The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 103,
November 5, 1892, by Various

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Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 103, November 5, 1892

Author: Various

Release Date: April 21, 2005 [EBook #15677]

Language: English

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PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

Vol. 103.

November 5, 1892.

CONVERSATIONAL HINTS FOR YOUNG SHOOTERS.

LUNCH (continued).—Perhaps the best piece of advice that I can give you, my young friend, is that—for conversational purposes—you should make a careful study of the natures and temperaments of your companions. Watch their little peculiarities, both of manner and of shooting; pick up what you can about their careers in sport and in the general world, and use the knowledge so acquired with tact and discretion when you are talking to them. For instance, if one of the party is a celebrated shot, who has done some astonishing record at driven grouse, you may, after the necessary preliminaries, ask him to be good enough to tell you what was the precise number of birds he shot on that occasion. Tell him, if you like, that the question arose the other day during a discussion on the three finest game-shots of the world. If you happen to know that he shot eighteen hundred birds, you can say that most people fixed the figure at fifteen hundred. He will then say,—"Ah, I know most people seem to have got that notion—I don't know why. As a matter of fact, I managed to get eighteen hundred and two, and they picked up twenty-two on the following morning." Your obvious remark is, "By Jove!" (with a strong emphasis on the "by") "what magnificent shooting!" After that, the thing runs along of its own accord. With a bad shot your method is, of course, quite different. For example:—

That starts you comfortably with the Bad Shot. You soothe his ruffled vanity, and give him a better appetite for lunch.

Now, besides the Good Shot, and the Bad Shot—the two extremes, as it were, of the line of shooters—you might subdivide your sportsmen further into—

(1.) The Jovial Shot. This party is on excellent terms with himself and with everybody else. Generally he shoots fairly well, but there is a rollicking air about him, which disarms criticism, even when he shoots badly. He knows everybody, and talks of most people by nick-names. His sporting anecdotes may be counted upon for, at any rate, a succès d'estime. "I never laughed so much in my life," he begins, "as I did last Tuesday. There were four of us—Old SANDY, BUTCHER BILL, DICK WHORTLEBURY, and myself. SANDY was driving us back from Dillwater Hall—you know, old PUFFINGTON's place—where we'd been dining. Devilish dark night it was, and SANDY's as blind as a bat. When we got to the Devil's Punchbowl I knew there'd be some warm games, 'cos the horse started off full tilt, and, before you could say knife, over we went. I pitched, head first, into DICK's stomach, and SANDY and BILL went howling down like a right and left of rabbits. Lord, I laughed till the tears ran down my face. No bones broken, but the old BUTCHER's face got a shade the worst of it with a thorn-bush on the slope. Cart smashed into matchwood, of course."

(2.) The Dressy Shot. Wonderful in the boot, stocking, and gaiter department. Very tasteful, too, in the matter of caps and ties. May be flattered by an inquiry as to where he got his gaiters, and if they are an idea of his own. Sometimes bursts out into a belt covered with silver clasps. Fancy waistcoats a speciality. His smoking-suit, in the evening, is a dream of gorgeous rainbows. Is sometimes a very fair shot. Generally wears gloves, and a fair moustache.

(3.) The Bored Shot. A good sportsman, who says he doesn't care about sport. Often has literary tastes. Has views of his own, and is, consequently, looked upon as a rather dangerous idealist by honest country gentlemen, who confine their reading to an occasional peep at the Times, and an intimate quoting acquaintance with the novels of Mr. SURTEES. Often shocks his companions by telling them he really doesn't care much about killing things, and would just as soon let them off. However, he shows a perfectly proper anger if he misses frequently. Is not unlikely to be an authority on sheep and oxen, and may, perhaps, be accepted as the Conservative Candidate for his County division, dumb but indignant County magnates finding that he expresses their views better than they can do it themselves. Don't talk to him about sport. Try him with books, interesting articles in the Magazines, and so forth.

(4.) The Soldier Shot. This kind is generally a Captain, dresses well, but not gaudily, and smokes big cigars. There seems to be a general idea that a man who can teach privates to shoot targets must be able to shoot game himself. Yet the Soldier Shot misses birds quite beautifully. He will have often shot big game in India with an accuracy that increases in proportion to the number of miles that separate him from the scene of his exploits. After all, the ability to "brown" a herd of elephants does not guarantee rights and lefts at partridges. Apt to declaim tersely and forcibly about the hardships of a military career.

(5.) The Average Shot. Talk to him about average matters, unless you hear he is a celebrity in some other branch of sport. In that case, get details from him of his last Alpine climb, or his latest run to hounds, or ask his views on racing matters. Most average shots go racing, and think they understand all about it.

I say nothing here about the Dangerous Shot, because it is never right to get within talking distance of him. In fact, he ought not to be talked to at all. I am not sure he ought to be allowed to live. Still, his exploits furnish material for many an animated conversation amongst the survivors.

—"ANIMIS CŒLESTIBUS IRÆ!"

A MODERN SCIENTIFIC DISCUSSION.

Miss Fanny (a gentle and most veracious Child). "YAH! YOU CRUEL COWARD! YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS SKINNED A LIVE FROG!"

Master Victor (an industrious but very touchy little Boy). "YOU'RE A LIAR! THE FROG WAS DEAD, AND YOU KNOW IT!"

Miss Fanny. "BOOHOO! WHETHER IT WAS DEAD OR NOT, YOU'VE GOT NO RIGHT TO CALL NAMES; 'COS I'M A GIRL, AND CAN'T PUNCH YOUR HEAD!"

Master Victor. "IT'S JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE A GIRL THAT I CAN'T PUNCH YOURS! YOU SHOULD HAVE THOUGHT OF THAT BEFORE YOU CALLED ME A COWARD!"

THE CABINET MEET.

A BUCKJUMPERISH SENSATION.

[It is rumoured that some of BUFFALO BILL's Broncos have been bought by the Cab Proprietors of London.]

Cabby. "SIT STILL, SIR! THIS AIN'T NOTHIN' TO WOT 'E CAN DO. YOU'LL SEE 'IM TURN 'EAD OVER 'EELS PRESENTLY!"

A QUESTION OF POLICE;

Or, What it may come to.

SCENE—Trafalgar Square just before sunset. Police in abundance; number of Processionists in various parts of the open space seen to be dispersing.

[Points out elevated position in front of the National Gallery.

Second Or. But they won't be able to see, much less to hear me!

Pol. In. Can't help that. The Commissioners of Her Majesty's Works and Public Buildings don't provide telescopes nor yet ear-trumpets.—Bill (saluting). Sunset, Sir!

Pol. In. There, you see! Thought you would be too late. Time's up. Glad to see you another day. But now—move on!

[And the Police Regulations are obeyed. Curtain.

THE GOOD OLD (SUNDAY) TIMES REVIVED.—The specimen number of The Sunday Times as it was at its commencement in 1822, given on Sunday, October 23rd, 1892, is most interesting. Theatrical advertising was quite "a feature" at that time, when only two Theatres, Drury Lane and Covent Garden, seem to have advertised. The names there are of EDMUND KEAN simply as Mr. KEAN, of Messrs. DOWTON, HARLEY, YOUNG, MUNDEN, Mrs. GLOVER, and of Madame VESTRIS as Ophelia. BRAHAM is there, as also LISTON and Miss STEPHENS. Prize Fights are done in the good old Tom-and-Jerry style, and the Police Reports are made so amusing as to suggest that such a light touch as is occasionally given in the "Day by Day" of the Daily Telegraph, might be nowadays welcome in (Police) Court News. Altogether, a happy thought to reproduce the Sunday Times of 1822, and may the Sunday Times of 1892 live up to it, and be "going strong" in 1992! Prosit!

GUY-FOX POPULI.

"A Guy in Spectacles and a Tall Hat."

The proceedings of the Midnight Mass Meeting of Unemployed Guys at Vauxhall on the fifth of November were of a somewhat disorderly nature, several of the speeches being characterised by a distinctly incendiary tone, as will be seen from the following account by Mr. Punch's Special Reporter, who was present throughout.

The Chair-guy (whose appearance was comparatively respectable) said he was proud to occupy the chair—notwithstanding that the bottom was out of it. (Shame!) Oh. he was used to that, although he could tell the meeting he had driven his own donkey-cart once upon a time, if he had come down to a wheelbarrow now! (Cries of "Toff!" and "Aristocrat!" from the more extreme Guys.) He did not understand those expressions of disapproval—a wheelbarrow with one leg missing was surely an unostentatious conveyance enough. Well, they had met that evening to discuss the means to be taken to obviate the depression in the important branch of out-door industry in which, if he did not mistake, they were all interested. (Hear, hear!) That such depression existed, and was on the increase, there was, unhappily, no doubt—it was becoming more and more difficult, as they knew without his telling them, for the steadiest Guy to maintain himself in a proper position, without extraneous support. He knew, for a fact, that there were hundreds of Guys at that very moment who, when their present job was over, would find themselves—through no fault of their own—thrown out of employment for another twelvemonth, at least. Did they call that justice? (No! and groans.) The whole system was iniquitous—the question was, how they were to put a stop to it. He invited suggestions from the Audience.

A Guy said that, in his opinion, their decline was entirely due to their inability to supply themselves with the apparel necessary and suitable to their calling. What were their duties? Why, to keep alive the memory of their famous Founder, the author of the great, and never-to-be-forgotten Gunpowder Plot—he need hardly say he alluded to GUIDO FAWKES! (Enthusiastic and prolonged cheering.) He was no scholar himself—he had never enjoyed a University education—and he did not pretend to be an authority on historical costume. Still, he felt safe in asserting that a Guy who, like himself, was compelled to represent their glorious Predecessor in an old tail coat, a pair of baggy tweed trousers, and a pot hat with a hole through the crown, did so under a cruel disadvantage. He had heard that, in former times, every Guy was sent out provided, as a matter of course, with a dark lantern and a box of matches. Who ever saw a Guy so equipped nowadays? They had been robbed of the very implements of their trade by the grasping greed of their so-called superiors. (Shame!) In his opinion every Guy had a right to be furnished with the correct costume of the period—whatever that might be—at the public expense. (Loud cheers.)

A Guy in a Cocked Hat said he did not think the previous speaker had mentioned the real cause of their fallen fortunes—their clothes were right enough; they had to thank their own shortsighted policy for their present position—yes, he was there to speak plainly, as Guy to Guy, and he told them that it was nothing short of social suicide for a Guy to carry about a placard, such as he saw too many of them wearing that evening, inscribed with the name of a recent murderer or some other popular but ephemeral favourite. (Some murmuring.) That was not the way to preserve the name and fame of their revered Chief. No; let every Guy be true to himself and his order, let him indignantly refuse to sully his descent by such vulgar and unworthy devices, and then—(Uproar, amidst which the Speaker was compelled to resume his seat.)

A Guy in a Blue Mask, who carried a placard bearing the name of the Ex-Premier, described the remarks of both his brother Guys as pestilent drivel. It was not clothes that made the Guy. A Guy was a Guy in any guise! (Loud cheers.) But no Guy ever rose in the world yet without combustibles of some sort inside him, and how many of them ever knew what it was to get their fill of crackers? They were starving amidst an abundance of squibs! Society was responsible, and must be forced to do its duty. He had had enough of it, he meant to get a good blow-out before he was much older, he could tell them, and if the Government refused to provide it free, he must loot a firework factory, that was all—he was ready to lead the way—if they would follow! (Applause.)

A Guy in a Yellow Mask said he was in favour of proceeding by peaceable and constitutional methods if possible. Much could be done by organising and bringing their grievances before Parliament, with a view to remedial legislation. They might begin by agitating for the Franchise. "One Guy, one vote!" would be a popular cry just now, when some Electoral Reforms were believed to be in contemplation. Fortunately they had a Home Secretary whom they might reasonably hope to find sympathetic—he thought they should ascertain his views before taking any other steps.

A Guy in a Pink Mask said he had organised till he was sick of it. As for the Home Secretary, he happened to have headed a deputation to the Home Office that very afternoon—and what did the Meeting think was the result? Why, the Home Secretary had declined to receive him! (Shame!) Ah, he might call himself a Radical—but did he treat a Guy as a Man and a Brother? Did he recognise that, creatures of rags and shavings as they were, they had their feelings? Not he! they were all alike, these politicians, directly they got into office. How long, he asked them, were Guys to be chivied, and harried, and moved along into back-streets by the brutal minions of a corrupt middle-class? If they wanted to get their rights, they must make themselves a nuisance to the Authorities, like other people. It was all very fine to talk about the Franchise, and "One Guy, one vote!" and all the rest of it, but they all knew that Home Rule blocked the way at present. They must go to Trafalgar Square in their thousands; it was the finest place for a bonfire in all London, and they had been kept out of it long enough. He meant to go, if he had to be carried there! (Loud cheers.)

A Guy in Spectacles and a Tall Hat, said that a demonstration in the Square would, no doubt, be an excellent way of drawing public attention to their wrongs. He advised that when they had succeeded in capturing the Square, they should proceed to pass a resolution calling upon the London County Council to find instant and permanent employment for such Guys as were out of work. (Cheers.) They could do it easily enough if they liked, and he would tell them how. All over London, nay, in the very Square itself, there were innumerable pedestals at present usurped by Statues which were a disgrace to the Metropolis. All the Council had to do was to remove those Statues from positions they had so long abused, and promote the most deserving and destitute Guys to fill their places. (Uproar.)

A Guy in Fustian and a Red Comforter rose excitedly to protest against the last speaker's proposals, which he declared were an insult to their common Guyhood. They might have come down in the world, but hitherto, whatever might be said of them, they had, at least, never rendered themselves publicly ridiculous. Now they were asked to degrade themselves by accepting the ignominious position of London Statues! Was there a Guy who would ever hold up his head again, after such an infamous surrender of his self-respect and independence? He felt it his duty to denounce the Guy who was guilty of such a suggestion as a wolf, in sheep's clothing, a base traitor to his order, and a paid spy!

[Intense excitement; charges and countercharges, and vain attempts by the Chair-guy to restore order. Several Guys, unable to control their indignation any longer, exploded, and the Meeting finally dispersed without attempting to pass any resolution, amidst a scene of indescribable confusion.

A PATRON OF THE GAIETY THEATRE AND MODERN VARIETY EXTRAVAGANZA SHOW ANTICIPATED BY CHARLES DICKENS.—"There's a lot of feet in SHAKSPEARE's verse, but there ain't any legs worth mentioning in SHAKSPEARE's Plays. * * * What the people call dramatic poetry is a collection of sermons. Do I go to the theatre to be lectured? No, PIP. If I wanted that, I'd go to church. What's the legitimate object of the Drama, PIP? Human nature. What are legs? Human nature. Then let us have plenty of leg-pieces, PIP, and I'll stand by you, my buck!"—Martin Chuzzlewit.

N.B.—This is the Pip of our puzzle to Dickensian Students last week. The reference, chapter and verse, was given immediately by Mr. COMYNS CARR, who, on the spot received his reward, and went away rejoicing. We regret that there are no second and third prizes, otherwise Messrs. WALTER WREN and VAN TROMP would have been "placed."—ED.

REFRESHERS.

"The LORD CHIEF JUSTICE said, 'The extent to which Refreshers are carried in these days makes my historical mouth water. In my younger days at the Bar'—"

"In my younger days at the Bar, Tra la la la!" &c.

THE NEW BROOM, AND THE BLACK PEERAGE.

(Rhyme by a Rad.)

[Lord SALISBURY, in his article in the National Review for November, makes fun of Mr. FREDERIC HARRISON's assertion that the Government could, at a pinch, secure a majority in the Upper Chamber by elevating five hundred Sweeps (which Lord S. calls the "Black Peerage") to the House of Lords, with the assent of the Crown.]

THE COURT JESTERS.

An Inhabitant of Noah's Ark.

Thanks to Messrs. SIMS and RALEIGH and the Court Company for a good hearty laugh, and many of them at their new three-act farcical comedy, The Guardsman. It Raleigh is good, and Sims likely to be in for a long run. Therefore, congratulations to Mr. CHUDLEIGH, who is in the proud position of "Sole Lessee and Manager," of the Court. Odd, as a correspondent remarked in a letter to Mr. Punch last week, is the coincidental resemblance of the master-motive of the plot to that of Incognita at the Lyric; viz., the young man refusing to marry the girl with whom he is really in love, because he is in love with the very same young lady without knowing her name or anything about her. But hath not the old Spanish Comedy-writer, GONZALES, used it three times? hath not his fellow-countryman, VEGA MORVEGA, used it in his now obsolete play of The Distressed Mother? and hath not VODENDOL, the Norwegian dramatist, absolutely nauseated us with it, not to mention its constant use by that imitation of GOLDONI, Count ERFITO D'ALUMINIO? And to come nearer home, did not the German—but why pursue the "motive" until you run it to earth, and even then it won't be killed, but will be flourishing thousands of years hence, when the New Zealand playwright among the ruins of London shall take up his note-book and commence a scenario on the old, but to him, quite original idea.

Arthur Cecil's Collard Head à la G.O.M.

Then, in the last Act of The Guardsman, if we have a French room with half-a-dozen doors, leading to half-a-dozen different places, with which arrangement not a few of us are familiar in pieces brought over fresh from the Palais Royal, and occurring in farces of which Bébé, Anglicè Betsey, at the Gymnase and Criterion is a type, shall we complain? Shall we not rather laugh heartily over the good old game of Hide-and-Seek, which on the stage is invariably the cause of much amusement to one person for whom, at all events, I can answer? What does it matter if to some it recalls a few farcical comedies all excellent material? Not a bit! I gather from the genuine laughter and applause of the crowded house at the Court, that this amuses and will continue to amuse some hundreds nightly, as long as it is all done so well, and at such high pressure, as it is now in The Guardsman. The First Act is good; the Second is the best; but the Third is like the last figure in an after-supper early-in-the-morning Lancers, ending in a whirligig galop, when everything is fast and furious, and just the tune and its measure taken prestissimo and fortissimo keep the couples going till everybody is breathless and exhausted.

Miss Ellaline Terriss with her Special Train—to be continued in our next.

WEEDON GROSSMITH is excellent. In brief, he plays the part of a thorough donkey, who wishes to appear "horsey." ARTHUR CECIL is admirable as the Ex-Judge of the Divorce Court—suggesting the idea of a gay old gentleman, who is still a bit of a dog—but a dog who has had his day. If this is not his character, how is it he is on such friendly terms with the Modiste, carefully played, and with great spirit too, by Miss AGNES THOMAS? Mr. ELLIOT is all go and bustle; if he were not so, pop would go the piece. The makeup of Mr. LITTLE for the old Captain is uncommonly good; it is a small part, but, with a LITTLE in it, it is big. Mr. NAMBY, as the Irishman, Miles, first-rate; quite Miles gloriosus. But I can't go on with praise, they're all so good, and ELLALINE TERRISS charming. Miss CAROLINE HILL, fresher than the proverbial paint, makes a rattling part of Lady Jones, and, as the motto of this Company is that of Racing Eights, "Swing, swing together!"—which might, in another sense, have been the refrain sung by a brazen band of Highwaymen in the good old times—it is likely that they'll keep the Court-Boat going the pace, with the tide of popular favour, for many months to come.

As a Postscript, I may add a letter on the subject addressed to Mr. Punch.

Oct. 25th.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,

In the admirable letter of "AN OLD SOLDIER" in your paper this week, there are a few unimportant errors due, no doubt, to your Correspondent's age, and the shortness of memory consequent upon it that mar, in a measure, the trenchant force of his criticism. I feel sure he will pardon my reminding him that the Coldstream Guards do not wear varnished or patent-leather boots with a tunic, except in "Levée dress;" that Mr. CHARLES WARNER did not play a private soldier in "the same distinguished regiment," but in the Grenadiers; that a Captain could never, by any possibility be "on guard" at the Tower; that the officer on duty at the Tower is called the "Picquet," and not the "Orderly" officer, and is never a Captain; that no Guardsman has ever, in the memory of man, worn a "scarf" in uniform; and that no soldier, worthy of the name, considers the mess of his own Battalion "an odd sort of place to dine at," even "in the height of the Season."

I may add that my mother tells me she has often had her Court-dress altered on the very morning of the "Drawing-Room." With these few trifling exceptions, "AN OLD SOLDIER's" letter is most accurate and just.

A PRESENT GUARDSMAN.

"HERE WE ARE AGAIN!"—Last Friday, a Correspondent of the P.M.G., onboard the Angola, interviewed "the Marine-mystery, the Sea-serpent," off the West Coast of Africa. It showed "two tremendous green eyes." The narrator counts upon there being a considerable amount of green in the eyes of those who don't happen to be Sea-serpents—unless after using very strong glasses (hot) and plenty of 'em.

"WE ARE NOTHING IF NOT CORRECT."—In last week's number the title of Picture, p. 198, should have been "Studies in Contrapuntal (not 'Continental') Perspective;" and at p. 201, in EFFIE's reply to the Governess, "AN" was a misprint for "no." This information will relieve a vast number of perplexed inquirers.

THE GENTLE EGOTIST.

The Doctor. "AND WHICH OF YOU TWO LADIES IS THE INVALID?"

Elder Sister. "I'M SORRY TO SAY IT'S ME, DOCTOR!"

THE ROAD TO RUIN;

Or, The Real Military Long-Distance Ride.

["A quarter of a century hence, France will have more than four million trained soldiers, and Russia more than four millions and a half. We may deplore, as we will, this conversion of Europe into a vast camp, but the German Government, witnessing the development of such colossal armies on either hand, cannot be said to propose anything excessive or unnecessary when it asks, as it now does, for the means of raising the trained soldiers of the Empire to 4,400,000."—The "Times" on the German Army Bills.]

In the County Council.

THE ROAD TO RUIN.

THE TROUBLES OF STALKING!!

Irate Gillie (on discovering in the distance, for the third time that morning, a "Brute of a Man" moving about in his favourite bit of "Forest"). "OH! DEIL TAKE THE PEOPLE! COME AWA,' MUSTER BROWN, SIR; IT'S JUST PEKKADILLY!!!"

AN AUTUMN AFTERNOON

AT NAZARETH HOUSE.

TO MANKIND IN GENERAL—

THEREFORE TO MR. GLADSTONE IN PARTICULAR.

(See Speech by Miss Cozens at Meeting of Woman's Emancipation Union at Birmingham, Oct. 27.)

A JUDGE'S LAMENT.

[Q.B.D. = Queen's Bench Division.]

ANTI-TEETOTAL OPERA, "Eugène Onegin" at the Olympic. Will it be followed by Ourjane Twobrandi? and subsequently, by the celebrated Opera, Lotowiski?

Ethel (who has picked up a few sporting phrases, and thinks she can instruct her Governess). "NO, I HAVEN'T HEARD FROM MUMMY, BUT I'VE HEARD FROM POPPA. HE HAS KILLED 137 GROUSE, BUT I DON'T KNOW WHETHER THEY'RE BRACES."

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

"For graphic touch and keen appreciation of humour, for easy conversational narration, give me," quoth the Baron, "the papers now being published in Household Words (most appropriate place for them), written by MONTAGU WILLIAMS, Q.C. and Magistrate." His paper on Ramsgate, telling how he travelled down, who his companions were, is as thoroughly amusing and interesting as his tribute to the health-giving climate of Ramsgate is true. These papers under the comprehensive title of "Round London," are to be republished in book-form by, as I believe, Messrs. MACMILLAN, and assuredly they will be as popular as were the same author's "Leaves" and "Later Leaves." False sentiment, MONTAGU WILLIAMS, as man or magistrate, does not encourage. "Strongly do I recommend his 'Round London,'" says

THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

"THE MORRIS DANCE."—NEW FIGURE.—The Premier Danseur, holding laurel-crown, dances up to WILLIAM MORRIS offering him the laurel-crown. Will MORRIS? MORRIS won't. Premier retires gracefully, and is seen approaching LEWIS MORRIS.

TO SOME AUTHORS.

OUR NEW EXAM.

Answer any three of the following five questions:—

I. (a.) What is a cassowary? (b.) Does its internal construction render it capable of anthropophagy? (c.) Describe its habits, nature and food, and draw an outline sketch of its skeleton.

II. (a.) Give the latitude and longitude of Timbuctoo. (b.) State the number and religious belief of its inhabitants. (c.) Discuss its natural advantages; (i.), as a port, and (ii.) as a centre for missionary enterprise.

III. (a.) Is a missionary best when served (i.) au naturel; (ii.) à la maître d'hôtel, or, (iii.) aux petîtes livrettes de psaumes? Discuss the advantages of each method of preparation; (b.) Quote any advice given by (i.) LUCULLUS, or (ii.) EPICURUS on this subject.

IV. What version of the Prayer-book is in use amongst the natives of Central Africa?

V. Discuss the authorship of the poem entitled Timbuctoo, and adduce any reasons for believing JULIUS CÆSAR to have written it.

THE OTHER PAPER.—MR. NEWNES is bringing out a rival to the Pall Mall Gazette, Is it to be published before the P.M.G., or later in the day? If the first, its title might be The Noon's Paper; if the latter, The After-Newnes Paper. Whichever you like, my little dear! Mr. N. pays his money and takes his choice. Anyhow, "NEWNES' Paper" is a marketable commodity.

THE HUNTING SEASON. THE MEET.

THE STEPNEY THAT COSTS.

["The circumstances will indeed have to be very remarkable to take two Judges into Stepney."—Baron Pollock, re Stepney Election Petition, Oct. 26.]

ROBERT'S VISIT TO IRELAND.

"I was that staggered, that I could 'ardly answer him."

Well, it isn't for one like me to say as how as good luck means wirtue rewarded, cos I have, in my long xperiense, seen not a werry few cases where it wasn't so—no, not by no manner of means.

But this I can most trewly say, that my slice of luck during this larst munth is worthy of being called a reel staggerer! And this is how it cum about:—

The Amerrycain Gent, at the Grand Hotel, wanted a change for about a weak or two, and he naterally arsked me what he shood do. I made lots of wise suggeshons, in course, such as Margate, and Grinnidge, and Hern Bay, and other hily arristercratick places, but they none on 'em woodn't do. So presently he calls out, "Did you ever go to Ireland?" I was that staggered, that I coud ardly arnser him; but then I says, "Yes, Sir—but it were sum time ago." Then he staggers me much more wiolently, for he says, says he, "Why shoudn't you go with me then, and be my Wally!" When I recovered my breth, I says, "I don't know as our gentelmanly Manager here woud spare me." So he says, "I'll soon see about that." So he rings the bell wiolently, and arsks for him—and he cums—and, to my serprize, he doesn't make not no objecshun at all, which was, in course, werry complementary to me, and, strange to say, no more did Mrs. ROBERT, when I told her of it.

Well, I passes over all prelimmenerry derangements, till we finds ourselves on board a lovly steemer, bound for Old Ireland, as we allus calls her, tho' I don't spose as she's any older than the rest on us. It was that ruff that I perposed waitin till the sea got smooth; but my Master ony larft, and sed I shood be all rite if I follered his adwice, as he was used to the sea, and rayther liked it a little ruffish. So he got me a sheet of brown paper to put on my manly chest, and gave me some champane, and one glass of Perettic Sline, I think he called it, and, with their ade, I got over much better than I xpected.

We went as strate as we coud go to the Lakes of Killarny, and if that isn't jest about as lovly a plaice as the hole world can show, why then let sumbody show me another as is. If anyboddy arsked me if it never rained there, truth wood make me say yes, it most suttenly does sumtimes, but then so it does ewerywheres in ollidy time excep where it's most speshally wanted.

My Guvner's fust harty larf was at dinner on the fust day, when he told me to ring for sum pepper. TIM the Waiter arnsered the bell, and I told him what was wanted, and I scarce xpecs to be bleeved when I says, as he cums back and he says, says he, "If you plase, Sir, sure the Pepper's engaged!" I thort the Guvner wood ha larfed hisself hill, but he soon recovered, and said, "Thin niver mind TIM, we'll do without it to-day, but let us have fust turn at it to-morrow." "Suttenly, your honour," says TIM, and wanishes.

The next day, after driving us round the naybourhood, he came in without being arsked, and goes to the fire and warms his hands, and then says with a broad grin, "Sure it's a jolly lucky cupple as you are, for the rains a bustin down like thunder!" When handing the unpeeled Potatows to the Guvner he wood pint his finger at one and say, "That's a rale buty, Sir!"

I spose as the Guvner was rayther libberal to TIM, when we left, as all reel gennelmen allus is, for the tears acshally came into the pore feller's eyes, and he blessed us both, and wished as a few more genelman like us woud sumtimes wisit poor old Ireland!

We stayed about a fortnight, but we didn't see another Waiter like poor TIM, who was the werry fust humane being as hever called me a gennelman, pore feller! but we had a werry nice time of it on the hole, which I may p'raps elude to sum day, when things ain't quite so brisk as they is just now, and I must say as my Guvner behaved like the reel Gennelman as he is, when we cum for to settel up.

ROBERT.

SECUNDUM HARTY.

["I have even gone so low as 1d. a course ... with enough success as to elicit effusive eulogies from some distinguished literary persons ..."—Mr. Ernest Hart in "Where are the Cooks?"—Daily Graphic, Oct. 18.]

L'ENVOI.

☞ 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.

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