Punch (103.1892)

December 24, 1892.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

293

and any future competitions, will _ not be
required to forward any remittance with their
coupons-"

Mr. S. [approvingly). An admirable arrange-
ment—puts a stop at once to any pernicious
tendency to—ah—speculation!

Prise, {continuing)—"and successful com-
petitors must, we fear, be content with no other
reward than that of honourable mention."

Mr. S. Here, send after Robert, some-
body! It's scandalous that the precious
time of a whole family should be frittered
away in these unedifying and—ah—idiotic
competitions. I will not allow another Tiddler
to enter my house!

Robert {entering with his arms full of
"Tiddlers"). Please, Sir, I brought a
'undred, Sir, and they '11 send up the rest as

soon as ever they- Oh Lor, Sir, I on'y done

as I was told, Sir!

[He is pounced upon, severely cuffed by a
righteously indignant family, and sent
flying in a whirlwind of tattered "Tid-
dlers," as the Scene closes.

LAYS OF MODERN HOME.

THE MUFFIN MAN.

Ah ! welcome, through autumnal mist,
For each returning ruralist,
Waif metropolitan, to list

Thy tinkle unto.
No sound of seas or bees or trees
Can Londoners so truly please—
The cheapest epicure with ease

Thy dainties run to.

They need
not, like
the fruits
on sticks,
The fruits
Venetian
boyhood
licks,
A Yoice with
operatic
tricks

Their praise
to trumpet.
The simple
bell shall,
fraught
with sense
Of teapot,
urn, and
hearth in-
tense,
Best herald
thee and
thy com-
mens-
-u r a b 1 e
crumpet.

Lives there a cit with soul so dead
"Who never to himself hath said,
" This is my crisp, my native-bred,

My British muffin! " ?
Let picturesque Autolyci
Their cloying foreign dainties cry;
I don't see much to buy, not I,

Such messy stuff in !

Mysterious vagrant, dost prepare
Thyself that inexpensive fare;
Thyself, partake of it—and where f—

The boon thou sellest ?
'Tis Home, where'er it be ; thy load
Can cheer the pauper's dark abode,
And lack of it, with gloom corrode

The very swellest.

There are who deem it vulgar fun
For dressy bachelors to run
Themselves to stop thee; I'm not one
So nicely silly:

I'm not ashamed to track thy way,
And test the triumphs of thy tray,
And bring them back in paper, say,
To Piccadilly.

Yes, heedless of a gibing town,

To hand them Phyllis, sit me down,

And wait, till they come up in brown

And glossy sections.
Then, brew my cup—the best Ceylon-
And, bidding care and chill begone,
Concentre heart and mouth upon

Thy warm perfections.

MONTECARLOTTERY.

[It remains true that for those who want a brief
and exhilarating change, and are glad to reap for
the nonce the harvest of a q\iiet eye, there are
spots within the borders of England which, both in
climate and in scenery, can vie with the proudest
and most vaunted watering-places of the Sunny
South."—Daily Fapei:]

Damon on the Riviera, to Pythias at
Torquay.—"Here I am, by the blue Mediter-
ranean ! At least, the attendant of the sleep-
ing-car says the Mediterranean is somewhere
about, only, as a violent rain-storm is going
on, we can't see it. Yery tired by journey.
Feel that, after all, you were probably right
in deciding to try the coast of Devonshire
this winter, instead of Riviera."

Pythias at Torquay, to Damon at Nice.—
"Coast of Devonshire delightful, so far.
Pleasant run down from London by 0. W. R.
—only five hours. Thought of and pitied
your crossing to Calais, and long night-and-
day journey after. You should just see our

teraniums and fuchsias, growing out-of-
oors in winter! Mind and tell me in your
next how the olives and orange-trees look."

Damon to Pythias.—"Olives all diseased
—have not seen an orange-tree yet—there is
my reply to the query in your last. Hitherto
I have not had much opportunity of seeing
anything, as the mistral has been blowing,
and it has been rather colder than England
in March. "Wretched cold in my head. No
decent fires—only pine-cones and logs to
burn, instead of coal! Wish I were at
Torquay with you! "

Pythias to Damon.—"Sorry to hear that
Riviera is such a failure. More pleased than
ever with Devonshire. Glorious warm sun-
shine to-day. Natives say they hardly ever
have frost. Children digging on sand on
Christmas Eve—too hot for great-coat. Rain
comes down occasionally, but then it dries up
in no time. Quite a little Earthly Paradise.
Glad I found it out."

Later from Damon. — "Riviera better.
Mistral gone. Sun warm, and have seen my
first orange-tree. Have also found that
there's a place called Monte Carlo near Nice.
Have you ever heard of it P There 's a
Casino there, where they have free concerts.
Off there now! "

Later from Pythias.—" After all, Devon-
shire is sometimes a little damp. Yes, I have
heard of Monte Carlo Casino, and I wish there
was anything of the sort at Torquay. Walks
and drives pretty, but monotonous. Hills
annoying. Still, evidently far superior to any
part of Riviera."

Still later from Damon.—" Glorious place,
Monte Carlo. Superb grounds! Scenery
lovely, and Casinery still lovelier! And,
between ourselves, I have already more than
paid for expenses of my trip by my winnings
at the Tables. No time for more just now.
Must back the red! "

Reply to above from Pythias.—'1 Yery sorry
to hear you have been playing at the Tables.
Sure to end in ruin. By the bye, what system
do you use ? The subject interests me merely
as a mathematical problem, of course. Wish

I could pay expenses of my Devonshire
hotel so easily. But then one ought to have
some reward for visiting such a dreary place
as the Riviera, with its Mistrals, and diseased
olive-trees, and all that."

Latest from Damon.—" Since writing my
last letter, my views of the Riviera have
altered. The climate, 1 find, does not suit me.
Sun doesn't shine as much as I expected—not
at night, for instance. Then the existence
of an olive disease anywhere near is naturally
very degoutant (as they say here). And the
Casino at Monte Carlo is simply an organised
swindle. It ought to be put down! After
staking ten times in succession on "Zero,"
and doubling my stake each time, I was abso-
lutely cleared out! Only just enough money
to take me home. Shall follow your example,
and try Torquay for the rest of the winter."

Latest from Pythias.—"Just a hasty line
to say—don't come to Torquay I I am leaving
it. Since I last wrote, my views of Devon-
shire have also altered. Can't conceal from
myself that the climate is a mistake. Damp,
dull, and depressing. Your account of Monte
Carlo—not the Casino, of course—so enchant-
ing, that I've determined to try it. Just off
to London to catch ' train de luxe ! ' "

THE MISSING WORD.

{By a much-badgered Barmaid.)

Each boobyish bar-lounger calls me " dear,"
And " Misses" me in manner most absurd.
I should not miss him ! But the boss, I fear,
Would miss his custom; so I still must hear

His odious "Miss-ing" word!
But oh I I'd sooner bear a monkey's kisses,
Than some of these cheap mashers' mincing
"Misses"! ["twod"
And there is one young ape!—I'd stand
Could I hit him each time he Misses" me!

QUEER QUERIES.

Autobiographical.—I should be glad to
know whether it would be advisable for me
to write a book of " Reminiscences," as I see
is now the fashion. My life has been chiefly
passed in a moorland-village in Yorkshire,
so that it has vv Nvv.. ..

I have never
written any-
thing before ;
stall the public
might like to
hear my
©pinions on
things in
general, and I
think I con Id
make the anec-
dote of how
our kitchen
chimney once
caught fire—
which would
be the most ■ ]sotes-

important incident chronicled—rather thril-
ling. Among interesting and eminent persons
I have met, and of whom I could give some
account in my forthcoming work, are Mr.
Gladstom; (who'passed through our station
in a train going at fifty miles an hour while
I was on the platform). Lord Salisbury
whom I met (under similar circumstances,
and :the back of whose head I feel confident
that I actually saw) and the Lord Chief
Justice of England, who ordered an Usher
to remove me from his Court at the Assizes
as I was (incorrectly) alleged to be snoring.
I should be glad to hear of any leading
Publisher who would be likely to offer a good
price for such a book.—Rusticus Expectans.