THE SHAHZADA ON THE THAMES.
"You will assist," quoth Mr. Punch to Toby, "in giving the Shahzada a cheery welcome on board the P. and O.'s Caledonia. And these," continued Mr. P., handing Toby a packet and a purse containing untold gold "are your secret instructions."
"They shall be faithfully obeyed," replied the ever-faithful Toby; adding, "À bon Shah, bon hur-rah!"
* * * * * *
Day lovely; voyage perfect. Father Thames at his best. Sir Thomas Sutherland, M.P. and O., and all the goodly company, drank the Shahzada's health most heartily. Then capital short speech from Right Honourable Fowler about India. Shahzada satisfied with dinner, gratified by reception. On deck the Shahzada called Toby aside. Interpreter intervened. "Detnaw ton! Tuoteg!" said the Shahzada, quietly, but authoritatively.
The interpreter retired, muttering to himself "Bow-strings for one." "Look here," said the Shahzada to Toby ... and they discussed affairs (Toby acting as Mr. P.'s representative) of such importance that they cannot be even hinted at in this or any other place. "And now," said the Shahzada, still speaking in his native language, of which this is a translation, "is it not true that one of your national institutions at Greenwich is——"
"The Fair?"
"Bah!" laughed the Shahzada, "that has long since vanished; so have the Pensioners at the Hospital. But——"
"There is still hospitality," murmured Toby, salaaming his very best.
"There is," returned the Shahzada, "and you shall show it."
"What can I do for you, your Royal Highness?" asked Toby.
The Shahzada drew him yet further apart from the envious crowd, and whispered in his ear.
"Your Royal Highness," answered Toby, "it shall be done. Command that the boat be stopped at Greenwich."
So the boat was stopped at Greenwich, and the Shahzada, with Toby, debarked. Great cheering.
* * * * * *
8 P.M.—Telegraphic Message from Toby to Mr. Punch, Fleet Street.
Cannot come to dinner. Shahzada and self enjoying tea and shrimps. All gone—except the shrimps. No money returned. Did it for one-and-ten, shall pocket difference. Shahzada says best entertainment ever had. See you later. Larks.
Toby.
THE WARS OF THE ROSES.
(A Sheffield Cricket Song, by a True "Tyke.")
["The fifty-fifth contest on the cricket field between the rival counties of Yorkshire and Lancashire ended yesterday (June 5) in a victory for the representatives of the Red Rose by 145 runs, and the record now reads—Yorkshire won 23, Lancashire won 23, and 9 drawn."—The Leeds Mercury.]
Red rose and white! A pleasant summer sight,
As a Midsummer Dream may well imagine it!
How different far from the wild wordy fight
'Twixt furious Somerset and fierce Plantaganet!
Bramhall Lane Ground presents a peacefuller scene
Than that once witnessed in the Temple Garden.
Here's war of wickets, on a sward as green
And as unreddened as the glades of Arden.
Ward, not hot Suffolk, fights for the Red Rose,
Jackson, not Vernon, battles for the White One.
True York v. Lancashire are still the foes,
Nor is the issue now at stake a slight one;
But whether Jackson be twice bowled by Mold,
Or twice Peel give young Albert his quietus,
The battle is as friendly as 'tis bold.
Paul, with his eighty-seven, helps defeat us,
But brave Lord Hawke, our Captain, makes his pile,
And there is comfort in the score of Wainwright.
If Sugg and Baker make the Red Rose smile,
Hirst his true "Yorkers" down the pitch will rain right.
Some holiday-makers seek the grassy down,
And some will bask by seashore, or on sunny cliff,
Give me to watch the fine straight bat of Brown,
The bail of Milligan, the catch of Tunnicliffe,
Dead level now are Lancashire and York,
The Red Rose and the White bear equal blossoms.
Now comes the tug of war! Now must we work,
Active as catamounts, and sly as 'possums.
But this we know—that at our noble game,
With Hawke the hearty, and with stout McLaren,
The White Rose shall not have to blush with shame,
Nor the Red Rose, through funk, blanch and grow barren!
His New Title.—Dr. Grace, C.B. ("Companion of the Bat").
