Punch, or the London Charivari | Page 7

* * * *

"THE SITUATION IN EUROPE."--Monte Carlo (i.e., for the winter
months).
* * * * *
ETHNOGRAPHICAL ALPHABET.
A is an Afghan, whose knife bids one quail; B is a Boer, who made
England turn pale; C is a Chinaman, proud of his tail; D is a Dutchman,
who loves pipe and ale; E is an Eskimo, packed like a bale; F is a
Frenchman, à Paris fidèle; G is a German, he fought tooth and nail; H
is a Highlander, otherwise Gael; I is an Irishman, just out of gaol; J is a
Jew at a furniture sale; K is a Kalmuck, not high in the scale; L is a
Lowlander, swallowing kale; M a Malay, a most murderous male; N a
Norwegian, who dwells near the whale; O is an Ojibway, brave on the
trail; P is a Pole with a past to bewail; Q is a Queenslander, sunburnt
and hale; R is a Russian, against whom we rail; S is a Spaniard, as slow
as a snail; T is a Turk with his wife in a veil; U a United States' Student
at Yale; V a Venetian in gondola frail; W Welshman, with coal,
slate,--and shale; X is a Xanthian--or is he too stale?-- Y is a
Yorkshireman, bred by the Swale; Z is a Zulu;--and now letters fail.
* * * * *
THE LATEST PARADOX.--JOHN STRANGE WINTER is taking
Summer-y proceedings against the Coming Crinoline. Henceforth she
will be always known as "the WINTER of our Discontent."
* * * * *
"GOOD BUS."--From the Times money article we learn that PARR'S
Banking Co., Limited, is paying 19 per cent. The price of the shares,
therefore, must be considerably "above par." Capital this, for Ma'!
* * * * *
[Illustration: SHOCKING TRADE OUTRAGE!

(Scene from the New and Unpopular Sensation Drama of "The
Monopoly-Monster and the Maid Forlorn.")
"OH! WHO'LL BRING A RESCUE OR TWO TO THE HELP OF A
MUCH-INJURED MAID, THUS CRUELLY BOUND HAND AND
FOOT, AND BY MISCREANTS RUTHLESSLY LAID ON THE
LINES, IN THE PATHWAY OF PERIL? THE MONSTER SNORTS
NEARER! BOHOO! 'TIS A MELODRAME-CRISIS OF
DANGER!--AND WHO'LL BRING A RESCUE OR TWO?"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: SUBACIDITIES.
Gladys. "OH, MURIEL DEAR, THAT HEAVENLY FROCK!--I
THINK IT LOOKS LOVELIER EVERY YEAR!"]
* * * * *
THE LAY OF THE (MUSIC-HALL) LAUREATE.
Ah! Who talks of the reversion of the Laurel, Of your MORRISSES,
and SWINBURNES, and that gang? I could lick them in a canter--that's
a moral! I'm the most prolific bard who ever sang. Of the modern
Music Hall I'm chosen Laureate, My cackle and my patter fill the Town;
I'm more popular than BURNS, a thing to glory at; My name is
PINDAR BOANERGES BROWN.
You have never heard it mentioned? Highly probable A hundred
duffers flourish on my fame; But the Muse is so peculiarly rob-able,
And I am very little known--by name? But ask the Big
BONASSUS--on the Q. T.-- Or ask the Sisters SQUORKS, of P. B. B.
And they'll tell you Titan Talent, Siren Beauty, Would be both the
frostiest fizzles but for Me!
Gracious Heavens! When I think of all the cackle I have turned out for
the heroes of the Halls!!! No wonder that the task I've now to tackle--
Something new and smart for TRICKSY TRIP!--appals. I have tried

three several songs--and had to "stock 'em," She's imperative; her last
Great Hit's played out, And she wants "a new big thing that's bound to
knock 'em." And "she'd like it by return of post!"--No doubt!!!
She does four turns a night, and rakes the shekels; She sports a suit of
sables and a brougham. Five years ago a lanky girl, with freckles, First
fetched 'em with my hit, "The Masher Groom." And now her limbs
spread pink on all the posters, And now she drives her
pony-chaise--and Me! Poet-Laureate? I should like to set the boasters
The tasks I have to try for "TRICKSY T."
I am vivid, I am various, I am versatile; I did "Up to the Nines" for
DANDY DOBBS, And "Smacky-Smack" for "TIDDLUMS,"--Isn't hers
a tile?-- "Salvation Sue"--the stiffest of stiff jobs-- For
roopy-raspy-voiced and vain "OEOLIA," Who dubs herself the
SCHNEIDER-PATTI BLEND; And now, a prey to stone-broke
melancholia, I sit and rack my fancy, to no end!
My ink runs dry, my wits seem gone wool-gathering; And yet I know
that over half the town My "stuff" the Stars are blaring, bleating,
blathering, Sacking a tenner where I pouch a crown. I know that
my--anonymous--smart verses, Are piling oof for middlemen in sacks,
My verse brings pros. seal-coats and well-stuffed purses My back care
bows, whilst profits lade their backs.
If you'll show me any "Poet" more prolific, If you'll point to