Punch, Or The London Charivari | Page 7

of course gives him unlimited scope, and sometimes makes the explanations long; but every lover of BROWNING will find in the book a great deal of sound and helpful criticism well expressed. Buy the book and see for yourself, says the Baron's A.R.
[Illustration: The Art of Lying.]
Fascinating is OSCAR WILDE's paper "On the Decay of Lying," which is the first essay in a book of his entitled Intentions. If it be true that the art of lying is decaying--but, stay! how can anyone take the word of a professor of the art of lying for this or any other fact? No, his motto must be, "See me reverse." Not that by suggesting this motto I would for a moment be understood as expressing a wish for OSCAR's once again dropping into poetry--that OSCAR should once again take to the other sort of Lyre; far from it. No; let him remain the head professor of the gay science of mendacity in the Cretan College. Now, when a Professor and double M.A., i.e., Master of the Mendacious Art in the Cretan College, says or writes one thing, he must be taken as meaning exactly the opposite. Otherwise he is no Cretan, and must be degraded from his Professorship. Bearing this in mind, the essay is, as I have said, in matter most amusing, and in style charming. Remember, my reader, that whosoever and whatsoever is blamed, abused, or flouted in this essay, is really being praised, lauded, and adulated to the skies by the Cretan critic. But when the M.M.A. writes on other subjects, are we to trust him? there's the difficulty. So after the first essay, which is hereby recommended by the Faculty, the Baron puts the book aside. "_Caute legendum_," says
THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.
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AN OLD-FASHIONED BUFFER ON BALFOUR'S BILL.
State-aided purchase? That sounds mighty well I look on it as a State-aided _Sell_!
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[Illustration: OUR ARTISTS ARE SOMETIMES COMPENSATED FOR ALL THEY HAVE TO PUT UP WITH.
_Young R.A._ (_newly-elected_). "WHAT, NOT SEEN OUR ROYAL ACADEMY YET, MISS VON THUMP! DON'T YOU CARE FOR PICTURES, THEN?" Fair American. "WELL, SOME. BUT YOUR ROYAL ACADEMY'S RATHER CROWDED, YOU KNOW!"
Pictor Ignotus (_who hates the Academy like poison_), "PERHAPS MISS VON TRUMP PREFERS OUR NATIONAL GALLERY. _THAT'S_ NOT INCONVENIENTLY CROWDED!"
Fair American. "WELL, YES. I LIKE TO GO AND SIT IN A NICE, COOL, QUIET, DESERTED SPOT, LIKE YOUR NATIONAL GALLERY,--WITH A BOUND-UP VOLUME OF _PUNCH_! THAT'S MY IDEA OF PICTURES!"]
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"GENERAL ELECTION STAKES."
A COLLOQUY ON THE COURSE.
_Mr. Punch_. Your Stable, no doubt, has of late been a winning one; Horses and Jockeys have both done their best. Trainer. Yes; Guv'nor's black phiz--bless his heart!--is a grinning one; All our nags answer when put to the test. _Mr. Punch_. All? That's a bit of a stretch, my dear fellow. Wheel Tax went wrong. Compensation came down. Hasn't MATT's riding at times turned you yellow, And RAIKES's wild steering almost done you brown? Trainer. Maybe, Sir, maybe! We can't always spot 'em, But average winnings come out very well. On this next race, now, I fancy we've got 'em, Ah, fairly on toast, far as I can hear tell. _Mr. Punch_. The Sanguine Old Man--is he of your opinion? And SOLLY, the owner, is he at his ease? Trainer. Oh, dash the doldrums! I scorn their dominion. There are some people no fellow can please. What I say, Mister, is, look at their Stable, The old Opposition shop. Lot of old crocks! _Flowing-Tide?_ Faugh! Half his doings are fable. _Home Rule?_ The deadest of utter dead-locks! _Socialist?_ Why, half the Party won't back him. _Eight Hour?_ A roarer, all noise and no pace! Eh? _Local Option?_ Won't win; though they whack him! What have they got, that can score the Big Race? _Mr. Punch_. Well, I must own they do seem a bit out of it. Still, the Big Race for surprises is famed. Trainer. Bah! It's a moral for us, not a doubt of it. Horse that can lick us is not foaled or named. _Mr. Punch_. Glad you're so cock-sure, dear JOKIM. Still lately They've scored some small handicaps, that you'll allow. Trainer. Oh! Harborough Stakes! Well, that don't scare me greatly, Mere fluke after all, though they raised a big row. _Mr. Punch_. It's mostly "a fluke" when opponents go by us; But flukes, you know, count, at the end of the game. Trainer. Well, look at the betting! Although they decry us, They'd like to have money on us all the same. Their best horse is "aged," their best jockey oldish, He's plucky, but years, Sir, will tell on the nerve. Some of 'em who've backed him the longest grow coldish, Whilst others do hint that he seems on the swerve. The lot