



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 13, 1895.




OPERATIC NOTES.

_Monday._--Quite new Opera, _Faust_. Some people say they've heard it
before. Others add, "Yes, and more than once this season." Unwritten
law in _Codex Druriolanum_ is "You can't have too much of a good
thing." There are a hundred different ways of dressing chicken; so
with _Faust_. This time _Faust_ comes and is _Faust_ served with
_Sauce Marguerite a l'Emma Eames_. Uncommonly good. _Faust lui-meme a
l'Alvarez_ goes down uncommonly well. _Mefisto-Plancon Sauce au bon
diable_, a little overdone, perhaps, but decidedly a popular dish.
Baton of BEVIGNANI keeps all the ingredients well stirred up.
House full.

[Illustration]

_Tuesday._--_Carmen._ Madame BELLINCIONI and Signor
ANCONA going strong. Capital house, spite of shadow of
dissolution being over us all.

_Wednesday._--_Nozze di Figaro_, with EMMA EAMES as Countess,
singing charmingly, and looking like portrait of Court Beauty by Sir
PETER LELY. _Maurel-Almaviva_ all right for voice, but not up
to his Countess in aristocratic appearance. However, this is in keeping
with character of nobleman whose most intimate friend is his barber,
and who makes love to the barber's _fiancee_, who is also his wife's
_femme de chambre_.

       *       *       *       *       *

ROUNDABOUT READINGS.

At the Oxford and Cambridge Athletic Sports on Wednesday last, great
surprise was expressed at the defeat of the hitherto invincible Mr.
C. B. FRY by Mr. MENDELSON in the Long Jump. Mr.
MENDELSON, who comes to us from New Zealand, has not only done
a fine performance, but he has also jumped into fame. It is at any rate
obvious that it is quite impossible for him to represent his University
in the High Jump, for

  With a musical name (though he varies the spelling),
    This youth from New Zealand is bound to go far.
  He couldn't jump high, since (it's truth I am telling)
    No master of music e'er misses a bar.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Long Jump, snatched like a brand from the burning, practically gave
the victory in the whole contest to Cambridge, who also won the Weight,
the Mile, the Three Miles and the Quarter.

  The Light Blues triumphed, fortune being shifty;
    They cheered FITZHERBERT sprinting home in fifty.
  For strength the weight-man's parents have a hot son,
    Witness the put of youthful Mr. WATSON.
  LUTYENS, who always pleases as he goes,
    Romped in, his glasses poised upon his nose.
  And none that day with greater dash and go ran
    Than the Light Blue three-miler, Mr. HORAN.

       *       *       *       *       *

During the practice of the crews for Henley Regatta there has been one
exalted contest, which I cannot remember hearing of in former years.
My _Sporting Life_ (of which I am a diligent and a constant reader)
informed me that "at one time it did seem as though Jupiter Pluvius was
about to swamp Old Boreas, but the latter proved too tough." Quite a
sporting event, evidently. Why, oh why, was not Old Boreas present when
Pelion was piled upon Ossa? The whole course of (pre) history might
have been changed.

       *       *       *       *       *

A Newcastle contemporary has been discussing the art of adding to
the beauty of women by the use of cosmetics, &c. May I commend the
following extract to the notice of the ladies of England?

 "No woman is capable of being beautiful who is capable of being false.
 The true art of assisting beauty consists in embellishing the whole
 person by the ornaments of virtuous and commendable qualities. How
 much nobler is the contemplation of beauty when it is heightened
 by virtue! How faint and spiritless are the charms of a coquette,
 when compared with the loveliness of innocence, piety, good-humour,
 and truth--virtues which add a new softness to their sex, and even
 beautify their beauty! That agreeableness possessed by the modest
 virgin is now preserved in the tender mother, the prudent friend, and
 the faithful wife. Colours artfully spread upon canvas may entertain
 the eye, but not touch the heart; and she who takes no care to add
 to the natural graces of her person, noble qualities, may amuse as a
 picture, but not triumph as a beauty."

       *       *       *       *       *

Cheltenham is a pleasant place. I quote from a memory which is, I know,
miserably defective:

  Year by year do England's daughters
    In the fairest gloves and shawls
  Troop to drink the Cheltenham waters,
    And adorn the Cheltenham balls.

This is not the place that one would naturally associate with violent
language over so small a matter as the rejection of some plans. A
quarrel, however, has taken place in the Town Council, and terrible
words have been spoken:--

 "In the course of a discussion on the rejection of some plans, Mr.
 MARGRETT accused the acting chairman of the Streets Committee
 (Mr. PARSONAGE) with being influenced by personal and
 political motives against the person (Mr. BARNFIELD) who
 sent them in. Mr. PARSONAGE warmly retorted with the lie
 direct, and told Mr. MARGRETT that he knew he was lying. Mr.
 LENTHALL accused Mr. PARSONAGE of being 'slip-shod'
 in his method of bringing up the minutes of the Streets Committee,
 because he had passed over without comment a dispute between the
 Corporation and the Board of Guardians. While denying this imputation,
 Mr. PARSONAGE said he would even prefer to be 'slip-shod'
 than to follow Mr. LENTHALL'S example of giving utterance to
 a long-winded and frothy oration over such a trumpery matter as a road
 fence."

After this I quite expected to read that some one--

                    ... raised a point of order, when
  A chunk of old red sandstone took him in the abdomen,
  And he smiled a sort of sickly smile and curled upon the floor!
  And the subsequent proceedings interested him no more.

But the matter seems to have dropped, and everything to have ended
peacefully--a great and bitter disappointment to all lovers of ructions.

       *       *       *       *       *

Even in aquatic matters Ireland is a country of surprises. In the
Eight-oared race the other day for the "Pembroke Cup," there was a
dead-heat between the Shandon Boat Club and the Dublin University
Boat Club. In the row-off, the _Irish Independent_ says that "Boat
Club caught the water first, but after a few strokes Shandon forged
in front. After the mile mark, Shandon were rowing eighteen against
the Boat Club's nineteen or twenty. In the next three hundred yards
Boat Club dropped to seventeen, the others being steady at nineteen
all through. About one hundred and fifty yards off the fishery step
the Boat Club quickened up to forty and got within two feet of their
opponents. Then, amid the greatest excitement, Boat Club got in front
and won by a canvas." A stroke oar who can row a race at nineteen to
the minute all through is steadier but certainly less versatile than
one who can spring suddenly from the rate of seventeen to the rate
of forty. As admirable as either is the genius of the reporter who
describes the event.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. H. M. HYNDMAN is the Socialist candidate for Burnley. He
advocates "the immediate nationalisation and socialisation of railways,
mines, factories, and the land, with a view to establishing organised
co-operation for production and distribution in every department under
the control of the entire community. There should be a minimum wage
of thirty shillings a week in all State and Municipal employment, as
well as in State-created monopolies." There's a modest and practical
programme for you! But this windy gentleman's opponents may reply
that they prefer the system of each for himself, and d----l take the
HYNDMAN, to all the verbiage of the Socialist froth-pot.

       *       *       *       *       *

Many reasons have been given for the fall of the late Government. It
has been left to a correspondent of the _Birmingham Daily Post_ to
discover the real and only one. "It is most unfair," he says, "to hold
them entirely responsible for all the shortcomings, blunders, and
failures which distorted their administration. How could they help
these things? Has it never occurred to you that the Government of Lord
ROSEBERY was the '13th' Parliament of Queen VICTORIA?
Can anybody reasonably expect good government from a 13th Parliament?
It is out of all question." What _persiflage_, what wit!

       *       *       *       *       *

I sorrow over the new town clock of Dalkey. In my _Freeman's Journal_ I
read that, at the monthly meeting of the Dalkey Township Commissioners,
a letter was read from Messrs. CHANCELLOR AND SONS, stating
that the new town clock could not be made to strike, but they could
make a new clock for L100. The letter was marked read--and no wonder.
If it can't strike, it had better be wound up, and Dalkey is obviously
the place to wind it. Otherwise there seems no reason in the Township's
name.

       *       *       *       *       *

Clevedon is, I believe, in Somerset. Anyone in search of a sensation
ought to have gone there last week, for it is stated that "Mr.
VICTOR ROSINI'S Spectral Opera Company commenced a week's
engagement at the Public Hall on Monday evening." I cannot imagine
a spectral _basso_ or _tenore robusto_. And in any case, why should
the unfortunate operatic spectres be harried into giving public
performances?

       *       *       *       *       *

MUSICAL HONOURS!!--The friends of Sir HENRY JAMES, Q.C.,
M.P., will celebrate his being raised to the peerage by serenading
with "_The Aylestone Chorus_."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "VIVA L'ITALIA!"

_Admiral Punch_ (_to Italia on the occasion of her Fleet visiting
England_). "WELCOME, _mia Bella_, to you and your splendid Ships! I
come of an old Italian Family myself!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

HER PREVIOUS SWEETHEART.

_Wednesday._--Violet has accepted me, this very day, the happiest of
my life. She is the sweetest and prettiest woman in the world. I have
loved her long and passionately. She has not loved me long, and she
could never love me passionately. She is rather unemotional. Even when
I kissed her this afternoon for the first time she was quite calm. She
tells me she has once loved, as though she could never love again. Her
previous sweetheart was a Captain. I am a mere writer. His name was
PERCY PLANTAGENET CHOLMONDELEY. Mine is JONES. I hope
that in time she may forget him.

_Thursday._--Meet her in the Row, and sit under the trees. She is fond
of horses. So am I, but I do not ride often. She mentions that Captain
CHOLMONDELEY was a splendid rider. Listen patiently to what
she tells me.

_Friday._--To the Opera with VIOLET and her people. She
does not care for GOUNOD'S _Faust_. Prefers a burlesque
with comic songs. Says the Captain sang comic songs admirably, with
banjo accompaniment. When it's well done, I also like that. Tell
her so. This encourages her to further reminiscences. Of course,
she is right to conceal nothing from me now we are engaged, but
frankness, even engaging frankness, may be carried too far. Manage
to change the subject at last, and then unfortunately the Soldier's
Chorus reminds her of a parody in an amateur burlesque which Captain
CHOLMONDELEY----and so on.

_Saturday._--Meet her at Hurlingham. She is so fond of polo. She says
the Captain was a splendid player. I expected that. A sort of Champion
of the World. Of course. I never played in my life. Listen to an
account of his exploits. Rather bored.

_Sunday._--Up the river. Very hot day. Delightful to lounge in the
shade and smoke. VIOLET more energetic. Compels me to exert
myself. She says the Captain could do anything in a boat. No doubt. I
am prepared to hear that he shot the Falls of Niagara in a punt. He was
a wonderful genius. I am tired of hearing of him.

_Monday._--To Mr. MONTGOMERY-MUMBY'S dance. VIOLET
there of course. We both like dancing. Get on charmingly together.
Suddenly something reminds her of the ever-lamented Captain P. P. C.
I suggest that he has said good-bye to her for ever, as his initials
show. She does not see the little joke. Have to explain it to her. Then
she says it is a very poor joke. No doubt it is, but she needn't tell
me so. Annoying. A certain coolness between us.

_Tuesday._--To the French play with VIOLET and her aunt.
She understands French very well. Seems to think a lot of me
because I know something of several languages. Ask her if Captain
CHOLMONDELEY was fond of learning languages. Am prepared to
hear that he was a second MEZZOFANTI. On the contrary, it
seems that he couldn't speak a word of anything but English, and that
he didn't speak very much that was worth hearing even in that. The only
French he could understand was in a _menu_. Apparently he never read
anything else in any language, except the sporting papers in English.
Have at last found something he could not do. Delighted. Unfortunately
show this. VIOLET begins to defend him. I say he must have
been rather a duffer. She retorts that I can't play polo. What has that
to do with it? Again a coolness between us.

_Wednesday._--It is all over! We have parted for ever. She could never
forget that confounded Captain. Asked her this morning, when she was
telling me of his shooting elephants, or alligators, or rabbits, or
sparrows, or something wonderful, why she did not marry him. She says
it was broken off. She shows me his last letter of farewell. I read
it critically. It is very short. Point out to her nine mistakes in
spelling, and four in grammar. She says I am brutal. Indignation.
Argument. Scorn. Tears. Farewell.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: SO THAT DOESN'T COUNT.

"Are you sure they're quite Fresh?" "Wot a Question to arst! Can't
yer see they're Alive?" "Yes; but _you_'re _Alive_, you know!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

GREAT WHEEL GOSSIP.

Are you quite sure that it is safe?

Well, there have been all sorts of stories about this sort of thing,
but I don't believe it. The PRINCE went, you know.

Oh, yes, of course. Then that's all right. Now we are off. How
interesting! We can see the tops of the houses! But what are we waiting
for?

Oh, for other passengers to get into the cars. How long does it take?

About three-quarters of an hour. Well, now we are off again.

Why, there is a mist, and we can't see anything.

Oh, yes, we can. Why, that must be either Kensington Gardens, Hyde Park
Corner, or Battersea Park.

Don't think there is much in it. And why are we stopping?

People getting in and out. Well, now we have had thirty-five minutes of
it, I shall be glad to be home.

Oh, here we are. Now we can get out. Come, that is nice!

No, we can't! _We have missed the landing, and have to go round
again._[1]

After two journeys I think the best way of thoroughly enjoying the
Wheel is to sit fast, close your eyes, and think of something else!

[1] A fact. July 6. Mr. _Punch's_ Representative was taken
round twice--the second time against his will--in company with an
indignant shareholder and several impatient, yet sorrowful, passengers,
who complained of missing appointments, &c., in consequence of their
"extra" turn.]

       *       *       *       *       *

IN THE EARL'S COURT INDIA.

IN BOMBAY STREET, INDIAN CITY. TIME--ABOUT EIGHT P.M.

_A Matron_ (_to her friend, as they approach the natives at work_).
Everything seems for sale here, my dear. _Just_ the place to get a
nice wedding-present for dear EMILY. I want to give her
_something_ Indian, as she will be going out there so soon. What
are they doing in here? oh, glass-blowing!... See, JANE,
this one is making glass bangles.... Well, no, EMILY would
think it _rather_ shabby if I gave her a pair of those. I might get
one apiece for Cook and PHOEBE--servants are always so
grateful for any little attention of that sort--though I shouldn't
like to encourage a taste for finery; well, it will do very well when
we come back.... Perhaps one of those brass dinner-gongs--there's a
large one, I see, marked seven-and-sixpence--but I'd rather give her
something _quieter_--something she'd value for its _own_ sake.... Now
one of those chased silver bowls--twenty-five-and-nine-pence? Well,
it seems a little----and though I was always very fond of her mother,
EMILY was never----I must _think_ over it.... She might like a
set of beetle-wing mats--only they're not likely to entertain much....
How would one of these embroidered tablecloths--eh? oh, I'm sure I've
seen them much cheaper at LIBERTY'S; and besides----(_After
a prolonged inspection of various articles at various stalls._) After
all, I shall be going to Tunbridge Wells next week. I think I'll wait.
I might see something there I liked _better_, you know!

[Illustration: "Stands smiling feebly"]

_A Wife_ (_to her husband, who is examining the stock of a native
shoemaker with interest_). No, CHARLES. I put up with a _great
deal_ for the sake of your society of an evening; but if you imagine I
am going to have you sitting opposite me with your feet in a pair of
slippers separated into two horrid toes, you make a great mistake! Put
the dreadful things down and come away.

_Mr. McPairtan_ (_from the North, to his small nephew_). Eh,
ROBBIE, my man, I'm thinking your mither wouldna' just
approve o' my takkin' ye to sic a perfairmance as yon Burrmese
dancing-women.... Nay, nay, laddie, there's deceitfulness eneugh in
the naitural man withoot needing to lairn ony mair o't fro' these
puir juggling Indian bodies wi' their snake-chairmin' an' sic godless
doins!... Ride on the elephant? Havers! Ye can do that fine in the
Zooloagical Gairdens.... 'Twould be just sinful extrawvagance in me to
be throwing away guid siller wi' so mony bonny sichts to be seen for
naething.

_Mr. Gourmay_ (_who is dying for his dinner, to his pretty cousins, who
cannot be got past the Indian craftsmen_). Yes, yes, very interesting,
and all that; but we can see it just as well if we come back _later_,
you know.

_His Cousin Belle._ But they may have stopped by then. I _must_ just
see him finish the pattern; it's too _fascinating!_

_Mr. Gourm._ I--er--don't want to _hurry_ you, you know, only, you see,
if we don't look sharp, we shan't be in time to secure an outside table
at the Restaurant. Much jollier dining in the open air.

_His Cousin Imogen._ Oh, it's too hot to _think_ of food. I'm not in
the _least_ hungry--are _you_, Belle?

_Belle._ No; I'd ever so much rather see the Burmese dancers and the
Indian conjurors. I don't want to waste the best part of the evening
over dinner; we might have some of that nice Indian tea and a piece of
cake by-and-by, perhaps, if there's time.

 [_Speechless delight of_ Mr. GOURMAY.

_Energetic Leader_ (_to his party, who are faint, but pursuing_). No,
there's nothing particular to see here. I tell you what _my_ plan is.
We'll go and do the Kinetoscopes and the Phonographs, have a look at
the Great Wheel, and some shots at the Rifle Range, cross over and
take a turn on the Switchback, finish up with a cold-meat supper at
SPIERS AND POND'S, and a stroll round the band-stand, and, by
the time we've done, we shall have got a very fair idea of what India's
_like!_

_First Relative_ (_to Second_). What's become of Aunt JOANNA?
I thought she was going on one of the elephants.

_Second Relative._ She would have it none of 'em looked strong enough
for her. And what _do_ you think she goes and does next? Tries to
bargain with a black man to take her for a turn on one o' them little
bullock-carts! I really hadn't the patience to stop and see what come
of it.

_Miss Rashleigh_ (_by the Burmese Cheroot Stall, audibly, to her
companion_). Just look at this girl, my dear, with a great cigar in
her mouth! Fancy their being New Women in Burmah! And such a _hideous_
creature, too!

_Her Companion._ Take care, my dear, she'll hear you. I expect she
understands English.

_Miss Rashleigh_ (_with ready tact and resourcefulness_). Then let's
tell her how pretty she is!

IN THE INDIAN JUNGLE.

_Mr. Moul_ (_to_ Mrs. MOUL, _as they halt before a darkened
interior representing a coolie sleeping in an Indian hut, which a
leopard is stealthily entering_). Ah, now I do call that something
_like!_ Lovely! _ain't_ it?

_Mrs. Moul._ It's beautiful. 'Ow ever they can _do_ it all! (_After a
pause_.) Why, I do believe there's a _animal_ of some sort up at the
further end! Can you see him, SAMSON?

_Mr. Moul._ A animal! where? Ah, I can make out somethink now. (_With
pleased surprise._) And look--there's a man layin' down right in
front--do you see?

_Mrs. Moul._ Well, I never! so there is! To think o' _that_ now. They
_'ave_ got it up nice, I will say that.

 [_They pass out, pleased with their own powers of observation._

IN THE INDIAN THEATRE.

_Hindu Magician_ (_as he squats on the stage and takes out serpents
from flat baskets_). Here is a sna-ake--no bite--Bombay cobra, verri
good cobra. (_Introducing them formally to audience._) Dis beeg
cobra, dis smahl cobra. (_One of them erects its hood and strikes at
his foot,_ _which he withdraws promptly._) No bite, verri moch nice
sna-ake. (_He plays a tune to them; one listens coldly and critically,
the others slither rapidly towards the edge of the platform, to the
discomposure of spectators in the front row; the_ Magician _recaptures
them by the tail at the critical moment, ties them round his neck and
arms, and then puts them away, like toys._) Here I have shtone; verri
good Inglis shtone. I hold so. (_Closing it in his fist._) Go away,
shtone. Go to Chicago, Leeverpool, Hamburg. (_Opening fist._) Shtone
no dere. I shut again. (_Opening fist._) One, two, Inglis shillin's.
(_Singling out a_ Spectator.) You, Sar, come up here queeck. Comonn!

_The Spectator._ Not me! Not among all them snakes you've got
there--don't you think it!

_The Magician and a Tom-tom player_ (_together_). Verri nice
sna-akes--no bite. Comonn, help play.

_Angelina_ (_to_ EDWIN, _as the invitation is coyly but firmly
declined_). EDWIN, do go up and help the man--to please _me_.
And if you find him out in cheating, you can expose him, you know.

 [EDWIN _clambers up and stands, smiling feebly, at the_
 Magician's _side amidst general applause_.

_The Magician_ (_to_ EDWIN). Sit down, sit down, sit down. Now
you count--how menni sillings? Dere is seeks.

_Edwin_ (_determined not to be taken in_). Four, you mean.

_The Magician._ I tell you seeks. Count after me--One, tree, five,
seeks. Shtill onli four, you say? Shut dem in your hand--so. Now blow.
(EDWIN _puffs at his fist_.) Open your hand, and count. One,
two, tree, four, five, seeks, summon, ight, nine, tin, like, vise! Dis
Inglisman make money verri moch nice; verri goot Inglisman. Put dem in
your hand again, and shut. Hublo! Now open.

 [EDWIN _opens his fist, to discover in it two small and
 extremely active serpents, which he rejects in startled dismay_.

_Angelina_ (_to herself_). How _nasty_ of EDWIN! He _must_
have felt them inside.

_The Magician_ (_to_ EDWIN). Verri nice sna-akes; but where
is my monni? (EDWIN _shakes his head helplessly_.) Ah, dis
Inglisman too moch plenti cheat. (_He seizes_ EDWIN'S _nose,
from which he extracts a shower of shillings_.) Aha! Verri goot Inglis
nose--hold plenty monni!

_Angelina_ (_as_ EDWIN _returns to her in triumph_). No;
_please_ turn your head away, EDWIN. I can't _look_ at your
nose without thinking of those horrid shillings; and oh, are you
_quite_ sure you haven't got any of those horrid snakes up your sleeve?
I do _wish_ you hadn't gone!

 [_So does_ EDWIN.

_A Serious Old Lady_ (_as the_ Magician _produces from his throat
several yards of  yarn, a small china doll, about a gross of
tenpenny nails, and a couple of eggs_). Clever, my dear? I daresay;
but it seems to me a pity that a man who has been given such talents
shouldn't turn them to better account!

       *       *       *       *       *

ELECTION INTELLIGENCE.

_Brybury-on-the-Pocket._--Both candidates very busy. Meetings are
being held all day long at the principal hotels, and any number of
livery-stable-keepers have promised to lend their carriages on the
day of election. The agents on either side have an enormous staff of
assistants, and trade was never known to be brisker during the present
century.

_Crowncrushington._--This will be a very near contest. As political
feeling runs rather high, a number of extra beds have been prepared in
the hospitals. The police have been reinforced, and the military are
close at hand, and every other preparation has been made to secure the
declaration of the poll with as little friction as possible.

_Meddle-cum-Muddleborough._--At present there are seven candidates,
but as three of these have issued their manifestoes under some
misapprehension it is not unlikely that the number will be reduced
before the day of nomination. It is not easy to foretell the result, as
since the establishment of the ballot every election has ended not only
in surprise but stupefaction.

_Selfseekington._--It is not unlikely that there will be no contest
in this important borough. The (until recently) sitting member has
fixed the day that would naturally have fallen to the function of the
returning officer for the laying of the foundation stones of his Baths,
Wash-houses, Free Library and Town Hall, and the opening of his Public
Park.

_Wrottenborough._--The popular candidate has pledged himself to
supporting Local Veto, the Licensed Victuallers, Establishment,
Disestablishment, Home Rule, the Integrity of the Empire,
Anti-Vaccination, the Freedom of the Medical Profession, and many other
matters of conflicting importance. The polling will be of a perfunctory
character, as expenses are being cut down on both sides.

_Zany-town-on-the-Snooze._--There will be no contest in this division.
At present there is no intelligence of any sort to chronicle.

       *       *       *       *       *

TAG FOR THE TESTIMONIAL.--"The power of GRACE, the
magic of a name."

       *       *       *       *       *

DALY NEWS, AND DRAMATIC NOTES.

Ere these lines can appear, the _Two Gentlemen of Verona_ and their
two Ladies will have vanished from Daly's Theatre like the baseless
fabric of a dream, leaving, however, a very pleasant recollection of
the play in the minds of all who saw it--and a great many did, for
SHAKSPEARE'S _Two Gents_ is a dramatic curiosity. Prettily
put on the stage as it was, with good music, picturesque costumes
and clever acting, it will dwell in our memories as an exceptionally
attractive revival.

Mr. GEORGE CLARKE, the "stern parient," appeared as something
between a Doge and a Duke, and equally good as either, you bet; that
is, "'lowing," as _Uncle Remus_ has it, that either Doge or Duke
has passed the greater part of his life in the United States. Mr.
FRANK WORTHING (nice seasidey name on a hot night in town)
a gentlemanly-villainous _Proteus_, and Mr. JOHN CRAIG an
equally gentlemanly-virtuous _Valentine_. So "Gents both" are disposed
of. Mr. _James Lewis_, as _Launce_, playing "the lead" to his dog, put
into the part new humour in place of the old which has evaporated by
fluxion of time. _Launce's_ sly dog, very original; part considerably
curtailed.

[Illustration: The Duke discovers the rope-ladder under Valentine's
cloak.

"The Rope Trick exposed."]

I see that a descendant of TYRONE POWER appears as "Mine
Host." I did not gather from his costume that he was "a host in
himself," but thought he was a Venetian Judge or retired Doge; the
latter surmise receiving some confirmation from the fact that, while
the singing was going on, he, being somnolent, "doge'd" (as _Mrs.
Gamp_ would say) in his chair. Sleeping or waking his was a dignified
performance. Miss ELLIOT a graceful _Sylvia_, who, as a
Milanese brunette, is artistically contrasted with Miss ADA
REHAN, of Florentine fairness, as _Julia_. All that is wanting
to this sketchy character Miss REHAN fills in, and makes the
design a finished picture. Improbable that _Proteus_ should never
recognize _Julia_ when disguised as a boy until she herself reveals her
identity. However, it was a very early work of WILLIAM'S: mere
child's play.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: Miss Rehan as Julia.

"The Third Page in her Life."]

       *       *       *       *       *

The most Clement of critics, our learned and ever amiable Scotus of
the _Daily Telegraph_, speaking with authority from his column last
Saturday, recalls to us how many English actors and actresses have
successfully played in French on the Parisian stage, and adds to the
list the name of MARIE HALTON, who, excellent both in singing
and acting as _La Cigale_ at the Lyric, will soon appear at a new
theatre in Paris, where she is to "create" French _roles_--which,
Mlle. MARIE, is a very pleasant way of making your bread. But
if we have in this actress an English _Chaumont_, why does not some
such astute manager as Mr. EDWARDES, the Universal Theatre
Provider, induce HALTON to Stay on--here, not only for her own
"benefit," but for that of the Light Opera-loving public.

[Illustration]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: TRUE HYPERBOLE.

_He._ "What a lovely Frock!... _Worth_, I suppose?" _She._
"MONSIEUR WORTH IS DEAD."

_He._ "Ah! it _looks_ as if it came from Heaven!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE OLD CHIEFTAIN'S FAREWELL.

 ["The impending Dissolution brings into its practical and final
 form the prospective farewell which I addressed last year to the
 constituency of Midlothian."--_Mr. Gladstone's Farewell Letter to the
 Electors of Midlothian._]

AIR--_Burns's "The Farewell."_

  It was a' for our Glorious Cause
    I sought fair Scotland's strand;
  It was a' for fair, rightfu' laws
    To bless the Irish land,
                      My dear;
    To bless the Irish land.

  Now a' is done that man could do,
    And a' seems done in vain,
  My loved Midlothian, farewell,
    I mauna stand again,
                      My dear;
    I canna stand again.

  For fifteen lang an' happy years,
    That ne'er may be forgot,
  We have foregathered, loved, and fought.
    Fare farther I may not,
                      My dear;
    Fare farther may I not.

  Yet say not that our love has failed,
    Or that our battle's lost;
  Were I yet young I'd fight again,
    And never count the cost,
                      My dear;
    And never count the cost.

  Tegither we've won mony a fight,
    You following where I led;
  But now late Winter's chilling snows
    Are gatherin' round my head,
                      My dear;
    Are gatherin' round my head.

  And times will change, and Chieftains pass.
    Lang time I've borne the brunt
  Of war; and now I'm glad to see
    CARMICHAEL to the front,
                      My dear;
    Sir TAMMY to the front.

  A champion stout, I mak nae doubt,
    He'll carry on my task.
  To see ye braw and doing weel,
    Henceforth is a' I ask.
                      My dear;
    Henceforth is a' I ask.

  True Scot am I--Midlothian's heart
    I won. Now I fare far,
  And leave a younger chieftain, TAM,
    To lead the Lowland war,
                      My dear;
    To lead the Lowland war!

           *   *   *

  He turned him right and round about
    Upon the Scottish shore.
  He gae his bonnet plume a shake,
    With "Adieu for evermore,
                      My dear;
    Adieu for evermore!

  "ROSEBERY will from fight return,
    Wi' loss or else wi' gain;
  But I am parted from my love,
    Never to meet again,
                      My dear;
    Never to meet again.

  "When day is gone, and night is come,
    A' folk are fain to rest;
  I'll think on thee, though far awa',
    While pulse throbs in this breast,
                      My dear;
    While pulse throbs in my breast!"

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

SMITH, ELDER & CO. are carrying out a happy thought in
projecting what they call the Novel Series, a title which is the least
felicitous part of the business. It is designed to meet the views of
those who desire to possess, not to borrow (or indeed to steal) good
books. The volumes will not be too large to be carried in the pocket,
nor too small to lie on the shelf. Neatly bound, admirably printed,
they are to cost from two shillings up to four shillings, presumably
according to length and the inclusion of illustrations. The series
leads off with _The Story of Bessie Costrell_, by Mrs. HUMPHRY
WARD. The story, if not precisely pleasant, is decidedly powerful.
Once taken up, there is uncontrollable disposition to read on to the
end, a yearning the size of the volume makes it possible conveniently
to satisfy. The new series starts with a promise announcements of
succeeding contributions seem likely to fulfil.

  THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

       *       *       *       *       *

New Carillon at the Royal Exchange.

The tunes are admirably selected. First air every morning, "I know a
Bank," to be known as "The Morning Air."

_For Panic Days._--"Oh dear, what can the matter be!"

_Bad Business Days._--"Nae luck about 'the House.'"

_Good Business._--"Here we go up, up, up!"

_South African Market Chorus._--"Mine for Evermore!"

This scheme of arrangement is to be generally known as "_The Bells'
Stratagem_."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "ARE YOU READY?"

(S-L-SB-RY _and_ R-S-B-RY _starting the Bicyclist
Competitors_ B-LF-R _and_ H-RC-RT.)]

       *       *       *       *       *

SCRAPS FROM CHAPS.

A REAL UNCROWNED KING.--At a meeting of the Town Commissioners
of Kinsale, a report of the proceedings discloses a conversation of a
truly remarkable kind--

 "The Chairman thought that if they paid Mr. PUNCH his
 quarter's salary up to the 1st February they would be dealing very
 fairly with him, especially as they had appointed his son as his
 successor.... Messrs. KIELY and P. S. O'CONNOR
 contended that as Mr. PUNCH was never dismissed by them, and
 the non-performance of his duties was through no fault of his own, he
 was entitled to some remuneration."

We should think he was, indeed! _Some_ remuneration, quotha? Does
not the mere fact that he bears a name honoured and revered in every
corner of the globe entitle him to a pension on the very highest
scale known to the L. G. B.? Not, we need hardly say, an "old age"
pension. Perpetual youth is the prerogative of all PUNCHES.
And they "have appointed his son as his successor." Well, of course!
How can a PUNCH do anything but succeed? He would be a rum
PUNCH if he didn't! Greetings to our distant kinsman of
Kinsale!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: MAKING ALLOWANCES.

_The Little Minister._ "HOW WELL YOU'RE LOOKING, MAC-CULLUM!"

_The Big Farmer._ "WEEL--I'M WEEL IN PAIRTS. BUT I'M OWER MUCKLE TO
BE WEEL ALL OWER AT AIN TIME!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

ONE MAN, ONE TOPPER!--In the _Glasgow Herald_ somebody writes
as follows:--

 "It is surely time Mr. DUNCAN saw to his bus-drivers' hats!
 Such a miscellaneous collection of seedy hats, I think, could not be
 found elsewhere; they are a positive disgrace to the city."

The writer ought to have signed himself "MACBETH;" the
"unguarded DUNCAN," whoever he may be, must be on his guard,
or passengers will strike for better hats. All bus-drivers and
conductors should wear silk hats, to typify the habitual softness of
their address. Why not put them into livery at once? The company that
did that would probably attract no end of custom. No revolution like
it, since the abolition of the box-seat! Uniform charges and uniformed
conductors should be the future rule of the road.

       *       *       *       *       *

"NOT KILT, BUT SPACHELESS."--At Clonakilty Sessions the other
day, the following evidence was given:--

 "PATRICK FEEN was examined, and stated he resided at
 Dunnycove, parish of Ardfield.... Gave defendant's brother a blow of
 his open hand and knocked him down for fun, and out of friendship.
 (_Laughter._)"

What a good-natured, open-handed friend Mr. PATRICK FEEN must
be! JOHN HEGARTY, the person assaulted, corroborated the
account, and added,--

 "When he was knocked down, he stopped there. (_Laughter._)"

In fact, he "held the field," and "remained in possession of the
ground." Who will now say that the old humour is dying out in Erin?

       *       *       *       *       *

OF DR. TRISTRAM (SHANDY) IN THE INCONSISTORY COURT.--"O
TRISTRAM! TRISTRAM! TRISTRAM!" * * "And pray which way is this
affair of TRISTRAM at length settled by these learned men?"

  _"Toby" to Yorick._

       *       *       *       *       *

What a nice dish for lunch would be what we find mentioned in the
Racing Order of the Day, _i.e._ "_Plate of 150 sous_." Excellent! To be
washed down with a draught of Guineas stout!

       *       *       *       *       *

BRIGGS, OF BALLIOL.

PART I.

BRIGGS was the gayest dog in Balliol. If there was a bonfire
in the quad, and if the dons found their favourite chairs smouldering
in the ashes, BRIGGS was at the bottom of it. If the bulldogs
were led a five-mile chase at one o'clock in the morning, the gownless
figure that lured them on was BRIGGS. If the supper at
VINNIE'S became so uproarious that the Proctor thought it
necessary to interfere, the gentleman that dropped him from the
first-floor window was BRIGGS. Anyone else would have been
sent down over and over again, but--BRIGGS stroked the Balliol
boat: BRIGGS had his cricket blue; BRIGGS was a dead
certainty against Cambridge for the quarter and the hundred: in short,
BRIGGS was indispensable to the College and the 'Varsity, and
therefore he was allowed to stay.

But what is this? A change has come over BRIGGS. He is another
man. Can it be----? Impossible--and yet? Yes, it began that very
night. Everyone has heard of Miss O'GRESS, the Pioneer. She
came up to Oxford to lecture; her subject was "Man: his Position and
_Raison d'etre_." BRIGGS and I went to hear; went in light
laughing mood with little fear of any consequences. We listened to
the O'GRESS. "There is no doubt," she said, "that Man was
intended by Nature to be the Father. For this high calling he should
endeavour to fit himself by every means in his power. He should
cultivate his body so as to render himself attractive to Woman. He
should be tall,"--her eye fell on BRIGGS--"he should be
handsome,"--still on BRIGGS--"he should be graceful, he
should be athletic."--At this point her eye seemed fairly to feast on
BRIGGS, and a curious lurid light lowered in it. She paused a
moment. I was sitting next to BRIGGS, and I felt a shiver run
through him. I looked at his face, and it was ghastly pale. I asked him
in a whisper if he felt faint? He impatiently motioned me to be silent,
and remained, as I thought, like a bird paralysed beneath the gaze of a
serpent. I heard no more, so anxious was I on my friend's account; nor
could I breathe with any freedom until the audience rose and we were
once again in the fresh air.

The following day there was a garden-party at Trinity. BRIGGS
said he was playing for the 'Varsity against Lancashire, and therefore
could not go. Imagine my surprise then, when, as I was doing the polite
among the strawberries and cream, I caught sight of him slinking down
the lime grove at the heels of the O'GRESS. I rubbed my eyes
and looked again. Yes, it was BRIGGS indeed. The face was his;
the features were his; the figure was his; the clothes were his--but,
the buoyant step? the merry laugh? where, where, eh! where were they?

                              * * *

The Long Vac. passed, and we were all up again for Michaelmas Term.
There was a blank in our circle. "Where's BRIGGS?" asked
BROWN. "Where's BRIGGS?" asked TROTTER of
Trinity. We looked at one another. What! Nobody seen BRIGGS?
Not up yet?--Better go and see. We went to his rooms. No
BRIGGS there, and not a sign of his coming. We went to
JONES. JONES knew no more than we; to SMITH,
GREEN, ROBERTS--all equally ignorant. At last we
tried the Porter. What! hadn't we heard the news? News? No! What
news? The Porter's face grew long. Why, Mr. BRIGGS, 'e
weren't comin' up no more. Not coming up? Not coming up? Nonsense!
Impossible!--Fact, gentlemen, fact. The Master,'e'd 'ad a note from Mr.
BRIGGS, sayin' as 'ow 'e wouldn't be back agin. No one knew
nothink more than that. No one could explain it.

There was despair in Balliol. What would become of us? Without
BRIGGS we could never catch B. N. C. Magdalen would bump
us to a certainty, and we could hardly hope to escape the House.
In football it would be just as bad. Keble and Exeter would simply
jump on us, and not a single Balliol man would have his blue. The
position was appalling; ruin stared us in the face; the College was in
consternation, for BRIGGS had disappeared.

       *       *       *       *       *

NOTE BY A NATIONALIST.

  "Home Rule all Round!" That cry is in the air:
  What Ireland wants, though, is Home Rule all _square_.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "IS YOUR SON IMPROVING IN HIS VIOLIN-PLAYING, MR.
JONES?"

"WELL--EITHER HE'S IMPROVING, OR WE'RE GETTING USED TO IT!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

Thomas Henry Huxley.

  BORN, MAY 4, 1825.      DIED, JUNE 30, 1895.

  Another star of Science slips
  Into the shadow of eclipse!--
  Yet no; the _light_ is nowise gone,
  But burning still, and travelling on
  The unborn future to illume,
  And dissipate a distant gloom.
  True man of Science he, yet more,
  Master of metaphysic lore,
  Lover of history and of art,
  He played a multifarious part.
  With clear head and incisive tongue
  Dowered, on all he touched he flung
  Those rarer charms of grace and wit.
  Great learning may not always hit.
  To his "liege lady Science" true,
  He narrowed not a jealous view
  To her alone, but found all life
  With charm and ethic interest rife.
  Knowing plain lore of germ and plant,
  With dreams of HAMILTON and KANT,
  All parts of the great human plan.
  England in him has lost a Man.
  The great Agnostic, clear, brave, true,
  Taught more things, may be, than he deemed he knew.

       *       *       *       *       *

Business.

_Inquirer_ (_drawing up prospectus_). Shall I write "Company" with a
big C?

_Honest Broker._ Certainly, if it's a sound one, as it represents
"Company" with a capital.

       *       *       *       *       *

MR. BRIEFLESS, JUN., ON THE LONG VACATION.

Unfortunately I was prevented, by an appointment of a semi-professional
character--I had been desired by a maiden aunt to give her my advice
upon a question, of damage arising out of a canine assault committed
by her lap-dog--from being present at the General Meeting of the Bar,
and consequently was unable to take part in the annual deliberations of
my learned and friendly colleagues. From what passed on the occasion
to which I refer, I gather that there was an inclination to call the
Benchers of the Inns of Court to account. It seems to me--and I believe
that I am right in the opinion--that, so long as our Masters worthily
represent the dignity of the profession, we Members of the Inner and
Outer Bar have no tangible cause for complaint.

But I fancy the leading subject at the Forensic Congress was the Long
Vacation. Judging from the numerous letters that have reached me
from both branches of the profession, this is a matter of the first
importance to all of us. I have been asked by many of my learned and
friendly colleagues, and my nearly equally learned and even more
friendly clients, to give my opinion on the subject. One respected
correspondent who hails from Ely Place, writes, "How could you possibly
recover from the wear and tear of your arduous practice in Trinity
Term, had you not a part of August and nearly the whole of September
and October ready to hand for recuperation?" I quite agree with Sir
GEORGE--I should say, my respected correspondent--that as I
near "the long," I do feel the need of rest--nay, even considerable
rest. Then a learned friend who represents not only the Bar, but
chivalry in its forensic form, sends me a caricature of "DICKY
W." that would suggest that were the holidays to be decreased,
a wearer of a most distinguished order, and an athlete of no small
fame would be reduced to a condition of complete collapse. Once again,
an ornament to our Bench--perhaps the greatest ornament--honours me
with the suggestion that were we to lose a month of recreation, it
might sadden the terraces of Monte Carlo, and eclipse the merriment of
Newmarket Heath. It is needless to state that all these communications
have had weight with me. Still, I have deemed it desirable to approach
the subject with an open mind. It seems to me (and no doubt to many
others) that the question narrows itself into a matter of finance. I
have therefore taken PORTINGTON into my counsels, and examined
with unusual care the pages of my Fee Book. After much consultation
with my admirable and excellent clerk, and an exhaustive audit of
the figures of my forensic _honoraria_, I have come to the matured
conclusion that the lengthening or the shortening of the Long Vacation
does not affect me financially in the very least.

  (_Signed_) A. BRIEFLESS, JUNIOR.

  _Pump-handle Court, June 22, 1895._

       *       *       *       *       *

Football is to be played in all the schools and colleges of Russia. The
champion of the game is known as Prince KHIKOFF.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE FATE OF ROTTEN ROW.]

       *       *       *       *       *

ON VIEW AT HENLEY.

The most characteristic work of that important official, the clerk of
the weather.

The young lady who has never been before, and wants to know the names
of the eights who compete for the Diamond Sculls.

The enthusiastic boating man, who, however, prefers luncheon when the
hour arrives, to watching the most exciting race imaginable.

The itinerant vendors of "coolers" and other delightful comestibles.

The troupes of <DW65>s selected and not quite select.

The house-boat with decorations in odious taste, and company to match.

The "perfect gentleman's rider" (from Paris) who remembers boating
at Asnieres thirty years ago, when JULES wore when rowing
lavender kid-gloves and high top-boots.

The calm mathematician (from Berlin), who would prefer to see the races
represented by an equation.

The cute Yankee (from New York), who is quite sure that some of the
losing crews have been "got at" while training.

The guaranteed enclosure, with band, lunch and company of the same
quality.

The "very best view of the river" from a dozen points of the compass.

Neglected maidens, bored matrons, and odd men out.

Quite the prettiest toilettes in the world.

The Thames Conservancy in many branches.

Launches: steam, electric, accommodating and the reverse.

Men in flannels who don't boat, and men in tweeds who do.

A vast multitude residential, and a vaster come per rail from town.

Three glorious days of excellent racing, at once national and unique.

An aquatic festival, a pattern to the world.

And before all and above all, a contest free from all chicanery, and
the very embodiment of fairplay.

       *       *       *       *       *

FROM A CORRESPONDENT.--"SIR,--I occasionally come
across allusions to '_Groves of Blarney_.' Which Groves was this? There
was a celebrated fishmonger known as '_Groves of Bond Street_;' is
Groves of Blarney an Irish branch of that family?"

       *       *       *       *       *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

_House of Commons, Monday, July 1._--Presto! Quick transformation scene
effected to-day. Conservatives to the right; Liberals to the left.
Stupendous, far-reaching change; one of those rarely happy events that
please everyone. Hearing what people say, it is difficult to decide
which the more pleased, Liberals at being turned out, or Conservatives
at springing in. On Ministerial side happiness marred in individual
cases by being left out of the Ministry.

"I'm getting up in years now, TOBY," said THE
MARKISS, "and I've had pretty long experience in making up
Ministries. But I assure you I've been staggered during last week,
including in special degree the last hour. The more offices assigned,
the narrower becomes the basis of operation, and the more desperate
the rush of the attacking party. You'd be surprised if you saw the
list of men who have asked me for something. As a rule they don't put
it in that general way. They know precisely what they want, and are
not bashful in giving it a name, though they usually end up by saying
that if this particular post is disposed of, anything else will do.
In fact, like the cabman and the coy fare, they leave it to me. I am,
as you know, of placid temperament, inclined to take genial views of
my fellow-man. But I declare, if the process of forming a Ministry
under my direction were extended beyond a fortnight, I should become a
confirmed cynic."

_Business done._--Parties change sides.

_Tuesday._--"_Quel jour pour le bon Joe!_" said my Friend, dropping
with easy grace into the French of Alderney-atte-Sark.

House full, considering the nearness of Dissolution. Members anxious
above all things to meet their constituents. Grudge every hour that
holds them from their embrace. Still, it is well upon occasion to
practise self-denial. Ten days or even a fortnight with constituents
during progress of contest inevitable. Just as well not to anticipate.
So House crowded to see PRINCE ARTHUR return. Slight flush
on his cheek as with swinging stride he comes to take up sceptre
PEEL once held, that DIZZY deftly wielded, that
GLADSTONE of late laid down. After him, second only to
him, JOSEPH--JOSEPH in his very best summer
suit, appropriate to occasion when sun shines most brightly. Then
JOKIM, who has descended to frivolity of white waistcoat,
which casts ghastly pallor over festive scene. Last of all, type in
these days of stern, unbending Toryism, MICHAEL HICKS-BEACH.

[Illustration: LEFT OUT! (A Study of several Distinguished Persons,
who are unable to appreciate the charms of "Coalition"!)]

"BEACH," said SARK, coming back to the English
tongue, "has never either manoeuvred or wobbled. He is of the
very flower of English political squirearchy. He has principles and
convictions, and he sticks to them. So, when a Conservative Ministry
arrives, he walks in last, and, on the Treasury Bench, takes any seat
others may not have appropriated. Consider these things, TOBY,
my boy. If you're bringing up any pups to a political career, the
study may be useful to you and them." PRIVATE HANBURY got
his stripes. After pegging away for years at Treasury, PRINCE
ARTHUR now put him on to repel attacks. Will do it well too. An
admirable appointment. Sad thing about it is, that it breaks up a
cherished companionship; parts friends by the height and width and back
of Treasury Bench.

_Business done._--Ministers sworn in.

_Thursday._--Notable change come over BOLTONPARTY in the last
few days. Unmistakable Retreat-from-Moscow look about him. When Liberal
Government went out and JOSEPH handed THE MARKISS to
the front, BOLTONPARTY beamed with large content. The Sun of
Austerlitz shone once more.

"JOSEPH," he said, folding his arms in historic fashion,
letting his massive chin rest on his manly chest, what time his noble
brow shone with the radiance of mighty thoughts, "JOSEPH
will never forget his early friend and ally. It's not as if at the
last General Election I stood under his flag, won a seat, and laid
it at his feet. I fought North St. Pancras as a Home-Ruler, captured
it, and before new Parliament was many months old, went over to other
side, making early rift in lute of GLADSTONE'S majority. Some
men in such circumstances would have gone back to their constituency
and said, 'Dear boys, there's a mistake somewhere. You elected me on
a particular understanding. Since then I have taken another view of
the situation and of my duty. So I come back, return the trust you
placed in my hand, and give you opportunity of electing me again, or
choosing another man.' That might have led to inconvenience. Wouldn't
run any risk; so kept my seat, and voted steadily with JOSEPH.
Suppose they won't put me in the Cabinet right off? But I shall have
choice of first-class Under-Secretaryship. Shall it be War, Navy, or
Home Department? Any one excellent; but obviously I must go to the War
Office. Don't know whether there's any particular uniform for Financial
Secretary. If not, could soon knock one up from old portrait of the
Emperor."

[Illustration: Virtue Rewarded! The new Secretary of the Treasury, Mr.
H-nb-ry.]

Day after day BOLTONPARTY stayed at home, expecting every
hour to be sent for. Nothing came till Wednesday morning's papers
arrived, with, the news that son AUSTEN was Secretary to
the Admiralty, JESSE COLLINGS was installed at the Home
Office, and POWELL WILLIAMS--who never set a squadron
in the field, and didn't in any respect resemble the Emperor
NAPOLEON--was Financial Secretary to the War Office! "That's
bad enough, TOBY," said BOLTONPARTY, filing away an
iron tear that coursed down his steel-grey cheek. "But there's worse
behind. What do you think JOSEPH did when he heard I wasn't
all together pleased? He offered me a statue! Said he'd no doubt
AKERS-DOUGLAS could pick up on reasonable terms an old statue
of NAPOLEON; with a little touching up it would serve, and
there was a place ready on the site proposed for CROMWELL'S.
There was, he said, well-known picture of NAPOLEON Crossing
the Alps. Why shouldn't there be a statue of BOLTONPARTY
Crossing Marylebone Road, North Pancras? This is man's gratitude! I've
been cruelly Elba'd on one side, and nothing remains for me now but St.
Helena."

[Illustration: Toby runs down to his Constituency.]

_Business done._--All.

_Saturday._--Prorogation to-day, with usual imposing ceremony. On
Monday, Dissolution. Off to the country. Of course no one opposes me in
Barks. But must do the civil thing by my constituents.





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol.
109, July 13, 1895, by Various

*** 