Punch (99.1890)

July 26, 1890.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. «

which you seem to fondly imagine iwill [make me hurst into tears,
and live happy ever after, has driven me out of the house many a
time when I was willing enough to stay at home; but to be put
through one's wedding ceremony three times a week is enough to
send any fellow to the Club, or out of his mind. I'd smash the d—d
thing with pleasure, only it seems to afford Vi some consolation. I
can't say I find it soothing myself.

[Before Mr. Mandoline can think of a suitable reply, Mrs. R.
enters from the inner room, where she has remained till now.
She is carrying a small steel poker, which she silently places
in the hand of her astonished husband.
Jack. Hullo! you here ? What's this for ?

[Staring blankly at the poker.
Mrs. P. {meekly). To—to smash the d—d thing with.
[The marriage peal ceases abruptly, as Mrs. Mandoline, com-
paratively reassured, discreetly leaves the couple to come to a
better understanding without further assistance.

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

The Gentlewoman, No. 1, has appeared. It gives, or rather sells,
an overwhelming lot for the money, which is sixpence. Sixpenn'orth
of all sorts. Plenty of readable information. Illustrations not the
best feature in it. Crowds of adver-
tisements. The menus, if carefully
sustained, may prove very useful to
those who "dinna ken." As to the
type of The Gentlewoman, well,_ the
first picture is of Her Imperial Majesty
the Queen, and with this type of the
Gentlewoman we shall all be satisfied,
dicit Babonius De Booe-Worms.

" What a sight o' Books I " cries the
Baron, remembering the clever Parrot
who uttered a similar exclamation at a
Parrot Competition. First, here is Blossom Land and Fallen Leaves,
by Clement Scott, published by Hutchinson & Co., which is an
interesting and useful book to those who are able to take a holiday in
Cromer, and marvel at the sunset, and notice how " in the far distance
a couple of lovers advanoe towards the fading light"—I'll be bound
that deeply engaged couple didn't catch sight of the " chiel takin'
notes"—and how did he know for certain they were a oouple of
lovers ? Why not brother and sister ? Why not husband and wife P
Why not uncle and aunt ?—hut with an experienced eye the canny
Scott made a pretty shrewd guess—and it is'a pleasant companion,
is this book, to those who cannot visit Cromer, or any of the
other places mentioned in Blossom Land, and who reading it at
home will only wish they could do so, and will promptly make
arrangements for paying (the "paying" is the difficult part) a
visit not only to Cromer but also to Caen, Etretat, Cabourg,—care-
fully noting C. S.'s account of his " ornise upon wheels," and his
sensible remarks on Parisianisinf* these otherwise tranquil resorts.
From Havre to Hammersmith is a bit of a jump, but it is from a bustling
port to a peaceful spot—" a Harbour of Refuge " at Nazareth, where
the Baron sinoerely trusts the good Little Sisters of the Poor are no
longer Poor-rated £120 per annum, just by way of parochial
encouragement, I suppose, to other charitable persons for relieving the
parish _of an incubus of four hundred." The work of these self-
sacrificing women cannot be over-rated in one sense, but in the
parochial sense (if parochials have any) they can hardly be rated
enough. Really a delightful book for all comers and goers.

" What have we here P " inquires the Baron— Seven Summers, An
Eton Medley, by the Editors of the Parachute and Present Etonian.
Now, Heaven forgive my ignorance, but I have never seen the
Parachute nor the Present Etonian, so without prejudice I dip into
this book, and am at once much interested and amused by a paper '' On
Getting Up." Not " getting up " linen, or " getting up lessons," but
getting up in the morning, ever a hard-worker's hardesfctask. It will
remina many a middle-aged Etonian of the days when he was very
young, and early school was very early. "The Inner Man" is
another amusing paper, and forty years has made no alteration in
the " sock-oad." American slang has svidently tinged Etonian style.
"What in the name of purple thunder," and ain the name of
spotted Moses," and so forth, are Americanisms, and the tone of
these two smart Etonian writers has a certain Yankee ring in it. Why
not leave this sort of thing to Mask Twain, Bset Haete & Co.,
who are past masters of their own native slang ? Seven Summers will
interest and amuse Etonians of all ages.

And here, attracted by a quaintly-designed cover, the Baren
takes up Ballads from Punch, and other Poems, by Wabham
St. Legeb, published by David Stott. That a considerable number
of these have appeared in Mr. Punch's pages, by whose kind per-
mission they are reprinted, is quite sufficient guarantee for their
excellence. The Lay of the Lost Critic, The Plaint of the Grand
Piano, are capital specimens of the author's humour, and Christmas

Eve of his true pathos. No influence of American humour visible
in any of these. As a rule, the Baron doesn't recommend betting,
but advises his readers to go in for this St. Leger.

The contents of The Universal Review this month are varied,
interesting, but not sensational. The article on Westminster Abbey,
by Fbedebick Geobge Lee, D.D., with its humorous notes and
observations, will have a charm for many readers, and so will that
on the painter Beenaedino Luna. The novel entitled, The Wages
of Sin, is now at the first chapter of the fifth book, and there is an
illustration representing a lady in a Victoria pulling up in Waterloo
Place. Underneath is the legend—" She leaned forward smiling,
beckoning as the Victoria drew up against the curb." First, she is
not leaning forward; secondly, she doesn't appear to be " smiling; '
thirdly, she doesn't seem to be " beckoning; " and, fourthly, though
the horse is being pulled back, probably on the " curb," yet, if the
author means that the carriage is being pulled up against the pave-
ment, then why didn't he say so, and write it "kerb?" I like
being a trifle hypercritical just now and then, says

The Baeon de Book-Wobms.

AN INTERNATIONAL HERO.

These has been recently a discussion in The World as ts where Cox
and Box (for which Sir Aethue wrote some of his best music) first
saw the light. It was decided in favour of the Librettist at whose
residence the Triumviretta was given privately, in presence of a dis-
tinguished audience. But there was one person who might have
given invaluable evidence, and that was Box himself. Why did he
not step forward ? Where was he ? The explanation is given in the
Paris Figaro of Thursday, July 17:—

" M. Box, le nouveau Miniatre d'Ha'iti a Paris, a ete recju hier matin par
le President de la Kepublique."

Of course, Cox will receive an appointment. Perhaps M. Box
banks at Cox's. Will Sergeant-Major Bouncer be gazetted to the
Hayti'eth Regiment ? Whatever may be in store for these immortal
personages, it is satisfactory to know that, for the present, Box at
least is provided for. It was like his true British nature not to
disguise his identity under some such gallicised form of his name as
Boite, or Loge. There is, perhaps, no surname in our language so
truly national as Box. "John Box" might well be substituted for
"John Bull." It is characteristic of our British pugilism.
Vive M. Box.'

IN THE KNOW.

[By Mr. Punch's Own Prophet.)

Vaeious events are approaching, and it is only fair that I should
give the readers of this journal the benefit of my advice and my
opinions. In good time I shall have something to say about Good-
wood—something that will make the
palieolithic cauliflower-headed dispensers
of buncombe and bombast sit up and
curse the day on which fate allowed
them to be born. There are some who
profess to attach importance to the goose-
billed mouthings and vapourings of the
butter-brained erew who follow in the
wake of the most notorious professor of
humbugging pomposity that even this
-.. age, rich as it is in putty-faced impos-
tors, has ever produced. Well, let
them. For my own part I follow the advioe of the French King to
the beautiful Marquise de Centamoues. " Sire," the Marquise is
reported to have said, "quelle heure est-il?" To which the witty
monarch at once replied, " Madame, si vous avez besom de savoir
I'heure, allez done la demander au premier gendarme ? " The story
may be found with others in the lately published memoirs of Madame
de Sansfaijon. In a similar spirit I answer those who pester me
about horses.

I understand that Barrister Bill, Sidesplitter, and Fiery Harry,
showed up excellently at Newmarket last week. I have always
prophesied well of these three splendid animals, who take their feeds
as regularly, and with as much gusto as they gallop a mile on
heather when the barometer points to set fair. At the same time I
consider that only a papoose, made of string and sawdust, would give
more than £10,000 for any one of them.

Complaints have reached me that some of my remarks have given

Eain in an exalted quarter. It is the oommon lot of those who are
onest to be misunderstood, and, for myself, I wish to claim no
exemption from the rule. _ My one aim is to benefit my readers, and
to advance truth. For this I would sacrifice the smiles of Courts,
and. incur the shallow sneers of the grovelling, chowder-headed
horde of flunkeys who sit in high places. My work bears witness to
my merit. Need I say more ?