Punch (103.1892)

December 10, 1892.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

269

jest this once. {He purchases another packet, and is rewarded by
an eyeglass, constructed of cardboard and coloured gelatine, which he
flings into the circle in a fury.) 'Tis nobbut a darned swindle—and
I 've done wi' ye! Ye 're all a pack o' rogues together!

[Exit, amidst laughter from the rest, whose confidence, however,
has been rewarded by very similar results.

The Y. M. He don't know what he's lost by givin' way to his
narsty temper—but there, i" forgive 'im ! [He begins to replace the
remaining parcels in the chest; one packet escapes his notice, and is
instantly pounced upon by a sharp, but penniless urchin.) Now,
Gentlemen, I'm 'ere reppersentin' two Charitable Institootions—
the Blind Asylum, and the Idjut Orfins—but I 'm bloomin' sorry to
say that, this time, arter I've deducted my little trifling commission,
there'll be a bloomin' little to 'and over to either o' them deservin'
Sercieties; so, thenkin' you all, and wishin' you bloomin' good luck,
and 'appiness and prosperity through life, I '11 say good-bye to yer.

The Sharp Urchin {after retiring to a safe distance with his
booty.) Theer's summat inside of 'un—I can'ear un a-rartlin' . . . 'ow
many moor wrops! 'Tis money, fur sartin! . . . {Removes the last
wrapping. Nawthen but a silly owld cough-drop ! {He calls after
the l oung Man, who is retreating with Mr. F airplay, and his spotty
friend.) I've a blamed good mind to 'ave th' Lar on ye fur that,
I hev—a chatin' foaks i' sech a way! "Why don't ye act honest ?

\Is left masticating the cough-lozenge in speechless indignation.

"THE SINS OF SOCIETY."

Read yesterday, in the Fortnightly, this article by Ouida.
Resolved to follow her teachings at once. Changed my " frightful,
grotesque, and disgraceful male costume " for the most picturesque
garments I had—a kilt, a blue blazer, and a yellow turban, which I
once wore at a fancy dress ball. Then strolled along Piccadilly to
the Club. Rather cool. Having abandoned " the most vulgar form
of salutation, the shake-hands," bowed distantly to several men
I had known for years—but they looked another way. Met a police-
man. "Hullo!" he said. "Come out o'that! Your place is in
the road." He mistook me for a sandwich-man! Explained that I
was advocating a new style of dress. " Where's yer trousers ? " he
asked. " Trousers ! " I cried. " Why, Ouida "—but it was useless
to explain to such a fool—so I left him.

At the Club, immense astonishment. Again explained. Members
tapped their foreheads, and said I had better see the Doctor. Why P
Then they all avoided me. Grrand chance to show my ability "to
support solitude, and to endure silence." Deuced dull, but it saved
me from " the poisoned atmosphere of crowded rooms." Began to
feel hungry about lunch-time, but happily remembered that "it is
not luxury which is enervating, it is over-eating." Exhausted, but
virtuous. Remembered that I had to dine at my aunt's. Awk-
ward ! Could I go in that dress ? She is so prim, and so prejudiced
in favour of trousers. Also she is so rich, and I was her heir. It
needs money to obtain the luxury which the great teacher advocates.
Hurried home, and put on hateful evening dress. Avoided hansoms,
they being too much connected with one "ugly hurry-skurry,"
and drove to my aunt's in a damp, dirty four-wheeler. Even the
new moralist herself would have been satisfied with the slowness of
that.

At dinner sat between two charming women, evidently as clever
as they were beautiful. Suddenly remembered that we '' lose the
subtle and fine flavours of our best dishes, because we consider our-
selves obliged to converse with somebody," and after that did not
speak a word. Charming women stared, and then each turned
towards me a beautiful shoulder, and I saw her face no more. Was
just enjoying the flavours when I recollected that nothing " can
make even tolerable, artistically speaking, the sight of men and
women sitting bolt upright close together taking their soup." We
were long past the soup, but it was not too late. I left the table at
once, and reclined elegantly on the floor, with my plate by my side.
"Augustus," said my Aunt, "are you ill?" I shook my head;
I could not speak, for I was just enjoying an unusually subtle
flavour. Then one of the guests, a member of my Club, whispered
to my aunt, and tapped his forehead. Then she tapped her forehead,
and all the guests tapped their foreheads. I had finished that

flavour, so I said, " My dear Aunt, I am not mad, I-" " Then,"

said she, "you must be intoxicated. Leave the house!" And,
with the butler and the footmen escorting me to the street-door, I
was obliged to do so.

It is all over. I know that my Aunt will bequeath her fortune to
the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Ancient Buildings among
the Jews, but I am consoled by the thought that I, at least, have
followed the noble teachings of the New Morality.

"When Found make a Note op."—By Captain Scuttle, to
British East African Co.:—"Your Room is better than your Com-
pany.'

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

The title of Mr. Co nan Doyle's new book, Adventures of Sherlock
Holmes, is incomplete without the addition of, " And the D.D., or
Dummy Doctor," who plays a part in the narratives analogous to
that of " Charles, his Friend," on the stage. The book is, in many
respects, a thriller, reminding one somewhat of The Diary of a Late
Physician, by Samuel Warren. This volume is handsomely got up
—too handsomely—and profusely, too profusely, illustrated. For
both romancer and reader, such stories are better un-illustrated. A
sensational picture attracts, and distracts. In this collection the
Baron can recommend The Beryl Coronet, The Red-Headed League,
The Copper Beeches, and The Speckled Band. The best time for
reading any one of these stories is the last thing at night, before
turning in. " At such an hour, try The Speckled Band, and see
how you like it," says the Bold Baron.

The Baron's assistant dives into the Christmas Card Basket, and
produces Raphael Tuck and Sons,—" Tuck," a schoolword dear to
"our boys,"—who lead off the Christmas dance. Daintily and pic-
turesquely got up, their Cards are quite full. Their Watteau Screens
will serve as small ornaments afterwards. These " Correct Cards,"
with few exceptions, are not particularly for Christmas, but for
all time. Here 'si'Luck to Raphael Tuck !

" Todgers's could do it when it liked," and so can Messrs. Hutchin-
son & Co. at this Fairy Tale time, when they bring out three capital
books, edited by Alfred H. Miles ; i.e., Fifty-two Fairy Tales,
Fifty-two other Stories for Boys, and Fifty-two other Stories for
Girls. Why not Fairy Tales for a holiday task, and an examination
in Fairy Lore, with a Fairy Lore Degree for the successful candidate ?

Then come Blackie and Sons with Plenty from Henty—Mr. Gr.
A. Henty—who at Christmas-time is anything but a " Non-Henty-
ty." Beric the Briton, Tn Greek Waters, Condemned as a Nihilist!
—"*Gro it, Henty ! " The Baron cheers you onward.

The Thirsty Sword,
by Robert Leighton.
It's a killing story.

An Old-Time Yarn,
by Edgar Pickering,
about the adventures
of Drake and Haw-
kins. Hawkins, ma-
riner, not Sir 'Enry,
the Judge. New yarn.
Strong old salts—very
refreshing.

The Bull Calf,
brought out for John A M 0 P ^ F T a i F
Bull Junior's amuse- n 1X U1 vo;L 1 A L C~
ment at Christmas, and seasonably illustrated by Frost, is a queer
sort of animal of the Two Macs Donkey breed. Right for Nimmo
to have some fun at Christmas, according to old example, "Nimmo
mortalium omnibus horis sapit."

What's in a name ? not the first time this question has been asked
and. answered—but 'tis impossible for the Baron to avoid quoting it
now, when in consequence of its title, he was within an ace of putting
aside The Germ Growers, under the impression that it was a scien-
tific work on Bacillus and Phylloxera. On taking it up, however,
the Baron soon became deeply interested, but was subsequently
annoyed to find how the artful author had beguiled him by leading
up to* a kind of imitation of the Ln hoc Signo vinces legend, and had
somewhat adroitly adapted to his purpose the imagery of one of the
most poetic and sublime of ancient Scripture narratives ; i.e., where the
prophet sees the chariots of Israel in the air. One remarkable thing
about the romance is the absence of "love-motive," and, indeed, the
absence of all female interest. Here and there the Canon writes
carelessly, as instance the following paragraph :—

" Then he got a little glass-tube into which he put something out of a
very small bottle, which he took from a number of others which lay side by
side in a little case which he took out of a pocket in the side of the car."

Apart from other faults, there are too many " whiches " here, and
unlike his malignant hero, Davoli, the Canon doesn't seem to be well
up in his " which-craft." Clever Canon Potter must turnout from
his Potteries some ware superior to this for the public and

The Baron.

Reflection in the Mist.—You could have " cut the fog, it was
so thick," is a common expression. But the fog, unwelcome as it
always is, is not like an unwelcome acquaintance, who can _ be
"cut" or avoided by turning down a street, or by pretending
unconsciousness of his proximity.

Question for a Legal Exam.—If a farmer purchased a good milch
cow reared at Dorking, what would be its (old style) legal produce ?
Answer or Rejoinder.—Why, of course, some sort of Surrey-butter.