Punch 1888-10-06: Vol 95 Iss 2465

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| Burglar Bill. | e:: | Robert.-z:: BY THE AUTHOR OF “VICE VERSA.” ‘ NOTES FROM THE DIARY OF A GITY WAITER Price 1]-, and in Cloth, 1/6. 5 Also complete in Cloth, price Half-a-Crown. SATURDAY. “BONSd SBSIYHL 301d PUBLISBHED -EVERY F . ——_——_—— i oe YAY ae eT a res ra a a gen nit ae a ee {4 & 9 2 ” wits ibe PUNCH OFFICE, 85, FLEET STREET, AND SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLELS, ~, SCHWEPPES TABLE WATERS PRINCE of WALES. Sales during 1887, 12,289,260 Bottles.

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———e Ocroser 6, 1888.) PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARL 157 ——— PLAY-TIME IN COURT AND LANE. The Court.—To start her new Court Theatre, Mrs. Joun Woop | hoe achieved a fair success with Mamma. To this success Mr. Grunpy, the ingenuous | but not obtrusively brilliant | translator, has contributed very little, as it is obtained | by a combination of con-| scientious acting with a cleverly-contrived farcical plot, the construction of which, however, is not) without its faults. The} First Act is disappointing. The fun of the Second Act | is rapidly developed by | scene after scene of inge- | ) nious équivoque. No one could play the odious, un- | P ne a8 os | Mother - in-law with ter humour than Mrs. Woop, but she has) scarcely a good line to say, and the part is against the sympathies of the audience ; >. and indeed this is true of al “Ts Marriage a Failure ? Ask Mamma at ¢ho*characters in the piece. | the Court Theatre. Mr. Hane is not well suited, | but his exhibition of abject terror on unexpectedly encountering his | terrible Mother-in-law is absurdly, though painfully, real. Mr. Anruur Cectu’s friends will be pleased to see him “‘ taking his whack ’’ with the same gusto he used to exhibit at the breakfast-table in Friends or Foes, only in different way. Mr. Groves, with his genial manner, is the embodiment of The Groves of Blarney. The | sene between Mr. Extc Lewis and Mr. Hake, in the last Act, is one of the best played in the piece. ‘The climax of each Act is unsatis- factory,—more markedly so in the translation than in the original. A gentleman striking a lady is unpleasant, and besides this there is another smack, a smack of stale Divorce Court garlick; and this, fonly as a mere soupcon breathed over the farcical ingredients of the comic salad, is just enough to impair the thorough heartiness f the merriment with which a piece = pt. though extravagant | fun should be received. It is the irony of fate that anyone bearing the proverbial name of Grunpy should be responsible for the English rechauffé of this essentially French dish. The Lane.—The Armada is a difficult subject to tackle dramatically. DerRioLancs and Hamritonivs have tackled it. The play is a series f stirring pictures of life and character in the sixteenth century, | ee. a | REFRESHME | to a patriotic speech from Elizabeth, exclaims, “‘’Tis yourself that speaks!’ This with * Sure,”’ to be gin with, and “ bedad” to finish j with, would have brought down the house. Mr. Boyrwe'’s speech at Old Cheering Cross is copeeny given. ‘hat thorough Elizabethan Ao- tor, Mr. Harry NIcHOLLS, who is never so much at home as in Shakspearian characters, per- feetly revels in the part of a Cockney of the sixteenth cen- tury. His song on board ship is a specimen of real racy Eliza- bethan humour. , I regret he did | not give us a » solo version of the duet in the Pantomime, ** Marr come up ! Porsooth f Go to!” which he might have sung in the presence of the Grand Inquisitor. There is a good Servant in Act II., who intrudes upon his master, Mr. Luror Laptacne, as Don Somebody or other (Don Qui?) at an awkward moment, and announces pleasantly enough, as a couple of ordinary visitors, ‘‘Two Familiars of the Holy Inquisition,” all in black—quite ‘the wholly Inky-sition” —who have just dropped in, in quite a friendly way, to make a morning call. However, as their arrival is the signal for the Scene to finish, they are welcome. If I were Davrtorayvs, I should cut out the lines concernin “* Sons of burnt fathers” —(I didn’t quite catch it, and I’ve mislaid the playbill)—written in Shakspearian blank verse and spoken by Mitton ; I should say, well spoken by Miss Mitton. The lines go for very little, and as to the tableau representing Seymour Lucas's picture, I do not know what the original went for, but the replica goes for nothing. Instead of Seymour Lwvcas, see less Lucas. Altogether a splendid spectacle. Ships wonderful. Sorry Harry NICHOLLs isn’t in the sea-tight. When the fireships appear, he might have come down to the flote, and recited ‘‘ The Boy stood on the burning Deck,” after which, quick Curtain. Miss Wrixirrep Emery is a charming Actress, creating a great effect on everybody except the Black Ink-quisitor, who orders her off to be cremated ; from which shock- ing fate she is rescued by British Mr. Leonard Boyne asserts the right of public meeting at Cheering Cross, close to Trafalgar Square. | Tars, who rob the Spanish Stake-and- | a pause between each sy Onionists of their choice morsel just when ‘‘they ’d made their little pile.” Miss Emery sometimes becomes quite Terry-fied in action and utterance, as, for example, when she jerks out with flable. ** Not | the—tears —of—all— the —An—gels ”’ would do something or other, I forget what, but, d@ propos of this sentence, |I feel pretty certain that, if the Re- | Dn iclanus blowing away his Audience to the Kefreshment-Rooms, Entr'acte for a few bars’ rest. cording Angel, whose tear blotted out Uncle Toby's warm-hearted, impul- sive oath, were to visit our theatres just now, he would find his chari- table sympathy considerably exer- cised, and might possibly refuse to obliterate the score against some actors who commit a breach of the Third Commandment every night, wa emphasis gratia, that is merely for the sake of intensifying the reality of a dramatic situation. If only as a matter of questionable A Familiar of “ The Wholly Inky-sition.” and Queen Brss was never so correct as is Miss Apa Nerison in her taste, this growing habit, which is about on a par with Mr. Mans- impersonation of her. I am sorry we did not see the elderly Virgin | rreLp’s using a line from St. Paul's Epistles as an attractive | Queen—vergin’ on Sfty-cight—riding, like the Old Lady of Seakery, advertisement for his recent nightmare Drama at the Lyceum, should | 0 a white horse at Tilbury Fort. co This is not a case of the Frenchman’s ‘* Mon Dieu!” gay and gallant as the naval hero, though | which is simply equivalent to our “ Heavens!” or “ é me!” ve mistake in not gjving to him the line I am inclined to neither Puritanism nor Profanity. Odi rem, Mr. Lzonazp Borne is : | authors have made a or Sir Francis Walsingham, who in reply | says everyone’s y; Jack In THE Box, spoken by Lord Burleig VoL. XCV. P

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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARL. [Octuner 6, 18 . | —. ; MONU-MENTAL SUFFERING. Poor Old Mon ‘On pear, I po ree, so Carpry! I'M AFRAID THERE’ SOMETHING WRONG WitH MY Heap! It's on Fire! [Sings dolefully, ‘‘ Ah che la Mortar.” Dr. Stonemason (aside ‘An, very Crackxy!” VOCES POPULI. ON A TRIP TO STAFFA’ AND IONA., SCENE Oban Pier. Deck of the ** Grenadier.” Time, 750 A.M. Excursionists embark, wearing the air of chilly depression or unnatural liveliness common to people who have got up too early in the morning. The knowing ones select chairs in comfortable corners. The Timid Tourist (to Hearty Ditto). I suppose we shall not have much more motion than this anywhere to-day, Sir ? Hearty T. Oh, this? This is nothing ; we’re shut in here, you see. When we get out of the Sound of Mull, and meet the Atlantic, we shall get shaken up a bit, and a good thing too! We don’t want a mill-pond, eh ? The Timid T. (who would much prefer a mill-pond). No, no—of course not. _Considers seriously whether he cares so very much about going to Iona after all, Steamer starts. The knowing Passengers discover that they have chosen seats facing the wind, and change. Well-read Tourists quote the ** Lord of the Isles,”’ out of their auli-heeibe to people who have none. After rounding Ardmore Point, the steamer becomes decidedly lively. The Hearty T. Now for it—here it comes '— Now she catches it! There’s abeonty! | Repeats this before and after each wave, until a silence falls upon him. Attentive Husband (to Wife, who is *‘ enjoying it immensely,” but does not seem inclined to talk). Now do notice the play of light and shade on the mountains over there, darling.

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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARL ————— —— | Octoner 6, 1888.]} The Wife (faintly). Lovely, dear, lovely! Att. Hush. But you’re not looking—you really ughtn’t to miss this, it’s magnificent! Turn round and wk ; it’s exactly behind you. Wife (with feeble irritation). I know, dear—but I can it quite well where I am, really I can! NEARING STaFPrA. Ercursionist (with his hat tied round his ears by a handkerchief—to a Haughty Tourist). Can you tell me, \ister, if that’s the Dutechman’s ’At over there ? The Haughty T, Can’t say, I’m sure—you'd better ask him. } An Enthusiastic Excursionist (in a tall hat secured | under his chin with string). To think of landing on Staffa ind seeing those wonderful caves with our own eyes— it seems like a dream, Sir, a beautiful dream! I suppose e jetty ’s at the back of the island, eh ? Well-informed Person. Oh, there’s no jetty—we shall landed in boats; and roughish landing it is, as a rule. | The E. E. (cooling). Is that so? Well, I’m not sure, after all, that one doesn’t get a better idea of things by not going too near them. “The Wife (who has come entirely to oblige her Husband). Oh, don’t mind me, don’t stay behind on my account— there's no reason why you shouldn’t go on the island, if you want to. Only, don’t ask me to come with you hecause I shan’t. I’ve done enough in coming as far as I have, J think. Her Hush. Yes, you stay quietly on the steamer; that ll be the best thing for you. The Wife. If you go, I shall go. I’m not going to be left all alone here, so don’t think it, though why you can't be contented to see Staffa from where you are, without going poking your nose into every hole on the island, I’m sure J don’t know! On STarra. In Fingal’s Cave. Excursionist with an eye to pene Fine big place, you see; but they don’t make ’arf enough of it. They ought to light it up with coloured fires, ready for when we come, Another Exc. Did the ’Arp and Concertina come ashore, d’ye know? Because we might get them to give isa tune inside here if they have. On the Boulders. A Young Wife (who has been prostrate Sor the greater part of the trip). Harry, I can't go back on board that horrid steamer again. You mustn’t ask me; promise me you won't! Harry. But, my dear love, what are we to do ? His Wife. Why, live at Staffa. You always say you hate fashionable places and (persuasively) I’m sure this is nice and quiet, Harry! Ox RETURNING TO THE STEAMER. A Tourist who has stayed behind (toa Tourist who has gone). Well, was it worth it ? [ Rather patronisingly. The Tourist who has gone. Oh, marvellous—grand ! ‘¢ ives an elahorate description. The T. who has stayed behind. Well, I had half a mind to go myself—thing you don’t see twice in a life- tme, and all that—but (candidly) the fact is, the ship seemed steadier, and it struck me as a good opportunity to go below and get some lunch—and a capital lunch I had—there was roast beef, corned beef [ Describes lunch vividly. On Towa. The Tourists land, and are welcomed by a chorus of Native | Children, chanting, ‘* Shells a penni, necklace two- pence, seaweed a nmi, sea archid twopence.” Tourists follow the Guide with the sheeplike submis- sion peculiar to them ; one Excursionist observes that | tw “hallowed ground,” to which his neighbour, without exactly knowing why, assents, and depressed. Gradually, however, the modern spirit be gins to assert itself in the majority. A Sceptical T. (gazing at the Tomb of the Kings). anything we know, they may be all ofthem,eh? Faney us staring solemnly, as if they were perfectly genuine—that’s a good joke, that is! ryritolous T’. (turning to the tombs of the MActEans). 0, ‘ere 's a fine old feller with his sword be’ind ’im ! For comes | bogus, every one | “NOUVELLES COUCHES SOCIALES!” ‘IT say, Uncie, THAT Was YouNG BALDOCK THAT WENT BY,—WILMINGTON BALDock, you kKNow——!” | ‘WHO THE DICKENS Is HE/” | Wat! HAVEN'T You HEARD OF HIM!’ HANG IT! HE'S MAKING HIMSELF A VERY FIRST-RATE POSITION IN THE LAWN-TENNIS WORLD, I CAN TELL You!” Guide (long-sufferingly). That is Mactean of Duart. Friv. T. (pointing to effigy of armed Chieftain), And is that his good lady next him ? [Spirits of party revive; the inevitable Funny Man comes out with great success, and a little Tourist of comic exterwor who trots up breathless at every halt, and asks a serious question, is hailed with delight, and treated as a Humorist of the finest water. Leavine Iona, Young Lady. Oh, do you know, it was sucha pity: I was down in the Saloon, reading up all about Iona in the Guide-book, and I never noticed we were there till it was too late to land, Still I can say I've seen it, you know —can't I ? On tor Way Home. The Officious T. (toa Lady, who is beginning to think she has got over the worst of it now). You’ll excuse me, Ma’am, but wouldn’t you feel more com- fortable if you had your chair the other way ? You see. where you are is just in front of the Cook’s Galley, and there’s a warm smell of burnt mutton-chops coming up that : The Lady moves, and—much to the surprise and indignation of the Officious T.—** does not say so much as thank you,” Steamer nears Oban; the Comic T. illustrates the steps of the Highland Fling, till he falls over a campstool. Small stout men, who have been invisible till now, emerge, and point out scenery. The man who plays the Concertina collects subscriptions in a saucer, being careful to weed out every copper coin as it 1s contributed. eewes ' Final Verdict (by a Lady who has passed the entire day ona deck-chair, with her head in a shawl). Well, there was less to see than I expected ! “Tue Four Grorors.”—Grorce Kayorr (of the Parks), Geonor Joxin’ (of the Exchequer), Groner Grossmrrm (of the House of Savoy), Gronox Lewis | (of Ely Place). New Verstow.—Call no man happy until you know he has not written a diary.

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Se ree | 160 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARL [Octoner 6, 1888, | ——<————— a square-built broad-shouldered man of middle height, with DUE NORTH. | brown complexion, and good working shooting-suit of bye Arrival— Welcome — Introductions. to match, with leather over the shoulders, which is more suggestiy. For hours from Edinbro’ to Lochglennie, changing several times, | to the Cockney mind (my own at the moment) of a Metropolitan Turp. and stopping at Danblane for the sole purpose, apparently, of lis-| cock than a Scotch sportsman. Jounxie Bopp has an encouraging tening to a pertinacious fiddler. ‘‘ Trains may come and trains may | smile, but a somewhat nervous manner, as if a trifle uncertain as {, go, but he fiddles on for ever.” Twenty minutes with a deaf Scotch | how the new arrival would take this kind of fiddler! Away! Farewell, Dunblane! hearty reception improvised by ‘‘ D. B.” Lochglennie Station.—\n answer to a porter at the gist of whose| Finding that I quite enter into the spirit of question I can only hazard a guess, I say, “‘ Yes, I’m going to|the thing—(it’s safest for a comparative Mr. Bopp.” Whereupon he immediately returns— stranger to do this at once, as if the “ way of ** Eh, then the mash-sheen ’s here.” the house,”’ whatever it may be, is just exactly The “‘ mash-sheen” (which sounds as if I had come all the way| what you had expected along, and what you wouldn’t have had altered, no, not on any account)—he shakes hands, a second time, warmly. ** Delightful place you have here, Mr. Bupp,”

"s Bupp here—he’s ‘the Laird,’”’ cries D. B. ‘‘ Everything here is ‘ by order of the Laird.’” And as he says this, he strikes an attitude, and takes off his cap reverentially, as I have seen a Russian official do (on the stage) whenever he has had to bring in the Czar's name authoritatively. “The air of Scotland agrees with your nephew,” I observe. he Laird smiles. D. B. chuckles. I look — = = = —. What is the matter S with both of them ai ‘* How are you?” exclaims D. B. He can’t — -_ help it. He must start any communication of importance with this | preface, and finish with it too. ‘‘How are you?” Then confiden- | tially, “‘ The Laird ’s not my uncle, and I’m not his nephew. See?” Here he taps my chest in “‘The Two Macs” fashion—‘‘J call him a i Unele, but Re doesn’t call me Nephew. At least he does sometimes. The Mash-sheen. He’s only an uncle on the mother’s great first cousin's grand- down here to bathe on the sands) is an open car, outside the station, | mother’s side. See?” Two Macs entertainment again—‘‘ No real | guarded by a small a in a respectable Sunday suit, | relation.” Then he turns to Jonnnir Bopp, as if for corroboration | top-hat included, who might | ¥ be anything from a small bootmaker’s|—‘‘ Are you, Laird?” Towhich the Laird, who has been nervously assistant to a sheriff's officer in good country practice. Not in the| smiling a the time, and is still rather uncertain as to how I am| | least like an ideal stalwart Highlander in the national costume. Odd. going to take it all, replies hesitatingly, as if he hadn't quite made | Nowhere do I see, or have I seen, the national costume. All trousers, | up his mind on the subject of D. B.’s affinity to him, ‘* No,—we’r | or knickerbockers, and gaiters. Happy Thought.—The national | not near relations, And he impresses the fact on me by adding, “No, costume is evidently ‘‘ more honoured in the breech than in the | we’re really not.” observance.” Self and bags bestowed in car, which is, I should say, set} ‘‘ No,” continues D. B., seriously. ‘* You see I never had any | on what may becalled ** Very-rough-Sea-springs.” Happy Thought. | uncles and aunts to speak of, and so I—your little D. B.—got 'emas | —Capital exercise for one of the Livery of the City of London. he wanted’em. WhenI found someone I liked, I made him an Uncle, At last! Lochglennie Lodge. Little (' !) Shooting-Box. Big| or an Aunt, asthe casemaybe. See?” Two Macs again. “* Hullo!” | Shooting Portmanteau, Grand Shooting Trunk! Little!’ It may | he exclaims—“ here’s another of em!” And, as the very handsome have been little once—as we all were—but it has grown, and the| upright Lady, with powdered grey hair, and a mantilla grace- population of visitors has overflowed into an Anneze about a hundred | fully thrown over her head, whom I have already seen at the) yards from the house. ; door, advances towards us, D. B. says, ‘‘ Here’s the Good Aunt. | It has been raining all the morning. It has been raining ever| Allow me to present you. Laird’s guest, Good Auaot!” and he bows | since I arrived yesterday in Edinburgh, but at this moment there is| between us much as the Clown does when he is apologising for a cloudless blue sky. A beautiful view of plain, valley, river, and| having run full tilt into the Swell’s lowest waistcoat button, and heather-covered hills. Not a soul about. Driver is down taking| swears he ‘didn’t mean it, ‘pon his word of honour!” Where- out bags, and an elderly servant has appeared (no stalwart Highlander | upon the stately Lady, with the sweetest smile imaginable, wel- in kilt as yet. Where are they /—all *‘ kilt entirely ?”), a bell has| comes me to Lochglennie, and is about to ask me some question, sounded, and as if this were a cue on the stage, or a preconcerted| when a quiet, very thin, aristocratic-looking gentleman, with signal, as I have reason subsequently for believing that it is, Jomwwre| grey whiskers, greyish face, and grey suit to match (very Bupp appears out of a small side-door, a stately Lady walks on to/all the men, I subsequently notice, have suits to match their the chief doorstep, somebody passes her and descends to the garden, | complexions, or complexions to match their suits,—Happy Thought one man with a gun comes out of the Anneze, a third with a fishing- |—so as not to frighten the grouse with too much colour), walks out, rod from out of a shrubbery (why in a shrubbery with a fishing-rod ”), | with the puzzled air of a man who has come suddenly out of a cellar and lastly, before I have time to take it all in, or they all to take | into the broad light of day, blinking like one of the prisoners released me in, Davrp Barep, D. B., suddenly looks out of a top window, | from the Bastille. Before the grey Man from the Bastille has quite and, clapping his hands, cries “* Now, boys! One-—two—three—all | gra: the meaning of the scene before him, D. B. shouts out,— together !”’. . . and all together they shout out, ‘‘ How are you?” ‘* Here’s another of ’em! How are you?’ Whereupon the grey Then they all disappear (including startled horse with cart at a gallop | thin man rubs his eyes,—he must have hom shut up in a cupboard— and little man running after it) as suddenly as they have appeared, like | (Can it be the skeleton brought out to meet me ’),—and_not being mechanical figures, except D. B., who romps down an outside stair-| prepared with an immediate and telling repartee, which, I admit, + case (such as are common to Swiss chalets), jumps on to the path re cult to find, smiles good-naturedly at me, and putting out his and delighted beyond measure at the success of this well-rehea hand, as if he were feeling his way along, but really intending coup de thédtre, grasps me by the hand, and once more exclaims, | me to shake it, which I do, he says, ‘‘ Ah! delighted to see you—um *’ How are your” Then, in an earnest tone, as if for one moment | —how dee do?” . he would drop joking, and exhibit the deepest interest in the state of| ‘‘ This,” says D. B., holding the skeleton from the cupboard oy my health, he says, ‘‘ But——” he pauses, and no other way of | the elbow, and explaining him asif he werea figure in a show ; ** this framing his inquiry suggesting itself, he is compelled to repeat, only | is the Wicked Uncle, husband of the Good Aunt. Hisname is Norval slightly varying the emphasis to suit the seriousness of the occasion, | on the Grampian Hills, and one of his ancestors, the McCoLLor 0 ‘ow are you’ But really,”—here he taps me with two fingers|Collop, had something to do with the murder of Mary Queen of his right hand om my chest—a mode of salutation, he explains, | Squats, and he's never been the same man since.” ll this in * customary between “‘* The Two Macs’ before the row begins,” and | breath: then he shakes hands with the Wicked Unele, kisses the Good once more he inquires—‘* How are you ?” Aunt’s hand (‘‘ Or the hand of the Good Aunt,” he says, winking # Before I have time to reply, he continues pleasantly, ‘‘ You know me aside, ‘* OLLENDORFF!”), and beaming on everyone all round, he myunele; the Lard,” and therewith D B., introduces me to my host, votes that ‘‘ the question be now put,” which is—'* How are yu"

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—_—— Ocroser 6, 1888.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. It now strikes the Good Aunt that I must be hungry, and simul- taneously it occurs to the Laird that luncheon will y in ten | minutes, and that he will show me to my room in the Anneze, where I am to be chummed with two other sportsmen. Evidently large party. ** Where ’s Dotty ?” asks the Good Aunt. ‘Dotty ?” replies the Wicked Uncle, trying to wake himself up by taking off his Scotch cap and gently stirring his hair, which is what theatrical wig-makers term ° — ** DoLty’s out with the Bocen, Gaetan aw Doty a the mn! . Then there are ladies here, and a foreign nobleman. party. too. Thought I was xg toa es little shooting-box. ‘‘T haven’t seen Nell all the morning,” says the Laird, in a tone of regret. “She went with Doncay,” D. B. answers, ‘“‘ when he was off to wt A ladies evidentl Aha! spo —the young es evidently. out shooting, aay Oe gone to see about the pits. ‘Shall we wait for Gaanwie to come in to lunch?” asks the Laird of the Good Aunt, with an air of hesitation. ‘| don’t think it’s much use,” replies the Good Aunt. ‘‘ GrawNIE went out driving ——” “Oh, no!” inte the Laird, anxiously ; ‘‘ surely they never were going to drive this morning—I told MatcoLm——” “Ah!” interrupts D, B., ‘* then Granniz’s gone out fishing a long way down the stream.” “ Alone?” asks the Laird, who, as I see, is naturally anxious about the old lady—his grandmother, I presume—who must be a more determined sporting character than ‘‘ Mr. Manton.” “Alone?” returns D. B. ‘‘Oh no,—I saw the boy and Ross carrying the nets and lines.” ‘Oh, that’s all right,” says the Laird, quite satisfied as to his elderly relative’s safety. ‘‘ I’m glad Grannie didn’t take the canoe. It’s not safe to fish out of.” ‘Safe! A canoe for an old lady!” I cannot help exclaiming. This remark of mine causes considerable amusement. Even the Laird’s quiet smile develops into a genuine laugh. The Skeleton from the cupboard is tickled too, and repeats to himself, ‘‘ Old lady! Aha! that’s good!” W. B.’s hand comes down with a slap on my shoulder as he gives his war-cry of ‘‘ How are you?” It is uttered in such a tone of triumph, and the laughter is so genuine, that I perceive I’ve made a mistake as to Grannie. At this moment a hereulean young fellow, six feet two if he’s an inch, with a oe iy small head—quite in keeping with the herculean character—on the top of which is a deer-stalker stuck all over with flies, hooks, and bits of line, as if he had just escaped from a Lunatic Fishing Asylum, where they would put hooks and flies in the hair instead of straws, joins our party. He wears _— melodramatic piratical boots, carries a huge fishing-rod, and is hung about with straps, leather cases, and baskets, as if he were a with a lot of diltes to sell, and is introduced by D. B. to me as GRANVILLE Bivnt, known as ‘‘Grannie.” Then D. B. surveys the circle formed by the Good Aunt, the Wicked Uncle, the Laird, Grannie, D. B. himself, and the boy; and as if it were the cue for curtain and end of First Act, he laughs all over his face, and exclaims, ‘‘ How are you?”’ which at once disperses the group. The Laird shows me a deliciously comfortable bed-room and a sitting-room in the Anneze which are at my disposal, ‘‘ commanding,” as the advertisements say, ‘* beautiful and extensive views.” Then the Laird departs to see about the lunch. Happy Thought.—Put myself au courant with the company in the house, ‘* Who are the girls?” I ask. ‘‘Girls?” repeats D. B. surprised, ‘* what girls?’”’ Then, with an air of mistrust, ‘‘ You ’re joking—you’re trying to get at me—oh, yes”—and he puts himself on the defensive by resorting to his magic phrase, ‘* How are you ?”’ He is just off when I stop him, and assure him I’m serious. ‘‘ Who is ‘Nell,’ they were talking of, who has gone out with Doncan to the _ More laughter. D. B. nearly has a fit, but relieves his feelings y snapping his fingers, orying ** Who-whoop !” and dancing a few more steps of the Highland Fling; after which performance he sto to explain that ‘‘ Nell’s the Retriever, and Duncan ’s the Keeper.’ ‘And what’s Dolly? A dog ora cat?” I ask. “Dotty? Oh, don’t you know him? Capital chap—he has the next room to you. Dotty Wars, in the Guards. | are you, Dotty ?” he cries, out, rapping at partition ; to which summons the immediate response, in a defiant tone, comes back, ‘‘ How are you?” ‘*The other chap,” he continues—"‘ he’s not in now—is the Baron.”” Why Baron? ‘“ Don’t know—always call him ‘The Baron.’ Rather think it’s because he once went down a coal mine. There’s the luncheon-bell.”” He pauses at the door, however, as if he has forgotten to say so ing of the utmost importance, and then exclaims, ‘‘ How are you!” “QUITE WELL, THANK rou!” I roar back at him, and he dis- appears as if [ had broken the spell by this happy and truly original repartee. But somehow, the air is full of, ** How are you?” and as, | brush in hand, I survey myself in the giass, I stop my-elf in the act of saying to my own retlection, ‘‘ How are you’” ‘This is catching. Dotty has gone qUung.) . Fashionable one leried ** Wootr!” so often, that when a young ROBERT’S LONG WACATION. Sctren suckumstances, incloodin a most unne«sessary abundence of rain, combined with a rayther onusua! detishency of the currant coins of the realm—as the loryers terms what | shoud call a werry near aproach to stumptupedness—in- dooced me and my fare Partner to give up our ushal long wacation, this here yeer, of a hole week at the See Side, or on the River, and spend it in jolly old Lundon, the land of my Birth and the ome of my blooming manhood. And upon the hole, I don’t reelly think as either me nor my Partner has werry much regretted it. In fact there's so many wunderfvol things to be seen here, if one only has the time, without not nothink to pay, and so many bewtifool plaices to wisit, on the same werry libberal terms, that a week dewoted to 'em flies away like one a clock, which, as we all knows, don’t take so werry long to do; besides, if one’s bound to be wet thru for a hole week, it’s far better to have it at ome than a broad. Fust and foremost, then, I wisited High Park, and with the xception as there wasn’t not nobody there xcept me and three other gennelmen and one man on a horse, it was jest as bewtifool as ever, and the flower-gardens was that splendid and tidy as did great credit to Feeid Ma: **Gronoe” as has the care on ’em, and sines his onered name on all the boards as is stuck up at all the gates. It was a bewtifool morning when I started, after a rayther late rek- fest, and 1 had jest got to about the werry middle of the Park, when, without the werry least notice or warning, down came sitch a storm of rain as I has werry seldom bin drenshed by. I stood up under a littel tree as was near me; but tho’ I bleeve as it tried its werry best to keep me a dry place under its bows, it was all in wane, and by the time as the storm was over, and the sun cum out agane, I was wet through to my werry skin, and the heat of the sun shining on my wet close had the singler affect of making ‘em ail smoke and a rayther imperent-looking boy acshally arsked me weather i knowed as all my steam was a blowing off, and weather I was afeard of busting my Biler! Oh, them London Boys! What little respec they has ewen for an Hed Waiter! In coorse I allers treats with the most horty contemt. Well, my fust day’s holliday being rayther a failure, I spent the nex one, which was one long down pore, in the buzzum of m famly ; and though I bort no less than three halfpenny Papers, an red ’em all rite through, yet I must confess that it was about the werry longest day as rd amost ewer remembers. Praps the two singler suckemstances that my fare Partner had a bad tooth ake, and gave me nothink but the cold sholder for lunch, and dinner, and supper, may have had sumthink to do with it. But so it was, and I sort my downy couch at a most unnateral hurly our. What append next day I'll tell you next week. em Ropert. "Ave 4 New Cuartaty.—We knew Mr. Artuvr Ronsenrs had not been in London for some time, having, as we believed, marched with the Avenue Old Guard to take the provinces by storm; but certainly we were not prepared for an announcement, in a daily paper, occurring in the course of a short paragraph, to the effect that “‘ the Rev. Anrucr Roperts, M.A.,” did some- thing or other as ‘‘ Chaplain to the Prince of Wags.” ‘A loss to the Stage,” we said to ourselves, resignedly, ‘* but a gain to the Church. And then what an enter- taining Chaplain he will be for H.R.H., if he is only anything like as eres | as he was as The Vicar of Wideawakefield.” But our train of thought on this line was rudely run off the rails by the almost aroemee 4 cers , On comparing this paragraph with similar ones in other con- a that the .: per, —— Lh” BERTS” was a misprint for ‘the Rev. ,, sa Artuor Rosrys.” Really printers should Gam oe Fae aH not trifle with our tenderest feelings in ** ° this flippant manner; but, on reconsideration, we congratulate H.R H., the Church, and the Stage, on things being im statu quo Avenue. New Ituverration or aw Otp Asop’s Faute.—On the first night of the successful Opera Carina at the Opéra an the audience ady appeared in answer to this summons for the Composer, they wouldn't believe that she was really the WootF in question.

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[Octosgr 6, 1888, | PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. First City Man EpIcaTION Tarre—lI've ONLY Year's Scmooiin’ ALL My Lire Second City Man. “On, IL say! Yow } *« AWFULLY, O_p Fettow. He-ne-ne!” , Ou, nveD WASTED THAT "AD 'ALF A THE COMING DOG. | (By a Comyort-lovi ng Cynic.) | A New Dog is coming! the more, Ma’am, the merrier, You think. The new tyke is a ‘‘ Tartar fox-terrier,” He’s silky and splendidly smooth, so ’tis said ; His manners are mild and his colour is red. A lady’s dog quite! How your heart will be struck. Well, well, my dear Madam, here's wishing him luck! But permit me to hope, when he reaches your lap, That the new dog won’t whimper, or snivel, or yap; Not, like the Toy-terrier, shiver with dread, Nor, Pug-fashion, grunt with a cold in his head ; Nor look, like the Dogs of that queer Dachshund breed, As though two additional legs were his need : Nor, like the Fox-terrier, 7 the cat, Nor, like a King Charles, get abnormally fat: (them? Nor like shaggy Skyes (Ma’am, what is there to pet in Have very weak eyes and long hair that will get in them. Whatsoever his colour, red, yellow, or green, I'm sure if he’s quiet and decently clean, Not given too greatly to pant, snort, and snuffle, Nor always involving your guests in a scuffle ; | If he isn’t unpleasant to any one sense And doesn’t want worshipping ; then, Ma'am, immense The relief of your friends rill, I’m sure, be all round, To think that one bearable pet you have found! Fortucomine Interestine Pusiication.—Mrs, Raw is informed that the next book of Aristocratic Remini- seences will be by Lord Howarp, of Gossip. ‘ This,” the old lady thinks, ‘‘ought to be most entertaining.” Lucifer’s Latest. [Another explosive, called “ Ekrasite,” has been invented in Austria. Its effect is expected to be ‘ something unprecedented.”| SATAN, in Milton, flamed at Heaven defiance, And railed at earth with rhetoric corrosive. Now, posing as mild friend of Man and Science, He ‘d probably invent a new explosive! To verbally ‘‘ blow up” mankind ’s mere pother ; Far better help them to blow up each other. rime Most} New Worx sy Arcupeacon Farrar.—The Veget- Arians of the Fourth Century. THE TOAD’S DIARY. 20,000. | Nor half a bad sort of place this Prehistoric World. much commotion going on, though, to please me. Don’t care about ** Periods.”” Precious cold, too, this Glacial one. Shouldn’t wonder if there wasn’t a change coming. One never knows what to expect next. Halloa! what on earth's this? Just what I said. Biest if there isn’t a great big bed of clay let loose, and swooping down on me. No escape. Smothered! Well, this is pleasant! Goodness only knows when I shall get out again. And what can a toad do with himself, buried away like this? Ruminate? Yes but how long’ ’Pon my word, I’m afraid this will be precious slow. ComMEeNcenD B.C, father too these I said once I thought this would be ‘‘slow.”’ That must have been ever so many thousand years ago, and here I am still. ‘* Slow” isn't the word for it. It's deadly dull, that’s what it is. Then it’s so horribly damp. Wish I had got boxed up in a bed of coal. Those Mastodons seem to have stopped thundering about up above. Kept it up no end of a time, but they’re quiet at last, so f suppose they ve become extinct. Made room for an inferior animal. As I’m alive, it’s Primeval Man! I can hear him leafing about all over the piace. Well, I don’t think Ae’s good for much. Does nothing but hang about his caves. Then he’s such an uninventive beggar, he'll never dig me out. Dare say he'll Jast though five or six thousand years. What a prospect ! Bother Primeval Man, and the clay! . . . . Thank goodness, that awful fraud, Primeval Man, has disappeared at last. World seems waking up a bit, though nothing very much going on. Great Pyramid just finished. Babylon going it. Troy taken. The Chinese inventing gunpowder. Wish they would blow up this clay bed. Feel I’m getting awfully weak in the legs. Nothing going on here but savages walking about in blue paint. Wonder how many more thousand years I'm to be smothered up here. Really it gets slower and slower every century. And I feel 1’m getting limp. Things brightened up considerably since my last entry. Roman Invasion, Witiam the Conqueror over. CHARLES THE Frrst’s head cut off. Battle of Waterloo. Exhibition of 51. Jubilee. Jot these | down as occurring to me as happening in the course of the last eighteen hundred years. Not that they’ve affected me. I’m still bedded up. Believe my memory’s going. If I don’t soon get out of this, feel I shall end up by being fossilised. Halloa! Surely that must be the sound of a pick. And they are coming this way. Yes, itis! Hooray! Liberty at last! Bless the Railway Cutting, and the Contractor! They’ve dug me out. I'm free! That is, comparatively speaking, for [’ve fallen into the | hands of Mr. T. L. Patrerson, of Greenock, and have been mentioned | in the Zimes. He says, I ‘‘seem to have no bones,” and my legs | ‘bend any way,” and that I have ‘‘ two beautiful eyes,” but don’t | “seem to see.” Perhaps not. I should like to know what his eyes | would feel like, or, for the matter of that, his legs either, after beimg | clayed up for twenty thousand years. However, five me time, and | I shall soon pull together again. Meanwhile, all I ask is, that he won't send me off anywhere by Parcels Post. Impromptu at a Theatre. (By a Victim of the Prevailing Fashion of Feminine Head-gear.) Tuts pile before me—I know not its nomen— Hides all the actors, and half the flats. ** The higher Education of Women,” Applies not so much to their heads as their hats / Tae Tevron Ourver Twist. — Bismarck asking for Samoa. Mem. Kindly pronounce it as much like Some more as possible.) Shakspeare Applied. (By a Stout Gentleman who objects to foreign climes and climbing ) Betrer bear the Aills we have, Than fly to others that we know not of.

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OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. ~ FINIS! (THE END OF THE SEASON.) THE LAST (JURY) MAN. (A Long way after Campbell.) The British Constitution's doom Is Chaos and Old Noz, When you can’t get twelve honest men Into the Jury Box! I HAD a vision in my sleep, My fancy took a tidy swee Adown the gulf of Time! I saw Old England, and behold, Owing to idleness and gold, Twas given up to Crime! The Judge's eyes did wildly glare Where, white with age and wan, There stood within the Box, else bare, _A lonely Jury Man. Some were exempt by ‘‘ tips” —the brand Of bribery stained the Briton’s hand,— _ From “‘ urgent business”’ some ; Some swore they couldn’t leave their bed, Some that their Mothers-in-law were dead, And so they could not come. Yet, mart a that lone one stood Before the Beak’s dread eye. He said, “‘ My Lud, it ain’t no good ; There’s only you and I. Men don’t find Jurying od fun ; hey ’re all ‘ exempt ; ’m the last one To turn up, dontcher know. A thousand * cases’ wait us here— Twill take us all our time, I fear. I’m game—so on we go! “ What though the officer go forth ? Britons have now such skill In ‘ getting off,’ that ’tisn’t worth His while to hunt ’em still ; We'll have to do it; fire away! A dozen cases in a day Will be enough for us. It’s no use getting in a fury! At least, youre certain that the Jury Will be unanimous, ‘** You will not fill this Box—’tis small— With the old dozen men. No; those who’ve once escaped its thrall Will not return again. Lor’, do = fancy they ’ll come back To these hard seats, that cramp and rack, In these chill draughts to writhe ? You made the Jury-Box abhorred By dull discomfort, good, my Lord, I once was brisk and lithe ; ‘* Now you perceive my erst bright eyes Have lost their ancient fire, 1’ ve suffered untold agonies. To shiver or perspire, To faint with heat, to gasp for breath, Are not nice things, but till my death It shall be my one boast, That I ne’er slunk at Duty’s call. {’ve but one fear, ’tis that I shall Return here—as a ghost! ‘“‘ Oh, should my spirit, by fate’s whim, Or destiny’s last lark, Come back unto this Court so dim Into this Box so dark! No! I should then evade the summons By such excuses—they are rum ’uns— As “ City Magnates”’ use, And brothers of the brush or pen, And lots of selfish idle men, Who Duty’s task refuse. **Goon! Whilst pluck can hold me up In this void Box’s waste, I'll sit, although the bitter cup Is little to my taste ; When to the wall I turn my face, The last of the old Jury race, Our Senators, who nod Over our laws, and fog, and twist ‘em, May modify the Jury system : Or, if they don’t, it’s odd.” THE CORRECT CARDIFF. At the Autumn Meeting of the Associated Chamber of Commerce at Cardiff, Sir Jacon Benren spoke in favour of the formation of a Commercial Party, independent of party wlities, in the House of Commons. The resident opposed the proposal, the Resolu- tion was negatived, and subsequently Sir Micnaet Hicxs-Beacn, in expressing his agreement with the dissentient majority, declared that there was already a ple es ance of such parties. We should think so indeed! The multiplication of ‘“ parties,’ ostensibly ** folepeniont of party,” will make the House as parti-coloured (or, which is much the same thing, rty-coloured), as Josern’s coat itself. hy, every interest, opinion, or fad, might organise its own knot , supporters into an ‘ independent party,” and Parliament become, indeed, a ** fortui- tous concourse of atoms,” without cohesion which means Chaos come again. The Cardift assembly was quite right in refusing to be a party to this party-proposal. The world ’sa stage, where each man plays bis part, But “ companics’’ must combine in union hearty, Twill be, as old dames say, “ a pretty start,” When “person ” (asin Cockneyese) means “party.”

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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARLI. ——... [OctopEx 6, 1888. | SUMMONED FOR RATES. Notes from a Diary in the Recess Tuesday.—Spent a pleasant morning in Sessions House, Broad | Sanctuary, Westminster. Outside, summer suddenly returned ; Raining in torrents. Inside, a collection of men and women—chiefls | women—all steaming wet. Behind a desk, two Magistrates and a | | clerk: in front, the Rate Collector. The rest, ratepayers—or to be more precise, people who hadn’t paid their rates. Summoned to show cause why. Cause varied; result the same; can’t pay. Out of work some; sick others; sad all. A pitiful story, and a purposeless | gathering. Magistrates apparently can do nothing. ‘We are machines!” said the Chairman, smiling genially upon depressed elderly gentleman, whose rates are horribly in arrear. | ** You must pay by the Sth of October. Next case!” ; Depressed elderly gentleman falls into the rear without word of Always been falling into the rear since he was born. Movement quite natural to him. : “Mi Middle-aged lady in an apron and seething mental condition comes up next. Has prepared for Magistrate some autobiographical data. Her story graphic, rather than succinct. Magistrate tries to get in his formula about ‘* Adjourned - till - 9th-of-October-must- ay-on-the- h.”” Middle-aged lady branches out into statement of her troubles prior te last year but one, when Many ANN was run over by a "bus. | : Adjourned-till-9th-of-October.” says the Magistrate, as if it) were an incantation warranted to shut any woman up. Twelve years she’s lived in the house ; always paid rates up to two years ago. (Watching opportunity, machine grinds out refrain, ** Must - pay - on - the- 8th - of - October.”’) Mary ANN was in hospital for six weeks ; hardly been of any use | since; Mrs. Moeaerns would bear testimony to extraordinary ex- penses consequent upon calamity. * Adjourned-till- 9th-of-October,” the machine wearily warbles. ‘‘ Call-the- next-case.”’ Next case is that of Artnvurk WILLIAM) Ciurr. “ARTHUR Wittuasm Crore!” loudly called. No response. Old gentle- man with wonderful | waste of woollen com- forter round his neck | stares steadily into | space. He is the party who came in just now ; | tried to get point of | his dripping umbrella | into my boot; only| vartially succeeded. | “This is him,” said | a faded woman in a shawl, thrusting him forward by the shoulder; | ** he lives in our street and is stene-deaf.” This said with smile of pride. Artravre Wiiu1aM Cuvrr, by his| supernatural deafness, evidently sheds lustre on his immediate | neighbourhood. In pride of association faded woman in shawl | momentarily forgets the unpaid rates. Arrucr WILLIAM with | difficulty brought up to the Bench, making dashes with his dripping | umbrella at other people’s boots. i asks his name. AxTHvr WILLIAM makes no responsive sign. te | | Collector, standing by, bellows in his right ear, “Are you Anruvurk WituraM Ciurr?” That seems to be wrong | | ear. Old gentleman obligingly turns round the other. Rate Collector | shouts down it. Arracr WILLIAM, catching the whisper, nods assent. ‘* Have you paid your rates ?”’ Collector, promp halloas. Anruvre Writ1aM frankly admits he hasn't. ** Adjourned-till-9th-of-October,” says the Magistrate. “* Adjourned till the 9th of October,” reiterates Collector, stand- | ing on tip-toe, the better to command Artavr WILLIAM’s accessory ear. Anruur WILLIAM raises no objection to that, but does not! seem to see relevancy of remark. ‘* Tell him he must pay on the 8th of October,” says the Magis- | rate, bellowing at the Rate Collector as if he, too, were deaf. “ You must pay on the 8th,” the Collector, goaded to desperation, | roars with all his might. Well, I will, if I can,” says Anruvr Wurm, with a cheer- protest. nt Stone- Deaf. by Magistrate, | Magistrate, lifting up his voice, | buckles for the occasion. | Ca | “* Edmundus Ed. Mundi,” whom “L. E.” naturally fulness that suffused itself all over the damp Court. His umbrella having now dripped itself dry over Rate Collector's boots, Arravr WILLIAM goes out to get it wet again. Cases by the score, and the dozen. Doesn’t seem money anywhere to pay the rates. But it does seem that the rates must be paid, and Py Se 8th of October, too, The forlorn, damp, and penniless crowd having cleared out, each comforted with the inevitable p: t of the ‘‘ 9th of October,” our turn comes. Half-a-dozen of us. Not here on account of rates, but in connection with jury lists. A blow struck at British Constitution by attempt to include name of Tony, M.P., upon jury list. Peers and Members of Parliament always exempted. Why should Barkshire suffer in its privileges? Not if its senior Member can, at whatever personal inconvenience, assert them. Proceedings not unduly extended. Considerable list of exemptions settled by Act of Parliament. List worth considering by anxious parents about to select avocations for promising sons. You can’t, for example, be summoned on a jury if you’re a coroner, or an apothecary, or a | Member of the Mersey Docks and Harbour Board, or a pilot, or a bailiff. Also exempted if you happen to be a gaoler, or if you keep a public lunatic asylum. oreover, if you ’ve been attainted of any treason or felony, or are an outlaw, you can snap your fingers at **Church Wardens and overseers of the parish, when preparing the jury lists.” That’s how it came to pass that Friar Tuck was never on a jury, and how Robin Hood always avoided this peremptory interruption of his avocations. Members of Parliament bracketted for jury-list purposes with outlaws and keepers of lunatic asylums. Tony, M.P. for Barks, was, of course, exempted, and left the Sessions Court without a stain on his character. OUR BOOKING-OFFICE. Ir is certain that Thoth, A Romance (W. BLAckwoop AND Soy), would never have been written if Mr. Riper Haaoarp had not published his most famous book. Thoth is a sort of male She, and | might as well have been called He. Unlike She, who lived continuously through a couple of thousand years, J’hoth’s forefathers come to life only occasionally. But that is quite enough when there are a good many of them. Thoth himself is a remarkable per- sonage, with a touch of Professor BALDWIN in his character. He improves on the Pro- fessor’s machinery, since he dispenses with the parachute, and, when he goes up ina balloon fashioned in the shape of a bird, is able to bring the whole boiling down where- ever he pleases. The kingdom Thoth rules is an island in some unnamed sea, where the os residents are brought up deeply rooted in “ You Thothy Perthon the heresy of woman-hatred. This being carried to extremes, the consequences are natural and inevitable. Part of the population is drowned in the sea, and the remainder are buried in the sands of the desert. The book makes encouraging reading for members of the Women’s Rights Association, only I hope it won't be dramatised. Number 4 of Our Celebrities (Swan, SonneNscHEIN & Co.) is just out. Excellent portrait of Sir Puiip Contirre OWEN, an Lovis Encoet’s list of the numerous orders Sir Partir has received from the Crowned Heads of Europe, is astonishing. Theatrical Orders are not included in the collection. Sir Purii’s appearance at a foreign Court seems to have been the signal for decorating him at once; the cue was, ‘‘Give your orders—Sir Pawip’s in the room. The second portrait represents Sir CHartes Russet, apparently trying on a new Q. C.’s wig, and trying to look as unlike himself as possible. The striped trousers quite out of character with the dignity of the upper portion of the forensic costume, and must have offended the artistic eye of Count Watery, the eminent Photo- grapher, who should have induced him to put on knee breeches and But it is difficult to induce any man of Sir CuarLes’s determination of character to change his habits at & moment’s notice; still, as ‘‘ Standing Counsel to the Jockey Club, he might, at least, have worn breeches and boots, and have whip in his But where is his most characteristic snuff-bor! ital monograph about him by L. E. a tly there is the living presentment of Mr. sage ge rea respectful admiration. The likeness is excellent. But what could Watery have been about to pose Epmunpus thus? He has a book in one hand with his finger marking a place for reference, and having decided what he is going to say in his criticism on it, he evidently thinking what on earth has become of his own writimg- table, his editorial seat, his pens, ink, and paper, and wy these obtrusively theatrical ‘* properties,” including the chair m which he is seated, have nm substituted for the real articles He should have been up-standing, self-supporting, for he surely no need of “‘ props.” It isa s ing likeness, not a writing one. cP hOTi vx. —k. im nO case be returned, not even when there will be no exception. cled Communications or Contributicns, whether MS. , Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will accompanied by « Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule

Page 15

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARL —Ocroser 6, 1888,

LLMAN'S A LAXATIVE, REFRESHING FRUIT LOZENGE, VERY AGREEABLE TO TAKE. \ TAMAR. _ comenitanon CIE FA ‘be

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hants throughout the harm! a (i iom and Colonics = LADIES’ TAILOR, F mesons . Chemists and Cigareten, 2 6, revaine box

MAX | GOWNS, | DS fs 5 ULSTERS 70 SAVE TRS TEETH, US2 DAILY tibet oe 1 stg abe ten 3 THOMPSON & CAPPER’S |COWES, LONDON, EDN X “OM |DENTIFRICE WATER, Old Bond Street, London, W. | COWES, LONDON, EDINBURGH, PARIS, —, . ), Limited, have J i C 0 y N £ S Debility, Kheumatism, Gout, Sciatica, Torpid added to their celebrated frames decided | THOMPSON & CAPPE R, Liver, Kidney Disorders, and every form of improvements (protected by Letters Patent), CHEMISTS weakness may be speedily cured by wearing which give increased Stability and greater : . HARNESS’ Neatness to the Umbrella. 55, Bold Street, Liverpool, Cus X ELECTROPATHIC SAMUEL FOX & CO, Limited, mann- _and 51 » Plecadilly, 2 Sanchestes, Ss facture the Steel specially for all their . B frames, and are thus able to provide WINES price over inferior makes. IH 1 Ww A R 0 vn ECORATE BEDFORD BRANXTON BURGUNDY, Be mec og Deremiort

Thousands of Tesemoni ePampies and HIGHERCOMBE, arte at once to Ma. ©. B HARNESS, Co Ticdioai Bossery sulting tlectrictan, Co.,Ltd,

% The benney y of Stain Stained Glass in every house SSUW Gas ee eee PLAYER'S 60. S Orr's Patent

‘mss orp peaxpy. ~ | SODEN MINERAL PASTILLES| = GLACIER > Pe pW. trartevon & Co. 208, Regent Street, W Universally acknowledged the best remedy WINDOW DECORATION. N AVY CUT ZaSTRE TO USE. Never Bequires Grinding. sapeae atnat abe tune 3. ae I eo ee the ace = =" They are specially mmended by our on there are windows with disagreeable __ The Perfection of Tobacco. j , Write for Ik 4 let Ith and ~ paee — > greatest Medical Autbority, —n me egy A mamationt) ond POLDEN 8 SIR MORELL MACKENZIE turers, M°CAW, STEVENSON & ORR, Linenhall HAIR. ROBARE'S EOLINE rp | 4 Works, Belfast; or to Pammy & CO’ Wholesale Tene whose testimonial is affixed to each box. | Agents, Holborn Viaduct, Londen. . vented Da stig hermione eens ws Mr, Maw. Invixe OS all themiote of te. "§4..os Fost Free fee 1s Chemists thruaghout tne Werid, MS stamps, of POUEN Mi* 84 PRODUCE CO, & bons, 31 your . s yon 1 Tie | and 0, Drea's Kei ~&, Hi. cevas, Loexpow, B.C. , FOR DELICATE CHILDREN. _— snesoneats KE OPP! mn Case, complete, Flack Handle,$/8 ; Lvory Handle, in “FOR THE BLOOD IS THE LIFE.” 3 TAL GERMAN HOLLOW-GROUND sR Se RAZOR. CLARKE’S WORLD-FAMED ae BLOOD MIXTURE. CHEMICAL! soos 22%" REAL GERMAN HOLLOW GROUND. from fi by fuin, «9 DOUBLE-ACTION Nesruns, Shin ond Micet Wacasss. ama waves of Oi ALL DEALERS OR DIRECT RAZOR. ARMY REVOLVER, | torsos oc) cet Meceeste bean rine FROM EWOLISM DEPOT. fe oS ee es ate i 138 DIGBETH, BIRMINGHAM

ms supplied to H M. War Department, bottles, 2¢. 9d. and Nia, each. of al Chemists. Fro- aren Li's 5 SINGLE. ACTION ARMY prietors. Lin-oin and Nidian! Counties Drug Co, THE S@PPCTFIC FOR KEURALOIA, tu sopred vy the Usited lincoln. Bewace or Woarutese Iurrations x +s Goverument. © AMO on ee Oe rs FRONTIER ” PISTOL tases the Coit and ; = A PHOSPHATIC FOOD. 2 ; ee aE 2 y=: = ro wn ene Nee Messort os Cusmiore, Seee e00eegeee es = Peels ae = shoes | 413, OXFORD STREET, LONDON, | ~“Invaigabie is “sonved $FIRe are “ —— | efective in ail those ences 10 See un we hove = MS Co. 14. Pall Ma'i,Tanden.8. W. preseribed it."—Meowat F pe > ’ j - tS » |ELO R D E JAVA fect A Wh we i COD AB “sg mrue Isa seane ES OMNIBUS (>i Me "Sa i oo 0, WRIGHT Sis ance ii i\' | saci iain. W.C. BEWLAY & = es : “COAL” | 7 49, Strand, \ 9 QUOD Agents for Crest firitain UBIOUI .

Page 16

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.—Ocrozzr 6, 1888. b from moa be Car aah agprt of Tralee WON’T WASH CLOTHES. fae Mekes pices roomy Makes ee pper in indows aint rass like like like look Marble like Gold. Silver. Crystal. New. White. Mirrors. __—- Everything Sold by Grocers, Ironmongers, and General Dealers throughout the Country. If not obtainable near you, send 4d. in stamps for full-size Bar, free by post; or ls. for Three Bars, free by post (mentioning ‘*“‘ Punch’’), to B. BROOKE & CO,, 36 to 40, YORK ROAD, KING’S CROSS, LONDON, N. Ean OF ch owes Bentoary age ae amet