Chapter 5

They found GEORGE GINSLING feet uppermost in six inches of water in the Daffodil Road reservoir. It was a large reservoir, and had been quite full before GEORGE began upon it. This was his record drink, and it killed him. His last words were, "If I had stuck to whiskey, this would never have happened."

THE END.

* * * * *

"IT IS THE BOGIE MAN!"--BLACKIE'S _Modern Cyclopedia_. Nothing to do with the Christy Minstrel Entertainment, but a very useful work of reference, issued from the ancient house of publishers which is now quite BLACKIE with age. We have looked through the "B's" for "Bogie," but "The Bogie Man" is "Not there, not there, my child!" but he is to be found in that other BLACKIE's collection at the St. James's Hall, which Bogie Man is said to be the original of that ilk. _Unde derivatur_ "Bogie"? Perhaps the next edition of BLACKIE's _still-more-Modern-than-ever Cyclopedia will explain_.

* * * * *

PARS ABOUT PICTURES (_by Old Par_).--At the Fine Art Society's Gallery I gazed upon the pictures of "Many-sided Nature" with great content, and came to the conclusion that Mr. ALBERT GOODWIN was a many-sided artist. "Now," said I, quoting SHAKSPEARE--_Old Par's Improved Edition_--"is the GOODWIN of our great content made glorious." O.P., who knows every inch of Abingdon, who has gazed upon Hastings from High Wickham, who is intimate with every brick in Dorchester, who loves every reed and ripple on the Thames, and has a considerable knowledge of the Rigi and Venice, can bear witness to the truth of the painter. There are over seventy pictures--every one worth looking at.

* * * * *

"BUSINESS!"

["Business!" cries the Sweater, when remonstrated with for paying the poor Match-box makers twopence-farthing or twopence-half-penny a gross, whilst his own profits reach 22-1/2 to 25 per cent.--_Daily News_.]

_PUNCH TO THE SWEATING SHYLOCK._

Eh? "Business is business"? Sheer cant, Sir! Pure gammon? Of all the inhuman, sham Maxims of Mammon, This one is the worst, For under its cover lurks cruelty callous, With murderous meanness that merits the gallows, And avarice accurst.

Oh, well, I'm aware, Sir, how ruthless rapacity Loves to take shelter, with cunning mendacity 'Neath an old saw; But well says the scribe that such "business" is crime, Sir, And such would be but for gaps half the time, Sir, 'Twixt justice and law.

Bah! Many a man who's sheer rogue in reality, Hides the harsh knave in the mask of "legality." When 'tis too gross, Robbery's rash, but austere orthodoxies Countenance such things as modern match-boxes Nine-farthings a gross!

From seven till ten, and sometimes to eleven, For "six bob" a week. Ah! such life _must_ be heaven; Whilst as for your "profit," That's bound to approach five-and-twenty per cent., That Sweaters shall thrive, let their tools be content With starvation in Tophet.

To starve's bad enough, but to starve and to work (Mrs. LABOUCHERE hints), the most patient may irk; And the lady is right-- Business? On brutes who dare mouth such base trash, _Mr. Punch_, who loves justice and sense, lays his lash, With the greatest delight.

He knows the excuses advanced for the Sweater, But bad is the best, and, until you find better, 'Tis useless to cant Of freedom of contract, supply and demand, And all the cold sophistries ever on hand Sound sense to supplant.

A phrase takes the place of an argument often. And stomachs go empty, and brains slowly soften, And sense sick with dizziness, All in the name of the bosh men embody In one clap-trap phrase that dupes many a noddy, That--business is business!

Business? Yes, precious bad business for them, Sir, Whose joyless enslavement _you_ take with such phlegm, Sir, Suppose, to enhance Their small share of ease, such as you, were content, Sir, To lower a trifle your precious "per cent.," Sir, And give _them_ a chance!

* * * * *

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

In _Camp and Studio_, Mr. IRVING MONTAGU, some time on the artistic staff of _The Illustrated London News_, gives his experiences of the Russo-Turkish Campaign. He concisely sums up the qualifications of a War Correspondent by saying that he should "have an iron constitution, a laconic, incisive style, and sufficient tact to establish a safe and rapid connecting link between the forefront of battle and his own head-quarters in Fleet Street or elsewhere." As Mr. IRVING MONTAGU seems to have lived up to his ideal, it is a little astonishing to find the last chapters of his book devoted to _Back in Bohemia_, wherein he discourses of going to the Derby, a Hammersmith _Desdemona_, and of the _Postlethwaites_ and _Maudles_, "whose peculiarities have been recorded by the facile pen of DU MAURIER." But as the author seems pleased with the reader, it would be indeed sad were the reader to find fault with the author. However, this may be said in his favour--he tells (at least) one good story. On his return from Plevna to Bohemia, a dinner was given in his honour at the Holborn Restaurant. Every detail was perfect--the only omission was forgetfulness on the part of the Committee to invite _the guest of the evening_! At the last moment the mistake was discovered, and a telegram was hurriedly despatched to Mr. MONTAGU, telling him that he was "wanted." On his arrival he was refused admittance to the dinner by the waiters, because he was not furnished with a ticket! Ultimately he was ushered into the Banqueting Hall, when everything necessarily ended happily.

One might imagine that Birthday Books have had their day, but apparently they still flourish, for HAZELL, WATSON, & VINEY publish yet another, under the title of _Names we Love, and Places we Know_. The first does not apply to our friends, but to the quotations selected, and places are shown by photos.

Of many _Beneficent and Useful Lives_, you will hear "in CHAMBERS,"--the reader sitting as judge on the various cases brought before him by Mr. ROBERT COCHRANE.

_Unlucky_ will not be the little girl who reads the book with this name, by CAROLINE AUSTIN.

_Everybody's Business_, by ISMAY THORN, nobody likes interference, but in this case it proved the friend in need.

_Chivalry_, by LÉON GAUTIER, translated by HENRY FRITH, is a chronicle of knighthood, its rules, and its deeds. To the scientific student, _Discoveries and Inventions of the Nineteenth Century_, by ROBERT ROUTLEDGE, B.S., F.C.S., will be interesting, and help him to discover a lot he does not know. Those who have not already read it, _A Wonder Book for Girls and Boys_, by NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE, will have a real treat in the myths related; _Tanglewood Tales_ are included, and these are delightful for all. _Rosebud_, by Mrs. ADAMS ACTON, a tale for girls, who will love this bright little flower, bringing happiness all around.

_Holly Leaves_, the Special Number of _The Sporting and Dramatic_, is quite a seasonable decoration for the drawing-room table during the Christmas holidays.

My faithful "Co." has been reading _Jack's Secret_, by Mrs. LOVETT CAMERON, which, he says, has greatly pleased him. It has an interesting story, and is full of clever sketches of character. _Jack_, himself, is rather a weak personage, and scarcely deserves the good fortune which ultimately falls to his lot. After flirting with a born coquette, who treats him with a cruelty which is not altogether unmerited, he settles down with a thoroughly lovable little wife, and a seat in the House of Lords. From this it will be gathered that all ends happily. _Jack's Secret_ will be let out by MUDIE's, and will be kept, for a considerable time--by the subscribers.

Girls will be the richer this year by _Fifty-two more Stories for Girls_, and boys will be delighted with _Fifty-two more Stories for Boys_, by many of the best authors: both these books are edited by ALFRED MILES, and published by HUTCHISON & Co. _Lion Jack_, by P.T. BARNUM, is an account of JACK's perilous adventures in capturing wild animals. If they weren't, of course, all true, _Lyin' Jack_ would have been a better title.

_Syd Belton_, unlike most story-book boys, would not go to sea, but he was made to _go_, by the author, Mr. MANVILLE FENN. Once launched, he proved himself a British salt of the first water. _Dumps and I_, by Mrs. PARR, is a _par_ticularly pretty book for girls, and quite on a par with, her other works. METHUEN & CO. publish these.

_Pictures and Stories from English History_, and _Royal Portrait Gallery_, are two Royal Prize Books for the historical-minded child; they are published by T. NELSON AND SONS, as likewise "_Fritz_" _of Prussia, Germany's Second Emperor_, by LUCY TAYLOR. _Dictionary of Idiomatic English Phrases_, by JAMES MAIN DIXON, M.A., F.R.S.E., which may prove a useful guide to benighted foreigners in assisting them to solve the usual British vagaries of speech; like the commencement of the Dictionary, it is quite an "A1" book.

"Dear Diary!" as one of Mr. F.C. PHILLIPS's heroines used to address her little book, but DE LA RUE's are not "dear Diaries," nor particularly cheap ones. This publisher is quite the Artful Dodger in devising diaries in all shapes and sizes, from the big pocket-book to the more insidious waistcoat-pocket booklet,--"small by degrees, but beautifully less."

"Here's to you, TOM SMITH!"--it's BROWN in the song, but no matter,--"Here's to you," sings the Baron, "with all my heart!" Your comic gutta-percha-faced Crackers are a novelty; in fact, you've solved a difficulty by introducing into our old Christmas Crackers several new features.

This year the Baron gives the prize for pictorial amusement to LOTHAR MEGGENDORFER (Gods! what a name!), who, assisted by his publishers, GREVEL & CO., has produced an irresistibly funny book of movable figures, entitled _Comic Actors_. What these coloured actors do is so moving, that the spectators will be in fits of chuckling. Recommended, says THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

* * * * *

"WHERE IGNORANCE IS BLISS."

ARGUMENT.--EDWIN has taken ANGELINA, his _fiancée_, to an entertainment by a Mesmerist, and, wishing to set his doubts at rest, has gone upon the platform, and placed himself entirely at the Mesmerist's disposition. On rejoining ANGELINA, she has insisted upon being taken home immediately, and has cried all the way back in the hansom--much to EDWIN's perplexity. They are alone together, in a Morning-room; ANGELINA is still sobbing in an arm-chair, and EDWIN is rubbing his ear as he stands on the hearthrug.

_Edwin_. I say, ANGELINA, don't go on like this, or we shall have somebody coming in! I wouldn't have gone up if I'd known it would upset you like this; but I only wanted to make quite sure that the whole thing was humbug, and--(_complacently_)--I rather think I settled that.

_Ang._ (_in choked accents_). You settled that?--but _how?_... Oh, go away--I can't bear to think of it all! [_Fresh outburst._

_Ed._ You're a little nervous, darling, that's all--and you see, I'm all right. I felt a little drowsy once, but I knew perfectly well what I was about all the time.

_Ang._ (_with a bound_). You knew?--then you _were_ pretending--and you call that a good joke! _Oh!_

_Ed._ Hardly pretending. I just sat still, with my eyes shut, and the fellow stroked my face a bit. I waited to see if anything would come of it--and nothing did, that's all. At least, I'm not aware that I did anything peculiar. In fact, I'm _certain_ I didn't. (_Uneasily._) Eh, ANGELINA?

_Ang._ (_indistinctly, owing to her face being buried in cushions_). If you d-d-d-on't really know, you'd bub-bub-better-not ask--but I believe you do--quite well!

_Ed._ Look here, ANGIE, if I behaved at all out of the common, it's just as well that I should know it. I don't recollect it, that's all. Do pull yourself together, and tell me all about it.

_Ang._ (_sitting up_). Very well--if you will have it, you must. But you can't really have forgotten how you stood before the footlights, making the most horrible faces, as if you were in front of a looking-glass. All those other creatures were doing it, too; but, oh, EDWIN, yours were far the ugliest--they haunt me still.... I mustn't think of them--I won't! [_Buries her face again._

_Ed._ (_reddening painfully_). No, I say--_did_ I? not really--without humbug, ANGELINA!

_Ang._ _You_ know best if it was without humbug! And, after that, he gave you a glass of cuc-cod-liver oil, and--and pup-pup-paraffin, and you dud-drank it up, and asked for more, and said it was the bub-bub-best Scotch whiskey you ever tasted. You oughtn't even to _know_ about Scotch whiskey!

_Ed._ I can't know much if I did _that_. Odd I shouldn't remember it, though. Was that all?

_Ang._ Oh, no. After that you sang--a dreadful song--and pretended to accompany yourself on a broom. EDWIN, you know you did; you can't deny it!

_Ed._ I--I didn't know I _could_ sing; and--did you say on a broom? It's bad enough for me already, ANGELINA, without _howling_! Well, I sang--and what then?

_Ang._ Then he put out a cane with a silver top close to your face, and you squinted at it, and followed it about everywhere with your nose; you _must_ have known how utterly idiotic you looked!

_Ed._ (_dropping into a chair_). Not at the time.... Well, go on, ANGELINA; let's have it all. What next?

_Ang._ Next? Oh, next he told you you were the Champion Acrobat of the World, and you began to strike foolish attitudes, and turn great clumsy somersaults all over the stage, and you always came down on the flat of your back!

_Ed._ I _thought_ I felt a trifle stiff. Somersaults, eh? Anything else? (_With forced calm._)

_Ang._ I did think I should have _died_ of shame when you danced?

_Ed._ Oh, I _danced_, did I? Hum--er--was I _alone_?

_Ang._ There were four other wretches dancing too, and you imitated a ballet. You were dressed up in an artificial wreath and a gug-gug-gauze skirt.

_Ed._ (_collapsing_). No?? I _wasn't_!... Heavens! What a bounder I must have looked! But I say, ANGIE, it was all _right_. I suppose? I mean to say I wasn't exactly vulgar, or that sort of thing, eh?

_Ang._ Not vulgar? Oh, EDWIN? I can only say I was truly thankful _Mamma_ wasn't there!

_Ed._ (_wincing_). Now, don't, ANGELINA it's quite awful enough as it is. What beats me is how on earth I came to _do_ it all.

_Ang._ You see, EDWIN, I wouldn't have minded so much if I had had the least idea you were like _that_.

_Ed._ Like that! Good Heavens. ANGIE, am I in the habit of making hideous grimaces before a looking-glass? Do you suppose I am given to over-indulgence in cod-liver oil and whatever the other beastliness was? Am I acrobatic in my calmer moments? Did you ever know me sing--with or without a broom? I'm a shy man by nature (_pathetically_), more shy than you _think_, perhaps,--and in my normal condition, I should be the last person to prance about in a gauze skirt for the amusement of a couple of hundred idiots? I don't believe I did, either!

_Ang._ (_impressed by his evident sincerity_). But you said you knew what you were about all the time!

_Ed._ I thought so, then. Now--well, hang it, I suppose there's more in this infernal Mesmerism than I fancied. There, it's no use talking about it--it's done. You--you won't mind shaking hands before I go, will you? Just for the last time?

_Ang._ (_alarmed_). Why--where are you going?

_Ed._ (_desperate_). Anywhere--go out and start on a _ranche_, or something, or join the Colonial Police force. Anything's better than staying on here after the stupendous ass I've made of myself!

_Ang._ But--but, EDWIN, I daresay nobody _noticed_ it much.

_Ed._ According to you, I must have been a pretty conspicuous object.

_Ang._ Yes--only, you see, I--I daresay they'd only think you were a confederate or something--no, I don't mean that--but, after all, indeed you didn't make such _very_ awful faces. I--I _liked_ some of them!

_Ed._ (_incredulously_). But you said they haunted you--and then the oil, and the somersaults, and the ballet-dancing. No, it's no use, ANGELINA, I can see you'll never get over this. It's better to part and have done with it!

_Ang._ (_gradually retracting_). Oh, but listen. I--I didn't mean quite all I said just now. I mixed things up. It was really whiskey he gave you, only he _said_ it was paraffin, and so you wouldn't drink it, and you _did_ sing, but it was only about some place where an old horse died, and it was somebody else who had the broom! And you didn't dance nearly so much as the others, and--and whatever you did, you were never in the least ridiculous. (_Earnestly_). You weren't, _really_, EDWIN!

_Ed._ (_relieved_). Well. I thought you must have been exaggerating a little. Why, look here, for all you know, you may have been mistaking somebody else for me all the time--don't you see?

_Ang._ I--I am almost sure I did, now. Yes, why, of course--how stupid I have been! It was someone very like you--not you at all!

_Ed._ (_resentfully_). Well, I must say, ANGELINA, that to give a fellow a fright like this, all for nothing--

_Ang._ Yes--yes, it was all for nothing, it was so silly of me. Forgive me, EDWIN, please!

_Ed._ (_still aggrieved_). I know for a fact that I didn't so much as leave my chair, and to say I _danced_, ANGELINA!

_Ang._ (_eagerly_). But I _don't_. I remember now, you sat perfectly still the whole time, he--he said he could do nothing with you, don't you recollect? (_Aside._) Oh, what stories I'm telling!

_Ed._ (_with recovered dignity_). Of course I recollect--perfectly. Well, ANGELINA, I'm not _annoyed_, of course, darling; but another time, you should really try to observe more closely what _is_ done and who _does_ it--before making all this fuss about nothing.

_Ang._ But you won't go and be mesmerised again, EDWIN--not after this?

_Ed._ Well, you see, as I always said, it hasn't the slightest effect on me. But from what I observed, I am perfectly satisfied that the whole thing is a fraud. All those other fellows were obviously accomplices, or they'd never have gone through such absurd antics--would they now?

_Ang._ (_meekly_). No, dear, of course not. But don't let's talk any more about it. There are so many things it's no use trying to explain.

* * * * *

HOW IT'S DONE.

(_A HAND-BOOK TO HONESTY._)

NO. VII.--SELLING A HORSE.