Punch: Punch (81.1881)

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[October 29, 1881.

MOUNTED INFANTRY.

{By One of Our Own Penny'-a-Line Regiment.)

They should have a peculiar -uniform ; their equipment should
mean business. They should be able to do something of everything
—from the bones to bombarding ; from drawing up a line to writing
a column. They should be riflemen, guardsmen, engineers, bombar-
diers, pioneers, fusiliers, all in one, with power to add to their
number. A small active Cossack horse would be the animal to carry
them. I know where a few, sound in wind and limb, are to be had
cheap. Let the Horse Guards see to it at once.

SPECTEUM ANALYSIS.

{After " The Burden of Itys," ly the Wild-Eyed Poet.)

Sweet is the Sunflower on the dadoed wall,
And sweet the lover's kisses ta'en by stealth ;

Sweet is the pattern of a Paisley shawl,
And sweet the poet's volume, in its wealth

Of creamy vellum, blossoming into gold,
And sweet the pure blank page and that which just contrives to hold

The straggling sonnet; sweet the clinging garb
Of bine-draped maidens, bathing ; sweet the gleam

Of silvery trout in water, when the barb

Bears up the mottled monarch of the stream;

And sweet the peacock, spreading like a sail
The green and purple splendours of his fringed ^Esthetic tail;

And sweet the perfumes breathed from Rimmel's shop,

And sweet the mushroom on manured leas ;
And sweet the turnip-lantern on a mop,

And sweet the cheerful sign of the " Cross Keys ; "
And sweet to all but Philistine or Ooth,
The bones that cross themselves, the skull that decks the death's-
head moth.

But sweeter far, if ever gliding shape

Of some pale spectre should with shadowy tread

Attend my lonely footsteps, or escape

Prom its dim world, to hover round my bed,

At midnight, visibly. Ah ! sweet indeed
(And that it is so, in the Daily Telegraph we read !)

If there might be such beings ! Por in dreams
I've watched the wan corpse-candles, hand in hand

With Jack-'o-Lanterns, frisk it on the beams
Of some astonished moon, and many a band

I've met of were-wolves, and the vampire's been
My visitant; but never yet one genuine Ohost I've seen !

Gouty Vegetable— A Toe-martyr.

OUR BRASS EARTHING NOYEL SERIES.

Deab Me. Editor,

" Nothing- new under the sun" ? Pooh! Miss Beaddon
has inaugurated a new literary era. "Art long"? Bah! Miss
Beaddon has boiled down Ivanhoe into thirty-two pages. Immortal
works of fiction pulped down into compact pennyworths ! !! 'Tis an
Inspiration!

But, thirty-two pages for a penny ! Bah ! I can do any one of
'em from Scott to Hugo in half the bulk at a quarter of the price,
and even then Miss B. won't be in it with me. Hers is Scott and
Lot!

Sir ! Give me a penny—or rather a farthing—for my thoughts,
and I '11 astonish you. _ Miss Beaddon began—I believe—with
Ivanhoe. Well, I shall in the first place just show her how the
work ought to have been done. Then I shall mangle and compress
one of her own^novels, and see how she likes the process. So
here goes for—

IVANHOE.

Ceeeic of Eotherwood loved plain Saxon. His son, Wilful
Wilfeid of Ivanhoe, loved the Beautiful Saxon. The Beautiful
Saxon, Rowena, that pink of Saxon propriety, loved Wilful
Wileeid—in a purely pink-of-propriety spirit. The Lovely
Semite, Rebecca, also loved Wilful Wileeid,—under the rose. The
Bad Templar, Bbian de Bois-Guilbeet, first lightly fancied the
Saxon Pink—which led to the breaking of lances at Ashby-de-la-
Zouche. His affections subsequently settled on the Jewish Bx)se—
which led to the breaking of vows at Templestowe. (Smaller
pieces in the game "understood." Also much humorous inter-
lude and picturesque description which are mere padding.) The
game appeared doubtful until the Black Knight began his moves.
His first completely checked the Bad Templar ; his second took the
Castle. His third was the King's move. In fact, the Black Knight
and the King, in this game, proved one. No wonder the game was
won also. The Bad Templar was cleared off the board. Mate followed
—Wilful Wilfeid marrying the Saxon Pink. The Jewish Rose

was transplanted. Whether Wilful Wilfeid ever regretted-.

But no matter. The rest is easily told. Then why tell it ?

And now then for Miss Bbaddon's own great three-volume work,
which I shall call—

LADY ODDLY'S SECRET.

By Miss Braddon.

Lady Oddly had 3rellow hair, a nose that never got red, no heart,
and two husbands. "Twos into nought won't go," said Lady 0,
" so one husband mast go—down a Well." He did, but, unluckily
for Lady 0, he did not kick the bucket. Robeet Oddly, a sort of
amateur (Inspector) Bucket was interested in the well-being of his
Aunt's supernumerary husband. [Details occupying the best part
of three volumes quite unnecessary.] This Bucket also found his way
to the Well. Where there's a Well there's a way. Robeet Oddly
strove to criminate his Aunt, she in return sought to cremate him.
She was "a Scorcher," was Lady 0. He escaped roasting, but
burned—for revenge. Tracked her ! Tableau.—Lime-Walk by
Lime-Light (literary). Rubebi and Lady Oddly under the Lindens
over the garden well, together. He.—" Murderess ! ! " She.—" No
—Madwoman ! " He.—" Prove it! " She.—"Like a shot. Having
got my husband well into the Well, I didn't shut him doivn! "
Q. D. D. So they shut her up—in a Lunatic Asylum. Moral.—
Let Well alone.

MORE TRUTH ABOUT GHOSTS.

Deaf Punch,—A friend of mine made a joke the other evening.
That joke/eW dead. I was present at the time. The next day, at the
same time, I saw that joke distinctly; and Sir, what is more, that joke
haunted me all night 1 Q,. E. D.—Yours, &c, Second-Sight.

Resfected P.,—What do you think of this for a ghostly coinci-
dence P The other night I woke suddenly, and, to my astonishment,
saw my Uncle at my bedside, tossing three golden balls like a street
acrobat. I beckoned the old boy. He refused to advance, and made
faces at me. I rubbed my eyes—he was gone. I looked at my watch—
it was just twelve. The next day, at twelve o'clock precisely, my
pawnbroker refused to advance twelve shillings on that identical
ticker. Oh, my prophetic soul, my Uncle !—Yours, U. P. Ateee.

Deae Old Cockalorum:,—Rayther ! I've four Maiden Aunts—
Saeah, Betsy, Jemima, and Hefzibah. They all 'ang out together
at 'Ackney, as'appy as'edgehogs in a'op-sack. And if that ain't a
genuine 'Aunted 'Ouse, my name ain't 'Abby.

Sie,—Man I know's been awful bad for the last fortnight. Sees
ghosts everywhere. Doctor says its "D. T.," so we stopped his
Daily Telegraph. Yours, Neddy.

iS" To Cobeesponden-ts.—The Editor does not hold hi: nself bound to acknowledge, return, or pay for Contributions. In no case can these be returned unless accompanied by a

stamped and directed envelope. Copies shou Id be kept.