Punch (95.1888)

September 1, 1888.] PUNCH, OE THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

105

A LITTLE HOLIDAY IN" SCOTLAND.

Energetic Friend. "Now, Jack, stop where yoix are, and
you'll get a splendid shot in hale-an-hour or so ! "

[Jack is thinking that by that time it will be dark, and then what's
to be done ?

FOR NOW IT IS SEPTEMBER!
Scene—Sanctum of a Daily Paper.
Editor and Faithful Contributor discovered in consultation.

Editor. I am afraid that Bethlehem Hospital, Marriage, Smoking,
and the Irish Exhibition, are used up.

Faithful Contributor. Surely, not quite. For instance, about the
last. Couldn't I write indignantly about the Cork Band under the
signature of a Field Officer's Widow ?

Ed. Scarcely. The musicians, who had not progressed sufficiently
far in their art to play the " National Anthem," will have gone
hack to Ireland before we shall have had time to get published.

F. C. Might I not remind the G. 0. M. that once he liked Mar-
malade better than Jam, and quote from Hansard to prove it, eh ?

Ed. Fancy people are growing rather tired of these raked-up little
inaccuracies of the Ex-Premier.

F. C. Could I do anything in the Matrimonial line ?

Ed. I am afraid not. You see you have already written as
"A Mother of Six Daughters," "Little Toddlekins," " An Engaged
Young Man," "Nellie," "A Retired Physician," "A Sensible
English Girl," and "Anti-Latch-key," and are getting rather
monotonous. Can't you think of something new ?

F. _ C. "Well, there is the British Museum. They say that the
Reading Boom is full to overflowing with rjeople who come there only
for recreation.

Ed. Why shouldn't they ? If anyone is to be excluded, why not
the professional bookmaker who lives on scissors and paste ? Besides
who cares for the contents of the British Museum ? Far too valuable
and useful to attract attention. Now, if anyone had been interfering
with the pigeons or the drinking-fountain outside the entrance, that
would be quite a different matter. No, we must get something else.

F. C. The Bakers seem to have a grievance.

Ed. So long as the British Public has rolls for breakfast, they can

grieve. If it were a question of adulteration, that would put a new
complexion on the case. And even that subject would sure to end
in a gratis advertisement for Somebody's Patent Home-Made Loaves.
Try again.

F. C. Lord Wolseley is going to live at Greenwich. Can't we
say anything about that ?

Ed. Only that he will have increased facilities for taking shrimps
with his tea.

F. C. The Scotch Express-

Ed. Is to race no more, but to travel at the leisurely rate that we
love so much—on paper!

F. C. Anything at the theatres P Barring Penley, the new
entertainment at the Comedy is the reverse of novel.

Ed. Oh, I think we may leave the Drama alone at this season of
the year. Nobody expects anything notable until the middle of
September.

F. C. Foreign affairs ?

Ed. Sick of them. Besides, there aren't any. Same old story.
Bismarck mysterious, and Bouianger blatant. Two B.'s might
suggest industry, but, on the whole, they don't.

F. C. Well, then, what shall I write about ?

Ed. Don't know, I am sure. What you like.

F. C. What do you say to Gladstone and Lucrative Straw-
berries ?

Ed. Gladstone and Gigantic Gooseberries would be more appro-
priate to the season of the year; but do what you please.

F. C. And can't I have another dash at " How to Prevent Sleep-
lessness."

Ed. Well, no. I think our readers will be able to discover a cure
for insomnia for themselves!

[Scene closes in amidst sounds of slumber.

A WORD ON BEHALF OF A PERSECUTED RAGE.

What a blessing is a sympathising Mother-in-Law! How beauti-
fully she rounds off all the sharp corners of life's right-angles. And
when, as in my case, she happens to be blessed with a large amount
of exquisite literary taste, accompanied with a devotion to truthful-
ness that nothing can shake, where could a confiding Son-in-Law
look for a more perfect treasure ?

We have been spending a few days at Eastbourne, my Wife, my
Mother-in-Law, my Brother-in-Law, Alfred, and myself. My Wife
being an invalid, and Alfred being fond of sailing, which I
emphatically am not, Mother-in-Law accompanies me in my daily-
stroll, and I find her quite a model companion. Being of what is
called, I believe, a literary turn, I sometimes, on these occasions, try
my feeble wing, and soar into the loftiest regions of imagination. It
is on these occasions that I find the honest candour of my companion
so advantageous. For instance, now, we strolled the other day,
despite the merry East Wind, as Charles Kingsley used to call it,
—poetically, of course, for practically, I must confess that I cursed
and swore at it nearly all the way home, of course, sotto voce, as they
say at the Opera,-—to Beechey Head. I never, by the bye, remember
who Beechey was, probably, as I wittily suggested to Mother-in-
Law, a distant connection of Sir High Beech, a Lord of the Manor
of Epping Forest, judging by the size of his Head, at which she
laughed so merrily that I promised that we should have a Pic-nic
there next summer. We strolled about till near sunset, and then
turned homeward, when my companion, seeing my ardent look fixed
upon the restless sea, asked me what I sawr1 \\ ithout a word of
reply I sank down upon the chilly turf, and taking out my pocket-
book, I pencilled down, in less than a quarter of an hour, the
following thrilling impromptu .—

ii How the sun shimmers upim Beechey's Head!

While the pale twilight bdbiiies on the lea!
Hark to the echo of the Coast Guard's tread,
Whose telescopic glance oft sweeps the sea ! "

I almost blushed as I placed the manuscript in her hand, and I
eagerly watched to see what effect it produced upon that candid and
truthful relative. '' She read it twice, she read it thrice," as Tenny-
son sings, and then taking both my hands in hers, she said, looking
full into my eyes, " John, I could not have believed it, had I not
witnessed it; why this one stanza contains, not only the exquisite
music of Shelley, but also the noble realism of Browning, and
both are combined to make up a picture that will stamp itself for

ever on mv fond memory."

# * * * * # .

Who can wonder that on that eventful evening I at length con-
sented that dear Alfred should reside with us until his Mother
could make other arrangements for him. J. Litgue.

New Naite foe the Agricultural Followers oe the G. 0. M.
—Men of Strawberries.