MAY 10, 1893.

MAY 10, 1893.MAY 10, 1893."THEREFORE ON THIS BRIGHT MAY DAY ARE WE WREATHING A FLOWERY BAND TO BIND US ROUND THE EARTH."—Keats,slightly altered.

"THEREFORE ON THIS BRIGHT MAY DAY ARE WE WREATHING A FLOWERY BAND TO BIND US ROUND THE EARTH."—Keats,slightly altered.

(For a Photograph, inscribed "With Ethel Travers's kind regards.")

With Ethel Travers's kind regards.

It was only a week in the brightest of summers,We played tennis and golf, and, when ended the day,We made furious love as two amateur mummers,Whilst Act IV. saw us One in the orthodox way.So my holiday ended. I begged a reminder,I asked you to send me a portrait that shouldBe a sweet recollection, and you, who were kinderThan I ever deserved or dared hope, said you would.Then we parted. Life seemed to be painfully lonely,Though I dreamt of a future with you by my side,Till my common-sense seemed to say, "You, who are only,Just a poor needy teacher, haveHerfor a bride!"It was true, and I knew it. Yet why had I met you?Why had Fate kept such bitter-sweet fortune in store?So determined I set myself then to forget you,And to let my thoughts dwell on yourself nevermore.First your hair with its gold, next your eyes with their laughter,I forgot in a thoroughly workman-like style.Persevering, I never desisted till afterMany months I but faintly remembered your smile.I completely forgot you (I thought) and the warningWas to save me, I chortled, a future of pain,But you undid it all with your picture this morning,And the same old, old trouble starts over again.The Fates are a trifle hard, putting it mildly,For they well might have spared me this finishing touchOf your portrait, which speaking quite calmly yet Wildely,I admire all the more since I hate it so much.I shall treasure it, though. Thanks—a thousand—to you, dear.When in sweet meditation your fancy runs free,Is it asking too much that a stray thought or two, dear,From your kindness of heart may come straying to me?

It was only a week in the brightest of summers,We played tennis and golf, and, when ended the day,We made furious love as two amateur mummers,Whilst Act IV. saw us One in the orthodox way.

It was only a week in the brightest of summers,

We played tennis and golf, and, when ended the day,

We made furious love as two amateur mummers,

Whilst Act IV. saw us One in the orthodox way.

So my holiday ended. I begged a reminder,I asked you to send me a portrait that shouldBe a sweet recollection, and you, who were kinderThan I ever deserved or dared hope, said you would.

So my holiday ended. I begged a reminder,

I asked you to send me a portrait that should

Be a sweet recollection, and you, who were kinder

Than I ever deserved or dared hope, said you would.

Then we parted. Life seemed to be painfully lonely,Though I dreamt of a future with you by my side,Till my common-sense seemed to say, "You, who are only,Just a poor needy teacher, haveHerfor a bride!"

Then we parted. Life seemed to be painfully lonely,

Though I dreamt of a future with you by my side,

Till my common-sense seemed to say, "You, who are only,

Just a poor needy teacher, haveHerfor a bride!"

It was true, and I knew it. Yet why had I met you?Why had Fate kept such bitter-sweet fortune in store?So determined I set myself then to forget you,And to let my thoughts dwell on yourself nevermore.

It was true, and I knew it. Yet why had I met you?

Why had Fate kept such bitter-sweet fortune in store?

So determined I set myself then to forget you,

And to let my thoughts dwell on yourself nevermore.

First your hair with its gold, next your eyes with their laughter,I forgot in a thoroughly workman-like style.Persevering, I never desisted till afterMany months I but faintly remembered your smile.

First your hair with its gold, next your eyes with their laughter,

I forgot in a thoroughly workman-like style.

Persevering, I never desisted till after

Many months I but faintly remembered your smile.

I completely forgot you (I thought) and the warningWas to save me, I chortled, a future of pain,But you undid it all with your picture this morning,And the same old, old trouble starts over again.

I completely forgot you (I thought) and the warning

Was to save me, I chortled, a future of pain,

But you undid it all with your picture this morning,

And the same old, old trouble starts over again.

The Fates are a trifle hard, putting it mildly,For they well might have spared me this finishing touchOf your portrait, which speaking quite calmly yet Wildely,I admire all the more since I hate it so much.

The Fates are a trifle hard, putting it mildly,

For they well might have spared me this finishing touch

Of your portrait, which speaking quite calmly yet Wildely,

I admire all the more since I hate it so much.

I shall treasure it, though. Thanks—a thousand—to you, dear.When in sweet meditation your fancy runs free,Is it asking too much that a stray thought or two, dear,From your kindness of heart may come straying to me?

I shall treasure it, though. Thanks—a thousand—to you, dear.

When in sweet meditation your fancy runs free,

Is it asking too much that a stray thought or two, dear,

From your kindness of heart may come straying to me?

Dear Mr. Punch,—I see that the Duke ofArgyll, when he received the freedom of the Burgh of Paisley, the other day, told the following interesting story:—

"I was going once to call on a lady in London, and when the door was opened and the servant announced my name, I saw the lady advancing to the door with a look of absolute consternation on her face. I could not conceive what had happened, and thought I had entered her room at some inconvenient moment, but, on looking over her shoulder, I perceived Mr. and Mrs.Gladstonesitting at the tea-table, and she evidently thought that there would be some great explosion when we met. She was greatly gratified when nothing of the kind occurred, and we enjoyed a cup of tea as greatly as we had ever done in our lives."

Now, my dearMr. Punch, I have great sympathy with "the Lady," and think (with her) the meeting, as described by his Grace ofArgyll, was mild in the extreme. If something out of the common had taken place, it would have been far more satisfactory. To make my meaning plainer, I give roughly (in dramatic form) what should have happened to have made the action worthy of the occasion.

Scene—A Drawing-room. Lady entertainingMr.andMrs. G.at tea. A loud knock heard without.

Mrs. G.(greatly agitated). Oh dear, I am sure it is he!

Mr. G.(with calm dignity). Do not fear—if he appears, I shall know how to deal with him.

Lady(pale but calm). Nay, my good, kind friends, believe me, you shall not suffer from the indiscretion of the servant.

Mrs. G.(pushing her husband into a cupboard). Nay,William, for my sake! And now to conceal myself, so that he may not suspect his presence by my proximity. [Hides behind the curtains.

The Duke of Argyll(breaking open the door, and entering hurriedly). And now, Madam, where is my hated foe? I have tracked him to this house. It is useless to attempt to conceal him.

The Lady(laughing uneasily). Nay, your Grace, you are too facetious! Trace thePremierhere! Next you will be saying that he and his good lady were taking tea with me.

The Duke(suspiciously). And, no doubt, so they were! This empty cup, that half-devoured muffin—to whom do they belong?

The Lady(with forced gaiety). Might I not have entertained Mr. and Mrs.Joseph Chamberlain, my Lord Duke?

The Duke(aside). Can I believe her? (Aloud.) But if it is as you say, I will send away my clansmen who throng the street without. (Opens window and calls.)Gang a waddy Caller Herring!They will now depart. (A sneeze heard off.) What was that?

The Lady(terrified). I fancy it was the wind—the cold wind—and now, believe me, Mr.Gladstonewill abandon Home Rule.

Mr. G.(suddenly appearing). Never! I tell you to your face that you are a traitor! [Sneezes, and hurriedly closes the window.

The Duke(savagely). That sneeze shall be your last![Takes up a knife lying on the table.

Mr. G.(repeating the action). I am ready, Sir!

Mrs. G.(rushing between them). Oh,William! Do not fight!

The Lady(falling on her knees). I prithee stay!

Mr. G.Never! May the better man win!

The Duke.So be it![The Scene closes in upon a desperate duel. Curtain.

There, Mr. Punch!What do you think of that? Still, perhaps, under the circumstances of the case, it is better as it is.

Yours most truly,One who never Paid Twopence for Manners.

Yours most truly,

One who never Paid Twopence for Manners.

Question.Can you tell me the best possible regulations in the universe?

Answer.Certainly English Common Law.

Q.Is English Common Law accessible to everyone?

A.Certainly, and if a litigant please, he or she (for sex makes no difference) can become his or her own advocate.

Q.When a litigant prefers to conduct a case in person, does the proceeding invariably save expense?

A.Not invariably, because a litigant may have odd views about the importance of evidence and the time of professional advisers.

Q.When a litigant is afflicted with this lack of knowledge what is the customary result?

A.That the defendants have to undergo the expense of a several-days' trial with counsel to match.

Q.Supposing that a journalist, sharply but justly, criticises the actions of a man of straw—what can the man of straw do?

A.With the aid of some speculative Solicitor, he can commence an action for libel.

Q.What benefit does the speculative Solicitor obtain?

A.The speculative Solicitor, if he can persuade a judge and jury to agree, will get his costs, and if the journalist wins he will find that the prosecutor or plaintiff is, indeed, a man of straw.

Q.Is there any redress?

A.None; but a wise journalist will never criticise sharply.

No. 139.Ça donne à penser.Not a more suggestive pose does any portrait possess throughout the Galleries. It is describedtout courtas "Albert Brassey, Esq.," and 'tis the work (and the pleasure) ofW. W. Ouless, R.A. "'Tis a fine work!" saysBobto'Arry. "O' course," returns'Arry Joker. "Great!'Ow lesscould be expected of 'im tho', I dun no." It represents an undecided moment in Mr.Albert Brassey'slife. It is as if he were Mr. "All but"Brassey, and wasn't quite certain of what he should do next. There is the writing-desk,—shall he indite a letter? If he does so, shall he take off his thick-fur coat? Or shall he go hunting, since he has on, underneath the furrin' fur, the pink of hunting perfection? Likewise he has his whip and his horn, also his boots! He's "got 'em on!" He's "got 'emallon!" Or shall he hail the 5,000-ton yacht that's lying in the roads just a few yards from his open window, and go out for a cruise? He looks happy, but puzzled.

No. 543. _The_ Picture of the Year. Lamp-light reading....No. 543.ThePicture of the Year. Lamp-light reading; or, Mr. Punch among the Pretty Pets. "Dulce est dissipere in joco." H. H. La Thangue.

No. 543.ThePicture of the Year. Lamp-light reading; or, Mr. Punch among the Pretty Pets. "Dulce est dissipere in joco." H. H. La Thangue.

No. 167.The Right Hon. H. H. Fowler, M.P."Presentation Portrait," painted byArthur S. Cope. "When the Right Hon. Gentleman rose to speak, the House, with the exception of a clerk at the table and two small boys (whose presence within the precincts has never been satisfactorily accounted for) was empty."—Extract from The Imaginary Times Parliamentary Report of that date.

No. 350.Mrs. Keeley at the age of Eighty-six.Looking so well and sprightly, that the Artist must have been at considerable pains to induce her to sit still just one moment for her portrait. Long may she remain with us! Our compliments to the Artist,Julia B. Folkard.

No. 434. Mr.Somerscaleshas given us the best sea-piece of the year. It shows a "Corvette shortening sail to pick up a shipwrecked crew." "A sale in sight appeared!"—and as the picture, so it is said, was immediately sold, so also were those who came too late to make a bid.

No. 524.Gentleman writing."A nice quiet corner for a little composition away from all those speaking likenesses."J. W. Forster.

No. 533. This is a sad-looking little girl, painted byWilliam Carter. She has an unsettled expression. Is she suffering from what the Clown calls "teezy-weezies-in-the-pandenoodles," and, as SirJohn Millais's"Bubbles" servedP**rsfor an advertisement, is it beyond the range of probability that this, being associated with the name of "Carter," should be intended as a pictorial advertisement for the well-known "L-ttle L-v-r P-lls"?

An Artist's work 'on the Line.'An Artist's work "on the Line."

No. 535. Portrait (presumably) ofC. R. Fletcher Lutwidge, Esq.BySt. George Hare. Ha! Ha! Ha! By St. George you Ha're bound to laugh directly you look at it. You can't help it. "C. R. F. L." is chuckling to himself and saying, "Ha! Ha! I've just thought ofsucha funny thing! Ha! Ha! Ha!" And heisenjoying it so! As the song says, "O Mister (I forget the name), what a funny little man you are!"

No. 553. This, by Mr.Markham Skipworth, is a portrait ofDr. E. Ker Gray, LL.Dof St. George's Chapel, Mayfair. "Ker Gray!" it ought to be "Ker Scarlet."

No. 862.Portrait of a Gentleman, byPhil R. Morris, A. The Portrait, annoyed at being next toSidney Cooper's, R A., "Be it ever so humble, &c.," representing head of a jackass, and some sheepish sheep, is evidently saying to itself, "Hang the Hanging Committee! They show me as next door to a donkey."

No. 888.The Wedding Gifts.The pretty Bride is a bit frightened at seeing the Groom leading up two bare-back'd steeds. "Oh!" she cries, "I can't ridethem! Why (to her husband) did you give me these?" "My dear," says he, "why not? Here are the bare-backed steeds, and you've already got the Ring."S. E. Waller.

No. 892. "Your Health!" A Birthday Party at Mr.Ernest Hart's. Painted byS. J. Solomon. As a subject, the wisdom ofSolomonis questionable as a specimen of Hacademie Hart—ahem! However, to the toast of "Your Health!" as addressed to Mr.Ernest Hart, MasterSolmight have added the words, "Most Ernestly and Hartily."

No. 928.Exhibition of Miss Biffin, "who has no legs to speak of." "If you saw my ancles," saidMiss Mowcher, "I should go home and kill myself." ButArthur Hacker, whose capital work it is, calls it "Circe."

No. 937. "It might have been," by F.Stuart Sindici, representsNapoleonandWellingtonout walking together, in 1847, near the Horse Guards. "It might have been"if.... But it wasn't—though F.Stuart Sindiciwent nap on it, and dreamt it. Why shouldn'tJulius Cæsarand LordBroughamhave hobnobbed together over Pommery '74 atFrascati'sin Regent Street, or why shouldn't the Great Duke ofMarlboroughand AdmiralHamilcarof Carthage, after leavingHoi Adelphoiat the theatre, have taken supper atRule'sin Maiden Lane? Why not? "It might have been"—of course; why, when you come to think of it, there's hardly anything that mightn't have been,ifit had only taken place. Such possible subjects would fill the most vast picture gallery in theChâteau d'If.

(New Gallery, Regent Street. Summary of Sixth Summer Exhibition.)

(New Gallery—continued.)

No. 11. "Her First Ball;" or, "Train 'em up in the way she should bowl." Portrait of little girl preparing to be a Lady-Cricketer. She has the ball in her hands, and is only waiting to cry out "Play!"G. P. Jacomb-Hood.

No. 15.Charming Picture of Nobody Nowhere, MissAnna Alma-Tadema.

No. 20.Portrait of W. Matthew Hale, Esq.ByJohn Parker. "All Hale!"

No. 37. "Silver Mist." This ought to have been the picture of a gentleman in search of a threepenny piece; but it isn't.Fred Hall.

No. 66.The Departing Guest.E. Burne-Jones.

The ending of the party see,"O let us get a cab for thee!""Nay," quoth the guest, "I've wings! so I,Like to the trout, will take a fly."

The ending of the party see,

"O let us get a cab for thee!"

"Nay," quoth the guest, "I've wings! so I,

Like to the trout, will take a fly."

No. 112.Alderman J. Stone-Wigg.First Mayor of Tunbridge Wells.

Indeed you look an Alderman,'Tis true I've seen a balder man."J. Stone-Wigg" is the name I see,Which "Lost or Stolen-Wig" should be.

Indeed you look an Alderman,

'Tis true I've seen a balder man.

"J. Stone-Wigg" is the name I see,

Which "Lost or Stolen-Wig" should be.

No. 160.Portrait of Lady Simpson. Bravo, Mr.Val Prinsep, A.R.A. Uncommonly good. A parody of the old song should have been selected by the Artist as a motto for the picture:—

LadySimpsonhas a dog—I don't know its name—Pretty tail has dog,incog.Ribands round the same.

LadySimpsonhas a dog—

I don't know its name—

Pretty tail has dog,incog.

Ribands round the same.

No. 170. "The Spirit of Life." ByArchie Macgregor. "Eh,Archiemon! aiblins, 'tis just the whusky-still the Leddie's at, takin' a wee drappit i' the 'ee. And why did ye nae ca' it, 'Still Life'"?

No. 177.Portrait of Mrs. George Lewis.Excellent, Mr. Colour-Sargent! N.B.—Very few "Sergeants" left; but Mr.George Lewishas secured the best of them to paint this portrait.

No. 194. Very charming is "The Closing of an October Day." ByGeorge H. Broughton, A.R.A. He has caught the "Early Closing Movement" to the life.

No. 242. "In the Grip of the Sea-Wolf"; or, "Early Bathing at Boulogne." E. M.Hale.

No. 324. And a good Judge too!Portrait of Sir Douglas Straight.TheDouglas, "bearded in his den"! Quarter (Sessions) Length. Sad end to a distinguished career to be "quartered, drawn, and hung"! Congratulate Artist, MissVera Christie, on good likeness.

EVOLUTION EXTRAORDINARY.EVOLUTION EXTRAORDINARY.British Tourist(who has been served with a Pig's foot). "What's this?I ordered Quail!"Negro Waiter."Wall—y'ev got Quail!"British Tourist. "Quail! Why a Quail's a Bird!"Negro Waiter."Not Here!"

British Tourist(who has been served with a Pig's foot). "What's this?I ordered Quail!"

Negro Waiter."Wall—y'ev got Quail!"

British Tourist. "Quail! Why a Quail's a Bird!"

Negro Waiter."Not Here!"

Anti-Epidemic Treatment.

(Being Summary of Robson Roosetem Pasha's Article in New Review.)

Boil Bacillus,Or he'll kill us.From Filter filthy grownDon't drink water,Save rates per quarter,And so "Leavewellalone."

Boil Bacillus,

Or he'll kill us.

From Filter filthy grown

Don't drink water,

Save rates per quarter,

And so "Leavewellalone."

Companion Works.—Shortly to appear:My Wife's Bodice. By the Author ofHis Wife's Soul.

Good, faithful friend, it seems an ageSince last we met and walked together!Upon theDaily Graphic'spageFor weeks I've watched the coming weather;The meteorologic girl,Despite cold arms, seemed almost jolly,And made no effort to unfurlThat wonderful archaic brolly.So I, grown reckless, did as she.And gave you quite a Long Vacation;Such weather cannot always be,Or you would lose your occupation.Think how I've treated you! A petMight envy all the care I gave you;When worn-out with work and wet,Think how I did my best to save you!You soon looked well, and eased my fears—Recovered after over-pressure.When you "took silk" in other years,Think what I paid for each "refresher"!When last it rained I had to rollYou up quite wet; you've been forgotten.It rains once more. What's this? A hole?By Jove, the silk's completely rotten!

Good, faithful friend, it seems an ageSince last we met and walked together!Upon theDaily Graphic'spageFor weeks I've watched the coming weather;

Good, faithful friend, it seems an age

Since last we met and walked together!

Upon theDaily Graphic'spage

For weeks I've watched the coming weather;

The meteorologic girl,Despite cold arms, seemed almost jolly,And made no effort to unfurlThat wonderful archaic brolly.

The meteorologic girl,

Despite cold arms, seemed almost jolly,

And made no effort to unfurl

That wonderful archaic brolly.

So I, grown reckless, did as she.And gave you quite a Long Vacation;Such weather cannot always be,Or you would lose your occupation.

So I, grown reckless, did as she.

And gave you quite a Long Vacation;

Such weather cannot always be,

Or you would lose your occupation.

Think how I've treated you! A petMight envy all the care I gave you;When worn-out with work and wet,Think how I did my best to save you!

Think how I've treated you! A pet

Might envy all the care I gave you;

When worn-out with work and wet,

Think how I did my best to save you!

You soon looked well, and eased my fears—Recovered after over-pressure.When you "took silk" in other years,Think what I paid for each "refresher"!

You soon looked well, and eased my fears—

Recovered after over-pressure.

When you "took silk" in other years,

Think what I paid for each "refresher"!

When last it rained I had to rollYou up quite wet; you've been forgotten.It rains once more. What's this? A hole?By Jove, the silk's completely rotten!

When last it rained I had to roll

You up quite wet; you've been forgotten.

It rains once more. What's this? A hole?

By Jove, the silk's completely rotten!

The Stage-Coach Fiasco.—The Meet, which was ordered for 11:30 last Thursday, wasn't done, and so there was no Lunch.

[By an already over-burdened tax-payer who derived neither enlightenment nor comfort from the wordy war about a "Graduated Income-Tax" between Mr.Bartleyand SirWilliam Harcourt.]

"Graduation" seems vexation,"Differentiation" looks as bad.Their the-o-rieIt puzzles me.But theirpracticedrives me mad!

"Graduation" seems vexation,

"Differentiation" looks as bad.

Their the-o-rie

It puzzles me.

But theirpracticedrives me mad!

"That's Swear It Is!"—In bygone days, when the Princess's was under the management of Mr. and Mrs.Charles Kean, there was a fine imposed on any member of the company who should make use of bad language in the Green-Room. One evening a distinguished actor so far forgot himself as to let slip an expletive of three simple letters, whereat Mrs.Keanheld up her hands in horror and quitted the room, followed by the actresses who happened to be present. Subsequently some wag at the Garrick Club wrote a song whereof the burden was "The Man who said 'dam' in the Green-Room."Tempora mutantur, and now, at the Avenue Theatre, under the management of Mr. and Mrs.Kendalin the Green-Room and behind the scenes, as well as on the stage, "Dam" will be in everyone's mouth, as this happens to be the name of the Author of their latest successful production.

(By a Sufferer from the Modern Laundry System.)

Rub-a-rub-rub!Three ghouls at a tub:Our shirts and our collars they savagely scrub.The fronts they make baggéd,The wristbands quite jaggéd,And send home our linen all rotten and ragged!Scrub-a-scrub-scrub!Three fiends at a tub:In chemical bleachings they dabble and grub.Our shirts each bespattersThen brush them to tatters.The wearers get mad as March hares or as hatters!Rub-a-scrub-scrub!Three hags at a tub:They scrape with a wire-brush, and pound with a club!Smash buttons, burst stitches,And—swell Laundry riches!Who'll save us from this cauldron-tub's dread Three Witches?

Rub-a-rub-rub!Three ghouls at a tub:Our shirts and our collars they savagely scrub.The fronts they make baggéd,The wristbands quite jaggéd,And send home our linen all rotten and ragged!

Rub-a-rub-rub!

Three ghouls at a tub:

Our shirts and our collars they savagely scrub.

The fronts they make baggéd,

The wristbands quite jaggéd,

And send home our linen all rotten and ragged!

Scrub-a-scrub-scrub!Three fiends at a tub:In chemical bleachings they dabble and grub.Our shirts each bespattersThen brush them to tatters.The wearers get mad as March hares or as hatters!

Scrub-a-scrub-scrub!

Three fiends at a tub:

In chemical bleachings they dabble and grub.

Our shirts each bespatters

Then brush them to tatters.

The wearers get mad as March hares or as hatters!

Rub-a-scrub-scrub!Three hags at a tub:They scrape with a wire-brush, and pound with a club!Smash buttons, burst stitches,And—swell Laundry riches!Who'll save us from this cauldron-tub's dread Three Witches?

Rub-a-scrub-scrub!

Three hags at a tub:

They scrape with a wire-brush, and pound with a club!

Smash buttons, burst stitches,

And—swell Laundry riches!

Who'll save us from this cauldron-tub's dread Three Witches?

The Stock Exchange,Mr. Punchunderstands, has gone into politics. With a view to test the knowledge of the brokers who "proceshed" to the Guildhall, he asks them,—What is the Commission upon Evicted Tenants? All sellers, no buyers.

Transcriber's Note:

Sundry broken punctuation has been corrected.

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