THE COVER SIDE.THE COVER SIDE."Little Mr. Timmins evidently thinks that Hat suits him down to the Ground!""So it would, if his Ears didn't stop it!"
"Little Mr. Timmins evidently thinks that Hat suits him down to the Ground!"
"So it would, if his Ears didn't stop it!"
[The only lady-cyclist in St. Petersburg has lately met with an accident, and is now in hospital. The police will issue no more permits to women.]
FairBárinya, why did you go and tumble off your wheel?Your sad mishap has rousedVon Wahl'sand all his minions' zeal—He vows that ladies now no more shall ride their horse of steel!What was it that upset you? Was it, pray, the greatProspékt,With those six-sided wooden blocks that here and there project,Or else its three-mile tram-line, where your giddy "sveeft" was wrecked?Or were you racing, 'gainst the rules, along the English Quay,And trying to inaugurate a Russian Battersea,Or threading the Milliónaya with over-rapid glee?Perhaps 'twas on Yelagin Isle you were careering round,And ran into the flower-beds or the ponds that there abound,Or bumped against a drunkmuzhík, that brought you to the ground.Whate'er it was, the fact remains, your fatal lack of skillIn "Peter" future lady-bikes has stopped for good or ill—Come over, then, to London, and enjoy your daily spill!
FairBárinya, why did you go and tumble off your wheel?Your sad mishap has rousedVon Wahl'sand all his minions' zeal—He vows that ladies now no more shall ride their horse of steel!
FairBárinya, why did you go and tumble off your wheel?
Your sad mishap has rousedVon Wahl'sand all his minions' zeal—
He vows that ladies now no more shall ride their horse of steel!
What was it that upset you? Was it, pray, the greatProspékt,With those six-sided wooden blocks that here and there project,Or else its three-mile tram-line, where your giddy "sveeft" was wrecked?
What was it that upset you? Was it, pray, the greatProspékt,
With those six-sided wooden blocks that here and there project,
Or else its three-mile tram-line, where your giddy "sveeft" was wrecked?
Or were you racing, 'gainst the rules, along the English Quay,And trying to inaugurate a Russian Battersea,Or threading the Milliónaya with over-rapid glee?
Or were you racing, 'gainst the rules, along the English Quay,
And trying to inaugurate a Russian Battersea,
Or threading the Milliónaya with over-rapid glee?
Perhaps 'twas on Yelagin Isle you were careering round,And ran into the flower-beds or the ponds that there abound,Or bumped against a drunkmuzhík, that brought you to the ground.
Perhaps 'twas on Yelagin Isle you were careering round,
And ran into the flower-beds or the ponds that there abound,
Or bumped against a drunkmuzhík, that brought you to the ground.
Whate'er it was, the fact remains, your fatal lack of skillIn "Peter" future lady-bikes has stopped for good or ill—Come over, then, to London, and enjoy your daily spill!
Whate'er it was, the fact remains, your fatal lack of skill
In "Peter" future lady-bikes has stopped for good or ill—
Come over, then, to London, and enjoy your daily spill!
Poker Chips from the Gold Coast.—By rejecting Great Britain'sultimatum, the King ofCoomassiehas paid his "ante." The next move will—in all probability—be the surrender of his Ash-antee.
Appropriate.—By what law are water rates settled? By Torren(t)s' Act.
A New Terror in the London Streets.—The Policeman.
The example of Mr.'Enry Hauthor Jones, in dropping theJonesand sticking to the'Enry Hauthor, will probably be followed by SirEdward Burne-Jones, who will henceforth figure as SirEdward Burn. Pity this idea never occurred to the renowned architect,Inigo Jones. How much nobler to remain in the annals of your country simply as "Inigo."
Isn't "Jones" a Welsh name? Will Cambria disownJones? Oh, let the dramatist pause before it be too late. 'Tis true that "aJonesby any other name will write as well," but hehaswritten well enough as our own "'Enry Hauthor," and we beseech him to spare his family tree, not to lop off a single bough, and to remainJonestill the last act is over, and the curtain descends to general applause. We can understand an author of the name of "Dam" changing his name, or altering it to "Grandam," but thatJones, successful, jubilantJones, should do this thing! Nay, by our halidom! Let us give H. A. J. our own immortal advice, which applies as well to a person about to change his name as to a person about to marry—"Don't!"
This Minor Poet is an ass,As is the common way of them.They're "fleshly," and "all flesh is grass";And—that's why we "make hay of them"!
This Minor Poet is an ass,As is the common way of them.They're "fleshly," and "all flesh is grass";And—that's why we "make hay of them"!
This Minor Poet is an ass,
As is the common way of them.
They're "fleshly," and "all flesh is grass";
And—that's why we "make hay of them"!
On Lord Salisbury's memorable Speech at the Lord Mayor's Banquet, November 9.—"Hope told a flattering tale."—Old Song.
Shakspeare in the City (adapted by Ex-Lord Mayor Renals).—"Let us hearBarnatospeak of this."—Hamlet, Act I., Sc. 1.
Mr.Punchis obviously not the most fitting person to review his own history. It has been enough for him during the last fifty-four years to make it. But a word must be said in these columns ofThe History of Punch, just issued in a handsome volume by Messrs.Cassell & Co.Through four years Mr.Spielmannhas been engaged upon what he indicates on every page has proved a labour of love. There was danger that enthusiastic admiration for the subject might induce in the author a fulsome tone that would have been fatal to the historical and literary value of the book. Mr.Spielmannhappily avoids that pitfall. He is, upon occasion, sternly and, my Baronite adds, justly critical. But it is the personal traits in his story that will most attract. In his pages there live once more for the world, seen in the borrowed but skilfully managed light of intimate personal acquaintance, figures whose memories are ever enshrined in the hearts of those who still from week to week gather round the old "Mahogany Tree."Mark Lemon,Shirley Brooks,Tom Taylor,Leech,Keene,Douglas Jerrold, TheProfessor,Tom Hood,Thackeray,Dicky Doyle,William Bradbury,G. A. à Beckettand, a generation later, his gifted sonGil—all, all are gone, the once familiar faces. They are met with again in Mr.Spielmann'sbook, the pen and pencil sketches illustrated by admirably reproduced contemporary portraits. The inner history ofPunchis a subject that has ever had a fascination for the British public. Attempts, more or less futile, to gratify the desired acquaintance have been made at various times through the last thirty years. Mr.Spielmannhas not only brought singular aptitude to the task assigned to himself, but has had the advantage of the cordial assistance of divers men having personal knowledge of events they record and personages of whom they speak.Mr. Punchdesires to add his testimony to the general approval theHistoryhas received by the voice of the Press. The work, full of difficulty and not without delicacy, is thoroughly well done. Looking at himself in the mirror held up by Mr.Spielmann,Mr. Punchfinds no flaw in the glass.
My Baronite would not advise those about to travel to take passage by any ship, whithersoever bound, of the start whereofClark Russellknows anything. His cruisers mostly set out in fine weather, with swelling breeze, in the full sunshine of circumstance. Then comes a hitch, and there follow the most blood-curdling adventures that ever happened since men first began to go down to do business in the great waters. The marvel of it is that Mr.Russell'simagination never flags, nor is he ever at loss for those minute details which, skilfully and artistically piled up, go to make a living picture.Heart of Oak, his last work, just published byChatto and Windus, is worthy to take its place in the matchless roll of his sea stories. Of living writers Mr.Russell, alike in style and method, most nearly approaches the classic standard ofDefoe. In his last work he has captured the stormy seas south of Cape Horn, brings home their turmoil, their snow squalls, their icebergs, and a general sense of their desolation to the gentleman of England who sits at home at ease. That historic person's opportunity of making acquaintance with those interesting parts is decidedly more agreeable and, under Mr.Clark Russell'sguidance, is scarcely less informing than a voyage in theLady Emma, a vessel of six hundred tons, which was the sad fate of the principal characters in this thrilling story.
The Baron feels it incumbent upon him to correct a statement in Mr.T. H. S. Escott'smost readable and interesting work, entitledPlatform, Press, Politics, and Play, which, if allowed to go uncontradicted, would thereby allow a great error to creep into University and Dramatic History. Mr.Escottsays that the late Mr.Alfred Thompson"had, together with several others, been one of the A. D. C.'s founders at Cambridge." This is not so; Mr.Alfred Thompsonhad taken his degree, and "gone down," some four years before the A. D. C. was founded;videpreface toPersonal Reminiscences of the A. D. C., first paragraph, and also p. xi. of the same. Mr.Escottis a most entertaining companion, as is also Mr.Henry Russell, whose profession was for years "entertaining," and who wrote such songs as the world will not willingly let die. "Woodman Spare that Tree" is one of them. TheRussellReminiscences (published byMacqueen, in one volume, entitled "Cheer, Boys, Cheer!") the Baron must take leave to correct on one point.Henry Russellalludes to "that distinguishedPunchtrio,Douglas Jerrold,Mark Lemon, andGeorge Cruikshank." The last mentioned was never "onPunch." He was a great friend ofMark Lemon's, but never drew forMr. Punch.
The Baron de Book-worms.
P.S.—Phil May's Winter Annualis in brilliant bloom. Though coming out in the cold, bleak season, the touch of May is in every picture.
'What! An Actress without shoes'"What! An Actress without shoes or Stockings! I never heard of such a thing! I should like to know what People would say ifIwere to go flaunting about on the Stage with Bare feet!"
"What! An Actress without shoes or Stockings! I never heard of such a thing! I should like to know what People would say ifIwere to go flaunting about on the Stage with Bare feet!"
Anti-bicyclist Motto.—Rather a year of Europe than a cycle of to-day.
Press-gang, To the Rear!—A delicious "exchange of views" took place at the election of Dungarvan Commissioners. Mr.Ryanis a gentleman who deprecates publicity. He observed:—
My heart is full of gratitude to you, and we will work hand in hand. Scribblers must take a back seat. (Laughter.) No "terrible scenes" will take place here. I saw Dungarvan placarded in London, "terrible scenes at Dungarvan," and all the disgrace is brought on the town by one man, who, for a few shillings—and if it cost me my life I will put it down. Woe to the man who will continue to do it here. I saw him a pot-boy at the Monks' school, and I say——Mr. O'Shea.If you refer to me, Mr.Ryan, the people of Dungarvan know me better and respect me better than they do you. I am better off than you. You have only a few shillings a week for minding the shop.Mr. Ryan.You are lying, Sir.The Board broke up in disorder.
My heart is full of gratitude to you, and we will work hand in hand. Scribblers must take a back seat. (Laughter.) No "terrible scenes" will take place here. I saw Dungarvan placarded in London, "terrible scenes at Dungarvan," and all the disgrace is brought on the town by one man, who, for a few shillings—and if it cost me my life I will put it down. Woe to the man who will continue to do it here. I saw him a pot-boy at the Monks' school, and I say——
Mr. O'Shea.If you refer to me, Mr.Ryan, the people of Dungarvan know me better and respect me better than they do you. I am better off than you. You have only a few shillings a week for minding the shop.
Mr. Ryan.You are lying, Sir.
The Board broke up in disorder.
"Our 'scenes' to publish far and wideDenotes a lack of local pride;These scribblers I cannotabide"—SaidRyanof Dungarvan."Discord I hate—so I declareMy friend and colleague on that chairOnce did the alehouse tankards bear"—SneeredRyanof Dungarvan."Mild language, too, I greatly prize;If any one this fact deniesI must remark he foully lies"—RoaredRyanof Dungarvan.
"Our 'scenes' to publish far and wideDenotes a lack of local pride;These scribblers I cannotabide"—SaidRyanof Dungarvan.
"Our 'scenes' to publish far and wide
Denotes a lack of local pride;
These scribblers I cannotabide"—
SaidRyanof Dungarvan.
"Discord I hate—so I declareMy friend and colleague on that chairOnce did the alehouse tankards bear"—SneeredRyanof Dungarvan.
"Discord I hate—so I declare
My friend and colleague on that chair
Once did the alehouse tankards bear"—
SneeredRyanof Dungarvan.
"Mild language, too, I greatly prize;If any one this fact deniesI must remark he foully lies"—RoaredRyanof Dungarvan.
"Mild language, too, I greatly prize;
If any one this fact denies
I must remark he foully lies"—
RoaredRyanof Dungarvan.
O mores!—Farewell to the adjectivegallantas a prefix to "little Wales," for no longer can it justly be used in such conjunction! TheBritish Lady Football Clubgave an exhibition game in Cardiff, and the inhabitants, says theSouth Wales Daily News, gathered in their thousands to witness the display, in which they were intensely interested. But—horribile dictu—whenever a fairfooteress"came a cropper, the crowd,of course, shouted with glee"!Of course!When a recreant male sustains a fall, what expressions of tender solicitude burst from the sympathetic lady-spectator's lips! And this her reward! If any of our Gallic neighbours had been present at the match to hear those rude, derisive "shouts of glee," their comment, most probably, would have been—
"Gallois—mais pas galant!"
Injured Innocence.—A Bristol paper lately suggested that possibly some local butcher might have bought some of the thousands of sheep brought from Montreal in theMemphissteamship. The very idea of such a thing has scandalised the local trade, and a butcher wrote to repel the vile aspersion. The paper says:—
It is refreshing to hear from this subscriber in the trade that, after trying it once some years ago, he has never had a bit of foreign meat in his shop since. We are afraid we must not give his name, though he is one of the best known butchers in Bristol.
It is refreshing to hear from this subscriber in the trade that, after trying it once some years ago, he has never had a bit of foreign meat in his shop since. We are afraid we must not give his name, though he is one of the best known butchers in Bristol.
This is excellent. Why should not local bodies everywhere give prizes to butchers who sell no foreign meat? It would be protection, somebody objects? Yes, it would be rank protection to the meat-consumer, and as such it is never likely to be adopted.
Mansion House Mem.—If the late Lord Mayor's example of entertaining as shown in theBarnatoBanquet is to be followed, the guests on such occasions will be known as "The latest copy of 'Renals'Miscellany.'"