Punch (102.1892)

January 23, 1892.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHAR[VARI. 41

Podb. Oh, don't mind me. I'm getting oyer it. But I must con-
gratulate you on better luck.

Culch. On precisely similar luck. Miss Trotter and I—er—
arrived at the conclusion last night that we were not formed to make
each other's happiness.

Podb. Did you, by Jove ? Porter, I say, never mind about that
luggage. Do you happen to know if Mr. and Miss Trotter—the
American gentleman and his daughter—are down yet ?

Porter. Trobbers ? Led me see ; yes, zey ged zeir preakfast early,
and start two hours since for Murano and Torcello.

Podb. Torcello ? Why that's where Bob and Miss Prenbergast
talked of going to-day! Culcharb, old fellow, I've changed my
mind. Shan't leave to-day, after all. I shall just nip over and see
what sort of place Torcello is.

Culch. Torcello—"the Mother of Venice ! " it really seems a pity
to go away without having seen it. Do you know, Pobbtjry, I think
1 '11 join you!

Podb. (not over cordially). Come along, then—only look sharp.
Sure you don't mind P Miss Trotter will be there, you know!

Culch. Exactly ; and so—I think you said—will the—er—Pken-
bergasts. (To Porter.) Just get us a gondola and two rowers,
will you, for Torcello. And tell them to row as fast as they can !

A PAIll PHILOSOPHEE.

An ! Chloris ' be as simple still

As in the dear old days ;
Don't prate of Matter and Free

Then prithee smooth that pretty
brow,

So exquisitely knitted;

Will, Mankind in general, I trow,

And Ibsen's nasty plays. Can do without being pitied.

A girl should ne'er, it seems to me,
Have notions so pedantic ;

'Twere better far once more to be
Impulsive and romantic.

There was a time when idle tales
Could set your heart aflame ;

But now the novel nought avails,
Philosophy 's your game.

You talk of Schopenhauer with
zest,

And pessimistic teaching;
Believe me that I loved you best
Before you took to preaching.

There's still some loveliness in
life,

Despite what cynics say;
It is not all ignoble strife,
That greets us on our way.

AVe '11 linger over fans and frills,

Discuss dress bit by bit,
As in days when the worst of ills

Were frocks that would not fit.
'Twas frivolous, but I'm content

To hear you talk at random ;
For life is not all argument,

And " Quod est demonstran-
dum.'1''

You smile, 'twill cost you then no
pang,

To be yourself once more,
To let philosophy go hang,

With every Buddhist bore.
" Pro am," like a Volunteer,

A girl should be, " etfocis ; "
Supposing then you try, my dear,

A new metempsychosis.

VENICE IN LONDON.

(By a Mosquito " out of it.")

Oh, it's all very fine, Mr. Imre Karalfy,
Thus to blazon your " Venice in London " around,

To portray the Piazzetta for 'Arry and Alfy,
But dispense with my tintinnabulary sound.
Ask the Tourist if, reft of my wee fellow-creatures,
On the face of the waters (and watermen) blown,
He can honestly recognise Venice's features
In their miniature—or, for that matter, his own.

Ever watchful, we guard, Messrs. Alfy and 'Arry,
With our trumpet and spear for the Doges, their
mute,

Opalescent, profanity-proof sanctuary,

And we swell the lagoon—and lagoonster, to boot.
Stare away at this pageant of eld—ever new 'tis,—
In the glimmering gondolas loll, if you like ;
But I'll warrant one eye would be closed to their beauties,
Could I only escape for a second on strike.

Could I quiver concealed by yon mimic Eialto,

Till I swooped with a warrior's music and swing,
Were I only allowed, as I ought, and I shall, to

Be avenged on your barbarous hordes with my sting.
I would tilt at the fogs that mock Italy's glory,

I would pounce on the rabble—an insolent fry ;—
With my forefathers' motto, " Pro Patrid mori"

I 'd annihilate Alfy and 'Arry—and die !

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

The Real Japan is the title modestly given by Mr. Henry
Norman to his book published by Fisher Unwin. This, my " Co."
remarks, seems to imply that all the rest (including the lady Birb's
not unknown work) is, as the Gentleman in trouble, who wanted
to secure the advocacy
of Mr. Jaggers, said,
'' cagmagger." T his
tone of bumptiousness
is occasionally apparent
in passages of the book,
and is perhaps suffi-
ciently explained by
the circumstance, men-
tioned in the preface,
that a number of the
papers originally ap-
peared in the Pall Mall
Gazette. Foible apart,v^
Henry the Norman has
contributed an inter-
esting chapter to the
history of a singularly
attractive people. There
is nothing new in the heavier parts, which smell vilely of Blue
Books, and might as well have been written in Northumberland
Street as in Yokohama. Henry is best in the glimpses he gives of
the people living their daily life—in the hands of justice, at school,
working at their Arts and Crafts, dining and dancing.

In The Poets Audience and Delilah, Clara Savile Clarke
(whether Miss or Mrs. the Baron is unaware, and must apologise for
stating the name as it appears tout court) has written two interesting
but tragic stories. The Baron does not like being left in doubt as to
the fate of any hero or heroine in whom he may have been interested,
and therefore calls for "part second" to the first story. Delilah,
short and dramatic. The Baron shrinks from correcting a lady's
grammar, but to say " Mrs. Randal Morgan lay down the law " is
not the best Sunday English as she is spoke. From Fin-de-Siecle
Stories, by Messrs Lawrence anb Cabett, the Baron selects "A
Wife's Secret" (nothing to do with the old play of that name),
" Mexico," and " Honour is Satisfied." Try these, ami you'11 have
had a fine specimen of an interesting 2)asse-temps collection says,

The Baron be Book-Worms.

In an article on the Salvationist disturbances at Eastbourne, the
Times said that after the scuffle, "the Army reformed its dishevelled
battalions, and marched back to its 1 citadel' without molestation."
In another sense, the sooner a reformation of the entire Army is
effected in the exercise of Christian charity, which means consideration
for their neighbours' feelings, the better for themselves and for the
non-combatants of every denomination.

A Complicates Case.—The careless little boy who caught a cold
from his cousin, caught it hot from his mother afterwards.