Now then, you waiter, stir, awaken! 
  Time’s up.  I’ll hardly save my bacon. 
        Tea, Tea, bring that Tea!

  At last!  The infusion’s rayther dark. 
    But hurry up!  Can’t stay for ever! 
  One swig!  Br-r-r-r!  Hang the cunning shark! 
    Will’t never cool?  Nay, never, never! 
        Tea, Tea, scalding Tea!

  More milk; don’t be an hour in bringing! 
  Heavens!  That horrid bell is ringing! 
    “Take your seats, please!” Can’t touch the Tea! 
  Cup to the carriage must not take;
    Crockery may be lost, or broken;
  Refreshment sharks are wide awake. 
    But—­many a naughty word is spoken
        O’er Tea, Tea, scalding Tea!

* * * * *

NOTHING NEW.—­The Editor of the Gentlewoman announces a forthcoming novel to be written by about a dozen or more novelists. Mr. Punch highly commends this spirited enterprise.  The scheme is not absolutely a novelty, as in Mr. Punch’s pages some time ago, was there not a “Limited Novel Co.” of Authors and Artists to produce “Chikkin Hazard?” They combined, but did not collaborate.  But any way, success to the Gentlewoman!

* * * * *

“WHERE IS DAT BARTY NOW?”—­After the recent suicide of le pauvre General, the Boulangist party cannot be said to have been left without leaders, at all events, in England, as they have had leaders in all the papers, and actually two in the Times.

* * * * *

THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS.

NO.  X.

SCENE—­A flight of steps by the lake in the grounds of the Insel Hotel, Constance.  Time, late afternoon.  A small boat, containing three persons, is just visible far out on the glassy grey-green water.  BOB PRENDERGAST and PODBUBY are perched side by side on a parapet, smoking disconsolately.

Podbury. Do they look at all as if they meant to come in?  I tell you what, BOB, vote we row out to them and tell them they’ll be late for table d’hote.  Eh? [He knocks out his pipe.

Prendergast (phlegmatically).  Only be late for it ourselves if we do.  They’ll come in when they want to.

Podb. It’s not safe for your sister,—­I’m hanged if it is—­going out in a boat with a duffer like CULCHARD!  He’ll upset her as sure as eggs.

Prend. (with fraternal serenity).  With pin-oars?  Couldn’t if he tried!  And they’ve a man with them, too.  The less I see of that chap CULCHARD the better.  I did hope we’d choked him off at Nuremberg.  I hate the sight of his supercilious old mug!

Podb. You can’t hate it more than I do—­but what can I do? (Pathetically.) I’ve tried rotting him, but somehow he always manages to get the best of it in the end.  I never saw such a beggar to hang on!