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diff --git a/20338-h/20338-h.htm b/20338-h/20338-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..98d972e --- /dev/null +++ b/20338-h/20338-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2169 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> + + <html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Punch, December 24, 1892.</title> + + <style type="text/css" media="screen"> + + body {margin: 0 10%;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center;} + p {text-align: justify;} + blockquote {text-align: justify;} + hr {width: 50%; clear:both;} + hr.short {width: 20%; clear:both;} + img { border: none; } + span.pagenum {position: absolute; left: 1%; right: 91%; font-size: .8em;} + .center { text-align:center; } + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: normal;} + .note{margin:0 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .poem{margin:0 10%;margin-bottom: 1em;text-align: left;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i2 {margin-left: 1em;} + .poem span.i4 {margin-left: 2em;} + .poem span.i8 {margin-left: 4em;} + .figcenter{padding: 1em;font-size: 0.8em;margin: 0px;text-align:center;} + .figcenter p {margin: 0px; text-indent: 1em;} + .figcenter p.in {margin: 0px; text-indent: 8em;} + .figcenter {margin: auto;} + .figleft{padding-right: 1em;padding-left:1em;font-size: 0.8em;padding-bottom: 1em;margin: 0px;padding-top: 1em;text-align: center;} + .figleft img {border-top-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-left-style: none; border-bottom-style: none;} + .figleft p {margin: 0px; text-indent: 1em;} + .figleft p.in {margin: 0px; text-indent: 8em;} + .figleft {float: left;} + .figright {float: right;} + .figright p.in {margin: 0px; text-indent: 8em;} + .figright p {margin: 0px; text-indent: 1em;} + .figright img {border-top-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-left-style: none; border-bottom-style: none;} + .figright {padding-right: 1em; padding-left: 1em; font-size: 0.8em; padding-bottom: 1em; margin: 0px; padding-top: 1em; text-align: center;} + p.smallfont {font-size:small;} + .clear {clear:both;} + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 103, +December 24, 1892, by Various + +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, Volume 103, December 24, 1892 + +Author: Various + +Editor: Francis Burnand + +Release Date: January 11, 2007 [EBook #20338] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH *** + + + + +Produced by V. L. Simpson, Malcolm Farmer and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<h1>PUNCH,<br /> OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1> +<h2>VOL. 103.</h2> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>DECEMBER 24, 1892.</h2> +<hr class="full" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span></p> + + <div class="figcenter" style="width:75%"> + <a href="images/289.png"> + <img src="images/289.png" alt="SNUBBING A DECADENT." width="100%" /> + </a> + + <h3>SNUBBING A DECADENT.</h3> + + <p class="in"><i>He.</i> "<span class="smcap">A—don't you find Existence an awful Bore</span>?"</p> + + <p class="in"><i>She.</i> "<span class="smcap">A—well, <i>some</i> People's existence—most decidedly</span>!"</p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>YULE-TIDE—OLD AND NEW.</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">At the Commencement of the Century</span>.</h3> + +<p>And they made merry in the good old +fashion. The pictures on the walls were +covered with holly and mistletoe. They had +come from British woods. Then the tables +groaned with Christmas cheer. The baron +of beef was flanked with plum-pudding and +mince-pies. There never was a more jovial +crew. The compliments of the season were +passed round, and the Christmas Waits, +singing their Christmas carols, were entertained +right royally. For was it not a time +of peace and good will? Then there was a +mighty laugh. A huge joke had been perpetrated. +Grandfather had been asleep, and +he was telling the youngsters, who had been +playing a round game, the character of his +dream.</p> + +<p>"I give you my word it is true," said the +old man. "Yes, I actually forgot it was +Christmas!"</p> + +<p>"But it was only in your dreams, Grandpapa," +urged one of his descendants.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but that was bad enough," cried the +old man in a tone of self-reproach, "fancy +forgetting Christmas—even in one's dreams! +Everything seems changing nowadays!"</p> + +<p>But the Grandfather was wrong—the +Christmas bills were unchangeable. And +ever will be!</p> + + +<h3><span class="smcap">At the End of the Century</span>.</h3> + +<p>And certainly it was dull enough in all +conscience. Nowadays everything is dull. +Although it was towards the end of December, +the room was decorated with summer +flowers. They had come from Algeria. Then +the side-table was spread with a <i>recherché</i> +repast, for they were all going to dine <i>à la +Russe</i>. But the guests were sad and thoroughly +bored. They had sent a policeman +after the itinerant street-musicians, with +the desired result. Inside and outside silence +reigned triumphant. Was it not a time for +"moving on" and threatening "six weeks +without the option of a fine"?</p> + +<p>Then there was a deep groan. A young +man—somebody's Grandson—suggested a +round game. At first the suggestion was +received with derision.</p> + +<p>"You can't get up a Missing Word Competition," +said one. "No, my Grandson, you +can't."</p> + +<p>"Can't I?" said the youngster, who had +been called 'Grandson.' "Can't I? Look +here, I will write out a Word, and I will bet +you none of you will guess it."</p> + +<p>And "Grandson" wrote out a Word on a +piece of paper, and sealed it in a packet. +Then he called out the sentence, "The present +season of the year is known as——"</p> + +<p>Then they all tried to guess it. Some one +said "unfavourable," another "pleasant," a +third "dreary," and a fourth "troublesome."</p> + +<p>But they all were wrong.</p> + +<p>At last the sealed-up packet was produced, +and opened. For the first time there was a +smile when the Word was known.</p> + +<p>"Who would have thought of it?" was +the cry.</p> + +<p>The word chosen was "Christmas."</p> + +<p>"Fancy anyone remembering Christmas! +Even for a Missing Word Competition! +Everything seems changing nowadays!"</p> + +<p>But the Grandson was wrong—his Christmas +bills were unchangeable. And ever will be!</p> + +<hr /> + + +<h2>"ART COMPETITIONS."</h2> + +<blockquote>"Since these competitions were started, the +public had been educated in artistic matters, and +their judgment was almost equal to that of the +members of the Royal Academy."—<i>Mr. Poland's +Speech in the "Missing Word" case</i>.</blockquote> + +<div class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mr. Poland said, at Bow Street,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Choosing pictures thus imparts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Judgment good as that of those treat-<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ed as foremost in the arts.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hitherto each paid his shilling<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At the House of Burling<i>ton</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gazed at pictures, feeble, thrilling,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bad or good, and wandered on—<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Stared with awe-struck admiration<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At "the Picture of the Year,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gained artistic education<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In a stuffy atmosphere.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then all changed; he paid his shilling<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And he sent his coupon in<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To a weekly paper, willing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To discriminate the tin;<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And be wisely praised or blamed, yet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He knew nothing of design,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The <span class="smcap">Bridge</span> of Bow Street claimed yet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">One more shilling as a fine.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, rejoice, Academicians!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Learned <span class="smcap">Bridge</span> knew what to do;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Artisans or mechanicians<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Might have grown as wise as you.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Which would sadden any just man,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And might make an angel weep—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Dicksee</span> distanced by a dustman,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><span class="smcap">Storey</span> staggered by a sweep!<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Boughton</span> beaten by a baker,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Housemaids humbling helpless <span class="smcap">Hook</span>;<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Stone</span> surpassed by sausage-maker,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><span class="smcap">Cooper</span> conquered by a cook!<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Crowe</span> or <span class="smcap">Crofts</span> crushed by a cow-boy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><span class="smcap">Millais</span> made by milkmen mad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Pettie</span> plucked by any ploughboy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><span class="smcap">Leighton</span> licked by butcher's lad!<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It effected all you care for,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But Sir <span class="smcap">John</span> has pulled you through;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bold Bow-Street's Beak is, therefore,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No Bridge of Sighs for you<br /></span> +</div> + +</div><!-- end .poem --> + +<hr /> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">A Note on the Appreciation of Gold</span>."—Send +a five-pound note (verified by the +Bank of England) to our office, and we will +undertake to get it changed <i>immediately</i>, +and thereupon to hand over to the Bearer, in +exchange for the note, <i>two golden sovereigns, +and one golden half-sovereign, ready cash</i>. +This will show what is <i>our</i> appreciation of +gold.</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%"> +<h3>THE SKELETON AT THE FEAST.</h3> +<img src="images/290.png" alt="THE SKELETON AT THE FEAST." width="100%" /> +</div> + +<p>"I confess it does seem to me that certain decisions made by a competent +tribunal hare rendered it extremely doubtful whether there is a single one of +the 670 gentlemen who now compose the House of Commons, who might not +find himself, by some accident, unseated, if a full investigation were made +into everything that had taken place in his constituency, say, during the ten +years preceding his candidature."—<i>Mr. Balfour at Sheffield</i>.</p> + +<p><i>M.P. (of any Party you please), loquitur:—</i></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Phew</span>! It's all very fine, when you gather to dine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And to blow off the steam, while you blow off your 'bacca,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(As the farmers of Aylesbury did, when their wine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was sweetened with "news from the Straits of Malacca");<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But things are much changed since the voters of Bucks<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Flushed red with loud fun at the phrases of <span class="smcap">Dizzy</span>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And M.P.'s are dreadfully down on their lucks,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Since <span class="smcap">Balfour's</span> confounded "tribunals" got busy.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What precious stiff posers to loyal Primrosers<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are offered by Rochester, Walsall, and Hexham!<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Platform perorators, post-prandial glosers,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Must find many points to perplex 'em and vex 'em.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It bothers a spouter who freely would flourish<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Coat-tails and mixed tropes at political dinners,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When doubts of his safety he's driven to nourish,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through publicans rash and (electoral) sinners.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Good lack, and good gracious! One may be veracious,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And look with disgust upon bribes and forced bias,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet owing to "Agents" more hot than sagacious,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Appear</i> as <i>Autolycus-cum</i>-<span class="smcap">Ananias</span>.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One might just as soon be a Man-in-the-Moon,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or hark back at once to the style of Old Sarum.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Act (Corrupt Practices) may be a boon.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But the way they apply it seems most harum-scarum.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Should a would-be M.P. ask old ladies to tea,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or invite male supporters to crumpets or cricket;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should a snug Party Club prove a trifle too free,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or give an equivocal "treat," or hat-ticket;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A seven years' nursing of Slopville-on-Slime,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A well-fought Election and Glorious Victory<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Crowed o'er by proud Party prints at the time)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May—lose you your Seat. It does seem contradictory.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Of course, my good friends, one would not say a word,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Against England's glory—Electoral Purity!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Suspect <i>me</i> of slighting that boon? Too absurd!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But what good's a Seat without <i>some</i> small security.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To fight tooth and nail, land a win, and then fail<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Along of dishon—I mean o'er-zealous "Agents"—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well, well, I don't wish at our Judges to rail,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But—putting it plainly—I fear it won't pay, gents.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis hard to attend a political feast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And strut like a peacock, and crow like a bantam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet feel at one's back, like a blast from the east,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A be-robed and be-wigged and blood-curdling law phantom.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stentorian cheers, and uproarious hear-hears,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though welcome, won't banish the sense of "wet-blanket"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(That's <span class="smcap">Ingoldsby's</span> rhyme), when Petition-bred fears<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Conjure up a grim Skeleton (Judge) at the Banquet!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;height:50%"> +<a href="images/291.png"> +<img src="images/291.png" alt="SUCH A HAPPY FAMILY PARTY—AT CHRISTMAS." width="100%" height="50%" /></a> +<h3>SUCH A HAPPY FAMILY PARTY—AT CHRISTMAS.</h3> + +<p><i>Uncle John</i> (<i>losing his money and his temper</i>). "<span class="smcap">Now, Jane, do me a Favour for once, and <i>don't</i> show your Hand!"</span></p> + +<p><i>Aunt Jane</i> (<i>whose best Cards her Partner has invariably over-trumped</i>). "<span class="smcap">I can't help it. You show <i>your</i> Hands, and I'm sure +<i>they</i>'re no Beauties</span>!" [<i>After this, there's a prospect of a very pleasant evening</i>.</p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>THE SHORTEST DAY.</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="smcap">Short</span> verse<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em">We need,</span><br /> +Most terse<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Indeed,</span><br /> +That it—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This lay—</span><br /> +May fit<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This day.</span><br /> +Short sight<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of sun.</span><br /> +Long night,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Begun</span><br /> +At four,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sunshine</span><br /> +Once more<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At nine.</span><br /> +A. M.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Meets eyes</span><br /> +Of them<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who rise</span><br /> +If no<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fog hide—</span><br /> +Then woe<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Betide;</span><br /> +The day<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That ought</span><br /> +To stay<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So short</span><br /> +A space<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Can't show</span><br /> +Its face<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Below.</span><br /> +But when<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It goes,</span><br /> +Why then<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One knows</span><br /> +New Year<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will soon</span><br /> +Be here—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then June,</span><br /> +So bright!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So sweet!</span><br /> +So light!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We'll greet</span><br /> +The day<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That's long</span><br /> +With gay,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Glad song—</span><br /> + +Excessively long-footed verse will undoubtedly characterise what<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">we say,</span><br /> +For <span class="smcap">Longfellow's</span> longest lines skip along when we've long longed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">for the Longest Day.</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>(<i>Signed</i>) <span class="smcap">Touchstone</span>.</p> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><span class="smcap">Military Motto for the New South London Ophthalmic Hospital +opened last Friday by the Duke of York</span>.—"Eyes right!"</blockquote> + +<hr /> + +<h3>THE CHOICE OF BOOKS.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To various opinions the quidnuncs give voice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the best "choice of books" means—the books of your choice.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span></p> + +<h2>THE LAST WORD</h2> + +<h3>(<i>A Domestic Drama of the Day before Yesterday.</i>)</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Scene</span>.—<i>The Breakfast Room at Linoleum Lodge, the suburban +residence of</i> <span class="smcap">Samuel Stodgeford</span>, Esq. Mr. <i>and</i> Mrs. <span class="smcap">Stodgeford</span>, +<i>their son</i> <span class="smcap">Parmenas</span>, <i>and daughters</i> <span class="smcap">Pompilia</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Priscilla</span>, +<i>discovered at breakfast.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mr. Stodgeford.</i> We shall probably get it by the second post, and +though the delay is—ah—to some extent, annoying, we must not +allow ourselves to be unduly impatient. Personally, I regard these—ah—weekly +competitions as chiefly valuable in providing an +innocent form of domestic recreation, and an interesting example of +the—ah—value of words.</p> + +<p><i>Parmenas S.</i> The value of <i>one</i> word, I should say, Father. Last +week, as there were very few who guessed right, it amounted to a +considerable sum.</p> + +<p><i>Mr. S.</i> That is a stimulant to ingenuity, no doubt, with some +minds, but let us put that aside. We feel some natural curiosity +to know whether we have selected the missing +adjective, and I see no reason myself to doubt +that our united efforts will this time be +crowned with success.</p> + +<p><i>Pompilia.</i> It is almost impossible that it +won't be <i>one</i> of the two hundred and fifty +we sent in.</p> + +<p><i>Parmenas.</i> I drew up a list of synonyms +which, I flatter myself, was practically exhaustive.</p> + +<p><i>Priscilla.</i> I dreamt I heard a voice saying +quite clearly in my ear, "Nonsensical! nonsensical!"—like +that—so I sent it in the +first thing next morning.</p> + +<p><i>Mr. S.</i> These—ah—supernatural monitions +are not vouchsafed to us without a purpose. +It <i>may</i> be "nonsensical."</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. S.</i> The only two words <i>I</i> could think +of were, "absurd" and "idiotic," and I'm +afraid they haven't much chance.</p> + +<p><i>Mr. S.</i> I wouldn't say that, <span class="smcap">Sophronia</span>. +It is not always the most appropriate epithet +that—let me run over the paragraph again—where +is last week's paper? Ah, I have it. +(<i>He procures it and reads with unction.</i>) +"The lark, as has been frequently observed +by the poets, is in the habit of ascending to +high altitudes in the exercise of his vocal +functions. Scientific meteorologists, it is +true, do not consider that there is any immediate +danger of a descent of the sky, but +many bird-catchers of experience are of +opinion that, should such a contingency +happen, the number of these feathered songsters +included in the catastrophe would, in +all probability, be simply——" It might be +"idiotic," of course, but I fancy "incalculable," +or "appalling" would be nearer +the mark.</p> + +<p><i>Parmenas.</i> Too obvious, <i>I</i> should say. If +you had adopted a few more of the words I +got from <i>Roget's Thesaurus</i>, we should have +been safer. Sending in a word like "disgusting" +was sheer waste of one-and-twopence! +And as for <span class="smcap">Pompilia</span>, with her synonyms to "sensational," and +<span class="smcap">Priscilla</span>, with her rubbishy superstition, depend upon it, <i>they</i>'re +no good!</p> + +<p><i>Pompilia.</i> You think you know so much, because you've been +to London University—but <i>we've</i> been to a High School; so we're +not absolute <i>idiots</i>. <span class="smcap">Parmenas</span>!</p> + +<p><i>Priscilla.</i> And I'm sure people have dreamt which horse was +going to win a race over and over again!</p> + +<p><i>Mr. S.</i> Come, come, let us have none of these unseemly disputes! +And, when you compare a literary competition with—ah—a mere +gambling transaction, <span class="smcap">Priscilla</span>, you do a grave injustice to us all. +You forget that we have, all of us, worked hard for success; we +have given our whole thoughts and time to the subject. I have +stayed at home from the office day after day. Your mother has +had no leisure for the cares of the household; your brother has suspended +his studies for his approaching examination, and your elder +sister her labours at the East End—on purpose to devote our combined +intelligence to the subject. And are we to be told that we +are no better than the brainless multitude who speculate on horse-racing! +I am not <i>angry</i>, my child, I am only—(<i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Robert</span>, +<i>the</i> Page, <i>with a paper in a postal wrapper.) Tiddler's Miscellany</i>—ha, +at last! Why didn't you bring it up before, Sir? You must +have known it was important!</p> + +<p><i>Robert.</i> Please, Sir, it's on'y just come, Sir.</p> + +<p><i>Mr. S. (snatching the paper from him, and tearing it open; the +other members of the family crowd round excitedly).</i> Now we shall +see! Where's the place? Confound the thing! Why can't they +print the result in a——(<i>His face falls.</i>) What are you waiting +for, Sir? Leave the room!</p> + +<p>[<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Robert</span>, <i>who has lingered about the sideboard.</i></p> + +<p><i>Robert.</i> Beg pardon, Sir, but would you mind reading out the +Word—'cause I'm——</p> + +<p><i>The Family.</i> Read the Word, Papa, do!</p> + +<p><i>Mr. S. (keeping the Journal).</i> All in good time. (<i>Addressing</i> +<span class="smcap">Robert</span>.) Am I to understand, Sir, that you have actually had the +presumption to engage in this competition?—an uneducated young +rascal like you!</p> + +<p><i>Robert.</i> I didn't mean no harm, Sir, I sent in nothink—it was +on'y a lark, Sir!</p> + +<p><i>The Family (dancing with suspense).</i> Oh, never mind <span class="smcap">Robert</span> now, +Father—do read out the Word!</p> + +<p><i>Mr. S. (ignoring their anxiety).</i> If you sent in nothing, Sir, so +much the better. But, in case you should be +tempted to such a piece of infatuation in +future, let me tell you this by way of—ah—warning. +I and my family, have, with +every advantage that superior education and +abilities can bestow, sent in, after prolonged +and careful deliberation, no less than two +hundred and fifty separate solutions, and not +a single one of these solutions, Sir, proves to +be the correct one!</p> + +<p><i>The Family (collapsing on the nearest +chairs).</i> Oh, it can't be true—one of them +<i>must</i> be right!</p> + +<p><i>Mr. S.</i> Unfortunately, they are not. I +will read you the sentence as completed. +<i>(Reads.)</i> "Should such a contingency happen, +the number of these feathered songsters +included in the catastrophe would, in all probability, +be simply—ah—<i>nought</i>!" Now I venture to assert +that nothing short of—ah—absolute genius could possibly—— +(<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Robert</span>.) What do you mean by interrupting +me, Sir?</p> + +<p><i>Robert.</i> Please, Sir, <i>I</i> said nothink, Sir!</p> + +<p><i>Pompilia.</i> Oh, what <i>does</i> it matter? Give me the +paper, Papa. <i>(She snatches it.)</i> Oh, listen to this:—"The +number of solutions sent in was five hundred +thousand, which means that twenty-five thousand +pounds remain for division. The only competitor who +gave the correct solution was Mr. <span class="smcap">Robert Conkling</span>, +of Linoleum Lodge, Camberwell...." <i>Oh!</i> Why, +that's <i>you</i>, <span class="smcap">Robert</span>!</p> + +<p><i>Robert.</i> Yes, Miss, I told you I said "Nothink," +Miss. I'm sure if I'd thought——</p> + +<p><i>Mr. S. (gasping).</i> Twenty-five thousand pounds! +Ah, <span class="smcap">Robert</span>, I trust you will not forget that this +piece of—ah—unmerited good fortune was acquired +by you under this humble roof. Shake hands, my +boy!</p> + +<p><i>Pompilia.</i> Wait, Papa—don't shake hands till I've +done—<i>(continuing)—</i>"Mr. <span class="smcap">Conkling</span>, however, having +elected to disregard our conditions, requiring the +solution to be written out in full, and to express the +word "Nought" by a cipher, we cannot consider him +legally entitled to the prize——"</p> + +<p><i>Mr. S.</i> How dare you use my private address for your illiterate +attempts, Sir?</p> + +<p><i>Prisc. (seizing the paper).</i> Why don't you read it all?——"We +are prepared, nevertheless, to waive this informality, and a +cheque for the full amount of twenty-five thousand pounds, +payable to his order, will be forwarded to Mr. <span class="smcap">CONKLING</span> accordingly——"</p> + +<p><i>Mr. S.</i> Well, <span class="smcap">Robert</span>, you deserve it, I must say—shake +hands!—I—ah—<i>mean</i> it.</p> + +<p><i>Robert.</i> Thankee, Sir, I'm sure—it was Cook and <span class="smcap">Jane</span> 'elped me, +Sir, but—(<i>dolefully</i>)—I sold my chanst to the butcher-boy, for +tuppence and a mouth-orgin, Sir.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:60%; height:60%"> +<a href="images/292.png"> +<img src="images/292.png" alt="I sold my Chanst to the Butcher-boy!" width="60%" height="60%" /></a> +<h3>"I sold my Chanst to the Butcher-boy!"</h3> +</div> + +<p><i>Mr. S.</i> You unspeakable young idiot! But there, you will know +better another time; and now go out at once, and order five hundred +copies of <i>Tiddler</i>—a periodical which offers such intellectual and—ah—substantial +advantages, deserves some encouragement. (<i>Exit</i> +<span class="smcap">Robert</span>.) Now Mother, <span class="smcap">Parmenas</span>, girls—all of you, let us set to +work, and see—just for the—ah—fun of the thing—if we can't be +more fortunate with the <i>next</i> competition. We'll have Cook and +<span class="smcap">Jane</span>, and—ah—<span class="smcap">Robert</span> in to help; the housework can look after +itself for once ... what is it <i>now</i>, <span class="smcap">Priscilla</span>?</p> + +<p><i>Prisc. (faintly).</i> I've just seen this. (<i>Reads.</i>) "In consequence of +the recent decision at Bow Street, those who send solutions for this, +and any future competitions, will not be +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> +required to forward any remittance with their +coupons——"</p> + +<p><i>Mr. S.</i> (<i>approvingly</i>). An admirable arrangement—puts +a stop at once to any pernicious +tendency to—ah—speculation!</p> + +<p><i>Prisc.</i> (<i>continuing</i>)—"and successful competitors +must, we fear, be content with no other +reward than that of honourable mention."</p> + +<p><i>Mr. S.</i> Here, send after <span class="smcap">Robert</span>, somebody! +It's scandalous that the precious +time of a whole family should be frittered +away in these unedifying and—ah—idiotic +competitions. I will not allow another <i>Tiddler</i> +to enter my house!</p> + +<p><i>Robert</i> (<i>entering with his arms full of +"Tiddlers"</i>). Please, Sir, I brought a +'undred, Sir, and they'll send up the rest as +soon as ever they——Oh Lor, Sir, I on'y done +as I was told, Sir!</p> + +<p>[<i>He is pounced upon, severely cuffed by a +righteously indignant family, and sent +flying in a whirlwind of tattered "Tiddlers," +as the Scene closes</i>.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>LAYS OF MODERN HOME.</h2> +<h3>THE MUFFIN MAN.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah! welcome, through autumnal mist,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For each returning ruralist,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Waif metropolitan, to list<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Thy tinkle unto.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No sound of seas or bees or trees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can Londoners so truly please—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cheapest epicure with ease<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Thy dainties run to.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<div class="figleft" style="width:55%; height:55%;"> +<a href="images/293-1.png"> +<img src="images/293-1.png" alt="Illustration" width="75%" height="75%" /></a> +</div> + +<span class="i0">They need not, like the fruits on sticks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fruits Venetian boyhood licks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A voice with operatic tricks<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Their praise to trumpet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The simple bell shall, fraught with sense<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of teapot, urn, and hearth intense.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Best herald thee and thy commensurable<br /></span> +<span class="i8">crumpet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Lives there a cit with soul so dead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who never to himself hath said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"This is my crisp, my native-bred,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">My British muffin!"?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Let picturesque Autolyci<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their cloying foreign dainties cry;<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>I</i> don't see much to buy, not I,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Such messy stuff in!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mysterious vagrant, dost prepare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thyself that inexpensive fare;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thyself, partake of it—and <i>where?</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i8">The boon thou sellest?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza clear"> +<span class="i0">'Tis Home, where'er it be; thy load<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can cheer the pauper's dark abode,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lack of it, with gloom corrode<br /></span> +<span class="i8">The very swellest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There are who deem it vulgar fun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For dressy bachelors to run<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Themselves to stop thee; I'm not one<br /></span> +<span class="i8">So nicely silly:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>I</i>'m not ashamed to track thy way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And test the triumphs of thy tray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bring them back in paper, say,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">To Piccadilly.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yes, heedless of a gibing town,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To hand them <span class="smcap">Phyllis</span>, sit me down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wait, till they come up in brown<br /></span> +<span class="i8">And glossy sections.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then, brew my cup—the best Ceylon—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, bidding care and chill begone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Concentre heart and mouth upon<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Thy warm perfections.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> + +<h2>MONTECARLOTTERY.</h2> + + +<blockquote class="note">[It remains true that for those who want a brief +and exhilarating change, and are glad to reap for +the nonce the harvest of a quiet eye, there are +spots within the borders of England which, both in +climate and in scenery, can vie with the proudest +and most vaunted watering-places of the Sunny +South.—<i>Daily Paper</i>.]</blockquote> + +<p><i>Damon on the Riviera, to Pythias at +Torquay.</i>—"Here I am, by the blue Mediterranean! +At least, the attendant of the sleeping-car +says the Mediterranean is somewhere +about, only, as a violent rain-storm is going +on, we can't see it. Very tired by journey. +Feel that, after all, you were probably right +in deciding to try the coast of Devonshire +this winter, instead of Riviera."</p> + +<p><i>Pythias at Torquay, to Damon at Nice.</i>—"Coast +of Devonshire delightful, so far. +Pleasant run down from London by G. W. R.—only +five hours. Thought of and pitied +your crossing to Calais, and long night-and-day +journey after. You should just see our +geraniums and fuchsias, growing out-of-doors +in winter! Mind and tell me in your +next how the olives and orange-trees look."</p> + +<p><i>Damon to Pythias.</i>—"Olives all diseased—have +not seen an orange-tree yet—there is +my reply to the query in your last. Hitherto +I have not had much opportunity of seeing +anything, as the mistral has been blowing, +and it has been rather colder than England +in March. Wretched cold in my head. No +decent fires—only pine-cones and logs to +burn, instead of coal! Wish I were at +Torquay with you!"</p> + +<p><i>Pythias to Damon.</i>—"Sorry to hear that +Riviera is such a failure. More pleased than +ever with Devonshire. Glorious warm sunshine +to-day. Natives say they hardly ever +have frost. Children digging on sand on +Christmas Eve—too hot for great-coat. Rain +comes down occasionally, but then it dries up +in no time. Quite a little Earthly Paradise. +Glad I found it out."</p> + +<p><i>Later from Damon.</i>—"Riviera better. +Mistral gone. Sun warm, and have seen my +first orange-tree. Have also found that +there's a place called Monte Carlo near Nice. +Have you ever heard of it? There's a +Casino there, where they have free concerts. +Off there now!"</p> + +<p><i>Later from Pythias.</i>—"After all, Devonshire +<i>is</i> sometimes a little damp. Yes, I <i>have</i> +heard of Monte Carlo Casino, and I wish there +was anything of the sort at Torquay. Walks +and drives pretty, but monotonous. Hills +annoying. Still, evidently far superior to any +part of Riviera."</p> + +<p><i>Still later from Damon.</i>—"Glorious place, +Monte Carlo. Superb grounds! Scenery +lovely, and Casinery still lovelier! And, +between ourselves, I have already more than +paid for expenses of my trip by my winnings +at the Tables. No time for more just now. +Must back the red!"</p> + +<p><i>Reply to above from Pythias.</i>—"Very sorry +to hear you have been playing at the Tables. +Sure to end in ruin. By the bye, what system +do you use? The subject interests me merely +as a mathematical problem, of course. Wish +<i>I</i> could pay expenses of my Devonshire +hotel so easily. But then one ought to have +<i>some</i> reward for visiting such a dreary place +as the Riviera, with its Mistrals, and diseased +olive-trees, and all that."</p> + +<p><i>Latest from Damon.</i>—"Since writing my +last letter, my views of the Riviera have +altered. The climate, I find, does not suit me. +Sun doesn't shine as much as I expected—not +at night, for instance. Then the existence +of an olive disease anywhere near is naturally +very <i>dégoûtant</i> (as they say here). And the +Casino at Monte Carlo is simply an organised +swindle. It ought to be put down! After +staking ten times in succession on "Zero," +and doubling my stake each time, I was absolutely +cleared out! Only just enough money +to take me home. Shall follow your example, +and try Torquay for the rest of the winter."</p> + +<p><i>Latest from Pythias.</i>—"Just a hasty line +to say—<i>don't</i> come to Torquay! I am leaving +it. Since I last wrote, my views of Devonshire +have also altered. Can't conceal from +myself that the climate is a mistake. Damp, +dull, and depressing. Your account of Monte +Carlo—<i>not</i> the Casino, of course—so enchanting, +that I've determined to try it. Just off +to London to catch '<i>train de luxe!</i>'"</p> + + +<hr /> + +<h2>THE MISSING WORD.</h2> + +<p class="center">(<i>By a much-badgered Barmaid.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Each boobyish bar-lounger calls me "dear,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And "Misses" me in manner most absurd.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I should not miss <i>him</i>! But the boss, I fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would miss his custom; so I still must hear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His odious "Miss-ing" word!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But oh! I'd sooner bear a monkey's kisses,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than some of these cheap mashers' mincing<br /></span> +<span class="i4">"Misses"!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there is one young ape!—I'd stand "two d"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could I hit him each time he "Misses" me!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>QUEER QUERIES.</h2> + +<div class="figright" style="width:35%; height:35%;"> +<a href="images/293-2.png"> +<img src="images/293-2.png" alt="" width="75%" height="75%" /></a> +</div> +<p><span class="smcap">Autobiographical.</span>—I should be glad to +know whether it would be advisable for me +to write a book of "Reminiscences," as I see +is now the fashion. +My life has been chiefly +passed in a moorland-village in Yorkshire, +so that it has +not been very +eventful, and +I have never +written anything +before; +still the public +might like to +hear my +opinions on +things in +general, and I +think I could +make the anecdote +of how +our kitchen +chimney once +caught fire—which +would +be the most +important incident chronicled—rather thrilling. +Among interesting and eminent persons +I have met, and of whom I could give some +account in my forthcoming work, are Mr. +<span class="smcap">Gladstone</span> (who passed through our station +in a train going at fifty miles an hour while +I was on the platform), Lord <span class="smcap">Salisbury</span> +whom I met (under similar circumstances, +and the back of whose head I feel confident +that I actually saw) and the <span class="smcap">Lord Chief +Justice</span> of England, who ordered an Usher +to remove me from his Court at the Assizes +as I was (incorrectly) alleged to be snoring. +I should be glad to hear of any leading +Publisher who would be likely to offer a good +price for such a book.—<span class="smcap">Rusticus Expectans</span>.</p> + +<hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%; height:50%;"> +<a href="images/294.png"> +<img src="images/294.png" width="100%" height="50%" alt=">PRIVATE THEATRICALS. A REHEARSAL" /></a> +<h3>PRIVATE THEATRICALS. A REHEARSAL.</h3> + +<p class="in"><i>The Captain.</i> "<span class="smcap">At this stage of the proceedings I've got to Kiss you, Lady Grace. Will your Husband mind, do you think</span>?"</p> + +<p class="in"><i>Lady Grace.</i> "<span class="smcap">Oh No! It's for a <i>Charity</i>, you know</span>!"</p> +</div> + +<hr /> + + +<h2>"CHRISTMAS IS COMING!"</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Christmas <i>is</i> coming!" Pleasant truth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To all—save the dyspeptic!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To most in whom some smack of youth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hath influence antiseptic.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pessimists prate, and prigs be-rate<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The time of mirth and holly;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But why should time-soured sages "slate"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The juvenile and jolly?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Though some churls at our mirth repine"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(As old <span class="smcap">George Wither</span> put it),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We'll whiff our weed, and sip our wine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And watch the youngsters foot it.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They did so in quaint <span class="smcap">Wither's</span> time,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When wassail-bowls were humming,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And still girls laugh, and church-bells chime,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Because—"Christmas is coming!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Christmas is coming!" Let him bring<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mirth to the toiling million.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What is't he bears—a gracious thing—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Behind him on the pillion?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her snowy garb, and smile benign,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Make sunshine in dark places;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gentlest, rarest, most divine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of all the Christian graces.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her eyes are full of loving light,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her hands with gifts are laden;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">True Yule-tide Almoner, of right,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This <i>Una</i>-pure sweet maiden!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She smiles on all, full-feeding mirth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Young love, mad motley mumming;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is loss dearth of joy on earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Because—"Christmas is coming!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A Merry Christmas? Round each room<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That's writ in leaf and berry;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But there be those, alas! to whom<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There's mockery in the "Merry."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Merry?—when sorrow loads the heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And nothing loads the larder?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the world's play the poor man's part<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At Yule-tide seems yet harder.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Good cheer to him who hungry goes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And mirth to her who sorrows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lend bitter chill to Christmas snows.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Small joy care's bondsman borrows.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From jollity he may not share,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Despair is darkly drumming<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At his dull breast, whose hearth won't flare,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Because—"Christmas is coming!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Good Greybeard Sire, you would not tire<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gay youth with tales of trouble;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">World-gladness is your heart's desire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And so you're—riding double!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pleasant to see dear Charity<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Close pillion-poised behind you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eager to bid her gifts fly free,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We're happy so to find you.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ride on, and scatter largesse wide!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sore need is still no rarity,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For all our Progress, Power, and Pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We can't dispense with Charity.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ride on, kind pair, and may the air<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With happiness be humming,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And poverty shake off despair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Because—"Christmas is coming!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><span class="smcap">Rather too Premature.</span>—We see "<i>Christmas +Leaves</i>" advertised everywhere in +glaring colours. This announcement is too +early. "<i>Christmas Comes</i>," it should be, +and then, any time after the 25th, will be +appropriate for the announcement of his +departure.</blockquote> + +<hr /> + +<h2>THE PORTER'S SLAM.</h2> + +<blockquote class="note">[A meeting at Manchester has raised a protest +against the nuisance caused by the needlessly loud +"slamming" of railway carriage doors.]</blockquote> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The porter has a patent "slam,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which smites one like a blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And everywhere that porter comes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That "slam" is sure to go.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It strikes upon the tym-pa-num<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like shock of dynamite;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By day it nearly makes you dumb—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It deafens you at night.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When startled by that patent "slam,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The pious pas-sen-jare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Says something else that ends in "am,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(Or he has patience rare.)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not only does it cause a shock,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But—Manchester remarks—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Depreciates the rolling stock,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Well, that is rather larks!<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>That</i>'s not the point. The porter's slam<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Conduces to insanity,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, though as mild as <span class="smcap">Mary</span>'s lamb,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Drives men to loud profanity.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If Manchester the "slam" can stay<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By raising of a stir,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All railway-travellers will say,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Bully for Man-ches-ter!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><i>Kelly's Directory for</i> 1893.—Invaluable, +and considered as "portable property" (to +quote <i>Pip's</i> friend), admirably suited for +the pocket of any individual who should +happen to be about twenty-five feet high. +<i>How to use it?</i> Why—see inside—it is full +of "Directions."</blockquote> + +<hr /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%;"> +<a href="images/295.png"> +<img src="images/295.png" alt="CHRISTMAS IS COMING!" width="100%" /></a> +<h3>"CHRISTMAS IS COMING!"]</h3> +</div> +<hr /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span><br /></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span></p> + +<h2>MIXED NOTIONS.—No. II. UGANDA.</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">Scene</span>—<i>As before, a Railway-carriage in a suburban morning train +to London. Persons also as before—namely, two</i> Well-informed +Men, <i>an</i> Inquirer, <i>and an</i> Average Man.</p> + +<p><i>First Well-informed Man</i> (<i>laying down his paper</i>). So the +Government's going to stick to Uganda, after all. I had a notion, +from the beginning, they wouldn't be allowed to scuttle.</p> + +<p><i>Average Man.</i> Ah—I don't know that I'm particularly enthusiastic +about Uganda.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> Why not?</p> + +<p><i>A. M.</i> What are we going to get out of it?—that's the question. +We go interfering all over the world, grabbing here, and grabbing +there, merely in order to keep other people out; and then some +nigger King, with a cold in his head, sneezes as he passes the +Union Jack. That's an +insult to the flag, of +course; so off goes an +expedition, and, before +you know where you +are, we've spent about +ten millions, and added +a few thousand acres of +swamp to the Empire. +Why can't we leave +things alone? Haven't +we got enough?</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> That's +all very well, I daresay; +but you forget that the +Berlin Conference made +Uganda one of our +spheres of influence.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> When was +that?</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> Why, +just after the Franco-Prussian +War. They +all met in Berlin to +settle up everything—and +we got Uganda.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> I thought +it was later than that, +somehow.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> Well, +anyhow, it was somewhere +about that time. +I don't pledge myself to +a year or two. But what +I say about Uganda is +this. We're there—or +rather the Company is—and +we should simply +disgrace ourselves before +the whole world if +we chucked up the +sponge now. And, if +we did, we should have +France or Germany +nipping in directly.</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> +They can't.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> Why +not?</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> +Why not! Because it's +our sphere of influence +whatever happens.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer</i> (<i>timidly</i>). I'm afraid you'll think me very ignorant, but +I don't quite know what a "sphere of influence" is. I've read a lot +about it lately, but I can't quite make it out.</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> (<i>condescendingly</i>). Yes, I know it's deuced +difficult to keep up with these new notions, unless you're in the +way of hearing all about them. Spheres of influence mean—well, +don't you know, they mean some country that's not quite yours, but +it's more yours than anybody else's, and if anybody else comes into +it, you're allowed to make a protocol of it. Besides, it gives you a +right to the Hinterland, you know.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer</i> (<i>dubiously</i>). Ah, I see. What's the Hinterland?</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> (<i>stumped</i>). I fancy it's about the most fertile +part of Africa. (<i>To First W. I. M.</i>) Isn't it?</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> Yes, that's it. It's the German for Highlands.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> Of course, so it is. I might have thought of that.</p> + +<p><i>Average Man</i> (<i>to First W. I. M.</i>). Seems to me you've none of +you got hold of the right point. What I want to know is, does +Uganda pay? <span class="smcap">Lugard</span> says it don't; the Company hasn't made +anything of it, and they've got to go whether they like it or not; +though I daresay they're deuced glad to be out of the hole. But, +if it don't pay, what on earth are we going to do with it?</p> + +<p><i>Second W I. M.</i> (<i>triumphantly reinforcing him</i>). Yes, what on +earth are we to do with it?</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> (<i>calmly, but contemptuously</i>). Ah! I see you're +both little-England men. From your point of view, I daresay +you're right enough. But I'm one of those who believe that we +must stick on wherever we've planted the flag. I agree with +<span class="smcap">Moltke</span>, that the nation that gives up is in a state of decay.</p> + +<p><i>Second W. I. M.</i> It wasn't <span class="smcap">Moltke</span> who said that; it was <span class="smcap">Victor +Hugo</span>, or (<i>after a pause</i>) Lord <span class="smcap">Palmerston</span>.</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> Well, it doesn't matter who said it. The point is, +it's true. Besides, what are you going to do about the slaves and +the Missionaries?</p> + +<p><i>Average Man.</i> Oh, +bother the Missionaries!</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> It's +all very well to say +"bother the Missionaries!" +but that won't +get you any further. +They're our fellow-creatures +after all, and +what's more, they're +our fellow-countrymen, +so we've got to look +after them.</p> + +<p><i>Average Man.</i> I +should let the whole lot +of Missionaries fight it +out together. They +only keep quarrelling +amongst themselves, +and trying to bag one +another's converts; and +then France and England +get involved.</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> By the way, +where is Uganda, exactly?</p> + +<p><i>First W. I. M.</i> Just +behind Zanzibar—or +somewhere about there. +You can get to it best +from Mashonaland. +Didn't you see that +<span class="smcap">Rhodes</span> said he was +going to make a telegraph-line +through +there? It used to belong +to the <span class="smcap">Sultan of +Zanzibar</span>. Don't you +remember?</p> + +<p><i>Inquirer.</i> Of course; +so it did.</p> + +<p>[<i>Train draws up at +Terminus.</i></p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%"> +<a href="images/297.png"> +<img src="images/297.png" width="75%" alt="A SALVE FOR THE CONSCIENCE."/></a> + +<h3>A SALVE FOR THE CONSCIENCE.</h3> + +<p><i>Vegetarian Professor.</i> "<span class="smcap">No, Madam, not even Fish. I cannot sanction the +Destruction of Life. These little Animals, for instance, were but yesterday +Swimming happily in the Sea.</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. O'Laughlan.</i> "<span class="smcap">Oh but, Professor, just think it's the First Time the +poor little Things have ever been really Warm in their Lives!</span>"]</p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote>"’<span class="smcap">Twas Whispered +in Heaven, ’twas Muttered +in H——.</span>" <i>À +propos</i> of the much-discussed +article written +by Dr. <span class="smcap">St. George +Mivart</span> in <i>The Nineteenth +Century</i>, on +"Happiness in Hell."—begging +pardon for uttering a word "unmentionable to ears polite,"—our +old friend <span class="smcap">'Arry</span> writes thusly:—"Sir,—We 'ave all of us +been familiar for years with the well-known 'Mivart's 'Otel.' If +the clever Professor is correct, this name ought to be changed, as +there ain't no such a place; and, in future, when alluded to, it +ought to be called <i>Mivart's Cool 'el.</i> Am I right?</blockquote> + +<blockquote>"Yours truly, <span class="smcap">The 'Arry Opagite</span>."</blockquote> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote>In "Lucky Shoes," baskets, and in other dainty trifles, does +<span class="smcap">Rimmel</span> arrange his beautiful bottles of scent. <span class="smcap">Rimmel</span> is not a +Head Centre, but our Chief Scenter, "and," exclaims Mr. <span class="smcap">Wagstaff</span>, +the Unabashed, "what a great day will be his Scentenary!"</blockquote> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote>"<span class="smcap">The Silent Battle</span>."—See this charming piece at the Criterion. +Of course it is brought out by Mr. <span class="smcap">Charles Wyndham</span> in illustration +of the old proverb, "<i>Acts, not words.</i>"</blockquote> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%"> +<a href="images/298.png"> +<img src="images/298.png" alt="HAPPY AND NOVEL COMBINATION! THE HARMONIOUS CHRISTMAS PARTY." width="100%" /></a> +<h3>HAPPY AND NOVEL COMBINATION! THE HARMONIOUS CHRISTMAS "PARTY."</h3> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHOOSING CHRISTMAS TOYS.</h2> + +<p>(<i>A Sketch in the Lowther Arcade.</i>)</p> + + +<p><i>Between the sloping banks of toys, and under a dense foliage of +coloured rosettes, calico banners, and Japanese-lanterns, the congested +Stream of Custom oozes slowly along, with an occasional +overflow into the backwaters of the shops behind, while the Stall-keepers +keep up a batrachian and almost automatic croak of +invitation.</i></p> + +<p><i>Fond Grandmother</i>. So you've chosen a box of soldiers, have you, +<span class="smcap">Franky</span>?—very well. +Now what shall we get +for little <span class="smcap">Elsie</span> and Baby?</p> + +<p><i>Franky (promptly).</i> +Another box of soldiers +would do nicely for <span class="smcap">Elsie</span>, +Grandmamma, and—<i>I</i> +know, a fort for Baby!</p> + +<p><i>Grandm. (doubtfully).</i> +But they're such <i>little</i> +tots—they won't know +how to play with them.</p> + +<p><i>Franky.</i> Oh, but I can +<i>teach</i> them, you know, +Grandmamma.</p> + +<p><i>Grandm.</i> That's right—I +like to see a boy kind +to his little sisters.</p> + +<p>[<i>She adopts</i> Master +<span class="smcap">Franky's</span> <i>disinterested +suggestion.</i></p> + +<p><i>A Mother.</i> Now, +<span class="smcap">Percy</span>, it's all nonsense—you +<i>can't</i> want any +more toys—those you've +got are as good as new. +(<i>To her Friend</i>.) He's +such a boy for taking care +of his things—he'll hardly +trust his toys out of their +boxes, and won't allow +anyone else to <i>touch</i> them!</p> + +<p><i>The Friend.</i> Dear little +fellow—then I'm sure he +<i>deserves</i> to be given a new +toy for being so careful!</p> + +<p><i>The Mother.</i> Well, +he'll give me no peace +till I <i>do</i> give him something. +I know—but mind +this, <span class="smcap">Percy</span>, it's only to +keep you quiet, and I'm +not going to buy <span class="smcap">Eddie</span> +anything. <i>(To Friend.)</i> +He gives all <i>his</i> things +away as it is! +[Master <span class="smcap">Percy</span> <i>takes both +these valuable moral +lessons to heart</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Stilton (to her less +prosperous Sister-in-law</i>, +Mrs. <span class="smcap">Bloomold</span>). Nonsense, +<span class="smcap">Vinnie</span>, I won't +<i>hear</i> of it! <span class="smcap">Reggie</span> has +more toys already than he +knows what to do with!</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Bloom. (apologetically).</i> +Of course, my +dear <span class="smcap">Sophia</span>, I know +your children are born +to every——but still, I +have no one but myself +<i>now</i>, you know—and if I +<i>might</i>—it would be such +a <i>pleasure</i>!</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Stilton.</i> I have +already told you there is not the slightest occasion for your spending +your money in any such foolish manner. I hope that is enough.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Bloom.</i> I'm sure he would like one of these little water-carts—now +<i>wouldn't</i> you, <span class="smcap">Reggie</span>? [<span class="smcap">Reggie</span> <i>assents shyly</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Stilton.</i> Buy him one, by all means—he will probably take +the colour out of my new carpets with it—but, of course, <i>that</i>'s of +no consequence to <i>you</i>!</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Bloom.</i> Oh dear, I <i>quite</i> forgot your beautiful carpets. No, +to be sure, that might——but one of those little butcher's shops, +now!—they're really <i>quite</i> cheap!</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. S.</i> <i>I</i> always thought cheapness was a question of what a +person could <i>afford</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Bloom.</i> But I <i>can</i> afford it, dear <span class="smcap">Sophia</span>—thanks to dear +<span class="smcap">John's</span> bounty, and—and <i>yours</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. S.</i> You mustn't thank <i>me</i>. <i>I</i> had nothing to do with it. I +warned <span class="smcap">John</span> at the time that it would only——and it seems I was +right. And <span class="smcap">Reggie</span> has a butcher's shop—a really good one—already. +In fact, I couldn't tell you what he <i>hasn't</i> got!</p> + +<p><i>Reggie.</i> <i>I</i> can, though, Aunt <span class="smcap">Vinnie</span>. I haven't got a train, for +<i>one</i> thing! (<i>To his Mother, as she drags him on</i>.) I <i>should</i> like a +little tin train, to go by +clockwork on rails so. +Do let Auntie——what's +she staying behind for?</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Bloom. (catching +them up, and thrusting a +box into</i> <span class="smcap">Reggie's</span> <i>hands).</i> +There, dear boy, there's +your train—with Aunt +<span class="smcap">Vinnie's</span> love! (<span class="smcap">Reggie</span> +<i>opens the box, and discovers +a wooden train</i>.) +What's the matter, darling? +Isn't it——?</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. S.</i> He had rather +set his heart on a clockwork +one with rails—which +I was thinking of +getting for him—but I +am sure he's very much +obliged to his Aunt all +the same—<i>aren't</i> you, +<span class="smcap">Reginald</span>?</p> + +<p><i>Reggie (with a fortunate +inspiration).</i> Thank +you <i>ever</i> so much, Auntie! +And I like this train +better than a tin one—because +all the doors open +really—it's <i>exactly</i> what +I wanted!</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. S.</i> That's so like +<span class="smcap">Reggie</span>—he never says +anything to hurt people's +feelings if he can possibly +help it.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. B. (with meek +ambiguity).</i> Ah, dear +<span class="smcap">Sophia</span>, you set him such +an <i>example</i>, you see! +(<span class="smcap">Reggie</span> <i>wonders why she +squeezes his hand so</i>.)</p> + +<p><i>A Vague Man (to Saleswoman).</i> +Er—I want a +toy of some sort—for a +<i>child</i>, don't you know. +(<i>As if he might require +it for an elderly person.</i>) +At least, it's not <i>exactly</i> +a child—it can <i>talk</i>, and +all that.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:75%"> + +<a href="images/299.png"> +<img src="images/299.png" alt="I want a Toy of some sort; for a Child, don't you know!" width="60%" /></a> + +<h3>"Er—I want a Toy of some sort—for a <i>Child</i>, don't you know!"</h3> +</div> + + +<p><i>Salesw.</i> Will you step +inside, Sir? We've a +large assortment within +to select from. Is it for +a boy or a girl?</p> + +<p><i>The Vague Man.</i> It's +a boy—that is, its name's +<span class="smcap">Evelyn</span>—of course, +that's a girl's name too; +but it had better be some +thing that doesn't—I +mean something it +can't—— +[<i>He runs down.</i></p> + +<p><i>Salesw.</i> I <i>quite</i> understand, +Sir. One of these little 'orses and carts are a very nice +present for a child—(<i>with languid commendation</i>)—the little 'orse +takes out and all.</p> + +<p><i>The V. M.</i> Um—yes—but I want something more—a different +<i>kind</i> of thing altogether.</p> + +<p><i>Salesw.</i> We sell a great many of these rag-dolls; all the clothes +take off and on.</p> + +<p><i>The V. M.</i> Isn't that rather——and then, for a boy, eh?</p> + +<p><i>Salesw.</i> P'raps a box of wooden soldiers <i>would</i> be a more suitable +toy for a boy, certainly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>The V. M.</i> Soldiers, eh?—yes—but you see, it might turn out to +be a girl after all—and then——</p> + +<p><i>Salesw.</i> I see, you want something that would do equally well for +either. <i>Here</i>'s a toy now. (<i>She brings out a team of little tin swans on +wheels.</i>) You fix a stick in the end—so—and wheel it in front of +you, and all the little swans go up and down.</p> + +<p>[<i>She wheels it up and down without enthusiasm.</i></p> + +<p><i>The V. M. (inspecting it feebly).</i> Oh—the swans go up and down, +eh? It isn't quite—but very likely it won't—May as well have that +as something else—Yes, you can send it to—let me see—is it Hampstead +or Notting Hill they're living at now? (<i>To the</i> Saleswoman, <i>who +naturally cannot assist him.</i>) No, of course, <i>you</i> wouldn't know. +Never mind, I'll take it with me—don't trouble to wrap it up!</p> + +<p>[<i>He carries it off—to forget it promptly in a hansom.</i></p> + +<p><i>A Genial Uncle (entering with Nephews and Nieces).</i> Plenty to +choose from here, eh? Look about and see what you'd like best.</p> + +<p><i>Jane (the eldest, sixteen, and "quite a little woman").</i> I'm sure +they would much rather <i>you</i> chose for them, Uncle!</p> + +<p><i>Uncle</i>. Bless me, <i>I</i> don't know what boys and girls like nowadays—they +must choose for themselves!</p> + +<p><i>Salesw. (wearily).</i> Perhaps one of the young gentlemen would like +a dredging-machine? The handle turns, you see, and all the little +buckets go round the chain and take up sand or mud—or there's a +fire-engine, <i>that's</i> a nice toy, throws a stream of real water.</p> + +<p>[<span class="smcap">Tommy</span>, <i>aged eleven, is charmed with the dredging-machine, +while the fire-engine finds favour in the eyes of</i> <span class="smcap">Bobby</span>, +<i>aged nine.</i></p> + +<p><i>Jane (thoughtfully).</i> I'm afraid the dredging-machine is rather a +<i>messy</i> toy, Uncle, and the fire-engine wouldn't do at all, either—it +would be sure to encourage them to play with fire. <span class="smcap">Bobby</span>, if you +say "blow!" once more, I shall tell Mother. Uncle is the best +judge of what's suitable for you!</p> + +<p><i>Uncle.</i> Well, there's something in what you say, <span class="smcap">Jenny</span>. We +must see if we can't find something better, that's all.</p> + +<p><i>Salesw.</i> I've a little Toy-stige, 'ere—with scenes and characters +in "<i>Richard Cured o' Lyin'</i>" complete and ready for acting—how +would that do?</p> + +<p>[<span class="smcap">Tommy</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Bobby</span> <i>cheer up visibly at this suggestion.</i></p> + +<p><i>Jane.</i> I <i>don't</i> think Mother would like them to have <i>that</i>, Uncle—it +might give them a <i>taste</i> for theatres, you know!</p> + +<p><i>Uncle.</i> Ha—so it might—very thoughtful of you, <span class="smcap">Jane</span>—Mustn't +get in your Mother's bad books; never do! What's in these boxes? +soldiers? How about these, eh, boys? [<i>The boys are again consoled.</i></p> + +<p><i>Jane (gently).</i> They're getting <i>rather</i> too big for such babyish +things as soldiers, Uncle! I tell you what <i>I</i> think—if you got a nice +puzzle-map for <span class="smcap">Tommy</span>—he's so backward in his Geography—and a +drawing slate for <span class="smcap">Bobby</span>, who's getting on so nicely with his drawing, +and a little work-box—not an <i>expensive</i> one, of course—for +<span class="smcap">Winnie</span>, that would be <i>quite</i>——</p> + +<p>[<i>These sisterly counsels are rewarded by ungrateful and +rebellious roars.</i></p> + +<p><i>Uncle.</i> <span class="smcap">Tommy</span>, did I hear you address your sister as a "beast"? +Come—come! And what are you all turning on the waterworks for, +eh? Strikes me, <span class="smcap">Jane</span>, you haven't <i>quite</i> hit off their tastes!</p> + +<p><i>Jane (virtuously).</i> I have only told you what I know Mother +would <i>wish</i> them to have, Uncle; and, even if I <i>am</i> to have my +ankles kicked for it, I'm sure I'm right!</p> + +<p><i>Uncle.</i> Always a consolation, my dear <span class="smcap">Jenny</span>. I'm sure no +nephew of <i>mine</i> would kick his sister, except by the merest accident—so +let's say no more of that. But it's no use getting 'em +what they don't like; so suppose we stick to the fire-engine, and the +other concern—theatre is it, <span class="smcap">Johnny</span>?—Very well—and don't you +get <i>me</i> into trouble over 'em, that's all. And <span class="smcap">Winnie</span> would like a +doll, eh?—that's all right. Now everybody's provided for—except +<span class="smcap">Jane</span>!</p> + +<p><i>Jane (frostily).</i> Thank you, Uncle—but you seem to forget I'm +not <i>exactly</i> a child! [<i>She walks out of the shop with dignity.</i></p> + +<p><i>Uncle.</i> Hullo! Put my foot in it again! But we can't leave +<span class="smcap">Jenny</span> out of it—<i>can</i> we? Must get her a present of some sort over +the way.... Here, <span class="smcap">Tommy</span>, my boy, you can tell me something +she'd like.</p> + +<p><i>Bobby (later—to</i> <span class="smcap">Tommy</span>). What did you tell Uncle to get +for <span class="smcap">Jane</span>?</p> + +<p><i>Tommy (with an unholy chuckle).</i> Why, a box with one of those +puff-things in it. Don't you know how we caught her powdering +her nose with Mother's? And Uncle <i>got</i> her one too! <i>Won't</i> she +be shirty just!</p> + +<p>[<i>They walk out in an ecstasy of anticipation, as Scene closes.</i></p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Punch's</span> Paragraphist says, "he was never good at dates," +not even when served in dishes, for they're dry at the best; but, of +the very newest and best kind of Date Cards, <span class="smcap">Marcus Ward</span> & Co. +have a capital selection. Among them the <i>Grandfather's Clock</i> +makes a pretty screen, and, being a clock, is, of course, always up to +the time of day.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h2> + +<blockquote>The Baron's Diarist and Date Examiner makes the following exhaustive +notes:—first that Mr. C. <span class="smcap">Letts</span> describes some of his <i>Pocket +Diaries</i> as "The Improved." There is nothing so good but what it +could be better. Lett's admit this, and be satisfied with the latest edition +of Letts' Annuals, which are prizes, though, until Jan. 1, blanks.</blockquote> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<blockquote><i>The Paradise of the North</i>, by <span class="smcap">David Lawson Johnstone</span>. When +a gentleman chooses the North Pole as a Paradise, he must be allowed +any amount of Latitude and Longitude. This explorer leaves his +<span class="smcap">Chambers</span> (the Publishers of that ilk) in order to get out of the +world by the coldest route.</blockquote> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<blockquote>A note on <span class="smcap">Innes</span> & Co. "Innes" has several Outs this season. +Cheery name for a Christmas Publisher, "Innes." We take our +ease at our Innes, and we read with pleasure their dainty books +called, <i>Bartlemy's Child</i>, by <span class="smcap">Frances Compton</span>, a very pretty story. +<span class="smcap">L. B. Walford</span> (the authoress of <i>Mr. Smith</i>) condescends to write +<i>For Grown-Up Children</i>, a number of delightful tales.</blockquote> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<blockquote>Messrs. <span class="smcap">Osgood</span> as good as ever. Why not follow up their <i>Bret +Harte Birthday Book</i> (most Harte-tistically got up) with a <i>Sweet-Heart +Birthday Book?</i> Madame <span class="smcap">Van de Velde</span> has compiled this. +Our sparklingest Baronite exclaims, "Velde done!"</blockquote> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<blockquote>Thanks to <span class="smcap">Marcus Ward</span> & Co. for <i>The Cottar's Saturday +Night</i>, by <span class="smcap">Robbie Burns</span>. "Oh, wad some friend the giftie gi'e +us!"—as anyone who would like this for a Christmas present may +say, adapting the poet to his purpose.</blockquote> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:50%;"> +<a href="images/300.png"> +<img src="images/300.png" alt="The Baron and his Christmas Books." width="100%" /></a> +<h3>The Baron and his Christmas Books.</h3> +</div> + +<p>"A most sweet story! A most charming story!!" gurgled the Baron, +as, with sobs in his inner voice, talking to himself, he finished the +penultimate chapter of <i>Dolly</i>. "Now, Mrs. <span class="smcap">Burnett</span>, if you dare +to kill your heroine, I swear I'll never forgive you, and never read +another of your fatally-fascinating books." The Baron trembled as +he commenced the last chapter of the simplest, most natural, most +touching, and most exquisitely-told story he has read for many a +day. How would it end? A few lines sufficed. "Bless you, Mrs. +<span class="smcap">Burnett</span>!" snivelled the Baron, not ashamed of dabbing his eyes +with his kerchief. "Bless you, Ma'am! You have let 'em live! +May your new book go to countless editions! May it be another +<i>Little Lord Fauntleroy</i>, and may you reap a golden reward for +this, your masterpiece of simple work, your latest story—<i>Dolly!</i>" +The Baron is bound ("bound in morocco" as the slaves were, poor +wretches!) to add that he wishes it had not been illustrated, for, +as good wine needs no bush, so a perfect story, such as is this, needs +no illustration; nay, is rather injured by it than not. There is +only one small item of common-place in it, and that is making the +would-be seducer a married man. Of course, to prove him so was +the easiest and shortest way of saving his vain and feather-headed +little victim. Perhaps an alternative would have involved complication, +and might have marred the natural simplicity of the story. +So critically the Baron states his one very small objection, and +reverts with the utmost pleasure to the hours he spent over the tale, +absorbed in every page, in every line of it; and herewith doth he, +not only most strongly, but most earnestly recommend everyone to +procure this book (published by <span class="smcap">E. Warne</span> & Co.), for it is one that can +be and must be given a place of honour by the side of <span class="smcap">Dickens</span> and +<span class="smcap">Thackeray</span>, to be read again and again, here a bit and there a bit, +when other works of fiction now enjoying a greater literary reputation +(though 'twould be difficult to name them), shall be relegated +to the lowest shelves of books that have had their day. "<i>Dixi! +Scripsi!</i>" quoth <span class="smcap">The Learned Baron de Book-worms</span>.</p> + + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p class="smallfont">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.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume +103, December 24, 1892, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH *** + +***** This file should be named 20338-h.htm or 20338-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/3/3/20338/ + +Produced by V. L. 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