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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: 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 ***
+
+***** This file should be named 39077.txt or 39077.zip *****
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