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diff --git a/14514-0.txt b/14514-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1b1b2ff --- /dev/null +++ b/14514-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1290 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14514 *** + +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 Vivandière_ (_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." Æsop +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 _orfévrerie_,-- + 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°. + +[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 _à 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., +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 14514 *** |