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  PUNCH,

  OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

  VOLUME 93.

  AUGUST 6, 1887.

       *       *       *       *       *

ALL IN PLAY.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,

Now that your own particular theatrical adviser and follower, Mr. NIBBS,
has left London for a trip abroad, I venture to address you on matters
dramatic. I am the more desirous of so doing because, although the
Season is nearly over, two very important additions have been made to
the London playhouse programme--two additions that have hitherto escaped
your eagle glance. I refer, Sir, to _The Doctor_ at the Globe, and _The
Colonel_ at the Comedy--both from the pen of a gentleman who (while I am
writing this in London) is partaking of the waters at Royat. Mr. BURNAND
is to be congratulated upon the success that has attended both
productions. I had heard rumours that _The Doctor_ had found some
difficulty in establishing himself (or rather herself, because I am
talking of a lady) satisfactorily in Newcastle Street, Strand. It was
said that she required practice, but when I attended her consulting-room
the other evening, I found the theatre full of patients, who were
undergoing a treatment that may be described (without any particular
reference to marriages or "the United States") as "a merry cure." I was
accompanied by a young gentleman fresh from school, and at first felt
some alarm on his account, as his appreciation of the witty dialogue
with which the piece abounds was so intense that he threatened more than
once to die of laughing.

[Illustration: "How happy could he be with either."]

I have never seen a play "go" better--rarely so well. The heroine--the
"_Doctoresse_"--was played with much effect and discretion by Miss
ENSON, a lady for whom I prophesy a bright future. Mr. PENLEY was
excellent in a part that fitted him to perfection. Both Miss VICTOR, as
a "strong woman," and Mr. HILL, as--well, himself,--kept the pit in
roars. The piece is more than a farce. The first two Acts are certainly
farcical, but there is a touch of pathos in the last scene which reminds
one that there is a close relationship between smiles and tears. And
here let me note that the company in the private boxes, even when most
heartily laughing, were still in tiers. As a rule the Doctor is not a
popular person, but at the Globe she is sure to be always welcome. Any
one suffering from that very distressing and prevalent malady, "the
Doleful Dumps," cannot do better than go to Newcastle Street for a
speedy cure.

The _Colonel_ at the Comedy is equally at home, and, on the occasion of
his revival, was received with enthusiasm. Mr. BRUCE has succeeded Mr.
COGHLAN in the title _role_, and plays just as well as his predecessor.
Mr. HERBERT is the original _Forester_, and the rest of the _dramatis
personae_ are worthy of the applause bestowed upon them. To judge from
the laughter that followed every attack upon the aesthetic fad, the
"Greenery Yallery Gallery" is as much to the front as ever--a fact, by
the way, that was amply demonstrated at the _Soiree_ of the Royal
Academy, where "passionate Brompton" was numerously represented.

[Illustration: The Colonel.]

_The Bells of Hazlemere_ seem to be ringing in large audiences at the
Adelphi, although the piece is not violently novel in its plot or
characters. Mrs. BERNARD-BEERE ceases to die "every evening" at the end
of this week at the Opera Comique until November. I peeped in, a few
days since, just before the last scene of _As in a Looking-Glass_, and
found the talented lady on the point of committing her nightly suicide.
Somehow I missed the commencement of the self-murder, and thus could not
satisfactorily account for her dying until I noticed that a double-bass
was moaning piteously. Possibly this double-bass made Mrs. BERNARD-BEERE
wish to die--it certainly created the same desire on my part. Believe
me, yours sincerely,

ONE WHO HAS GONE TO PIECES.

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR EXCHANGE AND MART.

HOLIDAY INQUIRIES.

ELIGIBLE CONTINENTAL TRAVELLING COMPANION.--A D.C.L., B.M., and R.S.V.P.
of an Irish University, is desirous of meeting with one or two Young
English Dukes who contemplating, as a preliminary to their taking their
seats in the House of Lords, passing a season at Monaco, would consider
the advertiser's society and personal charge, together with his
acquaintance with a system of his own calculated to realise a
substantial financial profit from any lengthened stay in the locality,
an equivalent for the payment of his hotel, travelling, and other
incidental expenses. Highest references given and expected. Apply to
"MASTER OF ARTS." Blindhooky. County Cork.

       *       *       *       *       *

INVALID OUTING. EXCEPTIONAL ADVANTAGES.--A confirmed Invalid, formerly
an active member of the Alpine Club, who has temporarily lost the use of
his legs, and has in consequence hired a Steam-traction engine attached
to which, in a bath-chair, he proposes making a prolonged excursion
through the most mountainous districts of Wales, is anxious to meet with
five other paralytics who will join him in his contemplated undertaking,
and bear a portion of the expense. As he will take in tow two furniture
vans containing respectively a Cottage-Hospital and a Turkish-bath, and
be accompanied by three doctors, and a German Band, it is scarcely
necessary for him to point out that the details of the trip will be
carried out with a due regard to the necessities of health and
recreation. While the fact that a highly respectable firm of Solicitors
will join him _en route_, will be a guarantee that any vexatious
litigation instituted against him by local boroughs for the crushing and
otherwise damaging their gas and water-mains, or running into their
lamp-posts will, if it occur, be jealously watched and effectually dealt
with. In the not unforeseen, though by no means expected event of the
Traction Engine becoming by some accident permanently wedged in and
unable to move from some inaccessible pass, it is understood that the
party shall separate, and that each member shall be at liberty to return
home by any _route_ he may select for himself as most convenient and
available for the purpose. For all further particulars apply to X. X.
X., Struggle-on-the-Limp, Lame End, Beds.

       *       *       *       *       *

LIFE IN THE COUNTRY. RARE OPPORTUNITY.--An impecunious Nobleman, whose
income has been seriously reduced owing to the prevailing agricultural
depression, would be willing to let his Family Mansion to a considerate
tenant at a comparatively low rental. As half the furniture has been
seized under a distress-warrant, and as a man in possession is
permanently installed, under a bill of sale, in charge of the rest, a
recluse of aesthetic tastes, to whom a series of rooms entirely devoid of
furniture would present a distinct attraction, and who would find a
little friendly social intercourse not an altogether disagreeable
experience, might discover in the above an eligible opportunity. Some
excellent fishing can be had on the sly in the small hours of the
morning by dodging the local Middle-man to whom it has been let. Capital
rat-shooting over nearly an eighth of an acre of wild farm-yard
buildings. Address, "MARQUIS." Spillover. Herts.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE BEST PART OF HALF A PACK OF HOUNDS FOR SALE.--A Midland County
Squire, who, through having come into a Suburban Omnibus business, is
about to relinquish his position as a county gentleman, is anxious to
find a purchaser for what is left of a Pack of Hounds, of which he has
for several years been the acknowledged Master. The "remnant" consists
of a Dachshund, a Setter, slightly blind of one eye, two Drawing-room
Pugs, a Lurcher, and a French Poodle, who can tell fortunes with a pack
of cards, jump through three papered hoops at a time, walk round the
room on his fore legs, and take five o'clock tea with any assembled
company. Any enthusiastic huntsman wishing "to ride to hounds" in the
middle of August, could, with a little preliminary training, scarcely
fail to find in the above all the elements that would provide him with a
capital run, even at this comparatively early season of the sporting
year. With a red herring tied on to the fox, they could be warranted not
to miss the scent; and, failing their performances in the field, might
be safely relied on as a striking feature in any provincial Circus. The
advertiser would be glad to hear from a respectable and responsible
sausage manufactory.--Apply, MASTER, Packholme, Kenilworth.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: ILLUSTRATIONS TO THE POETS.

"A CYCLE OF CATHAY."

_Locksley Hall._]

       *       *       *       *       *

SOME MORE OFFICIAL JILLS.

(_Whom Mr. Punch, with his characteristic sense of justice and
fair-play, is proud to recognise as no less representative than his
earlier types--although he could wish he had the pleasure of
encountering them a little more frequently._)

SCENE--_A large Branch Post Office. The weather is oppressively warm,
and the Public slightly irritable in consequence. Behind the counter are
three Young Ladies, of distinctly engaging appearance, whom we will
call_ Miss GOODCHILD, Miss MEEKIN, _and_ Miss MANNERLY, _respectively.
As the Curtain rises_, Miss GOODCHILD _is laboriously explaining to an
old lady with defective hearing the relative advantages of a Postal and
a Post Office Order_.

_The Old Lady._ Just say it over again, so that a body can hear ye. You
young Misses ought to be taught to speak _out_, 'stead o' mumbling
the way you do. _Why_ can't ye give me a Postal Order for
five-and-fourpence, and a'done with it, eh?

_Miss Goodchild (endeavouring to speak distinctly)._ A _Post Office_
Order will be what you require. See, you just fill in that form, and
then I'll make it out--it's quite simple.

_Old Lady._ Yes, I dessay, _anything_ to save yourselves a little
trouble! You're all alike, you Post-Office young women. As if I couldn't
send five-and-fourpence to my boy down at Toadley in the 'Ole, without
filling up a parcel o' nonsense!

_Person behind (with a talent for grim irony of a heavy order)._ Can you
inform me whether there are any arrangements for providing luncheon for
the Public--because, as it appears I am to spend the entire _day_
here----

_Miss Goodchild (sweetly)._ I'm so very sorry to keep you waiting, Sir.
As soon as _ever_ I have attended to this lady!----

_Old Lady._ If you _call_ it attending--which I don't myself. There's
your form.

_Miss Goodchild._ Oh, but you haven't told me whom you want the order
made out to!

_Old Lady._ I did--I told you it was my son. If you hadn't been
woolgathering, you'd ha' heard me. I'm sure _I_ speak plain enough!

_Miss Goodchild (laughing good-humouredly)._ Oh, yes, you speak _very_
plainly--but I want the name in full, please, to put in the
instructions.

_The Person with the Irony._ When you have _quite_ concluded your little
conversation----

_Miss Goodchild (as she fills in the order)._ Now, Sir, what can I do
for you?

_The Person with the Irony._ Well, I should be glad to be informed what
you mean by requiring me to take out a licence for a dog that died of
distemper a fortnight after I had him--and I had a warranty with him
too!

_Miss Goodchild._ Oh, but that isn't my department, you see. You must
go----(_gives him elaborate instructions as to the place he is to apply
to._)

_The Person._ Ah, if you had had the common courtesy to tell me all that
before, I should not have wasted my time like this! [_Exit in wrath._

_A Feeble Lady (to_ Miss MEEKIN). Oh, I just thought as I was passing
by--may I put my umbrella here--and these parcels? thank you. I daresay
you can tell me. Does the Mail for New Heligoland touch at Port Sandune?
They go every other Friday, don't they? or is it changed to alternate
Tuesdays now? and will there be anyone on board who would look after a
box of Japanese rats if I sent them?--they'll want feeding, or
_something_ I suppose.

[Miss MEEKIN _disentangles these inquiries, and answers them
categorically to the test of her knowledge, information and belief_.

_Feeble Lady (disappointed)._ Oh, I _quite_ thought you would know _all_
about it! Then you _wouldn't_ send the rats, you think?

_Miss Meekin._ No, I don't _think_ I should send the rats, without
someone in charge.

_Feeble Lady._ Oh, well, but I call it very unsatisfactory--did I put my
umbrella down in this corner, or not? Oh, (_slightly annoyed_) you have
it ... there must be another parcel, do see if you haven't put it away
by mistake! No? Then it will be all right about the rats?

[_Exit vaguely._

_A Conversational Man (to_ Miss MANNERLY). _Warm_, isn't it?

_Miss Mannerly._ _Very_ warm. What can I do for you?

_Conv. Man._ Wait a bit. Give a man time to get his breath ... phew!
(_In an injured tone._) Why, the mercury in this office of yours must be
over eighty at least!

_Miss Mannerly._ I daresay ... you wanted----?

_Conv. Man._ Daresay! Haven't you got a thermometer--you can easily look
for yourself!

_Miss M._ I'm afraid there isn't one. If you will tell me what you came
for?

_Conv. Man._ Ah, you wouldn't be in such a hurry if I was a nice-looking
young chap! You'd be ready enough to talk all day then--_I_ know what
you young ladies are like!

_Miss M._ Perhaps we are not all alike--and I really have no time to
talk to anybody.

[_Turns away and weighs a parcel for somebody else._

_Conv. M._ So that's the way you treat a civil remark, is it! I tell you
what it is--you young women want taking down; a little showing up will
do you _good_! Perhaps you haven't seen _Punch_ lately? Well, you look
out--I could give _Punch_ some wrinkles if I liked! Ah, I thought _that_
would make a change in you! What do I want? Well, 'pon my soul I forget
what I came in for. I'll look in when you're in a better temper.

[_Exit with the consciousness of having scored._

_A Testy Man (to_ Miss MEEKIN). Look here, this is simply scandalous!
I've brought it to show you. My little girl in the country sent home
some silkworms to her sister in a light paper-box. They were marked
"fragile, with care"--and _this_ is how they arrived! (_Thrusts a
crushed packet, unpleasantly stained, upon_ Miss MEEKIN'S _notice._)
That's your _stamping_, that is!

_Miss Meekin._ I'm sure I'm very sorry.

_Testy M._ Sorry! What's the use of _that?_ The silkworms are _dead_!
dead through culpable negligence on the part of someone in this
office--and if you'll give me a sheet of paper, I'll let the
Postmaster-General know what I think of you here. (Miss MEEKIN _supplies
him with paper and an envelope; he dashes down a strong-worded screed
with a gold pencil-case_.) There, you'll hear more of that--I'll bring
these silkworms home to somebody, if I have to do it through Parliament!
good-day to you.

_Miss Meekin (as he is opening the door)._ Sir, one moment!

_Testy Man._ No, I'll listen to no apologies--disgraceful,
_disgraceful!_

_Miss Meekin (a little roused)._ I wasn't _going_ to apologise--only to
tell you you've left your pencil-case on the counter.

_Testy Man._ Oh--er--have I? much obliged. (_Disarmed._) And you may
give me back that letter--I'll think over it!

_Miss Goodchild (to_ Mrs. QUIVERFUL--_a regular client_). Oh, Mrs.
QUIVERFUL, do you know, you never put any stamp on that letter to
Wurra-Gurra? I saw it was in your handwriting.

_Mrs. Quiverful._ Dear, _dear_ me! how careless--and my boy expecting to
hear as usual! So you couldn't send it?

_Miss G._ Oh, yes, it _was_ sent--I thought you wouldn't like to miss
the Mail.

_Mrs. Q._ But he'll have to pay double at his end--he'll think I grudge
the expense, poor boy!

_Miss G. (timidly)._ I--I thought you'd rather it went stamped, so I--I
took the liberty of stamping it myself.

_Mrs. Q._ Did you? Then you're a darling, and I don't care what unkind
things _Mr. Punch_ chooses to say about you--there!

_Mr. Punch (in background)._ If they were all like her, he would never
have said any unkind things at all, Madam. _O si sic omnes!_

_Mrs. Q. (in some alarm)._ A--quite so, I'm sure. What a very singular
person! [_Scene closes in._

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: AN APPEAL FROM SCIENCE.

"AM I NOT WORTH OF AS MUCH CONSIDERATION AS MUSIC AND GEOLOGY! WHY
SHOULD NOT _I_ HAVE A MUSEUM?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

HORATIAN MOTTO FOR MR. STANSFELD & CO.--"_Gens humana ruit per vetitum
nefas._" "The humane gent plunges headlong into impropriety."

       *       *       *       *       *

THE BEST "DRESS IMPROVER."--A Pretty Girl.

       *       *       *       *       *

A REMINISCENCE OF THE NAVAL REVIEW.

I HAD never seen a Naval Review. It was to come off on the Saturday, and
this was the Thursday previous. When therefore in answer to a modest
inquiry, I received a wire from Mr. RICHARD ROSSHER, Chairman of the
Great M. & N. Steamship Company, saying, "Come aboard our new boat,
_Regina_, to-morrow, Friday; tickets and instructions by post," I made
up my mind on the spot to accept, if I could return on the Saturday
night, as business of the utmost importance demanded my presence in
London on Sunday morning. What that business was is nobody's business
but mine, so I need not explain. Suffice it to say that to miss a
certain appointment on Sunday morning, would have been fraught with most
disastrous consequences to myself and others.

[Illustration]

I answered ROSSHER'S telegram, "Yes, with pleasure, if you can land me
Saturday night." To which the reply was, "Think it can be managed; try
to come." To this I wired, "Instructions and tickets received. Am
coming." Within two hours I got a message from a Clerk in the M. & N.
Office, City, "ROSSHER on board at Southampton. Too late to wire."

What this was meant to convey I did not understand, but my mind was made
up, and very soon my bag was packed, and I was ready for the start. At
all events, there was the utter novelty to me of being a guest on board
one of the largest vessels afloat in the Indian Merchant Service (I
believe it is the Indian Merchant Service, or, as OLLENDORFF would put
it, "the Service of the Indian Merchant,") with a select party, limited,
I supposed, to about a dozen "jolly companions every one," and in being
taken in and done for _en prince_, _en prince indien_.

"Immensely kind of ROSSHER," I said to myself (and subsequently said it
to him) as I alighted at the Waterloo Station, and proceeded at once to
the wrong platform. I do not remember ever having been to Waterloo
Station without having been to the wrong platform to begin with.

Bag in hand, and coat over arm--the wary sea-dog provides against
probable squalls--I strode to another platform--wrong again. "The M. &
N. Special," I panted to a porter, who was so taken aback by being
appealed to suddenly, that for a few seconds he could only mop his
heated brow and stare at me vaguely. Then after repeating my question
twice, once to me and once to himself, he shook his head as if he were
giving up a conundrum, whereupon to interest him personally in my
proceedings I handed him my bag to carry. This looking like real
business, he showed himself a man of vast resources by stopping an
official in a buttoned-up uniform and a tall chimney-pot hat, and
obtaining the information from him. Across the bridge and then second on
the left. Off we go. Here we are. Board up labelled "M. & N. Special.
_Regina._" A crowd is pouring in at the wicket-gate. Can they all be
going by the M. & N. Special? Yes. I hear the question put, and those
not possessing the proper tickets are sternly rejected. Some are sent
off to another platform where there is another "M. & N. Special" for the
_Italia_.

I present my ticket. It is examined, clipped, and I am passed in. Seeing
a number of people ahead and an empty smoking-carriage close at hand, I
jump into this, stow away my bag, and find myself with a quarter of an
hour to the good. I get out to look about me. Enter Sir PETER PORTLAND
(looking younger than ever, as he always does whenever I meet him) in
decidedly fashionable yachting-costume, cap and all (he once owned a
yacht), carrying a brown-paper parcel. Delighted to see one another. He
secures a seat in my carriage. So does another fellow, name unknown, but
evidently a gallant seaman with a weather-beaten countenance. At the
last moment hurries up Sir THOMAS QUIRCKE, also in full
yachting-costume, cap and all, only not so bright and gay as Sir PETER,
who I observe has on an evening white waistcoat and patent leather
shoes, which combination gives a light and airy and hornpipy appearance
to the wearer, which mere navy blue serge can never convey.

We, including the unknown man in the corner, with the weather-beaten
face--the Knight of the Bronzed Features--congratulate ourselves on
being the guests of the M. & N. Sir PETER produces his card of
invitation. So does Sir THOMAS; so does the Weather-beaten One. I feel
in all my pockets. No. I've left it behind me. Sir PETER, Sir THOMAS,
and the Weather-beaten Stranger eye me suspiciously. There is a lull in
the conversation. I tell my story, and try to interest them. It strikes
me that they don't believe it; but my railway ticket proves my veracity.
They brighten up again, but are evidently still far from clear that they
are not travelling with an impostor.

"I don't see your name on the list," says Sir PETER, scanning a large
card through his glasses.

"What list?" I ask, somewhat disturbed.

"List of guests," replies Sir THOMAS, examining his card.

Weather-beaten Man hasn't got a list; he asks to be allowed to examine
Sir PETER'S. Aha! the Weather-beaten Man's name is not there. Sir THOMAS
and Sir PETER eye _him_ with suspicion now. He explains and tells his
story. If my name had been on the list I should have disbelieved him;
but as it isn't, I only think that his account of being here at all is
not so plausible and clear as my own.

"You've got the number of your berth?" asks Sir THOMAS, looking round at
me doubtfully, as if he were giving me a last chance.

"Berth!" I exclaim. "No, I haven't. You see I only telegraphed----" and
here I am about to repeat my entire explanation, when Sir PETER and Sir
THOMAS cut it short by shaking their heads ominously. "I'm going away on
Saturday night," I say, as if the prospect of my leaving them soon would
soften them a bit.

"Saturday!" returns Sir PETER, with a chuckle. "'Pon my soul I don't see
how you're going to do that." And he smiles derisively.

"No one goes on shore till Monday," observes Sir THOMAS, with decision.
"Certainly not," says the Weather-beaten Man, who is not on the list,
turning against me; "and, for my part, I don't care how long I stay in
such good quarters."

After this there is an uncomfortable silence. Sir THOMAS says there are
two hundred and fifty guests. Heavens! and I had thought it was a small
and select party of genial bachelors! We read our papers, the
Weather-beaten Man in his corner, I in mine. Sir PETER and Sir THOMAS
smoke, and then both fall asleep. Waking up, they fall to conversing
about a trip they have already had on the _Regina_, comparing notes of
comfort and so forth. I'm out of it. So is the Weather-beaten Stranger.
I begin to wish I hadn't come, or, at all events, that I had brought my
invitation card as proof of my identity, and a verification of my
statement. Wish, too, I'd brought ROSSHER'S telegram. No good wishing. I
haven't. I'm not there yet; but what frightens me is, that as there are
two hundred and fifty passengers, if I am the only one who wants to go
on shore on Saturday night, they will never upset all the arrangements
for the sake of sending me off in a launch or a gig, or whatever they
have in use. And if I can't return Saturday----However, here I am, and
I'll go through with it.

Southampton, directly alongside of the _Regina_. Magnificent vessel.
Crowd trooping in out of train. Men in uniform at gangway, directing
everyone to go below and get billeted. I join the crowd descending the
companion. As everyone comes to a table where certain M.& N. officials
are standing, each person shows his or her invitation-card, and receives
a number. Then they disappear, some singly, some in couples, as if it
were the Ark, and ROSSHER were NOAH settling it all. Evidently the first
thing necessary is the invitation-card. Ha! there is ROSSHER in the
distance, at the far corner of the table. I wave my hand to him in the
heartiest manner, expressive of my delight at seeing him, and I am
sincerely grateful, for I feel at this moment that ROSSHER is the only
friend I have in this strange world, from which I am liable at any
moment to be summarily ejected, being unable to show my _raison d'etre_
in the shape of the invitation-card.

"Name?" says a sharp man in ordinary civilian's dress, from whom,
judging by his tone and business-like manner, I feel confident I can
expect no mercy. "I haven't got one," I reply, whereat he frowns as if
he didn't mean to stand any nonsense, and I apologise humbly for having
mistaken his question. _I_ thought he was asking for my card. "No," he
says, eying me suspiciously. "Name! Where is it? Down here?" And he
hands me the confounded list, at which I make no pretence of looking,
but cast an appealing look towards ROSSHER, who at that moment, most
fortunately for me, comes up, having finished shaking hands with two
hundred out of the two hundred and fifty arrivals.

"Ah! you here!" he exclaims, with an air of cheery surprise. "That's
capital. Didn't know you were coming."

I am considerably staggered. "Why," I say to him, protesting, "I
telegraphed----"

"Ah!" says ROSSHER in an off-hand way, "then I didn't receive it. You
wait quietly here, and we'll see what can be done for you."

I catch Weather-beaten Stranger's eye. He is waiting, also, with his
back against a cabin-door, most patiently. I meet several friends. I
explain to them all, over and over again, my melancholy story, and while
I do so I stand as near the table as possible, so that the sad tale may
reach some of the officials, and excite them to pity and immediate
action on my behalf. My friends nod at me pleasantly, hope it will come
all right, and leave me, to see after their own comforts. What a
selfish, unsympathetic world this is!

"Hallo!" says a young man, not in naval costume, but evidently an
official of some sort, blithely turning towards me and mentioning my
name inquiringly, which I immediately acknowledge, whereupon he
continues, "I'm delighted to meet you. My name's CRICK." I smile, and
shake his hand warmly, as if congratulating him on his appellation.
"Where's your berth?" Then I have to explain it all over to him. I'm
becoming sick of these explanations. They're asking me for the number of
my berth, as if they wanted an extract from my baptismal-register, or my
marriage-certificate. "Don't know what you'll do," says CRICK, smiling
as if the whole thing were a good joke. And I thought he could help me!
"Where's your dinner-place?" he asks. Good heavens! I don't know--how
should I? Where's _his_ dinner-place? "Oh," he replies, "mine's aft. If
you like to join us, we'll find room. It's very jolly. Not so swell, you
know." No, I don't know, and haven't an idea what he means. But if I
can't get dinner "forward," I'll dine "aft" with pleasure. ROSSHER comes
up.

"All right," he says to CRICK. "Just take this gentleman" (meaning me)
"to the Saloon; there are several spare places." ROSSHER pats me on the
back, encouragingly. Oh, how grateful I am to ROSSHER! CRICK says, "Yes,
Sir," (what is CRICK?) and takes me to the Saloon--beautifully laid out
for two hundred and fifty guests--and finds me a capital place. Why
didn't he do this before? No matter, it's settled now. First bell
sounds. CRICK directs me to the wash-and-brush-up. In ten minutes I have
made my toilette, including opening my bag and getting out a dark serge
for dinner wear, and I walk into the Saloon as the convives are
assembling, with the air of a man who is well within his rights.

_Happy Thought._--I won't ask ROSSHER anything more about berth and
cabin until after dinner. After dinner is always a good-natured,
complaisant time.

Excellent dinner. Amusing company. Chiefly stories about long voyages,
rats and cockroaches. From what I hear I should not like a long voyage
in an old ship. We disperse over the vessel. Music, coffee, cigars, and
conversation. Lovely sight. Still, it will be lovelier if I am quite
certain where I am going to sleep. I find ROSSHER. "Ah!" he cries out,
cheerily, as if he had quite forgotten my particularly sad case, "how
are you getting along? All right? Eh?" And he is just going on to join a
lively party of distinguished visitors when I detain him sharply, as the
Ancient Mariner did the guest, and hold him with my glittering eye.

"How about the berth?" I say, with as little show of anxiety as the
desperate circumstances of the case will permit.

"The berth!" he repeats. "Why, haven't you got a berth yet?"

"No," I return, abjectly, as if I were a poor stowaway, without a friend
to speak up for me. He meditates a moment. What can he be thinking
about? Putting me on shore at once? Getting rid of me politely, as a
sort of Jonah. I await his decision nervously.

"Come to the Purser," he says. I follow him.

The Purser is in his counting-house, counting out his billets. Aha! at
the sight of me he knows what we have come about. "You're all right," he
says to me. "Your berth is No. 273."

"There!" exclaims ROSSHER, triumphantly, exulting in the capabilities of
the M. & N.'s new ship _Regina_. "Now you're fixed up." I am. I could go
on my knees to ROSSHER; I could bless the Steward, Purser, I
mean,--whatever a Purser is,--but I content myself with concealing my
agitation, thanking ROSSHER simply but warmly, and then I follow a black
man dressed in white, who carries my bag to No. 273. A lovely outside
cabin, airy as if it were on deck, with an electric light, and three
empty bunks (I think they are called "bunks,"--but am not certain)
besides mine. How four persons on a long voyage, or a short one, can
live, move, and have their being in this, I don't know; but how _one_
can is evident, and temporarily I am that privileged one. I hope I shall
remain so. I do; and have it all to myself.

Up on deck again. Evening spent happily--chiefly in smoking-room. Turn
in at twelve. Up next morning at 5.30. Awoke by the light, and fresh
breeze. Lovely marble bath--then early coffee. Breakfast _a la
fourchette_, at 9.30. Everything as I had anticipated, _en prince
indien_. Lounge on deck. Newspapers arrive. More lounging. Refreshments.
Chatting. Then luncheon. The Review becomes quite a secondary
consideration. Ships everywhere, bunting and flags all about. Weather
lovely--scene gay. At three what is called "the fun" is to commence. The
"fun" for the  seamen in white, consists in their having to
stand in a row on the yards up aloft for about an hour and a half. If
this is nautical etiquette, I'm very glad I'm not one of the 
sailors. I suddenly remember that I have to get away. Now begins my
trouble again. I find four other persons to whom getting away is an
absolute necessity, and not one of them knows how he is going to achieve
it, and not one of them likes to broach the subject to ROSSHER. We try
the Captain, a bluff seaman, who replies, with a pleasant sort of
sea-doggishness, that "he is ready to take the ship wherever Mr. ROSSHER
orders him." At present Mr. ROSSHER hasn't issued any orders, but he
(the Captain) thinks he means sailing for Cherbourg to-morrow (Sunday)
early. Cherbourg!! The Purser, on being asked, can't say any more.

For one moment I see ROSSHER. I remind him that he promised to land me.
"Did I?" he says, with an air of quiet astonishment which is most
provoking. "Well, I don't know how I'm going to do it. We'll see--after
the QUEEN has gone." I catch at a first chance, and say, cajolingly, as
if suggesting a plan that he could have adopted long ago if he had only
thought of it--"Couldn't you send us off in a launch or the tender?" I
had ascertained the existence of these two boats in attendance, "After
the fireworks?" ROSSHER looks at me, thunderstruck. He simply says,
"Impossible!" and turns on his heel.

The fact is, when you get out to sea on board a great ship, the visitor
is in the power of the owners of the vessel, who have settled all their
arrangements for the comfort and amusement of two hundred-and-fifty
persons, and if a proposition is made which will interfere with these
laws of nautical Medes and Persians in the smallest degree, it is like
suggesting the slightest possible alteration, _pro tem._, in the solar
system. No help for it. I make up my mind philosophically. If they can't
put me on shore, they can't. It's a serious matter, it's the loss of
thousands, it's misery for a year, perhaps, it's ruin to a family,
but----I shall see the fireworks and illuminations, and have a cruise
to Cherbourg, where I don't particularly wish to go. In the meantime let
us look at the Review. I am temporarily resigned.

_The Review._--Which are the War-vessels? Where is the QUEEN? How silent
it all is. The yards are manned everywhere. Very pretty. Firing and
smoke in distance, hardly any noise, and though there must be cheering
somewhere, yet the wind blows it away from us and we hear scarcely a
sound. Dull. Through the glass we see the QUEEN'S Yacht passing along:
then as the ship swings round we turn and turn, and everybody gets more
or less of a stiff neck. The Band stands ready to play "_God Save the
Queen_," but two hours elapse, and HER MAJESTY is nowhere near us, and
never will be; most of the Band are fast asleep, the violoncello, having
gone off first, is nodding over his instrument. The ladies yearn for
five o'clock tea, and gradually disappear to get it. The party watching
the QUEEN dissolves.

Aha! the Tender! The four separatists are to be put on shore, and to do
this a large party, wishing to see the ships of war, the torpedo-boats,
and gun-boats, will accompany us on the tender. We steam down the line,
we dodge in and out, we see all the ships, and this is the liveliest and
most interesting part of the day's proceedings. Then comes the most
melancholy, when we steam back, and allow the other guests to re-embark
for dinner on board ("Wish you'd stop," says ROSSHER, heartily, and I as
heartily wish I could; so do we all), and then the four separatists,
waving their _adieux_, are conveyed on board the tender to Southsea. In
the crowd I lose the other three. I see no illuminations. I am thankful
for what I have seen, and am content to imagine the rest, which I do as,
in a carriage all to myself, I am taken up to London, stopping only
once--at Guildford--_en route_, and am finally at home by 1.30 A.M.,
when I find the card of invitation of the M. & N. Co. on my desk. It is
over. It is an experience. _Vive la Compagnie!_

       *       *       *       *       *

HENRY MAYHEW.

BORN, 1812.      DIED, 1887.

  "THE MAYHEW Brothers." A familiar phrase
  On all men's lips in _Punch's_ earlier days,
  Suggesting pleasant wit and genial mirth.
  Green grow the grass and lightly lie the earth
  Above the latest of the brilliant band!
  _Punch's_ first pages knew that skilful hand.
  HENRY the shrewd, and gentle HORACE both
  Watched o'er its birth, and helped its budding growth,
  Not long indeed, yet lovingly. Farewell!
  The record of the age's course will tell
  Of him whose name a double honour bore,
  Comrade of _Punch_, and champion of the poor.

    [Mr. HENRY MAYHEW was never at any time Editor of _Punch_. He
    assisted the first Editor, Mr. MARK LEMON, in his work at the
    commencement, and made many valuable suggestions. His connection
    with _Punch_ was not of long duration.--ED.]

       *       *       *       *       *

PROFESSIONAL CRICKETERS.

_Fancy Portraits by Dumb Crambo._

[Illustration: Burton. (Middlesex.)]

[Illustration: Read and A-bel. (Surrey.)]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: OUR DEFENCES.

_Mr. Punch._ "HOORAY! NOT SO VERY BAD, AFTER ALL!" _Portsmouth,
Saturday, July 23, 1887._]

       *       *       *       *       *

DIFFICULT NAVIGATION;

OR, THE PROUD SKIPPER AND THE PATIENT PILOT.

_A (more or less) Nautical Ballad._

I.--AT SEA.

  THE Government Yacht (with a rather mixed crew)
    _Sing hey, sing ho, and a capful of wind!_
  Sets sail to crack on with a will till all's blue.
    _Ho! the breeze blows brisk o'er the billow!_
  The Skipper is stout, if his _looks_ are a clue
  (But you mustn't trust them, you may err if you do),
  And the smart second officer carries the blue
  Like an amateur yachtsman at Margate. Woohoo!
              The sea is as soft as a pillow.

  The Government Yacht it sets sail in full state,
    _Sing hey, sing ho and a well-caulked deck!_
  And what do you think of that canny first mate?
    _Ho! the sky is as bright as a beryl._
  That canny first Mate is a smart Volunteer,
  And to look at his jib and to list to his cheer,
  You would think as a hero he hadn't a peer,
  Superior wholly to flurry or fear
              In the tryingest moment of peril.

  With a Skipper so stout and a Mate so astute,
    _Sing hey, sing ho, and an even keel!_
  The course of that yacht can't be hard to compute,
    _Ho! the sky shines fair in the offing!_
  SALISBURY dauntless, and SMITH debonair,
  And GOSCHEN a Nautical Ajax who'll dare
  All the lightnings on hand--at least so he'll declare!--
  How finely with such a fine crew they should fare,
              In spite of the land-lubbers scoffing.

  Hooray!--Humph! By Jove that's a suddenish squall,
    _Sing hey, sing ho, and a spinnaker boom!_
  The Skipper, he doesn't look steady at all,
    _Ho! there's something amiss with the compass!_
  Whilst SMITH, the first Luff, looks a little less smart,
  And GOSCHEN--by Jove, can _he_ be losing heart?
  He swears there's some blessed mistake in the Chart,
  Is his not the cool imperturbable part?
              Then why should _he_ kick up a rumpus?

  It's hard navigation midst quicksands and rocks;
    _Sing hey, sing ho, and a chopping sea!_
  The hull has been strained by some smart little shocks,
    _Ho! the sky looks black in the offing!_
  Is this the plain-sailing you promised, my Lord?
  Why the rival Skipper will swear he has scored.
  What say you, Chief Mate? It won't do to be floored,
  _Don't_ you think we had best take a pilot aboard,
              In spite of piratical scoffing?

II.--ON SHORE.

  There's a smart Cockney Tar with his glass to his eye,
    _Sing hey, sing ho, and a Brummagem salt!_
  And what does the trim longshore yachtsman descry?
    _Ho! he's spying like Robinson Crusoe!_
  The Pilot in pose imperturbable stands,
  With slouching Sou'wester and pocketed hands,
  But his eye's on the Yacht and he quite understands,
  The fix of the Skipper--poor chap!--who commands,
              Or at least is imagined to do so.

  "Hillo!" cries the Cockney; "they're signalling now,
    _Sing hey, sing ho, and a flag to the peak!_
  If the Yacht runs aground, Mate, there will be a row.
    _Ho! the Pilot is peacefully winking._
  I've an interest in her myself; can't afford
  She should seek Davy Jones, not at least till _I've_ scored.
  How is it, my HARTY--beg pardon!--my Lord!
  They signal a pilot; shall you go aboard
               To save 'em from striking or sinking?"

[_Left considering._

[Illustration: DIFFICULT NAVIGATION.

(_FOG COMING ON._)

CH-MB-RL-N. "I SAY, MY HARTY, GOVERNMENT YACHT SIGNALLING FOR A PILOT!!
ARE YOU GOING ABOARD?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE SAILOR'S SLIP.

(AIR--"_The Sailor's Journal._")

SPITHEAD, SATURDAY, JULY 23RD, 1887.

_Lord Ch-rl-s B-r-sf-rd sings_:--

[Illustration]

  'TWAS when the Great Review was o'er,
    To signal Lady C. I started.
  Oh, etiquette's a horrid bore!
    I erred, and hence am broken-hearted.
  The whole huge Fleet the signal read--
    Confound that thoughtless act of folly!
  What could I do but bow my head,
    And bid a long (?) adieu to SOLLY?

  I hear my name's on every tongue
    As a true Sailor, brisk and cheery;
  That like a breeze my voice has rung,
    And waked the Commons, dull and weary.
  I'm little now to mirth inclined,
    I'm not, as usual, gay and jolly,
  But care I'll whistle down the wind,
    And try to make it square with SOLLY.

  You see 'twas getting on for night,
    And true-bred tars, e'en midst carouses,
  Think with considerate delight
    About their sweethearts or their spouses.
  Up went my signal, frank and free,
    (A breach of rule most melancholy)
  To "give the tip" to Lady C.,
    And now I have to part with SOLLY.

  "Tell Lady CHARLES to go on board
    The _Lancashire Witch_, where I will join her"----
  And all the Fleet read this and roared.
    Well--of strong words JACK's a free coiner,
  But never mind what I remarked
    When I perceived my act of folly.
  They'll think the Naval Lord has larked!
    Hang it! I'll say good-bye to SOLLY.

  Such games aboard the Royal Yacht!--
    Although I am a chartered rattle,
  The Big-wigs won't stand this. 'Tis rot,
    But with red-tape who, who can battle?
  A private message to my wife
    By public signal! Oh, what folly!
  It _is_ a lark, upon my life!
    But--I'll resign my berth, dear SOLLY!

  Will our good QUEEN accept? She _may_,
    The Public doubts it altogether.
  A sailor's slip on such a day,
    A stretch of discipline's tight tether,
  Is scarce a heavy fault to score
    Against a sailor frank and jolly.
  Still, I'll resign when once ashore,
    And leave it to my QUEEN and SOLLY.

       *       *       *       *       *

ROBERT AT SPITHEAD.

THE question as prayed on my mind during the long waits at the Rewiew on
Saturday, and which not ewen the Marines couldn't anser, and for which I
dessay as I shall have to wait till the next Jewbilly afore I gits it
sattisfactoryly xplained, is, why must these sillybrations be all begun
so uncommon hurly? There may be sum werry singlar peeple as likes hurly
rising. Having probberbly nothink werry pertickler to do of a heavening,
they natrally goes to roost hurley, like powltry, and plowmen, and such
like, and having probberbly nothink werry pertickler to do in the
morning, they natrally gits up hurley to do it, like the powltry
aforesaid. But to Waiters in gineral and to Hed Waiters in pertickler,
nothink is so hawful as hurley rising. As late as you like at nite and
as late as you likes in the morning. Them's my sentiments and I means to
stick to 'em. And I suttenly thinks as I never seed sitch a
sleepy-looking set of gents as assembled at Warterloo Stashun at about
arf-past seven, Hay. Hem. on Saturday Morning. However, we most of us
had a nice refreshing slumber on the way down, and then pulled ourselves
together for the gorgeous specktacle.

My werry fust thort was, how about the foaming billows? and I'm bound to
say as they behaved theirselves uncommon steady. There was no playfool
game of pitch and toss, but they were as quiet as Chelsea Reach. The
number of great big ships as we seed was enuff to make ewen an Hed
Waiter proud of his country, but I confesses that I carn't say much as
regards their beauty, for I thinks they was about as hugly a lot of
black-looking monsters as ever tried to rule the waves.

Having propperly attended to my offishal dooties, I learned from a most
respectable-looking Marine that it wood be at least two hours afore the
QUEEN came, so I thort I wood seize the hoppertoonity of increasing my
nolledge of ships and shippery by arsking my frend a few naughtical
questions. Of course I begun with the Anker, and arkst him when it was
last weighed--he said, about a week ago. How much did it weigh? Just 2
tun, 4 pound, 6 ounces. Why did they weigh it so offen? To see if it
wood stand the shivering of our timbers when we fired our big gun. Had
he spliced his mane brace lately? Not during the last fortnite. Having
got on so well with him, I thort I woodn't not arsk him no more
questions, for fear of betraying my hignorance, and I seed him
afterwards a pinting me out to sum grinning Sailers, ewidently as the
werry rewerse of a mere Land Lubber.

He had kindly shown me the best plaice to stand to see the QUEEN'S
Pursession pass, so I quietly warked up to it about 3 a clock, wen she
was xpected to start, and there I waited till 4 a clock, and then we
heard the gun fire as told us the QUEEN had started; and then began such
a deffening noise with all the ships a salooting, as they calls it, and
such a blinding smoke arterwards, that I wished myself miles away: and
then, jest as the Percession was a gitting in site, there cum a order
from the Hed Hofficer, "All below!" witch I soon found out meant as no
one of us laymen was to stop on deck to see the QUEEN, for fear as the
QUEEN mite see us, witch wood have bin agin the rules! So we was all
bundled down stares, ladies and all, and a few was kindly allowd to peep
through the Port Holes, as sumbody called 'em, though, as there wasn't
no Port served out, I carnt make out what that means.

I amost forgot to menshun the heat, but it really was that hot that when
a going for to lean cumferably against the Capstain Bar, I think they
calls it, it amost burnt a ole in my and! Speaking about this to my
frendly Marine, he told me as they didn't think nothink of that, for
when they went to the Troppix, wherever that may be, they allers cooked
their stakes and chops on the Fokestal by the heat of the Sun, which did
'em to a turn, and then roasted their Appels for desert, and then biled
the Kettel for Tea. What a grand thing is Nolledge! for I am free to
confess as I was quite hignorant of all these fax afore. But then it's
werry easily accounted for in my frend's case.

He isn't like a mere common Sailer a got to look after the Ship. A
Marine is of that shuperior class of man as is allers seleckted to
receeve the most himportant hinformation. When anythink of a werry
striking charackter occurs it is allers reckomended that it should be
"told to the Marines," so they is naterally allays brim full of
hinformation, and allers reddy to communicate it troothfully and
onerably, as my frend did to me, and without which I shood have remained
in my prewious state of hignorance.

If arsked for my reel opinion as to the Naval Rewiew, truth would compel
me to say that what with the noise, and what with the smoke, and what
with being ordered below jest as the QUEEN went past, I didn't see werry
much of it, and what I did see didn't strike me as werry himposing, like
a Lord Mare's Show for instance, or the Drewry Lane Pantomime. But it
gave me the oppertoonity of bragging about it to them as wasn't there,
and that's about the cause of most peeple going to such things, I
rayther fancies; but after all, there's such a fine feeling of purfect
safety on Terror Firmer, as nothink can't equal on the bounding Sea, so
I hopes when the next Naval Rewiew is held, that they'll have it on
Shore. ROBERT.

       *       *       *       *       *

AMENDMENT TO LAND BILL.--"That any tenant unable to pay his rent should
sell his holding before the next gale day. That this process should be
known for the purposes of this Act as 'The Sale before the Gale.'"

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A CAUTION TO THE UNWARY!

_He._ "ALLOW ME TO TAKE YOU IN TO SUPPER."

_She._ "OH, DO WAIT A MINUTE! LOOK--THERE'S THAT MAN PROPOSING TO MAY
THISSLEDOWN ON THE BALCONY! I MUST SEE WHAT SHE SAYS!!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

A CHESS-SHIRE CHEESE.

FRANKFORT.--Had no end of a good time over here, at the Chess Congress.
Played all the cracks, and beat 'em all! You mayn't have heard of this
in the newspapers, because, for reasons which would not be of any
general interest, I felt bound to _enter under a false name_. BLACKBURNE
said he'd "never seen such gambits as mine." ZUKERTORT was so irritated
at my beating him three times running, that he actually exclaimed,
"Gambit all!"--Excuse the force of the expression; perhaps he thought he
was in the Lobby of the House of Commons.--"I'll never play that fellow
again as long as I live!" You'll see from this that, though the games
weren't drawn, some of the competitors were.

There were two Russian chess-players present. I played one, got him on
to a dispute about the Afghan frontier, and adroitly took his Queen off
the board when he wasn't looking. He seemed surprised, but I assured him
it was all right, and scored an easy win.

Herr HARMONIST _might have_ beaten me, but as it was a very hot day, I
proposed playing under a tree in the hotel-garden. Then I purposely took
a long time over each move. The worthy Teuton became thirsty. Lager beer
began to flow. It flowed so much that after five hours the Herr didn't
know the difference between Bishop and Pawn! That was _my_ move. Of
course he was badly beaten.

Only time _I_ was beaten was one game with BLACKBURNE. He offered to
play me blind-fold; I took the opportunity, while he was thinking over
his plan of campaign, to relieve him of his watch and purse, and was
just going to pull off his boots when he called "Check-mate!" However, I
think I got the best of the encounter on the whole. I call it (in
private) the "rook gambit."

I ended up by a marvellous _tour de force_. I played every one of the
competitors--twenty-one in all--at the same time, and beat the entire
number of them! The Frenchman retired from the contest, _simply because
he was piqued at my superior skill_. He said--most unfairly--my
proceedings were "not above board;" also said he objected on principle
to a game with a King and Queen it. Would you believe it, but
professional jealousy actually prevented my being declared the Chess
Champion! Never mind! Got my board (and lodging) gratis. Had high jinks,
and free drinks, at the Frankfort _pawn_-shop--see the joke? You'll hear
of me at the next International Chess Congress, without fail.

       *       *       *       *       *

SUMMER BOATING SONG.

  SUN on the slumbrous meadows,
    Sun on the sleeping trees;
  Massy and deep the shadows
    Stirred by no vagrant breeze.
  Rhythmical in the riggers,
    Oars with a steady shock
  Tell how we work like <DW65>s
    For a cool in the plashy lock.

    And it's oh, for the neck of the camel,
      The ostrich, snake, giraffe!
    And what if to-morrow I am ill,
      To-day it is mine to quaff.

  Bother my rates and taxes!
    Crown me the mantling bowl;
  The world has gone off its axis,
    It's nothing but Life and Soul.
  To-day, like the books of the Sibyl,
    Is waningly dearer still,
  As the sunset echoes wibble
    From a cloud-clean saffron hill.

  Calm is the solemn surface
    Of waters that woo the skies,
  And tenderly calm is her face
    Who gazes with larger eyes
  At the deepening purple above her,
    While over her, small and white,
  There leans, like a courtly lover,
    The sweetness of all the night.

  All day in the sun we boated,
    How can I tell how far?
  For years in the sun we floated,
    For ages that yellow star
  Behind the poplar has trembled,
    And down to the wine-dark deep,
  While softer day dissembled
    The Midsummer call to sleep.

    And it's oh, for the neck of the camel,
      The ostrich, snake, giraffe,
    What though to-morrow I _am_ ill,
      To-night I am fain to quaff.

       *       *       *       *       *

NOT QUITE ON THE SQUARE.--The Story of the Round Table.

       *       *       *       *       *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

_House of Lords, Monday Night, July 25._--Peers received important
accession of strength to-night. Gentleman long known in Commons as "Old
Mother HUBBARD" been translated, and will henceforward be known to
history as Lord ADDINGTON. His early impression was that he should have
been CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER. Admiration for DIZZY, and respect for
STAFFORD NORTHCOTE; but always thought they were out of place at the
Treasury whilst he sat below the Gangway, fain to be content with
criticising their schemes. Markiss didn't really know what to do with
him. Couldn't appoint him CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER in succession to
GRANDOLPH. Yet HUBBARD felt he must have something. Markiss, thinking it
over one day, recalled the fact that HUBBARD had absolutely safe seat in
City.

"Good," he said. "Let's make him a Peer."

So here he is to-night, swaggering up floor of House of Lords, with
little ambulatory swing of coat-tails, familiar for generations in House
of Commons. Markiss looks on, pleased with fulfilment of his happy
thought.

"Nice old gentleman," he remarked, _sotto voce_. "Prosy when he starts,
and always something of a bore. But he'll do for the House of Lords.
Moreover, have now finally shut him up. Figures are his forte, Finance
his foible. Finance is the only subject that may not be discussed in
House of Lords. So, where HUBBARD was voluble, ADDINGTON must be dumb."

Great muster on Opposition Benches in House of Commons. Conservatives
not yet back from festivities in the Solent. Old Morality depressed with
consciousness that it will be impossible for him to move the Closure.
ARTHUR BALFOUR quite conciliatory in manner. Progress accordingly
comparatively rapid and altogether peaceful. At outset, threatened
encounter between SEXTON and JOHNSTON. SEXTON made inquiry as to whether
any chance of City Charter being granted to Belfast? JOHNSTON jumped up
with cry of "Stop thief!" On the Fourteenth of June--(didn't mention
hour, but precise as to day)--he had put similar question, and had, he
said, been waiting ever since for answer. Detected in SEXTON'S movement
attempt to secure monopoly of popularity. Not going to stand that. House
only laughed, and incident went no further.

[Illustration: THE PARLIAMENTARY ALPINE CLUB.]

Later, to intense delight of Parnellites, HARTINGTON and CHAMBERLAIN
differed on point raised in Irish Land Bill and voted in opposite
lobbies. "Beginning of the End," said JOSEPH GILLIS humorously clawing
at TIM HEALY.

_Business done._--Irish Land Bill in Committee.

_Tuesday_, 3 A.M.--Late enough to be here. Would have been later still
but for the presence of mind of the SPEAKER. Hour ago STUART, running in
with pile of papers moved Second Reading of Bill to legalise Langworthy
and other marriages celebrated at Antwerp by one POTTS. Debate followed,
TOMLINSON moving adjournment. House divided, 75 for adjournment and
five-and-seventy against. Everything now depended on the SPEAKER. If he
gave casting vote against adjournment, might go on merrily far into
morning. SPEAKER took another course. Quite time to go home. So
supported adjournment, and rest of business speedily wound up.

_Tuesday Evening._--CHARLIE BERESFORD about House to-night in unusually
limp condition. Avoided Treasury Bench. Wouldn't even enter House. "Only
come down," says he, "to signal postmaster to hand over letters." Rumour
gathers that CHARLES has had difficulty with his colleagues. Perhaps
feels remorse about Crimes Bill, or can't stomach Land Bill. However it
be, it is confidently whispered that he has resigned. All the Naval
Captains on Conservative side make a point of loitering about Treasury
Bench, and, if possible, exchange a word with Old Morality. If there is
vacancy at Admiralty, will want a substitute. No harm in reminding him
of the existence of one or two.

Presently made clear that it is for domestic, not political, reasons
that CHARLIE has resigned. Seems that when at Review on Saturday, he,
being on Queen's Yacht, filled up idle five minutes by signalling to his
wife on another ship. This grave breach of etiquette shakes naval force
of Great Britain to centre. Can be atoned for only by offender
sacrificing his professional position and prospects. So CHARLIE sends in
his resignation, and BRITANNIA, dissolved in tears, weeps over her
errant son. Procedure of course only formal. Can't spare gallant and
capable sailor like this on account of breach of etiquette.

[Illustration: "Stop Thief!!"]

_Business done._--Land Bill in Committee.

_Thursday Night._--TIM on the rampage. SAUNDERSON set him agog at
Question time, by rubbing him down wrong way. But it was BALFOUR who
completed work. As TIM frankly admits, cannot sit opposite BALFOUR,
smirking on Treasury Bench, without losing control of himself.

"I know it's wrong, TOBY," he said to me after, in the Lobby, "but there
is only one way to prevent it. I must quit the House, and go out for a
walk on Terrace. To see BALFOUR sitting over there on the small of his
back, sneering whilst we are trying to do our best for Ireland, is too
much for me."

Having had back put up by BALFOUR, Conservatives below Gangway opposite
completed transformation of TIM from peaceable citizen into an
infuriate. HENNIKER HEATON, charging himself only half postage, sent
frequent irritating messages across floor of House. TIM made show of
taking off coat, turning up sleeves, and harrying HENNIKER. Chairman
interposed with threat of "Naming." TIM defied him, but presently gave
in, and withdrew offensive remarks.

[Illustration: Here's Timothy Healy, Who spoke too freely.]

[Illustration: Here's Mr. de Lisle, Who "didn't even smile."

(_A Fancy Portrait._)]

Seemed all over now. DE LISLE proposed to offer few observations.
Smartly rapped on head by COURTNEY, and resumed seat. Then Division.
Whilst House cleared, DE LISLE took opportunity to have little
conversation with COURTNEY. TIM watched him with lowering eyes. The
Division takes about ten minutes. Supposing he and DE LISLE were to
pair, go on the Terrace, and have it out? Happy Thought. Suggest it to
DE LISLE. Swooped down on him while talking to COURTNEY in chair, and
plainly propounded proposition.

"Come out!" he said, in blood-curdling whisper. "Come out, if you are a
man. If you interrupt me again, I'll break your neck."

This conclusive, but as argumentative process not recognised in House.
DE LISLE went out by a door other than that affected by TIM. Chairman
said nothing, but as soon as Members returned from Division Lobby sent
for SPEAKER, and reported circumstances to him. So TIM was suspended.
Now partially anticipating the Recess. House practically empty. To-night
filled up for this scene. After it was over, Benches cleared again,
there being nothing more interesting than business to the fore.

_Business done._--Committee on Land Bill.

_Friday._--_Captain Bunsby_ appeared in House to-night. Took familiar
and graceful form of RICHARD TEMPLE. Some one questioned him as to what
would London School Board do if the Pensions Bill promoted by it did not
pass this Session? Would they terminate engagements for purpose of
compelling their servants to come within provisions of Bill?

"Sir," said Sir RICHARD, casting killing glance at Ladies' Gallery,
"whether the Board shall see fit to exercise their power is a question
which no man can answer; and, if so be, wherefore? Why, Sir, because the
Board will never form a decision on contingencies which have not yet
arisen."

House delighted. Roared with laughter.

[Illustration: "When found, make a note of for _Tit Bits_."]

"When found, make a note of for _Tit Bits_," said NEWNES; and he did.

Land Bill in Committee again. Getting terribly dull, though wakes up now
and then when HARCOURT interposes. Tremendous scene at Half-past Two
this morning, when Old Morality rebuked him. O. M. accused HARCOURT of
making charge against Ministerialists.

"I don't know what charge I have made," said HARCOURT; "but I am
prepared to maintain all I have said."

That, of course, settled matter, and Members went home.

_Business done._--Land Bill in Committee.

       *       *       *       *       *

GROUSE PROSPECTS.

[Illustration: TWO "BIRDS'-EYE" VIEWS.]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration] NOTICE.--Rejected Communications or Contributions,
whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description,
will in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and
Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no
exception.





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume
93. August 6, 1887., by Various

*** 