PUNCH,
OR, THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOLUME 98.

MARCH 1, 1890.

UNTILED; OR, THE MODERN ASMODEUS.

"Très volontiers," repartit le démon. "Vous aimez les tableaux changeans: je veux vous contenter."
Le Diable Boiteux.

XXI.

"Though cold the coxcomb, and though coarse the boor,

Though dulness haunts the rich and pain the poor,

In this colossal city,

Yet London is not Rome, O Shade!" I said.

"A later Juvenal should not find her dead

To purity and pity."

"Satire, of shames and follies in sole quest,

Is a one-eyed divinity at best,"

My guide responded, slowly.

"The tale of Zoïlus hath its moral still.

Such critics are but blowflies, their small skill

To carrion given wholly.

"Not all the Romans of Domitian's days

Were such as live in Juvenal's savage lays;

Not all the Latian ladies

Were Hippias or Collatias. Neither here

May all be gauged by satire's rule severe,

Or earth would be a Hades.

"The scalpel hath no terrors for the sound,

Nor is the hand that wields it harshly bound

To ceaseless vivisection.

The Cynic sharply sees, but sees not far;

The eye that hunts the mote may miss the star

Too great for scorn's detection.

"Dream not, oh friend, because I let the light

On lurid London through the cloak of night

(As was my undertaking.)

That I've a spirit wholly given to scorn,

Or blind to all, save sin, that with the morn

Will see a bright awaking.

"Yet could the freedman's son but wield his flail

In London, there are those might shrink and pale

As did Domitian's minion.

Paris lives yet, pander and parasite

Still flaunt in bold impunity, despite

A custom-freed opinion.

"Dull in the drawing-room, our beardless boys

Can sparkle in the haunts of coarser joys,

Coldness and muteness vanish

When Tullia dances or when Pollio sings.

With riotous applause the precinct rings,

There chill restraint they banish.

"Behold Lord Limpet in his gilded Box,

His well-gloved palms and scarlet silken socks

Actively agitated;

He who erewhile about the ball-room stood

A solemn, weary, whispering thing of wood,

And sneered, and yawned, and waited."

"Wondrous!" I cried. "The youngster's cheeks flush red,

Wide laugh his lips, and swiftly wags his head,

He cheers, he claps, he chuckles.

Can he, the languid lounger limp and faint

Give way to mirth with the mad unrestraint

Of boys with ribs and knuckles?

"Frankly canaille is that dancing chit

Slang and suggestiveness serve her for wit,

And impudence for beauty.

Yet frigid 'Form' melts at her cockney spell,

'Form,' which votes valsing with the reigning belle

An undelightful duty.

"Bounds on the arch-buffoon, with flexile face,

With bagman smartness and batrachian grace.

Is he not sweet and winning?

Mime of the gutter, mimic of the slum,

Muse of the haunts unspeakable, else dumb,

A satyr gross and grinning?

"Limpet smiled," he said. "Shakspeare's boldest wit

Leaves Limpet listless, but each feature lit

At that last comic chorus.

London is full of Limpets; clownings please

The well-groom'd mob, though Aristophanes

Would miserably bore us.

"Untile the Town entirely? Nay, good friend,

That were to affright the timid, and offend

The tender and the trustful.

Unlifted yet must lie the dusky screen

That veils the viler features of the scene,

The dread and the disgustful."

"Shadow!" I said, "Civilisation fails,

While surfeits Idleness, and Labour pales.

For all its spread and glitter,

The Titan City lacks its crowning grace

And glory, whilst its pleasure is so base,

Its bondage is so bitter."

"True!" sighed the Shadow, and a softened smile

Seemed to illume the coldness, void of guile,

Of those phantasmal features.

"When from the City's gloom shall flash to light

This truth: The sleek and selfish sybarite

Is meanest of God's creatures?"

"Shadow!" I cried. But in the darkness dim

Those lineaments did waver and dislimn

Like clouds at the sun's waking.

Alone I stood; fled was the night, the dream,

And o'er the sleeping City's sullen stream

Babylon's grey dawn was breaking.

The End.

A Diag-nose-is of Wine.—The Case of Champagne set before Mr. Alderman and Sheriff Davies. Of course, the worthy Alderman, who is a judge of wine, needed only to raise the glass to his nose. He smelt it to see if it was Corke'd. But in answer to the charge of false labelling, it should have been simply pleaded that, at the manufactory, the labels were not simply put on, but Clapt-on. Whether this defence would have gone to mitigate the fine of twenty pounds, is another matter. The Alderman's decision was given, much as the public generally pay for Champagne,—good or bad,—that is, "through the nose."

THE CHAMELEON "REPORT".

Entirely New Version.
("The bearings of it lie in the application,"—to a certain Report.)

Time to the eager seems to lag,

Howe'er his glass be shaken;

Yet struck the hour when from the bag

The Creature should be taken.

Three Judges sage had cooped it there

Three Judges wise, three Judges fair,

At him Society will ejaculate

Who hints a Judge is not immaculate.

The Judge's ermine none dares dim

(Unless the Judge differs from him).

Now men discussed, with glee or dolour,

The question of the Creature's colour.

"Black as my hat," cries one, "I know."

"Nay!" shouts another, "white as snow!"

Whether the thing revealed should prove

To ape the Raven or the Dove,

Was matter of dispute most furious;

Angry were most, and all were curious.

At last arrived the eventful day

When from the bag the thing must crawl,

And lo! the Creature's tint was grey,

Which disappointed all.

But though Truth brings a brief confusion

To obstinate foregone conclusion,

Prejudice, routed most dismally,

Will quickly to Unreason rally.

And so the one side would remark

That for a grey 'twas wondrous dark;

The other side did more than hint

They never saw so light a tint;

"Deep iron-grey!" said one, "Oh, stuff!"

Another cried at most a buff!

"In tint below, in hue above,

'Tis little deeper than a Dove!

In fact, looked at in a strong light,

'Tis scarce distinguishable from white!"

"White!" yelled a third, with rage half

throttled,

"With jet-black streaks 'tis thickly mottled.

If not pure Raven, all must own

No Magpie hath a sootier tone!"

And so the rival parties raged and wrangled;

Judgment considered whilst the bigots jangled,

And the great bulk of them 'twas sad to find,

Wore party-coloured specs., or else were colour-blind!

GARRICK THEATRE.

The Hare Apparent in a New Pair of Spectacles.

ONLY A DROP!

Shareholder. "Hallo! I don't seem to be getting much out of this! What's the Matter?"

Standard. "Matter? There's a Leakage somewhere!"

ALL FOR THE SAKE OF THE ARMY!

From Mr. C. Bounder to Mr. T. Tenterfive.

Dear Tommy,—I say, can't you give me a leg up, to get the Government to adopt my confounded pop-guns? The foreigners don't seem to see them much, and, hang it all! a true-hearted Johnnie should give his native land the first chance.

Thine ever,

Charles Bounder.

From Mr. T. Tenterfive to Mr. C. Bounder.

Dear Charley,—I'm afraid I'm not of much use. Send in application about your pop-guns, and I will look after it as much as can. You mustn't expect much, as the Department has a way of knocking a thing about for months—sometimes years—and then quietly shelving it. Hope to see you soon.

Thine ever,

Thomas Tenterfive.

Report of Ordnance Committee, to be forwarded to the Adjutant-General.

We have examined the Bounder Patent Ironclad Pocket Revolving Cannonette, and consider it a weapon that might possibly be introduced into the Service with advantage, if the cost of production is not excessive.

Report of Adjutant-General, to be forwarded to Quartermaster-General.

I enclose report of Ordnance Committee of which I approve. However, as the matter involves a financial question, your opinion thereon would be of great value.

Report of the Quartermaster-Gen., to be forwarded to Inspector-Gen. of Fortifications.

Can offer no suggestion about the cost of production until it can be ascertained whether the Cannonette will be suitable for Home Defences. What is your opinion on this point?

Report of Inspector-General of Fortifications, to be forwarded to Secretary of State.

No doubt the Cannonette might be used in a variety of ways. But it will be observed that the Ordnance Committee raised the question of expense—a matter that scarcely concerns my Department.

Memo. of Secretary of State, to be forwarded to Financial Secretary.

Please read inclosed Report, and send on.

Report of Financial Secretary, to be forwarded to the Director-General of Ordnance.

It is premature to consider the question of expense until it has been decided that the introduction of this Cannonette will be of advantage to the Service. The Ordnance Committee use the words, "Might possibly," which are not, in themselves, a strong recommendation. It must be borne in mind that the Army Estimates must be calculated with the greatest attention to economy.

Report of Director-General of Ordnance to Commander-in-Chief.

I have examined Cannonette, which appears to have been constructed on the lines of a weapon manufactured in the reign of Henry the Eighth, of which there is a specimen in the Museum at Woolwich.

Endorsement of Commander-in-Chief. (Packet to be put in Pigeon-hole 404,567 B.)

Possibly something in the notion—immediate attention unnecessary.

From Mr. T. Tenterfive to Mr. C. Bounder.

Dear Charley,—Have just been looking through our papers relative to your pop-gun. I am afraid you will have to wait for a decision a good long while.

Thine ever,

Thomas Tenterfive.

DISILLUSION.

Proud Mother. "I see, Herbert, 'S.P.G.' several times occurring among your Expenses. I'm glad to find you can spare something occasionally for that excellent Society."

Schoolboy. "It's not exactly that, Mummy dear. It stands for 'Sundries—probably Grub!'"

ANOTHER OF ROBERT'S XSTRORNERRY ADWENCHURS.

It was ony the beginnin of larst week, as I was a seekin to begile my rayther tiresum lezzure by a wark down Cornhill—tho which is hup and which is down that rayther strait hill it is sumtimes difficult to say—that jest as I was a passing by the, to me, amost sacred establishment of Messrs. Bring and Rhymer, the great Cooks, as amost everybody knos and reweres, I seed a henwellop a laying on the pavement, which I naterally picked up, and put in my pocket quietly, and then, crossing over to the Royal Xchange, jest hoppersit, I sets down on one of the forms kindly purwided by the generus Copperashun and the Mersers Company, six of one, and arf a dozzen of the other, for the rest of the weary traveller.

Then I quietly hopened my henwellop—which, strange to say, hadn't no name on it—and hinside it I found a check for twenty-five pounds! It was payable to "No. 2,437, or Bearer." I was that estonished that I amost thort I shoud have feinted, the more so as won of the Beedles was a looking at me rayther pointedly, as I thort, tho I dessay it was ony my gilty conshence, which, as sumboddy says, makes cowards of ewen Hed Waiters, as well as all the rest of us. So I quietly put my henwellop with its corstly contents into my pocket, and quietly warked away bang into the Bank as was printed in the check, and there I hands it to the Clark at the Counter as bold as brass. Well, he jest looks at it, and then he says, "How will you take it,—short?" So I larfs, and I says, "I shood like it all, please." Then he larfs, and he says, "Gold or Notes?" So I says, "Sum of each, please, in a little bag." So he gave it me, and then, I so astonishes his week nerves by what I next said, that he turned amost pail. "I now wants you," I sed, "to send one of your yung gennelmen with me to the Firm as drawed that check; for it isn't reelly mine, for I ony found it!" So he did, as it was ony a little ways off; and there, sure enuff, was too most respectful looking Gents in a counting-'ouse a counting out their money, like the King in the Fairy Tail.

"Well, my good man, and what do you want?" one of 'em said to me. So I told 'em, and at the close of my story emtied out all the contents of my little bag to the werry uttermost harf sovverain. "And, who is this gennelman?" they said. "Oh," said I, "he is the Clark from the Bank cum for to see that I acted on the square." "Well, you needn't wait any longer," they said to him; so off he went.

So the elder one, he says to me, what is your name? Robert," I naterally replied, and amost xpected he was a going to arsk me, "who gave me that name," but he didn't. So he larfed, and he said, "But there are so many of that name about, that you must tell me somethink more." So I plucked up my curridge, and I says, boldly, "Please, Gennelmen, I am Robert the City Waiter!" Well, I thinks as I never seed such a change as cum over them too highly respectabel City Gents! They larfed quite out loud, and they both got up and shook hands with me, and then they larfed again, and then one on 'em said, what a lucky thing it was that their lost check had fallen into sich honnest hands! Ah, what a grand thing is a good karacter!—it's even better than reel Turtel and Madeary!

They then made me set down, and they larfed, and they chatted away, and arsked me lots of questions, all about my warious experiences, and the young one arsked me if I rememberd the dinner at the Manshun 'Ouse, when he asked me for sum more champane, saying, "I 'spose it is had lib?" To which, he said, I replied, "Suttenly not! you can have as much as you like!" And then they both larfed again quite hartily, tho' I'm sure I coudn't see what there was to larf at.

They then arsked me jest to step out for a minnit or two, and when they called me in they told me how pleased they was with my conduck, and, if not offending me, they begged my acceptnse of a trifle, which shall be nameless, but which made that memmurable day about the most proffitablest I ewer remember.

Robert.

MR. PUNCH'S MORAL MUSIC-HALL DRAMAS.

No. VII.-RECLAIMED! (Concluded.)

[Our readers will doubtless recollect the thrilling situation upon which we were forced to drop the curtain. Lady Belledame, the hardened Grandmother of Little Elfie, has, under the influence of that angel-child, just vowed to amend, when, in the person of her minion, Monkshood, she is reminded of the series of atrocious crimes she had been contemplating through his instrumentality. Struck with remorse, she attempts to countermand them—only to find that her orders have already been executed with a too punctual fidelity! Now we can go on.]

Lady B. (in a hoarse whisper). You—you have left the parcels ... all—all? Tell me—how were they received? Speak low—I would not that yonder child should awake and hear!

Little Elfie (behind the screen, very wide awake indeed). Dear, good old Grannie—she would conceal her generosity—even from me! (Loudly.) She little thinks that I am overhearing all!

Monks. I could have sworn I heard whispering.

Lady B. Nay, you are mistaken—'twas but the wind in the old wainscot. (Aside.) He is quite capable of destroying that innocent child; but, old and attached servant as he is, there are liberties I still know how to forbid. (To M.) Your story—quick!

Monks. First, I delivered the cigars to Sir Vevey Long, whom I found under his verandah. He seemed surprised and gratified by the gift, selected a weed, and was proceeding to light it, whilst he showed a desire to converse familiarly with me. 'Astily excusing myself, I drove away, when——

Lady B. When what? Do not torture a wretched old woman!

Monks. When I heard a loud report behind me, and, in the portion of a brace, two waistcoat-buttons, and half a slipper, which hurtled past my ears, I recognised all that was mortal of the late Sir Vevey. You mixed them cigars uncommon strong, m'Lady.

Elfie (aside). Can it be? But no, no. I will not believe it. I am sure that dear Granny meant no harm!

Lady B. (with a grim pride she cannot wholly repress). I have devoted some study to the subject of explosives. 'Tis another triumph to the Anti-tobacconists. And what of Lady Violet Powdray—did she apply the salve?

Monks. Judging from the 'eartrending 'owls which proceeded from Carmine Cottage, the salve was producing the desired result. Her Ladyship, 'owever, terminated her sufferings somewhat prematoor by jumping out of a top winder just as I was taking my departure——

Lady B. She should have died hereafter—but no matter ... and the Upas-tree?

Monks. Was presented to the Pergaments, who unpacked it, and loaded its branches with toys and tapers; after which Mr. Pergaments, Mrs. P., and all the little Pergaments joined 'ands, and danced round it in light 'arted glee. (In a sombre tone.) They little knoo as how it was their dance of death!

Lady B. That knowledge will come! And the beer, Monkshood—you saw it broached?

Monks. Upon the village green; the mortality is still spreading, it being found impossible to undo the knots in which the victims had tied themselves. The sweetmeats were likewise distributed, and the floor of the hinfant-school now resembles one vast fly-paper.

Lady B. (with a touch of remorse). The children, too! Was not my little Elfie once an infant? Ah me, ah me!

Elfie (aside). Once—but that was long, long ago. And, oh, how disappointed I am in poor dear Grandmamma!

Lady B. Monkshood, you should not have done these things—you should have saved me from myself. You must have known how greatly all this would increase my unpopularity in the neighbourhood.

Monks. (sulkily). And this is my reward for obeying orders! Take care, my Lady. It suits you now to throw me aside like a—(casting about for an original simile)—like a old glove, because this innocent grandchild of yours has touched your flinty 'art. But where will you be when she learns——?

Lady B. (in agony). Ah, no, Monkshood, good, faithful Monkshood, she must never know that! Think, Monkshood, you would not tell her that the Grandmother to whom she looks up with such touching, childlike love, was a—homicide—you would not do that?

Monks. Some would say even 'omicide was not too black a name for all you've done. (Lady Belledame shudders.) I might tell Miss Elfie how you've blowed up a live Baronet, corrosive sublimated a gentle Lady, honly for 'aving, in a moment of candour, called you a hold cat, and distributed pison in a variety of forms about this smiling village; and, if that don't inspire her with distrust, I don't know the nature of children, that's all! I might tell her, I say, and, if I'm to keep my mouth shut, I shall expect it to be considered in my wages.

Lady B. I knew you had a good heart! I will pay you anything—anything, provided you shield my guilt from her ... wait, you shall have gold, gold, Monkshood, gold!

[Chord. Little Elfie suddenly comes from behind screen; limelight on her. The other two shrink back.

Elfie. Do not give that bad old man money, Grandmother,—for it will only be wasted.

Lady B. Speak, child—how much do you know?

Elfie. All!

[Chord. Lady B. collapses on chair.

Lady B. (with an effort). And now, Elfie, that you know, you scorn and hate your poor old Grandmother—is it not so?

Elfie. It is wrong to hate one's Grandmother, whatever she does. At first, when I heard, I was very, very sorry. I did think it was most unkind of you. But now, oh, I can't believe that you had not some good, wise motive, in acting as you did!

Lady B. (in conscience-stricken aside). Even this cannot shatter her artless faith ... Oh, wretch, wretch!

[Covers her face.

Monks. Motive—I believe you there, Missie. Why, she went and insured all their lives aforehand, she did.

Lady B. Monkshood, in pity hold your peace!

Elfie (her face beaming). I knew it—I was sure of it! Oh, Granny, my dear, kind old Granny, you insured their lives first, so that no real harm could possibly happen to them—oh, I am so happy!

Lady B. (aside). What shall I say? Merciful Powers, what shall I say to her?

[Disturbed sounds without.

Monks. I don't know what you'd better say, but I can tell you what your Ladyship had better do—and that is, take your 'ook while you can. Even now the outraged populace approaches, to wreak a hawful vengeance upon your guilty 'ed!

[Melodramatic music.

Lady B. (distractedly). A mob! I cannot face them—they will tear me limb from limb. At my age I could not survive such an indignity as that! Hide me, Monkshood—help me to escape!

Monks. There is a secret underground passage, known only to myself, communicating with the nearest railway station. I will point it out, and personally conduct your Ladyship—for a consideration—one thousand pounds down.

[The noise increases.

Elfie. No, Grannie, don't trust him! Be calm and brave. Await the mob here. Leave it all to me. I will explain everything to them—how you meant no ill,—how, at the very time they thought you were meditating an injury, you were actually spending money in insuring all their lives. When I tell them that——

Monks. Ah, you tell 'em that, and see. It's too late now—they are here.

[Shouts without. Lady B. crouches on floor. Little Elfie goes to the window, throws open the shutters, and stands on balcony in her fluttering white robe, and the limelight.

Elfie. Yes, they are here. Why, they are carrying torches!—(Lady B. groans)—and banners, too! I think they have a band ... Who is that tall, stout gentleman, in the white hat, on horseback, and the lady in a pony-trap, with, oh, such a beautiful complexion! There is an inscription on one of the flags—I can read it quite plainly. "Thanks to the generous Donor!" (That must be you, Grandmother!) And there are children who dance, and scatter flowers. They are asking for a speech. (Speaking off.) "If you please, Ladies and Gentlemen, my Grandmamma is not at all well, but she wishes me to say she wishes you a Merry Christmas, and is very glad you all like your presents so much. Good-bye, good-bye! (Returning down Stage.) Now they have gone away, Granny ... They did look so grateful!

Lady B. (bewildered). What is this? Sir Vevey, Lady Violet,—alive, well? This deputation of gratitude? Am I mad, dreaming—or what does it all mean?

Monks. (doggedly). It means that the sight of this 'ere angel-child recalled me to a sense of what I might be exposin' myself to by carrying out your Ladyship's commands; and so I took the liberty of substitootin gifts more calculated to inspire gratitude in their recipients—that's what it means.

Lady B. Wretch!—then you have disobeyed me? You leave this day month!

Elfie (pleading). Nay, Grandmother, bear with him, for has not his disobedience spared you from acts that you might some day have regretted?... There, Mr. Butler, Granny forgives you—see, she holds out her hand, and here's mine; and now——

Lady B. (smiling tenderly). Now you shall sing us "Woa, Lucinda!"

[Little Elfie fetches her banjo, and sings, "Woa, Lucinda!" her Grandmother and the aged Steward joining in the dance and chorus, and embracing the child, to form picture as Curtain falls.

MODERN TYPES.

(By Mr. Punch's Own Type-writer.)

No. II.—THE CORINTHIAN LADY.

The Corinthian Lady is the latest resultant of the two forces of ennui and dissipation acting on a Society that is willing to spend money and desires to kill time. She has played many parts, some (of infinitesimal proportions), on the burlesque stage, others in the semi-private life of her own residence in the South-west district of London. Her versatility has gained for her many admirers and a precarious income, but so long as she possesses the former she scorns to live upon the latter. Being unquestionably a real lady, she has been elected an honorary member of a night club to which undoubted gentlemen resort. There she occasionally consents to dance; more often she sups to an accompaniment of Viennese music, loud and mirthless laughter, jests which are as fatuous as they are suggestive, and wine which, unlike the humour of the plated youths, her companions, is always sparkling and sometimes dry.

Her real name is a mystery, which, however, she did not find attractive. Having, therefore, abandoned it, she generally substitutes for it the patronymic of a Norman peer, but, lest this should be thought too strong, she dilutes it by the addition of a pet name drawn from the nursery. By this title her fame is celebrated amongst many foolish young men who singe themselves at the flame of her friendship, and many others who, wishing to be thought wise, pretend to know her. Like all doves, she plumes herself on her good looks. Unlike them, she is proud of her bad habits; but she is a stern censor, and shows scant mercy to those colleagues who, surpassing her in the former, lack means or chances to attain to the splendour of the latter. Should one of these happen to be admitted to a club she frequents, or to a supper-party she honours with her presence, she has been known to wrap herself in her sealskins, and to depart indignantly in her private brougham.

She possesses the secret of nocturnal youth, and her eyes are warranted to kill across a supper-table, yet she is no longer young, and sometimes betrays herself by her anecdotes of familiar associations with "boys" who have long since passed into respectability and middle-age. Though she adores diamonds, she frequently sells them, and includes in the transaction those who have purchased them for her; yet she retains and wears as many jewels as would furnish forth a Duchess in a Bow Bells novel. But her elbow gloves, which rarely come within a measurable distance of godliness, inevitably proclaim the Corinthian.

She is constant only in her love of excitement, and in her devotion to change, whether it be of the persons of her adorers, or of the colour of her hair. Having early in life learnt the lesson that only those who possess are happy, she endeavours to assure herself against misery by transferring to herself the wealth of those who fall under her influence, or aspire to her affections. She apes what she conceives to be the manners of good society by a languid affectation of refinement and a supercilious drawl, yet she has been known to clothe herself in objurgations as in a tea-gown, and to repel with scurrility the advances of those who are not moneyed. She earns a certain popularity by the display of a kind of rough good-nature, and the possession of a pet poodle. She has been seen on a coach at Ascot, and in a launch at Henley Regatta, together with a select company of those who cultivate excitement by not looking at the exertions of horses or athletes, whilst they themselves drink Champagne. Nor is she unknown in the boxes of the Gaiety or the Avenue, whither she repairs after dining at the Café Royal. She goes, but not alone, to Monte Carlo, and returns, under a different escort, to London, after losing a great deal of the money of other people.

She was once married to a racing man of shady reputation and great wealth, but having soon wearied of the mock-respectability of a quasi-matrimonial existence, she makes the acquaintance of Mr. Justice Butt at a moment when he is engaged neither upon the probate of wills nor on the collisions of ships. Yet her dislike of one husband who happened for a time to be her own has not in the least impaired her affections for the husbands, actual or to be, of others. No lady can be considered truly Corinthian unless she has figured as the defendant in an action for goods supplied by a milliner. It is thus that the Public learns the Corinthian value of silks, and satins, and laces, and decorative butterflies.

Finally, however, in spite of her gallant and protracted struggles, the years overtake her. She begins to be talked of with a pitying contempt as "Old So-and-So"; art ceases to outwit Nature, and she herself can no longer deceive men. For some time she clings to the fringe of the society she once adorned; but sinking gradually from the Corinthian to the Continental, from the Continental to the Cavour, from the Cavour to a supper-less Music-hall existence, and hence, after many misfortunes, to the cold comfort of the pavement, she ends her days decrepit, obscure, and unfriended, in the back bed-room of a Soho lodging.

GHOSTLESS BOSTON.

[It is said that the Psychical Society could find no authentic stories of ghosts in Boston, U.S.A.]

Not a ghost in bumptious Boston! Do the souls of men whose books,

So they tell us, outshine Dickens, rise superior to "spooks"?

Do the phantoms, having read them, fly in terror and in pain

At the cult of vivisection of La belle Américaine?

Howells puffs up Dudley Warner, who declares his Howells fine.

Do the spectres hate "log-rolling," and to haunt the place decline?

Are there no ghosts in New England? Really, this is something new.

Where did famous Rip van Winkle see old Hudson's phantom crew?

Are the Katskills now unhaunted, where those silent elders bowled,

And Rip brought the keg of liquor, and the awful thunder rolled?

Or do those immortal spectres very wisely count as nought

All the tricks of spirit-rappers and sham readers of our thought?

Did the Pilgrims of the Mayflower, as we must perforce surmise,

Leave ancestral ghosts behind them when they sailed 'neath alien skies?

There is something in the notion, for it was a risky trip,

And a spectre is a nuisance when he gibbers on board ship.

So, no doubt, those sturdy people, when they crossed Atlantic foam,

From an economic motive, left their phantoms all at home.

Or it may be disembodied spirits, when abroad they walk,