Punch (100.1891)

January 17, 1891.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

29

brings no Commission mnst die!" they shouted; and in a moment
we found ourselves bound tightly hand-and-foot, and marching as
prisoners of war in the centre of the Mariannakookaland army.

Chapter V.

It is unnecessary to go through the details of our marvellous
escape from the lowest dungeon of the royal Palace of Susy an Tsatjl,
where for months we were immured on a constant diet of suet
pudding. Of course we did escape, but only after killing ten
thousand Mariannakookas, and then swimming for a mile in their
blood. Coodent brought with him a very pretty Skulrimehd who
had grown attached to him, but she drooped and pined away after he
lost his false teeth in crossing a river, and tried to replace them with
orange-peel, a trick he had learnt at school. Sir Hfnry's fight with
She-who-will-never-Obey is still remembered. He will carry the
marks of her nails on his cheeks to his grave. I myself am tired of
wandering. '■'Home, Sweet Ho?ne," as the Bab Ballads have it, is
the place for me.

the end.

AN UNREHEARSED EFFECT.

(By Our Own Reciter.)

I went to see the Pantomime this Christmas in our town.

We laughed enough the opening night to bring the theatre down.

Thepiecewas Burleybumbo,
the Old Giant, and his
Men ;

Fairy Starlight, Little Pop-
sey, and the Demon of the
Glen.

The Supers were collected
from the local talent
round,

And for Burleybumbo's ser-
vant the Blacksmith,
John, they found:
A stalwart varlet was re-
quired to carry off his
foes

To P>urleybumbo Castle,
where he ate them as he
chose.

His minions, who wore
hideous masks, had
nothing much to say,
So an Irving was not
wanted to do their part of
the play.

On this eventful night the house was packed from roof to pit,
And the Manager was jubilant at having made a hit.
The Curtain drawing slowly up, revealed a flowery glade,
In which the Fairy Starlight and her lovely maidens played.
The wicked Demon then came on, and round the stage did glower ;
No mortal man could e'er withstand his wrath or evil power.
Last of all came burleybumbo with his crew, a motley horde,
Oar old friend, Blacksmith John, was in attendance on his lord.
They were singing and carousing, when a man rushed in to say
That a dozen wealthy travellers were coming down that way.
The band dispersed, and hid themselves, in hopes that they might
plunder

The unsuspecting wayfarers. Alas! now came the blunder:
Old John he wouldn't hide himself, but coolly walked about
Advancing to the footlights, he looked around—but hark ! a shout :—
" Confound you! Dash my-! Just come off ! Hi, you ! Who

are you f John ! "
" Not if I knowsh it, jolly old pal! I 've only just come on ! "
Thus saying, he lumbered round the stage. The Prompter's heart

had sunk :

No doubt about the matter—Burleybumbo''s man is drunk !
" Come off ! Come off ! " from every wing was now the angry cry.
" Me off, indeed ! Oh, would yer ? Sh'like to see the feller try ! "
Burleybumbo then appeared, and vainly tried to drag him back.
John stove his pasteboard head in with a most refreshing crack.
The wicked Demon now rushed on; his supernatural might
Was very little use to him on this surprising night.
He tried to push him down the glade, but here again John sold him •
He caught the Demon round the waist, and at the Prompter bowled
him.

Ah ! such a shindy ne'er was seen, such riot and such rage —

It was the finest " rally " ever seen on any stage !

'Mid shrieks and cat-calls, whistles shrill, hysterics and guffaws,

They rang the Curtain down amidst uproarious applause.

The piece is still a great success, but, I regret to say,

John's name appears no longer in the bills of that fine play !

NOT INSIDE OUT.
Fate Maiden, you 're looking a vision of beauty,

You may comfort yourself you've no rival to fear;
But you won't take it ill if I feel it my duty

To whisper a word of advice in your ear.

Now, the word would be this—when the daylight is dawning,
Or, at any rate, when it's more early than late,

Pray remember the coachman, who, fitfully yawning
Outside in the street, finds it weary to wait.

You reck not at all of the hours that are fleeting,
You ask for an " extra "■—you can't be denied.

But though, doubtless, soft nothings may set your heart healing,
Yet they 're awfully cold for the people outside.

Want of thought, not of heart, is the reason as ever,
So if you find leisure to read through this.rhyme,

When you order your carriage, in future endeavour
To prevent any waiting—by being in time. .

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

The Publisher of The Century Illustrated Monthly Magazine,
earnestly requests the reviewer, appealing to his heart in the reddest
of red ink, on a slip of paper pasted on to the cover of the Magazine,
not to extract and quote more than one column of "Talleyrand's
Memoirs," which appear in this
number for January. The Pub-
lisher of the C. I. M. M. does
not appeal personally to the Baron
—who is now the last, bar one, of
the Barons, and that bar one is
one at the Bar,—but, for all that,
the Baron hereby and hereon takes
his solumme8t Half-a-Davey or
his entire Davey, that he will
not write, engrave, or represent,
or cause to be, &c, for purposes
of quotation, one single word,
mucn less line, of Tallyho—beg
pardon, of Talleyrand,—extracts
from whose memoirs are now ap-
pearing in the aforesaid C. I. M. M.
But all he will say at present is
this, that, if the secret and private
Memoirs haven't got in them any-
thing more thrilling or startling, or out of the merest common-place,
than appears in this number of the C. I. M. M., then the Baron will say
that he would prefer reading such contributions as M. de Blowitz's
story of " How he became a Special," or The Pigmies of the African
Forest by Henry M. Stanley in the same number of this Mag.

What the Baron dearly loves is, Elliot Stock-in-trade s The
Book-worm, always most interesting to Book-worms, and almost as
interesting to Book-grubs or Book-butterflies. By the way, the
publishing office of The Book-icorm ought to be in Grub Street. For
what sort of fish is The Book-worm an attractive bait ? I suppose
there are queer fish in the Old Book trade that can take in any
number of Book-worms, as is shown from a modern instance, well
and wisely commented upon in this very number for January, No. 38,
which is excellent food for worms ; the whole series, indeed, must be
a very Diet of Worms. Success to the Book-worm ! May it grow
to double the size, and be a glow-worm, to enlighten us in the bye-
paths of literature. " Prosit ! " says the Baron.

I would that some one would write of Browning's work as Henry
Van Dyke has written of Tennyson's. To the superficial and
cursory reader of the Laureate, the Baron, sitting by the fire on a
winter's night, the wind howling over the sea, and the snow drifting
against the window, and being chucked in handfuls down the
chimney, and frizzling on the fire, says, get this book, published by
Elkin Mathews : ca donne d penser, and this is its great merit.
"Come into the Garden, Maud"—no, thank you, not to-night; but
give me my shepherd's pipe, with the fragrant bird's-eye in it, with
tov ypoyov, while I sit by the cheerful fire, in the best of good
company—my books.

Our Mr. Griffithes (Chester, Mayhew, Broome, and Grtf-
ftthes) has been all the way From Bedford Roic to Swazielayid,
and has written a lively narrative of his perilous journey. He went
cn a professional retainer. You don't catch Bedford Row in Swazie-
land on other terms. Being there, he kept his eyes open, saw a
good deal, and describes his impressions in racy fashion. He did not
like the coffee served en route, and was disappointed with the
Southern Cross ; but on the whole enjoyed the trip. One would
naturally expect that the price of his book would be hix-and-eight-
pence, or, regarding it in the foTm of a letter, three-and-fourpence,
but Bradbury, Agnew, & Co. issue it at a shilling.

The Baron de Book Worms & Co.