



Produced by Malcolm Farmer, Lesley Halamek and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net






       *       *       *       *       *

Punch, or the London Charivari

Volume 105, September 23rd 1893

_edited by Sir Francis Burnand_

       *       *       *       *       *




"PAINLESS DENTISTRY."

(_A Story for the Long Vacation._)

[Illustration]

Although professional engagements (not wholly unconnected with
the holding of high judicial office in the Tropics) have recently
prevented me from contributing to the paper which specially represents
Bench and Bar, I have never lost sight of the fact that when I have
a duty to perform, the pages of _Punch_ are open to me. Under these
circumstances I find myself once again writing to the familiar
address, and signing myself, as of yore, with the old name, and
the ancient head-quarters. I must confess that although I date this
communication from Pump-Handle Court, I am, as a matter of fact,
staying at Callerherring, a health resort greatly patronised by all
patients of that eminent doctor Sir PETER TWITWILLOW.

It is unnecessary to describe a place so well known to all lovers of
the picturesque. I may hint that the far-famed view of twelve Scotch,
Irish, and Welsh counties, and the Channel and the Atlantic Ocean,
can still be enjoyed by those who ascend Mount MacHaggis, and that the
_table-d'hote_ at the Royal Hibernian Hotel yet costs, with its seven
courses, five-and-sixpence. And now to perform my duty.

My son, GEORGE LEWIS BOLTON ROLLIT (he is christened after some
professional friends of mine, in the hope that at some distant date he
may be assisted by them in the characters of good fairy godfathers in
the profession to which it is hoped he may ornamentally belong), is
extremely partial to sweetstuff. He is a habitual glutton of a sticky
comestible known, I believe, in the confectionery trade as "Chicago
Honey Shells." This toothsome (I have his word for the appropriateness
of the epithet) edible he devours in large quantities, spending at
times as much as five shillings to secure an ample store of an article
of commerce generally bought in quantities estimated at the usually
convenient rate of "two ounces for three halfpence."

It was after a long gastronomic debauch connected with Chicago Honey
Shells that I noticed that GEORGE LEWIS BOLTON ROLLIT was suffering
from a swollen face. My son, although evidently in great pain,
declared that there was nothing the matter with him. However, as for
three successive days he took only two helpings of meat and refused
his pudding, I, in consultation with his mother, came to the
conclusion that it was necessary to seek the advice of a local medical
man. GEORGE LEWIS BOLTON ROLLIT raised objections to this course, but
they were overruled.

"No, Sir, the doctor is not in. He's out for the day."

Such was the answer to my question put twice at the doors of two
medical-looking houses with brass plates to match. On the second
occasion I expressed so much annoyance that the servant quite
sympathised with me.

"Perhaps Master SAMMY might do, Sir?" suggested the kind-hearted
janitor.

On finding that "Master SAMMY" was a nephew of the owner of the house
and a qualified medical man, I consented, and "Master SAMMY" was sent
for. There was some little delay in his appearance, as, although the
morning was fairly well advanced, he was not up. However, after making
a possibly hasty toilette, he soon appeared. No doubt he was much
older, but he looked about eighteen. He was very pleasant, and
listened to my history of the case. He seemed, so it appeared to me,
to recognise the Chicago Honey Shells as old acquaintances. It may
have been my fancy, but I think he smacked his lips when I suggested
that GEORGE LEWIS BOLTON ROLLIT had probably eaten five shillings'
worth at a sitting.

"You see," I said, "he has had a bad face ever since; and as our
dentist in town told us about a fortnight ago that sooner or later
he must have a tooth out, I think this must be the one to which he
referred. Won't you see?"

When, after some persuasion, GEORGE LEWIS BOLTON ROLLIT had been
induced to open his mouth, "Master SAMMY" did see.

"Yes," observed the budding doctor, after he had looked into my
lad's mouth as if it were a sort of curiosity from India that he was
regarding for the first time, "yes, I think it ought to come out."

And armed with this opinion I asked my medical friend if he knew any
one in Callerherring capable of performing the operation.

"Well, yes," he replied, after some consideration; "there's a nice
little dentist round the corner. He's called Mr. LEO ARMSTRONG."

Then "Master SAMMY" smiled, and I felt sure that he and "the nice
little dentist" must have quite recently been playing marbles
together. Next came the question of the fee. "Master SAMMY" was
disinclined to accept anything, evidently taking a low estimate of
the value of his professional services. However, he ultimately said
"Three-and-sixpence," and got the money. I would willingly have
increased it to a crown had I not feared that the moment my back was
turned "Master SAMMY" would have followed the example of GEORGE
LEWIS BOLTON ROLLIT, and himself indulged in five shillings' worth of
Chicago Honey Shells.

Mr. LEO ARMSTRONG lived in a rather fine-looking house, ornamented
with an aged brass plate, suggesting that he had been established for
very many years. A buttons opened the door, and, on my inquiring as to
whether Mr. LEO ARMSTRONG was at home, promptly answered "Yes."

From the venerable appearance of the brass plate I had expected to
see a rather elderly dentist, with possibly white hair and certainly
spectacles; so I was rather taken aback when a dapper young fellow,
who seemed about the age of "Master SAMMY," entered the waiting-room.
The juvenile new-comer made himself master of the situation. He
seized upon the jaw of poor trembling GEORGE LEWIS BOLTON ROLLIT, and
declared that "it must come out."

"He'd better have gas," he observed. "But as I am full of engagements
this morning, you really must let me fix a time."

Then he took out a pocket-book which I could not help noticing
contained such items as "Soda-water--3_s._," "Washing--5_s._," and
"Church collection--6_d._," and placed our name and time amidst the
other entries.

We kept our appointment. The buttons was in a state of excitement. Mr.
LEO ARMSTRONG received us, and pointed to the gas apparatus with
an air of triumph, as if he had had some difficulty in getting it
entrusted to him in consequence of his youth. Then "Master SAMMY" made
his appearance. He was going to administer the gas. It was a pleasant
family party, and I felt quite parental. Had it not been for poor
GEORGE LEWIS BOLTON ROLLIT'S swollen face, I should have said to Mr.
LEO ARMSTRONG, "Master SAMMY," my boy, and the buttons, "Here, lads,
let us make a day of it. I will take you all to Madame TUSSAUD'S and
the Zoological Gardens."

"You have had the gas, haven't you?" said "Master SAMMY," who had been
fumbling with the apparatus. "How do you put it on?"

Poor GEORGE LEWIS BOLTON ROLLIT, under protest, described the _modus
operandi_. Then the mouth was opened, and "Master SAMMY" applied the
gas. I am sorry to say he performed the operation rather clumsily, and
my poor lad never "went off." GEORGE LEWIS BOLTON ROLLIT subsequently
described every detail of the performance, and said that he had
suffered excruciating pain. Then Mr. LEO ARMSTRONG went to work, and,
after several struggles, got out a bit of tooth, and then another.
Then GEORGE LEWIS BOLTON ROLLIT came to himself, and the usual
comforts were supplied to him.

"I think there's a bit of the tooth still in the gum," said Mr.
LEO ARMSTRONG; and then, after a pause, with the air of Jack Horner
pulling out a plum, he produced an immense pair of forceps from the
instrument drawer. "There." he added, triumphantly, as he exhibited
another piece of ivory, "I told you so!"

GEORGE LEWIS BOLTON ROLLIT had now sufficiently recovered to complain
bitterly of the pain he had suffered.

"Impossible," I observed; "remember this is _painless_ dentistry."

I had not intended the remark as a witticism, but rather as a solace
to the sufferer. Still, "Master SAMMY" and Mr. LEO ARMSTRONG accepted
it as first-class waggery, and indulged in roars of laughter. Then the
former took his departure. I found that I was indebted to the latter
to the extent of 15_s._ 6_d._ I don't know how my dentist had arrived
at the sum, but he said it with such determination that I could only
offer a sovereign and receive the change.

"I want my tooth," said GEORGE LEWIS BOLTON ROLLIT, who is of an
affectionate nature. "I want to give it to Mother."

Then Mr. LEO ARMSTRONG interposed. He desired to keep the tooth (in
several pieces) himself. I understood him to say that he regarded it
as a memorial of an initial victory--his first extraction.

"Dear me!" I exclaimed. "Why I thought you had been established at
least twenty years, Mr. LEO ARMSTRONG."

"Well, to tell the truth," was the reply, "I am not Mr. LEO ARMSTRONG.
He's away for the day, and I am taking his place!"

Then GEORGE LEWIS BOLTON ROLLIT and I bowed ourselves out. As I left
the premises I fancied I heard the click of marbles. No doubt "Master
SAMMY" and "Mr. LEO ARMSTRONG" had resumed the game our visit had
interrupted. I was relieved to find myself safe from a fall caused
perchance by one of their runaway hoops.

And now to perform my duty. I need scarcely say that it is to add my
recommendation to that of Sir PETER TWITWILLOW anent Callerherring.
You should not fail to visit the place, especially if you have a son
suffering from "a raging tooth," that "must come out."

(_Signed_)

A. BRIEFLESS, JUNIOR.

  _Pump-Handle Court, Temple, September, 1893._

       *       *       *       *       *

THE THREE JOVIAL HUNTSMEN.

(_Latest Parliamentary Version._)

[Illustration]

  It's of three jovial huntsmen, an' a hunting they did go;
  An' they hunted, an' they hollo'd, an' they blew their horns also.
                         Look ye there!
  An' one said, "Mind yo'r 'ayes,' and keep yo'r 'noes' well down th' wind,
  An' then, by scent or seet, we'll leet on summat to our mind."
                         Look ye there!

  They hunted, an' they hollo'd, an' the first thing they did find
  Was a tatter't boggart, in a field, an' that they left behind.
                         Look ye there!
  One said it was a scarecrow, an' another he said "Nay;
  It's just the British Farmer, an' he seems in a bad way."
                         Look ye there!

  They hunted, an' they hollo'd, an' the next thing they did find
  Was a gruntin', grindin' grindlestone, an' that they left behind.
                         Look ye there!
  One said it was a grindlestone, another he said "Nay;
  It's just th' owd Labour Question, which is always in the way."
                         Look ye there!

  They hunted, an' they hollo'd, an' the next thing they did find
  Was a bull-calf in a pinfold, an' that too they left behind.
                         Look ye there!
  One said it was a bull-calf, an' another he said "Nay;
  It is just a Rural Voter who has lately learned to bray."
                         Look ye there!

  They hunted, an' they hollo'd, an' the next thing they did find
  Was a two-three children leaving school, an' these they left behind.
                         Look ye there!
  One said that they were children, but another he said "Nay;
  They're Denominational-divvels, who want freedom _plus_ State-pay."
                         Look ye there!

  They hunted, an' they hollo'd, and the next thing they did find
  Was two street-spouters and a crowd, an' these they left behind.
                         Look ye there!
  One said they were street-spouters, but another he said, "Nay;
  They're just teetotal lunatics who on Veto want their say."
                         Look ye there!

  They hunted an' they hollo'd, an' the next thing they did find
  Was a dead sheep hanging by it's heels, an' that they left behind.
                         Look ye there!
  One said it was Welsh Mutton, but another he said, "Nay;
  It's the ghost of a Suspensory Bill; we'd better get away!"
                         Look ye there!

  They hunted, an' they hollo'd, an' the next thing they did find
  Was a fat pig boltin' thro' a hedge, an' _that_ they left behind.
                         Look ye there!
  One said it was an Irish hog, but another he said "Nay;
  It's our plump, pet Home-Rule porker, which the Lords have
      driven away!"
                         Look ye there!

  So they hunted, an' they hollo'd, till the setting of the sun;
  An' they'd nought to bring away at last, when th' huntin'-day
      was done.
                         Look ye there!
  Then one unto the other said, "This huntin' doesn't pay;
  But we've powler 't up an' down a bit, an' had a rattlin' day."
                         Look ye there!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: BRILLIANT SUGGESTION.

(_Overheard at the Sea-side._)

_She._ "SO MUCH NICER NOW THAT ALL THE VISITORS HAVE GONE. DON'T YOU
THINK SO?"

_He._ "YES, BY JOVE! SO JOLLY NICE AND QUIET! OFTEN WONDER THAT
_EVERYBODY_ DOESN'T COME NOW, WHEN THERE'S NOBODY HERE, DON'T YOU
KNOW!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

QUEER QUERIES.

PARSON AND PREMIER.--I see that a person who is called "the Episcopal
Vicar of Blairgowrie" said that he would decline to shake hands with
the PRIME MINISTER, in the utterly improbable event of the PRIME
MINISTER wishing to shake hands with _him_. May I inquire how there
can be a "Vicar of Blairgowrie" at all? Is not the Established Church
in Scotland the Presbyterian one? I know that they have "Lord Rectors"
up north, and so perhaps there are Rectors as well, but I never heard
of a Lord Vicar. "The Lord Vicar of Blairgowrie" would sound rather
well. But what would his Lord Bishop say? Can any genuine Scotchman
kindly assist me in unravelling this puzzle?--SOUTHRON BODY.

OUR AUXILIARIES.--When are we likely to have a Minister of War who
will do _real justice_ to Officers of the Volunteers? I may say that
I am thinking of becoming an Officer myself, and I fancy that the
following inducements would be likely to bring in a fresh supply of
these deserving men:--(1) Exemption from Taxes. (2) Ditto from Rates,
and Serving on Juries. (3) More gold braid everywhere. (4) A Volunteer
Captain to rank equal to a Lieutenant-General, and a Major of
Volunteers equal to the Commander-in-Chief. (5) Retiring pension, and
not less than six medals or decorations, after half a year's service.
Do you think that there would be much good in my writing to Mr.
CAMPBELL-BANNERMAN and suggesting this?--MODEST MERIT.

       *       *       *       *       *

UNDER THE ROSE.

(_A Story in Scenes._)

SCENE IV.--_An Up-platform at Clapham Junction._ TIME--_Monday
afternoon._

_Curphew_ (_to himself, as he paces up and down with a pre-occupied
air_). I ought to have been up at the Hilarity rehearsing hours ago.
Considering all that depends on that play of mine--but there'll be
time enough to pull _Flattery_ together before Saturday. And this is
the only chance I have of seeing ALTHEA for days. Her mother hinted
last night that she was obliged to let her travel up to Waterloo
alone, and if I _did_ happen to be going up about this time--and
of course I _do_ happen to be. I _must_ tell ALTHEA; I can't go on
playing a part any longer. I felt such a humbug last night over that
confounded Eldorado business. But if I'd revealed myself then as
"Walter Wildfire, Comedian and Vocalist," those puritanical parents of
hers would probably have both had a fit on the floor, and have kicked
me out of the house as soon as they were sufficiently recovered!
That's the worst of becoming intimate with a serious Evangelical
family in the character of a hard-working journalist. I ought to have
undeceived them, I suppose, but it was such a blessing to sink the
shop--and besides, I'd seen ALTHEA. It would have been folly to speak
until--but she must know now, I'll have no more false pretences. After
all, there's no disgrace in being a music-hall singer. I've no reason
to be ashamed of the means by which I've got my reputation. Ah! but
she won't understand that--the name will be enough for her! And I
can't blame her if she fails to see the glory of bringing whisky
and water nightly to the eyes of an enraptured audience by singing
serio-comic sentiment under limelight through clouds of tobacco-smoke.
Heaven knows _I'm_ sick enough of it, and if _Flattery_ only makes
a hit, I'd cut the profession at once. If I could only hear her say
she--there she is--at last--and alone, thank goodness! I wish I didn't
feel so nervous--I'm not likely to get a better opportunity. (_Aloud,
as he meets_ ALTHEA.) Mrs. TOOVEY said I might--can I get your ticket,
or see after your luggage, or anything?

_Althea._ Oh, thank you, Mr. CURPHEW, but PH[OE]BE is doing all that.

_Curph._ (_to himself, his face falling_). That's the maid; then she's
_not_ alone! I must get this over now, or not at all. (_Aloud._) Miss
TOOVEY, I--I've something I particularly want to say to you; shall we
walk up to the other end of the platform?

_Alth._ (_to herself_). It looks more serious than ever! Is he
going to give me good advice? It's kind of him to care, but
still----(_Aloud._) Oh, but we shan't have time. See, there's our
train coming up now. Couldn't you say it in the railway carriage?

[_The train runs in._

_Curph._ (_to himself_). For PH[OE]BE'S edification! No, I
don't quite----(_Aloud, desperately._) It--it's something that
concerns--something I can't very well say before anyone else--there'll
be another train directly--would you mind waiting for it?

_Alth._ (_to herself_). It's very mysterious. I _should_ like to
know what it can be! (_Aloud._) I--I hardly know. I think we ought,
perhaps, to--but this doesn't look a very nice train, does it?

_Curph._ (_with conviction_). It's a _beastly_ train! One of the very
worst they run, and full of the most objectionable people. It--it's
quite noted for it.

_Alth._ (_to_ PH[OE]BE, _who hurries up with her hand-bag_). No, never
mind; I'm not going by this train, PH[OE]BE; we'll wait for a more
comfortable one.

_Ph[oe]be._ Very good, Miss. (_To herself, as she retires._) Well,
if that isn't downright barefaced--I don't know what it is! I hope
they'll find a train to suit 'em before long, and not stay here
picking and choosing all day, or I shan't get back in time to lay the
cloth for dinner. But it's the way with all these quiet ones!

_Alth._ Did you want to speak to me about last night, Mr. CURPHEW?
Has my cousin CHARLES been getting into any mischief? I only came in
afterwards; but you were looking so shocked about something. Was it
because he had been to a theatre, and do _you_ think that very wicked
of him?

_Curph._ (_to himself_). I ought to manage to lead up to it now.
(_Aloud._) It was not a theatre exactly--it was--well, it was a
music-hall.

_Alth._ Oh! but is there any difference?

_Curph._ Not much--between a music-hall and some theatres. At
theatres, you see, they perform a regular play, with a connected
plot--at least, some of the pieces have a connected plot. At a
music-hall the entertainment is--er--varied. Songs, conjuring-tricks,
ventriloquism, and--and that kind of thing.

_Alth._ Why, that's just like the Penny Readings at our Athenaeum!

_Curph._ Well, I should hardly have--but I'm not in a position to say.
(_To himself._) I'm further off than ever!

_Alth._ It couldn't be _that_, then; for Papa has presided at Penny
Readings himself. But CHARLES must have told him _something_ that
upset him, for he came down to breakfast looking perfectly haggard
this morning. CHARLES had a long talk in the library with him last
night after you left, and then Papa went to bed.

_Curph._ (_to himself_). I felt sure that fellow spotted me. So he's
let the cat out to old TOOVEY! If I don't tell her now. (_Aloud._) Did
Mr. TOOVEY seem--er--annoyed?

_Alth._ He looked worried, and I believe he wanted to consult _you_.

_Curph._ (_to himself_). The deuce he did! (_Aloud._) He mentioned me?

_Alth._ He talked of going round to see you, but Mamma insisted on his
staying quietly indoors.

_Curph._ (_to himself_). Sensible woman, Mrs. TOOVEY! But I've no time
to lose. (_Aloud._) I think I can explain why he wished to see me. He
has discovered my--my secret.

_Alth._ Have you a secret, Mr. CURPHEW? (_To herself._) He can't mean
_that_, and yet--oh, what _am_ I to say to him?

_Curph._ I have. I always intended to tell him--but--but I wanted
you to know it first. And it was rather difficult to tell. I--I risk
losing everything by speaking.

[Illustration: "He _does_ mean that!"]

_Alth._ (_to herself_). He _does_ mean that! But I won't be proposed
to like this on a railway platform; I don't believe it's proper; and
I haven't even made up my mind! (_Aloud._) If it was difficult before,
it will be harder than ever now--just when another train is coming in,
Mr. CURPHEW.

_Curph._ (_angrily, as the train passes_). Another--already! The
way they crowd the traffic on this line is simply dis----But it's an
express. It isn't going to stop, I assure you it isn't!

_Alth._ It _has_ stopped. And we had better get in.

_Ph[oe]be._ I don't know if you fancy the look of this train, Miss,
but there's an empty first-class in front.

_Curph._ This train stops everywhere. We shall get in just as soon by
the next--sooner in fact.

_Alth._ If you think so, Mr. CURPHEW, wait for it, but we really must
go. Come, PH[OE]BE.

_Ph[oe]be._ I only took a second for myself, Miss, not knowing you'd
require----

_Curph._ (_to himself_). There's a chance still, if I can get a
carriage to ourselves. (_Aloud._) No, Miss TOOVEY, you must let me
come with you. Your mother put you under my care, you know. (_To_
PH[OE]BE.) Here, give me Miss TOOVEY'S bag. Now, Miss TOOVEY, this
way--we must look sharp. (_He opens the door of an empty compartment,
puts_ ALTHEA _in, hands her the bag, and is about to follow when he
is seized by the arm, and turns to find himself in the grasp of_ Mr.
TOOVEY.) How do you do, Mr. TOOVEY? We--we are just off, you see.

_Mr. Toovey_ (_breathlessly_). I--I consider I am very fortunate in
catching you, Mr. CURPHEW. I accidentally learnt from my wife that you
were going up about this time--so I hurried down, on the bare chance
of----

_Curph._ (_impatiently_). Yes, yes, but I'm afraid I can't wait now,
Sir. I--Mrs. TOOVEY asked me to take care of your daughter----

_Mr. Toov._ ALTHEA will be perfectly safe. And I must have a few words
with you at once on a matter which is pressing, Sir, very pressing
indeed. ALTHEA will excuse you.

_Alth._ (_from the window_). Of course. You mustn't think of coming,
Mr. CURPHEW. PH[OE]BE will look after me.

_Curph._ But--but I have an important engagement in Town myself!

_Alth._ (_unkindly_). You will get up quite as soon by the next train,
Mr. CURPHEW, or even sooner--you said so yourself, you know! (_In an
under-tone._) Stay. I'd _rather_ you did--you can tell me your--your
secret when I come back.

_The Guard._ Vauxhall and Waterloo only, this train. Stand back there,
please!

[_He slams the door; the train moves on, leaving_ CURPHEW _on the
platform with_ Mr. TOOVEY.

_Curph._ (_to himself, bitterly_). What luck I have! She's gone
now--and I haven't told her, after all. And I'm left behind, to have
it out with this old pump! (_Aloud._) Well, Sir, you've something to
say to me?

_Mr. Toov._ (_nervously_). I have--yes, certainly--only it--it's of
rather a private nature, and--and perhaps we should be freer from
interruption in the waiting-room here.

_Curph._ (_to himself_). I wish I'd thought of that myself--earlier.
Well, he doesn't seem very formidable; it strikes me I shan't find it
difficult to manage him. (_Aloud._) The waiting-room, by all means.

[_He follows_ Mr. TOOVEY _into the General Waiting-room, and awaits
developments_.

END OF SCENE IV.

       *       *       *       *       *

"DUE SOUTH!"

[Illustration]

NOTE.--When I am travelling due South, as I am now, _per_ L. & S.
W. R., to join my party, all I require may be summed up in the
accompanying "_Mem._," which is to this effect:--

_Mem._--Give me a Pullman car, my favourite beverage, a good cigar,
or an old pipe charged with well-conditioned bird's-eye, an amiable
companion possessed of sufficient ready money in small change, give
me likewise a pack of playing cards, let the gods grant me more than
average luck at ecarte or spoof, and never can I regret the two hours
and forty minutes occupied by the journey from "W't'r'o" to "P'm'th."

To start with, the line to Pinemouth is one of those "lines" that
have "fallen," in the pleasantest of "pleasant places." On a
broiling summer's day you pass through a wide expanse of landscape,
refreshingly painted in Nature's brightest water colours--plenty of
colour, plenty of water. All over the sandy plains of Aldershot, boxes
of toy soldiers, with white toy tents and the smartest little flags,
have been emptied out; and everywhere about the tiny figures may
be seen marching, lounging, digging, riding, firing, surveying,
performing evolutions to the sound of the warlike trumpet, and
generally employed in a sort of undressed rehearsal of such martial
business as is incidental to a Great Campaign Drama. Then, lest the
spirits of the travelling tourist should rise so high that he might
run the chance of "getting a bit above hisself," as horse-dealers
graphically express it, he is whirled away from the war-like scene,
and is taken through the peaceful grounds of Wokingham. Here to the
unwonted military ardour so recently aroused in the bosom of the
travelling civilian will be administered a succession of dampers in
the shape of attractively-placed and most legibly printed reminders to
the effect that "eligible plots" for burial are "still to be let," and
that the terms for intending residents in the thriving country town of
Necropolis can be obtained on application to Messrs. Somebody and Sons
at Suchandsucher Place, London; the tone of these notices suggesting,
in a generally festive spirit, that the good old maxim "first come
first served" will be strictly observed in all matters of Necropolitan
business.

Then we come to fair Southampton Water, with its marine kind of flymen
waiting to take you to the boats, and the boats waiting to take you
from the flymen to the yachts. On we speed through the New Forest,
where those historically inclined remember WILLIAM RUFUS, and others,
with a modern political bias, think of WILLIAM HARCOURT; while the
grateful novel-devourer remembers that away in the forest resides
the authoress of _Lady Audley's Secret_, and many other plots. Here,
within ten minutes of our appointed time, is Terminus Number One, East
Pinemouth, and, finally, West Pinemouth, which, speaking for myself
individually and collectively, I prefer to East Pinemouth; at all
events, at this particular time of year. Moreover, it appears that
a rapidly increasing number are of my opinion, seeing how
house-building, and very good house-building, too, is extending
westward, and, alas and alack-a-day, threatening immediate destruction
to heather, pine, fir, and forest generally. I sing:--

  "How happy could I be with heather
    If builder were only away!"

No sooner is a house (most of them excellently-planned houses) set up,
with garden and lovely view of sea, than down in front of him squats
another squatter, up goes another house, the situation is robbed of
the charm of privacy, and unless the owner of the first house sits
on his own roof or has a special tower built, which erection would
probably involve him in difficulties with his neighbours, his view of
the sea is reduced to a mere peep, and in course of time will, it is
probable, be altogether blocked out. However, as Boys will be Boys, so
Builders will be Builders.

One of the chief advantages offered by Pinemouth as a place where
a summer holiday may be happily spent, is the facility afforded for
getting away from it, in every possible direction; by sea, river,
rail, and road. _A propos_ of "road," the fly-drivers, shopkeepers,
and livery-stable keepers of P'm'th, are, for the most part, like
the fly-drivers, livery-stablers, and shopkeepers at any place which
boasts a recognised season. The eccentric visitor, who chooses to come
out of the regulation time, must take his chance, and be content with
out-of-season manners to suit his out-of-season custom; still, in
the words of the immortal bard, "They're all right when you know 'em,
_but_ you've got to know 'em fust!"

As to the hiring of flys and <DW40>s, there is a board of rules
and regulations stuck up in the railway station and elsewhere, the
interpretation whereof may possibly be mastered by those able and
willing to devote a few days to the study of its dark sayings.

"What's the meaning of this rule?" I inadvertently ask a ruddy-faced
policeman, on whose broad shoulders time unoccupied seems to be
weighing somewhat heavily, at the same time pointing to one of the
regulations on the board in question.

"Well, Sir," replies the civil constable, in a carefully measured
tone, "it is this way"--and then he commences.

       *       *       *       *       *

I breathe again; it is half an hour since I addressed that ruddy-faced
official, from whom, thank goodness, I have at last contrived to
escape. He has kept me there, giving me, as it were, a lecture on the
black board, telling me what this rule might mean if it were read one
way, and what that rule might mean if it were read another way, and
what both rules might mean if they were each of them read in totally
different ways; and how one was labelled "_a_" (which I saw for
myself), and how another was distinguished by being lettered "_b_";
and how he (my constabulary instructor) "wasn't quite sure himself
whether his reading of 'em was quite right;" then going over all the
paragraphs again in detail, indicating each syllable with his finger,
as though he were teaching an infant spelling-class, and finally
coming to the conclusion whereat _Bottom_ the Weaver arrived when
he surmised that it was all "past the wit of man to understand," and
advising me that, on the whole, if any particular case of attempted
extortion should happen to arise, I should do well _not_ to appeal to
these rules and regulations, but to summon the extortionist before
the nearest police magistrate. "But," said he, as if struck by a new
light, "it may be that this rule '_a_'"----And here he faced round,
in order more closely to inspect the mysterious cryptogram. Taking
advantage of his eye being off me for one second, which it had never
once been during the previous thirty minutes, I stepped as lightly and
rapidly away as my thirteen stone will permit, and fled. I fancied I
heard him calling after me that he had discovered something or other;
but not even if he had shouted "Stop thief!" should I have paused in
my Mazeppa-like career. "Once aboard the lugger," I exclaim to myself,
quoting the melodramatic pirate, "and I am free!" So saying, I entered
the hospitable gates of my present tenancy, and sank exhausted on the
sofa.

_Mem._--Never again ask a policeman to explain strange cab-rules and
regulations.

       *       *       *       *       *

NOT A QUESTION AT ISSUE.

    ["Mr. GOSSE holds a middle station between the older and the
    younger schools of criticism. He is neither a distinguished
    and respectable fossil nor a wild and whirling
    catherine-wheel."--_Athenaeum._]

  Oh, luckiest of Critics! What
    A joy unquestioning to feel
  On such authority he's not
    "A wild and whirling catherine-wheel."

  And is it such a wild idea
    To think that clever Mr. GOSSE'll
  Rejoice he's reckoned not to be a
    "Respectable, distinguished fossil?"

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THINGS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE EXPRESSED OTHERWISE.

_Would-be Considerate Hostess_ (_to Son of the House_). "HOW
INATTENTIVE YOU ARE, JOHN! YOU REALLY MUST LOOK AFTER MR. BROWN. _HE'S
HELPING HIMSELF TO EVERYTHING!_"

[_Discomfiture of Brown, who, if somewhat shy, is conscious of a very
healthy appetite._
]

       *       *       *       *       *

A LESSON FOR "LABOUR."

    ["The overwhelming vote of the Yorkshire, Derbyshire, and
    Lancashire miners against accepting any reduction, or even
    submitting the wages question to arbitration, does not
    encourage any very sanguine hopes of the Nottingham
    Conference."--_Westminster Gazette._]

  "_My sentence is for open war!_" Thus spake
  Fierce Moloch, when within the marly lake
  "The Stygian Council" in dark conference met!
  "The scepter'd king's" advice prevaileth yet,
  And Mammon's self, who in his pristine might
  Stooped to the avowal that "all things invite
  To peaceful counsels," now in stubborn mood
  Urges resistance--at the cost of blood!

  Yes, Mammon, musing on "the settled state
  Of order," at that dim chaotic date,
  Speaks, in the mighty-voiced Miltonic way,
  "Of Peace," and "how in safety best we may
  Compose our present evils, with regard
  Of what we are and were." Mammon's award
  Is now more martial: Mammon, swoln and proud
  With domination o'er the moiling crowd,
  Lifts a most arrogant head, and coldly curls
  An insolent lip against the clod-soul'd churls
  Whose destiny and duty 'tis to slave
  'Twixt cradle comfortless and cheerless grave,
  To glut his maw insatiate!

                            Proud is Pelf;
  But might not Legend lesson Labour's self?
  "Thus sitting, thus consulting, thus in arms!"
  Comes not the echo loud of wild alarms
  To Labour's Conference? Violence and wreck,
  Incendiary hate that sense should check,
  Mad mob-intimidation, brutal wrath,--
  These are strange warders for the pleasant path
  Of human progress! While they crowd and clash
  In headlong stubbornness and anger rash,
  Whilst factories burn, and workmen fall in blood,
  And women mourn, and children moan for food,
  Unnumbered multitudes the misery feel
  Who share not in its making!

                                Mars' red steel
  Is sheathed to-day at Arbitration's nod;
  Hath this no lesson for the milder god?
  Vulcan, the smithy-toiler, and his crowd
  Of sooty Cyclops, raging fierce and loud,
  Impetuous, implacable, whilst Mars,
  That savage god of sanguinary wars,
  Awaits the award of Arbiters of Peace!
  Strange contrast!

                       "Cease, great hammer-wielder, cease!"
  Says the Sword-bearer. "Cease this frenzied fray.
  Try Arbitration--'tis the gentler way,
  And wiser. I have tried it--shall not you?
  Call back your Cyclops, let not _them_ imbrue
  Swart hands in Battle's sanguinary hue.
  Shall War, now partly driven from the field,
  Find refuge in the factory, nor there yield
  To the sage suasion of mild Equity,
  At whose just Arbitration even I
  Suspend or drop the sword?"

                            So Mars, and so
  All friends of Labour. Raise no stubborn "No!"
  At Arbitration's offering, seeing that there
  Lies fairest hope of an adjustment fair
  'Twixt clashing claims, which if they "fight it out"
  In war's wild way may put to utter rout
  Humanity's fairest hopes. Oh, time enough
  When Arbitration fails to essay the rough
  And ruddy road of Mars. Stay, Vulcan stay!
  Or blameless hosts long-menaced by your fray
  May have a stern effective word to say!
  And you, as once of old, though stout and tall,
  Kicked out of heaven may have a maiming fall!

       *       *       *       *       *

SURGEON-MAJOR PARKE.

(_Doctor to Stanley's Emin Pasha Relief Expedition. Died September 10,
aged 35._)

  "Rarest doctor in the world!"
    Tribute rare from sturdy STANLEY!
    Skilful, tender, modest, manly!
  England's flag may well be furled
    Over the young hero's bier,
    Whose memory is to England dear.
  Africa has cost us much.
  Fortune send us many such!

       *       *       *       *       *

Mrs. R. says she understands that disaffecting (disinfecting) fluid
       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A LESSON FOR "LABOUR."

MARS. "LOOK HERE, BROTHER VULCAN!--WHEN EVEN _I_ HAVE KNOCKED UNDER TO
'ARBITRATION,' SURELY _YOU_ MIGHT TRY IT?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

TO DOCTOR FALBE.

  You're not in-_fal'be'_-le, Doctor dear--
    Excuse the painful pun,
  Though you merit treatment e'en more severe
    For all the ill you've done.
  You held a nasty cloud of doubt
    Above our sunlit sky,
  And now at length we've found you out,
    Our summer is near gone by.

  Yes, a summer indeed we've had this year,
    In spite of your doleful croak,
  Though perhaps your early prediction drear
    Was simply a practical joke--
  A wearisome joke that wouldn't die,
    For every man one met
  Would remind one of FALBE and his prophecy--
    "We're soon to have lots of wet."

  But what of the tradesmen who laid in store
    Of "brollies" and mackintosh
  On the strength of your hint as to rain galore
    And unlimited Autumn slosh?
  Oh, FALBE, if _they_ but got hold of you,
    What a tune they _would_ perform!
  There's one prediction we'd warrant true--
    You'd find it extremely warm!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "WELL, REALLY, MY DEAR!"

_Mrs. R._ "CHRISTOPHER DARLING, I NEVER _CAN_ REMEMBER WHETHER
'SODA-WATER' IS WRITTEN AS ONE WORD OR TWO JOINED TOGETHER BY A
SYPHON?!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE THREE TARTARS.

(_By One of the "Thirty-six Tyrants" of the Liberal Party._)

  HANBURY, BOWLES, and BARTLEY,
  Talk and wrangle tartly;
  Sour as unripe cranberry
  Are BARTLET, BOWLES, and HANBURY;
  Three most sorrel souls
  Are HANBURY, BARTLEY, BOWLES!
  They the blame would fix
  On the Liberal Thirty-six.
  As "tyrants," what are we
  Compared with that "Tartar Three,"
  Who--but I'll be mum:--
  "I hear the Tartar drum!"
  Loudly thumped, and smartly,
  By HANBURY, BOWLES, and BARTLEY!

       *       *       *       *       *

Cherchez l'Homme.

    ["The appearance of a Ladies' Eight on the Thames in the
    Cookham district has attracted considerable attention.... Mr.
    R. C. LEHMANN has handled the rudder-lines on more than
    one occasion, and General HAMMERSLEY has also been out as
    coxswain."--_Daily News._]

  The Ladies' Eight at Cookham rows right well,
    There's many a crew of men would not get near them;
  But is it not a saddening truth to tell?
    The ladies often take a man to steer them!

       *       *       *       *       *

GOLDEN MEMORIES.

(_By a (not) Dumb Waiter._)

  Summers come and Summers go, Sir,
    As appints the course of Nater:
  In the winter I'm a grocer,
    In the Summer I'm a waiter.
  I'm a waiter at the sea-side;
    There's the "Grand Hotel" up yonder--
  Never hancient Rome or Greece eyed
    Poet of the Summer fonder.

  Though I'm quite self-heddycated,
    Yet I love the Summer golden;
  Every gent on whom I've waited
    Feels 'isself to me beholden;
  As appropriate verse I quote, Sir,
    I can watch 'em growing gladder:
  They're aweer 'ow much I dote, Sir,
    On the golden light and shadder.

  "_Tipped with gold_" the clouds and copses,
    "_Tipped with gold_" yon arf-awake ox,
  "_Tipped with gold_" the sheep and wapses,
    "_Tipped with gold_" the 'arvest 'aycocks;
  "_Tipped with gold_" the cows as browses,
    Ditto waves and fish and sea-things,
  Ditto shops and dwellin'-'ouses,
    Ditto our hotel and tea-things.

  "_Tipped with gold._" It's langwidge splendid,
    Summing hup the Summer brightly--
  Good for Nater, good for men, did
    Gentlemen but read it rightly.
  "_TIPPED with gold_" still what I quote is:
    'Umble folk should not be proud, Sir,--
  Which I 'opes you've marked our notice--
    "No gratuities allowed," Sir!

       *       *       *       *       *

LINES ON (AND OFF) AN ITALIAN MULE.

[Illustration]

  O dubious hybrid, what your patronymic
    Or pedigree may be, does not much matter;
  But if my own attire you mean to mimic,
    And flaunt the fact that you, too, have a hatter--
      Well then, in self-defence I'll pick with you
                        A bone or two.

  Perchance you have a motive, deep, ulterior,
    In donning head-gear borrowed from banditti?
  You wish to show an intellect superior,
    (And hide a profile which is not too pretty?)
      Or is it, simply, you prefer to go
                      _Incognito_?

  A transmigrated BALAAM'S self you _may_ be,
    But still I bar your method of progression;
  For while I sit, as helpless as a baby,
    And scale each precipice in steep succession,
      You scorn the mule-track, and pursue the edge
                      Of ev'ry ledge.

  How can I scan with rapt enthusiasm
    These Alpine heights, when balanced _a la_ BLONDIN,
  While you survey with bird's-eye view each chasm?
    I cry _Eyupp! Avanti!_--_you_ respond in
      Attempts straightway to improvise a
                      "chute" For me, you brute!

  _Basta! per Bacco!_ I'll no longer straddle
    (With cramp in each adductor and extensor)
  This seat of torture that they call a saddle!
    _Va via!_ in plain English, get thee hence, or----
      On second thoughts, to leave unsaid the rest,
                      I think, were best!

       *       *       *       *       *

TO MAUDE.

(_In and Out of Church._)

  A little saint! At church I see you pray,
    As if a worldly thought would make you faint,
  Serenely walking on your heavenly way,
                        A little saint.

  And yet--although I would make no complaint.--
    You quickly doff the grave to don the gay.
  Your cheeks aren't wholly innocent of paint,
    You flirt outrageously the livelong day.
  Colloquially, dear MAUDE, in fact you ain't
    I'm thoroughly rejoiced to say
                      A little saint.

       *       *       *       *       *

LOVE AND LAW.

(_A Fragment from a Modern Romance._)

    ["It would be distinctly an advantage to girls to serve as
    clerks in a lawyer's office before they launched forth on the
    world."--_Weekly Paper._

EDWIN was sad indeed, for all had gone against him. He had lost
everything. Even the furniture in the house he occupied was scarcely
his--for all he knew, at any moment it might be seized in execution.

"What shall I do?" he asked again, wringing his hands and tearing his
hair.

"Cheer up," was the reply, spoken in a soft voice and by a sweet-faced
girl. It was ANGELINA.

"And you have come to me in my distress--after I have treated you so
badly?" he said, with a flush of shame colouring his hitherto pale
face.

"No, darling," returned the golden-haired maiden, looking into his
brown eyes with optics of an azure hue. "Do not say that you have
behaved badly to me. You wrong yourself; you do, indeed."

"Have I not deserted you?" he asked in a tone of bitter sorrow.

"But only after you had written me letters upon which I could base an
action for breach of promise," murmured the forgiving girl.

"But do you propose to proceed upon them?" he asked earnestly.

"Yes, my own. To quote that touching song you so frequently sang to
me in the gilded days of the golden past, 'it will be the best for you
and best for me.' I shall certainly ask for substantial damages."

"And is there no way to avoid this crushing, this final disaster?"
asked the young man, in deep distress.

"Dearest, you know that I have studied the law. Well, I would propose
that you should carry out your contract. I have here the form which
requires but the registrar's signature to make us man and wife. What
do you say to the matter being settled to-morrow?"

"If it must be so, it must," returned EDWIN, in a tone of resignation.
"And now, as we are to be married to-morrow, let us dine together. I
have an invitation from my aunt at Putney to stay with her until my
goods have been seized and sold. I am off. She will extend to you her
hospitality."

"Oh, my betrothed, I cannot come." she sobbed. "I am kept here by
duty."

"Well, as you will," he replied, carelessly. "But I suppose we meet at
noon at the registrar's to-morrow?"

"Yes, for by that time all will be over. The goods will be removed,
and I shall be free--free to become your wife."

"But what have you got to do with my property?"

Then came the sorrowful admission.

"Oh, EDWIN, my own. You know I am in a lawyer's office. For the moment
I am their guardian. Yes, darling, I am the woman in possession!"

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: DOMESTIC ECONOMY.

_Cook_ (_to Vicar's Wife_). "AND WHAT'S TO BE DONE WITH THE SOLE THAT
WAS SAVED YESTERDAY, MA'AM?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

BALLADE OF LOST REPARTEES.

  When mirthful humours reign supreme,
    And heated revellers are prone
  To make sound wisdom kick the beam,
    While vain wine-bubble wit alone
    Has weight, we, mostly, can depone
  To feeling joy to blankness fade
    On finding, now our chance has flown,
  The repartee we might have made.

  One prating fool is apt to deem
    No jesting pretty save his own;
  Another strives, whate'er the theme,
    To make all comers, passive grown,
    "Perform the office of a hone"[*]
  For sharpening his witty blade;--
    Too late below our breath we moan
  The repartee we might have made.

  Of course, it now contrives to seem
    So patent to the dullest drone;
  And, if we wake or if we dream,
    It weighs upon us like a stone,
    But, unlike, cannot now be thrown;
  And thus we languish in the shade,
    Because the world has never known
  The repartee we might have made.

_Envoi._

    My friends, a certain sage has shown
  What paving-stones below are laid;
    Now learn that on each blast is blown
  The repartee we might have made!

[Footnote *:

              "_Fungar vice cotis_, acutum
  Reddere quae ferrum valet, exsors ipsa secandi."
                       HORACE. _De Arte Poetica._]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE BURDEN OF BURDON SANDERSON.

    ["Every organism must have sprung from a unicellular
    ancestor."--_Dr. Burdon Sanderson's Presidential Address to
    the British Association._

  That life is a sell we most of us know,
    But Doctor BURDON SANDERSON tells
  It began in a cell oh! aeons ago!
    And Progress is merely the growth of cells.
  And is _that_ what you were fashioned for
  Our "unicellular ancestor"?

  "The specific energy of cells"
    Is a taking phrase, but what does it mean?
  Is it merely the Life that in most things dwells,
    Or must we go reading the lines between,
  To find what you really were fashioned for,
  Our "unicellular ancestor"?

  Words, words, words! What matter if
    They're scientific and pseudo-oracular.
  Or, scouting a terminology stiff,
    Couched in sciolist's plain vernacular!
  _Do_ they tell us what you were fashioned for,
  Our "unicellular ancestor"?

  BURDON'S burden, like VILLON'S of old
    Leaves us a prey to doubt and fear.
  Your meaning and purpose when _shall_ we be told
    Oh cells--or snows--of yester-year?
  Or what you truly were fashioned for
  Our "unicellular ancestor"?

       *       *       *       *       *

THE MODERN "TENDER" PASSION.--Bimetallism.

       *       *       *       *       *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

_House of Commons, Monday, September 11._--ALPHEUS CLEOPHAS walking
about the Lobby with a new foot-rule obtrusively held in his hand.
Thought at first he was going to probe somebody, after the fashion of
SWIFT MACNEILL, in rare access of ferocity.

"No," he said, when I asked him if that was his business; "we are
presently going to debate question of appointment of Duke of CONNAUGHT
to command at Aldershot. I want to know precisely how far out of
the line of fighting the Duke was at Tel-el-Kebir. You know
CAMPBELL-BANNERMAN'S suave manner. When I put question to him, he'll
say, 'How can I tell the Hon. Member, not having a foot rule in
my pocket.' As soon as he says that, I whip this out; he will sit
confounded, and either we shall get at the truth of a matter with
which country is deeply concerned, or CAMPBELL-BANNERMAN must go.
I have no personal interest in such a contingency. If there were a
vacancy at the War Office, it is, of course, quite possible that Mr.
G. might think of me. I fancy in Committee on the Army Estimates I
have shown I know a thing or two. But that is neither here nor there.
It will be time to decide on the offer when it is made, if indeed
prejudices, from which even Liberal Ministry are not free, do not
stand in the way. At present I want to know, within a foot or two--no
one can say I'm unreasonable--how far off the fighting the Duke
of CONNAUGHT stood, and CAMPBELL-BANNERMAN will have to answer the
question."

[Illustration: A HOUSE OF APOLLO-TICIANS--AS SEEN BY THEMSELVES.]

Turned out that ALPHEUS did not find opportunity of bringing in the
foot measure. DALZIEL raised question Appointment of Royal Duke to
command at Aldershot; a ticklish subject for young Member to take up.
DALZIEL'S manner excellent; gave tone to debate, happily preserved
throughout; several times ALPHEUS CLEOPHAS brought out foot-rule and
shook it at CAMPBELL-BANNERMAN. War Minister, naturally well up
in strategy, had observed precaution of placing on his flank his
Financial Secretary, WOODALL, V.C. If there was any probing to be
done that veteran would receive first onslaught. Thus assured,
CAMPBELL-BANNERMAN made admirable defence of a position held in
advance to be shaky. Came out of Division Lobby with flying colours
and majority of 117.

[Illustration: Alpheus Cleophas's Foot-Rule.]

_Business done._--Army Votes in Committee of Supply.

_House of Lords, Tuesday._--Lords met to-day--at least Lord DENMAN
and the Bishop of ELY did. They, facing each other from either side of
otherwise empty chamber, heard Royal assent given to number of bills,
and House adjourned for seven days. Don't know what we should have
done this week in Lords but for DENMAN. Everyone else gone out of
town. He still treads the burning deck, his plum-hued skull-cap giving
touch of chastened colour to passages leading to and from the House.
Severe taste might object that it is a little painful in conjunction
with the brilliant red of the leather-covered benches. But whoever
responsible for selection of that decoration should have thought
of DENMAN'S skull-cap. He was here yesterday; did quite a lot of
business; moved Second Reading of his Woman's Suffrage Bill.

"My Lords," he said, rising from the seat which the burly figure of
the MARKISS usually fills, "I think there is an opportunity of making
substantial progress with this important measure. If your Lordships
will be so good as to suspend the Standing Orders, as has just been
done in case of Naval Defence Amendment Bill, we could carry the
measure through all the stages before your Lordships rise."

For all answer KENSINGTON, on Woolsack in absence of LORD CHANCELLOR
pacing the battlements of his lordly castle at Deal, put the question
that the Bill be read a second time; declared in same breath
"the Not-Contents have it;" and so DENMAN and his little Bill
contemptuously swept aside.

"I thought better of them, TOBY," he said, when I met him an hour
later still hovering round the closed doors of the House. Over his arm
was his rusty old coat; in one hand a stick; in the other a hat that
had seen silkier days. There was a tear in his eye, and a tremor in
his still musical voice. "It seemed as if a better day had dawned;
and that the House of Lords was about at last to recognise in me the
worthy son of a father once their pride. Last week the change suddenly
came. It was DENMAN this and DENMAN that, and 'we must see what we
can do about your Suffrage Bill.' The MARKISS going to his seat on
Wednesday gave me a friendly nod and smile. Usually he never sees me
except when I get on my legs, when he forthwith moves the Adjournment
of House. As for the Whips, I fancied they must have been looking up
my speeches in _Hansard_, and learned what they had lost by not being
in their place to hear them. 'I trust your lordship is well, and do
not find the electric light too glaring?' 'You must take a place by
the table so that you can hear SALISBURY and ROSEBERY.' 'We shan't
keep you up late on Friday; have arranged to take Division at midnight
so that you may get home in good time. But you'll be there, of
course?'"

[Illustration: "It was Denman this, and Denman that."]

"And were you there?" I asked.

"Of course I was there, and voted in majority against Home-Rule Bill.
Came down yesterday prepared to make most of this new and pleasant
turn. Got up to ask KIMBERLEY question as to whether postponement of
Home-Rule Bill would date from Friday or Saturday. Nice point, you
know. Everything depends upon it. No one had discovered point but
me. Expected Government and House would be grateful. What happened?
KIMBERLEY snubbed me; House sniggered; my Woman's Suffrage Bill,
about which Opposition Whips so anxious last week, treated with
usual contumely. I propose to deal with Coal Strike; they move the
Adjournment, and leave me speechless at the table. Begin to think that
all they wanted was my vote to swell majority against Home-Rule Bill.
A weary world, TOBY. Saddest of all for neglected statesmen in our
gilded Chamber. Should you ever be made a peer take an old man's
advice and do everything you can to obscure your native abilities.
Once you excite the jealousy of men like the MARKISS, and implant in
their bosom suspicion that if they don't look out you may supplant
them, you are lost. Perhaps I made a mistake when I admitted
FARMER-ATKINSON to my councils. You remember him in the other House
as Member for Boston? We had a plan----but no matter. Still, if
FARMER-ATKINSON had led the Commons and I the Lords, you would have
seen something. Perhaps we were too reckless in our open colloguing in
the Lobby. GLADSTONE smelt a rat. SALISBURY saw it moving in the air;
the instincts of self-preservation triumphed over political animosity
and the rivalry of a lifetime. They put their heads together; the
coffers of the secret-service money were depleted; the illimitable
resources of the State were in other ways drawn upon. Where is
FARMER-ATKINSON now? I am left solitary and friendless. For a while
the Unholy Alliance triumphs; but they will find they have not done
with DENMAN yet."

The old gentleman took off his skull-cap; carefully wrapped it up; hid
its plumage in his tail-pocket; and pressing his hat over his brow,
shook his grey head, and walked wearily down the corridor.

_Business done._--House of Lords adjourned for a week.

_Saturday_, 2.40 A.M.--"Who goes home?" I hear the cry resounding
through the Lobby. Well, if no one minds, I think I will. Been here
since half-past three yesterday. For the matter of that, been here
since the 31st of January. Coming down again at noon to sit till
SQUIRE OF MALWOOD can see his prospect clear to bringing about
Adjournment next Saturday.

_Business done._--Mostly all.

       *       *       *       *       *

Calf-Love.

  Calf-love is a passion most people scorn,
  Who've loved, and outlived, life and love's young morn;
  But there _is_ a calf-love too common by half,
  And that's the love of the Golden Calf!

       *       *       *       *       *

Chary of Charing.

    ["The occupation for women exclusively is that of
    charing."--_Daily Paper._]

  Whilst year by year men kinder grow.
    And from employments won't debar Woman,
  It's quite astonishing to know
    Man's everything except a charwoman.

       *       *       *       *       *

COMMERCIAL CON.

_Q._ Why is a modern advertiser like an ancient knight-errant?

_A._ Because he is inspired by the spirit of "ad"-venture.

       *       *       *       *       *




Transcriber's Note:

_x_ denotes italic text.

[OE] denotes an OE ligature, PH[OE]BE (PHOEBE)


Page 135: 'hallo'd' corrected to 'hollo'd', to match the others.

("They hunted and they hollo'd, an' the next thing they did find")

Page 142: [Footnote *:
              "_Fungar vice cotis_, acutum
  Reddere quae ferrum valet, exsors ipsa secandi."
                       HORACE. _De Arte Poetica._]

Translation: "I will perform the function of a whetstone, which is
about to restore sharpness to iron, though itself unable to cut."

       *       *       *       *       *






End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol.
105 September 23, 1893, by Various

*** 