Punch: Punch (101.1891)

105

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[August 29, 1891.

NEB'LAR (HIC) 'POTHESIS.

Elderly Gentleman {overcome by gravitation). " 'Orright, Inspectrum. Been reading
Speesh — Pres'dent Bri'sh - Soshiashlem. Shplendid Speesh ! I'm in ' unique
posishn 'f (hio) absolute imm'bility in midsht of whirling 'n drifting Suns, 'n
Syshtems 'f Suns.' Goor old Huggins ! ! "

" NOTHING IN THE PAPERS ! "

Or, Voluntary Contributions Un-gratefully Received.

Scene—A Railway Compartment.
Bbown and Smith looking up from their Daily
Papers.

Brown. Now that Parliament stands prorogued,
I suppose there is nothing to read ?

Smith. Nothing. Except this article upon
Australia. Tells one all about Capital and Labour
in that part of the world. Most interesting.
Wonder how they found room for it! Have you
seen it ?

Brown. Well, no. Fact is I have been reading
about Argentina. Very exhaustive article this, and
on a matter of serious moment. I hold some shares
as a trustee. Seems that they will all come right
in the end. Would you like to see it ?

Smith. When I have time to read it. But, to
tell the truth, it takes me a good hour to get
through the City Intelligence. And the racing,
too, that always interests me; but I don't think it
is so exciting as the Stock Exchange.

Brown. No more do I. By the way, is there
anything good in the correspondence line in your
paper ?

Smith. The usual sensational recess subjects.
Some of the letters are too good for the general
public; they must have been, written in the
office.

Brown. I daresay. And perhaps these sketches
of places away from Town are also written in
London ?

Smith. Not a bit of it! I happen to know that
the papers spend thousands and thousands upon
obtaining information in every quarter of the globe.
Bogus articles are things of the past.

Brown. Only fancy ! And all this expense for
nothing in the recess! When no one reads the
papers!

Smith. Yes, and when there's nothing in them !
[They resume perusal of their papers until inter-
rupted by a tunnel. Curtain.

next station, and disappears in the darkness,—I can only pick up a
word or half a sentence here and there, and, in a general way,
wonder why they become so earnest and emphatic about the most
ordinary topics. For an English listener, however, it is an excellent
lesson in colloquial French; only I cannot help wishing that they
would take the " tempo " just a little slower, and that their tone were
not necessarily up to concert pitch, in order to keep itself well above
the running acoompaniment of railway-wheels, which seems to fit all
modes of counting from two to sixteen in a bar. At last the train
stops, the dialogue becomes jerky, our companion salutes us politely,
wishes us " bon voyage," and descends.

After his departure, I ask Daubinet, " Who is your friend ? " as I
should like to know the reason of Daubinet not having introduced
us. His reply at once resolves all my doubts and difficulties on the
subject; it is simply, " Heaven knows! He is a nice fellow. I have
met him quelque part. Ah! v'ld!" He rushes to the window.
"Hi! hi! Guard! Conducteur! " The Conducteur appears, and
informs us that we descend at the next station, and, after that, in
another five minutes we shall be at Reims.

And so we are. Reims at last! Not brilliant is Reims on this
dark night. There are several omnibuses and other vehicles waiting
to take the very few passengers who alight from the train, and who,
it appears, as a rule, prefer to walk. Having no baggage beyond a
few bags and a small portmanteau which travel with us in our com-
partment, and which the porter can wheel on a truck, or indeed
carry if he chooses, we are soon in the 'bus, and rattling over the
stones to the Hotel.

ODE TO A BAROMETER.

(By a Troubled Tapster.)

I tap you early, tap you late, I The end—whatever you may say

In vain ! Is wet!

Weget—whateveryozimaystate— ; 'Twas wet in June, and in July

Much rain. [sing Wet too;

The Woodpecker of which fools ; In August it is wetter. Why,

Ne'er tapped Trust you ?

Half so persistently. Since Spring Barometer, you false old chap,

I've rapped You bore !

Your fair false dial day by day, I'm no Woodpecker, and I '11 tap

And yet No more !

THE BRITISH ASSOCIATION.

Oh, Sir, I read the papers every day,
To amuse myself and pass the time away ;
But they've got so hard to follow that they simply beat me hollow

With the learning and the culture they display;
And they wouldn't be so hard if those
good people down at Cardiff
Would but oe a shade more careful
what they say.

The President's address, I think, will
tax

My intellectual organ till it cracks;
The Association British isn't wanted to

be skittish,
Wear the motley, nor to run a race in

sacks ;

But 'twas getting awkward rather when
my youngest asked his father
What the President implied by parallax.

The money market often puzzles me ;
I've no notion what the Funding Loan
may be;

In the sales of corn (Odessa), jute and sago, I confess a

Sort of feeling that I'm very much at sea ;
But couldn't the reporter keep this science rather shorter,

Or at any rate provide us with a key ?

QUEER QUERIES.

House Decoration.—What am I to do under the following cir-
cumstances ? I took a house a year ago, and painted the outside
scarlet, with gold "facings," to remind me—and my neighbours—
of the fact that I am highly connected with the Army, my deceased
wife's half-brother having once held some post in the Commissariat.
I am leaving the house now, and my landlord actually insists on my
scraping all the paint off! He says that if any bulls happen to pass
the house, they will be sure to run at it. Am I obliged to yield to
this ridiculous caprice ?—Lover of the Picturesqlk.