Chapter 2

We drank the Nobel Army of Hotel Keepers, most serttenly not forgettin the gentlemanly Manager of the truly "Grand," as ewerybody knows as is anybody, and drank to their great success, for werry ewident reesons.

Young FRANK returned thanks for the Ladies, and, with all the reckless ordassity of a young feller of forty, was rash enuff to say, as how as he werrily believed, that if the prinsiple Hotel Keepers was to hintroduce pretty Gals as Waiters, all us old Fogys, as he rudely called us, woud have to go and git our seweral livings in a more manly employment! Of course boys will be boys, so we kindly forgave him, more specially as he stands six foot one in his stockings, let alone his boots. However he made up for his bad manners by singing with his capital voice, his new Song of "_Old Robert the Waiter_" being a rayther complementary Parody, as he called it, upon "_Old Simon the Cellerer_," which was receeved with emense aplause. So he gave, as an arncore, the Waiter's favrite Glee of "_Mynear Van Dunk_," with its fine conwincing moral against Teetotaling and all such cold rubbish.

BROWN wound up the armony of our truly appy heavening by singing his new song of, "The LORD MARE leads a nappy life," and we sort our seweral nupshal couches as happy and contented a lot as his Lordship hisself, our werry larst drink all round being to the follering sentiment given out by me as the prowd Chairman: "May all the well to do in this grand old London of ours enjoy as merry a Crismus as we have enjoyed to-night, and may they all give a kind thort, and a liberal stump-up, to all the poor and needy who so badly wants it this bitter weather." ROBERT.

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OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

MR. JEROME K. JEROME, or, more easily pronounced, "Mr. JERUMKY JERUM," is occasionally very amusing in his book for Christmastide, entitled _Told After Supper_. What he wants, that is, what he ought to have whether he wants it or not, is judicious editing. Had this process been applied to this eccentric haphazardy book, scarcely more than a third of it would have been published. "His style, in this book at least, and, for my part," says the Baron, "I say the same of his _Three Men in a Tub_, suggests the idea of his writing being the work of a young man who, among his companions and admirers, has earned the reputation of being a 'deuced funny chap,' and so has to struggle to live up to this reputation, or to live it down." JERUMKY JERUM still somewhat affects Yankee humour, not, however, in so forced and vulgar a manner as in his overpraised _Three Men in a Boat_. Two of the Ghost Stories are humorous, but their setting is unworthy of them. Had they been introduced into a tale as DICKENS (of whose style there is a very palpable attempt at imitation in the description of a stormy winter's night) brought in his story of _Tom Smart_, and of the inimitable _Gabriel Grub_, their mirth-raising value would have been considerably enhanced. As it is, these choice morsels--sandwich'd in between heavy slabs of doughy material--stand a chance of not being tasted. To anyone who comes across the book the Baron says, "read about the Curate and the Card-trick, and JOHNSON and EMILY. The tinted paper on which it is printed is a mistake, as are also most of the amateurish illustrations."

_WOMAN_--not "lovely woman" who "stoops to folly"--nor woman who in our hour of ease is uncertain, coy, and hard to please. But Woman, the weekly _Woman_ who is doing uncommonly well and in her fifty-third number, gave the week before Christmas, her idea of a Christmas dinner, and, but for "sweetbread cutlets," a very good and simple dinner it was. The same _Woman_ gave also, among a variety of next-day's treatments of Turkey, _Turkey in Aspic_, Turkey in Europe, and Turkey in Asia--yes--but what about "Turkey in Aspic"? It doesn't look well; much better in French. But we dare say it's very good, though, for breakfast or supper, "devilled Turkey" is "hard to beat."

I have been trying to read LEIGH HUNT. His Biography interested me muchly, and I had always heard, in time past, so much of his writings, though I do not remember ever having heard the titles of his works mentioned, that, when a neat-looking volume was sent me by Messrs. PATERSON & Co. of _Leigh Hunt's Tales_, I anticipated great pleasure from their perusal. Alas! the pleasure was only in anticipation. I have tried, as the song says, "A little bit here, and a little bit there--Here a bit, There a bit, And everywhere a bit,"--but, hang me, says the Baron, if I can tackle any one of them. The matter doesn't interest me, and the style doesn't fascinate me. This may be rank heresy, but I can't help it. I have tried, and failed. Well, better to have tried, and failed, than never to have tried at all. But I shan't try again,--at least, not on this collection of Tales.

BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

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PARS ABOUT PICTURES.--A good collection of pictures and sculpture--including works by Messrs. BURNE-JONES, ONSLOW FORD, ALFRED GILBERT, W.L. WYLLIE, and others--is on view at the Royal Arcade Gallery, Old Bond Street. These are to be sold for the benefit of the family of R.A. LEDWARD, the clever young sculptor, who died only a few weeks ago. Lots more to say, but you won't stand it, and will probably say, "_Par! si bête_!" So no more at present from yours par-entally, OLD PAR.

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LEGAL AND ECCLESIASTICAL DEFINITION.--A Sheriff's Officer: a Writ-ualist.

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A FORECAST FOR 1891.

(_BEING SOME EXTRACTS FROM THE GLOOMY OUTLOOKER'S DIARY._)

_January_.--Continuation of "good old-fashioned winter." London "snowed up." Locomotion by Hansom drawn by four drayhorses, the fare from Charing Cross to Bayswater being £2 15s. Milk, 10s. the half-pint, meat unprocurable. Riot of Dukes at the Carlton to secure the last mutton chop on the premises, suppressed by calling out the Guards. People in Belgravia burn their banisters for want of coals. The Three per Cents go down to 35.

_February_.--Railway incursion into the centre of the Metropolis makes progress. Sir EDWARD WATKIN gets his line through Lords, crosses Regent's Park, comes down Bond Street, and secures a large centre terminus in the Green Park, with a frontage of a quarter of a mile in Piccadilly.

_March_.--Football atrocities on the increase. A match is played at the Oval between the Jaw Splitting Rovers and the Spine Cracking Wanderers, in which nine are left dead on the field, and fifteen are carried on stretchers to the nearest hospital.

_April_.--Increase of danger from electricity. A couple of large metropolitan hotels catching fire from over-heated wires, nineteen waiters, twenty-three policemen, and fifty-five members of the fire brigade getting entangled in them in their efforts to extinguish the flames, are killed on the spot, much to the satisfaction of the holders of gas shares.

_May_.--The "Capital and Labour" Question reaches an acute stage. The "Unemployed Other People's Property Rights League" being patted on the back by philanthropists, formulate their programme, and seize the Stock Exchange and the Mansion House.

_June_.--The "Capital and Labour" Question reaching a still acuter stage, 20,000 unemployed East End Lodgers break into the Bank of England, and give a banquet to the LORD MAYOR and Corporation to celebrate the event, at which Mr. Sheriff AUGUSTUS HARRIS, in returning thanks for the "Arts and Sciences," says he thinks "the takings" of their hosts must have been "enormous."

_July_.--Results of Gen. BOOTH's "Darkest England" scheme. Triumphant return of the Submerged Tenth, who having enjoyed themselves immensely, have come back to the Slums with a view to having another innings at "the way out."

_August_.--The Authorities at the Naval Exhibition wishing to stimulate the public taste for the undertaking, fire one of the hundred-ton guns which, "by some oversight" being loaded, sends a shell into the City, which brings down the dome of St. Paul's, but, bursting itself, lays Chelsea in ruins, and causes the appearance of a letter in the _Times_ from Lord GEORGE HAMILTON, saying that the matter will be "the subject of a searching inquiry" by his Department.

_September_.--A few Dukes in the Highlands, using several Hotchkiss guns with their guests asked down to the shooting, exceed the known figures of any previous _battue_ to such an extent that birds sell in Bond Street at _3d_. a brace, with the result that the whole of Scotland is said to be completely cleared of game for the next seven years.

_October_.--The great strike of everybody commences. Nothing to be got anywhere. Several Noblemen and Members of Parliament meet the "food" crisis by organising an Upper-class Co-operative Society, and bring up their own cattle to London. Being, however, unable to kill them professionally without the aid of a butcher, they blow them up with gunpowder, and divide them with a steam-scythe, for which proceedings they are somewhat maliciously prosecuted by the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.

_November_.--The Strike continuing, and times being very bad, several Peers take advantage of the 5th of the month, and make a tour of their immediate neighbourhoods in their own arm-chairs, thereby realising a very handsome sum in halfpence from a not unsympathetic public.

_December_.--First signs of a probable second edition of a "good old-fashioned Christmas" recognised. General panic in consequence. Attempt to lynch the Clerk of the Weather at Greenwich, only frustrated by the appearance of a strong force of Police. 1891 terminates in gloomy despair.

* * * * *

EDWIN AND ANGELINA.

(_ONE MORE VERSION._)

DEAR MR. PUNCH,--I beg of you to hear my tale of woe, My case is really one of those I'm sure you'd like to know; How EDWIN and myself, at last, have quarrelled and have parted, And I am left to shed a tear--alone, and broken-hearted.

We were engaged for eighteen months--he often said that life Would not be worth the living, if I would not be his wife. My eyes, though brown, were "blue" to him, my hair a "silken tangle," He'd given me his photograph, and such a lovely bangle!

I had called upon his mother, and had often stayed to tea-- She said that EDWIN had, indeed, a lucky catch in me. I thought him quite a model youth--hard-working, loyal, steady, A thrill of pleasure filled me when he wrote, "Your own, own EDDY.",

Oh! a brighter and a gladder day is surely never known Than when EDWIN calls his darling ANGELINA his "own own." It warmed me with the glow of love, it cheered me up when lonely, Yet I didn't feel so happy, when it came to be, "Yours only."

The extra syllable indeed did not increase the charm, I tried, however, to believe it didn't mean much harm; So confident was I that naught our love could hurt or sever, But it looked suspicious when next time he only put, "Yours ever."

He only called me darling once! how different from before! Oh, could it be he liked me less (or other maiden more)? And was he tired of me--the girl he loved so fondly, dearly? It could not be! And then he wrote, "I am, Yours most sincerely."

Yes--was he going to fling me off as though a worn-out glove? You can't do with Sincerity if what you need is Love! I could not think such ill of him, although it did look queerly, That in his next the "most" was gone, and he was mine "sincerely."

Yet even then I loved him still, for in the human breast Hope springs eternal, so I dared to hope on for the best; And, after all, such things as these ought not to weigh unduly, But it _was_ more than I could bear to have to read, "Yours truly."

The truth was clear--I quickly sent him back his lovely _cartes_, His bangle, and his poetry of Cupid and his darts. I said to him how grieved I was his love had thus miscarried-- And then I found out everything; alas! the wretch was married.

So here am I, as beautiful as anyone I know, You couldn't get a better wife, no matter where you go. And if you know, dear _Mr. Punch_, a husband, say you've seen a Nice girl, who'd make him happy and whose name is

ANGELINA.

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WHY THE DUES WERE THEY DONE AWAY WITH?--Under the beneficent influence of the early coal dews--subsequently spelt coal dues--which have existed from the earliest times, City and Metropolitan Improvements have sprung up into existence. Now, thanks to ignorant, but well-meaning County Councillors, the coal dues being abolished, up goes the price of coal, up go the rates, and there is no surplus for improvement of any sort. If those ancient days of coal dues were considered "hard times," then sing we, in chorus, "Hard times, come again once more!"

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* * * * *

"A HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

_Mr. Punch, loquitur_:--

A Happy New Year? I should think so, my boy, Tossed thus in the arms of your PUNCHY right cheerily, 'Midst all that a youngster should love and enjoy, At least, you're beginning most merrily. Under the Mistletoe Bough You make a good start, anyhow. With a kiss from the lips that can never betray, There's many a girl would be greeted _that_ way!

You're welcome, my lad! It is _Punch's_ old style To hail with stout heart all such annual new-comers; In winters of chill discontent he'll still smile, _His_ warmth seems to turn 'em to Summers! Under the Mistletoe Bough All doldrums are bosh and bow-wow. He doesn't mix rue in his big New Year Bowl, Whose aim is to cheer up the national soul.

_Sursum corda_! That motto's the best of the bunch; Make it yours, young New Year, and 'twill keep up your pecker. Giving way to the Blues, you may take it from _Punch_, Never helped one in heart or exchequer, Under the Mistletoe Bough You cannot do better, I vow, Than make that same maxim your boyhood's first rule, As your very first tip in your very first school.

Don't look like a pedagogue, do I, my lad? And indeed I am not an Orbilius Plagosus, Like him who made juvenile FLACCUS so sad. How well the Venusian knows us! Under the Mistletoe Bough _He_ never kissed maid, but somehow Our Dickensish Season he seemed to divine With his fondness for friendship, and laughter, and wine.

No, boy, I don't greatly believe in the birch, (Though sometimes my _bâton_ must play--on rogues' shoulders.) Love's rather too apt to be left in the lurch By Orbilian smiters and scolders. Under the Mistletoe Bough A kiss is best treatment, I trow. A salute from the lips of your _Punch_ you'll not spurn, And the young guests around you shall each take a turn.

The outlook, my lad, seems a little bit drear, There are clouds and storm-shadows about the horizon, But--well, you're a chubby and rosy Young Year As ever your PUNCHY set eyes on. Under the Mistletoe Bough You look mighty kissable--now. So here goes another, for luck like, my dear, As we wish everybody A Happy New Year!

* * * * *

OLD MORALITY'S CHRISTMAS CARD AND NEW YEAR WISHES.

This communication is designed to convey the expression of the wish that on the 25th of December and proximate days you, and those not distantly connected with you by family ties, may have enjoyed a season of Wholesome Hilarity, and that the new period of twelve months, upon which we are about to enter, may be Suffused with Happiness. (_Signed_) W.H.S.

_Henley-on-Thames, New Year's Eve_, 1890.

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THE PERFECT UNION OF CHURCH AND STATE is exemplified in the title and name of BISHOP KING.

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AT THE END OF THE YEAR.

To a Friend,

Do you remember how we sat, We two, in this same room together Last year, and talked of this and that, And warmed our toes and cursed the weather?

And dreamed of fame, and puffed a cloud (We both smoked briars, I remember), And sipped our whiskey hot, and vowed To do or die ere next December?

We spoke without respect of BEN, BEN who was ploughed, or very nearly; _Now_ BEN bamboozles jurymen, And makes his thousand guineas yearly.

We both despised the wretched JOE, My fag at school, your butt at College. Dull, elephantine, pompous, slow, Choked with absurdly useful knowledge.

Yet JOE assists to give us laws, Speaks in the House, and shows his fat form, 'Midst empty thunders of applause, Erect on many a Tory platform.

And poor, inconsequential JACK, His mind a maze, like Mr. TOOTS's, Has married money, keeps a hack, And has a big account at COUTTS's.

TOM owns a house in Belgrave Square, And DICK is noted for his dinners-- Life is a race, but was it fair, We asked, that _these_ should be the winners?

We, too, would win; and Heaven knows What vows we uttered fiery-hearted, While '89 drew to its close, And '90 found us--so we parted.

* * * * *

And here, good lack, while '90 wanes, Our candles flaring in their sockets, We sit once more and count our gains-- Wrinkles, grey hairs, and empty pockets.

Yet, Heaven be thanked that made us friends; Men prate of wealth in empty words, I Sit here content as '90 ends. And sip my grog, and smoke my bird's-eye.

* * * * *

OUR ADVERTISERS.

SEASONABLE.

PICK-ME-UP PEPPER is a new irritating and explosive Stimulant.

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PICK-ME-UP PEPPER is the Universal Restorer.

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PICK-ME-UP PEPPER sends the sleeping baby instantly flying out of the cradle.

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PICK-ME-UP PEPPER makes the invalid Grandfather suddenly mount to the fifth storey by leaps and bounds.

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PICK-ME-UP PEPPER induces immediate influenza.

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PICK-ME-UP PEPPER turns head-ache into delirium.

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PICK-ME-UP PEPPER literally blows up the brain tissues.

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PICK-ME-UP PEPPER sets a whole household on the sneeze.

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PICK-ME-UP PEPPER establishes fever in the Infant School.

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PICK-ME-UP PEPPER paralyses the Hippopotamus.

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PICK-ME-UP PEPPER drives a Chief Justice off the Bench.

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PICK-ME-UP PEPPER irritates the Solicitor.

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PICK-ME-UP PEPPER maddens the dentist.

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PICK-ME-UP PEPPER sets the Archbishop dancing a break-down.

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PICK-ME-UP PEPPER hurries the Philosopher into a Lunatic Asylum.

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PICK-ME-UP PEPPER staggers the rising Politician.

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PICK-ME-UP PEPPER causes the resignation of the Prime Minister.

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PICK-ME-UP PEPPER makes a four-wheeler cab-horse win the Derby.

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PICK-ME-UP PEPPER is the sheet-anchor for Practical Jokers.

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PICK-ME-UP PEPPER may be safely relied on by Master TOMMY.

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PICK-ME-UP PEPPER, put in the baby's bottle, will divert the Nursery.

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PICK-ME-UP PEPPER, introduced into the Soup at a dinner-party, will lead to a serious riot in the dining-room.

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PICK-ME-UP PEPPER, administered in a sandwich, will choke an Uncle.

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PICK-ME-UP PEPPER is the general disorganiser of every Household.

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PICK-ME-UP PEPPER.--A Pinch will thoroughly banish sleep for a whole fortnight.

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PICK-ME-UP PEPPER.--"An Octogenarian Consumer" writes:--"I was in a comatose condition for twenty years, when I came across your Pepper. I had scarcely tried it ere I bounded up from my arm-chair, and have danced a continual fandango ever since. I carry it loose in all my pockets, and scatter it on all my friends whenever I meet them. This has got me kicked out of all their houses in turn; but I do not in the least mind. I'm as merry and as mad as a March hare--and your Pepper has done it."

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PICK-ME-UP PEPPER.--The Proprietors beg to inform their Friends and Patrons that they can supply this highly combustible and explosive compound in felt safety cases, carefully packed at their bomb-proof establishment in Barking Marshes, at the usual retail prices, viz., 1s. 1-1/2d., 2s. 9d., 11s., 21s., and 31s. 6d., &c, &c.

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SHADOWS FROM MISTLETOE AND HOLLY.

Dear Mr. Punch,--I venture to address you on a subject that I feel sure will enlist your kind attention and sympathy. How am I to get through Yule Tide? Ought I to give up the dispatch of "cards," or ought I to send them to all my relatives, friends, and acquaintances? If I drop the custom, people who like me will think I am outting them, and persons with whom I am less popular will imagine that economy, not to say meanness, is the cause of my ceasing to trouble the Post Office. Suppose that I "hang the expense," and _do_ send the cards. Well, I am in this position; it is a matter of the greatest difficulty to get a suitable greeting to all those who receive my annual benediction. If I have "Wishing you and yours every happiness," with my appended name and address lithographed, the greeting seems cold, and even inappropriate, if addressed to, say, a favourite Maiden Aunt; and unduly familiar if forwarded to the acquaintance I saw for the first time in my life the day before yesterday. Then if I trust to the ordinary Christmas Cards of commerce, I am often at a loss to select an appropriate recipient for a nestful of owls, or the picture of a Clown touching up an elderly gentleman of highly respectable appearance with a red-hot poker! If I get a representation of flowers, the chances are ten to one that the accompanying lines are of a compromising character. It is obviously cruel to send to a recently-widowed Uncle some verses about "_Darby and Joan_," and my Mother-in-law is not likely to feel complimented if I forward to her a poetically expressed suggestion that there is no pleasanter place than her own home--away, of course, from her Son-in-law! And yet these are the problems that meet the would-be Yule Tide card distributer at every turn! I remain, my dear _Mr. Punch_, yours sincerely,

ONE WHO WISHES TO AVOID A ROW.