PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

Vol. 62.

February 3, 1872.

PRIVATE SCHOOL CLASSICS.

(Letter from a Lady.)

Dear Mr. Punch,

Though you love to laugh, and we all love to laugh with you, I know that you are kindness itself when an afflicted woman throws herself upon your sympathy. This letter will not be quite so short as I could wish; but, unless you have my whole story, you will not understand my sorrow.

My boy, Johnny, is one of the dearest boys you can imagine. I send you his photograph, though it does not half justice to the sweetness and intelligence of his features; besides, on the day it was taken, he had a cold, and his hair had not been properly cut, and the photographer was very impatient, and after eight or nine sittings, he insisted that I ought to be satisfied. I could tell you a hundred anecdotes of my boy's cleverness, but three or four, perhaps, will be enough.

[More than enough, dear Madam. We proceed to the paragraph that follows them.]

His father, I regret to say, though a kind parent, does not see in Johnny the talent and genius which I am certain he possesses. The child, who is eleven years and eleven months old, goes (alas, I must say went) to a Private Academy of the most respectable description. Only twelve young gentlemen are taken, and the terms are about £100 a-year, and most things extra. The manners of the pupils are strictly looked after; they have no coarse amusements; and, to see them neatly dressed, going arm-in-arm, two and two, for a walk, was quite delightful. I shall never see them again without tears.

My husband was desirous that Johnny should have a sound classical education, and we believed—I believe still—that this is given at the Private School in question. One evening during the holidays, my husband asked Johnny what Latin Book he was reading. The child replied, without hesitation or thought—"Horace." "Very good," said his father, taking down the odious book. "Let you and me have a little go-in at Horace." I went to my desk, Mr. Punch, and, as I write very fast, I resolved to make notes of what occurred, for I felt that Johnny would cover himself with glory and honour. This is what occurred. Of course, I filled in the horrid Latin, afterwards, from the book, which I could gladly have burned.

Papa. Well, let us see, my boy, suppose we take Hymn number xiv. You know all about that? Ad Rempublicam. What does that mean?

Johnny. O, we never learn the titles.

Papa. Pity, because they help you to the meaning. But come, what's Rempublicam?

Johnny. I suppose it means a public thing. Rem's a thing, and publicus is public. [Was not that clever in the dear fellow, putting words together like that, Mr. Punch? Will you believe it, his Papa did nothing but give him a grunt?]

Papa. Go on.

O navis, referent in mare te novi

Fluctus. O quid agis?

Johnny.

O, navy, referring to the sea. I have known thee.

What will the waves do?

[I thought this quite beautiful, like "What are the Wild Waves Saying?">[

Papa. Ah! Proceed.

——fortiter occupa

Portum. Nonne vides——

Johnny.

Bravely occupy the door.

You see a nun.

Papa. A nun, child. What do you mean?

Johnny. A nun is a holy but mistaken woman, Papa, that lives in a monastery, and worships graven images. [You see he had been beautifully taught.]

Papa. But what word, in the name of anachronisms, do you make a nun?

Johnny. Nonne. O, I forgot, Pa, that's French. [Instead of being pleased that the child knew three languages instead of two, his Papa burst out laughing.]

Papa. Try this:—

Et malus celeri saucius Africo,

Antennæque gemant? ac sine funibus

Vix durare carinæ

Possint imperiosius

Æquor?

Johnny.

And celery sauce is bad for an African,

And your aunts groan though there is no funeral,

And they could not be more imperious

If they had to endure a sea-voyage.

Myself. Darling! Why don't you say something to encourage him, Tom? It's delightful.

Papa. Yes, it's encouraging. Go on, Sir.

——non tibi sunt integra lintea;

Non di, quos iterum pressa voces malo.

Johnny.

You have no large pieces of lint.

Do not die, though they again press you to say apple.

Papa.

Nil pictis timidus navita puppibus

Fidit!

Johnny. No sailor is frightened at the dogs in a picture he sees.

Papa. Fidit's, he sees, eh?

——Tu, nisi ventis

Debes ludibrium, cave.

Johnny.

If it wasn't for the wind,

You ought to play in a cave.

Papa. Ha! Well, here's the last; we may as well go through it.

Myself. Papa! don't be so cross.

Papa. Mind your letter-writing, will you? [But I wasn't letter-writing. I was making notes.]

Nuper sollicitum quæ mihi tædium.

Johnny. Lately a solicitor was a great bore to me.

Papa. [To do him justice, he recovered his good-humour and roared.]

A great bore, was he? They are bores sometimes. Now then—

Nunc desiderium, curaque non levis.

Johnny. I do not care for the light of the stars.

Papa. Hang it, Johnny, how do you get at "stars" in that line?

Johnny. De, of, siderium, dative, no, genitive plural of sidus, a star, Papa, and levis is light.

Papa. Finish.

Interfusa nitentes

Vites æquora Cycladas.

What do you make of that? "With an infusion of nitre the vines are equal to Cyclops"—is that it?

Johnny. I think so, Papa dear. The Cyclops were great giants, who poked out the eye of Achilles with a hot stick, for throwing stones at their ship.

Papa. Go to bed!

Johnny. What for, Papa?

Myself. Yes, what for, Tom? I'm sure the dear fellow has done his best to please you.

Papa. You are right. It is I who ought to be sent to bed. All right, Johnny. Let us have a game at the Battle of Dorking—get the board. That's good fun. But £100 a-year, and sollicitum, a solicitor, isn't. However, we'll alter that.

And, dear Mr. Punch, he gave notice the very next day that Johnny should not go back to the Private School, and is going to send him to a College, to be starved, fagged, beaten, knocked down with cricket-balls, trampled down at football, and taught to fight.

Believe me, yours,

An Unhappy Mother.

True Thomas of Chelsea.

It was Mr. Carlyle who first revealed the existence of Phantasm Captains, which many people refused to believe in, and laughed at the notion of. What do they say now that a Board of Captains in command over Captains and Admirals too is called by its own Secretary a Phantom Board? Surely that Thomas of Chelsea is a true Seer, and long since saw through Simulacra which have, in truth, at last been discovered to be transparent Shams.

"THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STARE."

EVENINGS FROM HOME.

Mr. Barlow, with Masters Harry Sandford and Tommy Merton, visits Astley's Theatre, to see the Pantomime of "Lady Godiva."

"This," exclaimed Harry, "is an exhibition which affords me, and indeed appears to give to a vast number besides myself, the greatest gratification.

Tommy. I see, Sir, that St. George appears in this story with Lady Godiva; pray, Sir, who was St. George?

Mr. Barlow. There have been, my dear Tommy, various opinions on this interesting subject, and some honest folks have sought to identify the celebrated personage in question with a Butcher, who served bad meat to the Christians in Palestine, while others have gone equally far towards proving that he was no Butcher, but an Arian Bishop of Alexandria. Whether Butcher, or Bishop, it was for a long time most difficult to determine.

Harry. But pray, Sir, why did not the antagonistic parties bring the case into a Court of Law so as to obtain a decision.

Mr. Barlow. Your own experience, Harry, will, doubtless, one of these days furnish you with sufficient reason for the persons interested not having given employment to the gentlemen of the long robe. There was no claimant to the title living, and there was nothing beyond a title to be claimed; for, whether on the one hand (with Eusebius) revering him as a Saint, or, on the other (with Gibbon) abusing him as "the infamous George," both sides admitted the object of their contention to have been long since deceased. He is, however, the patron Saint of England, and owes his great reputation in modern times to managers of Theatres at Christmas, and writers of extravaganzas and of Pantomimes, to whom his history is invaluable, as affording marvellous opportunities for great scenic display, and spectacular effect, while the Saintly Knight himself seldom fails to find an admirable representative in either a young lady of considerable personal attractions (as here at Astley's) or in some eccentric and grotesque gentleman like one of the lithsome Paynes, or the agile Mr. Vokes, whose extraordinary feats, with his legs, we have already witnessed at Drury Lane Theatre. I confess, however, that I do not perceive by what process St. George has been brought into the comparatively modern legend of Lady Godiva.

Harry. It seems to me, Sir, that you intended us just now to remark some diverting jest in your use of the words "feats" and "legs," which Tommy, I fear, has failed to comprehend.

Mr. Barlow. Indeed, Harry, you are quite right, and I trust that both you, and Tommy, will be able to utter such pleasantries yourselves with a full appreciation of their value. I regret to notice that Miss Sheridan, who, with much discretion, performs the part of the Lady Godiva, is suffering from cold, and is, consequently, a little hoarse. This is natural at Astley's.

Then, turning to Tommy, and smiling in his usual kind manner, Mr. Barlow said, "My dear Tommy, although you have not yet mastered the amusing puns which I made in my recent discourse, you can, it may be, tell me why Miss Sheridan resembles a pony?"

Tommy, whose whole attention was now given to the scene, expressed his intention of at once renouncing all attempts at solving this problem. Whereupon Mr. Barlow cheerfully replied that Miss Sheridan so far resembled a pony, inasmuch as she was, unfortunately, on that evening, "a little hoarse." Harry laughed at this sally, and, indeed, considered his beloved tutor a prodigy of wit and ingenuity; but it was otherwise with Tommy, who remained silent and depressed during the greater part of the entertainment; and, indeed, it was not until the very effective Transformation Scene that Tommy's unbounded pleasure and admiration once more found vent in the most unqualified applause, in which the entire audience joined.

Harry. These expressions of delight remind me of the story you read to me the other day, Sir, called Agesiläus and the Elastic Nobleman. As Tommy has not heard it I will——

But at this moment a vast assemblage of children on the stage, habited as soldiers, commenced the National Anthem at the top of their voices, which for the time put an end to further conversation.

On quitting the theatre, Tommy, who from having been in a state of the greatest elation had once more resumed the sober and saddened aspect with which he had listened to his tutor's discourse during the play, took Harry aside, and declared to him, with tears in his eyes, that from that day forward he would never rest till he had made himself thoroughly acquainted with all the jokes in the English language, and had perfected himself in the art of constructing new ones.

"Your determination, Master Tommy," replied his young friend, "reminds me of the story of Darius and the Corrugated Butcher; but, as I am too fatigued to-night to remember its main features, I will defer the recital of it till to-morrow morning."

Tommy evinced a great curiosity to know whether there were in this tale any puns, upon which he might at once exercise his intelligence, but on Harry's repeating his promise, he allowed him to go to bed without further question.

Being thus left to his own resources, Tommy Merton, in pursuance of his new resolution, went to the book-shelves and commenced a search which was not destined to be altogether fruitless.

Mr. Barlow had scarcely been in bed two hours, when he was aroused from a most peaceful and refreshing slumber by a loud hammering and knocking at the door of his chamber. Unable to imagine what had happened, and, indeed, fearing lest the premises should have unfortunately caught fire, he was on the point of gathering together such articles of clothing as he considered strictly necessary, when Tommy burst into the room half-undressed, and bawling out, "I've seen it! I've seen it!"

"What have you seen?" asked Mr. Barlow.

"Why, Sir," answered Tommy, "I had a mind to discover, before I went to bed, what you meant by your two jokes at Astley's. So, Sir, I got down your book of Joseph Miller's Jests, a dictionary, and a grammar; and I find that the fun you had intended lies in the similarity of pronunciation in the case of the substantive horse and of the adjective hoarse, and also in feat and feet possessing a like sound."

"Well," said Mr. Barlow, pausing, with a boot-jack in hand, "you are indeed right. And if you will approach a little nearer——"

But Tommy, anticipating the purport of his revered tutor's invitation, had speedily withdrawn himself from the apartment, being careful at the same time to lock Mr. Barlow's door on the outside.

"To-morrow," said Mr. Barlow quietly to himself as he returned to his bed—"To-morrow we will talk over these things."

He now perceived that he was in a condition of unwonted restlessness; and it was not until he had twice repeated to himself the story of The Laplander and the Agreeable Peacock, that he fell asleep.

Doctors in Court.

Medical men, experts and others, in the witness-box, are unfortunately apt to use technical terms for which there are no equivalents in plain English. For this pedantry the Judge usually snubs them. Quite right. There are no hard words or phrases, of which the use, by Judges or Counsel, is sometimes unavoidable, in Law.

AFTER THE PARTY.

Mater (aroused by the Horse pulling up). "Whit's the Matter, Guidman?—Onything Wrang?"

Pater (bringing his Faculties to a Focus). "Let us just Consuder the recent Circumstances. Was oor John in the Gig when we Startet frae Ardrishaig?"

"Oor John" was in the Gig—when they Started!

OWLS THAT IS NOT HORGANS.

Mr. Punch has—need he say it?—the profoundest admiration for the skill and zeal of the great Healers who have conducted H.R.H. the Prince of Wales out of the region of bulletins. But he hopes that should any member of the Royal Family again need medical advice (which good fortune forefend for many a long day), no name belonging to a member of the illustrious trio may be signed to the affiches. It was not for Mr. Punch to complain while bulletins issued, but now all else is happiness, he makes his moan, or rather (as Mr. Roebuck says Birmingham is always doing) makes his howl. How many thousand idiots have sent Mr. Punch jests on the names of the Doctors, he cannot say, but the changes have been rung, ad nauseam, on a "Jennerous diet," a "Lowe fever," a "bird of good omen—a Gull," until——But not one goose was gratified; ha! ha! Fire, not vanity, was fed. Still, Mr. Punch has suffered; and therefore he begs leave to suggest that all the three Doctors be raised to the Peerage. They have richly deserved it, and so has Sir James Paget (whose name happily does not help the small wits); but Mr. Punch's comfort is the thing to be considered. N.B. He likes to give those who are "blest in not being simple men" an occasional peep—as thus—at the circumjacent world of donkeyism.

Mrs. Malaprop has lately been studying Latin, with success. But, as a good Church-woman, she cannot hold with the rule Festina lentè. She disapproves of feasting in Lent.

GUILDED LADIES.

Ladies, look at this proposal to promote what some of you may call the millineryennium:—

"A Guild of Ladies is proposed to be formed to promote modesty of dress to do away with extravagance, and substitute the neatness and sobriety suitable to Christian women."

A guild formed to promote the sobriety of women ought to have Sir Wilfrid Lawson for a patron, and should be supported by every Teetotaller now living in the land. But the sobriety here mentioned is that of dress, not drink; and total abstinence from finery and flummery of fashion is doubtless the chief aim of the promoters of the guild. Well, if they succeed in reducing even chignons to reasonable dimensions, they will deserve the thanks of every one afflicted with good taste; and if they further are successful in reducing the enormous bills which ladies owe their milliners, they will earn the heartfelt gratitude of many a poor husband, who can ill afford to pay them. All is not gold that glitters, but we may guess there is true metal, and not merely specious glitter, in these Guilded Ladies.

French and British Budgets.

M. Thiers has been censured by some of our contemporaries for his fiscal policy of seeking to impose heavy duties on raw materials. At any rate, however, France will not be saddled (like an ass) with an Income-tax; so the taxation to which that country will be subjected, will be comparatively light, even if it should have the effect of making butchers' meat as frightfully dear there as it is in England.

A TEMPERANCE HOSPITAL.

o to! The anti-alcoholic manifesto lately put forth by the two hundred and fifty first-class Doctors is already producing the effect which a demonstration, fortified with names some having handles to them, seldom fails to produce on a portion of the generally intelligent British Public. It has caused "a movement." The Daily News announces that:—

"A movement has been started to establish a hospital in London 'for the treatment of diseases apart from the ordinary administration of alcoholic liquors.'"

The object of the movement does not appear from the words in which it is stated quite so clearly as the thinking persons who may attach importance to it must desire. Do not, in fact, most Doctors, as it is, treat diseases "apart from the ordinary administration of alcoholic liquors?" Are not all patients but those labouring under diseases of debility, as a rule, enjoined by their medical attendant to abstain, totally or comparatively, from wine, beer, and spirits? In hospitals, where this abstinence can always be enforced, the treatment of diseases apart from the ordinary administration of alcoholic liquors is especially usual. Do the enlightened promoters of a movement for the establishment of a hospital, whereat diseases shall be so treated still more especially, mean to say that, in that new institution alcohol, in diseases in which it has hitherto been wont to be ordinarily administered as a tonic or stimulant requisite for their cure, shall not be given—and if so, why? Because alcohol is a poison? Then why stop at alcohol? Why not also proscribe, instead of prescribing, opium, henbane, hemlock, deadly nightshade, arsenic, and prussic acid; and indeed—for what active medicine is not a poison in an over-dose?—nearly every article in the Materia Medica?

Truly the great Two-Hundred-and-Fifty Against Alcohol, themselves even, leave some room for question as to their meaning when they proclaim that "it is believed that the inconsiderate prescription of large quantities of alcoholic liquids by Medical Men for their patients has given rise, in many instances, to the formation of intemperate habits." Believed by, and of whom? By the Two-Hundred-and-Fifty Doctors of their Profession at large, or by Society in general of it, including them? One would like to know who the believers are, in order to be enabled to appraise the belief, and it would also please one to be informed whether or no the belief includes a confession, which the Two-Hundred-and-Fifty make for themselves. Did you, gentle reader, in the course of your experience, ever happen to meet with a victim of the Bottle who dated his intemperance from taking port wine or brandy, prescribed for him when convalescent, for example, from typhus fever?

One can indeed understand and appreciate the advice that "alcohol, in whatever form, should be prescribed and administered with as much care as any powerful drug," and peradventure this will create another movement, a movement of a speculative nature, for the manufacture of graduated physic glasses, of various sizes, to replace the sherry, champagne, hock, and claret glasses now in use at table: a minim-glass to be the new glass for liqueurs and brandy. This practical improvement in Social Science may be shortly introduced by some of our leading medical men at their own tables. And when they exhibit alcohol, in whatever form, perhaps, in future, they will always take care to combine it with something very nauseous; gin, for instance, with the most horrible of bitters. This will effectually prevent the administration of alcohol from originating the formation of intemperate habits.

Doubtless, on the whole, the Two-Hundred-and-Fifty have spoken wisely; but the echo of their speech in some quarters has sounded like cackle, and the "movement," which their utterance has set on foot among gregarious persons, very much resembles the march of an analogous kind of birds, under leadership, across a common.

RURAL INTELLIGENCE.

SPLICINGHAM.

Interesting Event.—On Thursday the 25th inst. this pretty little village was early astir, and thrown into a state of pleasurable excitement, it being the nuptial morn of Miss Selina Sunnismile, daughter of Mr. Sunnismile, gardener and florist, with Mr. Robert Grubbins, pork-butcher, both of this parish. The parents of the happy couple being held in high esteem, triumphal arches were erected, decked with appropriate mottoes, and the front of the bride's residence was festooned with early cauliflowers and other floral ornaments which her father had purveyed. The choral service terminated with the Wedding March of Mendelssohn, performed on the harmonium by Mr. Joseph Thumper with his accustomed skill. An elegant déjeûner, consisting of pork-pies, pickled herrings, trotters, tripe, and wedding-cake, was then done ample justice to by a select party of guests; the bride's health being drunk in bumpers of champagne, expressly made for the occasion from her father's famous gooseberries, which gained a prize last summer at the exhibition of the Splicingham Pomological Society. After this affecting ceremony, the happy pair departed, in a shower of old slippers, on a trip to the metropolis, to spend their honeymoon.

WOBBLESWORTH.

Literary Entertainment.—The second of the series of Halfpenny Readings was held last Tuesday evening at the Literary Institute, the Rev. Mr. Mildman being voted to the Chair. It will be noticed from the programme that something more than mere amusement is the aim of these small gatherings; and, as a means towards the better education of the country, we need hardly say we wish them all manner of success:—

The company separated at the somewhat advanced hour of half-past nine o'clock, after spending an enjoyable and instructive evening.

DUFFERTON AND BLUNDERBURGH.

Sparrowshooting Extraordinary.—The annual meeting of the Dufferton and Blunderburgh Sparrow Club was held on Monday last at the Goose and Gridiron, Dufferton, the President, Mr. Boobie, again occupying the chair. It appeared from the report that, during the past twelvemonth, no fewer than 5937 sparrows had been slaughtered by the honourable members of the club. Complaints had been received of increasing devastation by fly, and slug, and caterpillar, and it was said that this was owing to the great decrease of small birds effected by the club. The Chairman, amid cheers, pooh-poohed these allegations, and, after presenting a new powderflask to Mr. Jonah Jowls, for having made the largest bag of small birds in the twelvemonth, the Chairman humorously adjourned the meeting to the supper-room, where mine host served up an elegant light supper, the menu whereof consisted of sausages, black puddings, Welsh rarebits, and pork-chops.

SCIENCE GOSSIP.

Professor Agassiz has discovered "a fish which builds a nest." Wonders are only just beginning. Other Professors, envious of Agassiz's good fortune, will be stimulated to renewed study of the Animal Kingdom; and the result will be that at no distant day we shall see the great Zoological collections, here and in America, enriched by the addition of a glowworm which lives in a hive, a tortoise which hops from bough to bough, an oviparous rabbit, and a lobster whose diet consists exclusively of salad. The fable which deluded our childhood may yet be realised, and pigeon's milk take its place amongst the common articles of a free breakfast table.

NEW SCHOOL FOR NOBS.

ind Mr. Punch, a happy change has come over the character of our Public Schools. The chief of them, I have been told, of what is called mediæval foundation, were originally intended to educate the sons of poor gentlemen. But now, Sir, the purpose they have come to serve is just the reverse of that. A correspondent of the Morning Post, signing himself Pavidus—evidently a mean, shabby, needy sprig of gentility, afraid, as his signature means, if I am not misinformed, which, by the tenor of his letter, he plainly confesses himself to be, of having to fork out more than he is able—writes to complain, forsooth, of "the growing abuse of 'tips' and pocket-money allowance." This contemptible indigent fellow says:—

"It is within my knowledge that at one of the chief public schools—and I am told that the same rule holds good at the other schools of this class—a boy who does not bring back £5 each half is set down by 'the house' as a 'duffer' and as of 'no use.' In other words, he is under the cold shade of his fellow-boarders, and is subject to constant and galling humiliation."

Very well. Let him be off, then. A first-class Public School is no place for him any more than a first-class carriage. Let the beggar who doesn't like it, leave it—go second or third class, and be taught the three R's under Forster's Education Act. But now read what Pavidus has the insolence to say further:—

"It is not every lad that can bear lightly the gibes and jeers of the young cotton lords whose home ethics teach them to measure the quality of a gentleman by the amount of money he can spend. The result is inevitable. The 'soc' shop gives credit. A loan is soon and easily contracted, and the boy, smarting under the results of his comparative poverty, begins his career of debt and deceit in order to hold his own among his more pecunious fellows."

Mr. Pavidus, in his pride and poverty, seems very indignant at the idea of wealthy young cotton lords treating poor young pedigree lords with contempt. I dare say he is some poor nobleman's relation himself, the Honourable Pavidus, perhaps, or Right Honourable Pavidus.

When he wrote the above sneer at cotton lords probably he turned up his nose. That is, I mean, he tried to, for it is a nose that don't turn up by nature, I'm sure. I'll be bound it's one of those aquiline hook-noses which your bloated aristocrats are so vain of, none of your jolly button-mushroom snub. I fancy I see Pavidus—Lord Pavidus, perhaps—looking down upon myself and sniffing at me, like a footman with too strong a bouquet in his buttonhole. He and his, and such as they, had best keep themselves to themselves. If our boys are too well-off at school for theirs, and yet theirs are above being sent to regular pauper schools, why don't your Nobs and Swells get up poor's schools of their own, poor gentlemen's schools, if they like to call them so? At such schools the rule might be that no boy was to come from home to school with more than five shillings in his pocket, nor be allowed above sixpence a week.

Dress and board could be cut down to the same plain, poverty-stricken scale. Such regulations would keep the high-bred paupers what they call select enough without any necessity, which they that pride themselves so on their pronunciation might perhaps imagine, for an entrance examination to try if new-comers could pronounce their h's. And so, poor nobility and gentry, being brought up in that frugal sort of way, would continue in it, because able to afford no better, and by-and-by, I dare say, get to pride themselves upon it, and make a merit and a boast of their despicable economy; so that plain living and dressing and eating and drinking will some day perhaps be considered the particular tokens of high birth and breeding, and of class-distinction between Plantagenet Mowbray Fitz-Montague Norfolk Howard and

Shoddy.

TICHBORNE V. LUSHINGTON.

Boyle's Court Guide is, as all who dwell or have friends in the Court District know, as accurate and convenient a book of reference as possible. No library table can be without this manual. It is with great reluctance, therefore, that Mr. Punch, in the exercise of stern duty, devotes the new volume of the Guide to the vengeance of Lord Chief Justice Bovill. But respect for the Bench compels Mr. Punch to offer this sacrifice. In the issue for January, 1872, on page 797, this may be read:—

"Tichborne, Sir Roger C. D., Bart., 10, Harley Road West, Brompton, S.W."

Now Mr. Punch appeals to the Lord Chief Justice, and to the Universe to say whether the desire expressed by the former that there should be no comment on the Tichborne case, pendente lite, has not been scrupulously complied with. Dull as the season has been, there has been no yielding to the temptation to make smart articles out of the Australian Romance. Mr. Punch himself, who is above all laws, has set the most noble example to his contemporaries, and even when he has borrowed an illustration from the big trial, he has carefully avoided any expression of opinion as to the merits. But, in the Court Guide, the Claimant, or somebody else, has inserted an entry which prejudges the case. The name and title of Sir Roger Tichborne are claimed as calmly as if the ownership were as well established as that of the name and title of Sir William Bovill, which appear in another page, or as Mr. Punch's own name and title would be cited, but that it pleases him to occupy his family mansion East of Temple Bar. This is Contempt of Court. The Attorney-General has stated his belief that the Claimant is a cunning and audacious conspirator, a perjurer, a forger, an impostor, and a villain. He may be all these things, and not Sir Roger Tichborne. He may be none of these things, and be Sir Roger Tichborne. He may be only so many of these things as are compatible with his being Sir Roger Tichborne. No person, except an advocate, has the least right to state an opinion until the jury shall be finally locked up, and out of the way of being prejudiced. Whoever took on himself to decide the case, by sending to the Court Guide a statement that Sir Roger Tichborne exists, and resides at the above address, did that for which he should be called on to answer at the bar of the Common Pleas. Roo-ey, too-ey, too-ey-too-ey too!

LIQUOR LAWS SUPERSEDED.

Mouthing, spouting, declamatory, meddlesome agitation for the compulsory enforcement of total abstinence from invigorating, comforting, cheering, and restorative drinks on people to whom it would be intolerable, is the very staff of life to the United Kingdom Alliance. Therefore it is taking the bread out of their mouths to enter into combination for any purpose like that described by the Post in a paragraph announcing:—

"Another Social Movement.—The working-men of the West End have set on foot a new social movement, the main object of which is to enable them to hold meetings with their trade and friendly societies away from public-houses. A body of earnest working-men have been exerting themselves for some months past to raise funds for the purpose of building a central hall, in which the trade and friendly societies of Chelsea, Brompton, and Kensington may meet, instead of at public-houses. There are upwards of seventy such societies in the districts named."

If working-men generally take to courses like these, they will very soon vindicate their order from the accusation of drunkenness which Liquor Lawson, Dawson Burns, and their followers, put forward as a pretext for soliciting the whole people to let themselves be placed under restraint, like idiots or babies. The sober and earnest working-men, drinking their beer in moderation, will show themselves to be really the same flesh and blood with the gentlemen who sip their claret soberly, and are so kind as to interest themselves in the promotion of schemes for withholding their poorer kind from indulgence in "intoxicating liquors." But then the occupation of the United Kingdom Alliance will be gone. That is to say, they will be deprived of all excuse for vociferating, plotting, and conspiring to have the pleasure of regulating the habits of others.

Parental Present.

Though we have thus far entered on January, the window of a shop in Fleet Street still exhibits a card bearing the legend of "Presents for Christmas." This appears amid a lot of walking-sticks, where it is somewhat suggestive. Perhaps too many schoolboys generally come home for the holidays would receive the most suitable Christmas-box a fond Father could present them with if he were to give them the Stick.

[Mrs. Punch. "Brute!">[

"HOUSEHOLD WORDS."

Young Person (on taking a Situation with Maiden Lady). "In the Course of Conversation, shall I address you as Miss or Mum?"!!

THE "PHANTOM BOARD."

(See Mr. Vernon Lushington's evidence before the Megæra Commission.)

A darkling place, of shadowy space,

Reached by a silent stair;

A skeleton clock, with a dusty face,

That marks time in the air,

To five grey ghosts, in blue and gold lace,

Each in ghost of a board-room chair.

Their red-tape is dust, their penknives are rust,

The ink in each standish is sere;

Their ghost-quills glide betwixt margins wide

Of foolscap, that blanks appear;

And their dead tongues' prose into dead ears goes,

And out at as dead an ear!

But on file and floor, and the tables o'er,

And in pigeon-holes well stored,

Are letters many, and papers more—

An ever-growing hoard!

No phantom of business, albeit before

My Lords of a Phantom Board!

So much work to be done, and, alive, but one

To utter five phantoms' will!

The hours they run, but on Lushington

The papers are pouring still—

And how record for a Phantom Board,

With a merely mortal quill?

Those letters come by messengers dumb—

A hundred thousand a year—

To this room or that, for ghost-clerks to thumb,

And be opened, here and there:

Who registers? None, all; all, some:

Who minutes? Ghost-hands in air.

So, registered or unregistered,

As haste or hap may be;

Minuted or un-minuted,

As ghost, or none, may be free;

The gathering letters have come to a head

That a Phantom Board can see!

Alive but one,—Lone Lushington

Among that ghostly five,

And all this business to be done—

Needs must when phantoms drive!

"Enough to sign," he sighs, "not mine

To read, and still survive."

And while he signs, and signs, and signs,

Its ghost of work upon,

In its red-tape toil the navy to coil,

The Phantom Board sits on:

Essay to seize, your grasp 'twill foil,

Looms, shadowy, and is gone!

Gone but to meet, in order neat,

As ghost-like as before,

In the navy blue, and cock'd hat a-slue,

That ancient Duncan wore,

The Phantom First Lord at the head of the Board,

And, below, the Phantom Four!

Their ghosts of orders they have sped,

Their ghosts of minutes they sign;

But of ship ill-found, or fleet ill-led

The discredit all decline,

To the shrill "Not mine!" of their phantom-head,

Echoing their "Not mine."

John Bull, outside, may groan and gride,

May fume and fret at will;

If he deems live heads his navy guide,

His sea-behests fulfil,

The works and the words of these Phantom Lords

No wonder he taketh ill.

For our ships we know how the sovereigns go.

Hard cash in hard hulls should end:

Why troop-ships are worked till they rotten grow,

We cannot comprehend;

Nor why squalls that blow about Reid & Co.

To the bottom should Captains send.

Some day, I think, with a sneeze and a wink,

Shocked wide-awake again,

John Bull will make free with the Board-room key,

Grope his way to the door, and then,

Round the Board-screen peep at the ghosts that keep

The seats of living men!

We wouldn't hold posts among those ghosts—

Nor of Sea, nor of Civil Lord—

That to build John's ships, and to guard John's coasts,

Have borrowed his shield and sword:

If Ghosts can be kicked, kicked out of their posts

Will be the Phantom Board!

THE "PHANTOM BOARD."

Mr. Bull. "GHOSTS, BY JINGO!"

[What else did he expect to see at the Admiralty, after Mr. Vernon Lushington's awful Revelation?

LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART.

Mrs. Lorimer Stackworthy is busy with a new life of one of our earliest Queens, Boadicea, based on contemporary documents and family papers, many of which are in cipher. The publishers, (Sporle and Mussitt) will be glad to hear of an authentic portrait of the subject of Mrs. Stackworthy's interesting monograph.

The article, in the Pedantic Review, on "Pies and Puddings," which has caused such a stir in literary and culinary circles, bears strong internal evidence of the practised pen of Professor Porringer. That on "Extraordinary Ebullitions," in the Impartialist, is understood to emanate from Dr. Julius Teezer.

Jewini's great classic Opera—La Vecchia Madre Ubardio—will be revived next season at La Scala.

A new weekly periodical is announced. It will be printed, published, edited, written, illustrated, stitched, and sold exclusively by women, and the type, ink, and paper, will be supplied by manufacturers who employ none but female artificers. Men will not be allowed to interfere with this journal in any way, except as purchasers. The title is Superior Wisdom.

Signor Zafferano-Collina has resumed his (open air) Organ performances on Campden Hill. The Signor's répertoire has not received any accession during the recess.

In the course of the ensuing season, Messrs. Brane and Booker will bring to the hammer the valuable Library formed by the late Jonathan Bell Diver, M.A., F.A.S., F.E.L.S. It is remarkably rich in nursery rhymes, cookery books, gipsyana, and treatises on dentistry and fireworks, and includes a unique series of privately printed publications relating to the County of Rutland.

The result of more extended investigations goes to prove that the Octopus will not attack man, except in defence of its religion.

Mr. Granby Fussforth has completed his arrangements for the delivery of a course of Six Lectures on "Winds and Windfalls," in the North of London. He will afterwards make a tour through Lambeth, Surrey, Southwark, and the Tower Hamlets, and will probably conclude his labours in the Old Kent Road.