301
Punch, or the London Charivari
Volume 107, December 29th 1894
edited by Sir Francis Burnand
THE COMPLIMENTS OF THE SEASON
(Founded upon the Farce of Christmas
Cards.)
Scene—A London Drawing Room.
Paterfamilias discovered reading
a paper, and Materfamilias
superintending the despatch of a
number of cards.
Mater. (in a tone of irritation).
I really think, John, that, considering
you have nothing earthly
to do this afternoon, you might
come and help me.
Pater. You have said that twice
before, my dear. Don't you see I
am enjoying myself?
Mater. So like you! As if you
couldn't give up that stupid paper—you
declare there's no news in
it—and do me a favour!
Pater. (putting down his paper).
Well, anything for a quiet life!
What is it?
Mater. I am sending a card to
Mrs. Brown.
Pater. (taking up his paper
again). Send it.
Mater. My dear John, do attend.
I want to know what I shall put
into the envelope.
Pater. (giving up paper, and examining
Christmas Cards with
some vague show of interest). Oh,
well—here. (Casually picking up
a picture of a country churchyard
by moonlight). Won't this be the
sort of thing?
Mater. (shocked). How can you,
John! Don't you know that Mrs.
Brown lost her husband only a year
ago?
Pater. Then why are you wishing
her "A Merry Christmas"?
Mater. Well, you see she has
married again, and so I thought of
sending her something with "A
Happy New Year" in it.
Pater. (taking up a card showing
an owl in an ivy bush). Why not
this?
Mater. Well that would be better,
but then she might think that the
owl was intended for a sneer at her
second husband. And then I always
like to keep the happy new
year cards till Christmas is over, as
you can send them afterwards to
the people who have remembered
you when you have forgotten
them.
Pater. But you wouldn't have
"A Merry Christmas," and now you
object to "A Happy New Year."
What do you want?
Mater. Can't you get something
impersonal?
Pater. (taking up card). Well,
here's a yacht in full sail.
Mater. Oh, how cruel! It will
remind her of her cousin who was
lost at sea!
Pater. (selecting another sketch).
Then why not this bouquet of
flowers?
Mater. Not for worlds! One
never knows what the flowers may
mean, and we might offend her.
Pater. (trying again). Well, here
is a windmill.
Mater. My dear John, you are
absolutely provoking. A windmill
is suggestive of frivolity, and I
wouldn't let Mrs. Brown think that
we meant that on any account.
Pater. (making another selection).
Well, here's a parrot in a
cage.
Mater. You surely are not
serious? Fancy sending such a
card! Why, as everyone knows
that dear Mrs. Brown is rather
talkative, all the world would say
it was an "insult."
Pater. (losing patience). Oh,
hang Mrs. Brown!
Mater. I am ashamed of you,
John! And I suppose you would
hang the cards, too! You would
curse "Merry Christmas."
Pater. (promptly). That I would,
and what is more, I would—well
never mind—the glad New Year!
[Scene closing in upon an anti-seasonable squabble.
Disgusted Keeper (who has just beaten up a brace or so of Pheasants,
which young Snookson has missed "clane and clever"—to dog, which
has been "going seek" and "going find" from force of habit). "Ah,
Ruby, Ruby, bad dog! T' heel, Ruby, t' heel! Ah muust
apologise for Ruby, Sir. You see, Ruby's been accustomed
to pick 'em up!"
THREE CHRISTMAS GREETINGS.
Before the fireside's ruddy glow
I sit, and let my thoughts fly free;
Lo, these my Christmas greetings go
To three good friends beyond the sea.
Vain is the winter tempest's wrack,
It cannot keep my greetings back.
Oh wind and rain, and rain and wind,
How purposeless and blind ye are,
Like fate, for fate was surely blind
That bade my three friends range afar.
Like mine, perchance, their fancy strays
To other scenes and distant days.
Dear Frank, I think I see you now,
My flaxen-haired American,
Brave heart, grey eye, unclouded brow,
Two stalwart yards of wilful man,
How oft in laughter and in song
With you I sped the hours along.
Ah me, the days were all too short,
Too swift the unreturning hours
In that old town of Hall and court,
Of ancient gateways flanked with towers,
Where once we feared the near exam...
And dared the dons, and stirred the Cam.
You went, and now expound the law
(As Bumble said, the law's a hass)
And argue, as I note with awe,
For litigants in Boston, Mass.;
And, though you wear no warlike suit,
They call you "General" to boot.
And, Fred, how fares it now with you
In that drear country of the North?
Too great your needs, your means too few,
A whim of temper drove you forth.
On far Vancouver's shore, alone
You hear the sad Pacific moan.
With us, God wot, you little throve;
Your life all fire, and storm, and fret,
Against relentless fate you strove,
But strove in vain—and yet, and yet
God shapes in storm and fire his plan,
And moulds a world or makes a man.
Good luck be yours on that bleak shore,
Some fortunate, some golden prize;
Then be it mine to see once more
Those friendly, lustrous, Irish eyes.
Return and face with us your fate,
The world is small and England great.
You shall return and fill your place,
But never shall I clasp his hand,
Whose bright and smiling boyish face
Makes sunshine in the shadowland.
Yet shall the night my heart beguile,
And let me dream I see him smile.
Your voice I may not hear again,
Oh dear and unforgotten friend,
Beloved, but ah! beloved in vain,
Whom love could mourn, but not defend.
Still take, though far and lost you dwell,
My love, dear Hugh, and so farewell.
And thus before the fireside's glow
I sit and let my thoughts fly free;
Lo, these my Christmas greetings go
To three good friends beyond the sea;
To Frank, to Fred, and ah, to you,
Beloved, irrevocable Hugh.
MR. PUNCH'S CHRISTMAS BOXES.
To Japan.—A piece of china.
To China.—A japanned hot-water can.
To Russia.—A slice of turkey.
To Turkey.—A russia bag.
To the French Republic.—A napoleon or a louis.
To Hawaii.—A sovereign.
To the King of Spain.—Half a sovereign.
To Don Carlos.—A crown.
To King Milan.—Half a crown.
To the German Emperor.—A few notes, and a good mark (for attention to harmony).
To Mr. Labouchere.—An antique noble.
"Sound Critics."—Musical ones.
302
A CHRISTMAS IDYLL.
The Snapdragon Galop.]
TO PHILADELPHIA.
To Resolve his Doubt.
I have no passion to bestow,
My heart no more can beat
Like the caged bird that to and fro
Flutters your hand to greet.
In a sad peace no raptures stir
My twilight years have set,
Embalming but in bitter myrrh
All I cannot forget.
When hope is dead, and sweet desire
And love's brief April rains,
Only the spirit to inquire
Unconquered still remains.
'Tis that that bows my soul; although
I'm prostrate at your feet,
Only because I want to know—
That's why I ask you, sweet!
Suggested Title.—George
Newnes brings out Zigzags at
the Zoo, writ by Morrison
and drawn most humorously
by the Gentle Shepherd. A
good title would have been
Fore-Newnes at the Zoo.
A DOG ON HIS DAY.
(A Pitiful Epistle from Pongo to Mr. Punch at Christmastide.)
Every dog has his day—so they say,—
And mine it seems comes round once a year.
When all the painter fellows mix their blacks and browns and yellows,
And paint me, in some attitude that's queer,
And unnatural, and silly; spilling milk or supping skilly;
With a bonnet or a bib on, or tied up in bows of ribbon!
Oh, the Dogs' "Decline and Fall" might inspire a doggish Gibbon!
And they make me most unhappy, and my temper sharp and snappy,
Do these pictures poor and pappy. I'm a decent doggish chappie,
But in gaudy Christmas Numbers, watching o'er the sloppy slumbers
Of a baby pink and podgy; or squatting scared and stodgy,
Like a noodle of a poodle—oh! its really wretched foodle!—
At a beetle or a frog staring wildly, in a fog,
Or lapping baby's custard, or refusing baby's mustard,
Or dress'd up like a guy, or winking t'other eye,
In a gown, trimmed with down, like a clown,
Or coquetting with a cat,
Or chasing that old rat
Down that everlasting hole in the stable! On my soul,
A dog as is a dog, and not a duffer,
When the Yuletide pictures come is bound to suffer
Endless agonies of shame at the loss of his good name
As the sonsie friend of man, and a watchful guar-di-an,
Not an adjunct of the nursery!
At this happy anniversary
(Mr. Punch)
I could cr-r-r-runch!
The daubers who malign me, and such stupid rôles assign me.
Why, it's worse than hydrophoby!!!
Mr. Punch, do turn on Toby,
As our champion canine to request each painter chap
To turn off the old stale tap of the porridge and the pap, and the
baby in the cap, or the kid (who needs a slap) and the pug (not
worth a rap) in an apoplectic nap, the toy-terrier on the snap, or
a-sniffing at a trap, or essaying milk to lap, like a small pot-bellied
Jap; and all the old clap-trap
Which makes a decent doggy in sheer desperation say
That he'd rather be a kitten with a ball and string to play,
Or live on clockwork rats, or make breakfast on chopped hay,
Or be smeared all o'er with mustard like a cold beef sandwich,—Aye!
Or—whisper!—Bite a Baby!!—on the nose!! in nursery play!!!
Better dare renewed distemper than another Christmas Day!!
For unless I have your promise—and dear Toby's—I much fear
I must spend a pappy Christmas and a yappy New Year!
AN AFTERPART À LA L. C. C.
As the L. C. C. have taken in hand the morals of the music halls,
and shown an inclination to supersede the Lord Chamberlain, it
may be as well to publish a rough sketch of a specimen scene from
the afterpart of a pantomime for the guidance of theatrical managers
desirous of standing well with the successors to the members of the
Metropolitan Board of Works. The "opening" would, of course, be
written by "a serious bard with a mission." No doubt the story
would be told in a manner most productive to the manufacture of
prigs. The transformation over, Clown, Pantaloon, Harlequin and
Columbine would be discovered in a group.
Clown (in the conventional tone). Here we are again!
Bumble (representing the L. C. C.). Scarcely. Allow me to point
out that in future you will be entirely different.
Clown (as before). Come along, old'un; let's make a butter slide.
Bumble. You must permit me to interpose. The Council cannot
recognise any practical joke of the kind. If you wish to have the
same sort of fun, pull up the streets in the most frequented thoroughfares
in the metropolis—the Strand and Fleet Street for choice.
Clown (as before). Oh, here's a baby! Let's smash it!
Bumble. Please accept my advice. The Council do not object to
the keeping down of babies in the abstract. But personal violence is
contrary to the law. If you really wish to decrease the surplus
population, why not work it to death at a board-school? It may
be a slower process than throwing it over a lamp-post, but the
incident will be truer to life, and therefore more convincing.
Clown (as before). Oh! old 'un, here's a peeler coming!
Bumble. Pray be under no apprehension. Until the Police Force
is placed under the direct control of the Council, the members will
do their best to protect you. It stands to reason that a great
community like London should have its own guardians under its
own direct control.
Clown (as before). And now let's jump through this building.
Bumble. Again I must put my veto upon your proceedings. If
you were to jump through that wall no doubt a placard would appear
bearing the legend "Somersault Place." This might be apt, but no
change in the nomenclature of the streets can be permitted without
the direct sanction of Spring Gardens.
Clown (as before). And now let's pelt this house, and all who's in it!
Bumble. Stop, stop! You are attacking our own sacred building.
(To Harlequin). Will you be so good as to change the locale. (Harlequin
strikes building, which turns into the Mansion House.) Now
you may do what you please. For the Corporation of the City of
London is so effete that we have no sympathy for it!
[Scene of bustle and confusion, and curtain.
New Musical Work: Leading Strings.—If it isn't a title it
ought to be for the biographies of celebrated violinists from Paganini
to Joachim.
303
THOSE LANCERS.
Pretty partner, how are you
After such a set of lancers?
No one knowing what to do;
We alone of sixteen dancers,
Knew a figure, one or two.
Pretty partner, how are you?
Seven men and seven girls,
All in such a fog together;
One pair strides, and one pair twirls,
Neither of them knowing whether
That is what they ought to do,
Pretty partner, not like you.
You, who dance so very well,
Slight, and light, and quite delightful,
Belle who bears away the bell;
We were forced to stop, how frightful!
Yet I found one thing to do,
Pretty partner—look at you.
In that lamentable block,
Some poor lout was sure to trample
On the lace that trims your frock,
Though the space of floor seemed ample
Even for his feet which flew,
Pretty partner, after you.
Oh, the links of that "grand chain"
In such desperate confusion!
Feet, not hands, I met with pain,
Stamps on toes, kick, bruise, contusion!
Yet, alive, I've struggled through,
Pretty partner, here with you.
Figures! one alone was good,
That was yours, so slim and charming.
In your company I would
Welcome bruises more alarming.
I would dance till all was blue,
Pretty partner, if with you.
THE ARAUCARIA.
(Reversion to an early Ancestral Type.)
Grigson. "I say, old Chappie, it would puzzle you to Climb that
Tree!"
AT THE WESTMINSTER PLAY
Plaudite! Bravo! Brave!
Domini Quippus et Punnus are
very much alive! A fact that
may be inferred from just one
line (there are more whence this
came) in the Westminsterial
play, when Davus takes Mysis
"the New Woman," for his
wife, and exclaims:—
"O Mysis, Mysis, tu mea Missis eris!"
Surely if the punhating Criticus
Sagitarius (Mundi) were present
he must have staggered out
weeping on hearing the Latin-Anglo-modern-classical
pun! O
shade of 'Arry Stophanes! O
Ghost of Terence (the Corkasian)!
are our youths at Westminster
to start thus on their career, with
nothing better than a poor pun
not worth a punny in their
pockets! Let Sagitarius watch
this youthful punster's line of
life! He will live to be punished!
or to be rewarded as he deserves?
After all, Great Pun is not dead;
he may be dull, commonplace
sometimes, but as he was prehistoric,
so is he immortal.
There is a great future before
the author of the Westminster
epilogue.
Robert Louis Stevenson.
Born November 13, 1850.
Died December 8, 1894.
Brave bringer-back of old Romance
From shores so few may see,
Who oft hath made our pulses dance
With thy word-wizardry.
We wished, who loved thee long and well,
Thy life as endless as the spell
Which lured us lingeringly
To loiter, like a moon-witched stream,
Through thine enchanted world of dream.
We mused, with much-expectant smile,
On that strange life afar,
Flower-girt, in yon Pacific isle,
Whereto an alien star
Had drawn thee from thy northern home,
Scourged by a greyer, chillier foam,
Yet dear as the white bar
Whose snowy break home-haven marks
To battered shore-returning barks.
And now across the sundering seas,
Delayed, unwelcome, dread,
Comes news that breaks our dreamful ease.
The Great Romancer dead?
It comes like an unnatural blight.
That sunny vision quenched in night,
That subtle spirit fled?
One-half our best soul-life seems gone
Out like a spark with Stevenson.
Enough for fame that hand had wrought,
But not enough for those
Who dreamed his dream, who thought his thought,
And grieve that so should close
Fresh-opened doors to Faëryland
Before the poet-Prospero's wand
Had wrought the spells he chose.
Without him amaranth-blooms to cull
The world looks Stygian now, and dull.
Teller of Tales, those southern folk
Their Tusitala hailed.
Samoan hearts may mourn the stroke.
We, who must leave unscaled,
Save in fond fancy, that high peak
Where he is tombed, who, though flesh-weak
In spirit never failed
More than his stalwart fathers,—we
Send half our hearts across the sea.
The lighthouse-builder raised no light
That shall outshine the flame
Of genius in its mellowest might
That beacons him to fame.
And Pala's peak shall do yet more
Than the great light at Skerryvore
To magnify his name,
Who mourned, when stricken flesh would tire,
That he was weaker than his sire.
Teller of Tales! Of tales so told
That all the world must list.
Story sheer witchery, style pure gold,
Yet with that tricksy twist
Of Puck-like mockery which betrays
The wanderer in this world's mad maze,
Not blindly optimist,
Who wooes Romance, yet sadly knows
That Life's sole growth is not the Rose.
Dreamer of dreams! Such dreams as draw
Glad through the Ivory Gate,
In rapt and visionary awe,
The soul alert, elate;
Eblis obscure, Elysium dim,
And a strange Limbo of wild whim,
Upon us seem to wait,
In solemn pomp, when willing thrall
To him who held the keys of all.
Thinker of thoughts, fresh, poignant, fine,
Wherein no wit may trace
That burthen of the Philistine,
Chill, barren Commonplace.
Who hath not felt the subtle stroke
Which can in one choice phrase invoke
The soul of charm and grace,
Haunting the ear like an old rhyme,
A cherished memory for all time?
No more, no more! We shall not see
Again the glorious show;
No more will wake the wizardry,
Nor the charmed music flow.
Samoa's silence holds it hushed,
The voice whereat our cheeks have flushed
A hundred times; and lo!
For happy hours, for haunted days,
We can but pay with sad, proud praise!
Crackers.—Tom Smith, the up-to-date
magician, sends forth from his treasure-cave
"bright things which gleam," but not "unrecked
of"—at least they won't remain so
long, especially if any quiet demon of a schoolboy
with martial aspirations hears a report of
"The Gatling Gun Cracker." The repeating
process will be an uncertain pleasure—to
others. Then "Snap Shots," taken unawares
by a naughty little Cupid—we can imagine the
"Surprises!" Knick-knacks are boomed in
"Ye Olde Curiosity Shop"—but soft! I will
not reveal any further the secrets of the "King
of Crackers." Get them—they are an "Open
Sesame" to a gaiety of delights.
304
ADDING INSULT TO INJURY.
Cyclist (to Fox-hunter, thrown out). "Oi say, Squoire, 'ave you seen the 'Ounds?"
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
A Baronitess junior sends word from the children's quarters that
Your Fortune and Character is an amusing game, told by William
Shakspeare, but published by John Jaques & Co.—evidently not a
descendant of the "melancholy Jaques," for he would have "rail'd
on Lady Fortune in good terms" had the game been at his expense.
Massa Blackie & Son send in a story by G. A. Henty, always so
Hentytaining, entitled When London Burned. We all ken that
when Rome burned Nero fiddled, but this hero—not an 'ero—had
every opportunity of extinguishing—my Baronite means "distinguishing
himself;" and our cavalier availed himself, after many
other wondrous episodes, to rush with warm enthusiasm to throw
cold water on this enlightenment of London. Needless to remark,
he came scatheless through the fire!
From Snowdon to the Sea, by Marie Trevelyan, shows us Wales
in the days of Merlin and mythical superstitions, likewise of queer
doings on the part of bold, bad buccaneers, in whom we seem to trace
something of the origin of the modern Welsher.
A perfect black and white school romance is continued in My Lost
Manuscript, by Maggie Symington (Wells, Gardner and Darton).
Evidently this youthful writer had not read the wise counsels
conveyed in a manual On the Art of Writing Fiction (brought out by
same publishers), or so much ink would not have been wasted. "After
perusing this cheery little book, the much encouraged aspirant,"
quoth our Baronitess with a sigh, "for literary fame, will promptly
lay down the pen and write no more." Good news for the editors.
Miss Braddon, in her delightful story Christmas Hirelings (Simpkins,
Marshall & Co.), hits upon a novel suggestion for those folks
who don't know how to keep the festive season as it should be kept.
Away flies boredom! How? I will not reveal the secret, but if any
nicely suppressed little children possess an average Scrooge-like
relative, take my advice, and present him with this book. The
result will be more than even a child's dream can anticipate. Rather
powder in jam to boys will be The Battle of Frogs and Mice, by
Jane Barlow (Methuen), who is evidently a distant connection of
the immortal Mr. Barlow, with so much kind thought for youthful
learning. It may be Greek to many who have but a dim, far-off
knowledge of the first great burlesque writer: but this his
book will bring it all Homer again to us. Quite a relief to turn to
our dear Nonsense Songs and Stories, by Edward Lear (Frederick
Warne & Co.) Vague yellow undulating pessimism notwithstanding,
how pleasant is real good nonsense! And even the fairy story
cannot be crushed by our juggernaut modern science, than which the
imaginative impossible, as in Thought Fairies, by Helen Waters,
and in the Seven Imps, by Kathleen Wallis, is so much more
attractive to youthful brains. Both books issued by Digby, Long,
& Co., and wise of them to do so. Macmillans issue a splendid new
edition of the wonderful Gulliver's Travels, with over a hundred
illustrations by Charles E. Brock, which ought to make the book
go off like Brock's fireworks. Its very warm cover suggests a seasonable
book, A Righte Merrie Christmasse, by John Ashton (Leadenhall
Press), who, fancying that some of its customs and privileges
might be forgotten, collects all that has been done or could be done
at this annual event. Some of ye anciente goinges on make one
wonder whether feasts were better kept when they spelt with such
unreasonable euphony. It must have been "merrie in halle" when
the wassail song was ordinarily sung as depicted by A. C. Behrend
in his exquisite copper etching.
London Society is peculiarly bright and cheerful this Yuletide,
and keeps up its excellent reputation. A good medley is London
Society. And here is a very bright little Woman this Christmastide.
Quite a festive party with her capital stories and supplement
of "Types of the World's Women." Just "Woman, lovely
woman" in all styles and shades. Without being more vain than
any other average islander, one feels grateful for belonging to the
British group—no offence to the other ladies, to whom we take off our
hat, and, whilst including the rest, salute advancing Woman. "And
it is this New Woman, not the New Woman of the period, whom,"
quoth the Baron, "I salute with pleasure," and to whom he wishes
a happy Christmas and a prosperous New Year, and signs himself
The Genial Baron de Book-worms.
305
READING BETWEEN THE LINES.
(A Physician's Protest.)
Mr. Punch,—As a specialist of some standing and experience,
I wish, Sir, to call attention, through the medium of
your valuable paper, to the injurious effects of a certain occupation
upon the minds of the individuals engaged therein, and
their protection.
The occupation to which I refer is that of devising and
arranging what I understand are technically known as "headlines"
for the contents-bills of the more inexpensive London
evening papers—an occupation which I have no hesitation in
characterising, on evidence unconsciously supplied by the
sufferers themselves, as highly dangerous employment.
I am not sufficiently versed, Sir, to the minutiæ of newspaper
routine, to know what precise class of persons are
entrusted with this particular responsibility, though I have a
strong suspicion that it may be one of the many forms of
degrading drudgery which the selfishness of man has imposed
upon the weaker sex. If so, of course it only increases the
necessity for interference.
And, whoever and whatever the persons performing such
duties may be, it is painfully obvious that they are labouring
under conditions of mental excitement, the strain of which no
nervous system can support for any length of time without
inevitable and complete collapse.
Should there be any who consider this an overstatement on
my part, I merely ask them to give a glance at some of these
same content-sheets which are nightly displayed in our chief
thoroughfares. Let them mark the monstrous size of the
lettering, the peculiar extravagance of the epithets selected,
the morbid insistence upon unpleasant details, and then doubt,
if they can, that the unhappy persons employed in such an
industry are affected thereby with some obscure form of
hysteria. Otherwise, let me ask you, Sir, is it likely, is it
credible, that seasoned journalists, tough men of the world, in
touch with life at innumerable points, could, in a normal state
of health, be so constantly "Startled," "Amazed," "Astounded,"
"Shocked," "Appalled," and "Revolted," as they admit themselves
to be, almost every evening, by reports and rumours
which a little reflection would convince them were utterly
unfounded, or by events too ordinary and commonplace, one
might have supposed, to upset the mental equilibrium of a
neurotic rabbit?
Occasionally, too, there are symptoms of an excessive reverence
for rank, which, when found in the more democratic
organs (where, indeed, they are chiefly observable), denote a
somewhat distempered state of intellect, the delusion apparently
being that the mere possession of any sort of title renders its
owner immaculate. Thus, they announce with awestricken
solemnity "A Peer's Peccadilloes," or "A Baronet Bilks his
Baker," giving these events a poster all to themselves, as others
would an earthquake, or some portent of direst significance.
Now this loss of the sense of proportion in human affairs, Sir, is a
very bad sign, and a well-nigh infallible indicator of nerve-strain
and general overpressure.
But I find a yet more unmistakable evidence in support of my
contention in the extraordinary emotional sensibility revealed by these
headlines whenever some unfortunate person has been sentenced to
death for the most commonplace murder. There is clearly a profound
conviction that the jury who heard the evidence, the judge who pronounced
their verdict of guilty, the only possible conclusion they
could reasonable come to, and the Home Secretary who found himself
unable to recommend a reprieve, were, one and all, engaged in a
cold-blooded conspiracy against a perfectly innocent man. The convict
has said to himself, and that seems to be considered sufficient.
And so, night after night, the authors of these headlines harrow themselves
by announcing such items as "Blank protests his innocence to
his Solicitor." "A petition in Preparation." "Painful Interview."
"Blank Hopeful." "Blank Depressed." "Distressing Scene on
the Scaffold." "Blank's Last Words."
Consider the strain of all these alterations of hope and despair,
repeated time after time, and almost invariably without even the
consolation of deferring the fate of their protégé by a single hour!
Is it not too much for the strongest constitution to endure? a
service which the society has no right to demand from any of its
members?
Yes, Sir, whether these devoted servants of the public know it or
not, they are running a most frightful risk; the word which hangs
above their heads may fall at any moment.
Suppose, for example—and it is surely not wholly an imaginary
danger I foresee—suppose that some day some event should happen
somewhere of real and serious importance. Have they left themselves
any epithet in reserve capable of expressing their sensations at
all adequately? They have not; they have squandered participles
and adjectives in such reckless profusion that they will discover they
are reduced to the condition of inarticulate bankrupts; and, speaking
as a medical man, acute cerebral congestion would be the very least
result that I should anticipate.
Or the determining shock might come from more trivial causes.
For instance, we might lose a distinguished statesman, or an ironclad,
at the very moment when a football match was decided, or when
the professional tipster attached to their particular journal published
his "finals." Think of the mental conflict before determining the
relative importance of these events, and awarding one or the other
its proper prominence on the posters; and then ask yourself, Sir,
whether it is an ordeal that any human being of an impressionable,
excitable temperament should be required to undergo.
What precise remedy should be adopted I do not profess to point
out. Perhaps some one of the numerous leagues established to protect
adult citizens against themselves might take the matter up, and
insist upon these contents-bills being set up for the future in smaller
type and with epithets of a more temperate order. Perhaps Parliament
or the London County Council might be asked to interfere.
All that is not within my province, Sir, but this I do say: unless
some measures are taken soon, the heavy responsibility will be upon
us of having permitted a small but deserving class of our fellow-creatures
to hurry themselves into premature mental decay by the
pernicious and unwholesome nature of their employment.
I am, Sir,
Your obedient servant,
Hippocrates Hellebore, M.D., F.R.C.P.
VERY HARD LINES.
Young Farmer (pulling up at urgent appeal of Pedestrian). "Hillo! That
you, Tim? Want another Situation! Why, I thought you were
living with Captain addlepate as Coachman?"
Tim. "So I was, Sor; but 'twasn't a fair bargin. Shure we was
never to get Thrunk both at wance, Sor!"
Young Farmer (amused). "Well, that seems fair enough, anyway."
Tim. "But, begorra, Sor, the Captin was Thrunk the whole
blissid toime!"
The Rev. Dr. Gee, Vicar of Windsor, is now installed Canon of
St. George's Chapel. Prosit! Our best wish for him is that, when
he is going to give an exceedingly good sermon, may this particular
Gee not discover that he is a little hoarse.
306
MIGHT HAVE BEEN SAID OTHERWISE!
He (to elderly Young Lady, after a long Waltz). "You must have been a splendid
dancer!"
"OH, THE MISTLETOE BOUGH!"
(A New Seasonable Song to an old
Seasonable Tune.)
The mistletoe hung on the brave old oak,
The sickle went clinketing stroke upon stroke;
The lads and the lasses were blithe and gay,
And gambolled in Old Father Christmas's way.
Old Christmas held high with a joyous pride
The berried branch dear unto damsel and bride;
For its silvery berries they seemed to be
The stars of that goodly companie.
Oh! the Mistletoe Bough!
Oh! the Mistletoe Bough!!
"Who wearies of kissing?" the Old Man cried.
"Let her be a New Woman, but never a bride!
Ha! ha! The old custom's approval I trace
In red lip and blue eye upon every face.
It was ever so, since time began.
'Tis the way of the maid, 'tis the way of the man.
'Tis also 'the way of a man with a maid,'
For Cupid's barter's the oldest trade."
Oh! the Mistletoe Bough!
Oh! the Mistletoe Bough!
"They are seeking to-day every new fangled way;
Some tell us that wooing has had its day.
In the highest, the lowest, the loneliest lot,
The gleam of Love's berry makes one bright spot.
And years may fly, as they will fly, fast,
But one good old custom at least shall last;
And when Christmas appears still the maids will cry:—
'See! the Old Man bears the Love-berry on high!'"
Oh! the Mistletoe Bough!
Oh! the Mistletoe Bough!!
"Gather!" he cried, and he waved his sickle.
"Oh! fortune changes, and fashion's fickle;
And youth grows mannish, and manhood old,
And red lips wither, warm hearts grow cold:
But whenever I come, midst the Yuletide snows,
'Tis not Spring's lily, or Summer's rose
Young men and maidens demand, I trow.
But old Winter's white-berried Kissing-bough."
Oh! the Mistletoe Bough!
Oh! the Mistletoe Bough!!
"For lilies wither, and roses pale,
But the Kissing-bough keeps up the old, old tale.
And dull were the world should the old tale cease!
Be it kiss of passion, or kiss of peace,
The meaning when lip unto lip is laid
Is goodwill on earth to man, and maid.
That's Yule's best lesson, good friends I vow,
So reck ye the rede of the Mistletoe Bough!"
Oh! the Mistletoe Bough!
Oh! the Mistletoe Bough!!
So they gather around him with laugh and joke,
'Neath the spreading boughs of that brave old oak,
Which hath shelter for all, from the English rose
To the whitest snow-bell from Canada's snows,
Or hot India's lotus-bud dainty and sweet.
But the cry of them all, as in mirth they meet
Old Father Christmas, as ever, so now,
Is "Hands all round 'neath the Mistletoe Bough!"
Oh! the Mistletoe Bough!!
Our brave, bonny Mistletoe Bough!!!
"OH, THE MISTLETOE BOUGH!"
Father Christmas. "HA! HA! WITH ALL THEIR NEW-FANGLED NOTIONS, HERE'S ONE OLD CUSTOM
ALL AGREE IN KEEPING UP!"
CURIOUS ACCIDENT TO MRS. RAMSBOTHAM.
Strolling through Pimlico the other day
Mrs. R. was attracted by evidence of a sale
by auction going forward in one of the residences
in that desirable quarter. Having
half an hour to spare she thought she would
look in. "I was quite surprised," she writes
to her son, "when I entered the room to see
a gentleman standing in a pulpit which I
knew was Mr. Pipchose, leastway, his
whiskers were not so mutton-choppy; but I
could not mistake him, though meeting him
only once at tea at Mrs. Brown's where he
was very pressing with the muffins. He
looked at me in just the same meaning way
as when he said, 'Mrs. Ram. won't you take
another piece of sugar, though as I know it's
carrying coals to Newcastle?' I'm not above
recognising my friends, wherever I meet
them, and gave him a friendly nod, and
before I knew where I was, I found I had
bought for £3 9s. 6d. a wool mattress; a pair
of tongs (rather bent); a barometer (with the
quicksilver missing); a small iron bedstead;
a set of tea-things (mostly cracked); an armchair,
and a sofa warranted hair-stuffed, but
certainly having only three legs. It wasn't
Mr. Pipchose at all, as I might have known
if I had taken another look at his whiskers,
but only a forward auctioneer."
"The Chinese Government," observed the
City Times last week, "is seeking new
channels for money." Decidedly China is in
straits, and will soon be apparently quite at sea.
307
308
309
TO MELENDA.
(A Repentance in Triolets.)
I swore to you, dear, there was mistletoe there,
Though I knew all the time there was none.
As I stole a sweet kiss from you out on the stair
I swore to you, dear, there was mistletoe there.
I have plenty of sins on my soul, dear, to bear,
But at least I've confessed now to one.
I swore to you, dear, there was mistletoe there
Though I knew all the time there was none.
I am sorry. I never will do it again,
And please am I fully forgiven?
In the future from falsehood I mean to refrain.
I am sorry. I never will do it again,
But look at yourself in your glass to explain
Why to mistletoe tale I was driven.
I am sorry. I never will do it again,
And please am I fully forgiven?
There's an answer you'll send if you're thoroughly kind,
That will make me feel free from all blame.
I hope you'll be glad, dear Melenda, to find
There's an answer you'll send if you're thoroughly kind.
It's this, "Though the mistletoe was but a blind,
Still with none I'd have done just the same."
There's the answer you'll send if you're thoroughly kind
That will make me feel free from all blame.
The Baron's P.S.—The Border Waverley, brought out by
Nimmo, and edited by Andrew Lang, is now concluded, and a
fine set of volumes it makes. No better collection of books as a
Christmas present for anyone with a regard to a future of literary
enjoyment.
Nos omnesne laudamus Nimmo?
Et respondit Echo: "Immo."
"Ha! ha! I don't go to a Westminster Play for nothing
quoth the Baron;" though he added sotto voce, "Yes I do though, as
I'm a guest."
FIRST IMPRESSIONS.
Genoa in November. It is summer time. Put on thin suit, drink
my café au lait by open window, and stroll out into beautiful
Genoa, basking in the sunshine. Déjeuner in the garden of
a restaurant, among the old palaces. Sit in the shade, without my
hat. Think of all the poor people in
London. Wonder if anyone is having a
frugal lunch at the funny little open-air
restaurant in Hyde Park. Lemonade
and a bath bun in a fog. Should imagine
not.
Charming place, Genoa. Hardly any
Germans. Can at last hear people talking
Italian. In Venice there are so
many Germans that one might as well be
in Germany. Sitting out on the Piazza,
one hears incessantly their monotonous,
guttural chatter, always in the same tone
of voice, without inflections, without
emotion, and, worst of all, without end.
Watched at the hotel table d'hôte a German
lady sitting between two German
gentlemen. One man talked loudly without
ceasing, mouth full or mouth empty,
from soup to dessert. The other man,
rather older and feebler, also talked
without ceasing, but he could not equal
the other's noise; he only added to it. As for the lady, her lips
moved all the time; one could imagine the ja wohl, the ach, so? the
ja, ja, ja, but one could not hear a word. At Florence, at Milan, on
the Lakes it is the same. If by chance one hears a Frenchman speak,
his charming language sounds more vivacious and melodious than
ever before. So it is good to be in Genoa, where even the best hotel
is kept by Italians. Apparently every other good hotel in Italy is
kept by Herr Schmidt, or Herr Weber, or Herr Somethingorother,
and all the servants are German also. There is one hotel in Genoa
kept by a German. It faces the harbour. All night long there are
whistles, screams, bangs, rumblings, bumps, roars, and other sounds
from trains, ships, and tramways. All day long there is the same
noise, only more of it. But the Germans do not mind; they talk just
the same, and they make each other hear through it all.
Charming place, Genoa, with a town hall that is the gayest
imaginable. Marble staircases, vestibules adorned with palms,
beautiful little gardens, at all sorts of levels, outside the windows of
the various offices. Everywhere flowers. If the town rates in Genoa
are paid at the Town Hall, the paying of them must be almost
pleasant. One would go with that horrible demand note, if that is
used also in Italy, and fancy that one was arriving at a ball. The
palm-decorated entrance looks just like it. It only needs a lady
rate collector, such as one hears of in England, and one surely, in
whatever manner the Italians may say it, would beg the charming
signora to give one the honour and pleasure of a dance, and scribble
her name on the programme—I mean the demand note. And no
doubt, the Italian officials being leisurely and the space being ample,
one could find time for a waltz in the intervals of rate paying, or at
least sit it out in one of the delightful little gardens of this ideal
Palazzo Municipale.
And so farewell to sunny Genoa, and off to Turin. German hotel
again, German proprietor, German servants. Solitary German
visitor drinking his morning coffee. The hotels of Turin are not
crowded; he and I are alone. What will the poor man do? He
must talk his awful language to someone. He shan't talk it to me,
for I will pretend I do not understand even one word. The waiter
has left the room. Must the poor man be silent? Thunderweather,
ah no! Happilywise he is saved. The considerate proprietor,
thoughtful of his countryman's needs, enters; he stands by the
visitor's table, and the talk begins. When it ends I cannot say, for
I leave them, well started and in good voice, and hear, as I think,
their sweetly melodious phrases for the last time in Italy. The
train carries me away. There is not much more of Italy now, for
here is the Mont Cenis tunnel. Farewell, beautiful country, beautiful
pictures, beautiful language! There is someone leaning out of
the next carriage window. No doubt he is also saddened; he is
speaking to others inside, his voice is cheerful, he is evidently
trying not to give way to despair. Now I hear what he says, "Da
werde ich ein Glas Bier trinken, ja, ja, ja!"
A First Impressionist.
Wanted! a Perfect Cure for the incompatibility of Judges'
sentences.
310
PREHISTORIC PEEPS.
During a considerable portion of the Year the Skating was excellent, and was much enjoyed by all Classes.
311
INDEX
-
Ad Jovem Pluvium, 263
-
Afterpart à la L. C. C. (An), 302
-
"After the Health Congress is over," 71
-
Airs Resumptive, 45, 66, 83, 165, 205
-
All my Eye! 121
-
"All's Well!" 258
-
"All up with the Empire," 183
-
Alpine Railway (An), 95
-
Amare, O! 263
-
Anglo-Russian Echo (An), 95
-
Another Man's Ears, 165
-
Apple of Discord (The), 39
-
Art of Naval Platitude (The), 216
-
As we like it, 25
-
At Last! 18
-
At the Westminster Play, 303
-
"Automatic" Conscience (The), 147
-
"Auxiliary Assistance" in the Provinces, 105
-
Awful Outlook (An), 177
-
"Awkward Customer" (An), 210
-
-
Ballade of Imitations, 11
-
Ballade of Three Volumes (A), 39
-
Ballade to Order, 298
-
"B. and S." at the Savoy (A), 292
-
Bank Holiday Dream-Book (The), 57
-
Battle of the Budget (The), 3
-
Bayard and Bobby, 201
-
Beauties of Bologna, 215
-
Betting Man on Cricket (A), 65
-
Blue Gardenia (The), 185
-
Bowl me no more! 155
-
British Lions, 185
-
Broken China, 192
-
Bygones, 85
-
-
Cabby's Answers, 5
-
Cant v. Cant, 207
-
Certain Cure (A), 145
-
"Challenge" (The), 219
-
Chief Mourner (The), 222
-
Chronicles of a Rural Parish (The), 217, 237, 250, 263, 265, 288, 299
-
Clerical Question for Exeter (A), 183
-
Clio at Salcombe, 215
-
"Clubs! Clubs!" 77
-
Coincidence's Long Arm, 167
-
Complaint of the Modern Lover, 167
-
Compliments of the Season, 301
-
Copperation at Winser (The), 46
-
"Copy," 297
-
Corean Cock-fight (The), 54
-
Counting Noses, 257
-
Counting the Catch, 90
-
Crossed! 251
-
Cryptogrammatist Wanted, 72
-
Curios for the Cricketing Exhibition, 298
-
Curious Accident to Mrs. R., 336
-
Curse (The), 118
-
-
Dangerous Doctrine, 120
-
Day of Small Things (The), 213, 255
-
Day's Ride, a Law's Romance (A), 155
-
Decadent Guys (The), 225
-
Demi-French Octave (A), 47
-
Diary of a Duck, 274
-
Dilemma of the Headless Spectre, 213
-
Ditto to Mr. Courtney, 83
-
Diurnal Feminine (The), 13
-
Dog on his Day (A), 302
-
Dog's Meet, 118
-
Don't "Come unto these Yellow Sands"! 114
-
Doom of the Minor Poets (The), 251
-
-
Eastward Ho! 63
-
Ejaculations, 141
-
Embarras de Richesses, 87
-
End of the Opera Season (The), 57
-
Engagement (An), 264
-
English as she is Crammed, 292
-
Essence of Parliament, 11, 23, 35, 48, 59, 71, 84, 95, 108
-
"Evicted Tenants," 42
-
Extract (An), 281
-
-
Fancy Portrait, 15
-
Farewell to McGladstone, 46
-
Fashion and Felony, 232
-
Femina Dux Facti, 221
-
"Finest English," 113
-
Finishing Touches, 221
-
First Impressions, 192, 204, 238, 252, 264, 273, 287, 289, 309
-
Fizz and Fuss, 298
-
Fly Route to Castles in the Air, 83
-
Following Footsteps, 125
-
Fool's Vade Mecum (The), 273
-
For Arms or Alms? 45
-
"For Example!" 162
-
"Fourth R" (The), 243
-
Fragment of a Police "Report d'Arthur," 177
-
Friend in Need (A), 30
-
From the Birmingham Festival, 186
-
Future Fame, 203
-
-
Gaiety "Sans-Gêne," 9
-
Gay Widow Courted (A), 221
-
General Literary Review Company (Limited), 168
-
Generosity under Difficulties, 291
-
Gilbert and Carr-icature, 240
-
Gismonda, 233
-
Good News, 121
-
"Good Time coming" (A), 27
-
Good Wishes, 36
-
Gossip without Words, 189
-
"Grand National" Trust (The), 47
-
Guesses at Goodwood, 37
-
-
Hanwellia's Answer, 179
-
Hardy Annual at Henley, 15
-
Hawarden Pastoral (A), 96
-
Haymarket Heroine (The), 241
-
Helmholtz, 141
-
Henley Notes, 22
-
Herrick on Rational Dress, 147
-
Hint for the Alpine Season, 74
-
Hopeless Case (A), 135
-
Hopeless Quest (A), 206
-
House-Agent's Dream (The), 270
-
How it will be done hereafter, 89
-
-
Ichabod, 253
-
If not, why not? 169
-
"I'm getting a Big Girl now!" 171
-
Improved and Improving Dialogues, 269
-
Inconvenienced Traveller's Phrase-Book, 82, 125
-
Infant Phenomenon (The), 291
-
In Memoriam, 102; Comte de Paris, 126
-
In Nuce, 159
-
In Paris out of the Season, 133
-
In Praise of Boys, 107
-
Ins and Outs, 213
-
Inter-University Football, 285
-
In the Museum, 141
-
In Three Volumes, 101
-
Invasion of Woman (The), 145
-
Is the Bar a Profitable Profession? 109
-
-
Jap the Giant-Killer, 150
-
John Bull à la Russe, 264
-
John Walter, 232
-
"Judgment of 'Parish'" (The), 267
-
"Justice as she is Spoken in France," 75
-
-
Ladas! 141
-
La Femme de Claude, 42
-
Latest Great Yacht-Race, 29
-
Latest Parliamentary Betting, 25
-
Latest War Intelligence, 276
-
Law of the (Social) Jungle (The), 111
-
Lay of the Explorer (The), 33
-
Lay of the Vigilant (The), 204
-
Lessons in Laughter, 174
-
Letters from a Débutante, 168, 180, 183
-
Letters to a Débutante, 229
-
Lex Talionis, 141
-
Light in Darkness, 162
-
Lines by a Lazy Body, 120
-
Lines in Pleasant Places, 21, 49, 74, 131, 153
-
Lines to a Lady, 253
-
Links (The), 213
-
Literary Intelligence, 121
-
Little Ah Sid, 183
-
Little Flirtation (A), 147
-
Little Holiday (A), 69
-
"Little too Previous!" (A), 102
-
"Living Pictures," 197
-
Local Colour, 210
-
London Bicyclists, 49
-
Lord Ormont's Mate and Matey's Aminta, 37, 57, 61
-
Lord Rosebery in the North, 159
-
Lost in London, 285
-
"Lost Rings," 149
-
Love's Labour Not Lost, 279
-
Lowered! 71
-
Lower Education of Women (The), 11
-
Lunnon Twang (The), 159
-
"Lying Low," 294
-
Lyre and Lancet, 4, 16, 28, 40, 52, 64, 76, 88, 100, 112, 124, 136, 148, 160, 172, 184, 196, 208, 220, 239, 244, 256, 268, 280
-
-
Making of a Man (The), 293
-
Making the Running with the Derby Winner, 169
-
"Man in Armour" to the Multitude, 228
-
March of Civilisation (The), 61
-
Mary Jones, 285
-
"Matrimonial Obedience," 179
-
Matron's Hiss (The), 178
-
Mayen-aisy-now! 233
-
Mayennaise v. Mayonnaise, 203, 209
-
Message from Mars (The), 81
-
Midsummer Day-Dream (A), 30
-
Minx (The), 33
-
Moan from Mitcham (A), 135
-
Mobilised Mandarin (The), 141
-
Modern Madame (A), 27
-
Modern Mangers, 183
-
Modern Society Play (The), 285
-
Modern Tragedy (A), 93
-
Morbidezza, 204
-
More Ornamental than Useful, 73
-
More She-Notes, 249, 276
-
Morgenlied, 145
-
"Moving about in Worlds not realised," 192
-
"Mowing them Down!" 66
-
Mr. Punch on Billiards, 238
-
Mr. Punch on Peeler Piper, 135
-
Mr. Punch to Two Noble Sportsmen, 22
-
Mrs. Prowlina Pry, 195
-
Much Ado about Nothing, 279
-
Muddy Milan, 171
-
Music with a Future (The), 251
-
"Mutes and Liquids," 121
-
-
New Air (The), 87
-
New and Old, 241
-
New Candidate (The), 209
-
New Departure (A), 216
-
New Fashion (The), 167
-
New Heroine (The), 293
-
New Honours, 276
-
New Lamps for Old, 137
-
New Man (The), 167
-
New Nectar (The), 286
-
New Newness (The), 84
-
New Party (The), 18
-
News from Norwich, 131
-
Next War (The), 94
-
Noble Half-Hundred! 94
-
Noblesse Oblige, 1, 75
-
"Nobody Looking!" 246
-
Nomine Tantum, 21
-
Nominis Umbra, 253
-
Notices to Correspondents, 286
-
Not Master of himself though China fall, 74
-
Novelist's Vade Mecum (The), 261
-
Novelties in Gastronomy, 251
-
-
O. B. C. (Limited) (The), 177
-
Ode for the Marriage Season, 131, 142
-
Ode on a Distant Partridge, 138
-
Ode on Sacrifice, 49
-
Ode to Ixion, 82
-
Of Vain Colours, 288
-
"Oh, the Mistletoe Bough!" 306
-
"Oh, you Wicked Story!" 99
-
"Old Offender" (An), 282
-
Old Three-Vol., 63
-
Oliver Wendell Holmes, 191
-
Ollendorfian, 258
-
On a Clumsy Cricketer, 106
-
One Man One Job, 297
-
On the War in the East, 133
-
Operatic Notes, 17
-
Origin of the Blush-Rose, 206
-
Our All-round Exchangers' Company, 197
-
"Our Benighted Ancestors," 132
-
Our Booking-Office, 1, 22, 25, 65 107, 132, 161, 173, 181, 203, 205, 228, 233, 252, 257, 269, 288, 300, 304
-
Our Charity Fête, 60
-
Our "Monthly Pops," 240
-
Our National Defences, 129
-
"Out we go!" 119
-
Oxford and Yale, 48
-
Oyster and the Sparrow (The), 93
-
-
Page from "Rosebery's History of the Commonwealth," 106
-
Partially Unreported Dialogue, 11
-
Pat the Patriot, 215
-
Perils of a Jesting Premier (The), 298
-
"Personally Conducted," 51
-
Phalse Note on George the Fourth, 204
-
Phosphorescence in Art, 24
-
Pier of the Empire (A), 189
-
Pious Lyncher's Creed (The), 120
-
Plague of Poets (The), 121
-
Plaint of the Unwilling Peer (The), 82
-
Polite Guide to the Civil Service (The), 207, 227, 234
-
Political Conference, 231
-
Polychrome English, 193
-
Possible Developments, 203
-
Princely Offer (A), 144
-
Professor of the Period (The), 153
312
-
Puff and a Blow (A), 21
-
Pullman Car (The), 107
-
Punch to the New Attorney-General, 205
-
"Putting his Foot in it," 78
-
-
Queer Queries, 83, 101, 107, 117, 246, 297
-
Question and Answer, 135
-
-
Ranelagh in Rain, 47
-
Rational Dress, 101
-
Reading between the Lines, 305
-
Reflections, 167
-
Remnants, 63
-
"Rhymes," 109
-
Rhyme to Rosebery, 96
-
Rider's Vade Mecum (The), 51
-
Riverside Lament (A), 25
-
Robert and Grinnidge, 94
-
Robert and Unifikashun, 281
-
Robert Louis Stevenson, 303
-
Robert on Amerrycans, 120
-
Robert on the Wonderful Bridge again, 9
-
Robert's Picter, 145
-
Robert's Sollem Adwise, 217
-
"Room for a Big One!" 99
-
Royal Welsh Bard (The), 86
-
Rubenstein, 255
-
Rule, "Britannia," 33
-
Runner Nuisance (The), 125
-
-
Sapphics on Traffic, 117
-
Saturday Pops, 71
-
School-Board Apple-Pie (The), 219
-
Scott on the New Woman, 73
-
Sea-Fairies (The), 122
-
Sea-quence of Sonnets (A), 153
-
Seasons (The), 274
-
Sitting on Our Senate, 106
-
Sequel to the Story of Ung (A), 300
-
Seven Ages of Rosebery (The), 165
-
"Shaky!" 270
-
Silly Seasoning, 110
-
Slight Adaptation (A), 228
-
Slow and not quite Sure, 165
-
Snubbed Professional's Vade Mecum, 289
-
Society for the Advancement of Literature, 89
-
Soft Answer (A), 11
-
Song for the Slogger (A), 117
-
Song of the Impecunious Bard, 131
-
Song of the Leaders (The), 201
-
Song of the Twentieth Century (A), 22
-
Songs of the Streets, 5, 16
-
Sounding the Antitoxin, 274
-
Sport for Ratepayers, 49
-
State Aid for Matrimony, 13
-
St. Leger Coincidence (A), 135
-
Suggested Addendum (A), 126
-
Sunday Lecture Case (The), 285
-
-
Tale of a Vote (The), 201
-
Tale of Two Telegrams (The), 97
-
Talk à la Mode de Londres, 261
-
Talk in Court, 22
-
Teddie the Tiler, 192
-
Tempora Mutantur, 131
-
"Terrible in his Anger!" 159
-
Terrible Transformation (A), 145
-
Thanks to the "Bystander," 133
-
That Advanced Woman! 142
-
Those Lancers, 303
-
"Three Cheers for the Emperor," 297
-
Three Christmas Greetings, 301
-
Tips, 144
-
To a Lady, 294
-
To Althea in Church, 145
-
To Althea in the Stalls, 33
-
To Amanda, 180
-
To a Philanthropist, 105
-
To a Pretty Unknown, 192
-
To a Scorcher, 142
-
To a Surrey Hostess, 85
-
To a Would-be Authoress, 93
-
To a Would-be Despot, 215
-
To a Venetian Policeman, 195
-
To a Veteran Champion, 83
-
"To be taken as read," 77
-
To Dorothy, 108
-
To Hanwellia from Earlswood, 137
-
To her Mother, 120
-
To Lettina, 209
-
To Melenda, 309
-
To Molly, 229
-
To my Beef Tea, 77
-
To Philadelphia, 302
-
To Sentiment, 144
-
To the Oxford Cricket Captain, 17
-
Touching Appeal (A), 234
-
Tree with Variegated Leaves, 277
-
"Tripping Merrily," 143
-
Triumph of the School Board (A), 265
-
True Glory, 276
-
Truisms of Life (The), 287, 293
-
Trust to be Trusted (A), 149
-
Two "General" Favourites, 203
-
Two Ways of Auditing, 206
-
-
Unrest! 174
-
-
Vacuous Time (The), 119
-
Vade Mecum for the Naval Manœvres, 37
-
Vagabond Verses, 219
-
Venetian Flower-Sellers, 191
-
Verse and Choral Summing-up, 203
-
Verses to the Weather Maiden, 93
-
"Vested Interests," 186
-
Village Blacksmith (The), 282
-
"Vive la République!" 6
-
Voice from "the Upper Suckles" (A), 85
-
Volunteer's Vade Mecum (The), 25
-
Vote of Thanks (A), 65
-
Voyage of Alfred (The), 113
-
-
Waiting their Turn, 18
-
War Cry (The), 54
-
Wet-Willow, 107
-
What's in a Name, indeed? 47
-
What we may expect soon, 27
-
Wheel and Whoa! 137
-
Where are you going, revolting Maid? 198
-
Where to go, 82
-
Whims of Amphitryon (The), 245
-
Whither Away? 9
-
"Wigs on the Green!" 126
-
"Winding'em up," 198
-
With Kind Regards, 277
-
Words to the Wise Women, 275
-
-
Ye Gentlemen of Holland, 78
-
Yellow Age (The), 66
-
Yellow Riding-Habit (The), 94
-
Yet another Memoir of Napoleon, 13
-
Young Pretender (The), 138
-
Yule Gretynge (A), 300
LARGE ENGRAVINGS.
-
"All's Well!" 259
-
"Awkward Customer" (An), 211
-
-
Chief Mourner (The), 223
-
Corean Cockfight (The), 55
-
Counting the Catch, 91
-
-
Don't "Come unto these Yellow Sands"! 115
-
-
"Evicted Tenants," 43
-
-
"For Example!" 163
-
"Friend in Need——" (A), 31
-
-
Jap the Giant-killer, 151
-
-
"Little too Previous!" (A), 103
-
"Lying Low," 295
-
-
"Mowing them Down!" 67
-
-
"Nobody Looking!" 247
-
-
"Oh, the Mistletoe Bough!" 67
-
"Old Offender" (An), 283
-
-
"Putting his Foot in it," 79
-
-
"Shaky!" 271
-
-
Touching Appeal (A), 235
-
-
Unrest! 175
-
-
"Vested Interests," 187
-
"Vive la République!" 7
-
-
Waiting their Turn, 19
-
"Wigs on the Green," 127
-
"Winding'em up!" 199
-
-
Young Pretender (The), 139
SMALL ENGRAVINGS.
-
Admiral and his Beard, 275
-
Ambiguous Invitation to the Major, 251
-
Andrew dividing the Orange, 49
-
Animals' Stroll in the Zoo, 81
-
'Arry and Grass Seeds at Bisley, 29
-
'Arry and Li Hung Chang's Feather, 180
-
'Arry and the "Brighton A's," 231
-
'Arry introducing 'Arriet to Bill, 193
-
'Arry on the Lords and the Ladies, 261
-
'Arry photographed on Horseback, 75
-
Art Critic and Child's Sketch, 6
-
-
Baby and Grandpapa's Microscope, 234
-
Bad Dancer's Opinion of Girls, 22
-
Bishop and Boating Clergyman, 215
-
Boy's Mamma who Snores, 126
-
Boy who Lost all his Buttons, 286
-
British Farmer and Ceres, 134
-
British Farmer's Luck turning, 26
-
Broken Venus of Milo, 11
-
Brown's "pretty Flat," 232
-
Bullet-proof Coat for Pet Dog, 41
-
-
Caddie's Idea of Excitement (A), 59
-
Change of Name at Marriage, 167
-
Chick-a-leary Cochin, 201
-
Child Patient and Hospital Nurse, 102
-
Civilisation and War in the East, 62
-
Climbing the Araucaria, 303
-
Clubber's Club, 157
-
Coachman well known at West End, 42
-
Colonel's Nephew's Man-Servant, 155
-
"Constant Reader" writing to Papers, 209
-
Contrasted Couples at Sea-side, 114
-
Country Lady and Major Visitor, 198
-
Cow Stamp on the Butter, 74
-
Cromwell and the Statues, 98
-
Curate at an Otter-hunt, 39
-
Curate sings "The Brigand's Revenge," 283
-
Cyclist startling Fox-hunter, 304
-
-
Dancing Ostrich (The), 165
-
Discussing a Beastly Book, 227
-
-
Engagement Ring weights the Boat, 53
-
Epicure to his Love (An), 181
-
Eton Boy and the Floods, 253
-
-
Fat Diner's Hungry Acquaintance, 297
-
Fisherman's Empty Flask, 73
-
Fond Wife and the Stupid Paper, 82
-
Forgetting whom he took into Dinner, 210
-
French Lady and our Artist's Wife, 30
-
-
German Emperor's Song (The), 178
-
Giving Hunting Mare her Head, 267
-
Gladstone and the Microscope, 254
-
Gladstone and the "Twelfth," 61
-
Gladstonius sings to Roseberius, 230
-
Golfers playing Spillikins, 27
-
Grandma's Friend of Forty Years ago, 150
-
Gutter Children and Cheap Gloves, 121
-
-
Hair-dressing Room in the Commons, 202
-
Harcourt as "Old Kaspar," 2
-
Harcourt's Bills personally conducted, 50
-
Hippopotamus Policeman, 141
-
Hodge and the Apple of Power, 266
-
Housewife and Lazy Tramp, 15
-
Hunter's Seedy Tale (A), 171
-
Hunting Party at a Deep Brook, 279
-
-
Infant's Contempt of Court, 13
-
Invalid and her Lady Visitor, 57
-
Invalided Weather-Girl, 107
-
Irish Chamber of Horrors, 166
-
Irish Jarvey and the Scenery, 24
-
-
Jap Lectures on the Art of War, 290
-
Johnny and Pills in a Pear, 65
-
Jones not Dining anywhere, 36
-
Jones's Handsome Umbrella, 87
-
Justin McCarthy's Anger, 158
-
Juveniles discussing Hats in Church, 138
-
-
Keeper's Dog's Force of Habit, 301
-
Keeper's Remark on Strong Birds, 147
-
Kitchen Improvements in the House, 214
-
-
Ladies "at Home" to Visitors, 246
-
Lady Vocalist's Small Chest (A), 277
-
Laureateship Apple of Discord (The), 38
-
Little Ah Sid and the Butterfly Bee, 182
-
Little Boy and "'Maginations," 207
-
Little Girls and Fairy Tale, 5
-
Little Girl and Five-days' Foal, 69
-
Little Girl and German Doctor, 191
-
Little Girl's Matrimonial "Hint," 107
-
Little Girl's Message to Shoemaker, 144
-
London Boy and J.'s Knickerbockers, 71
-
London Passenger and Paris Porters, 119
-
London Schoolgirl and little Friend, 273
-
-
Major's Cheap Burgundy, 94
-
Mamma and Missie's Age, 78
-
Master discharging his Coachman, 142
-
Maud's Country Cousin on Horseback, 21
-
Miss Golightly and her Partner, 153
-
Miss Grace at a Golf Match, 159
-
Miss Roland's Two Hansoms, 258
-
Miss Unified London's Toys, 170
-
Mr. G.'s Flirtation with Miss C., 146
-
Mr. Punch at White Lodge, 1
-
Mr. Simpkin's Misquotation at Dinner, 54
-
Mrs. Jinks on the effect of Liqueurs, 263
-
Mrs. Pry entering the Empire, 194
-
Mrs. Weaver and the New Chimes, 238
-
Music blending with Conversation, 18
-
-
Nervous Amateur and Stage Fright, 118
-
Nervous Youth and a Clever Beauty, 174
-
New Lord Chief Justice and Punch, 14
-
Newly-Upholstered Room (A), 186
-
"New Woman" Rabbit-Shooter, 111
-
Norfolk Bathers' Scotch Friend, 156
-
Nothing stops a Hard-mouthed Grey, 51
-
-
Old Crossing-Sweeper's Obstinacy, 83
-
Old Lady of Threadneedle Street's Gold, 86
-
Orlando and Rosalind Cycling, 25
-
Ostentatiously Good Fences, 219
-
-
Parliamentary Flying Machine, 217
-
Parliamentary Swimming-Bath, 58
-
Pat and the Kicking Horse, 255
-
"Perambulators not admitted," 131
-
Police making way for Perambulator, 45
-
Postman and Nursery-Maids, 63
-
Prehistoric Cricket-Match (A), 34
-
Prehistoric Dragon-shooting, 262
-
Prehistoric Football Match (A), 190
-
Prehistoric Henley Regatta, 10
-
Prehistoric Highland Stalking, 154
-
Prehistoric Lord Mayor's Show, 226
-
Prehistoric Naval Manœuvres, 70
-
Prehistoric Seaside Resort, 130
-
Prehistoric Skating, 310
-
Professor and Atlas Omnibuses, 287
-
Punch and the Prince on Muscovy, 278
-
Punch and the Sirens, 122
-
Pupil Farmer thrown on his Head, 243
-
Putting O'Flaherty into a Novel, 298
-
-
Rat-tailed Hunter in the Rain, 195
-
Reduced Noblemen in Disguise, 110
-
Result of Sal's Re-marrying, 105
-
Rosebery as Bob Acres, 218
-
Row at the Schoolboard (The), 242
-
Rugby Footballer at a Dance, 270
-
-
Schoolboy and Tragedian, 123
-
Scotch Landlady on Salmon-poaching, 299
-
Scotchman threatens to go to Law, 265
-
Scotch Parishioner and Whisky, 250
-
Scotch Tourists in Search of Dinner, 183
-
Shopping, not Buying, 245
-
Short 'Arry and Long Alf, 149
-
"Shot Over" Pony (A), 237
-
Sea-Lion Ashore (The), 177
-
Seven Miles from Peebles, 95
-
Snapdragon Galop (The), 302
-
Society Crush at Hyde Park Corner, 3
-
Stork as he might have been (The), 213
-
Stout Citizen and Irish Beggar, 229
-
Swell compliments Splendid Dancer, 306
-
Swells discussing Behaviour, 185
-
Swell's Opinion about Stout Ladies, 162
-
Swell suffering from Insomnia, 203
-
-
Taking Lady's Skirt for 'Bus Apron, 291
-
Temperance Enthusiast and Boatman, 274
-
Three Lovers, 90
-
Tommy and his Aunt's Age, 179
-
Two or Three Nice Americans, 66
-
Two Sons passing Examinations, 289
-
-
Vicar's Daughter on Snoring, 294
-
Volunteer Sentry and Rustic, 249
-
Vulgar Boy and little Dog's Tail, 285
-
-
Washing St. Paul's suggested, 206
-
Winning Jockey and Irish Stable-boy, 99
-
-
Yokel's Impression of London, 106
-
Young Couple residing in Hill Street, 222
-
Young Farmer and Groom, 305
-
Young Lady's Ball Presents, 97
LONDON: BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO., LIMITED. PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS
Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation are as in the original.