He calls for his "weed" and he calls for his "fizz," And he calls for his-Fiddlede-dee ! Every fiddler has his own little fiddle, And a very fine fiddle has he. "£8. d., £ s. d.." sings King COAL, "Fiddle-de-dee! Oh! an opportune Strike is the thing for me!" O, there's none so rare With King COAL and his ROBERT AT GILDALL. AH, wot a change has suddenly cum over the hold Copperation! From sitch recepshuns of Kings and Queens, and Princes and Princesses, and Royal Dooks and Dutchesses, and Zarrowitches and setterer, and all in their werry best clothes, too! as I never witnessed before nor since, to cum suddenly upon nuffin but Gog and Magog, is a strikin fac indeed. As the Rite onerabel LORD MARE werry propperly said, "Ah wot a fall is here my Countrymen!" And what a blooming staggerer it was to finish off with the King and Queen of DENMARK! of all peeple in the World! Why I has allers been tort to bleeve, from what I have seen at the Play, that neether on em wornt not werry great things as regards behaviour to the poor Prince Hamblet, but BROWN says as that's all over long, long ago, and isn't to be spoke of no THE TOUR THAT NEVER WAS. (By an Undecided Man.) BETWEEN now and my holidays there but remain two solid days, And thinking where I'll spend my vac " has driven me wild with worry; 66 In vain have I surveyed acres of plans and maps and Bædekers, THE PLACE FOR LAWN TENNIS.-"Way down in Tennessee." · more, no, not for ever! and so we must drop it. I think, upon the hole, as I likes the Prince of WALES the best of all on em, he does allers seem to enjy hisself so much. We had him in the City wunce at Church, and twice t Gildall to dinner, all in about a munth, and that ain't so bad for a near aparrent. And he does seem allers so much atome. Why I acshally overherd him say to our Blushing Town Clark, after dining the King of DENMARK, 66 How well you have dun it all, but you allers do it well at Gildall!" I wunder how many hundred sentries it will be before he says ditto to the Cheerman of the Country Counsel, poor feller! after sitch a dinner to sitch a company? Praps about another 700! ROBERT. THE TWO POTS. (A Morality for Mammon.) WHEN Mammon in commerce has "made a big pot," And what need he care for the children of toil Who have helped in their hundreds that "big pot" to boil? Pot! Pot! Gushers talk rot; But Demas "retires upon what he has got." How did he get it, that pot full of gold? That is the problem-the poor man's pot! MRS. R.-She is very tender-hearted. "Of course," she says, "it's very nice of what they call 'The Forsters' parents-though why Forster' I don't know. But certainly, even when they're brought up as one of the family of the Forsters, yet it does make me feel very sad when I see an adapted child." MORAL AND SOCIAL QUERIES.-When a man has lost his own character, is he justified in taking away anybody else's? At a party if somebody has taken away your hat, aren't you justified in taking somebody else's? THE ADVENTURES OF PICKLOCK HOLES. (By Cunnin Toil.) No. II.-THE DUKE'S FEATHER. Two months had passed without my hearing a word of HOLES. I knew he had been summoned to Irkoutsk by the CZAR of Russia in order to help in investigating the extraordinary theft of one of the Government silver mines, which had completely and mysteriously disappeared in one night. All the best intellects of the terrible secret police, the third section of the Government of the Russian Empire, had exhausted themselves in the vain endeavour to probe this mystery to the bottom. Their failure had produced a dangerous commotion in the Empire of the CZAR; there were rumours of a vast Nihilist plot, which was to shake the Autocracy to its foundations, and, as a last resource, the CZAR, who had been introduced to HOLES by OLGA FIASKOFFSKAIA, the well-known Russian Secret Agent at the Court of Lisbon, had appealed to the famous detective to lend his aid in discovering the authors of a crime which was beginning to turn the great white CZAR into ridicule in all the bazaars of Central Asia. HOLES, whose great mind had been lying fallow for some little time, had immediately consented; and the last I had seen of him was two months before the period at which this story opens, when I had said good-bye to him at Charing-Cross Station. As for myself, I was spending a week in a farmhouse situated close to the village of Blobleyin-the-Marsh. Three miles from the gates of the farmhouse lay Fourcastle Towers, the ancestral mansion of Rear-Admiral the Duke of DUMPSHIRE, the largest and strangest landowner of the surrounding district. I had a nodding acquaintance with His Grace, whom I had once attended for scarlatina when he was a midshipman. Since that time, however, I had seen very little of him, and, to tell the truth, I had made no great effort to improve the acquaintance. The Duke, one of the haughtiest members of our blue-blooded aristocracy, had been called by his naval duties to all parts of the habitable globe; I had steadily pursued my medical studies, and, except for the biennial visit which etiquette demanded, I had seen little or nothing of the Duke. My stay at the farmhouse was for purposes of rest. I had been overworked, that old tulwar wound, the only memento of the Afghan Campaign, had been troubling me, and I was glad to be able to throw off my cares and my black coat, and to revel for a week in the rustic and unconventional simplicity of Wurzelby Farm. One evening, two days after my arrival, I was sitting in the kitchen close to the fire, which, like myself, was smoking. For greater to excuse me, and asked for this pretty toy. Bah, the Russian police are bunglers." As he made this remark the door opened and Sergeant BLUFF of the Dumpshire Constabulary entered hurriedly. "I beg your pardon, Sir," he said, addressing me, with evident perturbation; "but would you step outside with me for a moment. There's been some strange work down at- "" HOLES interrupted him. "Don't say any more," he broke in. "You've come to tell us about the dreadful poaching affray in Hagley Wood. I know all about it, and tired as I am I'll help you to find the criminals." It was amusing to watch the Sergeant's face. He was ordinarily an unemotional man, but as HOLES spoke to him he grew purple with astonishment. no Beggin' your pardon, Sir," he said; "I didn't know about "My name is HOLES," said my friend calmly. "What, Mr. PICKLOCK HOLES, the famous detective ?" "The same, at your service; but we are wasting time. Let us be off." The night was cold, and a few drops of rain were falling. As we walked along the lane HOLES drew from the Sergeant all the information he wanted as to the number of pheasants on the Duke's estate, the extent of his cellars, his rent-roll, and the name of his London tailor. BLUFF dropped behind after this cross-examination with a puzzled expression, and whispered to me: 66 66 "A wonderful man that Mister HOLES. Now how did he know about this 'ere poaching business? I knew nothing about it. Why I come to you, Sir, to talk about that retriever dog you lost." "Hush," I said; say nothing. It would only annoy HOLES, and interfere with his inductions. He knows his own business best." Sergeant BLUFF gave a grumbling assent, and in another moment we entered the great gate of Fourcastle Towers, and were ushered into the hall, where the Duke was waiting to receive us. "To what am I indebted for the honour of this visit ?" said his Grace, with all the courtly politeness of one in whose veins ran the blood of the Crusaders. Then, changing his tone, he spoke in fierce sailor-language: Shiver my timbers! what makes you three stand there like that? Why, blank my eyes, you ought toWhat he was going to say will never be known, for HOLES dashed forward. "Silence, Duke," he said, sternly. "We come to tell you that there has been a desperate poaching affray. The leader of the gang lies insensible in Hagley Wood. Do you wish to know who he was ? So saying, he held up to the now comfort I had put on my old mess-jacket. The "Beside me stood Picklock Holes, wrapped terrified eyes of the Duke the tail-feather of a winter wind was whistling outside, but besides that only the ticking of the kitchen clock dis in a heavy, close-fitting fur moujik. turbed my meditations. I was just thinking how I should begin my article on Modern Medicine for the Fortnightly Review, when a slight cough at my elbow caused me to turn round. Beside me stood PICKLOCK HOLES, wrapped in a heavy, close-fitting fur moujik. He was the first to speak. "You seem surprised to see me," he said. "Well, perhaps that is natural; but really, my dear fellow, you might employ your time to better purpose than in trying to guess the number of words in the first leading article in the Times of the day before yesterday." I was about to protest when he stopped me. "I know perfectly well what you are going to say, but it is useless to urge that the country is dull, and that a man must employ his brain somehow. That kind of employment is the merest woolgathering." He plucked a small piece of Berlin wcrsted-I had been darning my socks-off my left trouser, and examined it curiously. My admiration for the man knew no bounds. "Is that how you know?" I asked. "Do you mean to tell me that merely by seeing that small piece of fancy wool on my trousers you guessed I had been trying to calculate the number of words in the Times leader? HOLES, HOLES, will you never cease from astounding me?" He did not answer me, but bared his muscular arm and injected into it a strong dose of morphia with a richly-chased little gold instrument tipped with a ruby. "A gift from the CZAR," said HOLES, in answer to my unspoken thoughts. "When I discovered the missing silver-mine on board the yacht of the Grand Duke IVANOFF, his Imperial Majesty first offered me the Chancellorship of his dominions, but I begged him golden pheasant. "I found it in his waistcoat pocket," he said, simply. "My son, my son!" shrieked the unfortunate Duke. "Oh ALURED, ALURED, that it should have come to this!" and he fell to the floor in convulsions. "You will find Earl MOUNTRAVERS at the cross-roads in Hagley Wood," said HOLES to the Sergeant. "He is insensible." The Earl was convicted at the following Assizes, and sentenced to a long term of penal servitude. His ducal father has never recovered from the disgrace. HOLES, as usual, made light of the matter and of his own share in it. 66 "I met the Earl." he told me afterwards, as I was walking to your farmhouse. When he ventured to doubt one of my stories, I felled him to the earth. The rest was easy enough. Poachers? Oh dear no, there were none. ingenuity comes in." But it is precisely in these cases that HOLES," I said, "I admire you more and more every day." 66 JOKE FOR JOKE.-A ruffian at Walsall, "for a joke," dropped a little boy over the bridge into the river. The inhabitants of that town took the cowardly brute to the same bridge, and dropped him over in the same place. Bravo men (and women) of Walsall! If the lex talionis, in the same spirit of impartial jocularity, could be applied as efficaciously to all practical jokers," civilised Society might soon be rid of one of its most intolerable pests. "So much depends on how you take things," as the thief remarked after a dexterous performance while the policeman's back was turned. BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF A COMIC BALLET D'ACTION.-"Too funny for words." THE SCHOPENHAUER BALLADS. has left him an article upon "Voyages to I bite to live (some live to bite), I sting from sheer necessity, not spite,- I would not blame you, 'bottle fly, We cannot all be butterflies, Or larks that carol in the skies, Take life for what it's worth; We've all our wretched aches and pains, And when we get our final call- CONNECTED WITH THE PRESS. MY DEAR MR. PUNCH,-I see that some of your contemporaries have got up a "Press Band" which plays on the Thames Embankment between one and two o'clock every day (save Saturday) for the benefit of compositors out for their dinner-hour. I must confess that I think the idea excellent, but could it not be extended? A newspaper consists of more than "setters up at case." Could not some entertainment be contrived for the amusement of editors, theatrical critics, and city correspondents? For instance, there are generally a number of ladies and gentlemen hanging about Fleet Street in the vain hope of obtaining interviews with the powers that are in the world journalistic. A really talented wouldbe contributor (especially if a lady) might "get at" an editor when he was most at his ease and least on his guard. the North Pole." Subjugated by the poetry of motion, and further moved (almost to tears) by the soft, sweet strains of the Press Band, he reads the contribution, and accepts it. Then recreation, combined with instruction, might be found for special correspondents by erecting steam roundabouts on the Thames Embankment. The "special" might mount his wooden steed, and career round and round until he has done a good twenty miles. Then he would be prepared to give his experiences, which should (if written in the proper spirit) be of exceptional value as copy. 66 A thousand details will occur to those who take an interest in the matter, and may be filled in at leisure. I merely throw out the idea, leaving its development to others more worthy of the task than one who signs himself, in all humility, A PEN PLUS A LYRE. Such a garb should be forbidden; Where's the grace an artist loves? Think of dainty fingers hidden In those gloves! I will suppose that the Rédacteur en chef of the Imperial Universe is seated beside the Fountain in the Temple, quietly smoking his cigar. The authoress of Tiger Songs' (adapted from the original Norwegian) may see the Editor from afar off, and come dancing towards him with the airy gaiety of Gloves! A housemaid would not wear them, Shapeless, brown and rough as sacks, a Morgiana. She executes a pas de fascination, and, when he is completely capti- Thick! And yet you often tear them vated by the exquisite grace of her movements, causes him to seize a bundle of MS. When she has retired, and the Editor gradually resumes his normal composure, he discovers that the authoress of " Tiger Songs" With that axe! Worst of all, unblacked, unshiny Greet them with derisive hootsClumsy, huge! For feet so tiny! Oh, those boots! not Oh why offend the Frenchman's cultured sight With such a 'ARRY's outin' sort of air? The Frenchman, just as sensible as we, A linen collar hygiene abhors. - doors, Magnificent contempt for foreign lands! Frog-eating Frenchy dress!" you say, and smile, "He imitates, but never understands True London style." Unconquered Briton, you are right no doubt! Descendant of the woad-clad ones, that's And yet he never imitates a lout, [true! A cad, like you. 66 HER PARLIAMENTARY KNOWLEDGE.-Mrs. R. is an intelligent student of the Parliamentary Reports in the Times. On Tuesday, in last week, her niece read this aloud"8.30. On the return of the SPEAKER, after the usual interval". That," observed the worthy lady, interrupting, explaining it to her niece, is the interval allowed for refreshment-ten minutes I believe,-go on. my dear." Then her niece continued-" Sir T. LEA, who was interrupted by a count". "Stop, my dear!" exclaimed our old friend. indignantly. "What I want to know is how did that Count come there? Was he in the Strangers' Gallery? And if he interrupted why wasn't he at once turned ont of the House On second thoughts," she added "he must have been a foreigner, and so they made some excuse for him." 66 "So GLAD YOU COULD COME, MR. VANDYKE! I'M AFRAID YOU'LL FIND US RATHER DULL. WE'RE Mr. Vandyke. "OH NO. I SHALL BE OUT NEARLY ALL DAY, YOU KNOW!" Country House Hostess. QUITE A SMALL PARTY!" "A SAIL! ་་ (Extracts from a New (Parliamentary) Version of The Rime of the An Ancient Mariner meeteth a sorely-pressed M.P. hurrying to a Division, and stoppeth him. The sorely-pressed M.P. is spell-bound by the eye of the Grand Old Seafaring Man, and constrained to hear his tale. The Mariner tells how the good ship H.M. Government sailed for Ireland with a good wind and fair weather till she reached a certain Line. Where the Ship is driven by a storm (of Opposition) toward the Poll. Ancient Mariner.") Ir is an Ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth an M.P. With sloping masts and dipping prow, As who pursued with yell and blow The Ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, "By thy scant white hair and glittering eye, At length did cross an Albatross : Now wherefore stopp'st thou me? "The lobby doors are open wide, But give the slip to our stern Whip, He holds him with his glittering eye; The Member pressed sits on a post, The Ship was cheered, the harbour cleared, Laden with many a blessed Bill The Sun of hope had left the left, Through fog and frost it came; Day after day it blocked our way, Our helmsman steered us through. In mist or cloud it strove to shroud "God help thee, Ancient Mariner! Till a great lolloping, hin- The Ancient Mariner incontinently killeth the From the fiends that plague thee thus ! I shot the Albatross!!! [bow Now round and red, like a Scotchman's But it shone bright on the (SPEAKER'S) right "Twas right, said they, such birds to slay When we put forth to sea. And now the Storm-blast came, and he That brought the fog and mist. The fair breeze blew, the gag-saved crew, The fair breeze continues; |