Punch (96.1889)

January 5, 1889.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 3

MEMS TOR THE NEW YEAR

For a Diner Out.

Never to tell that story again.

Not to accept an invitation which, will involve the necessity of
drinking Mr. Skihpington’s “ Champagne.”

Not to he tempted to take two helpings of —— (Here let each
Epicure insert the name of his own ''''particular poison.”)

Not—if I can help it—to sit next to that elderly ogler, Miss Flo-
rence de Fitysee, again.

If I do, not to he drawn into discussing the question, “ Is Marriage
a Failure ? ”

Never to mention Mr. Gladstone’s name until after the entrees,
at least.

Not to allow that persistent monologniser and much-overrated
raconteur, Bolate, to rile me into rivalry, and so spoil both my
temper and my digestion.

Never to dine out at all—or, at least, “hardly ever.”

For a Literary Man.

On no account to be drawn into a Press quarrel.

Never to review a friend’s book.

Never to review the book of an enemy.

Decline all applications for my autograph, and every request to
write my name “ and a few lines of any sort” in Birthday Books.

Abstain from even looking at “ tall copies,” and on no account he
beguiled into buying a “ first edition ” of anybody.

Read a little—that is something besides the papers and magazines,
French Novels, and Shilling Shockers.

Shun the temptations to “smartness ” and “ slating.”

Resolutely avoid making the most distant reference to Dr. Jekyll
and Mr. Hyde.

Fob. an Aetist.

Paint no more profitable Pot-hoilers.

Make a real start in that long-meditated Magnum opus of mine.

Limit my contributions to the Academy “ line ” to four.

Decline to paint old Mrs. Harridan’s portrait at any price.

Shirk Show Sunday.

Refuse to write rambling and egotistical “ Reminiscences,” for any
magazine on any consideration.

Never be “interviewed” by anybody.

Never write to the papers about anything.

Cut Swelldom and Show Houses, and go in for painting once more.

Foe a Peetty Gtrl.

Avoid fishing for compliments.

Appreciate other pretty girls, and especially endeavour to see the
much-vaunted loveliness of “ that Miss Dimples.”

Never kiss another girl except in spontaneous kindness, or for any
“bye end,” such as looking sweet or aggravating Charlie.

Never sneer at “ elderly girls,” or snub “ wall-flowers.”

Dance a square dance occasionally, just for the sake of the many
who are not “ in it ” at waltzing.

Avoid “tantrums,” even when Papa is stingy with cheques, or my
ball-dress is ten minutes late.

Give up tight-lacing, and never, never touch chloral again.

Throw away that private box of cigarettes.

Read some good books, and think of the poor occasionally.

Forget sometimes—at any rate for a few minutes—that I am a
Pretty Girl.

Foe A Political Speaker.

Never say two words when one will suffice.

Get up my facts and figures more carefully.

Sedulously examine my impromptu epigrams before delivery, to
see if they are not two-edged.

Avoid verbal missiles of the boomerang sort.

Never mock to-day what may be uppermost to-morrow.

Never sneer, save at persons who are powerless or sentiments that
do not influence votes.

Get up geographical compliments and local flatteries suited to all
places and peoples. Take care not to get them mixed.

Foe a Middle-aged Person inclined to Portliness.

Get up earlier, and never breakfast in bed.

Go to bed in better time, and never read after getting between the
sheets.

Cut cabs, or at any rate limit myself to two Hansoms per diem.

Buy a tricycle, and ride it.

Always mow my own lawn, weather permitting, and when at my
country crib, make a point of chopping a certain quantity of wood
before breakfast, like my friend Lucas.

Always make a point of passing one dish at dinner, never indulge
in a heavy lunch unless I have had a comparatively light breakfast,
and, if I dine after eight, avoid eating a solid supper until after
twelve.

A GALLANT ATTEMPT.

“How THIS HORRID GAS IS FLARING !”

“Pray allow me, Mrs. Jones ! ”

Never have more than two helpings of turtle soup, lobster salad, or
pate de foies gras.

Avoid bulgy shirt-fronts and buttoned-up frock coats.

Foe a Wife.

Avoid bothering George for cheques when I see him scowling over
his “ Times ” at breakfast.

Never miss a chance of doing so when I notice him smiling in a
self-satisfied way after dinner.

Try and minimise my too plaintive references to '' the dear children ”
and their sumptuary deficiencies.

Endeavour not to fall asleep when George reads aloud to me
one of Goschen’s “ capital ” speeches.

Take advantage of any success in this difficult act of self-denial to
fix him on the subject of Gertie’s new set of furs, or our trip on the
Continent.

Try and prevent Mamma from putting his back up needlessly, or
too often.

Coax him at an opportune moment into cutting that confoun-

ahem!—really very needless and expensive “Mutton Chop Club”
which he is so fond of.

Make dear George so comfortable and happy all this year—by
above and other means—that next New Year’s cheques may be—well,
one never knows what may happen if good resolutions are really
adhered to.

For a Young Man about Town.

Cut down my Cab fares, and Sodas and Brandies, by Jove.

Cut Tottie—if she ’ll let me.

Try and take the Guv’nor’s tip about horse-racing. (Forty to one
I don’t succeed in this, though; his tip being “Never bet at all.”
Great Scott ! ! !)

Drop the Blue ’ITn. {Only, hang it all, what else is there for a
fellow to read f)

Slacken off a bit with some of the Johnnies I know. (First-rate
Sportsmen, but jolly expensive at close quarters somehow.)

Try and manage with ten suits a year, and fifty cigarettes a day.

Sell my black hack “Beelzebub,” and take shares in a Building
Society, as Uncle Hunks wants me to do. (Uncle IT. has the oof,
but what is a Building Society, I wonder ?)