SCENE XXVII. (_continued_).--_The Chinese Drawing Room._ SPURRELL'S

_ingenuous remark upon the coincidence of the title of the volume in his hand with the name of his bull-dog has produced a painful silence, which no one has sufficient presence of mind to break for several seconds._

_Miss Spelwane_ (_to herself_). Not CLARION BLAIR! Not even a poet! I--I could _slap_ him!

_Pilliner_ (_to himself_). Poor dear VIVIEN! But if people will insist on patting a strange poet, they mustn't be surprised if they get a nasty bite!

_Lady Maisie_ (_to herself_). He _didn't_ write _Andromeda!_ Then he hasn't got my letter after all! And I've been such a _brute_ to the poor dear man! _How_ lucky I said nothing about it to GERALD!

_Captain Thicknesse_ (_to himself_). So he _ain't_ the bard!... Now I see why MAISIE's been behavin' so oddly all the evenin'; she spotted him, and didn't like to speak out. Tried to give me a hint, though. Well, I shall stay out my leave now!

_Lady Rhoda_ (_to herself_). I thought all along he seemed too good a sort for a poet!

_Archie_ (_to himself_). It's all very well; but how about that skit he went up to write on us? He _must_ be a poet of sorts.

_Mrs. Brooke-Chatteris_ (_to herself_). This is fearfully puzzling. What made him say that about "Lady Grisoline"?

_The Bishop_ (_to himself_). A crushing blow for the Countess; but not unsalutary. I am distinctly conscious of feeling more kindly disposed to that young man. Now why?

[_He ponders._

_Lady Lullington_ (_to herself_). I thought this young man was going to read us some of his poetry; it's too tiresome of him to stop to tell us about his bull-dog. As if anybody cared _what_ he called it!

_Lord Lullington_ (_to himself_). Uncommonly awkward, this! If I could catch LAURA'S eye--but I suppose it would hardly be decent to go just yet.

_Lady Culverin_ (_to herself_). Can ROHESIA have known this? What possible object could she have had in----And oh, dear, how disgusted RUPERT will be!

_Sir Rupert_ (_to himself_). Seems a decent young chap enough! Too bad of ROHESIA to let him in for this. I don't care a straw what he is--he's none the worse for not being a poet.

_Lady Cantire_ (_to herself_). What _is_ he maundering about? It's utterly inconceivable that _I_ should have made any mistake. It's only too clear what the cause is--_Claret!_

_Spurrell_ (_aloud, good-humouredly_). Too bad of you to try and spoof me like this before everybody, Miss SPELWANE! I don't know whose idea it was to play me such a trick, but----

_Miss Spelw._ (_indistinctly_). Please understand that nobody here had the _least_ intention of playing a trick upon you!

_Spurr._ Well, if you say so, of course----But it looked rather like it, asking me to read when I've about as much poetry in me as--as a pot hat! Still, if I'm _wanted_ to read aloud, I shall be happy to oblige----

_Lady Culv._ (_hastily_). Indeed, _indeed_, Mr. SPURRELL, we couldn't think of troubling you under the circumstances! (_In desperation._) VIVIEN, my dear, won't you _sing_ something?

[_The company echo the request with unusual eagerness._

_Spurr._ (_to himself, during_ Miss SPELWANE'S _song_). Wonder what's put them off being read to all of a sudden. (_As his eye happens to rest on the binding of the volume on his knee._) Hullo! This cover's pink, with silver things, not unlike cutlets, on it! Didn't EMMA ask me----? By George, if it's _that!_ I may get down to the Housekeeper's Room, after all! As soon as ever this squalling stops I'll find out; I _can't_ go on like this! (Miss SPELWANE _leaves the piano; everybody plunges feverishly into conversation on the first subject--other than poetry or dogs--that presents itself, until_ Lord _and_ Lady LULLINGTON _set a welcome example of departure._) Better wait till these county nobs have cleared, I suppose--there goes the last of 'em--now for it!... (_He pulls himself together, and approaches his host and hostess._) Hem, Sir RUPERT, and your ladyship, it's occurred to me that it's just barely possible you may have got it into your heads that I was something in the _poetical_ way.

_Sir Rup._ (_to himself_). Not this poor young chap's fault; must let him down as easily as possible! (_Aloud._) Not at all--not at all! Ha--assure you we quite understand; no necessity to say another word about it.

_Spurr._ (_to himself_). Just my luck! They quite understand! No Housekeeper's Room for me this journey! (_Aloud._) Of course I knew the Countess, there, and Lady MAISIE, were fully aware all along----(_To_ Lady MAISIE, _as stifled exclamations reach his ear._) You _were_, weren't you?

_Lady Maisie_ (_hastily_). Yes, yes, Mr. SPURRELL. Of course! It's all _perfectly_ right!

_Spurr._ (_to the others_). You see, I should never have thought of coming in as a visitor if it hadn't been for the Countess; she would _have_ it that it was all right, and that I needn't be afraid I shouldn't be welcome.

_Lady Culv._ To be sure--any friend of my sister-in-law's----

_Lady Cant._ ALBINIA, I have refrained from speech as long as possible; but this is really _too_ much! You _don't_ suppose I should have introduced Mr. SPURRELL here unless I had had the strongest reasons for knowing, however he may be pleased to mystify us now, that he, and nobody else, is the author of _Andromeda!_ And I, for one, absolutely decline to believe in this preposterous story of his about a bull-dog.

_Spurr._ But your ladyship must have known! Why, you as good as asked me on the way here to put you down for a bull-pup!

_Lady Cant._ Never, never! A bull-pup is the last creature I should ever dream of coveting. You were obliging enough to ask me to accept a presentation copy of your verses.

_Spurr._ Was I? I don't exactly see how I _could_ have been, considering I never made a rhyme in my life!

_Sir Rup._ There, there, ROHESIA, it was _your_ mistake; but as we are indebted to it for the pleasure of making Mr. SPURRELL's acquaintance----

_Lady Cant._ I am not in the habit of making mistakes, RUPERT. I don't know what you and ALBINIA and MAISIE may know that I am in ignorance of, but, since you seem to have been aware from the first that Mr. SPURRELL was not the poet you had invited here to meet me, will you kindly explain what has become of the _real_ author?

_Sir Rup._ My dear ROHESIA, I don't know and I don't _care!_

_Lady Cant._ There you are _wrong_, RUPERT, because it's obvious that if he is not Mr. SPURRELL, his absence has to be accounted for in _some_ way.

_Spurr._ By Jove, I believe I can put you on the track. I shouldn't wonder if he's the party these dress clothes of mine belong to! I daresay you may have noticed they don't look as if they were made for me?

_Lady Cant._ (_closing her eyes_). Pray let us avoid any sartorial discussions! We are waiting to hear about this person.

_Spurr._ Well, I found I'd got on his things by mistake, and I went up as soon as I could after dessert to my room to take 'em off, and there he was, with a waste-paper basket on his head----

_Lady Cant._ A waste-paper basket on his head! And pray what should he have _that_ for?

_Spurr._ He said he wouldn't take it off till he saw me. And I never saw anyone in such a mess with ink and flour as he was!

_Lady Cant._ Ink and flour, indeed! This rigmarole gets more ridiculous every moment! You can't seriously expect anyone here to believe it!

[ARCHIE _discreetly retires to the smoking-room._

_Spurr._ Well, I rather think somebody must have fixed up a booby trap for _me_, you know, and he happened to go in first and get the benefit of it. And he was riled, very naturally, thinking _I_'d done it, but after we'd had a little talk together, he calmed down and said I might keep his clothes, which I thought uncommonly good-natured of him, you know. By the way, he gave me his card. Here it is, if your ladyship would like to see it.

[_He hands it to_ Lady CULVERIN.

_Lady Culv._ "Mr. UNDERSHELL!" ... ROHESIA, that _is_ CLARION BLAIR! I _knew_ it was _something_ ending in "ell." (_To_ SPURRELL.) And you say Mr. UNDERSHELL is here--in this house?

_Spurr._ Not now. He's gone by this time.

_The Others_ (_in dismay_). Gone!

_Spurr._ He said he was leaving at once. If he'd only told me how it was, I'd have----

_Lady Cant._ I don't believe a single word of all this! If Mr. SPURRELL is not CLARION BLAIR, let him explain how he came to be coming down to Wyvern this afternoon!

[_Partial reaction in company._

_Spurr._ If your ladyship doesn't really know, you had better ask Sir RUPERT; _he_'ll tell you it's all right.

_Lady Cant._ Then perhaps _you_ will be good enough to enlighten us, RUPERT?

_Sir Rup._ (_driven into a corner_). Why, 'pon my word, I'm bound to say that I'm just as much in the dark as anybody else, if it comes to that!

_Spurr._ (_eagerly_). But you wired me to come, Sir! About a horse of yours! I've been wondering all the evening when you'd tell me I could go round and have a look at him. I'm here instead of Mr. SPAVIN--_now_ do you understand, Sir RUPERT? I'm the Vet.

[_Suppressed sensation._

_Sir Rup._ (_to himself_). This is devilish awkward! Don't quite know what to do. (_Aloud._) To--to be sure you are! Of course! That's it, ROHESIA! Mr. SPURRELL came down to see a horse, and we shall be very glad to have the benefit of his opinion by-and-by.

[_He claps him amicably on the shoulder._

_Lady Cant._ (_in a sepulchral tone_). ALBINIA, I think I will go to bed.

[_She withdraws._

_Sir Rup._ (_to himself_). There'll be no harm in letting him stay, now he _is_ here. If ROHESIA objects, she's got nobody but herself to blame for it!

_Spurr._ (_to himself_). They won't want to keep me upstairs much longer after this! (TREDWELL _enters, and seems to have something of importance to communicate to_ Sir RUPERT _in private._) I wonder what the dooce is up _now!_

* * * * *

TO LETTINA.

(_By a Profound Thinker._)

I don't know why, but fifty times a day, To you my thoughts persistently will fly, You come to me, and, coming, come to stay-- I don't know why.

Sometimes I catch myself inclined to try From heart and mind to banish you away. I always fail. If you are not too shy, Just write a line to tell me that I may Think fondly of you. Then in future I Shall think of you, and never want to say I don't know why.

* * * * *

THE NEW CANDIDATE.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,--I trust you will give me the hospitality of your columns (and thus save me the cost of extensive advertising) to announce that I intend to offer myself as a candidate for all the eleven divisions at the forthcoming School Board Election. I do this for several reasons. In the first place, as I have no more chance in any one place more than in any other, I feel it quite impossible to make any choice. Besides, to be elected at the top of eleven polls would be an unique distinction, second only to being defeated at the bottom of eleven. In the next place, as I can find no other persons who will come forward on my platform, I am bound to offer myself everywhere. My views are extensive, not to say peculiar. On the religious question, I agree with everything that has been said by everybody. I hope in this way to avoid incurring _odium theologicum_ of any kind. I am in favour of no one paying rates unless he has children actually at a Board School. I am told that this will not secure for me the Labour Vote, but it ought, at any rate, to rally to my side all the "intelligent and respectable." On all other points I believe I am well fitted to sit on the London School Board. I understand that at its meetings oysters and Chablis are sometimes the order of the day. If I am returned, my main object, I avow it frankly, will be to make them the standing order. Soliciting the vote of every patriotic citizen, I am,

Yours up-to-(being-a-candi-)date,

_October 27._

WOTTOL ARK.

* * * * *

"I AM SO GLAD THIS SUBJECT IS BEING THOROUGHLY VENTILATED. IT MUST BE DOING SO MUCH GOOD AMONG THE YOUNG."]

* * * * *

MAY_E_NNAISE _v._ MAY_O_NNAISE: A REJOINDER.

My poor Mayonnaise, they have sullied your fame! They would alter your spelling, my sweet Mayonnaise. The younger DUMAS has _e-mended_ your name And sent you forth "o"-less the rest of your days.

So this man of romances--this writer of plays-- Who has woven full many a plot in his time-- Would force us to spell you henceforth May_e_nnaise. Nay! _this_ is a plot little short of a crime!

'Twill make not an atom of diff'rence to me. The younger DUMAS may discourse as he will; He's welcome, with _Weller_, to "spell with a 'wee'"-- To me and the world you are May_o_nnaise still.

He says, at the time when the city Mayenne Was besieged by an army and riddled with shot, Your charms were acknowledged and praised by the men. _Was that army not led by Sir Thomas de Rot?_

Say, Queen of the Sauces, which vow'l shall it be? Will you yield up the name your admirers bestow? Pronounce--while your lover is down on _an "E"_-- Is it that which you choose? Is it yes? or _a "NO"?_

* * *

This correspondence must now cease.--ED.

* * * * *

"WHERE IS HE?"--With diamond robberies and darksome murders, of which the perpetrators are still at large, we are all crying out for a real genuine "SHERLOCK HOLMES." We, WATSONS, are waiting for him to step forward and drag various dark mysteries into the light of day. Cheerfully shall the coming HOLMES be saluted with Mr. BROOKFIELD'S _refrain_, "O SHERLOCK, you wonderful man!"

* * * * *

* * * * *

"AN AWKWARD CUSTOMER."

AIR--"_The Bold Poacher._"

When I was bound by Party ties to play the bold Premier, I shouldered of my gun, my lads, and started void of fear; With my trusty lurcher at my heels, to whom the sport is dear, For he's game for fight by day or night at the season of the year!

As I and my bold comrade were after bird or hare, The gamekeeper was watching us; for him we did not care. For we were on our ground, my boys, grounds free to tyke or peer; And they're my delight by day or night at the season of the year!

As I and my bold comrade were in the Peers' Preserve, We heard the keeper's footsteps, but we did not halt or swerve. But I whistled--to keep up my pluck--a song to sportsmen dear: "Oh it's my delight on a shiny night, in the season of the year!"

The Gamekeeper popped through the copse, and faced us with a frown; He's got a black-a-vised stern phiz, and a coat o' velvet brown. He says "Hillo, Sir! _Poaching?_" I retorts, "Oh, don't _you_ fear! A gent may poach his own preserves at the season of the year!"

He says, "You ought to be ashamed to set so bad example A sportsman true won't join the crew who trespass, trap, and trample. A dirty bird fouls its own nest!" he adds, with a sour sneer. "Swells should not poach by day or night in the season of the year."

Says I, "You sneer, but I'm your peer, my Sol. The people sent me! Stare like an owl, or sneer and scowl, you know you can't prevent me! These here Preserves want breaking up, Monopoly's pitch to queer Is our delight by day or night, in the season of the year.

"A-poaching on one's own preserves scarce poaching seems at all. My foot is on my native--copse! The old Game Laws must fall. The 'Peers' Preserves' the people will throw open--or else clear, And you'll have to fight for your old old right at the season of the year.

"You ask me if I like the job? That's neither here nor there! I'm simply bound to do it, and I really don't much care. If Peers will claim the best o' the game, and strive the rest to queer, We'll take _our_ right, by day or night, at the season of the year!"

* * * * *

LOCAL COLOUR.

Mr. ASQUITH was reported the other day to have said that the Government was spoken of as having been accused of refusing so-called amendments to the Employers' Liability Bill in "_peacock_ temper." The _Daily News_, in referring to this, suggests that "peacock temper" was a misprint for "pique, or temper." But surely this is not so. Mr. ASQUITH evidently has given in his adhesion to the new system of "colour adjectives." This opens great possibilities to the future. Radicals will denounce the "scarlet scandals of the purple-clad peers." Tories will wax eloquent on "the pink miasma of revolutionary Radicalism." No one will know what it all means, but that is part of the programme. Even if this colour scheme will not work, there is still a justification for the Asquithian phrase. Everybody has heard of a "foul slander." Why not a "peacock temper"?

* * * * *

A Case of Parallelism.

(_Extracts from the Report of a recent Conference._)

"Dr. STANLEY BOYD advocated the use of milk and lentil soup."

"Mrs. STANLEY BOYD thought that all such novels as _The Heavenly Twins_, _The Manxman_, and _The Wages of Sin_, should be tabooed."

* * * * *

SIR PETER.--A well-written letter in the _Times_ last week puts what maybe called "The Hard Case of Sir PETER EDLIN"--and, indeed, he must be pretty well case-hardened at the Middlesex Sessions by this time--clearly and forcibly before the public. Sir PETER EDLIN, it seems, has been doing treble the amount of work for a two-third's salary. This should be righted, and the Judge at the Middlesex Sessions should be independent of the would-be ubiquitous L. C. C. Such is the opinion of this Correspondent to the _Times_, and it is doubtless the opinion of a fair and just majority. As _Joseph Surface_ observes in _The School for Scandal_, "Well, it will give SIR PETER great satisfaction to hear _this_."

* * * * *

ONLY NATURAL.--A shareholder at a recent company meeting complained, with some amount of feeling, that he found it next to impossible to obtain a "good penny bun." Can it be that so many people have "taken the bun" that there are none left?

* * * * *

THE LINKS.

'Tis a brilliant autumn day, And the breeze has blown away All the clouds that lowered gray, So methinks, As I've half an hour to spare, I will go and take the air, While the weather still is fair, On the Links.

I admire the splendid view, The delicious azure hue Of the ocean and--when, _whew!_ With a crack, Lo! there drops a little ball Which elects to break its fall By alighting on the small Of my back.

In the distance some one cries Some remark about my eyes, None too pleasant, I surmise, From the tone; So away my steps I turn Till a figure I discern, Who is mouching by the burn All alone.

He has lost a new "Eclipse," And a little word that slips Front his sulky-looking lips Tells me true That, besides the missing ball, Which is gone beyond recall, He has lost--what's worst of all-- Temper too.

I conclude it will be best If I leave him unaddressed, Such a melancholy quest To pursue; And I pass to where I spy Clouds of sand uprising high Till they all but hide the sky From the view.

They proceed, I understand, From a bunker full of sand, Where a golfer, club in hand, Freely swears As he hacks with all his might, Till his countenance is quite As vermilion as the bright Coat he wears.

I observe him for a while With a highly-tickled smile, For it is the queerest style Ever seen: He is very short and stout, And he knocks the ball about, But he never gets it out On the green.

Still I watch him chop and hack, Till I hear a sudden crack, And the club-head makes a track In the light-- There' s a startled cry of "FORE!" As it flies, and all is o'er!-- I remember nothing more Till to-night,

When I find myself in bed With a lump upon my head Like a penny loaf of bread; And methinks, For the future I'll take care, When I want a little air, That I won't go anywhere Near the Links.

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE DILEMMA OF THE HEADLESS SPECTRE.

I've always done my best to please, Then wherefore do they scoff? A headless ghost, in days like these, Is very badly off.

Some say, for MYERS we ought to go, And some for Mr. STEAD. I really can't profess to know, For I have lost my head.

They come and ask me for a key To life's dark prison cell. Oh, what's the use of asking _me?_ However can _I_ tell?

I do not understand the speech Of all these learned men. Wildly I wave my hand at each, Again and yet again.

I feel that I have stayed too late, And yet I can't move on. I'm utterly inadequate, Because my head is gone.

I wish I were I don't know what, I wish that I were dead. _I don't know if I am or not_, For I have lost my head!

* * * * *

INS AND OUTS.

"Cricket was a far superior game to golf or tennis," said Lord KNUTSFORD to the members of the Victoria Park Cricket Association; and he went on to tell a story of the first introduction of cricket to Tonga, one of the Pacific Islands. Everybody took up the game so heartily that State affairs were allowed to slide altogether, and at last the King of TONGA had to lay down rules as to the times when the game might be indulged in. "Even then the Prime Minister was with difficulty prevented from bowling during forbidden hours." For Tonga read Westminster--where a good deal of _tongue_--ah!--goes on--and we get a result something like this:--

"After the usual luncheon interval, the Leader of the Opposition and the ex-Umpire-General faced the delivery of the First Commissioner of Stumps and the Scorin' Secretary. The punishment inflicted by the former on the bowling led to a Cabinet crisis, ending in the Secretary of State resigning his office and the leather to the Lord High Wicket-keep. The result of this change was soon apparent, for the Leader of the Opposition was clean bowled by a quotation from _Hansard_, and his place was taken by a prominent member from below the Opposition Gangway.

"As the score still mounted, the Ministry decided to apply the Closure to the game, an effort which was resisted by the whole force of the Opposition, armed with pads and wickets. During the all-night innings which ensued the Prime Minister retired hurt, and the Ministry were finally driven into the Pavilion, where they expressed a decided intention, in consequence of the underhand bowling of their opponents, of at once appealing to the country. The Committee of Lords' has placed its veto on these disorderly proceedings, and 'Down with the Lords' is likely to be the Ministerial rallying-cry during the forthcoming Election."

* * * * *

A LITERARY DISCOVERY.--It has been hitherto thought that only two "G. O. M.'s" existed, the one, _par excellence_, being _The_ G. O. M., and the other, the Right Hon. G. O. MORGAN. But there _is_ a third, and he is GE-O M(EREDITH). No more at present.

* * * * *

TITLE FOR A TEMPERANCE TALE.--Under the Red Nose!

* * * * *

THE DAY OF SMALL THINGS.

No novels now, but novelettes; Cigars give place to cigarettes. Titanic "suns" to twinkling "stars," Pictures to sketches, "pomes" to "pars"; Bonnets to things like housemaids' caps, Banquets to tit-bits, books to scraps, And three-vol novels to "short stories." Gibbon-like length and epic glories, Like mammoths and cave-bears, are gone, Earth brings not back the mastodon; The microbe takes its place. They kill us Not by a giant, but bacillus. Monsters, huge dragons, Laidly Worms, We fear no more, 'tis unseen "germs" That floor us in our life's full pride. We want a "Jack the Germicide," And not the Giant Killer now. Behemoth and the big bow-wow Are gone; for aught not smart and little We do not care one jot or tittle!

* * * * *

FAMILIAR LATIN QUOTATION (_adapted for the use of Empire, Alhambra, and Music Halls generally_).--"_Spectaculum veniunt_; _venit inspector_; _out tipsy_."

* * * * *

* * * * *

BEAUTIES OF BOLOGNA.

Not those, along the route prescribed To see them in a hurry, Church, palace, gallery, described By worthy Mr. MURRAY.

Nor those detailed as well by whom But BAEDEKER, the German; The choir, the nave, the font, the tomb, The pulpit for the sermon.

No tourist traps which tire you out, A never-ending worry; Most interesting things, no doubt, Described by Mr. MURRAY.

Nor yet, O gastronomic mind-- In cookery a boss, sage In recipes--you will not find, I mean Bologna sausage.

Not beauties, which, perhaps, you class With your own special curry; Not beauties, which we must not pass If led by Mr. MURRAY.

I sing--alas, how very ill!-- Those beauties of the city, The praise of whose dark eyes might fill A much more worthy ditty.

O, Ladies of Bologna, who The coldest heart might flurry, I much prefer to study you Than BAEDEKER or MURRAY!

Those guide-book sights no longer please; Three hours still, _tre ore_, I have to lounge and look at these _Bellissime signore_.

Then slow express--South Western goes Much faster into Surrey-- Will take me off to other shows Described by Mr. MURRAY.

But still, _Signore_, there will be, By your sweet faces smitten, One Englishman who came to see What BAEDEKER has written.

Let BAEDEKER then see the lot In frantic hurry-scurry. I've found some beauties which are not Described by Mr. MURRAY.

* * * * *

CLIO AT SALCOMBE.

(_Funeral of James Anthony Froude._)

Scarce Clio's self, calm-soul'd historic Muse, Praise to her fiery votary may refuse, Though lacking somewhat the judicial poise Of clear mind unperturbed by faction's noise, And creed's fanatic clamour, valued most But her who heads the grave recording host. His vivid pictures live; his virile touch (Though oft of the too little or too much Ardently heedless in his passionate flow Of words that wake and thoughts that warmly glow), Quickens the past, and moves the patriot heart Of British manhood. His the stylist's part, The partisan's impressiveness. He missed The highest height, clear, cloudless, morning-kissed. But long will he be dear to those who love The picturings that charm, the words that move; And the grave Muse may well let fall a tear, And lay her tribute laurel on his bier.

NEAT AND APPROPRIATE.--To the PROWLINA PRYS and their allies, the Visiting Injustices, may be addressed the ancient charge made against certain spies, "Nay, but to see the nakedness of the land have ye come."

* * * * *

* * * * *

PAT THE PATRIOT.

(_His reflection after reading of the Boa-bolting incident at the Zoo._)

ST. PATRICK had a potent fist, And was a saint right clever, When he gave the snakes and toads a twist And bothered them for ever. But och! here's a betther plan than PAT'S! 'Twould have saved the saint much bother Had he trated the snakes like Kilkenny cats, And made them swallow each other. And even now 'twould save much row In the shplit-up Oirish Parthy, Could MCCARTHY'S "bolt" end REDMOND'S revolt, Or REDMOND swallow MCCARTHY!

* * * * *

SPORTING.--'ARRY is delighted to hear that there is a two-year-old running named '_Arriet_. "It's spelt Ariette I know," he says, "but that's just French cussedness."

* * * * *

TO A WOULD-BE DESPOT.

"Could I but rule!" with emphasis you say; Then, doubtless, evil would be swept away. How to begin, of course, is your affair, Such practical arrangements are your care; Our task would be no more than to obey!

Injustice then would speedily decay, Merit, and only merit, then would pay; Which means, perhaps, I'd be a millionaire Could I but rule!

Well, many kings have lived and reigned their day; I rather doubt if your despotic sway Would quite fulfil the objects of your prayer; Many have tried, and ended in despair, And you, perhaps--But still you answer "Nay, Could _I_ but rule!"

* * * * *

THE REAL "SUN OF YORK."--FRANK LOCKWOOD, Solicitor-General.

* * * * *

THE ART OF NAVAL PLATITUDE.

MR. PUNCH,--Dear Sir,--As an able-bodied seaman and expert on the marine serpent and other such questions of the hour, I have been very properly asked for my opinion on the late collisions in the far East. Lest my utterances should be misrepresented by journals unaccustomed to deal with refinements of maritime phraseology, I send you a correct report of my interview.

"What deduction," began the reporter from the recesses of a deck-chair that had figured at Trafalgar, "do you make with regard to the future of naval warfare from the engagements of which we have lately read such distracting accounts?"

"My leading deduction," I replied, "is that it is difficult beforehand to conjecture which side is going to win, and impossible afterwards to discover which has actually won. History, however, and a long course of technical experience, alike convince me that, given equal courage and skill on both sides, vessels equally well equipped and armoured and of precisely similar shape, tonnage, and fighting power, victory may be expected, in many cases out of a few more, to fall to the party that is _numerically the stronger of the two_. You are, perhaps, with me on this point?"

"I confess," he replied, "that you throw for me a new and lurid light on a question always difficult for the lay mind to grapple with. But tell me of the torpedo and its mission."

"The deadliness," I said, "of this modern weapon of naval warfare is to be fully appreciated by such alone as have been its unhappy victims. In the incredibly short space of time between the moment of impact and the decease of those who are, as an immediate result, blown to indistinguishable atoms, no reliable evidence has, in the nature of things, been taken down from the lips of the people best qualified to submit it.

"Disconnected fragments of speech, chiefly of a profane character, constitute the sole testimony upon which we have to base our conclusions. But we may safely affirm that one of the most, if not _the_ most, important detail in the manipulation of this projectile is the aim. Wrongly directed it is comparatively innocuous. In the unavoidable hurry and confusion of the moment, when the attention of the operator is diverted by the reiterated play of missiles upon his person, possibly a prey at the very time to insufferable nausea, it is almost impossible to guarantee the missile from aberration. You will pardon my technicalities?"

"I thank you," he replied, "and I follow you. But in what way do you account for the success of the Japanese with these submarine weapons?"

"Peruse the reports," I answered, "and draw your own deductions. '_On the morning of the 18th_' (the morrow of the battle) '_the Japanese flotilla of torpedo-boats returned to the Yalu and leisurely destroyed with torpedoes several stranded Chinese vessels_.'

"Here we have the best conceivable endorsement of my views. That which in the excitement of the fray they were impotent to achieve, this, with fitting leisure, unhampered by the annoyance of hostile opposition, and with the object rigidly fixed, as in a vice, they effected with unqualified and unquestioned success."

Dazzled by my reflections he proceeded to put a fresh conundrum to me. "What say you," he asked, "to the resources of China? I see that the Dowager Empress has sent three millions of taels to the forces."

"The tael," I explained, "is excellent eating. I perceive no immediate reason for the evacuation of Peking as far as the supply of game is concerned. This, however, is a side issue, and not strictly nautical in its bearing.

"To proceed at once, and in conclusion, to the matter of our own naval supremacy" (for I saw this inevitable question already framed on his lips), "I will give you in a word the accumulated wisdom of long years of naval intuition. My motto is '_Always win!_'

"Once let the enemy, however inferior, win, and for the time being you are beaten. We are--and here I rely not only on my own observation, but on the testimony of countless myriads of my species--_we are an insular nation_. Further, _our commerce is largely dependent on our merchandise_. It was not till I had realised to the full these two momentous and crucial facts that I arrived at the conclusion which I have already imparted to you, and now venture to repeat--'_Always win!_' You bear me out, I imagine?"

"I bear myself," he affably replied; thus concluding an interview in the course of which there had been no manner of hitch except the usual nautical one at the moment of his coming aboard; and that was due not to the absence of braces, but to respect for my position as an Admiralty Crichton.

There, _Mr. Punch_, you are welcome to make any use you will of a statement that contains practically and tactically the final word on the future of naval warfare.

_Crede_, dear Sir,

Yours unusually

EXPERTO.

* * * * *

A NEW DEPARTURE.

In pursuance of a recent correspondence in the _Times_, it has been decided to safeguard the rights and legalise the _status_ of interviewees by the formation of an influential association. _Mr. Punch_ has been accorded an advance proof of the prospectus.

SOCIETY FOR THE PROTECTION OF HELPLESS AND DESERVING INTERVIEWEES.

(_Founded Oct. 24, 1894._)

Chief Offices: Utopia. Operating Room and Infirmary: Harrow Weald.

COUNCIL.

The MIKADO (President); Sir JOSEPH PORTER, K. C. B. (Vice-President); BARNABY BAMPTON BOO, Esq., of the _Bab Ballads_; BORRIA BUNGALEE BOO, ditto, King; Mrs. BOO; REGINALD BUNTHORNE, Esq., Fleshly Poet; The Lord Bishop of RUMTI-FOO; Sir EDWARD CORCORAN, K.C.B., Capt. R.N.; Lord MOUNT ARARAT; Lord TOLLOLLER; POOH BAH, Esq., of the Japan Society; Mdlles. PEEP-BO, PITTI SING, and YUMYUM, of the Savoy Theatre.

Solicitors: Messrs. KOKO & CO. Jester: Mr. JACK POINT.

Jailor and Chucker-out: Mr. WILL SHADBOLT.

OBJECTS OF THE SOCIETY.

(1.) To develop the new calling of Professional Interviewee. (2.) To provide the newspaper-reading public with amusement. (3.) To supply eminent humorists and others with enjoyable, rational, and profitable employment. (4.) And, incidentally, to encourage retiring and diffident lady interviewers.

RULES.

1. That all persons shall be eligible for membership of the Society, with the following exceptions:--Infants in arms; Their Descendants and other Relatives within the Prohibited Degrees; Parties who are balmy on the Crumpet,; H. M.'s guests at Portland, Newgate, and Broadmoor; JABEZ; Persons who have written a book; Persons who haven't; Mrs. PROWLINA PRY; also all the pragmatic and prudish nonentities who have pranced in prurient print over the unsavoury question lately discussed _ad nauseam_ in the columns of the _D. T._

2. That if the interview be conducted by one of the male sex, the Society's chucker-out, jester, and solicitors shall always be present.

3. That the following scale of fees, payable by the Interviewer to the Interviewee, be adopted:--

£ _s. d._ Mere Nobody 0 0 2 Nobody Else 0 2 6 Mr. WH-STL-R, over a recent Grievance 0 6 8 Minister, of Cabinet Rank 1 1 0 Gaiety Girl, of the Front Rank 1 1 1 Cabman, of any Rank 1 1 2 Mr. ARTHUR ROBERTS, on Things in General 2 2 0 Ditto, on the Empire Question 3 3 0 Any leading Burglar, Pickpocket, or Company Promoter, with discount for cash 4 4 0 Pugilist, including services of Policeman and Surgeon 5 5 0 G. O. M., if you can get at him 10 10 0 Eminent Humorist, when irritated 21 0 0 Ditto, if a Lady, and pretty (these are scarce) 50 0 0 Anybody who hasn't yet been Interviewed (these are scarcer) 100 0 0

4. That the Society be immediately dissolved, in view of pending litigation.

Transcriber's Note:

Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation are as in the original.