Punch (74.1878)

130 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVAJRI. [Maboh 23, 1878.

A BACONIAN INDUCTION.

Tim. "D'ye ihimc, Sokr, there's anny channcb av a "War wid the Rooshians ?"
Squireen. "Will, things looked queer a litile while ago, Tim. "Why do you ask?"

Tim. " Shu-re, Sorr, I'll soon have to be Sellin' me Pig ; an' if tbe Counthry goes to "War, BaCjN'll roise's shure's

me Name's Tim OFahr'lI"

from Cavendish-square - cut to Eastern New - Cut, and Sybaritic
tabac au poilu, inhaled through soft serpent-coiling amber stems ;
from the soothing tabac aux retours slowly burning in real Scotch
Nar-gillies, to the inspiriting and, to some, overpowering, tabac de
fuin-sec, brought, at immense cost, from many a Heuboden in the
great German Land, or from les prairies de la Basse-Bretagne.
Fragrant Mantillas,* toothsome Vevey Fangs, cheroots, whose cost
alone could not have been less than at the rate of twenty-five for a
shilling, and the choicest pique-viques, were being handed round by
the servants of the Albany, every one of them Albanians, wearing the
native dress and moving noiselessly to and fro, obeying without
speaking, never replying except when answering the bell, the very
perfection of gar cons muets. Such, briefly described, was the
Lounge of Libertyi the Fane of Freedom, the Chapel of Ease, the
Home of Fraternity, the Sanctuary of the Sorrowful, the Paradise
of the Persecuted, the Mecca of the Mocha, of the Smoker, and of the
Joker, the Salle of the Sallies, the rock of the Puffin-birds, the
Garden of the Weeders—in two words, the Smoking-room of the
Albany Aluminium Club.

Opposite Pinto was a tall dark man with the big, loose limbs of a
Titan, the head of a Family, the deep, broad, well-packed chest of a
commis-voyageur, the face of an Angel at Islington, the strength of
une corde des ognons/the feet of a Stamp Collector, and the strong
hands of a lucky "Whist-player. He was standing before the fire-
place, his usual attitude; for though, from his magnificent consti-
tution, he could sit up night after night, he never by any chance
sat down, and, from this peculiarity, he had received from his
brother officers the sobriquet of " The Cherub."

A friendship had sprung up between these two men, " Sweetie "

* From Editor to Authoress, by special wire.—You mean Manillas, not
Mantillas, surely ? I never heard of any one smoking a Mantilla. I merely
throw out the hint.—Ed.

From Authoress to Editor.— Quand je dis " Mantillas," Jeveux dire Man-
tillas. You're thinking of something quite different. I know Club life,
jusqu'aux angles, and family life too, jusqu'aux oncles! Allez !—W.

and "Cherub," for which neither could satisfactorily account, as
each hated the other like poison, and were as mortally jealous of one
another as two rival beauties. Fate was ever perversely bringing
them together, as on this occasion when the Cherub had carried
the fainting Sweetie into the Club.

The old Duke of Wokingham, who took life au serieux, had often
whispered gravely to his friends the Earl of Muzberry, Lord Fitz-
Hurse, and old. Sir Skelliton Gashleigh, over their bottle of
Beaune, or vin de Grave, as they eyed the Cherub, " Mark my
words ! One of these days that man will do something wrong."
The companions, to whom the old Duke uttered these remarkable
words, felt he was right.

" Cherub, tres cher ! " said Sweetie, languidly, " Lady Regula
Baddun is bent on your destruction."

Cherub laughed.

" Soit.'" he replied in his melodious voice, as he spanned his
waist with both hands. "You know my sentiments about all
women. I am what the world calls a woman-hater, what some call
a woman-despiser; what I call a Philosopher," and again he
compressed his already tightly-buttoned frock-coat, with a force
that spoke the determined energy of the man.

"But for all that," persisted Sweetie, "Lady Regula is an
exception."

" Who will not prove my rule," growled the Cherub, to whom
the conversation appeared strangely distasteful. " Passom aux
autres choses."

Sweetie was silent. He had no fear of this man, yet he expe-
rienced, at that moment, a secret mistrust that puzzled him.

" Peste ! mon cher ! Who's for Dodgerville ? " cried the young
Vicomte Tourelles de Lourelles, with the slightest possible
foreign accent. " Peste, mon cher, parole d'honneur, e'est Vendroit
oii ou pent passer unjour heureux ! "

In an instant there were a hundred acceptances. In that gay
company acceptances were the rule, and whoever thought of the
bills?