Punch (72.1877)

January 13, 1877.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

The Numbers are up—

Invisible Prince .... 1
The rest Nowhere.

" Thanks, Cavasson ! " cried Sir Thomas Dodd, deeply affected.
" You have saved the honour and name of Dodd ! "

" But," screamed Lawyer Ferret, " you have forfeited the
estates ! You have not lost three Derbys in succession! "

Sir Thomas smiled, as, from behind the Judge's box, an elderly
gentleman stepped calmly forward, with a parchment in his hand.
Ferret recognised him. It was Mr. Grazln Lane, the well-known
Chancery Interpleader.

Mr. G-razin Lane bowed politely to Lawyer Ferret, and the
Honble Pullman. Then he said,

" Excuse me ; I am a little hoarse."

A yell came up from the Bookmakers, who were in no humour for
a j est. Mr. G-razin Lane continued calmly,

"This is no joke for any one. I have here several legal docu-
ments ; but, if you will allow me, I will skip over what is unneces-
sary."

" Skip ! " they cried, like one man.

Mr. G-razin Lane bowed, skipped over the legal forms, and then,
after taking the necessary steps, he cleared his voice at a bound,
and thus addressed the assembly.*

(To be continued.)

* From Editor to Public.—Telegram just arrived. It is to be finished next
week. Last chapter not here yet. Shall bring it up with me on my return
from the Major's, Bogus Park, Uoshey, where, I '11 be bound, they are keeping
Christmas in true old English fashion.—Ed.

CUTTINGS FROM NEW-YEAR DIARIES.

ld Paterfamilias
{Friday, Jan. 5).
—Dividends due
at the Bank:
mustn't forget
that the Fire In-
surance expires
on the 9th.
Wrote to ask
Jones to send
me back the um-
brella I left at
his rooms'on New
Year's Day, when
we dined together
to finish the holi-
day on the Stock
Exchange.

Materfamilias
[Friday Jan. 5).
—Dividends due
at the Bank.
Tried to get
George to give
me a new bonnet.
First attempt
was a failure. On
reminding him,
however, that

business couldn't have detained him on New Year's Day, at Mr.
Jones's, he changed the subject, and wrote me a cheque. Must get
the children new shoes for to-morrow's Twelfth-Night party.

Miss Fanny [Friday, Jan. 5).—I do so wish my next quarter's
money was due, as Madame Crinoline's bill has left me almost
penniless. It may arise from my buying gloves with four buttons
instead of six. " 0 poverty, poverty, how bitter is thy sting! " I
wonder who wrote that ? Of course I remember, it was Alexander
Selkirk.

Miss Laura [Friday, Jan. 5).—No news of him ! I wonder if he
will be at the children's party to-morrow ? He may, and then I
shall see him once again. Even when he is pretending to be a horse
for the amusement of the children, he looks romantic. 0 Love,
what a strange thing thou art, changing the most lowly things into
air sorts of other things! I write this with the window open, with
my eyes turned towards the blaek, cheerless midnight sky! I hope
I shan't catch cold !

Mr. Charles [Friday, Jan. 5).—Nothing ©n for to-day. Children's
Twelfth-Night party to-morrow. That little flirt Latjra is sure to
be there. Shall I go ? Depends whether I can cut into a rubber at
the Club. In these hard times can't afford to lose my cards.

Master Tommy [Friday, Jan. 5).—Just, eighteen hours to the
Twelfth-Night Party. What lots of cake I shall eat! Twenty

days more to the end of the holidays.? | Ain't I sorry ! What rot a
diary is! Shouldn't keep it if papa hadn't promised me five
shillings if I wrote some things every day for a fortnight. Come, I
have done enough for to-day.

Mr. Tentofour Seeling-Wax [Friday, Jan. 5).—Stayed at the
office all day reading the papers. Had a snooze in the afternoon,
and dined at the Club.

Mrt Fox Wolf,_ Lawyer [Friday, Jan. 5).—Good day's work.
Sold up three widows, and dispossessed six orphans. Sang
'■'■Dreaming of Angels" with great success at a soiree in the
evening.

Lieutenant Sabretache [Friday, Jan. 5).—On guard all day, and,
consequently, nothing on earth to do. Couldn't find anything to
read but the Queen's Regulations. Read some of them for a novelty,
and found them dry and difficult to understand. Wish I had had a
Bradshaw—might have read the advertisements instead.

Mr. Shakespeare Byron Jones, Amateur Author [Friday, Jan. 5).
—Made up my mind to write a five-act tragedy in blank verse.
Wrote to the Editors of six Magazines asking if they wanted any
articles. Offered to do a Pantomime for Mr. Chatterton, at Drury
Lane, if it wasn't too late. Thought out the first chapters of my
Novel. Spent the rest of the day in considering what I should call
the new paper I mean to start.

Mr. Punch, 85, Fleet Street [Friday, Jan, 5).—Hard at work all
day. No time for diary writing. Leave all that sort of thing to
people with more leisure on their hands than brains in their head-
pieces.

NEW?

A Query by a Querulous Quidnunc.
" I wish you a Happy New Tear."—Popular Saying,

Happy ? That's doubtful! Pessimists would say

Those who are like to find it so are few:
And of all New Year's deeds from day to day
How many will be Neiv ?

What if War's waking bring black fear and sadness,

With parting's pang to palace, hall, and hovel ?
Alas ! about that immemorial madness
There's nothing that is novel.

If Trade peace-fostered flourish, then the rout

Of Mammon's thralls old triumphs by old troubles
Will buy once more : there's little new about
The tints that brighten bubbles.

Black-hackle cocks round clerical mare's nests

Will spar, sects pit to-day against to-morrow,
But each new vestment Reverend Mimes invest
From the dead past they '11 borrow.

The old political pot-d-feu will boil

With the old hash of all the old ingredients;
Old principles fresh-furbished act as foil
To old re-trimmed expedients.

Neologies galore will take the town,—

Mere masquerade—old faces with new masks !—
The frothiest must but proves, when settled down,
Old liquor in new casks.

Art, new-coined terms upon her tongue, will trace,

With fingers feeble as old hands were furious,
Faint copies of the earlier glow and grace,—
Mock-antiques, pale as spurious.

Poesy, plumed for unexampled flights,

Will deem it soars, while in old mire it grovels;
Sumphs vainly seek new radiance in new lights,
Or novelty in novels!

And fools will play their old preposterous pranks ;

And politicians make their old big blunders;
And jesters scatter time-worn quips and cranks ;
And priests roll harmless thunders.

New Years ? Alas! I've greeted hot a few,

But spite of pseudo-seers who jarred and jangled,
I And they've brought me little that is new,
To much that is new-fangled!

Seasonable Query.— If the'Mussulman wants muscle for war,
how can the Russ fight without its sinews ?