PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
Vol. 102.
January 16, 1892.
LES FRANCAIS PEINTS PAR EUX-MÊMES (ET ILLUSTRÊS PAR NOUS).
CABITAL!
SIR,—The proposal to extend the Cab Radius to five miles from Charing Cross is good in its way, but it does not go far enough. My idea is that the cheap cab-fare should include any place in the Home Counties. Cabmen should also be prevented by law from refusing to take a person, say, from Piccadilly to St. Albans, on the plea that their horse "could not do the distance." All assertions of that kind should be punished as perjury. Cabmen are notoriously untruthful. Why should not Cab Proprietors, too, be obliged to keep relays of horses at convenient spots on all the main roads out of Town in case a horse really proves unequal to going fifteen miles or so into the country, in addition to a hard day's work in London?—Yours unselfishly,
St. Albans. NORTHWARD HO!
SIR,—Why will people libel the Suburbs, and keep on describing them as dull? I am sure that a place which, like the one I write from, contains a Lawn Tennis Club (entrance into which we keep very select), a Circulating Library, where all the new books of two years' back are obtainable without much delay, a couple of handsome and ascetic young Curates, and a public Park, capable of holding twenty-six perambulators and as many nursemaids at one and the same time, can only fitly be described as an Elysium. Still, we should be grateful for better facilities for getting away from its delights now and then, and this proposal to extend the Cab Radius has the warmest support of Yours,
EASILY SATISFIED.
SIR,—By all means let us have cheaper Cabs in Greater London! The County Council should subsidise a lot of Cabs, to ply exclusively between London and the outskirts. Or why not a Government Cab Purchase Bill, like the Irish Land Purchase one? We want a special Minister for Public Locomotion—perhaps Lord RANDOLPH CHURCHILL would accept the post?
Yours, spiritedly, HAMPSTEAD HEATHEN.
"HARD TO BEER!"
(Advance-sheet from a projected Anti-Bacchanalian Tragi-farce, to be called "By Order of the Kaiser.")
SCENE—A Market Place in Berlin. German Students carousing. Emissary of the Emperor seated at table apart watching them. Apprehensive Waiters nervously supplying the wants of their Customers.
First German Student. Another flagon of beer, Kellner!
Waiter. Here, Mein Herr! (Brings glass and, as he places it on the table, whispers aside.) Oh, beware, my good Lord—this is your second glass.
First Ger. Stu. (with a laugh). I know what I am about! And now, my friends, I give you a toast—The Liberty of the Fatherland!
Chorus of Students. The Liberty of the Fatherland! [They all drink.
Em. of the Emp. (apart). Ha!
[He makes an entry in his note-book.
First Ger. Stu. And now fill another glass. Fill, my comrades—I pray you, fill! Kellner! glasses round—for myself and friends.
Kellner (as before—supplying their wants and warning them). Oh, my gracious Lord, be careful! Your third glass—mind now, your third glass; you know the risk you are running! But one false drop and you are lost!
First Ger. Stu. (as before). Well, my good friend, be sure you supply us with no drop that is not good! Ha, ha, ha! Eh, KARL! eh, CONRAD! eh, HANS! Did you hear my merry jest?
[They all laugh.
Em. of the Emp. (as before). Ha! (making an entry in his note-book). And they laugh at a witless joke! Good! Very good!
First Ger. Stu. (joyously). And now, my comrades, yet another toast—The Prosperity of the People!
Chorus of Ger. Stu. (raising their glasses). The People!
[They all drink.
Em. of the Emp. (apart) Ha!
[He makes an entry in his note-book.
First Ger. Stu. And now, a final flagon! Kellner!
Kellner (as before). Oh, high-born customer, beware! This is your fourth glass! You know the law!
First Ger. Stu. (as before). That indeed I do! And I also know that my daily allowance is—or rather was—twelve quarts per diem! And now, comrades, our last toast—The Freedom of the Press!
Chorus of Ger. Stu. (raising their glasses). The Freedom of the Press!
[They all drink.
Em. of the Emp. (apart). This is too much! (He rises, and approaches the Students.) Your pardon, Gentlemen! But do you really believe in the toasts you have just drunk?
Chorus of Stu. Why, certainly!
Em. of the Emp. What, in the Liberty of the Fatherland?
Chorus of Stu. To be sure—why not?
Em. of the Emp. And the Prosperity of the People—mind you, only the People?
Chorus of Stu. Exactly—don't you?
Em. of the Emp. And further. You wish well to the Freedom of the Press?
Chorus of Stu. That was our toast! What next?
Em. of the Emp. (producing staff of authority). That, in the name of His Majesty, I arrest you!
Chorus of Stu. (astounded). Arrest us! Why?
Em. of the Emp. Because, if you believe in the Liberty of the Fatherland, ask for the Prosperity of the People, and admire the Freedom of the Press, you must be drunk!—very drunk! In virtue of the new law (which punishes the crime of intoxication), away with them!
[The Students are loaded with chains, and imprisoned, for an indefinite period, in the lowest dungeon beneath the castle's moat. Curtain.
OUR HUMOROUS COMPOSER.—What Sir ARTHUR SULLIVAN said or sung before deciding on taking a Villa at Turbie, on the Riviera,—"Turbie, or not Turbie, that is the question." He is now hard at work writing a new Opera (founded, we believe, on Cox and Box), and "I am here," he says, in his quaint way, "because I don't want to be dis-turbie'd."
THE "RETURNED EMPTY."
Returned Prodigal sings, to the tune of "Randy Pandy, O!":—
Well, here I'm back from Mashonaland!
Mine's hardly a proud position.
My ideas in going were vaguely grand,
And—look at my present condition!
I may cool my heels on this packing-case;
'Tis a little mite like me, Sir!
Say my "candid friends," as they watch my face,
"O.I.C.U.R.M.T., Sir!"
I'm the prodigal GRANDY-PANDY, oh!
Returned to my native landy, oh!
With a big moustache, and but little cash,
Though the latter would come in handy, oh!
Like the nursery Jack-a-dandy, oh!
I may "love plum-cake and candy," oh!
But tarts and toffies, or sweets of office,
Seem not—at present—for GRANDY, oh!
Well, I chucked them up,—was it nous or pique?
Is the prodigal worst of ninnies?
The fatted calf, and the better half
Of his father's love—and guineas,—
May fall to his share as he homeward lies,
When the husks have lost their flavour.
My calf? Well, it does not greet my eyes,
And I don't yet sniff its savour.
I'm a prodigal GRANDY-PANDY, oh!
Retired from Mashona-landy, oh!
I'm left like a laggard. Grim RIDER HAGGARD
(Whose fiction is "blood-and-brandy," oh!)
Says Africa always comes handy, oh!
For "something new." It sounds grandy, oh!
But a telling new plot I'm afraid is not
The fortune of GRANDY-PANDY, oh!
Did they miss me much? Well, I fancy not;
(Though a few did come to greet me;)
The general verdict's "A very queer lot!"
Nor is SOL in a hurry to meet me.
He does not spy me afar off. No!
He would rather I kept my distance;
And if to the front I again should go,
'Twon't be with his assistance.
He deems me a troublesome GRANDY, oh'
In political harness not handy, oh!
I am out of a job, while BALFOUR is a nob,
That lank and effeminate dandy, oh!
Well, a prodigal son may be "sandy." oh!
I am off for a soda-and-brandy, oh!
And a "tub" at my Club, where I'm sure of a snub
From the foes of returning GRANDY, oh!
"A VOLUNTARY CONTRIBUTION."
Philistine Wife. "YOUR PAPER ISN'T AT ALL AMUSING JUST NOW. BUT THERE, I MUST CONFESS IT IS NOT EASY TO BE EITHER FUNNY OR WITTY EVERY WEEK."
Journalist (much worried). "NO, MY DEAR, MUCH EASIER TO BE ALWAYS DULL AND PROSAIC EVERY EVENING."
[He was about to add a personal illustration, but as, fortunately, he didn't, the subject dropped.]
THE CROSS-EXAMINER'S VADE MECUM.
Question. Have you a right to ask any question in Court?
Answer. Certainly, and the questioning is left to my discretion.
Ques. What do you understand by discretion?
Ans. An unknown quality defined occasionally by the Press and the Public.
Ques. Is the definition invariably the same?
Ans. No, for it depends upon the exigencies of the Press and the frivolity and fickleness of the Public.
Ques. Were you to refrain from questioning a Witness anent his antecedents, and subsequently those antecedents becoming known, his evidence were to lose the credence of the papers, what would be said of you?
Ans. That I had neglected my duty.
Ques. Were you to question a Witness on his past, and, by an interruption of the trial, that Witness's evidence were consequently to become superfluous, what would then be said of you?
Ans. That I had exceeded my duty.
Ques. Is it an easy matter to reconcile the interests of your clients with the requirements of Public Opinion.
Ans. It is a most difficult arrangement, the more especially as Public Opinion is usually composed of the joint ideas of hundreds of people who know as much about law as does a bed-post.
Ques. In the eyes of Public Opinion, whose commendation is the most questionable?
Ans. The commendation of a Judge, because it stands to reason (according to popular ideas) that a man who knows his subject thoroughly must be unable to come to any definite decision as to its merits.
Ques. And in the eyes of the same authority, whose commendation is the most valuable?
Ans. In the eyes of Public Opinion the most valuable commendation would come from a man who is absolutely ignorant of everything connected with a Counsel's practice, but who can amply supply this possible deficiency by writing a letter to the papers and signing himself "FAIR PLAY."
Ques. Is there any remedy for setting right any misconception that may have occurred as to the rights and wrongs of cross-examiners?
Ans. Yes, the Public might learn what the business of a cross-examiner really is.
Ques. I see, and having done this, can you recommend anything further?
Ans. Having learned a cross-examiner's business, the Public might then have time to attend—to its own!
THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS.
No. XXIII.
SCENE—The Lower Hall of the Scuola di San Rocco, Venice. British Tourists discovered studying the Tintorets on the walk and ceiling by the aid of RUSKIN, HARE, and BÆDEKER, from which they read aloud, instructively, to one another. Miss PRENDERGAST has brought "The Stones of Venice" for the benefit of her brother and PODBURY. Long self-repression has reduced PODBURY to that unpleasantly hysterical condition known as "a fit of the giggles," which, however, has hitherto escaped detection.
Miss P. (standing opposite "The Flight into Egypt" reading). "One of the principal figures here is the Donkey." Where is Mr. PODBURY? (To P., who reappears, humbly proffering a tin focussing-case.) Thanks, but you need not have troubled! "The Donkey ... um—um—never seen—um—um—any of the nobler animals so sublime as this quiet head of the domestic ass"—(here BOB digs PODBURY in the ribs, behind Miss P.'s back)—"chiefly owing to the grand motion in the nostril, and writhing in the ears." (A spasmodic choke from PODBURY.) May I ask what you find so amusing?
Podb. (crimson). I—I beg your pardon—I don't know what I was laughing at exactly. (Aside to BOB.) Will you shut up, confound you!
A Stout Lady, close by (reading from HARE). "The whole symmetry of it depending on a narrow line of light." (Dubiously, to her Daughter.) I don't quite—oh yes, I do now—that's it—where my sunshade is—"the edge of a carpenter's square, which connects those unused tools" ... h'm—can you make out the "unused tools," ETHEL? I can't.... But he says—"The Ruined House is the Jewish Dispensation." Now I should never have found that out for myself. (They pass to another canvas.) "TINTORET denies himself all aid from the features.... No time allowed for watching the expression" ... (That reminds me—what is the time by your bracelet, darling?) "No blood, no stabbing, or cutting ... but an awful substitute for these in the chiaroscuro." (Ah, yes, indeed! Do you see it, love?—in the right-hand corner?) "So that our eyes"—(comfortably)—"seem to become bloodshot, and strained with strange horror, and deadly vision." (Not one o'clock, really?—and we've to meet Papa outside Florian's, for lunch at one-thirty! Dear me, we mustn't stay too long over this room.)
A Solemn Gentleman (with a troublesome cough, who is also provided with HARE, reading aloud to his wife).... "Further enhanced by—rook—rook—rook!—a largely-made—rook—ook!—farm-servant, leaning on a—ork—ork—ork—ork—or—ook!—basket." Shall I—ork!—go on?
His Wife. Yes, dear, do, please! It makes one notice things so much more!
[The Solemn Gentleman goes on.
Miss P. (as they reach the staircase). Now just look at this Titian, Mr. PODBURY! RUSKIN particularly mentions it. Do note the mean and petty folds of the drapery, and compare them with those in the TINTORETS in there.
Podb. (obediently). Yes, I will,—a—did you mean now—and will it take me long, because—
[Miss PRENDERGAST sweeps on scornfully.
Podb. (following, with a desperate effort to be intelligent). They don't seem to have any Fiammingoes here.
Miss P. (freezingly, over her shoulder). Any what, Mr. PODBURY? Flamingoes?
Podb. (confidently, having noted down the name at the Accademia on his shirt-cuff). No, "Ignoto Fiammingo," don't you know. I like that chap's style—what I call thoroughly Venetian.
[Well-informed persons in front overhear and smile.
Miss P. (annoyed). That is rather strange—because "Ignoto Fiammingo" happens to be merely the Italian for "an unknown Fleming," Mr. PODBURY. [Collapse of PODBURY.
Bob. (aside to PODBURY). You great owl, you came a cropper that time! [He and PODBURY indulge in a subdued bear-fight up the stairs, after which they enter the Upper Hall in a state of preternatural solemnity.
The Solemn G. Now what I want to see, my dear, is the ork—ork—angel that RUSKIN thinks TINTORETTO painted the day after he saw a rook—kic—kic—kic—kingfisher.
[BOB nudges PODBURY, who resists temptation heroically.
Miss P. (reading).... "the fig-tree which, by a curious caprice, has golden ribs to all its leaves."—Do you see the ribs, Mr. PODBURY.
Podb. (feebly). Y—yes. I believe I do. Think they grew that sort of fig-tree formerly, or is it—a—allegorical?
Miss P. (receiving this query in crushing silence). The ceiling requires careful study. Look at that oblong panel in the centre—with the fiery serpents, which RUSKIN finely compares to "winged lampreys." You're not looking in the right way to see them, Mr. PODBURY!
Podb. (faintly). I—I did see them—all of them, on my honour I did! But it gives me such a crick in my neck!
Miss P. Surely TINTORET is worth a crick in the neck. Did you observe "the intense delight in biting expressed in their eyes?"
Bob. (frivolously). I did, 'PATIA—exactly the same look I observed last night, in a mosquito's eye.
[PODBURY has to use his handkerchief violently.
The Stout Lady. Now, ETHEL, we can just spend ten minutes on the ceiling—and then we must go. That's evidently JONAH in the small oval. (Referring to plan.) Yes, I thought so,—it is JONAH. RUSKIN considers "the whale's tongue much too large, unless it is a kind of crimson cushion for JONAH to kneel upon." Well, why not?
Ethel. A cushion, Mother? what, inside the whale!
The Stout Lady. That we are not told, my love—"The submissiveness of Jonah is well given"—So true—but Papa can't bear being kept waiting for his lunch—we really ought to go now. [They go.
The Solemn G. (reading). "There comes up out of the mist a dark hand." Have you got the dark hand yet, my dear?
His Wife. No, dear, only the mist. At least, there's something that may be a branch; or a bird of some sort.
The S.G. Ha, it's full of suggestion—full of suggestion!
[He passes on, coughing.
Miss P. (to PODBURY, who is still quivering). Now notice the end one—"the Fall of Manna"—not that end; that's "the Fall of Man." RUSKIN points out (reading)—"A very sweet incident. Four or five sheep, instead of pasturing, turn their heads to catch the manna as it comes down" (here BOB catches PODBURY's eye) "or seem to be licking it off each other's fleeces." (PODBURY is suddenly convulsed by inexplicable and untimely mirth.) Really, Mr. PODBURY, this is too disgraceful! [She shuts the book sharply and walks away.
Outside; by the landing-steps.
Miss P. BOB, go on and get the gondola ready. I wish to speak to Mr. PODBURY. (To PODBURY, after BOB has withdrawn.) Mr. PODBURY, I cannot tell you how disgusted and disappointed I feel at your senseless irreverence.
Podb. (penitently). I—I'm really most awfully sorry—but it came over me suddenly, and I simply couldn't help myself!
Miss P. That is what makes it so very hopeless—after all the pains I have taken with you! I have been beginning to fear for some time that you are incorrigible—and to-day is really the last straw! So it is kinder to let you know at once that you have been tried and found wanting. I have no alternative but to release you finally from your vows—I cannot allow you to remain my suitor any longer.
Podb. (humbly). I was always afraid I shouldn't last the course, don't you know. I did my best—but it wasn't in me, I suppose. It was awfully good of you to put up with me so long. And, I say, you won't mind our being friends still, will you now?
Miss P. Of course not. I shall always wish you well, Mr. PODBURY—only I won't trouble you to accompany me to any more galleries!
Podb. A—thanks. I—I mean, I know I should only be in your way and all that. And—I'd better say good-bye, Miss PRENDERGAST. You won't want me in the gondola just now, I'm sure. I can easily get another.
Miss P. Well—good-bye then, Mr. PODBURY. I will explain to BOB.
[She steps into the gondola; BOB raises his eyebrows in mute interrogation at PODBURY, who shakes his head, and allows the gondola to go without him.
Podb. (to himself, as the gondola disappears). So that's over! Hanged if I don't think I'm sorry, after all. It will be beastly lonely without anybody to bully me, and she could be awfully nice when she chose.... Still it is a relief to have got rid of old TINTORET, and not to have to bother about BELLINI and CIMA and that lot.... How that beggar CULCHARD will crow when he hears of it! Shan't tell him anything—if I can help it.... But the worst of getting the sack is—people are almost bound to spot you ... I think I'll be off to-morrow. I've had enough of Venice!
ONLY FANCY!
In the admirably-compiled columns of "This Morning's News," given in the Daily News, we read with interest a paragraph occasionally appearing, furnishing information as to prices current in the Provision Market. We have made arrangements to supply our readers with something of the same character, which cannot fail to be valued in the household.
From numerous sources of information, we learn that prime English beef is underdone, which causes rather a run on mutton. Revenons, &c., is the watchword in many households. Poultry flies rather high for the time of year, and grouse is also up. Grice—why not? plural of mouse, mice—grice, we say, are growing more absent, and therefore dearer. Black game is not so darkly hued as it is painted, and a few transactions in wild duck are reported. Lard is hardening, as usual in frosty weather. Hares are not so mad as in March, still, on the approach of a passer-by, they go off rapidly. Rabbits, especially Welsh ones, are now excellent. As Christmas recedes, geese have stopped laying golden eggs. Turkey (in Europe, at least) is in high feather. Brill is now in brilliant condition; soles are right down to the ground, whilst eels begin to show themselves in pairs. Halibut is cheap, but sackbut is scarce, and psaltery requires such prolonged soaking before it is fit for the table, that purchasers fight shy of anything but small parcels. As for plaice, a large dealer tells us he has been driven to the conclusion that there is "no plaice like home."
We hear of a curious incident in connection with the revival of Henry the Eighth at the Lyceum. On Saturday night, a gentleman who had witnessed the play from the Stalls and carefully sat it out, demanded his money back as he went out. He did so on the ground that he had always understood that Henry the Eighth was by SHAKSPEARE, and found it credibly asserted that that gentleman had no part in the authorship of the piece. Mr. BRAM STOKER, M.A., was called to the assistance of the box-keeper, and ably discussed the point. Whilst declining to commit himself to the admission that SHAKSPEARE had no hand in the work, he quoted authority which assigned the authorship to FLETCHER and MASSENGER; in which case, he ingeniously argued, the authorship being dual, the price of the Stalls ought to be doubled. Conversation taking this turn, the gentleman, whose name did not transpire, withdrew.
Miss JANE COBDEN, ex-Alderman of the London County Council, who has long pluckily championed Woman's Rights, has now, according to an announcement in the papers, determined to assert her own, and get married. C'est magnifique, mais ce n'est pas—Aldermanic.
A telegram from Berlin states that Dr. PFEIFFER, a son-in-law of Professor KOCH, has succeeded in discovering the cause of influenza and its infection in a bacillus, which, when seen under the microscope, appears in the shape of a most minute rod. The best thing that can be done with this rod is to put it in pickle, and keep it there.
It is satisfactory to know that, at the approaching revival of Hubando, the Brigand, the handkerchiefs used by the Brigands in their famous scene of contrition at the end of the Third Act, are entirely of British manufacture. We understand that they are from the looms of Messrs. PUFF AND RECLAME.
In the First Act of the same piece, it will be remembered that the bridal party is captured whole by Hubando, disguised as a mendicant, in the recesses of one of the forests of the Abruzzi. The real pine-trees, which are to figure in the foreground of this striking scene, have been grown, with immense labour and expense, in the well-known nurseries of Messrs. WEEDEM AND POTTER, at Ditchington. The mendicant's rags, it should be added, are from one of our most celebrated slop-shops in the Ratcliff Highway.
TRIUMPH OF ART OVER NATURE.
Serious Artist. "I THINK YOU KNEW THE MODEL FOR THIS FIGURE—POOR BEGGAR, DEAF AND DUMB."
Light-hearted Friend. "I KNOW,—USED TO SIT AT CORNER OF STREET. DEAF AND DUMB! BY JOVE, YOU'VE MADE A SPEAKING LIKENESS OF HIM! WONDERFUL!!"
"THERE'S THE RUB!"
(An Old Story with a New Application.)
Champion Bill-Poster, loquitur:—
"Bill-stickers beware!" Ah! that's all very well,
A wondrously wise, if conventional, warning.
But I'm the legitimate "Poster"—a swell
In the paste-pot profession, all "notices" scorning.
A brush surreptitious, and Bills unofficial,
No doubt, are a nuisance to people of taste,
To Order offensive, to Law prejudicial,
But who can object to my pot and my paste?
'Tis time that this Poster were up! Slap-dap-slosh!
I think it a telling one. Brave, Big, Blue letters!
Some rivals about, but their programmes won't wash;
Those Newcastle noodles must own us their betters.
I'm Champion Bill-Poster! Even Brum JOEY,
Who flouted me once will acknowledge that fact.
My Bills are so goey, and fetching, and showy,
My paste so adhesive, my brush so exact!
Slap-slop-slidder-slosh! There's "stick-phast," if you like.
Bill-sticking like this is an Art, and no error.
Bold letters, brave colour! A poster to strike,—
Admiration with some, and with some, perhaps, terror.
I wish I quite knew that the former preponderate,—
That is, sufficiently. Mutterings I hear,—
But there, 'tis a Bill to admire, and to wonder at.
Why, after five seasons' success, should I fear?
Hist! What is that? Thought I heard a low grunt.
Hope not, I'm sure, for I'm sick of stye-voices
ARTHUR of those, has no doubt, borne the brunt;
Now in a semi-relief he rejoices
Pigs are fit only for styes and nose-ringing.
Never let Irish ones run loose and root,
Rather wish ARTHUR were less sweet on flinging
Pearls before pigs; as well feed 'em on fruit.
Hrumph! There. I thought so! Hrumph! hrumph! What a pest!
Sure that big brute has his eye on my ladder.
Has ARTHUR loosed him? He thinks he knows best,
But a nasty spill now!—nothing well could be sadder
Brutes always rub their broad backs and stiff bristles
Against—anything that comes handy. Oh lor!
How the brute shoulders, and snorts, grunts and whistles!
Off to the gutter, you big Irish boar!
Not he! He nears me! It is ARTHUR's pet.
Light ladder this; would capsize in a jiffy.
His bristles he'd scrape and his tusks he would whet
Against it, I wish he were drowned in the Liffey!
Whisht! Get away! He's so heavy and big.
There! round the ladder he's playing the fooler.
Ah! there's the rub. PATRICK scumfish that Pig!
If he doesn't mean deviltry I'm a—Home Ruler!
[Left fidgetting.
UNASKED.
Unasked, the Tax-Collector wild
Presents to smirking MARY his
Demand—on what the Roman styled
"Kalendis Januariis."
Unasked, a Christmas-box to gain,
Sweeps, lamplighters, and postmen come;
Unasked—too often to remain—
The wife's mammas of most men come.
Unasked, it looms—that ophicleide
From Germany, with melodies
Whereat the cow of story died;
Whereat a modern fellow dies.
Unasked, partakes my Christmas cheer,
(Whom oft, my front-door bell at, I've
Surprised, the better much for beer)—
My Cook's fraternal relative.
Unasked, my bills appear in shoals,
"With compliments" from creditors;
Unasked, in verse I send my soul's
Throbs—with a stamp—to Editors.
Unasked, that editorial pack
Return my "throbs" in heavy, new,
Crisp envelopes, unstamped, alack!
While I defray the Revenue.
MRS. RAM's nephew was reading aloud the prospectus of the Clerical, Medical, and General Life Assurance Society. She was much impressed by the idea of Clerical Assurance, and expressed herself greatly pleased at the Ven. Archdeacon FARRAR being one of the Directors. "But what puzzles me," observed the excellent lady, "is a paragraph headed 'Disposal of the Surplice.' I know that, years ago, there was a 'surplice difficulty.' But I thought that had been disposed of. Or," she added, brightening up, as if struck by a happy solution of the difficulty, "does it mean that the Clerical Assurance Society means to take in washing? Most useful if they do, and so paying."
DEFINITION OF "CHAFF."—The husk of Wit.
