Volume 105, October 28th 1893

_edited by Sir Francis Burnand_

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MY LANDLORD.

(_By a Tenant._)

Who asked a rent absurdly high; Who never scrupled at a lie? The house well built! The soil so dry! My Landlord.

Whose saving schemes cause constant fears The house will fall about my ears? I say it totters, and he sneers. My Landlord.

The cellar's flooded when it rains; The ceilings show damp, mouldy stains. Who swindled me about the drains? My Landlord.

Who called the house extremely nice? It's simply overrun with mice, The cook has had hysterics twice. My Landlord.

Who praised the garden in a way To seem like Eden? I should say The soil is brickbats mixed with clay. My Landlord.

Who said each kind of plant succeeds? Yet when I sow the choicest seeds They all develop into weeds. My Landlord.

What's this? A note from him--a few Short lines to say the rent is due. Who tells me facts not new, if true? My Landlord.

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A SUGGESTION.--A decoration for JABEZ BALFOUR,--"The Order of the Golden Fleece."

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MY TENANT.

(_By a Landlord._)

Who haggled long about the price; Who says my house is far from nice; Who seeks solicitor's advice? My Tenant.

Who wants incessantly repairs To floors and ceilings, steps and stairs; Who doats on hygienic scares? My Tenant.

Who lives in fear of sewer gas, So that the plumbers soon amass Vast sums, once mine? That utter ass, My Tenant.

Eternally some fresh complaint; Distemper, whitewash, paper, paint! He is enough to vex a saint-- My Tenant.

Who lets the garden go to pot? What used to be a pleasant spot Is worse than an allotment plot. My Tenant.

Deferring payments suits his bent; When various demands I've sent; Unwillingly he pays the rent, My Tenant.

A note from him? Another growl! Some chimney smokes, he wants a cowl. Thus he complains, that moping owl, My Tenant.

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Mrs. R. says she always understood you must "catch your hare before you cook it;" so she cannot for the life of her make out what a friend of hers meant by telling her that "when their kitchen-maid cooked the hare _she caught it afterwards_!"

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A DIARY À LA RUSSE.

_Monday._--Rather tired of this constant hand-shaking, and even the lady-kissing is somewhat wearisome. Especially when the fair dames do not draw the line at sixty. However, no doubt well meant. Found usual collection of miscellaneous presents. Don't quite know what I shall do with ton of tallow. Somehow our hosts fancy we require it. Latest addition from the advertising merchants--a Patent Tombstone (with space for _affiches_ at back) and Somebody's Remedy for Neuralgia. Wish our hosts would not send us such a lot of things! Have been staying at my hotel all day long on the chance of escaping attention, and thus be able to find my way to the Moulin Rouge. Just got past the porter, when I was caught by one of the _attachés_ and carried off to a State Dinner. Spent the rest of the evening in shouting "Long Live France!" and listening to the Russian National Hymn.

_Tuesday._--Hope I shall have better luck to-day. My hand is twice its normal size, thanks to the shaking. More presents. Candles by the hundredweight, and bear's-grease by the ton. Some one has sent a Boot-blacking Machine, and wants a testimonial. On the watch all day. Trust to get to the Folies Bergères some time or another. Just crawled out when seized by a friendly _député_, and hurried off to a function at the Hotel de Ville!

_Wednesday._--Absolutely done up. Deafened with the "_Marseillaise_," and sick to death of "_The Emperor's Hymn_." Usual collection of presents. Five thousand fire-alarms! One of them alone enough to wake up a slumbering town of half a million inhabitants! Ladies of all ages (especially of mature age) anxious to kiss me. Could not walk across the road this morning for them! Had to stop in the hotel all day long. Tried to escape in the evening on the chance of finding my way to a "concert-music-hall," when seized by an officer of the French Marine, and carried away to a Reception!

_Thursday._--I have now been in Paris four days and seen nothing, absolutely nothing! Of course most gratifying from a patriotic point of view, but if this is Paris why give me St. Petersburg, or even Siberia! Can't move a step without having my hand shaken off. Not a moment's privacy; and as for the presents, I am absolutely deluged with them! and such idiotic gifts! All the advertisers in the country seem to have found us out. What use on earth can I make of an elephant's feeding-spoon or a lady's comb for curling the hair? I made a last effort to get to the Moulin; but, of course, again frustrated. I was seized by an "A.-D.-C." and taken to a State Lecture!

_Friday._--Giving way to despair! What a hollow thing is popular applause! I am absolutely tired to death of it. I cannot repeat (for very weariness), the various ovations I have received. I have been accepted with cheers at all hours of the day and night! Oh, how glad I would be to get back! At the last moment I saw my way to a stealthy visit to the Folies, when I was secured and booked for two dinners and a "_punch_." Betrayed! Betrayed!

_Saturday._--Still hunted. Not allowed to go anywhere except when my tormentors drag me to some official function. Have sold all my presents for ten francs. Have received marching orders for Toulon. Just as I was about to escape and proceed to the Moulin Rouge, captured by "my friends the enemy," or should it be "my enemies the friends"? Had to submit to the usual enthusiasm on my road to the railway station. Fortune of war I suppose, or rather of peace. Of the two, the latter I should think was the more deadly. Last strain of the "_Marseillaise_," last kiss from some one's grandmother, and curtain! Glad it's all over!

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BY MR. JUSTICE CHARLES (_omitted in reports of his decision last week_).--"The Dahomey Troupe of Amazons appear only in the evenings at certain music-halls. Their name should be changed to 'Day-homey and Night-outy Amazons.'"

(_Signed_) "CHARLES HIS FRIEND."

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THE CHESHIRE CRUELTY TO CHILDREN CASE.--Rightly were condemned the two unfeeling PHELANS. No jury could possibly have any consideration for such PHELANS as these. If for the male prisoner the jury had recommended a tail or two of the Cheshire Cat (o'-nine-tails), it would not have been thought too much.

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MOTTO FOR MR. INDERWICK, Q.C.--The eminent Counsel of the QUEEN has been recently admitted to the freedom of the borough of Rye. He has added to his coat of arms the words, "Mind your Rye."

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NEW DESCRIPTIVE TITLE OF THE G. O. M. SUGGESTED BY LORD SALISBURY'S LATEST SPEECH.--"The Autocrat of the Round Table."

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THE SAX SCOTCH PIPERS.

["The present Government is eminently a Scottish Government. You must remember that there are in the present Cabinet no less than five Scotch members of the House of Commons ... and we have also a member of the House of Lords who is one of the most eminent Scotchmen--I mean Lord ROSEBERY."--_Mr. Asquith in Glasgow._]

"_A Sassenach chief may be bonily built, He may purchase a sporran, a bonnet, a kilt; Stick a skeän in his hose--wear an acre of stripes-- But he cannot assume an affection for pipes._"

--_Bab Ballads._

AIR--"_The Hundred Pipers._"

Wi' sax stalwart pipers an' a', an' a', Wi' sax Scotch pipers an' a', an' a', We'll up an' gie them a blaw, a blaw, Wi' sax stout Scotch pipers an' a', an' a', Oh! it's Sassenach bummlers awa', awa'! Our WULLIE'S a Scotsman sae braw, sae braw, We'll on an' we'll march to St. Stephen's ha', Wi' its seats an' its salaries an' a', an' a'! Wi' sax Scotch pipers an' a', an' a', &c.

Oh! wha' is formaist o' a', o' a'? Oh! wha' does follow the blaw, the blaw? Bonnie WULLIE, the king o' us a', hurrah! Wi' his five stout pipers an' a', an' a'! His bonnet an' feather he's wavin' high. His bagpipes wheeze, an' his ribbons fly; The nor' win' plays wi' his thin white hair, While the pipers blaw wi' an unco' flare. Wi' sax Scotch pipers an' a', an' a', &c.

PRIMROSE, an' CAMPBELL, sae dink an' sae deep, Shouther to shouther wi' _Marjoribanks_ they keep, ROBERTSON, BALFOUR, an' ASHER a' round Dance themselves dry to the pibroch's sound. Dumfoundered the English saw, they saw, Dumfoundered they heard the blaw, the blaw Hath a Southron ae chance ava' ava', Wi' these sax Scotch pipers an' a', an' a'? Wi' the sax Scotch pipers an' a', an' a', The Saxon must go to the wa', the wa'! WULLIE'S up an' gies them a blaw, a blaw Wi' his sax Scotch pipers an' a', an' a'!

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A CONTRIBUTION TO THE CELEBRATED PICKWICKIAN EXAMINATION PAPER.--_To Students of Pickwick._--On what (as far as this questioner is aware) solitary occasion is champagne mentioned in _Pickwick_? who drank a bottle of it? where was it consumed? after what exhilarating performance?--ED.

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"_TA TA'_D AND FEATHERED."--"_A soft thing that waves_" was the description of a feather given by a Lady Correspondent--and therefore a perfectly Fair One--in the _Times_ last Saturday. But surely "_a soft thing that waves_" is evidently a lady's hand bidding somebody "_Ta! ta!_"

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BY OUR OWN CRAMMER.--In unsuccessful candidates for Army and Navy Exams. England may have lost some of her best "pluck'd" soldiers and sailors.

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BRIC-À-BRAC.

(_By a Gallio._)

["Poetry will degenerate into mere literary _bric-à-brac_, such as the composition of rondels and triolets."--DR. C. H. PEARSON.]

Literary odds and ends Will for lays be scribbled! PEARSON thus ahead portends "Litter"-ary odds and ends. Pessimist, you owe amends For this forecast ribald:-- "Literary odds and ends Will for lays be scribbled!"

Call you then mere _bric-à-brac_ Triolet and rondel? _All_ that's knocked off with a knack Call you then mere _bric-à-brac_?" Man of prose, you thus attack VILLON, DOBSON, BLONDEL. Call you _then_ mere _bric-à-brac_ Triolet and rondel?!

'Pon my word, _I_ don't much care If you prove your thesis. Poetry's not _my_ affair-- 'Pon my word, I don't much care! My three triolets pray tear As you please, to pieces! 'Pon my word, I don't much care If _they_ prove your thesis!

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The recent illuminations in Paris, it is said, were a very costly matter. Naturally, as an "_affaire de LUX(E)_."

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UNDER THE ROSE.

(_A Story in Scenes._)