



Produced by Punch, or the London Charivari, Malcolm Farmer
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net







PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 109.

JULY 27, 1895.




THE LOST RECORD.

(_The Wail of a Wiped-out Wheelman._)

AIR--"_The Lost Chord._"

  Reading one day in our "Organ,"
    I was happy and quite at ease.
  A band was playing the "_Lost Chord_,"
    Outside--in three several keys.
  But _I_ cared not how they were playing,
    Those puffing Teutonic men;
  For I'd "cut the record" at cycling,
    And was ten-mile champion then!

  It flooded my cheeks with crimson,
    The praise of my pluck and calm;
  Though that band seemed blending "Kafoozleum"
    With a touch of the Hundredth Psalm.
  But my joy soon turned into sorrow,
    My calm into mental strife;
  For my Record was "cut" on the morrow,
    And it cut _me_, like a knife.
  A fellow had done the distance
    In the tenth of a second less!
  And henceforth my name in silence
    Was dropt by the Cycling Press.

  I have sought--but I seek it vainly--
    With that Record again to shine.
  Midst crack names in our Cycling Organ,
    But they never mention mine
  It may be some day at the Oval
    I may cut that Record again,
  But at present the Cups are given
    To better--_or_ luckier--men!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: CONCLUSIVE.

SCENE--_Hibernian Table d'hote._

_Guest._ "WAITER! I SAY--THIS IS PORK! I WANT MUTTON!"

_Waiter_ (_rather bustled_). "YES SOR IT'S MUTTON YE _WANT_--BUT
IT'S PORK YE'LL _HAVE!_"]

       *       *       *       *       *

OF COURSE.--Directly it was known that Sir WILLIAM
HARCOURT had accepted an invitation to contest West Monmouthshire,
and that Mr. WARMINGTON had generously offered to retire
in his favour, there was a rush for the evident joke of styling
the self-effacing Q.C. "Mr. WARMINGPAN." It is uncertain
which paper was the first to get the Warmingpan into its sheets. Sir
WILLIAM did not find the vacated seat too hot to hold him.
Just nice.

       *       *       *       *       *

NEW TITLES.--Sir HENRY LOCH is created Baron
LOCH of Drylaw. The title will be appropriately written out
on parchment. For was there ever a more dry-as-dust title than that of
a Barren Loch and Dry Law!! Mr. STERN comes to the front as
Baron WANDSWORTH: not of Wandsworth Common, "and so," as a
Shakspearian clown might say, "the title is uncommon." Finally

  Cock a doodle doo!
  Lord HOUGHTON'S Earl of Crewe!

being, evidently, the living representative of SHAKSPEARE'S
"Early Village Cock."

       *       *       *       *       *

SCRAPS FROM CHAPS.

BALLOTERY.--The Cork Agricultural Society had before it a
proposal of the County Board to rent their ground for holding sports.
The Chairman said,

 "It was to be understood that the grounds would only be let on the
 understanding that no drink would be sold, and that _no political
 meetings or gambling_ would be allowed."

Rather hard on politicians this, to bracket their patriotic endeavours
with pitch-and-toss and alcoholic indulgence! If politics are like
strong drink, nobody at any rate can call them a form of "refreshment"!
But defeated candidates will quite agree that the game of "_bleu et
jaune_" is a good deal worse than "_rouge et noir_."

       *       *       *       *       *

A DAY SHIFT.--From the _North British Daily Mail_ comes news
of a daring electoral outrage. The Liberal candidate wanted to address
the colliers in one of the Lanarkshire towns; but his meeting was very
poorly attended. The cause was that the colliers were all waiting at
the bottom of the pit ready to be drawn up, but "it was found necessary
to send down an extra quantity of wood at that particular time"; so
that the colliers could not get to the surface for an hour, when the
political meeting was over! Smart man, the Conservative agent in that
division! The pitmen could not be wound up, so the meeting was. It
isn't only in Lanark that the Liberal Party wants a lift!

       *       *       *       *       *

"LITTERAL" TRUTH.--The effects of the General Election on the
Press seem to be most marked in Ireland. An Irish contemporary has the
following:--

 "IRELAND. THE VICEROYALTY TO BE ABOLILHED.--Colonel
 SAUNDERSON, addressing the Orangemen of Diamond, near Armagh,
 said that Lord LALISBURY'S Government would bring in a Bil to
 obolieh the office of Irish Viceroy."

What is really to happen to the Irish Viceroy is rather mysterious.
Is he to be "abolilhed," or only "oboliehed"? Perhaps "Lord
LALISBURY" will kindly explain.

       *       *       *       *       *

DRINKING SCENE OF THE FUTURE.

(_In consequence of the Growing Demand for Lighter Liquors._)

 SCENE--_The interior of a Dining-room. The ladies have just
 left, and the gentlemen are discussing their beverages._

_Smith._ I say, BROWN, if it is not an impertinent question,
where _did_ you get that toast-and-water?

_Brown._ I thought you would be deceived! It was a cup, not the pure
article! My butler is a first-rate hand at it. I will give you the
recipe if you like.

_Smith._ Do. It was excellent. What _is_ the secret?

_Brown._ Something, I fancy, to do with watercress.

_Jones._ I say, BROWN, that was really very nice sherbet.
Turkish or Persian?

_Brown._ Neither. Came from the Stores. Home-made.

_Jones._ Well, it certainly was capital. I could have sworn that it had
been manufactured East of the Levant.

_Brown._ More likely East of Temple Bar. And now shall we have a
whitewash before we join the ladies?

_Six Guests._ No, thanks! Really not!

_Half-a-dozen more of the Company._ Really not! No, thanks!

_Brown._ Nonsense! (_Produces a pint bottle of lemonade._) Nonsense,
I repeat! Look here, my boys. (_Locks door._) Not one of you fellows
shall leave the room until you have finished _this!_

 [_Draws cork of pint bottle, and distributes the lemonade amidst the
 good-natured protestations of the revellers. Scene closes in upon the
 Temperance orgy._

       *       *       *       *       *

_NOT IN THE "NEWCASTLE PROGRAMME."--Last week Sir CHARLES
FREEMANTLE, K.C.B., was presented with his portrait painted by
Hon. JOHN COLLIER, in Hon. JOHN'S best style; and so,
for this work, COLLIER cannot be "hauled over the coals." _A
propos_, evidently _the_ artist to paint the present Ministry should
be a Collier, as it is a _Coal_ition Cabinet. If the Collier were a
Radical, how coal-black the portraits would come out!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "GENTLEMAN JOE."

_Joe Ch-mb-rl-n_ (_the Driver, to his fare Lord S-l-sb-ry, with A. J.
B-lf-r_). "ALL RIGHT, GOVERNOR! _I_ KNOW THE WAY!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

'ARRY ON THE ELECTIONS.

  Dear CHARLIE,--O 'ip, 'ip, 'ooray, an' three more, and a tiger! Great
    Scott!
  I'm as 'appy as ten on 'em, CHARLIE, though thusty and thundering 'ot.
  I've bin up to my eyes in it this time, and now these 'ere Polling
    Returns
  Are a-sending me slap off my chump, though I'm sorry they didn't chuck
    BURNS.

  Oh! I'm feeling O K and a arf; I could stand on my 'ed with delight,
  For the Rads are knocked out in three rounds, 'Ome Rule's smashed, and
    Old England's all right.
  And although it is late, and I'm tired, I'm so full of our Glorious Win,
  That I feel I _must_ sit down and drop yer a line, mate, afore I turn in.

  I'm the Pet of the Primrosers, CHARLIE, and, 'ang it, I've earned it all
    round,
  For I've worked like a nig, and no error. It suits me right down to the
    ground.
  I've canvassed and posted tremenjous, I'm 'usky with cheer and chi-ike,
  And I've mounted the Unionist colours, and blazed round the streets on a
    bike.

  There was full arf a mile on us, CHARLIE, a scarlet percession on wheels;
  With Japanese lanterns a-flying, and 'underds o' kids at our 'eels.
  I felt I was "charging the guns," like that brave Ballyclava Brigade,
  With shouts for "Lord MUNGO and Malt!" and a little one in for "The
    Trade."

  I tell yer, old man, 'twos hexciting. We dashed along Mulberry Scrubs.
  And up the 'igh street a rare buster, 'ocrayed by the bhoys at the Pubs.
  We scooted around for ten mile, the 'ole distance one thunderin' cheer;
  And _when_ we pulled up at the "Crown," if you'd just seen me lower the
    beer!

  I lapped off a quart in one quencher. "_That_'s rippin'!" sez I to the
    Bung.
  "I felt liked a dashed wooden 'orse, with a lump o' red leather for
    tongue."
  "Ah!" sez 'e, "and jest fancy, old man, if them Vetoers 'ad their vile
    way,
  Wy, _I_ couldn't sell you a tankard, and _you_ wouldn't 'ave any say!"

  But jimminy-whizz, _'ow_ we squelched 'em! We got our man in two to one,
  Though our neighbourhood used to vote Rad, and a Tory was not in the run.
  Wot beans it must be to old 'ARCOURT, wot toko to LAWSON and CAINE!
  Well, they've got their fair arnser this time; let us 'ope they won't
    try it again.

  _Workin'-men_ on the _Radical_ ramp? You should jest 'ear wot _I_ 'ear,
    old pal.
  Let big pots make the round o' the pubs, and they won't talk that footy
    fal-lal.
  Labour wants steddy work and good wyges, and likes to see England look
    big;
  And then, with its baccy and beer, it's all one to it, Tory _or_ Whig.

  Wot's it care for Welsh Churches, or Scotch 'uns, as don't 'ardly enter
    its own?
  And as to 'Ome Rule--for yer worker there's dashed little meat on _that_
    bone.
  Talk of Betterment, Progress, Peer-smashing, and such-like, may do for
    the Clubs;
  But all Labour _gits_ is 'igh rates, shocking trade, and a raid on its
    pubs.

  Workman sez it's too good enough, CHARLIE; believes as it's better by far
  To vote for Old SOL, a big Navy, an' maybe a olly good war.
  He's sick of the bloomin' old forriners copping our trade and our tin,
  And 'e's game for Protection _and_ Peers--_anythink_, so Old England may
    win!

  If the Rads wont his vote for the future, they've got somethink _solid_
    to do!
  Village Councils and Vetoes won't work it, for all BILLY 'ARCOURT'S
    boohoo!
  'E don't wont less beer, but more beer-money, ah! and 'e don't care a
    blow
  If 'e gits it from ROSEBERY and 'ARCOURT, or SOLSBURY, BALFOUR and JOE!

  But 'ang it, I'm preaching, old oyster, and giving them Rads the straight
    tip.
  One thing, they won't take it, this lot won't; they ain't got no savvy,
    no grip.
  Bin sloppin' all over the place like, a-fillin' their cup, and that rot,
  And now, arter tackling the pewter, they find as they've all gone to pot.

  O ain't it ske-rumptious, my pippin? I feel I could washup Brum JOE,
  And I'm bound to admit, next to Bung, us true Tories must thank _him_
    this go.
  He's crumped 'is old pals a fair knock-out. If SOLSBURY'S saddle 'e'll
    carry,
  And run straight in 'arness with ARTHUR, _'e_'ll do! Yours, tolbobbishly,

  'ARRY.

       *       *       *       *       *

NOT THE ONLY DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THEM.--Lord ROSEBERY
the Derby Winner; Sir W. V. HARCOURT the Derby Loser.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: UNLUCKY SPEECHES.

_She_ (_giving him a flower_). "SWEET AS THE GIVER?"

_He_ (_wishing to be very complimentary indeed_). "OH--SWEETER FAR!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

DISSOLVING VIEWS.

(_A Reminiscence of the Recent Elections._)

 SCENE--_The corner of Northumberland Avenue, opposite the
 National Liberal Club, where a screen is erected, on which the latest
 results of the second day's pollings, together with photographs of
 prominent Liberal politicians, and scathing caricatures of Unionist
 leaders, are being exhibited by a magic lantern for the benefit of a
 large and good-humoured crowd. The sympathies of the majority are, as
 might perhaps be expected, with the winning side, but the minority
 is very fairly represented, while in "booing" and "brayvo"-ing they
 are incontestably the stronger party._ TIME--_Between 10
 P.M. and 12.30 A.M._

_Spectators_ (_as the portrait of_ Sir WILLIAM HARCOURT
_is displayed_). Yah! Tike 'im down! 'Ow about Durby?... Brayvo!...
Three cheers fur 'AR-COURT! 'E'll come back yet! (_Lord_
ROSEBERY'S _likeness follows_.) Good ole _Ladas!_ Cheer up!
Put a _smile_ on 'im!

 [Mr. GLADSTONE'S _face, leonine and benignant, is next shown_.

_A Chivalrous Conservative_ (_magnanimously_). 'E's a grand old chap,
any'ow; _I_ ain't goin' to chevy 'im.

 [_Which, to the credit of the assembly, seems to be the general
 sentiment, as conveyed by unanimous applause._

_A Sanguine Radical._ We shall 'ave the results in soon now; it's past
ten. We shall do better to-day than what we did Saturday, you _see_....
Ah, here's the first--"Hereford. Unionist Majority, 313. No change."
You can't _expeck_ none in a rotten place like that! You _wait_ a
bit.... "Croydon. Increased Unionist majority of 835. No change."
Well, 'UTCHINSON done very well; it's a strong Tory seat, is
Croydon. They're on'y 'olding their own so far--that's all.

_Radical Group_ (_as a series of cartoons is next displayed_).
Hor-hor! There's JOEY, d'ye see? Boo-oo. "'E tiles not
now!"... 'Oo's _that?_ The ole Dook o' CAMBRIDGE? No, it's
Lord SOLSBURY, that is. So it is. That's a good 'it, eh? Look
at the size of 'is _boots!_ What's written on them? "_Comfort_," or
somethink! "_Chuck-out_," is it? Oh, I couldn't make the writing out.
Hor-hor; got 'im there, they 'ave. Garn. King BOMBA!... Look
at ole GOSHIN. 'E _'ave_ give 'im a _'at_, ain't 'e? I arsk
_you_, is _that_ a fice, as orter be in Parliment?... 'Ave they 'ad
BALFOUR up yet? Yuss, they did _'im_ with 'is trousers shrunk
up to 'is knees. Kepital it was. Harhar! that's the way to show _that_
lot up, and no mistake! (_&c., &c._)

_The Crowd_ (_as several results are announced in succession_).
Comin' in quick now, ain't they? Look there! "Boston. Unionist gain!"
'Oo-ra-ay! bo-oo-oo! "North Lambeth. Unionist gain." .... "Rochdale.
Unionist gain!".... "Bristol (South), increased Conservative majority.
No change."

_The Sanguine Radical._ Tell ye what 'tis, they're putting in all the
Conservative wins _first_. And them bigoted beggars at Bristol, they
dunno what they're votin' _for_, they don't. We shall pull up afore
long. There, what did I _tell_ you? Look a' _that_. "Durham. Liberal
majority, 1--Objection raised." Hooray! we're beginning ter buck up
_now_, ye see! (_Radical groups cheer in a spirit of thankfulness
for small mercies._) "Pontefract. Liberal majority, 57. No change."
(_Frantic Radical enthusiasm and cries of_ "Good ole Pontefrack!")
"Huddersfield. Radical gain." (_Roars of delight from Radicals._) 'Ave
a few more like _that_, and we shall do.... "Oldham. Conservative gain
o' two seats." (_Tremendous cheering from Conservatives._) Well, after
_that_, I'm prepared for anythink, I am!

_Elderly Radical Solon._ It's jes _this_ way, them Conservatives, they
ain't got no _prinserples_, o' course, but they do stick together, and
that's 'ow they git the advantage over _us_. But it jes serves the
Govment right fur not parsin' the Second Ballot. They _could_ ha' done
it, and they _orter_ ha' done it!

_His Companion_ (_disguising a slight vagueness as to the precise
nature of this measure_). I dessay, I dessay; but it's these 'ere
Labour Kendidates as are playin' the dooce with us. Lost us several
seats a'ready, they 'ave.

_The R. S._ My argument on that is this--the ole question o' the Labour
was concocted four year ago at Devonshire 'Ouse.

_His Companion_ (_guardedly_). It _might_ ha' bin, but I don't foller
yer, John.

_An Independent._ Anyway, you can't say as the Labour Candidate made
any difference _'ere_--he on'y polled twelve 'undred and fifty-one
votes, and the Unionist had neely five thousand!

_His Neighbour._ No difference? 'Ow d' yer make _that_ out? Why, the
Radical was on'y four'underd or so be'ind, and it stands to reason, as
if arf the Labour votes 'ad bin given to 'im, he'd 'a won easy!

_The Independent_ (_hastily_). Yes, yes; jesso, jesso; but that wasn't
my _point_. And KEIR 'ARDIE sez there'll be three 'underd
Labour Kendidates next elections. Ah, and they'll _find_ 'em, too!

_A Unionist._ I 'ope they may. More on 'em the merrier--for _our_ side!

_The Independent._ Any'ow, KEIR 'ARDIE'S safe for West 'Am.
Majority o' twelve 'underd and thirty-two last time. Take a _lot_ o'
pulling down, that will! (_Polling at West Ham (South) announced._
KEIR HARDIE _defeated by 775. Impartial joy of Tories and
Liberals._) What? Chucked? _'Im!_ The on'y man with the morril courage
to wear a deerstalker in the 'Ouse! They ain't fit to _'ave_ a vote!

 [_Exit disgustedly._

[Illustration: "'E's a reg'lar tinker's cuss, as I 'appen to know!"]

_A Red-hot Radical._ Ah, what I ses is, it don't matter which you
fetch a man out of--whether it's Newgit, or whether it's a mad 'ouse,
'e's good enough to make a Tory of! Look at 'im as 'as got in agen for
West Puddlesford, 'e's a beauty--the 'ottest member in the 'Ouse, 'e
is--_that_ feller, why, 'e's a reg'lar tinker's cuss, as I 'appen to
know! (_Another result is exhibited. A Conservative Brewer gets in for
Worcester. No change._) Good ole Bung'ole! It's the beer as _does_ it!

_First Mechanic_ (_after a Radical majority at Devonport has been
announced_). Well, I can't understand a dockyard town voting for a
Radical; they get twice the amount o' work under a Tory government,
that's a matter of common knowledge.

_Second Mechanic._ What's the good o' that when others have got none at
all? I'm all for _ekalizing_ the work--let 'em have 'alf the work and
give others a chance.

_First Mech._ You wouldn't accept 'alf the work _you_'ve got, I'll lay.
You _would?_ Well, yer _missis_ wouldn't, then!

_Second Mech._ She'd 'ave to. And why should 'alf of us starve?

_First Mech._ Why should _all_ of us? But there's no use o' you and me
_argufying_ about it.

 [_Which, of course, they continue to do notwithstanding; there is a
 lull in the returns, and the photographs and caricatures are once more
 in request_; Mr. CHAMBERLAIN'S _being exhibited upside down
 by way of variety_.

_A Radical._ What d' yer think o' JOE _now?_ 'E's met with a
reverse, eh!

_A Tory._ _That_'s all right, mate; it on'y means as 'e's a goin' to do
it on 'is 'ed!

_An elderly and excited Irishwoman._ Ah, bad luck to 'im, the
murtherin' scounthril! wants a _toitle_, dees he? Jist th' loike of all
thim Saxon opprissors, th' toirant. What does _he_ care hwhat becomes
o' th' poor Oirish, so long as he gets his billyfull?

 [_She pours a stream of denunciation into the ears of the nearest
 Radical._

_The Radical_ (_soothingly_). Good 'ole BRIDGET. But look
'ere, you needn't come and talk to _me_ about it. (_Indicating a Tory
neighbour._ You go an' tell '_im!_

 [_Which_ BRIDGET _does, volubly; more portraits are
 exhibited. One of_ Mr. JUSTIN MCCARTHY _being hailed with
 cries of "Brayvo_, LABBY!" and _"Our Cartoonist" being
 instantly recognised as the late_ Mr. PARNELL.

_Radical Spectators_ (_after results of polling at Deptford, Halifax,
Hartlepool, Bristol (North), (&c._). Oh dear, oh dear, oh _dear_. Well,
I'm sure! MACNAMARA, the man 'oo polled the 'ighest votes
in the School Board Election--and look at him _now!_ If SIDNEY
WEBB 'ud ha' contested that, 'e'd a' _won_ it!... There's
_another_ seat we've lost. Well, I was 'appier standing 'ere this time
three years ago, blow'd if I wasn't!... Oh lor, my brother-in-law 'll
go wild over this. My ole uncle 'll go arf orf his 'ed. (_&c., &c._)

_An Irrelevant Person._ Tork about Tories! Why, I'll lay anybody a
shillin' JEM SMITH, the fighting man, 's a Tory, and _all_ o'
them prize-fighters are--and that's 'ow it's _done!_

_First Lounger._ _'Oo_ ain't a workin' man? I lay I work as 'ard as
what _you_ do, come now!

_Second Lounger._ What _are_ yer then? A mat-seller?

_First Lounger_ (_indignantly_). Garn! A mat-seller? I'm a bloomin'
toe-walker, I am. Lean up agin the doors o' public-'ouses, I do, and
work _'ard_ at it!

 [_His claim is reluctantly admitted._

_The Sanguine Radical._ Twelve Unionist gains to three Radical! Well,
there's no denying things ain't gone quite as well as I expected. But
there, there's no telling; by this time to-morrow we shall all know
more than what we do now. I shall turn in to LOCKHART'S and
'ave a large cocoa after this. I _want_ it, I can tell yer!

       *       *       *       *       *

OPERATIC NOTES.

_MONDAY, July 15._--_Tannhaeuser_ Combination Company
night. Made in Germany, brought into England, and sung in French.
ALBANI unexpectedly out, like HARCOURT;
EAMES in as Liberal-Unionist. "Miss EAMES and miss
ALBANI," quoth WAGSTAFF. MAUREL unwell:
apologised for EAMES, distantly related to "'Eames Ancient and
Modern," (which superseded TATE and BRADY,) nervous
but charming. Protean Mlle. BAUERMEISTER as _Little-Bo-Peep_,
the shepherd's boy, excellent. _Venus-Adini_ fine and large, offering
to excellent _Tannhaeuser-Alvarez_ a great contrast to beloved
_Elizabeth-Eames_. House crammed.

[Illustration]

_Saturday._--Peacefully comical and classical _Philemon et Baucis_
followed by warlike, modern, and tragical _La Navarraise_. Bang go the
drums and cannons. CALVE to the front! _C'est magnifique!_
Literally stunning! DRURIOLANUS must get an opera written
with a naval engagement in it (he can easily add this to his other
engagements for next season), ending with general explosion and
Admiral's cocked hat going off. No charge for suggestion. Bombardier
BEVIGNANI or Marine MANCINELLI might revel in it.
_Vive la Guerre!_

       *       *       *       *       *

Breach of Promise Couplet.

 [Last week Miss EDMAN sued JAKOBOWSKI for breach of
 promise and won her case with L700 damages.]

  O JAKOBOWSKI many tears you'll shed man,
  You lost your money when you lost your 'Ed-man!

       *       *       *       *       *

Election Notes from the West.

_Plymouth._--CLARKE secures seat, but HUBBARD, like
dog of celebrated ancestress, has none.

_Falmouth._--HORNIMAN in. "_Fabula narratur de Tea._"

_Camborne Division._--STRAUSS conducting great campaign in a
Miner key. Key to situation.

_Ashburton Division._--Radicals fighting nix or nothing. Unionist
war-cry, "Nix my dolly, pals, vote away!"

_Torquay Division._--Electors continue policy of filling up the cup by
returning PHILLPOTTS.

       *       *       *       *       *

COUPLET, JUST OUT.

  On faults only two in our rule I can touch:
  We gave 'em too little and promised too much.

  _Sir Henry Campbell Balladman._

       *       *       *       *       *

"GOODE GOODS."--"The Goode Collection" sold at Christie's
Tuesday and Thursday last. Goode enough, of course; but because it was
the Goode Collection it evidently could not have been the Best.

       *       *       *       *       *

RECIPROCITY.

SCENE--_A London Dinner Party._

Mr. LAMBERT _and_ Mrs. CRUMPINGTON (_chance
partners_).

_Mr. Lambert_ (_feeling his way_). Been to the Opera often this season,
Mrs. CRUMPINGTON?

_Mrs. Crumpington._ Oh, very often. I am so devoted to music, you know,
that I go whenever I can. And, talking of music, have you heard that
new pianist, Herr--what _is_ his name?--oh yes, Herr WIDOWSKI?
He's too delicious for words!

_Mr. L._ No; I can't say that I go to concerts much. You should talk to
my daughter ETHEL--she's devoted to music, and they tell me
that she's got a really fine voice. I'm sure she practises enough.

_Mrs. C._ Indeed? Well, I've no voice, I'm sorry to say; but I play the
piano a little--only a _very_ little, you know.

_Mr. L._ Wonderful what a lot of people _do_ play in these
days--(_hastily_)--not like _you_, of course; but one hears pianos and
fiddles going in every house, and most of them are simply instruments
of torture.

_Mrs. C._ (_smiling_). Rather a rash remark--isn't it? You've never
heard me play, you see! (Mr. L. _endeavours to protest_.) Oh, but
I assure you I quite agree with you. For instance, my next-door
neighbours are always making the most awful noises--playing and singing
morning, noon, and night. The wall is very thin, and I am nearly driven
crazy.

_Mr. L._ (_warmly_). My dear Madam, I can sympathise with you entirely.
I've often thought that Parliament ought to pass a Bill for enforcing
a close-time in domestic music. Of course it only matters to me in the
evening, but we're troubled exactly in the same way as yourself. And
my poor ETHEL finds her singing constantly interrupted by the
disgusting row made by our next-door neighbour. I suppose he must take
a pleasure in annoying us--anyhow he's jammed his wretched piano right
up against our drawing-room wall, and bangs and thumps on it for about
six hours a day. Of course it would be bad enough if the fellow played
well; but you never heard such ghastly noises as he makes!

_Mrs. C._ How sorry I am for your poor daughter! Yes; people complain
in the papers and grumble about street-bands and piano-organs; but at
least one can send them away--which, unfortunately, one can't do in the
case of next-door neighbours! However, I suppose I ought to be grateful
that the people on the other side don't play at all.

_Mr. L._ Ah! I live in a corner-house. But I think a little opposition
noise would almost be a relief--a kind of homeopathic cure, you know.

_Mrs. C._ One's quite enough for _me_. It's been getting worse, too,
these last few weeks, and I'm delighted to meet a fellow-sufferer.
Come; can't we concoct some joint scheme of deliverance? Do
you think it would answer if I sent round a polite note--"Mrs.
CRUMPINGTON presents her compliments to Mr."--whatever their
name is--"and would be extremely obliged,"--and so on. How would that
do?

_Mr. L._ (_decisively_). Wouldn't be the least use, I assure you, or
I'd have tried that plan myself long ago. The only result would be that
they'd make more row than ever, on purpose to score off you. No, I
fancy I've got a better plan than that.

_Mrs. C._ (_eagerly_). Oh, do tell me what it is!

_Mr. L._ Well, I happened to notice in a shop in Holborn the other day
one of these new American toys, it's a kind of small fog-horn, driven
by a pair of bellows. And the noise it makes is something terrific, I
assure you--loud enough to drown half-a-dozen pianos. So I've ordered
one of these, and as soon as ever that scoundrel strikes up next door,
I shall turn on the horn; then, directly he stops, I'll stop too, you
see. Rather a good idea, don't you think?

_Mrs. C._ (_much amused_). It is, _indeed!_ If only the poor wretch
next door knew what was in store for him! Oh, if only I could silence
_my_ enemy in that way! But then, of course, I can't a blow a horn.

_Mr. L._ That isn't necessary; all you have to do is to work the
bellows, and the thing goes by itself. Really, I strongly recommend you
to invest in one.

_Mrs. C._ It would be a good plan, wouldn't it? Where did you say they
are to be had?

_Mr. L._ I'll write down the address, if I can find a scrap of paper.

 [_Takes out a card-case from his pocket, pencils address on back of
 visiting card, and hands it to_ Mrs. C.

_Mrs. C._ Thank you _so_ much, I'll certainly think about getting one
(_looks absently at the other side of the card_) if they're not too
dear, and----(_Gasping._) Good gracious heavens!

_Mr. L._ (_anxiously_). What's the matter? Are you ill?

_Mrs. C._ (_pointing to the printed side of the card in her hand_). Is
this your real address?

_Mr. L._ (_much astonished_). "No. 1, Yarborough Gardens?" Yes,
certainly it is. Why do you ask?

_Mrs. C._ (_faintly_). Because--because _I_ live next door at No. 3!!

 [_Tableau! Curtain._

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: WHAT THE NEW WOMAN WILL MAKE OF THE NEW MAN!

"IF YOU WANT ME TO KEEP THE NEXT DANCE FOR YOU, YOU MUST WAIT UNDER
THIS DOOR. I CAN'T GO RUSHING ALL OVER THE ROOM TO _LOOK_ FOR YOU, YOU
KNOW!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE OLLENDORF GUIDE TO KNOWLEDGE.

THE CARETAKER.

Is it time to leave town? Yes, it is time to leave town, because the
good neighbours have put up their shutters (_i.e._, the shutters of the
good neighbours). Do all the good neighbours put up their shutters?
Yes, all put up their shutters, but one of them stays in town at
the back of the house. Why does one of the good neighbours stay in
town at the back of the house? To escape the expense of leaving town
incurred by the other good neighbours who have put up their shutters.
Is that expense a great one? Yes, a very great one. Have they any
other drawbacks? Yes, they have the annoyances of a caretaker. What
are the annoyances of a caretaker? The annoyances of a caretaker are
her husband, her children, her cat, her dog, her mother, and all
her relations. When a caretaker enters the house of one of the good
neighbours, is she accompanied by her annoyances? Yes, the caretaker is
accompanied by her annoyances. Does the caretaker lead a happy life in
the house of one of the good neighbours? Yes, she leads a happy life,
and so do her husband, her children, her cat, her dog, her mother, and
all her relations. What do the relations of the caretaker do in the
house of one of the good neighbours? They smoke in the drawing-room in
the house of one of the good neighbours. If anyone calls to see the
good neighbour, what does the caretaker do? The caretaker generally
refuses to attend to the bell. Should the caretaker attend to the
bell, what does she do? She tells the caller who wishes to see the
good neighbour that she knows nothing of the master of the house's
movements (_i.e._, the movements of the master of the house). Does the
caller then retire under the impression that the house has been sold
up, and that the good neighbour has entered the Court of Bankruptcy
(_i.e._, the Bankruptcy Court)? The caller does leave the house under
that impression. While this impression is being created in London,
is the good neighbour unconsciously attempting to enjoy himself in
Switzerland? Yes, the good neighbour is undoubtedly attempting to
enjoy himself in Switzerland, in spite of the cookery, the lack of
accommodation, the expense, and the weather. If the good neighbour
ceased to be unconscious, and became aware of the damage that was being
done to his credit by the caretaker, what would that good neighbour do?
The good neighbour would probably swear. Then would the good language
of the good neighbour change in its character? Yes; for it would
become the bad language of the bad neighbour. Would the bad language
of the bad neighbour have any immediate effect upon the caretaker,
her husband, her children, her cat, her dog, her mother, and all her
relatives? No, for the bad language would be uttered in Switzerland,
and the caretaker, her husband, her children, her cat, her dog, her
mother, and all her relatives would be in London. Then what would the
caretaker, her husband, her children, her cat, her dog, her mother, and
all her relatives do in the house of one of the good neighbours during
the protracted absence of the good neighbour on the Continent? They
would continue to smoke in the drawing-room.

       *       *       *       *       *

"HONOURS EASY."

Mr. TRELOAR wrote to the _Times_ the other day _a propos_
of Mr. WILLIAMSON'S peerage. Messrs. TRELOAR and
WILLIAMSON are in the same business, _i.e._ the linoleum
trade, and Mr. TRELOAR suggested that "_Lord LINOLEUM
would not be a bad title_." Quite agree with him. Let persons take
titles from some specialty of their trade or calling. Suppose peerages
granted to

  Chiropedist                       Marquis of CUTACORN.
  Soda-water Manufacturer           Lord SODA AND BANG.
  Tailor                            Viscount VEST.
  Butcher (_Irish title_)           Baron O'BEEF.
  Jeweller                          Duke of DIAMONDS.
  Grocer                            Lord SUGAR AND SANDS.
  Draper                            Earl of SUMMERGOODS AND WINTERSALES.
  Ditto                             Lord REMNANTS OF UNDERWEAR.
  Bootmaker (_with French polish_)  Marquis DE SHOES ET AUTRES.

Numerous variations will occur to readers. They can be forwarded to our
office as probably useful when the next "honours easy" are dealt out.

       *       *       *       *       *

"OH, THE IRONY OF IT!"--Last week, whilst reports of Tory
successes in the boroughs daily reached London, the leading Liberal
paper, regardless of expense, had the walls covered with large placards
announcing that "the _Daily News_ has the best election intelligence."
"If this is the best," said Sir WILLIAM HARCOURT, observing
one of the placards on his way back from Derby, "I shouldn't like to
know the worst."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE SPILL!

  JACK AND JILL WENT UP THE HILL
  TO FETCH A PAIL OF WATER,
  JACK FELL DOWN AND BROKE HIS CROWN,
  AND JILL CAME TUMBLING AFTER.]

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

_The Variety Stage_, by CHARLES DOUGLAS STUART and A. J.
PARK (FISHER UNWIN), is a history of the Music-halls from the
earliest period to the present time. And a very interesting history it
is, admirably told withal. One comes upon names familiar in boyhood,
and is a little shocked to find that the Great VANCE was
really named ALFRED PECK STEVENS. The pages glow with pleasant
peeps of London at midnight, as _Pendennis_ saw it, and as, once at
least, it was looked upon by _Colonel Newcome_. It is sad to find how
many of the old favourites of the music-hall fall upon evil times, and
even die in the workhouse. SAM COLLINS was more fortunate. He
was sumptuously buried in Kensal Green, where a marble pedestal carries
his portrait and his epitaph. This last is notable as containing what,
as far as my Baronite knows, is the most audacious rhyme in the English
language. As it was admitted to consecrated ground, it may perhaps be
quoted here. "A loving husband," so it runs--

  "A loving husband and a faithful friend,
  Ever the first a helping hand to lend:
  Farewell, good-natured, honest-hearted SAM,
  Until we meet before the great I AM."

  _Pro_ BARON DE B.-W.

       *       *       *       *       *

DIPLOMATIC INTELLIGENCE.--Mr. CHAUNCY DEPEW has
arrived. On business, of course. De-pew-ted by American Government.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: ON THE TRACK IN BATTERSEA PARK.

"WHERE THERE'S A WHEEL THERE'S A WAY."]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE LABOUR GALLIO.

  Bah! Politics are a bad joke.
    To get up steam about 'em's silly.
  The Tory pabulum is stale "toke,"
    The Liberal beverage sloppy "skilly."
  _My_ business, whilst they storm and splutter,
  Is to earn beer and bread-and-butter.

       *       *       *       *       *

THURSDAY, JULY 18. FOR TWO KNIGHTS ONLY!--Sir HENRY
IRVING and _Sir John Falstaff_. Hitherto Windsor Shakspearianly
associated with Merry Wives and washtubbing (with "brown Windsor") of
Fat Knight. Henceforth memorable for Royal reception and dubbing (also
with the best Windsor) of Thin Knight. Reported that Sir HENRY
was invited to represent a Constituency! He _has_ represented two
single gentlemen rolled into one, such as _Corsican Brothers_, and
_Dubosc_ and _Lesurques_. But to represent a Constituency of some
thousands!! No rapid act of "quickest change" could effect it. _Vive_
Sir HENRY!

       *       *       *       *       *

"IN NUBIBUS."--WRIGHT, the convict and ex-solicitor
of the Liberator Building Society, said in the course of examination at
the London Bankruptcy Court that he was "formerly tenant of Cloughton
Castle in Ireland. That was only a small place, but it was customary in
Ireland to call almost everything a castle." Quite Wright. Home Rule is
now one of these _Chateaux d' Espagne_ in Ireland, and "to let."

       *       *       *       *       *

THE GENERAL ELECTION.

  Oh pity an unhappy man
    Reduced to desperate dejection!
  There's nothing happening but an Election.

  Eternally it worries me,
    Inducing cerebral affection,
  This never-ending topic the Election.

  I don't love politics, or care
    A pin for Liberal defection,
  Or if the Tories gained in their Election.

  Unworthy citizen, perhaps
    I need reproof and stern correction,
  Indifferent to any chap's Election.

  Unless I flew beyond the sea,
    I'm certain that in no direction
  Could I escape at all from the Election.

  For no one writes, and no one speaks,
    Of anything but in connection
  With some loquacious man who seeks Election.

  I try my club; though men may come
    And men may go, there's this objection
  To all alike--they talk of some Election.

  I go to bed; no rest for me,
    I'm roused by yells, with shrill inflection
  Of "Extry midnight speshul, the Election!"

  The papers, taking any side,
    Of any party, any section,
  One sort of news alike provide--Election.

  I'll go to see my love, and kiss
    Her pretty face, her sweet complexion,
  At least she will not talk of this Election.

       *       *       *       *       *

"YOU ARE MOST APT TO PLAY THE SIR."

_Othello_, Act ii., Sc. i.

Friday, July 19, 1895, memorable in annals of British stage as a day
set apart for one of the greatest triumphs of the Drama. Sir HENRY
IRVING, fresh from the honours of Royal Windsor, received a
further distinction at the hands and hearts of his "brothers and
sisters" in that profession for which he has done so much. Squire
BANCROFT was the eloquent spokesman for the enthusiastic
audience of comedians and tragedians which filled the Lyceum; yet
before and behind the footlights there was not a suggestion of
histrionics. Unlike, too, the great unpaying, who have the dulness of
their _order_, the guests of Friday were remarkable for the tremendous
energy of their goodwill. If this theatre had not long been seasoned
to the sounds of vociferous cheering, the demonstration might "have
brought down the house" literally. _Mr. Punch_ takes this opportunity
of joining in the demonstration, and drinks to Sir HENRY
IRVING. May the Knight of the cheerful countenance prosper
according to his deserts. And, if that wish is realised, the lessee of
the Lyceum will be one of the happiest men on record.

       *       *       *       *       *

STAMBULOFF.

  Grim mockery of fate! The assassin's knife
  Once more hath power upon a patriot's life.
  One steel-armed miscreant, with one felon blow,
  May lay the moulder of a nation low.
  Masterful man and fiery patriot, still
  Is that strong heart, relaxed that iron will.
  Yet there's more honour for the brave at rest,
  After vain struggle and abortive quest,
  Than for the ungrateful herd who dare not rise
  To the full height of perilous destinies,
  The Northern Bear his distant quarry nosing,
  Or the Coburger in gay Carlsbad glosing.

       *       *       *       *       *

R. PEEL FROM MR. G.--Mr. GLADSTONE, writing to Sir
ROBERT PEEL, who had been addressing the Fazeley branch Lodge
of Oddfellows, said, "_In our small community we have four separate
lodges, and I have associated myself with them all._" Mr. G. may now
adopt as his signature, not the initials "G. O. M.," but the new one of
"O. F. O.," or "Odd Fellow Out." No doubt, with his love of retirement
and study, the Grand Old Odd-Fellow often says, sighingly, to himself,
"O for a Lodge in some great Wilderness!"

       *       *       *       *       *

To Dr. W. G. Grace on his 47th Birthday.

  Many happy returns of the day!
    Old Time on his record should nick it,
  Long, long may he umpire your play.
    Here's wishing you luck at the wicket,
  Long life,--for one "century," say,--
    And a hundred more of 'em at Cricket!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: BLASE.

"WELL, PAPA, HOW DID YOU ENJOY THE PLAY TO-NIGHT?"

"OH, I THINK I ENJOYED IT FAIRLY WELL, MY DEAR. I'VE GOT A GENERAL
SORT OF IDEA THAT I DIDN'T GO TO SLEEP OVER IT!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

HOW THE TOPERS CAME DOWN TO THE POLLS.

(_A Song for the Drouthy, someway after Southey._)

_How did the Topers come down to the Polls?_

        Here they came shouting,
        And there they came flouting,
  Teetotalers scouting, and HARCOURT mis-doubting,
  With banners, and big bills, and trumpets and song.
        With pint-pots and flagons,
        In drags, brakes and wagons,
        As valiant as lions, as fiery as dragons,
  They hastened along united and strong!
  'Midst braying of brass and 'midst clouds of tobacco,
  With jubiliant shouts for "The Union Jack, O!"
  With jovial manners, and patriot banners,
  'Midst bung-lauding boasters, with big scarlet posters,
    In Sunday-best garments superbly arrayed;
  'Midst shoutings from "cadgers," with scarves and with badges,
  With rubicund faces, limp collars, loose braces,
  With dry-as-dust throttles, and handy case-bottles,
  With blonde buxom Beauty to aid 'em in duty,
  And bystanders funning, and little boys running,
  And stentor-toned shouts for "The Cause" and "The Trade"!!!
        All florid and torrid,
        Damp shirts and moist forehead,
        From near slum and far court,
        With railings at HARCOURT,
  And wit-aping WILFRID, and truculent CAINE.
        With shouts for Sir MICHAEL,
        By 'bus, and by cycle,
  Afoot, and well-mounted, by tram and by train.
        All glowing and blowing,
        Red cards about throwing,
  And rushing, and crushing, and flushing,
  And laughing, and chaffing, and quaffing;
  And jeering, and sneering, and "beering,"
  And skipping, and tripping, and "nipping,"
  And hasting, and pasting, and tasting;
  And hopping, and popping, and mopping,
        Perspiring, and wiring.
        But ever untiring.
  And drinking, and chinking, and blinking, and winking,
  And sometimes unthinking, but ever unshrinking,
        And gladdening, and maddening,
        And t'other side saddening,
  Friends brightening, foes frightening, interiors tightening,
    And warming, and forming, and storming;
  And flattering, and clattering, and battering, and shattering;
  Arising, surprising, all foes pulverising,
  And giving them "toko" on temperance "boko."
  And flashing, and dashing, and crashing, and smashing, and hashing,
  And propping, and stopping, and copping, and lopping, and topping, and
    whopping;
  And backing, and tracking, and blacking, and hacking, and smacking, and
    whacking,
        And "giving 'em beans."
        (You know what _that_ means!)
  And shouting, "We vote all against Cant Teetotal!
  We'll beat up each _Bardolph_, and _Pistol_, and _Peto_,
  To give its quietus to villainous Veto.
  And kick out the duffers The Trade who would queer
  And rob (big caps., please!) THE POOR MAN OF HIS BEER!!!
  Out, out on the foes of our Freedom--and Liquor!
  They'll follow their Leader--the sooner the quicker!
  The Lords they may floor, and the Church may assault,
  But they've met with their match in the Champions of Malt!
        All together, brave souls!
        See, our phalanx on-rolls!!!"

  And _that_'s how the Topers came down to the Polls!

       *       *       *       *       *

MAINTAINING THE UNION.--The _Sheffield Daily Telegraph_, in
referring to the success of Mr. G. H. ALLSOPP at Worcester,
just prior to that eminent Unionist taking unto himself a wife,
suggests that the newly-elected M.P. should follow the precedent set
by Mr. GRIFFITH-BOSCAWEN in 1892, and give to each of his
bridesmaids a brooch with the amount of his majority engraved upon it.
This is all very well in its way. But the total at Tunbridge was 933,
while that of Worcester extended to four figures. So to give room for
labelling, the brooch should be changed to a bracelet. A man bearing
the honoured name of ALLSOPP should be appropriately equal to
the XX's.

       *       *       *       *       *

A QUESTION TO OUTSIDERS.--"Won't you come round?" was the
invitation (as reported in the _Daily Graphic_) given by Sir HENRY
IRVING (after his speech on Friday afternoon) to his "friends in
front." But it is a question addressed to many outside the theatre and
the theatrical profession; to all sorts and conditions of men and women
who still regard the stage askance, and who look upon the ultimate
fate of theatre-goers and actors as a melancholy certainty. To these
persons, whether a minority or a majority,--in either case a "narrow"
one,--Sir HENRY'S kindly invitation is publicly addressed, and
it is "Won't you come round?"

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A SUNDAY DINNER.

_Father of Family_ (_who has accidentally shot the leg of a Fowl under
the table_). "MIND T'DOG DOESN'T GET IT!"

_Young Hopeful_ (_triumphantly_). "ALL RIGHT, FEYTHER! I'VE GOTTEN
ME FOOT ON IT!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

ROUNDABOUT READINGS.

To the philosophical mind of a Roundabout Reader the General Election
ought to offer many points of interest, not because he is a politician,
but because, in the interest of his reading, he has to occupy a
position of detachment, and therefore perhaps sees more of the humours
and absurdities which crowd the animated scene. Yet here, for instance,
am I, a diligent turner over of every possible kind of newspaper,
metropolitan and provincial, and all that I have carried away from my
careful investigations is a confused sense that if electors on either
side only "stand shoulder to shoulder," "leave no stone unturned,"
and "work as one man from now till the polling-day," why each tide is
positively certain that "another nail will be driven into the coffin"
of the other side, that "a resounding blow will be struck for the
good cause," and that "the banner under which we have secured many a
brilliant victory will once more float triumphantly in the breeze." As
for the "moral victories" gained, they are almost overwhelming both in
number and in result.

       *       *       *       *       *

Indeed, there is nothing so dangerously attractive to speaker and to
audience as a fine old crusted political tag. Policies and programmes
are as dust in the balance. As you listen to a speaker and watch his
hearers, you may see a smile of perfect confidence and satisfaction
spreading over the faces of the latter while the former winds himself
up to the well-known, fondly-loved, and long-expected tag, which is the
inevitable conclusion of the fiery oratorical period. "That," they say
to themselves, "is the man for us. He says exactly what we should have
said in the only appropriate words." Result--_Loud and enthusiastic
cheers, amidst which_ Mr. PLATTIT-EWD _resumed his seat,
having spoken for three-quarters of an hour._

       *       *       *       *       *

And the old familiar funny stories, the humorous allusions, the
sparkling gibes, have they not been trotted out from Land's End to
John o' Groat's House? Welcome have you been, oh ye kittens, born
blind as Liberal (or Conservative) kittens, and converted, through the
opening of your eyes, into Conservative (or Liberal) kittens; welcome
also, ye hounds, who have devoured all your labels, and know not your
destination. Many a time have I hunted with your sporting pack, and
seen my friends ride gallantly at your tails. Also there is a wolf, and
there is a lamb; and there was once a Sibyl who dealt in books, and
there is an Italian who, having performed the most coruscating solos on
the barrel-organ, failed miserably when asked to oblige upon the piano.
All these have played their parts nobly. Not for long do I bid them
farewell. They will return, I know they will, with the first mutterings
of the next election.

       *       *       *       *       *

  Pray consider my verse, which, if learnt by heart pat, forms
  The best of all tips for political platforms.
  With a slight dash of MILL you may burden your speeches,
  You may tell the great tale of O'BRIEN, his breeches.
  On the one side you'll tear WILLIAM HARCOURT to tatters;
  He's out for a time, but I don't think it matters.
  Then, in talking of JOE, what will help very much is
  A delicate hint at a Duke or a Duchess;
  A suggestion that coats are the garments, if any,
  That mustn't be turned when their colours are many:
  And that programmes (you'll pause ere you flatly refuse 'em)
  Are Brummagem goods, which will break when you use 'em.
  Then, whether your hearers be Whig or be Tory,
  By the scruff of its neck you must drag in a story.
  Adjure them, my friend, lest their zeal should grow colder,
  To fight for the Cause, standing shoulder to shoulder.
  And, whether you battle for that chief or this chief,
  Inform them that stones, if unturned, are the mischief.
  And, last but not least, no opponent will quarrel,
  When all that you claim is a win _plus_ a moral.

       *       *       *       *       *

As an example of how political conflicts ought to be carried on take
the case of West Fife. While Mr. AUGUSTINE BIRRELL, the
Radical Candidate, was speaking in Thornton School, "the door of
the room was opened, and Mr. WEMYSS, the Liberal Unionist
candidate for the constituency, asked 'May I come in,' to which Mr.
BIRRELL replied 'Yes, certainly.' Mr. WEMYSS, who
was followed by a large number of supporters, then entered the hall,
and took a seat on one of the front benches, which he occupied until
the close of the address, when he was greeted with loud calls for
a speech. In response to the call, he remarked that he had already
made eight or nine speeches that day, and must be excused from making
another. He had, however, enjoyed Mr. BIRRELL'S speech very
much. It was not for him to criticise it at that meeting, but he might
only say that he felt sure the electors of West Fife would vote for
whom they considered the best man and the man they believed would do
his duty. He then called for three hearty cheers for his opponent,
Mr. BIRRELL. Votes of confidence were then put for both
candidates, when that in favour of Mr. BIRRELL was declared
carried. The opposing candidates then shook hands, and departed
evidently the best of friends."

       *       *       *       *       *

A totally different picture comes to us from Aston Manor, as I judge
from the following letter in the BIRMINGHAM DAILY GAZETTE.

WHAT HAS BECOME OF IKE WARD?

_To the Editor of the Daily Gazette._

 SIR,--My attention has been drawn to an attack made by
 Captain GRICE-HUTCHINSON on a very respectable member of the
 National Society of Amalgamated Brassworkers, Mr. IKE WARD.
 In your yesterday's issue Captain GRICE-HUTCHINSON is
 reported to have said: "The last authentic account he had of Mr.
 IKE WARD was that he was 'bones' in some <DW65> troupe on
 the sands of Scarborough." Mr. WARD has been for some time
 engaged as an organiser, and is a member of the Executive of the
 Railway Workers' Union, has never been in a <DW65> troupe on the sands
 of Scarborough or anywhere else.

 As the statement is calculated to damage the reputation of my friend
 Mr. WARD, I am sure that the candidate for Aston will at
 once either give his authority for the damaging statement or withdraw
 the aspersions on the character of a respected labour leader.--Yours
 faithfully,

 W. J. DAVIS.

 _70, Lionel Street, Birmingham, July 13._

       *       *       *       *       *

But after all, even if Mr. IKE WARD had chosen to employ
his leisure in performing on the bones in a <DW65> troupe on the
sands at Scarborough or elsewhere he would have done nothing to be
ashamed of. Obviously, however, Captain GRICE-HUTCHINSON'S
account was anything but authentic, and he had no business to cork Mr.
WARD'S face in so gratuitous a manner.

  'Tis a manifest error, this tale about bones--
    (You may like what I say, or, if not, you may lump it).
  For a worker in brass must produce the best tones
    If--I don't say he did it--he blew his own trumpet.

       *       *       *       *       *

In any record of electoral humour Mr. MUNTZ, the member for
Tamworth, must hold a distinguished place. Here is a report of some of
the remarks made by him at meetings in the Nuneaton Division:--

 Mr. MUNTZ, in the course of his remarks, characterised Lord
 SALISBURY'S Government as the most able Administration
 that had ever held office in any Parliament the world over. It was
 composed of all the great intellect which, prior to the introduction
 of the Home Rule Bill, was divided between the two great parties
 of the State. Now all that was left to the Liberal party was the
 tagrag and bobtail. The late Radical Administration was a failure
 under Mr. GLADSTONE, great man as he was, and a still
 greater failure under Lord ROSEBERY, to whom Her Majesty
 had presented the Thistle. (_Laughter._) As to agriculture, he said
 that he had a conversation with Mr. CHAMBERLAIN on the
 subject just before the dissolution. Mr. CHAMBERLAIN said
 to him, "MUNTZ, what are we to do for agriculture?" and
 he replied, "That's a big question. You have all the great talent
 and all the great landed interest in the country represented in the
 present Government; and if the present Government can do nothing
 for agriculture, there is nothing to be done for agriculture."
 (_Applause._)

After reading this I feel that the question of agricultural distress
is settled. Mr. CHAMBERLAIN must, indeed, be a proud man at
having obtained so much valuable information in answer to a question
which, as reported, sounds familiar almost to the verge of rashness.

       *       *       *       *       *

Can pigs be kept at a profit? This was the question which confronted
the Devonport Guardians only the other day. The following extract from
their proceedings will be read with breathless interest:--

 Mr. H. W. BRYANT moved "That the Guardians give up pig
 keeping, either at the house or otherwise."

 Mr. HEALY seconded.--Mr. OLIVER supported, and said
 they could buy the pork cheaper than keep pigs, and that every pig
 they had kept cost them 1_s._ per lb.

 Mr. J. GOODMAN said he was a "piggery man." (_Laughter._) He
 liked the pig, he liked the pork, and he liked the profit that the pig
 brought. He was surprised to hear Mr. OLIVER say that the
 pigs cost 1_s._ per lb. He said it did not cost them 2-1/2_d._ per lb.

 Mr. CHEW pointed out that the profit on pig keeping last year
 in the house was L39.

 Mr. PENBERTHY said the master entered in his books that it
 cost them 6_d._ per lb., and Mr. J. MOORE maintained that
 they could buy pork at 4-1/2_d._ per lb. The motion was lost, 8 voting
 for, and 18 against.

  "I'm a piggery man," said GOODMAN, J., "though pigs are a wee bit
    squealy;
  But I won't sit still to hear pigs denounced by BRYANT and scorned by
    HEALY.
  Let those who prefer it till the fields, and see what a year's hard
    dig brings;
  _I_ like the pig, and I like the pork, and I like the profit the pig
    brings."
  Then CHEW, he chawed Mr. BRYANT up, Mr. HEALY to dust he ground, Sir;
  And MOORE maintained you could purchase pork at fourpence halfpenny a
    pound, Sir.
  But the piggery men prevailed by ten, a majority quite on the big side,
  Since eighteen voted for pigs that day, and eight on the anti-pig side.

       *       *       *       *       *

BROWN AND ME.

Me and BROWN has bin a having a lot of differences of opinion
all about the County Counsellers, which sumhows we carnt get to agree
together about em, not by no manner of means. And now, quite lately, we
has been a having a lot of quarrells about the members of Parlement in
the Citty, and all round about it, and, fortunetly, me and my frends
has wun nearly ewery place where there has bin any think like a jolly
good fight, and has now wun nearly the hole blooming lot on em! So that
the poor County Counsellors has hardly got a single member of Parlement
left among the whole blooming lot, and is obliged to have long rambling
speeches among theirselves jest to fill up their idle time. How they
can manage to keep things agoing jest while they makes their old long
speeches, I carnt for the life of me make out; but I am told that they
all agrees that its the only means they has of keeping up their old
Charter; and altho it isnt werry much to brag about, they all agrees
its sumthink better than nothink.

[Illustration]

Lots of the poor chaps who has been acustomed to go about different
parts of London a braggin about the werry great figgers they cuts, or
was used to cut, afore the new changes as took place in making amost
everybody members of Parlement, is now obleeged to do their werry best
to keep things a going cumfertably, if possibel; but its but poor work
for em, and but a werry poor change for things as was afore they was as
they is.

Why, I'm litterelly told as how there is now lots of Gents as was
once Members of Parlement who aint now members for nothink! that it
to say, not for nothink as is worth having. Why, I'm ewen told as the
County Counsellers, as belongs to the Tems Conserwency, is now so ardly
treated, that they werry offen carnt get enuff to do to keep their time
well employed, or to get enuff monney to pay them their werry modderate
wages; so eny boddy can werry easily emadgin what poor work it must now
be for poor fellers as was once Members of Parlement, and now aint not
members of not nothink!

Sum of the old members tells me as they doesnot despair ewen yet! for
they are quite sure as how as numbers of the grand old Tories will
stick to em as long as theres any left; but I thinks as I knows a trick
worth too of that, and that is, to make the best of the things as is,
and hope the best for all the changes as time and hoppertoonity will
aford em of putting a few things together as their long xperience has
tort em is easily turned to good account.

  ROBERT.

       *       *       *       *       *

ENTERTAINERS ENTERTAINED.--The DALY Co., headed by Mr. AUGUSTIN DALY
and Miss ADA REHAN, were lunch'd by the LORD MAYOR, July 16, at the
Munching House. LORD MAYOR paid sincere tribute to the American
Company, and AUGUSTIN DALY heartily thanked the City of London. The
U.S. Minister found a Link between the two countries in the great
Dramatic Light SHAKSPEARE. "And so say all of U.S." Manager DALY forgot
to mention, that, as he has to leave England in the autumn, he ought to
change the termination of his name to suit the term of his stay here,
and be "AUGUST-OUT DALY" instead of "AUGUST-IN."

       *       *       *       *       *

MRS. R. wants to know if "The Hardwicke Society" has anything
to do with the improvement of candles and candle-lamps?

       *       *       *       *       *

ANOTHER HONOUR FOR DR. GRACE!--The eminent batsman is to be
invited to the next "_Court Ball_."





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol.
109, July 27, 1895, by Various

*** 