Punch (99.1890)

October 25, 1890.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CfLlRLVAR[.

195

His hair is of flame fizzing over his head,

As likewise his heard and eye-lashes ;
His drink's "low-test naphtha," his nag, it is said,
Eats flaming tow soaked in combustibles dread,

Which hot from the manger he gnashes.

The Fire King set spurs to the steed he bestrode,

Intent to mix pleasure with profit.
He "was off to Vine Street ih the Farringiion Road,
And soon with the flames of fired naphtha it flowed

As though 'twere the entry to Tophet.

He sought Harbod's Stores whence soon issued a blast

Of oil-flame that lighted the City
Then he lurned to Cloth Fair. Hold, my Muse ! not too

fast!

On the Fire King's last victims in silence we '11 cast
A look of respectfullestjpity.

But the Fire King flames on ; Now be pulls up to snatch

Some fodder. The Btable's in danger.
His whip in a torch, and each spur is a match,
And over the horse's left eye is a patch,

To keep it from scorching the manger.

But who is the Ostler, and who is his lad,

In fodder-supplying alliance,
"Who feed the Fire King and his Steed ? Tis too bad
That Trade should feed Fire, and his henchmm stem
glad

To set wholesome Law at defiance.

See. Trade stocks the manger, and there is the pail

Full set by the imp Illegality !
That fierce fiery Pegasus thus to regale,
When he's danger and death from hot head to flame-
tail,

Is cruelly c illous brutality.

Ah, Justice looks stern, and, indeel, wtll the may,

With such a vile vision before her.
The ignipotent nag and its rider to stay
In their dangerous course is her duty to-day,

And to do it the public implore her.

" By Jingo!" cries Punch, " you nefarious Two,

Your alliance hnminity jars on !
If you feed the Fire Fiend, with disaster in view,
And the chance of men's death, 'twere more j ustice to do

To have you indicted for arson ! "

FELICITOUS QUOTATIONS.

"Oh, R jBert, the Grouse has been kept too long ! I wonder you can

eat it i"

"My dear, '"VVe needs must love the highest when we see it !'"

(Guinevere.)

VOCES POPULI.

AT THE FRENCH EXHIBITION.

Chorus of Arab Stall-keepers. Cooae ana look! Alaha-ba-li-boo!
Eet is verri cold to-day ! I-ah-rish Brandi! 'Ere, Hiss ! you com'
'ere ! No pay for lookin'. Alf a price! Verri pritti, verri nab-ice,
verri cheap, verri moch ! And so on.

Chorus of British Saleswomen. Will you allow me to show you
this little novelty, Sir? 'Ave yon seen the noo perfume sprinkler ?
Do come and try this noo puzzle—no 'arm in lookin', Sir. Very nice
little novelties 'ere, Sir ! 'Eard the noo French Worltz, Sir ? every
article is really very much reduced, &o., &c.

At the Folies-Bebgebe.
Scene— A hall in the grounds. Several turnstiles leading to
curtained entrances.

Showmen (shouting). Amphitrite, the Marvellous Floatin' Goddess.
Just about to commence! This way for the Mystic Gallery—three
Illusions for threepence ! Atalanta, the Silver Queen of the Moon ;
the Oriental Beauty in the Table of the Sphinx, and the Wonderf nl
Galatea, or Pygmalion's Dream. Only threepence! This way for
the Mystic Marvel o' She! Now commencing f

A Female Sightseer (with the air of a person making an original
suggestion). Shall we go in, just to see what it's like ?

Male Ditto. May as well, now we are 'ere. (To preserve himself
from any suspicion of credulity.) Sure to be a take-in o' some sort.
[They enter a dim apartment, in which two or three people are
leaning over a harrier in front of a small Stage ; the Curtain
is lowered, and a Pianist is industriously pounding away at
a Waltz.

The F. S. (with an uncomfortable giggle). Not much to see so far,
is there ?

Her Companion. Well, they ain't begun yet.

[The Waltz ends, and the Curtain rises, disclosing a Cavern
Scene. Amphitrite, in blue tights, rises through the floor.

Amphitrite (in the Gallic tongue). Mesdarms et Messures, j'ai
'honnoor de vous sooayter le bong jour! (Floats, with no apparent
support, in the air, and performs various graceful evolutions, con-
cluding by reversing herself completely). Bong swore, Mesdarms et

messures, nies remercimongs

[She dives below, and the Curtain descends.
The F. S. Is that all P I don't see nothing in that!
Her Comp. (who, having paid for admission, resents this want of
appreciation). Why, the was off the ground the'ole of the time,
wasn't she? I'd just like to see you turnin' and twisting about in
the air as easy as she did with nothing to 'old on by !

The F. S. I didn't notice she was off the ground—yes, that was
clever. I never thought o' that before. Let's go and see the other
things now.

Her Comp. Well, if you don't see nothing surprising in 'em till
they're all over, you might as well stop outside, J should ha'
thought.

The F. S. Oh, but I '11 notice more next time—you've got to get
used to these things, you know.

[ They enter the Mystic Gallery, and find themselves in a dim
passage, opposite a partitioned compartment, in which is a
glass case, supported on four pedestals, with a silver crescent
at the back. The Illutions—to judge from a sound of
scurrying behind the scenes—have apparently been taken
somewhat unawares.
The Female Sightseer (anxious to please). They've done that 'alf-
moon very well, haven't they ?

Voice of Showman (addressing the Illusions). Now then, 'urry
up there—we 're all waiting for you.

[The face of "Atalanta, the Silver Queen of the Moon,"
appears, strongly illuminated, inside the glass-box, and
regards the spectators with an impassive contempt—greatly
to their confusion.
The Male S. (in a propitiatory tone). Not a bad-looking girl,
is she ?

Atalanta, the Queen of the Moon (to the Oriental Beauty in next