Punch, or the London Charivari | Page 7

formulated." But the Foreign
Office at Swiss Cottage, or Wandsworth--I could not write of it. And
there will be the India Office at Tooting, or Ponder's End, or at--But
how can your "dusky Sphinx-like faces, wrapt in the mystery of the
East, be seen passing the purlieus of"--the Ilford Cinema?
But enough, Sir. Let me subscribe myself
A RUINED MAN.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Teacher._ "WHAT ARE ELEPHANTS TUSKS MADE
OF?"
_Smart Boy._ "PLEASE, TEACHER, IT USED TO BE IVORY; BUT
NOW IT'S GENERALLY BONZOLINE."]
* * * * *
A STORM IN A TEA-SHOP.
A NEW TALE OF A GRANDFATHER.
You ask me, Tommy, to tell you the really bravest deed That was ever
yet accomplished by one of the bull-dog breed, And, although the hero
was never so much as an O.B.E., I think I can safely pronounce it the
bravest known to me.
It was not done in the trenches, nor yet in a submarine, Mine-sweeper
or battle-cruiser; it was not filmed on the screen; For, though the man
who performed it had three gold stripes on his sleeve, It happened in
Nineteen-Twenty, when he was in town on leave.
He was strolling along the pavement, a pavement packed to the kerb,
When he felt a sudden craving for China's fragrant herb, So he turned
into a tea-shop--as he said, "like a silly fool"-- Which was patronised

by the leaders of the ultra-Georgian school.
He ordered his tea and muffin, and, as he munched and sipped, Strange
scraps of conversation his errant fancy gripped, Strange talk of form
and metre, of "Wheels" and of SHERARD VINES, And scorn of
TENNYSON, BROWNING and SWINBURNE (of The Pines).
He listened awhile in silence, but at last the fire grew hot, When he
heard "The Lotus-Eaters" described as "luscious rot"; And he shouted
out in the madness that is one of Truth's allies, "Old TENNYSON'S
little finger is thicker than all your thighs."
A hush fell on the tea-shop, and then the storm arose As a chunk of old
dry seed-cake took him plumb upon the nose, And a cup, a generous
jorum, of boiling cocoa nibs, Hurled by a brawny Georgian, struck
squarely on his ribs.
For several hectic minutes the air was thick with buns, It was almost as
bad, so he told me, as the shelling of the Huns, But our gallant
Tennysonian held on until a clout In the eye from a metal teapot
knocked him ultimately out.
A sympathetic waitress fled off to fetch the police, Whose opportune
arrival caused hostilities to cease, And they carefully conveyed him to a
hospital hard by Where a skilful surgeon managed to preserve his
wounded eye.
It was from the self-same surgeon that I subsequently learned The first
remark of the victim when his consciousness returned:-- "The
Georgians may shine at shying the crumpet and the scone, But as poets
they're just No Earthly compared with TENNYSON."
He never got a medal for his exploit, or a star, And his only decoration
was an ugly frontal scar; But still I hold him highest among heroic men,
This lone Victorian champion in the Georgian lions' den.
* * * * *

[Illustration: "BED, SIR? HERE IS A GENUINE JACOBEAN, FOR
WHICH WE ARE ASKING ONLY TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY
GUINEAS."
"WELL, TO TELL YOU THE TRUTH I WASN'T WANTING TO
BUY ONE. BUT I CAN'T GET A BED ANYWHERE IN LONDON,
AND I WAS JUST WONDERING IF YOU COULD LET ME SLEEP
IN IT TO-NIGHT."]
* * * * *
DOMESTIC STRATEGY.
I will admit that it was I who gave Mrs. Brackett the idea. But to blame
me for the very unfortunate _dénouement_ is ridiculous.
I met Mrs. Blackett in Sloane Street.
"I'm on my way to a registry-office," she said. "No, not that kind of
registry-office; I'm not about to commit bigamy. I mean the kind where
domestic assistants are sought, but mostly in vain. I suppose you don't
know of a cook, a kitchenmaid, a housemaid, a parlourmaid and a
tweeny?"
I confessed that I did not. But I told her the story of some friends of
mine who had been in a similar position and had succeeded in
reorganising their establishment by an ingenious strategy.
"The wife went away to stay with friends in the country," I said, "and
the husband went to the registry-office, representing himself to be a
bachelor, a rather easy-going bachelor. It seems that such
establishments are popular with the few domestic servants still at large.
After a short time he let it be known that he was really married, but
separated from his wife; and after a further interval he called his
household together and with tears in his voice informed them that he
and his wife had composed their