Punch 1898-12-03: Vol 115 Iss 2995

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| 66 9) THE BEST NATURAL APERIENT WATER. A Pp 5 N A Of all Chemists and Mineral Water Dealers. Prices 6d., is., and is. 3d. per bottle. SoLE IMPORTERS: THE APOLLINARIS COMPANY, LIMITED, LONDON,

PUNCH OFFICE, 85, FLEET’ STREET, ~ LONDON. ‘

Registered at the Genera] Post Office as a Newspaper. PRICE THREE PENCE.

CADBURY'S COCOA MOST REFRESHING, INVIGORATING, AND SUSTAINING. Free from drugs or any foreign admixture,

@@ NUL. —Communications or Conwiouuons. Wuewer Md., rTINLea walier, Vrawings, or Fictu.es Ol any aescripuon, will not be returned unless acoompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper.

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HOWARD| BEDFORD Ploughs, Harrows, Cultivators, Haymakers, Horse Rakes, Straw Trussers, Mowers, Hay Presses, Oil Engines, & Light ilways. SMOKE THE CELEBRATED “PIONEER” SWEETENED TOBACCO. KNOWN ALL OVER THE WORLD MANUFACTURED BY THE RICHMOND CAVENDISH Co., Lro., AT THEIR BONDED WORKS, LIVERPOOT And retaile 1 by all first-class e and abroad. it ho tober THE “MOST NUTRITIOUS. EPPS: S CRATEFUL—COMFORTING COCOA BREAKFAST —SUPPER. ogy: CLARKE’S Lté., Cricklewood, London, BW. “SKINS | ON FIRE With torturing, disfiguring, itching, burn- ing, bleeding, sealy, and pimply humours, instantly relieved by a warm bath with Cuti- Bold ev | Lig tment), and a full dose of Curicuna soLvenrt, greatest of blood purifiers — cures, ticura Is a7 qr my * 2 one § - ~ P. Newsent & Be a Ole" How tot mates, UB A *How to © ia Tekin Humours, --BABY'S SKIN Gente ope and jaw 4 r Punted and Ta OR ovsa Soar, a single roy of Curtouna | = Peneilca THE A LAXATIVE, REFRESHING FRUIT LOZENCE, VERY ACREEABLE TO TAKE, TAMA IP INDIEN Headache. GRILLON. London: 47, Southwark Street, S.E. SOLD BY ALL CHEMISTS AND DRUGGISTS, 28. 6a. A BOX. LONDON CHARIVARL —DecemBer 3, (1898. CONSTIPATION, Hemorrhoids, Bile, Loss of Appetite, Gastric and Intestinal Troubles, > wae ae ef SURRY ae & z ARowick COS she AEST ERE | { MAPPIN & WEBB’S | \ SPOONS & FORKS) | jwucsncome! TORACCH ROP | ORIENTAL ey SESE ree CARPETS. easy to grow. 80 Acres A Saleable Trees. LISTS OF SPECIAL SHIPMENTS. SEEDS | oy cai ex) | TRELOAR & SONS Lists Free. HUNDREDS of THOUSAN 4\i. sk for Catalogue. Bushes in variety. Packing and Carriage free for Cash with order $/+ per doz., 6O/- per 100, Adi other Nursery Stock carriuge ps N.B.—Single Plants are sold ab slightly wncreased prices. CENERAL CATALOCUE |) (Over 160 pages) of Nursery Stock, artistically produced, containing some hundreds of fllustrations, ' and full of valuable information, | EI (The Celebrated Sweet for Children, free on receipt of 3d. for postage.| Please mention this Paper. RICHD. SMITH & Co., Worcester. | Gorv « Orver _ | withboxes of ne bearing the registered S.Mordan Co | can be obtained f from all ellers & Stafioners . ‘£15 15°: ‘CRUISE.—GiBaa, TAR, TANGIER, ALGIERS TUNIS, MALTA, MESSINA, NAPLES (9 an December 2th £71 CRUISE. —NAPL =. ATHENS, PALESTiIyp EGY PT, January lith, TENDED asus, including Constantinopi. Beyrout, for Damast us, && On the 5.Y. “ARGONAUT,” tonnage 1% h.p. 4,000. Organised by Dr. Lunn and Mr. Perowne Lecturers, the Bishop of Worcester, Dean Parry The above Cruises begin and end at Marveilin Return ticket, London - Calais - Paris - Marseiiin £5 > a Pull particulars with plan from the Secreta, 5, Endsleigh Gardens, Euston, London, N.W Orient Company's Pleasure Cruise by their Steamship “ LUSITANIA,’ 3,912 tons register, To the WEST INDIES and BERMUDA Embarking passengers at London (Tilbur lith January, and arriving back in Lond« 13th March, 1899. The following places will be visite TENERIFFE, BARBADOS, TRINIDA! GRENADA, ST. LUCIA, MARTINIQiy SANTA CRUZ, JAMAICA, CUBA Sm tiago), BERMUDA, and MADEIRA. “ Winter afloat in the West Indies is me like a glorious summer, and at such a tiny when yachts and steam launches are laid » at home—the trip should be taken.” Fares from 75 Guineas. Managers, F.Green & Co., Anderson, Anis. son & Co. Head Office: Fenchurch Aven For passage apply to the latter firm at 5, Fe church Avenue, London, E.C., or to the We End Branch Office, 16, C ( ockspur Street, 8.9 £18 18s. ECYPT AND PALESTIE Pleasure Cruises by the 8.8. “MIDNIGHT SUN,” 3,178 tons leaving Marseilles Dec. 15th, 1898 ...... 30 days 25 Guinew * 14th, 1899 _... 21 days 18 Guinew Attractive Shore Excursions. £10 10s. ROME TOURS, 9 includes 2nd class travel and seven day accomumnodation. Extensions to FLORENI | vane ICE, NAPLES, POMPELL, VESUVIT: «ec. WINTER TOURS 10 SWITZERLAN. 10 days, 8 Guineas, 17 days, 10 Guin Visiting GENEVA, LAUSANNE, MONTREUX, PARIS, &c. Leaving London every Wednesday. [le trated Programme free from Taos. COOK & SON, Ludgate Circus, Londa me PALACE MONTE CARLO (opens Jan.) Biviera Palas. NICE (Cimiez) Riviera Palace. CAIRO... ... Ghezireh Palace CAIRO Shepheard's Zn Full — ulars from the London Office 14, Cocxseur Street, 8.W. HOWARD'S in PARQUET FLOORS From 3 per foot. Finest quality produced. Solid Oak Wi Panelling-from 2s. 64. per foot. =| ‘25, 26, & 27, BERNERS STREET, E i] PORTABLE IRON BUILDING | of every description. Churches, Tem” rary ——— Bungalows, Work» : , &c. Packed on Rail or Estymates fre W. COOPER, 7%, © Kent Rd., London, 52 | WCeddards. Plate Powde! NON-Y MERCU RIAL. Universally admitted to ¥ Article fo give The Best and ac. SIX GOLD MEDAIS Sold everywhere, in Boxes, ls., 2s. 6d, and# «wt

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—GI BRAL. R, ry PLES 1 —, 5, PALESTinp c Onstantinons tonnage 124 Towne *T, Dean Parry 1 at Marseitin aris - Marseiiies the Secretay a, N.W Ure Cruis ' register, -ERMUDA lon (7 bur. ck in Londg be visited ndies 18 De uch a tir, Ss are laid » n."’ 3. erson, Anis. irch Avenw rm at 5, Pe r to the Wx Street, &.¥ ALESTIN 178 ton 25 Guiney 18 Guinw ns. URS, | seven daw LOREN} VESUVIT: TERLANI. 10 Guiness rom ~us, Londa ALACE ra Palace. ra Palace. reh Palace eard’s Bau. m Offices WwW LTD.) j Oak Wil oot. REET, & ILDINGS hes, Temp Works» ail or erect of the Kut Decempsr 3, 1898.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 253 SOUTH AFRICAN SMITHFIELD SHOW. BIG GAME dives Sh | ‘ “Seen TK K Bee) Wit edt "i{\s WL W/ ( “=a A PUBLIC BENEFACTOR. hate to do a Public Service anonymously. Dear Mr. Punca,—I am not one of those | achievement of mine. ‘ who like to hide their light under a bushel. | On November 9 (the fact is complacently | Quite the contrary. And I particularly | recorded in a Sunday paper), I saw a fine | sparrow-hawk in Shoreditch Park. “ At- tracted probably by the deceptive rusticity of the place, the bird had perched on a niche in the wall of St. Leonard’s Church, and was lost in contemplation of the muni- cipal activity of Shoreditch.” enjoy the country airs of Shoreditch Park ? Perish the thought. To quote the same Sunday journal, “A whack from a stick temporarily disabled her, and led to her being captured and caged.” Here was irdeed a Public Service. A fine sparrow- hawk was wasting its sweetness on the London air. At any moment it might have flown away and been lost to Shore- ditch. I whacked it over the head, there- fore, and it is now dying in a leisurely manner in a cage. This is not the only claim of my family to public gratitude in this direction. Iam the person who, with secret catapult, kills the nightingales which even yet disturb the quiet of Campden Hill. All rarer forms of birds and beasts are my prey, and my brother in the country with his gun shoots all the golden eagles that visit these shores, and does his best to destroy all the kingfishers that haunt our rivers. When he = bagged his golden eagle or other unusual fowl, he writes proudly to the Times to mention the fact, and signs his name! He and I, by our united efforts, are gradually extinguishing whole species of interesting wild creatures in England and in London. Often our efforts are met with the grossest ingratitude, and only the other | day a gentleman called me a stupid brute : | who ought to be kicked by all decent | people, but I don’t mind him. And mean- fouseholder who has | time the good work goes on. In full assurance of your ae and Suggestion te the Needy I got the workmen in. Make the various Contractors | pay for exhibiting their Advertisement Boards, ad support, I beg to sign myself, thus bring grist to the mill. Your obedient servant, ’ARRY. | Did I allow this intrusive wild fowl to | Nor Satisrizep.—It is confidently stated So I write to you on the subject of a recent | 444% the German Government favours an | expedition to the South Pole. We should have Spey ay that the Kaiser had quite enough to do to look after his own Poles. HOME MARKETS ILLUSTRATED. “ A decline of sixpence.’ 7 VOL. OXY.

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254 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [Decemsze 3, 1898.

WA, “21 |

“2 ViA\ An aw wy | Me Slee A y re ¢ NEG RODY, CONT Sealant C NW Blan Ado ge VY A U4 A \ \ 4A , wa Wy UY“ \ 4 7 lf : 7 »\* / Li . / : ws VMs" \U* ’ 1 Ve cy < ant. of ac 2 THE RETURN OF THE TROUBADOUR. His Imperial Majesty the German Emperor sings— *GaILy THE TrovBapouR TOUCHED HIS GUITAR | Stverse, ‘From PALesTINeE HITHER I come! AS HE WAS HASTENING HOME FROM AFAL | Lapy Love, LADY LOVE, WELCOME ME HOME!’”

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DecemBer 3, 1898.]} PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. DARBY JONES ON THE PAST SEASON AND THE “ ILLECITIMATE CAME.” Honovrep Sir,—At Manchester we rang down the Curtain on that Interesting Drama entitled “‘ Flat-Racing in 1898; or, The Year beloved by the Bookie.” It does not take a Sportsman versed in Memoria Technica to recall the countless occasions on which the Favourites have been bowled | over with the Devastating Result of a First-Rate Spin in a Skittle Alley. The Guineas, the Derby, the Oaks, the Leger, the Czesarewitch, the Cambridgeshire, the Derby Cup, and many other Upper Ten events, were all captured by Outsiders at prices calculated to make a Sporting Pro- phet take to sweeping crossings in com- pany with his too confident Patrons. And on the top of this came J. Top Stoan, Esquire, who, just to show that He could ride Favourites in Big Races, carried off the Liverpool Cup as a parting present to Lord Stanutey before he made tracks over the Herring Pond Course. Indeed, hon- oured Sir, 1t would have made CosBpEn’s Statue in Camden Town (I am naming the Hardest Effigy in the Metropolis) weep, to have seen the Gallant Efforts made by Disappointed Owners and Trainers at Derby and Manchester to collect the Wherewithal to supply Biscuits and Cheese and Four Ale during the Winter Months. You may depend upon it, that despite the Sneers of the High Tone, the “ Illegiti- mate,” as they designate the Pursuit of jumping Hurdles, Ditches, Brooks, and other Stumbling-Blocks, will be followed this year more largely than ever by those who are famishing for Provender, just as a Billiardist, who has been knocked out in a West-End Saloon, will seek to recoup his Fortune by playing Bagatelle at the Cat and Mousetrap in Kentish Town with the Lower Order of Cueists. Though why such Natural Sport as Steeplechasing and Hurdleracing should be dubbed “ Illegiti- mate” I am at a loss to determine. Nearly all our Leading Lights, from the Heir- Apparent downwards, patronise the game, and the Conqueror in the Grand National becomes for the nonce as famous as, say, the Strpar, G.C.B., or the latest Vocalist at the Alhambra Theatre of Varieties. But as Captain Krirerion very truly re- | marks, “Over the Sticks there’s such a lot of chance, that when you ’ve got a Dead Certainty, it’s as likely as not he becomes dead indeed by breaking his back in a miserable drain.” Of course, Hurdles are quite a different feature, and many a Crock who can hardly lift his forelegs off the Turf on the Flat becomes, by crashing at the obstacles, valueless. Nevertheless, when the Sport is encour- aged at such Racing Centres as Not- tingham, Windsor, Gatwick, Hurst Park, Wolverhampton, and as the classics have it, id omne genus, to say nothing of Auteuil, where the Gay Gaul has no less than Five Gatherings during the present month, I respectfully submit that the adjective “ Il- legitimate ” should be struck out of the Spertsman’s Vocabulary. I allow it is a handy word for use by Turf Reporters, but surely such an Epithet as ‘“‘the Up and Down” (unregistered by yours truly) “Sport ’ would be more Applicable and cost but a fraction more lucre for Telegraphic Purposes. Trusting, therefore, that an Undeserved Appellation will not deter you, honoured Sir, or other Revered Clients, from gracing the Jumping Arena, I am, as ever, your faithful Achates, Darpsy Jones. NOTES FROM MR. PUNCH’S FOREIGN SKETCH-BOOK., FEEDING THE Pickons at St. Mark's Square, VENICE. FOGGED! I TAKE my pen up and begin To write. In vain my Muse I jog, My brains, which were so bright, seem in A fog. The jest which yesterday I thought Sufficient to amuse a cat, Somehow don’t sparkle as it ought— It’s flat. I always had a mirthful mind, I don’t pretend that it is deep, But now I only feel inclined To weep. What is the reason of this state Of dullness which I can’t resist ? It’s simply that I loathe and hate e mist. Curistmas Crackers.—G, SPARAGNA- PANE & Co. have sent a charming selection of bright and attractive-looking crackers this year. An exceptionally pretty set are the Pensez-d-moi cosaques, beautifully scented, and each one ornamented with a pansy; they are furnished with eau-de- Cologne satchets, &c. Last, but not least, isa box containing three monster cosaques. Don’t be frightened at the word “ mon- ster,” as these present a very attractive appearance, each fitted up with nine dif- ferent articles. In a cracker motto should be found this couplet : — If to perfection cracker-man attains, His motto must be this, ‘‘ Spare-ah-na-pains.”’ We do not say that this is by the Poet- laureate, but he might have done worse.

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OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [Decemper 3, 1898, a (ff UY “ e A 7 4 4 4 t= fsa a hy Hees 3° As / 1 ADVICE TO PURCHASERS. In BUYING A GEE, IT MAY SOMETIMES BE A GREAT SAVING OF INCONVENIENCE TO BE MEASURED FOR HIM ALONG WITH THE REST OF YouR Huntine Toes. THE MYSTERY OF A HANDSOME CAD. Luss, Loch Lomond.—We started this morning to cycle round the Trossachs, Mamma and Papa on their tandem, and I on my machine. When we had got well up into the wilds—fifteen miles from anywhere—the tandem punctured. None of us had ever mended a tyre before, but Papa said it was all right as he had the “Instructions,” so we set to work under his directions and un- screwed valves and hubs and cranks and things, till Papa said that would do. Then he began to wrestle with the tyre. Fora long time he could make no impression, so Mamma and I came to his assistance, and we all pulled and tugged in different direc- tions, till suddenly, to our horror, both the wheels came off and the whole machine collapsed. Papa said we must have done something wrong, but as for Mamma and me, we burst out cry- ing. It was long, long past lunch-time, and oh! we were so hungry, and yet, for anything we could see to the contrary, we might have to stay on that inhospitable moor till we slowly starved to death. We were just contemplating this awful fate when, to our unspeakable delight, a gentleman rode up. If ever there was an angel———_ Tall, dark, faultlessly dressed, with the sweetest curly moustache—I could have kissed him then and | there! He dismounted, and with a charming bow, asked if he could assist us. In less than no time the machine was put to- gether and the puncture mended; then we set out under his guidance and arrived here. After all his kindness we could not do less than beg him to dine with us. He is a Mr. Herrinc—one of the Yarmouth Henrrines, a very old family, Mamma assures me. He seems to know quite a lot of our friends in Kensington. I wonder we never met him anywhere. He evidently mixes with the best people. There’s Lady Penniwise, for instance, whom we were just getting to know: he says he calls on her two or three times a week, and whe sulted him about the lobster salad. Inversnaid.—We are staying here two or three days, and so is Mr. H. We can’t quite make out what he is, but he is de- lightful. Yesterday he took us out fishing, and in a very few n she gave her great ball last season, she con- | him on the beautiful way he played it. “Evidently it’s not the first time you ’ve handled a fish,” he said; and Mr. H. blushed modestly, and admitted that it wasn’t. Mamma and I think he is an independent gentleman ot means and leisure. The Trossachs.—Mr. H. must be very rich. He has not taken a shooting this season, but last year he had two thousand brace of grouse to dispose of, and Papa says only a very big shooting would yield such a bag. He is a charming acquisition. =~ up delightful picnics, and money seems to be no object. Papa thinks now that he must have something to do with the Stock Exchange, for the other day, the conversation happened to turn on some Refrigerator Company in which Papa is interested. Mr. H. seemed to know all about it, “for,” he explained, “I have dabbled in ice a little.” This place is too beautiful. I should like to live here forever! Last night Mr. H. rowed me up Loch Katrine to Ellen’s Isle, and we read The Lady of the Lake together. Callander.—Alas! our holiday is over, and we start for town to-morrow. I have said “Good-bye” to Caart—I mean, Mr. H. Oh, sweet “Good-bye!” This evening, in the verandah—but it is too precious even for you, my Diary! Still, there is consolation. He lives near us in London ; nay, he drives in his trap down our road nearly every morning. e must be rich: he keeps six horses, and I do love a carriage! Well, well, we have parted, but we may meet again. Kensington.—How can I tell what has happened? How de- scribe the wrath, shame, fury, humiliation that torment me ? Mamma had long been dissatisfied with her fishmonger, and yesterday, when we were calling on dear Lady Penniwisz, she advised us to try the Yarmouth and North Sea Fish Supply Association. It is a shop in the Harrow Road, one side full of fried fish, ticketed “Snacks, one penny per portion,” the other a common fishmonger-and-poulterer’s. We entered. A man in his shirt-sleeves was standing with his back to us, busy at 4 sink. It was dark; I could hardly see him, but a sudden terror seized me. I clutched Mamma’s arm. The man turned round—— Oh! Horrible! Horrible! It was he, Mr. Hernine, our hero of the Trossachs, skinning eels in Harrow Road! As he caught sight of us he smiled, bowed, and advanced towards us, but with minutes landed a twenty-pound salmon. Papa congratulated a shriek, Mamma and I had fled

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ooo" @-. Preaek 6S | Deoeuper 3, 1898.) PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. AN AUSTINIAD. (By Mr. Punch’s Vagrant Contributor.) So you’re at it again, my ALrrep! How stupendously crushing it must be for the other unfortunate nations, To say nothing of Great Britain and Ireland, when you break out in the usual place with one of your (don’t take offence at my language : I don’t mean any harm) with one of your versified lucubrations. I can fancy how France must be crouching, and how President Favre grows purple in a perfectly impotent fashion When he reads in the Times of Wednesday, November 23rd, your outburst, which, by the way, burst on us from the Villa di Bellosguardo, of patriotism and lyrical passion. The Czar, I am ‘oll whine he read your ode, gave way to a terrible fit of Imperial Russian hysteria, And raved about knouts and the secret police, and (though I’m not quite certain about this, not having been there at the time, but still I’ve no doubt it’s reasonably accurate, and in any case it’s likely enough) dropped some highly uncomfort- able hints about penal mines and Siberia. , And as for Witty, the tourist, that stout and moustachioed spouter, I shouldn’t wonder if fury were to prevent him just for once from yielding to his all but irresistible inclination to drink champagne and figure as a shouter : He’s bound to cower and shrink (which ought to do him good for he’s certainly on the fat side) and his nerves will be all in a panic, a Condition they ’re not much used to, when he first sets eyes on your ode entitled “ Pax Britannica.” By the way, dear ALF, when next you sit down (or walk about) with your forehead corrugated in consequence of prolonged thinking, With your well-fingered lyre lying close to your side prepared to be struck like winking, While your waistcoat-buttons keep popping off with a noise that, if we heard it, would most profoundly affect us, Owing to the fearful amount of poetic afflatus which happens to be stirring about in your pectus, When next in fact you start writing an ode at the Villa di some- thing or other, And you’re tired of the usual metres and feel that, even if you should die for it (but of course I sincerely hope you won’t), you must really try another, Why shouldn’t you try this metre of mine; it’s simple and, ex- cept to those who have to publish it at so much a line, it’s thoroughly inexpensive, The chief point in its favour being that if you want to say a great many things you can just go and say them, since, as of course you have observed, the metre is extraordinarily extensive. Well, Atrrep, I read your ode, I did, as I am a living sinner ; Read it at breakfast first and then again at lunch, and, having found it a moderately good digestive, read it a third time at dinner. | Of course it’s a thoroughly sound and patriotic and recklessly dare-devil effusion, Filled up to the brim with disdain and sarcasm and every sort of high-toned allusion, But—it ’s my fault, I know; I acknowledge it with deep regret ; still, there it is, you must take a man as you find him and _ make the best of it, Not that I think for a single moment that anything I have to say will have an effect on your wonderful ode, or be in the least degree a test of it— But the fact is, your ode has mixed me up, brewed me, in short, and I’m not accustomed to brewing, And in this peculiar condition I can’t make out for the life of me, in spite of ever so many honest attempts, what the lady you write about is doing. For at first she’s lying behind her ramparts which (but isn’t this rather a new trick for ramparts? Of course, you know best, I merely mention it incidentally) are rolling, And she’s weaving some long-drawn hours, an occupation which, under the circumstances, she must find wonderfully consoling. In the next verse the seasons are mentioned, that is to say, .. Spring, Summer and Autumn (N.B. to the printer : Give them all a capital letter), but in this connection I feel called upon to remark that it was manifestly unjust and lainly the result of partisan feeling to omit all mention of inter. I should like to know how you justify this exclusion and what in _ the wide world can have been your reason, For it’s obvious that Winter, if he had had a chance, could have Ay \ Ww WY TRUE HUMILITY. Parishioner. “‘Yes, Mum, I po apMIRE THE ViCAR’s SERMONS— THat I po!” Vicar’s Wife. *‘I1’m s0 GLAD! THEM?” Parishioner. ‘‘Mz, Mum? On, no! UNDERSTAND THEM!” AND YOU REALLY UNDERSTAND 1 WOULDN'T PRESUME TO done things every bit as humorous and absurd as any other season. Well, to proceed, this lady of yours who when you first introduced her was lying without any motion, When we next come across her she’s haughtily heedless and she’s still, though you hadn’t mentioned it before, ploughing her peaceful way in strong disdain across ocean. Now this is an operation during which most ordinary voyagers are pretty severely billowed But the lady you write of behaved in quite a different way, for, if we may trust the rest of the spectators, who were jealous nations and naturally wanted to slake their envy, she tra- velled with a Past on which she was pillowed. But at last she evidently got back from her ploughing and stirred like a lion—a lioness would have been apter And shook out her strength and flashed and asked where her foes were, which seems a more or less silly question, but I admit lions often do ask silly questions, and then in her armour she wrapped her. And after that—but I can’t go on for the whole business gets tied up in an almighty tangle of curses, And fields and forges and lyres and fires and anvils and embattled and vows that were futile—such a chaos as I never met with in any one else’s verses. So, ALFRED, when next there’s a crisis on, and you’re tempted to play the bard, oh, Refrain, if you love us, from writing verse at the Villa di Bellosguardo. From tae Uprer Hovsr, orn Hovse or “ Peans.”—Our atten- tion has been called to Pears’ Christmas Annual, which should come in with Christmas cakes—of soap. It is a story entitled, “Who fears to speak of 98?” If this is a conundrum, it is satisfactorily answered by the author, R. E. Francition, with Ulustrations by that genial artist who delights in the paternal, Christmassy name of “Dapp.” Dear old Dad' But this is Frank Dapp, bedad! an’ more power to his elbow!

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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARL. |DecemBer 3, 1898. nc Mistress engaging Cook). TERTAIN POLICEMEN IN THE KiTCHEN.” Cook. *“*You MAY BE QUITE snore I SoOsHERLIsT ! “THERE'S ONE THING I’M VERY PARTICULAR ABOUT. WOULDN'T po sic A Tuinc, Mum. Il CANNOT ON I cAN’T A-BEAR P’LEECMEN, ANY ACCOUNT ALLOW YOU To EN- Mum. FArHEk WAs A A VELDT WANT. Being Hymn No, 1 i BOOK OF the Appendix lo OOM. “ The Transvaal, finding itself on the bunkruptey, and having failed to raise a loan ir Europe, has now laid a tax of five per cent. on the revenues of the Rand mines.’’"—Dasly Paper. Lo! as is laid the fowler’s gin For conies and for hares, So do the pleasant paths of sin Abound in deadly snares. Of such as oft offend his foot Who wanders from the fold, Of these the tap-, or primal, root Is giddy lust of gold. In pastures green the righteous graze Like unto fatted kine, Nor with the wicked choose the ways Of darkness down a mine. With godly rage and grief renewed, Their fervid breast 1s smit To mark the naughty multitude Descend into the Pit. And, as of wine th’ enticing red They shun within the cup, So at the ore they shake their head When it is scoopéd up. verge ol Yea, for the foolish heathen’s sake They labour long and sore The pleasant paths of sin to make Less pleasant than before. And whoso will not turn away Nor, timely wise, repent, Upon his lifted oof they lay A tax of five per cent. So from the sinful vellow crop, As with a whetted scythe, The faithful ones delight to lop Their wage of half a tithe. Though pious men of single eye Not paid can be with pelf, Who helpeth Heaven may thereby Be found to help himself. Thus for an holy end they take The spoil of them that spin, And from their filthy lucre rake The goodly shekels in. Thus reap they virtue’s guileless gains And may with him compare Who in his borders entertains An angel unaware. No fear of dearth or grievous debt Their hearts shall e’er appal Who, like the hungry ravens, get By faith their wherewithal. Look not to princes! These at need Betray the trusting tout ; The ways of Kaisers are indeed Past hope of finding out! Blind in their ignorance or youth By crooked paths they go, Nor yet have learned the blessed truth Which runneth as below : Who lend the righteous of their store May build this hope upon, To reap an hundredfold, or more, Not now, but later on! Marcus Warp’s CaLenpars.—* What do you read, my Lord?” asks old Polonius ot Prince Hamlet, who straightway answers, “Wards! Wards! Wards!” And if the Prince of Denmark had explained that he had substituted “a” for “o” in order to refer to Marcus Warp’s Calendars for ’99, he would not have been understood by his Elizabethan audience, and Hamlet might never have come down to us in its present form. The calendars are varied and numerous: the cards are varied and humorous. Plenty of quotations very useful for diners-out wishing to achieve a reputation for being well-read persons with good memories.

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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI—Dsceuszn 3, 1898, SS SSE France. ‘‘WELL!—BETWEEN FRIENDS—I CAN ONLY SAY, THE WAY TIAT RUSSIA HAS TREATED ME——!!” oe / j, 4) y) ASA we) Nyt RRR ‘ ni NY Ra) | iN NUNN SEE I} Y } 24 ‘‘MEN WERE DECEIVERS EVER!” Iraty. ‘AH! AND IF I COULD TELL YOU WHAT I’VE GONE THROUGH WITH THAT AUSTRIA AND GERMANY——!!!”

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Decemper 3, 1898.) PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. O TEMPORA! O MORES! (A protest against the London County Vouneil’s action with regard to the Queen's Hall Sunday concerts. ) Aun! County C., why stop our glee? For bigotry is dead ; The broader mind can nowhere find Remotest cause to dread An instant fall of scruples all If Sunday’s gloom should flee ; We’re all agreed in word and deed, Except the County C. Each one of us would hail a ’bus Exalting strains to hear, The Queen her hall would loudly call (The price was never dear), And music’s star, with beat and bar, Would shine and urge the plea Of influence good, if we but could Escape the County C. CONFIDENCES. (Extracted from Mr. Punch’s Post-bag.) II. Dear Mr. Pouncn,— The troub'e from which I am suffering is so personal and private that I must reveal it to my friend need I say, to you, Sir? Let me state my case briefly. I am deeply, passionately in love with CiceLy Dickinson, who is the most—but I spare you the epithets. Cicety, I am afraid, does not at present love me, though she ought to do so, since she loves my dog. But the trouble is that the dog isn’t oak my dog at all, but somebody else’s. This explanation is not particularly lucid, but I will endeavour w make it clear. I only say this because I am perfectly confused. It is my theory that there is nothing like reducing things to paper. So I reduce this to paper in the hope that the process may do me good. I live in chambers, and the man in the rooms above mine, with whom I have no personal acquaintance, owns a fox-terrier of migratory habits. The beast has a way of wandering into my room, where it esta- blishes itself on the hearth-rug until I happen to notice it. Then I throw a volume of the Law Reports at it, and it bolts. One day it happened to be in the room when CiceLy and her aunt had come to tea with me; of course, I should have kicked it out had I seen it. Cicety, how- ever, perceived it first, and went into rap- tures over it. “Oh, what a perfect beauty!” she cried. “T never knew you were fond of dogs, Mr. TinKuEr,” and she looked at me with a new friendliness in her eyes that made my heart leap. “ What is his name?” “ Sambo,” I replied, promptly—not be- cause I knew, but it seemed a fairly pro- bable sort of name. Luckily, the animal wore nocollar. Of course, I ought to have explained that the dog wasn’t mine, but you will understand why I didn’t. “Dear Sambo,” said Cicety, “come here, Sambo,” and she proceeded to feed him with my bread-and-butter and cake. Then I had to answer a great many ques- tions about his age and habits, which was rather difficult, as no one can know less about dogs than myself. However. I man- aged to satisfy her somehow, and I was conscious that Cicety regarded me with much more respect than before—simply on account of that wretched animal. But I did not mind, especially as she stayed much longer than usual. Presently I heard the sound of feet over- ae ot Ny i iy Cae ‘ A HEAVY FALL IN ROOTS. Farmer (to Sportsman, who has just landed on a Pyramid of turnips). “‘ DAXG IT ALL, MEASTER, THEE BE A-BRUISIN’ 'EM CRUEL.” head; the man upstairs was going out. Then there came a succession 0 impatient whistles, and a voice shouting, “ Snap! Snap!” Instantly the supposed Sambo rushed to the door, and placed his fore-paws against it, whining eagerly. I thought it better to let him out, because his owner would have been sure to hear him as he came downstairs. “A—a friend cf mine,” I explained. “He—he takes Sambo out for a walk for me sometimes.” Cicety looked rather surprised. “ But why did he call him ‘ Snap’? ” she inquired. “Tt ’s—it’s a nickname he has for him,” I said, and managed to change the sub- ject. made me promise to bring Sambo with me when next I came to call. When the time came, and I appeared without him, my explanation that he was confined to the house by a cold in his head was rather | badly received. But when Cicery departed, she | |taken Sambo—I mean Snap—with him. So the next time I bought another dog, and took him instead. is move, too, was a fai CrceLy ex- pressed her surprise that the owner of Sambo should have purchased such an uninteresting cur. So I wrote to the man upstairs, offering to buy Snap, alias Sambo, at his own price. This proposal was de- clined with such unnecessary warmth that I do not dare to est as an alternative that I should hire the beast for a couple of months. In the meantime, I never meet Ciceiy without her inquring after Sambo. She and her aunt are coming here again next week on purpose to see him. have to put them off somehow, because the man upstairs has gone into the country, and To confess all would be ruin ;Cicety would never speak to me again. What am I to do? Yours distractedly, Tuomas TINKLER.

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262 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [Decemper 3, 1898. ““RICHARD THE THIRD” ADAPTED. ** METHINKS THERE ARE , , . London Smoke tyrant and murderer rhe Frecp!” [A Mr. Ricumonp writes to the 7imes in support of the Anti-Smoke campaign of Sir Wriu1am B. and more power to their Ricumonp, K.C.B., R.A. Mr. Punch says, heartily, ‘‘ Let 'em avi come !”’ elbows !] rwo RicuMonps IN | LINES TO A LADY. She complaining that Gentlemen of Quality have ceased to be witty. Dear lady, since you do complain That gentlemen lack wit, Now I, your servant, here would fain Set forth the cause of it. I am prepared to throw, in short, A ray of light—a glint— From study of the tennis-court, And of the steel and flint. One fact at tennis I’ve discerned (From truth I seldom swerve)— A ball can scarcely be returned Without some one to serve. And one thing more, I pray, remark (I think there ’s something in ’t)— A steel will not produce a spark Unless it meets a flint. Now Heaven forbid I should suggest (I have not so much nerve) That you, whose servant I’m confessed, Should condescend to “serve”’! And, if the man of wit ’s a steel, Dear lady, let me hint Your heart is far too kind, I feel, For you to be—a flint ! PACE “PAX BRITANNICA.” Sir,—What if an accidental misprint had occurred to the Laureate’s poem in last Wednesday’s T'imes? Suppose a “t” had been substituted for an “f”! as thus— Slowly as stirs a lion from his bed, Lengthens his limbs, and crisps his mane, She rose, (“ She,” by the way, is England.) Then shook out all her strength, and, flashing said, “ Where are my toes ?”’ I am not a poet, but just ask, for in- formation, is “ said” a permissible rhyme to “bed”? I know ’ArRyY pronounces “said” as “sed,” e.g., “he sez, sezee, to me, an’ I’ll jest tell yer wot he sed.” But of course ’Arry isn’t ALFRED, and ALFRED isn’t ’Arry. I cannot write further on these lines, as the Laureate, with his “rolling ramparts” and “white winged keels” (I know a hawk from a hand-saw, but what sort of a bird is a “keel” ?), which “flew fluttering,” inspire me with the idea of at once leaving foggy London for somewhere or other on the coast where the South “ West wind blows.” Also, how about “foes” and “rose”? Of course, had it been “ roes,” that would clearly have rhymed. Well, if ALrrep be pleased, it’s all cne a hundred years hence to the Port Taster. A CROSS EXAMINATION ACROSS THE WATER. Judge. I am obliged to question you, General. And now you swear that he is guilty ? General. On my honour as a soldier! Judge. That is not enough. General. Then I swear it on my sword, on my pedigree, on the flag of France ! Judge. Still Iam not satisfied. General. Then I swear it on the graves of my ancestors! hear, on the graves of my ancestors! Judge. lam sorry to have to say it, but still insufficient. General. Then I take the most solemn vow of all—I swear it by my mother! You hear, Monsieur, by my mother! I repeat, with tears, by my mother! By my mother! | Judge. After that solemn declaration I must adopt the Eng- | lish plan—not unknown at Eton. Will you back up your oath| by betting sixpence ? General. No, a thousand times no! Judge. And why not ? General. Because I might lose my money! It is my duty. You | [Curtain. DOUBTFUL BLESSINGS. {*It appears from scientific researches that London fogs are blessings in disguise, for they contain a number of carbonaceous and eulphurous particles | which act as most valuable disinfectants and deodorisers.”— The Globe. WELL, who would have thought it? This thick, yellow choker, This worse than a Third Metropolitan Smoker, This Chaos incarnate, this Visible Void, This taste of Avernus, unblent, unalloyed, This stifling concoction—one can’t call it air This pall dt decnten, this sea of despair That pours down our lungs and our throats and our eyes, Who, who would have thought it a boon in disguise ? A boon in disguise, is it? Credat Judaus! We are not quite so green as some scientists see us, And if they are vexed that we doubt when they tackle us, At least they must own the disguise is miraculous. Deodorise, does it? Why, yes, I admit A drain is as ottar of rose after it, And it may be a good disinfectant, but then, If it kills the bacilli, it murders the men.

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Decempzr 3 1898 } PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. ota ty, Ys TRUE PHI Ploughman. ‘AW, THINGS BE DIFFERENT LIKE WI’ wi’ NO THEM AN’ Us. Trap.” LOSOPHY. Tuey ‘ve Gor A Trar wi’ No 'Osses, AN’ WE 'M GOT 'Ossks No, no! As we cough, whiffle, sneeze, weep and sputter, Collide with a lamp-post or trip in the gutter, Or suddenly get in a motor-car’s way, There are some of us ready to risk a fine day. If microbes mean sunshine, and germs a blue sky, Why, welcome, ye germs and ye microbes, say I! All hail, ye bacilli! Of this I am sure, We greatly prefer the disease to the cure. OUR BOOKING-OF FICE, One of the Baron’s assistants has been reading The Others—By One of Them, by R. Neisn (J. W. Arrowsmitn, Bristol), and reports it to be a charmingly sprightly and humorous piece of work. Mrs. (or Miss?) Neisn discourses with a demure and artfully artless simplicity of the foibles of The Others, her rela- tions for the most part. All her characters stand out distinctly, ind altogether the book makes most pleasant reading. Most of | the stories have appeared before, but it was well worth while to republish them. Tails with a Twist (Epwarp ArNoLp) is one of that series of eccentric Animal - Land - kind - of - prehistoric - illustrated books started originally by Mr. Punch’s own Prehistoric Artist, and, therefore, what better recommendation can there be of any such book than to name the artist? His “ Leopard,” who “ waits for | hours in the hall,” is the gem of this eccentric collection, specially recommended for Christmas time. My Baronitess writes, concerning some Christmas Books, that The Boys of Fairmead (F. Warne & Co.), by M. C. Rowse, though by no means an original plot, is a well-told story, with many touches of pathos. The characters of the two boys are well defined. Illustrations by Carts Hammond. The Owl King, and Other Tales (F. Warne & Co.), by Rev. H. C. Inman, forms quite a new set of short fairy stories, brightly told, with illus- trations by E. A. Mason. Fancy! New Fairies! The “Old Fairies” were always wicked cnes. Imagine how good then these brand new ones must be ! Roundabout Rhymes (Biackte and Son), written and pictured | by Mrs. Percy Dearmer, will give many happy half-hours to little ones. The amusing verses are accompanied by bright and original illustrations which add to their charm. Dash and Daring (W. ann R. Cuampers, Limited, Edinburgh), being stories told by G. A. Henry, G. Manvitie Fenn, Davin Ker, W. H. G. Kixosron, Reetnacp Horsiey, and many others. A set of short, stirring adventures in India, Africa, Spain, and other countries. To readers who like to “wander in their minds” through the four quarters of the great globe, this book will be of the greatest interest. It contains eight stirring illus- trations by W. H. C. Groomer, a name suggestive of an artist who should have illustrated the work of Dr. Gorpon Srapves, the author of Courage, True Hearts (Buackig anpd Son), which is all about a restless youth discovering a veritable Tom Tiddler’s ground, and picking up no end of shekels. The same firm publish the works of the ever-busy G. A. Henry, who skips with his boy readers over Both Sides the Border during the fifteenth century, when the Welsh and Scotch were getting themselves exceedingly disliked by trying to unseat one of our own particular Henrys. The youthful hero is quite at his very best in such cheerfully disquieting times, and, as is only natural, he comes scatheless through, to the joy of his family. But in Aboukir and Acre, Henry makes history prac- tically repeat itself by re-telling the invasion of Egypt by Napo- LEON, when Le petit Caporal found out that there is no royal road to the Nile. In Under Wellington's Command, the same author attempts an imitation of CuarLes Lever. Evidently the Penin- sular War gave the young Irish officers some opportunities for displaying the typical humours of the Green Isle. Harmless, and without profanity, is the nursery edition of 7'he New Noah's Ark, by J.J. Beew. In fact the pictures are stiffly and correctly conventional, quite on the lines of the perfect propriety models that were the fascination of the ancient Lowther Arcade School. The Sporting Adventures of Mr. Popple, chron- icled and illustrated by G. H. JALLAND, are of an old-fashioned sporting period, the time of ‘‘Jorrocks.” Popple has his amusing moments brightly depicted by the svort've artist. Both these books come from the stores kept at the Bodley Head. by Joun LANE. Tue Baron ve B.-W.

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264 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARL. [Decemper 3, 1898. Mr. Bill Stiggins (Cab-runner by profession, who has been asked to assist in carrying home the Washing). *‘WHo ane YER GETTING AT! CAN'T YER SEE I'M MOST PARTIC'LER BUSY?” WHEN THE POLICE GET THE TELEPHONE. (A purely Imaginary Conversation Scotland Yard end. Constable. Are youthere? (Pause.) Voice No. 1. What do you want ? Constable. To be put on 304, Araminta Villas, East. Voice No.1. Where is it? Do you know the number ? Constable. Yes, 304. Mind, Araminta Villas, East. Voice No. 1. Araminta Villas What ? Constable. No, not “ What,” but East. 304, Araminta Villas, East. (Pause.) Are you there ? Voice No. 2. Yes. Who are you? Constable. Scotland Yard. Criminal ment. Voice No. 2. I see. What can I do for you ? Voice No. 1. Have you done? Shall I switch you off ? Constable (earnestly). No, don’t do that. I am talking to a gentleman at 304, Araminta Villas, East. Voice No. 2. Well, what can I do for you ? all day. Constable. burglary ? Constable at the receiver Are you there ? Investigation Depart- I can’t wait here Sha’n’t detain you a moment. Hasn’t there been a Voice No. 2. What, here? Why, certainly. Constable. How long have you been there ? Voice No. 2. About two hours and a half. Constable. Much stolen ? Voice No. 2. Fairish lot. About £200 of plate and jewellery. Constable. Have you got hold of it ? Voice No. 2. Yes, it’s in my possession. Constable. Well, that’s all right! Have you been long on the spot? Couldn’t make out what you said just now. Voice No. 2. About a couple of hours. Constable. Capital! Have you captured the thief ? Voice No. 2. No, he’s still at large. Dear me! How’s that? Constable. Aren’t you one of the No. I’m the burglar! Force ? Voice Ne. 2. Ta, ta. See you later. [Rings off. Curtain. AUGUSTE AND LUDWIG. A Littte Trip. Robinson. This is Brighton station. to the sea in a cab. Ludwig. Yes, well. I go not very willing to foot. Auguste. In carriage? Certainly. Ah, how he make beauti- A magnificent time! Not of fog, not of mud. Are they detestable the fog and the mud of London! Rob. It certainly is a jolly day down here. Aug. Tiens! I astonish myself that one is permitted in Eng- land to walk himself at the sun or to regard the blue heaven the Sunday, seen that it is a crime of to hear some music that da there. Is it that this society—how call she herself ?—this domi- nical society, essay not of to prevent the sun of to shine? Ah, I recall me the name so long. It is the Society of the Workers and of the Lords for the Repose of the Day. It is that at little Let’s go straight down ar. Lud. Ach so! That is not quite righty. So much I remember myself is it something as Arbeitsameundadelherrschaf tlichetagliche- ruhegesellschaft. Aug. Sapristi, quel nom! Lud. Bitte? Aug. How? That is also a German beer? If you have of them, of beers, at you! And you command a glass of—of all that? We other French we say al! simply “ Un bock.” Rob. No, no! That’s only his German attempt at the name of the Working Men’s Lord’s Day Rest Association. Aug. C'est ¢a. Lud. Yes, yes, yes! That have I sayed. Aug. Eh well, this Association desire the dominical repose. Is it that the members demand an absolute repose? Then without doubt they eat a simple little dinner of cold meat the Sunday for not to make to work their cooks. Rob. Not they! I’ll be bound they have a tremendous feed, what people of their sort call a “Sunday dinner.” Aug. Vraiment? But for sure they clean their boots and they make their beds in order that their domestics repose themselves ? Rob. Don’t ask me! Hanged if I know! They ’re a lot of inconsistent, narrow-minded bigots. Aug. Tiens, ce cher ROBINSON se fadche, angers himself ! Lud. Wunderbar! The Englanders are ever kaltbliitig. Rob. Well, both of you would be angry if everything in your countries was done to please a lot of faddists—teetotalers, anti- vaccinationists, Sabbatarians, and so on—the people who make all you foreigners laugh at us. And well you may! Aug. And however in the other Protestant countries one amuses himself the Sunday. In Germany, by example, one can to go to the theatre, is it not, dear Mister? Lud. Natiirlich. Rob. The best thing you can do on Sunday in London is to get out of it. Here we are at Hove. Let’s take a walk by the sea. Aug. What beautiful time! It is not precisely the heaven of Nice, but as English heaven at the month of November it is truly remarkable. Lud. Wunderschin! Aug. But what of world there down at the border of the sea! Why that? Rob. Oh, they come fifty miles down here to breathe the pure air, and then they walk in a dense mass all in one little space where they must breathe the same air over and over again. We'll keep out of that crowd. Aug. I believe him well. But say you, my dear, the hour of the déjeuner is passed, is it not? I commence to have hunger. Lud. Hungry? Ah so, that am I ever, and thirsty, very thirsty. In England can man one glass beer on the Sunday drink ? Aug. There is not of café, and the taverns are shutted. Rob. On the contrary. You can always drink somewhere. That used to be the only amusement on Sunday, and if they stop all the music, it will be again. Let’s go to an hotel and have something to eat, which will be déjeuner Aug. A la bonne heure! Rob. Mittagessen Lud. Gliicklicherweise ! Rob. And lunch for the three of us. We shall get back to town soon after six. As for you two in the evening, the County Council will take care that you amuse yourselves in a seemly manner. They are the guardians of London morals. Aug. Ah ca! If we goed to make a little promenade all the long of the Piccadilly—if he fall not some rain, well heard—for to admire the tranquillity all to fact as he must of the principal street of the beautiful quarter of London ? Lud. Ah no, thank very! Rob. By Jove, no!

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Page 16

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