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The following sections, if they exist, are offprint from Beacham's Guide to Literature for Young Adults: "About the Author", "Overview", "Setting", "Literary Qualities", "Social Sensitivity", "Topics for Discussion", "Ideas for Reports and Papers". (c)1994-2005, by Walton Beacham.
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| Table of Contents | |
| Section | Page |
| Start of eBook | 1 |
| A QUEER CHRISTMAS PARTY. | 1 |
| AWAKENING FATHER CHRISTMAS | 13 |
| A CHRISTMAS CAROL.—(BY A DISAPPOINTED CHURCH-DECORATOR.) | 15 |
I remember coming home and dressing to go out again. Of this so far I am sure. I remember too taking a cab; also the cab taking me. But oddly enough though I dined that evening with a very old friend, somehow I cannot for the life of me, at this moment, call to mind his name or remember where he lives.
[Illustration]
However, the evening was so remarkable that I at once sat down next day to record all that I could remember of this strange Christmas Party. Round the table were Robert Elsmere, Dorian Gray, Sir Alan QUATERMAIN, the Master of BALLANTREE, and other distinguished persons, including Princess NAPRAXINE,—a charming woman, who looked remarkably well in her white velvet with a knot of old lace at her throat and a tea-rose in her hair. Mrs. HAWKSBEE, too, looked smart in black satin, but in my opinion she was cut out by little daisy Miller, a sprightly young lady from America. My host (I wish I could remember his name) carried his love of celebrities so far, that even his servants were persons of considerable notoriety. His head butler, a man named Mulvaney, was an old soldier, who, with the two footmen (formerly his companions-in-arms) had been known in India by the name of “Soldiers Three.”
“It was so good of you to come, although your husband had Russian influenza,” remarked our host to Anna KARENINA, who was seated on his left.
“My dear friend,” she replied, “I was only too delighted; for really my husband cracks his finger-joints so much more lately, and it makes me so nervous, that I often think, if it were not that Mr. WRONGSKY sometimes calls on my day at home, I am sure I should be bored to death!”
“Ah! I know what that is!” said Hedda Gabler, nodding sympathetically. “My husband, when he heard I wanted to come to-day, said ‘Fancy that!’ and I really felt I could have thrown something at him. They are so irritating,” she added, with a glance at Therese RAQUIN who was sitting very silent at the other end of the table softly caressing a fruit-knife.
“Ah!” sighed Dorian Gray, as he dipped his white taper fingers in a red copper bowl of rose-water. “I have had an exquisite life. I have drunk deeply of everything. I have crushed the grapes against my palate. And it has all been to me no more than the sound of music. It has not marred me. I am still the same. More so, if anything.”
“I think we ought to understand one another, perhaps, Mr. Gray,” said Robert Elsmere, with a quick sense of oppression. “I know your opinions of course from your books. You know what mine as an honest man must be. My conscience forbids me to discuss anything.”
“My dear Elsmere,” returned Dorian, “don’t deceive yourself. Life is not governed by Will or Intention. Life has been my Art. I have set myself to music. My days have been my sonnets, and it has not hurt me. I am as good-looking as ever.” And with his cool, flower-like hands, and his charming boyish smile, he lit a gold-tipped cigarette, offering one to Princess NAPRAXINE.
She refused it, but produced a cigar-case, embroidered with the arms of the NAPRAXINES, from which she took a very large cigar.
“I should like to take that fellow out on the river with me,” muttered one of the boating trio to his friends.
“And drown him,” said another.
“Or set Montmorency at him,” said the third.
These Three Men, who, on their arrival, had been rather bashful, had become, during the process of demolishing the Christmas pudding with fire-brandy sauce, to which they helped themselves plentifully, the most cheerful of all the company. They talked and laughed loudly, alluded to Mr. Elsmere as “Old Square-toes”; and made no more disguise of the evident admiration with which Mrs. HAWKSBEE had inspired them, than they did of the violent dislike they had conceived for Mr. Gray.
They were growing less and less able to control their actions, and I was not sorry when the time arrived for the ladies to retire, which they did rather earlier than they had intended doing, owing to a sudden display of ill-temper on the part of Diana of the Crossways. They all withdrew, with the exception of the Princess, who, alleging that it was a Russian custom, remained with us, smoking, and drinking kuemmel out of a Samovar. Immediately upon the departure of the ladies, Robert Elsmere resumed his argument.
“I have not,” he said, in a low tone, “rooted up the most sacred growths of life as a careless child devastates his garden.”
“I have never yet heard of a DURRISDEER who was a turn-coat or a spy,” remarked the Master of BALLANTREE, casually.
“Ah! but that is another story,” objected Colonel Gadsby, stroking his long moustache.
“I can believe anything,” said Dorian Gray, “as long as it is quite incredible.”
“Oh! Then you’d believe that story old Batt, the fisherman, told us about the pike at Goring!” said one of the trio, with a contemptuous laugh.
And here we come to the unfortunate incident which broke up our party. I shall always blame the Princess for this. If she had gone to the drawing-room with the other ladies, it would never have happened. It appears that she considered herself insulted by a remark of DORIAN’s, which I thought innocent enough. I think it was, that “All Art is quite useless.”
Why she should have taken this so personally—whether she thought he was alluding to her Narcissus-like complexion, or her wealth of luminous hair—I cannot say. At any rate—though I would not have it even whispered to poor little Jim, who, being far from well, had been quite unable to leave his sofa,—I say, at any rate, I, for one, felt convinced that the Princess had taken quite as much kuemmel as was good for her, otherwise, how could any one, except my old friend Alice de VONDERLAND account for her urging the Three Men, already far gone, to go still farther, and to “Protect her honour,” as she termed it, “by wiping out the insult offered to the NAPRAXINES!”
The Three Men took the suggestion literally. A wild scene ensued. Shouting wildly, “We’ll spoil your beauty for you!” one tore the flower out of DORIAN’s coat, another threw the red copper bowl of rose-water at his head, a third, with the uncommonly vulgar exclamation, “Art be blowed! we’ll show you some science!” struck the unfortunate man a violent blow on the nose with his clenched fist.
How the scene might have ended but for the sudden intervention of Mulvaney and his companions, I cannot say. In the strangest dialect, and with the most uncouth oaths, they literally “went for” the Three Boating Men. The aquatic champions were completely demolished by the Soldiers Three.
In the words of the butler, “Their shirt-fronts were crumpled ’orrid.” The three youths, in a pitiable state, left the house with the Princess, and went off all together in a droschki, the driver of which wore a badge on which was inscribed, “Josef HATTONSKI. By Order of the Czar.” Dorian had already escaped, bearing on his handsome countenance the impress of fists and the stains of flattened mince-pies.
For my own part ... I don’t know how I managed to get away. I suppose I must have been rendered insensible by a candlestick which was thrown at me. At all events, I found myself on the floor, having tumbled out of bed ... But how I had ever got to bed I do not remember. It may be I shall never discover the truth of it all. Stay!—had I been hypnotised? If so, when, where, and by whom?
* * * * *
An anti-Hiss-trionic bird.
A “Par” in the Daily News last Thursday told how the Antipodaeans had presented Miss Nellie Farren with “a Laughing Jackass.” What a time he’ll have of it! Always in fits, and perhaps the merry bird will at last “die o’ laughin’”! For it is a biped and not a quadruped; not that as a biped “the Laughing Jackass” is by any means a lusus naturae. This bird, not probably unfamiliar with the “’Oof Bird” of sporting circles, is, it is said, “a foe to snakes.” Excellent omen this for Miss Farren. Laughter everywhere, and no hissing permitted. If hissing heard anywhere, up starts the Laughing Jackass and down he comes on the snake, and there’s an end of the hissing. Theatrical Managers would do well to cultivate the Laughing Jackasses, and keep a supply always on the premises.
* * * * *
’Arry on Arrius.
WITH SOME CONSIDERATION CONCERNING COMPULSORY CLASSICS.
[Illustration]
Dear Charlie,—O,
ain’t I a daisy? Excuse your old
pal busting forth;
But my name’s going hup like a rocket;
it’s spreading east, west, south,
and north.
Like that darned hinfluenza, but more
so; and now, s’elp me scissors, I
find
I was famous afore I was born!
Sounds a licker, but ’anged if I
mind.[1]
Dan the Dosser, a reglar Old Clo’
at dead langwidges, classicks, and such,
Says it’s met’em-see-kosis—a
thing as to me, mate, is jest Double Dutch,
Means a soul on the shift, as it were,
Charlie, tryin’ fust this form,
then that,
So that ‘Arry, who once was
a donkey, might some o’ these days be a rat!
Leastways so the Dosser explains it, of
course it is all Tommy rot.
Rummy thing ‘ow a cram o’
the Classicks do make yer a reglar crackpot.
Dosser hain’t no more genuine savvy,
he hain’t, than a ‘aporth o’ snuff;
But he’s up to the lips-like in
Latin, and similar old-fashioned stuff.
Seems some old Latin cove called cat
ULLUS—a gayish old dog I should
say
Knew a party called Arrius!—bless
’im!—as lived in that rum Roman day,
And cat ULLUS he hups and he scribbles
a “carmen”—wich then meant a
song,
Not a hopera, Charlie—about
him along of some haitches gone wrong.
Like cat ULLUS’s cheek, if
you arsk me! That haitch bizness gives me the
’ump.
There isn’t a hignerent mug, or
a mealy-mouthed mutton-faced pump
Who ’as learned ’ow to garsp
hout a He-haw! in regular la-di-dah style,
But’ll look down on “’Arry
the haitchless,” and wrinkle his snout in a
smile.
Yah! Haitches ain’t heverythink,
Charlie, no, not by a jugfull they hain’t.
And yer “H-heah! H-hold
my H-h-horse!” sort o’ sniffers
would screw
hout big D.’s
from a saint.
What’s the hodds, arter all?
If you’re fly to the true hend of Life, wich
is larks,
You may pop in yer haitches permiskus,
in spite of the prigs’ rude remarks.
The old Roman geeser, cat ULLUS,
who wrote that de Arrio bosh,
Wos a poet, of course, and a classick,
two things as to-day will not wash;
Bet yer boots Master ARRIUS ’ad
’im on toast, the old mug, every time,
And that’s why he took his revenge
like, in verse without reason or
rhyme.
Young ARRIUS’s huncle, he tells
us, talked similar patter. No doubt!
Havunculus hejus, I reckon, knew
wot he was dashed well about.
I say bully for LIBER, and chance it.
’Tain’t whether you say Hill or
’Ill,
It’s whether you’re able to
climb it; and that’s where the prigs git
their pill.
There’s a party who, in the St.
James’s Gazette, dear old pal, ’tother
day,
Took my name, not pertikler in
vain, though, and called hisself “’ARRY
B.A.”
Wrote smart, he did, CHARLIE, and slick-like,
but “’ARRY B.A.” isn’t Me!
No fear! ’ARRY’s not
sech an A double S as to want a “Degree.”
I know wot’s wuth knowin’,
I reckon, and wot I don’t know I can learn,
Without mortar-board ’ats and black
bedgowns, or stuffing my brains till
they turn.
To be well in the know is my maxum,
but as for “Compulsory Greek,”
Would it give me, I wonder, a hextry “compulsory”
two quid a week?
Wy, I knew an old ’atchet-faced
party, as lodged in our ’ouse years ago,
Oozed Greek as a plum-tree does
gum-blobs; trarnslated for BUFFINS & Co.,
The popular publishers, CHARLIE.
I know ’twas a dooce of a grind
For poor MAGSWORTH to earn fifteen quid,
and at last he went hout of ’is
mind.
Yus, died of a softening, they told us,
through sitting up six months on
end
At a book of Greek plays. Poor old
buffer, he hadn’t five pounds nor a
friend;
But Degrees? He fair rolled in ’em,
CHARLIE! He offered to teach me a lot,
But one lesson in Greek settled me; it’s
the crackjorest speshus of rot!
ARRY STUFFY KNEES sounds pooty ropy; he’s
one of their classickal pets;
Old THOOSY DIDES, too, he’s another.
In high Huniwarsity sets
They chuck ’em in chunks at each
other, like mossels of Music ’All gag,
And at forty they’ve clean slap
forgot ’em! I want to know where comes
the swag?
Hedgercation is all very proper, purviding
it gives yer the pull
Hover parties as don’t know the
ropes, in a market that’s mostly too full;
But this Classick kerriculum’s kibosh,
Greek plays, Latin verse and all
that.
All CAT ULLUS’s haitches won’t
’elp yer, if Nature ’as built yer a flat!
Though ARRIUS’s haspirates rucked,
and made Mister CAT ULLUS chi-ike,
He was probably jest such a rattler as
poets and prigs never like,
When a chap knows ’is book, piles
the ochre, perhaps becomes pal to a
Prince,
Lor! it’s wonderful ’ow a
dropped haitch or two do make the
mealy-mouths wince.
Wot’s a haitch but a garsp, arter
all? Yer swell haspirate’s only a
breath,
Yet, like eating green peas with a knife,
it scumfoodles the sniffers to
death,
As a fack the knife’s ’andiest,
fur, and there’s many a haitch-screwing
toff
Who would find patter easier biz if the
motter was “haspirates is hoff!”
The ’Igher Hedgercation means
“savvy”; you size up the world, patter
slang,
Hit slick, give what for, and Compulsory
Latin and Greek may go ’ang.
That’s “modernity,”
CHARLIE! Style, modesty, taste? Oh, go ’ome
and eat
coke!
Old STUFFY KNEES wouldn’t ’ave
tumbled, you bet, to a Music ’All joke.
“Jest fancy a gentleman not knowing
Greek!” So a josser named FROUDE
Said some time ago. Oh Gewillikens!
Must ha’ bin dotty or screwed.
A modern School Master could hopen his
hoptics a mossel, you bet;
Greek’s corpsed, and them graduate
woters will flock to its funeral yet.
“We’re going to plant it to-morrer!”
That comic song ’its it at once.
“Attic lore” will be blowed
attic-high; and the duffers who dub you a
dunce
’Cos yer ’OMER, or haitches,
is quisby, in Rome or in London, will know
That ARRIUS—or ’ARRY—romps
in while CAT ULLUS is stopping to blow.
As to ARRIUS, I wish I’d ’ave
knowed ’im, no doubt we’d ’ave palled
up
to-rights,
And ‘ave chivied CAT ULLUS together,
like one o’ them broken-nosed frights
Saps call elassick busts; stone Aunt Sallies
fit only for cockshies, dear
boy,
Wich to chip out my name on their cheeks
is a barney I always enjoy.
Your Cockney eternal? No doubt!
And a jolly good job, I should say;
It’s much more than yer conkey old
Classicks, for they ’ave about ’ad
their day.
You may stuff college ganders with all
the compulsory cram as they’ll
carry,
And then it’s yer fly bird
as scores off ’em, whether that’s ARRIUS
or
’ARRY.
[Footnote 1: See article, “’Arry in Rome and London,” in last Number of Punch.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: DRAWING THE LINE.
Judge. “REMOVE THOSE BARRISTERS. THEY’RE DRAWING!”
Chorus of Juniors. “MAY IT PLEASE YOUR LUDSHIP, WE’RE ONLY DRAWING—PLEADINGS.”
("Mr. Justice DENMAN said that he saw a thing going on in Court that he could not sanction. He saw Gentlemen of the Bar making pictures of the witness. Let it be understood that he would turn out any Gentleman of the Bar who did so in future.”—Daily Paper, Thursday, December 17.)]
* * * * *
A DIPLOMATIC ON DIT.
Where LYTTON lately ruled supreme,
A Marquis will direct affairs.
Congratulations, then, to him
And to ourselves in equal
shares.
But stranger paradox than this
Most surely there has never
been,—
We send a most distinguished man,
Yet only put a Duffer in!
* * * * *
THE BISHOP AND THE SEA-SERPENT.
["The Bishop of Adelaide, in writing to a colonial friend, states that while riding along the sea-beach he came across a dead sea-serpent, about 60 feet in length.... The Bishop describes his ‘find’ as the most peculiar animal he has ever seen.”—Daily Paper.]
The Bishop saw the Serpent
A lying very near—
“Now, in the name of truth,”
says he,
“We’ll have no
lying here.”
It was the Great Sea-Serpent,
Stretched out upon the shore—
It measured—well, no matter
what,
It was all that, and more.
“He’s dead! the Great Sea-Serpent!”
The Bishop cried, with glee,
“And now there is no Serpent
Within my present See.”
’Tis scotched, not killed; for,
sure as fate,
We’ll fifty bet to five,
That, when the Season’s dead, The
Great
Sea-Serpent will revive.
* * * * *
HIS GREATEST PLEASURE.
["My greatest pleasure will
be to think of you, Mr.
ROGERS.”—Grossly
unfair extract from the Newspaper Report of
Mr. Goschen’s Speech
on Girls’ Education.]
In gilded halls some take their ease,
In song and dance they find
delight;
And there are those whom banquets please,
And masques and revelry by
night.
Such gauds are wearisome to me;
And wilder lures of dice or
drink
Attract me not; my maddest glee
Is to sit still and think.
I think and think; the world grows less,
And Budgets seem but worthless
toys;
For I am lost in happiness,
In my ecstatic joy of joys.
Ah, Mr. ROGERS, blessed name,
Let me think on till all is
blue,
For pow’r is naught, nor wealth,
nor fame,
Compared with thoughts of
you.
* * * * *
THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS.
NO. XX.
SCENE—The interior of a covered gondola, which is conveying CULCHARD and PODBURY from the Railway Station to the Hotel Dandolo, Venice. The gondola is gliding with a gentle sidelong heave under shadowy bridges of stone and cast-iron, round sharp corners, and past mysterious blank walls, and old scroll-work gateways, which look ghostly in the moonlight.
Culch. (looking out of the felze window, and quoting conscientiously).
“I saw from out the wave her structures
rise,
As from the stroke of the enchanter’s
wand.”;
Podb. For rest, see guide-books, passim, eh? Hanged if I can see; any structures with this thing on, though! Let’s have it off, eh? (He crawls out and addresses Gondolier across the top.) Hi! Otez-moi ceci, entendez-vous? (Drums on roof of felze with fists; the Gondolier replies in a torrent of Italian.) Now a London cabby would see what I wanted at once. This chap’s a fool!
[Illustration: “Hi! Otez-moi ceci!”]
Culch. He probably imagines you are merely expressing your satisfaction with Venice. And I don’t see how you expect him to remove the entire cabin here! (PODBURY crawls in again, knocking his head.) I think we did well to let the—the others travel on first. More dignified, you know!
Podb. Um—don’t see any particular dignity in missing the train, myself!
Culch. They won’t know it was not intentional. And I think, PODBURY, we should go on—er—asserting ourselves a little while by holding rather aloof. It will show them that we don’t mean to put up with—
Podb. Don’t see that either. Not going to let that beast, VAN BOODELER have it all his own way!
Culch. Surely you know he decided suddenly to stay at Vicenza? He said so at breakfast. But I will not have your friend BOB perpetually—
Podb. At breakfast? Oh, I came down late. Vicenza, eh? Then he’s out of it! Hooray! But as for BOB, he’s all right too. Oh, I forgot you cut dejeuner. HYPATIA had another squabble with Miss TROTTER, and poor old BOB got dragged into it as usual, and now they ain’t on speaking terms.
Culch. (overjoyed). You don’t say so! Then all I can say, PODBURY, is that if we two can’t manage, in a place like this, to recover all the ground we have lost—
Podb. More water than ground in a place like this, eh? But I know what you mean—we must be duffers if we don’t leave Venice engaged men—which we’re not as yet, worse luck!
Culch. No—but we shall be, if we only insist upon being treated seriously.
Podb. She treats me a devilish deal too seriously, my boy. But there, never mind—things will go better now!
SCENE—A double-bedded
room in the Grand Hotel, Dandolo,
which PODBURY and CULCHARD
have to share for the night.
Podb. (from his bed, suspiciously, to CULCHARD, who is setting fire to a small pastille in a soap-dish). I say, old chappie, bar fireworks, you know! What the deuce are you up to over there?
Culch. Lighting a “fidibus.” Splendid thing to drive out mosquitoes. (The pastille fizzes, and begins to emit a dense white smoke, and a suffocating odour.)
Podb. (bounding). Mosquitoes! It would drive a dragon out. Phew—ah! (CULCHARD closes the window.) You don’t mean to say you’re going to shut me up in this infernal reek on a stifling night like this?
Culch. If I didn’t, the mosquitoes would come in again.
Podb. Come in? With that pastille doing the young Vesuvius! Do you think a mosquito’s a born fool? (He jumps out and opens the window.) I’m not going to be smoked like a wasps’ nest, I can tell you!
Culch. (calmly shutting it again, as PODBURY returns to bed). You’ll be grateful to me by-and-by.
[Slips between his mosquito-curtains
in a gingerly manner,
and switches off the electric
light. A silence.
Podb. I say, you ain’t asleep, are you? Think we shall see anything of them to-morrow, eh?
Culch. See? I can hear one singing in my ear at this moment. (Irritably.) You would open the window!
Podb. (sleepily). Not mosquitoes. I meant HYPATIA, and the—haw—yaw—TROTTERS.
Culch. How can I tell? (Second silence.) PODBURY! What did I tell you? One’s just bitten me—the beast! (He turns on the light, and slaps about frantically). I say, I can hear him buzzing all over the place!
Podb. So can I hear you buzzing. How the dickens is a fellow to get to sleep while you’re playing Punch and Judy in there?
Culch. He’s got me on the nose now! There’s a lot outside. Just turn off the light, will you? I daren’t put my arm out. (To Mosquito.) You brute! (To Podb.) PODBURY, do switch off the light—like a good fellow!
Podb. (dreamily). Glass up, Gondolier ... stifling in this cab ... drive me ... nearest Doge. [He snores.
Culch. Brutal selfishness! (Turns out the light himself.) Now if I can only get off to sleep while that little beast is quiet—
Mosquito (ironically, in his ear). Ping-a-wing-wing!
Same Scene; the next morning.
Culch. (drawing PODBURY’s curtains). Here, wake up, PODBURY—it’s just eight. (PODBURY sits up, and rubs his eyes.) I’ve had a horrible night, my dear fellow! I’m stung to such an extent! But (hopefully) I suppose there’s nothing to show particularly, eh? [Presenting his countenance for inspection.
Podb. Not much of your original features, old fellow! (He roars with laughter.) You’ve got a pair of cheeks like a raised map!
Culch. It—it’s going down. Nothing to what it was, half an hour ago!
Podb. Then I’m jolly glad you didn’t call me earlier, that’s all!
Culch. It does feel a little inflamed. I wonder if I could get a little—er—violet powder, or something—?
Podb. (with a painful want of sympathy). Violet powder! Buy a blue veil—a good thick one!
Culch. What sort of impression do you suppose I should get of Venice with a blue veil on?
Podb. Can’t say—but a pleasanter one than Venice will get of you without it. You don’t mean to face the fair Miss TROTTER while you’re like that, do you?
Culch. (with dignity). Most certainly I do. I am much mistaken in Miss TROTTER if she will attach the slightest importance to a mere temporary—er—disfigurement. These swellings never do last long. Do they now?
Podb. Oh, not more than a month or so, I daresay, if you can keep from touching them. (He laughs again.) Excuse me, old chap, but I just got you in a new light. Those mosquitoes have paid you out for that pastille—by Jove, they have!
Landing-steps entrance of the Hotel. Nine A.M.
Culch. (coming out a little self-consciously, and finding Mr. TROTTER). Ah, good morning! What are your—er—impressions of Venice, Mr. TROTTER?
Mr. Trotter (thoughtfully). Well, I’m considerable struck with it, Sir. There’s a purrfect freshness and novelty about Vernis that’s amusing to a stranger like myself. We’ve nothing just like this city out West. No, Sir. And how are—(Becomes aware of CULCHARD’s appearance.) Say, you don’t look like your slumbers had been one unbroken ca’m, either! The mosquitoes hev been powerful active makin’ alterations in you. Perseverin’ and industrious insects, Sir! Me and my darter have been for a loaf round before breakfast. I dunno if you’ve seen her yet, she’s—.
Miss T. (coming out from behind). Poppa, they’ve fixed up our breakf—(Sees CULCHARD, and turns away, covering her face). Don’t you turn your head in this direction, Mr. CULCHARD, or I guess I’ll expire right away!
Culch. (obeying, wounded). I confess I did not think a few mosquito-bites would have quite such an effect upon you!
Miss T. You’re vurry polite, I’m sure! But I possess a hand-mirror; and, if you cann’t bear to look me in the face, you’d better keep away!
Culch. (takes a hasty glance, and discovers, with a shock, that she is almost as much disfigured as himself). Oh, I—I wasn’t—(With an effort of politeness.) Er—I hope you haven’t been inconvenienced at all?
Miss T. Inconvenienced! With haff-a-dozen healthy mosquitoes springing a surprise party on me all night! I should guess so. (Noticing C.’s face.) But what in the land have you been about? Well, if that isn’t real tact now! I reckoned I’d been dealt a full hand in spots; but now I’ve seen you, I guess there’s a straight flush against me, and I can just throw up. But you don’t play Poker, do you? Come along in, Poppa, do. [She goes in with Mr. T.
Culch. (alone, disenchanted). I could not have believed any amount of bites could have made such a terrible difference in her. She looks positively plain! I do trust they’re not permanent, or really—! [He gazes meditatively down on the lapping water.
* * * * *
“WILLIAMS ON WHEELS.”
[At Bridgend County Court, on the 16th inst., Judge WILLIAMS had to hear an action in which 50l. was claimed as compensation for damages caused by careless driving. The evidence of one important witness having still to be heard when the hour arrived for the Judge to leave by train, his Honour, with the legal advocates and the remaining witnesses, travelled together to Llantrissant, the witness giving his evidence en route. On reaching Llantrissant, Judge WILLIAMS gave his decision in the station-master’s office, finding for the plaintiff.—Daily Paper.]
SCENE—Interior of a Saloon Carriage, shortly after the innovation started by Judge WILLIAMS, has come into general favour. Judge seated on portmanteau at one end. Parties to suit glare at each other from opposite sides. Usher, Witnesses, Counsel, &c.
Judge._ Usher, that is the third time the engine-driver has blown his whistle! Tell him that on the very next occasion I shall send him to prison for contempt of court.
Usher. Yes, m’lud. [Exit Usher.
Facetious Counsel. The noise is so deafening, we might even call it a “part-heard case.” [Laughter.
Judge. Well, let’s get on. (To Witness.) You say you actually saw the prisoner mix the arsenic with the Madeira?
Witness. I did, m’lud.
Judge. Well, Gentlemen of the Jury, perhaps we had better, as a matter of form, have the prisoner before us. By the bye, where is the prisoner?
Usher (returning). I believe he’s in the dog-box, m’lud. They had to put him there, he was so refractory in the guard’s van.
Judge. That shows the advantages of this new way of going Circuit. A dog-box is just the sort of receptacle for a person accused of murder in the first class—I mean in the first degree. When do we get to Blankchester Junction?
Foreman. In a quarter of an hour, m’lud, by my time-tables. And I should like to say that most of the Jury wish to get out there—they feel the oscillations of this carriage so much. If your Lordship would sum up now—
Judge (with alacrity). Quite so. Blankchester is a convenient place for me to alight, I think.
[Sums up lucidly in about
five minutes, and Jury at once
brings in verdict of Guilty
of Manslaughter.
Judge (surprised). Manslaughter, Gentlemen! Perhaps, after all, I was wrong in not summing up in the Booking-Office. It would have given time for more consideration. [Awful collision occurs.
Judge (at bottom of an embankment). Usher, Usher! I haven’t pronounced sentence yet! Bring the prisoner before me!
Usher (wounded). Beg your Lordship’s pardon—prisoner’s escaped!
Judge. Escaped? Well, I can sentence him in his absence quite as well. Oh, dear, my back is bad! Those law-books came down on the top of me, I believe. The sentence of the Court is that the prisoner be imprisoned, when found, for three years.
Facetious Counsel (turning up from a heap of wreckage). As a First Class misdemeanant, of course?
Judge (catching the spirit of the joke). First Class! No—Third Class, for Portland! [Left on Circuit.
* * * * *
ONLY FANCY!
Members of the House of Commons have read with a thrill of interest Lord HENRY BRUCE’s letter to his constituents, announcing his intention not to offer himself for re-election in North West Wilts. Full five years Lord HENRY has sat in the House. He has rarely joined in debate, but the manner of his occasional interposition was always notable. He slowly rose, placed one hand in his trousers’ pocket, looked round the House and said nothing. Then, when the SPEAKER was about to call on someone else, Lord HENNY blurted forth a few sentences, the end generally coming first, and having apparently said about half what he meant to say, abruptly sat down. But the House, with keen instinct, always recognised the heaven-born orator, and knew his time would come. It has come with the opportunity of writing this letter,
* * * * *
[Illustration: The Editor of the “Welsh Review.”]
We are glad to learn that Lord HENRY BRUCE’s retirement from Parliamentary life does not imply absolute withdrawal from public affairs. Since the appearance of his letter, there has been a rush upon him by able Editors and Magazines. He has undertaken to write to the Twentieth Century an Article on “Recent Ministerial Appointments.” Mr. BOWEN ROWLANDS, M.P., Q.C., has also been in communication with him. “The very man for the Welsh Review,” says the enthusiastic Editor.
* * * * *
We learn from a reliable source that LORD HENRY BRUCE has intimated to Mr. AKERS-DOUGLAS that, in the event of his being selected to Move or Second the Address at the opening of the New Session, he will appear in Elijah’s mantle. It is to be hoped Lord SALISBURY, offended, as he is understood to be, at Lord HENRY’s frank criticism, will not ignore this proposal. The House of Commons will be much gratified to find itself relieved from the monotony of the uniform—alternately Militia Colonel and Post-Captain—which mars the success of an interesting ceremonial.
* * * * *
The heading, “The Royal Engagement,” which appears daily in two of the morning papers does, not, as appears at first sight, indicate warlike preparations in Royal circles. The allusion meant is to the Royal Betrothal.
* * * * *
NAME WANTED.—There are a considerable number of Ladies’ Clubs, where matrons and spinsters can commingle. Now ’tis proposed to start a Spinsters’ Club, only Spinsters eligible. What shall it be called? Spinning is associated with Spinster, but recent events at Cambridge make the use of the word somewhat objectionable. How would “The Arachne” do? Or as Omphale assumed the attire of Hercules, and tried to wield the club, why not call one of these the Omphale?
* * * * *
OLD SONG, ADAPTED TO THE OCCASION (by one who wasn’t asked to the Marquis of Salisbury’s party).—“I dreamt that I supp’d in Marble Halls,” &c., &c.
* * * * *
[Illustration: IN CONFIDENCE.
“MUMMY DEAR, WHO’S PAPPA’S MOTHER-IN-LAW?” “MY MOTHER, DEAR,—YOUR GRANDMAMMA.”
“Oh—(Considering.)—DO YOU THINK GRANDMAMMA WOULD TAKE A PRIZE AT THE CAT SHOW?”
“ETHEL, DEAR! WHAT DO YOU MEAN?” “WELL, MUMMY DEAR, I HEARD PAPPA SAY THAT, IN THE WHOLE COURSE OF HIS LIFE HE HAD NEVER COME ACROSS ’SUCH AN OLD TABBY AS HIS MOTHER-IN-LAW’!”]
* * * * *
OR, THE CALL TO ALMS.
A TOPSY-TURVEY VERSION OF THE TENNYSONIAN DAY-DREAM.
THE SLEEPING BEAUTY.
All through the year, towards his feet,
He slumbering in his place
alone,
Waiting December days to greet
The “Beauty’s”
snowy beard has grown;
Whilst all about his bulky form
Fir-hedge and holly sprout
and twirl.
Sleeping he snoreth, snug and warm,
His breath scarce stirs his
beard’s crisp curl.
He sleeps: the jolly, brave Old Bird,
Ruddy of phiz as warm of heart,
Who, when he’s annually stirred,
Is always good, and game to
“part.”
He sleeps: all round his cosy cell
His long-stored gifts are
waiting use;
And—till awaked—he
there doth dwell,
A cosy form in cosy snooze.
THE ARRIVAL.
All precious things, discovered late,
To those who seek them turn
up trumps.
Charity works with kindly fate,
The heart in her soft bosom
thumps.
She travels under winter skies—
She stayeth not for storm
or shocks—
Celestial Grace with tender eyes,
And loving lips, and golden
locks.
She comes, well-knowing what she seeks;
She breaks the hedge, she
enters there:
Love’s flush illumes her maiden
cheeks;
She hears Yule’s chimes
upon the air:
She holds aloft that mystic stalk,
With white globes decked,
to lovers dear;
“Now, Father Christmas, wake and
walk!”
She whispers in the “Beauty’s”
ear.
THE AWAKENING.
A touch, a kiss! the charm was snapt.
There came a noise of striking
clocks.
Twelve strokes! Aroused from slumber
rapt,
The “Beauty” shook
his silvery locks.
“What you again? My yearly
call!
By Jove, how soundly I have
slept!”
Then, with a laugh that shook the wall,
Unto his feet Old Christmas
leapt.
“What! Twelve! ’Tis
time that I awoke,
And to the waiting world appeared.”
He yawned, and cracked his annual joke,
And ran his fingers through
his beard.
“How say you? Is it slop or
snow?”
She answered, “Come
along, old chap!
We’ve much to do and far to go,
Ere you resume your annual
nap.”
THE DEPARTURE.
And on the Old Sire’s arm she leant,
And round her waist his arm
did fold;
And forth into the world they went,
To glad the grieved, to warm
the cold.
Across the town, and far away,
Of kindness full, and frolic
whim,
To cheer all hearts went Christmas Day,
That white-wing’d Presence
following him.
Near Nineteen Hundred times hath she,
The gentle goddess, free and
fair,
Awaked with kiss Old Father C.
To make the wintry world their
care.
O’er town, o’er country far
away,
Where’er hearts ache,
or eyes grow dim,
His annual round makes Christmas Day,
Sweet Charity attending him.
[Illustration: THE AWAKENING OF FATHER CHRISTMAS
OR, A CALL TO ALMS.]
MORAL.—So, British Public,
take my lay,
And if you find no
moral there,
Then Mr. Punch must sadly say
His ministry is fruitless
care.
Nay! To good uses you will put
The Legend Punch doth
thus transpose.
Your pockets sure you will not shut,
Your hearts to his appealings
close!
For e’en the man who runs may read
The lesson with this lay entwined.
(If Topsey-turvey thus succeed,
The noble Laureate will not
mind!)
And liberal applications lie
In this quaint Legend, good
my friend.
So, put the song and picture by,
And hook it—to
some useful end!
* * * * *
CARMEN CULINARIUM.
[Illustration: Cook Personally Conducting.]
If you’re anxious to eat without
any repining,
Read THEODORE CHILD upon “Delicate
Dining.”
This sage gastronomic full soothly doth
say,
That no mortal can dine more than once
in the day;
Then he quotes LOUIS QUINZE, that the
art of the cook
Must be learnt most from practice, and
not from a book;
While you also will find in the readable
proem,
Doctor KING said a dinner resembled a
poem.
We shall next see a cook can have only
the dimmest
Of notions of art, if he isn’t a
chemist.
So we learn here the names and the separate
uses
Of muscular fibre, albumen and juices.
We are shown the right methods of roasting
and boiling,
Of frying and stewing, decocting and broiling;
While our author in words there can be
no mistaking,
Is dead against “roasting”
in ovens—or baking.
Our asparagus then we are heedfully told, [Greek: Iostephanos] should be like Athens of old: With a violet head and a stalk very white While this CHILD thinks that tepid it yields most delight. On the artichoke too with affection he lingers, And also advises you eat with your fingers, Petits pois a la Francaise are here, the receipt That he gives is a good one but haply too sweet.
Our author is great upon salads and sauces,
To cool our hot palates, or tittivate
fauces;
Here is all you need learn about GOUFFE’S
Bearnaise,
And a charming receipt for the Sauce
Hollandaise.
In England we know that in sauces we’re
weak,
And we’ve never attained to the
cuisine classique;
But French Seigneurs of old gave full
rein to their wishes,
And live on immortal in delicate dishes.
We are told how to give and receive invitations,
And eke how a table may need decorations.
We agree with the author who says when
you dine,
It is very much better to stick to one
wine,
Be it ruddy Bordeaux or the driest Champagne,
Let the latter be cool but your ice is
no gain.
While on coffee and tea he is sound as
a bell,
With all dexterous dodges for making them
well.
No man ever escaped—to a cook
who did wrong,
For his art ranks so high, said MENANDER’s
old song.
And the ancients we know loved both oysters
and pullets,
When the [Greek: oinos kekramenos]
slipped down their gullets.
While here is a man to have joined them
when roses,
In classical fashion, were cocked o’er
their noses.
So we’ll take leave of CHILD and
his capital book,
With a “Bon appetit” to the
gourmet and cook.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
When rustic woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that Curates
flirt;
It pains, ah! sharper than the holly
Whose spikes her pretty fingers
hurt.
Pleasant is pulpit-decoration,
And altar-ornamenting’s
sweet,
When girls get lost in contemplation
Of parson-whiskers, trim and
neat.
Most pleasant too the cheery chatter
Of woodland parties, in the
snow,
When gathering—well, well,
no matter!
No more I’ll
hunt for mistletoe.
No more I’ll stand and hold the
ladder
For reverend gentlemen to
mount.
Ah me! Few memories make me madder,
Though merrier ones I may
not count.
Goose! How about those steps I’d
linger!
Muff! How I bound my
handkerchief
Last Christmas Eve, about his finger,
Pierced by that cruel holly-leaf!
And now he’s going to marry MINNIE,
The wealthy farmer’s
freckled frump,
A little narrow-chested ninny!
Into Pound’s pond I’ll
go and jump!
Yet no, Miss MIGGS and he might chuckle,
I know a trick worth two of
that;
I’ll up and take that fool, BOB
BUCKLE,
I hate him, but his farm is
fat.
When rustic woman stoops to folly,
And finds e’en Curates
can betray,
What act can aggravate the “dolly”
Whose wealth has won his heart
away?
The only art her grief to cover,
Enable her to lift her head,
And show her false white-chokered lover
She won’t sing
“Willow,” is—to wed!
* * * * *
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
There is one line in our Mr. DU MAURIER’s fascinating and fantastic novel, Peter Ibbetson, which every author should frame and hang up before his eyes in his study. ’Tis this, and ’tis to be found at page 217, Vol. ii.:—
“Write anyhow!
Write for the greatest need and the greatest
number.”
“This is business,” quoth the Baron, “and Peter who passed so much of his life asleep seems, when not dreaming, to be uncommonly wide awake.”
A dainty book indeed for a Christmas present is The Vision of Sir Launfal, by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL, published by GAY AND BIRD—lively names these—but ought to have been GAY AND LARK. There is an interesting portrait of the Author as he was in 1842.
“My ‘CO.,’” quoth the Baron, “deponeth thusly, as to Calendars generally,—not, however, including the one-eyed Kalendar of the Arabian Nights,—that MARCUS WARD, mark us well, comes out uncommonly strong, specially in the ‘Boudoir’ and also in the ‘Shakspeare’ Calendar, which latter hath for every day in the year ’a motto for every man.’ Methinks this pretty well wipes off the Christmas score, which includes New Year gifts.
“Now as to books,”—continues the Baron, “here let me say that my favourite pocket-books, not specially for Christmas, but for all times and seasons, are those excellent travelling companions provided by CASSELL’s National Library, BRADBURY AND AGNEW’s Handy Volume Scott and Shakspeare, and ROUTLEDGE’s Pocket Library, all really portable, and printed in the clearest type. These be welcome presents to ‘constant readers.’” The Baron presents his “many grateful thanks,” to quote our worthy ROBSON ROOSTUM PASHA, to a kind friend, poet, scholar and judicious critic, who, from the North, sends the Baron a seasonable present of a small volume of poems, published by HOLDEN, of St. Andrew’s, N.B. (Quoth Mr. WAGG, “quite a new ’un, published by a hold ’un”—passons), entitled The Scarlet Gown, written by Mr. R.F. MURRAY. His verses are in the Calverley vein, the rhyming and rhythm easy, the jingle pleasant, the lines witty, and the subjects fresh. The local hits will be specially appreciated by St. Andrew’s men. Everyone will enjoy “The City of Golf, the Adventures of a Poet.” Cantabs especially will sympathise with the humour of “The Delights of Mathematics.” “So here’s to the poet in the wassail bowl; a Happy New Year and a Murray Christmas to him,” says
THE JOVIAL BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.
* * * * *
[Illustration: MR. PUNCH DRINKS TO THE OLD YEAR!]
* * * * *
NOTICE.—Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
Adscriptus Glebae, 203
Advertisement Extraordinary, 195
After Lunch, 70
After the Season, 61
“After You!” 198
Alice in Thunderland, 27
All Berry Well, 255
Ancient Milliner (The), 241
“Angels and Ministers of Grace!”
135
“Annals of a Very Quiet Family,”
161
Annals of a Watering-Place, 131, 141,
192
Another Strike threatened, 145
Answers to Correspondents, 57, 72, 253,
268
Anti-Hiss-trionic Bird (An), 301
Apparently Hard Case (An), 234
Appropriate Location, 138
Armada from the Spanish (The), 159
Arming the Amazons, 270
’Arry in Rome and London, 293
’Arry on a ’Ouse-Boat, 76
’Arry on Arrius, 302
“As Good as a Better,” 133
“As he’d Like it,” 162
Atropos and the Anthropoids, 169
At St. James’s Hall, 2
At the Close of the Summer, 168
At the Door; or, Paterfamilias and the
Young Spark, 90
At the Italian Opera, 209
“Audi Alteram Partem!” 185
Auld-(er)-man Gray, 72
Aunt at Will (An), 281
Author! Author! 25
Automatic Physiognomist (The), 181
Awakening of Father Christmas (The), 306
Bacon and a Mouthful, 61
Balder the Fair, 245
Ballade of Evening Newspapers (A), 23
Bard v. Bard, 213
Beggar’s Petition (A), 165
“Below the Belt!” 227
Between the Acts, 219
“Big Big D” encored (The),
293
Birds of a Feather, 193
Bishop and the Sea-Serpent (The), 303
Bitter Cry of the British Bookmaker (The),
155
Bitter Cry of the Outcast Choir-Boy (The),
141
Blackfriars to Sloane Square, 57
Blendimus! 215
Board on Both Sides (The), 263
Board-School Christmas (A), 287
“Book of Burlesque” (A), 16
Bouillabaisse, 174
Boulanger, 179
Boy the Father of the Man (The), 192
British Association (The), 106
Broadly Speaking, 17
Browning Society Verses, 201
Bumble brought to Book, 110
Bumbledom’s Big Opening, 170
Busy Bisley (The), 35
By George! 300
“By Jingo!” 249
Canadian “Search-Light” (The),
114
Cancel, or Recall, 241
Canine Sagacity, 108
Capless Maid (The), 63
Carmen Culinarium, 309
Caught by the Classics, 215
Chantrey Bequest a la Mode de Lisle (The),
1
Charlemagne and I, 161, 185
Chili Pickle (A), 219
Christmas Carol (A), 309
Christmas Numbers, 291
Civil Service Exhibition, 257
Common Complaint (A), 21
Compulsory Greek, 117
Conquered “Worth” (The), 153
Contribution towards Nursery Rhymes, 225
Coquette of the Period (The), 117
“Correct Cards, Gents!” 205
Creditable Incident in the Next War (A),
117
Cricket Paradox (A), 133
Cutting Remarks, 231
Defeat—or Something Near it,
21
Demographic Vade Mecum (The), 95
“Dick” Power, 279
Difference (The), 63
“Dilemma” (The), 6
“Disappointment of December”
(The), 180
Doctor Laurie, 165
Doggerel by a “Disher,” 147
Domestic Cookery, 168
Drawing the Badger, 230
Dwarfs in and about London, 155
Echoes from the Labour Commission, 240
“Egyptian Pet” (The), 246
Election Echo (An), 258
Elevating Exhibition (An), 251
“England, Home, and Beauty!”
294
English as she is Sung, 288
English Opera as she isn’t Sung,
257
“Entertainment,” 120
Enthusiasm a la Russe, 50
Essay in Reviewing (An), 189
Essence of Parliament, 11, 23, 35, 47,
59, 70
Evolution of Tommy’s Private School
Report, 204
Exit la Claque, 84
Extremes Meet, 153
Fallen Leader (A), 191
Family Ties, 186
Father and Son, 153
Fire King’s Abdication (The), 14
“First-Class” Travelling,
111
Follow the Baron! 269
For the Benefit of Zoilus, 60
Frederick the Great at Burlington House,
293
Free and Independent, 203
“French as she is Spoke,”
89
French as she is “Writ,” 231
Friendly Tip to the Fighting Factions,
276
From a Very Occasional Correspondent,
93
From Bright to Dull, 179
From Darkest Africa, 119
From Grandolph the Explorer, 61
From Mashonaland, 239
Garrick School (The), 167
Genuine Regret (A), 108
Georgian Era at the Alhambra (The), 255
German Emperor going Nap (The), 159
Gilbert a Beckett, 195
Glory at the Lowest Price, 261
“Good-bye, Grandmamma!” 30
Good New “Times” (The), 269
G.P. and the G.P.O. (The), 191
“Gray’s Elegy” Amended,
198
“Great Scot!” 61
Great Twin Brethren (The), 177
Grouse that Jack Shot (The), 147
Guzzling Cure (The), 131
Hanwellian Prize Competition, 41
“Hanging Theology,” 150
Hard Lines for Him, 233
Harrying Our Hakims, 201
“Have we forgotten Gordon?”
78
“Helps” and Whelps, 93
Henley Regatta, 21
Her Violets! 57
Hide and Seek, 171
His Greatest Pleasure, 303
Hit and Miss, 48
Holiday Fare in Cornwall, 149
Home, Sweet Home! 193
Honours Divided, 156
“Hotel me, gentle Stranger!”
159
How it’s Done, 264
How to be Popular, 84
How to Spend a Holiday on Scientific Principles,
77
Hygeia Off the Scent, 126
Hyjinks and Hygiene, 89
Hypnotised Lobster (The), 289
Iberian-Hibernian, 78
Idle and the Industrious Apprentice (The),
222
If the Fashion Spreads, 228
Ignorant Bliss, 131
Illegal Fictions, 291
Ill-luminants! 57
Imperial and Operatic, 33
Imperial Impressions, 35
Imperial Stage-Manager (An), 251
“In Cellar Deep,” 159
International Nursery-Tale Congress, 173
In the Name of Charles Dibdin, 61
Io Triumphe! 237
James Russell Lowell, 93
Jawful News! 169
Jeames’s Summary, 42
Jolly July, 27
Journal of a Rolling Stone, 156, 168,
180
Jubilee Greeting (A), 234
Just Caught the Post! 182
Kathleen and Petruchio, 282
Keep Watch! 177
King of the Beasts (The), 141
“Knot"-ical Story of Drury Lane
(A), 125
Kurds and Away! 65
Laissez Faire, 193
Larks for Londoners, 61
Last of the Canterbury Tales (The), 156
Latest from Bobby (The), 228
Latest Weather-wise Doggerel (The), 153
“Latine Doctes,” 75
Leaves from a Candidate’s Diary,
4, 39, 73
Le Roi (en Garcon) en Voyage, s’amuse,
89
Lesson from the R.N.E. (A), 81
Letters to Abstractions, 17, 25, 136,
184, 216, 229, 253, 277
Liberty and Licence, 16
Light Conduct in Heavenly Bodies, 239
Lines by a Lewisham Witler, 114
Literary Intelligence, 239
Little Germania Magnate (The), 258
Little Stranger (A), 213
London’s Dilemma, 194
“Long Distance Swim” (A),
66
Lord Lytton, 267
Lost Opportunity (A), 291
Lover’s Complaint (A), 81
Lullaby of an Infant Speculator, 221
Manners of Our Children (The), 108
Many Happy Returns! 126
Marlowe at Canterbury, 145
“Masher’s Answer” (The),
241
Mask on a Mask (A), 24
Matter of Course (A), 129
Mayor and an Old Hunter (A), 289
Medicinal Music, 11
Memory of Milton (The), 231
Mems from Monkey-land, 252
Men of the Past, 167
Meredithomania, 49
Metropolitan Minotaur (The), 38
Miss Decima-Helyett-Smithson-Jackson,
84
Miss Nomer, 12
Modern “Bed of Procrustes”
(The), 138
Modern Cagliostro (The), 155
Modern Traveller (The), 78
Modern Types, 5
Money makes the Man, 177
Monti the Matador, 48
More Excitement in Paris, 149
More Messages from the Mahatma, 123
Moth-eaten, 53
Motto for the Moment, 191
Mr. Clip’s Appeal, 101
Mr. Punch Explains, 2
Mr. Punch’s Anti-Labour Congress,
102
Mr. Punch’s Naval Novel, 160
Mr. Punch’s Quotation-Book, 2
Muscovite Version of a Music-Hall Chorus,
153
Musical Suggestion (A), 147
Music of the Spheres (The), 177
Naked Truth (The), 276
Name Wanted, 305
Naval Note, 137
Neptune’s “At Home;”
or, Neighbours United, 90
New Crusaders (The), 2
New Election “Lay” (A), 45
New Evangel (The), 179
New Leader (A), 51
New Name, 267
New Tory Nursery Rhyme, 61
New Way out of a Wager (A), 165
Night-Mailing, 229
Note (A), 81
Note and Query (A), 147
“Nothing but the Truth,” 126
“Nothing in the Papers!” 106
Nothing like Labour, 239
Nothing New, 171
“Nothing succeeds like”—Succession?
6
Not Quite Polite, 87
“Now you’re Quite the Gentleman!”
266
Ode to a Barometer, 106
Off-Portsmouth Phrase-Book (The), 231
Off to Masherland, 3, 15, 29, 41, 83
Old Doggerel Re-dressed, 114
Old Joe and the New (The), 210
Old School Buoy (An), 93
Old Times Revived, 240
Omitted from Portrait Gallery at the Royal
Naval Exhibition, 63
Only Fancy! 201, 209, 217, 240, 245, 264,
273, 279, 305
Only One (The), 27
Pannick in Gildhall (A), 293
Passionate Shepherd to his Love (The),
290
Paul Pry in the Purple, 285
Penny French—Twopence British,
96
Playgoer’s “Last Word”
(A), 186
Politesse, 88
Popular Songs Re-Sung, 167, 204, 276,
297
Possible Explanation, 267
Pretty Simpleton (The), 225
Prince (The), 49
“Prodigy Son” (The), 216
Programme of the Cyclopaedic Circus, 285
Protected Female (The), 218
“Pugs” and “Mugs,”
99
Purchase Officer’s Guide to the
Army (The), 12
Queer Christmas Party (A), 301
Queer Queries, 4, 5, 36, 49, 87, 106,
285
Quelching Quelch, 24
Queries for Cambridge Exam. Paper,
298
Queries for Candidates (L.C.C.), 225
Quite a Libel’y Prospect! 251
Quite a Little Novelty, 89
Quite a New Spec, 231
Quite Fabulous, 265
Rather Vague, 243
Raven (The), 206
Real Burning Question (A), 197
Real Treat (A), 13
Reflection by a General Reader, 191
Remonstrance (A), 193
Resignation, 63
“Revolted Mortimer,” 153
Rhyme at Rhyl, 195
Riding the Pig, 60
Robert on the Coming Sho, 219
Robert on the Hemperer’s Visit to
the City, 5, 16
Robert on the Lord Mare’s Sho, 243
Robert Sees the Photograff taken, 65
Robert’s Future, 113
Robert’s Romance, 129
Romance in Numbers (A), 183
Rule of Three (The), 59
Rusticus Expectans, 279
Safe Novel (A), 297
“Save me from my Friends!”
169
Scott (anything but) Free, 30
Seaside Asides, 108
“Semper Eadem,” 73
Setting their Caps at him, 62
Shakspeare and North, not Christopher,
2
Shilling in the Pound Wise (A), 45
Silence and Sleep, 133
Smoked Off! 45
Solomon Pell in all his Glory, 119
Some Circular Notes, 88, 105, 109, 121,
143, 148
Some London “Fiends,” 197
Song in Season (A), 113
Songs of the Unsentimentalist, 24
Song that Broke my Heart (The), 75
Sonnet of Vain Desire (A), 165
Sphinx and the Stick (The), 273
Stolen Pictures (The), 39
Storicules, 97, 120, 132, 135, 149, 173,
228
Story Out of Season (A), 101
Straight Tip to Canadian “Cross
Coves,” 179
Suggestion (A), 213
Suitor Resartus, 267
Supplementary and Corrective, 37
Surrey ABC (The), 108
“Sweet little Cherub that sits up
aloft” (The), 254
Talk for Travellers, 177
Tea in Ten Minutes, 171
Telling the Wasps, 141
Terrible Tale (A), 73
Theory and Practice, 273
Theosophic Tools, 203
Thinning of the Thatch (The), 300
Timely Suggestion (A), 276
Tip by a Tory, 114
Tippling Sally, 189
To Amanda, 37
To Araminta, 189
To a Too-Engaging Maiden, 132
“To Err is Human,” 168
To Evangeline, 281
Told in Tags, 298
To Lord Tennyson, 75
To my Lord Addington, 213
Too-Engaging Maiden’s Reply (A),
197
Too Free to be Easy, 96
To the Grand Old Cricketer, 155
To the Shelved Sex, 93
Tran-slated, 287
Travelling Companions (The), 40, 52, 85,
100, 112, 124, 134, 146, 157,
172, 196, 208,
220, 232, 244, 256, 268, 280, 292, 304
Triple Alliance (A), 18
True Tennyson (The), 165
Truly Rooral Opera (A), 289
Trying it on, 210
Tupper’s Proverbial Philosophy Up
to Date, 207
Turning the Tables, 150
Two Emperors, 87
Two Graces (The), 219
Twopence Plain—a Penny Coloured,
294
Two Views of the next Invasion, 51
Two Winds (The), 122
Two Words in Season, 145
“Typical Developments,” 233
’Umble Correction (An), 70
Unattractive Combination, 114
Under-Lyne’d, 165
Under the Screw, 96
Unhygienic Householder, 87
Upon a Glove, 63
Urbi et Orbi, 1
Vain Vaunt (A), 159
Very Near, 246
Voces Populi, 9, 13, 28, 69
Voices of the Night, 181
Vox et Praeterea Nihil! 144
Waiters’ Strike (The), 145
Wanted, a Word-Slayer, 97
War in a Fog, 221
Warlike Tale from the Pacific (A), 264
Waterloo to Weybridge, 39
Welcome, little Stranger! 289
Well done, Dear! 59
“Wells, I never!” 237
What hoe! Raikes! 75
What is a “Demographer”? 75
What’s in a Title? 145
“What will he Do with it?”
174
Where are our Dairymaids? 129
“Where is dat Barty now?”
171
“Whether” and the Parks (The),
12
“Who Breaks Pays,” 132
Why should Merit wait? 145
“Whys”—Wise and
Otherwise, 225
William Henry Smith, 183
“Williams on Wheels,” 305
“Will you, won’t you?”
242
Without the Compliments of the Season,
297
With the B.M.A. at Bournemouth, 64
“Won’t Work!” 74
Worth Noticing, 84
Wrong of Search (The), 53
Young Grandolph’s Barty, 205
LARGE ENGRAVINGS.
“After You!” 199
Arming the Amazons, 271
“As he’d Like it,” 163
Awakening of Father Christmas; or, A Call
to Alms (The), 307
Canadian “Search-Light” (The),
115
“Dilemma” (The), 7
“Egyptian Pet” (The), 247
“England, Home, and Beauty!”
295
Family Ties, 187
“Good-bye, Grandmamma!” 31
“Have we forgotten Gordon?”
79
Idle and Industrious Apprentice (The),
223
Jeames’s Summary, 43
SMALL ENGRAVINGS.
Advertisements in Church, 63
Alice in Thunderland, 26
’Arry on Arrius, 302
Aunt Jane on Family Weddings, 207
Balfour on the Irish Pig, 50
Barristers Sketching in Court, 303
Blue-Ribbonite for Once only, 90
Blue-Ribbonite’s Glass of Champagne,
27
Boiling the Porcelain Nest-Egg, 165
“Breezy Brighton,” 262
Bumble Kicks the Drainage Petition, 170
“Burying the (Railway) Hatchet,”
81
Butler’s Opinion of Sir Pompey’s
Champagne, 174
Buying a Tie for a Wedding, 183
Captain Shaw, the Fire King, 14
Cave of the Winds (The), 122
Chamberlain and the Primrose Lady, 266
Chappie and Old Deer-Stalker, 267
Christian Czar and the Heathen Chinee,
86
Clergyman and a Bereaved Mother, 138
Cockney Sportsman and the Starlings, 215
Combat between Water and Wine, 201
Comic Amateur in a Country House, 114
Contralto Singer and Music Publisher,
219
Country Hostess and French Baron, 198
County Council and the Minotaur, 38
Cricket at Lord’s, 46
Cyclist Centaur of the Future (The), 160
Daily Graphic’s Weather-Young-Woman
(The), 133
Dentist’s Patient in Operating-Chair,
195
Devoting Swiss Tour to Lawn-Tennis, 186
Disappointed and Successful Artists, 39
Doctor and Nurse, 258
Drawing-Room Smelling of Tobacco-Smoke,
222
Drawing the Goschen Badger, 230
Election Fever—Victim’s
Vicissitudes, 286
Electric Light and the Householder, 98
Equestrian Clasping his Horse, 237
Ethel “Not at Home” to Governess,
294
Fancy Portrait of Sir W.V. Harcourt,
177
Father reading Son’s School Report,
23
Fergusson Catching the Post, 182
Floods (The), 250
Garden Party on a Wet Day (A), 54
Gentleman on a Conjuror’s Platform,
155
Gent’s Reason for not admiring Browning,
171
German Emperor and Dogs of War, 158
German Emperor’s Visit (The), 34
German Exhibition Hero (A), 192
Goddess of the Bathing Machine, 162
G.O.M. and East Dorset Election, 285
Grandmamma and Literary Grandson, 210
“Grandolph ad Leones,” 202
Grandolph’s Suggestion for Parliament,
94
Grandpapa and the Fortune-teller, 42
Greek Protected Female (The), 218
Hands versus Ears, 123
Hunting Man in a Pond, 213
Inebriated Old Gent and British Association,
106
Irish Sportsman’s Rebellious Dogs,
74
John Bull Prospero and Electric Ariel,
[Illustration]