PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. VOL. 101. October 31, 1891. YOUNG GRANDOLPH'S BARTY. (_Afrikander Version of the great Breitmann Ballad, penned, "morein sorrow than in anger, " by a "Deutscher" resident in the distantregions where the Correspondent of the "Daily Graphic" is, like derHerr Breitmann himself, "drafellin' apout like eferydings. _") [Illustration: (Y)] Young GRANDOLPH hat a Barty-- Vhere is dat Barty now? He fell'd in luf mit der African goldt; Mit SOLLY he'd hat a row; He dinks dat his secession Would make der resht look plue, But, before he drafel vast and var, His Barty sphlit in two. Young GRANDOLPH hat a Barty-- Dere vash B-LF-R, W-LFF, and G-RST, Dey haf vorgot deir "Leater, " Und dat ish not deir vorst. B-LF-R vill "boss" der Commons, Vhile GRANDOLPH--sore disgraced-- Ish "oop a tree, " like der Bumble Bee, Und W-LFF and G-RST are "placed. " Young GRANDOLPH hat a Barty-- Vhen he dat Barty led, B-LF-R vash but a "Bummer, " A loafing lollop-head. Young Tories schvore by GRANDOLPH, (Dey schvear _at_ GRANDOLPH now, ) Now at de feet of der "lank æsthete" Der _Times_ itshelf doth bow! Young GRANDOLPH hat a Barty, Dere all vash "Souse und Brouse. "[1] Now he hets not dat prave gompany All in der Commons House, To see _him_ skywgle GL-DST-NE, Und schlog him on der kop. Young Tory bloods no longer shout Till der SCHPEAKER bids dem shtop. Und, like dat Rhine Mermaiden "Vot hadn't got nodings on, " Dey "don't dink mooch of beoplesh Vat goes mit demselfs alone!" Young GRANDOLPH _hat_ a Barty-- Where ish dat Barty now? Where ish dat oder ARTHUR's song Vot darkened der Champerlain's prow? Where ish de himmelstrahlende stern, De shtar of der Tory fight? All gon'd afay, as on Woodcock's wing, Afay in de ewigkeit! Young GRANDOLPH hat a Barty; He hunt der lions now, All in der lone Mashonaland, But he does not "score"--somehow. One Grand Old Lion he dared to peard, Und he "potted" Earls and Dukes, But eight or nine real lions at once, He thinks are "_trop de luxe_" Young GRANDOLPH hat a Barty, But he scooted 'cross der sea, Und he tidn't say to dem, "Come, my poys, Und drafel along mit me!" [Footnote 1: _Saus und Braus_--Ger. , Riot and Bustle. ] * * * * * "CORRECT CARD, GENTS!"--"Wanted a Map of London" was the heading ofa letter in the _Times_ last Thursday. No, Sir! that's not what iswanted. There are hundreds of 'em, specially seductive pocket ones, with just the very streets that one wants to discover as short cutsto great centres carefully omitted. What _is_ wanted is a _correct_map of London, divided into pocketable sections, portable, foldable, durable, on canvas, --but if imperfect, as so many of these smallpocket catch-shilling ones are just now, although professedlybrought up to date '91, they are worse than useless, and to purchaseone is a waste of time, temper and money. We could mention anattractive-looking little map--which, but no-- Publishers and publicare hereby cautioned! N. B. --Test well your pocket map through amagnifying glass before buying. _Experto crede!_ * * * * * OYSTERLESS. (_BY AN IMPECUNIOUS GOURMET_. ) [Oysters are very dear, and are likely, as the season advances, to be still higher in price. ] [Illustration] Oh, Oyster mine! Oh, Oyster mine! You're still as exquisitely nice; With perfect pearly tints you shine, But you are such an awful price. The lemon and the fresh cayenne, Brown bread and butter and the stout Are here, and just the same, but then What if I have to leave you out? What wonder that my spirits droop, That life can bring me no delight, When I must give up oyster soup, So softly delicately white. The curry powder stands anear, The scallop shells, but what care I-- You're so abominably dear, O Oyster! that I cannot buy. With sad imaginative flights, I think upon the days of yore; Like TICKLER, on Ambrosian nights, I have consumed them by the score. And still, whenever you appeared, My pride it was to use you well; I let the juice play round your beard, And always on the hollow shell. I placed you in the fair lark-pie. With steak and kidneys too, of course; Your ancestors were glad to die, So well I made the oyster sauce. I had you stewed and featly fried, And dipped in batter--think of that; And, as a pleasant change, I've tried You, skewered in rows, with bacon-fat. "Where art thou, ALICE?" cried the bard. "Where art thou, Oyster?" I exclaim. It really is extremely hard, To know thee nothing but a name. For this is surely torment worse Than DANTE heaped upon his dead;-- To find thee quite beyond my purse, And so go oysterless to bed. * * * * * _À PROPOS_ OF THE SECRETARY FOR WAR'S ROSEATE AFTER--DINNERSPEECH (_on the entirely satisfactory state of the Armygenerally_). --(STAN-)"HOPE told a flattering tale. " * * * * * UNIVERSITY MEM. --The Dean of Christ Church will keep his seat tillChristmas, and just a LIDDELL longer. * * * * * THE RAVEN. (_Very Latest War-Office Version. See Mr. Stanhope's After-DinnerSpeech at the Holborn Restaurant (Oct. 17), and Letter in "Times"(Oct. 21) on "Pangloss at the War Office. "_) [Illustration] _Secretarial Pangloss sings:_-- Late, upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, tired but cheery, Over many an optimistic record of War Office lore; Whilst I worked, assorting, mapping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of someone rudely rapping, rapping at my Office-door. "Some late messenger, " I muttered, "tapping at my Office-door-- Only this, but it's a bore. " I remember--being sober--it was in the chill October, Light from the electric globe or horseshoe lighted wall and floor; Also that it was the morrow of the Holborn Banquet; sorrow From the Blue Books croakers borrow--sorrow for the days of yore, For the days when "_Rule Britannia_" sounded far o'er sea and shore. Ah! it _must_ have been a bore! But on that let's draw the curtain. I am simply cock-sure--certain That "our splendid little Army" never was so fine before. It will take a lot of beating! Such remarks I keep repeating; They come handy--after eating, and are always sure to score-- Dash that rapping chap entreating entrance at my Office-door! It is an infernal bore! Presently I grew more placid (Optimists should not be acid. ) "Come in!" I exclaimed--"con_found_ you! Pray stand drumming there no more. " But the donkey still kept tapping. "Dolt!" I muttered, sharply snapping, "Why the deuce do you come rapping, rapping at my Office-door? Yet not 'enter' when you're told to?"--here I opened wide the door-- Darkness there, and nothing more. Open next I flung the shutter, when, with a prodigious flutter, In there stepped a bumptious Raven, black as any blackamoor. Not the least obeisance made he, not a moment stopped or stayed he, But with scornful look, though shady, perched above my Office-door, Perched upon BRITANNIA's bust that stood above my Office-door-- Perched, and sat, and seemed to snore. "Well, " I said, sardonic smiling, "this is really rather riling; "It comports not with decorum such as the War Office bore In old days stiff and clean-shaven. Dub me a Gladstonian craven If I ever saw a Raven at the W. O. Before. Tell me what your blessed name is. '_Rule Britannia_' held of yore, " Quoth the bird, "'Tis so no more!" Much I marvelled this sophistic fowl to utter pessimistic Fustian, which so little meaning--little relevancy bore To the rule of me and SOLLY; but, although it may sound folly, This strange fowl a strange resemblance to "Our Only General" wore, To the W-LS-L-Y whose pretensions to sound military lore Are becoming quite a bore. But the Raven, sitting lonely on that much-peeled bust, spake only Of our Army as a makeshift, small, ill-manned, and precious poor. Drat the pessimistic bird!--he grumbled of "the hurdy-gurdy Marching-past side of a soldier's life in peace. " "We've fought before, Winning battles with boy-troops, " I cried, "We'll do as we before--" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore!" "Nonsense!" said I. "After dinner at the Holborn, as a winner Spake I in the _Pangloss_ spirit to the taxpayers, (_Don't_ snore!) Told them our recruits--who'll master e'en unmerciful disaster, Come in fast and come in faster, quite as good as those of yore, "-- "Flattering tales of (Stan) Hope!" cried the bird, whose dismal dirges bore, One dark burden--"Nevermore!" "Hang it, Raven, this _is_ riling!" cried I. "Stop your rude reviling!" Then I wheeled my office-chair in front of bird and bust and door; And upon its cushion sinking, "I, " I said, "will smash like winking This impeachment you are bringing, O you ominous bird of yore, O you grim, ungainly, ghastly, grumbling, gruesome feathered bore!" Croaked the Raven, "You I'll floor. " Then methought the bird looked denser, and his cheek became immenser. And he twaddled of VON MOLTKE, and his German Army Corps; "Flattering the tax-payers' vanity, " and much similar insanity, In a style that lacked urbanity, till the thing became a bore. "Oh, get out of it!" I cried; "our little Army yet will score. " Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore!" "Prophet!" said I, "of all evil, that we're 'going to the devil' Has been the old croaker's gospel for a century, and more. Red-gilled Colonels this have chaunted in BRITTANIA's ears undaunted, By their ghosts you must he haunted. Take a Blue-pill, I implore! When our Army meets the foe it's bound to lick him as of yore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore! "Prophet!" said I, "that's uncivil. You may go to--well, the devil! That Establishments are 'short, ' and 'standards' lowered o'er and o'er. That mere 'weeds, ' with chests of maiden, cannot march with knapsack laden; That the heat of sultry Aden, or the cold of Labrador, Such can't stand, _may_ be the truth; but keep it dark, bird, I implore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore!" "Then excuse me, we'll be parting, doleful fowl, " I cried, upstarting; "Get thee back to--the Red River, or the Nile's sand-cumbered shore! Leave no 'Magazine' as token of the twaddle you have spoken. What? BRITANNIA stoney-broken? Quit her bust above my door. Take thy hook from the War Office; take thy beak from off my door!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore!" And the Raven still is sitting, croaking statements most unfitting, On BRITANNIA's much-peeled bust that's placed above my Office-door, And if _Pangloss_, e'en in seeming, lent an ear to his dark dreaming, Useless were official scheming, grants of millions by the score, For my soul were like the shadow that he casts upon the floor, Dark and dismal evermore! * * * * * [Illustration: THINGS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE EXPRESSED DIFFERENTLY. _Aunt Jane_. "THAT MAKES THREE WEDDINGS IN OUR FAMILY WITHIN ATWELVEMONTH! IT WILL BE _YOUR_ TURN NEXT, MATILDA!" _Matilda_. "OH, NO!" _Aunt Jane_. "WELL, THE MOST EXTRAORDINARY THINGS HAPPEN SOMETIMES, YOU KNOW!"] * * * * * TUPPER'S PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY UP TO DATE. ["The range of our inquiry was intended to include the whole migratory range for seals. . . . Our movements were kept most secret. "--_Sir George Baden-Powell on the Work of the Behring Sea Commission_. ] We came, we saw, we--held our tongues (myself--BADEN-POWELL--and Mr. DAWSON. ) We popped on each seal-island "unbeknownst, " and what we discovered we held our jaws on. We'd five hundred interviews within three months, which I think "cuts the record" in interviewing, Corresponded with 'Frisco, Japan, and Russia; so I hope you'll allow we've been "up and doing. " (Not up and _saying_, be't well understood). As TUPPER (the Honourable C. H. , Minister Of Fisheries) said, in the style of his namesake, "The fool imagines all Silence is sinister, "But the wise man knows that it's often dexterous. " Be sure no inquisitive shyness or bounce'll Make us "too previous" with our Report, which goes first to the QUEEN and the Privy Council. Some bigwig's motto is, "Say and Seal, " but as TUPPER remarked a forefinger laying To the dexter side of a fine proboscis, "Our motto at present is, Seal _without_ saying!" * * * * * LEGAL QUERY. --The oldest of the thirteen Judges on the Scotch Bench isYOUNG. Any chance for a Junior after this? * * * * * THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS. NO. XII. SCENE--_In front of the Hôtel Bodenhaus at Splügen. The Diligence for Bellinzona is having its team attached. An elderly Englishwoman is sitting on her trunk, trying to run through the last hundred pages of a novel from the Hotel Library before her departure. PODBURY is in the Hotel, negotiating for sandwiches. CULCHARD is practising his Italian upon a very dingy gentleman in smoked spectacles, with a shawl round his throat. _ _The Dingy Italian_ (_suddenly discovering CULCHARD's nationality_). Ecco, siete Inglese! Lat us spika Ingelis, I onnerstan' 'im to zebottom-side. (_Laboriously, to CULCHARD, who tries to conceal hischagrin. _) 'Ow menni time you employ to go since Coire at here? (C. _nods with vague encouragement_. ) Vich manners of vezzer you verepossess troo your travels--mosh ommerella? (C. 's _eyes grow vacant_. )Ha, I _tink_ it vood! Zis day ze vicket root sall 'ave plenti 'orseto pull, &c. , &c. (_Here PODBURY comes up, and puts some rugs the_coupé _of the diligence. _) You sit at ze beginning-end, hey? better, you tink, zan ze mizzle? I too, zen, sall ride at ze front--we villspika Ingelis, altro! _Podb. _ (_overhearing this, with horror_). One minute, CULCHARD. (_Hedraws him aside. _) I say, for goodness' sake, don't let's have thatold organ-grinding Johnny in the _coupé_ with _us_! _Culch. _ Organ-grinder! you are so _very_ insular! For anything youcan tell, he may be a decayed nobleman. _Pod. _ (_coarsely_). Well, let him decay somewhere else, that's all!Just tell the Conductor to shove him in the _intérieur_, do, while Inip in the _coupé_ and keep our places. [Illustration: "An elderly Englishwoman is sitting on her trunk. "] [_CULCHARD, on reflection, adopts this suggestion, and the Italian Gentleman, after fluttering feebly about the_ coupé _door, is unceremoniously bundled by the Conductor into the hinder part of the diligence. _ _IN THE BERNARDINO PASS, DURING THE ASCENT. _ _Culch. _ Glorious view one gets at each fresh turn of the road, PODBURY! Look at Hinter-rhein, far down below there, like a toyvillage, and that vast desolate valley, with the grey river rushingthrough it, and the green glacier at the end, and these awfulsnow-covered peaks all round--_look_, man! _Podb. _ I'm looking, old chap. It's all there, right enough! _Culch. _ (_vexed_). It doesn't seem to be making any particularimpression on you, I must say! _Podb. _ It's making me deuced peckish, I know that--how about lunch, eh! _Culch. _ (_pained_). We are going through scenery like this, and allyou think of is--lunch! (_PODBURY opens a basket. _) You may give meone of those sandwiches. What made you get _veal_? and the bread'sall crust, too! Thanks, I'll take some claret. . . . (_They lunch; thevehicle meanwhile toils up to the head of the Pass. _) Dear me, we'reat the top already! These rocks shut out the valley altogether--muchcolder at this height, eh? Don't you find this keen air mostexhilarating? _Podb. _ (_shivering_). Oh very, do you mind putting your window up?Thanks. You seem uncommon chirpy to-day. Beginning to get _over_ it, eh? _Culch. _ We shan't get over it for some hours yet. _Podb. _ I didn't mean the Pass, I meant--(_hesitating_)--well, yourlittle affair with Miss PRENDERGAST, you know. _Culch. _ My little affair? Get over? (_He suddenly understands. _) Oh, ah, to be sure. Yes, thank you, my dear fellow, it is not making me_particularly_ unhappy. [_He goes into a fit of silent laughter. _ _Podb. _ Glad to hear it. (_To himself_. ) 'Jove, if he only knew what_I_ know! [_He chuckles. _ _Culch. _ You don't appear to be exactly heartbroken? _Podb. _ I? why _should_ I be--about _what_? _Culch. _ (_with an affectation of reserve_). Exactly, I wasforgetting. (_To himself_. ) It's really rather humorous. (_He laughsagain. _) Ha, we're beginning to go down now. Hey for Italy--la bellaItalia! (_The diligence takes the first curve. _) Good Heavens, what aturn! We're going at rather a sharp pace for downhill, eh? I supposethese Swiss drivers know what they're about, though. _Podb. _ Oh, yes, generally--when they're not drunk. I can only seethis fellow's boots--but they look to me a trifle squiffy. _Culch. _ (_inspecting them, anxiously_). He does seem to drivevery recklessly. _Look_ at those leaders--heading right for theprecipice. . . . Ah, just saved it! How we do lurch in swinging round! _Podb. _ Topheavy--I expect, too much luggage on board--have anothersandwich? _Culch. _ Not for me, thanks. I say, I wonder if it's safe, having noparapet, only these stone posts, eh? _Pod. _ Safe enough--unless the wheel catches one--it was as near as atoucher just then--aren't you going to smoke? No? _I_ am. By the way, what were you so amused about just now, eh? _Culch. _ _Was_ I amused? (_The vehicle gives another tremendouslurch. _) Really, this is _too_ horrible! _Podb. _ (_with secret enjoyment_). We're right enough, if the horsesdon't happen to stumble. That off-leader isn't over sure-footed--didyou see _that_? (_Culch. Shudders. _) But what's the joke about MissPRENDERGAST? _Culch. _ (_irritably_). Oh, for Heaven's sake, don't bother about that_now_. I've something else to think about. My goodness, we were nearlyover that time! What are you looking at? _Podb. _ (_who has been leaning forward_). Only one of thetraces--they've done it up with a penny ball of string, but I daresayit will stand the strain. You aren't _half_ enjoying the view, oldfellow. _Culch. _ Yes, I am. Magnificent!--glorious!--isn't it? _Podb. _ Find you see it better with your eyes shut? But I say, I wishyou'd explain what you were sniggering at. _Culch. _ Take my advice, and don't press me, my dear fellow; you mayregret it if you do! _Podb. _ I'll risk it. It must be a devilish funny joke to tickle youlike that. Come, out with it! _Culch. _ Well, if you must know, I was laughing. . . . Oh, he'll _never_get those horses round in. . . . I was--er--rather amused by your evidentassumption that I must have been _rejected_ by Miss PRENDERGAST. _Podb. _ Oh, was _that_ it? And you're nothing of the kind, eh? [_Hechuckles again. _ _Culch. _ (_with dignity_). No doubt you will find it very singular;but, as a matter of fact, she--well, she most certainly did not_discourage_ my pretensions. _Podb. _ The deuce she didn't! Did she tell you RUSKIN's ideas aboutcourtship being a probation, and ask you if you were ready to be undervow for her, by any chance? _Culch. _ This is too bad, PODBURY; you must have been there, or youcouldn't possibly know! _Podb. _ Much obliged, I'm sure. I don't listen behind doors, as ageneral thing. I suppose, now, she set you a trial of some kind, toprove your mettle, eh? [_With another chuckle. _ _Culch. _ (_furiously_). Take care--or I may tell you more than youbargain for! _Podb. _ Go on--never mind _me_. Bless you, _I'm_ under vow for her, too, my dear boy. Fact! _Culch. _ That's impossible, and I can prove it. The service shedemanded was, that I should leave Constance at once--with you. Do youunderstand--with _you_, PODBURY! _Podb. _ (_with a prolonged whistle_). My aunt! _Culch. _ (_severely_). You may invoke every female relative youpossess in the world, but it won't alter the fact, and that aloneought to convince you-- _Podb. _ Hold on a bit. Wait till you've heard _my_ penance. She toldme to cart _you_ off, _Now_, then! _Culch. _ (_faintly_). If I thought she'd been trifling with us bothlike that, I'd never-- _Podb. _ She's no end of a clever girl, you know. And, after all, shemay only have wanted time to make up her mind. _Culch. _ (_violently_). I tell you _what_ she is--she's a cold-bloodedpedantic prig, and a systematic flirt! I loathe and detest a prig, buta flirt I despise--yes, _despise_, PODBURY! _Podb. _ (_with only apparent irrelevance_). The same to you, and manyof 'em, old chap! Hullo, we're going to stop at this inn. Let's getout and stretch our legs and have some coffee. [_They do; on returning, they find the Italian Gentleman smiling blandly at them from inside the_ coupé. _The It. G. _ Goodaby, dear frens, a riverderla! I success at yourchairs. I vish you a pleasure's delay! _Podb. _ But I say, look here, Sir, we're going on, and you've got ourplace! _The It. G. _ Sank you verri moch. I 'ope so. [_He blows_ PODBURY _akiss. _ _Podb. _ (_with intense disgust_). How on earth are we going to getthat beggar out? Set the Conductor at him, CULCHARD, do--you can talkthe lingo best! _Culch. _ (_who has had enough of_ PODBURY _for the present_). Talk tohim yourself, my dear fellow, _I_'m not going to make a row. [_He getsin. _ _Podb. _ (_to Conductor_). Hi! sprechen sie Französisch, oder was?_il-y-a quelque chose dans mon siège, dites-lui de_--what the deuce isthe French for "clear out"? _Cond. _ _Montez, Monsieur, nous bartons, montez vîte alors!_ [_He thrusts PODBURY, protesting vainly, into the intérieur, with two peasants, a priest and the elderly Englishwoman. The diligence starts again. _ * * * * * AT THE ITALIAN OPERA. [Illustration: Two (Covent Garden) Gentlemen of Verona!!] [Illustration: Exit Romeo by the Rope Ladder, --a shrewd guess at whatreally happens. ] _Tuesday, October 20th_. --Opening night. _Roméo et Juliette; débuts_of Mlle. SIMMONET, of the Opera Comique, and M. COSSIRA, as thelovers. _Lady Capulet's_ Small Dance, quite the smartest of theseason, as the Veronese nobility present were evidently remarking, with abundance of easy gesture, to one another, as they led the way tothe lemonade. The _Juliette_ of the evening charming, and soon singingherself into the good graces of a large audience; ditto, M. COSSIRA, "than which, " as the Prophet NICHOLAS would say, "a more competent_Roméo_--though perhaps a trifle full in the waist for balcony-scalingby moonlight. " If he had really trusted himself to that gossamerladder in the Fourth Act, he would never have got away to Mantua, especially as _Juliette_, with the thoughtlessness of her age and sex, omitted to secure it in any way. Fortunately it was not a long drop, and the descent was accomplished without accident, as will be seenfrom the accompanying sketch. * * * * * CHANGE FOR A TENOR. --Mr. SEYMOUR HADEN, the opponent of the Cremationgospel according to THOMPSON (Sir HENRY of that ilk), should come toan arrangement with the English Light Opera tenor, and tack COFFIN onto his name. * * * * * ONLY FANCY! (_FROM MR. PUNCH'S OWN RUMOURISTS. _) It may be interesting at this time of the year to mention the factthat Lord SALISBURY always uses a poker in cracking walnuts. He saysit saves the silver. The other day, whilst wielding the poker acrossthe walnuts and the wine, Mr. GLADSTONE chanced to look in. ThePremier, with his well-known hospitality, immediately furnishedthe Right Hon. Gentleman with another poker (brought in from thedrawing-room), and ordered up a fresh supply of nuts. * * * * * [Illustration] Mr. GLADSTONE, recurring in private conversation to a recent visitpaid by him to Lord SALISBURY in Arlington Street, questioned theconvenience of a poker as an instrument for shattering the shell ofthe walnut. For himself, he says, he has always found a pair of tongsmore convenient. * * * * * The Marquis of HARTINGTON, to whom this remark was reported, observed that as a dissentient Liberal he naturally differed from Mr. GLADSTONE, and was not to the fullest extent able to agree with hisnoble friend, the Marquis of SALISBURY. For his own part, he foundthe most convenient way of cracking a walnut was deftly to place thearticle in the interstice of the dining-room door, and gently closeit. He found this plan combined with its original purpose a gentleexercise on the part of the guests highly conducive to digestion. * * * * * Two hours later, the Leader of the Opposition was seen walking upArlington Street, and on reaching Piccadilly, he hailed an omnibus, observing the precaution before entering of requiring the conductor toproduce the scale of charges. "No pirate busses for _me_, " the RightHon. Member remarked, as (omitting the oath) he took his seat. * * * * * It is no secret in official circles that before the vacancy in theoffice of Postmaster-General was filled, it was placed at the disposalof the BARON BE BOOK-WORMS. Upon Sir JAMES FERGUSSON stepping in, thePRIME MINISTER was urgently desirous to have the collaboration ofthe noble BARON at the Foreign Office. But, somehow, the post ofUnder-Secretary vacated by Sir JAMES was assigned to Mr. WILLIAM JAMESLOWTHER. * * * * * We are authorised to state that His Imperial Majesty the Emperor ofGERMANY, feeling the need of a little change, has resolved to stay athome for a fortnight. * * * * * We are in a position to state that just prior to the General Electionof 1880, Mr. CHAMBERLAIN was observed standing before a cheval glass, alternatively fixing his eyeglass in the right eye and in the left. Asked why he should thus quaintly occupy his leisure moments, hereplied: "It is in view of the General Election. If on the platformany person in the crowd poses you with an awkward question, should yoube able rapidly to transfer your eyeglass from your right eye to yourleft, and fix the obtruder with a stony stare, he is so much engagedin wondering whether you can keep the glass in position, that heforgets what he asked you, and you can pass on to less dangeroustopics. " * * * * * When Mr. SCHOMBERG McDONNELL informed his chief that Lord RANDOLPHCHURCHILL had "come upon eight lions, " Lord SALISBURY sighed andremained for a moment in deep thought. Then he said, "How differenthad the eight lions come upon him!" * * * * * Mr. GLADSTONE has backed himself to walk a mile, talk a mile, write amile, review a mile, disestablish a mile, chop a mile and hop a milein one hour. Sporting circles are much interested in the veteranstatesman's undertaking, and little else is talked about at the chiefWest End resorts. The general opinion of those who ought to know seemsto be in favour of the scythe-bearer, but not a few have invested apound or two on the Mid-Lothian Marvel. * * * * * [Illustration: TRUE LITERARY EXCLUSIVENESS. "_WHAT_, MY DEAR REGINALD! YOU DON'T MEAN TO SAY YOU DON'T ADMIREBYRON AS A POET?" "CERTAINLY NOT. INDEED I HAVE A QUITE SPECIAL LOATHING AND CONTEMPTFOR HIM IN THAT PARTICULAR CHARACTAH!" "DEAR ME! WHY, WHAT PARTICULAR POEMS OF HIS DO YOU OBJECT TO SOSTRONGLY?" "MY DEAH GRANDMOTHAH, I NEVAH READ A LINE OF BYRON IN MY LIFE, --AND ICERTAINLY NEVAH MEAN TO!"] * * * * * TRYING IT ON. ["The natural result of a _rapprochement_ between Russia and Italy, even if avowedly platonic in its character, would be to weaken the prestige and moral force of the Triple Alliance. "--_The Times_. ] _Mr. Bruin loquitur_:-- _Pst!_ Hang it, quite _au mieux!_ Now what am I to do? I must draw her attention, if I'm going to have a chance. She seems so satisfied with those gallants at her side That just now in my direction she will hardly deign a glance. _Pst!_ Darling, just a word! No! Deaf as any post! It is perfectly absurd! _Pst!_ Heeds me not the least, just as though I were the Beast, And she the sovereign Beauty that she deems she is, no doubt. Since she won those burly _beaux_, it appears to be no go, But Bruin's an old Masher, and he knows what he's about. _Pst!_ Darling, look this way! In your pretty little ear I've a word or two to say! The coy Gallic girl I've won. It is really awful fun, For _her_ prejudice was strong as was that of Lady ANNE To the ugly crookback, DICK. But my wooing there was quick. Platonic? Oh! of course. That is always Bruin's plan. A flirtation means no harm, When you wish not to corrupt or betray, but simply charm. Fancy Italian girl won by the swagger twirl Of an Austrian moustache! It is monstrous, nothing less. What _would_ GARIBALDI say? Well, he doesn't live to-day, Or he'd tear her from the arm of her ancient foe, I guess. And that stalwart Teuton too! Do you really think, my girl, he can really care for _you_? Ah! you always were a flirt, Miss ITALIA. You have hurt France's feelings very much. Why, she stood your faithful friend When the hated Austrian yoke bowed your neck. Did you invoke The pompous Prussian then your captivity to end? _Pst!_ Just a moment, dear. I've a word or two to say it were worth your while to hear. Ah! A hasty glance she throws o'er her shoulder. But for those Big, blonde, burly bullies twain, I could win her, I am sure; For my manners all girls praise, and I have such winning ways, And my lips, for kisses made, are for love a lasting lure. _Pst!_ How those two stride on, Without a glance at me! Do they think the game is won? Hrumph! The Bear, although polite, is as pertinacious, quite, As the tactless Teuton pig. I'll yet spoil their little game. Triple Alliance? Fudge! If that girl is a good judge, She will make a third with Me and my latest Gallic "flame. " _Pst!_ Come along with me, My dark Italian _belle_! We shall make a lovely Three! [_Left making signs. _ * * * * * ACCI-DENTAL QUERY. --Let me ask the _Patres Conscripti_ of our AcademyRoyal, why Dentists are not admitted A. R. A. _ex officio_. We have allfor ever so long, since the memory of the oldest JOE MILLER, whichrunneth not to the contrary, known that Dentists drew teeth. But theynowadays add to their accomplishments by painting gums. The other daya friend of ours had a gum beautifully painted by a Dentist-artistin a certain Welbeck Street studio. It was a wonderful gathering; ourfriend in the chair. * * * * * THE OLD JOE AND THE NEW. To the humorous mind of a cynical cast, Party change many matters for mirth affords; But of all the big jokes, we've the biggest at last, In CHAMBERLAIN's backing the House of Lords! They toil not, nor spin? That's a very old jeer! _Won't_ the Lilies take back seats when JOE is a Peer? * * * * * [Illustration: TRYING IT ON! RUSSIA. "SS--S--T! (_Whispers. _) I WANT TO SPEAK TO YOU, MY DEAR!"] * * * * * [Illustration: "LISTEN TO MY TALE OF WOA!" (_Not much Gaiety about it. _)] * * * * * TO MY LORD ADDINGTON. [Lord ADDINGTON, speaking recently at a Harvest Festival, said, "If he were a labourer, and saw a rabbit nibbling his cabbages, he would go for that rabbit with the first thing at hand. " (_Enthusiastic cheers. _)--_Daily News_. ] [Illustration] Lord ADDINGTON, most wonderful Of people-pleasing peers, You certainly contrived to raise "Enthusiastic cheers. " The villagers come flocking in From all the country through, To hear Your Lordship speak his mind And tell them what to do. You did it well, you told them how You'd have them understand A lucky chance has made you own A quantity of land. Though very fond of shooting, yet Your love of shooting stops At letting rabbits have their way At decimating crops. And so, if you a labourer were, (The which of course you're not), And saw a rabbit in your ground A-nibbling--on the spot You'd go for him with spade or fork, At which, so it appears, There rang throughout the crowded room "Enthusiastic cheers. " A Peer's advice is always good, So doubtless they will grab it, -- _But_ no one will be happier than The cabbage-nibbling rabbit! * * * * * A LITTLE STRANGER. ["At the meeting of the Bermondsey Vestry, the Medical Officer reported that water drawn from the service-pipe of a house in the Jamaica Road, had been submitted to him. The water was clear, but it contained a live horse-leech. "--_Daily Paper_. ] Oh, into our domestic pipes They crawl and creep by stealth, The gruesome creatures known unto An Officer of Health! Harken to him of Bermondsey, Think what his murmurings teach, "The water seemed quite limpid, _but_-- It did contain a Leech!" The service-pipe was sound and good In the Jamaica Road; The cistern there had harboured ne'er Microbe, or newt, or toad; No clearer water softly laved A coral island beach; So thought the householder, until-- He found that awful Leech! Perchance he was a temperance foe To alcoholic drink, And from all dalliance with Bung Did scrupulously shrink. Yet now to forms of fluid sin He'll cotton, all and each; He does not like such liquors, _but_-- Prefers them to a Leech! Our pipes will not be pipes of peace If such things hap, I trow; And as for Water Trusts, 'tis hard To trust in water now. Oh, Co. Of Southwark and Vauxhall, We ratepayers beseech, Double your filtering charges, _but_-- Remove the loathly Leech! * * * * * OUR BOOKING-OFFICE. [Illustration] There is a judicial review of GEORGE MEREDITH's work in the_Quarterly_ for October--masterly, too, quoth the Baron, as strikinga balance between effect and defect, and finding so much to be dulysaid in high praise of the diffuse and picturesquely-circumnavigatingNovelist through whose labyrinthine pages the simple Baron finds ithard to thread his way, and yet keep the clue. When the unskippinglyconscientious peruser of GEORGE M. 's novels is most desirous that theauthor shall go ahead, GEORGE, like an Irish cardriver, will stop to"discoorse us, " and at such length, and so diffusely, and with such awealth of eccentric word-coming and grammar-dodging, that at last theBaron gasps, choked by the rolling billows of sonorously booming orboomingly sonorous words, battles with the waves, ducks, and comesup again breathlessly, wondering where he may be, and what it wasall about. "Story! God bless you, I haven't much to tell, Sir!" saysthe luxuriantly fanciful novel-grinder. And he hasn't much, it mustbe owned, for essenced it would go into half a volume, or less, andall over and above is pot-fuls of rich colour, spilt about almost athaphazard, permutations and combinations, giving the effect of genius. Which--genius it is; but a little of it goes a great way, in fact, avery great way, wandering and straying until at length the Baron callsfor his _Richard Feverel_, and says, "This is the best that GEORGEMEREDITH has written, as sure as my name is "THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS. " * * * * * BARD V. BARD. There was a poor Poet named CLOUGH, Poet SWINBURNE declares he wrote stuff. Ah, well, _he_ is dead! 'Tis the living are fed, By log-rollers, on butter and puff. * * * * * A SUGGESTION. --In a new poetical play at the Opera Comique there is agood deal of hide-and-seek. It might have had a second title, and beenappropriately called _The Queen's Room; or, Secret Passages in theLife of Mary Stuart_. * * * * * [Illustration: STREET IMPROVEMENTS. ["If we really used the Thames Embankment sensibly and liberally, it would abound with handsome shops and cheerful cafés aand volksgartens, with newspaper kiosks and long lines ofbookstalls. "--_Daily Telegraph_, Oct. 21. ]] * * * * * BLENDIMUS! "Water, water everywhere" in the _Times_ recently, except when Messrs. GILBEY wrote their annual, and this time hopeful, account of theClaret vintage, and when subsequently Messrs. "P. And G. "--(who onearth are "P. And G. "?)--with a few modest lines at the foot of apage, last Wednesday, enlivened our drooping spirits with a brief butsatisfactory account of Champagne Prospects. If the vintages of '86and '87 are good, and those of '90 and '91 poor, why not make a blend?and why not sell it as such? Let "P. And G. "--[confound it! who onearth can P. And G. Be? "P. And J. " would be "Punch and Judy"--and, by the way, in the choice _Lingua Tuscana_, "P. And G. " would standfor "_Poncio è Giulia_. " But, on the other hand, who, unauthorised, would dare to use this signature? No matter--where were we?--ah!--toresume. ] Let "P. And G. , " whoe'er they be--which is rhyme, though notso intended--(but why this masquerade in initials?)--let them exploita "Blend of '90-cum-'86 and '91-cum-'87, " sell it as such--viz. , The"P. And G. Blend, " or "The Punchius and Giulia Blend"--at a reasonablefigure, and thus the Not-quite-up-to-the-mark vintages will be saved. Have we not seen in City partnerships how a strong house saves afailing one, and then the Blends go on successfully? Let "P. And G. "give us a first-rate Champagne, call it, say, The "G. B. , " or "GoldenBlend, " at a reasonable price, and, to drop once again into poetry, Nomatter what their name may be, We'll ever bless our P. And G. ![2] [Footnote 2: "P. And G. " might stand for "Pay-for-it and Get-it, " or"Pour-it and Guzzle-it. " A Correspondent has suggested that solutionof the initial problem might possibly be found in the names of Pommeryand Gre'--No! So common-place a suggestion is evidently, and on theface of it, absurd. Not in this spirit did the Pickwick Club treat thecelebrated inscription on the stone that so puzzled the antiquarians. ] * * * * * [Illustration: SPORT! _Cockney Sportsman_ (_eager, but disappointed_). "I SAY, MY BOY, SEENANY BIRDS THIS WAY?" '_Cute Rustic (likewise anxious to make a bag). _ "OH, A RARE LOT, GUV'NOR--A RARE LOT--JUST FLEW OVER THIS 'ERE 'EDGE, AND SETTLED INTHAT 'ERE FIELD, CLOSE TO SQUIRE BLANK'S RICKS. " [_Grateful Cockney Sportsman tips boy a shilling, and goes hopefullyafter . . . A flock of Starlings!_] * * * * * CAUGHT BY THE CLASSICS. (_THE RECORD OF A RUINED LIFE. _) AUGUSTUS SPARKLER was an exceptionally brilliant man. At school hehad done marvellously well, and if he did not distinguish himself ateither of the Universities, it was less his fault than his misfortune. When he entered the world, after casting off parental control, hetook up Medicine. He was a great success. He rose by leaps and bounds, until at length it was thought highly probable that he would beelected President of the Royal College of Physicians. He was soundedupon the subject, and a question was put to him. "No, " he replied, sorrowfully, and then the courteous Secretaryinformed him, with tears in his voice, that he feared he wasdisqualified. "Well, I will enter the Navy. " He did. He passed through the _Britannia_, and rose by leaps andbounds, until it was considered desirable to revive the post of LordHigh Admiral for his acceptance. But before this was done, he wassounded upon the subject, and asked a question. "No, " he again answered, regretfully. "I am afraid then, that the scheme must be abandoned, " returned theFirst Civil Lord (he had been chosen as more polite than his seacolleagues), and he was almost moved to tears in his sadness. "I will enter the Army, " cried AUGUSTUS, with determination. And he did. He rose from the ranks in less than no time to become aField Marshal. It was then that a certain Illustrious Personage askedhim if he would like to become Commander-in-Chief. "It is not impossible I might resign in your favour, " said the I. P. And then he asked him the necessary question. "No, Sir, " returned AUGUSTUS, bowing down his head in shame. Again hefound that his career was interrupted. "I will try the Bar, " he shouted. And he did. He entered at Gray's Inn, and in a very short time becamea Q. C. , a Judge, and a Lord Justice. Then the entire Ministry beggedhim, as a personal favour, to accept the post of Lord Chancellor. "With pleasure, " was his modest rejoinder. Then he remembered that hehad been asked a certain question on previous occasions, and explainedmatters. "I am afraid you won't do, " cried the entire Ministry, mournfully. "Well, then, I will try the Church. " And he tried the Church. He became an eminent divine. Every one spokewell of him; and when, in due course, the Primacy of all England wasvacant, he was asked to accept it. Again he explained matters. "No!" shouted all the Deans and Chapters. "You can't mean it!" cried the entire body of Archdeacons. "Well, I never!" exclaimed every other ecclesiastical authority. But it could not be, and the disappointment was too much for poorAUGUSTUS, and he died of grief. And so they put on the tombstone, that he would have beenPresident of the Royal College of Physicians, Lord High Admiral, Commander-in-Chief, Lord Chancellor, and Archbishop of Canterbury, if--_he had only learned Greek!_ * * * * * LETTERS TO ABSTRACTIONS. NO. V. --TO GUSH. MY DEAREST DARLING PERSON, How sweet and amiable of you to allow a humble being like myself towrite to you. Dropping your own special style (which, to be perfectlyfrank with you, I could no more continue through the whole of thisletter than I could dine off treacle and butter-scotch), I beg to saythat I am heartily glad to have this opportunity of telling you a fewthings which have been on my mind for a long time. In what corner ofthe great realm of abstractions do you make your home? I imagine youwhiling away the hours on some soft couch of imitation down, with alittle army of sweet but irrelevant smiles ready at all times to doyour bidding. You are refined, I am sure. You cultivate sympathy assome men cultivate orchids, until it blooms and luxuriates in thestrangest and gaudiest shapes. Your real face is known of no otherabstraction; indeed, you never see it yourself, so well-fitted and soconstant is the mask through which you waft the endearments which havecaused you to be avoided everywhere. This, I admit, is imagination;but is it very far from the truth? Perhaps I ask in vain, for truthis the very last thing that may be expected of you and of those whodo your bidding upon earth. I will not, therefore, press the question, but proceed at once to business. [Illustration] About a month ago I met your friend, ALGERNON JESSAMY. What is thereabout ALGERNON that inspires such distrust? He is very presentable;some people have gone so far as to call him absolutely good-looking. He is tall, his figure is good, his clothes fit him admirably, and arealways speckless; his features are regular, his complexion fresh, andhis fair hair, carefully parted in the middle, lies like a smooth andshining lid upon his head. I pass over all his remaining advantages, whether of dress or of nature. It is enough to say that, thusequipped, and with the additional merits of wealth and a goodposition, ALGERNON ought to have found no difficulty in being one ofthe most popular men in town. Perhaps he would have been if he hadnot tried with such a persistent energy to make himself "so deucedagreeable. " The phrase is not mine, but that of SAMMY MIGGS, who hasa contempt for ALGERNON and his methods, which he never attempts toconceal. "ALGY, my boy, " I have heard him say, while the unfortunate JESSAMYsmiled uneasily, and shifted on his seat, "ALGY, my boy, I've knownyou too long to give in to any of your nonsense. All that butter ofyours is wasted here, so you'd better keep it for someone who likesit. Try it on QUISBY, " he continued, indicating the celebrated actor, who was at that moment frowning furiously over a notice of his latestperformance; "he loves it in firkins, and I'll undertake to say you'llnever get to the bottom of his swallowing capacity. You'll have toexhaust even your stock, ALGY, my boy; and that's saying a lot. " So thoroughly uncomfortable did the suave and gentle ALGERNON look, that I afterwards ventured to remonstrate mildly with the gadflyMIGGS. "What?" he said, "made him uncomfortable, did I? And a jolly good jobtoo. Bless you, I know the beggar through and through. I wasn't atOxford with him for nothing. Wish I had been. He's the sort of chapwho loses no end of I. O. U. 's at cards one night, and when he winspiles of ready the next never offers to redeem them. You let mealone about ALGY. I tell you I know him. There's no bigger humbug inChristendom with all his soft sawder and gas about everybody being thedearest and cleverest fellow he's ever met. Bah!" And therewith SAMMY left me, evidently smarting under some ancientsore inflicted by the apparently angelic ALGERNON. However, this little incident was not the one I intended to narrate. I met ALGY, as I said, about a month ago. It was in Piccadilly. Atfirst, as I approached, I thought he did not see me, but suddenlyhe seemed to become aware of my presence. An electric thrill of joyran through him, a smile of heavenly welcome irradiated his face, hedarted towards me with both hands stretched out and almost fell roundmy neck before all the astonished cabmen. "My dear, dear fellow, " he gasped, apparently struggling hard with anoverpowering emotion, "this is almost too much. To think that I shouldmeet the one man of all others whom I have been literally longing tosee. Now you simply must walk with me for a bit. I can't afford to letyou go without having a good talk with you. It always refreshes me soto hear your opinions of men and things. " Ignoring my assurance that I had an important appointment to keep, he linked his arm closely in mine and dragged me with him in thedirection from which I had come. How he pattered and chatteredand flattered. He daubed me over with flattery as I have seenbill-stickers brush a hoarding over with paste. Never in my life hadI felt so small, so mean and such a perfect fool, for though I ownI have no objection to an occasional lollipop of praise, I must sayI loathe it in lumps the size of a jelly-fish. Yet such is the fareon which JESSAMY compels me to subsist. And the annoying part ofit was that every lump which he crammed down my throat containedan inferential compliment to himself, which I was forced eitherto accept, or in declining it to appear a churl. I was never morechurlish, never less satisfied with myself. Amongst other things wespoke of the affairs of "The Dustheap, " a little Club of which we wereboth members. JESSAMY opined it was going to the dogs. "Just look, "he said, "at the men they've got on the Committee; mere nobodies. I'vealways wondered why you are not on it. Men like you and me wouldn'tmake the ridiculous mistakes the present lot are constantly making. Fancy their electing MUMPLEY, a regular outsider, without enoughmanners for a school-boy. I really don't care about being in thesame room with him. " At this very moment, by one of those curiouscoincidences which invariably happen, the abused MUMPLEY himself, awealthy but otherwise inoffensive stockbroker, hove in sight. "Therecomes the brute himself, " said JESSAMY; and in another moment his armswere round MUMPLEY's neck, and he was protesting, with all the fervourof a heartfelt conviction, that MUMPLEY was the one man of all othersfor whom his heart had been yearning. That being so, I left themtogether, and departed to my business. Now does JESSAMY imagine that that kind of thing makes him afavourite? It must be admitted that he is not very artistic in hismethods; and I fancy he must sometimes perceive, if I may use ahomely phrase, that he doesn't go down. But the poor beggar can'thelp himself. He is driven by a force which he finds it impossibleto resist into the cruel snares that are spread for the over-amiable. You, my dear GUSH, are that force, and to you, therefore, the sugaryJESSAMY owes his failure to win the appreciation which he courts soardently. And now I think I have relieved my mind of a sufficient load for thetime being. If I can remember anything else that might interest you, you may count upon me to address you again. Permit me in the meantimeto subscribe myself with all proper curtness, Yours. &c. DIOGENES ROBINSON. * * * * * "THE PRODIGY SON. " [Illustration: Much put out. ] Sir, --I have not seen _Pamela's Prodigy_, but I have just read thecriticism in the _Times_, which says of it, "It must be regardedeither as a boyish effusion or a sorry joke. " The criticismthen points out how it lacks "wit, humour, literary skill, " andapparently is wanting in everything that goes to make a successfulplay, --everything that is, except the actors. Mrs. JOHN WOOD was init: she is a host in herself: not only a host, but the Manageress ofthe theatre who, with her partner in the business, is responsible forthe selection of pieces. Now granting the critic to be right--and, on referring to others, I find a _consensus_ of opinion backing himup--at whose door lies the responsibility of having deliberatelyselected a failure? Under what compulsion could so clever andexperienced an autocrat, sharp as a needle and with the "heye of an'awk" in theatrical matters, as Mrs. JOHN WOOD, have made so fatal amistake--that is, if the critics are right, and if it be a mistake?"_To err, is human_"--and, including even Mrs. JOHN WOOD, and thecritics, we are all human, --"_To forgive, divine_"--the criticsnot being divine could not forgive; the public apparently, didforgive--and, will, of course, forget. 'Tis all very well to fallfoul of the unhappy author--whom we will not name--_after_ the event;but why was the piece ever chosen, and why was not the discovery ofits unfitness made during rehearsal? No! "as long as the world goesround" these things will happen in the best regulated theatres, andexperience is apparently no sort of guide in such matters. --Yoursfaithfully, "NOT THERE, NOT THERE, MY CHILD!" * * * * * NOTICE. --Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS. , Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in nocase be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and AddressedEnvelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.