Punch, or the London Charivari | Page 3

news, Fit only for the
shambles and the stews. These hear, admire, and sometimes imitate!--
Narcissus is a danger to the State, And Echo hardly less. Vain-glorious
crime; That pestilent portent of a morbid time, Would flourish less
could sense or law avail To strangle coarse Sensation's clamorous tale,
Silence the "Noisy Nymph," for half crime's ill Would end were
babbling Echo's voice but still.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "THE MISSING CIPHER."
"OH, PAPA, ONLY FIFTY POUNDS FROM SIR GORGIUS MIDAS!
SUCH A MILLIONAIRE--WHY HE OUGHT TO HAVE SENT FIVE
HUNDRED POUNDS AT LEAST!"
"AH, I'M AFRAID HE FORGOT THE _OUGHT_, MY DEAR!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE NEWEST NARCISSUS; OR, THE HERO OF OUR
DAYS.]
* * * * *

FETTERED.--In reply to the Unemployed Deputation which found
employment in paying a visit to the L.C.C. at Spring Gardens, Messrs.
BURNS and BEN TILLETT (Alderman) intimated that as Mr. POWER,
the U.D.'s spokesman, was not a member of the L.C.C., that body was
Power-less to assist them in their trouble. A nasty time of it had the
Labour Candidates on this occasion. Nothing like putting men of
Radical revolutionary tendencies into responsible positions.
* * * * *
A SHADY VALET.--One DONALD CROSS was a Valet in the
service of an absent master, whose best clothes and jewellery
DONALD wore, while he kept his flat well aired by giving little
supper-parties to young ladies who took him at his own valuation,--for
a very superior swell. Alas! he was but a _valet de sham_! "Cross
purposes," but Magistrate "disposes"; and the once happy Valet is in
the shade for the next six months.
* * * * *
IN FANCY DRESS.
A SKETCH AT COVENT GARDEN THEATRE.
_Before Supper the proceedings are rather decorous than lively; the
dancers in fancy dress forming a very decided minority, and appearing
uncomfortably conscious of their costume. A Masker got up as a highly
realistic Hatstand, hobbles painfully towards a friend who is disguised
as a huge Cannon._
The Hatstand (_huskily, through a fox's mask in the centre of his case,
to the Cannon_). Just a trifle slow up to the present, eh?
The Cannon (_shifting the carriage and wheels to a less uncomfortable
position._) Yes, it don't seem to me as lively as usual--_drags_, don't
you know.
The Hatstand (_heroically_). Well, we must wake 'em up, that's all--put

a little go into the thing!
[_They endeavour to promote gaiety by crawling through the crowd,
which regards them with compassionate wonder._
A Black Domino (_to a Clown, who is tapping the barometer on the
Hatstand's back_). Here, mind how you damage the furniture, SAMMY,
it may be here on the hire system.
[_The Hatstand executes a cumbrous caper by way of repartee, and
stumbles on._
A Folly (_to a highly respectable Bedouin in a burnous and gold
spectacles_). Well, all I can say is, you don't seem to me to behave
much like an Arab!
The Bedouin (_uneasily, as he waltzes with conscientious regularity_).
Don't I? How ought I to behave then?
The Folly. I should have thought you'd jump about and howl, the way
Bedouins do howl. You know!
_The Bed._ (_dubiously_). Um--well, you see, my dear, I--I don't feel
up to that sort of thing--before supper.
The Folly (_losing all respect for him_). No--nor yet after it. I expect
you've told some old four-wheel caravan to come and fetch you home
early, and you'll turn into your little tent at the usual time--that's the
sort of wild Bedouin you are! Don't let me keep you. [_She leaves
him._
_The Bed._ (_alone_). If she only knew the absolute horror I have of
making myself conspicuous, she wouldn't expect it!
Mephistopheles (_to a Picador_). This was the only thing I could get to
go in. How do you think it suits me?
The Picador (_with candour_). Well, I must say, old fellow, you do
look a beast!

[_Mephisto appears wounded._
A Masker (_with his face painted brown, and in a costume of coloured
paper decorated with small boxes and packets, to a Blue Domino_).
You see what I am, don't you? The Parcels Post! Had a lot of trouble
thinking it out. Look at my face, for instance, I made that up, with
string--marks and all, to look like a brown-paper parcel.
The Blue Domino. Pity you haven't got something inside it, isn't it?
The Parcels Post (_feebly_). Don't you be too sharp. And it really is a
first-rate idea. All these parcels now--I suppose there must be fifty of
'em at least--
The Blue Domino. Are there? Well, I wish you'd go and get sorted
somewhere else. I haven't time for it myself.
Sardonic Spectator (_pityingly--to a Masker in a violent perspiration,
who represents Sindbad carrying the Old Man of the Sea_).