Punch, or The London Charivari | Page 7

One who
won't be done, complains of a prince's ransom for a potato-salad.--"If

you haf pertatas, you pay for pertatas."--TALLEYRAND could not
have been more unanswerable.
"Mr." is immense at entertainments; it is "Mr." who organises "Se
Spanish Consairt," "Se Duetto of se Poor Blinds," and, of course, "Se
Bal"; he is very proud of his latest acquisition--the Orchestrion that
plays the dinner down. To see "Mr." dispatch itinerant minstrels would
do our County Council good.
"Mr." knows our compatriots _au fond_; he makes no extra charge for
toast at breakfast, and you only pay half-a-crown for a pot of George
the Third Marmalade, to lubricate it withal. Five-o'clock tea comes up
at six, just as at home. He makes much of Actors, Peers, and
Clergymen. Sunday is a great day for "Mr." He directs everyone to the
English Church in "The Grounds"--(fifteen benches and one tree, with a
fountain between them); and then goes off to play cards, but always in
his frock-coat. The "Chaplain" gets his breakfast-egg gratis; and a stray
Bishop writes, "Nothing can exceed the comfort of this Hôtel," in that
Doomsday Book of Visitors.
When you depart--and, abroad, this is generally about daybreak--"Mr."
is always on the spot, haughty, as becomes a man about to be paid, but
considerate; there is a bouquet in petticoats for the Entresol--even, for
me, a condescending word. "When you see Mr. SHONES _in London,
you tell him next year I make se Gulf-Links._" I don't know who the
dickens JONES may be, but I snigger. It all springs from that miserable
fiction of being an _Habitué_. "_Sans adieux!_" ejaculates "Mr.," who
is great at languages; so am I, but, somehow, find myself saying
"Good-bye" quite naturally. _À propos_ of languages, "Mr." is very
patient with the Ladies who will speak to him in so-called French or
German, when they say, "_Où est le Portier?_" or "_Es ist sehr schön
heute_," he replies, in the genuine tongue. I once overheard a lady
discussing the chances of rest and quiet in the "Grand Hôtel." "_Oui
c'est une grande reste_." said she. It only puzzled "Mr." for a moment.
"_Parfaitement, Madame; c'est ravissant, n'est-ce pas?_" and then "Mr."
sold her the little Hand-book, composed by the Clergyman, on which
he receives a commission.

* * * * *
NEED I SAY MORE?
I loved--and need I say she was a woman? And need I say I thought her
just divine? Her beauty (like this rhyme) was quite uncommon. Alas,
she said she never could be mine!
My Uncle was a Baronet, and wealthy, But old, ill-tempered, deaf, and
plagued with gout; I was his heir, a pauper young and healthy; My
Uncle--need I say?--had cut me out.
I swore--and need I say the words I muttered? Sir HECTOR married
KATE, and changed his will. Dry bread for me! For her the tea-cake
buttered. I starved--and, need I say, I'm starving still!
* * * * *
"A CARPET KNIGHT"--Sir BLUNDELL MAPLE. Likewise that Sir
B.M. is "a Knight of the Round Table." [N.B. Great rush to let off these.
Contribution-Box joke-full of 'em. Impossible, therefore, to decide
"who spoke first." Reward of Merit still in hand.]
* * * * *
SUGGESTION.--The Music-and-Hartland Committee will permit the
performance of brief "Sketches" in the Music Halls. Wouldn't
"Harmonies" by our own WHISTLER be more appropriate?
* * * * *
[Illustration: AN EARNEST POLITICIAN.
"I'M VERY GLAD SIR PERCY PLANTAGENET WAS RETURNED,
MISS!"
"WHY,--ARE YOU A PRIMROSE DAME?"
"NO, MISS,--BUT MY 'USBAND IS!"]

* * * * *
TIP TO TAX-COLLECTORS.
(_AFTER HERRICK'S "COUNSEL TO GIRLS."_)
A SONG OF THE EXCHEQUER.
Air--"_Gather ye rose-buds while ye may._"
Gather ye Taxes while ye may, The time is fleetly flying; And tenants
who'd stump up to-day, To-morrow may be shying.
That annual "Lump," the Income Tax, Still higher aye seems getting;
The sooner that for it you "ax," The nearer you'll be netting.
That payer's best who payeth first The Exchequer's pert purse-stormer:
As the year wags still worse and worst Times, still succeed the former.
Then be not lax, but keep your time, And dun, and press, and harry;
Tax-payers shirk, nor deem it crime, If long Collectors tarry.
* * * * *
"WHERE SHALL WE GO?" is of course an important subject in the
holiday-time, and one to which _Sala's Journal_ devotes a column or
two weekly; but a still more important one is "_How shall we go it?_"
and having totted up the items there comes the final question, "_Where
shall we stay?_" And the wise, but seldom-given answer is--"At Home."
In any case, the traveller's motto should always be, "Wherever you go,
make yourself quite at Home"--and stay there, may be added by the
London Club Cynic, who wants everything all to himself.