Part 2

A fog in London daytime like the night is, Our fellow-creatures seem like wandering ghosts, The dull mephitic cloud will bring bronchitis; You cannon into cabs or fall o'er posts. The air is full of pestilential vapours, Innumerable "blacks" come with the smoke; The thief and rough cut unmolested capers, In truth a London fog's no sort of joke.

You rise by candle-light or gaslight, swearing There never was a climate made like ours; If rashly you go out to take an airing, The soot-flakes come in black plutonian show'rs. Your carriage wildly runs into another, No matter though you go at walking pace; You meet your dearest friend, or else your brother And never know him, although face to face.

The hours run on, and night and day commingle, Unutterable filth is in the air; You're much depressed, e'en in the fire-side ingle, The hag dyspepsia seems everywhere. Your wild disgust in vain you try to bridle, Mad as March hare or hydrophobic dog, You feel, in fact, intensely suicidal: Such things befall us in a London fog!

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THE MOST LOYAL OF CUP-BEARERS.--A blind man's dog.

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STARTING A SYNDICATE

A Serio-Comic Interlude

SCENE--_An Office in the City._ TIME--_After Lunch._

PRESENT--_Members of a proposed Syndicate._

_First Member._ And now, gentlemen, to business. I suppose we may put down the capital at fifty thousand?

_Second Mem._ Better make it five hundred thousand. Half a million is so much easier to get.

_Third Mem._ Of course. Who would look at a paltry fifty?

_First Mem._ Perhaps you are right. Five pound shares, eh?

_Fourth Mem._ Better make them sovereigns. Simpler to manipulate.

_First Mem._ I daresay. Then the same solicitors as our last?

_Fifth Mem._ Yes, on the condition that they get a firm to undertake the underwriting.

_First Mem._ Necessarily. The firm I propose, gentlemen, are men of business, and quite recognise that nothing purchases nothing.

_Second Mem._ And they could get the secretary with a thousand to invest.

_First Mem._ Certainly. Our brokers, bankers, and auditors as before. Eh, gentlemen?

_Fifth Mem._ On the same conditions.

_First Mem._ That is understood. And now the prospectus is getting into shape. Is there anything else anyone can suggest?

_Fourth Mem._ Oughtn't we to have some object in view?

_First Mem._ Assuredly. Making money.

_Fourth Mem._ Don't be frivolous. But what I mean is, should we not know for what purpose we are going to expend the half million?

_First Mem._ Oh, you mean the name. Well, that comparatively unimportant detail we might safely leave until our next pleasant gathering.

[_Meeting adjourned._

_Curtain._

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IN EXTREMIS.--That man is indeed hard up who cannot get credit even for good intentions.

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"WALKER!"--How unfair to sneer at the City tradesmen for being above their business, when so few of them live over their shops!

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EXAMINATION FOR A DIRECTORSHIP

(_From "The City Man's Vade Mecum"_)

_Promoter._ Are you a gentleman of blameless reputation?

_Candidate._ Certainly, and I share that reputation with a dozen generations of ancestors.

_Promoter._ And no doubt you are the soul of honour?

_Candidate._ That is my belief--a belief shared by all my friends and acquaintances.

_Promoter._ And I think, before taking up finance, you have devoted a long life to the service of your country?

_Candidate._ That is so. My career has been rewarded by all kinds of honours.

_Promoter._ And there is no particular reason why you should dabble in Stock Exchange matters?

_Candidate._ None that I know of--save, perhaps, to serve a friend.

_Promoter._ Now, be very careful. Do you know anything whatever about the business it is proposed you should superintend?

_Candidate._ Nothing whatever. I know nothing absolutely about business.

_Promoter._ Then I have much pleasure in informing you that you have been unanimously elected a member of the board of management!

[_Scene closes in until the public demands further information._

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RIDDLE FOR THE CITY

Oh! why, my friend, is a joint stock Concern like, yet unlike, a clock? Because it may be wound up; when, Alas! it doesn't go again.

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THE SEAT OF IMPUDENCE.--A cabman's box.

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SONG OF SUBURBAN HOUSEHOLDERS AWAITING THE ADVENT OF THE DUSTMAN.--"We _always_ use a big, big D!"

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A FLOATING CAPITAL JOKE.--When may a man be said to be literally immersed in business?--When he's giving a swimming lesson.

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A CHEERFUL INVESTMENT.--A laughing-stock.

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WHY I AM IN TOWN

Because I have long felt a strong desire to know by personal experiment what London is like at this season of the year.

Because the house requires some repairs, and I am anxious to be on the spot to look after the workpeople.

Because the progress of my book on Universal Eccentricity renders it necessary that I should pay frequent visits to the library of the British Museum.

Because I have been everywhere, and know every place.

Because the sanitary condition of the only place I at all care to go to is not altogether satisfactory.

Because my Uncle Anthony is expected home every day from Australia, and I am unwilling to be absent from town when he arrives.

Because my cousin Selina is going to be married from her stepfather's at Upper Clapton, and insists on my giving her away to the gentleman with whom she is about to penetrate into the interior of Africa.

Because I am desirous to avail myself of this opportunity of completing some statistical tables I am compiling, showing the comparative numbers of horses, carriages, and pedestrians passing my dining-room windows on the last Saturday in May and the last Saturday in August respectively.

Because my eldest son is reading with a private tutor for his army examination, and I feel I am of some use to him in his studies.

Because my Aunt Philippa is detained in town by an attack of gout, and expects me to call and sit with her three times a day.

Because I am determined to put into execution my long-cherished design of thoroughly exploring the British Museum, the National Gallery, the South Kensington Museum, St. Paul's, Westminster Abbey, the public monuments, and the City churches.

Because it is pecuniarily inconvenient to me to be anywhere else.

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NOTICE.--The gentleman who, the other day, ran away from home, without stopping to take his breath, is requested to fetch it as quickly as possible.

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MISNOMERS

You start a company to make it go, It fails, and so you drop it; It didn't go but yet has gone, and so You wind it up to stop it.

Stocks in your garden you will surely find By want of rain are slaughtered; Yet many stocks have languished and declined Because they have been watered.

Suppose a company for brewing beer Should come to a cessation-- That is--"dry up" 'tis curious to hear It's called "in liquidation."

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PREHISTORIC LONDON.--Some archæologists have discovered an analogy between the druidical worship and a form of semitic idolatry. It has been surmised that the Old Bailey derives its name from having been the site of a temple of Baal.

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THE RULE OF ROME.--An "Inquiring City Clerk," fresh from his Roman history, writes to ask if "S.P.Q.R." stands for "Small profits, quick returns."

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A TEMPERANCE PUBLIC-HOUSE.--A slop-shop.

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THE ORIGINAL COOK'S TOURIST.--Policeman X on his beat.

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"THE GREAT PLAGUE OF LONDON."--A barrel-organ.

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THE LATEST THING OUT.--The night-light.

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THE MOST UNPLEASANT MEETING.--Having to meet a bill.

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WHAT intimate connection is there between the lungs of London and the lights of the metropolis?

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SAW FOR SLOP TAILORS.--Ill tweeds shrink apace.

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A TISSUE OF LIES.--A forged bank-note.

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A NICE INVESTMENT.--Amongst the advertisements of new undertakings we notice one of "The Universal Disinfector Company." Our broker has instructions to procure us some shares, if they are in good odour.

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A TIGHT FIT.--Intoxication.

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HOW TO SUPPLY ST. PAUL'S WITH BELLS AND CHIMES _Cheap_.--Melt down the canons.

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A THOUGHT FROM OUR TUB.--Respect everybody's feelings. If you wish to have your laundress's address, avoid asking her where she "hangs out."

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HARD LINES.--Overhead wires.

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HOTEL FOR BEE-FANCIERS.--The Hum-mums.

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UNPRECEDENTED TRADE ANNOUNCEMENT.--The pig-market was quiet.

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MONEY MARKET AND SANITARY INTELLIGENCE.--The unsafest of all deposits is the deposit of the banks of the Thames.

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THE PLACE TO SPEND ALL FOOLS' DAY.--_Madame Tous-sots'._

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SOLEMN JEST.--Where should postmen be buried? In a post-crypt.

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A BLUNDER-BUS.--One that takes you to Holborn when you want to go to the Bank.

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EPITAPH FOR A STOCKBROKER.--"Waiting for a rise."

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BOARD WAGES.--Directors' fees.

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A NEW WAY TO GET A FRESH APPETITE

(_A real bit from life at a City company's dinner_)

_Young Visitor._ Really, sir, you must excuse me. I am compelled to refuse.

_Old Alderman_ (_with profound astonishment_). What, refuse these beautiful grouse? It's impossible!

_Young Visitor._ It _is_ impossible, I can assure you, sir. I cannot eat any more.

_Old Alderman_ (_tenderly_). Come, come. I tell you what now. Just take my advice, and _try a cold chair_.

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DESIGN FOR A PAPER-WEIGHT.--The portrait of a gentleman waiting for the _Times_.

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THE BEST "FINANCIAL RELATIONS."--Our "uncles."

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AT THE ANGEL COURT KITCHEN.--_Stranger_ (_to Eminent Financier_). Why did you call that man at the bar "the Microbe"?

_Eminent Financier._ Because he's "in everything."

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GROUND RENTS.--The effects of an earthquake.

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SONGS OF THE STREETS

UPON THE KERB

Upon the kerb a maiden neat-- Her watchet eyes are passing sweet-- There stands and waits in dire distress: The muddy road is pitiless, And 'buses thunder down the street!

A snowy skirt, all frill and pleat; Two tiny, well-shod, dainty feet Peep out, beneath her kilted dress, Upon the kerb!

She'll first advance and then retreat, Half frightened by a hansom fleet. She looks around, I must confess, With marvellous coquettishness!-- Then droops her eyes and looks discreet, Upon the kerb!

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Definition of "THE HAPPY MEAN."--A joyful miser.

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TO PEOPLE DOWN IN THE WORLD.--Try the new hotels: they will give you a lift.

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WHAT is the best thing to do in a hurry? Nothing.

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PUNCH'S COUNTRY COUSIN'S GUIDE

THE METROPOLIS IN THE _MORTE SAISON_

8 A.M.--Rise, as in the country, and stroll round the squares before breakfast, to see the turn out of cooks and charwomen. Ask your way back of the first policeman you meet.

9 A.M.--Breakfast. First taste of London milk and butter. Analyse, if not in a hurry. Any policeman will show you the nearest chemist.

10 A.M.--To Battersea Park to see carpets beaten. Curious atmospheric effects observable in the clouds of dust and the language of the beaters. Inquire your road of any policeman.

11 A.M.--Take penny steamer up to Westminster Bridge, in time to arrive at Scotland Yard, and inspect the police as they start on their various beats. For any information, inquire of the inspector.

12 P.M.--Hansom cab races. These can be viewed at any hour by standing still at a hundred yards from any cabstand and holding up a shilling. An amusing sequel may be enjoyed by referring all the drivers to the nearest policeman.

1 P.M.--Observe the beauties of solitude among the flowers in Hyde Park. Lunch at the lodge on curds and whey. Ask the whey of the park keeper.

2 P.M.--Visit the exhibitions of painting on the various scaffoldings in Belgravia. Ask the next policeman if the house painters are Royal Academicians. Note what he says.

3 P.M.--Look at the shops in Bond Street and Regent Street, and purchase the dummy goods disposed of at an awful sacrifice.

4 P.M.--See the stickleback fed at the Westminster Aquarium. If nervous at being alone, ask the policeman in waiting to accompany you over the building.

5 P.M.--Find a friend still in town to give you five o'clock tea in her back drawing-room--the front of the house being shut up.

6 P.M.--Back to the park. Imagine the imposing cavalcades in Rotten Row (now invisible), with the aid of one exercising groom and the two daughters of a riding-master in full procession.

7 P.M.--Wake up the waiters at the Triclinium Restaurant, and persuade them to warm up dinner for your benefit.

8 P.M.--Perambulate the Strand, and visit the closed doors of the various theatres. Ask the nearest policeman for his opinion on London actors. You will find it as good as a play.

9 P.M.--A Turkish bath may be had in Covent Garden Theatre. Towels or programmes are supplied by the policemen at the doors.

10 P.M.--Converse, before turning in, with the policeman on duty or the fireman in charge of the fire-escape. Much interesting information may be obtained in this way.

11 P.M.--Supper at the cabmen's shelter, or the coffee stall corner of Hyde Park. Get a policeman to take you home to bed.

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_Q._ WHAT is the best sort of cigar to smoke in a hansom?

_A._ A Cab-ana.

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THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE.--It must have belonged originally to an omnibus, for it is continually "taking up" and "putting down" people.

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THE MEAT MARKET

Legs were freely walked off, and there was a pressure on ribs owing to the rush of beggars; but knuckles came down, while calves'-heads were looking-up steadily. At Smithfield, there was a rush of bulls, but the transactions were of such a hazardous nature as to appear more like a toss-up than firm business. Any kind of security was resorted to, and the bulls having driven a well-known speculator into a corner, he was glad to get out as he could, though an attempt was made to pin him to his position.

Pigs went on much at the old rates; and briskness could not be obtained, though the _coupons_ were freely offered.

The weather having been favourable to slaughtering, calves have not been brought to the pen--but there is something doing in beef, for the "_Last of the Barons_" is advertised.

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THE ORIGINAL CAB RADIUS.--A spoke of Phoebus's chariot-wheel.

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MOTTO FOR THE L.G.O.C.--_Bus_ in urbe.

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BACK TO TOWN

Back to town, and it certes is rapture to stand, And to hear once again all the roar of the Strand; I agree with the bard who said, noisy or stilly, By gaslight or daylight, he loved Piccadilly; The wanderer's heart with emotion doth swell, When he sees the broad pavement of pleasant Pall Mall.

Some folks like the City; wherever they range, Their hearts are still true to the Royal Exchange; They've beheld alpine summits rise rank upon rank, But the Matterhorn's nothing compared with the Bank; And they feel quite rejoiced in the omnibus ride, As that hearse for the living rolls up through Cheapside.

The mind of a man is expanded by travel, But give me my house on the Kensington gravel: The wine of the Frenchman is good, and his grub, But he isn't devoted to soap and the tub; Though it may be my prejudice, yet I'll be shot, If I don't think one Englishman's worth all the lot!

With Germans I've no disposition to quarrel, Though most of their women resemble a barrel; And, as for myself, I could never make out The charms of their _schnitzel_ and raw _sauer-kraut_; While everyone owns, since the last mighty war, Your average Teuton's too bumptious by far.

I think it's been stated before, that you roam To prove to yourself that there's no place like home, Though lands that are lovely lie eastward and west, Our "tight little island," believe me, 's the best; Through Paris, Berlin, and Vienna you've passed, To find that there's nothing like London at last!

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MRS. R. was in an omnibus lately. The streets were so badly paved, she says, that the osculations were most trying to elderly people, though the younger ladies did not seem to object to them.

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