PLAIN ENGLISH!

Fred Cowen'sVikingSure to be striking.Think there is luck inBarton McGuckin.

Unsought Honour.—After his last Birthday, Mr.Gladstonewas unanimously elected a Member of "the Eighty Club."

PLAIN ENGLISH!John Bull."LOOK HERE, MY LITTLE FRIEND, I DON'T WANT TO HURT YOUR LITTLE FEELINGS,—BUT,COME OFF THAT FLAG!!!"

John Bull."LOOK HERE, MY LITTLE FRIEND, I DON'T WANT TO HURT YOUR LITTLE FEELINGS,—BUT,COME OFF THAT FLAG!!!"

Jenkinson(to M. F. H., who dislikes being bothered). "What do you think of this Horse?" (No answer.) "Bred him myself, you know!"M. F. H.(looking at Horse out of corner of his eye). "Umph! I thought you couldn't have been such a silly Idiot as to haveBoughthim!"

Jenkinson(to M. F. H., who dislikes being bothered). "What do you think of this Horse?" (No answer.) "Bred him myself, you know!"

M. F. H.(looking at Horse out of corner of his eye). "Umph! I thought you couldn't have been such a silly Idiot as to haveBoughthim!"

(A Fairy Tale of Anglo-Russian Origin.)

Onceupon a time there was a feeble little Ailment called "Cold-in-the-head," which was treated in the most contemptuous fashion by its relations. The nearest of its kith and kin—Measles and Scarlatina—absolutely laughed when its name was mentioned, and scarcely recognised it as a connection. So Cold-in-the-head had rather a bad time of it generally.

One day the feeble little Ailment was wandering aimlessly about in search of a resting-place, when it came upon an enormous establishment thronged with thousands of working-men. When theemployésare described as "working-men," it is not, however, quite accurate, for at that moment they were not working.

"Why are you idle?" sneezed out little Cold-in-the-head in a tone of compassion.

"Because," replied one of theemployés, rather gruffly, "there is nothing to do. If you want further information, you had better inquire at that office."

And the man pointed to a door bearing the legend, "Editor's Room." The poor little Ailment entered the apartment, and found a Gentleman seated in front of a desk covered with papers. The Gentleman was staring before him, and the ink in his pen had dried up.

"What do you want?" asked the Gentleman. "And why don't you shut the door behind you?"

"I should cease to exist without draughts," explained the poor little Ailment, "and please don't speak roughly to me, as I want to help you."

"You help me!" exclaimed the Editor—for the Gentleman was an Editor. "How can you do that?"

"I think I can give you a subject."

"You are very welcome if you can do that," was the reply, "as in this dead season of the year ideas are as scarce as coals; nay scarcer. But surely, didn't you do something for the Press ages ago?"

"That was in the 'forties;' but I am quite different now."

Then the little Ailment related to the Editor stories of Russia, and the East, and all sorts of wonderful things.

"Well," murmured the Editor, after some consideration, "I think you may be useful, after all, if we are helped by the Doctors."

"What a fuss they are making about this new rival of ours!" said Measles, angrily.

"Too absurd!" commented Scarlatina, in a tone of annoyance.

Then there was a grand procession. First came Correspondents, then Interviewed Physicians, then the General Public. It was a sight that had never been seen before. In the midst of the excitement an Ailment appeared.

"Why, bless me!" cried Measles. "Only fancy!"

"Can I believe my eyes?" shouted Scarlatina. "Why, it's poor little Cold-in-the-head, that no one used to care a jot about six months ago!"

"Silence!" said the Ailment, with great dignity. "You must learn to treat me with the respect due to my exalted station. And please don't call me 'Cold-in-the-head,' for I am known as 'The Russian Influenza!'"

Then the Ailment turned towardsMr. Punch, who (as was his wont) was smiling, and bade him do homage.

"Not a bit of it," exclaimed the Sage of Fleet Street, raising a glass of Ammoniated Tincture of Quinine to his lips, and quaffing merrily a teaspoonful. "I defy you! You are puffed up with conceit, my poor little Illness, and when, in a few weeks' time, we have another sensation to talk and think about, you will sink back into your native obscurity."

AndMr. Punch(as the event will prove) was—as he always is—entirely right!

At the Porte St. Martin.—If there were ever any question as to the genius ofSara Bernhardt, she has now settled it by appearing asJeanne d'Arc, and showing us what she is Maid of. By the way, as of course she wears golden or auburn hair,Jeanne d'Arcmust appear asJeanneLight. Irreverent scoffers may say this is historically correct, as from their point of viewJoanwas rather light-headed. Of course,Joanis coming over to London. Why not to Mr.Hare'sTheatre, and finish the evening with a prime Garrick Stake.

MR. PUNCH'S EXHIBITION OF GRAND "OLD MASTERS."

"ALL ALIVE!"Cheesemonger."What is it, my Dear?"Little Girl."Oh, Mother's sent back this piece o' Cheese, 'cause Father Says If we wants any Bait when he's a goin' a Fishin', he can dig 'em up in our Garden!"

Cheesemonger."What is it, my Dear?"

Little Girl."Oh, Mother's sent back this piece o' Cheese, 'cause Father Says If we wants any Bait when he's a goin' a Fishin', he can dig 'em up in our Garden!"

Being a probable Extract from the "City Intelligence" for 1900.

Thehalf-yearly meeting to discuss the Report just issued by the Chairman and Directors of the Amalgamated International Anglo-French Submarine Channel Tunnel Railway Company was held in the Company's Fortress Boardroom yesterday afternoon, and, owing to the present critical Continental outlook, as might have been expected, succeeded in securing the attendance of an unusually large number of shareholders.

The Chairman, who on rising was received with prolonged hooting and a chorus, again and again renewedcon amoreby the assembled audience, of "And he's a jolly bad fellow!" having, at length, though frequently interrupted, obtained something like a hearing, was understood to say, that he had little to offer in the shape of comment on the Report submitted to the meeting. (Groans.) The causes of its unsatisfactory nature were patent to all. Owing to their having been compelled, in what he now fully recognised was a slavish and mistaken obedience to a popular clamour (a Voice, "You're right!"), three years ago, in the height of a sudden scare about invasion—("Oh! oh!")—to let the water in and flood the Tunnel—(groans)—they had been occupied ever since in pumping it out again, and though now he was glad to announce that the last bucketful had been emptied out, and that the traffic would be resumed forthwith—(cheers)—still the operation had cost them three millions of money, that they had to get from the market in the shape of Seventeen per Cent. First Preference Debentures—("Oh! oh!")—on which, however, he trusted that a favourable season's receipts might enable them possibly to pay a next half-year's dividend of three and sixpence. (Prolonged groans.) It was not much; still, it was something. ("Oh! oh!") But if they wished to secure even this modest remuneration for their money, they must make up their minds, especially at the present moment, when there was a daily,—he might almost say, an hourly,—expectation of the withdrawal of their Ambassador from Paris, that there must be no more craven yielding to delusive impulses of an idiotic patriotism—(loud cheers),—in a word, no more talk about closing the Tunnel on the paltry plea of "national security." (Prolonged cheering.) He was glad to hear those cheers. It was an endorsement of the standpoint that he and his Directors meant to take in the present crisis, which was, in effect, to remind themselves that they were shareholders of the Anglo-French Submarine Channel Tunnel Railway Company first—and Englishmen afterwards—(thunders of applause, and loud and prolonged cheering);—and that, if called upon to shed their life's blood, it would be solely in defence of that great engineering work, the true monument of peace, in which their aspirations, their hopes, and, above all, their capital, had been so fearlessly embarked and largely invested.(Renewed enthusiasm.)

A Shareholder here rose, and said, that if there really was, as the Chairman seemed to imply, a probability that war with our friendly neighbours might break out at any minute, would it not be advisable, in the interests of the Company, to come to some amicable and therefore satisfactory commercial arrangement for the transit of troops through the Tunnel, which, no doubt, it would be their first object to secure.(Laughter.) There might possibly be some stupid attempt of our own Government forces to seize upon and even damage, with a view to rendering the Tunnel useless, the works commanding this end of it. Should not a Volunteer Corps of Shareholders be at once organised—("Hear! hear!")—for the purpose of keeping them until the French Military Authorities came over in sufficient force to enable them to seize and securely hold them against all comers? He trusted he was not wanting in a well-balanced and legitimate patriotism—("No! no!")—but like their respected Chairman, he felt that there was a higher claim, a louder call than that addressed to an Englishman by his country, and that was the deep, grim, stern and stirring appeal made to the Seventeen per Cent. Debenture-holder by his Company.(Roars of laughter.)

Considerable uproar here arose over the ejection from the meeting of a protesting Shareholder, who injudiciously proposed an Amendment to the Report to the effect that, "In the face of grave National danger, the Company ought to be prepared, even if it involved serious financial loss, to close their Tunnel, if such a step should be regarded as necessary to the security of the country by the military advisers of the Government." This proposition was howled down, and the Chairman was again about to address the now somewhat quieted meeting, when a copy of an evening paper, announcing the declaration of war, and the simultaneous seizure of the British end of the Tunnel that morning by two hundred French troops, who had crossed from Boulogne by yesterday's evening Mail-boat, and had passed the night at Folkestone in disguise, was handed up on to the platform.

The Chairman(after reading out the various items of intelligence to the Audience, who listened to them with breathless excitement). Well, Gentlemen, in the face of this not entirely unsuspected news—(laughter)-our course is, I think, pretty clear. We must at once dispatch a deputation to make the best terms we can with the French General in command, for the transit of the one or two, or even three hundred thousand troops they propose to bring over. (Cheers.) Even if we get only an excursion fare out of them, it will be something. ("Hear, hear!") And, at least, we shall be able to congratulate ourselves on this occasion with a sterling and heartfelt satisfaction that, whether the country go to the dogs or not—(roars of laughter)—the property of the Company will, at any rate, be preserved. (Enthusiastic applause.) The Chairman, who continued his address amid mingled cheers and laughter in the same strain, having submitted the names to form the proposed deputation to the meeting, the Shareholders dispersed, apparently in the highest spirits, singing a parody of the great national ditty, in which the line, "Britons ever, ever, ever will be knaves," with an accompaniment of loud guffaws of laughter, struck the listening ear, as they betook themselves to their respective homes.

THE IRISH QUESTION IN BOND STREET.Verycalmly and pleasantly is this matter settled at Messrs.Dowdeswell'sGalleries. Mr. O.Rickatsontakes us a mighty pleasant tour through Wicklow, Wexford, and Waterford. He gives us his views on the Land Question (Shure there are Sixty-two of them, bedad!) in Water-colours, and very bright, breezy, and delightful they are. If theywillhave Home Rule, if they persist in having Ireland for the Irish, we have no desire to pick a quarrel with this accomplishedaquarelliste(Ha! ha!) for showing us the beauties of the "distrissful counthry;" and if we are not allowed to have the real thing, we shall find the peaceful possession of Mr.Rickatson'sdelightful pictures no mean substitute.

Verycalmly and pleasantly is this matter settled at Messrs.Dowdeswell'sGalleries. Mr. O.Rickatsontakes us a mighty pleasant tour through Wicklow, Wexford, and Waterford. He gives us his views on the Land Question (Shure there are Sixty-two of them, bedad!) in Water-colours, and very bright, breezy, and delightful they are. If theywillhave Home Rule, if they persist in having Ireland for the Irish, we have no desire to pick a quarrel with this accomplishedaquarelliste(Ha! ha!) for showing us the beauties of the "distrissful counthry;" and if we are not allowed to have the real thing, we shall find the peaceful possession of Mr.Rickatson'sdelightful pictures no mean substitute.

ENTERTAINING AN ENTERTAINER.Mr. Toole, before partaking of all the farewell luncheons, dinners, and suppers, previous to his departure for Australia.Mr. J. L. Toole after all the farewell lunches, &c., &c. P. & O. Co. won't make any reduction on taking a quantity.

Mr. Toole, before partaking of all the farewell luncheons, dinners, and suppers, previous to his departure for Australia.

Mr. J. L. Toole after all the farewell lunches, &c., &c. P. & O. Co. won't make any reduction on taking a quantity.

To all Volapuk-speaking Folk.

Thereexists at this moment no institution which even aspires to be to the Volapuk-speaking world what We were whilst still We remained in Northumberland Street, and looked after things generally. The wise are few. The governing minds are never numerous. But We have one, and We have determined to expand it over a new Monthly Magazine. At the outset We, being, after all, human, were confronted by the difficulty of finding a title. Several suggested themselves to a Mind not lacking in scope. A few may be mentioned. There was theFilibuster; theSummum Bone-'em;Macheath's Miscellany; theMonthly Marauder; theEviscerator; theLiterary Leech; theMonthly Misappropriator; theSixpenny Scoop. Each has its particular attraction and appropriateness. But, having submitted the selection of titles for the consideration of some of the foremost men of letters, lawyers, soldiers, scientists, and divines of our time, with a request for an expression of their opinion, we decided upon the title which appears at the head of these few preliminary remarks. We are thePilferer, price sixpence, published monthly; a reduction on taking a quantity.

ThePilfererwill not be a colourless reflection of public opinion for the time being. It will certainly not be a Party organ, and that for sufficient reason. Neither Party has at this moment any distinctive body of doctrine, any well-conceived system of faith, which would justify Us in labelling Our new monthly with a Party badge. Moreover than which, We have some reason to believe that neither Party, nor any subdivision of Party, particularly cares to be associated with Us. We shall therefore be independent of Party, because, having a very clear, intelligible belief in Ourselves, We are able to survey the struggles of contending parties from the standpoint of sublime egotism. We are the man who can interpret the best thought of his day in such a manner as to render it accessible to the general intelligence of Our age. We are the true Prophet of Our time, and We hope to make a modest profit out of Our new venture. Hence, Our first starting point will be a deep and almost awestruck regard for the destinies of the Volapuk-speaking race. The American Republic we especially take under our wing (price of the Magazine in the United States 50 cents.), whilst we work for the Empire, seek to strengthen it, to develop it, and, when necessary, to extend it. We believe in Ourselves, in England, and in Humanity. We are not mad. We do not "hear them dancing in the hall," as used to happen whenHenry Russellstill filled the stage of the Concert Hall. But we have our mission, which is to hold the world straight, keep ourselvesen évidence, and earn a modest living.

How is this to be done? By the preaching of a man who energises the activity of the Church by the ideals of chivalry and the production of a Sixpenny Monthly, made up of pickings from other people's pockets. Visible in many ways is the decadence of the Daily Press since We left it. The Mentor of Young Democracy has abandoned philosophy, and stuffs the ears of hisTelemachuswith the skirts ofCalypso'spetticoats, the latest scandals of the Court, and the prurient purrings of abandoned womankind in places where you accept the unaccustomed cigar, and drink the unfamiliar champagne. All the more need, then, that there should be a Voice which, like that of the Muezzin from the Eastern minaret, shall summon the Faithful to the duties imposed by their belief. We go into this waste land to possess it. It is capable of being made to flourish as of old under the stimulating radiance of a great ideal, and the diligent and intelligent culture of one who, like Ourselves, has the capacity for direction.

Who will help Us? There is not a street in London, nor a village in the country, which is not capable of producing, even at short notice, and under slight pressure, a man or a woman who will spend two hours a week, every week in the year, in more or less irksome voluntary exertion in order to sell thePilferer. To such we say, "If, by canvassing, or otherwise, you secure, say, six subscribers, thePilferershall be sent to you as long as the six continue their subscriptions." In this case, the subscriptions should be paid in advance.

Are there any among the readers of thePilferercraving for counsel, for sympathy, and for the consolation of pouring out their soul's grief at so much a quart, so to speak? If so, may we ask them to communicate with Us? Their cases, as they submit them, will be placed before such competent and skilful advisers as We are able to gather round Us from the best men and women in the Volapuk-speaking world. Their confidences will be printed free of cost, and, touched up with the literary art that shaped many a spicy series, are likely to produce copy at once tasty and cheap. We have a heap of letters and post-cards from eminent persons to whom we submitted the design lightly sketched above. They may be known as "Some Letters of Marque to the Editor of theLiterary Privateer."

Mr. Gl-dst-ne.

Dear Mr. Pilferer,—The idea you suggest appears to me highly useful, as well as ingenious in relation to all who are able to appreciate it. Personally I am outside this circle, and so will save my sixpence a month. I hope you enjoyed your 'bus tour along the Commercial Road?

Yours faithfully,W. E. Gl-dst-ne.

Mr. B-lf-r.1,Carlton Gardens, S.W., Dec.12, '89.

I thinkyour scheme ought to prove useful. But isn't there some difficulty with the original proprietors of the goods? If I can help you in any way, by putting anyone in prison, pray count upon me. Obstruction must be put down in any form in which it presents itself.

Yours faithfully,A. J. B-lf-r.

Earl of C-rn-rv-n.

Thereis, no doubt, a large amount of valuable matter which appears from time to time in the Magazines, but which, being buried under a mass of unimportant writing, is overlooked. I have found this in reference to my own contributions, which have occasionally been passed over by the public, who have preferred to read the other contents.

Lord C-l-r-dge.

Atone time of my life I wrote far too many articles to have much opinion of the ability required to produce them, or their value to anyone when produced. What I did write was much better than the general run of articles. Now I do not write, there is nothing in the Magazines. If you can get it out for nothing, and sell it for sixpence, you will do well.

Lord W-ls-l-y.Ranger's House, Greenwich Park, S.E. Sunday.

Dear Mr. Pilferer,—In answer to your note, I have nothing to say of any interest.

W-ls-l-y.

Lord T-nnys-n.Hangford, Freshwater, Isle of Wight.

Lord T-nnys-npresents his compliments toMr. Pilferer, and begs to point out to him that had he thrust his corporeal presence upon LordT-nnys-nover his garden hedge, or by his area-steps, he would have been incontinently cast forth by the domestics. LordT-nnys-nfinds it impossible to discover any appreciable difference between that step and the one wherebyMr. Pilfererimpertinently, through the medium of the unsuspecting penny post, forces himself upon LordT-nnys-n'snotice, and impudently begs him to assist him with a gratuitous advertisement for a commercial undertaking.

Mr. Charley Bates.Middle of Next Week. Nix Alley, No. 0.

Dear Pal,—Excuse this address, but sometimes it's well not to go into too many perticklers. I have yours giving me an account of your new lay. As far as I can make out, there's a lot of tradesmen in London who, at considerable give out of swag, get swell fellers to write articles for them. Thenyouplunge in, romp around, fill your pockets with the pick of the lot, and go and sell it on your own hook. That's good. But what I like best is the putting on of the bands and surplice, the taking of the good book in the right hand, the uprising of the eyeballs, and the general trotting out of the loftiest principles, the purest motives, and the general welfare of our brother men. You are a regular wonner, old pal, and should do; leastways, you have the good wishes of your old friend,

Charley.

☞NOTICE.—Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.

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