Punch (72.1877)

310 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [July 7, 1877.

TOTO CHEZ TATA.

How you lag Behind, Cissy ! " " Yes, Mummy! My poor Toe is so bad ! "
" Which Toe is it ? " " My Eldest, Mummy ! "

speak, effervescing, " yon let 'I dare not' wait upon 'I dare!' Give me the hopper." It
was a brilliant flash. But it ivas the last. The wickski cooler had done its work. I placed
the straw in her mouth. By the movement of the straw I could tell which way the breath
was .... the straw dropped .... she sank .... breathing heavily .... a sweet,
peaceful, childlike (for her age) sleep.

11'30.—The trill continued. Lovely!! Ha! I see now ! It is the Mouse!! I sat listening
—enthralled, silent—by the banks of the rippling Oxus.

Midnight.—I make the above notes. Serve out ivickshi to myself, and return to'the bank.
The moon shines brightly. The Governor's Horse is browsing in the field. The Pig is
snoring. The Mouse is singing. The Gaoler's Daughter is murmuring stupid somethings
in her sleep. "Lullaby, lullaby! Baker's man!" or whatever the Nursery Rhyme is. I
forget exact quotation. _ Suddenly I hear a grunt—a restless, irritable grunt.

By my side is the Pig with Alphabet.

What is it ?

He spells out the answer. " Can't sleep if that infernal Mouse is to go on whistling and
singing all night."

I'Pig," I replied (on the Letters), with
grim humour, for I was determined not to
give in to his whim, "Pig, you 're a bore ! "

He squeaked, and gave a sort of half-
laugh, as only pigs can, and retired. To
express it, humanly speaking, the Pig
smiled, but never forgave the satire.

I retire for the night. Up with the Mud-
lark to-morrow, and off to Khiva.

6 a.m.—Awoke by a fearful shriek, some-
thing between a whistle and the highest
note—C in alt—in the register of that
eminent Tenor Signob. Timbeblegs.

What on earth could it be! I rushed out
of the Karavan-tent.

GIBES AND " GERMS."

{A respectful Remonstrance addressed to
Professor T. and Dr. H. C. B.)

Let bigots write with sneers of spite,

And dogmas argue so,
Let priests and parsons, differing, fight,

As 'tis their nature to.

But, Sages, you should never let

Such female passions rise ;
Your thinking minds were never made

To bandy taunts unwise.

Let calm through all your questions run,

All your debates be mild ;
Keep your discussions, every one,

By rancour undefiled.

1 With patience gentle as a lamb
Your arguments pursue ;
Call not each other's theories "flam,"
But prove the sounder view.

Look up to Truth all ends above ;

Seek that and that alone :
Nor squabble, out of mere self-love,

O'er crotchets of your own.

HOW WE WORK NOW!

{Overheard at Lord's during the Oxford and
Cambridge Match.)

First Friend. You saw the Derby, of
course ?

Second Friend. Yes: I went down with
Jack Stayneb.

First Friend. Ah! Capital fellow, Jack !
Glorious weather for Ascot, wasn't it ?

Second Friend. Stunning! I put up with
old Bob. He took the Cottage, and brought
down his Sisters ; and we made a week of
it, and then went on to Henley.

First Friend. Shall you be here to-
morrow ?

Second Friend, Yes: I'm booked to
lunch with Sickles, on his drag.

First Friend. Well, ta, ta! By the way,
what are you going to do next week ?

Second Friend. Why, I've promised to
do some trouting at Will Hunt's place, in
Hampshire, and then I'm off for a fort-
night's holiday. Think I shall camp out,
up the Wye! Ta, ta I

Only Natural.

{By Turcophilus.)

The "Old Gentleman," we all know,
helps his own—so he may now well be pre-
sent in person with the Russian Army.
There is reported, as heading the operations
at Sistova, not only an Old Nick but a
Young Nick, both wearing the Russian uni-
form, and both with the title, if not of
Areh-Fiends, of Grand Dukes!