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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 102,
+April 23, 1892, by Various, Edited by F. C. Burnand
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 102, April 23, 1892
+
+Author: Various
+
+Release Date: December 29, 2004  [eBook #14514]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI,
+VOL. 102, APRIL 23, 1892***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Malcolm Farmer, William Flis, and the Project Gutenberg
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team
+
+
+
+Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
+      file which includes the original illustrations.
+      See 14514-h.htm or 14514-h.zip:
+      (http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/1/4/5/1/14514/14514-h/14514-h.htm)
+      or
+      (http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/1/4/5/1/14514/14514-h.zip)
+
+
+
+
+
+PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
+
+VOL. 102
+
+April 23, 1892
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+TOWN THOUGHTS FROM THE COUNTRY.
+
+(_WITH THE USUAL APOLOGIES._)
+
+  Oh, to be in London now that April's there,
+  And whoever walks in London sees, some morning, in the Square,
+  That the upper thousands have come to Town,
+  To the plane-trees droll in their new bark gown,
+  While the sparrows chirp, and the cats miaow
+  In London--now!
+  And after April, when May follows
+  And the black-coats come and go like swallows!
+  Mark, where yon fairy blossom in the Row
+  Leans to the rails, and canters on in clover,
+  Blushing and drooping, with her head bent low!
+  That's the wise child: she makes him ask twice over,
+  Lest he should think she views with too much rapture
+  Her first fine wealthy capture!
+  But,--though her path looks smooth, and though, alack,
+  All will he gay, till Time has painted black
+  The _Marigold_, her Mother's chosen flower,--
+  Far brighter is my _Heartsease_, Love's own dower.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A WANT.--"There is only one thing," a visitor writes to us, "that I
+missed at Venice, S.W. I've never been to the real place, which is
+the Bride, or Pride, of the Sea, I forget which, but, as I was saying,
+there's only one thing I miss, and that is the heather. Who has not
+heard of 'the moor of Venice'? And I daresay good shooting there too,
+with black game and such like. I only saw pigeons flying, who some
+one informed me are the pigeons of SAM MARK. Next time I go, I shall
+inquire at the Restaurant for fresh Pigeon Pie. However, if Mr.
+KIRALFY will take a hint, he will, in August provide a moor. It will
+add to the gaiety of the show. 'The moor the merrier,' eh?"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+NEO-DRAMATIC NURSERY RHYME.
+
+  MRS. GRUNDY, good woman, scarce knew what to think
+  About the relation 'twixt Drama and Drink.
+  Well, give Hall--and Theatre--good wholesome diet,
+  And all who attend will be sober and quiet!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+SPRING'S DELIGHTS IN LONDON.--"VIA MALODORA"--clearly a lady, "DORA"
+for short--wrote to the _Times_ complaining that the result of
+the splendid weather for the first ten days of the month was the
+reproduction of "summer effluvium rank and offensive" in Piccadilly.
+Poor Piccadilly! Oh, its "offence is rank," and Miss DORA might add,
+quoting to her father from another scene in _Hamlet_, "And smells so.
+Pa'!" West-Enders, in a dry summer, must he prepared to have "a high
+old time of it."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: SANCTA SIMPLICITAS.
+
+_Orthodox Old Maid._ "BUT, REBECCA, IS YOUR PLACE OF WORSHIP
+CONSECRATED?"
+
+_Domestic_ (_lately received into the Plymouth Brotherhood_). "OH NO,
+MISS--IT'S GALVANISED IRON!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+MY SOAP.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+  I'm the maker of a Soap, which I confidently hope
+  In the advertising tournament will win,
+  And remain the fit survival, having vanquished every rival
+  Which is very detrimental to the skin.
+
+  I will now proceed to show, what the public ought to know,
+  Unless they would be blindly taken in.
+  How in every soap but mine certain qualities combine
+  To make it detrimental to the skin.
+
+  But surely at this date it is needless I should state
+  That the cheaper soaps are barely worth a pin,
+  For they all contain a mixture, either free or as a fixture,
+  Which is very detrimental to the skin.
+
+  And every cake you buy is so charged with alkali,
+  To soda more than soap it is akin;
+  It is really dear at last, for it wastes away so fast.
+  And is very detrimental to the skin.
+
+  The public I must warn of the colours that adorn
+  The soaps ambitious foreigners bring in;
+  They are often very pretty, but to use them is a pity,
+  For they're very detrimental to the skin.
+
+  There are soaps which you can see through. I ask, What can it be
+          through?
+  Is it resin, or some other form of sin?
+  There are soaps which smell too strong, and of course that must be
+          wrong,
+  And extremely detrimental to the skin.
+
+  And too much fat's injurious, and so are soaps sulphureous,
+  Though they say they keep the hair from growing thin;
+  They may keep a person's hair on, like the precious oil of AARON,
+  And yet be detrimental to his skin.
+
+  In short, the only soap which is fit for Prince or Pope
+  (I have sent some to the KAISER at Berlin)
+  Is the article I sell you. Don't believe the firms who tell you
+  It is very detrimental to the skin.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A LIQUOR QUESTION.--Why does a toper--especially when "before the
+beak"--always say that he was "in drink," when he evidently means that
+the drink was in him? The only soaker on record who could rightly be
+said to be "in drink" was,
+
+  "Maudlin _Clarence_ in his Malmsey butt."
+
+He was "in liquor" with a vengeance. But less lucky wine-bibbers need
+not be illogical as well as inebriate.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+MR. GOSCHEN'S BUDGET.--"From a fiscal point of view, the Tobacco
+receipts are extremely good." So unlike JOKIM. Of course, as he never
+loses a chance of a _jeu de mot_, what he must have said was, that
+"the Tobacco 'returns' are extremely good." "A birthday Budget,--many
+happy 'returns,'" he observed jocosely to PRINCE ARTHUR, "quite japing
+times!" And off he went for his holiday; and, weather permitting,
+as he reclines in his funny among the weeds, he will gently murmur,
+"_Dulce est desipere in smoko_."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE NEWEST NARCISSUS;
+
+OR, THE HERO OF OUR DAYS.
+
+    ["--The curious tendency towards imitation which is observed
+    whenever some specially sensational crime is brought into the
+    light of publicity."--_Morning Post_.']
+
+  NARCISSUS? _He_, that foul ill-favoured brute,
+  A fevered age's most repulsive fruit,
+  The murderous coxcomb, the assassin sleek?
+  Stranger comparison could fancy seek?
+
+  Truly 'tis not the self-admiring boy
+  Nymph Echo longed so vainly to enjoy;
+  Yet the old classic fable hath a phase
+  Which seems to fit the opprobrium of our days.
+  Criminal-worship seems our latest cult,
+  And this strange figure is its last result.
+  Self-conscious, self-admiring, Crime parades
+  Its loathly features, not in slumdom's shades,
+  Or in Alsatian sanctuaries vile.
+  No; peacock-posing and complacent smile
+  Pervade the common air, and take the town.
+  The glory of a scandalous renown
+  Lures the vain villain more than wrath or gain,
+  And cancels all the shame that should restrain:
+  Makes murder half-heroic in his sight,
+  And gilds the gallows with factitious light.
+
+  And whose the fault? Sensation it is thine!
+  The garrulous paragraph, the graphic line,
+  Poster and portrait, telegram and tale,
+  Make shopboy eager and domestics pale.
+  Over the morbid details workmen pore,
+  Toil's favourite pabulum and chosen lore,
+  Penny-a-liners pile the horrors up,
+  On which the cockney _gobe-mouche_ loves to sup,
+  And paragraph and picture feed the clown
+  With the foul garbage that has gorged the town.
+  "Vice is a monster of such hideous mien
+  As to be hated needs but to be seen."
+  So sang the waspish satirist long ago.
+  Now Vice is sketched and Crime is made a show.
+  A hundred eager scribes are at their heel
+  To tell the public how they look and feel,
+  How eat and drink, how sleep and smoke and play.
+  Murder's itinerary for a day,
+  Set forth in graphic phrase by skilful pens,
+  With pictures of its face, its favourite dens,
+  Its knife or bludgeon, pistol, paramour,
+  Will swell the swift editions hour by hour,
+  More than high news of war or of debate,
+  The death of heroes or the throes of state.
+  From club-room to street-corner runs the cry
+  After the newest fact, or latest lie:
+  The hurrying throng unfolded broad-sheets grasp,
+  And read with goggled eyes and lips a-gasp,
+  Blood! Blood! More Blood! It makes hot lips go pale,
+  But gives the sweetest zest to the unholy tale.
+
+  What wonder if the Horror, homaged thus
+  By frenzied eagerness and foolish fuss,
+  Swells to a hideous self-importance, struts
+  In conscious dignity, and gladly gluts
+  With vanity's fantastic tricks the herd
+  Whose pulses first by murderous crime it stirred.
+  Narcissus-like, the slayer bends to trace
+  Within Sensation's flowing stream its face,
+  And, self-enamoured, smiles a loathsome smile
+  Of fatuous conceit and gloating guile;
+  Laughs at the shadow of the lifted knife,
+  And thinks of all things save its victim's life.
+  The "Noisy Nymph," the Echo of our times,
+  The gossip, with an eager ear for crimes,
+  Lurks, half-admiring, all-recording there,
+  Watching Narcissus with persistent stare,
+  And ready note-book. Nothing but a Voice?
+  No, but its babblings travel, and rejoice
+  A myriad prurient ears with noisome news,
+  Fit only for the shambles and the stews.
+  These hear, admire, and sometimes imitate!--
+
+  Narcissus is a danger to the State,
+  And Echo hardly less. Vain-glorious crime;
+  That pestilent portent of a morbid time,
+  Would flourish less could sense or law avail
+  To strangle coarse Sensation's clamorous tale,
+  Silence the "Noisy Nymph," for half crime's ill
+  Would end were babbling Echo's voice but still.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "THE MISSING CIPHER."
+
+"OH, PAPA, ONLY FIFTY POUNDS FROM SIR GORGIUS MIDAS! SUCH A
+MILLIONAIRE--WHY HE _OUGHT_ TO HAVE SENT FIVE HUNDRED POUNDS AT
+LEAST!"
+
+"AH, I'M AFRAID HE FORGOT THE _OUGHT_, MY DEAR!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: THE NEWEST NARCISSUS; OR, THE HERO OF OUR DAYS.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FETTERED.--In reply to the Unemployed Deputation which found
+employment in paying a visit to the L.C.C. at Spring Gardens, Messrs.
+BURNS and BEN TILLETT (Alderman) intimated that as Mr. POWER, the
+U.D.'s spokesman, was not a member of the L.C.C., that body was
+Power-less to assist them in their trouble. A nasty time of it had
+the Labour Candidates on this occasion. Nothing like putting men of
+Radical revolutionary tendencies into responsible positions.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A SHADY VALET.--One DONALD CROSS was a Valet in the service of an
+absent master, whose best clothes and jewellery DONALD wore, while
+he kept his flat well aired by giving little supper-parties to young
+ladies who took him at his own valuation,--for a very superior swell.
+Alas! he was but a _valet de sham_! "Cross purposes," but Magistrate
+"disposes"; and the once happy Valet is in the shade for the next six
+months.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+IN FANCY DRESS.
+
+A SKETCH AT COVENT GARDEN THEATRE.
+
+    _Before Supper the proceedings are rather decorous than
+    lively; the dancers in fancy dress forming a very decided
+    minority, and appearing uncomfortably conscious of their
+    costume. A Masker got up as a highly realistic Hatstand,
+    hobbles painfully towards a friend who is disguised as a
+    huge Cannon._
+
+_The Hatstand_ (_huskily, through a fox's mask in the centre of his
+case, to the Cannon_). Just a trifle slow up to the present, eh?
+
+_The Cannon_ (_shifting the carriage and wheels to a less
+uncomfortable position._) Yes, it don't seem to me as lively as
+usual--_drags_, don't you know.
+
+_The Hatstand_ (_heroically_). Well, we must wake 'em up, that's
+all--put a little _go_ into the thing!
+
+    [_They endeavour to promote gaiety by crawling through the
+    crowd, which regards them with compassionate wonder._
+
+_A Black Domino_ (_to a Clown, who is tapping the barometer on the
+Hatstand's back_). Here, mind how you damage the furniture, SAMMY, it
+may be here on the hire system.
+
+    [_The Hatstand executes a cumbrous caper by way of repartee,
+    and stumbles on._
+
+_A Folly_ (_to a highly respectable Bedouin in a burnous and gold
+spectacles_). Well, all I can say is, you don't seem to me to behave
+much _like_ an Arab!
+
+_The Bedouin_ (_uneasily, as he waltzes with conscientious
+regularity_). Don't I? How _ought_ I to behave then?
+
+_The Folly_. _I_ should have thought you'd jump about and howl, the
+way Bedouins _do_ howl. _You_ know!
+
+_The Bed._ (_dubiously_). Um--well, you see, my dear, I--I don't feel
+_up_ to that sort of thing--_before_ supper.
+
+_The Folly_ (_losing all respect for him_). No--nor yet after it. I
+expect you've told some old four-wheel caravan to come and fetch
+you home early, and you'll turn into your little tent at the usual
+time--that's the sort of wild Bedouin _you_ are! Don't let me keep
+you. [_She leaves him._
+
+_The Bed._ (_alone_). If she only knew the absolute _horror_ I have of
+making myself conspicuous, she wouldn't expect it!
+
+_Mephistopheles_ (_to a Picador_). This was the only thing I could get
+to go in. How do you think it suits me?
+
+_The Picador_ (_with candour_). Well, I must say, old fellow, you _do_
+look a beast!
+
+    [_Mephisto appears wounded._
+
+_A Masker_ (_with his face painted brown, and in a costume of coloured
+paper decorated with small boxes and packets, to a Blue Domino_). You
+see what _I_ am, don't you? The Parcels Post! Had a _lot_ of trouble
+thinking it out. Look at my face, for instance, I made _that_ up, with
+string--marks and all, to look like a brown-paper parcel.
+
+_The Blue Domino_. Pity you haven't got something _inside_ it, isn't
+it?
+
+_The Parcels Post_ (_feebly_). Don't you be too sharp. And it really
+is a first-rate idea. All these parcels now--I suppose there must be
+fifty of 'em at least--
+
+_The Blue Domino_. Are there? Well, I wish you'd go and get sorted
+somewhere else. I haven't time for it myself.
+
+_Sardonic Spectator_ (_pityingly--to a Masker in a violent
+perspiration, who represents Sindbad carrying the Old Man of the
+Sea_). 'Ow you _are_ worrying yourself to be sure!
+
+_A Polite Stranger_ (_accosting an Individual who is personifying the
+London County Council by the aid of a hat surmounted by a sky-sign,
+a cork bridge and a tin tramcar, a toy Clown and a butterfly on his
+chest, a portrait of Mlle. Zoeo on his back, a miniature fireman under
+an extinguisher, and a model crane, which he winds up and down with
+evident enjoyment_). Excuse me, Sir, but would you mind showing us
+round you--or is there a catalogue to your little collection?
+
+    [_The L.C.C. maintains a dignified silence._
+
+_Pierrot_ (_critically to Cleopatra_). Very nice indeed, my dear
+girl,--except that they ought to have given you a serpent to carry,
+you know'
+
+_Cleopatra_. Oh, they _did_--only I left it in the Cloak-room.
+
+_A Man with a False Nose_ (_to a Friend who is wearing his natural
+organ_). Why, I thought you said _you_ were coming in a nose?
+
+_His Friend_. So I did (_he produces an enormous nose and cheeks from
+his tail-pocket_). But it's no mortal use; the minute I put it on
+I'm recognised (_plaintively_). And I gave one-and-ninepence for the
+beastly thing, too!
+
+_Young Man of the Period_ (_meeting a female acquaintance attired
+in ferns, rock-work, and coloured shells, illuminated by portable
+electric light_). Hul-lo! You _are_ a swell! And what are _you_
+supposed to be?
+
+_The Lady in Rock-work_. Can't you see? I'm a Fairy Grotto. Good idea,
+isn't it?
+
+_He_. Rippin'! But what the mischief have you got on your shoulder?
+
+_She_. Oh, that's an aquarium--real goldfish. See!
+
+    [_Exhibiting them with pride._
+
+_He_. Ain't you lettin' 'em sit up rather late? They _will_ be chippy
+to-morrow--off colour, don't you know.
+
+_She_. Will they? What ought I to do for them, then?
+
+_He_. Do? Oh, just put a brandy-and-soda in their tank.
+
+    _Later; Supper is going on in the Boxes and Supper-room, and
+    the festivity has been further increased by the arrival of a
+    party of Low Comedians and Music-Hall Stars. The Lancers have
+    been danced with more abandonment, and several entirely new
+    and original figures._
+
+_The Chevalier Bayard_ (_at the Refreshment Bar--to a Watteau
+Shepherdess_). I say, you come along and dance with me, will you?--and
+look here, if you dance well, I'll give you a drink when it's over. If
+you don t dance to please me, you'll get nothing. See?
+
+_The Watteau Shepherdess_ (_with delicate disdain_). 'Ere, you go
+along, you silly ass!
+
+    [_Hits him with her crook._
+
+_A Gentleman who has obviously supped_ (_catching hold of a passing
+Acquaintance, whose hand he wrings affectionately_). Dear ole HUGHIE!
+don't go away just yet. Shtop an' talk with me. Got lotsh er things
+say to you, dear ole boy--mosh 'portant things! Shure you, you're the
+on'y man in the wide world I ever kicked a care--cared a kick about.
+Don't _you_ leave me, HUGHIE!
+
+[Illustration: "Exit unsteadily towards Bar."]
+
+_Hughie_ (_who is looking for his partner_). Not now, old man--can't
+stop. See you later!
+
+    [_He makes his escape._
+
+_The Affect. G._ (_confidentially--to a Policeman_). Thash a very
+dear ole pal o' mine, plishman, a _very_ dear ole pal. Worsht of him
+ish--shimply imposhble get a lit' rational conversation with him. No
+_sheriousness_ in his character!
+
+    [_Exit unsteadily towards Bar, in blissful unconsciousness
+    that somebody has attached a large false nose and spectacles
+    to the buttons of his coat-tails._
+
+_A Troubadour_ (_jealously--to an Arleguina_). No--but look here, you
+might just as well say right put which costume you like best--mine
+or--(_indicating a Cavalier on her other side_)--his.
+
+_Arleguina_ (_cautiously--not desiring to offend either_). Well, I'd
+rather be _him_--not as a _man_, I wouldn't--but, as _myself_, I'd
+like to be _this_ one.
+
+    [_Both appear equally satisfied and soothed by this
+    diplomatic, but slightly mystic response._
+
+_A Vivandiere_ (_to a Martyr, who is shuffling along inside a
+property-trunk, covered with twigs, and supposed to represent a
+Bird in the Hand_). Well, that's _one_ way of coming _out_ to enjoy
+yourself, I suppose!
+
+_A Middle-aged Man_ (_wandering behind the Orchestra_). It's
+beastly dull, that's what it is--none of the give-and-take
+humour and practical fun you get in Paris or Vienna!... That's a
+nice, simple-looking little thing in the seat over there. (_The
+simple-looking little thing peeps at him, with one eye over her fan,
+in arch invitation._) Gad, I'll go up and talk to her--it will be
+something to _do_, at any rate--she looks as if she wouldn't mind.
+(_He goes up._) Think I know your face--haven't we met before?
+
+_The Simple Little Thing_ (_after an elaborate wink aside at a_
+Fireman). Shouldn't wonder. Don't you run away yet. Sit down and
+talk to me--do now. No, not _that_ side--try the arm-chair, it's more
+comfortable.
+
+_The M.M._ (_throwing himself gracefully into a well-padded chintz
+chair_). Well, really--(_The chair suddenly digs him in the ribs with
+one of its elbows_). Eh, look here now--'pon my--(_He attempts to
+rise, and finds himself tightly pinioned by the arms of the chair._)
+There's some confounded fool _inside_ this chair!
+
+_The Simple Little Thing_ (_tickling him under the chin with her
+fan_). Shouldn't call yourself names! I'm going--don't get up on
+_my_ account. [_She goes off, laughing; a crowd collects and heartily
+enjoys his situation._
+
+_The M.M._ (_later--very red after his release_). If I could have
+found a policeman, I'd have given that chair in custody! It's
+scandalous to call _that_ coming in Fancy Dress! [_Exit indignantly._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE BROWN-JONES INCIDENT.
+
+(_ADAPTED FROM THE FRENCH._)
+
+    SCENE--_A Street. Enter BROWN and JONES. They meet, and
+    regard one another for a moment, fixedly. Then they salute one
+    another respectfully._
+
+_Brown._ I have been looking for you everywhere.
+
+_Jones._ Then I am delighted to have met you.
+
+_Brown._ I have said of you that you are a trickster, a scoundrel, a
+fool, and an idiot!
+
+_Jones._ Yes--and I have regretted the saying, because it shows to me
+that you have misunderstood the great literary movement of the present
+day, in its vast and varied effort.
+
+_Brown._ Of that I know nothing, for I confess I have never read your
+books.
+
+_Jones_ (_reproachfully_). Yes--and yet you accuse me of being a
+trickster, a scoundrel, and a fool, without knowing my works?
+
+_Brown._ It was my duty. But still I had no wish to be guilty of an
+outrage.
+
+_Jones._ An outrage--how an outrage?
+
+_Brown._ Had I known you had been present to hear me I would not have
+caused you the pain of listening to me.
+
+_Jones_ (_with admiration_). But it was the act of a brave man! Did
+it not occur to you that had I been within reach of you that you too
+would have suffered pain?
+
+_Brown._ It did not, I was unconscious of your presence. I would
+have preferred to have spoken behind your back. It is brutal to speak
+before any face. It might lead to an unpleasantness.
+
+_Jones._ No, it is your duty to do what you think is right. It is also
+my duty to do what I think is right. We are now face to face. Have you
+anything further to say to me?
+
+_Brown_ (_hurriedly_). You have immense gifts--gifts which are those
+of genius.
+
+_Jones._ I thought you would understand me better when we met. My dear
+friend, I am delighted at this reconciliation. Give me your hand.
+
+_Brown_ (_clasping palms_). With all the pleasure in the world. But
+still I owe you reparation. How can I--
+
+_Jones_ (_interrupting_). Not another word, my dear friend. That is a
+matter we can leave in the hands of our Solicitors.
+
+    [_Scene closes in upon the suggestion._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: A SOLILOQUY.
+
+_Youthful Mercury._ "WHAT'S THIS 'ERE ON THE PLYTE? 'KNOCK AND RING'!
+BLOWED IF THEY WON'T BE HARSKING YER TO '_WALK HINSIDE_,' NEXT!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
+
+[Illustration: "Oliver asking for More."]
+
+It is curious to find a coincidence in style and in idea between an
+earnest, witty and pious English author of the Sixteenth Century,
+and an American author of our own day. Yet so it is, and here is the
+parallel to be found between the quaint American tales about the old
+negro, _Uncle Remus_, by JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS, in this year of Grace,
+1892, and the fables writ by Sir THOMAS MORE in 1520, or thereabouts,
+which he represents as if told him by an old wife and nurse, one
+Mother MAUD. Here are "The Wolf,"--"Brer Wolf"--and the simple-minded
+Jackass, both are going to confession to Father Fox--"Brer Fox." AEsop
+is, of course, the common origin of all such tales. The extracts which
+I have come across, are to be found in a small book compiled by the
+Rev. THOMAS BRIDGETT, entitled, _The Wit and Wisdom of Sir Thomas
+More_. The Baron wishes that with it had been issued a glossary of old
+English words and expressions, as, to an ordinary modern reader, much
+of Sir THOMAS MORE's writing is well-nigh unintelligible; nay, in some
+instances, the Baron can only approximately arrive at the meaning,
+as though it were a writ in a foreign language with which his
+acquaintance was of no great profundity. Certes, the learned and
+reverend compiler hath a keen relish for this quaintness, but not so
+will fifteen out of his twenty readers, who, pardie! shall regret the
+absence of a key without which some of the treasure must, to them at
+least, remain inaccessible. With this reservation, but with no sort
+of equivocation, doth the Baron heartily recommend The Reverend
+BRIDGETT's compilation of Sir THOMAS MORE's "English as she is
+writ" in the Sixteenth Century, to all lovers of good books in this
+"so-called (O, immortal phrase!) Nineteenth Century." The Rev. THOMAS
+hath well and ably done his work, and therefore doth the Baron advise
+his readers to go to their booksellers, and, being there, to imitate
+the example of DICKENS's oft-quoted _Oliver_, and "ask for MORE."
+
+Quoth the Baron, "Much liketh me the Macmillanite series of _English
+Men of Action_, and in a very special manner do I laud the latest
+that, to my knowledge, hath appeared 'yclept _Montrose_, by Master
+MOWBRAY MORRIS--a good many 'M's' in these names--who hath executed
+his _Montrose_ with as loving a heart and as tender a touch as ever
+did use old IZAAK towards the gentle that he, and the simple fish, did
+love so well. Did not the very hangman burst into tears as he thrust
+the unfortunate nobleman off the step? and did not a universal sob
+of pity break from the vast crowd assembled to see the last of the
+noble cavalier, victim to an unfortunate tradition of loyalty? What
+wonder then if we sympathise with this luckless hero of romance?
+The weak-knee'd villain of this historical drama was '_Charles_ (his
+friend),' in which character, be it allowed, this sad dog of a Merry
+Monarch not infrequently appeared. Thank you much, Mr. MOWBRAY
+MONTROSE MORRIS," quoth
+
+THE BENEFICENT BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: SYMPATHY.
+
+_Mamma_ (_to Cook_)--"AND MRS. STUBBS, THE CREAM WITH THE APPLE-TART
+YESTERDAY OUGHT TO HAVE BEEN WHIPPED."
+
+_Ethel_ (_who has a grateful remembrance of the dish in question_).
+"OH, MUMMY DEAR! 'OUGHT TO HAVE BEEN WHIPPED!' I THOUGHT IT WAS
+PARTICULARLY GOOD!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+APRIL SHOWERS;
+
+OR, A SPOILED EASTER HOLIDAY.
+
+(_A VACATION CANTATA._)
+
+_Master George (stretching forth his fingers to feel if the shower is
+abating) sings_:--      Rain! Rain!
+        Go away!
+      Come again
+        Another day!
+
+_Master Arthur_ (_gloomily_). Pooh! Rain won't go away, not in these
+times,
+    By being sung at to old nursery rhymes:
+    Especially in such a voice as yours!
+
+_Master George._ Needn't be nasty, ARTHUR!
+
+_Master Robert._                         How it pours!
+    Thought we were going to have a real jolly day,
+    And now it's set in wet, to spoil our holiday.
+
+_Master George._ Always the way at Easter. Shall we trudge it?
+
+_Master Arthur._ Not yet. What have you got, GEORGE, in your Budget?
+
+_Master George._ Not very much, I fear!
+
+_Master Arthur._                      Ah, that's vexatious!
+    It might have cheered us up a bit.
+
+_Master George_ (_indignantly_). Good gracious!
+    You're always down on me, with no good reasons.
+    You know _I_'m not the ruler of the Seasons.
+    Now if I'd been in _your_ place--but no matter!
+
+_Master Robert._ By Jingo, how the raindrops rush and clatter!
+    Ah, Primrose-gathering is not half so jolly
+    As once it used to be.
+
+_Master Arthur._           Ah! my dear SOLLY,
+    The springs are now so awfully wet and cold,
+    The "cry" don't seem so fetching as of old.
+
+    [_Pipes up._
+
+_Recitative_. "_Who will buy my pretty, pretty Pri-im-ro-o-ses!_
+    _All fresh gathered from the va-a-a-ll-ey?_"
+
+_Master George._ The wet and cold have got into your throat,
+    A quaver and a crack on every note!
+
+_Master Robert._ Don't aggravate each other, boys; 'tis wrong,
+    But while it rains _I_'ll tootle out a song:--
+    (_Sings._) The days we went a-Primrosing!
+
+        AIR--"_The days we went a-Gipsying!_"
+
+    The days are gone, the happy days
+      When _we_ were in our Spring;
+    When all the Primrose loved to praise,
+      And join its gathering.
+    Oh! we could sing like anything,
+      We felt the conqueror's glow,
+    In the days when we went Primrosing,
+              A long time ago.
+
+        _Chorus._--In the days, &c.
+
+    Then April's flowery return
+      Was "Peace-with-Honour's" goal.
+    And the bright brimstone-bunch would burn
+      In every button-hole.
+    Our Dames were gaily on the wing,
+      With blossoms in full blow,
+    In the days when we went Primrosing,
+              A long time ago.
+
+        _Chorus._--In the days, &c.
+
+    But now Progressive storms prevail
+      Election blizzards chill;
+    The Primroses seem sparse and pale
+      In valley and on hill.
+    Yon cloud looks black as raven's wing!
+      Things did not menace so.
+    In the days when we went Primrosing
+              A long time ago!
+
+        _Chorus._--In the days, &c.
+
+_Both._ Oh, brayvo, BOBBY!
+
+_Master Robert._ Thanks. Yet my song's burden
+    Is dismal as the croakings of _Dame Durden_.
+    Our holiday is spoilt by driving showers.
+    I fear we shall have no great show of flowers;
+    But--anyhow my boys we're under cover;
+    And let us hope that storm-cloud will pass over
+    Without first giving us a dreadful drenching,
+    And all our April-hopes entirely quenching.
+
+_All_ (_singing together_).
+      Rain! Rain!
+        Go away!
+      Come again
+        Another day!
+
+    [_Left crouching and singing._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FROM THE THEATRES, &C. COMMISSION.--"I am afraid," said Mr. P.S.
+RUTLAND, speaking of the Music Halls, and in answer to a question
+of Mr. BOLTON's, "we cannot do a wreck. (_Laughter._)" Mr. WOODALL:
+"Without being wrecked in the attempt. (_Renewed laughter._)" Oh,
+witty WOODALL! Why, encouraged by this applause, he may yet be led on
+to make a pun on his own name, and say, "_Would all_ were like him!"
+or some such merry jest. The proceedings in this Committee were
+becoming a trifle dull, but it is to be hoped that they may yet hear
+something still more sparkling from the wise and witty WOODALL.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: APRIL SHOWERS; OR, A SPOILT EASTER HOLIDAY.
+
+TRIO. "RAIN! RAIN! GO AWAY! COME AGAIN ANOTHER DAY!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+TO MY COOK.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+  Oh, hard of favour, fat of form,
+    How fairer art thou than thy looks,
+  Whose heart with kitchen fires is warm,
+    Thou plainest of the plainer Cooks!
+
+  Low down upon thy forehead grows
+    Thick hair of no conducive dye;
+  Short and aspiring is thy nose,
+    Watched ever by a furtive eye.
+
+  In shy defiance rarely seen
+    Where kitchen stairways darkly tend,
+  A foe to judge thee by thy mien,
+    Proclaimed in every act a friend!
+
+  I know thee little; not thy views
+    On public or on private life,
+  Whether a single lot thou'dst choose,
+    Or fain would'st be a Guardsman's wife;
+
+  For who can rightly read the change
+    When, still'd the work-day traffic's din,
+  In best apparel, rich and strange,
+    Thou passest weekly to thy kin!
+
+  A silken gown, that bravely stands
+    Environing thy form, or no;
+  Stout gloves upon thy straining hands,
+    For brooch, the breastplate cameo.
+
+  Shod with the well-heeled boots, whose knell
+    Afar along the pavement sounds,
+  Blent with the tinkling muffin-bell,
+    Or milkman, shrilling on his rounds.
+
+  _Nil tangis quod non ornas._ Nay,
+    'Tis not alone the parsley sprig,
+  The paper frill, the fennel spray,
+    The Yule-tide's pertly-berried twig;
+
+  But common objects by thy art
+    Some proper beauty seem to own;
+  Thy chop is as a chop apart,
+    Fraught with a grace before unknown;
+
+  The very egg thou poachest seems
+    Some work of deft _orfevrerie_,--
+  A yolk of gold that chastely gleams
+    Through a thin shrine of ivory.
+
+  From thee no pale and wilted ghost,
+    Or branded by the blackening bar,
+  But crisp and cheery comes the toast,
+    And brown as ripening hazels are.
+
+  Thy butter has not lost the voice
+    Of English meads, where cowslips grow,
+  And oh, the bacon of thy choice--
+    Rose-jacinth labyrinthed in snow!
+
+  And mutton, colder than the kiss
+    Of formal love, where loathing lurks
+  Its deadlier chill doth wholly miss,
+    Fired with the spirit of thy works.
+
+  To true occasion thou art true,
+    As upon great occasions great;
+  Doing whatever Cook may do
+    When PHYLLIS, neat, alone will wait,
+
+  As when the neighbouring villas send
+    Their modish guests to statelier fare,
+  And PHYLLIS, neat, is helped to tend
+    By that staid man the Greengrocer.
+
+  Though thou art more than plain in look,
+    Thou wieldest charms that never tire--
+  O Cook--we will not call thee Cook,
+    Thou Priestess of the Genial Fire.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+LAYING A GHOST!
+
+    PROSPECTIVE ARRANGEMENTS.--Owing to the continued success of
+    _Hamlet_, it has been decided (by arrangement with the Author)
+    to postpone, &c.--_Extract from Advertisement in Daily Paper._
+
+    SCENE--_Sanctum of Popular Actor-Manager of Theatre Royal
+    Haymarket, Popular Actor-Manager dozing over a submitted
+    Play. He closes his eyes and slumbers. When to him enter
+    Master WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE._
+
+_Master W.S._ (_shouting_). What ho, Sir Player! Wake up, Sir, wake
+up!
+
+_P.A.-M._ (_rousing himself_). Delighted to see you, Mr. SHAKSPEARE. I
+hope you have been in front and seen us?
+
+_Master W.S._ Yes, I just had a glance. Find you have put in some new
+business. When will all you fellows leave me alone?
+
+_P.A.-M._ (_earnestly_). I hope, Sir, that in the cause of Art you do
+not object, that--
+
+_Master W.S._ (_interrupting_). Oh, no! It makes little difference to
+me what you do. _My_ author's fees ceased years ago! But look here,
+What do you mean by this? (_Produces Press-cutting of advertisement
+and reads_)--"Theatre Royal, Haymarket, Prospective Arrangements.
+Owing to the continued success of _Hamlet_, it has been decided (by
+arrangement with the Author) to postpone" another play. Now, Master
+TREE, or as I may call ye, "Master up a Tree," what have you to say
+to that? You see your advertisement has caught my eye. I am here to
+answer it!
+
+_P.A.-M._ Most wonderful! I do not know how or wherefore my pen
+slipped, but slip it did, indeed. However, I apologise. Is that
+enough?
+
+_Master W.S._ More than enough!
+
+    _Enter the Ghost of HAMLET's Father suddenly._
+
+_Ghost_ (_with a glance at W.S._). Ah, the Governor here already!
+Still, I may have my chance as well as he! I gave the plot of
+_Hamlet_! Why shouldn't I have another shot? (_To P.A.-M._)--
+        But that I am forbid
+        To tell the secrets of my prison-house,
+        I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word
+        Would harrow up thy soul.
+
+_P.A.-M._ (_eagerly_). The very thing for a melodrama. Delighted to
+make your acquaintance--hem--in the Spirit!
+
+_Master W.S._ Nay, good Master Player, this is scarcely business! If
+anything in _that_ line is to be done, I should do it. (_To Ghost of
+HAMLET's Father_). Begone, Sirrah!
+
+_Ghost._ Nay, this is professional jealousy! (_To P.A.-M._). I find
+thee apt--
+
+    [_A book falls, and Master WM. SHAKSPEARE and Ghost of
+    HAMLET's Father vanish together._
+
+_P.A.-M._ (_opening his eyes_). Was I dreaming? (_With a recollection
+of "The Red Lamp"_) I wonder! [_Left wondering._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+TAKING A SIGHT AT RINGANDKNOCK.
+
+(_BY RUDDIER STRIPLING._)
+
+After the roughness of the Atlantic, in which to my taste there is far
+too much water moving about, I stepped on to America with considerable
+relief. I was quite satisfied, after that excellent dinner, the first
+I had enjoyed since Liverpool slid away eastward, to walk aimlessly
+through the streets till I fell into the arms of a broad-shouldered,
+pug-nosed, Irish New York policeman. I remember no more till New York
+passed away on a sunny afternoon, and then I fell asleep again and
+slept till the brakeman, conductor, Pullman-car conductor, negro
+porter and newsboy somehow managed to pull me out into the midnight
+temperature of 80 below freezing. It was just like having one's head
+put under the pump, but it did not quite revive me, for I mistook
+my host in his sleigh for a walrus, and tried to harpoon him with my
+umbrella. After matters had been explained, we went off, at least I
+did, and never woke up till I fell out into a snow-drift, just as we
+turned a corner at our journey's end.
+
+[Illustration: "Ta-ra-ra-Boom!"]
+
+In the morning, I had some idea that the sky was a great sapphire, and
+that I was inside it, and that the fields were some sort of velvet
+or wool-work, going round and round with the sun rioting over them,
+whatever that may mean, till my head ached. I can't quite understand
+all this now, but it seemed a very picturesque, impressionist
+description when I wrote it. Then I went for a walk down Main Street.
+I think it is about 400 miles long, for I got nowhere near the end,
+but this was perhaps owing to my uncertainty as to which side was
+the pleasanter to walk on. At last I gave it up, and sat down on the
+side-walk. Now, the wisdom of Vermont, not being at all times equal
+to grasping all the problems of everybody else's life with delicacy,
+sometimes makes pathetic mistakes, and it did so in my ease. I
+explained to the policeman that I had been sitting up half the night
+on a wild horse in New Zealand, and had only just come over for the
+day, but it was all in vain.
+
+The cell at Vermont was horribly uncomfortable. I dreamt that I was
+trying to boil snow in a thimble, to make maple syrup, and to swim on
+my head in deep water, with a life-belt tied to my ankles. There was
+another man there, and in the early morning he told me about Mastodons
+and Plesiosauri in a wood near the town, and how he caught them by the
+tails and photographed them; and also that Ringandknock, a mountain
+near, was mentioned by EMERSON in a verse, which I remembered,
+because he made "co-eval" rhyme with "extended." Only a truly great
+Philosopher could have done that.
+
+It was all new and delightful; and it must have been true, because my
+informant was a quiet, slow-spoken man of the West, who refrained from
+laughing at me. I have met very few people who could do that. Next day
+all the idleness and trifling were at an end, and my friends conveyed
+me back to New York.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+EPITAPH ON A DYER.
+
+  This Dyer with a dire liver tried
+  To earn a living dyeing, and he died.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE CONFESSIONS OF A DUFFER.
+
+NO. VIII.--THE DUFFER AS A HOST.
+
+Of course I don't try to give dinners at home. The difficulties and
+anxieties are too enormous. First there is inviting the people. I like
+to have none but very clever men and very pretty women, but nobody's
+acquaintance is limited to those rare beings, and, if I did invite
+them, they would all have previous engagements: I do not blame them.
+But suppose that two or three of the wits and beauties accept, that
+is worse than ever, because the rest are a Q.C. (who talks about
+his cases) and his wife, who talks about her children. An old
+school-fellow, who has no conversation that does not begin, "I say, do
+you remember old JACK WILLIAMS." This does not entertain the beauty,
+who sits next him.
+
+A Dowager Duchess, she knows none of the other people and wonders
+audibly (to me) who they are. A clever young man, whose language is
+the language of the future, and whose humour is of a date to which I
+humbly hope my own days may not be prolonged. A Psychical Researcher,
+with a note-book; he gets at the Duchess at once, and cross-examines
+her about a visionary Piper who plays audible pibrochs through Castle
+Blawearie, her ancestral home. Does she think the pibroch could be
+taken down in a phonograph. Could the Piper be snapped in a kodak?
+The Duchess does not know what a phonograph is; never heard of a
+kodak. She does not like the note-book any more than _Mr. Pickwick's_
+cabman liked it. She is afraid of getting into print. Then there is
+the Warden of St. Jude's, a great scholar; he pricks up his ears,
+not the keenest, at the word kodak, and begins to talk about a
+newly-discovered _Codex_ of PODONIAN the Elder. Nobody knows what
+a _Codex_ is. There is a School-board Lady, but, alas, she is next
+the Warden of St. Jude's, not next the enthusiastic Clergyman, who
+proses about a Club for Milliners. There is GRIGSBY, who develops an
+undesirable interest in the Milliners' Club. Have they a Strangers'
+Room? Do they give suppers? Are they Friendly Girls? Everyone thinks
+GRIGSBY flippant and coarse; I wish I had not asked him to come. There
+is a Positivist, who sneers at the Clergyman; there are a Squire and
+his wife from Rutlandshire: she is next the Radical Candidate for the
+Isle of Dogs. They do not seem to get on well together. GRIGSBY and
+the humorist of the future are chaffing each other across the table:
+nobody understands them; I don't know whether they are quarrelling
+or not. Miss JONES, the authoress of _Melancholy Moods_ (in a
+Greek dress, with a _pince-nez_: a woman should not combine these
+attributes) is next the Squire: he has never heard of any of her
+friends the Minor Poets: she takes no interest in Hay, nor in Tithes.
+I see the Guardsman and the Beauty looking at each other across the
+flowers and things: the language of their eyes is not difficult, nor
+pleasant, to read. Why is the champagne so hot, and why are the ices
+so salt and hard? I know something is the matter with the claret:
+something is always the matter with the claret. It has been iced, and
+the champagne has been standing for days in an equable temperature of
+65 deg..
+
+[Illustration: "It is midnight; I am tired to death. Yes, Bielby
+_will_ have something to drink, and another cigar--a very large one."]
+
+When they want to go away, it is a wet night, and those who have come
+in cabs cannot get cabs to go back in. The Duchess's coachman lost his
+way, coming here, she was half-an-hour late: she is anxious about his
+finding his way home. GRIGSBY has got at the Psychical-Researcher, and
+I hear him telling stories, as personal experiences, which I know are
+not true. Psychical-Researchers have no sense of humour. "S.P.R.,"
+why not "S.P.Q.R.?" I hear GRIGSBY asking, and suggesting "Society for
+Propagating Rubbish." It is very rude of him, and not at all funny.
+
+However, they do go away at last, that advantage a dinner at home
+has over a dinner at the Club, there they often seem as if they would
+never go away at all.
+
+On the other hand, the wine is all right at the Club, I believe, for
+I know nothing about wine myself. Some men talk of nothing else, and
+seem to know the vintages without looking at the names on the bottles.
+
+The worst of giving a dinner at the Club is, that I never know how
+many men I have asked, nor even who they are. It is enough if I
+remember the date. It might be a good thing to write these matters
+down in a Diary, or on a big sheet of paper, pinned up in one's room.
+I know I have written to ask some Americans whom I have not seen:
+they brought letters of introduction. I forget their names--there is a
+Professor who has written a novel, there is a General, I think, and a
+Mad Doctor.
+
+My best plan will be to stand about in the drawing-room, and try to
+select them as they come in. Here is WILKINSON, who was at St. Jude's
+with me: I shake hands with him warmly. He looks blank. It is not
+WILKINSON, after all; it is a stranger, he is dining with somebody
+else. Some other men have come in while I am apologising. One of them
+comes up and says, "Mr. McDUFFER!" He must be an American. Which? He
+tells me: he is the Mad Doctor. He introduces his countrymen; they
+all say "Mr. McDUFFER!" How am I to remember which is the General and
+which is the Professor? Other people drop in. Here is CRIMPTON. He
+is a Reviewer. Clever fellow, CRIMPTON. Here is old BEILBY--he is hot
+from the University Match. He begins to tell me all about it. JONES
+was awfully well set, but that muff SMITH ran him out. BEILBY does
+not believe it _was_ out. Odd the spite umpires always have at our
+side. Feel that I must tear myself from BEILBY, the only man whose
+conversation really interests me. Here is an English writer on
+military subjects. I introduce him to the American General. Find he
+is the Professor, after all. We get down-stairs somehow. BEILBY is
+opposite me. CRIMPTON is next the Professor. The Military Writer is
+next the General. Things do not appear to go very smoothly. It seems
+that the Military one has said something about General BEAUREGARD
+which he should not have said. The General is getting red. I hate it,
+when men begin to talk about the American War. Any other war they
+are welcome to: the Danish War, the war of 1866, the war of 1870, the
+glorious affair of Majuba. But Americans are touchy about their war,
+not easy to please them whatever you say. Much best to say nothing.
+CRIMPTON is laughing at American novels. He does not know that the
+Professor is an American novelist. What am I to do? I try to kick him
+under the table. I kick the Mad Doctor, and apologise. Was feeling
+about for a footstool. BEILBY is trying to talk about Base Ball to
+the General, who is still red. Nothing is more disagreeable than these
+international discussions at dinner.
+
+Now, a clever host would know how to get out of this; he would start
+some other subject. I can think of no other subject. Happy thought:
+gradually glide into American cookery, clams, canvas-backed ducks,
+what is that dish with a queer name--Jumbo? I don't feel as if it
+were Jumbo. Squambo? Terapin soup? It sounds rather like the Hebrew
+for a talisman, or an angel of some sort. However, they are talking
+about cookery now, and wines. Is there not an American wine called
+Catawampus? The Mad Doctor has his eye on me; he seems interested.
+I thought I heard him murmur Aspasia, or Aphasia, or something
+like that. It is not Catawampus--it is Catawba. I feel that I
+_patauge_--flounder, I mean. I am getting quite nervous; feel like a
+man in a powder-magazine, with lighted cigarettes everywhere. If one
+can withdraw them to the smoking-room, they will settle down somehow.
+They do. The Military Critic gets into a corner with BEILBY. The
+Americans and I consort together. Most agreeable fellows; have been
+everywhere, and seen everything. CRIMPTON, luckily, is reading one of
+his own reviews in the evening paper. I glance at it; it is a review
+of the Professor's novel. Not a kind review--rather insulting than
+otherwise. He hates BEILBY, and he does not know the Military Critic.
+If he joins us, there will be more international discussion. I get
+them on to the balcony, and pretend to go to ring the bell for coffee.
+I whisper to CRIMPTON. He is quite taken aback. "Awfully sorry; never
+dreamed the Professor was not English." He wants to tell the Professor
+that, thinks he will be pleased. He apologises to me; it is dreadfully
+disagreeable to be apologised to by a guest. "All my fault," I say;
+and, really, so it is. CRIMPTON remembers an evening engagement, and
+goes off _a l'Anglaise_.
+
+[Illustration: A PENNY FOR THE MEMBER'S THOUGHTS.]
+
+The Americans go off; say they have enjoyed themselves. I feel
+inclined to apologise for CRIMPTON. On second thoughts, I don't. They
+do not look like men who write about their adventures in their native
+newspapers. Ladies do that. A weight is off my mind. The Military
+Writer goes home. He asks, "Who was that old man who fancied himself
+so about SHERMAN's March?" "That was General HOME, who held a command
+under SHERMAN." The Military Writer whistles; wishes I had told him
+that before dinner. I wish I had, but I got so flurried and confused.
+It is midnight; I am tired to death. Yes, BEILBY _will_ have something
+to drink, and another cigar--a very large one. He begins to talk about
+the University Match, about all University Matches, about old scores,
+and old catches, from MITCHELL's year to the present day.
+
+It is three o'clock before I get home; the Americans _may_ have
+enjoyed themselves, I have not. I dream about the Mad Doctor; perhaps
+he will put me into his next book on _Incipient Insanity_. Serve me
+right.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE YOUNG GIRL'S COMPANION.
+
+(_BY MRS. PAYLEY._)
+
+I.--THE YOUNG GIRL'S DIARY.
+
+My very dear young girls, those Arts and accomplishments which form
+part of the average education will be taught you by your Governess,
+and in some cases, if your parents think it judicious, by a male
+Professor. I do not propose in these papers to deal with such
+subjects. But there are certain points in the life of the young girl,
+about which the handbooks have but little to say, which your teachers
+do not include in their course of tuition. Some of these points are
+particularly intimate and sentimental. It is here that I would wish
+to act as your adviser, and, if I may, as your confidential friend.
+I shall always be glad, while these papers are being published,
+to receive and answer any letters from young girls on questions of
+sentiment and propriety. If we had no sentiment, life would not stand
+thinking about; if we had no propriety, life would not stand talking
+about. Of the two, propriety is, perhaps, for the woman the more
+important, but I shall be glad to answer questions on both. And now
+let me say a few words on the subject of the Young Girl's Diary.
+
+[Illustration: (Young girl.)]
+
+You must most certainly keep a Diary.
+
+When I was a young girl of twenty-eight--it is not so very long ago--I
+had my Diary bound in pale blue watered silk; it had three locks and a
+little silver key which I wore on a riband round my neck. I never took
+it off except to--I mean for the purposes of the toilette. There was a
+pocket at the end of the book, which would hold a faded flower or any
+little souvenir. I always wrote it in solitude and by night. Secresy
+has its ritual, and it is infinitely sweet and consoling. If you
+should ever choose to read any passage from your Diary to the dearest
+of your girl-friends, the confidence becomes in consequence so much
+more confidential; for she will know that you are reading to her what
+was never intended for any human eye to see, and will enjoy it more.
+If you have the least appreciation of what sentiment really means, if
+you feel that you are misunderstood, or if you suffer from the most
+sacred of all emotions, you will most certainly keep a Diary.
+
+The entries in the Diary need not be of any great length. I once had
+a dear girl-friend who, during the happy season of her first love,
+became in the pages of her Diary almost entirely interjectional. I
+think this was from natural delicacy. I was recently stopping at her
+house, and owing to circumstances over which she had no control, I
+am able to reproduce here the entries which she made in the few days
+which culminated in her engagement.
+
+"_September_ 6.--Why?"
+
+You observe that she is puzzled to account for her own emotions, and
+yet hesitates to give the inevitable solution. The intense reticence
+of this entry seems to me peculiarly beautiful.
+
+"_September_ 7.--I hate MARY BINDLER."
+
+I can remember the circumstances very well, and I am inclined to think
+that she had some reason to be jealous of MARY BINDLER. MARY was not
+at all a nice girl.
+
+"_September_ 8.--Joy, joy, joy!"
+
+I think I can explain this entry. MARY BINDLER had been called away
+hurriedly. Somebody was dead, or something of that sort. My friend's
+expression of relief seems to me very pretty and natural.
+
+"_September_ 9.--Ah!"
+
+"_September_ 10.--Oh!"
+
+In that little word "Ah!" there is the whole history of a pic-nic and
+a carriage accident. It was there that she first guessed his feelings
+towards her. I am sorry to say that I have not been able to obtain
+any adequate explanation of the "Oh!" But I know they went out after
+dinner to see if it was possible to play tennis by moonlight. I
+conclude that it was not, for the next entry, which consists simply of
+a note of exclamation, is really a record of her engagement.
+
+Of course I need not point out the impropriety of mixing in the pages
+of your Diary the record of the most sacred emotions, and notes of
+things more commonplace. I knew a girl who invariably did this. She
+always commenced with an account of any money that she might have
+spent during the day. I have managed, with considerable difficulty, to
+make a copy of one of these entries, and I give it as a warning:--
+
+"Chocolate, one-and-six. ALGERNON has written to me, asking me to see
+him again for the last time. I have written back that my decision
+is unalterable. It breaks my heart to have to be so cruel--but fate
+wills it, and it's no good fighting against Mamma. Sent my grey to be
+cleaned--but it won't look anything when it's done."
+
+In another entry I found the following:--
+
+"A dear long letter from EGBERT. How perfect his sympathy is! Not
+feeling very well to-day--will always refuse _vol-au-vent_ in future."
+
+I need hardly say that a girl who would chronicle the state of her
+digestion and the sympathy of her lover in one paragraph could not
+possibly have any soul.
+
+The perfect Diary is something of a paradox. It should be composed
+chiefly of what is unpublishable--of one's secrets and sentiments--but
+it should always be written as if with a view to publication. In your
+Diary you can say things about yourself which it would be conceited to
+say openly, and you can say things about your friends which it would
+be unkind to say openly; you can make your own pose seem more real
+to yourself. So, my dear young girls, take my advice, and commence
+Diaries. And remember I shall be very glad to answer any questions on
+the subject.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+JOKIM'S LATEST LITTLE JOKE.
+
+(_BY A MANY TIMES DISAPPOINTED INCOME-TAX PAYER._)
+
+  It is out at last, but it falls very flat;
+  Such a very big "bag," such a very small "cat"!
+  Popularity Budget? It can't be called _that_!
+  The Budget that was to have been such "good biz,"
+  And have caused the Election to go with a "whizz,"
+  Fizzles out in--reducing the duty on Fizz!
+  Ah, JOKIM, my joker, you've hardly the knack
+  Of holding the Bag, so we'll give you "_the Sack_!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"MEET IT IS I SET IT DOWN."--"Mr. J. McN. WHISTLER," it was remarked
+by one of his visitors on the closing day of his recent Exhibition,
+"has in his Catalogue put down all unfavourable criticisms." How, in
+this respect, would all of us like to imitate the Eccentric Knight of
+the Order of the Butterfly, and put down all adverse criticism.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+NOTICE.--Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS.,
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+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI, VOL.
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