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Punch, or the London Charivari

Volume 105, October 7th 1893

_edited by Sir Francis Burnand_

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[Illustration]

"DUE SOUTH!"

_On Shore in Lulworth Cove._--Odd names on this Southern coast. The
"Tilly Winn Caves,?" for example; likewise "Durdle Dhor," or "Durdle
Door." Who was MATILDA WINN; familiarly styled "TILLY"? An old
fisherman mending his nets,--he is evidently "_The_ Cove of Lulworth
Cove,"--gives me the following tale, which I set down as the

LEGEND OF TILLY WINN AND DURDLE D'OR.

  The winsome Lady MATILDA WINN,
  Was a-ris-to-crati-cal-ly thin,
    With dove-like eyes. Her golden hair
    Was circled with gems so rich and rare.
  White and pink was the healthy skin
  Of the winsome Lady MATILDA WINN.

  The Lord of LULWORTH, a somnolent Earl,
  Gave his moustache an extra curl
    As he woke in the morn, and ope'd his eye,
    A passing fair lady was passing by!
  Then he swore to himself, "Through thick and thin,
  I'll win the Lady MATILDA WINN."

  The Lord of LULWORTH, that somnolent peer,
  Gained the young lady's father's ear,
    Who said, "My TILLY must me obey.
    One week to-morrow shall be the day
  When Lulworth's Earl shall become our kin,
  By wedding my daughter! my TILLY WINN!"

  MATILDA WINN made signs from shore
  To her pirate lover, bold DURDLE D'OR.
    Who came at night with ladder of rope,
    For TILDA WINN had agreed to elope.
  "We're privately married, so 'tis no sin,"
  Quoth the beautiful Lady MATILDA WINN.

  But the somnolent Earl and the testy Lord
  Pursued and caught, ere they got aboard
    The pirate vessel, the lovers twain,
    Who leapt from the boat! And ne'er again,
  When past and gone was the tempest's din,
  Were seen DURDLE D'OR and his TILLY WINN.

There is as pleasant a little hostelrie in Lulworth Cove as is to be
found anywhere in a quiet sort of way, with lunch made and provided,
ready for all comers, be they never so plentiful. Mind always on this
coast command the lobster, he is _toujours a vos ordres_. Those who
can be content with the minimum of variety in the way of amusement,
and with the maximum of health will assuredly find it here, where they
can live the life of a sort of luxurious _Robinson Crusoe_--bathing,
fishing, walking--five or six miles from the nearest railway station,
and visited occasionally by steamboats, which cannot come in quite
close to shore, bringing passengers, from whom tidings may be obtained
of what is going on in the outer world.

_Note--Of music on board._--Almost every steamboat is accompanied by a
couple of instrumentalists--a harpist and a violinist. These duettists
do uncommonly well pecuniarily, and musically too, considering
the difficulties presented by the sea passages. One of their more
favourite performances is the _intermezzo_ from the _Rusticana_.
Returning from Swanage the wind rather interferes with the strings by
attempting to unfasten the music paper. But the violinist, well on
the alert, has foreseen the probability arising of there being "three
sheets to the wind," and has nailed his colours to the mast, that is,
has tied the music-paper firmly on to the stand. Still, in order to
grapple with rude Boreas, he has to drop a few bars of his part in the
_intermezzo_, a proceeding that causes no sort of inconvenience to the
harpist, who ingeniously "slows off," and adapts time and tune to the
exceptional situation, until the wind, being out of breath with its
mischievous exertions, allows the fiddle-strings to resume their
part in the concert, and kindly permits the two musicians to finish
triumphantly. Their gallant efforts are well rewarded, and the musical
pilgrims collect _largesse_ in a scallop-shell. Back again to P'm'th.

       *       *       *       *       *

THEN AND NOW.

MR. PUNCH'S REPLY TO THE PREMIER.

    ["There is a popular periodical which, whenever it can,
    manifests the Liberal sentiments by which it has been guided
    from the first--I mean the periodical _Punch_. At that time I
    had the honour of figuring, if I remember right, in a Cartoon
    of _Punch_, in connection with the rejection of the Paper
    Duty, and a clever Cartoon it was, for I was represented as
    a little lad in school, sitting (it was _standing_, Sir--_Mr.
    P._) upon a small stool, and Lord DERBY--the Lord DERBY of
    that day, who led the House of Lords--was standing over me
    with an immense sheet of paper, made into a fool's-cap, which
    he planted on my head."--_Mr. Gladstone at Edinburgh, Sept.
    27, 1893._]

    _See Cartoon, "The Paper Cap," in Punch_ (p. 223, vol.
    xxxviii.), _June 2, 1860_.

  THIRTY-THREE years ago, my WILLIAM, thirty-three
            years ago,
  Yet you, as of yore, are well to the fore, and _Punch_, too is
            in front also;
  And that paper cap was a popular crown, as _Punch_ at the time
            suggested;
  With the real fool's-cap, by a singular hap, "the Lord DERBY"
            himself was invested.

  _Punch_ "advised his friend GLADSTONE to look out for
            squalls, and likewise look out his umbrella."
  (_Prophetic_ that, but then _Mister P._ was always that
            sort of a fella!)
  You have used a good many "umbrellas" since then, both Old and New
            (Castle) "brollies,"
  As you needed a stout one in DERBY'S storm, so you will, my
            dear WILLIAM, in SOLLY'S.

  You have "had the honour of figuring," Sir, many times since then in
            my pages;
  As I hope, my dear WILLIAM, with all my heart, you'll continue
            to do--oh! for ages!
  The same great designer of "clever cartoons" ("our Sir JOHN")
            is as lively as ever,
  And if _you_'ll give him suitable subjects, dear boy, _he_'ll
            still furnish cartoons quite as clever.

  "Liberal sentiments"--"manifest still"--"whenever I can," you say?
            Well, Sir!
  _My_ sentiments, WILLIAM, are liberal _always_--but
            with a small _non-party_ l, Sir!
  "Liberal souls devise liberal things"--_you_ know the authority
            grand, Sir!--
  If your Liberal things are "liberal," always, by liberal things you
            shall stand, Sir.

  There! _Verb. sap._, my long-honoured old chap! May a real
            fool's-cap crown you never,
  But a Crown of Honour be yours at the end--which we'd wish to
            postpone, Sir, for ever!
  Thanks very much for your genial touch. We have pleasant joint
            memories, many,
  Since you fought the good fight on the Paper Duty and a Press at
            the Popular Penny!

       *       *       *       *       *

Colourable.

    ["The banners of most of the Dutch regiments have hitherto
    been those captured from the French at Waterloo in 1815, since
    when they have never been renewed."--_Daily News, September
    22._]

  The Dutch have had second-hand flags to fight under;
  And so if "Dutch courage" mean borrowed, what wonder?

       *       *       *       *       *

HISS-TRIONIC QUERY.--Where exists the theatrical manager who, utterly
disregardless of tradition and reckless as to the omen of "the Bird,"
would have produced a new piece for the first time _last Friday
night_, which was _Michaelmas Day_, the day sacred to the Goose? We
know of only one manager likely to be so bold, and he would not be so
audacious as to defy the combined omens of ill.

       *       *       *       *       *

Ichabod!

    (_As it generally seems now in Sculling Matches on the Thames._)

  Row, brothers, row! But you don't row fast!
  It's foreigner first, and Britisher last!
  JOHN no longer can sing now, "I says the Bull"
  (As in _Poor Cock Robin_), "_because I can pull!_"

       *       *       *       *       *

COAL AND DRAMA.--Mr. JOHN HOLLINGSHEAD says that the Princess's Pit,
which has been closed for a long time, will be at once re-opened. The
price has been generally accepted.

       *       *       *       *       *

NEWS OF THE MATABELE.--The "Impi" are "suffering from want of
supplies." They are impi-cunious.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE MOST GRATUITOUS FORM OF VICE.--Ad-vice!

       *       *       *       *       *

THE REIGN OF RINGLETS.

    ["It is announced that ringlets are to be worn again by
    ladies, and that side whiskers are coming in for fashionable
    men."--_Daily News._]

[Illustration]

  Oh prospect Elysian! It called back a vision
    Of youth, and those girls of JOHN LEECH'S, JOHN LEECH'S,
  Of "corkscrews" that "doddle" all round a fair noddle,
    Blue eyes and flushed cheeks like ripe peaches, ripe peaches.
  I think of sweet NELLY, whose curls, like a jelly,
    Shook soft as she "spooned" me at croquet, at croquet.
  But then came lawn tennis old fashion to menace,
    And croquet and curls were dubbed "pokey," dubbed "pokey."

  But ringlets! O rapture! One spiral to capture
    Of NELL'S many hundreds and snip it, and snip it,
  Was simply delightful. She'd swear she  "looked frightful"
    As into my bosom I'd slip it, I'd slip it.
  But one among dozens, on heads like my cousin's,
    Love-larceny was, and not robbery, robbery.
  If now I dared sever from "tousle-mops" clever
    One tress, there would be a rare bobbery, bobbery.

  Ah me! how times alter! My scissors would falter
    In trying a _Rape of the Lock to-day, Lock_ to-day.
  NELL'S trim buxom body, with curls thick and "doddy,"
    Would strike the aesthete with a shock to-day, shock to-day.
  You only see ringlets on some "poor old thing." Let's
    Be kind to the _passe_, but primness, but primness,
  With "winkle" curls shaking, is _not_ very taking,
    When linked with old-spinster-like slimness,--like slimness.

  I know an "old Biddy"--her name is Miss TWIDDY--
    Who revels in ringlets curled carefully, carefully.
  Oh how they doddle around her old noddle!
    She's "songful," a taste which I share fully, share fully.
  But when she will warble of Halls--they're of Marble,--
    Or Meetings by Moonlight, I'm sorry, I'm sorry
  To see curls, and passion, so out of the fashion,
    Made mock of by "Up-to-date" FLORRY, -date FLORRY.

  But ringlets reviving? Miss TWIDDY'S long striving
    For "Passion's Response" mayn't be hopeless, be hopeless.
  In "Days of Pomatum" (for that's how I date 'em)
    They used more Macassar, and soap less, and soap less!
  Inopportune rain then put things out of train then,
    NELL'S mop, how a shower would spoil it, would spoil it!
  Curl-papers, concealing--but there, I'm revealing
    The mysteries dark of the toilet, the toilet.

  But ringletted friskers, and mutton-chop whiskers,
    For "buns" and blue gills closely shaven, -ly shaven!
  'Tis sheer revolution! High Art's contribution
    Will be first to croak _a la_ raven, _la_ raven.
  Will girls then all giggle with ringlets a-wriggle,
    As most of the maids of my youth did, my youth did?
  Will male "mutton-chopper," scowl pompously proper,
    Like _Dombey_--as _our_ sires in sooth did, in sooth did?
       *       *       *       *       *

LIFE (AND DEATH) IN SOUTH AMERICA.

    (_Diary of the week's doings, from our own Correspondent on
    the Spot._)

_Monday._--Matters are still very unsettled, and it will take some
time before public confidence is entirely restored. The policy of the
President in defending the Tramways Extension Bill from the citadel
with grape-shot is condemned as an unwise stretch of the provisions of
the Constitution. It has caused a reorganisation in the Cabinet,
the Secretary for the Interior having resigned, taking with him six
regiments of cavalry, four battalions of infantry, and three brigades
of artillery. This desertion has naturally lessened the chance of the
Employers' Liability Amendment Bill passing this session except at
the point of the bayonet. The division on the first reading of the
Telegraph State Construction Bill was Ayes, 50 killed, 3 wounded;
Noes, 12 killed, 172 wounded. Should this measure pass its second
reading it will be opposed from barricades in committee.

_Tuesday._--Trade shows some signs of revival, but the continual
bombardment of the Stock Exchange by the opposition fleet in the
offing causes considerable confusion and annoyance. The Minister of
War has retired into a parliamentary cave accompanied by the militia.
It is considered not improbable that this member of the ministry may
throw his ammunition into the scale against his colleagues. The Pauper
Property Insurance Bill has not much chance of passing during the
present year, unless its supporters can bombard the capital. The
second reading of the Lunacy Acts Consolidation Bill was passed with
the assistance of three ironclads and a torpedo catcher. In spite
of the pacific turn that events are now taking, some of the older
inhabitants express considerable uneasiness.

_Wednesday._--The British Consul has given notice that he will hold
the ministry responsible for the damage done to his residence. On
account of the bombardment he and his family have been forced to
reside in a distant greenhouse. The remainder of the consulate is
razed to the ground. This being the President's birthday, the hall of
the _bureau_ has been crowded with infernal machines sent as presents.
The loud ticking of the concealed machinery has caused several
complaints to be made to the _concierge_. The President and his family
have returned to the seaside. They are being hotly pursued by a large
body of cavalry, infantry, and artillery. However, on the whole the
outlook is brighter, and the trains and omnibuses have recommenced
running.

_Thursday._--The President has returned to the capital, as the
lodgings he had taken at the seaside were discovered by the rebel
fleet, and bombarded. The business of the session progresses slowly
but surely. The Minister for War, with the assistance of the Militia,
has secured the passing of the vote dealing with his department. He
led the charge in person that carried the "Ayes" Division Lobby. If it
were not for the constant bombardment of all the principal buildings,
and the occasional slaughter of Members of Parliament, things would be
almost normal. There is no doubt that the outlook is peaceful.

_Friday._.--Things still quieting down. Traffic in the main
thoroughfares is suspended, because the roads are required for charges
of cavalry, and the squares are now used for shell practice. The
fleet have approached closer. This, of course, causes some additional
damage; but as the populace can now hear the bands of the various
ships during the pauses in the bombardment, the arrangement is rather
popular than otherwise. The Government have apologised to the British
Consul for having blown up his house and stables. The incident
consequently is at an end. Several Members of the Cabinet have
accepted the Consul's invitation to lunch.

_Saturday._.--The Revolution is practically at an end. The fleet are
still bombarding the forts, and the military charge every ten minutes
the populace. The Judges, too, find cause for annoyance in the
constant invasion of the judicial bench by armed artisans. Most of
the fashionable part of the city is in flames, but this is a detail.
However, taking all things into consideration, peace and tranquillity
may be said to be now restored. Of course they are not exactly
the peace and tranquillity of Europe, but they are what people
are accustomed to over here. Should anything of further importance
transpire it shall be wired immediately; but to all appearance the
insurrection is at an end.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: HOW TO SPEND A PLEASANT EVENING!

["For the purposes of this production the orchestra has been enlarged,
so that some of the instrumentalists have to sit among the audience in
the stalls." _Daily Paper._]]

       *       *       *       *       *

TO THE CONTESTANTS IN THE COAL WAR.

  Oh, stint your rage, abate your rash insanity!
    Fight not like fiends, as brother men agree;
  And be "the sweet, sad music of humanity,"
          Played in the _miner_ key!

       *       *       *       *       *

THE IDEAL CONVERSATION.

    [Miss EMILY FAITHFULL, in the _Ladies' Pictorial_, suggests
    that girls should always learn up some contribution to make to
    the family conversation at table.]

  Miss FAITHFULL, let me send a line
    Of most sincere congratulation
  On your magnificent design
    To raise the tone of conversation;
  The plan you kindly recommend
    Rejoices many a careful mother,
  And, for the future, we intend,
    As runs the phrase, "To use no other."

  At breakfast-time we used to talk
    On topics commonplace together,
  Designed a picnic, planned a walk,
    And even criticised the weather;
  We gossiped in an idle way,
    And made in turn our several guesses
  About the age of Mrs. A.,
    The price of Lady X.'s dresses.

  But now, according to your scheme,
    Each carefully-instructed maiden
  Discourses on a worthy theme,
    And comes with fact and figures laden;
  To-day, for instance, MURIEL gave
    Some gems from CICERO'S orations,
  While MAUD reviewed, in language grave,
    The Lower Tertiary Formations.

  And KATE--the mischief-making KATE
    Who formerly would merely prattle--
  Described, in accents most sedate,
    The use of cavalry in battle.
  In fact, by this most noble plan,
    Which on your kind advice we're using,
  Our conversation never can
    Deserve your censure as amusing!

       *       *       *       *       *

THE FOOL WITH A GUN.

    (_To the Tune of the "Temptation of St. Antony."_)

  There are many fools that worry this world,
    Fools old, and fools who're young;
  Fools with fortunes, and fools without,
  Fools who dogmatise, fools who doubt,
  Fools who snigger, and fools who shout,
  Fools who never know what they're about,
    And fools all cheek and tongue;
  Fools who're gentlemen, fools who're cads,
  Fools who're greybeards, and fools who're lads;
  Fools with manias, fools with fads,
  Fools with cameras, fools with tracts,
  Fools who deny the stubbornest facts,
  Fools in theories, fools in acts;
    Fools who write Theosophist books,
    Fools who believe in Mahatmas and spooks;
  Fools who prophesy--races and Tophets--
  Bigger fools who believe in prophets;
  Fools who quarrel, and fools who quack;
  In fact, there are all sorts of fools in the pack,
    Fools fat, thin, short, and tall;
  But of all sorts of fools, the Fool with a Gun
  (Who points it at someone--of course, "in fun"--
  And fools around till chance murder is done)
    Is the worsest fool of them all!

       *       *       *       *       *

"BEING AT CHARGES."--A subject for companion picture to the well-known
"_The Last Charge at Waterloo_" would be "_The Last Charge of the
Archbishop of Canterbury_." For ourselves, in preference to either the
ecclesiastical or the military view of a charge, we like to hear
the Lord Mayor's toast-master call out, "Gentlemen! _Charge_--your
glasses!!"

       *       *       *       *       *

UNDER THE ROSE.

(_A Story in Scenes._)

SCENE VI.--_The Breakfast-room at Hornbeam Lodge._

TIME--8.40 A.M. _on Saturday morning_. Mrs. TOOVEY _is alone_, _making
the tea_.

_Mrs. Toovey_ (_to herself_). I cannot think what has come to
THEOPHILUS. He has come down late for prayers every morning this week.
Such a bad example for any household, and Cook is beginning to notice
it--I could see it in her eye as she came in. He is so strange in his
manner, too; if I did not know he was absolutely incapable of--but
_why_ did he secrete that abominable programme of CHARLES'S? He _said_
he kept it with a view to making inquiries, but I have heard nothing
about them since. (_Aloud_, _to_ PH[OE]BE, _who brings in dishes
and two letters_.) Oh, the post, PH[OE]BE? it's late this morning.
(PH[OE]BE _goes out_.) One for Pa, and one for me--from ALTHEA--it was
certainly time she wrote. (_Reading her letter._) "Delightful visit
... the MERRIDEWS so kind ... so much to see and do ... back on Monday
... no time for more at present." Not a word of where she's been or
what she's seen--not at _all_ the letter a girl should write to her
mother! I wonder whom Pa's letter is from? (_She turns it over._)
What's this? "Eldorado Palace of Varieties" printed on the flap! Why,
that's CHARLES'S music-hall! Then Pa _has_ been making inquiries after
all. As CHARLES'S aunt I have a right to---- (_She is about to open
the envelope._) No, I'd better not, I hear Pa's hum--he will be sure
to tell me what they say.

_Mr. Toovey enters_ (_humming, to give himself a countenance_). Ha, so
you've had prayers without me? Quite right--quite right.

_Mrs. Toov._ (_severely_). Anything _but_ right, Pa. You ought to have
been down long ago. I heard you brushing your hair as I went out.

_Mr. Toov._ (_feebly_). It was very tiresome, my love, but my
collar-stud got under the wardrobe, and I couldn't get it out for ever
so long.

_Mrs. Toov._ Your things have taken to behave in a very extraordinary
manner, Pa. Yesterday it was your braces!

_Mr. Toov._ I--I believe it _was_ my braces yesterday. Ah well, we
must bear with these little vexations--bear with them! (_To himself._)
A letter for me? From the Eldorado! It's the box! I--I hoped Mr.
CURPHEW had forgotten.

[_He thrusts it into his pocket unopened, in a flurry._

_Mrs. Toov._ Is there any reason why you shouldn't read your letter,
Pa? It may be of importance.

_Mr. Toov._ I--I don't think it is, my love--particularly. It--it will
keep till after breakfast. What is this--kedgeree? Ha! I've come down
with quite an appetite--quite a famous appetite!

    [_He pecks at his kedgeree ostentatiously._

_Mrs. Toov._ Perhaps I'd better ring and have two more eggs boiled if
you're so hungry as all that, Pa?

_Mr. Toov._ (_in terror at this suggestion_). Not for me, my love, not
for me. I--I've made an excellent breakfast!

_Mrs. Toov._ Then now, Pa, perhaps you will be at leisure to read your
letter. I am curious to know what correspondence you can possibly have
with an Eldorado Palace.

_Mr. Toov._ (_to himself_). Oh, dear me, she's seen the flap! Why
do they put the name outside--so thoughtless of them! (_He opens
the letter._) Yes, it _is_ the order. I _can't_ show it to CORNELIA!
(_Aloud._) I--I told you I was making inquiries.

_Mrs. Toov._ About CHARLES'S habits? So you've written to the Manager,
without consulting me! Well--what does he say?

_Mr. Toov._ (_to himself_). I don't like these deceptions--but I
_must_ consider poor CHARLES. (_Aloud._) Oh--hum--very little, my
love, very little indeed, but satisfactory--most satisfactory--he's no
complaint to make of CHARLES--none whatever!

_Mrs. Toov._ As if it was likely you would get the truth from such a
tainted source! Let me see his letter.

_Mr. Toov._ (_pocketing the letter again, hastily_). No, my dear
love, you must excuse me--but this is a private and confidential
communication, and--and, in common fairness to CHARLES--I'll trouble
you for another cup of tea. (_To himself._) It's for this very night.
I've a great mind not to go. How am I to make an excuse for getting
away? (_Aloud._) I've half a mind to run up some time, and--and look
in on CHARLES.

_Mrs. Toov._ (_to herself_). If CHARLES is misconducting himself, I
ought to know--and I _will_, sooner or later. I'm sure THEOPHILUS is
keeping something from me. (_Aloud._) I've only put in one lump, Pa.
You may find him at home if you went up this afternoon.

_Mr. Toov._ (_relieved_). An excellent suggestion, my love. I _will_
go this afternoon. He--he might ask me to stay and dine with him; so
if--if I don't come back, you'll know where I am--eh? You won't be
anxious?

_Mrs. Toov._ (_to herself_). He's trying to spare me, but I can see
he's _most_ uneasy about CHARLES. (_Aloud._) Well, Pa, I don't like
the idea of your dining out without me--it will be the first time for
years--but still, I shall have to be away myself this evening;
there's a special meeting of the Zenana Mission Committee, and Mrs.
CUMBERBATCH made such a point of my attending--so, if you feel you
really _ought_ to see CHARLES----

_Mr. Toov._ Oh. I _do_, my dear. He--he wants looking after. And
perhaps, if I could have a little quiet, serious talk with him, after
dinner--or over a game of draughts. (_To himself._) What a dissembler
I've become; but I _do_ mean to look in on CHARLES, before I go to
this Eldorado place, and there _may_ be time for a game of draughts!

_Mrs. Toov._ You would learn more, THEOPHILUS, by putting a few
questions to his landlady. But remember, when you come back, I shall
insist on being told everything--_everything_, mind!

_Mr. Toov._ Oh, of course, my love, of course. (_To himself._) If my
visit proves satisfactory, I--I might tell her. It will depend on how
I feel--entirely on how I feel.

END OF SCENE VI.


    SCENE VII.--_The Drawing-room. It is after luncheon._ Mrs.
    TOOVEY _is sitting knitting_.

_Mr. Toovey_ (_entering, in a frock-coat, carrying a tall hat_).
Er--CORNELIA, my love, you don't happen to know where the--the
latchkey is kept, do you?

_Mrs. Toovey._ The latchkey, THEOPHILUS! One has never been required
in this house _yet_. What can you possibly want with a latchkey?

_Mr. Toov._ (_to himself_). These performances go on till a somewhat
advanced hour, I've no doubt, and I might feel it my duty to stay
as long as---- (_Aloud._) I--I only thought it would save PH[OE]BE
sitting up for me, my dear.

_Mrs. Toov._ You need not trouble yourself about that, THEOPHILUS. I
will sit up for you, if necessary.

_Mr. Toov._ (_quaking_). But you forget your Zenana Mission, my love;
you will be out yourself this evening!

_Mrs. Toov._ (_severely_). I shall be back by a reasonable hour,
Pa,--and so will _you_, I should hope.

_Mr. Toov._ I hope so, my love, I'm sure, but--but I may have a good
deal to say to CHARLES, you know.

_Mrs. Toov._ (_to herself_). There's some mystery about that wretched
boy, I'm certain. If I could only find out what was in that letter. I
wonder if it's in Pa's pocket--I'll soon see. (_Aloud._) Turn round,
Pa. Ah, I _thought_ as much; one of your coat-tail buttons is as
nearly off as it can be!

_Mr. Toov._ (_innocently_). Dear me! My Sunday coat, too. I never
observed it. Could you just fasten it on a little more securely?

[Illustration: "Eldorado Palace of Varieties. Admit Mr. Toovey and
Party to Box C. This portion to be retained."]

_Mrs. Toov._ If you take off your coat. I can't do it with you
prancing about in front of me, Pa. (_Mr. T. takes off his coat._)
Now, I can't have you in my drawing-room in your shirtsleeves--suppose
somebody called! Go into your study and wait there till I've done.
(_Mr. T. departs submissively._) Now if the letter isn't in one of
these pockets, it must be in---- (_She discovers the envelope._) There
it is. _Now_ I shall know what CHARLES---- I'm sure his poor dear
mother would wish to be informed. (_She opens the letter._) "Eldorado
Palace of Varieties. Admit Mr. TOOVEY and party to Box C. This portion
to be retained." (_She tears off a perforated slip._) I _will_ retain
it! So THEOPHILUS has been deceiving me--_this_ is his business with
CHARLES! _This_ is why he kept that programme! And he's allowing
himself to be misled by his own nephew! They're going to this
music-hall to-night, together! He shall _not_ go--never while I--stop,
let me think--yes, he _shall_ go--he shall fill up the measure of his
iniquity, little dreaming that I have the clear proof of his deceit!
(_She thrusts the slip she has torn off into her workbox, and replaces
the envelope with the remainder of the order in the pocket._) There.
He won't notice that anything is missing. He's coming back. I must
control myself, or he will be on his guard.

    [_She pretends to secure the button with unsteady fingers._

_Mr. Toov._ (_entering_). CORNELIA, my love, don't trouble to do more
than is absolutely necessary to keep the button secure--because I'm
rather in a hurry. It doesn't matter, so long as it looks respectable!

_Mrs. Toov._ (_with an effort to restrain her feelings_). I daresay it
is quite respectable enough, Pa, for where you are going.

_Mr. Toov._ Quite, indeed, my dear. But it would never have done to go
and call on CHARLES with a button off the back of my coat--no, no. It
was fortunate you noticed it in time, my love.

_Mrs. Toov._ I hope it will prove so, THEOPHILUS. (_To herself._) And
this monster of duplicity is Pa! Oh, I wish I could tell him what I
thought of him, but not yet--we will have our reckoning later!

_Mr. Toov._ (_after putting on his coat_). Then I think I must be
going. Any message I can take to CHARLES?

_Mrs. Toov._ Yes, tell him that I trust he will profit by his good
Uncle's example, and that I expect him to dinner on Monday. I may
require to have a serious talk with him myself, if your account of
this evening is not perfectly satisfactory.

_Mr. Toov._ I'll tell him, my love, but there's no reason to make
yourself uneasy about CHARLES--he'll behave himself--he'll behave
himself. (_To himself, as he goes out._) I must go and see CHARLES
now. Oh dear, I do feel so apprehensive about this visit to the
Eldorado.--If I could put it off.--But I can't continue to hold those
shares without some knowledge---- And Mr. CURPHEW made such a point of
my going. No, I must go. I--I don't see how I can get out of it!

_Mrs. Toov._ (_alone_). There he goes, looking so meek and lamblike!
Who would suspect, to see him, that that black coat of his was
buttoned round a whited sepulchre? Oh, Pa, Pa! That after all these
years of blameless life you should suddenly be seized with a
depraved desire for unhallowed amusement like this! While I am at
the CUMBERBATCHES, engaged in discussing the affairs of the Zenana
Mission, you and CHARLES will be---- Stop. How do I know he is going
with CHARLES at all? If he is capable of deceiving me in one respect,
why not in all? (_She takes out the slip and looks at it._) Mr. TOOVEY
and party! _What_ party? May not Pa have been leading a--a double life
all these years for anything I can tell? He is going to the Eldorado
to-night with _somebody_--that's clear. Who is it? I shall never be
easy till I know. And why should I not? There's the meeting, though.
I might have a headache. Yes, that will do. (_She goes to her
writing-table._) No, I won't write. I can make some excuse to ELIZA
when I see her. And instead of going to the CUMBERBATCHES this
evening, I can easily slip up to Waterloo and ask my way to this
place. There will be no difficulty in that. Yes, I will go, whatever
it costs me. And when Pa goes into this Box C of his, he will find his
"party" is larger than he expected!

END OF SCENE VII.

       *       *       *       *       *

PLAYING THE DEUCE AT THE HAYMARKET.

Of course, to speak with theological accuracy, _The Tempter_, being
the "very devil incarnate," ought to be "damned." That this has
not been his fate at the Haymarket is owing to Mr. BEERBOHM TREE
primarily, to his company secondarily, and to the author remotely. To
treat in any fresh dramatic form the story of _Faust and Marguerite_,
a dramatist must be the subject of a special and peculiar inspiration.
Now what this play lacks is inspiration.

What in this piece ENRY HAUTHOR JONES mistook for the "divine
afflatus" is mere long-windedness. His _Tempter_ may be an entertainer
assuming various disguises, and more and more like himself on every
occasion, but a real devil he is not, except so far as Mr. TREE with
wonderful art makes him; and, even then, the question is forced
upon us, would any devil with any sort of self-respect, pick up a
cross-handled dagger just as if it were an ordinary walking-stick, and
politely return it to its owner? This is the first time that a
devil on the stage hasn't shuddered and grovelled at the sight of
a cross-handle. Again, how far more effective would some of the
supernatural movements of this irreclaimably wicked personage have
been had they been performed by means of some clever arrangement
of "wires," such as that with which Mlle. AENEA used to astonish the
public? Where are the stage mechanists who assisted GEORGE CONQUEST,
that unique representative of sprites and gnomes, who achieved success
by "leaps and bounds?"

Fortunately the piece does not depend for its success on mere
mechanism, but on the acting of Mr. TREE, which is in all respects
admirable in its diabolical variety; much depends, too, on Mrs.
TREE, who is charming and sympathetic in a small part. Mr. TERRY,
who occasionally, in tone and look, reminds me of HENRY IRVING,
contributes his share towards the general histrionic excellence, as
also does Miss JULIA NEILSON, who in tone and action frequently
makes me wish that once and for ever she would give up attempting
an imitation of ELLEN TERRY. But be it said that the acting of this
couple is remarkably good in the love scene, as it is also in the very
trying death scene, which could have been so easily and so utterly
ruined.

[Illustration: "Arbor in Arbore." A Wood Engraving.]

The author is at his best in his curt, cynical sentences. Epigrams are
few and far between in the play, but what there are go to the devil,
that is, are given to the "Old Gentleman," with the best possible
result. ENRY HAUTHOR is at his worst in the long speeches, not one
of which, no matter to whom it may fall, but would be the better for
cutting. Of course, suggestions for abbreviating the _Tempter_'s
part would not be favourably entertained by the principal actor,
as, naturally enough, any Tree objects to being cut down: and as his
personal success is too decided for him to be "cut up," the Tree will
have to remain, though lopping and pruning would be advantageous to
the growth and strength of this Tree now that it has assumed these
proportions. And the moral? Well, GOETHE, I think, in the poem was a
trifle hazy about the ultimate fate of his lovers; but in the opera
there is no doubt about it. With _Marguerite_ it was "Here we go up,
up, up," and with _Faust_ it was just the reverse: but the operatic
_Faust_ will always "go down" when sung and played as it was this
season at Covent Garden. I forget what BOITO does with his erring
couple, but where Mr. JONES'S demon resembles BOITO'S, and also
BYRON'S, Satan, is in his monologues addressed directly to the Supreme
Being. But those Satans were Fallen Archangels of Heaven; this of
'ENRY HAUTHOR'S is a Fallen Angel of Islington. This illogical demon
sneers at one of the characters for not using language sufficiently
strong to express his feelings; yet when his own turn comes his
blasphemy is vulgar, and so mild that not the sternest magistrate
would like to fine him for it. And strange to say, in one passage
(which most persons would have deemed objectionable, did it not
come to them on the authority of the Lord Chamberlain's Theatrical
Licensing office), the Prince of Darkness shows himself a gentleman
curiously ignorant of such elementary Christian theology as he could
have picked up from a penny catechism. How Mr. TREE was ever in-deuced
to attempt the _Tempter_ by ENRY HAUTHOR, will remain a mystery to the
end of the run, and if that should be in the far distant future,
the mystery will be Tree-mendous, and absolutely impenetrable. The
costumes are artistic and superb, the scenery effective, though the
majestic proportions of Canterbury Cathedral are rather dwarfed by the
imposing figure of the Very Deuce, who is "all over the place."

       *       *       *       *       *

Morning Thought.

    (_By a chilly Autumn Guest at a Country House._)

  _GR-R-R-R!_ No fire in the grate--for our hostess is thrifty--
  Although the thermometer stands below fifty!
        Well, I wish to be courteous and sober;
  But the _biggest_ of pests is that pig of a host--
  In a climate like ours, too!--who makes it his boast
        That "he _never_ starts fires till October!"

       *       *       *       *       *

A GOOD KICK-OFF.--The "Rugby" decision against "professional"
football. Let us hope it will be followed by an equally energetic
"kick-out" of the growing "rowdy" element in this popular, if somewhat
over-praised, "National game." All good sportsmen long to see a
"penalty kick" administered to blackguardism in the football field.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE PERSONAL EQUATION.

_Ducal Butler_ (_showing Art Treasures of Stilton Castle_). "THE THREE
GRACES--AFTER CANOVA!"

_Mrs. Ramsbotham._ "HOW INTERESTING! AND PRAY, WHICH IS THE _PRESENT_
DUCHESS?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

ALEXANDER AND DIOGENES.

(_Modern Teutonic Version._)

    ["My complaint being of a nervous character, I share the
    opinion of my doctor that, if I pass the winter in the midst
    of my accustomed surroundings and occupations, it will be
    the most likely means of promoting my recovery."--_Prince
    Bismarck's reply to the German Emperor's Letter._]

_Diogenes_ (_of Kissingen_) loquitur:--

  _Only to leave me to my tub!_ Ha! had him _there_ I flatter me!
  Too late, my ALEXANDER, now to butter or to batter me!
  You "Dropped the Pilot"--with that youthful confidence that some adore--
  The "whirligig of time" has turned; the "Pilot" drops the "Commodore."

  A _fico_ for Imperial "Pots," and their young princely progenies.
  Belated condescension won't conciliate DIOGENES.
  Cynic and Conqueror exchange compliments Ciceronian,
  But--there's a sting in some smooth words, for a mouthing Macedonian.

  Mine are not _sanitary_ "tubs," the Varzin, or the other one
  At Friedrichsruh, you hint. Oh get away, and do not bother one!
  I've got a "nervous system" now, and noisy, young, despotical,
  "Shock-headed Peters" worry one, when aged and neurotical.

  Your castles, and your palaces, and things, in Central Germany,
  I "trample on"--like Plato's pride. Ha! does that make you squirm any?
  Confer with your Court Marshal, if you like; I only promise I'll
  Transfer my Tub--to Friedrichsruh, when up to change of domicile.

  "How to command men" is my skill, as 'twas of him of Pontus, Sire,
  _You_ can't command such men as I just when you chance to want us, Sire!
  As soon as Doctor SCHWENINGER says he has no objection, Sire,
  I'll travel to another Tub--but not of your selection, Sire.

  _Sings_--

  'Midst castles and palaces though I _might_ roam,
  Be it ever so humble there's no place like home.
  The charm of the Tub seems to hallow me there,
  Which all Central Germany's castles can't share.
    Home! home! Sweet, sweet home!
    Though 'tis only a Tub, there is no place like home!

  An exile from court, castles dazzle in vain.
  Oh! give me my Tub and I'll gladly remain.
  A proud ALEXANDER I'm sorry (!) to snub,
  But--keep your fine castles, leave me to my Tub!
    Home! home! Sweet, sweet home!
    Though you mayn't like its "climate," there's no place like home!

    [_Left curled up in it._

       *       *       *       *       *


"PAS MEME ACADEMICIEN!"

    [ALBERT MOORE, the exquisite decorative painter, died on
    September 25, at the age of fifty-two, "without Academic
    honour."]

  "LOVE is enough." Beauty, it seems, is not.
    And yet upon our land's artistic fame,
  It seems--does it not, Sirs?--a bitter blot
    That the official roll lacks this great name!
  No matter! The R. A., with tight-closed door,
  Hath less--of honour; English Art hath MOORE.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Did you hear PADEREWSKI the pianist?" asked someone of our old friend
Mrs. R. "Oh, yes," she replied; "I was most fortunate. He played for
several hours at a friend's house, and he gave us the whole of his
Repartee."

       *       *       *       *       *

RIDDLE BY 'ARRY.--"Look 'ere, if you're speakin' of a young unmarried
lady bein' rather 'uffy, what well-known river would you name?--Why,
_'Miss is 'ippy'_, o' course."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: ALEXANDER AND DIOGENES.

ALEXANDER. "IS THERE ANYTHING I CAN DO FOR YOU? CASTLE? OR ANYTHING OF
THAT SORT?" DIOGENES. "NO--ONLY TO LEAVE ME TO MY TUB!!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: GUESTS TO BE AVOIDED.

"HULLO, OLD MAN! HOW'S IT YOU'RE DINING AT THE CLUB? THOUGHT YOUR WIFE
TOLD ME SHE HAD THE BROWNS AND SMITHS TO DINNER THIS EVENING?"

"NO--THAT WAS YESTERDAY. THIS EVENING SHE HAS THE ODDS AND ENDS!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

RIFLEMEN--"FORM!"

(_A new Volunteer Song, "in vulgar parlance," Brought up to date,
after Lord Tennyson_.)

    ["It is not going too far to say that thousands of men best
    fitted, physically and morally, to serve as officers or in the
    ranks, hold aloof from the Volunteers, because they are keenly
    alive to inefficiency of the average Volunteer. In vulgar
    parlance they look upon Volunteering as 'bad form.'"--_The
    Times._]

  There is a sound that must terribly jar
    On the ears of the West in our finical day;
  'Tisn't a sound of battle and war,
    But of something much worse in its "vulgar" way.
  Storm's warm about Volunteer "form,"
  Ready, be ready against that storm!
  "Form!" "Form!" Riflemen, "Form!"

  Be not deaf to the sound that warns!
    What? "Bad form!"--that's a prig's last plea.
  Are figs of thistles? or grapes of thorns?
    How can W. feel with E. C.?
  "Form!" "Form!" Riflemen, "Form!"
  Ready to meet "Sassiety's" storm!
  Riflemen, Riflemen, shun "bad form!"

  Reform your "form"! Abide nothing "low"!
    Look to yon butts, and take good aims!
  But better a miss, or a magpie or so,
    Than that bad, bad form which "Sassiety" shames.
  Storm's warm about Volunteer "form,"
  Ready, be ready against that storm!
  Riflemen, Riflemen, Riflemen--"Form!!!"

  For "form" be ready to do or die
    "Form," in "Sassiety's" name, and the QUEEN'S!
  "In vulgar parlance" "good form"'s the cry--
    Though only a fribble knows what it means.
  But "Form!" "Form!" Riflemen, "Form!"
  Ready, be ready to meet the storm
  Against the Riflemen's "shocking bad form!"

       *       *       *       *       *

THE LONDON SCHOOL BOARD VADE MECUM.

_Question._ What are the functions of the School Board?

_Answer._ To protest against the conduct of the Educational
Department.

_Q._ In this protest has the Board the sympathy of the public?

_A._ Unquestionably; because the conduct of the Educational Department
is calculated to send up rates.

_Q._ But does not the Department look after the sanitary side of the
matter?

_A._ Perhaps so; but sanitation is too expensive a matter to be
treated without the maturest consideration.

_Q._ Are the recommendations of the Department unreasonable?

_A._ Very. The Board is required to make the most costly alterations
in buildings that have already eaten up a large sum of money, and
should not consume a penny more.

_Q._ But are not the suggested improvements ones that would be
accepted nowadays in any new design?

_A._ Certainly, but then their adoption would be the cause of little
or no expense.

_Q._ Then should science stop still until the rates become abated?

_A._ That would be the practical course for science to pursue.

_Q._ But leaving grievances out of the question, what can be said
about education?

_A._ That is a matter of secondary importance, when compared with the
latest sanitary developments.

_Q._ But how about the children? Have they been educated? What can be
said about them?

_A._ Nothing. So far as the School Board is concerned, the question of
education in general is absolutely of secondary importance.

_Q._ Then the career of a child need not be considered nor watched?

_A._ Of course not. The sole means suggested for teaching a child
is to squabble with the Government and to more or less ignore the
requirements of the schoolmaster.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "ON THE CHANCE."

_Young Mamma._ "WHAT HAVE YOU GOT THERE, MY GOOD MAN?"

_The "Good Man" (seeing she is not a Potato Customer)_. "ONLY BOILING
WATER, MA'AM. YOU SEE, THIS TIME O' YEAR, THE SEA GETS RATHER
COLD, AND SOME OF THE LADIES ARE SO PARTICULAR ABOUT THEIR LITTLE
TODDLEKINS, BLESS 'EM!"

_Young Mamma (struck with the idea)_. "OH, THEN, PLEASE BE HERE
TO-MORROW MORNING AT EIGHT O'CLOCK, AND BRING TWO CANS!"

[_At once tenders him a Shilling. Needless to say Our Artist was not
up in time to see if appointment was kept punctually._]

       *       *       *       *       *


BISHOP BOBADIL.

    ["As to the course which the English Government should take
    in this matter, he was in favour of their acting on the
    principles enunciated in the Sermon on the Mount; but when it
    was found that a contrary course was necessary, then they must
    drop the sermon and have recourse to the sword."--The
    Bishop of DERRY, in Westminster Abbey, on the subject of
    Mashonaland.]

  Of old the bully swaggered free,
    He recked not how the fight arose;
  He wore his warlike panoply,
    A hireling and a man of blows.

  He knew no mercy, was not meek
    (The meek are blessed, said the Lord);
  If one should smite him on the cheek,
    He turned, but turned to draw his sword.

  He trod the weaker in the mire,
    Nor stayed from blood his mailed hand,
  And tramped in fury and in fire
    Through many a devastated land.

  I blame him not, it was his trade;
    Though small his care for wrong or right,
  At least he fought himself, nor stayed
    At home to bid the others fight.

  Long since we've placed him on the shelf;
    Behold instead, his crosier drawn,
  Within the sacred Minster's self
    A bully blustering in lawn.

  A broad-brimmed stirrer up of strife,
    "I hold," he cries, "of small account
  His sense who stoops to base his life
    Upon the Sermon on the Mount.

  "That is, if unprepared to strike.
    Some help that Sermon _may_ afford.
  You suit yourselves, and, when you like,
    You drop it and you draw the sword."

  Go to, you loud and foolish priest,
    Nor scorn the precepts you should keep.
  Still is it true that, west or east,
    The wolves are sometimes clothed like sheep.

  And here ('twas thus in ancient days)
    False prophets shame the Master still.
  And congregations chant the praise
    Of blatant Bishop BOBADIL.

       *       *       *       *       *

WOODMEN, SPARE THOSE TREES!

_New (New Forest) Version._

[Mr. AUBERON HERBERT says "the rapacious and spendthrift" woodmen of
the Crown have recently felled two hundred oaks in the New Forest.]

  Woodmen, spare those trees!
    You're playing up rare jokes
  In felling, at your ease,
    Hundreds of British oaks.
  We'd ax you stay your axe.
    Come! no official rot!
  Or _Punch_'s wrath may wax,
    And then--you'll get it hot.

  Those old familiar trees
    Are glory and renown.
  Don't think your business, _please_,
    Is just to hew them down!
  We _ask_ you, for the nonce.
    If such appeal is vain,
  We'll bid you, sharp, at once,
    "Cut"--and _don't_ come again!

       *       *       *       *       *


"GOOD SIR JOHN!"

(_To Sir John Gilbert, R.A., on his receiving the Freedom of the City._

_By an Old Boy._)


    Good Black (and White) Knight,
    Our youth's joint delight,
  With that other Black Knight, dear Sir WALTER'S
    (Whom you pictured well),
    Ancient memories swell,
  Till language, in praising you, falters.
    You drew, with such dash,
    _All_ our heroes; they flash
  On our memories. Ah, we thanked _you_ so
    For Dons, Rosinantes,
    And Sanchos (CERVANTES!)
  "Leather-Stocking," and Robinson Crusoe.
    Our fancies still carry
    Your (SHAKSPEARE'S) King Harry,
  We know our own boyhood's sound slumbers
    Were haunted by Pucks,
    Robin Hoods, Friar Tucks,
  And scenes from your brave Christmas Numbers.
    God bless you, Sir JOHN,
    For your Knight and your Don,
  Who moved our youth's fervour and pity!
    Sure every Old Boy
    Hopes you long may enjoy
  The freedom (and health) of our City!

       *       *       *       *       *


RIDDLE FOR THE GREAT REALIST.


_Q._ When is a sailor like a French journalist?

_A._ When he has to "sign articles."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: WHO WOULD NOT BE A MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT?]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A NEAT WAY OF PUTTING IT.

_Cabby_ (_to Clergyman, who has paid the legal fare_). "WON'T LEAVE ME
MUCH FOR THE HOFFERTORY NEXT SUNDAY, SIR, WILL IT?"]

       *       *       *       *       *


THE ADVENTURES OF PICKLOCK HOLES.

(_By Cunnin Toil._)

No. V.--THE HUNGARIAN DIAMOND.

Everybody must remember the apparently causeless panic that seized
the various European governments only a few years ago. It was the dead
season. Members of Parliament were all disporting themselves on the
various grouse-moors which are specially reserved for that august
legislative body in order that there may be no lack of accuracy in the
articles of those who imagine that the 12th of August brings to
every M.P. a yearning for the scent of heather and the sound of
breech-loading guns. Suddenly, and without any warning, a great fear
spread through Europe. Nobody seemed able to state precisely how
it began. There were, of course, some who attributed it to an
after-dinner speech made by the German Emperor at the annual banquet
of the Blue Boesewitzers, the famous Cuirassier regiment of which the
Grand Duke of SCHNUPFTUCHSTEIN is the honorary commanding officer.
Others again saw in it the influence of M. PAUL DEROULEDE, while yet a
third party attributed it with an equal assumption of certainty to the
fact that Austria had recently forbidden the import of Servian pigs.
They were all wrong. The time has come when the truth must be known.
The story I am about to tell will show my extraordinary friend,
PICKLOCK HOLES, on an even higher pinnacle of unmatchable acumen than
that which fame has hitherto assigned to him. He may be vexed when
he reads my narrative of his triumphs, for he is as modest as he is
inductive; but I am determined that, at whatever cost, the story shall
be made public.

It was on one of those delightful evenings for which our English
summer is famous, that HOLES and I were as usual sitting together and
conversing as to the best methods of inferring an Archbishop from
a hat-band and a Commander-in-Chief from a penny-whistle. I had put
forward several plans which appeared to me to be satisfactory, but
HOLES had scouted them one after another with a cold impassivity which
had not failed to impress me, accustomed though I was to the great
man's exhibition of it.

"Here," said HOLES, eventually, "are the necessary steps. Hat-band,
band-master, master-mind, mind-your-eye, eye-ball, ball-bearing,
bear-leader, Leda and the Swan, swan-bill, bill-post, post-cart,
cart-road, roadway, Weybridge, bridge-arch, arch-bishop. The inference
of a Commander-in-Chief is even easier. You have only to assume that a
penny-whistle has been found lying on the Horse-Guards' Parade by the
Colonel of the Scots Guards, and carried by him to the office of the
Secretary of State for War. Thereupon you subdivide the number of
drummer-boys in a regiment of Goorkhas by the capital value of a
sergeant's retiring pension, and----"

But the rest of this marvellous piece of concise reasoning must remain
for ever a secret, for at this moment a bugle-call disturbed the
stillness of the summer night, and HOLES immediately paused.

"What can that mean?" I asked, in some alarm, for Camberwell (our
meeting place) is an essentially unmilitary district, and I could not
account for this strange and awe-inspiring musical demonstration.

"Hush," said HOLES, with perfect composure; "it is the agreed signal.
Listen. The great Samovar diamond, the most brilliant jewel in the
turquoise crown of Hungary, has been lost. The Emperor of AUSTRIA is
in despair. Next week he is due at Pesth, but he cannot appear before
the fierce and haughty Magyars in a crown deprived of the decoration
that all Hungary looks upon as symbolical of the national existence.
A riot in Pesth at this moment would shake the Austro-Hungarian empire
to its foundations. With it the Triple Alliance would crumble into
dust, and the peace of Europe would not be worth an hour's purchase.
It is, therefore, imperative that before the dawn of next Monday the
diamond should be restored to its wonted setting."

"My dear HOLES," I said, "this is more terrible than I thought.
Have they appealed to you, as usual, after exhausting all the native
talent?"

"My dear POTSON," replied my friend, "you ask too much. Let it suffice
that I have been consulted, and that the determination of the question
of peace or war lies in these hands." And with these words the
arch-detective spread before my eyes those long, sinewy, and
meditative fingers which had so often excited my admiration.

Our preparations for departure to Hungary were soon made. I hardly
know why I accompanied HOLES. It seemed somehow to be the usual thing
that I should be present at all his feats. I thought he looked for
my company, and though his undemonstrative nature would never have
suffered him to betray any annoyance had I remained absent, I judged
it best not to disturb the even current of his investigations by
departing from established precedent. I therefore departed from
London--my only alternative. Just as we were setting out, HOLES
stopped me with a warning gesture.

"Have you brought the clue with you?" he asked.

"What clue?"

"Oh," he answered, rather testily, "any clue you like, so long as it's
a clue. A torn scrap of paper with writing on it, a foot-print in the
mud, a broken chair, a soiled overcoat--it really doesn't matter what
it is, but a clue of some kind we must have."

"Of course, of course," I said, in soothing tones. "How stupid of me
to forget it. Will this do?" I continued, picking up a piece of faded
green ribbon which happened to be lying on the pavement.

"The very thing," said HOLES, pocketing it, and so we started. Our
first visit on arriving at Pesth was to the Emperor-King, who was
living _incognito_ in a small back alley of the Hungarian capital. We
cheered the monarch's heart, and proceeded to call on the leader of
the Opposition in the Hungarian Diet. He was a stern man of some fifty
summers, dressed in the national costume. We found him at supper.
HOLES was the first to speak. "Sir," he said, "resistance is useless.
Your schemes have been discovered. All that is left for you is to
throw yourself upon the mercy of your King."

The rage of the Magyar was fearful to witness. HOLES continued,
inexorably:--"This piece of green ribbon matches the colour of your
Sunday tunic. Can you swear it has not been torn from the lining? You
cannot. I thought so. Know then that wrapped in this ribbon was found
the great Samovar diamond, and that you, you alone, were concerned in
the robbery."

At this moment the police broke into the room.

"Remove his Excellency," said HOLES, "and let him forthwith expiate
his crimes upon the scaffold."

"But," I ventured to interpose, "where is the diamond? Unless you
restore that----"

"POTSON," whispered HOLES, almost fiercely, "do not be a fool."

As he said this, the door once again opened, and the Emperor-King
entered the room, bearing on his head the turquoise crown, in the
centre of which sparkled the great Samovar, "the moon of brilliancy,"
as the Hungarian poets love to call it. The Emperor approached the
marvellous detective. "Pardon me," he said, "for troubling you. I have
just found the missing stone under my pillow."

"Where," said HOLES, "I was about to tell your Majesty that you would
find it."

"Thank you," said his Majesty, "for restoring to me a valued
possession and ridding me of a knave about whom I have long had my
suspicions." The conclusion of this speech was greeted with loud
"_Eljens_," the Hungarian national shout, in the midst of which we
took our leave. That is the true story of how the peace of Europe was
preserved by my wonderful friend.

       *       *       *       *       *




Transcriber's Note:

Sundry damaged or missing punctuation has been repaired.

Page 165: 'then' corrected to 'than'.

"But better a miss, or a magpie or so,
  Than that bad, bad form which "Sassiety" shames."






End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol.
105 October 7, 1893, by Various

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