Punch, or The London Charivari | Page 7

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 H?tel," 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 _Habitu��_. "_Sans adieux!_" ejaculates "Mr.," who is great at languages; so am I, but, somehow, find myself saying "Good-bye" quite naturally. _�� propos_ of languages, "Mr." is very patient with the Ladies who will speak to him in so-called French or German, when they say, "_O�� est le Portier?_" or "_Es ist sehr sch?n heute_," he replies, in the genuine tongue. I once overheard a lady discussing the chances of rest and quiet in the "Grand H?tel." "_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.
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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!
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"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.]
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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?
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[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!"]
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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.
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"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.
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THE LOST JOKE.
(_A SONG OF A SAD BUT COMMON EXPERIENCE._)
Air:--"_The Lost Chord._"
[Illustration]
Seated one day in my study I was listless and ill at ease, And my fingers twiddled idly With the novel upon my knees. I know not where I was straying On the poppy-clustered shore, But I suddenly struck on a Sparkler Which fairly made me roar.
I have joked some jokes in my time, Sir, But this was a Champion Joke, And it fairly cut all record As a humoristic stroke. It was good for a dozen of dinners, It was fit to crown my fame As a shaper of sheer Side-splitters, For which I have such a name.
It flooded my spirit's twilight Like the dawn on a dim dark lake, For I knew that against all rivals It would fairly "take the cake." I said I will try it to-morrow,-- I won't even tell my wife,-- It will certainly