Punch, or the London Charivari | Page 4

all the little uns as so many hemnent swells had been ony too glad to send to Gildhall--"the paytron of the Harts," as I herd a hemnent Halderman call it,--to give 'em the reel stamp as fust rate.
And now what does my thousands of readers suppose was the subjeck of this werry grandest of all Picters? Why, no other than a most magniffisent, splendid, gorgeus, large as life representashun of the LORD MARE's Show, a cummin in all its full bewty and splender from the middel of the Royal Xchange!!
But ewen that isn't all. For the Painter of this trewly hartistic Picter, determined to make his grand work as truthful as it is striking, has lawished his hole sole, so to speak, upon what are undoubtedly the most commanding figures in the hole glorious display, and them is the LORD MARE's three Gentlemen! with their wands of power, and their glorious Unyforms, not forgetting their luvly silk stockins; on this occasion, too, spotless as the rising Sun! To say that they are the hobservd of all hobservers, and the hadmirashun of all the fare sex, and the henvy of the other wun, need not be said, tho they do try to hide their gelesy with a sickly smile.
Need I say that it is surrounded ewery day by a sercle of smiling admirers, who, I have no doubt, come agane and agane, to show it to their admiring friends; and, just to prove its grand success, the werry last time as I was there, I owerheard a smiling gent say to his friend,--"Well, TOM, as this is such a success, it would not supprise me if the same hemnent Hartis was to paint the LORD MARE's Bankwet next year, with all the Nobel Harmy of Waiters arranged in front!" Wich Harmy will be pussinelly konduktid by your faithful
ROBERT.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE POINT OF VIEW.
_Frenchman._ "WELL, MON AMI, YOUR SIR EVELYN VOLSELEY SAY YOU CAN GO NOWHERES AND DO NOSING! YOU ARE A SKVEEZED LEMON!"
_Tommy Atkins._ "WELL, HANG IT, YOU BLOOMING FURRINEERS HAVEN'T ALWAYS FOUND IT SO!"]
* * * * *
TELEPHONIC THEATRE-GOERS.
(_A SKETCH AT THE ELECTRICAL EXHIBITION._)
SCENE--_The Exterior of the Telephone Music Room in the Egyptian Vestibule. The time is about eight. A placard announces, "Manchester Theatre now on"; inside the wickets a small crowd is waiting for the door to be opened. A Cautious Man comes up to the turnstile with the air of a fox examining a trap._
The Cautious Man (_to the Commissionnaire_). How long can I stay in for sixpence?
The Commissionnaire. Ten Minutes, Sir.
_The C.M._ Only ten minutes, eh? But, look here, how do I know there'll be anything going on while I'm in there?
_Comm._ You'll find out that from the instruments, Sir.
_The C.M._ Ah, I daresay--but what I mean is, suppose there's nothing _to hear_--between the Acts and all that?
_Comm._ Comp'ny guarantees there's a performance on while you're in the room, Sir.
[Illustration: "How very distinctly you hear the dialogue, Sir, don't you?"]
_The C.M._ Yes, but all these other people waiting to get in--How'm I to know I shall get a _place_?
_Comm._ (_outraged_). Look 'ere, Sir, we're the National Telephone Comp'ny with a reputation to lose, and if you've any ideer we want to swindle you, all I can tell you is--stop outside!
_The C.M._ (_suddenly subdued_). Oh--er--all right, thought I'd make sure _first_, you know. Sixpence, isn't it?
[_He passes into the enclosure, and joins the crowd._
A Comic Man (_in an undertone to his Fianc��e_). That's a careful bloke, that is. Know the value o' money, he does. It'll have to be a precious scientific sort o' telephone that takes _'im_ in. He'll 'ave his six-pennorth, if it bursts the machine! Hullo, they're letting us in now.
[_The door is slightly opened from within, causing an expectant movement in crowd--the door is closed again._
A Superior Young Lady (_to her Admirer_). I just caught a glimpse of the people inside. They were all sitting holding things like opera-glasses up to their ears--they did look so ridiculous!
Her Admirer. Well, it's about time they gave us a chance of looking ridiculous, their ten minutes must be up now. I've been trying to think what this put me in mind of. I know. Waiting outside the Pit doors! doesn't it you?
_The Sup. Y.L._ (_languidly, for the benefit of the bystanders_). Do they make you wait like this for the Pit?
Her Admirer. _Do they make you wait!_ Why, weren't you and I three-quarters of an hour getting into the Adelphi the other evening?
_The Sup. Y.L._ (_annoyed with him_). I don't see any necessity to bawl it out like that if we were.
[_The discreetly curtained windows are thrown back, revealing persons inside reluctantly tearing themselves away from their telephones. As the door opens, there is a frantic rush to get places._
An Attendant (_soothingly_). Don't crush,