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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or The London Charivari, Volume 101,
+October 31, 1891, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Punch, or The London Charivari, Volume 101, October 31, 1891
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor:   Francis Burnand
+
+
+Release Date: March 23, 2005 [EBook #15442]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Malcolm Farmer, William Flis, and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team.
+
+
+
+
+
+PUNCH,
+
+OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
+
+VOL. 101.
+
+
+
+October 31, 1891.
+
+
+
+
+YOUNG GRANDOLPH'S BARTY.
+
+(_Afrikander Version of the great Breitmann Ballad, penned, "more
+in sorrow than in anger," by a "Deutscher" resident in the distant
+regions where the Correspondent of the "Daily Graphic" is, like der
+Herr Breitmann himself, "drafellin' apout like eferydings._")
+
+[Illustration: (Y)]
+
+  Young GRANDOLPH hat a Barty--
+    Vhere is dat Barty now?
+  He fell'd in luf mit der African goldt;
+    Mit SOLLY he'd hat a row;
+  He dinks dat his secession
+    Would make der resht look plue,
+  But, before he drafel vast and var,
+    His Barty sphlit in two.
+
+  Young GRANDOLPH hat a Barty--
+    Dere vash B-LF-R, W-LFF, and G-RST,
+  Dey haf vorgot deir "Leater,"
+    Und dat ish not deir vorst.
+  B-LF-R vill "boss" der Commons,
+    Vhile GRANDOLPH--sore disgraced--
+  Ish "oop a tree," like der Bumble Bee,
+    Und W-LFF and G-RST are "placed."
+
+  Young GRANDOLPH hat a Barty--
+    Vhen he dat Barty led,
+  B-LF-R vash but a "Bummer,"
+    A loafing lollop-head.
+  Young Tories schvore by GRANDOLPH,
+    (Dey schvear _at_ GRANDOLPH now,)
+  Now at de feet of der "lank aesthete"
+    Der _Times_ itshelf doth bow!
+
+  Young GRANDOLPH hat a Barty,
+    Dere all vash "Souse und Brouse."[1]
+  Now he hets not dat prave gompany
+    All in der Commons House,
+  To see _him_ skywgle GL-DST-NE,
+    Und schlog him on der kop.
+  Young Tory bloods no longer shout
+    Till der SCHPEAKER bids dem shtop.
+
+  Und, like dat Rhine Mermaiden
+    "Vot hadn't got nodings on,"
+  Dey "don't dink mooch of beoplesh
+    Vat goes mit demselfs alone!"
+
+  Young GRANDOLPH _hat_ a Barty--
+    Where ish dat Barty now?
+  Where ish dat oder ARTHUR's song
+    Vot darkened der Champerlain's prow?
+  Where ish de himmelstrahlende stern,
+    De shtar of der Tory fight?
+  All gon'd afay, as on Woodcock's wing,
+    Afay in de ewigkeit!
+
+  Young GRANDOLPH hat a Barty;
+    He hunt der lions now,
+  All in der lone Mashonaland,
+    But he does not "score"--somehow.
+  One Grand Old Lion he dared to peard,
+    Und he "potted" Earls and Dukes,
+  But eight or nine real lions at once,
+    He thinks are "_trop de luxe_"
+
+  Young GRANDOLPH hat a Barty,
+    But he scooted 'cross der sea,
+  Und he tidn't say to dem, "Come, my poys,
+    Und drafel along mit me!"
+
+[Footnote 1: _Saus und Braus_--Ger., Riot and Bustle.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+"CORRECT CARD, GENTS!"--"Wanted a Map of London" was the heading of
+a letter in the _Times_ last Thursday. No, Sir! that's not what is
+wanted. There are hundreds of 'em, specially seductive pocket ones,
+with just the very streets that one wants to discover as short cuts
+to great centres carefully omitted. What _is_ wanted is a _correct_
+map of London, divided into pocketable sections, portable, foldable,
+durable, on canvas,--but if imperfect, as so many of these small
+pocket catch-shilling ones are just now, although professedly
+brought up to date '91, they are worse than useless, and to purchase
+one is a waste of time, temper and money. We could mention an
+attractive-looking little map--which, but no-- Publishers and public
+are hereby cautioned! N.B.--Test well your pocket map through a
+magnifying glass before buying. _Experto crede!_
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+OYSTERLESS.
+
+(_BY AN IMPECUNIOUS GOURMET_.)
+
+    [Oysters are very dear, and are likely, as the season
+    advances, to be still higher in price.]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+  Oh, Oyster mine! Oh, Oyster mine!
+    You're still as exquisitely nice;
+  With perfect pearly tints you shine,
+    But you are such an awful price.
+  The lemon and the fresh cayenne,
+    Brown bread and butter and the stout
+  Are here, and just the same, but then
+    What if I have to leave you out?
+
+  What wonder that my spirits droop,
+    That life can bring me no delight,
+  When I must give up oyster soup,
+    So softly delicately white.
+  The curry powder stands anear,
+    The scallop shells, but what care I--
+  You're so abominably dear,
+    O Oyster! that I cannot buy.
+
+  With sad imaginative flights,
+    I think upon the days of yore;
+  Like TICKLER, on Ambrosian nights,
+    I have consumed them by the score.
+  And still, whenever you appeared,
+    My pride it was to use you well;
+  I let the juice play round your beard,
+    And always on the hollow shell.
+
+  I placed you in the fair lark-pie.
+    With steak and kidneys too, of course;
+  Your ancestors were glad to die,
+    So well I made the oyster sauce.
+  I had you stewed and featly fried,
+    And dipped in batter--think of that;
+  And, as a pleasant change, I've tried
+    You, skewered in rows, with bacon-fat.
+
+  "Where art thou, ALICE?" cried the bard.
+    "Where art thou, Oyster?" I exclaim.
+  It really is extremely hard,
+    To know thee nothing but a name.
+  For this is surely torment worse
+    Than DANTE heaped upon his dead;--
+  To find thee quite beyond my purse,
+    And so go oysterless to bed.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+_A PROPOS_ OF THE SECRETARY FOR WAR'S ROSEATE AFTER--DINNER
+SPEECH (_on the entirely satisfactory state of the Army
+generally_).--(STAN-)"HOPE told a flattering tale."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+UNIVERSITY MEM.--The Dean of Christ Church will keep his seat till
+Christmas, and just a LIDDELL longer.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE RAVEN.
+
+(_Very Latest War-Office Version. See Mr. Stanhope's After-Dinner
+Speech at the Holborn Restaurant (Oct. 17), and Letter in "Times"
+(Oct. 21) on "Pangloss at the War Office."_)
+
+[Illustration]
+
+_Secretarial Pangloss sings:_--
+
+  Late, upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, tired but cheery,
+  Over many an optimistic record of War Office lore;
+  Whilst I worked, assorting, mapping, suddenly there came a tapping,
+  As of someone rudely rapping, rapping at my Office-door.
+  "Some late messenger," I muttered, "tapping at my Office-door--
+            Only this, but it's a bore."
+
+  I remember--being sober--it was in the chill October,
+  Light from the electric globe or horseshoe lighted wall and floor;
+  Also that it was the morrow of the Holborn Banquet; sorrow
+  From the Blue Books croakers borrow--sorrow for the days of yore,
+  For the days when "_Rule Britannia_" sounded far o'er sea and shore.
+            Ah! it _must_ have been a bore!
+
+  But on that let's draw the curtain. I am simply cock-sure--certain
+  That "our splendid little Army" never was so fine before.
+  It will take a lot of beating! Such remarks I keep repeating;
+  They come handy--after eating, and are always sure to score--
+  Dash that rapping chap entreating entrance at my Office-door!
+            It is an infernal bore!
+
+  Presently I grew more placid (Optimists should not be acid.)
+  "Come in!" I exclaimed--"con_found_ you! Pray stand drumming there
+          no more."
+  But the donkey still kept tapping. "Dolt!" I muttered, sharply
+          snapping,
+  "Why the deuce do you come rapping, rapping at my Office-door?
+  Yet not 'enter' when you're told to?"--here I opened wide the door--
+            Darkness there, and nothing more.
+
+  Open next I flung the shutter, when, with a prodigious flutter,
+  In there stepped a bumptious Raven, black as any blackamoor.
+  Not the least obeisance made he, not a moment stopped or stayed he,
+  But with scornful look, though shady, perched above my Office-door,
+  Perched upon BRITANNIA's bust that stood above my Office-door--
+            Perched, and sat, and seemed to snore.
+
+  "Well," I said, sardonic smiling, "this is really rather riling;
+  "It comports not with decorum such as the War Office bore
+  In old days stiff and clean-shaven. Dub me a Gladstonian craven
+  If I ever saw a Raven at the W.O. before.
+  Tell me what your blessed name is. '_Rule Britannia_' held of yore,"
+            Quoth the bird, "'Tis so no more!"
+
+  Much I marvelled this sophistic fowl to utter pessimistic
+  Fustian, which so little meaning--little relevancy bore
+  To the rule of me and SOLLY; but, although it may sound folly,
+  This strange fowl a strange resemblance to "Our Only General" wore,
+  To the W-LS-L-Y whose pretensions to sound military lore
+            Are becoming quite a bore.
+
+  But the Raven, sitting lonely on that much-peeled bust, spake only
+  Of our Army as a makeshift, small, ill-manned, and precious poor.
+  Drat the pessimistic bird!--he grumbled of "the hurdy-gurdy
+  Marching-past side of a soldier's life in peace." "We've fought
+          before,
+  Winning battles with boy-troops," I cried, "We'll do as we before--"
+            Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore!"
+
+  "Nonsense!" said I. "After dinner at the Holborn, as a winner
+  Spake I in the _Pangloss_ spirit to the taxpayers, (_Don't_ snore!)
+  Told them our recruits--who'll master e'en unmerciful disaster,
+  Come in fast and come in faster, quite as good as those of yore,"--
+  "Flattering tales of (Stan) Hope!" cried the bird, whose dismal
+          dirges bore,
+            One dark burden--"Nevermore!"
+
+  "Hang it, Raven, this _is_ riling!" cried I. "Stop your rude
+          reviling!"
+  Then I wheeled my office-chair in front of bird and bust and door;
+  And upon its cushion sinking, "I," I said, "will smash like winking
+  This impeachment you are bringing, O you ominous bird of yore,
+  O you grim, ungainly, ghastly, grumbling, gruesome feathered bore!"
+            Croaked the Raven, "You I'll floor."
+
+  Then methought the bird looked denser, and his cheek became
+          immenser.
+  And he twaddled of VON MOLTKE, and his German Army Corps;
+  "Flattering the tax-payers' vanity," and much similar insanity,
+  In a style that lacked urbanity, till the thing became a bore.
+  "Oh, get out of it!" I cried; "our little Army yet will score."
+            Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore!"
+
+  "Prophet!" said I, "of all evil, that we're 'going to the devil'
+  Has been the old croaker's gospel for a century, and more.
+  Red-gilled Colonels this have chaunted in BRITTANIA's ears
+          undaunted,
+  By their ghosts you must he haunted. Take a Blue-pill, I implore!
+  When our Army meets the foe it's bound to lick him as of yore!"
+            Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore!
+
+  "Prophet!" said I, "that's uncivil. You may go to--well, the devil!
+  That Establishments are 'short,' and 'standards' lowered o'er and
+          o'er.
+  That mere 'weeds,' with chests of maiden, cannot march with
+          knapsack laden;
+  That the heat of sultry Aden, or the cold of Labrador,
+  Such can't stand, _may_ be the truth; but keep it dark, bird, I
+          implore!"
+            Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore!"
+
+  "Then excuse me, we'll be parting, doleful fowl," I cried,
+          upstarting;
+  "Get thee back to--the Red River, or the Nile's sand-cumbered shore!
+  Leave no 'Magazine' as token of the twaddle you have spoken.
+  What? BRITANNIA stoney-broken? Quit her bust above my door.
+  Take thy hook from the War Office; take thy beak from off my door!"
+            Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore!"
+
+  And the Raven still is sitting, croaking statements most unfitting,
+  On BRITANNIA's much-peeled bust that's placed above my Office-door,
+  And if _Pangloss_, e'en in seeming, lent an ear to his dark
+          dreaming,
+  Useless were official scheming, grants of millions by the score,
+  For my soul were like the shadow that he casts upon the floor,
+            Dark and dismal evermore!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: THINGS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE EXPRESSED DIFFERENTLY.
+
+_Aunt Jane_. "THAT MAKES THREE WEDDINGS IN OUR FAMILY WITHIN A
+TWELVEMONTH! IT WILL BE _YOUR_ TURN NEXT, MATILDA!"
+
+_Matilda_. "OH, NO!"
+
+_Aunt Jane_. "WELL, THE MOST EXTRAORDINARY THINGS HAPPEN SOMETIMES,
+YOU KNOW!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+TUPPER'S PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY UP TO DATE.
+
+    ["The range of our inquiry was intended to include the whole
+    migratory range for seals.... Our movements were kept most
+    secret."--_Sir George Baden-Powell on the Work of the Behring
+    Sea Commission_.]
+
+  We came, we saw, we--held our tongues (myself--BADEN-POWELL--and
+          Mr. DAWSON.)
+  We popped on each seal-island "unbeknownst," and what we
+          discovered we held our jaws on.
+  We'd five hundred interviews within three months, which I think
+          "cuts the record" in interviewing,
+  Corresponded with 'Frisco, Japan, and Russia; so I hope you'll
+          allow we've been "up and doing."
+  (Not up and _saying_, be't well understood). As TUPPER (the
+          Honourable C.H., Minister
+  Of Fisheries) said, in the style of his namesake, "The fool
+          imagines all Silence is sinister,
+  "But the wise man knows that it's often dexterous." Be sure no
+          inquisitive shyness or bounce'll
+  Make us "too previous" with our Report, which goes first to the
+          QUEEN and the Privy Council.
+  Some bigwig's motto is, "Say and Seal," but as TUPPER remarked a
+          forefinger laying
+  To the dexter side of a fine proboscis, "Our motto at present is,
+          Seal _without_ saying!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+LEGAL QUERY.--The oldest of the thirteen Judges on the Scotch Bench is
+YOUNG. Any chance for a Junior after this?
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS.
+
+NO. XII.
+
+    SCENE--_In front of the Hotel Bodenhaus at Spluegen. The
+    Diligence for Bellinzona is having its team attached. An
+    elderly Englishwoman is sitting on her trunk, trying to run
+    through the last hundred pages of a novel from the Hotel
+    Library before her departure. PODBURY is in the Hotel,
+    negotiating for sandwiches. CULCHARD is practising his
+    Italian upon a very dingy gentleman in smoked spectacles, with
+    a shawl round his throat._
+
+_The Dingy Italian_ (_suddenly discovering CULCHARD's nationality_).
+Ecco, siete Inglese! Lat us spika Ingelis, I onnerstan' 'im to ze
+bottom-side. (_Laboriously, to CULCHARD, who tries to conceal his
+chagrin._) 'Ow menni time you employ to go since Coire at here? (C.
+_nods with vague encouragement_.) Vich manners of vezzer you vere
+possess troo your travels--mosh ommerella? (C.'s _eyes grow vacant_.)
+Ha, I _tink_ it vood! Zis day ze vicket root sall 'ave plenti 'orse
+to pull, &c., &c. (_Here PODBURY comes up, and puts some rugs the_
+coupe _of the diligence._) You sit at ze beginning-end, hey? better,
+you tink, zan ze mizzle? I too, zen, sall ride at ze front--we vill
+spika Ingelis, altro!
+
+_Podb._ (_overhearing this, with horror_). One minute, CULCHARD. (_He
+draws him aside._) I say, for goodness' sake, don't let's have that
+old organ-grinding Johnny in the _coupe_ with _us_!
+
+_Culch._ Organ-grinder! you are so _very_ insular! For anything you
+can tell, he may be a decayed nobleman.
+
+_Pod._ (_coarsely_). Well, let him decay somewhere else, that's all!
+Just tell the Conductor to shove him in the _interieur_, do, while I
+nip in the _coupe_ and keep our places.
+
+[Illustration: "An elderly Englishwoman is sitting on her trunk."]
+
+    [_CULCHARD, on reflection, adopts this suggestion, and the
+    Italian Gentleman, after fluttering feebly about the_ coupe
+    _door, is unceremoniously bundled by the Conductor into the
+    hinder part of the diligence._
+
+_IN THE BERNARDINO PASS, DURING THE ASCENT._
+
+_Culch._ Glorious view one gets at each fresh turn of the road,
+PODBURY! Look at Hinter-rhein, far down below there, like a toy
+village, and that vast desolate valley, with the grey river rushing
+through it, and the green glacier at the end, and these awful
+snow-covered peaks all round--_look_, man!
+
+_Podb._ I'm looking, old chap. It's all there, right enough!
+
+_Culch._ (_vexed_). It doesn't seem to be making any particular
+impression on you, I must say!
+
+_Podb._ It's making me deuced peckish, I know that--how about lunch,
+eh!
+
+_Culch._ (_pained_). We are going through scenery like this, and all
+you think of is--lunch! (_PODBURY opens a basket._) You may give me
+one of those sandwiches. What made you get _veal_? and the bread's
+all crust, too! Thanks, I'll take some claret.... (_They lunch; the
+vehicle meanwhile toils up to the head of the Pass._) Dear me, we're
+at the top already! These rocks shut out the valley altogether--much
+colder at this height, eh? Don't you find this keen air most
+exhilarating?
+
+_Podb._ (_shivering_). Oh very, do you mind putting your window up?
+Thanks. You seem uncommon chirpy to-day. Beginning to get _over_ it,
+eh?
+
+_Culch._ We shan't get over it for some hours yet.
+
+_Podb._ I didn't mean the Pass, I meant--(_hesitating_)--well, your
+little affair with Miss PRENDERGAST, you know.
+
+_Culch._ My little affair? Get over? (_He suddenly understands._) Oh,
+ah, to be sure. Yes, thank you, my dear fellow, it is not making me
+_particularly_ unhappy. [_He goes into a fit of silent laughter._
+
+_Podb._ Glad to hear it. (_To himself_.) 'Jove, if he only knew what
+_I_ know! [_He chuckles._
+
+_Culch._ You don't appear to be exactly heartbroken?
+
+_Podb._ I? why _should_ I be--about _what_?
+
+_Culch._ (_with an affectation of reserve_). Exactly, I was
+forgetting. (_To himself_.) It's really rather humorous. (_He laughs
+again._) Ha, we're beginning to go down now. Hey for Italy--la bella
+Italia! (_The diligence takes the first curve._) Good Heavens, what a
+turn! We're going at rather a sharp pace for downhill, eh? I suppose
+these Swiss drivers know what they're about, though.
+
+_Podb._ Oh, yes, generally--when they're not drunk. I can only see
+this fellow's boots--but they look to me a trifle squiffy.
+
+_Culch._ (_inspecting them, anxiously_). He does seem to drive
+very recklessly. _Look_ at those leaders--heading right for the
+precipice.... Ah, just saved it! How we do lurch in swinging round!
+
+_Podb._ Topheavy--I expect, too much luggage on board--have another
+sandwich?
+
+_Culch._ Not for me, thanks. I say, I wonder if it's safe, having no
+parapet, only these stone posts, eh?
+
+_Pod._ Safe enough--unless the wheel catches one--it was as near as a
+toucher just then--aren't you going to smoke? No? _I_ am. By the way,
+what were you so amused about just now, eh?
+
+_Culch._ _Was_ I amused? (_The vehicle gives another tremendous
+lurch._) Really, this is _too_ horrible!
+
+_Podb._ (_with secret enjoyment_). We're right enough, if the horses
+don't happen to stumble. That off-leader isn't over sure-footed--did
+you see _that_? (_Culch. shudders._) But what's the joke about Miss
+PRENDERGAST?
+
+_Culch._ (_irritably_). Oh, for Heaven's sake, don't bother about that
+_now_. I've something else to think about. My goodness, we were nearly
+over that time! What are you looking at?
+
+_Podb._ (_who has been leaning forward_). Only one of the
+traces--they've done it up with a penny ball of string, but I daresay
+it will stand the strain. You aren't _half_ enjoying the view, old
+fellow.
+
+_Culch._ Yes, I am. Magnificent!--glorious!--isn't it?
+
+_Podb._ Find you see it better with your eyes shut? But I say, I wish
+you'd explain what you were sniggering at.
+
+_Culch._ Take my advice, and don't press me, my dear fellow; you may
+regret it if you do!
+
+_Podb._ I'll risk it. It must be a devilish funny joke to tickle you
+like that. Come, out with it!
+
+_Culch._ Well, if you must know, I was laughing.... Oh, he'll _never_
+get those horses round in.... I was--er--rather amused by your evident
+assumption that I must have been _rejected_ by Miss PRENDERGAST.
+
+_Podb._ Oh, was _that_ it? And you're nothing of the kind, eh? [_He
+chuckles again._
+
+_Culch._ (_with dignity_). No doubt you will find it very singular;
+but, as a matter of fact, she--well, she most certainly did not
+_discourage_ my pretensions.
+
+_Podb._ The deuce she didn't! Did she tell you RUSKIN's ideas about
+courtship being a probation, and ask you if you were ready to be under
+vow for her, by any chance?
+
+_Culch._ This is too bad, PODBURY; you must have been there, or you
+couldn't possibly know!
+
+_Podb._ Much obliged, I'm sure. I don't listen behind doors, as a
+general thing. I suppose, now, she set you a trial of some kind, to
+prove your mettle, eh? [_With another chuckle._
+
+_Culch._ (_furiously_). Take care--or I may tell you more than you
+bargain for!
+
+_Podb._ Go on--never mind _me_. Bless you, _I'm_ under vow for her,
+too, my dear boy. Fact!
+
+_Culch._ That's impossible, and I can prove it. The service she
+demanded was, that I should leave Constance at once--with you. Do you
+understand--with _you_, PODBURY!
+
+_Podb._ (_with a prolonged whistle_). My aunt!
+
+_Culch._ (_severely_). You may invoke every female relative you
+possess in the world, but it won't alter the fact, and that alone
+ought to convince you--
+
+_Podb._ Hold on a bit. Wait till you've heard _my_ penance. She told
+me to cart _you_ off, _Now_, then!
+
+_Culch._ (_faintly_). If I thought she'd been trifling with us both
+like that, I'd never--
+
+_Podb._ She's no end of a clever girl, you know. And, after all, she
+may only have wanted time to make up her mind.
+
+_Culch._ (_violently_). I tell you _what_ she is--she's a cold-blooded
+pedantic prig, and a systematic flirt! I loathe and detest a prig, but
+a flirt I despise--yes, _despise_, PODBURY!
+
+_Podb._ (_with only apparent irrelevance_). The same to you, and many
+of 'em, old chap! Hullo, we're going to stop at this inn. Let's get
+out and stretch our legs and have some coffee.
+
+    [_They do; on returning, they find the Italian Gentleman
+    smiling blandly at them from inside the_ coupe.
+
+_The It. G._ Goodaby, dear frens, a riverderla! I success at your
+chairs. I vish you a pleasure's delay!
+
+_Podb._ But I say, look here, Sir, we're going on, and you've got our
+place!
+
+_The It. G._ Sank you verri moch. I 'ope so. [_He blows_ PODBURY _a
+kiss._
+
+_Podb._ (_with intense disgust_). How on earth are we going to get
+that beggar out? Set the Conductor at him, CULCHARD, do--you can talk
+the lingo best!
+
+_Culch._ (_who has had enough of_ PODBURY _for the present_). Talk to
+him yourself, my dear fellow, _I_'m not going to make a row. [_He gets
+in._
+
+_Podb._ (_to Conductor_). Hi! sprechen sie Franzoesisch, oder was?
+_il-y-a quelque chose dans mon siege, dites-lui de_--what the deuce is
+the French for "clear out"?
+
+_Cond._ _Montez, Monsieur, nous bartons, montez vite alors!_
+
+    [_He thrusts PODBURY, protesting vainly, into the interieur,
+    with two peasants, a priest and the elderly Englishwoman. The
+    diligence starts again._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+AT THE ITALIAN OPERA.
+
+[Illustration: Two (Covent Garden) Gentlemen of Verona!!]
+
+[Illustration: Exit Romeo by the Rope Ladder,--a shrewd guess at what
+really happens.]
+
+_Tuesday, October 20th_.--Opening night. _Romeo et Juliette; debuts_
+of Mlle. SIMMONET, of the Opera Comique, and M. COSSIRA, as the
+lovers. _Lady Capulet's_ Small Dance, quite the smartest of the
+season, as the Veronese nobility present were evidently remarking,
+with abundance of easy gesture, to one another, as they led the way to
+the lemonade. The _Juliette_ of the evening charming, and soon singing
+herself into the good graces of a large audience; ditto, M. COSSIRA,
+"than which," as the Prophet NICHOLAS would say, "a more competent
+_Romeo_--though perhaps a trifle full in the waist for balcony-scaling
+by moonlight." If he had really trusted himself to that gossamer
+ladder in the Fourth Act, he would never have got away to Mantua,
+especially as _Juliette_, with the thoughtlessness of her age and sex,
+omitted to secure it in any way. Fortunately it was not a long drop,
+and the descent was accomplished without accident, as will be seen
+from the accompanying sketch.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+CHANGE FOR A TENOR.--Mr. SEYMOUR HADEN, the opponent of the Cremation
+gospel according to THOMPSON (Sir HENRY of that ilk), should come to
+an arrangement with the English Light Opera tenor, and tack COFFIN on
+to his name.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+ONLY FANCY!
+
+(_FROM MR. PUNCH'S OWN RUMOURISTS._)
+
+It may be interesting at this time of the year to mention the fact
+that Lord SALISBURY always uses a poker in cracking walnuts. He says
+it saves the silver. The other day, whilst wielding the poker across
+the walnuts and the wine, Mr. GLADSTONE chanced to look in. The
+Premier, with his well-known hospitality, immediately furnished
+the Right Hon. Gentleman with another poker (brought in from the
+drawing-room), and ordered up a fresh supply of nuts.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Mr. GLADSTONE, recurring in private conversation to a recent visit
+paid by him to Lord SALISBURY in Arlington Street, questioned the
+convenience of a poker as an instrument for shattering the shell of
+the walnut. For himself, he says, he has always found a pair of tongs
+more convenient.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Marquis of HARTINGTON, to whom this remark was reported,
+observed that as a dissentient Liberal he naturally differed from Mr.
+GLADSTONE, and was not to the fullest extent able to agree with his
+noble friend, the Marquis of SALISBURY. For his own part, he found
+the most convenient way of cracking a walnut was deftly to place the
+article in the interstice of the dining-room door, and gently close
+it. He found this plan combined with its original purpose a gentle
+exercise on the part of the guests highly conducive to digestion.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Two hours later, the Leader of the Opposition was seen walking up
+Arlington Street, and on reaching Piccadilly, he hailed an omnibus,
+observing the precaution before entering of requiring the conductor to
+produce the scale of charges. "No pirate busses for _me_," the Right
+Hon. Member remarked, as (omitting the oath) he took his seat.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It is no secret in official circles that before the vacancy in the
+office of Postmaster-General was filled, it was placed at the disposal
+of the BARON BE BOOK-WORMS. Upon Sir JAMES FERGUSSON stepping in, the
+PRIME MINISTER was urgently desirous to have the collaboration of
+the noble BARON at the Foreign Office. But, somehow, the post of
+Under-Secretary vacated by Sir JAMES was assigned to Mr. WILLIAM JAMES
+LOWTHER.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+We are authorised to state that His Imperial Majesty the Emperor of
+GERMANY, feeling the need of a little change, has resolved to stay at
+home for a fortnight.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+We are in a position to state that just prior to the General Election
+of 1880, Mr. CHAMBERLAIN was observed standing before a cheval glass,
+alternatively fixing his eyeglass in the right eye and in the left.
+Asked why he should thus quaintly occupy his leisure moments, he
+replied: "It is in view of the General Election. If on the platform
+any person in the crowd poses you with an awkward question, should you
+be able rapidly to transfer your eyeglass from your right eye to your
+left, and fix the obtruder with a stony stare, he is so much engaged
+in wondering whether you can keep the glass in position, that he
+forgets what he asked you, and you can pass on to less dangerous
+topics."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When Mr. SCHOMBERG McDONNELL informed his chief that Lord RANDOLPH
+CHURCHILL had "come upon eight lions," Lord SALISBURY sighed and
+remained for a moment in deep thought. Then he said, "How different
+had the eight lions come upon him!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Mr. GLADSTONE has backed himself to walk a mile, talk a mile, write a
+mile, review a mile, disestablish a mile, chop a mile and hop a mile
+in one hour. Sporting circles are much interested in the veteran
+statesman's undertaking, and little else is talked about at the chief
+West End resorts. The general opinion of those who ought to know seems
+to be in favour of the scythe-bearer, but not a few have invested a
+pound or two on the Mid-Lothian Marvel.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: TRUE LITERARY EXCLUSIVENESS.
+
+"_WHAT_, MY DEAR REGINALD! YOU DON'T MEAN TO SAY YOU DON'T ADMIRE
+BYRON AS A POET?"
+
+"CERTAINLY NOT. INDEED I HAVE A QUITE SPECIAL LOATHING AND CONTEMPT
+FOR HIM IN THAT PARTICULAR CHARACTAH!"
+
+"DEAR ME! WHY, WHAT PARTICULAR POEMS OF HIS DO YOU OBJECT TO SO
+STRONGLY?"
+
+"MY DEAH GRANDMOTHAH, I NEVAH READ A LINE OF BYRON IN MY LIFE,--AND I
+CERTAINLY NEVAH MEAN TO!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+TRYING IT ON.
+
+    ["The natural result of a _rapprochement_ between Russia and
+    Italy, even if avowedly platonic in its character, would be
+    to weaken the prestige and moral force of the Triple
+    Alliance."--_The Times_.]
+
+_Mr. Bruin loquitur_:--
+
+  _Pst!_ Hang it, quite _au mieux!_ Now what am I to do?
+    I must draw her attention, if I'm going to have a chance.
+  She seems so satisfied with those gallants at her side
+    That just now in my direction she will hardly deign a glance.
+      _Pst!_ Darling, just a word!
+  No! Deaf as any post! It is perfectly absurd!
+
+  _Pst!_ Heeds me not the least, just as though I were the Beast,
+    And she the sovereign Beauty that she deems she is, no doubt.
+  Since she won those burly _beaux_, it appears to be no go,
+    But Bruin's an old Masher, and he knows what he's about.
+      _Pst!_ Darling, look this way!
+  In your pretty little ear I've a word or two to say!
+
+  The coy Gallic girl I've won. It is really awful fun,
+    For _her_ prejudice was strong as was that of Lady ANNE
+  To the ugly crookback, DICK. But my wooing there was quick.
+    Platonic? Oh! of course. That is always Bruin's plan.
+      A flirtation means no harm,
+  When you wish not to corrupt or betray, but simply charm.
+
+  Fancy Italian girl won by the swagger twirl
+    Of an Austrian moustache! It is monstrous, nothing less.
+  What _would_ GARIBALDI say? Well, he doesn't live to-day,
+    Or he'd tear her from the arm of her ancient foe, I guess.
+      And that stalwart Teuton too!
+  Do you really think, my girl, he can really care for _you_?
+
+  Ah! you always were a flirt, Miss ITALIA. You have hurt
+    France's feelings very much. Why, she stood your faithful friend
+  When the hated Austrian yoke bowed your neck. Did you invoke
+    The pompous Prussian then your captivity to end?
+      _Pst!_ Just a moment, dear.
+  I've a word or two to say it were worth your while to hear.
+
+  Ah! A hasty glance she throws o'er her shoulder. But for those
+    Big, blonde, burly bullies twain, I could win her, I am sure;
+  For my manners all girls praise, and I have such winning ways,
+    And my lips, for kisses made, are for love a lasting lure.
+      _Pst!_ How those two stride on,
+  Without a glance at me! Do they think the game is won?
+
+  Hrumph! The Bear, although polite, is as pertinacious, quite,
+    As the tactless Teuton pig. I'll yet spoil their little game.
+  Triple Alliance? Fudge! If that girl is a good judge,
+    She will make a third with Me and my latest Gallic "flame."
+      _Pst!_ Come along with me,
+  My dark Italian _belle_! We shall make a lovely Three!
+
+[_Left making signs._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+ACCI-DENTAL QUERY.--Let me ask the _Patres Conscripti_ of our Academy
+Royal, why Dentists are not admitted A.R.A. _ex officio_. We have all
+for ever so long, since the memory of the oldest JOE MILLER, which
+runneth not to the contrary, known that Dentists drew teeth. But they
+nowadays add to their accomplishments by painting gums. The other day
+a friend of ours had a gum beautifully painted by a Dentist-artist
+in a certain Welbeck Street studio. It was a wonderful gathering; our
+friend in the chair.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE OLD JOE AND THE NEW.
+
+  To the humorous mind of a cynical cast,
+    Party change many matters for mirth affords;
+  But of all the big jokes, we've the biggest at last,
+    In CHAMBERLAIN's backing the House of Lords!
+  They toil not, nor spin? That's a very old jeer!
+  _Won't_ the Lilies take back seats when JOE is a Peer?
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: TRYING IT ON!
+
+RUSSIA. "SS--S--T! (_Whispers._) I WANT TO SPEAK TO YOU, MY DEAR!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "LISTEN TO MY TALE OF WOA!"
+
+(_Not much Gaiety about it._)]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+TO MY LORD ADDINGTON.
+
+    [Lord ADDINGTON, speaking recently at a Harvest Festival,
+    said, "If he were a labourer, and saw a rabbit nibbling his
+    cabbages, he would go for that rabbit with the first thing at
+    hand." (_Enthusiastic cheers._)--_Daily News_.]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+  Lord ADDINGTON, most wonderful
+    Of people-pleasing peers,
+  You certainly contrived to raise
+    "Enthusiastic cheers."
+
+  The villagers come flocking in
+    From all the country through,
+  To hear Your Lordship speak his mind
+    And tell them what to do.
+
+  You did it well, you told them how
+    You'd have them understand
+  A lucky chance has made you own
+    A quantity of land.
+
+  Though very fond of shooting, yet
+    Your love of shooting stops
+  At letting rabbits have their way
+    At decimating crops.
+
+  And so, if you a labourer were,
+    (The which of course you're not),
+  And saw a rabbit in your ground
+    A-nibbling--on the spot
+
+  You'd go for him with spade or fork,
+    At which, so it appears,
+  There rang throughout the crowded room
+    "Enthusiastic cheers."
+
+  A Peer's advice is always good,
+    So doubtless they will grab it,--
+  _But_ no one will be happier than
+    The cabbage-nibbling rabbit!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A LITTLE STRANGER.
+
+    ["At the meeting of the Bermondsey Vestry, the Medical Officer
+    reported that water drawn from the service-pipe of a house
+    in the Jamaica Road, had been submitted to him. The water was
+    clear, but it contained a live horse-leech."--_Daily Paper_.]
+
+  Oh, into our domestic pipes
+    They crawl and creep by stealth,
+  The gruesome creatures known unto
+    An Officer of Health!
+  Harken to him of Bermondsey,
+    Think what his murmurings teach,
+  "The water seemed quite limpid, _but_--
+    It did contain a Leech!"
+
+  The service-pipe was sound and good
+    In the Jamaica Road;
+  The cistern there had harboured ne'er
+    Microbe, or newt, or toad;
+  No clearer water softly laved
+    A coral island beach;
+  So thought the householder, until--
+    He found that awful Leech!
+
+  Perchance he was a temperance foe
+    To alcoholic drink,
+  And from all dalliance with Bung
+    Did scrupulously shrink.
+  Yet now to forms of fluid sin
+    He'll cotton, all and each;
+  He does not like such liquors, _but_--
+    Prefers them to a Leech!
+
+  Our pipes will not be pipes of peace
+    If such things hap, I trow;
+  And as for Water Trusts, 'tis hard
+    To trust in water now.
+  Oh, Co. of Southwark and Vauxhall,
+    We ratepayers beseech,
+  Double your filtering charges, _but_--
+    Remove the loathly Leech!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+There is a judicial review of GEORGE MEREDITH's work in the
+_Quarterly_ for October--masterly, too, quoth the Baron, as striking
+a balance between effect and defect, and finding so much to be duly
+said in high praise of the diffuse and picturesquely-circumnavigating
+Novelist through whose labyrinthine pages the simple Baron finds it
+hard to thread his way, and yet keep the clue. When the unskippingly
+conscientious peruser of GEORGE M.'s novels is most desirous that the
+author shall go ahead, GEORGE, like an Irish cardriver, will stop to
+"discoorse us," and at such length, and so diffusely, and with such a
+wealth of eccentric word-coming and grammar-dodging, that at last the
+Baron gasps, choked by the rolling billows of sonorously booming or
+boomingly sonorous words, battles with the waves, ducks, and comes
+up again breathlessly, wondering where he may be, and what it was
+all about. "Story! God bless you, I haven't much to tell, Sir!" says
+the luxuriantly fanciful novel-grinder. And he hasn't much, it must
+be owned, for essenced it would go into half a volume, or less, and
+all over and above is pot-fuls of rich colour, spilt about almost at
+haphazard, permutations and combinations, giving the effect of genius.
+Which--genius it is; but a little of it goes a great way, in fact, a
+very great way, wandering and straying until at length the Baron calls
+for his _Richard Feverel_, and says, "This is the best that GEORGE
+MEREDITH has written, as sure as my name is
+
+"THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+BARD V. BARD.
+
+  There was a poor Poet named CLOUGH,
+  Poet SWINBURNE declares he wrote stuff.
+      Ah, well, _he_ is dead!
+      'Tis the living are fed,
+  By log-rollers, on butter and puff.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A SUGGESTION.--In a new poetical play at the Opera Comique there is a
+good deal of hide-and-seek. It might have had a second title, and been
+appropriately called _The Queen's Room; or, Secret Passages in the
+Life of Mary Stuart_.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: STREET IMPROVEMENTS.
+
+["If we really used the Thames Embankment sensibly and liberally,
+it would abound with handsome shops and cheerful cafes a
+and volksgartens, with newspaper kiosks and long lines of
+bookstalls."--_Daily Telegraph_, Oct. 21.]]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+BLENDIMUS!
+
+"Water, water everywhere" in the _Times_ recently, except when Messrs.
+GILBEY wrote their annual, and this time hopeful, account of the
+Claret vintage, and when subsequently Messrs. "P. and G."--(who on
+earth are "P. and G."?)--with a few modest lines at the foot of a
+page, last Wednesday, enlivened our drooping spirits with a brief but
+satisfactory account of Champagne Prospects. If the vintages of '86
+and '87 are good, and those of '90 and '91 poor, why not make a blend?
+and why not sell it as such? Let "P. and G."--[confound it! who on
+earth can P. and G. be? "P. and J." would be "Punch and Judy"--and,
+by the way, in the choice _Lingua Tuscana_, "P. and G." would stand
+for "_Poncio e Giulia_." But, on the other hand, who, unauthorised,
+would dare to use this signature? No matter--where were we?--ah!--to
+resume.] Let "P. and G.," whoe'er they be--which is rhyme, though not
+so intended--(but why this masquerade in initials?)--let them exploit
+a "Blend of '90-cum-'86 and '91-cum-'87," sell it as such--viz., The
+"P. and G. Blend," or "The Punchius and Giulia Blend"--at a reasonable
+figure, and thus the Not-quite-up-to-the-mark vintages will be saved.
+Have we not seen in City partnerships how a strong house saves a
+failing one, and then the Blends go on successfully? Let "P. and G."
+give us a first-rate Champagne, call it, say, The "G.B.," or "Golden
+Blend," at a reasonable price, and, to drop once again into poetry, No
+matter what their name may be, We'll ever bless our P. and G.![2]
+
+[Footnote 2: "P. and G." might stand for "Pay-for-it and Get-it," or
+"Pour-it and Guzzle-it." A Correspondent has suggested that solution
+of the initial problem might possibly be found in the names of Pommery
+and Gre'--No! So common-place a suggestion is evidently, and on the
+face of it, absurd. Not in this spirit did the Pickwick Club treat the
+celebrated inscription on the stone that so puzzled the antiquarians.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: SPORT!
+
+_Cockney Sportsman_ (_eager, but disappointed_). "I SAY, MY BOY, SEEN
+ANY BIRDS THIS WAY?"
+
+'_Cute Rustic (likewise anxious to make a bag)._ "OH, A RARE LOT,
+GUV'NOR--A RARE LOT--JUST FLEW OVER THIS 'ERE 'EDGE, AND SETTLED IN
+THAT 'ERE FIELD, CLOSE TO SQUIRE BLANK'S RICKS."
+
+[_Grateful Cockney Sportsman tips boy a shilling, and goes hopefully
+after ... a flock of Starlings!_]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+CAUGHT BY THE CLASSICS.
+
+(_THE RECORD OF A RUINED LIFE._)
+
+AUGUSTUS SPARKLER was an exceptionally brilliant man. At school he
+had done marvellously well, and if he did not distinguish himself at
+either of the Universities, it was less his fault than his misfortune.
+When he entered the world, after casting off parental control, he
+took up Medicine. He was a great success. He rose by leaps and bounds,
+until at length it was thought highly probable that he would be
+elected President of the Royal College of Physicians. He was sounded
+upon the subject, and a question was put to him.
+
+"No," he replied, sorrowfully, and then the courteous Secretary
+informed him, with tears in his voice, that he feared he was
+disqualified.
+
+"Well, I will enter the Navy."
+
+He did. He passed through the _Britannia_, and rose by leaps and
+bounds, until it was considered desirable to revive the post of Lord
+High Admiral for his acceptance. But before this was done, he was
+sounded upon the subject, and asked a question.
+
+"No," he again answered, regretfully.
+
+"I am afraid then, that the scheme must be abandoned," returned the
+First Civil Lord (he had been chosen as more polite than his sea
+colleagues), and he was almost moved to tears in his sadness.
+
+"I will enter the Army," cried AUGUSTUS, with determination.
+
+And he did. He rose from the ranks in less than no time to become a
+Field Marshal. It was then that a certain Illustrious Personage asked
+him if he would like to become Commander-in-Chief.
+
+"It is not impossible I might resign in your favour," said the I.P.
+And then he asked him the necessary question.
+
+"No, Sir," returned AUGUSTUS, bowing down his head in shame. Again he
+found that his career was interrupted.
+
+"I will try the Bar," he shouted.
+
+And he did. He entered at Gray's Inn, and in a very short time became
+a Q.C., a Judge, and a Lord Justice. Then the entire Ministry begged
+him, as a personal favour, to accept the post of Lord Chancellor.
+
+"With pleasure," was his modest rejoinder. Then he remembered that he
+had been asked a certain question on previous occasions, and explained
+matters.
+
+"I am afraid you won't do," cried the entire Ministry, mournfully.
+
+"Well, then, I will try the Church."
+
+And he tried the Church. He became an eminent divine. Every one spoke
+well of him; and when, in due course, the Primacy of all England was
+vacant, he was asked to accept it. Again he explained matters.
+
+"No!" shouted all the Deans and Chapters.
+
+"You can't mean it!" cried the entire body of Archdeacons.
+
+"Well, I never!" exclaimed every other ecclesiastical authority.
+But it could not be, and the disappointment was too much for poor
+AUGUSTUS, and he died of grief.
+
+And so they put on the tombstone, that he would have been
+President of the Royal College of Physicians, Lord High Admiral,
+Commander-in-Chief, Lord Chancellor, and Archbishop of Canterbury,
+if--_he had only learned Greek!_
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+LETTERS TO ABSTRACTIONS.
+
+NO. V.--TO GUSH.
+
+MY DEAREST DARLING PERSON,
+
+How sweet and amiable of you to allow a humble being like myself to
+write to you. Dropping your own special style (which, to be perfectly
+frank with you, I could no more continue through the whole of this
+letter than I could dine off treacle and butter-scotch), I beg to say
+that I am heartily glad to have this opportunity of telling you a few
+things which have been on my mind for a long time. In what corner of
+the great realm of abstractions do you make your home? I imagine you
+whiling away the hours on some soft couch of imitation down, with a
+little army of sweet but irrelevant smiles ready at all times to do
+your bidding. You are refined, I am sure. You cultivate sympathy as
+some men cultivate orchids, until it blooms and luxuriates in the
+strangest and gaudiest shapes. Your real face is known of no other
+abstraction; indeed, you never see it yourself, so well-fitted and so
+constant is the mask through which you waft the endearments which have
+caused you to be avoided everywhere. This, I admit, is imagination;
+but is it very far from the truth? Perhaps I ask in vain, for truth
+is the very last thing that may be expected of you and of those who
+do your bidding upon earth. I will not, therefore, press the question,
+but proceed at once to business.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+About a month ago I met your friend, ALGERNON JESSAMY. What is there
+about ALGERNON that inspires such distrust? He is very presentable;
+some people have gone so far as to call him absolutely good-looking.
+He is tall, his figure is good, his clothes fit him admirably, and are
+always speckless; his features are regular, his complexion fresh, and
+his fair hair, carefully parted in the middle, lies like a smooth and
+shining lid upon his head. I pass over all his remaining advantages,
+whether of dress or of nature. It is enough to say that, thus
+equipped, and with the additional merits of wealth and a good
+position, ALGERNON ought to have found no difficulty in being one of
+the most popular men in town. Perhaps he would have been if he had
+not tried with such a persistent energy to make himself "so deuced
+agreeable." The phrase is not mine, but that of SAMMY MIGGS, who has
+a contempt for ALGERNON and his methods, which he never attempts to
+conceal.
+
+"ALGY, my boy," I have heard him say, while the unfortunate JESSAMY
+smiled uneasily, and shifted on his seat, "ALGY, my boy, I've known
+you too long to give in to any of your nonsense. All that butter of
+yours is wasted here, so you'd better keep it for someone who likes
+it. Try it on QUISBY," he continued, indicating the celebrated actor,
+who was at that moment frowning furiously over a notice of his latest
+performance; "he loves it in firkins, and I'll undertake to say you'll
+never get to the bottom of his swallowing capacity. You'll have to
+exhaust even your stock, ALGY, my boy; and that's saying a lot."
+
+So thoroughly uncomfortable did the suave and gentle ALGERNON look,
+that I afterwards ventured to remonstrate mildly with the gadfly
+MIGGS.
+
+"What?" he said, "made him uncomfortable, did I? And a jolly good job
+too. Bless you, I know the beggar through and through. I wasn't at
+Oxford with him for nothing. Wish I had been. He's the sort of chap
+who loses no end of I.O.U.'s at cards one night, and when he wins
+piles of ready the next never offers to redeem them. You let me
+alone about ALGY. I tell you I know him. There's no bigger humbug in
+Christendom with all his soft sawder and gas about everybody being the
+dearest and cleverest fellow he's ever met. Bah!"
+
+And therewith SAMMY left me, evidently smarting under some ancient
+sore inflicted by the apparently angelic ALGERNON.
+
+However, this little incident was not the one I intended to narrate.
+I met ALGY, as I said, about a month ago. It was in Piccadilly. At
+first, as I approached, I thought he did not see me, but suddenly
+he seemed to become aware of my presence. An electric thrill of joy
+ran through him, a smile of heavenly welcome irradiated his face, he
+darted towards me with both hands stretched out and almost fell round
+my neck before all the astonished cabmen.
+
+"My dear, dear fellow," he gasped, apparently struggling hard with an
+overpowering emotion, "this is almost too much. To think that I should
+meet the one man of all others whom I have been literally longing to
+see. Now you simply must walk with me for a bit. I can't afford to let
+you go without having a good talk with you. It always refreshes me so
+to hear your opinions of men and things."
+
+Ignoring my assurance that I had an important appointment to keep,
+he linked his arm closely in mine and dragged me with him in the
+direction from which I had come. How he pattered and chattered
+and flattered. He daubed me over with flattery as I have seen
+bill-stickers brush a hoarding over with paste. Never in my life had
+I felt so small, so mean and such a perfect fool, for though I own
+I have no objection to an occasional lollipop of praise, I must say
+I loathe it in lumps the size of a jelly-fish. Yet such is the fare
+on which JESSAMY compels me to subsist. And the annoying part of
+it was that every lump which he crammed down my throat contained
+an inferential compliment to himself, which I was forced either
+to accept, or in declining it to appear a churl. I was never more
+churlish, never less satisfied with myself. Amongst other things we
+spoke of the affairs of "The Dustheap," a little Club of which we were
+both members. JESSAMY opined it was going to the dogs. "Just look,"
+he said, "at the men they've got on the Committee; mere nobodies. I've
+always wondered why you are not on it. Men like you and me wouldn't
+make the ridiculous mistakes the present lot are constantly making.
+Fancy their electing MUMPLEY, a regular outsider, without enough
+manners for a school-boy. I really don't care about being in the
+same room with him." At this very moment, by one of those curious
+coincidences which invariably happen, the abused MUMPLEY himself, a
+wealthy but otherwise inoffensive stockbroker, hove in sight. "There
+comes the brute himself," said JESSAMY; and in another moment his arms
+were round MUMPLEY's neck, and he was protesting, with all the fervour
+of a heartfelt conviction, that MUMPLEY was the one man of all others
+for whom his heart had been yearning. That being so, I left them
+together, and departed to my business.
+
+Now does JESSAMY imagine that that kind of thing makes him a
+favourite? It must be admitted that he is not very artistic in his
+methods; and I fancy he must sometimes perceive, if I may use a
+homely phrase, that he doesn't go down. But the poor beggar can't
+help himself. He is driven by a force which he finds it impossible
+to resist into the cruel snares that are spread for the over-amiable.
+You, my dear GUSH, are that force, and to you, therefore, the sugary
+JESSAMY owes his failure to win the appreciation which he courts so
+ardently.
+
+And now I think I have relieved my mind of a sufficient load for the
+time being. If I can remember anything else that might interest you,
+you may count upon me to address you again. Permit me in the meantime
+to subscribe myself with all proper curtness,
+
+Yours. &c. DIOGENES ROBINSON.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"THE PRODIGY SON."
+
+[Illustration: Much put out.]
+
+Sir,--I have not seen _Pamela's Prodigy_, but I have just read the
+criticism in the _Times_, which says of it, "It must be regarded
+either as a boyish effusion or a sorry joke." The criticism
+then points out how it lacks "wit, humour, literary skill," and
+apparently is wanting in everything that goes to make a successful
+play,--everything that is, except the actors. Mrs. JOHN WOOD was in
+it: she is a host in herself: not only a host, but the Manageress of
+the theatre who, with her partner in the business, is responsible for
+the selection of pieces. Now granting the critic to be right--and,
+on referring to others, I find a _consensus_ of opinion backing him
+up--at whose door lies the responsibility of having deliberately
+selected a failure? Under what compulsion could so clever and
+experienced an autocrat, sharp as a needle and with the "heye of an
+'awk" in theatrical matters, as Mrs. JOHN WOOD, have made so fatal a
+mistake--that is, if the critics are right, and if it be a mistake?
+"_To err, is human_"--and, including even Mrs. JOHN WOOD, and the
+critics, we are all human,--"_To forgive, divine_"--the critics
+not being divine could not forgive; the public apparently, did
+forgive--and, will, of course, forget. 'Tis all very well to fall
+foul of the unhappy author--whom we will not name--_after_ the event;
+but why was the piece ever chosen, and why was not the discovery of
+its unfitness made during rehearsal? No! "as long as the world goes
+round" these things will happen in the best regulated theatres, and
+experience is apparently no sort of guide in such matters.--Yours
+faithfully,
+
+"NOT THERE, NOT THERE, MY CHILD!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+NOTICE.--Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS.,
+Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no
+case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed
+Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or The London Charivari, Volume
+101, October 31, 1891, by Various
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH ***
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