PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

Vol. 99.

July 19, 1890.

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

PARALLEL.

Joe, the Fat Boy in Pickwick, startles
the Old Lady; Oscar, the Fad Boy in Lippincott’s, startles
Mrs. Grundy.
Oscar, the Fad Boy. “I want to make your flesh
creep!”

The Baron has read OSCAR WILDE’S Wildest and Oscarest work,
called Dorian Gray, a weird sensational romance,
complete in one number of Lippincott’s Magazine. The
Baron, recommends anybody who revels in diablerie, to
begin it about half-past ten, and to finish it at one sitting
up; but those who do not so revel he advises either not to read
it at all, or to choose the daytime, and take it in
homoeopathic doses. The portrait represents the soul of the
beautiful Ganymede-like Dorian Gray, whose youth and
beauty last to the end, while his soul, like JOHN BROWN’S,
“goes marching on” into the Wilderness of Sin. It becomes at
last a devilled soul. And then Dorian sticks a knife
into it, as any ordinary mortal might do, and a fork also, and
next morning

while the portrait has recovered the perfect beauty which it
possessed when it first left the artist’s easel. If OSCAR
intended an allegory, the finish is dreadfully wrong. Does he
mean that, by sacrificing his earthly life, Dorian Gray
atones for his infernal sins, and so purifies his soul by
suicide? “Heavens! I am no preacher,” says the Baron, “and
perhaps OSCAR didn’t mean anything at all, except to give us a
sensation, to show how like BULWER LYTTON’S old-world style he
could make his descriptions and his dialogue, and what an easy
thing it is to frighten the respectable Mrs. Grundy with
a Bogie.” The style is decidedly Lyttonerary. His aphorisms are
Wilde, yet forced. Mr. OSCAR WILDE says of his story, “it is
poisonous if you like, but you cannot deny that it is also
perfect, and perfection is what we artists aim at.” Perhaps;
but “we artists” do not always hit what we aim at, and, despite
his confident claim to unerring artistic marksmanship, one must
hazard the opinion, that in this case Mr. WILDE has “shot
wide.” There is indeed more of “poison” than of “perfection” in
Dorian Gray. The central idea is an excellent, if not
exactly novel, one; and a finer art, say that of NATHANIEL
HAWTHORNE, would have made a striking and satisfying story of
it. Dorian Gray is striking enough, in a sense, but it
is not “satisfying” artistically, any more than it is so
ethically. Mr. WILDE has preferred the sensuous and
hyperdecorative manner of “Mademoiselle DE MAUPIN,” and without
GAUTIER’S power, has spoilt a promising conception by clumsy
unideal treatment. His “decoration” (upon which he plumes
himself) is indeed “laid on with a trowel.” The luxuriously
elaborate details of his “artistic hedonism” are too suggestive
of South Kensington Museum and æsthetic
Encyclopædias. A truer art would have avoided both the
glittering conceits, which bedeck the body of the story, and
the unsavoury suggestiveness which lurks in its spirit.
Poisonous! Yes. But the loathly “leperous distilment” taints
and spoils, without in any way subserving “perfection,”
artistic or otherwise. If Mrs. Grundy doesn’t read it,
the younger Grundies do; that is, the Grundies
who belong to Clubs, and who care to shine in certain sets
wherein this story will be much discussed. “I have read it,
and, except for the ingenious idea, I wish to forget it,” says
the Baron.

The Baron has seen the new, lively, and eccentric newspaper,
entitled The Whirlwind. It has reached the third number.
“I am informed,” says the Baron, “that, on payment of five
guineas down, I can become a life-subscriber to the
Whirlwind. But what does life-subscriber mean? Do I
subscribe for the term of my life, or for the term of the
Whirlwind’s life? Suppose the Whirlwind has to be
wound up, or whirl-winded up, and suppose I am still going on,
can I intervene to stop the proceedings, and insist on my
contract to be supplied with a Whirlwind per week for
the remainder of my natural or unnatural life being carried
out? If the contract is for our lives, then, as a
life-subscriber, I should insist on the Whirlwind
remaining co-existent with me, so that, up to my latest breath,
I might have a Whirlwind. But if the life-subscription
of five guineas is only for the term of the Whirlwind’s
life, then, I fancy the proprietors, editor, and staff, that
the Hon. STUART ERSKINE and Mr. HERBERT VIVIAN, who are, I
believe, the Proprietors, Editor, and Staff of the
Whirlwind, will have by far the better of the bargain. I
resist the temptation, and keep my five pounds five shillings
in my pocket, and am

“Yours truly, THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

OUR NEW ADVERTISEMENT COLUMN.

[All applications in answer to be addressed to the
office of this journal, accompanied by handsome P.O.O, and
lots of shilling stamps, which will in every case be
retained, without acknowledgment, as a guarantee of good
faith.]

URGENT CASE.—WANTED, by a little Boy, aged 10, of
thoroughly disagreeable temper, selfish, greedy, ill-mannered,
and thoroughly spoilt at home, a good sound Whipping, weekly,
if possible. Great care will be necessary on the part of
applicant in fulfilling requirements, parents of youth in
question, being firmly convinced that he is a noble little
fellow, with a fine manly spirit, just what his dear Papa was
at his age (as is very probably the case) and only requiring
peculiarly gentle and considerate treatment.—Apply (in
first instance, by letter) to Godfather, care of Mr.
Punch.

TO PARENTS AND GUARDIANS,—affectionate but
practical-minded, and anxious to find economical homes
(somewhere else) for young gentlemen who cannot get on without
expensive assistance at starting in Mother country, owing to
excessive competition in laborious and over-crowded
professions. A firm of enterprising Agents offer bracing and
profitable occupation (coupled with the use gratis, of
two broken spades, an old manure-cart, and an axe without a
handle) in a peculiarly romantic and unhealthy district in the
backwoods of West-Torrida. Photograph, if desired, of Agent’s
residence (distant several hundred miles away.) Excellent
opening for young men fresh from first-class public school or
college-life: who should, of course, be prepared to “rough it”
a little before making competence or large fortune, by
delightful pursuit of agriculture. No restrictive civilisation.
No drains. Excellent supply of water and heavy floods as a
rule, during three months of year, bringing on Spring crops
without expense of irrigation. Very low death-rate, most of
population having recently cleared out. Small village and
(horse)-doctor within twenty-five miles’ ride. Wild and
beautiful country. Every incentive to work. Rare poisonous
reptiles, and tarantula spiders, most interesting to young
observant naturalist. Capital prospect—great saving
offered to careful parents anxious to set up brougham, or
increase private expenses. Five boys (reduction on taking a
quantity) disposed of for about £250 and outfit, with
probably, no further trouble.—Address, Messrs. SHARKEY
AND CRIMPIN, Colonial and Emigration Agents. &c.

CONCERTS! CONCERTS!—Amateur Comic Vocalist and
impromptu “Vamper” (gentleman born) of several years’
experience in best London Society, is anxious to meet with bold
and speculative Manager who will offer him a first engagement.
Can sing—omitting a few high notes—various popular
melodies, comprising, “Aunt Sarah’s Back-hair,” “The
Twopenny Toff of ‘Ighgate ‘Ill,” and “Tommy Robinson’s
Last Cigar,” and also play piano if required, with one
finger, but prefers to be accompanied by indefatigable friend,
who plays entirely by ear, and if allowed to smoke freely, can
“pick up” any tune in a quarter of an hour. Seldom breaks down
or forgets words, except before large or unsympathetic
audience. Fetching comic “biz,” and superlative Music-hall
“chic.” Would have no objection to black face and appear at
evening parties, or in fashionable streets, with banjo (if
provided with small police escort.) Testimonials from several
highly respectable relatives, now in asylum, or under treatment
at seaside.—Address, with terms, the Hon. ALGERNON
BRASSLEIGH CHEEKINGTON (or at Chimpanzee Chambers in
Piccadilly, W.)

SUGGESTION FOR REFORM IN PUBLIC SCHOOLS’
SYSTEM.—”Absence” should be called immediately
after dinner, and then each boy, instead of saying, “Here,
Sir!” could reply, classically and correctly, “Adsum!”
Yours truly, AN OVER-ETON BOY.

LAT. 60° 8′ N. LONG. 4° 30′ E.

Mr. Punch
en route for the Midnight Sun. First glimpse of Norway.

“THE CUP THAT CHE-(HIC)-ERS!”

The Total Abstainer staggered to his feet. The room seemed
to be waltzing round him, and his legs acted independently of
each other. One of those legs tried to walk to the right,
whilst the other moved to the left! He looked in the mirror and
saw a double reflection! He had two noses, a couple of mouths,
four eyes, and countless whiskers. This made him merry, and he
laughed in very glee. But only for a while! Soon he became
utterly depressed. Then his head ached—horribly! He tried
to sleep—he could not! “Never too late—to MENDAL!”
he gasped out, uttering in his extreme agitation the name of a
Physician of Berlin who had made inebriety a special study.

Then his muscles became weak and trembling, his aversion to
labour increased, and he had scarcely the energy or power to
observe that his complexion (in patches) was ruddier than the
cherry.

“Alas!” he sighed, and he succumbed permanently to
persistent dyspepsia!

And what was the cause of this unfortunate, this terrible
condition? Sad to say, the question was easily answered. The
Total Abstainer had taken a drop too much—of Coffee!

CATCHING;

OR, HOW FAR WILL IT GO?

(Being a Forecast of the spread of the Strike Fever,
from a Next Week’s Diary.)

Wednesday.—All the Police, having now been
replaced by Amateur Special Constables, who are as yet
unfamiliar with their duties, the position of the Metropolitan
Magistrates becomes impossible, and they resign in a body at
five minutes’ notice, causing the greatest consternation in
signalling their resignation by sending every case on the
charge-sheet that morning for trial to a superior Court.

Thursday.—The Judges, overwhelmed by the
prospect of an unusual and quite impossible amount of extra
work, demand the increase of their salaries to £10,000
per annum. On this being categorically refused by the Treasury,
they then and there, on their respective Benches, severally
tear off their wigs and robes, and quit their Courts “for
good,” with threatening gestures.

Friday.—The LORD CHANCELLOR, on being informed
of the conduct of the Judges, rips open the Woolsack,
scattering its contents over the floor of the House of Lords,
and, denouncing the Government, throws up his post on the spot.
The legal business of the country, coming thus to a deadlock,
is involved in further chaos by a sudden strike of all the
Members of both the Senior and Junior Bars, which is further
complicated by another of every Solicitor in the three
kingdoms.

Saturday.—Gatling guns being posted in the
Entrance Hall, and Bow Street having been cleared by a
preliminary discharge of artillery, the programme of the Royal
Italian Opera for the evening is carried out, as advertised, at
Covent Garden. Ladies wearing their diamonds, are conveyed to
the theatre in Police Vans, surrounded by detachments of the
Household Cavalry, and gentlemen’s evening dress is
supplemented by a six-chambered revolver, an iron-cased
umbrella, a head protector, and a double-edged
cut-and-thrusting broad-sword.

Sunday.—The Church having caught the prevailing
fever, the entire body of the Clergy, headed by the Bishops,
come out on strike, with the result that no morning, afternoon,
or evening services are held anywhere. The Medical Profession
takes up the idea, and, discovering a grievance, the Royal
College of Surgeons issues a manifesto. All the hospitals turn
out their patients, and medical men universally drop all their
cases. An M.D. who is known, upon urgent pressure, to have made
an official visit, is chased up and down Harley Street by a mob
of his infuriated brother practitioners, and is finally nearly
lynched on a lamp-post in Cavendish Square. The day closes in
with a serious riot in Hyde Park, caused by the meeting of the
conflicting elements of Society, who have all marched there
with their bands and banners to air their respective
grievances.

Monday.—The London County Council, School
Board, Common Council, Court of Aldermen, and the Royal
Academicians after discovering, respectively, some trifling
sources of dissatisfaction, wreck their several establishments,
and finally march along the Thames Embankment towards
Westminster, singing, alternately, the “Marseillaise”
and “Ask a Pleece-man.“

Tuesday.—The House of Commons, after tossing
the SPEAKER in his own gown, declare the Constitution extinct,
and, abolishing the House of Lords and giving all the Foreign
Ambassadors twelve hours notice to quit the country, announce
their own dissolution, and immediately commence their Autumn
Holiday.

Wednesday.—Railway Directors, Sweeps, Chairmen
of Public Companies, Coal-Heavers, Provincial Mayors, Dentists,
Travelling Circus Proprietors, Fish Contractors, Beadles,
Cabinet Ministers, Street Scavengers, Dog Fanciers,
Archbishops, Gas Fitters, Hereditary Legislators, Prize
Fighters, Poor-Law Guardians, Lion Tamers, Green-Grocers, and
many other discontented members of the community, having all
joined in a universal strike, society, becomes totally
disorganised, and the entire country quietly but, effectually
collapses, and disappears from the European system.

SHAKSPEARE ONCE AGAIN, ADAPTED TO THE SITUATION.

(See Titus Andronicus, Act II., Sc. 1.)

Aaron (the Agitator) loquitur.—

INFELICITOUS QUOTATIONS.

Fair Authoress. “SO SORRY TO BE SO LATE. I’M
AFRAID I’M LAST!”

Genial Host. “‘LAST—BUT NOT
LEAST!'”

SONG SENTIMENTIANA.

(A delightful “All-the-Year-Sound” Resort for the
Fashionable Composer.)

EXAMPLE V.—Of the transformative powers of Love,
under condition of Proximity.

When KENNEDY fell out of his boat at Henley, his antagonist,
PSOTTA, magnanimously waited for him to get in again. He must
be a good Psotta chap.

LOST OPPORTUNITIES.—Last Tuesday week the members of
the Incorporated Cain-and-Abel-Authors’ Society lost a great
treat when Mr. GEORGE AUGUSTUS lost a indignantly refused to
take his seat “below the salt,” and walked out without making
the speech with which his name was associated on the
toast-list. But, on the other hand, what a big chance Orator
GEORGE AUGUSTUS lost of coming out strong in opposition, and
astonishing the Pen-and-Inkorporated ones with a few stirring
remarks, in his most genial vein, on the brotherhood of
Authors, and their appreciation of distinguished services in
the field of Literature. It was an opportunity, too, for
suggesting “Re-distribution of Seats.”

TO MRS. H.M. STANLEY.

THE ANGLO-GERMAN CONCERTINA.

“I confess I was not at all prepared for the feelings
that some South Africans appear to entertain with respect
to our conduct in the recent negotiations”—Lord
Salisbury to the Deputation of African Merchants respecting
the proposed Anglo-German Agreement.

Imperial Instrumentalist
(loquitur). “WHAT, NOT LIKE THE TONE OF IT?
WELL, YOU DO SURPRISE ME!!!”

WEEK BY WEEK.

Scarcely a day passes without bringing us nearer to the end
of the year. That is a melancholy reflection, but we are not
sure that it exhausts all the possibilities of misery latent in
the flight of time. It has been noticed, for instance, that the
Duke of X——, whose sporting proclivities are
notorious, never fails to celebrate his birthday with a repast
at an inferior restaurant, and, as His Grace is
powerful, his friends suffer in silence and bewail his
increasing ducal age.

Henley Regatta came off as arranged. This is a peculiarity
which is very striking in connection with this Royal fixture.
We are informed that several certainties were upset, but by
whom and why has not been stated. Candidly speaking, such a
brutal method as “upsetting” consorts ill with the softer
manners of our time. On the Thames, too, it must be
extraordinarily disagreeable.

Mrs. WEEDLE, the Hon. Mrs. THREADBARE, and Lady FAWN, have
joined the lately established Bureau for the Dissemination of
Fashionable Friendships. The Personal Advertising Department is
now open, and is daily filled with a distinguished crowd of
applicants. Arrangements are in process of completion for
supplying the deserving rich with cambric handkerchiefs, and
imitation diamonds, at nominal prices.

A well-known Actor has lately been deprived of his customary
allowance of fat. His loss of weight (in avoirdupois) has been
computed at five-sixteenths of the integral cubit of a patent
accumulator’s vertical boiling power, divided by the fractional
resistance of a plate-glass window to a two-horse-power
catapult.

The weather has been variable, with cryptoconchoidal
deflections of a solid reverberating isobar previously tested
in a solution of zinc and soda-water. This indicates cold
weather in December next.

Consols 1/50094th better. Wheat in demand. Jute firm. Bank
rate too fast to last.

A Politician, whose name has been frequently mentioned
during the late crisis, has stated it as his opinion that a
temperance orator’s powers of persuasion are to a moral victory
as a Prime Minister is to a willow-pattern dinner-plate. The
remark caused much excitement in the lobby, where this
gentleman’s humorous sallies never lack appreciators.

What is this I hear of a certain Noble Duke, well-known in
sporting circles, having accepted a three months’ engagement to
appear in a “comic character sketch of his own composition,” at
a long-established East End-Music Hall? If there is any truth
in the rumour, I should like to ask what the Duchess has
been about?

A distinguished Oxford Mathematical Professor has, just
after prolonged and patient research, established the undoubted
certainty of the following interesting facts beyond any
possible question or controversy:—That the quantity of
Almond Rock Hard Bake, consumed in the United Kingdom in the
year terminating on the 15th of May last, amounted to 17 lbs. 9
oz. for each member of the population, including women and
children. That if at all the old and discarded Chimney Pot Hats
for a like period were collected in a heap, and packed closely
together, they would fill a building twice the height of St.
Paul’s, and three times the length of the Crystal Palace. That
winners of the Derby who have become eventually four-wheeler
cab-horses are ninety-six in number, but that there is only
one authentic instance of a four-wheeler cab-horse having
become a Derby winner.

So great is the craze for the newest idea in locomotion that
it is calculated that including Duchesses no less than 1470
grandes dames whose names are well-known in Society, now
pass Piccadilly Circus on the outside of the London General
Omnibus Company’s vehicles, between the hours of 8 A.M. and 10
P.M. daily.

A PASSPORT TO THE BEST SOCIETY, AND A GUARANTEE FOR
RESPECTABILITY, is to be a diligent student of Mr.
Punch’s works, and to have earned the abuse of the
Pall-Mall Gazette.

THE OPERA-GOER’S DIARY.

Monday.—Les Huguenots. Great night in
consequence of police strike in Bow Street. Rioting, and Life
Guards called out late, just as they were retiring for the
night. Down they came, in regimentals, in undress, anyhow, to
quell the disturbance. At least, such is the report inside the
house. But inconvenient to be in two places at once. Henceforth
they ought to record this incident by having an extinguisher
(typical of going to bed and also of quelling the row) slung on
to their breast-plates. Extinguisher clinking against armour
would make pretty noise. Their Royal Highnesses the Prince and
Princess of WALES, having come to enjoy the Opera, remain
undisturbed, and leave in perfect tranquillity. Excellent
example to perturbed audience. Excitement within the house.
DRURIOLANUS, Earl DE GREY, Mr. HIGGINS, and other members of
the Organising Operatic Committee, ready to charge the mob at a
moment’s notice, to charge up to two guineas a stall, if
necessary. Not necessary, however. Calls for the Sheriff-elect.
DRURIOLANUS, not having the official costume ready, cannot
appear in it, but uses his authority and his persuasive powers
in clearing lobbies, saloons, and hall. At any moment he is
ready to march out with all the Huguenot soldiers and charge
the rioters. Peace restored about midnight, Household troops
sent home to bed, and constables decided to strike only on the
heads of roughs, rowdies, and burglars. This shows how useful
it is to have a Sheriff on the premises. At Her Majesty’s last
winter they had the nearest approach to it, that is, Sheriff’s
officers on the premises. But this is not precisely the same
thing, as Sheriff’s officers wear no uniform, and not being
permitted to go out of a house when once it is given into their
custody, they, however valiant, are of no use in a crowd.

Tuesday.—Lohengrin. Regardless of
rioters, their Royal Highnesses again here. Much cheered
outside on driving away. Yet crowd in Strand (so we hear) not
particularly good-tempered, and have wrecked a private brougham
or two. No effect on Opera, which goes as well as ever. Rumours
that the player of the grosse caisse has struck at
rehearsal are confirmed, he appears in his place and strikes
again, so does the Shakspearian performer “Cymbaline.”

Wednesday.—Don Giovanni. ZÉLIE DE
LUSSAN as Zerlina, very popular. Still a little too like
Carmen in appearance. LASSALLE can’t be bettered. Great
night everywhere. Mlle. MELBA and Mr. EDOUARD DE RESZKÉ
taking a little holiday at a concert in Grosvenor Square, where
also are Madame PATEY and another EDWARD yclept LLOYD, whom
HERR GANZ accompanies with his “Sons of Tubal
Cain“—no political allusion to the recent Barrow
Election. Opera comparatively full. Some habitués
look in to see how everything’s going on, then go on themselves
to Reception in Piccadilly, At Homes elsewhere, M.P.Q.’s
Smoking Concert, and various other entertainments. Society
winding itself up brilliantly. “Rebellion’s dead! and now we’ll
go to supper.” And so we do. “Again we come to the Savoy!”

Thursday.—Lucia off-night, but
everything and everybody “going on” as usual. H.R.H. again at
Opera.

Friday.—La Favorita. Breathing time
before the great Operatic event of week to-morrow night.

Saturday.—Esmeralda. Too late at last
moment to say anything on this splendid subject, save that the
Composer was deservedly greeted with a storm—of
applause!

PURELY A MATTER OF BISLEYNESS.

PRIVATE R. VAN WINKLE opened his eyes, and, taking up his
rusty rifle, marched towards the new ranges.

“Dear me!” said he, gazing with amazement at his
surroundings, “this is not at all like what I saw when I went
to sleep.”

“No, RIP, it is not,” replied Mr. Punch, who happened
to be in the neighbourhood. He had been watching his sweetest
Princess making a bull’s-eye at the opening ceremony.

“Why, it is twice as large as Wimbledon,” continued the
astounded warrior.

“You are well within the limit,” the Sage assented, “and
see, there is plenty of space. No fear of damaging any of the
tenants of GEORGE RANGER in this part of the
country.”

“No, indeed!” exclaimed Private VAN WINKLE. “Not that I
think His Royal Highness had much cause of complaint. The truth
is—”

“Let bygones be bygones,” interrupted Mr. Punch.
“GEORGE RANGER is no longer your landlord, except, in a certain
sense, representing the interests of the Regular Army, and I
shall keep my eye upon him in that capacity.”

“An entirely satisfactory arrangement. But where are the
fancy tents, and the luncheon parties, and all the etceteras
that used to be so pleasant at Wimbledon?”

“Disappeared,” returned Mr. Punch, firmly. “Bisley is
to be more like Shoeburyness (where the Artillery set an
excellent example to the Infantry) than the Surrey
saturnalia.”

“And is it to be all work and no play?”

“That will be the general idea. Of course, in the evening,
when nothing better can be done, there will be harmonic
meetings round the camp-fires. But while light lasts, the crack
of the rifle and the ping of the bullet will be heard in all
directions, vice the pop of champagne corks superseded.
And if you don’t like the prospect, my dear RIP, you had better
go to sleep again.”

But Private VAN WINKLE remained awake—to his best
interests!

ROBERT ON MATRIMONY.

Well, we’re jest about going it, at the reel “Grand Hotel,”
we are. We had jest about the werry lovliest wedding here,
larst week, as I ewer seed, ewen with my great xperiense. Such
a collekshun of brave-looking men and reel handsum women as
seldom meets together xcept on these most hintresting
occashuns. And as good luck wood have it, jest as we was in the
werry wirl and xcitement of it all, who should come in to lunch
but the same emminent yung Swell as cum about a munth ago. And
he had jest the same helegant but simple lunch as before, with
a bottle of the same splendid Champane, as before, and he
didn’t harf finish it, as before, and not a drop of what he
left was wasted, as before; and so, when he paid me his little
account, he arsked me if many of the werry bewtifool ladies, as
I had told him of when he came larst, had been to the “Grand”
lately, so the bold thort seized, me, and I says to him, “Yes,
your —— ——, there’s jest a nice few of
’em here now, and if you will kindly foller me up to our
bewtifool Libery, and will keep your eyes quite wide open as
you gos along, you will see jest about a hole room full of
’em.”

So I took him parst the grand room in which the Wedding
Gests was assembled, and there sure enuff, he seed such a
collection of smiling bewty, as ewidently made a great
impression on his—— ——’s Art, and one
speshally lovely Bridesmade gave him a look, as he passed by,
as ewidently went rite thro it. I scarcely xpecs to be bleeved
wen I says, as his —— ——’s cheeks quite
blusht with hadmirashun, and he turned round to me and says,
says he, “Ah, Mr. ROBERT, if there was many such reel lovely
angels as that a flying about, I rayther thinks as I shood be
perswaded to turn a Bennedictus myself.” I didn’t at all know
what he meant, but I thort as it was werry credittable to him.
We got quite a chatting arterwards in the Libery, of course I
don’t mean to say as I forgot for a moment the strornary
difference atween us, but he had werry ewidently been werry
much struck by the lovely Bridesmade, for he says, “Mr.
ROBERT,” says he, “what’s about the rite time for a man to
marry?”

Of course I was reglar staggered, but I pulls myself
together, and I says, without not no hesitashun, “Jest a leetle
under 30, your —— ——, for the Gent, and
jest a leetle over 20 for the Lady, and then the Gent gits just
about 10 years advantage, which I thinks as he’s well entitled
to.” At which he larfs quite hartily, and he says, “Why that
wood keep me single for another ten years—but I will
think it over;” and, strange to say, jest as we passed again by
the room as the Bridal party was in, the same lovely Bridesmade
happend to be near the door, so they coud both have a good look
at each other, and a hansum cupple they was, if ever I seed
one. And when his —— —— wished me good
day, which he did, quite in a frendly way, he added, with his
most bewtifool smile, “Ten years, MR. ROBERT, seems a long time
to wait for such a sweet angel as that!”

Ah, it’s a rum world as we all lives in, and in nothink much
rummer than in the wunderfool power of a bewtifool face, ah,
and as sumbody says, for Wheel or for Wo, jest as it appens,
more’s the pitty.

I rayther thinks, as I gathers from the tork of the many
yung swells as we has dining here, that they are not altogether
what I shoud call a marrying race; they seems to think as
there’s allers plenty of time for that sollem seremony when
they’re a good deal older.

Ah, of course it isn’t for a poor old Hed Waiter to presume
to adwise young and hemenent swells, but my xperiense of uman
life teaches me, as the werry werry appiest time of a man’s
life is from 30 to about 40, perwided as he has been lucky
enuff to secure for hisself a yung, bewtifool, good-tempered,
helegant, and ercomplished Bride, to, as the Poet says, harve
his sorrows, and dubble his joys.

ROBERT.

WHAT OUR ARTIST (THE ILLUSTRATOR) HAS TO PUT UP
WITH.

Fair Authoress. “AND, FOR THE FRONTISPIECE, I
WANT YOU TO DRAW THE HEROINE STANDING PROUDLY ERECT BY THE
SEASHORE, GAZING AT THE STILL IMAGE OF HERSELF IN THE
TROUBLED WAVES. THE SUN IS SETTING; IN THE EAST THE NEW
MOON IS RISING—A THIN CRESCENT. HER FACE IS THICKLY
VEILED; AN UNSHED TEAR IS GLISTENING IN HER BLUE EYE; HER
SLENDER, WHITE, JEWELLED HANDS ARE CLENCHED INSIDE HER
MUFF. THE CURLEWS ARE CALLING, UNSEEN—”

F.A.’s Husband. “YES; DON’T FORGET THE
CURLEWS—THEY COME IN CAPITALLY! I CAN LEND YOU A
STUFFED ONE, YOU KNOW—TO DRAW FROM!” &c.,
&c., &c., &c., &c.

THE LYING SPIRIT.

Time the Avenger!

On the 24th of June, 1871, Mr. Punch sang,
àpropos of the Germans desiring to purchase
Heligoland—

And they have got it!

THE LYING SPIRIT.

A GRUMBLE FOR THE GRENADIERS.

VOCES POPULI.

AT A DANCE.

The Hostess is receiving her Guests at the head of
the staircase; a Conscientiously Literal Man
presents himself.

Hostess (with a gracious smile, and her eyes
directed to the people immediately behind him). So
glad you were able to come—how do you do?

The Conscientiously Literal Man. Well, if you had
asked me that question this afternoon, I should have said was
in for a severe attack of malarial fever—I had all the
symptoms—but, about seven o’clock this evening, they
suddenly passed off, and—

[Perceives, to his surprise, that his Hostess’s
attention is wandering, and decides to tell her the rest
later in the evening.

Mr. Clumpsole. How do you do, Miss THISTLEDOWN? Can
you give me a dance?

Miss Thistledown (who has danced with him
before—once). With pleasure—let me see, the
third extra after supper? Don’t forget.

Miss Brushleigh (to Major Erser). Afraid I
can’t give you anything just now—but if you see me
standing about later on, you can come and ask me again, you
know.

Mr. Boldover (glancing eagerly round the room as
he enters, and soliloquizing mentally). She ought to be
here by this time, if she’s coming—can’t see her
though—she’s certainly not dancing. There’s her sister
over there with the mother. She hasn’t come, or she’d be
with them. Poor-looking lot of girls here to-night—don’t
think much of this music—get away as soon as I can, no
go about the thing!… Hooray! There she is, after all!
Jolly waltz this is they’re playing! How pretty she’s
looking—how pretty all the girls are looking! If I
can only get her to give me one dance, and sit out most of it
somewhere! I feel as if I could talk to her to-night. By Jove,
I’ll try it!

[Watches his opportunity, and is cautiously making
his way towards his divinity, when he is
intercepted.

Mrs. Grappleton. Mr. BOLDOVER, I do believe you were
going to cut me! (Mr. B. protests and
apologises.) Well, I forgive you. I’ve been wanting
to have another talk with you for ever so long. I’ve been
thinking so much of what you said that evening about
BROWNING’S relation to Science and the Supernatural. Suppose
you take me downstairs for an ice or something, and we can have
it out comfortably together.

[Dismay of Mr. B., who has entirely forgotten
any theories he may have advanced on the subject, but has
no option but to comply; as he leaves the room with
Mrs. GRAPPLETON on his arm, he has a torturing glimpse
of Miss ROUNDARM, apparently absorbed in her
partner’s conversation.

Mr. Senior Roppe (as he waltzes). Oh, you
needn’t feel convicted of extraordinary ignorance, I assure
you, Miss FEATHERHEAD. YOU would be surprised if you knew how
many really clever persons have found that simple little
problem of nought divided by one too much for them. Would you
have supposed, by the way, that there is a reservoir in
Pennsylvania containing a sufficient number of gallons to
supply all London for eighteen months? You don’t quite realise
it, I see. “How many gallons is that?” Well, let me calculate
roughly—taking the population of London at four millions,
and the average daily consumption for each individual
at—no, I can’t work it out with sufficient accuracy while
I am dancing; suppose we sit down, and I’ll do it for you on my
shirt-cuff—oh, very well; then I’ll work it out when I
get home, and send you the result to-morrow, if you will allow
me.

Mr. Culdersack (who has provided himself
beforehand with a set of topics for conversation—to his
partner, as they halt for a moment). Er—(consults
some hieroglyphics on his cuff stealthily)—have you
read STANLEY’S book yet?

Miss Tabula Raiser. No, I haven’t. Is it
interesting?

Mr. Culdersack. I can’t say. I’ve not seen it myself.
Shall we—er—?

[They take another turn.

Mr. C. I suppose you have—er—been to the
(hesitates between the Academy and the Military
Exhibition—decides on latter topic as fresher)
Military Exhibition?

Miss T.R. No—not yet. What do you think of
it?

Mr. C. Oh—I haven’t been either.
Er—do you care to—?

[They take another turn.

Mr. C. (after third halt). Er—do you
take any interest in politics?

Miss T.R. Not a bit.

Mr. C. (much relieved). No more do I.
(Considers that he has satisfied all mental
requirements). Er—let me take you down-stairs for an
ice.

[They go.

Mrs. Grappleton (re-entering with Mr.
BOLDOVER, after a discussion that has outlasted two ices and
a plate of strawberries). Well, I thought you would have
explained my difficulties better than that—oh,
what a delicious waltz! Doesn’t it set you longing to
dance?

Mr. B. (who sees Miss ROUNDARM in the
distance, disengaged). Yes, I really think I
must—

[Preparing to escape.

Mrs. Grappleton. I’m getting such an old thing, that
really I oughtn’t to—but well, just this once, as
my husband isn’t here.

[MR. BOLDOVER resigns himself to necessity once
more.

First Chaperon (to 2nd ditto). How sweet it is
of your eldest girl to dance with that absurd Mr. CLUMPSOLE!
It’s really too bad of him to make such an exhibition of
her—one can’t help smiling at them!

Second Ch. Oh, ETHEL never can bear to hurt anyone’s
feelings—so different from some girls! By the way, I’ve
not seen your daughter dancing to-night—men who
dance are so scarce nowadays—I suppose they think they
have the right to be a little fastidious.

First Ch. BELLA has been out so much this week, that
she doesn’t care to dance except with a really first-rate
partner. She is not so easily pleased as your ETHEL, I’m
afraid.

Second Ch. ETHEL is young, you see, and, when
one is pressed so much to dance, one can hardly refuse,
can one? When she has had as many Seasons as BELLA, she
will be less energetic, I daresay.

[MR. BOLDOVER has at last succeeded in
approaching Miss ROUNDARM, and even in inducing her
to sit out a dance with him; but, having led her to a
convenient alcove, he finds himself totally unable to give
any adequate expression to the rapture he feels at being by
her side.

Mr. B. (determined to lead up to it somehow).
I—I was rather thinking—(he meant to say,
“devoutly hoping,” but, to his own bitter disgust, it comes out
like this)—I should meet you here to-night.

Miss R. Were you? Why?

Mr. B. (with a sudden dread of going too far just
yet). Oh, (carelessly), you know how one does
wonder who will be at a place, and who won’t.

Miss R. No, indeed, I don’t.—how does
one wonder?

Mr. B. (with a vague notion of implying a
complimentary exception in her case). Oh, well,
generally—(with the fatal tendency of a shy man to a
sweeping statement)—one may be pretty sure of meeting
just the people one least wants to see, you know.

Miss R. And so you thought you would probably meet
me. I see.

Mr. B. (overwhelmed with confusion, and not in the
least knowing what he says). No, no, I didn’t think
that—I hoped you mightn’t—I mean, I was afraid you
might—

[Stops short, oppressed by the impossibility of
explaining.

Miss R. You are not very complimentary to-night, are
you?

Mr. B. I can’t pay compliments—to
you—I don’t know how it is, but I never can talk
to you as I can to other people!

Miss R. Are you amusing when you are with other
people?

Mr. B. At all events I can find things to say to
them.

Enter Another Man.

Another Man (to Miss B.). Our dance, I
think?

Miss R. (who had intended to get out of it). I
was wondering if you ever meant to come for it. (To Mr.
B., as they rise.) Now I shan’t feel I am depriving the
other people! (Perceives the speechless agony in his
expression, and relents.) Well, you can have the next after
this if you care about it—only do try to think of
something in the meantime! (As she goes off.) You
will—won’t you?

Mr. B. (to himself). She’s given me another
chance! If only I can rise to it. Let me see—what shall I
begin with? I know—Supper! She hasn’t been
down yet.

His Hostess. Oh, Mr. BOLDOVER, you’re not dancing
this—do be good and take someone down to
supper—those poor Chaperons are dying for some food.

[Mr. B. takes down a Matron whose repast is
protracted through three waltzes and a set of
Lancers—he comes up to find Miss ROUNDARM gone,
and the Musicians putting up their instruments.

Coachman at door (to Linkman, as Mr. B.
goes down the steps). That’s the lot, JIM!

[Mr. B. walks home, wishing the Park Gates were not
shut, to as to render the Serpentine inaccessible

SHADOWING AT HENLEY REGATTA.

TOBY, M.P., TAKES AN
INSTANTANEOUS PHOTOGRAPH WITH HIS DETECTIVE CAMERA IN THE
BOW OF MR. PUNCH’S BOAT, WITH THE ABOVE EXTRAORDINARY
RESULT.

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

“THE SHADOWLESS MAN.”

(Latest Irish Edition of
the Old German Romance.)
[In the course of the Debate last Monday week, Mr. DILLON
said, “I was never shadowed.”]

House of Commons, Monday, July 7.—Cabinet
Council on Saturday; House begins to think it’s time Ministers
made up their minds what they’re going to do with business of
Session. But OLD MORALITY returns customary answer. Ministry
still carefully considering question. Meantime he has nothing
to say.

“Except in respect of sex and age, O.M. reminds me.” said
ALBEBT ROLLIT, “of scene in play recently put on stage by
BEERBOHM TREE—A Man’s Shadow it was called.
Daresay you remember, TOBY; there’s a murder witnessed through
window by wife and little daughter. They think it’s their man
that did the deed; but ’twas the other fellow—the Shadow,
don’t you know. There is police inquiry; mother and daughter
cross-examined; believe the murderer is the husband and father;
saw him do it with their own eyes; but of course not going to
peach; little girl pressed to tell all she knows; makes answer
in voice that thrills Gallery, and makes mothers in the Pit
weep, ‘I have seen nothing, I have heard nothing.’ Never see
OLD MORALITY come to the table, as he is now accustomed nightly
to do, and protest he has no statement to make, than I think of
the little TERRY in this Scene, and her wailing, piteous cry,
‘I have seen nothing, I have heard nothing.’ Quite time he had,
though. If Ministers can’t make up their minds, what’s the
House to do? Begin to think if things don’t mend soon, I shall
have a better record of business done to show at end of Session
than the Ministry. Bankruptcy Bill will make three Measures to
me this Session.”

Irish Constabulary Vote on; Prince ARTHUR lounging on
Treasury Bench; prepares to receive Irishry; engagement opens a
little flat, with speech from JOHN ELLIS, oration from
O’PICTON, and feeble flagellation from FLYNN. Then Prince
ARTHUR suddenly, unexpectedly, dashes in. Empty benches fill
up; stagnant pool stirred to profoundest depths: ARTHUR
professes to be tolerant of Irish Members, but declares himself
abhorrent of connivance of Right Hon. Gentleman above Gangway.
Talks at Mr. G., who begins visibly to bristle before our very
eyes as he sits attentive on Front Bench. ARTHUR in fine
fighting trim; Ministerial bark may be labouring in troubled
waters; a suddenly gathered storm, coming from all quarters,
has surrounded, and threatens to whelm it; MATTHEWS may be
sinking under adversity; the Postmen may pull down RAIKES;
GOSCHEN is gone; OLD MORALITY’S cheerful nature is being
soured; there is talk of Dissolution, and death. But if this is
Prince ARTHUR’S last time of defending his rule in Ireland, it
shall not be done in half-hearted way. Come storm, come wrack,
at least he’ll die with harness on his back.

The accused becomes the accuser. Called upon to defend
himself, he turns, and makes a slashing attack on his pursuers,
carrying the war into their camp. Scorning the Captains and
Men-at-arms, he goes straight for Mr. G., and in an instant
swords clash across the table, and shields are dinted. Nothing
more delightful than to hear Mr. G. complaining, as he rose,
and took his coat off, that Prince ARTHUR had “dragged him into
the controversy.” On the whole, he bore the infliction pretty
well, and went for ARTHUR neck and crop. Business
done.—Irish Votes in Supply.

Tuesday.—”I have seen nothing; I have heard
nothing.” Pathetic refrain of OLD MORALITY murmured again
to-night: Members wanted to know about various things; but in
OLD MORALITY’S mind, fate of the Tithes Bill, intentions of
Government touching proposed new Standing Order, and allocation
of money originally intended for Publicans, all a blank. “We
are still considering,” says he.

“A most considerate Government,” says WILFRID LAWSON. “Might
save time and trouble if they had at table an automatic
machine; Members wanting to know how business is to be
arranged, what Bills to be dropped, and which gone forward
with, could go up to table, drop a penny in the slot, and out
would come the answer—’I have seen nothing; I have heard
nothing.'”

Seems that HANBURY has exceptional means of obtaining
information. OLD MORALITY has privately shown him Military
Report with respect to Heligoland. A confidential
communication, something of the kind the MARKISS carried on
with the population of Heligoland. But HANBURY straightway goes
and tells all about it in a letter to one of his Constituents;
letter gets into papers. SUMMERS reads it out to House. Eagerly
thirsting after knowledge on military matters, SUMMERS wants
also to see the text of Report. Why should HANBURY have it all
to himself? Quartermaster-General SUMMERS would like
opportunity of studying it, and forming opinion as to accuracy
of the naval and military men who have drawn up plan. Will OLD
MORALITY favour him by placing him on an equality of confidence
with HANBURY? No, OLD MORALITY will not. Howl of indignant
despair from Radicals. Never heard of this Report before; but
that HANBURY should see it, and thereby be enabled to assure
his constituents, even by nods and winks, that it was all right
about Heligoland, was more than they could put up with.
O’PICTON sat morose at the corner seat below the Gangway. Who
was HANBURY, that he should have the advantage of studying
these military documents when the grand-nephew of PICTON of
Waterloo was left out in the cold, his martial instincts
unsatisfied, his knowledge of strategical points of the British
Empire unsatiated?

Another instance this of the misfortune that pursues the
Government. Little did OLD MORALITY think, when in moment of
weakness he showed this important document to HANBURY, what a
hornet’s nest it would bring about his unoffending head.

Business done.—Irish Constabulary Vote
passed.

Thursday.—At last OLD MORALITY has heard
something and seen something. Heard how things went on to-day
in Committee on Procedure. Worse and worse. Prince ARTHUR made
curious blunder for one so alert: introduced into draft Report
admission of principle that Lords might, an they pleased,
refuse to consider in current Session, any Bill coming up to
them from Commons. HARCOURT saw his opportunity; used it with
irresistible skill and force. Committee adjourned in almost
comatose state.

This is what OLD MORALITY has heard from JOKIM, who begins
to think that, after all, life is a serious thing. What he sees
is, that it is impossible to further delay decision about
business. Accordingly announces complete surrender. All, all
are gone, the old familiar faces—Land Purchase Bill,
Tithe Bill, and even this later project of the new Standing
Order. “What, all our pretty chicks?” cry the agonised
Ministerialists.

“Yes,” said OLD MORALITY, mingling his tears with theirs,
“our duty to our QUEEN and Country demands this sacrifice.
But,” he added, bracing up, significantly eyeing Mr. G., and
speaking in dear solemn tones, “we reserve to ourselves
absolute freedom of [pg 36] action on a future occasion.”
Opposition shouted with laughter, whilst OLD MORALITY stood
and stared, and wondered what was amusing them now. New
Session is, according to present intentions, to open in
November. Will the Land Purchase Bill be taken first? Mr. G.
wants to know.

“Sir,” said OLD MORALITY, “I have indicated the views of the
Government as to the Land Purchase Bill, according as those
views are held at the present time.” (Cheers from the
Ministerialists.) Encouraged by this applause, and, happy
thought striking him, went on: “But it is impossible for the
Government to say what circumstances may occur to qualify those
views.”

Once more Opposition break into storm of laughter; OLD
MORALITY again regards them with dubious questioning gaze.

“Curious thing, TOBY,” he said to me afterwards, “those
fellows opposite always laugh when I drop in my most diplomatic
sentences. It’s very well for MACHIAVELLI that he didn’t live
in these times, and lead House of Commons instead of the
Government of the Florentine Republic. He would never have
opened his mouth without those Radicals and Irishmen going off
into a fit of laughter.”

Business done.—Announcement that business
won’t be done.

Friday.—Still harping on Irish Votes. Want to
dock Prince ARTHUR’S salary. SWIFT MACNEILL brought down model
of battering-ram used at Falcarragh; holds it up; shows it in
working order; Committee much interested; inclined to encourage
this sort of thing; pleasant interlude in monotony of
denunciation of Prince ARTHUR and all his works; no knowing
what developments may not be in store; the other night had
magic-lantern performance just off Terrace; that all very well
on fine night; but when it’s raining must keep indoors and
battering-ram suitable for indoor exhibition.

HAVELOCK wanted to borrow it, says he would like to show
SCHWANN how it works; but MACNEILL couldn’t spare it till Irish
Votes through.

New turn given to Debate by plaintive declaration from JOHN
DILLON that he has “never been shadowed.” “A difficult lot to
deal with,” says ARTHUR, gazing curiously at the Shadowless
Man. “If they are shadowed, they protest; if they’re not, they
repine.”

Business done.—Irish Votes in Committee.

MR. PUNCH’S DICTIONARY OF PHRASES.

AT THE ACADEMY SOIRÉE.

“How well your Picture bears the artificial light!”
i.e., “Couldn’t look worse than it does by
daylight.”

“Mustn’t keep you on the stairs. Such heaps of your
friends asking for you upstairs;” i.e., “Got rid of
him, thank goodness!”

“Here you are at last! Been dodging you from room to
room!” i.e., “To keep out of your way. Caught at
last, worse luck!”

“You look as if you had just stepped out of a
picture-frame!” i.e., “Wish you’d step back into
one!”

“Not seen Mr. O’Kew’s picture? You must see it.
Only three rooms from here, and no crowd there now. So go and
bring me back word what you think;” i.e., “Now to
flee!”

AT LORD’S.

“Yes, I’m so fond of Cricket;” i.e., “How can
I find out if Oxford or Cambridge is in?”

“Don’t move, pray;” i.e., “If she doesn’t, I
shall be smothered in lobster-salad!”

“Not the least in my way, thanks;” i.e., “Does
she think I can see through her parasol?”

“Pray join us at lunch! Heaps of room in the
carriage;” i.e., “Hope she doesn’t! It only holds
four, and we’re six already.”

“Don’t they call a hit to the left like that, a
Drive?” i.e.,
“Young-rich—good-looking—worth catching—looks
as if he liked ‘sweet simplicity.'”

ELECTIONEERING.

“Has at heart the best interests of the Borough;”
i.e., Means to subscribe largely to all local clubs and
charities.

“The honour of representing you in Parliament;”
i.e., “The pleasure of advertising myself.”

“I should wish to keep my mind open on that subject;”
i.e., “I cannot afford to commit myself just yet.”

PARLIAMENTARY.

“I have never heard such an astounding argument;”
i.e., “Since I last employed it myself.”

“To come to the real question at issue;” i.e.,
“To introduce my one strong point.”

“I do not pledge myself to these figures;”
i.e., “The next speaker will very likely show them to be
absolutely unreliable.”

IN THE SMOKING-ROOM.

“Oh, as to all that, I quite agree with you;”
i.e., “I wasn’t listening.”

“I rather understood that you were arguing, &c.,
&c.;” i.e., “You are now flatly contradicting
yourself.”

DISCIPLINE!

(A Farcical Tragedy, in Two Scenes—not licensed
for representation.)

SCENE I.—The Barrack Square. Present—No. 1
Company, awaiting inspection.

Captain (to Subaltern). Have you proved
them?

Subaltern. Sorry, Sir, but the men say they know
their places, and it is useless labour.

Capt. Very well—I daresay they are right. You
know we have been told to be conciliatory. Open order! March!
For inspection—port arms!

Sergeant (stepping forward, and saluting). Beg
pardon, Sir, but the men are under the impression that you wish
to examine their rifles?

Capt. Certainly. (To Subaltern). Take the rear
rank, while I look after the front.

Serg. Beg pardon, Sir, but the men haven’t taken open
order yet. They say that they are responsible for their rifles
when they have to use them before the enemy, and you may rely
upon it that they will be all right then.

Capt. Very well—then we will dispense with
inspection of arms. Buttons bright, and straps in their proper
places?

Serg. (doubtfully). So they say, Sir.

Capt. Well, then, read the orders.

Serg. Beg pardon, Sir, but the men say they know
their duty, and don’t want to listen to no orders.

Capt. Well, well, I am glad to hear that they are so
patriotic. Hope that the Commanding Officer will dispense
(under the circumstances) with the formality. Anything
more?

Serg. Privates BROWN, JONES, and ROBINSON are told
off for duty on guard, Sir.

Capt. March them off, then.

Serg. Please, Sir, they say they want to speak to
you.

Capt. Very well—bring them up. (Sergeant
obeys.) Now, men, what is it?

Private Brown. Please, Sir, I have got a
tooth-ache.

Capt. Very well—fall out, and go to the
doctor.

Private B. Please, Sir, I don’t want to see no
doctor. I can cure myself.

Capt. Very well—cure yourself. (Private
salutes, and retires.) And now, JONES and ROBINSON, what
do you want?

Private Jones. Please, Sir, me and ROBINSON were told
off for guard six months ago, and we think it’s too much to
expect us to do sentry-go so soon.

Capt. Well, you know your orders.

Private J. Oh, that’ll be all right, Sir! We’ll
explain to the War Office if there’s any row about it!

[The Privates salute, and retire.

Capt. Anything else, Sergeant?

Sergt. Well, no, Sir—you see the men won’t do
anything.

Capt. Under those circumstances, I suppose I have
only to give the usual words of command. Company, attention!
Right turn—dismiss!

[They dismiss.

SCENE II.—Before the Enemy. Present—No. 1
Company awaiting orders to advance.

Captain.—Now, my men, all you have to do is to
keep your heads, and obey orders. Attention! Fix Bayonets!

Subaltern. Sorry to say, Sir, they have paraded
without bayonets.

Capt. Well, that’s to be regretted; although they are
small enough nowadays, in all conscience! Fire a volley! At a
thousand yards! Ready!

Sub. Very sorry. Sir, but the men forgot to bring
their ammunition.

Capt.—Come, this is getting serious! Here’s the
Cavalry preparing to charge, and we are useless! Must move ’em
off! Right turn!

Sergeant. Please, Sir, the Company’s a bit rusty, and
don’t know their right hands from their left.

Capt. (losing his temper). Confound it! They
don’t, don’t they! Well, hang it all, I suppose they will
understand this? (To Company.) Here, you pampered
useless idiots—bolt!

[They bolt.

A CUTTING (transplanted from the advertisements in the
Belfast News-Letter):—

WANTED, A PARROT: one brought up in a respectable
family, and that has not been taught naughty words or
bigoted expressions, preferred.—Apply by letter,
stating price, &c.

“Preferred!” What sort of a Parrot had they been previously
accustomed to at that house?

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.