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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 93,
+December 3, 1887, 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 93, December 3, 1887
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: Francis Burnand
+
+Release Date: March 8, 2012 [EBook #39077]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, CHARIVARI, DEC 3, 1887 ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Punch, or the London Charivari, Wayne Hammond,
+Malcolm Farmer and the Online Distributed Proofreading
+Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
+VOL 93
+December 3rd 1887
+
+
+
+
+          THE LETTER-BAG OF TOBY, M.P.
+
+        +From the Lord Mayor of Dublin.+
+
+        _Mansion House, Dublin, Saturday_.
+
++Dear Toby+,
+
+The news from Ireland, not all of which finds its way into your daily
+papers, grows in excitement. The exploit of Mr. +Douglas P-ne+, M.P., of
+Lisfinny Castle, has taken root, and all the landed gentry among the
+Irish Members are fortifying themselves in their castles, and hanging
+themselves outside the front-door by ropes to deliver addresses to their
+constituents. The regular thing now is to hang out our M.P.'s on the
+outer wall. I do not see accounts of these proceedings in your London
+papers. I was, as you know, a Journalist before I was Lord Mayor; so, if
+you don't mind, I'll send you a few jottings. If there is anything due
+for lineage, please remit it anonymously to the Land League Fund "From A
+Sympathiser."
+
+Foremost in this band of heroic patriots is the _châtelain_ of
+Butlerstown, +Joseph G-ll-s B-gg-r+, M.P., Butlerstown Castle, as
+everyone acquainted with Ireland knows, stands on the summit of a Danish
+rath, and was once the seat of an +O'Toole+. Now it is the den of
++Joseph G-ll-s+. For some time he has been practising a flying leap from
+the eastern to the western turret, a distance of fifty feet over a
+yawning abyss, amid the cavernous depths of which the petulant plummet
+has played in vain. It is thrilling, whether at early dawn, or what time
+the darkening wing of Night begins to flap, to hear a shrill cry of
+"Hear, hear!" to see a well-known figure cleaving the astonished air,
+and to behold +Joseph G-ll-s+, erewhile upright on the eastern turret,
+prone on that which lifts its head nearer the setting sun. To be present
+on one of the occasions when +Joey B+. reads a Blue Book for three hours
+to a deputation shivering in the moat, is enough to convince the dullest
+Saxon of the hopelessness of enthralling a nation which has given birth
+to such as he. As +Joseph+ himself says, quoting, with slight variation,
+my own immortal verse,--
+
+  "Whether on the turret high,
+  Or in the moat not dry,
+  What matter if for Ireland dear we talk!"
+
+But the affairs at Butlerstown should not withdraw our gaze from a not
+less momentous event which recently happened in the neighbourhood of
+Cork city. Mr. +P-rn-ll+, as he has recently explained to you, has not
+found it expedient or even necessary to take part in our recent public
+proceedings in Ireland. But this abstention is to a certain extent
+illusory. It is no secret in our inner circles that our glorious Chief
+was but the other day in close communication with his constituents in
+the city of Cork. He arrived shortly after breakfast in a balloon which
+was skilfully brought to pause over the rising ground by Sunday's Well.
+At the approach of the balloon the trained intelligence of the Police
+fathomed the plot. The Privy Council was immediately communicated with.
+Sworn information was laid, and the meeting was solemnly proclaimed by
+telegraph. In the meanwhile, Mr. +P-rn-ll+ had addressed the meeting at
+some length and met with an enthusiastic reception. The Police massing
+in considerable numbers and beginning to bâton the electors, the Hon.
+Member poured a bag of ballast over them, and the balloon, gracefully
+rising, disappeared in the direction of Limerick. The proceedings then
+terminated.
+
+I expect that the success of this new departure, or perhaps I should say
+this unexpected arrival, will encourage our great Chief to pay a series
+of flying visits to Ireland. His adventure was certainly happier and
+more successful than one which befell our esteemed friend +Tim H-ly+,
+and nearly brought to an untimely conclusion a life dear to us and of
+inestimable value to Ireland. +Tim+ was announced to take the chair at a
+mass meeting summoned under the auspices of the local branch of the Land
+League of Longford. A room was taken, the word passed round, and all
+preparations made for a successful meeting. The Police, however, got
+wind of it, and of course the meeting was proclaimed. But +Tim+, as you
+may happen to know, is not the man to have his purpose lightly set
+aside. It was made known that +Tim+ would make his speech and the Police
+might catch him if they could. You know, may be, the big factory in the
+thriving town of Longford--the one with a tall chimbly? Well, the word
+was passed along again that the bhoys were to assemble about the
+factory. "Would they bring a chair or a table," they said, "for +Tim+ to
+stand on?" "No," said +Tim+, wiping his spectacles, "you leave it to
+me."
+
+Meeting announced to take place at eight o'clock. On the very strike of
+the hour, a stentorian voice, not unfamiliar in the House of Commons,
+floated over the assembled multitude. "Men of Longford," it said, "we
+are assembled here in the exercise of our privilege as free men." First
+of all they could not tell where the voice came from. Looking up,
+behold! there was +Tim+ planted inside the top of the tall chimbley,
+using it like a Bishop's pulpit. It was a capital idea, and worked
+admirably for half an hour, with the Police all throbbing and raging
+round, and +Tim+ eyeing them quite calmly, and all the crowd roaring and
+cheering, and throwing up their hats, and +B-lf-r+ getting it hot.
+Somehow, whether from treachery or accident no one knows, and perhaps
+never will know, but in the middle of one of his best sentences, +Tim+
+suddenly vanished from sight, and was a clear three minutes later picked
+up from among the cinders in the furnace below. The proceedings then
+terminated.
+
+There is a good deal more I could tell you, +Toby+, my bhoy, if time
+permitted. I should like above all to tell you of Major +O'G-rm-n+'s
+magnificent oration delivered from the main shaft of the sewer in
+Waterford, with his former constituents hanging on his lips and the
+grate of the sewer. But I am just off myself to address a meeting of my
+fellow citizens. This too, is of course, proclaimed, and equally of
+course that makes no difference. I get on the top of the Lord Mayor's
+coach, leaning on the Mace, and supported by the Sword-bearer. The
+horses move at walking pace, and I address the crowd. It's wonderful
+what a lot one can take out of +B-lf-r+ that way.
+
+    Yours faithfully,      +T. D. S-ll-v-n+.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+AMEN!
+
+    "In deepest reverence and sincere love, the Reichstag is
+    mindful of His Imperial and Royal Highness the Crown Prince.
+    May God protect the dear life of our beloved Crown Prince, and
+    preserve it for the welfare of the Fatherland."--_Telegram from
+    the Reichstag to the Crown Prince_.
+
+  "So mote it be!" That deep and reverent prayer
+  In all true hearts finds echo everywhere;
+  Not least in those that flush with British blood.
+  Prince, a loved daughter from our Royal brood,
+  In trouble as in joy, is at your side,
+  Sharing your sorrow as she shared your pride.
+  For her dear sake, and for your own not less,
+  We wish you, gallant soldier-chief, success
+  In a dread struggle keener, sterner far
+  Than those you faced in the fierce lists of war.
+  We know--have you not proved it?--that 'twill be
+  Met with the same cool steadfast gallantry
+  As marked your bearing in more martial strife.
+  Punch joins in that warm prayer for "the dear life,"
+  And echoes, from a far yet kindred strand,
+  The pleading voices of the Fatherland!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+As among the best books for a young man who had to be the architect of
+his own fortunes, some one in Mrs. +Ram's+ hearing mentioned +Thomas à
+Kempis+. "Oh yes," exclaimed the worthy lady, "I know. He built a great
+part of Brighton which was named after him."
+
+               *       *       *
+
++A Real "Orleans" Plum.+--The forged letters.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: MR. PUNCH'S PARALLELS.  No. 4.
+
+SIR W. V. HARCOURT AS _FALSTAFF_.
+
+"+There's no more valour in that _Goschen_ than in a Wild Duck.".... "A
+plague of all Cowards still say I!+"
+
+               _Henry the Fourth_, Part I., Act ii, Scenes 2 and 4.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Mrs. +Ram+, at this time of year, takes a great interest in the state of
+the weather, and studies the daily Meteorological chronicle. She says
+that she always reads the reports from Ben Nevis's Observatory. She
+hopes that, one of these fine days, this learned astronomer will be made
+a Knight. Sir +Benjamin Nevis+ would be, she considers, a very nice
+title. "Of course," she adds, "judging by his name, he must be a Jew.
+They're such clever people. And, let me see, ain't there a proverb, or
+something of that sort, about 'the Jew of Ben Nevis'?"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+BISHOP AND PORT.
+
++My Dear Mr. Punch+,
+
+In my Autobiography, which I am glad and proud to say, has met with your
+cordial approbation, I have recorded how the late lamented Bishop, Dr.
++Sumner+, said to me, "I have drunk a bottle of port wine every day
+since I was a boy." Well, his son, the Archdeacon, is annoyed at this
+statement. Now, my memory is a very good one, and if I am wrong in one
+point so circumstantially narrated, why not in several, why not in all?
+If the Bishop did not say this, to me, _who did_? Somebody said it, that
+I will swear. Who said it? If my memory fails me, is it not also likely
+that the Bishop's memory was not particularly good, and consequently,
+that he was mistaken in thinking that he had drunk a bottle a day since
+his boyhood? I have little doubt that the Bishop only imagined it, and
+perhaps he was joking. Perhaps he was playing on the words "bishop" and
+"port." "Bishop" was a hot drink, I fancy, made with port wine. I have
+no hesitation in comforting his Archidiaconal offspring by assuring him
+that, to the best of my knowledge and belief, his father, the Bishop,
+did not drink a bottle of port every day since his boyhood. He was a
+very fine old clergyman--I forget whether he was exactly portly or not,
+or whether he resided in Portman Square,--and I should say that
+first-rate port, such as the _elixir vitæ_ that made a hale centenarian
+of Sir +Moses Montefiore+, taken frequently, would have tended to make
+him the genial prelate he was. Had he only gone into port once, that
+would not have sufficed to have produced such a Bishop, for "One swallow
+does not make a +Sumner+."
+
+    Yours ever,
+
+    +W(ithdraw) P(ort) Frith+.
+
+P.S.--The Archdeacon is satisfied, and if he will only come round to see
+me and bring a bottle of the port the Bishop didn't drink, why, on my
+word as an artist, _I'll draw the cork_.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"_What shall he have who kills the Deer_?" Why, something to eat, of
+course. At least this was, among others, the notion of the poor starving
+Cottars. And they have now given up venison-eating because the food is
+deer.
+
+               *       *       *
+
++Two French Presidents Rolled Into One.+--M. +Grévy+, on being told that
+he must resign, wept copiously. This showed a want of resignation.
+Curious sight, +Grévy+ and Tears!
+
+               *       *       *
+
+Sir +Charles Warren+ has been presented with the freedom of the
+Leathersellers' Guild. Capital motto for Policemen in a mob, "Nothing
+like leather! Leather away!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+ROBERT AT KILBURN.
+
+I had the cureosity one day to arsk a lerned gennelman on whom I was
+waiting, whether the poor fellers who lived in the world ever so many
+hundred years ago had got any Copperashuns. He pretended not to
+understand me at fust, and said, with a larf, as he dared say as they
+was made much as we was; that is to say, sum with large ones, and some
+with little ones; but when I xplained what I reely meant, he told me as
+they had, speshally amung the Romuns as lived in Ittaly. He was a werry
+amusing Gent, and when I arsked him what langwidge the Romuns torked, he
+tried to gammon me as they all spoke Latin, ewen the little children and
+all, but in coarse I wasn't quite such a hignoramus as to swaller that,
+as my son +William+, who isn't by no means a fool, learnt Latin at Skool
+for three year and tells me as he carn't speak it a bit. The lerned gent
+also told me as it was such a rum tung to speak that they hadn't not no
+word for "Yes!" So that if a Gent of those long days had bin a dining at
+the "Ship and Turtle" an bin a waited on by an Hed Waiter, like me, and
+had said to him "Woud you like arf-a-crown, Waiter?" the pore feller
+woodn't have been able to say, "Yessir!" I was jest a leetle shocked at
+his torking such rubbish to me, it was hardly respekful, speshally as he
+had ony drunk one pint of Bollinger and one of our 63 Port, but its
+astonishing how heasily sum peeple's heds is affected. I was in hopes as
+he woud have tried the experymint on me, but he didn't, but went smiling
+away.
+
+I shood werry much have liked to have heard a good deal more about them
+werry old Copperashuns, and weather they was to be compared to that
+werry old 'un as I nose so well and respecs so ighly, for good deeds as
+well as good living. Take their werry last one as a sample. Earing of
+what was a going on down at Kilburn on Guy Fox day, and finding as the
+return train would bring me back in time for my perfeshnal dooties, I
+went there and found thowsands of peeple all met in a nice little new
+Park, that the old +Lord Mare+ was a coming down to fust of all crissen,
+and then throw open to the publick. And down he came accordingly in his
+full state Carridge, and his full state Footmen, and his full state
+Sherryiffs, and their full state Carridges and Footmen, jest for all the
+world as if he was a going to make a call on a few Royal Princes and
+Dooks, insted of opening a new Park surrounded by numbers of the reel
+working-classes. But he always has bin a reel gennelman, and never makes
+no difference atween rich and poor when he can do some good. I wasn't
+quite near enuff to hear what he said when he made his speech, but a
+werry respectable reporter arterwards told me, that the +Lord Mare+ had
+written a letter to +Queen Wictoria+ to ask if he might call the Park
+after her. And she had wrote to him in reply, "Deer +Handsum+, as
+there's alreddy a Wictoria Park, you may call this here one the Qween's
+Park. Pleas to remember this 5th of Nowember, Yours trewly, W. R. I."
+
+When the +Lord Mare+ enounced this pleasing intelligence, thus simply
+exprest, lorks how we did all cheer, and a little band that had bin hid
+in a little tent, struck up the hole of arf a werse of _God Save the
+Queen_, at which we all took off our hats, footmen and all, and braved
+the bitter blarst with our bare heds. Ah, that's wot I calls trew
+loyalty, and long may it continue, not the cold bitter blarst, but the
+warm sweet loyalty, for I'm sorry to say as the unusual xposure guv me a
+bad cold.
+
+I got back just in time for the Bankwet. The +Lord Mare+ with his usual
+kindness had let the Chairman of the Committee, the sillibrated Mr.
++Woodbacon+, the grate bookseller, take the Chair, and a remarkabul good
+un he made, setting so good a xample as regards short speeches as made
+ewerybody follow suit.
+
+And now what was this hole proceeding all about? This is what I learnt
+from what was said:--
+
+It wood seem then, that at Kilburn where it was wunce all green feelds,
+there has growed up a reglar crowd of working peeple with far more than
+their fair share of children and as the feelds has all come for to be
+bilt over, the poor little children afoursaid have been obleeged to do
+their playing in the streets, and the nateral or rather unnateral
+consequence has follered, as that numbers of the poor little deers was
+run over and killed. So a nice little Park has been made for 'em all to
+play in, where they can injoy their fresh hair and releeve their poor
+Mother's minds, and grow up red and strong and harty, instead of white
+and weak and wan. And the old Copperashun having put it all ship shape,
+and promist to keep it all in order for hever, arsked the +Lord Mare+ to
+go down and open it, as he did, and in sitch full state that one of the
+natives said as it was like a lot of sunbeams suddenly cumming out on a
+clowdy day. So the +Lord Mare+ finished his long list of good deeds by
+adding one more to 'em, and the Copperashun added one more Open Space to
+the many they has either secured or helped to secure. So wenever I hears
+a sneer at 'em I shall say, "Please to remember that 5th of November!"
+
+    +Robert.+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
++Barnum's+ Show burnt. Of course he will rise like an American ph[oe]nix
+from the ashes. He will advertise it as Burnum's Show.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "PRAVE 'ORTS."
+
+"+By the bye, dear Professor, which would _you_ say--_Abiogén-esis_, or
+_Abiogen[=e]s-is_?+"
+
+"+_Neither_, my dear Madam, if I could possibly help it!+"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
++An Important Summing-up.+ (_By Our Own Special Reporter in the
+recent case of Somebody or Other v. Another Person of the name of_
++Barley+).--Mr. Justice +Mathew+ regretted being compelled to decide
+against +Barley+ on the question of "quantities." Of course, there had
+been an error on the part of the highly respectable Corporation of
+Ramsgate, which might be characterised as a "sin of commission," while
+the neglect of their clerk to enter their arrangement with +Barley+ on
+the minutes was a "sin of omission." All the witnesses in this case must
+be believed, as they had, _à propos_ of +Barley+, taken their oats--he
+should say their oaths. Perhaps when the present statute came to be
+revised, Mr. +Barley+ might act for the town, for which it appears he
+had done good service, and +Barley+ would not have to hide under a
+bushel. It was clear that this sort of +Barley+ was worth more than the
+present price of 28_s_. a quarter. Counsel on both sides had made an
+eloquent display of wheat--he begged pardon, he meant "wit"--and if in
+this judgment he had to tread on anyone's corn, he assured them that to
+do so went against the grain. As an official, +Barley+ would have the
+sack, but sack and all could be taken up to another Court, and there, as
+a German speaking French would say, _On beut Barley_, about it still
+further. (The Jury thanked his Lordship, and all the parties left the
+Court much pleased, humming _All about the Barley_.
+
+               *       *       *
+
+"They acted a Greek Play at Cambridge, my dear," said Mrs. +Ram+ to a
+friend, "and fancy, it was written, as I am informed, by a young lady,
+Miss +Sophie Klees+. I suppose she is a student of Girton. How clever!
+_I_ couldn't write it, I'm sure."
+
+               *       *       *
+
+_The "Quart d'heure de Rabelais,"_ if translated into Anglo-French, may
+be taken to express a bad time of it with the roughs in Trafalgar
+Square, _i.e., a mauvais quart d'heure de Rabble--eh_?
+
+                *       *       *
+
+The Works of +Charles Dickens+ must have achieved great popularity in
+South Eastern Europe, where there is an entire country called Boz-nia.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: THE NEW SCHOOL.
+
+_Schoolboy (aged 16)_. "Good-bye, old Chappies! Can't waste any more
+time with you. 'Good business'!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+TOM BROWN & CO.'S SCHOOL DAYS.
+
+_A Glimpse at the Commercial Education of the Future_.
+
+Twelve o'Clock struck, and the Fourth Form at St. Dunstan's left its
+class-room with a rush. The old hour of leaving off the morning's
+studies was still preserved. Yet, in conformity with the spirit of the
+times, the venerable foundation of St. Dunstan's had recently witnessed
+great changes. The Governing Body had taken the matter in hand, and had
+gone to work with a will. The teaching of Greek and Latin had been
+entirely suppressed, polite literature eliminated, and the whole
+curriculum of the school arranged solely to the provision of that
+glaring want of the times, a sound commercial education. To effect this,
+some radical changes had been necessary. The Rev. +Jabez Plumkin+, D.D.,
+Oxford Prizeman, through whose unwearied exertions, for the past
+five-and-twenty years, St. Dunstan's had been gradually acquiring an
+increasing fame in the Class-lists of both Universities, had been
+forcibly ejected from the Head-Mastership, and his place filled by a
+leading member of a well-known firm of advertising stock-jobbers, and
+the Assistant-Masters had all been selected on similar lines.
+
+"Company-floating," was taught by a late Promoter, who had had much
+experience in the creation of many bubble concerns, and "Rigging the
+Market" was entrusted to a Professor who was known, in his capacity as
+Accountant to a wholesale City Cheese Warehouse, to have contracted a
+thorough familiarity with this important subject of the new commercial
+education. Everything was done to foster a spirit of keen speculative
+enterprise in the boys. The whole traditions of the school were changed.
+The old idea of honour had died out. How to over-reach each other by
+sharp practice was the one idea that animated every youthful breast from
+the senior in the Sixth to the junior in the Under Third. The tape was
+always working at the Principal's desk. The study-tables were covered
+with Stock and Mining Journals. Even the playground was turned into a
+Money Market. Cricket had been banished to make way for the more
+exciting game of "Bulls and Bears," and the Principal passing through
+occasionally, would sometimes stop and say, "That's right, my boys,
+learn to do each other, and remember the motto of your School, 'Monies
+maketh man.'" Posted up upon the gates, communicated by telegraph hourly
+from the City, were every day to be found the latest prices. And it was
+to get a first look at this that the Fourth Form had just left its
+class-room with a rush.
+
+A crowd of eager faces were anxiously scanning the latest quotations,
+and notes were being taken in a score of pocket-books, whipped out for
+the purpose. +Tom Brown & Co.+--he had earned this _sobriquet_ from his
+companions for his shrewd business capacity--did not, however, join the
+throng, but stood a little way off, looking on, and waiting for the
+excitement to abate. Gradually it calmed down, and the boys broke up
+into little knots and groups, discussing the state of the market. Then
+he spoke:--
+
+"Look here, you fellows," he said, "I've got a good thing on here, that,
+I fancy, will be more worth your attention than even the latest prices."
+He pulled a prospectus from his pocket. An interested crowd closed round
+him at once. "It's 'Old Mother +Noggins+, Limited,'" he went on, reading
+from the paper before him, "This Company has been started for the
+purpose of acquiring at wholesale prices all the tarts, bull's-eyes,
+apples, toffy, and ginger-beer, forming the present stock-in-trade of
+Old Mother +Noggins's+ store, and for retailing the same at a figure,
+that will, after paying the guaranteed interest on the fourpenny
+debenture shares, admit of the declaration of a dividend of 14 per cent.
+on the ordinary paid-up share capital of the Company.
+
+A buzz of excited admiration went up from the throng. The Fourth Form at
+St. Dunstan's had not for a long time had such a good thing put before
+it.
+
+"I know," continued +Tom+, producing a bundle of forms of application
+from his pocket, "that you fellows, would like to hear of it. Who'll go
+for it?"
+
+There was a loud responsive shout of "I!" and a dozen hands were at once
+stretched towards the speaker. Business commenced, and sixpences,
+shillings, and half-crowns were pouring into +Tom's+ pockets faster than
+he could cram them there. He was making a very good morning's work of
+it. Presently, a dull, heavy-looking boy joined the group.
+
+"Hullo, +Flopper+!" cried +Tom+, addressing this last arrival, "why
+don't you put that ten bob your Uncle sent you into this thing? I'll be
+bound he told you to turn it over. You won't get such a chance every
+day."
+
+"What is it?" asked +Flopper+.
+
+A chorus of voices instantly joined in a brief explanation of the
+advantages of investing in "Old Mother +Noggins'+ Limited."
+
+"By Jove!" said +Flopper+, "I don't know that I won't."
+
+"Not if I know it," cried an authoritative voice, breaking in upon the
+scene. It was +Snagsby+, the "Sharper" who spoke. There was a general
+look in his direction, and a disposition to make way for him as he
+approached. He had been mixed up disadvantageously in a recent "corner"
+in marbles, and had from time to time floated several concerns that had
+never paid any dividends, and was generally regarded as a "queer"
+customer in consequence. It was for this reason that he had been
+nicknamed the "Sharper."
+
+"And what do you want him to do with his money?" asked +Tom+, stepping
+forward in a defiant attitude.
+
+"He'll put every blessed halfpenny of it into my 'General Pen-knife
+Supply,'" was the laconic reply. "He signed for the allotment last
+night."
+
+"But I've changed my mind," pleaded +Flopper+, helplessly, and he handed
+the half-sovereign to +Tom+.
+
+"You give that up!" cried the Sharper, menacingly.
+
+"You try to take it!" replied +Tom+, grimly.
+
+In another instant the Sharper had flown at +Tom+. There was a brief
+struggle. +Tom+ hit out at him, and caught him in the face.
+
+"Oh, that's your game, is it!" shouted the Sharper. "You'll fight me for
+that."
+
+"Fight you? When and where you like," replied +Tom+.
+
+There was a general cheering and throwing up of hats.
+
+"Hooray! There's going to be a fight between the Sharper and +Tom Brown
+& Co.+," shouted the Fourth Form. They hadn't had such good news for a
+long time.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The whole School was there, and the third round had been fought. Betting
+had been fast and furious, and there had been several attempts made by
+the supporters of both champions to break the ring and put an end to the
+contest when the fortunes of the day seemed to be going against their
+own special favourite. But now a curious thing happened. After a little
+preliminary sparring in the fourth round, +Tom Brown & Co.+, suddenly
+dropping on one knee, went to the ground.
+
+In a few seconds the surprising news was known that he had given in. The
+sponge was thrown up, and the Sharper declared the victor. +Tom+ was
+quickly surrounded by his friends, and led off the field. +Flopper+ ran
+up to him. "I'm so sorry, +Tom+," he said, "that you should have fought
+in my quarrel, and have got licked."
+
+There was a twinkle in +Tom's+ eye. "My dear fellow," he replied. "Don't
+imagine I wouldn't have thrashed him; but business is business, and I
+got a good price for not doing so. Didn't you twig that _I sold the
+fight_?"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+That night +Tom Brown & Co.+ wrote home an enthusiastic account of his
+day's doings to his parents. The next morning, +Tom Brown+, Senior,
+referring to the letter with a glow of pride on his commercial face,
+remarked to his better-half that the boy's training seemed perfect, and
+that he was destined to turn out remarkably well. "I can't tell you," he
+added, "how I long to see that boy loose upon the Stock Exchange. He
+will be a credit to the family."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A book has been recently published entitled _The Amateur's Guide to
+Architecture_, by +Sophie Beale+. Sophie shows us how a house should be
+Beale't. But just imagine an Amateur Architect!!
+
+                *       *       *
+
+The complaint of the Charity Organisation Society, slightly varied from
++Shakspeare+, is that "The quality of Mercy is not _trained_."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+SHOWS VIEWS.
+
+_By Victor Who-goes-Everywhere_.
+
+What can be more dismal than the fourth day of a Fancy Bazaar for a
+"Sale of Work," in aid of a parochial charity? Honestly, I do not know.
+I fancy that even the proverbial "Mute at a funeral," must be livelier.
+That is my present opinion, and it was the same last Thursday, when
+lured by a programme quaintly printed in "old-faced" type, and having
+"ye" in lieu of "the," and "Maister" instead of Mister, I made my way to
+the Portman Rooms in Baker Street, (formerly Madame +Tussaud's+) and
+sought admission to "Old Marybone Gardens, A.D. 1670." Outside the ex
+_depôt_ of Waxworks, were two persons in the costume of the last Century
+distributing circulars, and later on I met another couple similarly
+apparelled heading a procession of Sandwich-men walking down Waterloo
+Place. In the Hall of the Bazaar lads in the same sort of dresses, were
+selling programmes (marked sixpence) for twopence. I entered by a small
+canvass-cottage "y'clept" (as the Sale of Workers would call it) "the
+Rose of Normandy," and found myself in the once famous "Hall of Kings"
+without the figures. I discovered two or three dwarf trees, some
+lattice-work and a lot of canvass-covering. I must confess it did not
+cause me much surprise to find only a few spectators. The moment I
+appeared, a lady advanced and asked me in a tone of authority to take a
+button-hole. I refused with courtesy suggestive at once of the gallant
+and the miser, and the Sale of Work-woman retired rather crest-fallen.
+Then two girls, costumed as two females of a past but vague period,
+dashed at me as I turned away, and breathlessly explained that if I
+bought a half-crown ticket I should be entitled to a chance in a raffle
+for a five-guinea sofa-cushion. I slightly frowned as I expeditiously
+refused the invitation, and the ladies disappeared into a corner--I
+trust more in sorrow than in anger--to read the evening paper. In the
+centre of the room was a "fish pond" full of presents, where a
+mild-looking curate was feebly attempting to secure a prize. On the
+whole the entertainment was scarcely exhilarating. The programme
+promised "from V to VI of ye clocke" (how silly!) "a _séance_ of
+Mesmerism," in two "partes," (how really stupid!) and "Maister +Charles
+Bertram+" (Why "Maister?") was to appear later on. Then at eight "of ye
+clocke" (dear, dear! _how_ idiotic!) "the Welbeck Dramatic Club" (what a
+name!) was "to performe ye Comic Drama by +L. S. Buckingham+, y'clept"
+(of course!) "_Take that Girl away_." Later still "Mistresse +Jarley+"
+was to give her waxworks with the assistance of "Maister +Sidney Ward+,"
+(tut, tut!) the Festival finally closing with "Music" at "X of ye
+clocke" (stuff and nonsense!). It will be seen that I cannot even now
+look at the programme (priced at sixpence and sold for twopence) without
+some signs of impatience. The afternoon was too young to allow of my
+assisting at any of these toothsome merry-makings, so after mooning
+about for a quarter of an hour I came away. As I left, a newly-arrived
+dame of mature years was putting on a nurse's cap hurriedly, evidently
+with the view to starting in hot pursuit of me to secure my custom for
+some toys. The ladies with the cushion looked at me languidly as I
+passed them, and then returned to a perusal of their paper. When last I
+had had the advantage of paying a visit to "the Portman Rooms, formerly
+Mme. +Tussaud's+," I had seen nothing but waxwork figures in eccentric
+attitudes. On the whole, I think the former denizens of the place looked
+more at home in their quaint costumes than the Sale of Workers "from
+Tuesday, November 22 to Saturday, November 26, inclusive!"
+
+Finding myself in its neighbourhood, I could not help taking a turn in
+the present palace of the eminent "Portrait Modellist." I paid the
+necessary shilling and the optional sixpence, and renewed my
+acquaintance with "The Kings and Queens," "The Coronation Group," and
+"The Chamber of Horrors." A group representing a reception at the
+Vatican was quite new, if I except two or three funeral attendants, who,
+I fancy I remember, made their last (but one) appearance at the Lying in
+State of +Pio Nono+. After examining a rather cheerful presentment of
+the latest assassin in "The Chamber of Comparative Physiognomy" (as the
+Chamber of Horrors was once, for a short period, "y'clept"), I
+passed through a turnstile, and entered the Refreshment Department.
+Here I noticed that an "overflow meeting," consisting, amongst other
+more-or-less-interesting exhibits of Mr. +Lewis Wingfield's+
+historical costume-wearers (from the Healtheries), and that now
+rather-imperfectly-remembered worthy, the late Sir +Bartle Frere+ (from
+the rooms above), had been humorously arranged, no doubt with a view to
+provoking healthy and hearty laughter. Having refreshed my mind with a
+hurried inspection of this delightful, albeit, somewhat miscellaneous
+gathering, and my body with a twopenny Bath bun, I gracefully retired,
+greatly pleased with the afternoon's entertainment.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
+
+Reviewing the Pages.
+
+What a set these Emperors, Empresses, Kings, Queens, Princes and
+Princesses, Dukes and Duchesses, &c., &c., and all such great people
+everywhere seem to have been, according to the _Memoirs of Count Horace
+de Viel Castel_ (published by Messrs. +Remington & Co.+), who was a kind
+of small French +Pepys+, a great snob, and a Parisian _Sir Benjamin
+Backbite_. Yet there is in this +Horace+ something of the Horatian
+satirist, only without the poetry.
+
+"But +Horace+, Sir, was delicate, was nice,"
+
+which is not exactly the characteristic of the writings of +M. de Viel+
+Castel, who tells us
+
+              "Of birth-nights, balls, and shows,
+  More than ten +Hollinsheds+, or +Halls+, or +Stowes+.
+  When the +Queen+ frowned, or smiled, he knows; and what
+  A subtle Minister may make of that:
+  Who sins with whom:"----
+
+And such like tittle-tattle _ad nauseam_, not sparing his own father and
+brother. Imagine the sort of man who, night after night, could sit down
+and chuckle over the composition of this precious diary! "With the
+exception of the President and the Princess" (+Mathilde+, at whose house
+he was perpetually dining), he says, "all the (+Buonaparte+) family are
+good for nothing."
+
+Of the _bourgeois_ class he writes, "They are always the same stupid,
+craven-hearted, vain race." He was shocked at the production of _La Dame
+aux Camelias_, and considered it as a degradation of the French stage
+and a disgrace to the Public that patronised the performance. To have
+shocked M. +de Viel Castel+ was a feat indeed. +Fould+ "the foxy Jew"
+got ten millions out of the Crédit Foncier; so the public was fool'd
+also. +D'Orsay+ was "a ridiculous old doll," and the Duke of +Brunswick+
+"an old fool." He sneered at England, but considered at the moment that
+an alliance with us was the best policy. The Empress at one time went in
+for spirit-rapping, and consulted a table which told her a variety of
+lies about the result and duration of the Crimean War. Such a table must
+have been very black and supported by blacklegs, though it had
+sufficient french polish about it to be silent in the presence of a
+bishop. It is not until the last page of the _Memoirs_, 1864, that the
+name of M. +de Bismarck+ appears. I suppose that "Society," high, low,
+or middle-class, has always gone on in much the same way, more or less
+openly, according to the spirit of the Court, since what is called
+"Society" came into existence; and invariably with a +Viel Castel+, or a
++Greville+, or some one even less particular and more observant "among
+them takin' notes" for future publication. Mr. Bousfield, the
+translator, seems to have done his work with a judicious regard for a
+certain section of English readers. It strikes me that he has had the
+good taste to omit a few anecdotes about some of our own exalted
+personages which would not have been received with unmixed satisfaction
+in every quarter. This is only a surmise on my part, as I am
+unacquainted with the original work.
+
+Let me recommend everyone who values a powerful study of character more
+than a merely cleverly-constructed story, to read _Marzio's Crucifix_,
+by +Marion Crawford+. I do not know what special opportunities the
+author had for the work, but the characters are individually,
+masterpieces. The scene between _Marzio_ and _Don Paolo_, when the
+latter is wrapt in devout contemplation of the artist's _chef
+d'[oe]uvre_, is most striking, and would have been more so had _Marzio_
+carried out his intention of knocking his brother down, and disposing of
+him out of hand.
+
+With Mr. +Saunders's+ _The Story of some Famous Books_ (+Elliot Stock+)
+I was rather disappointed, in consequence of there not being enough
+"famous books," and not much more story than the needy knife-grinder had
+to tell. Still, I thank him for introducing me to a delightful
+name--"+Theopompus+ of Chios"--whom, for this present, I will take as my
+godfather, and sign myself,
+
+      Yours,      +Theopompus, Baron de Book Worms+.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
++Staff Appointments.+--The Specials.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: AN EYE FOR "ELECTIVE AFFINITIES."
+
+_Sir Edwin_. "+Hullo, Angy? Stew-pan? Apron? Tripe and Onions? What on
+earth's up?+"
+
+_The Lady Angelina_. "+Yes, Dearest! Since _you've_ become a _Special
+Constable, I'm_ doing my little utmost to become a Special _Cook_! I
+thought it might bind us still closer together!+"
+
+_Sir Edwin_. "+My own _Love!!_!+"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+LIGHTING THE DUBLIN BEACON.
+
+(_A Ballad of the Brave Old Sort_.)
+
+  "It was all for the Union
+    We left fair Albion's land.
+  It was all for the Union
+    We first saw Irish land,
+                        My Boy!
+    We first saw Irish land!
+
+  "All must be done that man can do.
+    Shall it be done in vain?
+  My +G-sch-n+, to prove that untrue
+    We two have crossed the main,
+                        My Boy!
+    We two have crossed the main!"
+
+  He turned him round and right-about
+    All on the Irish shore.
+  Said he, "We'll give +P-rn-ll+ a shake,
+    And make the Rads to roar,
+                          My Boy!
+    And make the Rads to roar!"
+
+  He was a stout and trusty carle.
+    Said he, "A flare we'll raise,
+  And, spite the Leaguers' angry snarl,
+    We'll make the Beacon blaze,
+                          My Boy!
+    We'll make the Beacon blaze!
+
+  "Who says our friends a handful are,
+    Our foes a serried host?
+  Our Beacon, blazing like a star,
+    Shall check the blatant boast,
+                        My Boy!
+    Shall cheek the blatant boast.
+
+  "Not all are to sedition sworn,
+    Or shackled by the League.
+    Cheer up! We'll laugh, their hate to scorn,
+  And baffle their intrigue,
+                        My Boy!
+    And baffle their intrigue.
+
+  "Puff, +G-sch-n+, puff! Like Boreas blow!
+    And I the logs will pile.
+  The Beacon, now a slender glow,
+    Shall blaze across the Isle,
+                            My Boy!
+    Shall blaze across the Isle.
+
+  "Eh? What? The wood is damp, you say?
+    There comes more smoke than flame?
+  Nay; pile, and poke, and puff away!
+    We'll not give up the game,
+                        My Boy!
+    We'll not give up the game.
+
+  "If we should let this fire die out
+    All on the Irish shore,
+  To Unionism stern and stout
+    Adieu for evermore,
+                        My Boy!
+  Adieu for evermore!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
++The Two Canons and Bean-baggers.+--The Bean-baggers are likely to come
+badly off with two such big guns against them as Canons +Liddon+ and
++McColl+. Let the matter be settled amicably by agreeing that whatever
+it was they did see was a "What-you-+McColl+-it."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+HOW TO ESCAPE THE FOG.
+
+Fogs? Nonsense! Fogs are always mist. And the way to miss them is to go
+to the Institute of Painters in Oil. That will oil the wheels of life in
+this atrociously hibernal weather, and make existence in a fog
+enjoyable. There, in the well-warmed, pleasantly-lighted rooms, will you
+find countless pleasant pictures--delightful sea-subjects, charming
+landscapes, and amusing scenes, by accomplished painters, which will
+infuse a little Summer into the dull, depressing, brumous, filthy
+atmosphere of a weary London Winter. If you cannot get away to Monte
+Carlo, Mentone, Nice, or Rome, hasten at once and take one of Sir +John
+Linton's+ excursion _coupons_, and personally conduct yourself--if you
+don't conduct yourself as you ought, you'll probably be turned
+out--round the well-filled galleries in Piccadilly.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Sir +Drummond+ is ordered off to Teheran. "Well, we're successful in
+keeping one +Wolff+ from our door," as Sir +Gorst+, Q.C., observed to
++Grandolph+. "Poor +Wolffy+!" sighed +Grandolph+. "I shall write a fable
+on 'The +Wolff+ and the Shah!'"
+
+                *       *       *
+
++Sardou and Sara.+--+Sara B.+ has made a hit in what is reported to be a
+poor play called _La Tosca_, by +Sardou+. But in consequence of +Sara's+
+acting, it is in for a run. _Che Sara sara_, _i.e_. (free translation),
+"Who has seen +Sara+ once will see +Sara+ again."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: LIGHTING THE DUBLIN BEACON.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A DOWN-Y PHILOSOPHER;
+
+_Or, Memoirs of a Missing Link_.
+
+I've no particular reason to think an account of my life will interest
+anybody. That being so, I don't know why I write it. But I do. I suppose
+it's Chance. +H-xl-y+ (who _is_ such fun!) calls my Memoir, because I'm
+a F.R.S., a case of "_Fellow-De-Se_."
+
+[Illustration: Seal making a Deep Impression.]
+
+Talking of Chance, everything that has ever happened to me _has_ been
+Chance!
+
+For instance, what could have been more a matter of luck than my
+choosing a house at Down? +H-xl-y+ says something about being "Down on
+my luck." (What a master of style old +H-xl-y+ is, to be sure!)
+
+Then there was that voyage on the _Sea-Mew_. If it hadn't been that my
+Uncle kicked me six times round his garden at Shrewsbury, because I said
+"I'd be jiggered if I went," I don't believe I should ever have had
+courage to accept the appointment of Naturalist to the expedition. That
+voyage gave me an object in life. My nose had _made_ me an object in
+life before that (_vide Portrait_), but Natural Selection triumphed over
+my nose, and so I became in due time famous, and an Ag-nose-tic!
+
++My Schooldays.+
+
+At school I was an exceptionally naughty boy. I cannot conceive what
+induced me to tell another little boy that I had often produced
+crab-apples by taking a dead crab and burying it in an orchard, but I
+did. My little friend, I recollect, didn't believe me, and indeed pulled
+my nose (always a sore point with me, but he made its point much sorer)
+for telling what he called "beastly crams." We had a fight, I also
+remember. Perhaps I ought to call it a "struggle for existence." He was
+much the "fittest," and he survived. _I_ got licked.
+
++Choice of Calling.+
+
+My extreme naughtiness continued unabated when I became a young man.
+Nobody expected I should ever "do" anything--except six months' hard
+labour! At Cambridge I was so shockingly "rowdy," that my father
+declared, there was no alternative but to send me into the Church. But
+as I was hunting with the College drag at the hour when I ought to have
+been in for my Ordination Examination, the Bishop failed to see matters
+in the same light. I then decided to be a Doctor. If I had stuck to this
+profession I fancy that my turn for trying experiments would have landed
+me in some exalted position--possibly at Newgate. As it was, after
+attending a lecture on Surgery, I was discovered in the local Hospital
+trying to cut off a patient's leg on an entirely new principle, with a
+pair of scissors and an old meat-saw, and I was nearly "run in" for
+manslaughter. I decided to give up Medicine, and a slight shindy over a
+supposed error of mine in calculating a score having prevented my
+becoming a success as a Public-house Billiard-marker, I thought I would
+make my mark in another way, as a breeder of race-horses. Being,
+however, forcibly chucked out of Newmarket Heath one day for an alleged
+irregularity which I never could understand, I began really to wonder
+what profession I _was_ fitted to adorn.
+
++I become a Naturalist.+
+
+It was at this time that the Captain of the _Sea-Mew_ offered me that
+post of which I have before spoken. I accepted it, and began at once to
+lower the record in sea-sickness, being never once well on board ship
+_for three whole years_! It was a new experience, and altered me a good
+deal. From being rowdy and idle I became quiet and abnormally diligent.
+If you don't believe this, ask +H-xl-y+ (who is such fun!). On returning
+to England I at once settled Down, and began to write books.
+
++The "Origin of Species."+
+
+This work is my title to fame. It only took me thirty-three years and
+six months to write. I felt quite glad when it was finished. People who
+have read it tell me they feel the same, The row it caused was
+frightful! If you want to see "+Soapy Sam's+" slashing _Quarterly
+Review_ article pulverised, read +H-xl-y's+ reply. (But, query--isn't
+this scientific log-rolling?) The remark which was made, after perusing
+the book, by that eminent Botanist, my friend Professor +Hookey+,
+was--"Walker!" But he was soon converted.
+
++My Way of Working.+
+
+This, also, can't interest anybody, yet I give it. I get up at 4 A.M.,
+and take a walk. From 7 to 10 I work. After dinner--with champagne--I
+take another stroll. I have made most astonishing scientific discoveries
+at this time. I could, point out the exact spot in the road where I
+became convinced that _the whole country had been elevated sixteen feet
+since the morning_! +H-xl-y+, who was with me, quite agreed, and said
+that we must all have been elevated at the same time, without knowing
+it.
+
++My Favourite Authors.+
+
+These are, of course, +Lyell+ on _Lias_, and +Hookey+ on _Herbaceous
+Foraminifera_. They are far superior to +Shakspeare+, who bores me. I
+like novels, the trashier the better. Only let 'em end well, and I don't
+care how they begin, or whether they begin at all. In newspapers, the
+best part, I think, is the Parliamentary Debates. In reading them I have
+often got valuable hints as to the "Origin of Speeches," and they
+frequently afford conclusive evidence of the "Descent of Man." I thought
+of bringing Parliamentary manners in as a chapter in my book on
+"Earth-worms," but +H-xl-y+ advised me not to, and I didn't.
+
++My Nose.+
+
+I think I've mentioned this feature before. It troubles me. It is
+undoubtedly of a low type, yet it has survived! Why have I not been
+fitted with a fitter one? It is another instance of the fact that
+everything--including my fame--has come to me by sheer luck. +H-xl-y+
+says "there's a Dar-winning modesty about this last remark." Also says,
+"I've found the 'Philosopher's Tone.'" (What screaming fun +H-xl-y+
+always is!)
+
++My Portraits.+
+
+Perhaps I may be allowed to say one word as to the Photographs preceding
+these volumes. _They aren't the least little bit like me_! In Volume One
+I appear as the unmistakable "Country Butcher." In Volume Two I am "The
+Gorilla Asleep," or "Beetle-brow Napping" (after a beetle-hunt,
+probably). Volume Three represents me as the Typical Brigand of
+Transpontine Melodrama.
+
+Why, too, has the Photographer insisted on bringing out that unfortunate
+feature of mine so prominently?
+
+Why? indeed! Who nose?
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE LARKS AND THE ROSES.
+
+(_Ballad, by Milton Featherly Jonsone_.)
+
+[Illustration: Rose on the Swell.]
+
+  The roses were blowing, like whales in the sea
+  Where the apple-bloom icebergs plunged fearless and free,
+  And the larks carolled madly their high jubilee
+          In the ether.
+  The daisies ran riot in sunshine and shade,
+  And the call of the cuckoo was heard from the glade,
+  Where Summer with mellow monotony play'd
+          On her zither.
+
+_Tempo di Valse_.
+
+  Ho, larks and roses!
+    Hey, the bonny weather!
+  Hey, we rose at morning prime;
+    Ho, we lark'd together!
+
+  'Mid roses and larks in our shallop we glide
+  By Inglesham poplars, on Teddington's tide,
+  Where the water of Thame under Sinodun slide,
+                  And at Marlow,
+  By Cliveden's green caverns, and Abingdon's walls,
+  Where wirgles the Windrush, where Eynsham weir falls,
+  By Sonning, or Sandford (whose lasher recalls
+                  _Mr. Barlow_).
+
+_Con tenerezza_.
+
+  Oh, larks, and ro(w)ses
+    On the shining river;
+  Silver water-lilies, love;
+    Love will last for ever!
+
+  But the blooms turn'd to apples for urchins to munch,
+    And the roses were sold at a penny a bunch,
+  And the larks were served up for an Alderman's lunch,
+                  Dead and cold, love;
+  And the lustre has faded from tresses and cheek,
+  And the eyes do not sparkle, the eyes that I seek,
+  And the temper is strong and the logic is weak
+                  Of my old love.
+
+_Snuffiamente_.
+
+  No larks and roses
+    In a winter gloaming;
+  Ruby-red love's nose is;
+    Chilblain time a-coming'.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
++The Watchword of the Sugar-Bounty Conference.+--"England expects that
+every man (and woman) will pay an import duty."
+
+                *       *       *
+
++Latest French Cookery.+--Spilling the +Grévy+.
+
+[Illustration: HOW WE ADVERTISE NOW.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "SABLES."
+
+_Pastor_. "+How I do regret, my dear Madam, to see you wearing these sad
+Habiliments of Woe!+"      _Widow_. "+'M ye-es. Black never did suit
+me!+"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE PALACE OF (ADVERTISING) ART.
+
+(_A Long Way After the Laureate_.)
+
+  I found myself a huckster's pleasure-place,
+    Wherein 'twas horrible to dwell.
+  I said, "O Soul, _the_ object of our race
+        Is ever one--to sell."
+
+  A huge-walled wilderness of ways it was,
+    With hoardings of exceeding height,
+  Which no one without pangs of fear, could pass,
+        And spasms of affright.
+
+  Its purpose, though, was plain; 'twas simply pelf;
+    Whether a woman wild of glare,
+  Or a colossal man shaving himself,
+        All, all meant money there.
+
+  "And while the world rolls round and round," I said,
+    "Advertisement is the one thing
+  Which need concern the wise and worldly head
+        Of huckster, histrio, king."
+
+  To which my soul made answer readily,--
+    "In patience I must fain abide
+  In these vast vistas of vulgarity.
+        Stretching on every side."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Full of long-reaching bulks of board it was,
+    Where, glaring forth from ghostly gloom,
+  Were gibbering monkeys grinning in a glass,
+        In a dame's dressing-room.
+
+  And some were hung with daubs of green and blue,
+    As gaudy as a cheap Cremorne,
+  Where actors postured in the public view,
+        Some frantic, some forlorn.
+
+  One seemed all glare and gore--a stabbing hand,
+    A woman flopping with a groan;
+  An ill-drawn idiot trying to look grand,
+        Big-nosed, and high in bone.
+
+  One showed an ochre coast and emerald waves;
+    You seemed to see them rise and fall,
+  As infant supers--wretched little slaves--
+        Under the canvass crawl.
+
+  And one a full-faced, flashed comedian--low--
+    Showing his teeth, with nervous strain,
+  With queer goggle-eyes striking like a blow,
+        And causing quite a pain.
+
+  And one a miser, hoarding fruits of toil,
+    In front a bony beak, behind,
+  Wisps of grey hairs all destitute of oil,
+        Blown hoary on the wind.
+
+  And one a foreground with three hideous hags,
+    Each twice as tall as life, or higher,
+  Medusa-monsters, clothed in wretched rags,
+        And crouching round a fire.
+
+  And one an English home--lantern-light poured
+    On a forced safe, skeleton keys,
+  Whilst gloating o'er the family plate there stored,
+        Glowered the murderer, +Peace+.
+
+  Nor these alone, but everything to scare,
+    Fit for each morbid mood of mind;
+  Murder and misery, want and woe were there
+        As large as life designed.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  There was a fellow in a pretty fix,
+    "Tied to a corpse," all wild alarm,
+  Struggling across a sort of sooty Styx,
+        The "body" on his arm.
+
+  Or in a snow-choked city wretchedly,
+    Dead babe at breast, with bare blown hair,
+  A ruined woman crawled with quivering knee;
+        Two bobbies scowled at her.
+
+  Or, posing in a footlight paradise,
+    A group of Houris smirked to see
+  Young fools with clapping hands and ogling eyes
+        Which said, "_We_ come for _ye_!"
+
+  Or else a lost and deeply wounded one,
+    In a wild swamp all bilious greens,
+  Came on a corpse a bare branch dangling on;
+        The ghastliest of scenes!
+
+  Holloaed a half-choked boy with horrid fear,
+    A brute the rope about to draw;
+  A second with a knife and axe was near
+        To give the first Lynch Law.
+
+  Or in a railway-tunnel, iron rail'd,
+    A man lay bound; his blood ran ice
+  Who looked thereon, an engine shrieked; he paled,
+        And fainted in a trice.
+
+  A monkey by her hair a woman clasp'd;
+    From her poor head it seemed half torn,
+  One ape-hand dragged it back; the other grasp'd
+        A steel blade's haft of horn.
+
+  A hideous babe in nauseous nudity,
+    Huge-headed, grinning like a clown,
+  Advertised Soap. A vile monstrosity,
+        The terror of the Town!
+
+  Nor these alone; but every horror rare,
+    Which the sensation-poisoned mind.
+  Imaged to advertise vile trash, was there--
+        As large as life design'd.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Deep dread and loathing of these horrors crude,
+    Fell on my Soul, hard to be borne,
+  She cried, "Why should these _incubi_ intrude
+        And plague us night and morn?
+
+  "What! is not this a civilised town," she said,
+    "A spacious city, cultured, free?
+  Why give it up to dismalness and dread,
+        Murder and misery?"
+
+  In every corner of that city stood,
+    Unholy shapes, and spectral scares,
+  And fiends, and phantoms, brutal scenes of blood,
+        And horrible nightmares.
+
+  "We are shut up as in a tomb, girt round
+    With charnel scenes on every wall;
+  Wherever echoes of town-traffic sound,
+        Or human footsteps fall.
+
+  She cried, "By Jove, it is a pretty game
+    That Man, the Advertiser's thrall,
+  Should have these scenes of grimness, gore, and shame,
+        Shock him from every wall.
+
+  "The very cab-horses go wild with fears!
+    I rather fancy it is time
+  To stop these poster-terrors, placard-tears,
+        And advertising crimes.
+
+  "Yes, yes, pull down these pictured screens that are
+    All dedicate to gore and guilt.
+  _Not_ solely for Soap-vendor or Stage-star
+        Was our big Babylon built!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+VOCES POPULI.
+
++Scene+--_A Promenade Concert. Interval between Parts I. and II. Crowd
+collecting before Platform_.
+
+_Highly Respectable Matron (to female Friend)_. As to being _beautiful_,
+it's not for me to say, but they're clean-limbed, healthy children,
+thank Heaven! and what more do you want? (_The_ Friend _makes a
+complimentary protest_.) Well, it may be so; but, to come back to her. I
+don't like her present home so well as I did her first--not so tasty, to
+my mind. She's got nice things about her, though, I _will_ say--a nice
+sideboard, a nice ... (_Inventory follows here_.)
+
+_The Friend (darkly)_. All the same, it's a constant wonder to me how
+she can ever bring herself to sleep in _that_ bed!
+
+_The H. R. M_. I couldn't myself; but (_charitably_) we've not all the
+same feelings. (_Crush increases; Female Promenader with very yellow
+hair passes, with apologies_.) "Excuse me, Madame" (_with attempt at
+mimicry_); ah--and she _needs_ it! The orchestra's coming back now. I
+didn't notice that young woman among them before--what's _she_ going to
+play, I wonder?
+
+_The Friend_. Whatever it is, she might look more pleasant over it!
+
+_The H. R. M_. So she might--we can't all be good-looking, but we can
+all be pleasant--but they wouldn't have engaged her here, if she hadn't
+her gift!
+
+_The Friend_. Oh, you may depend on it, she's got a gift--but I do call
+her plain, myself.
+
+_A Man with a very red nose (to Companion)_. And then, you see, I've
+this special advantage--my _immense_ knowledge of the world. Think
+there's time for another before they begin again, eh?
+
+[_Companion is of that opinion; adjournment to bar of house_.
+
+_Second Part begins; Lady Vocalist retiring after Song_.
+
+_First Promenader_. Brayvo! Engcore! What, she won't sing no more--sssh!
+     [_Hisses furiously_.
+
+_The H. R. M_. There's the orchestra themselves clapping her--and
+_they'd_ know what's good.
+
+_Her Friend_. She was dressed very nice, I thought.
+
+_The H. R. M_. I never care to see hair done up that style myself.
+
++On the Platform.+
+
+_Ladies of Chorus tripping up from below Stage for the Vocal Valse_.
+
+_Ladies of Chorus (all together)_. Am I too black under the eyes, dear?
+Mind where you're going, Miss, please! Treading on people's toes like
+that--the great clumsy thing! I'm next to you, aren't I? I do feel so
+funny, my dear, don't you? For goodness sake, don't go setting me on the
+giggle _now_!
+
+[_They range themselves modestly in a row at edge of platform_.
+
+_Rude Person (in upper box with Punch squeak)_. Rooti-too-ti!
+
+[_Roars of laughter_.
+
+_Ladies of C. (indignantly)_. Beast! I wish they'd give him something to
+make him rooti-toot, I do!
+
+_Conductor-Composer (from behind)_. Now, Ladies, ready please--keep the
+laugh steadier than you did last time, and wait for me at the repeat!
+
+[_He taps on desk: each Lady of Chorus stiffens herself perceptibly and
+makes a little grimace_.
+
+_One Lady (in whisper)_, Oh, dear, I wish I was at home with my Ma!
+                                 [_Her companions giggle_.
+
+_The H. R. M_. It's as much as they can do to sing for laughing--they're
+_called_ "Laughing Beauties," though. I like this one's face up at this
+end--she's so quiet and lady-like over it, and pretty too; they put all
+the pretty ones in front, but there's one quite an old woman behind.
+They're having all the fun down at the other end--how they are going on,
+to be sure!
+
+[_End of Vocal Valse: loud applause. Ladies of Chorus retire after_
+encore _with air of graceful dignity_.
+
+_The Person with the Squeak_. Goo'-bye, duckies!
+
+[_Roars of laughter again: renewed indignation among Chorus_. Person
+with Squeak _feels like_ +Sheridan+ _and_ +Theodore Hook+ _rolled into
+one_.
+
++In the Grand Circle.+
+
+_A Young Gentleman (who has set himself to form his_ fiancée's _mind,
+but finds it necessary to proceed very gradually_). Now, +Caroline+,
+tell me--isn't this better than if we had gone to the Circus?
+
+_Caroline (from the provinces; unmusical; simple in her tastes)_. Yes,
++Joseph+, only--(_timidly_)--there's more of what I call variety in a
+Circus--more going _on_, I mean.
+
+_The Y. G. (with a sense of discouragement)_. I quite see your meaning,
+dear, and it's an entirely true observation; still, you _do_ appreciate
+this magnificent orchestra, don't you now?
+
+_Caroline_. I should have liked it better with different coloured
+curtains--maize is so trying.
+
+_The Y. G. (mentally)_. I won't write home to them about it _just_ yet.
+
+_Orchestra begins a "Musical Medley" with Overture to "Tannhäuser."_
+
+_The Y. G. (who has lost his programme)_. Now, +Caroline+--this is
++Wagner+--you'll like +Wagner+, darling, I'm sure.
+
+_Caroline (startled)_. Shall I? Where is he? Will he come in here? Must
+I speak to him?
+
+_The Y. G_. No, no--he's _dead_--I mean, this is from his _Opera_--you
+must listen to this.
+
+[_He watches her face for the emotion he expects; "Tannhäuser" melts
+suddenly into "Tommy, Make Room for your Uncle."_
+
+_Caroline (her face absolutely transfigured)_. Oh, +Joseph+,
+dear--+Wagner's+ perfectly _lovely_!
+
+_The Y. G. (gloomily)_. I see, I shall have to put you through a course
+of +Bach+, +Caroline+!
+
+_Caroline (alarmed)_. But there's nothing whatever the _matter_ with me,
++Joseph+! I'm not flushed am I?
+
+[_Young Gentleman suppresses a groan_.
+
++In a Box.+
+
+(_Musical Medley still in progress_.)
+
+_A Lady (not much of an Opera-goer, who has been given a box at the last
+moment, and has insisted on her husband turning out to escort her)_. It
+was silly of you to drop that programme, +Robert+--I should like to know
+what this piece is, it seems quite familiar--(_Orchestra playing
+"Soldiers' March" from Faust_)--_I_ know--it's Faust, +Robert+,
+_+Gounod's+ Faust_!
+
+[_Much pleased with herself for recollecting an Opera she has only heard
+once_.
+
+_Robert (sleepily)_. _I_ know, my dear, all right.
+
+[_Faust melts into air from "Pinafore."_
+
+_His Wife_. Do you mean to say you don't remember that, +Robert+? how
+exquisite +Patti+ was in the part, to be sure!
+
+_Robert_. Umph!
+
+[_"Pinafore" becomes "La ci darem"--which transforms itself without
+warning into "Two Lovely Black Eyes."_
+
+_The Lady_. There's nobody like +Gounod+!      [_Clasps her hands_.
+
+_Robert (captiously)_. +Gounod's+ all very well, I daresay, my dear; but
+it don't seem to me he's altogether _original_. I've heard something
+very like this tune before, and I'll swear it wasn't by him!
+
+_The Lady_. That's very likely; _all_ the best airs get stolen nowadays,
+and dressed up so as to be quite unrecognisable; but that's not
++Gounod's+ fault, is it?
+
+[_Fans herself triumphantly, after vindicating her favourite
+Composer_. +Robert+ _slumbers_.
+
++Behind the Platform.+
+
+_Erratic Promenader_. Beg your pardon, Sir--tha' shtick, not
+'tended meet _your_ eye, Sir--_'nother_ gerrilm'n's eye, Sir.
+
+_Fair Promenader (to Lady Friend)_. And I'm sure I don't know
+how it is, but I'm always crying now for just nothing at all, whenever
+I'm alone.
+
+_The Lady Friend_. That's because you give way to it, dear. Come
+and have something to cheer you up--you'll be a different person
+after it.                     [_Advice taken; prediction verified_.
+
+_The Err. Prom_. I shay, here'sh lark! see tha' Bobby over there?
+he thinksh I'm _tight_! (_Waltzes up to him solemnly_). Kn'ive
+pleshure nexsht dansh you, Sir Charlesh?
+
+_The Policeman (severely)_. You keep your 'ands off of me, will
+you, and take yourself home--that's my advice to _you_!
+
+_Err. Prom. (outraged)_. You 'pear me to under 'preshionthish is
+Hy' Par' or Trafa----(_with an effort_)--Trafa-ralgarar Square. I'm
+goin' teash you, free Briton not goin' put up with P'lice brurality!
+
+[_Hits Policeman in the eye, and is removed, smiling feebly.
+Scene changes_.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+An Open Question.
+
+  Lord +Solly+, at Paddies presuming to rail,
+  Must sneer at their "brogue," which the Markis finds stale.
+  Does he think a poor fellow must fain be a rogue
+  Because, born in Erin, he speaks with a brogue?
+  Celtic ears finds the drawl of the Saxon Swell flat,
+  And a Cockney may chaff at the _patois_ of +Pat+.
+  But which is in fault--is it _really_ so clear?--
+  The Irishman's tongue, or the Englishman's ear?
+
+                *       *       *
+
+In a recent case on appeal, +Hammond & Co.+ _v_. +Bussey+, Mr. Justice
++Bowen+ was understood (by Our Special Reporter) to say that a judgment
+relating to coals must be decided by the principles of +Coke+. The
+Master of the Rolls and Mr. Justice +Fry+ concurred; the latter
+observing that in winter a coal merchant must always be a +Bussey+
+person, though his Lordship admitted that this had nothing to do with
+the case. The Master of the Rolls and Mr. Justice +Bowen+ at once
+concurred.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[illustration-pointer] 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.
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber Notes:
+
+Passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_.
+
+Passages in bold were indicated by =equal signs=.
+
+Passages in small caps were indicated by +crosses+.
+
+Throughout the document, the oe ligature was indicated by "[oe]", and the
+letter E with a macron was indicated by [=E].
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume
+93, December 3, 1887, by Various
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, CHARIVARI, DEC 3, 1887 ***
+
+***** This file should be named 39077-8.txt or 39077-8.zip *****
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+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 93,
+December 3, 1887, 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 93, December 3, 1887
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: Francis Burnand
+
+Release Date: March 8, 2012 [EBook #39077]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, CHARIVARI, DEC 3, 1887 ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Punch, or the London Charivari, Wayne Hammond,
+Malcolm Farmer and the Online Distributed Proofreading
+Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<p><a class="pagenum" id="page_253">[pg 253]</a></p>
+
+<h1>PUNCH,<br /> OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI</h1>
+
+<h2>Volume 93</h2>
+
+<hr class="full" />
+
+<h2>December 3, 1887.</h2>
+
+<hr class="full" />
+
+<h2><em>edited by Sir Francis Burnand</em></h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width:50%">
+<h3>THE LETTER-BAG OF TOBY, M.P.</h3>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">From the Lord Mayor of Dublin.</span></h3>
+
+<p class="author"><i>Mansion House, Dublin, Saturday</i>.</p>
+<a href="images/illus253.png">
+<img src="images/illus253.png" width="100%"  alt="Illustration" />
+</a>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Dear Toby</span>,</p>
+
+<p>The news from Ireland, not all of which finds its way into your daily
+papers, grows in excitement. The exploit of Mr. <span
+class="smcap">Douglas P-ne</span>, M.P., of Lisfinny Castle, has taken
+root, and all the landed gentry among the Irish Members are fortifying
+themselves in their castles, and hanging themselves outside the
+front-door by ropes to deliver addresses to their constituents. The
+regular thing now is to hang out our M.P.'s on the outer wall. I do not
+see accounts of these proceedings in your London papers. I was, as you
+know, a Journalist before I was Lord Mayor; so, if you don't mind, I'll
+send you a few jottings. If there is anything due for lineage, please
+remit it anonymously to the Land League Fund "From A Sympathiser."</p>
+
+<p>Foremost in this band of heroic patriots is the <i>ch&acirc;telain</i> of
+Butlerstown, <span class="smcap">Joseph G-ll-s B-gg-r</span>, M.P.,
+Butlerstown Castle, as everyone acquainted with Ireland knows, stands on
+the summit of a Danish rath, and was once the seat of an <span
+class="smcap">O'Toole</span>. Now it is the den of <span
+class="smcap">Joseph G-ll-s</span>. For some time he has been practising
+a flying leap from the eastern to the western turret, a distance of
+fifty feet over a yawning abyss, amid the cavernous depths of which the
+petulant plummet has played in vain. It is thrilling, whether at early
+dawn, or what time the darkening wing of Night begins to flap, to hear a
+shrill cry of "Hear, hear!" to see a well-known figure cleaving the
+astonished air, and to behold <span class="smcap">Joseph G-ll-s</span>,
+erewhile upright on the eastern turret, prone on that which lifts its
+head nearer the setting sun. To be present on one of the occasions when
+<span class="smcap">Joey B</span>. reads a Blue Book for three hours to
+a deputation shivering in the moat, is enough to convince the dullest
+Saxon of the hopelessness of enthralling a nation which has given birth
+to such as he. As <span class="smcap">Joseph</span> himself says,
+quoting, with slight variation, my own immortal verse,&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<p>"Whether on the turret high,</p>
+<p>Or in the moat not dry,</p>
+<p>What matter if for Ireland dear we talk!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>But the affairs at Butlerstown should not withdraw our gaze from a not
+less momentous event which recently happened in the neighbourhood of
+Cork city. Mr. <span class="smcap">P-rn-ll</span>, as he has recently
+explained to you, has not found it expedient or even necessary to take
+part in our recent public proceedings in Ireland. But this abstention is
+to a certain extent illusory. It is no secret in our inner circles that
+our glorious Chief was but the other day in close communication with his
+constituents in the city of Cork. He arrived shortly after breakfast in
+a balloon which was skilfully brought to pause over the rising ground by
+Sunday's Well. At the approach of the balloon the trained intelligence
+of the Police fathomed the plot. The Privy Council was immediately
+communicated with. Sworn information was laid, and the meeting was
+solemnly proclaimed by telegraph. In the meanwhile, Mr. <span
+class="smcap">P-rn-ll</span> had addressed the meeting at some length
+and met with an enthusiastic reception. The Police massing in
+considerable numbers and beginning to b&acirc;ton the electors, the Hon.
+Member poured a bag of ballast over them, and the balloon, gracefully
+rising, disappeared in the direction of Limerick. The proceedings then
+terminated.</p>
+
+<p>I expect that the success of this new departure, or perhaps I should say
+this unexpected arrival, will encourage our great Chief to pay a series
+of flying visits to Ireland. His adventure was certainly happier and
+more successful than one which befell our esteemed friend <span
+class="smcap">Tim H-ly</span>, and nearly brought to an untimely
+conclusion a life dear to us and of inestimable value to Ireland. <span
+class="smcap">Tim</span> was announced to take the chair at a mass
+meeting summoned under the auspices of the local branch of the Land
+League of Longford. A room was taken, the word passed round, and all
+preparations made for a successful meeting. The Police, however, got
+wind of it, and of course the meeting was proclaimed. But <span
+class="smcap">Tim</span>, as you may happen to know, is not the man to
+have his purpose lightly set aside. It was made known that <span
+class="smcap">Tim</span> would make his speech and the Police might
+catch him if they could. You know, may be, the big factory in the
+thriving town of Longford&mdash;the one with a tall chimbly? Well, the word
+was passed along again that the bhoys were to assemble about the
+factory. "Would they bring a chair or a table," they said, "for <span
+class="smcap">Tim</span> to stand on?" "No," said <span
+class="smcap">Tim</span>, wiping his spectacles, "you leave it to me."</p>
+
+<p>Meeting announced to take place at eight o'clock. On the very strike of
+the hour, a stentorian voice, not unfamiliar in the House of Commons,
+floated over the assembled multitude. "Men of Longford," it said, "we
+are assembled here in the exercise of our privilege as free men." First
+of all they could not tell where the voice came from. Looking up,
+behold! there was <span class="smcap">Tim</span> planted inside the top
+of the tall chimbley, using it like a Bishop's pulpit. It was a capital
+idea, and worked admirably for half an hour, with the Police all
+throbbing and raging round, and <span class="smcap">Tim</span> eyeing
+them quite calmly, and all the crowd roaring and cheering, and throwing
+up their hats, and <span class="smcap">B-lf-r</span> getting it hot.
+Somehow, whether from treachery or accident no one knows, and perhaps
+never will know, but in the middle of one of his best sentences, <span
+class="smcap">Tim</span> suddenly vanished from sight, and was a clear
+three minutes later picked up from among the cinders in the furnace
+below. The proceedings then terminated.</p>
+
+<p>There is a good deal more I could tell you, <span
+class="smcap">Toby</span>, my bhoy, if time permitted. I should like
+above all to tell you of Major <span class="smcap">O'G-rm-n</span>'s
+magnificent oration delivered from the main shaft of the sewer in
+Waterford, with his former constituents hanging on his lips and the
+grate of the sewer. But I am just off myself to address a meeting of my
+fellow citizens. This too, is of course, proclaimed, and equally of
+course that makes no difference. I get on the top of the Lord Mayor's
+coach, leaning on the Mace, and supported by the Sword-bearer. The
+horses move at walking pace, and I address the crowd. It's wonderful
+what a lot one can take out of <span class="smcap">B-lf-r</span> that
+way.</p>
+
+<p class="author">Yours faithfully, <span class="i6 smcap">T. D. S-ll-v-n.</span></p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>AMEN!</h2>
+
+<blockquote>
+<p>"In deepest reverence and sincere love, the Reichstag is
+mindful of His Imperial and Royal Highness the Crown Prince.
+May God protect the dear life of our beloved Crown Prince, and
+preserve it for the welfare of the Fatherland."&mdash;<i>Telegram from
+the Reichstag to the Crown Prince</i>.</p>
+</blockquote>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<p>"So mote it be!" That deep and reverent prayer</p>
+<p>In all true hearts finds echo everywhere;</p>
+<p>Not least in those that flush with British blood.</p>
+<p>Prince, a loved daughter from our Royal brood,</p>
+<p>In trouble as in joy, is at your side,</p>
+<p>Sharing your sorrow as she shared your pride.</p>
+<p>For her dear sake, and for your own not less,</p>
+<p>We wish you, gallant soldier-chief, success</p>
+<p>In a dread struggle keener, sterner far</p>
+<p>Than those you faced in the fierce lists of war.</p>
+<p>We know&mdash;have you not proved it?&mdash;that 'twill be</p>
+<p>Met with the same cool steadfast gallantry</p>
+<p>As marked your bearing in more martial strife.</p>
+<p>Punch joins in that warm prayer for "the dear life,"</p>
+<p>And echoes, from a far yet kindred strand,</p>
+<p>The pleading voices of the Fatherland!</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>As among the best books for a young man who had to be the architect of
+his own fortunes, some one in Mrs. <span class="smcap">Ram's</span>
+hearing mentioned <span class="smcap">Thomas &agrave; Kempis</span>. "Oh yes,"
+exclaimed the worthy lady, "I know. He built a great part of Brighton
+which was named after him."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">A Real "Orleans" Plum.</span>&mdash;The forged letters.</h3>
+<p><a class="pagenum" id="page_254">[pg 254]</a></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 70%">
+
+<h3>MR. PUNCH'S PARALLELS.  No. 4.</h3>
+<a href="images/illus254.png">
+<img src="images/illus254.png" width="100%"  alt=" " title="SIR W. V. HARCOURT AS FALSTAFF" />
+</a>
+
+<h3>SIR W. V. HARCOURT AS <i>FALSTAFF</i>.</h3>
+
+<p>"<span class="smcap">There's no more valour in that <i>Goschen</i> than
+in a Wild Duck.".... "A plague of all Cowards still say I!</span>"
+<span class="author"><i>Henry the Fourth</i>, Part I., Act ii, Scenes 2 and 4.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Mrs. <span class="smcap">Ram</span>, at this time of year, takes a great
+interest in the state of the weather, and studies the daily
+Meteorological chronicle. She says that she always reads the reports
+from Ben Nevis's Observatory. She hopes that, one of these fine days,
+this learned astronomer will be made a Knight. Sir <span
+class="smcap">Benjamin Nevis</span> would be, she considers, a very nice
+title. "Of course," she adds, "judging by his name, he must be a Jew.
+They're such clever people. And, let me see, ain't there a proverb, or
+something of that sort, about 'the Jew of Ben Nevis'?"</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>BISHOP AND PORT.</h2>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Mr. Punch</span>,</p>
+
+<p>In my Autobiography, which I am glad and proud to say, has met with your
+cordial approbation, I have recorded how the late lamented Bishop, Dr.
+<span class="smcap">Sumner</span>, said to me, "I have drunk a bottle of
+port wine every day since I was a boy." Well, his son, the Archdeacon,
+is annoyed at this statement. Now, my memory is a very good one, and if
+I am wrong in one point so circumstantially narrated, why not in
+several, why not in all? If the Bishop did not say this, to me, <i>who
+did</i>? Somebody said it, that I will swear. Who said it? If my memory
+fails me, is it not also likely that the Bishop's memory was not
+particularly good, and consequently, that he was mistaken in thinking
+that he had drunk a bottle a day since his boyhood? I have little doubt
+that the Bishop only imagined it, and perhaps he was joking. Perhaps he
+was playing on the words "bishop" and "port." "Bishop" was a hot drink,
+I fancy, made with port wine. I have no hesitation in comforting his
+Archidiaconal offspring by assuring him that, to the best of my
+knowledge and belief, his father, the Bishop, did not drink a bottle of
+port every day since his boyhood. He was a very fine old clergyman&mdash;I
+forget whether he was exactly portly or not, or whether he resided in
+Portman Square,&mdash;and I should say that first-rate port, such as the
+<i>elixir vit&aelig;</i> that made a hale centenarian of Sir <span
+class="smcap">Moses Montefiore</span>, taken frequently, would have
+tended to make him the genial prelate he was. Had he only gone into port
+once, that would not have sufficed to have produced such a Bishop, for
+"One swallow does not make a <span class="smcap">Sumner</span>."
+
+<span class="author">Yours ever,<span class="i6 smcap">W(ithdraw) P(ort) Frith</span>.</span></p>
+
+<p>P.S.&mdash;The Archdeacon is satisfied, and if he will only come round to see
+me and bring a bottle of the port the Bishop didn't drink, why, on my
+word as an artist, <i>I'll draw the cork</i>.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>"<i>What shall he have who kills the Deer</i>?" Why, something to eat,
+of course. At least this was, among others, the notion of the poor
+starving Cottars. And they have now given up venison-eating because the
+food is deer.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Two French Presidents Rolled Into One.</span>&mdash;M.
+<span class="smcap">Gr&eacute;vy</span>, on being told that he must resign,
+wept copiously. This showed a want of resignation. Curious sight, <span
+class="smcap">Gr&eacute;vy</span> and Tears!</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>Sir <span class="smcap">Charles Warren</span> has been presented with
+the freedom of the Leathersellers' Guild. Capital motto for Policemen in
+a mob, "Nothing like leather! Leather away!"</p>
+<p><a class="pagenum" id="page_255">[pg 255]</a></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>ROBERT AT KILBURN.</h2>
+
+<p>I had the cureosity one day to arsk a lerned gennelman on whom I was
+waiting, whether the poor fellers who lived in the world ever so many
+hundred years ago had got any Copperashuns. He pretended not to
+understand me at fust, and said, with a larf, as he dared say as they
+was made much as we was; that is to say, sum with large ones, and some
+with little ones; but when I xplained what I reely meant, he told me as
+they had, speshally amung the Romuns as lived in Ittaly. He was a werry
+amusing Gent, and when I arsked him what langwidge the Romuns torked, he
+tried to gammon me as they all spoke Latin, ewen the little children and
+all, but in coarse I wasn't quite such a hignoramus as to swaller that,
+as my son <span class="smcap">William</span>, who isn't by no means a
+fool, learnt Latin at Skool for three year and tells me as he carn't
+speak it a bit. The lerned gent also told me as it was such a rum tung
+to speak that they hadn't not no word for "Yes!" So that if a Gent of
+those long days had bin a dining at the "Ship and Turtle" an bin a
+waited on by an Hed Waiter, like me, and had said to him "Woud you like
+arf-a-crown, Waiter?" the pore feller woodn't have been able to say,
+"Yessir!" I was jest a leetle shocked at his torking such rubbish to me,
+it was hardly respekful, speshally as he had ony drunk one pint of
+Bollinger and one of our 63 Port, but its astonishing how heasily sum
+peeple's heds is affected. I was in hopes as he woud have tried the
+experymint on me, but he didn't, but went smiling away.</p>
+
+<p>I shood werry much have liked to have heard a good deal more about them
+werry old Copperashuns, and weather they was to be compared to that
+werry old 'un as I nose so well and respecs so ighly, for good deeds as
+well as good living. Take their werry last one as a sample. Earing of
+what was a going on down at Kilburn on Guy Fox day, and finding as the
+return train would bring me back in time for my perfeshnal dooties, I
+went there and found thowsands of peeple all met in a nice little new
+Park, that the old <span class="smcap">Lord Mare</span> was a coming
+down to fust of all crissen, and then throw open to the publick. And
+down he came accordingly in his full state Carridge, and his full state
+Footmen, and his full state Sherryiffs, and their full state Carridges
+and Footmen, jest for all the world as if he was a going to make a call
+on a few Royal Princes and Dooks, insted of opening a new Park
+surrounded by numbers of the reel working-classes. But he always has bin
+a reel gennelman, and never makes no difference atween rich and poor
+when he can do some good. I wasn't quite near enuff to hear what he said
+when he made his speech, but a werry respectable reporter arterwards
+told me, that the <span class="smcap">Lord Mare</span> had written a
+letter to <span class="smcap">Queen Wictoria</span> to ask if he might
+call the Park after her. And she had wrote to him in reply, "Deer <span
+class="smcap">Handsum</span>, as there's alreddy a Wictoria Park, you
+may call this here one the Qween's Park. Pleas to remember this 5th of
+Nowember, Yours trewly, W. R. I."</p>
+
+<p>When the <span class="smcap">Lord Mare</span> enounced this pleasing
+intelligence, thus simply exprest, lorks how we did all cheer, and a
+little band that had bin hid in a little tent, struck up the hole of arf
+a werse of <i>God Save the Queen</i>, at which we all took off our hats,
+footmen and all, and braved the bitter blarst with our bare heds. Ah,
+that's wot I calls trew loyalty, and long may it continue, not the cold
+bitter blarst, but the warm sweet loyalty, for I'm sorry to say as the
+unusual xposure guv me a bad cold.</p>
+
+<p>I got back just in time for the Bankwet. The <span class="smcap">Lord
+Mare</span> with his usual kindness had let the Chairman of the
+Committee, the sillibrated Mr. <span class="smcap">Woodbacon</span>, the
+grate bookseller, take the Chair, and a remarkabul good un he made,
+setting so good a xample as regards short speeches as made ewerybody
+follow suit.</p>
+
+<p>And now what was this hole proceeding all about? This is what I learnt
+from what was said:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>It wood seem then, that at Kilburn where it was wunce all green feelds,
+there has growed up a reglar crowd of working peeple with far more than
+their fair share of children and as the feelds has all come for to be
+bilt over, the poor little children afoursaid have been obleeged to do
+their playing in the streets, and the nateral or rather unnateral
+consequence has follered, as that numbers of the poor little deers was
+run over and killed. So a nice little Park has been made for 'em all to
+play in, where they can injoy their fresh hair and releeve their poor
+Mother's minds, and grow up red and strong and harty, instead of white
+and weak and wan. And the old Copperashun having put it all ship shape,
+and promist to keep it all in order for hever, arsked the <span
+class="smcap">Lord Mare</span> to go down and open it, as he did, and in
+sitch full state that one of the natives said as it was like a lot of
+sunbeams suddenly cumming out on a clowdy day. So the <span
+class="smcap">Lord Mare</span> finished his long list of good deeds by
+adding one more to 'em, and the Copperashun added one more Open Space to
+the many they has either secured or helped to secure. So wenever I hears
+a sneer at 'em I shall say, "Please to remember that 5th of November!"</p>
+
+<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Robert.</span></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Barnum's</span> Show burnt. Of course he will rise
+like an American ph&oelig;nix from the ashes. He will advertise it as
+Burnum's Show.</p>
+
+<hr />
+<div class="figcenter" style="width:50%">
+<a href="images/illus255.png">
+<img src="images/illus255.png" width="100%"  alt=" " title="PRAVE 'ORTS." />
+</a>
+<h3>"PRAVE 'ORTS."</h3>
+
+<p>"<span class="smcap">By the bye, dear Professor, which would <i>you</i>
+say&mdash;<i>Abiog&eacute;n-esis</i>, or <i>Abiogen&#275;s-is</i>?</span>"</p>
+
+<p>"<span class="smcap"><i>Neither</i>, my dear Madam, if I could possibly
+help it!</span>"</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">An Important Summing-up.</span> (<i>By Our Own
+Special Reporter in the recent case of Somebody or Other v. Another
+Person of the name of</i> <span class="smcap">Barley</span>).&mdash;Mr.
+Justice <span class="smcap">Mathew</span> regretted being compelled to
+decide against <span class="smcap">Barley</span> on the question of
+"quantities." Of course, there had been an error on the part of the
+highly respectable Corporation of Ramsgate, which might be characterised
+as a "sin of commission," while the neglect of their clerk to enter
+their arrangement with <span class="smcap">Barley</span> on the minutes
+was a "sin of omission." All the witnesses in this case must be
+believed, as they had, <i>&agrave; propos</i> of <span
+class="smcap">Barley</span>, taken their oats&mdash;he should say their
+oaths. Perhaps when the present statute came to be revised, Mr. <span
+class="smcap">Barley</span> might act for the town, for which it appears
+he had done good service, and <span class="smcap">Barley</span> would
+not have to hide under a bushel. It was clear that this sort of <span
+class="smcap">Barley</span> was worth more than the present price of
+28<i>s</i>. a quarter. Counsel on both sides had made an eloquent
+display of wheat&mdash;he begged pardon, he meant "wit"&mdash;and if in this
+judgment he had to tread on anyone's corn, he assured them that to do so
+went against the grain. As an official, <span
+class="smcap">Barley</span> would have the sack, but sack and all could
+be taken up to another Court, and there, as a German speaking French
+would say, <i>On beut Barley</i>, about it still further. (The Jury
+thanked his Lordship, and all the parties left the Court much pleased,
+humming <i>All about the Barley</i>.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>"They acted a Greek Play at Cambridge, my dear," said Mrs. <span
+class="smcap">Ram</span> to a friend, "and fancy, it was written, as I
+am informed, by a young lady, Miss <span class="smcap">Sophie
+Klees</span>. I suppose she is a student of Girton. How clever! <i>I</i>
+couldn't write it, I'm sure."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><i>The "Quart d'heure de Rabelais,"</i> if translated into Anglo-French,
+may be taken to express a bad time of it with the roughs in Trafalgar
+Square, <i>i.e., a mauvais quart d'heure de Rabble&mdash;eh</i>?</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>The Works of <span class="smcap">Charles Dickens</span> must have
+achieved great popularity in South Eastern Europe, where there is an
+entire country called Boz-nia.</p>
+<p><a class="pagenum" id="page_256">[pg 256]</a></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width:50%">
+<a href="images/illus256.png">
+<img src="images/illus256.png" width="100%"  alt=" " title="THE NEW SCHOOL." />
+</a>
+<h3>THE NEW SCHOOL.</h3>
+
+<h3><i>Schoolboy (aged 16)</i>. "Good-bye, old Chappies! Can't waste any
+more time with you. 'Good business'!"</h3>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<h2>TOM BROWN &amp; CO.'S SCHOOL DAYS.</h2>
+
+<h3><i>A Glimpse at the Commercial Education of the Future</i>.</h3>
+
+<p>Twelve o'Clock struck, and the Fourth Form at St. Dunstan's
+left its class-room with a rush. The old hour of leaving off the
+morning's studies was still preserved. Yet, in conformity with the
+spirit of the times, the venerable foundation of St. Dunstan's had
+recently witnessed great changes. The Governing Body had taken
+the matter in hand, and had gone to work with a will. The teaching
+of Greek and Latin had been entirely suppressed, polite literature
+eliminated, and the whole curriculum of the school arranged
+solely to the provision of that glaring want of the times, a sound
+commercial education. To effect this, some radical changes had
+been necessary. The Rev. <span class="smcap">Jabez Plumkin</span>, D.D.,
+Oxford Prizeman,
+through whose unwearied exertions, for the past five-and-twenty
+years, St. Dunstan's had been gradually acquiring an increasing
+fame in the Class-lists of both Universities, had been forcibly ejected
+from the Head-Mastership, and his place filled by a leading member
+of a well-known firm of advertising stock-jobbers, and the
+Assistant-Masters
+had all been selected on similar lines.</p>
+
+<p>"Company-floating," was taught by a late Promoter, who had had
+much experience in the creation of many bubble concerns, and
+"Rigging the Market" was entrusted to a Professor who was known,
+in his capacity as Accountant to a wholesale City Cheese Warehouse,
+to have contracted a thorough familiarity with this important subject
+of the new commercial education. Everything was done to foster
+a spirit of keen speculative enterprise in the boys. The whole
+traditions of the school were changed. The old idea of honour had
+died out. How to over-reach each other by sharp practice was the
+one idea that animated every youthful breast from the senior in the
+Sixth to the junior in the Under Third. The tape was always working
+at the Principal's desk. The study-tables were covered with
+Stock and Mining Journals. Even the playground was turned into
+a Money Market. Cricket had been banished to make way for the
+more exciting game of "Bulls and Bears," and the Principal passing
+through occasionally, would sometimes stop and say, "That's right,
+my boys, learn to do each other, and remember the motto of your
+School, 'Monies maketh man.'" Posted up upon the gates, communicated
+by telegraph hourly from the City, were every day to be
+found the latest prices. And it was to get a first look at this that
+the Fourth Form had just left its class-room with a rush.</p>
+
+<p>A crowd of eager faces were anxiously scanning the latest quotations,
+and notes were being taken in a score of pocket-books, whipped
+out for the purpose. <span class="smcap">Tom Brown &amp; Co.</span>&mdash;he had
+earned this <i>sobriquet</i>
+from his companions for his shrewd business capacity&mdash;did not,
+however, join the throng, but stood a little way off, looking on, and
+waiting for the excitement to abate. Gradually it calmed down, and
+the boys broke up into little knots and groups, discussing the state
+of the market. Then he spoke:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Look here, you fellows," he said, "I've got a good thing on here,
+that, I fancy, will be more worth your attention than even the latest
+prices." He pulled a prospectus from his pocket. An interested
+crowd closed round him at once. "It's 'Old Mother <span
+class="smcap">Noggins</span>,
+Limited,'" he went on, reading from the paper before him, "This
+Company has been started for the purpose of acquiring at wholesale
+prices all the tarts, bull's-eyes, apples, toffy, and ginger-beer,
+forming the present stock-in-trade of Old Mother <span
+class="smcap">Noggins's</span> store,
+and for retailing the same at a figure, that will, after paying the
+guaranteed interest on the fourpenny debenture shares, admit of the
+declaration of a dividend of 14 per cent. on the ordinary paid-up
+share capital of the Company.</p>
+
+<p>A buzz of excited admiration went up from the throng. The Fourth
+Form at St. Dunstan's had not for a long time had such a good thing
+put before it.</p>
+
+<p>"I know," continued <span class="smcap">Tom</span>, producing a bundle
+of forms of application
+from his pocket, "that you fellows, would like to hear of it.
+Who'll go for it?"</p>
+
+<p>There was a loud responsive shout of "I!" and a dozen hands were
+at once stretched towards the speaker. Business commenced, and
+sixpences, shillings, and half-crowns were pouring into <span
+class="smcap">Tom's</span> pockets
+faster than he could cram them there. He was making a very good
+morning's work of it. Presently, a dull, heavy-looking boy joined
+the group.</p>
+
+<p>"Hullo, <span class="smcap">Flopper</span>!" cried <span
+class="smcap">Tom</span>, addressing this last arrival, "why
+don't you put that ten bob your Uncle sent you into this thing? I'll
+be bound he told you to turn it over. You won't get such a chance
+every day."</p>
+
+<p>"What is it?" asked <span class="smcap">Flopper</span>.</p>
+
+<p>A chorus of voices instantly joined in a brief explanation of the
+advantages of investing in "Old Mother <span
+class="smcap">Noggins'</span> Limited."</p>
+
+<p>"By Jove!" said <span class="smcap">Flopper</span>, "I don't know that I
+won't."</p>
+
+<p>"Not if I know it," cried an authoritative voice, breaking in upon
+the scene. It was <span class="smcap">Snagsby</span>, the "Sharper" who
+spoke. There was a
+general look in his direction, and a disposition to make way for
+him as he approached. He had been mixed up disadvantageously
+in a recent "corner" in marbles, and had from time to time floated
+several concerns that had never paid any dividends, and was generally
+regarded as a "queer" customer in consequence. It was for
+this reason that he had been nicknamed the "Sharper."</p>
+
+<p>"And what do you want him to do with his money?" asked <span
+class="smcap">Tom</span>, stepping forward in a defiant attitude.</p>
+
+<p>"He'll put every blessed halfpenny of it into my 'General Pen-knife
+Supply,'" was the laconic reply. "He signed for the allotment
+last night."</p>
+
+<p>"But I've changed my mind," pleaded <span class="smcap">Flopper</span>,
+helplessly, and
+he handed the half-sovereign to <span class="smcap">Tom</span>.</p>
+
+<p>"You give that up!" cried the Sharper, menacingly.</p>
+
+<p>"You try to take it!" replied <span class="smcap">Tom</span>, grimly.</p>
+
+<p>In another instant the Sharper had flown at <span
+class="smcap">Tom</span>. There was a
+brief struggle. <span class="smcap">Tom</span> hit out at him, and
+caught him in the face.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, that's your game, is it!" shouted the Sharper. "You'll
+fight me for that."</p>
+
+<p>"Fight you? When and where you like," replied <span
+class="smcap">Tom</span>.</p>
+
+<p>There was a general cheering and throwing up of hats.</p>
+
+<p>"Hooray! There's going to be a fight between the Sharper and
+<span class="smcap">Tom Brown &amp; Co.</span>," shouted the Fourth Form.
+They hadn't had
+such good news for a long time.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>The whole School was there, and the third round had been fought.
+Betting had been fast and furious, and there had been several
+attempts made by the supporters of both champions to break the
+ring and put an end to the contest when the fortunes of the day
+seemed to be going against their own special favourite. But now a
+curious thing happened. After a little preliminary sparring in the
+fourth round, <span class="smcap">Tom Brown &amp; Co.</span>, suddenly dropping
+on one knee, went to the ground.</p>
+
+<p>In a few seconds the surprising news was known that he had given
+in. The sponge was thrown up, and the Sharper declared the victor.
+<span class="smcap">Tom</span> was quickly surrounded by his friends,
+and led off the field.
+<span class="smcap">Flopper</span> ran up to him. "I'm so sorry, <span
+class="smcap">Tom</span>," he said, "that you
+should have fought in my quarrel, and have got licked."</p>
+
+<p>There was a twinkle in <span class="smcap">Tom's</span> eye. "My dear
+fellow," he replied.
+"Don't imagine I wouldn't have thrashed him; but business
+is business, and I got a good price for not doing so. Didn't you
+twig that <i>I sold the fight</i>?"</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>That night <span class="smcap">Tom Brown &amp; Co.</span> wrote home an
+enthusiastic account
+of his day's doings to his parents. The next morning, <span
+class="smcap">Tom Brown</span>,
+Senior, referring to the letter with a glow of pride on his commercial
+face, remarked to his better-half that the boy's training seemed
+perfect,
+and that he was destined to turn out remarkably well. "I can't
+tell you," he added, "how I long to see that boy loose upon the
+Stock Exchange. He will be a credit to the family."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>A book has been recently published entitled <i>The Amateur's Guide
+to Architecture</i>, by <span class="smcap">Sophie Beale</span>. Sophie
+shows us how a house
+should be Beale't. But just imagine an Amateur Architect!!</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>The complaint of the Charity Organisation Society, slightly varied
+from <span class="smcap">Shakspeare</span>, is that "The quality of
+Mercy is not <i>trained</i>."</p>
+<p><a class="pagenum" id="page_257">[pg 257]</a></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>SHOWS VIEWS.</h2>
+
+<h3><i>By Victor Who-goes-Everywhere</i>.</h3>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width:25%; margin-right:2em;">
+<a href="images/illus257a.png">
+<img src="images/illus257a.png" width="100%"  alt="Illustration" />
+</a>
+</div>
+
+<p>What can be more dismal than the fourth day of a Fancy Bazaar for a
+"Sale of Work," in aid of a parochial charity? Honestly, I do not know.
+I fancy that even the proverbial "Mute at a funeral," must be livelier.
+That is my present opinion, and it was the same last Thursday, when
+lured by a programme quaintly printed in "old-faced" type, and having
+"ye" in lieu of "the," and "Maister" instead of Mister, I made my way to
+the Portman Rooms in Baker Street, (formerly Madame <span
+class="smcap">Tussaud's</span>) and sought admission to "Old Marybone
+Gardens, A.D. 1670." Outside the ex
+<i>dep&ocirc;t</i> of Waxworks, were two persons in the costume of the last
+Century distributing circulars, and later on I met another couple
+similarly apparelled heading a procession of Sandwich-men walking down
+Waterloo Place. In the Hall of the Bazaar lads in the same sort of
+dresses, were selling programmes (marked sixpence) for twopence. I
+entered by a small canvass-cottage "y'clept" (as the Sale of Workers
+would call it) "the Rose of Normandy," and found myself in the once
+famous "Hall of Kings" without the figures. I discovered two or three
+dwarf trees, some lattice-work and a lot of canvass-covering. I must
+confess it did not cause me much surprise to find only a few spectators.
+The moment I appeared, a lady advanced and asked me in a tone of
+authority to take a button-hole. I refused with courtesy suggestive at
+once of the gallant and the miser, and the Sale of Work-woman retired
+rather crest-fallen. Then two girls, costumed as two females of a past
+but vague period, dashed at me as I turned away, and breathlessly
+explained that if I bought a half-crown ticket I should be entitled to a
+chance in a raffle for a five-guinea sofa-cushion. I slightly frowned as
+I expeditiously refused the invitation, and the ladies disappeared into
+a corner&mdash;I trust more in sorrow than in anger&mdash;to read the evening
+paper. In the centre of the room was a "fish pond" full of presents,
+where a mild-looking curate was feebly attempting to secure a prize. On
+the whole the entertainment was scarcely exhilarating. The programme
+promised "from V to VI of ye clocke" (how silly!) "a <i>s&eacute;ance</i> of
+Mesmerism," in two "partes," (how really stupid!) and "Maister <span
+class="smcap">Charles Bertram</span>" (Why "Maister?") was to appear
+later on. Then at eight "of ye clocke" (dear, dear! <i>how</i> idiotic!)
+"the Welbeck Dramatic Club" (what a name!) was "to performe ye Comic
+Drama by <span class="smcap">L. S. Buckingham</span>, y'clept" (of
+course!) "<i>Take that Girl away</i>." Later still "Mistresse <span
+class="smcap">Jarley</span>" was to give her waxworks with the
+assistance of "Maister <span class="smcap">Sidney Ward</span>," (tut,
+tut!) the Festival finally closing with "Music" at "X of ye clocke"
+(stuff and nonsense!). It will be seen that I cannot even now look at
+the programme (priced at sixpence and sold for twopence) without some
+signs of impatience. The afternoon was too young to allow of my
+assisting at any of these toothsome merry-makings, so after mooning
+about for a quarter of an hour I came away. As I left, a newly-arrived
+dame of mature years was putting on a nurse's cap hurriedly, evidently
+with the view to starting in hot pursuit of me to secure my custom for
+some toys. The ladies with the cushion looked at me languidly as I
+passed them, and then returned to a perusal of their paper. When last I
+had had the advantage of paying a visit to "the Portman Rooms, formerly
+Mme. <span class="smcap">Tussaud's</span>," I had seen nothing but
+waxwork figures in eccentric attitudes. On the whole, I think the former
+denizens of the place looked more at home in their quaint costumes than
+the Sale of Workers "from Tuesday, November 22 to Saturday, November 26,
+inclusive!"</p>
+
+<p>Finding myself in its neighbourhood, I could not help taking a turn in
+the present palace of the eminent "Portrait Modellist." I paid the
+necessary shilling and the optional sixpence, and renewed my
+acquaintance with "The Kings and Queens," "The Coronation Group," and
+"The Chamber of Horrors." A group representing a reception at the
+Vatican was quite new, if I except two or three funeral attendants, who,
+I fancy I remember, made their last (but one) appearance at the Lying in
+State of <span class="smcap">Pio Nono</span>. After examining a rather
+cheerful presentment of the latest assassin in "The Chamber of
+Comparative Physiognomy" (as the Chamber of Horrors was once, for a
+short period, "y'clept"), I passed through a turnstile, and entered the
+Refreshment Department. Here I noticed that an "overflow meeting,"
+consisting, amongst other more-or-less-interesting exhibits of Mr. <span
+class="smcap">Lewis Wingfield's</span> historical costume-wearers (from
+the Healtheries), and that now rather-imperfectly-remembered worthy, the
+late Sir <span class="smcap">Bartle Frere</span> (from the rooms above),
+had been humorously arranged, no doubt with a view to provoking healthy
+and hearty laughter. Having refreshed my mind with a hurried inspection
+of this delightful, albeit, somewhat miscellaneous gathering, and my
+body with a twopenny Bath bun, I gracefully retired, greatly pleased
+with the afternoon's entertainment.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h2>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width:25%">
+<a href="images/illus257b.png">
+<img src="images/illus257b.png" width="100%"  alt=" " title="Reviewing the Pages." />
+</a>
+<p>Reviewing the Pages.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>What a set these Emperors, Empresses, Kings, Queens, Princes and
+Princesses, Dukes and Duchesses, &amp;c., &amp;c., and all such great people
+everywhere seem to have been, according to the <i>Memoirs of Count
+Horace de Viel Castel</i> (published by Messrs. <span
+class="smcap">Remington &amp; Co.</span>), who was a kind of small French
+<span class="smcap">Pepys</span>, a great snob, and a Parisian <i>Sir
+Benjamin Backbite</i>. Yet there is in this <span
+class="smcap">Horace</span> something of the Horatian satirist, only
+without the poetry.</p>
+
+<p><span class="small">"But <span class="smcap">Horace</span>, Sir, was delicate, was nice,"</span>
+
+which is not exactly the characteristic of the writings of <span
+class="smcap">M. de Viel</span> Castel, who tells us</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+            <p class="i6">"Of birth-nights, balls, and shows,</p>
+<p>More than ten <span class="smcap">Hollinsheds</span>, or <span
+class="smcap">Halls</span>, or <span class="smcap">Stowes</span>.</p>
+<p>When the <span class="smcap">Queen</span> frowned, or smiled, he knows; and what</p>
+<p>A subtle Minister may make of that:</p>
+<p>Who sins with whom:"&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>And such like tittle-tattle <i>ad nauseam</i>, not sparing his own
+father and brother. Imagine the sort of man who, night after night,
+could sit down and chuckle over the composition of this precious diary!
+"With the exception of the President and the Princess" (<span
+class="smcap">Mathilde</span>, at whose house he was perpetually
+dining), he says, "all the (<span class="smcap">Buonaparte</span>)
+family are good for nothing."</p>
+
+<p>Of the <i>bourgeois</i> class he writes, "They are always the same
+stupid, craven-hearted, vain race." He was shocked at the production of
+<i>La Dame aux Camelias</i>, and considered it as a degradation of the
+French stage and a disgrace to the Public that patronised the
+performance. To have shocked M. <span class="smcap">de Viel
+Castel</span> was a feat indeed. <span class="smcap">Fould</span> "the
+foxy Jew" got ten millions out of the Cr&eacute;dit Foncier; so the public was
+fool'd also. <span class="smcap">D'Orsay</span> was "a ridiculous old
+doll," and the Duke of <span class="smcap">Brunswick</span> "an old
+fool." He sneered at England, but considered at the moment that an
+alliance with us was the best policy. The Empress at one time went in
+for spirit-rapping, and consulted a table which told her a variety of
+lies about the result and duration of the Crimean War. Such a table must
+have been very black and supported by blacklegs, though it had
+sufficient french polish about it to be silent in the presence of a
+bishop. It is not until the last page of the <i>Memoirs</i>, 1864, that
+the name of M. <span class="smcap">de Bismarck</span> appears. I suppose
+that "Society," high, low, or middle-class, has always gone on in much
+the same way, more or less openly, according to the spirit of the Court,
+since what is called "Society" came into existence; and invariably with
+a <span class="smcap">Viel Castel</span>, or a <span
+class="smcap">Greville</span>, or some one even less particular and more
+observant "among them takin' notes" for future publication. Mr.
+Bousfield, the translator, seems to have done his work with a judicious
+regard for a certain section of English readers. It strikes me that he
+has had the good taste to omit a few anecdotes about some of our own
+exalted personages which would not have been received with unmixed
+satisfaction in every quarter. This is only a surmise on my part, as I
+am unacquainted with the original work.</p>
+
+<p>Let me recommend everyone who values a powerful study of character more
+than a merely cleverly-constructed story, to read <i>Marzio's
+Crucifix</i>, by <span class="smcap">Marion Crawford</span>. I do not
+know what special opportunities the author had for the work, but the
+characters are individually, masterpieces. The scene between
+<i>Marzio</i> and <i>Don Paolo</i>, when the latter is wrapt in devout
+contemplation of the artist's <i>chef d'&oelig;uvre</i>, is most striking,
+and would have been more so had <i>Marzio</i> carried out his intention
+of knocking his brother down, and disposing of him out of hand.</p>
+
+<p>With Mr. <span class="smcap">Saunders's</span> <i>The Story of some
+Famous Books</i> (<span class="smcap">Elliot Stock</span>) I was rather
+disappointed, in consequence of there not being enough "famous books,"
+and not much more story than the needy knife-grinder had to tell. Still,
+I thank him for introducing me to a delightful name&mdash;"<span
+class="smcap">Theopompus</span> of Chios"&mdash;whom, for this present, I
+will take as my godfather, and sign myself,
+<span class="author">Yours,     <span class="i6 smcap">Theopompus, Baron de Book Worms</span>.</span> </p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">Staff Appointments.</span>&mdash;The Specials.</h3>
+<p><a class="pagenum" id="page_258">[pg 258]</a></p>
+
+<hr />
+<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%">
+<a href="images/illus258.png">
+<img src="images/illus258.png" width="100%"  alt=" " title="AN EYE FOR 'ELECTIVE AFFINITIES." />
+</a>
+<h3>AN EYE FOR "ELECTIVE AFFINITIES."</h3>
+<p><i>Sir Edwin</i>. "<span class="smcap">Hullo, Angy? Stew-pan? Apron?
+Tripe and Onions? What on earth's up?</span>"</p>
+
+<p><i>The Lady Angelina</i>. "<span class="smcap">Yes, Dearest! Since
+<i>you've</i> become a <i>Special Constable, I'm</i> doing my little
+utmost to become a Special <i>Cook</i>! I thought it might bind us still
+closer together!</span>"
+
+<span class="author"><i>Sir Edwin</i>. "<span class="smcap">My own <i>Love!!</i>!</span>"</span></p>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<h2>LIGHTING THE DUBLIN BEACON.</h2>
+
+<h3>(<i>A Ballad of the Brave Old Sort</i>.)</h3>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>"It was all for the Union</p>
+  <p class="i2">We left fair Albion's land.</p>
+<p>It was all for the Union</p>
+  <p class="i2">We first saw Irish land,</p>
+                       <p class="i10">My Boy!</p>
+  <p>We first saw Irish land!</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>"All must be done that man can do.</p>
+  <p class="i2">Shall it be done in vain?</p>
+<p>My <span class="smcap">G-sch-n</span>, to prove that untrue</p>
+  <p class="i2">We two have crossed the main,</p>
+                       <p class="i10">My Boy!</p>
+  <p class="i2">We two have crossed the main!"</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>He turned him round and right-about</p>
+  <p class="i2">All on the Irish shore.</p>
+<p>Said he, "We'll give <span class="smcap">P-rn-ll</span> a shake,</p>
+  <p class="i2">And make the Rads to roar,</p>
+                         <p class="i10">My Boy!</p>
+  <p class="i2">And make the Rads to roar!"</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>He was a stout and trusty carle.</p>
+  <p class="i2">Said he, "A flare we'll raise,</p>
+<p>And, spite the Leaguers' angry snarl,</p>
+  <p class="i2">We'll make the Beacon blaze,</p>
+                        <p class="i10">My Boy!</p>
+  <p class="i2">We'll make the Beacon blaze!</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>"Who says our friends a handful are,</p>
+  <p class="i2">Our foes a serried host?</p>
+<p>Our Beacon, blazing like a star,</p>
+  <p class="i2">Shall check the blatant boast,</p>
+                      <p class="i10">My Boy!</p>
+  <p class="i2">Shall cheek the blatant boast.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>"Not all are to sedition sworn,</p>
+  <p class="i2">Or shackled by the League.</p>
+  <p class="i2">Cheer up! We'll laugh, their hate to scorn,</p>
+<p>And baffle their intrigue,</p>
+                      <p class="i10">My Boy!</p>
+  <p class="i2">And baffle their intrigue.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>"Puff, <span class="smcap">G-sch-n</span>, puff! Like Boreas blow!</p>
+  <p class="i2">And I the logs will pile.</p>
+<p>The Beacon, now a slender glow,</p>
+  <p class="i2">Shall blaze across the Isle,</p>
+                          <p class="i10">My Boy!</p>
+  <p class="i2">Shall blaze across the Isle.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>"Eh? What? The wood is damp, you say?</p>
+  <p class="i2">There comes more smoke than flame?</p>
+<p>Nay; pile, and poke, and puff away!</p>
+  <p class="i2">We'll not give up the game,</p>
+                      <p class="i10">My Boy!</p>
+  <p class="i2">We'll not give up the game.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>"If we should let this fire die out</p>
+  <p class="i2">All on the Irish shore,</p>
+<p>To Unionism stern and stout</p>
+  <p class="i2">Adieu for evermore,</p>
+                      <p class="i10">My Boy!</p>
+<p>Adieu for evermore!"</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="smcap">The Two Canons and Bean-baggers.</span>&mdash;The
+Bean-baggers are likely to come badly off with two such big guns against
+them as Canons <span class="smcap">Liddon</span> and <span
+class="smcap">McColl</span>. Let the matter be settled amicably by
+agreeing that whatever it was they did see was a "What-you-<span
+class="smcap">McColl</span>-it."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>HOW TO ESCAPE THE FOG.</h2>
+
+<p>Fogs? Nonsense! Fogs are always mist. And the way to miss them is to go
+to the Institute of Painters in Oil. That will oil the wheels of life in
+this atrociously hibernal weather, and make existence in a fog
+enjoyable. There, in the well-warmed, pleasantly-lighted rooms, will you
+find countless pleasant pictures&mdash;delightful sea-subjects, charming
+landscapes, and amusing scenes, by accomplished painters, which will
+infuse a little Summer into the dull, depressing, brumous, filthy
+atmosphere of a weary London Winter. If you cannot get away to Monte
+Carlo, Mentone, Nice, or Rome, hasten at once and take one of Sir <span
+class="smcap">John Linton's</span> excursion <i>coupons</i>, and
+personally conduct yourself&mdash;if you don't conduct yourself as you ought,
+you'll probably be turned out&mdash;round the well-filled galleries in
+Piccadilly.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>Sir <span class="smcap">Drummond</span> is ordered off to Teheran.
+"Well, we're successful in keeping one <span class="smcap">Wolff</span>
+from our door," as Sir <span class="smcap">Gorst</span>, Q.C., observed
+to <span class="smcap">Grandolph</span>. "Poor <span
+class="smcap">Wolffy</span>!" sighed <span
+class="smcap">Grandolph</span>. "I shall write a fable on 'The <span
+class="smcap">Wolff</span> and the Shah!'"</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Sardou and Sara.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">Sara
+B.</span> has made a hit in what is reported to be a poor play called
+<i>La Tosca</i>, by <span class="smcap">Sardou</span>. But in
+consequence of <span class="smcap">Sara's</span> acting, it is in for a
+run. <i>Che Sara sara</i>, <i>i.e</i>. (free translation), "Who has seen
+<span class="smcap">Sara</span> once will see <span
+class="smcap">Sara</span> again."</p>
+<p><a class="pagenum" id="page_259">[pg 259]</a></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%">
+<a href="images/illus259.png">
+<img src="images/illus259.png" width="100%"  alt=" " title="LIGHTING THE DUBLIN BEACON." />
+</a>
+<h3>LIGHTING THE DUBLIN BEACON.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p><a class="pagenum" id="page_260">[pg 260]</a></p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p><a class="pagenum" id="page_261">[pg 261]</a></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>A DOWN-Y PHILOSOPHER;</h2>
+
+<h3><i>Or, Memoirs of a Missing Link</i>.</h3>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width:25%; margin-right:2em;">
+<a href="images/illus261a.png">
+<img src="images/illus261a.png" width="100%"  alt=" " title="Seal making a Deep Impression." />
+</a>
+<p>Seal making a Deep Impression.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>I've no particular reason to think an account of my life will interest
+anybody. That being so, I don't know why I write it. But I do. I suppose
+it's Chance. <span class="smcap">H-xl-y</span> (who <i>is</i> such fun!)
+calls my Memoir, because I'm a F.R.S., a case of "<i>Fellow-De-Se</i>."</p>
+
+<p>Talking of Chance, everything that has ever happened to me <i>has</i>
+been Chance!</p>
+
+<p>For instance, what could have been more a matter of luck than my
+choosing a house at Down? <span class="smcap">H-xl-y</span> says
+something about being "Down on my luck." (What a master of style old
+<span class="smcap">H-xl-y</span> is, to be sure!)</p>
+
+<p>Then there was that voyage on the <i>Sea-Mew</i>. If it hadn't been that
+my Uncle kicked me six times round his garden at Shrewsbury, because I
+said "I'd be jiggered if I went," I don't believe I should ever have had
+courage to accept the appointment of Naturalist to the expedition. That
+voyage gave me an object in life. My nose had <i>made</i> me an object
+in life before that (<i>vide Portrait</i>), but Natural Selection
+triumphed over my nose, and so I became in due time famous, and an
+Ag-nose-tic!</p>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">My Schooldays.</span></h3>
+
+<p>At school I was an exceptionally naughty boy. I cannot conceive what
+induced me to tell another little boy that I had often produced
+crab-apples by taking a dead crab and burying it in an orchard, but I
+did. My little friend, I recollect, didn't believe me, and indeed pulled
+my nose (always a sore point with me, but he made its point much sorer)
+for telling what he called "beastly crams." We had a fight, I also
+remember. Perhaps I ought to call it a "struggle for existence." He was
+much the "fittest," and he survived. <i>I</i> got licked.</p>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">Choice of Calling.</span></h3>
+
+<p>My extreme naughtiness continued unabated when I became a young man.
+Nobody expected I should ever "do" anything&mdash;except six months' hard
+labour! At Cambridge I was so shockingly "rowdy," that my father
+declared, there was no alternative but to send me into the Church. But
+as I was hunting with the College drag at the hour when I ought to have
+been in for my Ordination Examination, the Bishop failed to see matters
+in the same light. I then decided to be a Doctor. If I had stuck to this
+profession I fancy that my turn for trying experiments would have landed
+me in some exalted position&mdash;possibly at Newgate. As it was, after
+attending a lecture on Surgery, I was discovered in the local Hospital
+trying to cut off a patient's leg on an entirely new principle, with a
+pair of scissors and an old meat-saw, and I was nearly "run in" for
+manslaughter. I decided to give up Medicine, and a slight shindy over a
+supposed error of mine in calculating a score having prevented my
+becoming a success as a Public-house Billiard-marker, I thought I would
+make my mark in another way, as a breeder of race-horses. Being,
+however, forcibly chucked out of Newmarket Heath one day for an alleged
+irregularity which I never could understand, I began really to wonder
+what profession I <i>was</i> fitted to adorn.</p>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">I become a Naturalist.</span></h3>
+
+<p>It was at this time that the Captain of the <i>Sea-Mew</i> offered me
+that post of which I have before spoken. I accepted it, and began at
+once to lower the record in sea-sickness, being never once well on board
+ship <i>for three whole years</i>! It was a new experience, and altered
+me a good deal. From being rowdy and idle I became quiet and abnormally
+diligent. If you don't believe this, ask <span
+class="smcap">H-xl-y</span> (who is such fun!). On returning to England
+I at once settled Down, and began to write books.</p>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">The "Origin of Species."</span></h3>
+
+<p>This work is my title to fame. It only took me thirty-three years and
+six months to write. I felt quite glad when it was finished. People who
+have read it tell me they feel the same, The row it caused was
+frightful! If you want to see "<span class="smcap">Soapy Sam's</span>"
+slashing <i>Quarterly Review</i> article pulverised, read <span
+class="smcap">H-xl-y's</span> reply. (But, query&mdash;isn't this scientific
+log-rolling?) The remark which was made, after perusing the book, by
+that eminent Botanist, my friend Professor <span
+class="smcap">Hookey</span>, was&mdash;"Walker!" But he was soon converted.</p>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">My Way of Working.</span></h3>
+
+<p>This, also, can't interest anybody, yet I give it. I get up at 4 <span
+class="smcap">A.M.</span>, and take a walk. From 7 to 10 I work. After
+dinner&mdash;with champagne&mdash;I take another stroll. I have made most
+astonishing scientific discoveries at this time. I could, point out the
+exact spot in the road where I became convinced that <i>the whole
+country had been elevated sixteen feet since the morning</i>! <span
+class="smcap">H-xl-y</span>, who was with me, quite agreed, and said
+that we must all have been elevated at the same time, without knowing
+it.</p>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">My Favourite Authors.</span></h3>
+
+<p>These are, of course, <span class="smcap">Lyell</span> on <i>Lias</i>,
+and <span class="smcap">Hookey</span> on <i>Herbaceous Foraminifera</i>.
+They are far superior to <span class="smcap">Shakspeare</span>, who
+bores me. I like novels, the trashier the better. Only let 'em end well,
+and I don't care how they begin, or whether they begin at all. In
+newspapers, the best part, I think, is the Parliamentary Debates. In
+reading them I have often got valuable hints as to the "Origin of
+Speeches," and they frequently afford conclusive evidence of the
+"Descent of Man." I thought of bringing Parliamentary manners in as a
+chapter in my book on "Earth-worms," but <span
+class="smcap">H-xl-y</span> advised me not to, and I didn't.</p>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">My Nose.</span></h3>
+
+<p>I think I've mentioned this feature before. It troubles me. It is
+undoubtedly of a low type, yet it has survived! Why have I not been
+fitted with a fitter one? It is another instance of the fact that
+everything&mdash;including my fame&mdash;has come to me by sheer luck. <span
+class="smcap">H-xl-y</span> says "there's a Dar-winning modesty about
+this last remark." Also says, "I've found the 'Philosopher's Tone.'"
+(What screaming fun <span class="smcap">H-xl-y</span> always is!)</p>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">My Portraits.</span></h3>
+
+<p>Perhaps I may be allowed to say one word as to the Photographs preceding
+these volumes. <i>They aren't the least little bit like me</i>! In
+Volume One I appear as the unmistakable "Country Butcher." In Volume Two
+I am "The Gorilla Asleep," or "Beetle-brow Napping" (after a
+beetle-hunt, probably). Volume Three represents me as the Typical
+Brigand of Transpontine Melodrama.</p>
+
+<p>Why, too, has the Photographer insisted on bringing out that unfortunate
+feature of mine so prominently?</p>
+
+<p>Why? indeed! Who nose?</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>THE LARKS AND THE ROSES.</h2>
+
+<h3>(<i>Ballad, by Milton Featherly Jonsone</i>.)</h3>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width:25%;">
+<a href="images/illus261b.png">
+<img src="images/illus261b.png" width="100%"  alt="" title="Rose on the Swell." />
+</a>
+<p>Rose on the Swell.</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>The roses were blowing, like whales in the sea</p>
+<p>Where the apple-bloom icebergs plunged fearless and free,</p>
+<p>And the larks carolled madly their high jubilee</p>
+        <p class="i10">In the ether.</p>
+<p>The daisies ran riot in sunshine and shade,</p>
+<p>And the call of the cuckoo was heard from the glade,</p>
+<p>Where Summer with mellow monotony play'd</p>
+        <p class="i10">On her zither.</p>
+</div>
+
+<h3><i>Tempo di Valse</i>.</h3>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Ho, larks and roses!</p>
+  <p class="i2">Hey, the bonny weather!</p>
+<p>Hey, we rose at morning prime;</p>
+  <p class="i2">Ho, we lark'd together!</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>'Mid roses and larks in our shallop we glide</p>
+<p>By Inglesham poplars, on Teddington's tide,</p>
+<p>Where the water of Thame under Sinodun slide,</p>
+                 <p class="i10">And at Marlow,</p>
+<p>By Cliveden's green caverns, and Abingdon's walls,</p>
+<p>Where wirgles the Windrush, where Eynsham weir falls,</p>
+<p>By Sonning, or Sandford (whose lasher recalls</p>
+                <p class="i10"><i>Mr. Barlow</i>).</p>
+</div>
+
+<h3><i>Con tenerezza</i>.</h3>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Oh, larks, and ro(w)ses</p>
+  <p class="i2">On the shining river;</p>
+<p>Silver water-lilies, love;</p>
+  <p class="i2">Love will last for ever!</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>But the blooms turn'd to apples for urchins to munch,</p>
+  <p class="i2">And the roses were sold at a penny a bunch,</p>
+<p>And the larks were served up for an Alderman's lunch,</p>
+                <p class="i10">Dead and cold, love;</p>
+<p>And the lustre has faded from tresses and cheek,</p>
+<p>And the eyes do not sparkle, the eyes that I seek,</p>
+<p>And the temper is strong and the logic is weak</p>
+                <p class="i10">Of my old love.</p>
+</div>
+
+<h3><i>Con tenerezza</i>.</h3>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Oh, larks, and ro(w)ses</p>
+  <p class="i2">On the shining river;</p>
+<p>Silver water-lilies, love;</p>
+  <p class="i2">Love will last for ever!</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>But the blooms turn'd to apples for urchins to munch,</p>
+  <p class="i2">And the roses were sold at a penny a bunch,</p>
+<p>And the larks were served up for an Alderman's lunch,</p>
+                <p class="i10">Dead and cold, love;</p>
+<p>And the lustre has faded from tresses and cheek,</p>
+<p>And the eyes do not sparkle, the eyes that I seek,</p>
+<p>And the temper is strong and the logic is weak</p>
+                <p class="i10">Of my old love.</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<h3><i>Snuffiamente</i>.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<p>No larks and roses</p>
+  <p class="i2">In a winter gloaming;</p>
+<p>Ruby-red love's nose is;</p>
+  <p class="i2">Chilblain time a-coming'.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="smcap">The Watchword of the Sugar-Bounty
+Conference.</span>&mdash;"England expects that every man (and woman) will pay
+an import duty."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">Latest French Cookery.</span>&mdash;Spilling the <span
+class="smcap">Gr&eacute;vy</span>.</h3>
+<p><a class="pagenum" id="page_262">[pg 262]</a></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width:100%">
+<a href="images/illus262.png">
+<img src="images/illus262.png" width="100%"  alt=" " title="HOW WE ADVERTISE NOW." />
+</a>
+<h3>HOW WE ADVERTISE NOW.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p><a class="pagenum" id="page_263">[pg 263]</a></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width:55%">
+<a href="images/illus263.png">
+<img src="images/illus263.png" width="100%"  alt=" " title="SABLES." />
+</a>
+<h3>"SABLES."</h3>
+
+<p><i>Pastor</i>. "<span class="smcap">How I do regret, my dear Madam, to
+see you wearing these sad
+Habiliments of Woe!</span>"      <span class="author"><i>Widow</i>. "<span class="smcap">'M
+ye-es. Black never did suit me!</span>"</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>THE PALACE OF (ADVERTISING) ART.</h2>
+
+<h3>(<i>A Long Way After the Laureate</i>.)</h3>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>I found myself a huckster's pleasure-place,</p>
+  <p class="i2">Wherein 'twas horrible to dwell.</p>
+<p>I said, "O Soul, <i>the</i> object of our race</p>
+      <p class="i6">Is ever one&mdash;to sell."</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>A huge-walled wilderness of ways it was,</p>
+  <p class="i2">With hoardings of exceeding height,</p>
+<p>Which no one without pangs of fear, could pass,</p>
+      <p class="i6">And spasms of affright.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Its purpose, though, was plain; 'twas simply pelf;</p>
+  <p class="i2">Whether a woman wild of glare,</p>
+<p>Or a colossal man shaving himself,</p>
+      <p class="i6">All, all meant money there.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>"And while the world rolls round and round," I said,</p>
+  <p class="i2">"Advertisement is the one thing</p>
+<p>Which need concern the wise and worldly head</p>
+			<p class="i6">Of huckster, histrio, king."</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>To which my soul made answer readily,&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i2">"In patience I must fain abide</p>
+<p>In these vast vistas of vulgarity.</p>
+      <p class="i6">Stretching on every side."</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Full of long-reaching bulks of board it was,</p>
+  <p class="i2">Where, glaring forth from ghostly gloom,</p>
+<p>Were gibbering monkeys grinning in a glass,</p>
+      <p class="i6">In a dame's dressing-room.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>And some were hung with daubs of green and blue,</p>
+  <p class="i2">As gaudy as a cheap Cremorne,</p>
+<p>Where actors postured in the public view,</p>
+      <p class="i6">Some frantic, some forlorn.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>One seemed all glare and gore&mdash;a stabbing hand,</p>
+  <p class="i2">A woman flopping with a groan;</p>
+<p>An ill-drawn idiot trying to look grand,</p>
+      <p class="i6">Big-nosed, and high in bone.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>One showed an ochre coast and emerald waves;</p>
+  <p class="i2">You seemed to see them rise and fall,</p>
+<p>As infant supers&mdash;wretched little slaves&mdash;</p>
+      <p class="i6">Under the canvass crawl.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>And one a full-faced, flashed comedian&mdash;low&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i2">Showing his teeth, with nervous strain,</p>
+<p>With queer goggle-eyes striking like a blow,</p>
+      <p class="i6">And causing quite a pain.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>And one a miser, hoarding fruits of toil,</p>
+  <p class="i2">In front a bony beak, behind,</p>
+<p>Wisps of grey hairs all destitute of oil,</p>
+      <p class="i6">Blown hoary on the wind.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>And one a foreground with three hideous hags,</p>
+  <p class="i2">Each twice as tall as life, or higher,</p>
+<p>Medusa-monsters, clothed in wretched rags,</p>
+      <p class="i6">And crouching round a fire.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>And one an English home&mdash;lantern-light poured</p>
+  <p class="i2">On a forced safe, skeleton keys,</p>
+<p>Whilst gloating o'er the family plate there stored,</p>
+      <p class="i6">Glowered the murderer, <span class="smcap">Peace</span>.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Nor these alone, but everything to scare,</p>
+  <p class="i2">Fit for each morbid mood of mind;</p>
+<p>Murder and misery, want and woe were there</p>
+      <p class="i6">As large as life designed.</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>There was a fellow in a pretty fix,</p>
+  <p class="i2">"Tied to a corpse," all wild alarm,</p>
+<p>Struggling across a sort of sooty Styx,</p>
+      <p class="i6">The "body" on his arm.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Or in a snow-choked city wretchedly,</p>
+  <p class="i2">Dead babe at breast, with bare blown hair,</p>
+<p>A ruined woman crawled with quivering knee;</p>
+      <p class="i6">Two bobbies scowled at her.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Or, posing in a footlight paradise,</p>
+  <p class="i2">A group of Houris smirked to see</p>
+<p>Young fools with clapping hands and ogling eyes</p>
+      <p class="i6">Which said, "<i>We</i> come for <i>ye</i>!"</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Or else a lost and deeply wounded one,</p>
+  <p class="i2">In a wild swamp all bilious greens,</p>
+<p>Came on a corpse a bare branch dangling on;</p>
+      <p class="i6">The ghastliest of scenes!</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Holloaed a half-choked boy with horrid fear,</p>
+  <p class="i2">A brute the rope about to draw;</p>
+<p>A second with a knife and axe was near</p>
+      <p class="i6">To give the first Lynch Law.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Or in a railway-tunnel, iron rail'd,</p>
+  <p class="i2">A man lay bound; his blood ran ice</p>
+<p>Who looked thereon, an engine shrieked; he paled,</p>
+      <p class="i6">And fainted in a trice.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>A monkey by her hair a woman clasp'd;</p>
+  <p class="i2">From her poor head it seemed half torn,</p>
+<p>One ape-hand dragged it back; the other grasp'd</p>
+      <p class="i6">A steel blade's haft of horn.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>A hideous babe in nauseous nudity,</p>
+  <p class="i2">Huge-headed, grinning like a clown,</p>
+<p>Advertised Soap. A vile monstrosity,</p>
+      <p class="i6">The terror of the Town!</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Nor these alone; but every horror rare,</p>
+  <p class="i2">Which the sensation-poisoned mind.</p>
+<p>Imaged to advertise vile trash, was there&mdash;</p>
+      <p class="i6">As large as life design'd.</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Deep dread and loathing of these horrors crude,</p>
+  <p class="i2">Fell on my Soul, hard to be borne,</p>
+<p>She cried, "Why should these <i>incubi</i> intrude</p>
+      <p class="i6">And plague us night and morn?</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>"What! is not this a civilised town," she said,</p>
+  <p class="i2">"A spacious city, cultured, free?</p>
+<p>Why give it up to dismalness and dread,</p>
+      <p class="i6">Murder and misery?"</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>In every corner of that city stood,</p>
+  <p class="i2">Unholy shapes, and spectral scares,</p>
+<p>And fiends, and phantoms, brutal scenes of blood,</p>
+      <p class="i6">And horrible nightmares.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>"We are shut up as in a tomb, girt round</p>
+  <p class="i2">With charnel scenes on every wall;</p>
+<p>Wherever echoes of town-traffic sound,</p>
+      <p class="i6">Or human footsteps fall.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>She cried, "By Jove, it is a pretty game</p>
+  <p class="i2">That Man, the Advertiser's thrall,</p>
+<p>Should have these scenes of grimness, gore, and shame,</p>
+      <p class="i6">Shock him from every wall.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>"The very cab-horses go wild with fears!</p>
+  <p class="i2">I rather fancy it is time</p>
+<p>To stop these poster-terrors, placard-tears,</p>
+      <p class="i6">And advertising crimes.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>"Yes, yes, pull down these pictured screens that are</p>
+  <p class="i2">All dedicate to gore and guilt.</p>
+<p><i>Not</i> solely for Soap-vendor or Stage-star</p>
+      <p class="i6">Was our big Babylon built!</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p><a class="pagenum" id="page_264">[pg 264]</a></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>VOCES POPULI.</h2>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Scene</span>&mdash;<i>A Promenade Concert. Interval
+between Parts I. and II.
+Crowd collecting before Platform</i>.</p>
+
+<p><i>Highly Respectable Matron (to female Friend)</i>. As to being
+<i>beautiful</i>,
+it's not for me to say, but they're clean-limbed, healthy
+children, thank Heaven! and what more do you want? (<i>The</i> Friend
+<i>makes a complimentary protest</i>.) Well, it may be so; but, to come
+back to her. I don't like her present home so well as I did her
+first&mdash;not
+so tasty, to my mind. She's got nice things about her, though,
+I <i>will</i> say&mdash;a nice sideboard, a nice ... (<i>Inventory follows
+here</i>.)</p>
+
+<p><i>The Friend (darkly)</i>. All the same, it's a constant wonder to me
+how she can ever bring herself to sleep in <i>that</i> bed!</p>
+
+<p><i>The H. R. M</i>. I couldn't myself; but (<i>charitably</i>) we've not
+all
+the same feelings. (<i>Crush increases; Female Promenader with very
+yellow hair passes, with apologies</i>.) "Excuse me, Madame" (<i>with
+attempt at mimicry</i>); ah&mdash;and she <i>needs</i> it! The orchestra's
+coming
+back now. I didn't notice that young woman among them before&mdash;what's
+<i>she</i> going to play, I wonder?</p>
+
+<p><i>The Friend</i>. Whatever it is, she might look more pleasant over it!</p>
+
+<p><i>The H. R. M</i>. So she might&mdash;we can't all be good-looking, but
+we can all be pleasant&mdash;but they wouldn't have engaged her here, if
+she hadn't her gift!</p>
+
+<p><i>The Friend</i>. Oh, you may depend on it, she's got a gift&mdash;but I do
+call her plain, myself.</p>
+
+<p><i>A Man with a very red nose (to Companion)</i>. And then, you see,
+I've this special advantage&mdash;my <i>immense</i> knowledge of the world.
+Think there's time for another before they begin again, eh?</p>
+
+<p class="i6">[<i>Companion is of that opinion; adjournment to bar of house</i>.</p>
+
+<h3><i>Second Part begins; Lady Vocalist retiring after Song</i>.</h3>
+
+<p><i>First Promenader</i>. Brayvo! Engcore! What, she won't sing no
+more&mdash;sssh!      <span class="i10">[<i>Hisses furiously</i>.</span></p>
+
+<p><i>The H. R. M</i>. There's the orchestra themselves clapping her&mdash;and
+<i>they'd</i> know what's good.</p>
+
+<p><i>Her Friend</i>. She was dressed very nice, I thought.</p>
+
+<p><i>The H. R. M</i>. I never care to see hair done up that style myself.</p>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">On the Platform.</span></h3>
+
+<p><i>Ladies of Chorus tripping up from below Stage for the Vocal
+Valse</i>.</p>
+
+<p><i>Ladies of Chorus (all together)</i>. Am I too black under the eyes,
+dear? Mind where you're going, Miss, please! Treading on people's
+toes like that&mdash;the great clumsy thing! I'm next to you, aren't I?
+I do feel so funny, my dear, don't you? For goodness sake, don't
+go setting me on the giggle <i>now</i>!</p>
+
+<p class="i10">[<i>They range themselves modestly in a row at edge of platform</i>.</p>
+
+<p><i>Rude Person (in upper box with Punch squeak)</i>. Rooti-too-ti!</p>
+
+<p class="i10">[<i>Roars of laughter</i>.</p>
+
+<p><i>Ladies of C. (indignantly)</i>. Beast! I wish they'd give him
+something to make him rooti-toot, I do!</p>
+
+<p><i>Conductor-Composer (from behind)</i>. Now, Ladies, ready please&mdash;keep
+the laugh steadier than you did last time, and wait for me at
+the repeat!</p>
+
+<p class="i10">[<i>He taps on desk: each Lady of Chorus stiffens herself perceptibly
+and makes a little grimace</i>.</p>
+
+<p><i>One Lady (in whisper)</i>, Oh, dear, I wish I was at
+home with my Ma!     <span class="i10">[<i>Her companions giggle</i>.</span></p>
+
+<p><i>The H. R. M</i>. It's as much as they can do to sing for
+laughing&mdash;they're
+<i>called</i> "Laughing Beauties," though. I like this one's face
+up at this end&mdash;she's so quiet and lady-like over it, and pretty too;
+they put all the pretty ones in front, but there's one quite an old
+woman behind. They're having all the fun down at the other end&mdash;how
+they are going on, to be sure!</p>
+
+<p class="i10">[<i>End of Vocal Valse: loud applause. Ladies of Chorus retire
+after</i> encore <i>with air of graceful dignity</i>.</p>
+
+<p><i>The Person with the Squeak</i>. Goo'-bye, duckies!</p>
+
+<p class="i10">[<i>Roars of laughter again: renewed indignation among Chorus</i>.
+Person with Squeak <i>feels like</i> <span class="smcap">Sheridan</span>
+<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Theodore
+Hook</span> <i>rolled into one</i>.</p>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">In the Grand Circle.</span></h3>
+
+<p><i>A Young Gentleman (who has set himself to form his</i> fianc&eacute;e's
+<i>mind, but finds it necessary to proceed very gradually</i>). Now,
+<span class="smcap">Caroline</span>,
+tell me&mdash;isn't this better than if we had gone to the Circus?</p>
+
+<p><i>Caroline (from the provinces; unmusical; simple in her tastes)</i>.
+Yes, <span class="smcap">Joseph</span>, only&mdash;(<i>timidly</i>)&mdash;there's
+more of what I call variety in a Circus&mdash;more going <i>on</i>, I mean.</p>
+
+<p><i>The Y. G. (with a sense of discouragement)</i>. I quite see your
+meaning, dear, and it's an entirely true observation; still, you
+<i>do</i> appreciate this magnificent orchestra, don't you now?</p>
+
+<p><i>Caroline</i>. I should have liked it better with different coloured
+curtains&mdash;maize is so trying.</p>
+
+<p><i>The Y. G. (mentally)</i>. I won't write home to them about it
+<i>just</i> yet.</p>
+
+<p><i>Orchestra begins a "Musical Medley" with Overture to
+"Tannh&auml;user."</i></p>
+
+<p><i>The Y. G. (who has lost his programme)</i>. Now, <span
+class="smcap">Caroline</span>&mdash;this
+is <span class="smcap">Wagner</span>&mdash;you'll like <span
+class="smcap">Wagner</span>, darling, I'm sure.</p>
+
+<p><i>Caroline (startled)</i>. Shall I? Where is he? Will he come in
+here? Must I speak to him?</p>
+
+<p><i>The Y. G</i>. No, no&mdash;he's <i>dead</i>&mdash;I mean, this is from his
+<i>Opera</i>&mdash;you
+must listen to this.</p>
+
+<p class="i10">[<i>He watches her face for the emotion he expects; "Tannh&auml;user"
+melts suddenly into "Tommy, Make Room for your Uncle."</i></p>
+
+<p><i>Caroline (her face absolutely transfigured)</i>. Oh, <span
+class="smcap">Joseph</span>, dear&mdash;<span class="smcap">Wagner's</span>
+perfectly <i>lovely</i>!</p>
+
+<p><i>The Y. G. (gloomily)</i>. I see, I shall have to put you through a
+course of <span class="smcap">Bach</span>, <span
+class="smcap">Caroline</span>!</p>
+
+<p><i>Caroline (alarmed)</i>. But there's nothing whatever the
+<i>matter</i> with
+me, <span class="smcap">Joseph</span>! I'm not flushed am I?</p>
+
+<p class="i10">[<i>Young Gentleman suppresses a groan</i>.</p>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">In a Box.</span></h3>
+
+<h3>(<i>Musical Medley still in progress</i>.)</h3>
+
+<p><i>A Lady (not much of an Opera-goer, who has been given a box at
+the last moment, and has insisted on her husband turning out to escort
+her)</i>. It was silly of you to drop that programme, <span
+class="smcap">Robert</span>&mdash;I should
+like to know what this piece is, it seems quite familiar&mdash;(<i>Orchestra
+playing "Soldiers' March" from Faust</i>)&mdash;<i>I</i> know&mdash;it's Faust,
+<span class="smcap">Robert</span>, <i><span
+class="smcap">Gounod's</span> Faust</i>!</p>
+
+<p class="i10">[<i>Much pleased with herself for recollecting an Opera she has only
+heard once</i>.</p>
+
+<p><i>Robert (sleepily). I</i> know, my dear, all right.</p>
+
+<p class="i10">[<i>Faust melts into air from "Pinafore."</i></p>
+
+<p><i>His Wife</i>. Do you mean to say you don't remember that, <span
+class="smcap">Robert</span>?
+how exquisite <span class="smcap">Patti</span> was in the part, to be
+sure!</p>
+
+<p><i>Robert</i>. Umph!</p>
+
+<p class="i10">[<i>"Pinafore" becomes "La ci darem"&mdash;which transforms itself
+without warning into "Two Lovely Black Eyes."</i></p>
+
+<p><i>The Lady</i>. There's nobody like <span class="smcap">Gounod</span>!
+  <span class="i10">[<i>Clasps her hands</i>.</span></p>
+
+<p><i>Robert (captiously)</i>. <span class="smcap">Gounod's</span> all very
+well, I daresay, my dear;
+but it don't seem to me he's altogether <i>original</i>. I've heard
+something
+very like this tune before, and I'll swear it wasn't by him!</p>
+
+<p><i>The Lady</i>. That's very likely; <i>all</i> the best airs get stolen
+nowadays,
+and dressed up so as to be quite unrecognisable; but that's not
+<span class="smcap">Gounod's</span> fault, is it?</p>
+
+<p class="i10">[<i>Fans herself triumphantly, after vindicating her favourite
+Composer</i>. <span class="smcap">Robert</span> <i>slumbers</i>.</p>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">Behind the Platform.</span></h3>
+
+<p><i>Erratic Promenader</i>. Beg your pardon, Sir&mdash;tha' shtick, not
+'tended meet <i>your</i> eye, Sir&mdash;<i>'nother</i> gerrilm'n's eye, Sir.</p>
+
+<p><i>Fair Promenader (to Lady Friend)</i>. And I'm sure I don't know
+how it is, but I'm always crying now for just nothing at all, whenever
+I'm alone.</p>
+
+<p><i>The Lady Friend</i>. That's because you give way to it, dear. Come
+and have something to cheer you up&mdash;you'll be a different person
+after it.                     <span style="float:right">[<i>Advice taken; prediction verified</i>.</span></p>
+
+<p><i>The Err. Prom</i>. I shay, here'sh lark! see tha' Bobby over there?
+he thinksh I'm <i>tight</i>! (<i>Waltzes up to him solemnly</i>). Kn'ive
+pleshure nexsht dansh you, Sir Charlesh?</p>
+
+<p><i>The Policeman (severely)</i>. You keep your 'ands off of me, will
+you, and take yourself home&mdash;that's my advice to <i>you</i>!</p>
+
+<p><i>Err. Prom. (outraged)</i>. You 'pear me to under 'preshionthish is
+Hy' Par' or Trafa&mdash;&mdash;(<i>with an effort</i>)&mdash;Trafa-ralgarar Square. I'm
+goin' teash you, free Briton not goin' put up with P'lice brurality!</p>
+
+<p class="i10">[<i>Hits Policeman in the eye, and is removed, smiling feebly.
+Scene changes</i>.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>An Open Question.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<p>Lord <span class="smcap">Solly</span>, at Paddies presuming to rail,</p>
+<p>Must sneer at their "brogue," which the Markis finds stale.</p>
+<p>Does he think a poor fellow must fain be a rogue</p>
+<p>Because, born in Erin, he speaks with a brogue?</p>
+<p>Celtic ears finds the drawl of the Saxon Swell flat,</p>
+<p>And a Cockney may chaff at the <i>patois</i> of <span class="smcap">Pat</span>.</p>
+<p>But which is in fault&mdash;is it <i>really</i> so clear?&mdash;</p>
+<p>The Irishman's tongue, or the Englishman's ear?</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>In a recent case on appeal, <span class="smcap">Hammond &amp; Co.</span>
+<i>v</i>. <span class="smcap">Bussey</span>, Mr. Justice <span
+class="smcap">Bowen</span> was understood (by Our Special Reporter) to
+say that a judgment relating to coals must be decided by the principles
+of <span class="smcap">Coke</span>. The Master of the Rolls and Mr.
+Justice <span class="smcap">Fry</span> concurred; the latter observing
+that in winter a coal merchant must always be a <span
+class="smcap">Bussey</span> person, though his Lordship admitted that
+this had nothing to do with the case. The Master of the Rolls and Mr.
+Justice <span class="smcap">Bowen</span> at once concurred.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 5%; margin-right:3em">
+<img src="images/illus264.png" width="100%"  alt="Illustration" />
+</div>
+<div>
+<p class="hang">
+<strong>NOTICE.</strong>&mdash;Rejected Communications or Contributions,
+whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description,
+will in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and
+Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no
+exception.</p></div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume
+93, December 3, 1887, by Various
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+</pre>
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+</body>
+</html>
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@@ -0,0 +1,1865 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 93,
+December 3, 1887, 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 93, December 3, 1887
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: Francis Burnand
+
+Release Date: March 8, 2012 [EBook #39077]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, CHARIVARI, DEC 3, 1887 ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Punch, or the London Charivari, Wayne Hammond,
+Malcolm Farmer and the Online Distributed Proofreading
+Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
+VOL 93
+December 3rd 1887
+
+
+
+
+          THE LETTER-BAG OF TOBY, M.P.
+
+        +From the Lord Mayor of Dublin.+
+
+        _Mansion House, Dublin, Saturday_.
+
++Dear Toby+,
+
+The news from Ireland, not all of which finds its way into your daily
+papers, grows in excitement. The exploit of Mr. +Douglas P-ne+, M.P., of
+Lisfinny Castle, has taken root, and all the landed gentry among the
+Irish Members are fortifying themselves in their castles, and hanging
+themselves outside the front-door by ropes to deliver addresses to their
+constituents. The regular thing now is to hang out our M.P.'s on the
+outer wall. I do not see accounts of these proceedings in your London
+papers. I was, as you know, a Journalist before I was Lord Mayor; so, if
+you don't mind, I'll send you a few jottings. If there is anything due
+for lineage, please remit it anonymously to the Land League Fund "From A
+Sympathiser."
+
+Foremost in this band of heroic patriots is the _chatelain_ of
+Butlerstown, +Joseph G-ll-s B-gg-r+, M.P., Butlerstown Castle, as
+everyone acquainted with Ireland knows, stands on the summit of a Danish
+rath, and was once the seat of an +O'Toole+. Now it is the den of
++Joseph G-ll-s+. For some time he has been practising a flying leap from
+the eastern to the western turret, a distance of fifty feet over a
+yawning abyss, amid the cavernous depths of which the petulant plummet
+has played in vain. It is thrilling, whether at early dawn, or what time
+the darkening wing of Night begins to flap, to hear a shrill cry of
+"Hear, hear!" to see a well-known figure cleaving the astonished air,
+and to behold +Joseph G-ll-s+, erewhile upright on the eastern turret,
+prone on that which lifts its head nearer the setting sun. To be present
+on one of the occasions when +Joey B+. reads a Blue Book for three hours
+to a deputation shivering in the moat, is enough to convince the dullest
+Saxon of the hopelessness of enthralling a nation which has given birth
+to such as he. As +Joseph+ himself says, quoting, with slight variation,
+my own immortal verse,--
+
+  "Whether on the turret high,
+  Or in the moat not dry,
+  What matter if for Ireland dear we talk!"
+
+But the affairs at Butlerstown should not withdraw our gaze from a not
+less momentous event which recently happened in the neighbourhood of
+Cork city. Mr. +P-rn-ll+, as he has recently explained to you, has not
+found it expedient or even necessary to take part in our recent public
+proceedings in Ireland. But this abstention is to a certain extent
+illusory. It is no secret in our inner circles that our glorious Chief
+was but the other day in close communication with his constituents in
+the city of Cork. He arrived shortly after breakfast in a balloon which
+was skilfully brought to pause over the rising ground by Sunday's Well.
+At the approach of the balloon the trained intelligence of the Police
+fathomed the plot. The Privy Council was immediately communicated with.
+Sworn information was laid, and the meeting was solemnly proclaimed by
+telegraph. In the meanwhile, Mr. +P-rn-ll+ had addressed the meeting at
+some length and met with an enthusiastic reception. The Police massing
+in considerable numbers and beginning to baton the electors, the Hon.
+Member poured a bag of ballast over them, and the balloon, gracefully
+rising, disappeared in the direction of Limerick. The proceedings then
+terminated.
+
+I expect that the success of this new departure, or perhaps I should say
+this unexpected arrival, will encourage our great Chief to pay a series
+of flying visits to Ireland. His adventure was certainly happier and
+more successful than one which befell our esteemed friend +Tim H-ly+,
+and nearly brought to an untimely conclusion a life dear to us and of
+inestimable value to Ireland. +Tim+ was announced to take the chair at a
+mass meeting summoned under the auspices of the local branch of the Land
+League of Longford. A room was taken, the word passed round, and all
+preparations made for a successful meeting. The Police, however, got
+wind of it, and of course the meeting was proclaimed. But +Tim+, as you
+may happen to know, is not the man to have his purpose lightly set
+aside. It was made known that +Tim+ would make his speech and the Police
+might catch him if they could. You know, may be, the big factory in the
+thriving town of Longford--the one with a tall chimbly? Well, the word
+was passed along again that the bhoys were to assemble about the
+factory. "Would they bring a chair or a table," they said, "for +Tim+ to
+stand on?" "No," said +Tim+, wiping his spectacles, "you leave it to
+me."
+
+Meeting announced to take place at eight o'clock. On the very strike of
+the hour, a stentorian voice, not unfamiliar in the House of Commons,
+floated over the assembled multitude. "Men of Longford," it said, "we
+are assembled here in the exercise of our privilege as free men." First
+of all they could not tell where the voice came from. Looking up,
+behold! there was +Tim+ planted inside the top of the tall chimbley,
+using it like a Bishop's pulpit. It was a capital idea, and worked
+admirably for half an hour, with the Police all throbbing and raging
+round, and +Tim+ eyeing them quite calmly, and all the crowd roaring and
+cheering, and throwing up their hats, and +B-lf-r+ getting it hot.
+Somehow, whether from treachery or accident no one knows, and perhaps
+never will know, but in the middle of one of his best sentences, +Tim+
+suddenly vanished from sight, and was a clear three minutes later picked
+up from among the cinders in the furnace below. The proceedings then
+terminated.
+
+There is a good deal more I could tell you, +Toby+, my bhoy, if time
+permitted. I should like above all to tell you of Major +O'G-rm-n+'s
+magnificent oration delivered from the main shaft of the sewer in
+Waterford, with his former constituents hanging on his lips and the
+grate of the sewer. But I am just off myself to address a meeting of my
+fellow citizens. This too, is of course, proclaimed, and equally of
+course that makes no difference. I get on the top of the Lord Mayor's
+coach, leaning on the Mace, and supported by the Sword-bearer. The
+horses move at walking pace, and I address the crowd. It's wonderful
+what a lot one can take out of +B-lf-r+ that way.
+
+    Yours faithfully,      +T. D. S-ll-v-n+.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+AMEN!
+
+    "In deepest reverence and sincere love, the Reichstag is
+    mindful of His Imperial and Royal Highness the Crown Prince.
+    May God protect the dear life of our beloved Crown Prince, and
+    preserve it for the welfare of the Fatherland."--_Telegram from
+    the Reichstag to the Crown Prince_.
+
+  "So mote it be!" That deep and reverent prayer
+  In all true hearts finds echo everywhere;
+  Not least in those that flush with British blood.
+  Prince, a loved daughter from our Royal brood,
+  In trouble as in joy, is at your side,
+  Sharing your sorrow as she shared your pride.
+  For her dear sake, and for your own not less,
+  We wish you, gallant soldier-chief, success
+  In a dread struggle keener, sterner far
+  Than those you faced in the fierce lists of war.
+  We know--have you not proved it?--that 'twill be
+  Met with the same cool steadfast gallantry
+  As marked your bearing in more martial strife.
+  Punch joins in that warm prayer for "the dear life,"
+  And echoes, from a far yet kindred strand,
+  The pleading voices of the Fatherland!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+As among the best books for a young man who had to be the architect of
+his own fortunes, some one in Mrs. +Ram's+ hearing mentioned +Thomas a
+Kempis+. "Oh yes," exclaimed the worthy lady, "I know. He built a great
+part of Brighton which was named after him."
+
+               *       *       *
+
++A Real "Orleans" Plum.+--The forged letters.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: MR. PUNCH'S PARALLELS.  No. 4.
+
+SIR W. V. HARCOURT AS _FALSTAFF_.
+
+"+There's no more valour in that _Goschen_ than in a Wild Duck.".... "A
+plague of all Cowards still say I!+"
+
+               _Henry the Fourth_, Part I., Act ii, Scenes 2 and 4.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Mrs. +Ram+, at this time of year, takes a great interest in the state of
+the weather, and studies the daily Meteorological chronicle. She says
+that she always reads the reports from Ben Nevis's Observatory. She
+hopes that, one of these fine days, this learned astronomer will be made
+a Knight. Sir +Benjamin Nevis+ would be, she considers, a very nice
+title. "Of course," she adds, "judging by his name, he must be a Jew.
+They're such clever people. And, let me see, ain't there a proverb, or
+something of that sort, about 'the Jew of Ben Nevis'?"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+BISHOP AND PORT.
+
++My Dear Mr. Punch+,
+
+In my Autobiography, which I am glad and proud to say, has met with your
+cordial approbation, I have recorded how the late lamented Bishop, Dr.
++Sumner+, said to me, "I have drunk a bottle of port wine every day
+since I was a boy." Well, his son, the Archdeacon, is annoyed at this
+statement. Now, my memory is a very good one, and if I am wrong in one
+point so circumstantially narrated, why not in several, why not in all?
+If the Bishop did not say this, to me, _who did_? Somebody said it, that
+I will swear. Who said it? If my memory fails me, is it not also likely
+that the Bishop's memory was not particularly good, and consequently,
+that he was mistaken in thinking that he had drunk a bottle a day since
+his boyhood? I have little doubt that the Bishop only imagined it, and
+perhaps he was joking. Perhaps he was playing on the words "bishop" and
+"port." "Bishop" was a hot drink, I fancy, made with port wine. I have
+no hesitation in comforting his Archidiaconal offspring by assuring him
+that, to the best of my knowledge and belief, his father, the Bishop,
+did not drink a bottle of port every day since his boyhood. He was a
+very fine old clergyman--I forget whether he was exactly portly or not,
+or whether he resided in Portman Square,--and I should say that
+first-rate port, such as the _elixir vitae_ that made a hale centenarian
+of Sir +Moses Montefiore+, taken frequently, would have tended to make
+him the genial prelate he was. Had he only gone into port once, that
+would not have sufficed to have produced such a Bishop, for "One swallow
+does not make a +Sumner+."
+
+    Yours ever,
+
+    +W(ithdraw) P(ort) Frith+.
+
+P.S.--The Archdeacon is satisfied, and if he will only come round to see
+me and bring a bottle of the port the Bishop didn't drink, why, on my
+word as an artist, _I'll draw the cork_.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"_What shall he have who kills the Deer_?" Why, something to eat, of
+course. At least this was, among others, the notion of the poor starving
+Cottars. And they have now given up venison-eating because the food is
+deer.
+
+               *       *       *
+
++Two French Presidents Rolled Into One.+--M. +Grevy+, on being told that
+he must resign, wept copiously. This showed a want of resignation.
+Curious sight, +Grevy+ and Tears!
+
+               *       *       *
+
+Sir +Charles Warren+ has been presented with the freedom of the
+Leathersellers' Guild. Capital motto for Policemen in a mob, "Nothing
+like leather! Leather away!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+ROBERT AT KILBURN.
+
+I had the cureosity one day to arsk a lerned gennelman on whom I was
+waiting, whether the poor fellers who lived in the world ever so many
+hundred years ago had got any Copperashuns. He pretended not to
+understand me at fust, and said, with a larf, as he dared say as they
+was made much as we was; that is to say, sum with large ones, and some
+with little ones; but when I xplained what I reely meant, he told me as
+they had, speshally amung the Romuns as lived in Ittaly. He was a werry
+amusing Gent, and when I arsked him what langwidge the Romuns torked, he
+tried to gammon me as they all spoke Latin, ewen the little children and
+all, but in coarse I wasn't quite such a hignoramus as to swaller that,
+as my son +William+, who isn't by no means a fool, learnt Latin at Skool
+for three year and tells me as he carn't speak it a bit. The lerned gent
+also told me as it was such a rum tung to speak that they hadn't not no
+word for "Yes!" So that if a Gent of those long days had bin a dining at
+the "Ship and Turtle" an bin a waited on by an Hed Waiter, like me, and
+had said to him "Woud you like arf-a-crown, Waiter?" the pore feller
+woodn't have been able to say, "Yessir!" I was jest a leetle shocked at
+his torking such rubbish to me, it was hardly respekful, speshally as he
+had ony drunk one pint of Bollinger and one of our 63 Port, but its
+astonishing how heasily sum peeple's heds is affected. I was in hopes as
+he woud have tried the experymint on me, but he didn't, but went smiling
+away.
+
+I shood werry much have liked to have heard a good deal more about them
+werry old Copperashuns, and weather they was to be compared to that
+werry old 'un as I nose so well and respecs so ighly, for good deeds as
+well as good living. Take their werry last one as a sample. Earing of
+what was a going on down at Kilburn on Guy Fox day, and finding as the
+return train would bring me back in time for my perfeshnal dooties, I
+went there and found thowsands of peeple all met in a nice little new
+Park, that the old +Lord Mare+ was a coming down to fust of all crissen,
+and then throw open to the publick. And down he came accordingly in his
+full state Carridge, and his full state Footmen, and his full state
+Sherryiffs, and their full state Carridges and Footmen, jest for all the
+world as if he was a going to make a call on a few Royal Princes and
+Dooks, insted of opening a new Park surrounded by numbers of the reel
+working-classes. But he always has bin a reel gennelman, and never makes
+no difference atween rich and poor when he can do some good. I wasn't
+quite near enuff to hear what he said when he made his speech, but a
+werry respectable reporter arterwards told me, that the +Lord Mare+ had
+written a letter to +Queen Wictoria+ to ask if he might call the Park
+after her. And she had wrote to him in reply, "Deer +Handsum+, as
+there's alreddy a Wictoria Park, you may call this here one the Qween's
+Park. Pleas to remember this 5th of Nowember, Yours trewly, W. R. I."
+
+When the +Lord Mare+ enounced this pleasing intelligence, thus simply
+exprest, lorks how we did all cheer, and a little band that had bin hid
+in a little tent, struck up the hole of arf a werse of _God Save the
+Queen_, at which we all took off our hats, footmen and all, and braved
+the bitter blarst with our bare heds. Ah, that's wot I calls trew
+loyalty, and long may it continue, not the cold bitter blarst, but the
+warm sweet loyalty, for I'm sorry to say as the unusual xposure guv me a
+bad cold.
+
+I got back just in time for the Bankwet. The +Lord Mare+ with his usual
+kindness had let the Chairman of the Committee, the sillibrated Mr.
++Woodbacon+, the grate bookseller, take the Chair, and a remarkabul good
+un he made, setting so good a xample as regards short speeches as made
+ewerybody follow suit.
+
+And now what was this hole proceeding all about? This is what I learnt
+from what was said:--
+
+It wood seem then, that at Kilburn where it was wunce all green feelds,
+there has growed up a reglar crowd of working peeple with far more than
+their fair share of children and as the feelds has all come for to be
+bilt over, the poor little children afoursaid have been obleeged to do
+their playing in the streets, and the nateral or rather unnateral
+consequence has follered, as that numbers of the poor little deers was
+run over and killed. So a nice little Park has been made for 'em all to
+play in, where they can injoy their fresh hair and releeve their poor
+Mother's minds, and grow up red and strong and harty, instead of white
+and weak and wan. And the old Copperashun having put it all ship shape,
+and promist to keep it all in order for hever, arsked the +Lord Mare+ to
+go down and open it, as he did, and in sitch full state that one of the
+natives said as it was like a lot of sunbeams suddenly cumming out on a
+clowdy day. So the +Lord Mare+ finished his long list of good deeds by
+adding one more to 'em, and the Copperashun added one more Open Space to
+the many they has either secured or helped to secure. So wenever I hears
+a sneer at 'em I shall say, "Please to remember that 5th of November!"
+
+    +Robert.+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
++Barnum's+ Show burnt. Of course he will rise like an American ph[oe]nix
+from the ashes. He will advertise it as Burnum's Show.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "PRAVE 'ORTS."
+
+"+By the bye, dear Professor, which would _you_ say--_Abiogen-esis_, or
+_Abiogen[=e]s-is_?+"
+
+"+_Neither_, my dear Madam, if I could possibly help it!+"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
++An Important Summing-up.+ (_By Our Own Special Reporter in the
+recent case of Somebody or Other v. Another Person of the name of_
++Barley+).--Mr. Justice +Mathew+ regretted being compelled to decide
+against +Barley+ on the question of "quantities." Of course, there had
+been an error on the part of the highly respectable Corporation of
+Ramsgate, which might be characterised as a "sin of commission," while
+the neglect of their clerk to enter their arrangement with +Barley+ on
+the minutes was a "sin of omission." All the witnesses in this case must
+be believed, as they had, _a propos_ of +Barley+, taken their oats--he
+should say their oaths. Perhaps when the present statute came to be
+revised, Mr. +Barley+ might act for the town, for which it appears he
+had done good service, and +Barley+ would not have to hide under a
+bushel. It was clear that this sort of +Barley+ was worth more than the
+present price of 28_s_. a quarter. Counsel on both sides had made an
+eloquent display of wheat--he begged pardon, he meant "wit"--and if in
+this judgment he had to tread on anyone's corn, he assured them that to
+do so went against the grain. As an official, +Barley+ would have the
+sack, but sack and all could be taken up to another Court, and there, as
+a German speaking French would say, _On beut Barley_, about it still
+further. (The Jury thanked his Lordship, and all the parties left the
+Court much pleased, humming _All about the Barley_.
+
+               *       *       *
+
+"They acted a Greek Play at Cambridge, my dear," said Mrs. +Ram+ to a
+friend, "and fancy, it was written, as I am informed, by a young lady,
+Miss +Sophie Klees+. I suppose she is a student of Girton. How clever!
+_I_ couldn't write it, I'm sure."
+
+               *       *       *
+
+_The "Quart d'heure de Rabelais,"_ if translated into Anglo-French, may
+be taken to express a bad time of it with the roughs in Trafalgar
+Square, _i.e., a mauvais quart d'heure de Rabble--eh_?
+
+                *       *       *
+
+The Works of +Charles Dickens+ must have achieved great popularity in
+South Eastern Europe, where there is an entire country called Boz-nia.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: THE NEW SCHOOL.
+
+_Schoolboy (aged 16)_. "Good-bye, old Chappies! Can't waste any more
+time with you. 'Good business'!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+TOM BROWN & CO.'S SCHOOL DAYS.
+
+_A Glimpse at the Commercial Education of the Future_.
+
+Twelve o'Clock struck, and the Fourth Form at St. Dunstan's left its
+class-room with a rush. The old hour of leaving off the morning's
+studies was still preserved. Yet, in conformity with the spirit of the
+times, the venerable foundation of St. Dunstan's had recently witnessed
+great changes. The Governing Body had taken the matter in hand, and had
+gone to work with a will. The teaching of Greek and Latin had been
+entirely suppressed, polite literature eliminated, and the whole
+curriculum of the school arranged solely to the provision of that
+glaring want of the times, a sound commercial education. To effect this,
+some radical changes had been necessary. The Rev. +Jabez Plumkin+, D.D.,
+Oxford Prizeman, through whose unwearied exertions, for the past
+five-and-twenty years, St. Dunstan's had been gradually acquiring an
+increasing fame in the Class-lists of both Universities, had been
+forcibly ejected from the Head-Mastership, and his place filled by a
+leading member of a well-known firm of advertising stock-jobbers, and
+the Assistant-Masters had all been selected on similar lines.
+
+"Company-floating," was taught by a late Promoter, who had had much
+experience in the creation of many bubble concerns, and "Rigging the
+Market" was entrusted to a Professor who was known, in his capacity as
+Accountant to a wholesale City Cheese Warehouse, to have contracted a
+thorough familiarity with this important subject of the new commercial
+education. Everything was done to foster a spirit of keen speculative
+enterprise in the boys. The whole traditions of the school were changed.
+The old idea of honour had died out. How to over-reach each other by
+sharp practice was the one idea that animated every youthful breast from
+the senior in the Sixth to the junior in the Under Third. The tape was
+always working at the Principal's desk. The study-tables were covered
+with Stock and Mining Journals. Even the playground was turned into a
+Money Market. Cricket had been banished to make way for the more
+exciting game of "Bulls and Bears," and the Principal passing through
+occasionally, would sometimes stop and say, "That's right, my boys,
+learn to do each other, and remember the motto of your School, 'Monies
+maketh man.'" Posted up upon the gates, communicated by telegraph hourly
+from the City, were every day to be found the latest prices. And it was
+to get a first look at this that the Fourth Form had just left its
+class-room with a rush.
+
+A crowd of eager faces were anxiously scanning the latest quotations,
+and notes were being taken in a score of pocket-books, whipped out for
+the purpose. +Tom Brown & Co.+--he had earned this _sobriquet_ from his
+companions for his shrewd business capacity--did not, however, join the
+throng, but stood a little way off, looking on, and waiting for the
+excitement to abate. Gradually it calmed down, and the boys broke up
+into little knots and groups, discussing the state of the market. Then
+he spoke:--
+
+"Look here, you fellows," he said, "I've got a good thing on here, that,
+I fancy, will be more worth your attention than even the latest prices."
+He pulled a prospectus from his pocket. An interested crowd closed round
+him at once. "It's 'Old Mother +Noggins+, Limited,'" he went on, reading
+from the paper before him, "This Company has been started for the
+purpose of acquiring at wholesale prices all the tarts, bull's-eyes,
+apples, toffy, and ginger-beer, forming the present stock-in-trade of
+Old Mother +Noggins's+ store, and for retailing the same at a figure,
+that will, after paying the guaranteed interest on the fourpenny
+debenture shares, admit of the declaration of a dividend of 14 per cent.
+on the ordinary paid-up share capital of the Company.
+
+A buzz of excited admiration went up from the throng. The Fourth Form at
+St. Dunstan's had not for a long time had such a good thing put before
+it.
+
+"I know," continued +Tom+, producing a bundle of forms of application
+from his pocket, "that you fellows, would like to hear of it. Who'll go
+for it?"
+
+There was a loud responsive shout of "I!" and a dozen hands were at once
+stretched towards the speaker. Business commenced, and sixpences,
+shillings, and half-crowns were pouring into +Tom's+ pockets faster than
+he could cram them there. He was making a very good morning's work of
+it. Presently, a dull, heavy-looking boy joined the group.
+
+"Hullo, +Flopper+!" cried +Tom+, addressing this last arrival, "why
+don't you put that ten bob your Uncle sent you into this thing? I'll be
+bound he told you to turn it over. You won't get such a chance every
+day."
+
+"What is it?" asked +Flopper+.
+
+A chorus of voices instantly joined in a brief explanation of the
+advantages of investing in "Old Mother +Noggins'+ Limited."
+
+"By Jove!" said +Flopper+, "I don't know that I won't."
+
+"Not if I know it," cried an authoritative voice, breaking in upon the
+scene. It was +Snagsby+, the "Sharper" who spoke. There was a general
+look in his direction, and a disposition to make way for him as he
+approached. He had been mixed up disadvantageously in a recent "corner"
+in marbles, and had from time to time floated several concerns that had
+never paid any dividends, and was generally regarded as a "queer"
+customer in consequence. It was for this reason that he had been
+nicknamed the "Sharper."
+
+"And what do you want him to do with his money?" asked +Tom+, stepping
+forward in a defiant attitude.
+
+"He'll put every blessed halfpenny of it into my 'General Pen-knife
+Supply,'" was the laconic reply. "He signed for the allotment last
+night."
+
+"But I've changed my mind," pleaded +Flopper+, helplessly, and he handed
+the half-sovereign to +Tom+.
+
+"You give that up!" cried the Sharper, menacingly.
+
+"You try to take it!" replied +Tom+, grimly.
+
+In another instant the Sharper had flown at +Tom+. There was a brief
+struggle. +Tom+ hit out at him, and caught him in the face.
+
+"Oh, that's your game, is it!" shouted the Sharper. "You'll fight me for
+that."
+
+"Fight you? When and where you like," replied +Tom+.
+
+There was a general cheering and throwing up of hats.
+
+"Hooray! There's going to be a fight between the Sharper and +Tom Brown
+& Co.+," shouted the Fourth Form. They hadn't had such good news for a
+long time.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The whole School was there, and the third round had been fought. Betting
+had been fast and furious, and there had been several attempts made by
+the supporters of both champions to break the ring and put an end to the
+contest when the fortunes of the day seemed to be going against their
+own special favourite. But now a curious thing happened. After a little
+preliminary sparring in the fourth round, +Tom Brown & Co.+, suddenly
+dropping on one knee, went to the ground.
+
+In a few seconds the surprising news was known that he had given in. The
+sponge was thrown up, and the Sharper declared the victor. +Tom+ was
+quickly surrounded by his friends, and led off the field. +Flopper+ ran
+up to him. "I'm so sorry, +Tom+," he said, "that you should have fought
+in my quarrel, and have got licked."
+
+There was a twinkle in +Tom's+ eye. "My dear fellow," he replied. "Don't
+imagine I wouldn't have thrashed him; but business is business, and I
+got a good price for not doing so. Didn't you twig that _I sold the
+fight_?"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+That night +Tom Brown & Co.+ wrote home an enthusiastic account of his
+day's doings to his parents. The next morning, +Tom Brown+, Senior,
+referring to the letter with a glow of pride on his commercial face,
+remarked to his better-half that the boy's training seemed perfect, and
+that he was destined to turn out remarkably well. "I can't tell you," he
+added, "how I long to see that boy loose upon the Stock Exchange. He
+will be a credit to the family."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A book has been recently published entitled _The Amateur's Guide to
+Architecture_, by +Sophie Beale+. Sophie shows us how a house should be
+Beale't. But just imagine an Amateur Architect!!
+
+                *       *       *
+
+The complaint of the Charity Organisation Society, slightly varied from
++Shakspeare+, is that "The quality of Mercy is not _trained_."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+SHOWS VIEWS.
+
+_By Victor Who-goes-Everywhere_.
+
+What can be more dismal than the fourth day of a Fancy Bazaar for a
+"Sale of Work," in aid of a parochial charity? Honestly, I do not know.
+I fancy that even the proverbial "Mute at a funeral," must be livelier.
+That is my present opinion, and it was the same last Thursday, when
+lured by a programme quaintly printed in "old-faced" type, and having
+"ye" in lieu of "the," and "Maister" instead of Mister, I made my way to
+the Portman Rooms in Baker Street, (formerly Madame +Tussaud's+) and
+sought admission to "Old Marybone Gardens, A.D. 1670." Outside the ex
+_depot_ of Waxworks, were two persons in the costume of the last Century
+distributing circulars, and later on I met another couple similarly
+apparelled heading a procession of Sandwich-men walking down Waterloo
+Place. In the Hall of the Bazaar lads in the same sort of dresses, were
+selling programmes (marked sixpence) for twopence. I entered by a small
+canvass-cottage "y'clept" (as the Sale of Workers would call it) "the
+Rose of Normandy," and found myself in the once famous "Hall of Kings"
+without the figures. I discovered two or three dwarf trees, some
+lattice-work and a lot of canvass-covering. I must confess it did not
+cause me much surprise to find only a few spectators. The moment I
+appeared, a lady advanced and asked me in a tone of authority to take a
+button-hole. I refused with courtesy suggestive at once of the gallant
+and the miser, and the Sale of Work-woman retired rather crest-fallen.
+Then two girls, costumed as two females of a past but vague period,
+dashed at me as I turned away, and breathlessly explained that if I
+bought a half-crown ticket I should be entitled to a chance in a raffle
+for a five-guinea sofa-cushion. I slightly frowned as I expeditiously
+refused the invitation, and the ladies disappeared into a corner--I
+trust more in sorrow than in anger--to read the evening paper. In the
+centre of the room was a "fish pond" full of presents, where a
+mild-looking curate was feebly attempting to secure a prize. On the
+whole the entertainment was scarcely exhilarating. The programme
+promised "from V to VI of ye clocke" (how silly!) "a _seance_ of
+Mesmerism," in two "partes," (how really stupid!) and "Maister +Charles
+Bertram+" (Why "Maister?") was to appear later on. Then at eight "of ye
+clocke" (dear, dear! _how_ idiotic!) "the Welbeck Dramatic Club" (what a
+name!) was "to performe ye Comic Drama by +L. S. Buckingham+, y'clept"
+(of course!) "_Take that Girl away_." Later still "Mistresse +Jarley+"
+was to give her waxworks with the assistance of "Maister +Sidney Ward+,"
+(tut, tut!) the Festival finally closing with "Music" at "X of ye
+clocke" (stuff and nonsense!). It will be seen that I cannot even now
+look at the programme (priced at sixpence and sold for twopence) without
+some signs of impatience. The afternoon was too young to allow of my
+assisting at any of these toothsome merry-makings, so after mooning
+about for a quarter of an hour I came away. As I left, a newly-arrived
+dame of mature years was putting on a nurse's cap hurriedly, evidently
+with the view to starting in hot pursuit of me to secure my custom for
+some toys. The ladies with the cushion looked at me languidly as I
+passed them, and then returned to a perusal of their paper. When last I
+had had the advantage of paying a visit to "the Portman Rooms, formerly
+Mme. +Tussaud's+," I had seen nothing but waxwork figures in eccentric
+attitudes. On the whole, I think the former denizens of the place looked
+more at home in their quaint costumes than the Sale of Workers "from
+Tuesday, November 22 to Saturday, November 26, inclusive!"
+
+Finding myself in its neighbourhood, I could not help taking a turn in
+the present palace of the eminent "Portrait Modellist." I paid the
+necessary shilling and the optional sixpence, and renewed my
+acquaintance with "The Kings and Queens," "The Coronation Group," and
+"The Chamber of Horrors." A group representing a reception at the
+Vatican was quite new, if I except two or three funeral attendants, who,
+I fancy I remember, made their last (but one) appearance at the Lying in
+State of +Pio Nono+. After examining a rather cheerful presentment of
+the latest assassin in "The Chamber of Comparative Physiognomy" (as the
+Chamber of Horrors was once, for a short period, "y'clept"), I
+passed through a turnstile, and entered the Refreshment Department.
+Here I noticed that an "overflow meeting," consisting, amongst other
+more-or-less-interesting exhibits of Mr. +Lewis Wingfield's+
+historical costume-wearers (from the Healtheries), and that now
+rather-imperfectly-remembered worthy, the late Sir +Bartle Frere+ (from
+the rooms above), had been humorously arranged, no doubt with a view to
+provoking healthy and hearty laughter. Having refreshed my mind with a
+hurried inspection of this delightful, albeit, somewhat miscellaneous
+gathering, and my body with a twopenny Bath bun, I gracefully retired,
+greatly pleased with the afternoon's entertainment.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
+
+Reviewing the Pages.
+
+What a set these Emperors, Empresses, Kings, Queens, Princes and
+Princesses, Dukes and Duchesses, &c., &c., and all such great people
+everywhere seem to have been, according to the _Memoirs of Count Horace
+de Viel Castel_ (published by Messrs. +Remington & Co.+), who was a kind
+of small French +Pepys+, a great snob, and a Parisian _Sir Benjamin
+Backbite_. Yet there is in this +Horace+ something of the Horatian
+satirist, only without the poetry.
+
+"But +Horace+, Sir, was delicate, was nice,"
+
+which is not exactly the characteristic of the writings of +M. de Viel+
+Castel, who tells us
+
+              "Of birth-nights, balls, and shows,
+  More than ten +Hollinsheds+, or +Halls+, or +Stowes+.
+  When the +Queen+ frowned, or smiled, he knows; and what
+  A subtle Minister may make of that:
+  Who sins with whom:"----
+
+And such like tittle-tattle _ad nauseam_, not sparing his own father and
+brother. Imagine the sort of man who, night after night, could sit down
+and chuckle over the composition of this precious diary! "With the
+exception of the President and the Princess" (+Mathilde+, at whose house
+he was perpetually dining), he says, "all the (+Buonaparte+) family are
+good for nothing."
+
+Of the _bourgeois_ class he writes, "They are always the same stupid,
+craven-hearted, vain race." He was shocked at the production of _La Dame
+aux Camelias_, and considered it as a degradation of the French stage
+and a disgrace to the Public that patronised the performance. To have
+shocked M. +de Viel Castel+ was a feat indeed. +Fould+ "the foxy Jew"
+got ten millions out of the Credit Foncier; so the public was fool'd
+also. +D'Orsay+ was "a ridiculous old doll," and the Duke of +Brunswick+
+"an old fool." He sneered at England, but considered at the moment that
+an alliance with us was the best policy. The Empress at one time went in
+for spirit-rapping, and consulted a table which told her a variety of
+lies about the result and duration of the Crimean War. Such a table must
+have been very black and supported by blacklegs, though it had
+sufficient french polish about it to be silent in the presence of a
+bishop. It is not until the last page of the _Memoirs_, 1864, that the
+name of M. +de Bismarck+ appears. I suppose that "Society," high, low,
+or middle-class, has always gone on in much the same way, more or less
+openly, according to the spirit of the Court, since what is called
+"Society" came into existence; and invariably with a +Viel Castel+, or a
++Greville+, or some one even less particular and more observant "among
+them takin' notes" for future publication. Mr. Bousfield, the
+translator, seems to have done his work with a judicious regard for a
+certain section of English readers. It strikes me that he has had the
+good taste to omit a few anecdotes about some of our own exalted
+personages which would not have been received with unmixed satisfaction
+in every quarter. This is only a surmise on my part, as I am
+unacquainted with the original work.
+
+Let me recommend everyone who values a powerful study of character more
+than a merely cleverly-constructed story, to read _Marzio's Crucifix_,
+by +Marion Crawford+. I do not know what special opportunities the
+author had for the work, but the characters are individually,
+masterpieces. The scene between _Marzio_ and _Don Paolo_, when the
+latter is wrapt in devout contemplation of the artist's _chef
+d'[oe]uvre_, is most striking, and would have been more so had _Marzio_
+carried out his intention of knocking his brother down, and disposing of
+him out of hand.
+
+With Mr. +Saunders's+ _The Story of some Famous Books_ (+Elliot Stock+)
+I was rather disappointed, in consequence of there not being enough
+"famous books," and not much more story than the needy knife-grinder had
+to tell. Still, I thank him for introducing me to a delightful
+name--"+Theopompus+ of Chios"--whom, for this present, I will take as my
+godfather, and sign myself,
+
+      Yours,      +Theopompus, Baron de Book Worms+.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
++Staff Appointments.+--The Specials.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: AN EYE FOR "ELECTIVE AFFINITIES."
+
+_Sir Edwin_. "+Hullo, Angy? Stew-pan? Apron? Tripe and Onions? What on
+earth's up?+"
+
+_The Lady Angelina_. "+Yes, Dearest! Since _you've_ become a _Special
+Constable, I'm_ doing my little utmost to become a Special _Cook_! I
+thought it might bind us still closer together!+"
+
+_Sir Edwin_. "+My own _Love!!_!+"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+LIGHTING THE DUBLIN BEACON.
+
+(_A Ballad of the Brave Old Sort_.)
+
+  "It was all for the Union
+    We left fair Albion's land.
+  It was all for the Union
+    We first saw Irish land,
+                        My Boy!
+    We first saw Irish land!
+
+  "All must be done that man can do.
+    Shall it be done in vain?
+  My +G-sch-n+, to prove that untrue
+    We two have crossed the main,
+                        My Boy!
+    We two have crossed the main!"
+
+  He turned him round and right-about
+    All on the Irish shore.
+  Said he, "We'll give +P-rn-ll+ a shake,
+    And make the Rads to roar,
+                          My Boy!
+    And make the Rads to roar!"
+
+  He was a stout and trusty carle.
+    Said he, "A flare we'll raise,
+  And, spite the Leaguers' angry snarl,
+    We'll make the Beacon blaze,
+                          My Boy!
+    We'll make the Beacon blaze!
+
+  "Who says our friends a handful are,
+    Our foes a serried host?
+  Our Beacon, blazing like a star,
+    Shall check the blatant boast,
+                        My Boy!
+    Shall cheek the blatant boast.
+
+  "Not all are to sedition sworn,
+    Or shackled by the League.
+    Cheer up! We'll laugh, their hate to scorn,
+  And baffle their intrigue,
+                        My Boy!
+    And baffle their intrigue.
+
+  "Puff, +G-sch-n+, puff! Like Boreas blow!
+    And I the logs will pile.
+  The Beacon, now a slender glow,
+    Shall blaze across the Isle,
+                            My Boy!
+    Shall blaze across the Isle.
+
+  "Eh? What? The wood is damp, you say?
+    There comes more smoke than flame?
+  Nay; pile, and poke, and puff away!
+    We'll not give up the game,
+                        My Boy!
+    We'll not give up the game.
+
+  "If we should let this fire die out
+    All on the Irish shore,
+  To Unionism stern and stout
+    Adieu for evermore,
+                        My Boy!
+  Adieu for evermore!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
++The Two Canons and Bean-baggers.+--The Bean-baggers are likely to come
+badly off with two such big guns against them as Canons +Liddon+ and
++McColl+. Let the matter be settled amicably by agreeing that whatever
+it was they did see was a "What-you-+McColl+-it."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+HOW TO ESCAPE THE FOG.
+
+Fogs? Nonsense! Fogs are always mist. And the way to miss them is to go
+to the Institute of Painters in Oil. That will oil the wheels of life in
+this atrociously hibernal weather, and make existence in a fog
+enjoyable. There, in the well-warmed, pleasantly-lighted rooms, will you
+find countless pleasant pictures--delightful sea-subjects, charming
+landscapes, and amusing scenes, by accomplished painters, which will
+infuse a little Summer into the dull, depressing, brumous, filthy
+atmosphere of a weary London Winter. If you cannot get away to Monte
+Carlo, Mentone, Nice, or Rome, hasten at once and take one of Sir +John
+Linton's+ excursion _coupons_, and personally conduct yourself--if you
+don't conduct yourself as you ought, you'll probably be turned
+out--round the well-filled galleries in Piccadilly.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Sir +Drummond+ is ordered off to Teheran. "Well, we're successful in
+keeping one +Wolff+ from our door," as Sir +Gorst+, Q.C., observed to
++Grandolph+. "Poor +Wolffy+!" sighed +Grandolph+. "I shall write a fable
+on 'The +Wolff+ and the Shah!'"
+
+                *       *       *
+
++Sardou and Sara.+--+Sara B.+ has made a hit in what is reported to be a
+poor play called _La Tosca_, by +Sardou+. But in consequence of +Sara's+
+acting, it is in for a run. _Che Sara sara_, _i.e_. (free translation),
+"Who has seen +Sara+ once will see +Sara+ again."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: LIGHTING THE DUBLIN BEACON.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A DOWN-Y PHILOSOPHER;
+
+_Or, Memoirs of a Missing Link_.
+
+I've no particular reason to think an account of my life will interest
+anybody. That being so, I don't know why I write it. But I do. I suppose
+it's Chance. +H-xl-y+ (who _is_ such fun!) calls my Memoir, because I'm
+a F.R.S., a case of "_Fellow-De-Se_."
+
+[Illustration: Seal making a Deep Impression.]
+
+Talking of Chance, everything that has ever happened to me _has_ been
+Chance!
+
+For instance, what could have been more a matter of luck than my
+choosing a house at Down? +H-xl-y+ says something about being "Down on
+my luck." (What a master of style old +H-xl-y+ is, to be sure!)
+
+Then there was that voyage on the _Sea-Mew_. If it hadn't been that my
+Uncle kicked me six times round his garden at Shrewsbury, because I said
+"I'd be jiggered if I went," I don't believe I should ever have had
+courage to accept the appointment of Naturalist to the expedition. That
+voyage gave me an object in life. My nose had _made_ me an object in
+life before that (_vide Portrait_), but Natural Selection triumphed over
+my nose, and so I became in due time famous, and an Ag-nose-tic!
+
++My Schooldays.+
+
+At school I was an exceptionally naughty boy. I cannot conceive what
+induced me to tell another little boy that I had often produced
+crab-apples by taking a dead crab and burying it in an orchard, but I
+did. My little friend, I recollect, didn't believe me, and indeed pulled
+my nose (always a sore point with me, but he made its point much sorer)
+for telling what he called "beastly crams." We had a fight, I also
+remember. Perhaps I ought to call it a "struggle for existence." He was
+much the "fittest," and he survived. _I_ got licked.
+
++Choice of Calling.+
+
+My extreme naughtiness continued unabated when I became a young man.
+Nobody expected I should ever "do" anything--except six months' hard
+labour! At Cambridge I was so shockingly "rowdy," that my father
+declared, there was no alternative but to send me into the Church. But
+as I was hunting with the College drag at the hour when I ought to have
+been in for my Ordination Examination, the Bishop failed to see matters
+in the same light. I then decided to be a Doctor. If I had stuck to this
+profession I fancy that my turn for trying experiments would have landed
+me in some exalted position--possibly at Newgate. As it was, after
+attending a lecture on Surgery, I was discovered in the local Hospital
+trying to cut off a patient's leg on an entirely new principle, with a
+pair of scissors and an old meat-saw, and I was nearly "run in" for
+manslaughter. I decided to give up Medicine, and a slight shindy over a
+supposed error of mine in calculating a score having prevented my
+becoming a success as a Public-house Billiard-marker, I thought I would
+make my mark in another way, as a breeder of race-horses. Being,
+however, forcibly chucked out of Newmarket Heath one day for an alleged
+irregularity which I never could understand, I began really to wonder
+what profession I _was_ fitted to adorn.
+
++I become a Naturalist.+
+
+It was at this time that the Captain of the _Sea-Mew_ offered me that
+post of which I have before spoken. I accepted it, and began at once to
+lower the record in sea-sickness, being never once well on board ship
+_for three whole years_! It was a new experience, and altered me a good
+deal. From being rowdy and idle I became quiet and abnormally diligent.
+If you don't believe this, ask +H-xl-y+ (who is such fun!). On returning
+to England I at once settled Down, and began to write books.
+
++The "Origin of Species."+
+
+This work is my title to fame. It only took me thirty-three years and
+six months to write. I felt quite glad when it was finished. People who
+have read it tell me they feel the same, The row it caused was
+frightful! If you want to see "+Soapy Sam's+" slashing _Quarterly
+Review_ article pulverised, read +H-xl-y's+ reply. (But, query--isn't
+this scientific log-rolling?) The remark which was made, after perusing
+the book, by that eminent Botanist, my friend Professor +Hookey+,
+was--"Walker!" But he was soon converted.
+
++My Way of Working.+
+
+This, also, can't interest anybody, yet I give it. I get up at 4 A.M.,
+and take a walk. From 7 to 10 I work. After dinner--with champagne--I
+take another stroll. I have made most astonishing scientific discoveries
+at this time. I could, point out the exact spot in the road where I
+became convinced that _the whole country had been elevated sixteen feet
+since the morning_! +H-xl-y+, who was with me, quite agreed, and said
+that we must all have been elevated at the same time, without knowing
+it.
+
++My Favourite Authors.+
+
+These are, of course, +Lyell+ on _Lias_, and +Hookey+ on _Herbaceous
+Foraminifera_. They are far superior to +Shakspeare+, who bores me. I
+like novels, the trashier the better. Only let 'em end well, and I don't
+care how they begin, or whether they begin at all. In newspapers, the
+best part, I think, is the Parliamentary Debates. In reading them I have
+often got valuable hints as to the "Origin of Speeches," and they
+frequently afford conclusive evidence of the "Descent of Man." I thought
+of bringing Parliamentary manners in as a chapter in my book on
+"Earth-worms," but +H-xl-y+ advised me not to, and I didn't.
+
++My Nose.+
+
+I think I've mentioned this feature before. It troubles me. It is
+undoubtedly of a low type, yet it has survived! Why have I not been
+fitted with a fitter one? It is another instance of the fact that
+everything--including my fame--has come to me by sheer luck. +H-xl-y+
+says "there's a Dar-winning modesty about this last remark." Also says,
+"I've found the 'Philosopher's Tone.'" (What screaming fun +H-xl-y+
+always is!)
+
++My Portraits.+
+
+Perhaps I may be allowed to say one word as to the Photographs preceding
+these volumes. _They aren't the least little bit like me_! In Volume One
+I appear as the unmistakable "Country Butcher." In Volume Two I am "The
+Gorilla Asleep," or "Beetle-brow Napping" (after a beetle-hunt,
+probably). Volume Three represents me as the Typical Brigand of
+Transpontine Melodrama.
+
+Why, too, has the Photographer insisted on bringing out that unfortunate
+feature of mine so prominently?
+
+Why? indeed! Who nose?
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE LARKS AND THE ROSES.
+
+(_Ballad, by Milton Featherly Jonsone_.)
+
+[Illustration: Rose on the Swell.]
+
+  The roses were blowing, like whales in the sea
+  Where the apple-bloom icebergs plunged fearless and free,
+  And the larks carolled madly their high jubilee
+          In the ether.
+  The daisies ran riot in sunshine and shade,
+  And the call of the cuckoo was heard from the glade,
+  Where Summer with mellow monotony play'd
+          On her zither.
+
+_Tempo di Valse_.
+
+  Ho, larks and roses!
+    Hey, the bonny weather!
+  Hey, we rose at morning prime;
+    Ho, we lark'd together!
+
+  'Mid roses and larks in our shallop we glide
+  By Inglesham poplars, on Teddington's tide,
+  Where the water of Thame under Sinodun slide,
+                  And at Marlow,
+  By Cliveden's green caverns, and Abingdon's walls,
+  Where wirgles the Windrush, where Eynsham weir falls,
+  By Sonning, or Sandford (whose lasher recalls
+                  _Mr. Barlow_).
+
+_Con tenerezza_.
+
+  Oh, larks, and ro(w)ses
+    On the shining river;
+  Silver water-lilies, love;
+    Love will last for ever!
+
+  But the blooms turn'd to apples for urchins to munch,
+    And the roses were sold at a penny a bunch,
+  And the larks were served up for an Alderman's lunch,
+                  Dead and cold, love;
+  And the lustre has faded from tresses and cheek,
+  And the eyes do not sparkle, the eyes that I seek,
+  And the temper is strong and the logic is weak
+                  Of my old love.
+
+_Snuffiamente_.
+
+  No larks and roses
+    In a winter gloaming;
+  Ruby-red love's nose is;
+    Chilblain time a-coming'.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
++The Watchword of the Sugar-Bounty Conference.+--"England expects that
+every man (and woman) will pay an import duty."
+
+                *       *       *
+
++Latest French Cookery.+--Spilling the +Grevy+.
+
+[Illustration: HOW WE ADVERTISE NOW.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "SABLES."
+
+_Pastor_. "+How I do regret, my dear Madam, to see you wearing these sad
+Habiliments of Woe!+"      _Widow_. "+'M ye-es. Black never did suit
+me!+"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE PALACE OF (ADVERTISING) ART.
+
+(_A Long Way After the Laureate_.)
+
+  I found myself a huckster's pleasure-place,
+    Wherein 'twas horrible to dwell.
+  I said, "O Soul, _the_ object of our race
+        Is ever one--to sell."
+
+  A huge-walled wilderness of ways it was,
+    With hoardings of exceeding height,
+  Which no one without pangs of fear, could pass,
+        And spasms of affright.
+
+  Its purpose, though, was plain; 'twas simply pelf;
+    Whether a woman wild of glare,
+  Or a colossal man shaving himself,
+        All, all meant money there.
+
+  "And while the world rolls round and round," I said,
+    "Advertisement is the one thing
+  Which need concern the wise and worldly head
+        Of huckster, histrio, king."
+
+  To which my soul made answer readily,--
+    "In patience I must fain abide
+  In these vast vistas of vulgarity.
+        Stretching on every side."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Full of long-reaching bulks of board it was,
+    Where, glaring forth from ghostly gloom,
+  Were gibbering monkeys grinning in a glass,
+        In a dame's dressing-room.
+
+  And some were hung with daubs of green and blue,
+    As gaudy as a cheap Cremorne,
+  Where actors postured in the public view,
+        Some frantic, some forlorn.
+
+  One seemed all glare and gore--a stabbing hand,
+    A woman flopping with a groan;
+  An ill-drawn idiot trying to look grand,
+        Big-nosed, and high in bone.
+
+  One showed an ochre coast and emerald waves;
+    You seemed to see them rise and fall,
+  As infant supers--wretched little slaves--
+        Under the canvass crawl.
+
+  And one a full-faced, flashed comedian--low--
+    Showing his teeth, with nervous strain,
+  With queer goggle-eyes striking like a blow,
+        And causing quite a pain.
+
+  And one a miser, hoarding fruits of toil,
+    In front a bony beak, behind,
+  Wisps of grey hairs all destitute of oil,
+        Blown hoary on the wind.
+
+  And one a foreground with three hideous hags,
+    Each twice as tall as life, or higher,
+  Medusa-monsters, clothed in wretched rags,
+        And crouching round a fire.
+
+  And one an English home--lantern-light poured
+    On a forced safe, skeleton keys,
+  Whilst gloating o'er the family plate there stored,
+        Glowered the murderer, +Peace+.
+
+  Nor these alone, but everything to scare,
+    Fit for each morbid mood of mind;
+  Murder and misery, want and woe were there
+        As large as life designed.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  There was a fellow in a pretty fix,
+    "Tied to a corpse," all wild alarm,
+  Struggling across a sort of sooty Styx,
+        The "body" on his arm.
+
+  Or in a snow-choked city wretchedly,
+    Dead babe at breast, with bare blown hair,
+  A ruined woman crawled with quivering knee;
+        Two bobbies scowled at her.
+
+  Or, posing in a footlight paradise,
+    A group of Houris smirked to see
+  Young fools with clapping hands and ogling eyes
+        Which said, "_We_ come for _ye_!"
+
+  Or else a lost and deeply wounded one,
+    In a wild swamp all bilious greens,
+  Came on a corpse a bare branch dangling on;
+        The ghastliest of scenes!
+
+  Holloaed a half-choked boy with horrid fear,
+    A brute the rope about to draw;
+  A second with a knife and axe was near
+        To give the first Lynch Law.
+
+  Or in a railway-tunnel, iron rail'd,
+    A man lay bound; his blood ran ice
+  Who looked thereon, an engine shrieked; he paled,
+        And fainted in a trice.
+
+  A monkey by her hair a woman clasp'd;
+    From her poor head it seemed half torn,
+  One ape-hand dragged it back; the other grasp'd
+        A steel blade's haft of horn.
+
+  A hideous babe in nauseous nudity,
+    Huge-headed, grinning like a clown,
+  Advertised Soap. A vile monstrosity,
+        The terror of the Town!
+
+  Nor these alone; but every horror rare,
+    Which the sensation-poisoned mind.
+  Imaged to advertise vile trash, was there--
+        As large as life design'd.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Deep dread and loathing of these horrors crude,
+    Fell on my Soul, hard to be borne,
+  She cried, "Why should these _incubi_ intrude
+        And plague us night and morn?
+
+  "What! is not this a civilised town," she said,
+    "A spacious city, cultured, free?
+  Why give it up to dismalness and dread,
+        Murder and misery?"
+
+  In every corner of that city stood,
+    Unholy shapes, and spectral scares,
+  And fiends, and phantoms, brutal scenes of blood,
+        And horrible nightmares.
+
+  "We are shut up as in a tomb, girt round
+    With charnel scenes on every wall;
+  Wherever echoes of town-traffic sound,
+        Or human footsteps fall.
+
+  She cried, "By Jove, it is a pretty game
+    That Man, the Advertiser's thrall,
+  Should have these scenes of grimness, gore, and shame,
+        Shock him from every wall.
+
+  "The very cab-horses go wild with fears!
+    I rather fancy it is time
+  To stop these poster-terrors, placard-tears,
+        And advertising crimes.
+
+  "Yes, yes, pull down these pictured screens that are
+    All dedicate to gore and guilt.
+  _Not_ solely for Soap-vendor or Stage-star
+        Was our big Babylon built!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+VOCES POPULI.
+
++Scene+--_A Promenade Concert. Interval between Parts I. and II. Crowd
+collecting before Platform_.
+
+_Highly Respectable Matron (to female Friend)_. As to being _beautiful_,
+it's not for me to say, but they're clean-limbed, healthy children,
+thank Heaven! and what more do you want? (_The_ Friend _makes a
+complimentary protest_.) Well, it may be so; but, to come back to her. I
+don't like her present home so well as I did her first--not so tasty, to
+my mind. She's got nice things about her, though, I _will_ say--a nice
+sideboard, a nice ... (_Inventory follows here_.)
+
+_The Friend (darkly)_. All the same, it's a constant wonder to me how
+she can ever bring herself to sleep in _that_ bed!
+
+_The H. R. M_. I couldn't myself; but (_charitably_) we've not all the
+same feelings. (_Crush increases; Female Promenader with very yellow
+hair passes, with apologies_.) "Excuse me, Madame" (_with attempt at
+mimicry_); ah--and she _needs_ it! The orchestra's coming back now. I
+didn't notice that young woman among them before--what's _she_ going to
+play, I wonder?
+
+_The Friend_. Whatever it is, she might look more pleasant over it!
+
+_The H. R. M_. So she might--we can't all be good-looking, but we can
+all be pleasant--but they wouldn't have engaged her here, if she hadn't
+her gift!
+
+_The Friend_. Oh, you may depend on it, she's got a gift--but I do call
+her plain, myself.
+
+_A Man with a very red nose (to Companion)_. And then, you see, I've
+this special advantage--my _immense_ knowledge of the world. Think
+there's time for another before they begin again, eh?
+
+[_Companion is of that opinion; adjournment to bar of house_.
+
+_Second Part begins; Lady Vocalist retiring after Song_.
+
+_First Promenader_. Brayvo! Engcore! What, she won't sing no more--sssh!
+     [_Hisses furiously_.
+
+_The H. R. M_. There's the orchestra themselves clapping her--and
+_they'd_ know what's good.
+
+_Her Friend_. She was dressed very nice, I thought.
+
+_The H. R. M_. I never care to see hair done up that style myself.
+
++On the Platform.+
+
+_Ladies of Chorus tripping up from below Stage for the Vocal Valse_.
+
+_Ladies of Chorus (all together)_. Am I too black under the eyes, dear?
+Mind where you're going, Miss, please! Treading on people's toes like
+that--the great clumsy thing! I'm next to you, aren't I? I do feel so
+funny, my dear, don't you? For goodness sake, don't go setting me on the
+giggle _now_!
+
+[_They range themselves modestly in a row at edge of platform_.
+
+_Rude Person (in upper box with Punch squeak)_. Rooti-too-ti!
+
+[_Roars of laughter_.
+
+_Ladies of C. (indignantly)_. Beast! I wish they'd give him something to
+make him rooti-toot, I do!
+
+_Conductor-Composer (from behind)_. Now, Ladies, ready please--keep the
+laugh steadier than you did last time, and wait for me at the repeat!
+
+[_He taps on desk: each Lady of Chorus stiffens herself perceptibly and
+makes a little grimace_.
+
+_One Lady (in whisper)_, Oh, dear, I wish I was at home with my Ma!
+                                 [_Her companions giggle_.
+
+_The H. R. M_. It's as much as they can do to sing for laughing--they're
+_called_ "Laughing Beauties," though. I like this one's face up at this
+end--she's so quiet and lady-like over it, and pretty too; they put all
+the pretty ones in front, but there's one quite an old woman behind.
+They're having all the fun down at the other end--how they are going on,
+to be sure!
+
+[_End of Vocal Valse: loud applause. Ladies of Chorus retire after_
+encore _with air of graceful dignity_.
+
+_The Person with the Squeak_. Goo'-bye, duckies!
+
+[_Roars of laughter again: renewed indignation among Chorus_. Person
+with Squeak _feels like_ +Sheridan+ _and_ +Theodore Hook+ _rolled into
+one_.
+
++In the Grand Circle.+
+
+_A Young Gentleman (who has set himself to form his_ fiancee's _mind,
+but finds it necessary to proceed very gradually_). Now, +Caroline+,
+tell me--isn't this better than if we had gone to the Circus?
+
+_Caroline (from the provinces; unmusical; simple in her tastes)_. Yes,
++Joseph+, only--(_timidly_)--there's more of what I call variety in a
+Circus--more going _on_, I mean.
+
+_The Y. G. (with a sense of discouragement)_. I quite see your meaning,
+dear, and it's an entirely true observation; still, you _do_ appreciate
+this magnificent orchestra, don't you now?
+
+_Caroline_. I should have liked it better with different coloured
+curtains--maize is so trying.
+
+_The Y. G. (mentally)_. I won't write home to them about it _just_ yet.
+
+_Orchestra begins a "Musical Medley" with Overture to "Tannhaeuser."_
+
+_The Y. G. (who has lost his programme)_. Now, +Caroline+--this is
++Wagner+--you'll like +Wagner+, darling, I'm sure.
+
+_Caroline (startled)_. Shall I? Where is he? Will he come in here? Must
+I speak to him?
+
+_The Y. G_. No, no--he's _dead_--I mean, this is from his _Opera_--you
+must listen to this.
+
+[_He watches her face for the emotion he expects; "Tannhaeuser" melts
+suddenly into "Tommy, Make Room for your Uncle."_
+
+_Caroline (her face absolutely transfigured)_. Oh, +Joseph+,
+dear--+Wagner's+ perfectly _lovely_!
+
+_The Y. G. (gloomily)_. I see, I shall have to put you through a course
+of +Bach+, +Caroline+!
+
+_Caroline (alarmed)_. But there's nothing whatever the _matter_ with me,
++Joseph+! I'm not flushed am I?
+
+[_Young Gentleman suppresses a groan_.
+
++In a Box.+
+
+(_Musical Medley still in progress_.)
+
+_A Lady (not much of an Opera-goer, who has been given a box at the last
+moment, and has insisted on her husband turning out to escort her)_. It
+was silly of you to drop that programme, +Robert+--I should like to know
+what this piece is, it seems quite familiar--(_Orchestra playing
+"Soldiers' March" from Faust_)--_I_ know--it's Faust, +Robert+,
+_+Gounod's+ Faust_!
+
+[_Much pleased with herself for recollecting an Opera she has only heard
+once_.
+
+_Robert (sleepily)_. _I_ know, my dear, all right.
+
+[_Faust melts into air from "Pinafore."_
+
+_His Wife_. Do you mean to say you don't remember that, +Robert+? how
+exquisite +Patti+ was in the part, to be sure!
+
+_Robert_. Umph!
+
+[_"Pinafore" becomes "La ci darem"--which transforms itself without
+warning into "Two Lovely Black Eyes."_
+
+_The Lady_. There's nobody like +Gounod+!      [_Clasps her hands_.
+
+_Robert (captiously)_. +Gounod's+ all very well, I daresay, my dear; but
+it don't seem to me he's altogether _original_. I've heard something
+very like this tune before, and I'll swear it wasn't by him!
+
+_The Lady_. That's very likely; _all_ the best airs get stolen nowadays,
+and dressed up so as to be quite unrecognisable; but that's not
++Gounod's+ fault, is it?
+
+[_Fans herself triumphantly, after vindicating her favourite
+Composer_. +Robert+ _slumbers_.
+
++Behind the Platform.+
+
+_Erratic Promenader_. Beg your pardon, Sir--tha' shtick, not
+'tended meet _your_ eye, Sir--_'nother_ gerrilm'n's eye, Sir.
+
+_Fair Promenader (to Lady Friend)_. And I'm sure I don't know
+how it is, but I'm always crying now for just nothing at all, whenever
+I'm alone.
+
+_The Lady Friend_. That's because you give way to it, dear. Come
+and have something to cheer you up--you'll be a different person
+after it.                     [_Advice taken; prediction verified_.
+
+_The Err. Prom_. I shay, here'sh lark! see tha' Bobby over there?
+he thinksh I'm _tight_! (_Waltzes up to him solemnly_). Kn'ive
+pleshure nexsht dansh you, Sir Charlesh?
+
+_The Policeman (severely)_. You keep your 'ands off of me, will
+you, and take yourself home--that's my advice to _you_!
+
+_Err. Prom. (outraged)_. You 'pear me to under 'preshionthish is
+Hy' Par' or Trafa----(_with an effort_)--Trafa-ralgarar Square. I'm
+goin' teash you, free Briton not goin' put up with P'lice brurality!
+
+[_Hits Policeman in the eye, and is removed, smiling feebly.
+Scene changes_.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+An Open Question.
+
+  Lord +Solly+, at Paddies presuming to rail,
+  Must sneer at their "brogue," which the Markis finds stale.
+  Does he think a poor fellow must fain be a rogue
+  Because, born in Erin, he speaks with a brogue?
+  Celtic ears finds the drawl of the Saxon Swell flat,
+  And a Cockney may chaff at the _patois_ of +Pat+.
+  But which is in fault--is it _really_ so clear?--
+  The Irishman's tongue, or the Englishman's ear?
+
+                *       *       *
+
+In a recent case on appeal, +Hammond & Co.+ _v_. +Bussey+, Mr. Justice
++Bowen+ was understood (by Our Special Reporter) to say that a judgment
+relating to coals must be decided by the principles of +Coke+. The
+Master of the Rolls and Mr. Justice +Fry+ concurred; the latter
+observing that in winter a coal merchant must always be a +Bussey+
+person, though his Lordship admitted that this had nothing to do with
+the case. The Master of the Rolls and Mr. Justice +Bowen+ at once
+concurred.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[illustration-pointer] 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.
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber Notes:
+
+Passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_.
+
+Passages in bold were indicated by =equal signs=.
+
+Passages in small caps were indicated by +crosses+.
+
+Throughout the document, the oe ligature was indicated by "[oe]", and the
+letter E with a macron was indicated by [=E].
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume
+93, December 3, 1887, by Various
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, CHARIVARI, DEC 3, 1887 ***
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+***** This file should be named 39077.txt or 39077.zip *****
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