Punch (99.1890)

November 15, 1890.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

231

He's just like old Pluto, Persephone's prigger;

You '11 follow Apollo the Younger -that's me I
He's somhre as Styx, and as black as a nigger.

Sis lady-love, London ! Bah! Fiddle-de-dee!

His murky monopoly, Madam, is ended.

Come down, my dear love, to my suhterrene hall!
I think you'll admit it is sparkling and splendid,

As clean as a palace, not black as a pall.
Electrical traction with sheer stupefaction

Strikes Steam, the old buffer, and spoils his small game.
Ton 're off with the old Love, so try the new bold Love,

And let the Young Spark supersede the Old Flame.

[ Carries her off in triumph.

PARS ABOUT PICTURES.

Close upon a hundred years ago, when Geobge the
Third was King, Mendoza opened a saloon in the
Strand, whereat various studies in Black and Blue
might be enjoyed. To-day Mendoza has a gallery in
King Street, which is devoted to studies in Black and
White. You may say, history repeats itself. Nothing
of the kind. The gentleman of Geobge the Third's
time devoted himself to the pugilistic art; the gentle-
man of the time of Victoria gives his attention to
graphic art. The one was the patron of fists, the other
of fingers—that makes all the difference. Mendoza the
Past, closed eyes—Mendoza the Present opens them,
and, if you go to the St. James's Gallery, you will find a
pleasant collection of Eye Art—open to all peepers. It
is true it may not be High Art, but you will find it, like
Epps's Cocoa, "grateful and comforting."

Mr. McLean, who has had an Art-show in the Hay-
market since the days of Geobge the Thibd, or rather
his ancestor had, is " quite up to time, and smiling,"
with his present collection (your Old Pae can't help
using the argot of the P.R. , and brings Cole, not to
Newcastle, but to the Hay market, in " A Send in the
River, near Maple Durham." He shows us the views of
Burton Baebee on " Compulsory Education" also a
wondrous picture of the " Gate of the Or eat Mosque of
Damascus," \>y Batjeeneeind, "A Venetian Brunette,"
by Fildes, and many other works that will well repay
inspection, but of which there is no space for anything
more to be said by yours par-enthetically, qld

THE GENTLE ART (OF SNIGGLING).

[" Whoever walks beside the river (the Ettrick), 'will observe
five or six or more men and boys, equipped with gigantic
wading-breecb.es, busy in each. pool. They are only armed with
rods and flies, and thus have a false appearance of being fair
fishers. . . . The truth is that the apparent sportsmen are snig-
glers, not anglers. They drive the top part of their rods deep
into the water, so as to rake the bottom, and then bring the
hook out with a jerk. Every now and then . . . one of the perse-
cuted fishes ... is hauled out with Bhort Bhrift."—Daily News.']

Oh I the world's very bad, and our hearts they are sore

As we think of the errors and wrongs we have got to
Endure uncomplaining, and oh I we deplore

The things people do, that they really ought not to !
"With Courtesy dead, and with Justice '" a-bed,"

"When the mention of Love only causes a giggle,—
But we'd manage to live and still hold up our head,

Were it not for the villain who ventures to sniggle.

"With his rod and his hook see him carefully rake

The bed of the river, and gallantly wading,
Arrayed in his breeches, endeavour to make

Of genuine sport but a mere masquerading.
You might think him a fool for his trouble—but look!

(And it's true, though at first it appears to be gammon)
With a horrible jerk, as he pulls up his hook,

The sportsmanlike sniggler has landed a salmon!

As a nation of sportsmen, it rouses our ire
To hear of sport ruined by such a proceeding;

And to snigglers we earnestly wish and desire
To give the advice they so sadly_ seem needing.

Let them think, as they work their inglorious plan,
How old Izaak must turn in his grave and must
wriggle;

And may they in future all see if they can,
By learning to angle, forget how to sniggle!

in our garden.

discovebed on returning home that
the Member for Saek had not at
all exaggerated the facts picturing
disaster to our onion-bed. This
portion of the garden had been
disappointing from the first. Early
in the Spring, when hope beat
high, and the young gardener's
fancy lightly turned to thoughts
of large crops, Saek and I were
resting after a frugal luncheon,
when Abpachshad suddenly ap-
peared at the open window. I
knew from his beaming face that
something was wrong.

Perhaps I should explain that
Abpachshad is our head gardener.
We have no other, therefore he is
the head. Oat of the garden he is
known as Petee Wallops. It was
Saek who insisted upon calling
him Abpachshad. Saek had
noticed that about the time of the
Flood there was singular delibe-
ration in entering upon the mar-
riage state. Matrimony did not seem to be thought of till a man had turned
the corner of a century. Shem, himself, for example, was fully a hundred
before his third son, Abpachshad, was born. But Abpachshad was already a
husband and a father at thirty-five.

"That," said Saek, " is a remarkable circumstance that has escaped the
notice of the commentators. It indicates unusual forwardness of character and
a habit of swift decision. We hear nothing more of Abpachshad, but we may
be sure he made things move. Now what we want in this garden is a brisk man,
a fellow always up to date, if not ahead of it. Let us encourage Wallops by
calling him Abpachshad."

Wallops on being consulted said, he thought it ought to be a matter of
another two shillings a-week in his wages; to which I demurred, and it was
finally compromised on the basis of a rise of a shilling a-week. As far as I have
observed, Sabk's device, like many others he has put forward, has nothing in it.
Wallops couldn't be slower in going round than is Abpachshad. The only
time he ever displays any animation is when he discovers some fresh disaster.
When things are going well (which isn't often) he is gloomy and apprehensive
of an early change for the worse. When the worst comes he positively beams
over it. Difficult to say whether he enjoys himself more in an over-wet season,
or in one of drought. His special and ever-recurring joy is the discovery of
some insect breaking out in a fresh place. He is always on the look-out for the
Mottled Amber Moth, or the Frit-fly, or the Currant Scale, or the Apple-bark
Beetle, or the Mustard Beetle,—" Black Jack," as he familiarly calls him. To
see, as is not unfrequent, a promisine apple-tree, cherry-tree, or damson-tree,
fading under the attack of the caterpillars of the Winter Moth, makes Abpach-
shad a new man. His back unbends, his wrinkles smooth out, the gleam of
faded youth reillumines his countenance, and his eyes melt in softer glance.

" The Hies hev got at them honions," he said, on this Spring afternoon. " I
thought they would, and I reckon they 're done for. Ever seen a honion-fly, Sir ?
A nice, lively, busy-looking thing; pretty reddish-grey coat, with a whitish
face, and pale grey wings. About this time of the year it lays its eggs on the
sheath of the onion-leaf, and within a week you've got the larvey burrowing
down into the bulb ; after which, there's hardly any hope for your honion."

"Can nothing be done to save them ? " Saek asked. As for me, I was too
down-hearted to speak.

" Well," said Abpachshad, ruefully, not liking the prospect of interfering
with beneficent Nature, "if you was to get a bag of soot, wait about till a shower
was a coming on, carefully sprinkle the plant, and let the soot wash in, that