Punch (98.1890)

Februaby 22, 1890.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. _93

„m RUSTIC POLITENESS.

kquire Roadster. "Where are the Hounds, my Man?"

ASHAMED of YERSELfT''™ ^ ' WHEEE THE 'OUNDS BE, AND got a RED CoAT AND a big 'OSS ! yer OUGHTER be

Spirit of the evil dead

(At Madrid), bless, bless the lead!

May they be as featly sped

As the one that pierced his head.

I am sick of shilly-shally,

May they—metaphorically,

For, of course, I don't mean murder,

Nothing could be—well, absurder—

May they spifflicate our foes.

Neither progress nor repose,

On Bench or in Cabinet,

May they any of them get

Till they get their last quietus

From these bullets (That will seit us

Comfortably in their places,

To the rapture of three races)

How the fire fumes ! There '11 be ruction.

Characters look like Obstruction I

But they mean—and that' s their beauty !—

Merely, simply, purely Duty !

Therefore, 'tis my occupation

So at present, Incantation!

G. 0. M. won't take a part;

He objects to the Black Art.

Though he rather shirks my cult,

He will relish the result.

Zamiel ! you 're the chap I like,

Charm the bullets that they strike.

Zamiel, lend thy might to kill

To each burning drop we spill!

Now then for it! Out on fear

Zamiel, Zamiel, be thou nearI

[Sete to work at—Tns^ Castinci of
the Bullets. Music.

The Latest Catch-Line. — Good Day!
Srml°ion?ead ^ °f ^ Spe°ial

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

Leaves of a Life. So Montagu Williams,
q..C, and Worthy Beak, styles his Remi-
niscences. The Leaves are fresh, and will be
Evergreen. Nothing in his Life has become
him so well as his leave-ing it. I fancy
that the most popular part of it will be the
early days—his salad days—when his leaves
were _ at their greenest* Certainly, to all old
Etonians, the opening of Volume One must
prove the most interesting part of the two
books ; and after this, in point of interest to
the general reader, will rank all the stories
about persons whose names, for evident
reasons, the learned Reminiscenser cannot
give in full. When you read about what

enormities " C-" committed, and what

an unmitigated scoundrel " D-'s" brother

was, there is in the narrative a delightful
element of mystery, and an inducement to
guess, which will excite in many a strong
desire for a private key, which, of course,
could not be placed in any publisher's hands,
except under such conditions as hamper the
trustee of the Talleyrand Memoirs.

Mr. Williams has better stories of Ser-
geant Ballantine than the latter had of
himself in his own book. But I should like
more of the Montagu out of Court—more
of the behind-the-scenes of the cases in
which he was engaged or interested. All his
book is written in a dashing style, and there
would be an enormous demand for a third

volume, which might be all dash—C-

D-E-; every letter of the alphabet

dash—a dash'd good book, in fact, giving
us the toothsome fond d'artichaut after the
"leaves" have been disposed of. But that

this should be the strong feeling expressed
not alone by the Baron De B.-W., but by
very many readers, is proof sufficient of the
art with which these Reminiscences have
been compiled, so as, according to Sam
Welter's prescription for a love-letter, to
make us wish there was more of it." By
the way, I doubt whether Whateley 's Evi-
dences of Christianity was the work that
Montagu Williams was dozing over during
"Sunday Private" in pupil-room; doesn't
he mean Paley's Evidences ? Also, wasn't
the old College Fellow's name spelt Plumtre,
or Plumptbe, not Plumptree? However,
the Baron is less likely to be right than
the Magistrate, who is_ evidently blessed
with a wonderfully retentive memory.

My faithful Co. reports that he has read
Ore the Children, a not very interesting novel,
by Annie Thomas, otherwise Mrs. Pender
Cudlip. The story deals with a young girl,
who, after serving in a village newspaper
shop, marries the local nobleman, and no
doubt lives happily ever afterwards. Persons
who are interested in the doings of the class
Jeames calls the hupper suckles," will per-
haps be a little disappointed, as, truth to tell,
the narrative is rather homely. Many of the
characters seem to have that exaggerated
awe of rank which used, to be characteristic
of the tales in the London Journal. The
book should, however, be welcome in the
homes of some of the lower middle class.

Baron De Book-Worms & Co.

Me. Parker Smith, the recently elected
M.P., appeared in the House looking ±"ar-
tickularly happy. _