PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. VOL. 101. September 12, 1891. SOME CIRCULAR NOTES. CHAPTER IV. _REIMS--SOLEMNITY--RELIEF--ENVOITURE--POLITENESS--CALLING--CALVES--CAVES--STARTING--COCHER--DUET. _ Seen the Cathedral. Grand. As I am not making notes for a Guide-book, shall say nothing about it. "Don't mention it. " I shan't. Muchstruck by the calm air of repose about Reims. So silent is it, thatDAUBINET's irrepressible singing in the solemn court-yard of theHotel comes quite as a relief. It is an evidence of life. This Hotel'sexceptional quietude suggests the idea of its being conducted like aprison on the silent system, with, of course, dumbwaiters to assist inthe peculiarly clean and tidy _salle à manger_. "Petzikoff! Blass the Prince of WAILES!" sings out DAUBINET, whose_Mark-Tapley_-like spirits would probably be only exhilarated by alonely night in the Catacombs. Then he shakes hands with me violently. In France he insists upon shaking hands on every possible occasionwith anybody, in order to convey to his own countrymen the idea ofwhat a thorough Briton he is. "_Vous avez eu votre café? Eh bien alors--allons! pour passer chezmon ami_ VESQUIER, " says DAUBINET, at the same time signalling ameandering fly-driver who, having pulled up near the Cathedral, issitting lazily on his box perusing a newspaper. He looks up, catchessight of DAUBINET, nods, folds up the paper, sits on it, gives thereins one shake to wake up the horse, and another, with a crack ofhis whip, to set the sleepy animal in motion, and, the animal beingpartially roused, he drives across the street to us. DAUBINET directshim, and on we go, lumbering and rattling through the town, meetingonly one other _voiture_, whose driver appears infinitely amused athis friend having obtained a fare. Some chaff passes between them, which to me is unintelligible, and which DAUBINET professes not tocatch, but I fancy, whatever it is, it is not highly complimentary toour _cocher's_ fares. In one quarter through which we drive, they aresetting up the booths and roundabouts for a Fair. "They can't do much business here, " I observe to my companion. "Immense!" he replies. --"But there's no one about. " [Illustration] "There will be, " he returns. "Manufacturing town--everybody engagedin business. Bell rings--_Caramba!_--out they come, like thecigarette-makers in _Carmen_. " Here he hums a short musical extractfrom BIZET's Opera, then resumes--"Town's all alive--then, afterdinner, back to business--evening time out to play, to _cafés_, tothe Fair! God save the QUEEN!" "But there's nothing doing at night, as we saw when we arrivedyesterday, " I observe. "No, " says DAUBINET; "it is an early place. " Then he sings, "If you'rewaking"--he pronounces it "whacking"--"call me early, mothair dear!"finishing up with a gay laugh, and a guttural ejaculation in Russian;at least, I fancy it is Russian. "Ah! _voilà!_" We have pulled upbefore a very clean-looking and handsome _façade_. The carriage-gatesare closed, but a side-door is immediately opened, and a neat elderlywoman answers DAUBINET's inquiries to his perfect satisfaction. "VESQUIER _est chez lui. Entrez donc!_" We enter, profoundly salutingthe porteress. When abroad, an Englishman should never omit thesmallest chance of taking off his hat and bowing profoundly, nomatter to whom it may be. Every Englishman abroad represents "AllEngland"--not the eleven, but the English character generally, andtherefore, when among people noted for their politeness, he should beabsolutely remarkable for his courteous manners. As a rule, to whichthere can be no exception taken, never lose any opportunity of liftingyour hat, and making your most polished bow. This, in default oflinguistic facility, is universally understood and appreciated in allcivilised countries. In uncivilised countries, to remove your hat, or to bow, may be taken as a gross outrage on good manners, or assignifying some horrible immorality, in which case the offender wouldnot have the chance of repeating his well-intentioned mistake. Butwithin the limits of Western enlightenment to bow is mere civility, and may be taken as a preface to conversation; to omit it is to showlack of breeding and to court hostility. Therefore, N. B. _Rule intravelling_--Bow to everybody. And this, by the way, is, after all, only _Sir Pertinax Macsycophant's_ receipt for getting on in the worldby "boo'ing and boo'ing. " We pass through a courtyard, reminding me of the kind of courtyardstill to be seen in some of our old London City houses-of-business. This, however, is modernised with whitewash. Here also, it being aContinental court-yard, are the inevitable orange-trees in huge greentubs placed at the four corners. A few pigeons feeding, a blinkingcat curled up on a mat, pretending to take no sort of interest in thebirds, and a little child playing with a cart. Such is this picture. Externally, not much like a house of business; but it is, and of bigbusiness too. We enter a cool and tastefully furnished apartment. Here M. VESQUIER receives us cordially. He has a military bearing, suggesting the idea of a Colonel _en retraite_. I am preparingcompliments and interrogatories in French, when he says, in good plainEnglish, with scarcely an accent-- "Now DAUBINET has brought you here, we must show you the calves, andthen back to breakfast. Will that suit you?" "Perfectly. " I think to myself--why "calves"? It sounded like"calves, " only without the "S. " Must ask presently. M. VESQUIER begs to be excused for a minute; he will return directly. I look to DAUBINET for an explanation. "We are, then, going to see afarm, I presume?" I say to him. "Farm!" exclaims DAUBINET, surprised. "_Que voulez-vous dire, mon cher?_"--"Well, didn't Mister--Mister--""VESQUIER, " suggests DAUBINET. "Yes, Mister VESQUIER--didn't he say we were to go and 'see thecalves'?--_C'est à dire_, " I translate, in despair at DAUBINET'sutterly puzzled look, "_que nous irons avec lui à la ferme pour voirles veaux_--the calves. "--"Ha! ha! ha!" Off goes DAUBINET into a roar. Evidently I've made some extraordinary mistake. It flashes across mesuddenly. Owing to M. VESQUIER's speaking such excellent English, itnever occurred to me that he had suddenly interpolated the French word"_caves_" as an anglicised French word into his speech to me. Thisaccounts for his suppression of the final consonant. [Illustration] "Ah!" I exclaim, suddenly enlightened; "I see--the cellars. " "_Pou ni my?_" cries DAUBINET, still in ecstasies, and speakingRussian or modern Greek. "_Da!_--of course--_c'est ça--nousallons voir les caves_--the cellars--where all the champagne is. _Karrascho!_" At this moment M. VESQUIER returns. He will just take us through theoffices to his private rooms. Clerks at work everywhere. Uncommonlylike an English place of business: not much outward difference betweenFrench clerks in a large house like this and English ones in one ofour great City houses; only this isn't the City, but is, so to speak, more Manchesterian or Liverpoolian, with the immense advantage ofbeing remarkably clean, curiously quiet, and in a pure and freshatmosphere. I don't clearly understand what M. VESQUIER's business is, but as he seems to take for granted that I know all about it, I trustto getting DAUBINET alone and obtaining definite information from him. Are they VESQUIER's caves we are going to see? "No, " DAUBINET tells mepresently, quite surprised, at my ignorance; "we are going to see _lescaves de Popperie_--Popp & Co. , only Co. 's out of it, and it's allPOPP now. " "Now then, Gentlemen, " says the _gérant_ of POPP & Co, "here's a_voiture_. We have twenty minutes' drive. " The Popp-Manager pointsout to me all the interesting features of the country. DAUBINET amuseshimself by sitting on the box and talking to the coachman. "It excites me, " he explains, when requested to take a back seatinside--though, by the way, it is in no sense DAUBINET's _métier_to "take a back seat, "--"it excites me--it amuses me to talk to a_cocher. On ne peut pas causer avec un vrai cocher tous les jours. _"And presently we see them gesticulating to each other and talkingboth at once, DAUBINET, of course, is speaking English and variousother languages, but as little French as possible, to the evidentbewilderment of the driver. DAUBINET is perfectly happy. "Petzikoff!Blass the Prince of WAILES!" I hear him bursting out occasionally. Whereat the coachman smiles knowingly, and flicks the horses. * * * * * THE TWO WINDS. (_A FAIRY STORY FOR THE SEASON OF 1891. IMITATED--AT A DISTANCE--FROMHANS ANDERSEN'S CELEBRATED TALE OF "THE FOUR WINDS. "_) [Illustration] * * * * * The Mother of the Winds (acting as _locum tenens_ for her Clerk of theWeather, who, sick of his own unseasonable work, was off to spend hisannual holiday with Mr. ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON in the Pacific Isles), received the desperately damp, dishevelled, blown-about, and almostheart-broken Princess AGRICULTURA at the door of the Cave. "Oh, here you are again!" she cried, "once more in the Cavern of theWinds! And this time you have brought two of my sons with you, I see, "she added, pointing to the South Wind and the West Wind, who wereblowing away at the Princess like bellowsy blends of Blizzards, Cloud-bursts, Tornadoes and Tritons. "Oh, do for pity's sake, stop them!" cried AGRICULTURA, strugglinghard to keep herself and her garments together. "It seems as thoughthe heavens have become one vast sluice, that keeps pouring downwater, as my predecessor, the Prince, put it. I have not a dry threadabout me. _Please_ put them in their Bags--_do_--whilst I have alittle talk with you about them, and the mischief they have beendoing. " Two prolonged chuckles, a deep stentorian one and a sharp staccatoone, came from the two Bags already hanging to the wall of the Cavern, from whence subsequently protruded the round ruddy form of the Northand the pinched figure of the East Wind. "Ho! ho! ho!" chortled theNorth Wind, chokingly. "Who says _I_ do all the damage?" "He! he! he!" sniggered the East Wind, raspingly. "Who is the pickleand spoil-sport _now_, I should like to know?" "Shut up!" said the Mother of the Winds, sharply. "And as to you two, "she added, turning to the South and West Winds, "if you don't standstill and give an account of yourselves, I'll pop you into yourrespective Bags in the twinkling of a hundred-ton gun!" "Why, who is _she_, that she should call us over the clouds?" criedthe two Winds, stopping their blowing a bit, and pointing to thePrincess. "She is my guest, " said the old woman; "and if that does not satisfyyou, you need only get into the Bags. Do you understand me now?" Well, this did the business at once; and the two Winds, in a breath, began to relate whence they came, and what they had been doing fornearly three months past. "We have been spoiling the English Summer, " they said. "_That's_ nothing new, " muttered the Mother of the Winds. "_Isn't_ it, though--in the way _we've_ done it?" cried the two, triumphantly. "Why, those two Boys over yonder, uniting theirflatulent forces, could not have done better--or worse. Ho! ho! ho!_They_ made last winter a frozen Sahara. _We've_ made the presentsummer a squashy Swamp! The winter was as dry as the dust of RAMESES. The summer has been as wet as old St. Swithin's gingham. We soakedJune, we drenched July, and we drowned August. We squelched thestrawberry season, reducing tons of promising fruit to flavourlesspulp, and the growers to damp despair. Whooosh!! What a wetting wegave 'em!!! As soon as the Cricket Season started, so did _we_! Didn'twe just? We simply sopped all the wickets, and spoilt all the matches, either keeping the cricketers waiting in the pavilion or slippingabout on sloppy slithery turf. Consequently, the Cricketing Seasonhas been a sickening sell. We 'watered down' the 'averages' of all the'cracks. ' S. W. Was too many for W. G. (GRACE, of Gloucester), and W. W. Gave the _other_ W. W. (READ, of Surrey) a fair doing! We followed 'TheLeviathan' in particular about persistently, till he must be realglad to 'take his hook' to Australia. Wherever _he_ was playing, fromKennington to Clifton, we combined our forces, swooped down on him, and simply washed him out!" "Wanton wags!" said the Mother of the Winds, reproachfully. "Ra-_ther_, " yelled her promising offspring in chorus. "But that's notall, _is_ it, S. W. ?--_is_ it W. W. ? We mucked up Lawn Tennis, soakedHenley Regatta, nearly spoilt the German EMPEROR's visit, ruined allthe _al fresco_ functions of the Season--slap!--flooded Society outof London, only to deluge them in their flitting till they wished theywere back again, intensified the Influenza Epidemic, and--" "Oh! stop, stop!" moaned the Old Woman. "Those Boys yonder willburst--with jealousy. But what have you been doing to the PrincessAGRICULTURA here?" The two broke into a spasmodic duo of delight and disdain. "Why _look_at her?" they cried. "Doesn't she speak for herself?" "I _do_, " replied AGRICULTURA. "And I charge this pair of PerniciousPickles with planning--and to a large extent effecting--myDestruction! Hay, Hops, Cereals, Root-Crops, Fruits and Flowers--allruined by these roystering rascals. They've done more incurablemischief in three supposed-to-be Summer Months than thosemuch-maligned Boys over yonder did all the Winter. They've had it alltheir own way the Season through, ay, as much as though they'd nailedthe weathercock to S. W. , and knocked out the bottom of Aquarius'swater-pot. And I call upon you, O Mother of the Winds, to pop them atonce into their respective Bags, sit upon them till they are chokedsilent and still, and then hang them up to dry--if dry such wateryimps _can_--for at least six months to come!" Now whether the Mother of the Winds gave ear to the prayer of the poorPrincess AGRICULTURA, and imposed upon the Two Winds the punishmentthey richly deserved, the sequel must show. * * * * * [Illustration: SIGNS OF BREEDING. (_Vide Correspondence in the "Daily Telegraph_. ") _Little Binks agrees with Lord Byron that Breeding shews itself in theHands, and complacently surveys his own. _ "BOSH!" SAYS BLOKER. "BREEDING SHOWS ITSELF IN THE EAR, AND NOWHEREELSE!"] * * * * * MORE MESSAGES FROM THE MAHATMA. [Illustration] 1. I am KOOT HOOMIBOOG. There are more things in my philosophy thanwere ever dreamed of in heaven or earth. You are POONSH. You are aThrupni but you are not a Mahatma. Be a Mahatma, and save your postageexpenses. But you must be discreet; and you must be exceeding vague. A Mahatma is nothing if he is not vague. You must also be elusive. Canyou elude? It is no light matter to prove one's spiritual capacity bymaterialising a cigarette inside a grand piano. 2. Your reply to my letter is soulless and sceptical. How _can_ youask me, O POONSH, what I am trying to get at? I ask nothing from you. It would be to your advantage rather than mine if you printed my poemon the Re-incarnation of Ginan Bittas, entitled _The Soul's GooseberryBush_. And if you will only be a Mahatma, or a disciple, I will gladlylet you have the serial rights in that great work. What do you mean bysaying you do not want to find cigarettes in your neighbour's piano?Think it over again, and you will see the beauty of it. You are aThrupni, but surely you have _some_ spiritual needs. 3. You say that you do not want my poem, and you ask me if I have nofurther attractions to offer. I am KOOT HOOMIBOOG, and I have kept thegreatest attraction for the last. If you will only join us, you _may_find a few newspapers who will discuss you. You may see the questionwhether you are a fool or a knave debated in the correspondencecolumns. Think of the glory of it! 4. What? you won't? Well; I _am_ surprised! * * * * * THE (EUROPEAN) WORLD AND ITS WIFE. --Europe--says an oracle--is "Weddedto Peace. " Possibly. And Europe, doubtless, does not exactly desire adivorce. But Europe has to pay pretty heavily--in armies and fleets, &c. --for Peace's "maintenance. " * * * * * THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS. NO. VI. SCENE--_Garden of the Hotel Victoria at Bingen, commanding a view of the Rhine and the vine-terraced hills, which are bathed in warm afternoon sunlight. Under the mopheaded acacias, CULCHARD and PODBURY are sitting smoking. At a little distance from them, are a Young Married Couple, whose honeymoon is apparently in its last quarter. _ _The Bridegroom_ (_lazily, to Bride, as she draws another chairtowards her for a foot-rest_). How many _more_ chairs do you want? _Bride_ (_without looking at him_). I should think you could spare meone--you can hardly sit on three at once! [_After this interchange of amenities, they consider themselves absolved from any further conversational efforts. _ _Podb. _ (_to CULCH. , resuming a discussion_). I know as well as youdo that we are booked for Nuremberg; but what _I_ say is--that's noearthly reason why we should _go_ there! _Culch. _ No reason why _you_ should go, unless you wish it, certainly. _I_ intend to go. _Podb. _ Well, it's beastly selfish, that's all! I know _why_ you're sokeen about it, too. Because the TROTTERS are going. _Culch. _ (_colouring_). That's an entire mistake on your part. MissTROTTER has nothing to do with it. I don't even know whether she'sgoing or not--for certain. _Podb. _ No, but you've a pretty good idea that she _is_, though. AndI _know_ how it will be. You'll be going about with her all the time, and I shall be shunted on to the old man! I don't _see_ it, you know!(_CULCH. Remains silent. A pause. PODBURY suddenly begins to searchhis pockets_. ) I say--here's a pretty fix! Look here, old fellow, doosid annoying thing, but I can't find my purse--must have lost itsomewhere! _Culch. _ (_stoically_). I can't say I'm surprised to hear it. It'sawkward, certainly. I suppose I shall have to lend you enough to gohome with--it's all I can do; but I'll do that with--er--pleasure. _Podb. _ (_staring_). Go home? Why, I can wire to the governor formore, easily enough. We shall have to stay here till it comes, that'sall. _Culch. _ And give up Nuremberg? Thank you! _Podb. _ I rather like this place, you know--sort of rest. And we couldalways nip over to Ems, or Homburg, if it got too slow, eh? [Illustration: "Good Heavens, It--It's gone!"] _Culch. _ If I nip over anywhere, I shall nip to Nuremberg. We mayjust as well understand one another, PODBURY. If I'm to provide moneyfor both of us, it's only reasonable that you should be content togo where _I_ choose. I cannot, and will not, stand these perpetualinterferences with our original plan; it's sheer restlessness. Comewith me to Nuremberg, and I shall be very happy to be your banker. Otherwise, you must stay here alone. [_He compresses his lips and crosses his legs. _ _Podb. _ Oh, _that_'s it, is it? But look here, why not tit up whetherwe go on or stay? _Culch. _ Why should I "tit up, " as you call it, when I've already madeup my mind to go. When I once decide on anything, it's final. _The Bride_ (_to Bridegroom, without enthusiasm_). Would you like meto roll you a cigarette? _Bridegroom_ (_with the frankness of an open nature_). Not if I knowit. I can do it better myself. _Bride_ (_coldly_). I see. [_Another silence, at the end of which she rises and walks slowly away, pausing at the gate to see whether he intends to follow. As he does not appear to have remarked her absence, she walks on. _ _Podbury_ (_to Culch. , in an undertone_). I say, those two don't seemto hit it off exactly, eh? Seem sorry they came! You'll be glad tohear, old fellow, that we needn't separate after all. Just found mypurse in my trouser-pocket! _Culch. _ Better luck than you deserve. Didn't I tell you you shouldhave a special pocket for your money and coupons? Like this--see. (_He opens, his coat. _) With a buttoned flap, it stands to reason they_must_ be safe! _Podb. _ So long as you keep it buttoned, old chap, --which you don'tseem to do! _Culch. _ (_annoyed_). Pshaw! The button is a trifle too--(_feelspocket, and turns pale_). Good Heavens, it--it's _gone_! _Podb. _ The button? _Culch. _ (_patting himself all over with shaking hands_). Everything!--money, coupons, circular notes! They--they must havefallen out going up that infernal Niederwald. (_Angrily. _) You _would_insist on going! _Podb_. Phew! The whole bag of tricks gone! You're lucky if you getthem again. Any number of tramps and beggars all the way up. Shouldn'thave taken off your coat--very careless of you! (_He grins. _) _Culch. _ It was so hot. I must go and inform the Police here--I mayrecover it yet. Anyway, we--we must push on to Nuremberg, and I'lltelegraph home for money to be sent there. You can let me have enoughto get on with? _Podb. _ With all the pleasure in life, dear boy--on your ownconditions, you know. I mean, if I pay the piper, I call the tune. Now, I don't cotton to Nuremberg somehow; I'd rather go straight on toConstance; we could get some rowing there. _Culch. _ (_pettishly_). Rowing be ---- (_recollecting hishelplessness_). No; but just consider, my dear PODBURY. I assure youyou'll find Nuremberg a most delightful old place. You must see howbent I am on going there! _Podb. _ Oh, yes, I see _that_. But then I'm _not_, don't you know--sothere we are! _Culch. _ (_desperately_). Well, I'll--I'll meet you half-way. I've noobjection to--er--titting up with you--Nuremberg or Constance. Come? _Podb. _ You weren't so anxious to tit up just now--but never mind. (_Producing a mark_. ) Now then, Emperor--Constance. Eagle--Nuremberg. Is it sudden death, or best out of three? [_He tosses. _ _Culch. _ Sud--(_The coin falls with the Emperor uppermost. _) Best outof three. [_He takes coin from PODBURY and tosses. _ _Podb. _ Eagle! we're even so far. (_He receives coin. _) This settlesit. [_He tosses. _ _Culch. _ Eagle again! Now mind, PODBURY, no going back after _this. _It must _be_ Nuremberg now. _Podb. _ All right! And now allow me to have the pleasure of restoringyour pocket-book and note-case. They did fall out on the Niederwald, and it was a good job for you I was behind and saw them drop. Youmust really be more careful, dear boy. Ain't you going to say "ta" forthem? _Culch. _ (_relieved_). I'm--er--tremendously obliged. I really can'tsay how. --(_Recollecting himself_. ) But you need not have takenadvantage of it to try to do me out of going to Nuremberg--it was ashabby trick! _Podb. _ Oh, it was only to get a rise out of you. I never meant tokeep you to it, of course. And I say, weren't you sold, though? Didn'tI lead up to it beautifully? (_He chuckles. _) Score to me, eh! _Culch. _ (_with amiable sententiousness_). Ah, well, I don't grudgeyou your little joke if it amuses you. Those laugh best who laughlast. And it's settled now that we're going to Nuremberg. [_Miss TROTTER and her father have come out from the Speisesaal doors, and overhear the last speech. _ _Mr. Trotter_ (_to Culchard_). Your friend been gettin' off a joke onyou, Sir? _Culch. _ Only in his own estimation, Mr. TROTTER. I have nailed himdown to going to Nuremberg, which, for many reasons, I was extremelyanxious to visit. (_Carelessly. _) Are we likely to be there when youare? _Miss T. _ I guess not. We've just got our mail, and my cousin, CHARLEY VAN BOODELER, writes he's having a real lovely time in theEngadine--says it's the most elegant locality he's struck yet, andjust as full of Amurrcans as it can hold; so we're going to start outthere right away. I don't believe we shall have time for Nurembergthis trip. Father, if we're going to see about checking the baggagethrough, we'd better go down to the _dépôt_ right now. [_They passon. _ _Culch. _ (_with a very blank face and a feeble whistle_). Few-fitty-fitty-fitty-fa-di-fee-fee-foo; few--After all, PODBURY, Idon't know that I care so much about Nuremberg. They--they say it's agood deal changed from what it was. _Podb. _ So are _you_, old chap, if it comes to that. Tiddledy-iddlety-ido-lumpty-doodle-oo! Is it to be Constance afterall, then? _Culch. _ (_reddening_). Er--I rather thought of the Engadine--more_bracing_, eh?--few-feedle-eedle-oodle-- _Podb. _ You artful old whistling oyster, _I_ see what you're up to!But it's no go; she don't want either of us Engadining about afterher. It's CHARLEY VAN STICKINTHEMUD's turn now! We've got to go toNuremberg. You can't get out of it, after gassing so much about theplace. When you've once decided, you know, it's _final_! _Culch. _ (_with dignity_). I am not aware that I _wanted_ to get outof it. I merely proposed in your--(PODBURY _suddenly explodes. _) Whatare you cackling at _now_? _Podb. _ (_wiping his eyes_). It's the last laugh, old man, --and it'sthe best! [_CULCHARD walks away rapidly, leaving PODBURY in solitary enjoyment of the joke. PODBURY's mirth immediately subsides into gravity, and he kicks several unoffending chairs with quite uncalled-for brutality. _ * * * * * A "KNOT"ICAL STORY OF DRURY LANE. (_TOLD BY OUR AGED SALT, WITH A TASTE FOR THE DIBDIN DRAMA. _) [Illustration: "A Sailor Knot"--not a Sailor. ] [Illustration: Losing their heads on board the _Dauntless_. ] What, not remember it! Not the scene on Wapping Old Stairs and Mr. CHARLES GLENNEY in the Merchant Service, and Miss MILLWARD the Ward ofCount GURNEY DELAUNAY! Not remember all that! Not recollect the prettyset with the River, the boat-house, and the figure-heads! Ah, tell itto the Marines! Not that they would believe you! I remember it, and agood deal more. Now it came about in this way. You see Miss MILLWARDthought that Lieutenant CHARLES WARNER, R. N. --"her sweetheart as aboy"--was dead, and, like a sensible young lady, made arrangements tomarry his foster-brother, meaning GLENNEY. This she would have donemost comfortably, had not the Count and a Boat-builder, one JULIANCROSS PENNYCAD, objected. But after all, their opposition wouldn'thave come to much hadn't Lieutenant CHARLES WARNER, R. N. , taken itinto his head to turn up from the Centre of Africa, or the CannibalIslands, or somewhere. On second thoughts I don't think it could havebeen the Cannibal Islands, because _there_ they would have certainlyeaten him--he looked so plump, and in such excellent condition. Well, Lieutenant WARNER, R. N. , finding that Miss MILLWARD was on the eve ofmarrying Mr. GLENNEY, most nobly made room for his foster-brother, andhurried back to sea. But as luck (and Mr. HENRY PETTIT) would have it, just as the lady and gentleman were on their way to Stepney Old Churchto be spliced, who should turn up in a uniform that showed him to bea fine figure of a man but Lieutenant WARNER, R. N. , himself--withthe Press Gang. It turned out that Lieutenant WARNER's ship was veryunder-manned, and that he had been ordered by his Captain to get allthe sailors he could on board H. M. S. _Dauntless_--a vessel, by theway, that afterwards proved to be the very image of the _Victory_. And here came a complication. Through the treachery of JULIAN CROSSPENNYCAD, Lieutenant WARNER seized Mr. GLENNEY just as he and MissMILLWARD were entering Stepney Old Church. Says Mr. GLENNEY toLieutenant WARNER, "What, taking me, because you are jealous of me, on my wedding-day! You ought to be ashamed of yourself!" or words tothat effect. Says Lieutenant WARNER, R. N. , to Mr. GLENNEY, "Nothingof the sort. For the man who would betray another, save in the way ofkindness, on his bridal morn, is unworthy of the name of a Britishsailor, " or words to _that_ effect. Then Miss MILLWARD chimed in, andthus touched the heart of Lieutenant WARNER, R. N. , so deeply that heordered Mr. GLENNEY's immediate release. "I forget my duty, " explainedthe generous WARNER. "But I don't, " put in his superior officer, Captain WILLIAM LUGG VERNON, "and I order that man to be carried onboard!" and there was not a dry eye amongst those present, except, perhaps, amongst the heartless "Press Gang, " who, having to writenotices for the daily and weekly papers, were naturally eager to seewhat "In the Fo'castle" and "The Deck of the _Dauntless_" were like. And these they did see in the next Act of this really capital Drama. And here came in a scene that will long be remembered to the honour ofthe British Navy and the National and Royal Theatre, Drury Lane. Therecame a mutiny, with the misguided GLENNEY at the head of it. SaidCaptain WILLIAM LUGG VERNON, after it was quelled, "We can't spare aman, and so I shall have Mr. GLENNEY flogged. " "Don't do that, " criedLieutenant WARNER; "he is my brother and my friend, although he hasgiven me a oner, owing to a misunderstanding. Captain, may I appeal tothese men, and ask them in stirring language, to fight the foe. " "Youshall, " replied his superior officer; "and, by arrangement with Mr. HENRY PETTITT, I will see that '_Rule Britannia_' is played softly byan efficient orchestra while you are speaking to them. " "A thousandthanks!" cried the eloquent WARNER; and then he let them have it. Hetold them that the enemy were waiting for them--that they had leftBrest for the purpose of engaging in a first-class naval engagement. He pointed out that the other ships of the Fleet were on their way tothe scrimmage. "Would the gallant _Dauntless_ be the only laggard?""No!" shouted the now-amenable-to-naval-discipline GLENNEY, and withthe rest of the malcontents, he asked to be led to glory. It wasindeed stirring to see the red-coats waving their hats on the tops oftheir bayonets, and the Blue Jackets brandishing their swords. In theenthusiasm of the moment, the entire ship's company seemed to havelost their heads, and cheers came from the deck, and the auditoriumequally. It was a moment of triumph for everyone concerned! Everyone!And need I say anything more? Need I tell you how it came right in theend? How Miss MILLWARD (who was always on the eve of being marriedto someone) did actually go through a civil ceremony (the Frenchwere polite even in the days before Waterloo) with the Count, which, however, failed to count (as an old wag, with a taste for ancientjests, observed to a brother droll), because the Gallic nobleman gotkilled immediately after the ceremony? Need I hint that Mr. GLENNEYwas falsely accused of murder, to be rescued at the right momentby the ever-useful and forgiving WARNER? Need I say that Mr. HENRYPETTITT was cheered to the echo for his piece, and Sir AUGUSTUSDRURIOLANUS for his stage management? No, for other chronicles havegiven the news already; and it is also superfluous to describe thefun of those excellent comedians, Mr. HARRY NICHOLLS and Miss FANNYBROUGH. All I can say is, if you want to see a good piece, wellmounted, and capitally acted all round, why go to Old Drury, and youwill agree with me (and the old wag with a taste for ancient jests)that Sir AUGUST-US might add September, October, November, andDecember to his signature, as _A Sailor's Knot_ seems likely to remaintied to the Knightly Boards until it is time to produce the ChristmasPantomime. So heave away, my hearties, and good luck to you! * * * * * SONGS FOR THE PRO. AND CON. THEOSOPHICAL CONTROVERSIALISTS. --"_Allround Mahatmas_, " "_He's a jolly good Chela!_" "Row, _Brothers_, Row!"and "_Why did my 'Masters' sell me?_" * * * * * [Illustration: CRICKETANA. YOUNG LADIES V. BOYS. _Fair Batter_ (_ætat. _ 18). "NOW, JUST LOOK HERE, ALGY JONES--NONE OFYOUR PATRONAGE! YOU _DARE_ TO BOWL TO ME WITH YOUR LEFT HAND AGAIN, AND I'LL BOX YOUR EARS!"] * * * * * "NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH. " _A SCENE VERY FREELY ADAPTED FROM "THE CRITIC. "_ _Enter Mr. PUNCH, First Commissioner of Police, Inspector, and Constables. _ _Commissioner_. Oh! very valiant Constables: one is the Inspectorhimself, the others are ordinary P. C. 's. And now I hope you shall hearsome better language. I was obliged to be plain and intelligible inmy manifesto, because there was so much matter-of-fact ground forremonstrance, and even chiding; but still, 'i faith, I am proud of mymen, who, in point of fact, are fine fellows. _Mr. P. _ Unquestionably! But let us listen--unobserved, if so it maybe. _Inspector_. How's this, my lads! What cools your usual zeal, And makes your helméd valour down i' the mouth? Why dimly glimmers that heroic flame Whose reddening blaze, by civic spirit fed, Should be the beacon of a happy Town? Can the smart patter of a Bobby's tongue Thus stagnate in a cold and prosy converse, Or freeze in oathless inarticulateness? No! Let not the full fountain of your valour Be choked by mere official wiggings, or Your prompt consensus of prodigious swearing Be checked by the philanthropists' foaming wrath, Or high officialdom's hostility! _Mr. P. _ There it is, Mr. Commissioner; they admit your by no meanssoft impeachment. _Commissioner_. Nay, listen yet awhile! _1st P. C. _ No more!--the freshening breeze of your rebuke Hath filled the napping canvas of our souls! And thus, though magistrates expostulate, [_All take hands and raise their truncheons. _ And hint that ANANIAS dressed in blue, We'll grapple with the thing called Evidence, And if we fall, by Heaven! we'll fall _together_! _Inspector_. There spoke Policedom's genius! Then, are we all resolved? _All_. We are--all resolved. _Inspector_. To pull--and swear--together? _All_. To pull--and swear--together. _Inspector_. All? _All_. All! _Mr. P. _ _Nem. Con. _ Egad! _Commissioner_. Oh, yes! When they do agree in the Force, theirunanimity is wonderful! _Inspector_. Then let's embrace this resolution, and "Keep it with aconstant mind--and now--" [_Kneels. _ _Mr. P. _ What the plague, is he going to pray? _Commissioner_. Yes--hush! In great emergencies--on the Stage or inthe Force--there's nothing like a prayer in chorus. _Inspector_. "O MENDEZ PINTO!" _Mr. P. _ But why should he pray to MENDEZ PINTO? _Commissioner_. Oh, "the Knight, PINTO-MENDEZ FERDINANDO, " as POEcalls him, is the tutelary genius of Bards--and Bobbies! Hush! _Inspector_. If in thy homage bred Each point of discipline I've still observed; Swearing in squads, affirming in platoons; Nor but by due promotion, and the right Of service to the rank P. C. Inspector, Have risen; assist thy votary now! _1st P. C. _ Yet do not rise--hear me! [_Kneels. _ _2nd P. C. _ And me! [_Kneels. _ _3rd P C. _ And me! [_Kneels. _ _Inspector_. Now swear--and pray--all together! _All_. We swear!!! Behold thy votaries submissive beg That thou wilt deign to grant them all they ask, Assist them to accomplish all their ends, And sanctify whatever means they use To gain them _Mr. P. _ A very orthodox and harmonious chorus. Their "_tutti_" isperfection. _Commissioner_. Vastly well, is't not? Is that well managed or not? Isthe "thin Blue line" well disciplined or not? Have you such absoluteperfection of "alltogetherishness" on your lyric stage as the Forcevoluntarily maintains--in its own interests, and obedient to its ownpeculiar _esprit de corps_? _Mr. P. _ (_with significance_). Not exactly! * * * * * MANY HAPPY RETURNS! (_PUNCH TO MADAME LA RÉPUBLIQUE. _) ["The Republic attains its majority to-morrow (Sept. 4). It is the first Government since the Revolution which has had a twenty-first birthday. "--_The Times_. ] Dear Madam, "Perfidious Albion" proffers The best birthday wishes good feeling can shape! A snap of the fingers for cynical scoffers! A fig for the framers of venomous jape. May Peace and Goodwill be your lasting possession, Your proud "Valour" tempered by "years of discretion!" * * * * * HYGEIA OFF THE SCENT. --It is stated that even the charms of achampagne luncheon failed to attract more than one out of twenty-fourmembers of the Hygienic Congress invited to test the merits ofsewage-farms by ocular--or should we say _nasal_?--demonstration. Perhaps the missing three-and-twenty thought that in this case, atleast, Mrs. MALAPROP would be both correct and pertinent in sayingthat "Comparisons are _odorous_!" * * * * * [Illustration: "NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH. " INSPECTOR. "NOW SWEAR! ALL TOGETHER!" CONSTABLES. "WE SWEAR!!" MR. PUNCH (_aside_). "DEAR ME, SIR EDWARD; WHEN THEY _DO_ AGREE, THEIRUNANIMITY IS WONDERFUL!. "--"_The Critic_, " _freely adapted. _] * * * * * ROBERT'S ROMANCE. I have been so bothered for coppys of my Romanse, as I read at theCook's Swarry some time back, that I have detummined to publish it, and here it is. In coarse, all rites is reserved. ROBERT. [Illustration] THE MYSTERY OF MAY FARE. (BY ONE BEHIND THE SEENS. ) CHAPTER I. --_DESPARE!_ It was Midnite! The bewtifool Countess of BELGRAVIER sat at the hopenwinder of her Boodwar gazing on the full moon witch was jest a risingup above the hopposite chimbleys. Why was that evenly face, thatprinces had loved and Poets sillybrated, bathed in tears? How offenhad she, wile setting at that hopen winder, washed it with OderColone, to remove the stanes of them tell tail tears? But all in wane, they wood keep running down that bewtifool face as if enamelled withits buty; and quite heedless of how they was a spiling of her newivory cullered sattin dress that Maddam ELISE's yung ladies had been aworkin on up to five a clock that werry arternoon. She had bin to the great ball of the Season, to be washupped as usualby the world of Fashun, but wot had driven her home at the hunerthlyhour of harf-parst Eleven? Ah, that cruel blo, that deadly pang, thatdespairin shok, must be kep for the nex chapter. CHAPTER II. --_THE HELOPEMEANT!_ Seated in the House-keeper's own Room at the Dook of SURREY's lovelyManshun, playfoolly patting his fatted calves, and surrounded by hisadmiring cirkle, sat CHARLES, the ero of my Tale. CHARLES was the idleof that large establishment. They simply adored him. It was not onlyhis manly bewty, tho that mite have made many an Apoller envy him. Itwas not only his nolledge of the world, tho in that he was sooperiorto menny a Mimber of Parlyment from the Sister Oil, but it was hisstile, his grace, his orty demeaner. The House-keeper paid him markedattenshuns. The Ladies Maid supplyed him with Sent for his ankerchers. The other Footmen looked up to him as their moddel, and ewen thesollem Butler treated him with respec, and sumtimes with sumthinkelse as he liked even better. The leading Gentlemen from other Doocalestablishments charfed him upon his success with the Fare, ewen amongthe werry hiest of the Nobillerty, and CHARLES bore it all with agood-natured larf that showed off his ivory teeth to perfecshun. Ofcourse it was all in fun, as they said, and probberly thort, tillon this fatal ewening, the noose spread like thunder, through theestonished world of Fashun, that CHARLES had heloped with the welthy, the middle-aged, but still bewtifool, Marchioness of ST. BENDIGO. CHAPTER III. --_THE DEWELL_. The pursoot was rapid and sucksessful, and the MARKISS's challengereyther disterbed the gilty pair at their ellegant breakfast. ButCHARLES was as brave as he was fare, and, having hired his fust Secondfor twenty-five francs, and made a few other erangements, he met hishantigginest on the dedly field on the follering day at the hunerthlyhour of six hay hem. CHARLES, with dedly haim, fired in the hair! butthe MARKISS being bald, he missed him. The MARKISS's haim was evenmore dedly, for he, aperiently, shot his rival in his hart, for hefell down quite flat on the new-mown hay, and dishcullered it with hisblud! The MARKISS rushed up, and gave him one look of orror, and, throwingdown a £1000 pound note, sed, "that for any one who brings him two, "and, hurrying away to his Carridge, took the next train for Lundon. CHARLES recovered hisself emediately, and, pocketing the note, winkedhis eye at the second second, and, giving him a hundred-franc note forhisself, wiped away the stains of the rouge and water, and returned tobreakfast with his gilty parrer-mour. CHAPTER IV. --_THE END_. The poor MARKISS was so horryfied at his brillyant sucksess, thatCHARLES's sanguinery corpse aunted his bed-side, and he died withina munth, a leetle munth, as _Amlet_ says, of the dredful ewent, andCHARLES married his Widder. But, orful to relate, within a werry shorttime CHARLES was a sorrowin Widderer, with a nincum of sum £10, 000 ayear; and having purchased a Itallien titel for a hundred and fiftypound, it is said as he intends shortly to return to hold Hingland;and as the lovely Countess of BELGRAVIER is fortnetly becum a Widder, and a yung one, it is thought quite posserbel, by them as is behindthe seens, like myself, for instance, that before many more munce ispast and gone, there will be one lovely Widder and one andsum Widdererless than there is now; and we is all on us ankshushly looking forredto the day wen the gallant Count der WENNIS shall lead his lovelyBride to the halter of St. George's, Hannower Squeer, thus proving thetruth of the Poet's fabel, -- "The rank is but the guinny's stamp, The Footman's the man for a' that. " * * * * * WHERE ARE OUR DAIRYMAIDS? A SONG OF VANISHED SUMMER. ["What has become of our Dairymaids?"--_Newspaper Question. _] AIR--"_THE DUTCHMAN'S LITTLE DOG_. " O where and O where is our Dairymaid gone? O where, O where can she be? With her skirts cut short and her hair cut long, O where, and O where is she? Well, Summer is gone, and so is the Sun, And farming is nought but a bilk. When our Butter is Dutch, and our Cheese is Yank, Why, why should they leave us our Milk? Our brave Queen BESS, as the Laureate says, [1] Might wish that a milkmaid were she; Whilst MAUDLIN in WALTON's bucolical days Could troll forth her ballad with glee. But, alas! for the days of the stool and the churn, And the milking-pails brass-bound and bright! There is much to do and but little to earn In the Dairy, once IZAAK's delight. Now Companies deal with the lacteal yield, And churns clank o' night at Vauxhall, Who dreams with delight of the buttercup'd field, Or Dun Suke in her sweet-smelling stall? Milking the Cow, and churning the milk Made work for the maids long ago, But possible Dairymaids now dress in silk, _That's_ where our Dairymaids go. Ah! DOLLY becomes a mechanical drudge, And SALLY--a something much worse. Through cowslip-pied meadows to merrily trudge Won't fill a maid's heart, or her purse. The meadow at eve and the dairy at morn, And a song--from KIT MARLOW--between, Would fire a fine-dressed modern MAUDLIN with scorn, And move modish MOLLY to spleen. The Dairymaid's true "golden age" is long fled With Summer, and pippins and cream; Like little _Bo-Peep_ and _Boy-Blue_, it is dead, Save as parts of a pastoral dream. O where and O where is our Dairymaid gone? O where, and O where can she be? Well, they make cockney shop-girls of PHILLIS and JOAN, And I guess that they make such with _she_! [Footnote 1: "I would I were a milkmaid To sing, love, marry, churn, brew, bake and die. " TENNYSON's _Queen Mary_. ] * * * * * A MATTER OF CORSET. --At Sydenham, Ontario (it is stated), the Corsethas been declared to be "incompatible with Christianity!" If some ofour fashionable dames uttered their innermost feelings, they woulddoubtless reply, "So much the worse for--Christianity. " It is soobvious that many modish Mammas care much more for their daughters'bodices than their souls. * * * * * [Illustration: MR. PUNCH ON TOUR. HE ARRIVES AT KINGSTOWN BY THE IRISHMAIL. ] * * * * * THE GUZZLING CURE. [Sir DYCE DUCKWORTH, in a letter written to a Vegetarian Correspondent, says, "I believe in the value of animal food and alcoholic drinks for the best interests of man. The abuse or misuse of either is another matter. "] [Illustration] O plump Head-waiter, I have read What worthy DUCKWORTH writes! And that is why I've swiftly sped To where your door invites. I kept my indigestion down Of old, by sheer starvation; But now no longer shall I frown On food assimilation. I pledge him in your oldest port, _This_ medical adviser, For vainly elsewhere might be sought A cheerier or a wiser, He bids me speedily return To ordinary diet-- A sage prescription!--and I burn To chance results, and try it! I've lived on air; on food for Lent; On what some Doctor calls "Nitrogenous environment"-- A fare that quickly palls. I'll eat the chops I once did eat; All care and thought I banish; And with this unexpected treat My old dyspeptics vanish. What though they warn me that at first-- It may be merely fancy-- The stomach's sure to try its worst In base recalcitrancy? When half-starved gastric juice is set To cope with dainty dishes, The outcome--one may safely bet-- Won't be just what one wishes. This earth is rich in chemists' shops, With doctors it abounds, Who, if I feel the change from slops, Will take me on their rounds. So, scorning indigestive ache, I count each anxious minute; Oh, waiter, hurry up that steak! My happiness is in it. * * * * * ANNALS OF A WATERING-PLACE THAT "HAS SEEN ITS DAY. " I do not know when Torsington-on-Sea's day precisely was, or, whetherindeed its day has yet dawned, but I was sent there by my medicaladviser as being _the very place_ for me, it being "delightfullyquiet", nine miles from a railway station, which apparently meansin plain English twenty-four hours behind the rest of this habitableglobe, and generally stranded in the race for every conceivablecomfort or necessity with which an age of Co-operative Storesand Electric Lighting has made one comfortably--perhaps toocomfortably--familiar. Judging, however, from the fact thatTorsington-on-Sea consists mainly of a pretentious architecturaleffort consisting of six-and-thirty palatial sea-side residences, twenty-four of which are let in sets of furnished apartments to highlyrespectable families, and twelve of which appear, from want of funds, to have stopped short in their infancy many years ago at the basement, showing a weed-covered foundation of what might, had the over-sanguinecapitalist not overshot the initial mark, have proved as fine asea-side terrace on the South East Coast as the weary cockney eyecould well hope to light upon, it would be including the fact thatthere is but one policeman to protect the lives and properties of theinhabitants and strangers of Torsington-on-Sea, by day and by night, and a town band (with a uniform) of five, of which two-fifths are, Iwas going to say "armed" with cymbals, triangle and with big and sidedrums, it would be more reasonable to suppose that Torsington-on-Seahad seen its day, and that what glories it ever had may be regarded ashaving departed with the vanished years. [Illustration] Beyond the stock recreation afforded by the militarily-apparelledTown Band of five, whose _répertoire_ appears to be confined to asad and serious opening march, a rather lugubrious galop, and acouple of valses and a quick-step Polka, which evidently owe theirorigin to the genius of the Conductor, the entertainment offered byTorsington-on-Sea must be further sought for from a donkey-chair, thedonkey attached to which has many a long year ago lost what it everpossessed in the shape of "spirit, " a cast-off Nigger Minstrel, with aconcertina that is somewhat out of order, and a lovely "public-house"tenor, who is heard only after dark, but with a voice so sweet andtrue in tone, that one wonders how it is that instead of thrillingthe High Street of Torsington-on-Sea for possibly the few halfpencehe picks up in that rather unappreciative thoroughfare, he isnot simultaneously rushed at and eagerly caught up by the leading_impressarios_ of all the continental opera-houses in Europe! Then there is the daily arrival of the "coach, " for such is the fadedyellow omnibus styled, that meets the London train from Boxminster, which pulls up with a flourish at the "Three Golden Cups. " There isseldom anything brought by this noteworthy conveyance, unless it bea package or parcel for Mr. DUNSTABLE, the one highly respectabletradesman in the town. DUNSTABLE's is _the_ emporium _par excellence_where anything, from a patent drug down to the latest new novel, canbe ordered down from Town. There is a tradition that old GEORGE THETHIRD, when passing through Torsington in the year 1793, stopped atDUNSTABLE's for some boot-laces, and, patting the grandfather of thepresent proprietor on the head, said, "What! what! none in stock! ThenI think we must have some of these pretty curls instead. " Anyhow, thatis given as the reason for the style and title of "Dunstable's _Royal_Library and Reading Room, " which it has enjoyed without dispute fromthe commencement of the present century to the present day. I came here, as I said, by the advice of my medical adviser, to "pickup. " How far Torsington-on-Sea has helped me to do this, I must dealwith subsequently. * * * * * IGNORANT BLISS. [Illustration] At noon through the open window Comes the scent of the new-mown hay. I look out. In the meadow yonder Are the little lambs at play. They are all extremely foolish, Yet I haven't the heart to hint That over the boundary wall there grows A beautiful bed of mint. For a little lamb Will run to its mam. And will say "O! dam, " At a hint, however well intentioned, When the awful name of mint is mentioned. At the close of day the burglar comes For to ply his gentle trade. I fondly gaze on his jemmy, and Grow timid and quite afraid. I wouldn't for kingdoms have him know That my neighbours of titled rank Went abroad on a sudden last night and left Their jewels at COUTTS's Bank. For a burglar bold Grows harsh and cold When he finds he's sold, And his burglar's bosom heaves at knowing That the sell of a swag isn't worth the stowing. I'm a poet--you may not know it, But I am and hard up for "tin, " So I've written these clever verses And I hope they'll get put in. Yet Life is an awful lottery With a gruesome lot of blanks, And I wish the Editor hadn't slips That are printed "Declined with Thanks. " For it's rather hard On a starving bard When his last trump card Is played, and he wishes himself bisected When his Muse's lays come back--rejected! * * * * * STORICULES. III. --THE DEAR OLD LADY. There were three of them in the railway-carriage. One was aStockbroker; one was a Curate; one was an Old Lady. They had beenstrangers to each other when they started; but it was near the end ofthe journey, and they were chatting pleasantly together now. One couldsee that the little Old Lady was from the country; she was exquisitelyneat and simple in appearance; there was an air of primness about herwhich one rarely sees in a city product. She carried a big bunch ofhedgerow flowers. She seemed to be a little nervous about travelling, and still more nervous about encountering the noise and confusion ofthe great city. She had asked the Stockbroker and Curate a good manyquestions about the sights that she ought to see, and how much sheought to pay the cabman, and which were the best shops. "Not but whatTOM will look after me, " she explained; "Tom's a very good son to me, and he'll be waiting on the platform for me. And such a boy as hewas too when he was younger! Fruit! There wasn't anything that boywouldn't do to get it--any kind of mischief. " She grew garrulous onthe subject of Tom's infancy. The two men answered her questions, and listened amusedly to her chatter. Occasionally they interchangedsmiles. Presently the train got near to the station just before theterminus. The Curate warned the Old Lady that the tickets would becollected there. [Illustration] "Thank you, Sir, " she said, "for telling me. Then I must be gettingmy ticket ready. I've got it quite safely. Such a lot of money it didseem to pay for a ride to London! But TOM _would_ have me come. Henever forgets his old Mother. " She undid her reticule and took out herpurse; she undid the purse and took out a folded paper; she unfoldedthe paper and took out the ticket. Then she put the paper back inthe purse, and the purse back in the reticule. She held the ticketgingerly between two fingers of her cotton-gloved hand, as if it werea delicate fruit, and she were afraid of rubbing the bloom off it. "What a refreshing contrast to our city ways!" thought theStockbroker. "_How_ characteristic!" thought the Curate. "My word! there's one of my hair-pins coming out, " said the Old Lady, suddenly. The hand which held the ticket flew to the back of her head, to put the hair-pin right. And then, all at once, the look of animation died out of the OldLady's face. She seemed utterly aghast and horror-stricken. She gaspedout an unintelligible interjection. "What's the matter, Ma'am?" asked the Stockbroker. "My ticket's gone! I was putting that hair-pin right, and the ticketslipped out of my fingers, and dropped down the back of my neckbetween my clothes and--and myself. What _shall_ I do when thatgentleman comes for the tickets?" The Curate blushed violently. In his boyhood's days he had puthalfpennies down the back of his neck and jumped up and down untilthey percolated out in the region of his boots. He had only justchecked himself in the act of advising the Old Lady to get up andjump. The Stockbroker was more practical, and soon consoled her. He was aseason-ticket-holder, and knew the collector. He would explain it tothe man. "You'll be able to get the ticket again, you see, when you--Imean, later on. " The British love of euphemism had asserted itself. "And then you can send it to the collector by post. You had betterwrite down your name and address to give him. I'll guarantee to thecollector that it will be all right. " The Old Lady overwhelmed him with thanks. Slowly and laboriously shewrote the name and address on the piece of paper in which the ticketwas folded. All happened just as the Stockbroker had foretold. TheTicket-collector was very well satisfied and very much amused. TOM was waiting for her at the terminus, and took charge of her atonce. "Ah!" said the Stockbroker to the Curate, when she had gone, "that'smy notion of a dear Old Lady. " "Everything about her was _so_ characteristic, " answered the Curate, admiringly. Neither the Curate nor the Stockbroker had the advantage of hearingwhat the dear Old Lady said to Tom that afternoon. "It came off just beautifully, my boy. Not that I blame _them_, mindyou, --how were they to know that it was a ticket which I didn't giveup last year, and that I hadn't even taken a ticket at all to-day? No, I don't blame them. As for the address, I put the same address thatwas on the label of the Curate's bag, only I altered The Rev. CHARLESMARLINGHURST to Mrs. MARLINGHURST. And the Stockbroker guaranteed thatI should send either the ticket or the money. So he'll have to pay up!Oh, my word! My gracious word, what a treat!" The dear Old Lady chuckled contentedly. Tom also chuckled. The Stockbroker subsequently relinquished to a great extent his habitof remarking upon his own marvellous intuition, enabling him toread character at sight; the Curate preached a capital sermon on thedeceptiveness of man, and when he said man he meant woman. * * * * * TO A TOO-ENGAGING MAIDEN. [Illustration] I think you should know I've been put out of humour By something I hear very nearly each day. In a small town like ours, as you know, every rumour Gets about in a truly remarkable way. It is too much to hope for that women won't prattle, But I candidly tell you, I do feel enraged When I find that a part of their stock tittle-tattle Is that we--how I laugh at the thought!--are engaged. Though you don't even claim to be reckoned as pretty, You are not, I admit it, aggressively plain. You dress pretty well, and your talk, if not witty, As a rule doesn't give me much positive pain. You will one day be rich, for your prospects are "healthy, " Yet as Beauty and Riches do not make up Life, Why, were you as lovely as Venus, as wealthy As Croesus I wouldn't have _you_ for my wife. Are you free altogether from blame in the matter-- I'm resolved to be frank, so it's useless to frown-- Have you not had a share in the mischievous chatter Which makes our "engagement" the talk of the town? When some eager, impertinent person hereafter Shall inquire of its truth, and shall ask, "Is it so?" Instead of implying assent by your laughter, Would you kindly oblige me by answering, "No"? I recognise freely your marvellous kindness In allowing your name to be linked with my own. Maybe it is only incurable blindness To your charms that compels me to let them alone. But if with reports I am still to be harried, I've thoroughly made up my mind what to do; Just to settle it all, I shall shortly be married, I shall shortly be married, but not--_not_ to you. * * * * * "WHO BREAKS PAYS. "--"In some large restaurants, " says the _DailyChronicle_, "the girls engaged have to pay for the breakages whichoccur in the course of carrying on a business in which they are notpartners. " If the maxim at the head of this paragraph were strictlyand impartially enforced, such exacting employers would have topay pretty smartly for certain "breakages" which occur in thecarrying on of a business in which they consider _they_ have noconcern--breakages, to wit, of the girls' health, spirits, and, often, hearts! * * * * * MODERN VERSION OF "WISE MEN OF THE EAST. "--The Congress ofOrientalists. * * * * * NOTICE. --Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS. , Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in nocase be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and AddressedEnvelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.