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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, November
+4th 1893, 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/license
+
+
+Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, November 4th 1893
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: Sir Francis Burnand
+
+Release Date: April 5, 2012 [EBook #39381]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Malcolm Farmer, Lesley Halamek and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Punch, or the London Charivari
+
+Volume 105, November 4th 1893
+
+_edited by Sir Francis Burnand_
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+SELF-HELP.
+
+_Monday._--Am sick of paying all these doctor's bills. Have just seen
+an advertisement of _The Domestic Doctor, a Dictionary of Medicine_,
+issued in monthly parts. The very thing for a man like me, somewhat
+delicate. Hasten to secure Part I. Shall now be able to doctor myself
+and save all fees. Delightful! To celebrate emancipation ask JONES
+and ROBINSON to dinner at club. No need for economy now. Jolly good
+dinner. That club port is excellent.
+
+_Tuesday._--Feel rather seedy. Pain in head. No appetite. Just the
+time to make use of _Domestic Doctor_. Capital book. Hullo! Well, I'll
+be hanged! Never thought of that. The beastly thing's alphabetical,
+and only gets to "Chilblain." No good to look out "Headache." Ah,
+perhaps "Ache." No go. "Appetite?" But appetite isn't a disease,
+except in men like BANTING. Absolutely no use whatever. Still, will
+not be conquered. Shall get another part in a month. Until then take
+great care only to have complaints up to Ch. Can always fall back
+on Chilblain. Take it easy, with B. and S. in moderate doses when
+required, and begin to feel better.
+
+_Wednesday._--Just cut my finger. Feel somewhat nervous. Remember
+vaguely that lock-jaw often follows a wound on the hand. Ha! My
+dictionary. "Cuts." Ah, no. "Cuts" come after "Chilblain." They will
+be in Part II. Bandage wound, and prepare for the worst. Sit with
+mouth wide open as best attitude for approaching lockjaw. Can then at
+least be fed. If, however, it really comes, shall be dead before Part
+VII. of the Dictionary is out. Anyhow, will not send for a doctor.
+
+_Thursday._--Hooray! Finger and jaw both well. Somehow left boot feels
+uncommonly tight. Can't walk at all. That fool PHUST has made this
+pair too narrow. Feels as though there were something on my toe.
+By Jove, so there is! Where's the Dictionary? Chilblain? Can't be
+a chilblain this mild weather. Of course not; it's a corn. Look out
+"Corn." Oh, hang it, just too far! But, bright idea, perhaps it's a
+bunion. Look out "Bunion." Hullo, what's this? "Bunion, see Corn."
+Well, of all the confounded----Positively can't walk till next month.
+Lie on sofa under open window to get as much air as possible. Fall
+asleep. Heavy shower comes on. Get quite wet.
+
+_Friday._--Sneezing like mad, and coughing. Blow my cough! Blow my
+nose! No good looking out "Cold" or "Cough" in Dictionary, unless--of
+course "Catarrh." Seize my priceless treasure, and read, "Catarrh,
+Latin _catarrhus_, from Greek"--oh, hang the derivation!--"an
+affection of the mucous membrane, commonly called a cold. See Cold."
+Foiled again! Must do what I can with domestic remedies till Part II.
+comes out. Fires, hot grog, hot bath, hot gruel, lots of blankets.
+Nearly suffocated.
+
+_Saturday._--Very much worse. Awful cough. Sit close to fire wrapped
+in thick dressing-gown. JONES looks in. "Hullo, old man," he says,
+"what's wrong? Seedy?" I choke out some answer. "Why don't you send
+for the doctor?" In my indignation nearly burst my head with coughing.
+At last show him Dictionary, and write on scrap of paper, "Can you
+suggest some complaint like mine beginning with A or B, or C up
+to Ch?" Impetuous fellow, JONES. Starts off wildly--"Influenza,
+Pneumonia, Pleurisy, Diphtheria, Sore Throat, Inflammation of the
+Lungs----" Then I manage to stop him, and to gasp, "Up to C." "No
+difficulty about that," says he. "Cold. Cough----" I shake my head
+feebly. "Well, then, Bronchitis." Of course. The very thing. Look it
+out. "Bronchitis, from Greek"--blow the derivation!--"inflammation of
+the membrane of the bronchia. This serious disease requires skilled
+attention. Keep the patient warm, and send at once for a medical man."
+What a miserable swindle, when I hoped to save all doctor's fees! Was
+warm before. Simply boiling with indignation now. Pass the book to
+JONES in speechless disgust. "Quite right too," he remarks; "just what
+I said. Capital book! I'll send the doctor as I go home." And so he
+does, in spite of my protests. Doctor comes and lays his head on my
+chest. Then he says, cheerfully, "Only a little cough. You'll be all
+right to-morrow. What's that you say? Bronchitis? Bosh!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: _Horsey Party._ "AW--I WANT YOUR TABLE D'OAT DINNER!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A LAWYER'S CHORTLE.
+
+(_A long way after "The Throstle."_)
+
+  Vacation is over, vacation is over,
+    I know it, I know it, I know it.
+  Back to the Strand again, home to the Courts again,
+    Come counsel and clients to go it.
+
+  Welcome awaits you, High Court of Justice,
+    Thousands will flock to you daily.
+  "You, you, you, you." Is it then for you,
+    That we forget the Old Bailey?
+
+  Jostling and squeezing and struggling and shoving,
+    What else were the Courts ever made for?
+  The Courts 'twixt the Temple and grey Lincoln's Inn,
+    They're not yet entirely paid for!
+
+  Now till next year, all of us cry,
+    We'll say (for a fee) what we're bidden.
+  Vacation is over, is over, hurrah!
+    And all past sorrow is hidden.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE PICKWICKIAN EXAMINATION PAPER.--Pickwickian students are well to
+the front. The first answer to our question in last week's number
+was sent from Maidstone. Fitting that it should come from DICKENS'S
+favourite county, Kent. Yes. The only mention of champagne in
+_Pickwick_ is when _Mr. Tupman_ drank a bottle of it after an
+exhilarating quadrille.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+DAMON OUT OF DATE.
+
+  Here is the lovely summer going by,
+  And we know nought about it, you and I,
+      Being so far away
+  One from the other; yet to outward eye
+      We both are summer gay.
+
+  And people talk; although no pulses stir
+  However much I laugh and dance with her,
+      My temporary fate;
+  And you, perhaps as carelessly, prefer
+      That one your will to wait,
+
+  Who, the dance over, from his strict embrace
+  Gallantly frees you, mops his sun-tanned face,
+      And asks in accents low
+  Whether you'd like an ice, or what, in case
+      You breathe a doubtful "No."
+
+  Oh, the striped awning and the fairy lamp,
+  The cool night fragrance, the insidious damp,
+      And, more insidious still,
+  The sweet effrontery of the beardless scamp
+      Who babbles at his will.
+
+  Here, by the sea, which in the darkness sings,
+  On the free breeze I give my fancy wings,
+      And in a sudden shrine
+  Your image throned appears, while the wind swings
+      Its sea-incense divine.
+
+  Breathless I worship in the waiting night
+  The sparkling eyes, that sometimes seem all light,
+      The cheek so purely pale,
+  The sacred breast, than whitest dress more white,
+      Where whitest thought must fail.
+
+  Thin arms, with dimpled shadows here and there,
+  The curl'd luxuriance of your soft, dark hair
+      Its own bewitching wreath,
+  And perfect mouth that shows, in smiles too rare,
+      The radiant little teeth.
+
+  You cannot live on dances and delights,
+  Or fetes by day and dance-music by nights.
+      Time foots it fleeter far
+  Than all the surging crowd your beauty smites
+      Like some coruscant star.
+
+  The ruthless social dragon will not spare
+  Your sweet girl nature, withering in the glare,
+      Or peeping out by stealth.
+  Wealth's prize is beauty, and to make all fair,
+      Beauty's desire is wealth.
+
+  I cannot keep a carriage for you, dear;
+  No horses on three hundred pounds a year
+      My lacking stables grace.
+  Yet the swift Hansom to the whistle clear
+      Will always speed apace.
+
+  I cannot give you wines of vintage rare,
+  There is no room for them beneath the stair
+      Which is my cellar's space.
+  Yet with Duke HUMPHREY we could often fare
+      With more than ducal grace.
+
+  Ah, loves, like books, are fated from the first,
+  One gets no cup of water for the thirst
+      The whole stream would not slake;
+  Another dims with tears the springs that burst
+      To sunshine for his sake.
+
+  When this vain fervour sadly sobers down,
+  I'll love you still, white maid, with eyes so brown
+      And voice so passing sweet,
+  And haply with Apollo's laurel crown
+      My love's foredoomed defeat.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration]
+
+WHEN THE "CAT"'S AWAY!
+
+AIR--"_The Sergeant's Song._"
+
+  When the "Cat" is not engaged in its employment--
+            Right employment,
+  Of laying its nine tails on brutal backs--
+            Brutal backs,
+
+  Street gangs of roughs are free to find employment--
+            Bad employment,
+  In beleaguering the cit's returning tracks--
+            Homeward tracks.
+
+  Our feelings we with difficulty smother--!
+            'Culty smother,
+  At finding ruffian hordes at rowdy "fun"--
+            Rowdy fun.
+
+  Taking one consideration with another--
+            With another,
+  One feels that something stringent should be done--
+            Promptly done!
+
+  There's the pistol-bearing burglar boldly burgling--
+            Boldly burgling,
+  There's the female fiend engaged in cruel crime--
+            Cruel crime.
+  There's the bashed, half-throttled traveller lying gurgling--
+            Faintly gurgling,
+  And the "Cat" is lying idle all the time--
+            All the time.
+
+  There's the brutal bully kicking wife or mother--
+            Wife or mother,
+  The unnatural father torturing his son--
+            Childish son!
+  Ah, take one consideration with another--
+            With another,
+  It's surely time that something stern were done--
+            Quickly done!
+
+  When the "Cat" was laid about the brute garrotter--
+            Cur garrotter,
+  He soon found it inadvisable to choke--
+            'Ble to choke.
+  And the lout who of street-outrage is a plotter--
+            Callous plotter,
+  Would not deem the nine-tailed lash a little joke--
+            Pleasant joke.
+
+  The woman-beating brute would hardly smother--
+            Scarcely smother,
+  His howlings when the lash was well laid on--
+            Well laid on.
+  So, take one consideration with another--
+            With another,
+  The "Cat" should once again be called upon--
+            Called upon.
+
+  The "corner-boys," and larrikins, and suchlike--
+            Louts and suchlike,
+  Who rove the streets at night in rowdy gangs--
+            Robber-gangs,
+  The tingling o' the nine tails might not much like--
+            _Would_ not much like,
+  But _that_ need not stir sentimental pangs--
+            Maudlin pangs.
+
+  "Gang-boy" to brute Garrotter is just brother--
+            Simply brother.
+  The "Cat" away such vermin prowl--for "fun"--
+            Savage fun!
+  Yes, take one consideration with another--
+            With another,
+  The "Cat" should wake again, says _Punch_ for one--
+            _Punch_ for one!
+
+  The policeman seems unequal to the job--
+            Toughish job.
+  The constabulary fails to quell the mob--
+            Rowdy mob.
+  So, as, very plainly, something _must_ be done--
+            Promptly done,
+  The suggestion of the "Cat"'s a happy one--
+            Happy one!
+
+    [_And Mr. Punch, with picture and poem_ (_grimly earnest,
+    though of Gilbertian tone_) _urges its application
+    energetically home, upon the powers that be_.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: AGRICULTURAL MANNERS.
+
+SCENE--_Hounds running across Land occupied by Non-sporting Tenant._
+
+_Sportswoman._ "NOW, MY BOY, OPEN THE GATE, PLEASE, AND LET ME
+THROUGH."
+
+_Young Hodge._ "MY ORTHERS IS--'JIM, YOU OPPENS THAT THERE G[=A]ATE
+FOR NO MAN!' AND AR'M DENGED IF AR DIS _FOR A WOMAN!_"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+NOTE BY OUR OWN PHILOSOPHER.
+
+The breakfast-eating practical joker, who can be credited with the
+humorous invention of placing the shell of an egg (the edible contents
+of which he has previously extracted and swallowed) inverted in an
+egg-cup, so as to deceive the first hungry person arriving late into
+fancying that the others have considerately deprived themselves
+in order that he may not be without his favourite delicacy, this
+originator, I say, was decidedly a genius. His work after hundreds,
+nay, thousands of years, remains, fresh as is the new laid egg itself!
+After being used a million billion times, it gives now the same
+pleasure as ever it did when it first issued from the brain of its
+brilliant creator! Such a practical joke as this is "not for an age,
+but for all time," until there shall be no longer left a hen to lay an
+egg, or, if there be an egg left by the expiring hen, there shall be
+no longer a person remaining to eat the egg left by the egg-spiring
+hen; or, if the person and the egg be there, the last man and the last
+egg, there shall be no ten minutes allowed for refreshment, as there
+will be no more time for anything!! SOCRATES, HOMER, OVID, HORACE,
+PLAUTUS, TERENCE, SHAKSPEARE, WATT, Sir ISAAC NEWTON, _cum multis
+aliis_! their names are remembered, and their fame is to the end of
+the world! While, alas, the name of the True Wit who first chuckled
+over his stroke of genius, is lost for ever, no work of art
+perpetuates his name. But his humour is _usque ad finem omnium rerum_!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+MRS. R. is not surprised that the _Valkyrie_ did not win, when it
+broke its pinnacle and did not have a centipede.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+UNDER THE ROSE.
+
+(_A Story in Scenes._)
+
+SCENE XII.--_Another box at the Eldorado._ TIME--_About_ 9.30 P.M.
+
+_Enter_ Mrs. MERRIDEW _and_ ALTHEA, _followed by_ Colonel MERRIDEW and
+Captain ALCHIN.
+
+_Mrs. Merridew._ FRANK, the man _did_ say WALTER WILDFIRE hasn't sung
+yet, didn't he? Yes? then _that_'s all right! Oughtn't you and I to
+sit at the back, THEA? Well, you shall have this corner at any rate,
+and then the curtain will hide you. Captain ALCHIN, will you come
+between us, please, and then you can explain any of the jokes we don't
+understand.
+
+    [_They settle down._
+
+_Captain Alchin._ Pleasure! (_To himself._) Think I see myself
+explainin' the jokes and that! (_Aloud._) Afraid I shan't be of much
+use, really. Rather out of my line this sort of thing, you know!
+
+_Mrs. M._ I'm sure you must know more about it than Miss TOOVEY and I
+do. Tell me who is this rather good-looking girl in kneebreeches with
+the horrid voice and the blue eyelids, and why does she walk like
+that?
+
+_Capt. Alch._ (_off his guard_). Oh, that's Miss LARDIE LUSHBOY; it's
+her usual business--drinkin' song, young man about town, and all that.
+
+_Mrs. M._ There, you see, you know all about _her_!
+
+    [Capt. A. _hastens to explain that her name is on the
+    programme_.
+
+    _Miss Lardie_ (_sings_)--
+
+  See us lurch along in line, with a straggle serpentine,
+
+    [_She suits the action to the word._
+
+  For we've done a heavy fuddle, and we never pass a "pub"!
+  And if you want a proof how we chuck about our "oof"--
+  Why, come along and have a drink with the Rowdy Razzle Club!
+
+_Mrs. M._ I suppose that's intended as a satire on noisy young men,
+isn't it, Captain ALCHIN?
+
+_Captain Alch._ (_who hadn't thought of it in that light_).
+Well--ha--that depends on how you _take_ it, don't you know.
+
+_Mrs. M._ That's the way _I_ shall take it, and then it's quite moral.
+(_A Low Comedian, in a broad-brimmed hat and a rough black wig, makes
+his appearance_.) This must be WALTER WILDFIRE, I suppose. THEA, do
+you see? he looks _quite_ nice, and not really vulgar. Now he's going
+to sing. Isn't he too delightfully funny! What, FRANK? Not WILDFIRE?
+Mr. ALF REDBEAK. Are you _sure_? I was wondering what there could
+possibly be in such a common little man as that to make such a fuss
+about. And _what_ language? Captain ALCHIN, what _does_ he mean by
+saying that he was "dotted on the crust by a copper," and "went off
+his onion"?
+
+_Capt. Alch._ (_who foresees rocks ahead if he once undertakes to
+interpret_). Oh, well, they're always inventin' some new slang, you
+know, Mrs. MERRIDEW; no use tryin' to keep up with it.
+
+    [Miss CISSIE CINDERS _appears as a bedraggled maid of all
+    work, and sings a doleful ditty to the effect that_--"Her
+    missis will not let her wear no feathers in her 'at, so her
+    sojer's gone and given 'er the chuck."
+
+_Mrs. M._ (_delighted_). Isn't she refreshing--so _deliciously_
+vulgar! I do hope she hasn't finished. THEA, you're sitting as quiet
+as a little mouse in that corner. I hope you're not too dreadfully
+shocked? _I'm_ not--at least of course I am, really; but it's not
+nearly so bad as I expected.
+
+[Illustration: "See us lurch along in line, with a straggle
+serpentine."]
+
+_Althea._ Oh, I'm not in the least shocked, CISSIE, thanks; only I
+don't quite understand it all.
+
+_Mrs. M._ My dear, no more do I. I don't understand _any_ of it--but
+that makes no difference!
+
+_Alth._ (_To herself_). I don't like to say so, but I _am_
+disappointed. Mr. CURPHEW said it would be like a Penny Reading; but
+it's not a bit, it's ever so much stupider. But he never goes himself,
+so of course----
+
+_Mrs. M._ It's quite a respectable audience; I thought we should
+be the only people in evening dress, but we're not. I do wish they
+wouldn't allow quite so much smoking, though; the atmosphere's getting
+something too awful. Oh, THEA, do look in that box just opposite. Can
+you see through that lace curtain? Ah, you can't see now!
+
+_Alth._ (_looking round the edge of the curtain_). Where, CISSIE, who
+is it?
+
+_Mrs. M._ Why, quite the typical British Matron--_the_ most
+tremendously proper-looking person; so if _she_ doesn't see any harm
+in being here, I'm sure we needn't. I'll tell you when she pops her
+her head out again. There, quick! THEA, quick! Did you see her that
+time?
+
+_Alth._ (_faintly_). Y--yes. I--I saw her _that_ time. (_To herself._)
+Is this a wicked conscience--or what? It was _so_ like Mamma! But how
+could it be?
+
+_Mrs. M._ Did you _ever_ see such a grim old frump, THEA? I wonder
+what possessed her to come to a place like this? She doesn't look as
+if it was amusing her much.
+
+_Alth._ (_distractedly_). Doesn't she? (_To herself._) If it _should_
+be Mamma! If she has found out in some way that we were to be here
+to-night and followed us! But how _could_ she know? Suppose she were
+to see me, and--and come round and fetch me away; how awful it would
+be! But she can't see me through these curtains. I don't believe it
+_is_ Mamma. I--I wish I dared look again. Oh, why did I get CISSIE to
+bring me here?
+
+_Capt. Alch._ May I borrow your opera glass for a moment, Mrs.
+MERRIDEW? Thanks, awf'ly. (_As he looks through it._) There's goin'
+to be a row in that opposite box. Your British Matron's gettin' her
+quills up--give you my word she is.
+
+_Mrs. M._ Oh, do let me see! (_She holds out her hand for the glass,
+which_ Capt. A. _surrenders_.) Yes, I do believe you're right.
+Somebody's just come in and----Now there's another, a young man,
+and--oh, THEA!
+
+_Alth._ (_in an agony_). What is it, CISSIE? _do_ tell me! (_To
+herself._) It must be CHARLES--I'm sure it's CHARLES. Then _that_'s
+why--and it _is_ Mamma! (_Aloud._) Mayn't I have the glass?
+
+_Mrs. M._ I think you had better not, dear. The British Matron has
+boxed the poor young man's ears--she has really. I wonder what--but
+well, it doesn't matter. Now she's turned him out of the box. He's
+coming back--alone. Yes, the old lady has certainly gone--it's all
+over. I'm _so_ sorry; it was ever so much more interesting than that
+big fat man who's singing!
+
+_Alth._ (_tremulously_). Mayn't I look now, CISSIE, if it's all over?
+(_She almost snatches the glass, and directs it at the young man in
+Box C--then to herself, with relief._) Why, it isn't CHARLES--it's
+not even like him. Then--oh, what a goose I've been! It wasn't Mamma
+either. It was all my fancy, and she had on rather the same kind of
+bonnet. As if Mamma would come to a music-hall and box the ears of
+somebody she didn't know! But _what_ a fright it gave me!
+
+    [_She begins to feel capable of enjoying the performance._
+
+_Col. Merridew_ (_later_). Now we're going to see the great man,
+CECILIA. WILDFIRE'S down to sing next.
+
+_Capt. Alch._ Don't you be too sure, FRANK. They haven't put the
+number up yet, you see. As likely as not they'll put in an "extra
+turn," and he won't come at all. I've known that happen lots of times
+when you come on purpose to see somethin', don't you know.
+
+_Mrs. M._ Really, Captain ALCHIN, I shall begin to suspect that you
+are more of an authority about music-halls than your modesty would
+admit at first.
+
+_Capt. Alch._ (_in some confusion_). No, really now, Mrs. MERRIDEW,
+all I mean is WILDFIRE'S bringin' out a play or somethin' to-night at
+the Hilarity, so he mayn't be able to turn up here, don't you see.
+
+_Mrs. M._ I won't have you predicting evil like that; it's not at all
+nice of you, and you're quite wrong, too; for there's his number in
+the frame now!
+
+    [_The Scene on the Stage changes once more from an Oriental
+    Palace to a London Street; a bell tingles; the Orchestra
+    dashes into the air of_ "The Hansom Cabman," _which the bulk
+    of the audience hail with delight; then a stream of limelight
+    is thrown on the boards, and_ WALTER WILDFIRE _appears_.
+
+_Mrs. M._ (_after the first verse_). I don't know what it is, but
+there's something about him very different from all the others. And
+they say he writes all his own songs and music--so clever of him!
+Quite a striking face he has, rather handsome, with that drooping
+moustache. Don't _you_ think he's handsome, THEA? (ALTHEA _does not
+answer_; WILDFIRE _sings the last verse; as he concludes, the house is
+hushed for an instant, and then breaks into a thunder of applause_.)
+It's quite beautiful that last verse; poor, poor fellow! it all seemed
+so real, somehow! Ah, he's not going to sing the last verse again. I'm
+rather glad, for I very nearly howled, and it would be too silly to
+cry at a music-hall. (_Interval._) Here he is again; how different he
+looks. I suppose it's the sandwich-boards. (WILDFIRE _goes through
+the second song with the small child; in the midst of the second
+stanza, he suddenly falters, and only recovers himself by a violent
+effort_; ALTHEA _has bent forward out of the shadow of the curtain_.)
+It's too frightfully pathetic; he's such a dear, isn't he? (_The
+applause is more rapturous than ever; an encore is clamoured for_;
+WILDFIRE _reappears, looking ghastly pale, and makes a mute plea for
+indulgence; after he has finally retired, the clamour still continues,
+until the scene and the number are shifted_.) He won't sing
+any more--how sad! Wasn't he charming with that child? (_In an
+undertone._) Why, ALTHEA, darling!
+
+_Alth._ (_in a shaken voice_). D--don't speak to me just yet, CISSIE.
+I know it's very foolish of me; but I can't bear it.
+
+_Capt. Alch._ (_to himself_). Gad, I'd give somethin' to sing like
+that Johnny, and make her eyes shine like that!
+
+_Mrs. M._ FRANK, we may as well go now, there's nothing else worth
+staying for, and I'm sure this horrid tobacco is ruining my poor
+pearls; or would you rather stay a little longer, THEA?
+
+_Alth._ Oh, no, no; I don't want to hear anybody else--after that.
+(_To herself, as_ Capt. A. _helps her on with her cloak_.) And that is
+the man Mr. CURPHEW said nothing would induce him to go and see. And I
+actually persuaded myself that---- But I am wiser now. He can never be
+anything to me!
+
+    [_She leaves the box with her party._
+
+END OF SCENE XII.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
+
+COLONEL COLVILE chivalrously takes upon himself responsibility for
+the title of the volume in which his wife has recorded their joint
+experience of a trip round the coast of Africa. _Round the Black Man's
+Garden_ is about as bad a title as a book could have. Happily, Mrs.
+COLVILE'S clever travel notes triumphantly carry the weight. The
+travellers commenced their journey at Suez, visiting places in the
+Red Sea which voyagers by the P. and O. steamers pass by on the
+other side. They made their way down the west coast by all the most
+uncomfortable means of conveyance attainable, culminating in the
+filanzana, in which instrument of torture they were carried across the
+hills and through the swamps of Madagascar. Colonel COLVILE, just
+now enjoying himself amid the privations of the journey up country to
+Uganda, is well known as an indomitable traveller. In Mrs. COLVILE he
+found a worthy companion. On a merry page of the narrative of life in
+Madagascar, it is incidentally mentioned that the travellers arrive at
+Malatsy with their luggage soaking after a dip in the river. They dine
+in a whitewashed hut, with an army of big cockroaches overrunning the
+walls. Resuming their journey next morning they "entered a dense cloud
+of singularly malignant little black flies." The half-naked porters
+were soon streaming with blood, and the passengers' faces were in a
+similar condition. "Luckily," writes Mrs. COLVILE, in her cheery way,
+"we were soon clear of the infested belt, to move in the course of
+half-an-hour into a flight of locusts." Mrs. COLVILE takes as the
+motto of her book the proverb, _Qui suit son chemin arrive a la fin_.
+My Baronite arrived at the end of Mrs. COLVILE'S fascinating narrative
+full of admiration for her courage and good temper. But as long as
+Piccadilly and Pall Mall are not "up," he will be content with them,
+and would rather not follow her road.
+
+  BARON DE BOOK-WORMS & CO.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE CABMAN'S GUIDE TO POLITENESS.--No. I.
+
+    (_In short, easy Lessons, arranged after the fashion of the
+    Child's Handbook to Useful Knowledge._)
+
+[Illustration]
+
+_Question._ I suppose your chief desire is to make as much out of the
+public as possible?
+
+_Answer._ I suppose it is.
+
+_Q._ And you will be as glad to attain your object by politeness as by
+any other method?
+
+_A._ Well, of course it don't matter to me how I get the coin, so long
+as I do get it.
+
+_Q._ Precisely. Well, have you ever tried to be polite?
+
+_A._ Never. Don't know exactly what the word represents.
+
+_Q._ So I thought. Well, I will attempt to teach you its meaning by
+example.
+
+_A._ Thank you; so long as it helps me, and don't hurt you, what's the
+odds?
+
+_Q._ Certainly; I see that you have some rudimentary knowledge of the
+matter already. Well, to begin. Suppose a fare gave you less than what
+you considered your right charge, how would you behave?
+
+_A._ If a policeman wasn't in the way, I should say "What's this?" and
+glare at him indignantly.
+
+_Q._ Have you found this a successful method of obtaining an increase?
+
+_A._ Well, no, not much. Of course if you get an old lady, or a mother
+with a heap of children, you can do almost anything with them.
+
+_Q._ But let us take a smart cavalry officer, who knows his way about
+town, do you think the method you suggest would be successful with
+him?
+
+_A._ No, I don't; but no cavalry officer who was really smart would
+offer me less than my fare.
+
+_Q._ But we are assuming that there may be some question about the
+fare. For instance, what would you consider the right charge from
+Charing Cross railway-station to the St. James's Theatre?
+
+_A._ Why, eighteen pence, to be sure, and a cheap eighteen pence in
+the bargain.
+
+_Q._ Your computation of the charge will suit my purpose. Of course,
+you know that the police put the distance at something less than two
+miles, I may say considerably less?
+
+_A._ I daresay they do, but the police are not everybody, and you said
+I was not to consider the constables if they weren't on the spot. If
+they were, of course that would make a difference.
+
+_Q._ Assume you get a shilling. Now suppose you were to look at the
+coin, and to say, "I beg your pardon, Sir, but are you aware this
+shilling is a George the Fourth, or a well-preserved William the
+Fourth, or an early Victoria, would you not like to exchange it for
+one of less historical interest?" Do you not think that such a speech,
+with a civil touch of the hat, would immediately attract attention?
+
+_A._ It might, but I can't say for certain, as I have never tried it.
+
+_Q._ I did not suppose that you had. Do you not believe that were you
+to make such a remark your kind consideration would receive attention?
+
+_A._ Quite as likely as not, but what then?
+
+_Q._ Well, having established yourself on a friendly footing, could
+you not improve the occasion by adding, "I do not know whether you are
+aware of the fact, Sir, but I frequently receive eighteen pence for
+the very distance you have just travelled?"
+
+_A._ Of course I could, but what good would it be?
+
+_Q._ That you will probably find out if you act on my suggestion, and
+now, as I have taught you enough for to-day, I will adopt a driver's
+phrase and "pull up." Have you anything polite to say to me which will
+prove to me that you have been bettered by my instruction?
+
+_A._ Nothing that I can think of, unless it be, "Thank you for
+nothing."
+
+_Q._ That is scarcely the reply I had expected. However, do not be
+disheartened, to thank me at all is a move in the right direction. And
+now you will come again?
+
+_A._ Well, yes, when I have nothing better to do.
+
+_Q._ I am infinitely obliged to you. I will detain you no longer.
+Good-bye, and I hope you will adopt my method and find it successful.
+
+_A._ I hope so, too. But there's no telling.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: THINGS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE EXPRESSED DIFFERENTLY.
+
+"DON'T GO, CANON; I WANT TO INTRODUCE YOU TO A LADY WHO WISHES TO MAKE
+YOUR ACQUAINTANCE."
+
+"OH--ER--I'M RATHER IN A HURRY; SOME OTHER DAY, PERHAPS--ER--ER."
+
+"IT'S MY WIFE, YOU KNOW."
+
+"OH, THAT'S _DIFFERENT_. I THOUGHT YOU SAID A _LADY_! I SHALL BE
+CHARMED!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE BLACK SHADOW.
+
+  We're near to the gloomy GUY FAUX anniversary,
+    Nigh to the gorging of Lord Mayor's Day,
+  But though 'tis November, there's joy in the Nursery
+    Ruled by Nurse GLADSTONE out Westminster way.
+  The summer's long troubles are laid on the shelf
+  And "Nana" looks quite like enjoying herself.
+
+  That bothersome bantling, the big Irish baby,
+    Is tucked up in bed for a long forty winks.
+  (Though its shrill Banshee howl will be heard again, maybe,
+    From waking it, _yet_, even Nana G. shrinks.)
+  So now for a nice quiet time, if you please,
+  With the brace of most sweet-tempered bairns on her knees.
+
+  They're English--quite English, and easy to handle,
+    Won't raise horrid noises and anger the House.
+  They're pleasant to see and delightful to dandle,
+    And Nana opines that, with nursery _nous_,
+  They'll be got "nicely off"--if she makes no mistakes--
+  Before that Hibernian worry awakes.
+
+  "To market, to market, to buy a fat piggy!
+    (But O, not a poor Irish pig--in a poke!)"
+  So pipes Nana GLADSTONE so jocund and jiggy
+    She ekes out her Nursery lilt with a joke.
+  "We've done, for a season, with row-de-dow-dow,
+  And there's no 'Bogey Man,' dears, to bother us now!"
+
+  Nurses, we know, find the "Black Man" most handy
+    To frighten their charges to quiet at times;
+  But now 'tis all "Hush-a-bye, Babes!" "Handy-pandy!"
+    And such soothing carols and quieting rhymes,
+  No need for a "black ugly thing in the garden"
+  To quiet _these_ babes, thinks old Nana from Hawarden!
+
+  Alas, and alas! Bogey Men are such rum 'uns,
+    And some Ugly Things are "too previous," or worse.
+  How oft the Black Shadow appears without summons,
+    And terrifies not the poor babes, but their Nurse!
+  Nana's not disturbed--yet--by the Irish babe's squall,
+  But--what means that black-boding shade on the wall?
+
+  The African Bogey! Inopportune, very!
+    It's really a nuisance, it does seem a shame
+  That just as Nurse G. is prepared to make merry
+    With two such sweet bantlings _this_ Spook spoils the game!
+  Uganda! Mashonaland!! Nurse, I'm afraid
+  The Dark Continent casts o'er your babes a Black Shade!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE THREE V'S.
+
+(_Voice, Vote, and Veto._)
+
+    [What the brewers want is a Reform Bill by which "every adult
+    resident with a throat should have a vote."--_Westminster
+    Gazette._]
+
+  "When wine is in the wit is out"
+  Was once held wisdom past all doubt;
+  But now 'twould seem that every throttle
+  That hath capacity for the bottle,
+  Must have it also for the suffrage.
+  No more need rowdy Rad or rough rage.
+  Throat-suffrage should please everybody
+  Who lets out noise or takes in toddy,
+  By way of a capacious throat
+  Can drink and shout--One Throat, one Vote!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FROM MR. CORMORANT, ST. JAMES'S PARK.--"Thank you, Sir. Mother and
+child, Master CORMORANT and Mrs. CORMORANT, are doing uncommonly well.
+Hope for the best. But permit me, accidents will happen, and I should
+like to make provision--you understand. How? In my newspaper I see
+advertised 'Eagle Insurance Co.,' 'Pelican Life Insurance Co.' Why are
+the Eagle and the Pelican to be benefited, and not the Cormorant--and
+others? But never mind the others. I speak for myself, and am yours
+Devouringly, Captain CORMORANT."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+SOMETHING IN A NAME.--Most appropriate official to make a "Budget
+Statement"--Sir GEORGE "DIBBS."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A STRIKE MOTTO.--"'Tis true, 'tis pitty; and pitty 'tis, 'tis true."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: THE BLACK SHADOW.
+
+NURSE GLADSTONE. "NOW, MY LITTLE DEARS, WE SHALL HAVE A NICE QUIET
+TIME--ALL TO OURSELVES!"
+
+"UGANDA! MASHONALAND!! NURSE, I'M AFRAID THE DARK CONTINENT CASTS O'ER
+YOUR BABES A BLACK SHADE!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE ADVENTURES OF PICKLOCK HOLES.
+
+(_By Cunnin Toil_.)
+
+No. VI.--THE UMBROSA BURGLARY.
+
+During one of my short summer holidays I happened to be spending a few
+days at the delightful riverside residence of my friend JAMES
+SILVER, the extent of whose hospitality is only to be measured by
+the excellence of the fare that he sets before his guests, or by the
+varied amusements that he provides for them. The beauties of Umbrosa
+(for that is the attractive name of his house) are known to all those
+who during the summer months pass up (or down) the winding reaches of
+the Upper Thames. It was there that I witnessed a series of startling
+events which threw the whole county into a temporary turmoil. Had it
+not been for the unparalleled coolness and sagacity of PICKLOCK
+HOLES the results might have been fraught with disaster to many
+distinguished families, but the acumen of HOLES saved the situation
+and the family-plate, and restored the peace of mind of one of the
+best fellows in the world.
+
+The party at Umbrosa consisted of the various members of the SILVER
+family, including, besides Mr. and Mrs. SILVER, three high-spirited
+and unmarried youths and two charming girls. PICKLOCK HOLES was of
+course one of the guests. In fact, it had long since come to be an
+understood thing that wherever I went HOLES should accompany me in the
+character of a professional detective on the lookout for business;
+and JAMES SILVER though he may have at first resented the calm
+unmuscularity of my marvellous friend's immovable face would have been
+the last man in the world to spoil any chance of sport or excitement
+by refraining from offering a cordial invitation to HOLES. The
+party was completed by PETER BOWMAN, a lad of eighteen, who to
+an extraordinary capacity for mischief, added an imperturbable
+cheerfulness of manner. He was generally known as Shock-headed PETER,
+in allusion to the brush-like appearance of his delicate auburn hair,
+but his intimate friends sometimes addressed him as VENUS, a nickname
+which he thoroughly deserved by the almost classic irregularity of his
+Saxon features.
+
+[Illustration: "Propelled by an athletic young fellow."]
+
+We were all sitting, I remember, on the riverbank, watching the
+countless craft go past, and enjoying that pleasant industrious
+indolence which is one of the chief charms of life on the Thames. A
+punt had just skimmed by, propelled by an athletic young fellow in
+boating costume. Suddenly HOLES spoke.
+
+"It is strange," he said, "that the man should be still at large."
+
+"What man? Where? How?" we all exclaimed breathlessly.
+
+"The young puntsman," said HOLES, with an almost aggravating coolness.
+"He is a bigamist, and has murdered his great aunt."
+
+"It cannot be," said Mr. SILVER, with evident distress. "I know the
+lad well, and a better fellow never breathed."
+
+"I speak the truth," said HOLES, unemotionally. "The induction is
+perfect. He is wearing a red tie. That tie was not always red. It
+was, therefore, stained by something. Blood is red. It was, therefore,
+stained by blood. Now it is well known that the blood of great aunts
+is of a lighter shade, and the colour of that tie has a lighter shade.
+The blood that stained it was, therefore, the blood of his great aunt.
+As for the bigamy, you will have noticed that as he passed he blew
+two rings of cigarette-smoke, and they both floated in the air _at the
+same time_. A ring is a symbol of matrimony. Two rings together mean
+bigamy. He is, therefore, a bigamist."
+
+For a moment we were silent, struck with horror at this dreadful, this
+convincing revelation of criminal infamy. Then I broke out:
+
+"HOLES," I said, "you deserve the thanks of the whole community. You
+will of course communicate with the police."
+
+"No," said HOLES, "they are fools, and I do not care to mix myself up
+with them. Besides, I have other fish to fry."
+
+Saying this, he led me to a secluded part of the grounds, and
+whispered in my ear.
+
+"Not a word of what I am about to tell you. There will be a burglary
+here to-night."
+
+"But, HOLES," I said, startled in spite of myself at the calm
+omniscience of my friend, "had we not better do something; arm the
+servants, warn the police, bolt the doors and bar the windows, and
+sit up with blunderbusses--anything would be better than this state of
+dreadful expectancy. May I not tell Mr. SILVER?"
+
+"POTSON, you are amiable, but you will never learn my methods." And
+with that enigmatic reply I had to be content in the meantime.
+
+The evening had passed as pleasantly as evenings at Umbrosa always
+pass. There had been music; the Umbrosa choir, composed of members of
+the family and guests, had performed in the drawing-room, and PETER
+had drawn tears from the eyes of every one by his touching
+rendering of the well-known songs of "_The Dutiful Son_" and "_The
+Cartridge-bearer_." Shortly afterwards, the ladies retired to bed,
+and the gentlemen, after the customary interval in the smoking-room,
+followed. We were in high good-humour, and had made many plans for the
+morrow. Only HOLES seemed pre-occupied. Once I heard him muttering
+to himself, "It's bound to come off properly; never failed yet. They
+wired to say they'd be here by the late train. Well, let them come. I
+shall be ready for them." I did not venture at the time to ask him the
+meaning of these mysterious words.
+
+I had been sleeping for about an hour, when I was suddenly awakened
+with a start. In the passage outside I heard the voices of the
+youngest SILVER boy and of PETER.
+
+"PETER, old chap," said JOHNNY SILVER, "I believe there's burglars in
+the house. Isn't it a lark?"
+
+"Ripping," said PETER. "Have you told your people?"
+
+"Oh, it's no use waking the governor and the mater; we'll do the job
+ourselves. I told the girls, and they've all locked themselves in and
+got under their beds, so they're safe. Are you ready?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Come on then."
+
+With that they went along the passage and down the stairs. My mind was
+made up, and my trousers and boots were on in less time than it takes
+to tell it. I went to HOLES'S room and entered. He was lying on his
+bed, fully awake, dressed in his best detective suit, with his fingers
+meditatively extended, and touching one another.
+
+"They're here," I said.
+
+"Who?"
+
+"The burglars."
+
+"As I thought," said HOLES, selecting his best basket-hilted
+life-preserver from a heap in the middle of the room. "Follow me
+silently."
+
+I did so. No sooner had we reached the landing, however, than the
+silence was broken by a series of blood-curdling screams.
+
+"Good Heavens!" was all I could say.
+
+"Hush," said HOLES. I obeyed him. The screams subsided, and I heard
+the voices of my two young friends, evidently in great triumph.
+
+"Lie still, you brute," said PETER, "or I'll punch your blooming head.
+Give the rope another twist, JOHNNY. That's it. Now you cut and tell
+your governor and old HOLES that we've nabbed the beggar."
+
+By this time the household was thoroughly roused. Agitated females
+and inquisitive males streamed downstairs. Lights were lit, and a
+remarkable sight met our eyes. In the middle of the drawing-room lay
+an undersized burglar, securely bound, with PETER sitting on his head.
+
+"JOHNNY and I collared the beggar," said PETER, "and bowled him over.
+Thanks, I think I could do a ginger-beer."
+
+The man was of course tried and convicted, and HOLES, who had
+explained how he had been certain that the burglary was contemplated
+and had taken his measures accordingly, received the thanks of the
+County Council.
+
+"That fellow," said the great detective to me, "was the best and
+cleverest of my tame team of country-house burglars. Through him and
+his associates I have fostered and foiled more thefts than I care to
+count. Those infernal boys nearly spoilt everything. POTSON, take my
+advice, never attempt a master-stroke in a house full of boys. They
+can't understand scientific induction. Had they not interfered I
+should have caught the fellow myself. He had wired to tell me where I
+should find him."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+PRECEPT AND PRACTICE.--It's not sufficiently recognised that a Bishop
+is bound to side with the masters, as by the terms of his contract he
+engages to be "no striker."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"HOW TO MAKE ENGLAND SOBER."--"It can't be done," says the Bishop of
+CHESTER, "_sans Jayne_."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A STRIKING HEADLINE (_all rights reserved_).--Loch Out in
+Matabeleland!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A JINGO PARADOX.--We pot the natives to preserve ourselves.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A MISTY CRYSTAL.
+
+  DARLINGS, I am growing old,
+  Silver threads among the gold.
+  Cannot see beyond my nose,
+  Must have glasses I suppose.
+  At the fair I bought a pair,
+  Golden rimmed, of pebbles rare,
+  Paid the money then and there,
+  Glad my spectacles to wear.
+  But, how strange! I could not see
+  What was just in front of me!
+  Took them off and rubbed them well;
+  Cleaned they seemed; but, strange to tell,
+  When I put them on again
+  Everything was plain as plain,
+  But reflected from behind!
+  Then I found that tho' so blind,
+  Many little things I saw
+  Which I had not seen before.
+  First, my page, of doubtful age,
+  Put me in a dreadful rage;
+  Dipped his fingers in the cream;
+  (Turned and faced him--made him scream!)
+  Dropped the pot, upset a lot--
+  Caught it from me pretty hot.
+  Next the footman kicked my cat
+  Sleeping on its lamb's-wool mat.
+  Loosed my dicky from its cage
+  (Shall deduct this from his wage).
+  When the housemaid scrubbed the floor,
+  Watched her through the open door
+  At my eldest making eyes.
+  Packed her off to her surprise,
+  Heeding not her tears and cries.
+  Truly blindness makes one wise!
+  Then I caught my little son
+  Putting mustard in a bun;
+  Going to give it to the pug.
+  Seized him by the nearest lug,
+  Boxed it hard. He howled with pain;
+  Never teased the dog again.
+  Saw my girl of twenty-three
+  Kiss the curate, after tea.
+  Sent the pair to right about.
+  (Wondered how I found them out!)
+  So, you see, I really find
+  Much amusement of a kind.
+  Eyes before and eyes behind,
+  Is there anyone would mind
+  Being just a little blind?
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: TRUE COMPUNCTION.
+
+_Young Hopeful_ (_who has been celebrating, not wisely but too well,
+the last day of his Exam._). "LOOK HERE, MAJOR! IF _YOU_ DON'T TELL MY
+FATHER OF MY D'SGRASHEFUL CONDUCK, _I_ SHALL!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+N.B. !
+
+    [In the "Report of the Royal Commission on Labour" it is said
+    that "domestic economy is not now practised among the Scotch
+    peasants with such closeness as formerly; wives have ceased
+    to use oatmeal and other simple fare, and buy from the passing
+    cart inferior goods which they could very well prepare at
+    home." The married labourer's clothing is "finer, but less
+    durable," and he himself is "less unknown in places of
+    amusement."]
+
+  SCOTS, wha hae on parritch fed!
+  Scots, in thrifty habits bred!
+  Air ye leavin' barley bread,
+          And frugality?
+
+  Now's the day, much more the night,
+  For stickin' to your bawbees tight!
+  See approach proud Fashion's might,
+          Chains o' luxury!
+
+  Wha will to the flesher's wend,
+  Buy thin breeks that will na mend,
+  Wha sae base as saxpence spend
+          On an evenin' spree?
+
+  Wha for Scotland's knitted hose,
+  Oaten cakes and homespun clo'es,
+  Now will deal some auld-warld blows?
+          He will live, _not_ dee!
+
+  By each braw and kilted laddie,
+  Gudeman douce, and gude-boy caddie,
+  Ye may weel at once eradi-
+          -cate frivolity!
+
+  Strike, and break amusement's yoke,
+  Or your ainsells may be broke!
+  Siller's saved in every stroke
+          Of economy!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FIRST-RATE FOREIGN ADVERTISEMENT FOR A MEDICAL FRIEND OF OURS.--Every
+dinner in France is now served "_a la Roose_."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A WALK IN DEVON.
+
+PART II.--THE FINISH.
+
+_Notes from the Travel Diary of Toby, M.P._
+
+  _The Cottage, Burrow-in-the-Corner, Devon._
+
+VERY awkward to have missed the Post; being Saturday night means delay
+of twenty-four hours.
+
+"Seen the postman?" I asked Old Gentleman.
+
+"Seed ee two minits ago. Gone up the hill. I'll call him back."
+
+New idea this. Never remember when just too late for last pillar-box
+clearance in London suburb running after postman, bringing him back,
+and getting him to make special clearance. Old Gentleman evidently
+thought nothing of it; skipped out of garden with remarkable agility;
+in middle of road in a twinkling; shouting "Hi! hi!" and waving green
+umbrella wildly over his narrow-brimmed top hat, round which the rime
+of age modestly lurked. Postman did not seem at all annoyed; came back
+promptly, unlocked box, and trudged off again on his rounds.
+
+Here's where my misfortune began. Way back clear by the road I had
+come; inviting lane passed Old Gentleman's house; was there anyway
+along it to Burrow-in-the-Corner? "Why, yes," said Old Gentleman,
+whose desire to accommodate was illimitable. "Follow this lane till
+you come to four cross roads, then turn to left, and keep on." Nothing
+plainer than this: getting used to four cross roads in these parts;
+came upon this particular assortment after quarter of an hour's walk;
+a sign-post too; so thoughtful; no difficulty about four cross roads
+when there's a sign-post. Walked up to it and round it; not a single
+letter remaining intact of the direction. Sign-post older than
+Old Gentleman with the umbrella, and not nearly in such state of
+preservation. Not a soul in sight; "no footfall breaking silence of
+closing day." Old Gentleman said turn to left; so left must be right;
+take it, and walk on.
+
+Pretty broad highway; must be main road leading somewhere. Why not to
+Burrow-in-the-Corner? Quarter mile off come upon bifurcation. Which is
+main road? Instincts of trapper assert themselves; carefully examine
+which way traffic mostly goes; not many cart-ruts, but majority turn
+to left; that must be the way to Burrow-in-the-Corner. Take it; find
+it a ditch between lofty hedges going up a hill, and then, like the
+late Duke of York, going down again. Half a mile of this; then another
+bifurcation; a gentle curve, insidious, but unmistakable, one horn of
+my dilemma leading to right, the other to left. Take the right this
+time, by way of change; leads into a road running at right angles.
+Should I turn right or left? Do a little of both in succession; can
+see nothing of the lay of country, by reason of wall-like hedges;
+presently come to gate in field; country chillingly unfamiliar.
+
+Situation beginning to grow serious; dusk closing in apace. In spite
+of it I see my mistake; took the wrong turning when I examined the
+traffic-mark; must turn back there, and peg along the other road;
+get into narrow lane again; this time, varying man[oe]uvre of Duke of
+York, go down a hill, and then go up again.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: LIKA JOKO'S JOTTINGS.--No. 3. STAG HUNTING.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Trapper instinct, before alluded to, made me note heap of broken
+stones at this particular bifurcation. Here it is; no mistake about
+that; take other turning, and press on full speed; can't be more
+than two miles now; straight road, and there you are. Can do it under
+half-an-hour. Nothing so delightful as walk in country lane in cool of
+evening. This particular lane rather long; roads and lanes cutting
+off to right and left; at least no bifurcation. Not a house in sight;
+every soul in the country apparently turned in. Cottar's Saturday
+night, of course; should have thought of that before; explains
+everything.
+
+Apparently no end to this road; suddenly seems to disappear; only a
+dip down a hill; think at first, from steepness, it must be road into
+Tipperton; but Tipperton is miles away. Getting on for dinner-time;
+better run down hill; do so; see light flickering at end; probably
+The Cottage windows; hum "A light in the window for me"; find I've no
+breath to spare for musical entertainments; shut up, and run. Light
+comes from farm-house; enter yard cautiously in case of another dog
+being there. In the twilight see second Old Gentleman; this time in
+his shirt-sleeves, sitting meditatively on an upturned bucket set on a
+barn floor. "Is this the way to Burrow-in-the-Corner?" I ask, a little
+out of breath. Old Gentleman stares; perhaps he is deaf; looks deaf,
+but find he is only chuckling; repeat question louder. "No," says he,
+"but that be;" and he waves a horny hand up the wall of a hill down
+which I had scrambled.
+
+For the last twenty minutes I'd been running away from
+Burrow-in-the-Corner as if we didn't dine at 7.30.
+
+Old Gentleman not accustomed to seeing joke; made most of this; when
+he recovered I learned that if I walked back up hill a mile, and
+took first turning to right, I should be on the road to
+Burrow-in-the-Corner. Nice pull up hill; kept keen look out for
+turn to right; after quarter of hour's rapid walking passed on left
+openings of two lanes in close contiguity. Through one I had forty
+minutes earlier walked on to this very road. If I had then turned to
+left instead of going back I should have been at The Cottage by this
+time--supposing, of course, the road leads thither.
+
+No use repining; must get on; feeling peckish; walk in middle of road
+to make most of twilight shut out by hedges; can't see time by watch;
+doing something more than four miles an hour. At end of what seems
+half-hour am apparently no forrader; no house; no passer-by; no
+friendly light over ghostly expanse peeped at through occasional
+gates.
+
+Begin to think of story heard the other day. Belated parson went to
+take evening service for friend at church close by post-office where
+I made acquaintance of first Old Gentleman. Only three miles from his
+own house; after sermon set off to walk home; thinking of many things,
+turned off at wrong point; knew country pretty well, but darkness
+came on; hopelessly lost; found forlornly sitting on a gate at eleven
+o'clock by farmer's son fortuitously delayed on his return home; took
+stranger home with him; woke up family, and gave him shakedown for
+night.
+
+"It was bad enough, TOBY," rev. gentleman said, "and might have been
+worse. But what rankles most bitterly in my breast at present day is
+remark of farmer's wife when her son shouted up at open window that
+he had brought home a clergyman who had lost his way and wanted a
+bed. 'Clergyman!' she cried, with cruel scorn. 'Get away with you. No
+clergyman would be out at this time of night.'"
+
+One comfort it's not raining; rained in torrents when my friend the
+parson had his Sunday night out. Road evidently not leading towards
+The Cottage; suppose that once more I am walking away from it! Trapper
+instincts already alluded to have evolved a plan which I hold in
+reserve. Remember (or think I remember) the turns on the way back to
+post-office where I made acquaintance of first Old Gentleman; terrible
+trudge, but better than sleeping in ditch or shed; shall turn back and
+face it. Halt and hesitate; no sign of Cottage or other light; hedges
+are black shadows; a few feet in front and an equal distance behind is
+wall of darkness; decide to take a hundred paces forward. If then no
+sign of habitation shall turn back and grope way by post-office.
+
+At eightieth pace a turn in the road; a light across the roadway; then
+The Cottage, and through the open window, into the dark still night,
+floats the music of SCHUMANN'S "_Fruehlingsnacht_." It is the Cook
+singing, while the Housemaid spreads the cloth for dinner.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: WIREPROOF. SIR HARRY HARDMAN, MOUNTED ON "BEHEMOTH,"
+CREATED RATHER A STIR AT THE MEET. HE SAID HE DIDN'T CARE A HANG FOR
+THE BARBED OR ANY OTHER KIND OF WIRE.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+NO RAISON D'ETRE!
+
+    ["The custom of dancing, I am informed on good authority,
+    has of late years lost its popularity with our gilded
+    youth!"--_Mr. James Payn._]
+
+  A SINGING-BIRD which will not sing, a watch that will not go,
+  A working-man who scorns to work, a needle that won't sew,
+  Are things whose inutility are obvious at a glance,
+  But what _are_ they compared with "gilded youth" who do not dance?
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+MYSTIFIED.--Somebody at Mrs. R.'s was saying that a certain friend of
+theirs, a well-known Queen's Counsel, was a first-rate pianist. "By
+the way," inquired a young barrister, "doesn't he usually practice in
+Mr. Justice ROMER'S court?" Mrs. R. held up her hands in amazement.
+"Well," she exclaimed; "I had no idea that music was allowed in a
+law court. But I suppose it's in the interval, while the Judge is at
+luncheon."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+An Expostulation.
+
+(_On the recent revision of "The Tempter."_)
+
+  MR. TREE, what _have_ you done?
+    Hang it all! there's no exempting
+  You from blame for risks we run
+    With _The Tempter_ yet more tempting.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+QUERY.--Has the want of rain this summer, and consequent failure of
+the hay crops, affected the market for Grass Widows?
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari,
+November 4th 1893, by Various
+
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