Punch: Punch (82.1882)

204

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHAEIVAEI. TApril 29, 1882.

THE ZOOTHEATRICOLOGICAL GARDENS.

“ But Science, after all,” obseryed the Observtr lately, “ is not, perhaps, worse off than Art, and the Zoological Gardens can contrast favourably

with Theatres! ”

ThE ABOVE IlLUSTRATION SHOWS HOW THE ThEATRES MAY BE MADE “ TO CONTRAST FAVOUBABLY ” WITH THE ZoO.

IN NUBIBUS; 0R, UP TO LARKS IN SKY AND AIR.

[Still up in the Air. Communicatedper Special Aerated Telephone.)

For me the Earth
has no attraetion:
give me Air!

I am lunching:
Picklejohn isn’t.
Regret it: but not
enough for two.
Picklejohn implores
me to let him out.
I would let him out
by the hour, if I
thought he would do
as a show. This, he
says, is not what he
means. Will I let
him out of the bal-
loon ? No: decidedly
not. I am taking
five o’clock tea;
Picklejohn isn’t.

Note in fly-leaf.—
Sighted Colonel Bur-
naby off eoast of
France. Signalled to
_ _ „ him, but he either

Throwing out Ballast. didn’t understand me,

or cut me dead. Is he jealous of a brother balloonist ?

Picklejohn threatens. Giving this tone up as useless, he cajoles.
Ve play Blind Hookey to pass the time away. We can’t play for
ever, as he has only brought two pounds six and eightpence with
him, which sum is now mine. “ Will I let him get out ? ”

Yes ; on certain terms ; ineluding money down, and immediate
publication of my book on Ballooning.

The night is cnill. The stars shine out ahout us. Lightning is
playing miles beneath us. We are some 90,000 feet above the earth.
The balloon is becalmed. The gas is escaping. Heavens ! I throw
out my seventeen bags of ballast one after the other.

We only move upward one inch.

I explain to PicklejohjST that I didn’t want him to come : that, in
fact, I must go on alone !

“ You would not throw me over ? ” he shrieks.

I am holding Picklejohn over the side of the car. How he got

there I don’t know, but had it not been for me he would have tried to
descend by himself, by turning his overcoat into a sort of parachute.

He repents his rash impulse. He begs to be hauled in again. I
ask him if' he is inclined to come to terms, and sign the power of
attorney ?

He hesitates ! At an altitude of 90,000 miles above the earth, he
hesitates.

******

J°y> joy! My task is done. We are descending. Book, puhlished
hy Picklejohn & Co., will be out in a few days. Order a million
copies.

A BUNCH OF PRIMROSES.

Apr.il 19, 1882.

(First Anniversary of the Death of the JEarl of Beaconsfield.)

“ These to his memory, since he held them dear.”
Lives there in Britain’s bounds a soul so small
That on that grave he grudges to let fall
A spray of the pale firstlings of the year ?

No flower of tropic growth and gorgeous tint,

Such as might seem his genius best to fit,

But hlossoms that when Spring’s first sunbeams flit
With softened star-gleams all our hedgerows print.

So be it: if for aught of English growth
And simple grace his grandiose fancy found
Piace with such fondness, we will strew the ground
With these unto his memory, nothing loth.

Shakspeare for the City.

Macbeth (at a Civic Banquet, to an ex-Officer of the Corporation)—

“ Sweet Remembrancer!—

Now, good digestion wait on appetite,

And health on both ! ”

“ There ’s a great infidel between Shakspeare and Tennyson,”
ohserved Mrs. Ramsbotham. She meant interval.

“WHAT ’S THE NEXT AETICLE ? ”—NOTICE.—“ Wet Bob,” in Our
Boy's Novelist series, stands over till next week, when Remarkable
Romances and Simple Stories will be also continued. This information
will go far to allay the very natural excitement consequent upon the
temporary interruption of these works of creative genius.