Part 2

_London Society_ is peculiarly bright and cheerful this Yuletide, and keeps up its excellent reputation. A good medley is _London Society_. And here is a very bright little _Woman_ this Christmastide. Quite a festive party with her capital stories and supplement of "Types of the World's Women." Just "Woman, lovely woman" in all styles and shades. Without being more vain than any other average islander, one feels grateful for belonging to the British group--no offence to the other ladies, to whom we take off our hat, and, whilst including the rest, salute advancing _Woman_. "And it is this New _Woman_, not _the_ New Woman of the period, whom," quoth the Baron, "I salute with pleasure," and to whom he wishes a happy Christmas and a prosperous New Year, and signs himself

THE GENIAL BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

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READING BETWEEN THE LINES.

(_A Physician's Protest._)

MR. PUNCH,--As a specialist of some standing and experience, I wish, Sir, to call attention, through the medium of your valuable paper, to the injurious effects of a certain occupation upon the minds of the individuals engaged therein, and their protection.

The occupation to which I refer is that of devising and arranging what I understand are technically known as "headlines" for the contents-bills of the more inexpensive London evening papers--an occupation which I have no hesitation in characterising, on evidence unconsciously supplied by the sufferers themselves, as highly dangerous employment.

I am not sufficiently versed, Sir, to the _minutiæ_ of newspaper routine, to know what precise class of persons are entrusted with this particular responsibility, though I have a strong suspicion that it may be one of the many forms of degrading drudgery which the selfishness of man has imposed upon the weaker sex. If so, of course it only increases the necessity for interference.

And, whoever and whatever the persons performing such duties may be, it is painfully obvious that they are labouring under conditions of mental excitement, the strain of which no nervous system can support for any length of time without inevitable and complete collapse.

Should there be any who consider this an overstatement on my part, I merely ask them to give a glance at some of these same content-sheets which are nightly displayed in our chief thoroughfares. Let them mark the monstrous size of the lettering, the peculiar extravagance of the epithets selected, the morbid insistence upon unpleasant details, and then doubt, if they can, that the unhappy persons employed in such an industry are affected thereby with some obscure form of hysteria. Otherwise, let me ask you, Sir, is it likely, is it credible, that seasoned journalists, tough men of the world, in touch with life at innumerable points, could, in a normal state of health, be so constantly "Startled," "Amazed," "Astounded," "Shocked," "Appalled," and "Revolted," as they admit themselves to be, almost every evening, by reports and rumours which a little reflection would convince them were utterly unfounded, or by events too ordinary and commonplace, one might have supposed, to upset the mental equilibrium of a neurotic rabbit?

Occasionally, too, there are symptoms of an excessive reverence for rank, which, when found in the more democratic organs (where, indeed, they are chiefly observable), denote a somewhat distempered state of intellect, the delusion apparently being that the mere possession of any sort of title renders its owner immaculate. Thus, they announce with awestricken solemnity "A Peer's Peccadilloes," or "A Baronet Bilks his Baker," giving these events a poster all to themselves, as others would an earthquake, or some portent of direst significance.

Now this loss of the sense of proportion in human affairs, Sir, is a very bad sign, and a well-nigh infallible indicator of nerve-strain and general overpressure.

But I find a yet more unmistakable evidence in support of my contention in the extraordinary emotional sensibility revealed by these headlines whenever some unfortunate person has been sentenced to death for the most commonplace murder. There is clearly a profound conviction that the jury who heard the evidence, the judge who pronounced their verdict of guilty, the only possible conclusion they could reasonable come to, and the HOME SECRETARY who found himself unable to recommend a reprieve, were, one and all, engaged in a cold-blooded conspiracy against a perfectly innocent man. The convict has said to himself, and that seems to be considered sufficient. And so, night after night, the authors of these headlines harrow themselves by announcing such items as "Blank protests his innocence to his Solicitor." "A petition in Preparation." "Painful Interview." "Blank Hopeful." "Blank Depressed." "Distressing Scene on the Scaffold." "Blank's Last Words."

Consider the strain of all these alterations of hope and despair, repeated time after time, and almost invariably without even the consolation of deferring the fate of their _protégé_ by a single hour! Is it not too much for the strongest constitution to endure? a service which the society has no right to demand from any of its members?

Yes, Sir, whether these devoted servants of the public know it or not, they are running a most frightful risk; the word which hangs above their heads may fall at any moment.

Suppose, for example--and it is surely not wholly an imaginary danger I foresee--suppose that some day some event should happen somewhere of real and serious importance. Have they left themselves any epithet in reserve capable of expressing their sensations at all adequately? They have not; they have squandered participles and adjectives in such reckless profusion that they will discover they are reduced to the condition of inarticulate bankrupts; and, speaking as a medical man, acute cerebral congestion would be the very least result that I should anticipate.

Or the determining shock might come from more trivial causes. For instance, we might lose a distinguished statesman, or an ironclad, at the very moment when a football match was decided, or when the professional tipster attached to their particular journal published his "finals." Think of the mental conflict before determining the relative importance of these events, and awarding one or the other its proper prominence on the posters; and then ask yourself, Sir, whether it is an ordeal that any human being of an impressionable, excitable temperament should be required to undergo.

What precise remedy should be adopted I do not profess to point out. Perhaps some one of the numerous leagues established to protect adult citizens against themselves might take the matter up, and insist upon these contents-bills being set up for the future in smaller type and with epithets of a more temperate order. Perhaps Parliament or the London County Council might be asked to interfere. All that is not within my province, Sir, but this I do say: unless some measures are taken _soon_, the heavy responsibility will be upon us of having permitted a small but deserving class of our fellow-creatures to hurry themselves into premature mental decay by the pernicious and unwholesome nature of their employment.

I am, Sir, Your obedient servant, HIPPOCRATES HELLEBORE, M.D., F.R.C.P.

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The Rev. Dr. GEE, Vicar of Windsor, is now installed Canon of St. George's Chapel. _Prosit!_ Our best wish for him is that, when he is going to give an exceedingly good sermon, may this particular Gee not discover that he is a little hoarse.

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"OH, THE MISTLETOE BOUGH!"

(_A New Seasonable Song to an old Seasonable Tune._)

The mistletoe hung on the brave old oak, The sickle went clinketing stroke upon stroke; The lads and the lasses were blithe and gay, And gambolled in Old Father Christmas's way. Old Christmas held high with a joyous pride The berried branch dear unto damsel and bride; For its silvery berries they seemed to be The stars of that goodly companie. Oh! the Mistletoe Bough! Oh! the Mistletoe Bough!!

"Who wearies of kissing?" the Old Man cried. "Let her be a New Woman, but never a bride! Ha! ha! The old custom's approval I trace In red lip and blue eye upon every face. It was ever so, since time began. 'Tis the way of the maid, 'tis the way of the man. 'Tis also 'the way of a man with a maid,' For Cupid's barter's the oldest trade." Oh! the Mistletoe Bough! Oh! the Mistletoe Bough!

"They are seeking to-day every new fangled way; Some tell us that wooing has had its day. In the highest, the lowest, the loneliest lot, The gleam of Love's berry makes one bright spot. And years may fly, as they will fly, fast, But one good old custom at least shall last; And when Christmas appears still the maids will cry:-- 'See! the Old Man bears the Love-berry on high!'" Oh! the Mistletoe Bough! Oh! the Mistletoe Bough!!

"Gather!" he cried, and he waved his sickle. "Oh! fortune changes, and fashion's fickle; And youth grows mannish, and manhood old, And red lips wither, warm hearts grow cold: But whenever I come, midst the Yuletide snows, 'Tis not Spring's lily, or Summer's rose Young men and maidens demand, I trow. But old Winter's white-berried Kissing-bough." Oh! the Mistletoe Bough! Oh! the Mistletoe Bough!!

"For lilies wither, and roses pale, But the Kissing-bough keeps up the old, old tale. And dull were the world should the old tale cease! Be it kiss of passion, or kiss of peace, The meaning when lip unto lip is laid Is goodwill on earth to man, and maid. That's Yule's best lesson, good friends I vow, So reck ye the rede of the Mistletoe Bough!" Oh! the Mistletoe Bough! Oh! the Mistletoe Bough!!

So they gather around him with laugh and joke, 'Neath the spreading boughs of that brave old oak, Which hath shelter for all, from the English rose To the whitest snow-bell from Canada's snows, Or hot India's lotus-bud dainty and sweet. But the cry of them all, as in mirth they meet Old Father Christmas, as ever, so now, Is "Hands all round 'neath the Mistletoe Bough!" Oh! the Mistletoe Bough!! Our brave, bonny Mistletoe Bough!!!

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CURIOUS ACCIDENT TO MRS. RAMSBOTHAM.

Strolling through Pimlico the other day Mrs. R. was attracted by evidence of a sale by auction going forward in one of the residences in that desirable quarter. Having half an hour to spare she thought she would look in. "I was quite surprised," she writes to her son, "when I entered the room to see a gentleman standing in a pulpit which I knew was Mr. PIPCHOSE, leastway, his whiskers were not so mutton-choppy; but I could not mistake him, though meeting him only once at tea at Mrs. BROWN'S where he was very pressing with the muffins. He looked at me in just the same meaning way as when he said, 'Mrs. RAM. won't you take another piece of sugar, though as I know it's carrying coals to Newcastle?' I'm not above recognising my friends, wherever I meet them, and gave him a friendly nod, and before I knew where I was, I found I had bought for £3 9_s._ 6_d._ a wool mattress; a pair of tongs (rather bent); a barometer (with the quicksilver missing); a small iron bedstead; a set of tea-things (mostly cracked); an armchair, and a sofa warranted hair-stuffed, but certainly having only three legs. It wasn't Mr. PIPCHOSE at all, as I might have known if I had taken another look at his whiskers, but only a forward auctioneer."

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"The Chinese Government," observed the _City Times_ last week, "is seeking new channels for money." Decidedly China is in straits, and will soon be apparently quite at sea.

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TO MELENDA.

(_A Repentance in Triolets._)

I swore to you, dear, there was mistletoe there, Though I knew all the time there was none. As I stole a sweet kiss from you out on the stair I swore to you, dear, there was mistletoe there. I have plenty of sins on my soul, dear, to bear, But at least I've confessed now to one. I swore to you, dear, there was mistletoe there Though I knew all the time there was none.

I am sorry. I never will do it again, And please am I fully forgiven? In the future from falsehood I mean to refrain. I am sorry. I never will do it again, But look at yourself in your glass to explain Why to mistletoe tale I was driven. I am sorry. I never will do it again, And please am I fully forgiven?

There's an answer you'll send if you're thoroughly kind, That will make me feel free from all blame. I hope you'll be glad, dear MELENDA, to find There's an answer you'll send if you're thoroughly kind. It's this, "Though the mistletoe was but a blind, Still with none I'd have done just the same." _There_'s the answer you'll send if you're thoroughly kind That will make me feel free from all blame.

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THE BARON'S P.S.--_The Border Waverley_, brought out by NIMMO, and edited by ANDREW LANG, is now concluded, and a fine set of volumes it makes. No better collection of books as a Christmas present for anyone with a regard to a future of literary enjoyment.

Nos omnesne laudamus Nimmo? Et respondit Echo: "Immo."

"Ha! ha! I don't go to a Westminster Play for nothing quoth the Baron;" though he added _sotto voce_, "Yes I do though, as I'm a guest."

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FIRST IMPRESSIONS.

Genoa in November. It is summer time. Put on thin suit, drink my _café au lait_ by open window, and stroll out into beautiful Genoa, basking in the sunshine. _Déjeuner_ in the garden of a restaurant, among the old palaces. Sit in the shade, without my hat. Think of all the poor people in London. Wonder if anyone is having a frugal lunch at the funny little open-air restaurant in Hyde Park. Lemonade and a bath bun in a fog. Should imagine not.

Charming place, Genoa. Hardly any Germans. Can at last hear people talking Italian. In Venice there are so many Germans that one might as well be in Germany. Sitting out on the Piazza, one hears incessantly their monotonous, guttural chatter, always in the same tone of voice, without inflections, without emotion, and, worst of all, without end. Watched at the hotel _table d'hôte_ a German lady sitting between two German gentlemen. One man talked loudly without ceasing, mouth full or mouth empty, from soup to dessert. The other man, rather older and feebler, also talked without ceasing, but he could not equal the other's noise; he only added to it. As for the lady, her lips moved all the time; one could imagine the _ja wohl_, the _ach, so?_ the _ja, ja, ja_, but one could not hear a word. At Florence, at Milan, on the Lakes it is the same. If by chance one hears a Frenchman speak, his charming language sounds more vivacious and melodious than ever before. So it is good to be in Genoa, where even the best hotel is kept by Italians. Apparently every other good hotel in Italy is kept by HERR SCHMIDT, or HERR WEBER, or HERR SOMETHINGOROTHER, and all the servants are German also. There is one hotel in Genoa kept by a German. It faces the harbour. All night long there are whistles, screams, bangs, rumblings, bumps, roars, and other sounds from trains, ships, and tramways. All day long there is the same noise, only more of it. But the Germans do not mind; they talk just the same, and they make each other hear through it all.

Charming place, Genoa, with a town hall that is the gayest imaginable. Marble staircases, vestibules adorned with palms, beautiful little gardens, at all sorts of levels, outside the windows of the various offices. Everywhere flowers. If the town rates in Genoa are paid at the Town Hall, the paying of them must be almost pleasant. One would go with that horrible demand note, if that is used also in Italy, and fancy that one was arriving at a ball. The palm-decorated entrance looks just like it. It only needs a lady rate collector, such as one hears of in England, and one surely, in whatever manner the Italians may say it, would beg the charming signora to give one the honour and pleasure of a dance, and scribble her name on the programme--I mean the demand note. And no doubt, the Italian officials being leisurely and the space being ample, one could find time for a waltz in the intervals of rate paying, or at least sit it out in one of the delightful little gardens of this ideal Palazzo Municipale.

And so farewell to sunny Genoa, and off to Turin. German hotel again, German proprietor, German servants. Solitary German visitor drinking his morning coffee. The hotels of Turin are not crowded; he and I are alone. What will the poor man do? He must talk his awful language to someone. He shan't talk it to me, for I will pretend I do not understand even one word. The waiter has left the room. Must the poor man be silent? Thunderweather, ah no! Happilywise he is saved. The considerate proprietor, thoughtful of his countryman's needs, enters; he stands by the visitor's table, and the talk begins. When it ends I cannot say, for I leave them, well started and in good voice, and hear, as I think, their sweetly melodious phrases for the last time in Italy. The train carries me away. There is not much more of Italy now, for here is the Mont Cenis tunnel. Farewell, beautiful country, beautiful pictures, beautiful language! There is someone leaning out of the next carriage window. No doubt he is also saddened; he is speaking to others inside, his voice is cheerful, he is evidently trying not to give way to despair. Now I hear what he says, "_Da werde ich ein Glas Bier trinken, ja, ja, ja!_"

A FIRST IMPRESSIONIST.

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WANTED! a Perfect Cure for the incompatibility of Judges' sentences.

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Ad Jovem Pluvium, 263 Afterpart à la L. C. C. (An), 302 "After the Health Congress is over," 71 Airs Resumptive, 45, 66, 83, 165, 205 All my Eye! 121 "All's Well!" 258 "All up with the Empire," 183 Alpine Railway (An), 95 Amare, O! 263 Anglo-Russian Echo (An), 95 Another Man's Ears, 165 Apple of Discord (The), 39 Art of Naval Platitude (The), 216 As we like it, 25 At Last! 18 At the Westminster Play, 303 "Automatic" Conscience (The), 147 "Auxiliary Assistance" in the Provinces, 105 Awful Outlook (An), 177 "Awkward Customer" (An), 210

Ballade of Imitations, 11 Ballade of Three Volumes (A), 39 Ballade to Order, 298 "B. and S." at the Savoy (A), 292 Bank Holiday Dream-Book (The), 57 Battle of the Budget (The), 3 Bayard and Bobby, 201 Beauties of Bologna, 215 Betting Man on Cricket (A), 65 Blue Gardenia (The), 185 Bowl me no more! 155 British Lions, 185 Broken China, 192 Bygones, 85

Cabby's Answers, 5 Cant _v._ Cant, 207 Certain Cure (A), 145 "Challenge" (The), 219 Chief Mourner (The), 222 Chronicles of a Rural Parish (The), 217, 237, 250, 263, 265, 288, 299 Clerical Question for Exeter (A), 183 Clio at Salcombe, 215 "Clubs! Clubs!" 77 Coincidence's Long Arm, 167 Complaint of the Modern Lover, 167 Compliments of the Season, 301 Copperation at Winser (The), 46 "Copy," 297 Corean Cock-fight (The), 54 Counting Noses, 257 Counting the Catch, 90 Crossed! 251 Cryptogrammatist Wanted, 72 Curios for the Cricketing Exhibition, 298 Curious Accident to Mrs. R., 336 Curse (The), 118

Dangerous Doctrine, 120 Day of Small Things (The), 213, 255 Day's Ride, a Law's Romance (A), 155 Decadent Guys (The), 225 Demi-French Octave (A), 47 Diary of a Duck, 274 Dilemma of the Headless Spectre, 213 Ditto to Mr. Courtney, 83 Diurnal Feminine (The), 13

Dog on his Day (A), 302 Dog's Meet, 118 Don't "Come unto these Yellow Sands"! 114 Doom of the Minor Poets (The), 251

Eastward Ho! 63 Ejaculations, 141 Embarras de Richesses, 87 End of the Opera Season (The), 57 Engagement (An), 264 English as she is Crammed, 292 Essence of Parliament, 11, 23, 35, 48, 59, 71, 84, 95, 108 "Evicted Tenants," 42 Extract (An), 281

Fancy Portrait, 15 Farewell to McGladstone, 46 Fashion and Felony, 232 Femina Dux Facti, 221 "Finest English," 113 Finishing Touches, 221 First Impressions, 192, 204, 238, 252, 264, 273, 287, 289, 309 Fizz and Fuss, 298 Fly Route to Castles in the Air, 83 Following Footsteps, 125 Fool's Vade Mecum (The), 273 For Arms or Alms? 45 "For Example!" 162 "Fourth R" (The), 243 Fragment of a Police "Report d'Arthur," 177 Friend in Need (A), 30 From the Birmingham Festival, 186 Future Fame, 203

Gaiety "Sans-Gêne," 9 Gay Widow Courted (A), 221 General Literary Review Company (Limited), 168 Generosity under Difficulties, 291 Gilbert and Carr-icature, 240 Gismonda, 233 Good News, 121 "Good Time coming" (A), 27 Good Wishes, 36 Gossip without Words, 189 "Grand National" Trust (The), 47 Guesses at Goodwood, 37

Hanwellia's Answer, 179 Hardy Annual at Henley, 15 Hawarden Pastoral (A), 96 Haymarket Heroine (The), 241 Helmholtz, 141 Henley Notes, 22 Herrick on Rational Dress, 147 Hint for the Alpine Season, 74 Hopeless Case (A), 135 Hopeless Quest (A), 206 House-Agent's Dream (The), 270 How it will be done hereafter, 89

Ichabod, 253 If not, why not? 169 "I'm getting a Big Girl now!" 171 Improved and Improving Dialogues, 269 Inconvenienced Traveller's Phrase-Book, 82, 125 Infant Phenomenon (The), 291 In Memoriam, 102; Comte de Paris, 126 In Nuce, 159 In Paris out of the Season, 133 In Praise of Boys, 107 Ins and Outs, 213 Inter-University Football, 285 In the Museum, 141 In Three Volumes, 101 Invasion of Woman (The), 145 Is the Bar a Profitable Profession? 109

Jap the Giant-Killer, 150 John Bull à la Russe, 264 John Walter, 232 "Judgment of 'Parish'" (The), 267 "Justice as she is Spoken in France," 75