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diff --git a/44760-h/44760-h.htm b/44760-h/44760-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..93744b8 --- /dev/null +++ b/44760-h/44760-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1651 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en" xml:lang="en"> + +<head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8" /> + + <title>Punch, or the London Charivari, May 11th, 1895.</title> + +<link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> + + <style type="text/css"> + + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + #coverpage {border: 1px solid black;} + + p {text-align: justify;} + table {width: 25em; margin: 0 auto;} + + .ind {margin-left: 2em; margin-right: 2em;} + .ind2 {margin-left: 5em; margin-right: 5em;} + .rindent {text-align: right; margin-left: 30%; margin-top: -0.5em;} + .rindent1 {text-align: right; margin-right: 5em; margin-top: 0;} + h1 {line-height: 150%;} + h2.big {font-size: 250%;} + h2.sq {line-height: 150%;} + h3.sq {line-height: 150%;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center;} + + p.title1 {text-align: center; text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.6; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0;} + p.title1b {text-align: center; text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; font-size: 120%;} + p.title2 {text-align: center; text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 0;} + small {font-size: 70%;} + .small {font-size: 70%;} + .smaller {font-size: 50%;} + big {font-size: 140%;} + .sans {font-family: sans-serif;} + pre {font-size: 0.7em;} + .sc {font-variant: small-caps;} + .center {text-align: center;} + + ins {text-decoration: none; border-bottom: dashed 1px silver;} + hr {width: 100%;} + html>body hr {margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 0%; width: 100%;} + hr.medium {width: 76%;} + html>body hr.medium {margin-right: 12%; margin-left: 12%; width: 76%;} + hr.short {text-align: center; width: 30%;} + html>body hr.short {margin-right: 35%; margin-left: 35%; width: 30%;} + + span.pagenum {position: absolute; left: 1%; right: 91%; font-size: 8pt; text-indent: 0;} + ul.none {font-size: 1em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; list-style-type: none; line-height: 150%;} + ins {text-decoration: none; border-bottom: dashed 1px #dddddd; font-family: "Gentium, 'New Athena Unicode', 'DejaVu Serif', 'Lucida Grande', 'Arial Unicode MS', 'Palatino Linotype', serif";} + + .width18 {max-width: 18em;} + .width21 {max-width: 21em;} + .width27 {max-width: 27em;} + + .poem {margin: auto;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} + .poem p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem p.i2 {margin-left: 1em;} + .poem p.i4 {margin-left: 2em;} + .poem p.i6 {margin-left: 3em;} + + @media handheld { + .poem {display: block; margin-left: 1.5em;} + } + + .figcenter, .figright, .figleft {padding: 1em; margin: 0; text-align: center; font-size: 0.8em;} + .figcenter img, .figright img, .figleft img + {border: none;} + .figcenter p, .figright p, .figleft p + {margin: 1em 0 0 0; text-indent: 1em;} + .figcenter {margin: auto;} + .figright {float: right;} + .figleft {float: left;} + + a.ask:link {color: blue;background: inherit; font-size: 1.0em; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none;} + a.ask:visited {color: blue;background: inherit; font-size: 1.0em; font-weight: normal;text-decoration: none;} + + @media handheld { +.figleft { +float : none; +text-align : center; +margin-right : 0; +} +} +@media handheld { +.figright { +float : none; +text-align : center; +margin-left : 0; +} +} +@media handheld { +body { +margin-left : 2%; +margin-right : 2%; +margin-top : 1%; +margin-bottom : 1%; +} +hr { +margin-top : 0.1em; +margin-bottom : 0.1em; +visibility : hidden; +color : white; +display : none; +} +} +@media print { +span.pagenum { +visibility : hidden; +color : white; +display : none; +} +} + + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44760 ***</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page217" id="page217"></a>[pg 217]</span></p> + +<hr /> + +<h1>PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.<br /> + +<small>Volume 108, <span class="sc">May 11th, 1895.</span></small><br /> + +<span class="smaller"><i>edited by Sir Francis Burnand</i></span></h1> + +<hr /> + +<h2>"BRAINS FOR CASH."</h2> + +<p class="center">["The unbridled greediness of some +authors."—<span class="sc">Mr. Gosse.</span>]</p> + +<p><i>Publisher</i> (<i>nervously</i>). And +what will your terms be for a +short story, in your best style?</p> + +<p><i>Author</i> (<i>loftily</i>). I have only +one style, and that is perfection. +I couldn't think of charging less +than fifty guineas a page.</p> + +<p><i>Publisher</i> (<i>aghast</i>). Fifty +guineas a page! But are you +aware that Lord <span class="sc">Macaulay</span> got +only ten thousand for the whole of +his history, and that <span class="sc">Milton</span>——</p> + +<p><i>Author</i> (<i>rudely</i>). Hang <span class="sc">Macaulay</span> +and <span class="sc">Milton</span>! Surely you +would not compare those second-rate +writers with <i>myself!</i> If +<i>they</i> were content to work for +starvation wages, I am not.</p> + +<p><i>Publisher</i>. But, say your story +runs to twenty pages, as it probably +will, I shall have to pay +you for that one short tale the +really ridiculous sum of a thousand +pounds!</p> + +<p><i>Author</i> (<i>coolly</i>). Yes, it is rather +ridiculous—ridiculously small, I +mean. Still, out of regard to your +pocket, I am willing to accept +that inadequate remuneration. Is +it a bargain?</p> + +<p><i>Publisher</i> (<i>with a groan</i>). It +must be. The public demands +your work, and we have no option. +But allow me to remark that your +policy is——</p> + +<p><i>Author</i> (<i>gaily</i>). A Policy of Assurance, +on which <i>you</i> have to pay +the premium. Ha, ha!</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">A Year Or Two Later.</span></p> + +<p><span class="sc">Author</span> (<span class="sc">deferentially</span>). I have +a really capital idea for a work of +fiction, on a subject which I believe +to be quite original. What—ahem!—are +you prepared to +offer for the copyright?</p> + +<p><i>Publisher.</i> Couldn't think of +making an offer till we saw the +work. It might turn out to be +worth nothing at all.</p> + +<p><i>Author.</i> Nothing at all! But +you forget how my fame——</p> + +<p><i>Publisher.</i> Disappeared when +we were obliged to charge the +public six shillings for a story of +yours about the size of an average +tract. Other writers have come +to the front, you know. Still, if +there's anything in your novel, +when it's finished, we should, I +daresay, be prepared to offer you +a couple of guineas down, and a +couple more when—say—a thousand +copies had been sold. Is it +a bargain?</p> + +<p><i>Author</i> (<i>sadly</i>). I suppose it +must be! Yet I can hardly be +said to be <i>paid</i> for my work.</p> + +<p><i>Publisher.</i> Perhaps not. But +you can be said to be <i>paid out!</i></p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 220px;"><a href="images/217-700.png"><img src="images/217-220.png" width="220" height="467" alt="'The Female Ostrich at the Zoo is dead.'" /></a> +<p class="center">"<span class="sc">The Female Ostrich at the Zoo is dead.</span>"</p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3 class="sans">THE STREETS OF LONDON.</h3> + +<div class="poem width21"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>The stately streets of London</p> +<p class="i2">Are always "up" in Spring,</p> +<p>To ordinary minds an ex-</p> +<p class="i2">traordinary thing.</p> +<p>Then cabs across strange ridges bound,</p> +<p class="i2">Or sink in holes, abused</p> +<p>With words resembling not, in sound,</p> +<p class="i2">Those Mrs. <span class="sc">Hemans</span> used.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>The miry streets of London,</p> +<p class="i2">Dotted with lamps by night;</p> +<p>What pitfalls where the dazzled eye</p> +<p class="i2">Sees doubly ruddy light!</p> +<p>For in the season, just in May,</p> +<p class="i2">When many meetings meet,</p> +<p>The jocund vestry starts away,</p> +<p class="i2">And closes all the street.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>The shut-up streets of London!</p> +<p class="i2">How willingly one jumps</p> +<p>From where one's cab must stop, through pools</p> +<p class="i2">Of mud, in dancing pumps!</p> +<p>When thus one skips on miry ways</p> +<p class="i2">One's pride is much decreased,</p> +<p>Like <i>Mrs. Gilpin's</i>, for one's "chaise"</p> +<p class="i2">Is "three doors off" at least.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>The free, fair streets of London!</p> +<p class="i2">Long, long, in vestry hall,</p> +<p>May heads of native thickness rise,</p> +<p class="i2">When April showers fall;</p> +<p>And green for ever be the men</p> +<p class="i2">Who spend the rates in May,</p> +<p>By stopping all the traffic then</p> +<p class="i2">In such a jocose way!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind2"><span class="sc">In Bloom.</span>—On Saturday last +there was a letter in the <i>Daily +Telegraph</i> headed "Trees for +Londoners." The lessee and +manager of the Haymarket +Theatre thinks that for Londoners +two Trees are quite sufficient, +<i>i.e.</i> his wife and himself.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2>THE DRINK QUESTION.</h2> + +<p class="ind"><i>First Man.</i> What rot it is to keep this tax on beer!</p> + +<p class="ind"><i>Second Man.</i> Well, it's better than spirits, anyhow.</p> + +<p class="ind"><i>First Man.</i> Of course you say that as you've got those shares in +that Distillery Company.</p> + +<p class="ind"><i>Second Man.</i> Well, you needn't talk, with your <span class="sc">Allsopp</span> +Debentures.</p> + +<p class="ind"><i>First Man.</i> Come to that, personally I take no interest in beer. +It's poison to me.</p> + +<p class="ind"><i>Second Man.</i> It's the finest drink in the world. I never touch +spirits.</p> + +<p class="ind"><i>First Man.</i> They're much more wholesome. I wonder what the +Government will do about Local Veto and Compensation. I suppose, +as I'm a Liberal——</p> + +<p class="ind"><i>Second Man.</i> So am I. But I respect vested interests. Now, in +theory, teetotalism, especially for the masses——</p> + +<p class="ind"><i>First Man.</i> Waiter, bring me a whiskey and soda.</p> + +<p class="ind"><i>Second Man.</i> And bring me a glass of bitter.</p> + +<p class="ind"><i>First Man.</i> As for <span class="sc">Wilfrid Lawson</span>, he's an utter——</p> + +<p class="ind"><i>Second Man.</i> Oh, <span class="sc">Wilfrid Lawson</span>! He's a downright——</p> + +<p class="rindent1">[<i>They drink</i>—<i>not</i> <span class="sc">Sir Wilfrid's</span> <i>health</i>.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>THE LOSS OF THE GALLERY.</h3> + +<p class="title1">(<i>A Fragment from the Chronicles of St. Stephen's.</i>)</p> + +<p>"But must I give up this comfortable furniture?" asked the +poor person, looking at the venerable chairs, some of which were +distinctly rickety.</p> + +<p>"You must, indeed," replied firmly, but still with a certain tenderness, +the stern official.</p> + +<p>"But I can <i>nearly</i> hear what they are saying," urged the fair +petitioner.</p> + +<p>"I cannot help it."</p> + +<p>"And <i>all</i> but see them," and once again she peered through the grille.</p> + +<p>"I am forced to obey my orders," returned the official. "You +applauded. You clapped your hands—and you must retire."</p> + +<p>"And for that little burst of enthusiasm," almost wept the +person, "I am to lose all this happiness! To be stopped from hearing +an indistinct murmur, seeing a blurred picture, resting on rickety +seats, and breathing a vitiated atmosphere! Am I to lose <i>all</i> these +comforts and pleasures and advantages?"</p> + +<p>"I am afraid so," was the answer. And then the official opened +the door of the Ladies' Gallery of the House of Commons, and the +person passed out.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page218" id="page218"></a>[pg 218]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"><a href="images/218-1200.png"><img src="images/218-400.png" width="400" height="484" alt="ALL THE DIFFERENCE." /></a> +<h2 class="sans">ALL THE DIFFERENCE.</h2> + +<p><i>Lord W-ls-l-y</i> (<i>to Commander-in-Chief</i>). "<span class="sc">In September I have to +retire from my Command.</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Duke.</i> "<span class="sc">Dear me! <i>I</i> haven't!</span>"</p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page219" id="page219"></a>[pg 219]</span></p> + +<h2>ALL THE DIFFERENCE.</h2> + +<div class="poem width27"> <div class="stanza"> +<p><i>Seniores priores?</i> Rude Rads, and some Tories,</p> +<p class="i2">Would make that apply to mere manner of exit.</p> +<p>If the "Spirit of Eld" is in charge of our glories,</p> +<p class="i6">Why wantonly vex it?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>That Spirit of Eld is the "note" of our era.</p> +<p class="i2">Grand old men—and women—at bossing are busy.</p> +<p>Youth? Stuff! Callow youth was indeed the chimera</p> +<p class="i6">Of dandyish <span class="sc">Dizzy</span>.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>But that was when <span class="sc">Dizzy</span>, himself young—and curly—</p> +<p class="i2">Was <span class="sc">Vivian Grey</span>, not the Primrose Dames' darling.</p> +<p>The Great Earl himself did not dominate early.</p> +<p class="i6">Oh, out on such snarling!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Old ways, and old wines, and old warriors for ever!</p> +<p class="i2">(Or, if not for ever, a whacking big slice of it.)</p> +<p>Great <span class="sc">Senex</span> from service 'twere folly to sever,</p> +<p class="i6">Whilst winning the price of it.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Retirement is not your true <i>militaire's</i> virtue;</p> +<p class="i2">To "beat the retreat" irks us all, dukes or drummers.</p> +<p>Let Winter hold sway, then—it cannot much hurt you—</p> +<p class="i6">For—say <i>x</i>—more summers!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>True <span class="sc">Hannibal</span>, <span class="sc">Gaston de Foix</span>, <span class="sc">Alexander</span>,</p> +<p class="i2"><span class="sc">Napoleon</span>, <span class="sc">Don John</span>, the <span class="sc">Great Condé</span>, and <span class="sc">Cortes</span></p> +<p>Were types of the true, adolescent commander,</p> +<p class="i6">And swayed ere their forties.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Still, they were god-loved and died young, like our <span class="sc">Sidney</span>,</p> +<p class="i2">But Genius is versatile, Nature is various;</p> +<p>All heroes are not of the same "kiddish" kidney,</p> +<p class="i6">Ask—say—<span class="sc">Belisarius</span>!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>To grudge him his obolus ("screw" as <i>we</i> name it)</p> +<p class="i2">Because he has drawn it a few years—say fifty—</p> +<p>If Rads had a conscience at all, Sir, would shame it!</p> +<p class="i6">But Rads are <i>so</i>—thrifty!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>For fellows like <span class="sc">Wolseley</span> or <span class="sc">Roberts</span>, retirement</p> +<p class="i2">Is all very well; they've no call for to stop, Sir.</p> +<p>But oh! for an Army the master requirement</p> +<p class="i6">Is grey hairs—a-top, Sir!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 380px;"><a href="images/219-900.png"><img src="images/219-300.png" width="300" height="471" alt="FAMILIAR PHRASE EXPLAINED." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">FAMILIAR PHRASE EXPLAINED.</h3> + +<p><i>Robinson.</i> "<span class="sc">Well, old Chap, how did you sleep last Night?</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Smith</i> (<i>who had dined out</i>). "<span class="sc">'Like a Top.' As soon as my Head +touched the +Pillow, it went round and round!</span>"</p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>NINETY YEAR!</h3> + +<p class="ind2">["In the retrospect of ninety years there is a +pathetic mixture of gratitude for ample opportunities, +and humiliation for insignificant performances."—<i>Dr. +James Martineau, on his +Ninetieth Birthday.</i>]</p> + +<p class="title1"><span class="sc">Air</span>—<span class="sc">Thackeray's</span> "<i>Age of Wisdom</i>"</p> + +<div class="poem width21"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Ho! petty prattler of sparkling sin,</p> +<p class="i2">Paradox-monger, slave of the queer!</p> +<p>All your wish is a name to win,</p> +<p>To shook the dullards, to sack the tin,—</p> +<p class="i2">Wait till you come to Ninety Year!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">Curled locks cover your shallow brains,</p> +<p>Twaddle and tinkle is all your cheer.</p> +<p>Sickly and sullied your amorous strains,</p> +<p class="i2">Pessimist praters of fancied pains,—</p> +<p>What do you think of <i>this</i> Ninety Year?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Ninety times over let May-day pass</p> +<p class="i2">(If you should live, which you won't I fear),</p> +<p>Then you will know that you were but an ass,</p> +<p>Then you will shudder and moan, "Alas!</p> +<p class="i2">Would I had known it some Ninety Year!"</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Pledge him round! He's a Man, I declare;</p> +<p class="i2">His heart is warm, though his hair be grey.</p> +<p>Modest, as though a record so fair,</p> +<p>A brain so big, and a soul so rare,</p> +<p class="i2">Were a mere matter of every day.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>His eloquent lips the Truth have kissed,</p> +<p class="i2">His valiant eyes for the Right have shone.</p> +<p>Pray, and listen—'twere well you list—</p> +<p>Look not away lest the chance be missed,</p> +<p class="i2">Look on a Man, ere your chance be gone!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="sc">Martineau</span> lives, he's alive, he's here!</p> +<p class="i2">He loved, and married, seventy years' syne.</p> +<p><i>Look</i> at him, taintless of fraud or fear,</p> +<p>Alive and manful at Ninety Year,</p> +<p class="i2">And blush at your pitiful pessimist whine!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">Hamlet</span> (<i>amended by Lord Farrar</i>).—"In +my mind's eye, O ratio!"</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page220" id="page220"></a>[pg 220]</span></p> + +<h2 class="sans">FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY.</h2> + +<table summary="Royal Academy" border="0"> +<tr> + <td colspan="2"><div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"><a href="images/220-a-1200.png"><img src="images/220-a-400.png" width="400" height="177" alt="No. 436. The President and Mr. Marks, R.A." /></a> +<p>No. 436. The President and Mr. Marks, R.A., as seen at a long +range.</p></div></td> + + <td><div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;"><a href="images/220-b-400.png"><img src="images/220-b-150.png" width="150" height="271" alt="No. 147. A Father's Cuss!" /></a> +<p>No. 147. A Father's Cuss!</p></div></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td><div class="figcenter" style="width: 200px;"><a href="images/220-c-500.png"><img src="images/220-c-200.png" width="200" height="157" alt="No. 39. Bray on the Thames." /></a> +<p>No. 39. Bray on the Thames. By T. Sidney Cooper, R.A.</p></div></td> + <td><div class="figcenter" style="width: 200px;"><a href="images/220-d-600.png"><img src="images/220-d-200.png" width="200" height="149" alt="No. 321. 'You should see us dance the Pole-ka!'" /></a> +<p>No. 321. "You should see us dance the Pole-ka!" By Arthur Wardle.</p></div></td> + <td rowspan="2"><div class="figcenter" style="width: 160px;"><a href="images/220-g-320.png"><img src="images/220-g-160.png" width="160" height="430" alt="No. 503. 'How long! how long!'" /></a> +<p>No. 503. "How long! how long!" Portrait of a blasé youth. Even his cane is jade-d! By John S. Sargent, A.R.A.</p></div></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td><div class="figcenter" style="width: 250px;"><a href="images/220-e-800.png"><img src="images/220-e-250.png" width="250" height="151" alt="No. 91. Gloucestershire 'Colts' at practice." /></a> +<p>No. 91. Gloucestershire "Colts" at practice. New left-handed bowler promises well. By George Clausen, A.R.A.</p></div></td> + <td><div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;"><a href="images/220-f-400.png"><img src="images/220-f-150.png" width="150" height="132" alt="No. 195. All snuggled up!" /></a> +<p>No. 195. All snuggled up! The President is compelled to economise space!</p></div></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<h3 class="sans">A. R. AT THE R. A.</h3> + +<p class="title1">(<i>I.e., A Representative at the Royal Academy.</i>)</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 150px;"><a href="images/220-h-320.png"><img src="images/220-h-150.png" width="150" height="365" alt="No. 172. Couldn't 'e Padmore?" /></a> +<p>No. 172. Couldn't 'e Padmore? By John S. Sargent, A.R.A.</p></div> + +<p>Anyone arriving at Burlington House so early as to be the first person to pay +his money and take his choice, will probably look straight before him, and will +feel somewhat confused at seeing in the distance, but exactly opposite him, a +dignified figure wearing a chain of office, politely rising to receive the early +visitor. "It can be no other than the President himself," will at once occur to +the stranger within the gates; "and yet, did I not hear that he was abroad for +the benefit of his health?" Then, just as he is about to bow his acknowledgments +of the courtesy extended to him personally by the Chief Representative +of Art in this country, he will notice seated, at the President's left hand, and +staring at him, with a pen in his hand, ready either to take down the name of +the visitor, or to make a sketch of him, a gentleman in whose lineaments anyone +having the pleasure of being personally acquainted with Mr. <span class="sc">Stacy +Marks</span>, +R.A., would at once recognise those of that distinguished humourist in +bird-painting. +"Is there wisions about?" will the puzzled visitor quote to himself, +and then boldly advancing, hat in hand, to be soon replaced on head, he will +come face to face with the biggest picture in the Academy, covering almost the +entire wall.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 200px;"><a href="images/220-i-400.png"><img src="images/220-i-200.png" width="200" height="306" alt="No. 277. The G. O. M. at Cannes." /></a> +<p>No. 277. The G. O. M. at Cannes. By T. Graham.</p></div> + +<p>The stately figure is not Sir <span class="sc">Frederic Leighton, P.R.A.</span>, who +unfortunately has been compelled to go abroad for the benefit of his +health—<i>prosit!</i>—nor is +the seated figure Mr. <span class="sc">S. Marks</span>; but the former is "<i>The Bürgermeister of +Landsberg, Bavaria</i>," and the latter is his secretary, while the other +figures, all likenesses, are "his Town Council" in solemn deliberative assembly. The picture, +an admirable one, and, as will be pretty generally admitted, a masterpiece of +the master's, is No. 436 in the book, the work of Meister <span class="sc">Hubert Herkomer, +R.A.</span></p> + +<p>But as this is in Gallery No. VI., and as it is not every one who will be +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page221" id="page221"></a>[pg 221]</span> +privileged to see the picture as the early bird has seen it, and as +some few others may, perhaps, see it during the season, this +Representative retraces his steps from No. VI., and commences +<i>de novo</i> with No. 1.</p> + +<p>No. 17. "<i>Finan Haddie</i>," fresh as ever, caught by <span class="sc">J. C. Hook, +R.A.</span> Title, of course, should have been "<i>Finan Haddie Hook'd</i>."</p> + +<p>Sir <span class="sc">John Millais'</span> <i>St. Stephen</i> (<i>not</i> a parliamentary +subject), +showing that Good Sir <span class="sc">John's</span> hand has lost none of its cunning, +is No. 18; and after bowing politely to Mrs. <span class="sc">Johnson-Ferguson</span>, +and pausing before this charming picture by <span class="sc">Luke Fildes, R.A.</span>, to +take a last Luke at her, you will pass on, please, to No. 25, "<i>The +Fisherman and the Jin</i>," and will wonder why <span class="sc">Val. C. Prinsep, R.A.</span>, +spells the cordial spirit with a "J" instead of a "G." It is a +spirited composition.</p> + +<p>No. 31. Mr. <span class="sc">John S. Sargent, A.</span>, let "<i>Mrs. Ernest Hills</i>" go out +of his studio in a hurry. She is evidently "to be finished in his next."</p> + +<p>No. 34. "<i>A Quiet Rehearsal.</i>" Lady Amateur all alone, book in +hand, to which she is not referring, trying to remember her part and +say it off by heart. It is by <span class="sc">W. B. Richmond, A.</span> To quote a cigarette +paper, this work may be fairly entitled "A Richmond Gem."</p> + +<p>No. 43. "<i>Evening.</i>" By <span class="sc">B. W. Leader</span>, A. Delightful. +Artistic aspirants in this line cannot play a better game than that of +"Follow my Leader."</p> + +<p>This Representative recognised "<i>Dr. Jameson, C.B.</i>," by +<span class="sc">Herkomer</span>, at a glance. If you are asked by anyone to look at +"<i>Hay Boat</i>" do not correct him and say "You mean <i>A</i> Boat," +or you will find yourself in the wrong boat, but admire <span class="sc">Hilda +Montalba's</span> painting, and pass on to <span class="sc">Ouless, R.A.</span>'s, excellent +portrait of "<i>J. J. Aubertin</i>" (a compound name, whose first two +syllables suggest delightful music while the last syllable means +money); thence welcome our old friend <span class="sc">Frith, R.A.</span>, who, in 67, [and +a trifle over, eh?] shows us "<i>Mrs. Gresham and Her Little Daughter</i>." +From the "little D.'s" expressive face may be gathered that she +has just received a "Gresham Lecture." After noting No. 73 and 83 +(the unhappily separated twins) together, you may look on No. 126. +Two fierce animals deer-stalking in a wild mountainous region, +painted by <i>Arthur Wardle</i>. Only from what coign of vantage did +Mr. <span class="sc">Wardle</span>, the artist, make this life-like sketch? However, he +came out of the difficulty safe and sound, and we are as glad to +welcome a "<i>Wardle</i>" as we should be to see his ancient associate +"<i>Pickwick</i>," or a "<i>Weller</i>," in Burlington House.</p> + +<p>No. 139. Charming is Sir F. <span class="sc">Leighton's</span> "<i>Fair One with the +Golden Locks</i>." To complete the picture the hairdresser should have +been thrown in. She is <i>en peignoir</i>, and evidently awaiting his visit. +This is the key to these locks.</p> + +<p>No. 242. Mr. <span class="sc">Andrew C. Gow, R.A.</span>, gives us <span class="sc">Buonaparte</span> riding +on the sands with a party of officers, "1805." The Emperor is cantering +ahead of the staff. Another title might be "<i>Going Nap at Boulogne</i>."</p> + +<p>No. 160. "<i>A Lion Tamer's Private Rehearsal.</i>" But <span class="sc">Briton +Rivière, R.A.</span>, calls it "<i>Phœbus Apollo</i>."</p> + +<p>No. 251. Queer incident in the life of a respectable middle-aged +gentleman. Like <i>Mr. Pickwick</i>, he has mistaken his room in the hotel, +and has gone to bed. Suddenly, lady, in brilliant diamond tiara, returns +from ball, and finds him there. The noise she makes in opening the +curtains awakes him. He starts up alarmed. "Hallo!" he cries, and +for the moment the ballad of "<i>Margaret's Grim Ghosts</i>" recurs to +his mind. His next thought is, "How fortunate I went to bed in my +copper-coloured pyjamas, with a red cummerbund round me." Of +course he apologised, and withdrew. What happened subsequently +is not revealed by the artist who has so admirably depicted this +effective scene, and whose name is Sir <span class="sc">John Millais</span>, Bart., R.A.</p> + +<p>No. 368. Excellent likeness, by Mr. <i>Arthur S. Cope</i>, of the well-known +and popular parson <span class="sc">Rogers</span>. <i>A Parsona Grata</i>. This +typical old-fashioned English clergyman, who, in ordinary ministerial +functions, would be the very last person to be associated with a +"chasuble," will henceforth never be dissociated from a "<span class="sc">Cope</span>."</p> + +<p>No. 491. A picture by Mr. <span class="sc">Fred Roe</span>. If <span class="sc">Nelson's</span> enemies had +only known of this incident in his lifetime!! Here is our great +naval hero, evidently "half seas over," being personally conducted +through some by-streets of Portsmouth, on his way back to the +<i>Victory</i>, in order to avoid the crowd. Rather a hard <span class="sc">Roe</span>, this.</p> + +<p>No. 767. Congratulations to <span class="sc">T. B. Kennington</span> on his "<i>Alderman +George Doughty, J.P.</i>," or, as the name might be from the characteristic +colouring, Alderman <span class="sc">Deorge Gouhty</span>, which is quite in +keeping with the proverbial aldermanic tradition.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p><span class="sc">A Little Mixed.</span>—In its account of the private view at the Royal +Academy the <i>Daily News</i> says:—"The Countess of <span class="sc">Malmesbury</span> +studied the sculpture in a harmonious costume of striped black and +pink, and a picture hat trimmed with pink roses." This is presumably +the result of the influence of Mr. <span class="sc">Horsley</span>. But isn't it +going a little too far, at least to begin with? A piece of sculpture—say, +a Venus—in a harmonious costume of striped black and pink +might pass. But the addition of a picture hat trimmed with pink +roses is surely fatal.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 330px;"><a href="images/221-900.png"><img src="images/221-330.png" width="330" height="475" alt="A NASTY ONE." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">A NASTY ONE.</h3> + +<p><i>Disgusted Sculptor.</i> "<span class="sc">So you've got the Line in Two Places, +have you? Hang me if I don't give up Art, and go in for +Painting!</span>"</p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2>AT THE BANQUET, SATURDAY, MAY 4.</h2> + +<p>Chair of absent President ably filled by Sir <span class="sc">John Millais</span>, who, +pluckily struggling against evidently painful hoarseness, made, in +returning thanks, an exceptionally graceful, touching, and altogether +memorable speech. Odd to note that, had Sir <span class="sc">John</span>, speaking +hoarsely, broken down, we should have heard his <i>remplaçant</i> +Horsley speaking. <i>The</i> incident, however, which will mark this +banquet as unique in Academical records, was Sir <span class="sc">John's</span> mistaking +one Archbishop for the other, and, in consequence, pleasantly indicating +by a polite bow to the prelate on his left, that he called upon +<i>him</i>, the Archbishop of <span class="sc">York</span>, to reply for the visitors. +"<span class="sc">York</span>, +you're wanted," said, in effect, the genial Sir <span class="sc">John</span>, utterly ignoring +the presence of His Grace of <span class="sc">Canterbury</span>. Whereupon, <span class="sc">Canterbury</span> +collapsed, while the Northern Primate, vainly attempting to +dissemble his delight, professed his utter surprise, his total unpreparedness, +and straightforth hastened to improve the occasion. But +before fifty words had passed the jubilant Prelate's lips, Sir <span class="sc">John</span>, +having discovered his mistake, rose quickly in his stirrups, so to +speak, and pulled up the impetuous <span class="sc">York</span> just then getting into his +stride. Genially beaming on the slighted <span class="sc">Canterbury</span>, Sir <span class="sc">John</span> +called on "The Primate of All England" (a snub this for <span class="sc">York</span>) to +return thanks. "One Archbishop very like another Archbishop," +chuckled the unabashed Sir <span class="sc">John</span> to himself, as he resumed his seat, +"but quite forgot that <span class="sc">York</span> as Chaplain to Academy is 'His Grace +<i>before</i> dinner,' and <span class="sc">Canterbury</span> represents 'Grace <i>after</i> +dinner.'" +"'Twas ever thus," muttered <span class="sc">York</span>, moodily eyeing the last drop in +his champagne-glass, as he mentally recalled ancient ecclesiastical +quarrels between the two provinces, from which the Southern Prelate +had issued victorious. <span class="sc">Canterbury</span> flattered, but, fluttered, lost +his chance. His Royal Highness's speech brief, comprehensive, +effective. Lord <span class="sc">Rosebery</span> entertaining. "The rest is silence," or +better if it had been. No more at present. Good luck to the +Academy Show of 1895.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page222" id="page222"></a>[pg 222]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/222-1500.png"><img src="images/222-600.png" width="600" height="383" alt="COLD COMFORT!" /></a> + +<h3 class="sans">COLD COMFORT!</h3> + +<p><i>Aunt Phillida.</i> "<span class="sc">The last time I went to a grown-up Fancy Ball, I went +as a <i>Wasp</i>. That was only Ten Years ago. +I don't suppose I shall ever again go to a Fancy Ball as a <i>Wasp!</i></span>"</p> + +<p class="rindent">[<i>Sighs deeply.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mary.</i> "<span class="sc">Hardly as a <i>Wasp</i>, Aunt Phillida. But you'd look very +splendid as a Bumble-Bee!</span>"</p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>THE UP-TO-DATE DUCKLINGS.</h3> + +<p class="title1">(<i>A Fable.</i>)</p> + +<p>A Duck that had lately succeeded in hatching +a fine brood of ducklings, and was much +concerned on the point of their polite education, +took them down to the river one day in +order to teach them to swim.</p> + +<p>"See, my dears!" she said when they were +all got to the bank, addressing her brood in +encouraging accents, "this is the way to do +it," and so saying the old duck pushed off +from the land, in evident expectation that +her young ones would follow her.</p> + +<p>The Ducklings, however, instead of coming +after their mother, remained on the bank, talking +and laughing and whispering among themselves +in a very knowing manner; until at +last the old bird, provoked by their levity and +wondering what ailed them, called out sharply +to them from mid-stream to come into the +water at once; upon which one of the Ducklings, +who had evidently been constituted +spokesman for the rest, made bold to address +his mother in the following words.</p> + +<p>"You must be a simpleton indeed, Madam," +said he, "to imagine that we are going to do +anything so foolish as to endanger our lives in +the reckless fashion in which you are now exposing +yours; for though it may be true that +in obedience to some unwritten law of nature +(unknown at present to us) you are floating +securely upon the surface of the stream, instead +of sinking to the bottom of it, yet it by +no means follows from thence that we should +do the same thing, supposing we were so foolish +as to follow your example. Rest assured, dear +Madam," continued the Duckling, "that so +soon as we have sifted this matter to the +bottom for ourselves, we shall act on the knowledge +of it, according as our experience may +suggest to us; but for the present, at any rate, +we prefer to remain where we are."</p> + +<p>And so saying, the Duckling, accompanied +by the rest of the brood, turned his back on +his natural element, and returned forthwith +to the poultry-yard.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>A PHILISTINE PÆAN;</h3> + +<p class="title1"><i>Or, The Triumph of the Timid One.</i></p> + +<div class="poem width27"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>At last! I see signs of a turn in the tide,</p> +<p class="i2">And O, I perceive it with infinite gratitude.</p> +<p>No more need I go with a crick in my side</p> +<p class="i2">In attempts to preserve a non-natural attitude.</p> +<p><i>Something</i> has changed in the season, <i>somewhere</i>;</p> +<p>I'm sure I can feel a cool whiff of fresh air!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Mental malaria worse than the <i>grippe</i></p> +<p class="i2">Has asphyxiated my mind, or choke-damped it.</p> +<p>The plain honest truth has been strange to my lip;</p> +<p class="i2">I've shammed it, and fudged it, humbugged it and vamped it</p> +<p>Till I wasn't I, self-respect was all gone,</p> +<p>And I hadn't a taste that I dared call my own.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>I do <i>not</i> love horror. I do <i>not</i> like muck;</p> +<p class="i2">And mystical muddle to me is abhorrent.</p> +<p>In Stygian shallows long time I have stuck,</p> +<p class="i2">Or, like a dead dog on a sewage-fouled torrent,</p> +<p>Have gone with the stream; but beyond the least doubt</p> +<p>I'm grateful—<i>so</i> much—for a chance to creep out.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Egomania it seems then is <i>not</i> the last word</p> +<p class="i2">Of latter-day wisdom! By Jove I <i>am</i> glad!</p> +<p>I always <i>did</i> feel it was highly absurd</p> +<p class="i2">To worship the maudlin, and aim at the mad;</p> +<p>And now, there's a chance for the decent again,</p> +<p>One may relish one's <span class="sc">Dickens</span>, yet not seem insane!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>The ghoulish-grotesque, and the grimy-obscure,</p> +<p class="i2">I <i>have</i> tried to gloat on in poem and prose,</p> +<p>But oh! all the while there seemed something impure</p> +<p class="i2">In the <i>sniff</i> of the thing that tormented my nose;</p> +<p>And as to High Art—well, to me it seemed <i>high</i>,</p> +<p>Like an over-hung hare—only food for the fly.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Yet <i>I</i> didn't dare say that I felt it to be</p> +<p class="i2">Pseudo-sphinxian fudge, and sheer Belial bosh;</p> +<p>Or that after Art-babble at five o'clock tea,</p> +<p class="i2">I felt that the thing I most craved was—a wash;</p> +<p>Because in the view of the Mystical School,</p> +<p>That would just write you down a mere Philistine fool.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>I am not <i>quite</i> sure that I <i>quite</i> understand</p> +<p class="i2">How they've suddenly found all our fads are degenerate;</p> +<p>Why <span class="sc">Maeterlinck</span>, <span class="sc">Ibsen</span>, <span class="sc">Verlaine</span>, <span class="sc">Sarah Grand</span>,</p> +<p class="i2"><span class="sc">Tolstoi</span>, <span class="sc">Grant Allen</span>, <span class="sc">Zola</span>, are "lumped"—but, at any rate,</p> +<p>I know I'm relieved from one horrible bore,—</p> +<p><i>I need not admire what I hate any more</i>.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page223" id="page223"></a>[pg 223]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a href="images/223-1100.png"><img src="images/223-370.png" width="370" height="486" alt="THE BIRMINGHAM BENEDICK." /></a> +<h2 class="big">THE BIRMINGHAM BENEDICK.</h2> + +<p><span class="sc">Mr. J-s-ph Ch-mb-rl-n</span> (<i>as "Benedick"</i>). "DOTH NOT THE APPETITE +CHANGE? A MAN LOVES THE MEAT IN HIS YOUTH THAT HE CANNOT ENDURE IN HIS AGE.... WHEN I SAID I WOULD DIE AN +INDEPENDENT RADICAL, I DID NOT THINK I SHOULD LIVE TO BE ALLIED WITH A TORY PARTY."</p> + +<p class="rindent"><i>Much Ado About Nothing</i>, Act II., Sc. 3 (<i>slightly "modified"</i>).</p> +</div> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page224" id="page224"></a>[pg 224]</span><br /></p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page225" id="page225"></a>[pg 225]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a href="images/225-1000.png"><img src="images/225-450.png" width="450" height="476" alt="DRURIOLANUS THE CHEF, OPENS THE OPERATIC PIE." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">DRURIOLANUS THE CHEF, OPENS THE OPERATIC PIE.</h3> + +<p class="title1b">"<span class="sc">When the Pie was open</span><br /> + <span class="sc">The Birds began to sing.</span>"</p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2 class="sans">BLIND ALLEY-GORIES.</h2> + +<p class="title2"><span class="sc">By Dunno Währiar.</span></p> + +<p class="center">(<i>Translated from the original Lappish by Mr. Punch's own +Hyperborean Enthusiast.</i>)</p> + +<h3><span class="sc">No. IV.—Signs and Wonders.</span></h3> + +<p>I sat on the beach one forenoon in midsummer. A great number +of people were doing much the same. The rhapsodists and orators, +the blameless Ethiopians with their barbaric instruments of music, +the itinerant magicians with their wands, the statuesque groups +posed before the tripod of the photographer, the snow-white sea-chariots +with crimson wheels, the bare-legged riders on antique +steeds, made me fancy I was gazing at a scene of Southern Hellenic +life. Why I know not—for it was not in the least like.</p> + +<p>Then I saw an enormous black hand stretch down over the fjord. +I was not alarmed, for I am becoming accustomed to apparitions of +this kind.</p> + +<p>It set weird signs and black marks upon the railings of the jetty, +and on the white sides of the bathing machines, and on the sails of +the fishing-boats, and when I turned about, the parade itself +was plastered with tablets.</p> + +<p>And on all things had the New Lawgiver incised in letters of gold +and azure and purple upon shining tables the new commandments:<br /> +"Use Skäuerskjin's Soap!"; "Try Tommeliden Tonic!"; "Buy +Boömpvig's Pills!"; "Ask for Baldersen's Hairwash!"</p> + +<p>And I heard the voice of the wild waves saying, as they lapped up +over the cheap sandshoes and saturated paper bags full of gingerbread +nuts:</p> + +<p>"This is the new moral law. That men should cherish the outside +and insides of their bodies, and keep them clean, like precious +vessels of brass and copper. Rather to let the picturesque perish +than forget for a moment which is the best soap for the complexion, +and which will not wash clothes. Never to see a ship spreading her +canvas like a sea bird without associations of a Purifying Saline +Draught or a Relishing Pickle. To ask and see that ye procure!"</p> + +<p>Then I looked into the heavens above me, and behold, high above +the esplanade hung a hand, enormous as the one that had set its +marks on everything below, but white, white; and it held a brush +and wrote until the sky was full of signs, and they had form and +colour, but not of this world, and those who ran could read them.</p> + +<p>And I bought a shell-box and a bath bun, and closed my eyes, and +lay musing in an agony of soul. Suddenly I felt the pain snap, and +something grow in me, and I saw in my soul's dawning the great +half-opened shell of a strange oyster.</p> + +<p>And this oyster has its bed on my very heart, and it is <i>my</i> salt +tears that nourish it, and it grows <i>inside</i>, invisible to all but me.</p> + +<p>But I know that, when the oyster opens, I shall find within its +shell, like a gleaming dove-coloured pearl, the great Panacea of the +To Be; and, if you ask me to explain my meaning more fully, I +reply that the bearings of this blind allegory lie in the application +thereof, and that ye are a blow-fly brood of dull-witted hucksters.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2 class="sq">A FIRST STEP<br /> + +<small>TOWARDS HISTRIONICS.—II.</small></h2> + +<p class="center">(<i>Under the guidance of Herr Goethemann.</i>)</p> + +<ul class="none"> +<li><i>Questioner.</i> You were good enough to promise me at our next +meeting a specimen of the Author-publisher's dramatic manner.</li> + +<li><i>Answer.</i> With pleasure. I will read it to you.</li> +</ul> + +<p>"<i>Afternoon. Two-pair suburban back. Upright piano. High-minded +table.</i> <span class="sc">Henry</span> (<i>dramatic author and host</i>) <i>under it, heavy +with wine.</i> <span class="sc">Romeo</span> (<i>his friend and Town Blood</i>) <i>communing +with</i> +<span class="sc">Mary Ann</span> (<i>local ingénue</i>). <span class="sc">Eliza</span> (<i>her sister and +hostess</i>) <i>outside +just now, making coffee. She will come in presently, and realise</i> +<span class="sc">Dramatic Moment</span>.</p> + +<p><i>Mary Ann.</i> Get up, Henry, and give us a regular old rousing +tune.</p> + +<p><i>Henry</i> (<i>huskily, emerging from retreat</i>). What shall it be?</p> + +<p><i>Romeo.</i> Oh, anything. <span class="sc">Wagner</span> for choice.</p> + +<p class="rindent1">[<i>Gifted musician obliges with a pot pourri of 'Parsifal,'</i> +<span class="sc">Romeo</span> <i>absently whistling the trombone part</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Mary Ann.</i> Ripping! Now something classical. Let's have +'<i>After the Ball</i>.' Come on, <span class="sc">Romeo</span>, we'll waltz; push back the +fire-place. (<i>They push back the fire-place;</i> <span class="sc">Romeo</span> <i>grasps</i> +<span class="sc">Mary +Ann</span>, <i>and they revolve. He kisses her on the cheek</i> <span class="sc">l. c.</span>) +Well, I +never did! For shame! I decline to dance with you. There!</p> + +<p class="rindent1">[<i>Declines to dance with him.</i></p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> One for <i>you</i>, my buck! Cheer up, <span class="sc">Mary Ann</span>; +<i>I</i>'ll give +you a turn.</p> + +<p class="rindent1">[<i>Pirouettes twice with her, humming suitable air.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mary Ann</i> (<i>rendered completely breathless</i>). It's not like real +dancing when you only <i>hum!</i></p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> Can't play and dance at same time, you know. Piano too +stationary. So you must take <span class="sc">Romeo</span> on again, or go without.</p> + +<p><i>Eliza</i> (<i>entering with coffee-tray and realising situation</i>). Well, I +declare! Having high jinks while I was making the coffee. What +dramatic irony!</p> + +<p class="rindent1">[<span class="sc">Romeo</span> <i>gallantly invites her to join the giddy throng. They +dance.</i></p> + +<p><i>Eliza</i> (<i>rendered completely breathless</i>). My soul! I'm in bad +training!</p> + +<p><i>Mary Ann</i> (<i>having got her second wind</i>). Have a turn with <i>me</i>, +<span class="sc">Eliza</span>! <span class="sc">Romeo</span> 's no good; he misses out every other bar.</p> + +<p><i>Eliza.</i> Want my coffee. No wind left.</p> + +<blockquote><p> +[<span class="sc">Henry</span> <i>spontaneously sings a Lullaby of</i> <span class="sc">Brahms'</span>. <i>Stops in +middle to see what they all think of it. They all think +a lot of it. Goes on singing. Only</i> <span class="sc">Eliza</span> <i>goes on thinking +a lot of it. Others talk quite loud</i>, <span class="sc">Romeo</span> <i>being a Town +Blood.</i> <span class="sc">Henry</span> <i>finishes, under conviction that they have no +manners to speak of. Mind wanders off to the leading lady +in his new piece, and he drops inadvertently into 'Daisy' +waltz.</i> <span class="sc">Eliza</span> <i>waits for second wind.</i> <span class="sc">Romeo</span> <i>grapples with</i> +<span class="sc">Mary Ann</span>, <i>the latter reluctant. She is rapt away in mazy +whirl, kicking feebly. He again kisses her on the cheek, +this time</i> <span class="sc">r. c.</span> +</p></blockquote> + +<p><i>Eliza.</i> Man! I saw you! It was a wanton act.</p> + +<p><i>Henry</i> (<i>casually</i>). Anything broken?</p> + +<p><i>Eliza.</i> Oh, <span class="sc">Henry</span>! He went and kissed my <span class="sc">Mary Ann</span>, my +own +sister!</p> + +<p><i>Romeo</i> (<i>with easy bravado</i>). A mere nothing, I assure you. She's +so provoking, don't you know? Had to do it in self-defence.</p> + +<p><i>Eliza.</i> It is contrary to established etiquette in <i>our</i> circles. +<span class="sc">Mary +Ann</span>, how <i>could</i> you?</p> + +<p><i>Mary Ann.</i> I didn't. It was him. I shall scream another time.</p> + +<p><i>Eliza.</i> Man, you will oblige me by treating my sister as you would +your own.</p> + +<p class="rindent1">[<i>Exit with crushing expression which leaves</i> <span class="sc">Romeo</span> <i>intact.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mary Ann.</i> <span class="sc">Eliza</span> talks rot. (<i>To</i> <span class="sc">Romeo</span>.) Not that +you're not +a beast, all the same.</p> + +<blockquote><p> +[<i>Exit in two frames of mind.</i> <span class="sc">Henry</span> <i>laughs and makes light of +osculation. The men converse. The plot becomes even more +intricate. The end is nigh.</i>" +</p></blockquote> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<ul class="none"> +<li><i>Question.</i> Do I miss the purpose of the Author-publisher?</li> + +<li><i>Answer.</i> I should think it highly improbable.</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> But why did he write it?</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> It is a "problem-play," and that, as I said, is the problem.</li> +</ul> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">Cheering.</span>—Liberal Party much encouraged by East Wicklow +and East Leeds. "Wisdom from the East," they call it.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page226" id="page226"></a>[pg 226]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"><a href="images/226-1000.png"><img src="images/226-350.png" width="350" height="478" alt="A DOUBTFUL COMPLIMENT." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">A DOUBTFUL COMPLIMENT.</h3> + +<p><i>Nervous Youth.</i> "<span class="sc">Well—er—good-bye, Mrs. Thomas. Awfully glad I met +you! Er—so +good of you—so much pleasanter than Riding alone!</span>"</p> + +<p class="rindent">[<i>Shuts up.</i></p> +</div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2>FROM CORINTO TO HERNE BAY.</h2> + +<p class="title1">(<i>An Anglo-Nicaraguan Parallel.</i>)</p> + +<p>The young Midshipman looked towards +Corinto. The public buildings were still +within range of the monster guns. The select +army of one hundred and fifty had retired +before the advance of the blue jackets and +marines. All was tranquil, and, as he gazed +upon the Nicaraguan capital, his eyes closed, +and he dreamed a dream.</p> + +<p>He was once more in England. He was at +the seaside. Here in front of him were +bathing-machines. There, to his right, was +a circulating library. He could see a clock-tower +and a shortened pier. Then he laughed +in his glee. He was at Herne Bay! Close +to the Isle of Thanet—within sight of the +Reculvers!</p> + +<p>He had scarcely realised his happiness, when +he noticed on the ocean a flotilla. Three +gigantic ironclads were approaching the +tranquil town!</p> + +<p>"The Nicaraguan fleet!" he murmured in +his sleep.</p> + +<p>It, alas! was too true! The Central +American Admiral had sent an ultimatum. The +news had run from one end of Herne Bay to the +other that, unless the sum demanded were +paid at once, the as-yet-unconquered watering-place +would be "ploughed," as the Poet +<span class="sc">Bunn</span> would have put it, "by the hoof of the +ruthless invader."</p> + +<p>Then there was a hurried consultation. +What could be done with that overpowering +fleet? It was useless to defend the bathing-machines; +the donkeys and their drivers were +no match for heavy ordnance. What could +the few coast-guardsmen do when threatened +by five hundred Nicaraguans?</p> + +<p>"Herne Bay must surrender!" murmured +the Midshipman in his sleep. "There is no +help for it."</p> + +<p>And then came a strange sight. The +search-lights of the Nicaraguan fleet played +upon the sea front, and the little garrison of +Herne Bay retired towards Birchington and +Margate. The Band (lent from the Militia) +marched away, followed by the heavy cavalry +of the bathers, and the Uhlan-like donkeys +of the sands. The representatives of the Navy +(carrying their look-out telescopes) brought +up the rear.</p> + +<p>Then, when all had gone, the sailors and +marines of the Nicaraguan fleet landed. The +British flag was hauled down, and replaced +by the colours of the enemy.</p> + +<p>Herne Bay was conquered!</p> + +<p>At this point the Midshipman awoke with +a start. He looked round, and sighed a great +sigh of relief.</p> + +<p>"How fortunate it is that the English fleet +have conquered Corinto and not the Nicaraguan +fleet Herne Bay!" he cried in an +ecstacy of patriotic fervour. Then he performed +for hours the duties of his command. +Towards the close of day he again casually +glanced at Corinto and once more was involuntarily +reminded of Herne Bay. And as +he gazed upon the Central American town he +came to the conclusion that it was about as +formidable and about as well defended as the +Kentish watering-place. And having arrived +at this opinion he determined in his own mind +that the taking of Corinto, as a feat of arms, +was scarcely on a par with the Victory of +Trafalgar.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>TO A GRAND OLD MANNS.</h3> + +<p class="title1">(<i>On his Seventieth Birthday.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem width18"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>To <span class="sc">Manns</span> of Crystal Palace fame,</p> +<p class="i2"><i>Punch</i> sends his kindly greeting.</p> +<p>The ever keen, the never tame,</p> +<p class="i2">Time may he long be beating</p> +<p>(For Time it seems cannot beat him).</p> +<p class="i2">Time's darts may he resist all</p> +<p>With <i>bâton</i> brisk and eyes un-dim.</p> +<p class="i2">Beneath that dome of Crystal—</p> +<p>For many a year! And decades hence</p> +<p class="i2"><i>Punch</i> hopes it may befa' that</p> +<p>He'll shout, before that choir immense,</p> +<p class="i2">"A <i>Manns'</i> a Man for a' that!"</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind2"><span class="sc">A Classic Candidate.</span>—Mr. <span class="sc">Homer</span> in +West Dorset is the Independent Farmers' +Candidate. He is, of course, more than a +positive "Home Ruler," being a comparative +hopeful "<span class="sc">Homer</span> Ruler." But surely the +language of <span class="sc">Homer</span> must be Greek to most +of his hearers, even at Bridport, and in view +of the <i>poluphoisboio thalasses</i>.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>THE RAD TO THE CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER.</h3> + +<p class="title1">(<i>On the Humdrum Budget.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem width18"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Just "As you were"! Ingenious, fair,</p> +<p class="i2">And all that, I've no doubt;</p> +<p>But titled swells you do not scare,</p> +<p class="i2">Nor rich monopolists flout.</p> +<p>I tolerate where I would praise.</p> +<p class="i2">Reform <i>is</i> a slow grower!</p> +<p><i>My</i> spirits, <span class="sc">Will</span>, it will not raise,</p> +<p class="i2">To see <i>your</i> spirits lower!</p> +<p>Free Breakfast Table? Graduation?—</p> +<p class="i2">Chances seem getting fewer:</p> +<p>Well <span class="sc">Will</span>, my only consolation</p> +<p class="i2">Is this—you've "copped the brewer!"</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind">In the title of his new book, "<span class="sc">Anthony +Hope</span>" has taken the Roman <i>prénom</i> which +evidently by right belonged to him. There is +no comma, nor introduction of "by," and +so straight off we read in golden letters +on the back, "<i>A Man of Mark Anthony +Hope</i>." O Brave <span class="sc">Mark Anthony</span>! His +readers have great faith in <span class="sc">Hope</span>.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">Parliamentary.</span>—The nearest approach to +a dead-lock is a live (J. G.) <span class="sc">Weir</span>.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page227" id="page227"></a>[pg 227]</span></p> + +<h2>NEW GALLERY QUERIES.</h2> + +<p>Is Mr. <span class="sc">Hitchcock's</span> "<i>Flight +into Egypt</i>" a view of Dartmoor? +and what are all those blue +flowers? Borage, blue currants, +corn-flowers, "new broom," gorse +dyed blue for this occasion only, +or what? I have been offered all +these random suggestions by distinguished +critics, but they somehow +don't seem convincing.</p> + +<p>Why are the competitors in the +charming swimming-match between +Mermaids and Tritons so +remarkably <i>dry</i> in the upper +parts? I always get decidedly +damp when I enter the sea, but +these ladies take to it like ducks—"<i>Dux +fœmina facti</i>" (as said an +ancient poet in anticipation)—and +so I suppose the water rolls off +their backs.</p> + +<p>Will "<i>Her First Offering</i>" of +grass and daisies go far towards +softening the heart of a statuette? +Her sister, last year, had a much +more tempting "<i>Gift for the +Gods</i>," but there is no accounting +for divinities' tastes.</p> + +<p>What does Mr. <span class="sc">Kpoffnh</span>—dear +me, I can <i>not</i> get his name right?—mean +by "<i>Sous les Arbres?</i>" +Is it a man or a statue, a spook or +a symbol? Why does he wear a +marble wig? Why does his brown +hair show underneath it? Why +has he got a wall eye? Why is he +"under the trees?" Why is he +at large at all? Why—— But +there, I give it up! I don't believe +there are any answers to +these conundrums!</p> + +<p>How is it I've been looking at +"<i>Kit</i>" for two whole minutes +before realising that there's a +Persian cat in the composition? But +she's a real beauty, when you <i>do</i> +coax her out of this "puzzle +picture."</p> + +<p>Why (this is no new query!) +have Sir <span class="sc">Edward Burne-Jones'</span> +Luciferians and Sleeping Beauties +and peeresses and children and +brides one and all the same world-weary +expression? Why do they, +without exception, look as if they +were off to a funeral, or had just +seen themselves in the glass? Are +there no other colours in the land +but dull green, steel-blue, ink-purple, +and brick-red? Why do +I immediately want to commit +suicide after studying these masterpieces? +Why doesn't Psyche +cheer up a bit, even though she +<i>is</i> going to be married? <i>She</i> +wasn't a <ins title="Greek: nea gunê"><i>νέα γυνή</i></ins>, I'm sure!</p> + +<p>Why does the dog in Mr. <span class="sc">Holman +Hunt's</span> picture look as if it +had softening of the brain? and +why do I pass on hurriedly to the +next picture?</p> + +<p>Will Miss <span class="sc">Rehan's</span> left shoulder +hold up her dress much longer, +I wonder, in Mr. <span class="sc">Sargent's</span> portrait? +I don't know, but I <i>have</i> +fears!</p> + +<p>Is the lady in Mrs. <span class="sc">Swynnerton's</span> +"<i>Sense of Sight</i>" preparing +to catch a cricket ball, or cutting +an acquaintance, or going to recite +something? I <i>should</i> like to +know.</p> + +<p>Why couldn't some enterprising +dentist supply the ladies in +"<i>Echoes</i>" with false teeth, and +why weren't they taken away +quietly home, and not allowed to +exhibit their other anatomical +innovations? Echo answers to +these and all my queries, "Why, +indeed?"</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"><a href="images/227-900.png"><img src="images/227-340.png" width="340" height="468" alt="A PROGNOSIS." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">A PROGNOSIS.</h3> + +<p>"<span class="sc">By the way, Doctor, the 'New Woman,' don'tcherknow—what'll +<i>she</i> be like, when she's grown old?</span>"</p> + +<p>"<span class="sc">My dear Colonel, <i>she</i>'ll never grow old!</span>"</p> + +<p>"<span class="sc">Great Scott! You don't mean to say she's going to last +for ever!</span>"</p> + +<p>"<span class="sc">She won't even last out the Century! She's got every +Malady under the Sun!</span>"</p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>The Chester Cup.</h3> + +<div class="poem width18"> <div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">The <i>Rock Dove</i> don't pooh-pooh,</p> +<p class="i2">A dove can make a <i>coup;</i></p> +<p>The odds? You yet may nobble 'em.</p> +<p class="i4">'Tis four to one</p> +<p class="i4">'Gainst <i>Son of a Gun</i>,</p> +<p>But <i>Euclid</i> is a problem.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2 class="sans">ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.</h2> + +<p class="title1">EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.</p> + +<p><i>House of Commons, Monday, April 29.</i>—When <i>Mr. Toots</i>, in +agony of perturbed bashfulness, sat down on <i>Florence Dombey's</i> +best bonnet, he murmured, "Oh, it's of no consequence." <span class="sc">Squire +of Malwood</span> does not resemble <i>Mr. Toots</i> in any respect, not even +that of bashfulness. But he has a way, when taking important +move, of studiously investing it with appearance of "no consequence." +Thus to-night, asking for lion's share of time for remaining +portion of Session, he could hardly bring himself to uplift +his voice: mumbled over phrases; coughed at conjunctions; half +paralysed by prepositions; looked round with pained astonishment +when Members behind cried, "Speak up!" Why should he trouble +to speak up on so immaterial a matter? Still, to oblige, he would +say all he wanted was to take for Government purposes, for rest +of Session, all the time of House, save the inconvenient Wednesday +afternoon sitting, and the inconsiderable Friday night.</p> + +<p>More marked this cultured mannerism when announcing immediate +introduction of Bill prohibiting plural voting. This a genuine +surprise. Not been talked of since House met. Nobody thinking of +it. <span class="sc">Squire</span> in almost whisper announced its introduction to-morrow. +Astonished beyond measure at commotion created; the boisterous +cheers of Liberals, the uneasy laughter of Opposition.</p> + +<p>"Most remarkable place this House of Commons," he said afterwards, +gazing over my head into the infinite horizon, where shadowy +figure of Local Veto Bill is visible to the eye of faith. "Always full +of surprises even for old practitioners like you and me."</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Prince Arthur</span>, much relishing this subtle humour, was himself +in sprightliest mood. The whole business of Session, he protested, +was an elaborate joke. If they were there to work, he would take +off his coat and ding on with the best of them. But they were there +to play. "Well, let us play," he said, holding out both hands with +gesture of invitation to Treasury Bench.</p> + +<p>Proposal irresistible. House divided forthwith; <span class="sc">Squire's</span> motion +carried by majority of 22; then, whilst half a dozen naval +men talked water-tube boiler, <span class="sc">Prince Arthur, Squire of Malwood</span>, +and picked company from either side went out behind +<span class="sc">Speaker's</span> Chair to play. Such larks! To see <span class="sc">Prince Arthur</span> take +in a stride "the backs" given him by the <span class="sc">Squire of Malwood</span>, +with <span class="sc">Cawmel-Bannerman</span> next; to see <span class="sc">John Morley</span> seriously +whipping a top; to watch <span class="sc">Bryce</span> breathless behind the nimble +hoop; to look on while <span class="sc">Edward Grey</span>, forgetful of China and +Japan, thinking nothing of Nicaragua, played a game of marbles +with <span class="sc">Hart Dyke</span>; to see <span class="sc">Lockwood</span> trying a spurt with <span class="sc">Dick +Webster</span>, the course being twice round the Division Lobby, +<span class="sc">Asquith</span>, fresh from the Cab-arbitration, having handicapped them—to +see this, and much else, was a spectacle wholesome for those +engaged in it, interesting for the solitary spectator.</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—Shipbuilding Vote in Navy Estimates agreed to.</p> + +<p><i>Tuesday.</i>—Odd thing that on this particular night, when +Government bring in Bill prohibiting plurality of voting, <span class="sc">Bill</span> +should bring in a Bill. His first and only Bill. Of course he might +argue if we have one man one vote, one <span class="sc">Bill</span> one Bill is all +right. Yes; but, as <span class="sc">Sark</span> with his keen mathematical instinct +points out, this is a case of two Bills—<span class="sc">Bill</span>, the Member for Leek, +and a Bill to empower magistrates to prohibit the sale of intoxicating +liquors to persons previously convicted of drunkenness. That is +obviously a plurality of Bills. But we are getting hopelessly mixed. +The only man among us who sees clear is <span class="sc">John William</span>. Deep +pathos in his voice as he says the time is near at hand when a tyrannical +Government will attempt to enforce principle of "One Man +One Drink."</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 250px;"><a href="images/228-650.png"><img src="images/228-250.png" width="250" height="400" alt="Cap'en Tommy Bowles." /></a> +<p class="center">Cap'en Tommy Bowles.</p></div> + +<p>Cap'en <span class="sc">Tommy Bowles</span> had best of dreary evening. Mentioned +yesterday, with tears from his honest blue eyes coursing down his +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page228" id="page228"></a>[pg 228]</span> +rugged, weather-beaten cheek, fresh infamy +on part of <span class="sc">Squire of Malwood</span>. Had announced +on Thursday that, at Monday's +sitting, Naval Works Loan Bill would be +proceeded with. <span class="sc">Tommy</span> accordingly clewed +up, and ran for port; laying to for forty-eight +hours, prepared speech on Naval Works. +Now <span class="sc">Squire</span> calmly announced that Shipbuilding +Vote was to be taken. What was +<span class="sc">Tommy</span> to do with speech prepared on Naval +Works Loans?</p> + +<p>In despair yesterday; to-day bright idea +struck him. <span class="sc">Shaw-Lefevre</span> had moved to +introduce One Man One Vote Bill. Why +shouldn't <span class="sc">Tommy</span>, flying that flag, run in and +deliver his speech on Naval Works? A bold +experiment; only hope of success was that +House, being in almost comatose state, +wouldn't notice ruse if cleverly managed. +Trust <span class="sc">Tommy</span> for clever management. Holding +sheaf of notes firmly in left hand, deftly +turning them over with the hook that serves +him for right hand, the old salt read his +speech on Naval Works Loan Bill. Here and +there, when he observed restless movement in +any part of House, fired off phrase about +"forty-shilling freeholder," "occupation +votes," "rural constituencies," "re-distribution," +"country going to the dogs," +"jerrymandering," and "right hon. gentleman +opposite." Scheme worked admirably; +speech reeled off, and <span class="sc">Squire of Malwood's</span> +knavish trick confounded.</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—One Man One Vote Bill +brought in.</p> + +<p><i>Thursday.</i>—House not to be moved to evidence of excitement even +by prospect of Budget night. On such occasion in ordinary times +attendance at prayer-time most encouraging to Chaplain. Begins to +think that at last his ministrations are bearing fruit. This afternoon +congregation not much above average. No rush for tickets for seats. +When <i>Squire</i> rose to open his statement, great gaps below Gangway +on Ministerial side. The <span class="sc">Squire</span>, recognising situation, refrained +from heroics, content to deliver plain business speech. No exordium; +no peroration; no flight into empyrean heights of eloquence as was +the wont of Mr. G. Some sympathetic movement when <span class="sc">Squire</span>, with +momentarily increased briskness of manner, spoke of snap of cold +weather in February, with its accompaniment of influenza, increased +death-rate, and fuller flow of death duties into +National coffers. The quality of this mercy +was not quite unstrained. Not dropping, like +the gentle dew from heaven, till February, increased +death rates will not come into account +till succeeding year. Still, there was rum. As +thermometer fell rum went up with a rush.</p> + +<div class="poem width18"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Fifteen men on a dead man's chest.</p> +<p>High ho! and a bottle of rum.</p> + </div> </div> + +<p>What with comforting the mourners, and +imbibed as a preventive, rum brought a +windfall of £100,000 into the Treasury.</p> + +<p>That was well in its way. But then there +were those 75,000 mean-spirited people who +ought to have died last year, their estates +paying tribute to <span class="sc">Chancellor of Exchequer</span>, +and who positively insisted upon living. The +long-trained fortitude of the <span class="sc">Squire</span> nearly +broke down when he mentioned this circumstance. +Pretty to see how it also touched +<span class="sc">Jokim</span>. The wounds of riven friendship temporarily +closed up; the rivalry of recent years +forgotten in contemplation of these 75,000 +reckless, ruthless people, who, in defiance of +law of average, didn't die in financial year +ending March 31, 1895. The past <span class="sc">Chancellor +of Exchequer</span> and his successor in office +mingled their tears. But for intervention of +table they would probably have flung themselves +into each other's arms and sobbed aloud.</p> + +<p>"Thus," said <span class="sc">Prince Arthur</span>, himself not +unaffected by the scene, "doth one touch of +nature make Chancellors of the Exchequer +kin."</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—Budget brought in.</p> + +<p><i>Friday Night.</i>—<span class="sc">Alpheus Cleophas</span> submitted proposal to dock +payment of £10,000 annuity to Duke of <span class="sc">Coburg</span>. Thinks H.R.H. +might, in circumstances, get along nicely without it. <span class="sc">Sage Of +Queen Anne's Gate</span> agrees. <span class="sc">T. H. Boltonparty</span>, on the other hand, +gravely differs. Folding his arms as was his wont on eve of +Austerlitz, he regards <span class="sc">Alpheus Cleophas</span> with awful frown. +Imperial instincts naturally wounded. "No trifling with the personal +revenues of our Royal cousins, whether at home or abroad," +said <span class="sc">T. H. Boltonparty</span> in the voice of thunder that once reverberated +across the shivering chasms of the Alps.</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—Proposal to cut off Duke of <span class="sc">Coburg's</span> pension +negatived by 193 votes against 72.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2>TWO WAYS OF DOING IT.</h2> + +<h3><span class="sc">First Way.</span></h3> + +<p class="center"><i>From the Representative of Her Britannic Majesty's Government to +the —— Minister for Foreign Affairs.</i></p> + +<p class="rindent"><i>January 1, 18-0.</i></p> + +<p>I have the honour to inform your Excellency that I am instructed +by the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs that Her Britannic +Majesty's Government has reason to complain of the conduct of the +Government of which your Excellency is the representative. I have +the honour to say that it will be advisable for your Excellency to urge +upon the Government of which your Excellency is the representative +the necessity of inquiry into the matter as speedily as possible. I +have further the honour to add that it will be gratifying to Her +Britannic Majesty's Government if the Government of which your +Excellency is a representative will give the matter to which I refer +the earliest attention.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>From the Representative, &c., to the —— Minister, &c.</i></p> + +<p class="rindent"><i>January 1, 18-1.</i></p> + +<p>I have the honour to call the attention of your Excellency to the +long and unsatisfactory correspondence that has passed during the +last year between your Excellency as representing the Government +of which you are the representative and the Secretary of State for +Foreign Affairs upon the matter of the despatch I had the honour to +forward to your Excellency dated January 1, 18-0. I am directed to +have the honour of requesting your Excellency to urge upon the +Government of which your Excellency is a representative the necessity +of a speedy settlement of the matter in dispute.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>From the Representative, &c., to the —— Minister, &c.</i></p> + +<p class="rindent"><i>January 1, 18-2.</i></p> + +<p>I have again the honour to call the attention of your Excellency +to, &c. &c.</p> + +<blockquote><p> +(<i>Rather longer than the foregoing one. Then follow two more +"from the same to the same" in 18-3 and 18-4. This is the +first way.</i>) +</p></blockquote> + +<h3>SECOND (AND SHORTER) WAY.</h3> + +<p class="center"><i>From British Admiral to —— Minister.</i></p> + +<p class="rindent"><i>January 1, 18-5</i>, 12 <span class="sc">Noon</span>.</p> + +<p>If you don't pay up within a quarter of an hour, I will bombard +your capital, seize your country, and imprison the Government of +which you are the representative.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>From —— Minister, &c., to British Admiral.</i></p> + +<p class="rindent"><i>January 1, 18-5</i>, 12.10 <span class="sc">P.M.</span></p> + +<p>Don't fire. Have sent money demanded by P.O.O.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>The Predominant Partner.</h3> + +<div class="poem width21"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>'Tis to the "New National Party," 'tis clear,</p> +<p class="i2">That <span class="sc">Chamberlain</span> swears his affiance.</p> +<p>The Triple Alliance? Why, no, 'twould appear</p> +<p>The third, and predominant partner, is Beer,</p> +<p class="i4">So let's call it "The <i>Tipple</i> Alliance."</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p><span class="sc">Our Booking-Office.</span>—To all, and especially to all travellers, +on account of its portable size, the Baron begs to recommend a +charming novelette written by <span class="sc">Guy Boothaby</span>, entitled <i>A Lost +Endeavour</i>, published by <span class="sc">Dent</span> of Aldine House. When Mr. <span class="sc">Guy +Boothaby</span> brings out another story equal to this, the Baron will be +delighted to draw public attention to it by saying, "Here's another +<span class="sc">Guy—Boothaby</span>."</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">An awful Monster recently let out in a Church!</span>—A +second-hand sermon with eight heads.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">Motto for the Lord Chief Justice.</span>—"<i>Quantum snuff.</i>"</p> + +<hr /> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44760 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/44760-h/images/217-220.png b/44760-h/images/217-220.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..492aa64 --- /dev/null +++ b/44760-h/images/217-220.png diff --git a/44760-h/images/217-700.png b/44760-h/images/217-700.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..aa30ff5 --- /dev/null +++ b/44760-h/images/217-700.png diff --git 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