?" When they ask me confidentially
+afterwards, I reply with an air of intense surprise, "What! don't
+_you_ know! Well!!" and I turn on my heel, leaving CHUCKLEHEAD, M.P.,
+annoyed with himself,--"_planté là_" as DRUMMY would say,--for being
+so ignorant, and for having displayed his ignorance so palpably. Off
+he goes to British Museum and searches for quotation. This gives him
+opportunity of acquiring much useful knowledge, which, but for me,
+he would not have had. Rather a long parenthesis this. So--on we goes
+again.)
+
+TO THE MINES.
+
+_À propos_ of exploring, the other day, a digger's assistant came up
+to me and inquired "If I had," as I understood him, "my gin pack'd."
+I returned that I never took spirits. Found out subsequently that word
+was spelt "_mijinpacht_," which is African-Dutch for "lease." Well,
+why didn't he say so before? Of course I have, and plenty of 'em; else
+why am I here?
+
+To-day went to see the ore in the Robinson Crusoe Mines. As D.W. would
+say, "The site strikes me with ore!"
+
+Much interested, of course, in inspecting the Salisbury Mine.
+Naturally, I put in my claim for the Salisbury. What's in a name and
+a family, if one can't get some good out of 'em? Intend to start
+the "Uncle Mine." Fine chance. Any place where there's a large and
+fluctuating Pop-ulation (with emphasis on the "Pop"), the Uncle
+Mine is a certainty." But Oh, for the "pop,"--I mean the dear old
+fizz,--and the older it is, the dearer it is,--at the Amphitryon.
+
+"IS LIFE WORTH LIVING?"
+
+The Transvaal's the place for living in. Here life is life, be it
+never so lively. The only nuisance is the Boer; and the Boer's a
+hass, or rather a mule. That's my opinion of Boers individually and
+collectively; I make no concessions to them; hang 'em, they've already
+got enough. If this country had been in the hands of Englishmen, or
+Americans, or both jointly (talking of jointly, we'd have had better
+dinners than we get now but of this anon--) with a certain person whom
+I can mention, and who is not a hundred miles distant from the present
+writer at this moment, as Head of affairs, an Imperial ruler, with
+power to add to his number (which number would be One, and would
+remain so), then this country, in a very short time, would have ruled
+the world. What ports, what champagnes, what railroads, what shipping,
+what commerce, what an Imperial Parliament, with the Despot in the
+Chair in both Houses, all speeches, except the Despot's, limited
+to five minutes apiece, and no reduction on talking a quantity.
+Oh, for one hour of this power, and the Amphitryon be blowed! Aha!
+_Grandolphus Africanus Protector_ to begin with; _Grandolphus
+Africanus Rex_ to go on with; and _Grandolphus Africanissimmus
+Imperator_ to finish with!
+
+REMORSE AND REGRET.
+
+[Illustration: Grandolphus Africanus.]
+
+Now to dinner! On what? Yah! tough beef, woolly mutton and stringy
+chicken. And to think that but for the Boers, the beastly Boers,
+we should have had the finest teal, wild duck, venison, goslings,
+asparagus, French beans, best Welsh mutton, and real turtle soup every
+day _au choix_!! But what did the Boers do? Why, they ascertained that
+skins and feathers, and shells, were valuable, whereupon they went to
+work, shot everything everywhere, sold skins and feathers, and shells!
+So that deer and birds hadn't a chance. If they popped out, pop went
+the guns like the original weasel, which some years ago was always
+popping, and the poor dumb animals with the pleading eyes and the
+tender flesh were slaughtered wholesale. In this manner, too, the game
+soon came to an end, as it must do whenever the game is so one-sided
+as it was here. Then, as I have said, the shells were valuable! The
+shells! What chance had the tortoise and the turtle? "'Tis the voice
+of the turtle, I heard him complain." (What's that from? That's from
+WATTS--eh?) What chance had the peas, however wild? or a bean as broad
+as one of ----'s after-dinner stories? Ah! it makes me sad and angry,
+and once again I cry Oh, for an hour, and that the dinner-hour, aboard
+the _Grantully Castle_! Ay! even though the G.O.M. were on board; for
+he could appreciate the daily Currie which to me is now _perdu_. Well!
+so to dinner "with what appetite I may," and then on to Pretoria,
+of which place I think I shall change the name to Pre-radicallia or
+Pre-fourthpartia. You see Pre-toria implies one who was Toryer than
+a Tory. Aha! what is my scheme? Do you see the picture? GRANDOLPHUS
+IMPERATOR REX AURIFERORUM MEORUM (Latiné for "Mines") surrounded by
+his Pretorian Guards.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+SPORT TO US!
+
+[Illustration: "What larks! Killed four-and-twenty blackbirds all in a
+row! at one shot!!!"]
+
+Went out shooting before dinner. Killed one wild turkey, after an
+awful struggle, in which I very nearly got the worst of it; but
+fortunately the turkey was unarmed, though for all that he used his
+drumsticks in such a manner as in a little more would have brought
+flocks of other furious wild turkeys on to the scene, had I not, with
+great presence of mind and one small bullet out of my spring-pea rifle
+managed to crack the parchment-like skin which covers his drum, and
+at the same time broken one of his sticks. Then, he fell. Carried him
+home on my back. What larks! Killed four-and-twenty blackbirds at
+one shot as they were all sitting in a row on a rail. They were so
+frightened of me, _it made 'em quail!!_ Wonderful transformation,
+wasn't it? But fact, all the same. Four-and-twenty quail All on
+a rail. Killed eighty "Koran," a Mahomedan bird, very scarce, and
+therefore bring in a considerable Mahomet, or, (ahem) profit? See?
+Shot a "Tittup"--so called on account of its peculiar action after
+drinking; also three early German Beerbirds, or, as the Dutchmen call
+them, "Spring-boks." There is another origin for this name, which is
+also likely, and that is that they don't appear when there's an early
+spring, but when the spring is rather backward then they come forward.
+Whichever you like, my little dear, you pays your money, &c., &c.
+After all these exciting adventures--"The game is cook'd, and now
+we'll go to dinner!"--quotation from early Dramatist, by Yours ever,
+[Illustration]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+WORTH NOTICING.
+
+  O poor Mr. ATKINSON, victim of fate,
+    Who bowed when you ought to have lifted your hat,
+  When the Session is over it's far--far too late,
+    To give notice of this and give notice of that.
+  Your attempts to be funny are amazing to see,
+    It's a dangerous venture to pose as a wit.
+  Though the voters of Boston _may_ love their M.P.,
+    It _may_ end in their giving _you_ notice--to quit!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+_Short Papers in Magazines_.--"A starry night Is the shepherd's
+delight," and as this sort of night is to the pastor, so are
+short stories in Monthly Magazines to the Baron. Moreover, his
+recommendation of them is, as he knows from numerous grateful
+Correspondents, "a boon and a blessing" to such as follow his lead. He
+owns to a partiality for the weird, and if he can come across a brief
+"curdler," he at once singles it out for the delectation of those
+whose taste is in the same direction. But no curdler has he come
+across for some considerable time; but for short essays and tales
+to be read by ladies in some quiet half-hour before toiletting or
+untoiletting, or by the weaker sex in the smoking-room, the Baron
+begs to commend "THACKERAY's Portraits of Himself," as interesting
+to Thackerayans, and "A Maiden Speech," in _Murray_, for August, the
+latter being rather too sketchy, though in its sketchiness artistic,
+as, like _Sam Weller's_ love-letter, it makes you "wish as there was
+more of it."
+
+Commended also by the Baron are "The Story of a Violin," by ERNEST
+DOWSON, and "Heera Nund," by F.A. STEEL, in _Macmillan_. If "A First
+Family of Tasajara" is continued as well as it is commenced in the
+same above-mentioned Mac-azine, it will be about as good a tale as
+BRET HARTE has ever written, and that is saying a good deal, mind you.
+
+Unfinished Stories--that is, Stories finished in style, yet, as
+another contradiction in terms, short stories without any end, are
+rather the vogue nowadays in Magazines. Let me recommend as specimens
+"Francesca's Revenge" in _Blackwood_, and "Disillusioned" in _London
+Society_.
+
+Don't tell the Baron that these hints are unappreciated. He knows
+better. He can produce letters imploring him to read and notice,
+letters asking him what to read, and letters complaining that his
+advice is not more frequently given. Aware of this responsibility, he
+never recommends what he has not himself read, or what some trusted
+partner in the Firm of BARON DE BOOK-WORMS & Co. has not read for him.
+_Verb. sap._
+
+BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+MISS DECIMA-HELYETT-SMITHSON-JACKSON.
+
+One or two of the especially well-informed dramatic critics who, of
+course, had seen the original piece _Miss Helyett_ in Paris, asked
+why the English adapter had taken the trouble to invent nine sisters
+for the heroine; the nine sisters never being seen and having nothing
+whatever to do with the plot. Here the well-informed ones were
+to a certain extent wrong. In the original French piece, _Miss
+Helyett_,--whose name, as is suggested by _Woman_, is evidently a
+French rendering for "Miss ELLIOT," which M. BOUCHERON "concluded was
+her Christian name"--speaking of herself, says to her father, "_Vous
+savez bien, mon père, que vous n'avez pas de plus grande admiratrice
+que votre onzième enfant._" And the Reverend SMITHSON tells her, a
+little later, "_J'ai casé toutes tes soeurs très jeunes_--" and "_Je
+ne devrais pourtant pas avoir de peine à trouver un onzième gendre._"
+
+[Illustration: "Oh, shocking!!"]
+
+That is why he is travelling to get an "_onzième gendre_" for his
+"_onzième enfant_." The English adapter relieved Mr. SMITHSON of one
+of his family, and so _Miss Helyett Smithson_ became _Miss Decima
+Jackson_, i.e., the tenth, instead of the eleventh, of the worthy
+pastor's family. The fact that all her sisters are married, makes
+single unblessedness a reproach to her. No sort of purpose would
+have been served by such a wholesale massacre of innocents as the
+extinction of all _Pastor Smithson's_, alias _Jackson's_, ten "pretty
+chicks at one fell swoop."
+
+Miss NESVILLE, the foreign representative of _Miss Decima_ at the
+Criterion, is uncommonly childlike and bland; moreover, she sings
+charmingly; while of Mr. DAVID JAMES as the pastor _Jackson_ it may be
+said, "Sure such a _père_ was never seen!" The Irishman, Mr. CHAUNCEY
+OLCOTT, has a mighty purty voice, and gains a hearty _encore_ for
+a ditty of which the music is not particularly striking. Mr. PERCY
+REEVE has written words which go glibly to AUDRAN's music, and fit
+the situations. The piece is capitally played and sung all round; and
+marvellous is Miss VICTOR as the Spanish mother. The _mise-en-scène_
+is far better here than it is in Paris, where this "musical-comedy" is
+still an attraction.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+HOW TO BE POPULAR.
+
+(_ADVICE TO AN ASPIRANT._)
+
+  Dear sir, if you long for the love of a nation,
+    If you wish to be _fêted_, applauded, caressed;
+  If you hope for receptions, and want an ovation,
+    By the populace cheered, by Town Councils addressed;
+  I can give you succinctly a certain receipt--
+  Be detected at once and denounced as a cheat.
+
+  It's as easy as lying; you eat all your cake, Sir,
+    And you have it as well, which was never a sin,
+  By adding a trifling amount to your stake, Sir,
+    When the points of the cards show you're certain to win.
+  You'll be slapped on the back by the "man in the street,"
+  Who delights to sing pæans in praise of a cheat.
+
+  They take the poor thief or the forger to jail, oh,
+    Where he cleans out his cell and picks oakum all day;
+  _You_ pose as a martyr and get a cheap halo
+    Ready-made by the public, with nothing to pay.
+  Believe me, dear Sir, there is nothing can beat
+  For triumph and joy the career of a cheat.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+EXIT LA CLAQUE.--"_A partir d'apres demain samedi_," says the _Figaro_
+for August 6:--"M. LEMONNIER, _le Directeur d'été et l'auteur de
+Madame la Maréchale, supprime le service de la claque à 'Ambigu_."
+When _Madame la Maréchale_ has finished her run, will the _claque_
+be re-admitted to start a new piece? This is snubbing your friends
+in a time of prosperity. If the _claque_ has the courage of its
+opinions--but stay, can a _claque_ have any opinions? No: it must
+follow its leader; and its leader obeys orders. If ever any set of
+men came into a theatre "with orders," the _claque_ is that set. Poor
+_claque_! Summoned in adversity, banished in prosperity, why not do
+away with it altogether, and trust to public expression of opinion for
+applause?
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+NOTICE.--Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS.,
+Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no
+case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed
+Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or The London Charivari, Vol.
+101, August 15, 1891, by Various
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13491 ***