Punch (102.1892)

May 28, 1892.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 261

I wonder, wonder, at a loss

To justify such wayward snarling—
It makes her very, very cross

My poor opinion of her darling-;

ON MY LADY'S POODLE.

I wonder what on earth it is

That makes me think my lady's poodle
(Her minion smug of solemn phiz,)

The pink and pattern of a noodle :
Its eyes are deep; their look, serene ;

Its lips are sensitive and smiling;
But oh ! the gross effect, I ween, _
Is, passing measure, dull and riling.

It is not that its locks are crisp ;

Your humble servant's hair is crisper,
It is not that its accents lisp ;

I, too, affect a stammered whisper :
Nor that a gorgeous bow it wears
And struts with particoloured bib
on;

I like these macaronic airs ;
I'm very fond of rainbow ribbon.

Nor can it be—of this I'm sure—

Because she pampers all its wishes
And tempts her peevish epicure

"With dainty meats in dainty dishes.
To tell the truth, while I'm her guest,
My little wants and whims she
studies;
If "Beau" 's a rival, I protest
No jealous tincture in my blood is.

The cause (should pride the cause withhold,

She bodes and I deserve a scrimmage,)
The cause is this—she calls, I'm told,
The little brute my " Living image ! "

LADY GAY'S SELECTIONS.

Dear Me. Punch,—My dear friend, Lady
Harriet Entoucas, said to me, the other
day at Kempton, when 1 told her to have a
sovereign on Conifer :—"My dear Lady Gay,
your tips are so marvellous that I really
wonder you don't write to the papers!"
Being struck with the idea, my thoughts
naturally new to you—not only as the most
gallant Editor of my acquaintance, but also
as probably the only one hitherto unrepre-
sented with a regular Turf Correspondent.

It is, therefore, with true feminine confidence
that I place my services at your disposal,
and, my information being of the most unre-
liable description (derived invariably from
the owners), I feel sure that those of your
readers who follow my tips will have no
cause to regret their temerity, as, being like
all women, nothing if not original, I intend
to tip, not the probable winner, but the prob-
able last horse in important races !

As I invariably attend all the fashionable
meetings and most of the unfashionable
(incognito of course the latter), it can be left
to me to decide which horse was last—thus
reducing the matter to a certainty—dis-
tinctly an object to be gained in making a
bet—whatever men may say to the contrary.

An ancestor of mine (the poet of the name)
—having transmitted to me a spark of his
genius—I propose to give my selections • in
verse—select verse in fact, and will now in
concluding my letter, give my tip for the
probable last horse in the Derby—(which,
by the way, happens in this case to be a
mare—I repeat—I am nothing if not original!)
—and, before doing so, I should like to express
my sympathy with the Duke of "Westminster
and John Porter, who have indeed had an
Orme-ful of trouble with the unfortunate
erstwbile Derby Favourite, which would un-
doubtedly have been my selection had he not
been scratched! Yours devotedly,

Lady Gat.

"The Tip."
The Baron boldly said, " Je vais

. Renvoyer cette depeche:
1 A Monsieur Ery of London Town.
Un livre sur La Fleche !' "

HYDE PARK CORNER.

(May, 1892.)

My hansom here completely stuck ;

No chance to catch my train, worse luck !

I sit and wonder :
"Why should the roads be up in May ?
Who muddles matters in this way,

"With bungling blunder ?

"What use to make a shapeless space,
"Wbere rambling roadways interlace,

And, in the Season,
To close just what was meant to save
This block, because they want to pave ?

"What is the reason ?

By Jove, it's like some years ago,
The traffic stopping in a row

In Piccadilly!
The Yestry does not care a pin
Eor all the muddle that we 're in;

They 're much too silly*

Perhaps they 'd say they "meant it well.
I do not know. All I can tell

Is that I'm raving.
I'd send that Yestry down below,
"Where all such good intentions go,

To make more paving !

PAIR TRADERS.

Lady friend of my "wife's wants us to "try
her tea"! Seems she's started (with two
other Ladies) as Firm of Tea Merchants in
City. What are we coming to ? Or rather,
what are male Tea Merchants coming to P
Mr. Registrar Brougham, most likely. In
incautious moment—as I was out—wife pro-
mised to give her an order for a couple of
pounds of her " best Ceylon Mixture."

Tried it. Never tasted such vile stuff!
Wife agrees, and asks me to call at the Firm's
Offices and see if they haven't got anything
with more Ceylon and less Mixture in it.
Don't much like the job. How can one blow
up a woman whom one will have to meet in
one's own drawing-room, calling ?

Have looked in. Must say that Tea-deal-
eress is better than her tea. Really quite
an attractive person. The three of them gave

me afternoon tea in a little sanctum behind
the shop, and chatted most pleasantly. My
wife's friend the head of Firm. Said the
Ceylon Mixture was a mistake — really in-
tended for kitchen use—but as they 've only
just started business, their stocks have got
jumbled together. She hoped—quite peni-
tently—that I would "overlook the error."
What could I say P What I did was to order
a whole box of their "Incomparable Congou,"
at four shillings a pound.

Wife (when I tell her of this) seems sur-
prised. Says " she won't send me shopping
again." But can one call this cosy—this tea-
cosy — social visit to three accomplished
women by the vulgar term " shopping " ?

Wife incautiously mentions that she is
" out of Coffee." Gives me an excuse to call
on Firm again^and see if they sell Coffee too.
Yes, they do. Head of Firm more fascinating
than ever. Asks me "if I would mind, as a
very great favour, mentioning her tea to all
my City friends ? She knows I have great
influence in the City." Says this with win-
ning smile. Query — is not Mincing Lane
rather an appropriate locality for Lady Tea-
dealers ?

Later. Wife has forbidden my ever going
to Mincing Lane again! Says the box of
"Incomparable Congou" was mere "dust."
So are my hopes !

A DENTIST'S WAITING-ROOM.

Clasping tight my jaw, I staggered,
Pale and haggard,

To this room,
Where were fellow-martyrs sitting
In befitting,

Solemn gloom;

Whilst they turned, with air dejected,
Books collected

To amuse,
Graphics, or accumulated
Illustrated

London News.

How they glared! No fellow-feeling
O'er them stealing,

Made them kind;
" Touch of nature " that is dental
Makes no mental

Kin, I find.

There I sat, the numbers grc-Aving
Less, each going

To his fate—
What a dismal occupation !

My elation

Was not great-

Heard the butler call each saddened,
Toothache-maddened

Yictim's name ;
Watched them wincing as they strode out:
I should no doubt

Look the same.

Then, when me he had to take in,
"Mr. Aikin!"

Made me quail;
O'er the after vivisection
Recollection

Draws a veil!