Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 109, October 12, 1895

Old Millionaire. George, I've just sent a Guinea to the 'Balaclava Veterans' Home.'
His only Son and Heir. A Guinea , Father? Why, I 've sent more than that, out of my miserable half-pay!
O. M. Ah, but you 've got great Expectations, George. I 've got none!
Good gardeners grieve for Mr. Peter Grieve, Who landscape-gardening art has had to leave, To our regret. Hybridest and cross-breeder, He in the Garden-World was a great leader. Suffolk Sir Joseph Paxton he was called. From many an English garden, snugly walled And florally embellished, plaints will come. He many a zonal pelargonium, Double petunia, and other blossom, Has left, of a new race, to deck earth's bosom. Better than selfish climb to place and power It is to bless our world with a new flower. Better than many Tsars, depend upon it, This Floral King deserves an ode or sonnet. Peter the Great was great, but one lived later Whom sorrowing Punch dares dub Peter the Greater!
The Cultivation of Bees. —Sir,—I see this subject taken up in the Standard , but have not had time to peruse the correspondence. I doubt whether bees can be cultivated. I have seen a Learned Pig, Clever Cats, Industrious Hoppers, all thoroughly trained; but never have I come across a Cultivated Bee. The bee is too busy as a worker even to have the leisure which cultivation requires. I have heard of a bee getting so far in his education as to become a Spelling Bee. But even the Spelling Bees seem to have had their day and died out. Yours,
A Hum from the Hummums.
My dear Gladys,—I think your Arthur the ideal person to be engaged to. He's serious, you say—he dislikes flippancy—he's inclined to be literal.
Well, surely that's better than being a clown, a buffoon, a mere jester, a Court Fool! How tired you'd get of the cap and bells! of having to laugh, all through life, at your husband's jokes! Arthur is sensible; calm in his affection. Is that a reproach? Should you like a Once-on-board-the-lugger-and-the-girl-is-mine sort of villain as a lover? Or a ladies' man —a warbler of love-songs—a universal provider of compliments, flowers, pretty speeches,—a very Whitely of gallantry? You'd be bored to death: and dreadfully jealous as well.