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diff --git a/39420-h/39420-h.htm b/39420-h/39420-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..68403db --- /dev/null +++ b/39420-h/39420-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2039 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 105, November 11, 1893, by Various</title> + <style type="text/css"> + + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + p {text-align: justify;} + .ind {margin-left: 2em; margin-right: 2em;} + .ind1 {margin-left: 5em; margin-right: 5em;} + .ind2 {margin-left: 8em; margin-right: 8em;} + .indr {text-align: right; margin-right: 8em;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center;} + blockquote {text-align: justify; font-size: 0.9em; margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%;} + .sans {font-family: sans-serif;} + .sc {font-variant: small-caps;} + .center {text-align: center;} + .center1 {text-align: center; font-size: 0.9em;} + td.note {text-align: left; font-size: 0.9em; font-weight: normal; border: 1px dashed; padding: 1em; width: auto;} + ul.none {font-size: 1.0em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; list-style-type: none; line-height: 150%} + hr.full {width: 100%;} + html>body hr.full {margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 0%; width: 100%;} + hr.medium {width: 76%;} + html>body hr.medium {margin-right: 12%; margin-left: 12%; width: 76%;} + ins {text-decoration: none; border-bottom: dashed 1px silver;} + p.note {margin-left: 25%; margin-right: 20%;} + p.author {text-align: right; margin-top: -1em; margin-right: 2em;} + p.author1 {text-align: right; margin-top: -1em; margin-right: 16em;} + p.author2 {text-align: right; margin-top: -1em; margin-right: 20em;} + span.pagenum {position: absolute; left: 1%; right: 91%; font-size: 8pt; text-indent: 0;} + span.und {text-decoration: underline;} + span.gesperrt {letter-spacing: 3px; font-weight: bold;} + .poem {margin-left: 35%; margin-right: 10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem p.i2 {margin-left: 1em;} + .poem p.i4 {margin-left: 2em;} + .poem p.i6 {margin-left: 3em;} + .poem p.i8 {margin-left: 4em;} + .poem p.i10 {margin-left: 5em;} + .poem p.i12 {margin-left: 6em;} + .poem p.i14 {margin-left: 7em;} + .poem p.i16 {margin-left: 8em;} + .poem p.i24 {margin-left: 12em;} + .poem p.i36 {margin-left: 18em;} + + .poem1 {margin-left: 30%; margin-right: 10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} + .poem1 .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem1 p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem1 p.i2 {margin-left: 1em;} + .poem1 p.i4 {margin-left: 2em;} + .poem1 p.i6 {margin-left: 3em;} + .poem1 p.i8 {margin-left: 4em;} + .poem1 p.i10 {margin-left: 5em;} + .poem1 p.i12 {margin-left: 6em;} + .poem1 p.i14 {margin-left: 7em;} + .poem1 p.i16 {margin-left: 8em;} + + .poem2 {margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} + .poem2 .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem2 p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem2 p.i2 {margin-left: 1em;} + .poem2 p.i4 {margin-left: 2em;} + .poem2 p.i6 {margin-left: 3em;} + .poem2 p.i8 {margin-left: 4em;} + .poem2 p.i10 {margin-left: 5em;} + .poem2 p.i12 {margin-left: 6em;} + .poem2 p.i14 {margin-left: 7em;} + .poem2 p.i16 {margin-left: 8em;} + + .figure, .figcenter, .figright, .figleft {padding: 1em; margin: 0; text-align: center; font-size: 0.8em;} + .figure img, .figcenter img, .figright img, .figleft img + {border: none;} + .figure p, .figcenter p, .figright p, .figleft p + {margin: 0; text-indent: 1em;} + .figcenter {margin: auto;} + .figright {float: right;} + .figleft {float: left;} + + hr.pg { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } + pre {font-size: 85%;} + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 105, +November 11, 1893, by Various, Edited by Sir F. C. Burnand</h1> +<pre> +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 <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 105, November 11, 1893</p> +<p>Author: Various</p> +<p>Editor: Sir F. C. Burnand</p> +<p>Release Date: April 10, 2012 [eBook #39420]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI, VOL. 105, NOVEMBER 11, 1893***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Malcolm Farmer, Lesley Halamek,<br /> + and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="pg" /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page217" id="page217"></a>[pg 217]</span> + +<h1>Punch, or the London Charivari</h1> + +<h2>Volume 105, November 11th 1893</h2> + +<h4><i>edited by Sir Francis Burnand</i></h4> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/217-1200.png"><img src="images/217-600.png" width="600" height="402" alt="POLICE PROTECTION FOR PIANISTS!!" /></a> +<h2 class="sans">POLICE PROTECTION FOR PIANISTS!!</h2> + +<p><span class="sc">Made necessary by the antics of the Padded-roomski Devotees at St. James's hall, who +rush at, try to embrace, and deck with Roses, a certain Master whenever he appears.</span></p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>A QUESTION OF TINT.</h3> + +<h4>["Who will paint London?"—<i>Daily News</i>.]</h4> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>What a question to ask! If the colour be blue,</p> +<p>A batch of our London Minervas will do:</p> +<p>For each one will dye—the allusion is shocking—</p> +<p>Our town and its streets with the tint of her stocking.</p> +<p>Our pessimist frauds and the Ibsensite pack</p> +<p>Will groan as they thickly bedaub it in black.</p> +<p>Asiatic Sir <span class="sc">Edwin</span>, the Poet of Light,</p> +<p>He will wipe out their work, and arrange it in white.</p> +<p>Then the Company-gulls will arrive on the scene,</p> +<p>And, <i>presto</i>, the colour of London is green.</p> +<p>And a rare crew of "Johnnies" will stay out of bed</p> +<p>Till the daylight appears, while they paint the town red.</p> +<p>In fact—and you'll thank me for giving the hint—</p> +<p>Painting London is merely a question of tint.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">Mrs. R.</span> cannot call to mind +where the original picture of +"<i>The Waterloo Blanket</i>" is +to be seen.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2>THE NOBLE ORGAN-GRINDER.</h2> + +<p class="ind1">["Lord <span class="sc">Brassey</span> never goes on a cruise, however +short, without taking with him a very costly +barrel-organ. He plays on it regularly for some +time every evening, as he finds it a congenial form +of exercise and amusement."—<i>The World.</i>]</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Grinder, when serenely grinding</p> +<p class="i2">On your yacht the Hundredth Psalm,</p> +<p>Tell me, are you truly finding</p> +<p class="i2">In this work congenial charm?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>"Music hath" (an old quotation)</p> +<p class="i2">"Charms to soothe the savage breast,"</p> +<p>Think how you might lull some nation</p> +<p class="i2">Into dilettante rest.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="sc">Grinder</span>, gentle-hearted Grinder,</p> +<p class="i2">Try the savage who has spurned</p> +<p>Culture, for he might grow kinder,</p> +<p class="i2">Soothed by barrel deftly turned.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Matabele <span class="sc">Lobengula</span></p> +<p class="i2">(Accent on penultimate)</p> +<p>Might be made by music, you'll a-</p> +<p class="i2">gree, a model potentate.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="sc">Orpheus</span> like, you might so charm him</p> +<p class="i2">That a mere Mashona child's</p> +<p>Hand could easily disarm him</p> +<p class="i2">In those equatorial wilds.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>He would cease to wear his skimpy</p> +<p class="i2">Kilts that leave his legs half bare,</p> +<p>He would soon disband his <i>impi</i>;</p> +<p class="i2">Culture then would be his care.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Suits of dittos clothe this whopper;</p> +<p class="i2">Patent leather boots be got;</p> +<p>You might lead him—"smash, my topper!"—</p> +<p class="i2">Even to a chimney-pot.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>He would have a daily paper,</p> +<p class="i2">Standard authors sold in parts,</p> +<p>Shops of tailor, hatter, draper,</p> +<p class="i2">An Academy of Arts.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>He would teach, by plays, the loyal</p> +<p class="i2">Folk on marsh or fertile plain,</p> +<p>Opening a Theatre Royal,</p> +<p class="i2">Where they've only Reeds and Grain.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>And, till death made him a <i>Morgue</i> 'un,</p> +<p class="i2"><span class="sc">Wagner, Brahms</span> and <span class="sc">Greig</span> no doubt</p> +<p>He would doat on—then your organ</p> +<p class="i2">Might be ruthlessly chucked out.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2 class="sans">THE CENTRAL HALL OF THE LAW COURTS.</h2> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>O barristers' wigs from far and wide</p> +<p class="i10"> You gather anew!</p> +<p>The Strand, like meadow with daisies pied,</p> +<p class="i10"> Is dotted with you.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>You crowd the courts, so stuffy, so small,</p> +<p class="i10"> So awkwardly placed;</p> +<p>You don't go into the Central Hall—</p> +<p class="i10"> Magnificent waste!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>That thing of beauty was meant to be</p> +<p class="i10"> For ever a joy,</p> +<p>Just built to accommodate, as we see,</p> +<p class="i10"> One messenger boy.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Proud emblem he of the empire's might,</p> +<p class="i10"> That thus, for a whim,</p> +<p>Spent pounds in thousands with such delight</p> +<p class="i10"> Just to shelter him.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>The courts are draughty, the courts are dark,</p> +<p class="i10"> The passages small,</p> +<p>And witness, client, solicitor, clerk,</p> +<p class="i10"> Are squeezed in them all.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Those lancet windows on winding stairs</p> +<p class="i10"> Don't help one to see;</p> +<p>A falling Commissioner even swears</p> +<p class="i10"> Without any fee.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Still though we stumble and though we're squeezed,</p> +<p class="i10"> We all recollect</p> +<p>That deserted Hall, and we're truly pleased</p> +<p class="i10"> With it's fine effect.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>The vacant acre of paving there</p> +<p class="i10"> Should never annoy,</p> +<p>It has one occupant, we 're aware—</p> +<p class="i10"> That messenger boy.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2>SONG OF THE AUTUMN SESSION.</h2> + +<h4>(<span class="sc">By a Reluctantly Returned M.P.</span>)</h4> + +<h4><span class="sc">Air</span>—"<i>O! that will be joyful!</i>"</h4> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="sc">Here</span> we suffer grief and pain,</p> +<p>Here we part to meet again:</p> +<p class="i4">No field, no copse, no moor!</p> +<p class="i8">O! it will be jawful,</p> +<p class="i8">Jawful, jawful, jawful!</p> +<p class="i8">O! isn't it awful?</p> +<p class="i4">Autumn Meet's an awful bore!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>All who hate the "Lords," you know,</p> +<p>Swear this misery below,</p> +<p class="i4">We owe to peers above!</p> +<p class="i8">O! that, &c.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>We'll be lammed by <span class="sc">Labouchere</span>,</p> +<p>Who the Afric strife will swear</p> +<p class="i4">Is due to <span class="sc">Rhodes's</span> rule.</p> +<p class="i8">O! won't <i>he</i> be jawful, &c.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="sc">Ashmead</span>, too, will strive to prove</p> +<p>Freedom, prestige, all we love</p> +<p class="i4">We'll lose to gain no more,</p> +<p class="i8">Through <span class="sc">Gladstone</span> the jawful, &c.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>O! how weary we shall be,</p> +<p>Ere the two Big Bills, or three,</p> +<p class="i4">Are passed and Peer-wards gone!</p> +<p class="i8">O! <span class="sc">Weg</span> will be jawful, &c.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Then the Rads will shout with joy,</p> +<p>And the short Recess employ,</p> +<p class="i4">In larrupping the Lords!</p> +<p class="i8">O! won't <i>they</i> be jawful?—</p> +<p class="i8">Awful, awful, awful!</p> +<p class="i8">It shouldn't be lawful</p> +<p class="i4">Autumn Meets to summon more!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind"><span class="sc">The Whirligig of Time.</span>—<span class="sc">Wat Tyler</span> is +avenged—upon wicked <span class="sc">Walworth</span>, and unfair +history. A namesake of his is to be Lord +Mayor of London! All we want now is, that +the Right Hon. Mr. <span class="sc">John Cade</span> (of Birmingham?) +should be made Prime Minister.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page218" id="page218"></a>[pg 218]</span> + +<h2 class="sans">DR. DULCAMARA UP TO DATE; OR, WANTED A QUACK-QUELCHER.</h2> + +<blockquote><p> +["<i>The jury, in giving their verdict, strongly censured the gross ignorance of the accused, +and regretted that there was no law to prevent them +from practising surgery.</i>"] +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"><a href="images/218-1200.png"><img src="images/218-450.png" width="450" height="535" alt="DR. DULCAMARA UP TO DATE; OR, WANTED A QUACK-QUELCHER." /></a></div> + +<p class="center"><i>Mr. Punch sings, sotto voce:</i>—</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p><i>Begone, Dulcamara</i>,</p> +<p class="i2"><i>I prythee begone from me!</i></p> +<p><i>Begone, Dulcamara</i>,</p> +<p class="i2"><i>Thou and I will never agree!</i></p> + </div> </div> + +<div class="poem1"> <div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="sc"><i>Agree?</i></span> By all good powers, no! no more than oil and water!</p> +<p>For to the conscious humbug honest wrath should give no quarter;</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>And if <i>Punch's</i> ready <i>bāton</i> lays its thwacks on any backs</p> +<p>With special zest, it is on those of charlatans and quacks.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Quack! Quack! Quack! Oh the pestilential pack!</p> +<p>If there is a loathsome chorus, it is Quack! Quack! Quack!</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page219" id="page219"></a>[pg 219]</span> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>But the Quacks are having high old times in these peculiar days,</p> +<p>And gulls mistake their horrid din, 'twould seem, for pleasant lays.</p> +<p>We are quacked into distraction by unchastened power of Jaw,</p> +<p>Assisted by Advertisement and unrestrained by Law.</p> +<p>Dulcamara up to date is no longer poor or petty,</p> +<p>The pompous, brainless charlatan pictured by <span class="sc">Donizetti</span>,</p> +<p>He outshines, out-talks, out-thumps, out-cheats, out-swaggers, and out-dresses,</p> +<p>With his nauseous, noxious nostrums, and his nasty, mucky messes.</p> +<p>Quack! Quack! Quack! He may quack the donkeys dead,</p> +<p>Their coin out of their purses and their eyes out of their head,</p> +<p>Their brains into sheer softening, their bodies to the grave,</p> +<p>But <i>he</i> flourishes unpunished. Is there <i>nothing</i> then to save</p> +<p>The noodles from his ignorance and knavery and bounce?</p> +<p>No law to lay him by the heels, no hangman's whip to trounce,</p> +<p>No pillory to gibbet the false fortune-piling pack</p> +<p>Who poison, maim, and madden with their Quack! Quack! Quack?</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Dulcamara stands defiant, while his drum the live air fills</p> +<p>With praise of his appliances, his potions, and his pills.</p> +<p>With sham science for his shield, venal literature and art</p> +<p>For his touts and advertisers, he can bravely play his part.</p> +<p>The comic man will clown for him, if adequately paid,</p> +<p>And the poet and the painter puff his wares and push his trade.</p> +<p>He's proudly testimonialised; folly or purchased cunning</p> +<p>Crack up his nastiest nostrums, keep his worst deceptions running.</p> +<p>He will bleed you and blackmail you, if you're weak as well as wealthy,</p> +<p>Impoverish <i>and</i> drench you, aye, do aught—save leave you healthy.</p> +<p>For 'tis quack, quack, quack! and 'tis drum, drum, drum!</p> +<p>And Dulcamara—when not <i>worse</i>—is safe to prove a hum!</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Quack! Quack! Quack! It is time that cry to quelch</p> +<p>By Law—or else to treat the quacks like sorry rogues who "welsh";</p> +<p>And if Dulcamara's really safe, until the Law they alter,</p> +<p>Why honest men must see to it, nor in their purpose falter</p> +<p>Till rascals of "gross ignorance," in foul gregarious pack,</p> +<p>Can no longer <i>safely</i> victimise with quack, quack, quack!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/219-1500.png"><img src="images/219-600.png" width="600" height="389" alt="THE LION AT HOME." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">THE LION AT HOME.</h3> + +<p><i>The Hope and Pride of the Family (just home from the Grand Tour).</i> "<span class="sc">Oh, really, you know, the Men one meets in some of +those places out West! I said to myself every night, 'Well, thank heaven I haven't Shot anybody!</span>'"</p> +<p><i>Fond and Nervous Mother.</i> "<span class="sc">You mean, thank Heaven nobody Shot you, don't you, dear?</span>"</p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>A WORD TO THE WISE WHEELMAN.</h3> + +<p class="ind"><span class="sc">The Speaker</span>, at Warwick, said that "the bicyclists of the +day are debilitating and degenerating the human race by the way +in which they stoop over their work." The wheelmen would +probably retort that, like <span class="sc">Goldsmith's</span> sprightly heroine, they +"stoop to conquer." And we are not yet <i>all</i> wheelmen. Still, the +<span class="sc">Speaker</span> has hit a blot in the contemporary Cyclomania. Few +things are more unlovely than the "Bicyclist's Bend." Record-cutting +would be purchased dearly at the cost of making men look +like camels; and if success on the cinderpath or the road involved +giving humanity at large "the hump," one would stigmatise the +Cycle Race as the <i>In</i>human Race. Let us hope the <span class="sc">Speaker's</span> sharp +words will make our stooping cyclists "sit up"—in other than the +slangy sense of the phrase.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>Birds of Pray.</h3> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>We're told a cormorant sits, and doth not tire,</p> +<p>For a whole month, perched upon Newark spire!</p> +<p><span class="sc">Vinny Bourne's</span> jackdaw's beaten, it is clear.</p> +<p>Yet there <i>are</i> cormorants who, year after year,</p> +<p>Perch in the Church. But these omnivorous people</p> +<p>Favour the pulpit mostly, not the steeple.</p> +<p>Thrivers upon fat livings find, no doubt,</p> +<p>Cormorant within is cosier than without.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind1"><span class="sc">Cream of the Cream.</span>—"London Society proper"—we are +informed by Lady <span class="sc">Charles Beresford</span>—consists of no more than +thirty or forty families! And how about London Society <i>improper</i>? +Is <i>that</i> equally sparse and exclusive? And—terrible thought!—crucial +question!—is it possible that the two orders <i>overlap</i> at all? +That there are any "noble swells" who belong to both?</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">The Government's Public Policy in South Africa (according +To Mr. Sydney Buxton).</span>—<i>Not</i> "<span class="sc">Carrington's</span> Entire"!</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page220" id="page220"></a>[pg 220]</span> + +<h2>UNDER THE ROSE.</h2> + +<h4>(<i>A Story in Scenes</i>).</h4> + +<p><span class="sc">Scene</span> XIII.—<i>"Behind" at the Eldorado.</i> <span class="sc">Time</span>—<i>about</i> 10 <span class="sc">P.M.</span>; +<i>the Stage at the back of the Scene-cloth is in partial darkness; +in the centre, a pile of lumber and properties. Bare whitewashed +brick walls; at one side, two canvas cabins for the +Lady-Artistes to change their costumes; near them a deal +table, with a jug and glasses. At one of the wings, behind the +proscenium, a shelf and small mirror, at which the Comedians +can arrange their make-up, and a frame, in which a placard, +with each Artiste's number, is inserted before his or her entrance. +A "turn" has just been concluded, and the Stage is clear.</i></p> + +<p><i>The Stage-Manager</i> (<i>bustling up to</i> Footman, <i>in crimson plush +breeches</i>). Now then, look alive, there, can't you, they're getting +impatient in front. Why don't you change the number?</p> + +<p><i>Footman</i> (<i>with aggrieved dignity</i>). Because, Sir, Mr. <span class="sc">Alf Redbeak</span> +ought to come on, by rights, and, not 'aving chosen to appear +yet, I think you'll see yourself, +on reflection, as it would +be totally——</p> + +<p><i>Stage-M.</i> Well, don't argue +about it; here's Miss <span class="sc">Lushboy</span> +ready to go on, put <i>her</i> number +up!</p> + +<p><i>Footm.</i> I always understood +it was the regulation 'ere that +no number was to be put up +until the band-parts were +passed into the orchestra; which +Miss <span class="sc">Lushboy's</span> music most +certainly has not been handed +in yet, and, that bein' so——</p> + +<p><i>Stage-M.</i> You can spare a +good yard off that tongue of +yours, you can; put Miss +<span class="sc">Lushboy's</span> number up, and——Ah, +here comes Mr. <span class="sc">Redbeak</span>; +never mind.</p> + +<p><i>Enter</i> Mr. <span class="sc">Redbeak</span>, <i>breathless</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Redbeak.</i> Phew! I've +had a job to get 'ere in time, I +can tell you. (<i>The Orchestra +strikes up.</i>) 'Ullo, <i>that</i> ain't +mine. (<i>To</i> Footman.) What +are you about? Put up my +number—sharp, now!</p> + +<p><i>Miss Lushboy</i> (<i>to</i> Footman). +Here, let me go on; I've been +messing about long enough. +What are you taking my +number out for?</p> + +<p><i>Footm.</i> Now, look 'ere, Miss, +I can't please everybody! (<i>Indicating</i> +Stage-Manager.) You +are as well aware as what I +am that it's for <i>him</i> to give the +word 'ere, not me. I'm on'y +actin' under what——</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Redb.</i> It's crule, you +know, that's what it is—crule. +I've got to go right across London +for my next turn, and——</p> + +<p><i>The Stage-M.</i> (<i>returning</i>). What the blazes are we waiting for +<i>now</i>? <span class="sc">Alf</span>, dear boy, you should come up to time. (<i>To</i> Footman.) +Why don't you do as you're told? You're getting too big for +your boots, it strikes me! (<i>To</i> Miss <span class="sc">Lushboy</span>.) There, go on, my +dear, go on.</p> + +<p class="ind2">[Miss L. <i>bounds on to the stage, and begins her song</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Redb.</i> (<i>to</i> Footman). I've got a bone to pick with you, old +feller. Don't you go wool-gatherin' to-night, as you did last. +I've told you till I'm tired that when you see me chuck this +property piecrust into the wings you've got to throw down these +fire-irons—it's a safe laugh every time it comes off, and you know 'ow +important it is, and yet you forget it nine times out of ten! What's +the good of me thinkin' out my business when you go and crab it +for me?</p> + +<p><i>Footm.</i> (<i>pathetically</i>). Mr. <span class="sc">Redbeak</span>, Sir, you'll excuse me, but +I'm on'y one man 'ere, I ain't a 'undred. <i>Don't</i> thank 'eaven for +it, Sir, it's 'ard when a man as tries to do his best, and with all +my responsibilities on him——</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Redb.</i> (<i>impatiently</i>). Oh, cheese it; you're not on a stool in +'Ide Park, are you? I'm only <i>tellin'</i> you.</p> + +<p class="ind2"><i>Miss L.</i> (<i>on stage, singing chorus</i>).</p> + +<div class="poem2"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Say, boys, say, if you'd like to come. Who's for a merry old "Tiddley-um?"</p> +<p class="i2">Fall in behind, and we'll all get "blind," before they close the pub!</p> +<p>You're not jays, so you won't refuse. Join our band, for we're on the booze,</p> +<p class="i2">And you'll see some larks with the rollicking sparks of the Rowdy Razzle Club!</p> + </div> </div> + +<p>(<i>Here she capers off, brandishing a gibus, and has a difficulty in +opening the practicable door in the wing.</i> <i>To</i> Footman.) There you +are <i>again!</i> How often am I to tell you to keep that wood open for +my dance off? I break my fingers over it every blessed night, and +lose my encore as well!</p> + +<p><i>Footm.</i> I'm exceedingly sorry, miss, but the fact of the matter is +my attention was took off at the time owing to——</p> + +<p><i>Miss L.</i> Oh, hold <i>your</i> jaw, do.</p> + +<p><i>Footm.</i> (<i>to himself</i>). I'm to hold my jaw! Oh, these hartistes, +they lead me a dorg's life among 'em!</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Redb.</i> (<i>touching</i> Miss L.'s <i>coat as she passes</i>). What's that +badge you're wearing? Salvation Army, Temperance, Primrose +League, or what?</p> + +<p><i>Miss L.</i> No, only the colours +of the Balls Pond Football +Team; they presented them +to me the other day. I told +them <i>I</i> didn't play football.</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Redb.</i> You're pretty +fair at the 'igh kick though, +ain't you? There, there. 'Alf +time. Goin' on again?</p> + +<p><i>Miss L.</i> With a cold like +mine? Not likely. Just look +at my tongue! (<i>She protrudes +the tip of an indigo-coloured +tongue for his inspection.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Redb.</i> (<i>concerned</i>). Why, +it's like one o' those Chow-chow +dogs, I'm blest if it isn't! You +<i>are</i> off colour to-night, no mistake!</p> + +<p><i>Miss L.</i> Oh, that's the remedy, +not the disease—liquorice, you +know.</p> + +<p><i>Stage-M.</i> Now, <span class="sc">Alf</span>, if you're +in such a hurry, go on. Cut it +as short as you like—no extra +turns to-night.</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Redb.</i> No fear. Oh dear, +oh dear, such a rush as it is!</p> + +<p class="ind2">[<i>He goes on grumbling.</i></p> + +<p><i>A Small Boy</i> (<i>who has been +sitting patiently on a chair by the +wing—to</i> Stage-Manager). If +you please, Sir, will Mr. <span class="sc">Wildfire</span> +want me to-night?</p> + +<p><i>Miss L.</i> Want you, indeed, +you silly kid! What would Mr. +<span class="sc">Wildfire</span> want a shrimp like +you for?</p> + +<p><i>The Boy.</i> If he's going to do +the Sandwich Man 'ere to-night, +he'll want me, <i>I</i> know. Why, +it all <i>depends</i> on me, that song +does. (<i>To</i> Stage-M.) <i>Is</i> he +going to do the Sandwich Man +to-night, Sir?</p> + +<p><i>Stage-M.</i> Oh, don't bother +me; wait till he comes and you'll find out. (<i>To</i> Miss L.) I suppose +you've heard he's talking of not renewing his engagement after +to-night—giving up the halls altogether!</p> + +<p><i>Miss L.</i> And no great loss either! I don't see anything particular +about his songs myself. As for all that gas about his raising the tone +of the halls, it's sickening. Anyone would suppose we <i>lowered</i> it!</p> + +<p><i>Miss Cissie Cinders (coming out of a dressing-cabin, in a battered +old velvet hat and broken feathers, with her face smudged).</i> Who's +that you're talking about? <span class="sc">Wildfire?</span> Ah, my dear, this 'Igh Art +and Littery rot'll be the ruin of the 'alls—him and his articles in +the swell magazines, praising us all up—he can keep his praises to +himself—<i>I</i> don't want 'em! I've never set up to refine the public +myself, or else I could fake it easy enough!</p> + +<p class="ind2">[<i>She passes on to stage.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mr. Gus. Tadman</i> (<i>Variety Vocalist</i>). We could all do it, come to +that. But there, he won't last, you'll see. Why, look at the 'it I +made with my "<i>Rorty Naughty Nell</i>"! That <i>was</i> a good song if you +like, and well-written, mind yer. But lor, it's clean forgotten now. +I 'ear <span class="sc">Wildfire's</span> bringing out a play to-night at the Hilarity, +it'll serve him right if it gets the bird, going back on his own profession +like that! (<i>To</i> Miss <span class="sc">Cinders</span>, <i>who has just sung</i>.) House +cold to-night?</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page221" id="page221"></a>[pg 221]</span> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 300px;"><a href="images/220-800.png"><img src="images/220-300.png" width="300" height="400" alt="'It's like singing to a lot of 'ap'ny ices!'" /></a> +<p class="center">"It's like singing to a lot of 'ap'ny ices!"</p></div> + +<p><i>Miss Cinders</i> (<i>in a temper</i>). Cold, it's like singing to a lot of +'ap'ny ices! I used to have the choruses all sung for me when I +brought out that song first; and now they've let me go off without +a 'and! We shall see whether they'll rise to <span class="sc">Wildfire</span> to-night. +Ah, here he is. Actually coming up to speak to us; there's an +honour!</p> + +<p><i>Miss Betsy Beno</i> (<i>to</i> <span class="sc">Wildfire</span>, <i>as he passes the table where she +is sitting waiting for her turn</i>). 'Ere, <span class="sc">Watty</span>, old man, stop and 'ave +a drop along of me. Do—there's plenty 'ere! (<i>as</i> <span class="sc">Wildfire</span> <i>excuses +himself laughingly</i>). Well, I'm sure—refusing to drink when a +lady goes out of her way to ask him—he hasn't the manners of +a pig! And I draw my sixty quid a week the same as he does!</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Tadman.</i> Well, dear boy, how's the play getting on? Not a +frost, I hope?</p> + +<p><i>Wildfire.</i> No; I just looked in on my way from the Val. here, and +they seemed to think it was all right; but I couldn't stay till the +finish. They're going to send round and let me know. (<i>To the</i> +Small Boy, <i>who has approached anxiously</i>.) Oh, there you are, +youngster! Yes, I shall want you—for the last time, you know.</p> + +<p><i>The Boy.</i> Why, you—you ain't going to take the part away from +me, Sir, when I created it, too!</p> + +<p><i>Wildf.</i> (<i>patting his shoulder kindly</i>). I'm giving up singing +altogether—that's why. Never mind; I'll see it makes no difference +to you, so don't you distress yourself. We'll find you something +or other to do.</p> + +<p><i>The Boy</i> (<i>with a gulp</i>). If I ain't going to be with <i>you</i> any more, +I—I don't care <i>what</i> 'appens, Sir. I'd as soon throw up the perfession +myself, I would!</p> + +<p class="ind2">[<i>He turns away into a dark corner.</i></p> + +<p><i>Wildf.</i> (<i>to himself, as he goes to the wing</i>). Nice boy that; didn't +think he'd care so much; must keep an eye on him. <i>Flattery</i> +must be over now. I wish I could have stayed to see it out; it +was going magnificently; but there were some rather risky scenes +ahead. Still, I believe it's a success; and, if it is, I shall have +done with all this for ever after to-night. I can go to <span class="sc">Althea</span> +and tell her, without—— By Jove! wasn't it to-night that Old +<span class="sc">Toovey</span> was to be in front? I wonder what he'll think of it. (<i>He +looks at himself in the mirror.</i>) He'll have some difficulty in +recognising me in this get up. Well, I shall know on Monday. +(<i>He goes on, and sings; then rushes back to the wing to change his +costume, with the assistance of his dresser.</i>) Yes, the coat, now, +dresser, please. (<i>To himself, as he paints some lines on his face.</i>) +I couldn't see anyone at all like old <span class="sc">Toovey</span>. Very odd! They +must have sent him the box, I suppose. Well, it doesn't matter; +if he didn't think it necessary to come, so much the better. (<i>Aloud.</i>) +Wigpaste, please. Now the boards. All right—I'm ready. (<i>To +the Boy.</i>) Now, youngster, look out for your cue.</p> + +<p class="ind2">[<i>He goes on.</i></p> + +<p><i>The Limelight Man</i> (<i>up in the flies—to himself</i>). What's wrong +with Mr. <span class="sc">Wildfire</span>? He as nearly broke down just now as——and +I can't keep the limelight on him nohow to-night! He can't +have been drinking—he ain't <i>that</i> sort. But he do look bad—it's +as much as ever he can do to go through with it; somethink's given +him a turn.</p> + +<p><i>Wildfire</i> (<i>to himself, as he goes back to the wing, unsteadily</i>). +She's here—and, what's worse, she's recognised me! She must +have, or she would never have looked like that. If I could only +have told her first; but, to discover it like this,—she'll think I +meant to—— (<i>He pitches away his boards in a fury.</i>) Well, I've +done for myself—it's all over! (<i>To his dresser.</i>) A note, eh?</p> + +<p>[<i>He opens it, and reads the contents mechanically</i>; Mr. <span class="sc">Tadman</span> +<i>and one or two other artistes come up with curiosity +on seeing his expression</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Tadm.</i> Why, <span class="sc">Wildfire</span>, old man, what's this? Play gone +wrong? Never mind, dear boy, we can't have everything. But +what's the report, eh?</p> + +<p><i>Wildf.</i> (<i>impatiently</i>). Oh, I don't know. What does it matter +now? (<i>He lets the note fall.</i>) There, you can read it if you want to +know.</p> + +<p class="ind2">[<i>He walks away.</i></p> + +<p><i>Tadm.</i> (<i>with complacency</i>). Poor chap, he's hard hit! But I +could have told him it wasn't to be expected that—— (<i>He picks +up the note, and reads it with a falling jaw.</i>) Hullo! What's the +meaning of this? It says the piece is a tremendous go—safe for +a long run—had to raise the rag again and again. Why, he'll +make his fortune over this alone; and yet, look at him! (<i>Pointing +to</i> <span class="sc">Wildfire</span>, <i>who has seated himself on the pile of lumber, in utter +dejection</i>.) And all those fools in front clapping and stamping for +him to come on again. What <i>more</i> does the feller want, I wonder!</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">End of Scene</span> XIII.</p> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<p class="ind1"><span class="sc">Union is (Logical) Weakness.</span>—The Congregational Union lays +it down as a law, "that the rights of humanity must take precedence +of those of property." We fear this admirable maxim (like +equally admirable Charity) might be made to cover a multitude +of sins, from petty larceny to anarchism. Would it be consonant +with the "rights of humanity," for, say, a Congregational Unionist +to object to a poor tramp stealing his best umbrella on a wet day?</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2 class="sans">ROBERT ON THE COMING SHO.</h2> + +<p><span class="sc">Well</span>, here we are just about gitting to the bend of our Citty +Year, when we changes our raining Sovverain, altho he is but twelve +munse old, and takes on a new one, for better or wuss as the case +may be, and in this case I most suttenly thinks that it would be werry +differcult indeed to change for a +better, for it tisn't not only me and +all my tribe, as <i>Shylock</i> calls us, but +all the many hundreds, if not thowsends, +as has had a share of the Rite +Honnerabel the <span class="sc">Lord Mare's</span> noble +ospitality, must all agree that a more +liberaller, or hospitaler, or hopen +artider Gent never entered the +honored Manshun House than him +who to ewerybody's regret is a +going next week for to leave it!</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 150px;"><a href="images/221-400.png"><img src="images/221-150.png" width="150" height="280" alt="Robert" /></a></div> + +<p>Why, I ardly expecs to be beleeved +when I says as we have sumtimes +had as many as three or fore grand +Bankwets in one week, and the <span class="sc">Lord +Mare</span> woud get up as usual the nex +morning as if he thort nothink of it! +No more he did, no not ewen when +the King of <span class="sc">Denmark</span> himself came +and dined with him at Gildall, and +explained to him all about the unfortnet +death of <i>Prince Hamlet!</i></p> + +<p>I do hear as we are to have such +a Lord Mare's Sho as we ain't offen +had, including, above all things that +nobody coudn't have emagined, nothink less than a reel copy of the +grand New Tower Bridge, and if that won't be a site for the +estonished Multitood praps somebody will kindly tell me what +woud be.</p> + +<p>There was a tork of asking all the Roossian Sailors, who has been +a having sitch a jolly time of it in France, to run over and jine the +Sho first and the Bankwet arterwards, but it was werry doutful +whether ewen all the Haldermen, much less all the Common Counselmen, +coud have chatted away with them in their own native tung, so +the idear was given up in favour of Fire engines and Fire men.</p> + +<p>I've seen a goodish many Lord Mare's Shos in my time, and +hopes to see a few more, in spite of the gellous growls of another +body of gents as shall be nameless, but it woud suttenly be a grand +joke to see the gellous body elluded to coming out in a London +County show of their own, amid the skoffs and jiers and larfter of +the emused Metrolopus!</p> + +<p class="author"><span class="sc">Robert.</span></p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2>THE "OBERLAND" ROUTE.</h2> + +<blockquote><p> +["A scheme for making a waterway between Switerland and the Adriatic +is to be submitted to the Federal Government at no very distant date."—<i>Westminster +Gazette.</i>] +</p></blockquote> + +<p><i>British Minister, Bern, to Lord Rosebery, London.</i>—A <span class="sc">Mr. Jones</span>, +who says he's a British subject, went up Pilatus to get view. +Didn't get it. Also complains of overcharge for candles at his hotel. +Have demanded immediate satisfaction from Swiss Government. +Please send Mediterranean Squadron to Locarno.</p> + +<p><i>Lord Rosebery, London, to British Minister, Bern.</i>—Can't spare +the Squadron. Won't a gunboat do? You may speak strongly to +Swiss Government. Tell them insult to <span class="sc">Jones</span> is insult to England. +Meanwhile, wire best route for fleet to get up to Bern, if necessary. +Don't see it on map.</p> + +<p><i>Brit. Min., B., to Lord R.</i>—Owing to Mediterranean Squadron +not having appeared at Locarno, Swiss Government very aggressive. +Passenger steamers on Lakes of Geneva, Thun, and Lucerne being +converted into a fleet. Special new <i>corps d'armée</i> formed from +Chamounix guides and patriotic hotel waiters. Man (whose name +was <span class="sc">Robinson</span>) mistaken for <span class="sc">Jones</span>, and mobbed in streets last night. +Some kind of Naval Demonstration absolutely necessary. Put ships +on rail at Locarno, send 'em through Gothard Tunnel, and there +you are!</p> + +<p><i>Lord R. to Brit. Min., B.</i>—British Government recognises gravity of +the <span class="sc">Jones</span> incident. What do you advise? Aren't the Alps in the way?</p> + +<p><i>Brit. Min., B., to Lord R.</i>—Didn't like to suggest details. Send +ironclads. Ram something. Why not bombard Alps. Gunboat +moored at Devil's Bridge might shell Andermatt. Leave it to you.</p> + +<p><i>Lord R. to Brit. Min., B.</i>—Sorry to say, European complications +have now arisen from <span class="sc">Jones</span> incident. Swiss Government has offered +its fleet to Russia and France. Triple Alliance tottering. Can't you +get Swiss Government to apologise to <span class="sc">Jones</span>, and end business?</p> + +<p><i>Brit. Min. to Lord R.</i>—Business <i>is</i> ended. <span class="sc">Jones</span> not a British +subject after all, but a Swede, who's travelled in America! Recall +gunboat.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page222" id="page222"></a>[pg 222]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/222-1500.png"><img src="images/222-600.png" width="600" height="407" alt="THE SPREAD OF CULTURE DOWNWARDS." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">THE SPREAD OF CULTURE DOWNWARDS.</h3> + +<p>"<span class="sc">Ullo, Mary, what's this? Name of the 'Ouse?</span>" +"<span class="sc">No, Mr. Ignorance; it's a Latin word, and means 'Please to Wipe your Feet!'</span>"</p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2>"RESH'PROSH'TY."</h2> + +<blockquote><p> +["What struck the <span class="sc">Tzar</span> ... in the recent festivities, was the feeling of +fraternity which seemed to pervade the multitude.... The feeling of +concord and fraternity appears to survive the last echoes of the festivities ... The +word now most frequently heard is 'Amnesty.' This, indeed, is the +fittest coping-stone to prolonged festivities characterised by universal +concord."—<i>Times' Paris Correspondent.</i>] +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="poem1"> <div class="stanza"> +<p><i>President.</i> "Prolonged feshtivitish!" Thash good, that ish!</p> +<p class="i6"><i>Very</i> prolonged, ole f'ler, an' <i>awf'ly</i> feshtive!</p> +<p><i>Tzar.</i> Yesh, tha' what shtruck <i>me!</i> (<i>Aside.</i>) But I really wish</p> +<p class="i6">He wouldn't gush. <span class="sc">Romanoff</span> pride turns reshtive!</p> +<p><i>President.</i> <i>Sho</i> glad it shtruck you sho! An' nurrer thing</p> +<p class="i8">You <i>mush</i> ha' notish'd. Feeling of fraternity</p> +<p class="i6">All over shop! I shay, may friendship's wing</p> +<p class="i8">Ne'er moult a feather, not to all eternity.</p> +<p><i>Tzar.</i> I echosh tha' fine Shwiveller shentiment</p> +<p class="i8">Entirely! (<i>Aside.</i>) I must not appear too sober.</p> +<p><i>President.</i> Now Fransh ish shatishfied—an' world content!</p> +<p class="i8">Republic won't forget thish last October!</p> +<p class="i6">Feelingsh of concord, cetra, <i>will</i> survive</p> +<p class="i8">Last echosh of feshtivitish—for ever!</p> +<p><i>Tzar.</i> Oh, coursh! Asshure you I am quite alive</p> +<p class="i8">To reshiproshity—shan't forget it—never!</p> +<p><i>President.</i> Thash ri' ole f'ler! <i>Our</i> resh—hic!—proshity—</p> +<p class="i8">Not like the comic Yankee's, all one shide?</p> +<p><i>Tzar.</i> Certainly not! Shorry to say good-bye!</p> +<p class="i8">But though our bodiesh part, our soulsh are tied.</p> +<p><i>President.</i> Precishly! We're <i>both</i> tight—mean tied—in knotsh.</p> +<p class="i8">The champagne, an' the speeches, an' the kisshes</p> +<p class="i8">Have bound our bosomsh, and combined our lotsh!</p> +<p><i>Tzar.</i> Quite sho! (<i>Aside.</i>) I'll watch a chance to hint my wishes.</p> +<p><i>President.</i> We've had a jolly time, and now, ole f'ler,</p> +<p class="i8">Ash "coping-shtone" to all this talk and toddy,</p> +<p class="i6">As shequel to thish patr'otic stir,</p> +<p class="i8">I'm going to amneshty—yesh, <i>everybody!</i></p> +<p class="i6">Wha' shay, dear <span class="sc">Romanoff</span>, will you do same?</p> +<p class="i8">Jush show, y' know, that thersh no animoshity!</p> +<p><i>Tzar</i> (<i>aside</i>). Oh, <i>that</i> is the Republic's little game?</p> +<p class="i8">Russia can't stand <i>that</i> form of reciprocity!</p> +<p class="i6">(<i>Aloud.</i>) All ri', ole f'ler, you jush leave that to <i>Me!</i></p> +<p class="i8">Mosh noble notion, that shame "coping-shtone!"</p> +<p class="i6">By way, ole f'ler, talking of amneshty—</p> +<p class="i8"><i>Could you just 'blige me with a trifling Loan?</i></p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2>THE PROFESSION OF—JOURNALISM.</h2> + +<h4>(<i>An Entirely Imaginary Letter.</i>)</h4> + +<p class="ind">Dear <span class="sc">Mr. B-ch-n-n</span>,—Our famous Third Page rather dull lately. +Couldn't you enliven it up by one of your characteristic letters—say +on "The Profession of Literature"? Say all the old things about +its degrading effect on those who follow it, including yourself—the +public loves to see a vivisection in public—and be sure to spice it +well with distinguished names, such as <span class="sc">Sw-nb-rn-</span>, <span class="sc">R-ss-tt-</span>, etc. +Any depreciatory anecdotes would be very telling, and serve to +evoke indignant <i>free</i> replies from those who wouldn't guess they +were jumping to a prepared bait. I shall count on you for a +column.</p> + +<p class="author">Yours faithfully, +<span class="sc">The Editor of the ——</span>. </p> + +<p class="center"> P.S.—Of course you will be insulted at the usual rate.—<span class="sc">Ed.</span></p> + +<p class="author">[<i>Result—the usual one on the famous Third Page.</i> </p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>Mot by a Member.</h3> + +<h4>(<i>During the Debate on the Second Reading of the Parish Councils Bill.</i>)</h4> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="sc">Fowler</span> was longish, <span class="sc">Long</span> was even longer,</p> +<p><span class="sc">More</span> was much less so, <span class="sc">Stanhope</span> little stronger;</p> +<p>But <span class="sc">Heneage</span> even when brief's sublime</p> +<p>He's not for Hene-age, but for all (our) time!</p> +<p>What a relief after such thrice-skimmed milk</p> +<p>To get truth's cream from <span class="sc">Rollit</span> and from <span class="sc">Dilke</span>!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind2"><span class="sc">The Latest "Glass of Fashion."</span>—The dress fashioned of +spun-glass, as a royal robe for the Princess <span class="sc">Eulalia</span> of Spain, and +exhibited at the Chicago World's Fair.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page223" id="page223"></a>[pg 223]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a href="images/223-1200.png"><img src="images/223-500.png" width="500" height="641" alt="'RESH'PROSH'TY.'" /></a> +<h1>"RESH'PROSH'TY."</h1> + +<p><span class="sc">M. Carnot.</span> "WELL, OLE F'LER, WE'VE ALL HAD JOLLY GOOD TIME—AN' I'M GOING T' AMNESTY +EV'RYB'Y!! YOU—DO—SAME!!"</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Tzar.</span> "LEAVE THAT T' ME. BY TH' WAY—COULD YOU 'BLIGE ME—TRIFLIN' LOAN?"</p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page224" id="page224"></a>[pg 224]</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page225" id="page225"></a>[pg 225]</span> + +<h3>"BUT THAT'S ANOTHER STORY."</h3> + +<h4>(<i>Rudyard Kipling passim.</i>)</h4> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="sc">Tom's</span> uncle by his will</p> +<p class="i2">Left <span class="sc">Tom</span> in greatest glory.</p> +<p>There <i>was</i> a codicil—</p> +<p class="i2">"But that's another story."</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="sc">Phil</span> wooed a fair one, <span class="sc">Kate</span>;</p> +<p class="i2">She met him <i>con amore</i>.</p> +<p>The damages were great—</p> +<p class="i2">"But that's another story."</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="sc">Hugh's</span> rent (for an address!)</p> +<p class="i2">Was far and wide <i>in ore</i>.</p> +<p>His suite now costs him less—</p> +<p class="i2">"But that's another <i>story</i>."</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Of readers not a few</p> +<p class="i2">Deem <span class="sc">Rider Haggard</span> gory.</p> +<p>We have <span class="sc">Macbeth</span>, it's true—</p> +<p class="i2">"But that's another story."</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>One <span class="sc">Joseph</span> was enrolled—</p> +<p class="i2">Though now a sort of Tory—</p> +<p>A Williamite of old—</p> +<p class="i2">"But that's another story."</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Some maids would make it known</p> +<p class="i2">They'll wait till locks are hoary,</p> +<p>But wed for love alone—</p> +<p class="i2">"<span class="gesperrt">But that's</span> another '<b>story</b>.'"</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>IN BLACK AND WHITE.</h3> + +<h4>(<i>A Modern Glove Romance.</i>)</h4> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="sc">That</span> pair of gloves you wore when first we met</p> +<p class="i4">Were what you called, I think, a "pair of loves."</p> +<p>You won them from your cousin on a bet—</p> +<p class="i6">That pair of gloves.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Now as to colour, this or that shade proves</p> +<p class="i4">A shade expensive, runs you into debt.</p> +<p>Tan's universal, while a tint of dove's</p> +<p class="i4">Particularly nice for evening. Yet</p> +<p>Black with white stitching most my fancy moves,</p> +<p class="i4">And such were yours. I never can forget</p> +<p class="i6">That pair of gloves.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"><a href="images/225-800.png"><img src="images/225-300.png" width="300" height="452" alt="TOO COSTLY." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">TOO COSTLY.</h3> + +<p><i>The Vicar.</i> "<span class="sc">Dear, dear, Mrs. Prickles, I regret to hear that +Mrs. Brown has treated you so shamefully. I should counsel you +to heap Coals of Fire on her head</span>——"</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. P.</i> "<span class="sc">Ah, Sir—that's wot I <i>would</i> do, as soon as look at 'er: +but I can't afford it at One-an'-ninepence a 'Underdweight</span>!"</p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>RHODES TO ——?</h3> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="sc">Sir Henry Loch</span> may hold the key</p> +<p>In Africa, but all must see</p> +<p>That <span class="sc">Rhodes</span> the handle hath fast grip on,</p> +<p>Shouts "Let her rip!"—despite Lord <span class="sc">Ripon</span>.</p> +<p>Cut is poor <span class="sc">Lobengula's</span> comb,</p> +<p>'Tis said that all roads lead to Rome.</p> +<p>The new Ring that old saw explodes;</p> +<p>Where'er we roam we're led to—<span class="sc">Rhodes</span>.</p> +<p>Whether or no this Great Panjandrum</p> +<p>(Who handles well the pen, sword, <i>and</i> drum)</p> +<p>Is the true friend of Civilisation,</p> +<p>And puts her laws in operation;</p> +<p>At least he can maintain with pride,</p> +<p>He has her Maxims on his side.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>FABIUS FIN-DE-SIČCLE.</h3> + +<blockquote><p> +[The Fabian Society, in the <i>Fortnightly +Review</i>, has "launched a +manifesto, which proposes that the +Government shall be attacked by +extreme Radicals because it has +only met them half way."] +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="sc">Strange</span> that a "Fabian policy," up-to-date,</p> +<p>Should be so obviously <i>not</i> to wait!</p> +<p>Sure the Society's name is chosen ill!</p> +<p><span class="sc">Rupert</span> the title-rōle might fitlier fill.</p> +<p>The Fabian Manifesto frightens no man;</p> +<p>But just conceive the great, but cautious, Roman</p> +<p>Heading a restive, Radical "Ugly Rush"!</p> +<p>Though Patience suffers in the Modern Crush,</p> +<p>Perchance the Socialistic perorator</p> +<p>Might learn a lesson from the great Cunctator!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2>THE CABMAN'S GUIDE TO POLITENESS.—No. II.</h2> + +<ul class="none"> +<li><span class="outdent"><i>Question.</i></span> I think when you are out of temper, and have been +asked by a Fare, who appears to know more (or less) about distances +than you do, to stop, you pretend not to hear him?</li> + +<li><i>Answer.</i> Yes; and I continue not to hear him until a policeman +pulls me up.</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> Quite so; and then you have a way of giving a jerk while +your Fare is getting in which either covers a lady's dress with mud, +or all but breaks the leg of a gentleman?</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> Well, I have known such things to happen.</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> And when you reach your destination, you carefully forget +the number of the street or square, and are equally hard of hearing +if your Fare attempts to direct you?</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> You have hit it, especially if it's raining.</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> Of course. And when you get your money, you sneer and drive +away, as if you were disgusted?</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> Yes. And as I go off I make as much splash as I can, in the +hope of my late fare getting a dose of the mud.</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> Exactly. Now, don't you think it would be better to come up +cheerfully, drive carefully, and when you receive your money, +observe, "Well, Sir (or Madam), I know I have no right to more, +but times are hard, and if you would spare an extra sixpence, I +should consider it a real kindness?" Would not that mode be +better than the other? Would it not be more profitable?</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> It might, but I can't say, as I have never tried it.</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> Again, what is your method of obtaining what you consider +to be your rights from a mother with two boxes and four small +children?</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> Why I generally swear at the kids and sit on the boxes until +I am paid what I ask, or get sent to the right-abouts by a policeman.</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> No doubt; yet such a course seems both barbarous and inconvenient. +Could you not improve upon it?</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> Not I. It is the right thing to do, and that is why I do it.</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> And yet would it not be as easy for you to help the boxes +down yourself, and then to make friends with the mother through +her children? Could you not observe, "Bless their hearts, they are +fine lads, or young ladies (as the case might be), and you should be +proud of them, mum?"</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> Yes, I might say that, but I don't think the mother would +come down with the cash any quicker on account of it.</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> But supposing, when you were offered less than you thought +due to you, could you not observe, "I have children of my own, +mum, and if you could spare a couple of shillings (or half-a-crown, +or what you thought right) more, it would be a real kindness, and +give my children something more than bread and water for dinner?" +Could you not say that?</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> I might, but I won't.</li> + +<li><i>Q.</i> But surely it would be pleasanter for you to be amiable and +courteous instead of a bully and a brute? And would it not be +easier, too?</li> + +<li><i>A.</i> Try for yourself. Just you drive a cab for a dozen hours in +all weathers, and then you will learn what chances you have of +feeling light-hearted and polite!</li> +</ul> + +<hr class="medium" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page226" id="page226"></a>[pg 226]</span> + +<h2 class="sans">PREPARING FOR CHRISTMAS.</h2> + +<h4>(<i>A Yule-tide Story told in Advance.</i>)</h4> + +<p>Yes, <span class="sc">Scrooge</span> was an altered +man! He was genial and amiable, +and altogether an estimable +being. <span class="sc">Scrooge's</span> nephew was +delighted with the change. He +could scarcely believe his ears +and eyes.</p> + +<p>"And don't you really interfere +with the theatres, Sir?" +asked <span class="sc">Scrooge's</span> nephew. "At +one time you were always telling +them to take down this, and put +up that, and making the lives of +the managers burdens to them. +Don't you interfere any longer?"</p> + +<p>"Of course not, my lad," replied +<span class="sc">Scrooge</span>, heartily. "Why +should I? This is the pleasantest +world imaginable, and it would be +less charming without its playhouses."</p> + +<p>"Right you are, Sir," returned +<span class="sc">Scrooge's</span> nephew; "but +I suppose you look in occasionally +at the halls to supervise the entertainments?"</p> + +<p>"I look in to enjoy them, my +boy!" cried <span class="sc">Scrooge</span>, with a +ringing laugh, that could be heard +for furlongs. "What do they +want with <i>my</i> supervision?"</p> + +<p>"I am sure I don't know, +uncle; but I thought it was a +way you had. And then you are +going to strip the hoardings of +the posters, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"I strip the hoardings of the +posters! Why should I? The +hoardings look a precious sight +better covered with pictures than +left to dirt and decay. I interfere +with the hoardings! I never +heard of such a thing! What +put <i>that</i> into your head?"</p> + +<p>"Well, it used to be an old way +of yours," returned <span class="sc">Scrooge's</span> +nephew. "Why, uncle, don't +you remember? You used to +be interfering with and ordering +about everything. Taking up +the road and closing the thoroughfare. +Bothering the costermongers +and the retail shopkeepers +and the small householders. In +fact, making yourself a general +nuisance in all directions. Why, +uncle, you have entirely changed +your nature!"</p> + +<p>"Not at all," said <span class="sc">Scrooge</span>. +"I am not changed, but my +office is. Do you not know that +I have ceased to be a member of +the London County Council?"</p> + +<p>"No, this is the first time I +have heard of it! Why, that +accounts for everything! It explains +why you are a pleasant, +good-natured old gentleman in +lieu of a curmudgeon and a +brute. It explains everything."</p> + +<p>And it did!</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"><a href="images/226-800.png"><img src="images/226-350.png" width="350" height="491" alt="MISUNDERSTOOD." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">MISUNDERSTOOD.</h3> + +<p><i>Noble Philanthropist.</i> "<span class="sc">That Parcel seems rather heavy for +you, my little Man! Let me take it!</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Small boy.</i> "<span class="sc">Let yer tyke my Parcel! Garn with yer. +I'll call the Perlice!</span>"</p></div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind"><span class="sc">Name!</span> <span class="sc">Name!</span>—No name has +been announced for the new daily +paper projected by Mr. <span class="sc">Stead</span>. +In view of the plan frankly set +forth in the prospectus, whereby +one hundred thousand persons are +to subscribe the capital, and if +the venture proves a success the +enterprising editor is to have +the option of acquiring the property, +a suitable title would be, +<i>Heads-I-Win-Tails-You-Lose</i>. +It is a little long, perhaps; +but it precisely describes the +relative positions, and you can't—at +least some people can't—have +everything.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">Dramatic Recipe</span> (<span class="sc">from the +Queen's Cookery Book</span>).—First +catch your <span class="sc">Hare</span>.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3 class="sans">THE DARK CONTINENT IN TWO LIGHTS.</h3> + +<p class="ind"> +<span class="sc">Scene</span>—<i>A conquered country.</i> <span class="sc">Time</span>—<i>The +Past. Conquerors (colonists) panting +after their hard work in defeating the +natives. Enter an</i> Official. <i>The remaining +members of the Colonial Band sing +the National Anthem.</i> +</p> + +<p><i>Official.</i> I congratulate you upon your +success. The more especially as you have +gained it without the assistance of the +Imperial power. (<i>The Colonists indulge in +feeble cheers.</i>) But now my turn has +arrived. In the name of the <span class="sc">Sovereign</span> I +claim this land for England!</p> + +<p class="ind2"> +[<i>Plants the British Flag. Curtain.</i> +</p> + +<p class="ind"> +<span class="sc">Scene</span>—<i>As before.</i> <span class="sc">Time</span>—<i>The Present. +Conquerors (colonists) smoking after the +pleasant toil of mowing down the +natives. Enter an</i> Official. <i>The Colonial +Band (in its entirety) takes no notice</i>. +</p> + +<p><i>Official.</i> I congratulate you upon your +success. The more especially as you have +gained it without the assistance of the +Imperial power. (<i>The Colonists indulge in +roars of laughter.</i>) But now my turn has +arrived. In the name of the <span class="sc">Sovereign</span> I +claim this land for England!</p> + +<p><i>Colonists.</i> No you don't! Be off! We can +get on without you!</p> + +<p class="ind2"> +[<i>Turns Official and his Flag out of the +Country. Curtain.</i> +</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>ARGENTINA.</h3> + +<p class="center">[It is stated that <span class="sc">Jabez S. Balfour</span> is living +"in a perfect fairy-land."]</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>I Dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls,</p> +<p class="i2">With orchids on every side,</p> +<p>A very long way from Old Bailey's walls,</p> +<p class="i2">Where <span class="sc">Newton</span> and <span class="sc">Hobbs</span> were tried.</p> +<p>I had riches too great to count; could boast</p> +<p class="i2">Of <span class="sc">Jabez</span>, an elegant name;</p> +<p>And I also dreamt, which charmed me most,</p> +<p class="i2">Argentina loved me the same.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>I dreamt that my country let me go,</p> +<p class="i2">In an indolent sort of way,</p> +<p>For Scotland Yard did not seem to know</p> +<p class="i2">It would "want" me another day.</p> +<p>So they carefully closed the stable-door,</p> +<p class="i2">When I'd fled beyond reach of blame;</p> +<p>And I also dreamt, which charmed me more,</p> +<p class="i2">Argentina loved me the same.</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>I dreamt that detectives sought my hand,</p> +<p class="i2">But their warrants I could not see.</p> +<p>So their vows my swindler's heart could withstand,</p> +<p class="i2">Though they pledged their faith to me.</p> +<p>Buenos Ayres' bold, brazen face,</p> +<p class="i2">Never glows with the blush of shame;</p> +<p>Though I should be lynched in a decent place,</p> +<p class="i2">Argentina loves me the same.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">A Great Field for Humorists Annually.</span>—"<i>Wit +acres'</i> Almanack."</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h2 class="sans">ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.</h2> + +<h4><span class="sc">Extracted from the Diary of Toby, M.P.</span></h4> + +<p><i>House of Commons, Thursday, November</i> 2.—Began +work again to-day as if nothing had +happened from February to September. Understood +to have had a recess; so short hardly +worth mentioning. Considering all circumstances, +attendance marvellously large. +<span class="sc">Marjoribanks</span> got his men together as usual, +crowding benches on Ministerial side. Opposition +not in quite such a hurry to wash their +spears; but muster creditable. Irish camp +deserted. "You see," said <span class="sc">Justin Mccarthy</span>, +"it isn't our funeral. But the bhoys are +hanging round and will turn up if wanted."</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Henry Fowler</span> moved Second Reading +Parish Councils Bill. Adroit and able speech; +rather hard on <span class="sc">Walter Long</span>; to him +deputed position of spokesman on Front +Opposition bench. Brought down notes of +convincing speech. <span class="sc">Fowler</span> getting in first +anticipated all his objections; met them with +benevolent alacrity that disarmed hostility. +What did statesmen opposite want? Anything +in reason should be conceded. "Give +your orders, gents, whilst the waiter's in the +room."</p> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page227" id="page227"></a>[pg 227]</span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/227-1500.png"><img src="images/227-600.png" width="600" height="428" alt="PARLIAMENT BY PROXY." /></a> +<h3 class="sans">PARLIAMENT BY PROXY.</h3></div> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page228" id="page228"></a>[pg 228]</span> + +<p>This an admirable stroke of business, but +a little depressing from spectacular point +of view. No more pyrotechnics; no further +meetings on the floor; no more grips at +close quarters. <span class="sc">Hayes Fisher</span> looked on +moodily; <span class="sc">Logan</span> passed Front Opposition +bench without once so much as looking at place where <span class="sc">Carson</span> is accustomed +meekly to repose. Respectable elderly gentlemen like <span class="sc">Francis</span> +<span class="sc">Powell</span> and <span class="sc">Jeffreys</span> took the floor. Even contumacious <span class="sc">Cobb</span> +admitted soothing influence of the hour. Didn't want anything +more than that Parish +Councils should have +power to take land +wherever they found +it, and divide it +amongst the poor. As +everybody agreed Bill +in the main desirable, +and since <span class="sc">Fowler</span> +had promised fullest +consideration of +amendments in Committee, +seemed natural +thing to do was forthwith +to read Bill second +time, and fix date +of Committee.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 200px;"><a href="images/228a-500.png"><img src="images/228a-200.png" width="200" height="305" alt="Parish Councils." /></a> +Parish Councils.</div> + +<p>"No, Sir," said +<span class="sc">Stanley Leighton</span>, +"I trust the House of +Commons is not yet sunk so low as that. +Confess I myself feel depressed. Couldn't +to-night adequately fill my favourite and +popular part of The Man from Shropshire. +At least I'll deliver House from disgrace of +bringing debate to a close for the puerile +reason that we're all agreed Second Reading +shall be taken."</p> + +<p>So he wandered on; was just warming into +Man-from-Shropshire manner, when midnight +sounded and Debate stood adjourned.</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—Second Reading Parish +Councils Bill moved.</p> + +<p><i>Friday.</i>—For middle-aged gentleman of +long experience never saw man so discomposed +as <span class="sc">Jesse Collings</span> was just now, when +he let cat out of bag about future arrangements +of the Unionists personal to himself. +What is to be done with the Faithful One +when <span class="sc">Joseph</span> comes into his own is favourite +speculation in smoke-room. <span class="sc">Sage of +Queen Anne's Gate</span> takes special interest in matter. Most men +think <span class="sc">Jesse</span> should have Cabinet rank in Coalition Ministry.</p> + +<p>"No," says the <span class="sc">Sage</span>, "he should be a Viceroy, either of India +or Canada. Cut out for the place; and there would be no question +of salary, such as, seven years ago, embittered his relations +with Mr. G."</p> + +<p>All these conjectures beside the point. Matter has, apparently, +been settled in inner councils of party, and to-night <span class="sc">Jesse</span> accidentally, +inadvertently, lifted the veil. "I have," he said, in +course of luminous speech prefaced by addressing the <span class="sc">Speaker</span> as +"Mr. Mayor," "something to say on that subject, but I will +reserve my remarks for another place." House not very full at +moment. But everyone knows meaning of House of Commons +phrase "another place." Sensation profound. Bordesley soon to +be bereft, for <span class="sc">Jesse Collings</span> is going to the Lords! <span class="sc">Henry +Matthews</span>, a local authority on the subject, says even title been +fixed upon. Nothing less than territorial style will do for the +ex-Mayor and Radical Alderman. Soon the Upper House will +greet Lord <span class="sc">Bordesley</span> of Birmingham.</p> + +<p>Quiet night, with further talk round Parish Councils Bill. Mr. G. +present, seated between <span class="sc">Squire of Malwood</span> and <span class="sc">John Morley</span>. +Singularly subdued in manner; takes no part in discussion; goes +off to dinner in good time, and House sees him no more.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/228b-1200.png"><img src="images/228b-600.png" width="600" height="453" alt="Ireland takes a back seat. Sir William on the Premier's right again." /></a> +Ireland takes a back seat. Sir William on the Premier's right again.</div> + +<p>"And to think," said the <span class="sc">Squire</span>, glancing sideways at the +placid figure beside him, "that this is the man painted in red +and blue by Unionist pavement-artists. Their stories of Mr. G. +always remind me of a passage in a theme produced by a +young gentleman invited to state what he knew of Cardinal +<span class="sc">Wolsey</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p> +"'In the siege of Quebec,' he wrote, 'he ascended the mountains at dead +of night, when his enemies were at rest, and took the town at daybreak. +His home policy was conducted in a similar manner.' +</p></blockquote> + +<p>"There is about that a picturesque air of circumstantiality, combined +with a fanciful inaccuracy, equalled only by things one reads +or hears with reference to my right hon. friend, and revered leader."</p> + +<p><i>Business done.</i>—Some papers on Parish Councils read.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>Double Entente.</h3> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>The <span class="sc">Tzar</span>, on peace and friendship all intent,</p> +<p>To France his Admiral <span class="sc">Avellan</span> has sent.</p> +<p>'Twere pity if this Russian olive-branch</p> +<p>Portended merely General <span class="sc">Avalanche</span>.</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind">Mrs. R. is astonished to hear that "Count +<span class="sc">Taaffe</span>, the Austrian Premier, is an Irishman +and a Member of the British House of +Lords." She says she is sure she has heard +that "<span class="sc">Taaffe</span> was a Welshman, <span class="sc">Taaffe</span> was +a ——," but she must have been misinformed!!!</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind1"><span class="sc">A Strike-ing Suggestion.</span>—The <span class="sc">Pitt</span>-coalition +was a brilliant idea in its day. A +coalition between masters and miners—a Pit-coal-ition, +in fact—would solve the strike +difficulty.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>THE FRENCH FLAG.</h3> + +<h4>AN AMICABLE APPEAL.</h4> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>The Arab dhow to the chase is gone,</p> +<p class="i2">Chock-full of slaves you'll discover it;</p> +<p>And the British cruiser is artfully done</p> +<p class="i2">By the French Flag flying over it!</p> +<p>"Flag of France!" cries the British Tar,</p> +<p class="i2">"The Arab hound betrays thee.</p> +<p>Give him his due, at Zanzibar,</p> +<p class="i2">And all the world shall praise thee!"</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>The captain and crew by the Franks were tried,</p> +<p class="i2">And <i>escaped</i>—to the wide world's wonder!</p> +<p>Oh glorious Flag! Is it then its pride</p> +<p class="i2">That the slavers hide thereunder?</p> +<p>Let France disdain to sully thee,</p> +<p class="i2">With the curst kidnapper's knavery!</p> +<p>Thy folds should float o'er the brave and free,</p> +<p class="i2">And <i>never</i> protect foul Slavery!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>Misnomer.</h3> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>"<span class="sc">Federation</span>" seems aggravation,</p> +<p class="i2">Conciliation's dead!</p> +<p>While fights the "Miners' Federation,"</p> +<p class="i2">The Miners are <i>un</i>fed!</p> + </div> </div> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="ind1"><span class="sc">The Latest Autumn Fashions.</span>—Parliamentary +Sessions and Feather Trimmings. +Both involving cruelty to bipeds "on the +wing," and each "more honoured in the +breach than the observance."</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<h3>An Ulsterical Impromptu.</h3> + +<h4>(<i>By an Orange-hating Nationalist.</i>)</h4> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>In Parliament assembled see them move</p> +<p class="i2">Their resolutions lacking rhyme and reason,</p> +<p>Determined all at any cost to prove</p> +<p class="i2">The Ulster Parliament's a Cloak to Treason!</p> + </div> </div> + +<p> </p> +<hr class="pg" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI, VOL. 105, NOVEMBER 11, 1893***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 39420-h.txt or 39420-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/9/4/2/39420">http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/4/2/39420</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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