PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. VOL. 103. November 26, 1892. LETTERS TO ABSTRACTIONS. NO. XVII. --TO FAILURE. A Philosopher has deigned to address to me a letter. "Sir, " writesmy venerable correspondent, "I have been reading your open letters toAbstractions with some interest. You will, however, perhaps permitme to observe that amongst those to whom you have written are not afew who have no right whatever to be numbered amongst Abstractions. Laziness, for instance, and Crookedness, and Irritation--not tomention others--how is it possible to say that these are Abstractions?They are concrete qualities and nothing else. Forgive me for makingthis correction, and believe me yours, &c. A PLATONIST. "--To which Imerely reply, with all possible respect, "Stuff and nonsense!" I knowmy letters have reached those to whom they were addressed, no singleone has come back through the Dead-letter Office, and that is enoughfor me. Besides, there are thousands of Abstractions that the mindof "A PLATONIST" has never conceived. Somewhere I know, there is anabstract Boot, a perfect and ideal combination of all the qualitiesthat ever were or will be connected with boots, a grand exemplarto which all material boots, more or less, nearly approach; and bytheir likeness to which they are recognised as boots by all who ina previous existence have seen the ideal Boot. Sandals, mocassins, butcher-boots, jack-boots, these are but emanations from the greatoriginal. Similarly, there must be an abstract Dog, to the likeness ofwhich, in one respect or another, both the Yorkshire Terrier and theSt. Bernard conform. So much then for "A PLATONIST. " And now to thematter in hand. [Illustration] My dear FAILURE, there exists amongst us, as, indeed, there hasalways existed, an innumerable body of those upon whom you have castyour melancholy blight. Amongst their friends and acquaintances theyare known by the name you yourself bear. They are the great army offailures. But there must be no mistake. Because a man has had highaspirations, has tried with all the energy of his body and soul torealise them, and has, in the end, fallen short of his exalted aim, he is not, therefore, to be called a failure. MOSES, I may remind you, was suffered only to look upon the Promised Land from a mountain-top. Patriots without number--KOSSUTH shall be my example--have foughtand bled, and have been thrust into exile, only to see their objectsgained by others in the end. But the final triumph was theirs surelyalmost as much as if they themselves had gained it. On the other handthere are those who march from disappointment to disappointment, butremain serenely unconscious of it all the time. These are not genuinefailures. There is CHARSLEY, for instance, journalist, dramatist, novelist--Heaven knows what besides. His plays have run, on anaverage, about six nights; his books, published mostly at his ownexpense, are a drug in the market; but the little creature is as vain, as proud, and, it must be added, as contented, as though Fame had sethim, with a blast of her golden trumpet, amongst the mighty Immortals. What lot can be happier than his? Secure in his impregnable egotism, ramparted about with mighty walls of conceit, he bids defiance toattack, and lives an enviable life of self-centred pleasure. Then, again, there was JOHNNIE TRUEBRIDGE. I do not mean to liken himto CHARSLEY, for no more unselfish and kind-hearted being than JOHNNIEever breathed. But was there ever a stone that rolled more constantlyand gathered less moss? Yet no stroke could subdue his inconquerablecheerfulness. Time after time he got his head above the waters;time after time, some malignant emissary of fate sent him bubblingand gasping down into the depths. He was up again in a moment, striving, battling, buffeting. Nothing could make JOHNNIE despair, nodisappointment could warp the simple straightforward sincerity, theloyal and almost childlike honesty of his nature. And if here andthere, for a short time, fortune seemed to shine upon him, you may besure that there was no single friend whom he did not call upon to baskwith him in these fleeting rays. And what a glorious laugh he had; nota loud guffaw that splits your tympanum and crushes merriment flat, but an irrepressible, helpless, irresistible infectious laugh, inwhich his whole body became involved. I have seen a whole roomful ofstrangers rolling on their chairs without in the least knowing why, while JOHNNIE, with his head thrown back, his jolly face puckered intoa thousand wrinkles of hearty delight, and his hands pressed to hissides, was shouting with laughter at some joke made, as most of hisjokes were, at his own expense. It was during one of his brief intervals of prosperity, at a meetof the Ditchington Stag-hounds that I first met JOHNNIE. He wasbeautifully got up. His top-hat shone scarcely less brilliantly thanhis rosy cheeks, his collar was of the stiffest, his white tie wasfolded and pinned with a beautiful accuracy, his black coat fittedhim like a glove, his leather-breeches were smooth and speckless, andhis champagne-coloured tops fitted his sturdy little legs as if theyhad been born with him. He was mounted on an enormous chestnut-horse, which Anak might have controlled, but which was far above the powerand weight of JOHNNIE, plucky and determined though he was. Shortlyafter the beginning of the run, while the hounds were checked, Inoticed a strange, hatless, dishevelled figure, riding furiously roundand round a field. It was JOHNNIE, whose horse was bolting with him, but who was just able to guide it sufficiently to keep it going ina circle instead of taking him far over hill and dale. We managed tostop him, and I shall never forget how he laughed at his own disasterswhile he was picking up his crop and replacing his hat on his head. Not long afterwards, I saw our little Mazeppa crashing, horse and all, into the branches of a tree, but in spite of a black eye and a deepcut on his cheek, he finished the run--fortunately for him a veryfast and long one--with imperturbable pluck and with no furthermisadventure. "Nasty cut that, " I said to him as we trained backtogether, "you'd better get it properly looked to in town. " "Pooh, "said JOHNNIE, "it's a mere scratch. Did you see the brute take me intothe tree? By Jove, it must have been a comic sight!" and with that heset off again on another burst of inextinguishable laughter. About a week after this, the usual crash came. A relative of JOHNNIEwas in difficulties. JOHNNIE, with his wonted chivalry, came to hishelp with the few thousands that he had lately put by, and, in a dayor two, he was on his beam-ends once more. And so the story went on. Money slipped through his fingers like water--prosperity tweakedhim by the nose, and fled from him, whilst friends, not a whit moredeserving, amassed fortunes, and became sleek. But he was neverdaunted. With inexhaustible courage and resource, he set to work againto rebuild his shattered edifice, confident that luck would, some day, stay with him for good. But it never did. At last he threw in his lotwith a band of adventurers, who proposed to plant the British flag insome hitherto unexplored regions of South or Central Africa. I dinedwith JOHNNIE the evening before he left England. He was in the highestspirits. His talk was of rich farms, of immense gold-mines. He wasoff to make his pile, and would then come home, buy an estate in thecountry--he had one in his eye--and live a life of sport, surroundedby all the comforts, and by all his friends. And so we parted, neverto meet again. He was lost while making his way back to the coast witha small party, and no trace of him has ever since been discovered. But to his friends he has left a memory and an example of invinciblecourage, and unceasing cheerfulness in the face of misfortune, ofconstant helpfulness, and unflinching staunchness. Can it be said thatsuch a man was a failure? I don't think so. I must write again. In themeantime I remain, as usual, D. R. * * * * * SIGNS OF THE SEASON. --"_Beauty's Daughters!_" These charming youngladies are to be obtained for the small sum of one penny! as for thistrifling amount, --unless there is a seasonably extra charge, --youcan purchase the Christmas Number of the _Penny Illustrated_, wherein Mr. CLEMENT SCOTT "our dear departed" (on tour round theworld--"globe-trotting"), leads off with some good verses. Will he bechosen Laureate? He is away; and it is characteristic of a truly greatpoet to be "absent. " And the Editor, that undefeated story-teller, tells one of his best stories in his best style, and gives us adelightful picture of Miss ELSIE NORMAN. "Alas! she is another's!she never can be mine!" as she is Somebody Elsie's. Success to yourBeauties, Mr. LATEY, or more correctly, Mr. EARLY-AND-LATEY, as youbring out your Christmas Number a good six weeks before Christmas Day. * * * * * MOTTO FOR THE LABOUR COMMISSION. --"The proper study of mankindis--MANN!" * * * * * THE NEW EMPLOYMENT. --Being "Unemployed. " * * * * * [Illustration: A CABBIN' IT COUNCIL IN NOVEMBER. ] * * * * * CABBIN' IT COUNCIL. (IN NOVEMBER. ) _Grand Old Jarvie, loquitur_:-- O Lud! O Lud! O Lud! (As TOM HOOD cried, apostrophising London), November rules, a reign of rain, fog, mud, And Summer's sun is fled, and Autumn's fun done. Far are the fields M. P. 's have tramped and gunned on! Malwood is far, and far is fair Dalmeny, And Harwarden, Like a garden (To Caucus-mustered crowds) glowing and greeny In soft September, Is distant now, and dull; for 'tis November, And we are in a Fog! Cabbin' it, Council? Ah! each _absent_ Member May be esteemed a vastly lucky dog! The streets are up--of course! No Irish bog Is darker, deeper, dirtier than that hole SP-NC-R is staring into. On my soul, M-RL-Y, we want that light you're seeking, swarming Up that lank lamp-post in a style alarming! Take care, my JOHN, you don't come down a whopper! And you, young R-S-B-RY, if _you_ come a cropper Over that dark, dim pile, where shall _we_ be? Pest! I can hardly see An inch before my nose--not to say clearly. Hold him up, H-RC-RT! He was down then, nearly, Our crook-knee'd "crock. " Seems going very queerly, Although so short a time out of the stable. Quiet him, WILLIAM, quiet him!--if you're able. This is no spot for him to fall. I dread The need--just here--of "sitting on his head. " Cutting the traces Will leave us dead-lock'd, _here_ of all bad places! Oh, do keep quiet, K-MB-RL-Y! You're twitching My cape again! Mind, ASQ-TH! You'll be pitching Over that barrier, if you are not steady. Fancy us getting in this fix--already! Cabbin' it in a fog is awkward work, Specially for the driver, who can't shirk, When once his "fare" is taken. I feel shaken. 'd rather drive the chariot of the Sun (That's dangerous, but rare fun!) Like Phaëthon, Than play the Jehu in a fog so woful To this confounded "Shoful"! * * * * * [Illustration: REAL PRESENCE OF MIND. POLICEMAN X 24, DRUNK AND ALMOST INCAPABLE, IS JUST ABLE TO BLOW HISWHISTLE FOR HELP!] * * * * * LADY GAY'S GHOST. _Mount Street, Berkeley Square. _ DEAR MR. PUNCH, More than a fortnight ago I fled from the London fog, with the resultthat it got thicker than ever about me in the minds of your readersand yourself! I determined during my absence to do what many peoplein the world of Art and _Letters_ have done before me, employ a"Ghost"--(my _first_ dealings with the supernatural, and probably my_last_!). I wired to one of the leading Sporting Journals for theirmost reliable Racing Ghost--he was busy watching _Nunthorpe_--(who isonly the Ghost of what he was!)--and the Bogie understudy sent tome was a Parliamentary Reporter!--(hence the stilted style of theletter signed "POMPERSON. " Heavens! what a name!)--I had five minutesto explain the situation to him before catching the _train deluxe_--(Lord ARTHUR had gone on with the luggage)--and I don'tthink he had the ghostliest idea of what I wanted!--the one point hegrasped, was, that he was to use anonymous names--which he did witha vengeance!--My horror on reading his letter was such that Idropped all the money I had in my hand on the "red" instead of the"black"--and it won!--(I think I shall bring out a system based on"fright. ") Of course all my friends thought Lord ARTHUR and I had quarrelled, and I was "off" with someone else!--What a fog. This idea beingconfirmed by the following week's letter, which was the well-meantbut misdirected effort of my friend Lady HARRIETT ENTOUCAS, to whomI wired to "do something for me"--(she pretty nearly did for mealtogether!)--there was nothing for it but to come home--where Iam--Lord ARTHUR wanted to write you this week, but I thought oneexplanation at a time quite enough--so his shall follow--"if you wanta thing done, do it yourself!"--so in future I will either be my ownGhost or have nothing to do with them! Yours apparitionally, LADY GAY. * * * * * ALL ROUND THE FAIR. NO. II. INSIDE THE "QUEEN'S GRAND COLLECTION OF MOVING WAXWORKS AND LIONS, AND MUSEUM DEPARTMENT OF FOREIGN WONDERS AND NOVELTIES. " _The majority of the Public is still outside, listening open-mouthed to a comic dialogue between the Showman and a juvenile and irreverent Nigger. Those who have come in find that, with the exception of some particularly tame-looking murderers' heads in glazed pigeon-holes, a few limp effigies stuck up on rickety ledges, and an elderly Cart-horse in low spirits, there is little to see at present. _ _Melia_ (_to JOE, as they inspect the Cart-horse. _) This 'ere can'tnever be the live 'orse with five legs, as they said was to be seeninside! _Joe. _ Theer ain't no other 'orse in 'ere, and why _shouldn't_ it be'im, if that's all? _Melia. _ Well, I don't make out no more'n _four_ legs to'un, nohow, myself. _Joe. _ Don't ye be in sech a 'urry, now--the Show ain't _begun_ yet! [Illustration: "It's quoite tri-ew!"] [_The barrel-organ outside blares "God Save the Queen, " and more Spectators come stumping down the wooden steps, followed by the Showman. _ _Showman. _ I shell commence this Exhibition by inviting yourinspection of the wonderful live 'orse with five legs. (_Tothe depressed Cart-horse. _) 'Old up! (_The poor beast lifts hisoff-fore-leg with obvious reluctance, and discloses a very smallsupernumerary hoof concealed behind the fetlock. _) Examine it! foryourselves--two distinct 'oofs with shoes and nails complete--a_great_ novelty! _Melia. _ I don't call that nothen of a leg, _I_ don't--it ain't 'ardlya _oof_, even! _Joe_ (_with phlegm_). That's wheer th' old 'orse gits the larf on ye, that is! _Showman. _ We will now pass on to the Exhibition. 'Ere (_indicatinga pair of lop-sided Orientals in nondescript attire_) we 'ave twolife-sized models of the Japanese villagers who caused so muchsensation in London on account o' their peculiar features--you willeasily reckernise the female by her bein' the ugliest one o' the two. (_Compassionate titters from the Spectators. _) I will now call yourattention to a splendid group, taken from English 'Istry, and set inmotion by powerful machinery, repperesentin' the Parting Interviewof CHARLES THE FIRST with his fam'ly. (_Rolls up a painted canvascurtain, and reveals the Monarch seated, with the Duke of GLOUCESTERon his knee, surrounded by OLIVER CROMWELL, and as many Courtiers, Guards, and Maids of Honour as can be accommodated in the limitedspace. _) I will wind up the machinery and the unfortunate King will beseen in the act of bidding his fam'ly ajew for ever in this world. [_CHARLES begins to click solemnly and move his head by progressive jerks to the right, while the Little Duke moves his simultaneously to the left, and a Courtier in the background is so affected by the scene that he points with respectful sympathy at nothing; the Spectators do not commit themselves to any comments. _ _Showman_ (_concluding a quotation from MARKHAM_). "And the littleDook, with the tears a-standin' in 'is heyes, replies, 'I will be torein pieces fust!'" Other side, please! No, Mum, the lady in mournin'_ain't_ the beautiful but ill-fated MARY, Queen o' Scots--it's Mrs. MAYBRICK, now in confinement for poisonin' her 'usban', and the figgerclose to her is the MAHDI, or False Prophet. In the next case we'ave a subject selected from Ancient Roman 'Istry, bein' the storyof ANDROCLES, the Roman Slave, as he appeared when, escaping from hiscrule owners, he entered a cave and found a lion which persented 'imwith 'is bleedin' paw. After some 'esitation, ANDROCLES examined thepaw, as repperesented before you. (_Winds the machinery up, whereuponthe lion opens his lower jaw and emits a mild bleat, while ANDROCLESturns his head from side to side in bland surprise. _) This lion isthe largest forestbred and blackmaned specimen ever imported intothis country--the _other_ lion standing beyind (_disparagingly_), hasnothing whatever to do with the tableau, 'aving been shot recently inAfrica by Mr. STANLEY, the two figgers at the side repperesent theBoy Murderers who killed their own father at Crewe with a 'atchet andother 'orrible barbarities. I shall conclude the Collection by showingyou the magnificent group repperesentin' Her Gracious Majisty theQUEEN, as she appeared in 'er 'appier and younger days, surrounded bythe late Mr. SPURGEON, the 'Eroes of the Soudan, and other Members ofthe Royal Fam'ly. INSIDE THE CIRCUS. _After some tight-rope, juggling, and boneless performances have been given in the very limited arena, the Clown has introduced the Learned Pony. _ _Clown. _ Now, little Pony, go round the Company and pick me out thelittle boy as robs the Farmer's orchard. [_The Pony trots round, and thrusts his nose confidently into a Small Boy's face. _ _Small Boy_ (_indignantly_). Ye're a _liar_, Powney; so theer! _Clown. _ Now, see if you can find me the little gal as steals hermother's jam and sugar. Look sharp now, don't stand there playin' withyer bit! _A Little Girl_ (_penitently, as the Accusing Quadruped halts in frontof her_). Oh, please, Pony, I won't never do it no more! _Clown. _ Now go round and pick me out the Young Man as is fond o'kissin' the girls and married ladies when their 'usbands is out o' theway. (_The Pony stops before an Infant in Arms. _) 'Ere, think whatyer _doin'_ now. You don't mean _'im_, do you? (_The Pony shakes hishead. _) Is it the Young Man standin' just beyind as is fond o' kissinthe girls? (_The Pony nods. _) Ah, I thought so! _The Rustic Lothario_ (_with a broad grin_). It's quoite tri-ew! _Clown. _ Now I want you, little Pony, to go round and tell me who'sthe biggest rogue in the company. (_Reassuringly, as the Pony goesround, and a certain uneasiness is perceptible among some of thespectators_). I 'ope no Gentleman 'ere will be offended bybein' singled out, for no offence is intended, --it is merely a'armless--(_Finds the Pony at his elbow. _) Why, you rascal! do youmean to say _I'm_ the biggest rogue 'ere? (_The Pony nods. _) You'vebeen round, and can't find a bigger rogue than me in all this company?(_Emphatic shake of the head from Pony; secret relief of inner circleof Spectators. _) You and me'll settle this later! _First Spectator_ (_as audience disperses_). That war a clever Pony, sart'nly! _Second Spect. _ Ah, he wur that. (_Reflectively. _) I dunno as I shudkeer partickler 'bout _'avin_ of 'im, though! IN THE HOME OF MYSTERY. _A small canvas booth with a raised platform, on which a Young Woman in short skirts has just performed a few elementary conjuring tricks before an audience of gaping Rustics. _ _The Showman. _ The Second Part of our Entertainment will consistof the performances of a Real Live Zulu from the Westminster RoyalAquarium. Mr. FARINI, in the course of 'is travels, discovered bothmen and women--and this is one of them. (_Here a tall Zulu, simplyattired in a leopard's-skin apron, a bead necklace, and an old busby, creeps through the hangings at the back. _) He will give you a specimenof the strange and remarkable dances in his country, showin' you thefunny way in which they git married--for they don't git married overthere the same as we do 'ere--cert'n'ly _not_! (_The Spectators form aclose ring round the Zulu. _) Give him a little more room, or else youwon't notice the funny way he moves his legs while dancin'. [_The ring widens a very little, and contracts again, while the Zulu performs a perfunctory prance to the monotonous jingle of his brass anklets. _ _Melia_ (_critically_). Well, that's the silliest sort of a weddin' asiver _I_ see! _Joe. _ He do seem to be 'avin' it a good deal to 'isself, don't 'e? _Showman. _ He will now conclude 'is entertainment by porsin round, and those who would like to shake 'ands with 'im are welcome to do so, while at the same time, those among you who would like to give 'im aextry copper for 'isself you will 'ave an opportunity of noticin' thefunny way in which he takes it. _Spectators_ (_as the Zulu begins to slink round the tent, extending ahuge and tawny paw_). 'Ere, _come_ arn! [_The booth is precipitately cleared. _ * * * * * "_WRITE Letter Days_" should be the companion volume to _Red LetterDays_, published by BENTLEY. * * * * * [Illustration: THAT IT SHOULD COME TO THIS! _Boy. _ "SECOND-CLASS, SIR?" _Captain. _ "I NEVAH TRAVEL SECOND-CLASS!" _Boy. _ "THIS WAY THIRD, SIR!"] * * * * * CONVERSATIONAL HINTS FOR YOUNG SHOOTERS. THE SMOKING-ROOM. The subject of the Smoking-room would seem to be intimately andnecessarily connected with the subject of smoke, which was dealt within our last Chapter. A very good friend of mine, Captain SHABRACK ofthe 55th (Queen ELIZABETH'S Own) Hussars, was good enough to favourme with his views the other day. I met the gallant officer, who is, as all the world knows, one of the safest and best shots of the day, in Pall Mall. He had just stepped out of his Club--the luxuriousand splendid Tatterdemalion, or, as it is familiarly called, "theTat"--where, to use his own graphic language, he had been "killing theworm with a nip of Scotch. " "Early Scotch woodcock, I suppose, " says I, sportively alluding to theproverb. "Scotch woodcock be blowed, " says the Captain, who, it must beconfessed, does not include an appreciation of delicate humour amongsthis numerous merits; "Scotch, real Scotch, a noggin of it, my boy, with soda in a long glass; glug, glug, down it goes, hissin' over thehot coppers. You know the trick, my son, it's no use pretendin' youdon't"--and thereupon the high-spirited warrior dug me good-humouredlyin the ribs, and winked at me with an eye which, if the truth must betold, was bloodshot to the very verge of ferocity. "Talkin' of woodcock, " he continued--we were now walking along PallMall together--"they tell me you're writin' some gas or other aboutshootin'. Well, if you want a tip from me, just you let into thesmokin' room shots a bit; you know the sort I mean, fellows who arereg'lar devils at killin' birds when they haven't got a gun in theirhands. Why, there's that little son of a corn-crake, FLICKERS--whenonce he gets talkin' in a smokin' room nothing can hold him. He'd talkthe hind leg off a donkey. I know he jolly nearly laid me out thelast time I met him with all his talk--No, you don't, " continued theCaptain, imagining, perhaps, that I was going to rally him on hisimplied connection of himself with the three-legged animal he hadmentioned, "no you don't--it wouldn't be funny; and besides, I'm notdonkey enough to stand much of that ass FLICKERS. So just you pitchinto him, and the rest of 'em, my bonny boy, next time you put pento paper. " At this moment my cheerful friend observed a hansom thattook his fancy. "Gad!" he said, "I never can resist one of thoseindia-rubber tires. Ta, ta, old cock--keep your pecker up. Neverforget your goloshes when it rains, and always wear flannel next yourskin, " and, with that, he sprang into his hansom, ordered the cabmanto drive him round the town as long as a florin would last, and wasgone. Had the Captain only stayed with me a little longer, I should havethanked him for his hint, which set me thinking. I know FLICKERS well. Many a time have I heard that notorious romancer holding forth onhis achievements in sport, and love, and society. I have caught himtripping, convicted him of imagination on a score of occasions; dozensof his acquaintances must have found him out over and over again; butthe fellow sails on, unconscious of a reverse, with a sort of smilingpersistence, down the stream of modified untruthfulness, of whichnobody ought to know better than FLICKERS the rapids, and shallows, and rocks on which the mariner's bark is apt to go to wreck. Whatis there in the pursuit of sport, I ask myself, that brings on thisstrange tendency to exaggeration? How few escape it. The excellent, the prosaic DUBSON, that broad-shouldered, whiskered, and eminentlysnub-nosed Nimrod, he too, gives way occasionally. FLICKERS'S, I own, is an extreme case. He has indulged himself in fibs to such an extent, that fibs are now as necessary to him as drams to the drunkard. ButDUBSON the respectable, DUBSON the dull, DUBSON the unromantic--whydoes the gadfly sting him too, and impel him now and then to wonderfulantics. For was it not DUBSON who told me, only a week ago, that hehad shot three partridges stone dead with one shot, and in measuringthe distance, had found it to be 100 yards less two inches? Candidly, I do not believe him; but naturally enough I was not going to beoutdone, and I promptly returned on him with my well-known anecdoteabout the shot which _ricocheted_ from a driven bird in front of meand pierced my host's youngest brother--a plump, short-coated Etonboy, who was for some reason standing with his back to me ten yards inmy rear--in a part of his person sacred as a rule _plagoso Orbilio_. The shrieks of the stricken youth, I told DUBSON, still soundedhorribly in my ears. It took the country doctor an hour to extractthe pellets--an operation which the boy endured, with great fortitude, merely observing that he hoped his rowing would not be spoiled forgood, as he should bar awfully having to turn himself into a dry-bob. This story, with all its harrowing details, did I duly hammer into theopen-mouthed DUBSON, who merely remarked that "it was a rum go, butyou can never tell where a _ricochet_ will go, " and was beginning uponme with a brand-new _ricochet_ anecdote of his own, when I hurriedlydeparted. Wherefore, my gay young shooters, you who week by week suck wisdom andconversational ability from these columns, it is borne in upon me thatfor your benefit I must treat of the Smoking-room in its connectionwith shooting-parties. Thus, perhaps, you may learn not so much whatyou ought to say, as what you ought not to say, and your discretionshall be the admiration of a whole country-side. "The Smoking-room:with which is incorporated 'Anecdotes. '" What a rollicking, cheerful, after-dinner sound there is about it. SHABRACK might say it waslike the title of a cheap weekly, which as a matter of fact, it doesresemble. But what of that? Next week we will begin upon it in goodearnest. * * * * * ON THE BOXING KANGAROO. From SMITH and MITCHELL to a Kangaroo!!! The "noble art" _is_ going up! Whilloo! Stay, though! Since pugilist-man seems coward-clown, Perhaps 'tis the Marsupial coming down! * * * * * [Illustration: FELINE AMENITIES. "I'VE BROUGHT YOU SOME LACE FOR YOUR STALL AT THE BAZAAR, LIZZIE. I'MAFRAID IT'S NOT QUITE OLD ENOUGH TO BE _REALLY_ VALUABLE. I HAD ITWHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL. " "OH, _THAT'S_ OLD ENOUGH FOR _ANYTHING_, DEAREST! HOW LOVELY! THANKSSO _VERY_ MUCH!"] * * * * * "LE GRAND FRANÇAIS. " ["With all his faults, M. DE LESSEPS is perhaps the most remarkable--we may even say the most illustrious--of living Frenchmen. "--_The Times_. ] JACQUES BONHOMME _loquitur_:-- _Someone_ should suffer--yes, of course-- For the depletion of my stocking; But _Le Grand Français_? Bah! Remorse Moves me to tears. It seems too shocking. Get back my money? _Pas de chance_! And then he is the pride of France! I raged, I know, four years ago, Against those Panama projectors. The law seemed slack, inquiry slow; How I denounced them, the Directors, Including _him_--in some vague fashion; But then--BONHOMME was in a passion! And now to see the _gendarme's_ hand-- Half-shrinkingly--upon _his_ shoulder, Our _Grand Français_--_so_ old, _so_ grand! _Ma foi_, it palsies the beholder. And will it lessen my large loss To fix a stain on the Grand Cross? Too sanguine? Too seductive? Yes! But was it not such hopeful charming That led him to his old success? The thought is softening, and disarming; O'er Suez and the Red Sea glance, And see what he has done for France! _Peste_ on this Panama affair! Egyptian sands sucked not our savings As did those swamps. Still I can't bear To see _him_ suffer. 'Midst my cravings For _la revanche_, I'd fain not touch Our Greatest Frenchman--'tis too much! * * * * * SHORT AND SWEET. ["The Young Ladies of Nottingham have formed a Short-skirt League. "--_Daily Graphic_. ] Ye pretty girls of England, So famous for your looks, Whose sense has braved a thousand fads Of foolish fashion-books, Your glorious standard launch again To match another foe, And refrain From the train While the stormy tempests blow, While the sodden streets are thick with mud, And the stormy tempests blow! See how the girls of Nottingham Inaugurate a League For skirts five inches from the ground; They'll walk without fatigue, No longer plagued with trains to lift Above the slush or snow; They'll not sweep Mud that's deep While the stormy tempests blow; Long dresses do the Vestry's work, While stormy tempests blow. O pretty girls of Nottingham, If you could save us men From our frightful clothing, How we should love you then! We'd shorten turned-up trouser, And widen pointed toe, Leave off that Vile silk hat, When the stormy tempests blow-- Wretched hat that stands not wind or rain When the stormy tempests blow. We're fools. Yet, girls of England, We might inquire of you, Why wear those capes and sleeves that seem Quite wide enough for two? And why revive the _chignons_-- Huge lumps pinned on? You know You would cry Should they fly Where the stormy tempests blow; For they catch the wind just like balloons, Where the stormy tempests blow. * * * * * FAULTS O' BOTH SIDES. --Ardent Radicals grumbled at the Governmentfor not holding an Autumn Session. That was a fault of omission. Nowtouchy Tories are angry with it for showing too strong a tendency towhat Mr. GLADSTONE once sarcastically called "a policy of examinationand inquiry"--into the case of Evicted Tenants, Poor-Law Relief, &c. This is a fault of (Royal) Commission. Luckless Government! Theverdict upon it seems to be that it "Does nothing in particular, And does it very--_ill_. " * * * * * NOTICE. --The Twin Fountains of Trafalgar Square regret to inform theBritish Public that, although they have performed gratuitously andcontinuously for a number of years, they are compelled to retire frombusiness, as they cannot compete with the State-aided spouting whichtakes place in their Square. * * * * * A GREAT "TREAT. "--Public-house Politics at Election time. * * * * * [Illustration: "LE GRAND FRANÇAIS!" JACQUES BONHOMME (_regarding_ M. DE LESSEPS, _apart_). "BAH! I HAVELOST MY MONEY! (_Pause. _) ALL THE SAME, I CANNOT DESIRE THAT HE, SOOLD AND SO DISTINGUISHED, SHOULD SUFFER!!"] * * * * * [Illustration: GALLANTRY REWARDED. _Lady_ (_having had a fall at a Brook, and come out the wrongside, --to Stranger, who has caught her Horse_). "OH, I'M _SO_ MUCHOBLIGED TO YOU! NOW, DO YOU MIND JUST BRINGING HIM OVER?"] * * * * * OUR BOOKING-OFFICE. Books from the publishing house of FISHER UNWIN are always goodly tolook upon, the public having to thank him for something new in form, binding, and colour, in other series than the Pseudonym Library. In anew edition of _The Sinner's Comedy_, just issued at the modest priceof Eighteenpence, he has solved a problem that has long baffled thepublisher, and bothered the public. Few like the appearance of a bookwith the pages machine-cut; fewer still can spare the time to cut abook. Mr. FISHER UNWIN compromises by presenting this dainty littlevolume with the top pages ready cut, the reader having nothing todo but to slice the side-pages, a labour which no book-lover wouldgrudge, seeing that it leaves the volume with the uncut appearancedear to his heart. The story, told in 146 pages, is, my Baronite says, worthy the distinction of its appearance. The characters are clearlydrawn, the plot is interesting, the conversation crisp, and the stylethroughout pleasantly cynical. The author, JOHN OLIVER HOBBES, has apretty turn of aphorism. "A man's way of loving is so different froma woman's"; and again, "Genius is so rare, and ambition is so common. "Here be truths, old enough perhaps, but cleverly re-set. Some people complain that politics are dull. They should read theparliamentary and extra-parliamentary utterances of the Member forWrottenborough. They appear weekly in that rising young paper, the_Sunday Times_, and an extremely readable selection of them has latelybeen published "in book form, " for the enlivening of the Recess. Adapting the Laureate's lines, the Baron would say, -- "They who would vote for an M. P. Whose sense with humour chimes, Will read the Member for Wrottenborough, all in the _Sunday Times_-- A paper our sires paid Sevenpence for, along of its grit and go, Seventy years ago, my Public, seventy years ago!" For whimsical audacity, and quaint unexpectedness. Mr. PAIN, in hislatest book, _Playthings and Parodies_, would be hard to beat. In thisthere is a good back-ground of shrewd observation. He does notpropose to make your flesh creep, or your eyes run torrents. He simplysucceeds in making you laugh. In "The Processional Instinct, " Mr. PAINinforms us that he has discovered that our private life is circular, and our public life is rectilineal. SHAKSPEARE, who, being for alltime, and not merely for an age, recommends this author to the generalpublic when he says that everybody "should be so conversant withPAIN. " _The Memories of Dean Hole_ is rather a misleading title; "but, " saysthe Baron, "I suppose the term 'Reminiscences' is played out. The word'Memories' seems to suggest that someone, whether Dean HOLE, or DeanCORNER, or any other Dean, had more than one memory, as indeed thosepersons appear to possess who mention their 'good memory for names, 'and their 'bad memory for dates, ' and _vice versâ_. _Soit!_" quoththe Baron, in excellent French, "you may take it from me (if I'll partwith it) that the Hole book is by no means a half-and-half sort ofbook, but is vastly entertaining. " The stories of "The Cloth" form themost entertaining part of the work. The Baron wishes success to thiswork of the Dean in Holey Orders, and suggests that the volume shouldbe re-entitled _Gathered Leaves from Dean Hole's Rose Garden_, abetter title than "Reminiscences. " MARION CRAWFORD'S _Don Orsino_ (published by MACMILLAN & CO. ) wouldbe worth reading were it only for the colour of its word-painting, and for its high-comedy dialogue. Yet is Mr. CRAWFORD rather givento pause in his story, for the sake of moralising on the tendenciesof the age; and the reader, patient though he may be, when he hasbecome interested in the personages of the novel, does not care to bebutton-holed by a digression. MARION CRAWFORD'S recipe for commencingan amorous duologue (early in Vol. III. ), which is to lead up to adeclaration of love, is deliciously ingenious. It begins with thegentleman taking a seat, and his first remark is upon the chair. Mr. CRAWFORD evidently remembers the old story of how the tenor who knewbut one song, "_In my Cottage near a Wood_, " used to introduce it intoany scene of any Opera by the simple process of making his entrancealone and finding a chair on the stage. "Aha!" quoth he. "What's this?A chair? and made of wood! Ah! that word! how it reminds me of my'umble home, 'my cottage near a wood. '" Cue for band; chord; song. In this instance, the love-scene, admirably led up to on the aboveplan, is strikingly powerful; it is the work of a master-hand. The_dénoûment_ is both artistically original and, at the same time, ordinarily probable. May all readers enjoy this excellent novel asmuch as has the sympathetic BARON DE BOOK-WORMS. * * * * * CLASSICAL QUESTION. --If some schoolboys, home for Christmas holidays, wanted Sir AUGUSTUS DRURIOLANUS to give them a Christmas Box (not aprivate one at the Pantomime), what Ancient Philosopher would theymention? Why--of course--"ARISTIPPUS. " * * * * * [Illustration: A LABOUR OF LOVE. _The Vicar. _ "AND WERE YOU AT THE BALL LAST NIGHT, MRS. RAMSBOTTOM?" _Mrs. R. _ "OH, YES; I WAS SHAMPOOING EIGHT YOUNG LADIES THERE!"] * * * * * LOCAL COLOUR. Mr. ALFRED AUSTIN, in his new poem, _Fortunatus, the Pessimist_, hashit upon a new notion, to say nothing of a novel rhyme. Sings he:-- "When the foal and brood-mare hinny, And in every cut-down spinney Lady's-Smocks grow _mauve and mauver_, Then the Winter days are over. " This opens a polychromatic vista to the New Poetry. Technical Artcomes to the aid of the elder Muses. The products of gas-tar aloneshould greatly regenerate a something time-worn poetic phraseology. Asthus:-- When the poet, Mr. PENNYLINE, Is inspired by beauteous Aniline, Products chemical and gas-tarry Give the modern Muse new mastery. Mauve _may_ chime with love, and mauver Form a decent rhyme to lover; While (and if not, why not?) _mauvest_ Antiphonetic proves to lovest. (Verse erotic always sports Tricksily with longs and shorts. Verbal votaries of Venus Are an arbitrary genus, And as arrogant as HOWELLS In their dealings with the vowels. _Love, move, rove_, linked in a sonnet, Pass for rhymes; the best have done it!) Then again there is Magenta! Surely science never sent a Handier rhyme to--well, polenta, Or (for Cockney Muses) Mentor! The poetic sense auricular Can't afford to be particular. Rags of rhymes, mere assonances, Now must serve. Pegasus prances, Like a Buffalo Bill buck-jumper, When you have a "regular stumper" (Such as "silver") do not care about Perfect rhyming; "there or thereabout" Is the Muse's maxim now. You _may_ get (bards have, I trow) Rhyme's last minimum irreducible, From dye-vat, retort, or crucible. Verily (as _Touchstone_ says), "I'll rhyme you so, eight yearstogether, dinners and suppers, and sleeping hours excepted. " And if itis "the right butterwoman's rate to market, " or "the very false gallopof verses, " it is at any rate good enough for a long-eared public or apostulant for the Laureateship. * * * * * WAR ON A LARGE SCALE. (_AN ACCOUNT OF THE CONFLICT, FROM THE DIARY OF AN INHABITANT OF HERNEBAY. _) _Monday. _--Extremely awkward--the entire British Fleet have comeashore; and, as it is impossible to move them on account of theirenormous tonnage, this will entail a loss of £24, 000, 000, 000! _Tuesday. _--Troubles never come singly! The French, taking advantageof the temporary suspension of our naval operations, have declaredwar. This means the utter ruin of the bathing season, not only atHerne Bay, but Southend, and the Isle of Thanet. _Wednesday. _--As I expected! The French Fleet are coming up towardsLondon. They are sure to pepper us as they pass. As every gun carriesseveral hundred miles, I do not see how books can be uninterruptedlyissued from and returned to the Circulating Library. _Thursday. _--Our first slice of luck! The entire French Fleet duringthe mist last night came into collision with the Nore Light, and sankimmediately. I was surprised at their sparing the Reculvers and thelocal bathing-machines, but now the mystery is explained. _Friday. _--Just learned that the great gun of Paris, which carriesforty-four thousand miles, is to be tried for the first timeto-morrow. It would have been used earlier, had it not been necessaryto raise a foreign loan to supply funds to load it. Trust it won'tbe laid in our direction. This war has already caused the InsuranceCompanies to double their charges! Too bad! _Saturday. _--All's well that ends well. Hostilities are at an end. This morning all the glass in the windows were broken at 8 o'clock. Ten minutes later the Champs Elysées was deposited half a mile fromBirchington. We now know that the great Paris gun burst on itsfirst discharge, and France exists no longer as a country, but as a"geographical expression" is deposited in various parts of Europe. * * * * * REAL AND IDEAL. --"A Really Hard-Headed Man"--the Iron-skulledindividual now exhibiting at the Aquarium. If his will is as ironas his head, what a despot he would be! If France is tired of herRepublic, she might try the Iron-Headed Man as a ruler. There is thechance, of course, that he might turn out a numskull, and be only KingLog, after all. * * * * * [Illustration: A GENTLEMAN WHO "TAKES LIFE EASILY. "] * * * * * [Illustration: A REMINISCENCE OF THE BASEBALL SEASON. ] * * * * * JIM'S JOTTINGS. ["Do the poor make the slums, or the slums make the poor?"--_Henry Lazarus, in "Landlordism. "_] [Illustration] Is it the poor wot makes the Slums, or the Slums wot makes the poor? Well, that's the question, Guv'nor, and I've 'eared it arsked afore, And the arnser ain't so easy, if you wants to be O. K. Don't suppose as _I_ can settle it, but I'll have my little say. My old friend Mister LAZARUS, now, he ups and sez, sez he, The great Ground Landlord is the great _prime_ cause. "Yah! fiddlededee!" Cries the House-Farmer; "Slums is Slums, acos the Poor is _Pigs_!" "You try 'em, friend philanthropist! They'll play you proper rigs. " Yus, there's two sides to heverythink, wus luck! That's where we're fogged. Passiges like foul pigstyes, gents, and backyards like black bogs, Banisters broke for firewood, and smashed winders stuffed with rags, These make the sniffers slate the poor, Perticular if they're wags. Well, gents, you know, it's _this_ way. Just you fancy yerselves _born_ In a back-slum like Ragman's Rents. 'Old 'ard, don't larf with scorn! Some on us _is_ born there, yer know; it might ha' bin _your_ luck, _If_ yer mother'd bin a boozer, and yer father'd got the chuck. Of course _yourn_ was respectable; _mine_ wosn't; there's the diff. ! Ah! things like this ain't settled by a snort or by a sniff. Jest fancy hopening yer eyes fust time in a dark dive, Or a sky-parlour where a plarnt o' musk won't keep alive. Emagine, if yer washups can, some ten foot square o' room, With a stror-heap in one corner, and a "dip" to light the gloom; With the walls dirt-streaked with damp-lines, outside, a drunken din, And hinside, a whiff of sewer-gas in a hatmosphere of gin. Some on you carn't emagine there's sech 'orrors on the earth; But there are, you bet your buttons. Who'd select 'em for their _birth_? Not you, not me, not no one, if you asked 'em, I expect; But yer place o' birth yer see, gents' jest the thing yer _carn't_ select. If you're born where streets is narrer, and where rooms is werry small, Where you've damp sludge for a ceiling, rotting plarster for a wall; Where yer carn't eat, sleep, wash yerselves, or lay up when you're sick, Without tumbling one o'er tother, wy, yer _sinks_, gents, pooty quick. _Sinks!_ Yes, when wot yer lives in _is_ a sink, or somethink wus; With a drunkard for a mother, and some neighbour for a nuss; With the gutter for yer playground, and a 'ome from which yer shrink, Can you wonder that poor Slum-birds is give o'er to Dirt and Drink. Ah! them two D's goes together. Just you plant some orty Queen In a rookery, in her kidhood, and then tell her to keep _clean_, Wash 'er face, and mend 'er garments, --wich they're mostly sewed-up rags, -- In six months she'd be a scare-crow, 'ands like sut, and 'air all jags. Wot yer washups don't quite tumble to's the fack as like breeds like. If you would himprove Slum-dwellers, at the Slum you fust must strike. Give us small dark 'oles to dwell in, and you must be jolly green If you think folks bred in dirt like, are a-going to keep 'em clean. When the sewer-rats take to sweetening and lime-washing _their_ foul 'oles, And bright light and disinfectants are the fads of skunks and moles, Then poor souls in cellar-dwellings and in jerry-builders' dens, Will be smart as young canaries and as clean as clucking hens. NOCKY SPRIGGINGS guyed me proper, in his chuckly sorter style, With his thumb 'ooked orful hartful, and his chickaleary smile. "JIM, " sez he, "wot price _your_ jabber? Do yer think the blooming blokes Cares a cuss for me and you, JIM, any more than for our mokes? "Shut yer face, you pattering josser! Dirt and Drink is good for Rents! If the Poor _wos_ clean and sober, where 'ud be their cent-per-cents? If it's Public 'Ouse 'gainst Wash 'Ouse, if it's Slumland _wersus_ Swipes, _I_ am on for booze and backy 'stead o' drains and water-pipes. "You may be _too_ jolly clean, JIM, and a precious sight _too_ light, Were's the good to scrub yer skin orf! And if when a cove gits tight, Or would give his donah wot-for on the Q. T. _wot_ a lark If there weren't no 'andy alleys, nor no corners snug and _dark_. "If the Public--_and_ the Slops--wos always fly to wot _we_ done, 'Long o' widened streets and gas-light, wy we'd 'ave no blooming fun. Lagged for larrupping yer missus, nailed for boozing till yer nod? Wy, you jabbering young Juggins, _we should always be in quod!_" 'Ard nut is NOCKY SPRIGGINGS--of the sort as make the slums, 'Cos there ain't much chance for cleanness, or for comfort, when _he_ comes. He's as 'appy in the dirt, gents, as a blowfly or a 'og; Or poor Paddy in his tater-patch alongside of a bog; He'd chop up 'is doors and winders for a fire to 'ot his lush, Don't care a 'ang for decency, and never raised a blush. But, arter my hexperience--and I've 'ad some down our court-- I believe that--fair at bottom--it's the Slum as makes _his_ sort. Anyways I'm pooty certain, if we'd got more light and space, And were not jammed up together in a filthy, ill-drained place; If the sunlight could but see us, and the public _and_ the cops, There would be less booze and bashing, fewer drabs and drinking-shops. Aye, and fewer NOCKY SPRIGGINGSES! I don't go for to say As it's _all_ along o' Landlords, who'd rent 'ell, if 'twould but pay; But I've noticed you find fewest mice where there are lots of cats, And where there ain't no rat-holes, well--yer won't spot many rats! * * * * * THE LAST DISCOVERY. (_A SEQUEL TO A RECENT LECTURE. BY MR. PUNCH'S PROPHETIC REPORTER. _) The enormous crowd cheered again and again. It was furious. Theenthusiasm spread from throng to throng, until a mighty chorusfilled every portion of the land. And there was indeed reason for therejoicing. Had not the great Arctic Explorer come home? Had he notbeen to the North Pole and back? At that very moment were not a coupleof steam-tugs drawing his wooden vessel towards his native shore?It was indeed a moment for congratulation--not only personal butnational, nay cosmopolitan. The victory of art over nature belonged tomore than a country, it belonged to the world! And the tugs came closer and closer, and the cheers grew louder andlouder. Then the vessel bearing the Explorer was near at hand. The crowd joyously jumped into the water, and raising him on theirshoulders, bore him triumphantly to land. How they welcomed him! How they seized his hands and kissed them! Howthey cried and called him "Master, " and "Victor, " and "Hero!" It was ascene never to be forgotten! When the excitement had somewhat subsided, they began to ask himquestions. At last one of them wished to know how he contrived to findthe North Pole and get back in safety? "You intended to drift?" said they. "Great and glorious hero, victorious victor, triumphant explorer, did you do this?" "I did, " was the reply. "And tell us what was your method of obtaining the knowledge you nowpossess? Oh, great chief, how _did_ you manage it?" Then came the answer-- "By sitting still, and doing nothing!" And now it being dark, they separated to illuminate their homes inhonour of the fresh industry--an industry admirably adapted to thatgreat and contented class of the community, the Unemployed! * * * * * 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.