Sell, sell anyone who'll bid high—anything.
What offers for—London? Who bids for—the Thames?
Cracks go, Cliveden follows. What Briton condemns?
Cash rules. For the Dollar-King Bull shies his castor.
Buy! Buy! That's the cry, John. Sic itur ad—Astor!
Booked at the Lyceum Box-Office.—Four nights a week Becket is given. Programme is varied on the other two nights. A simple gentleman said to the Clerk at the Box-Office, "I want two stalls." The Clerk. "For Becket?" "No," returned the simple one; "for me."
SOMETHING FOR NOTHING.
Dear Mr. Punch,—From a communication to one of the daily papers, it appears that "a hundred ladies and gentlemen who find the works of Hendrik Ibsen (perhaps not all for exactly the same reasons, but who agree in finding them) among the most interesting productions of the modern theatre, have guaranteed the estimated expenses of a series of twelve performances, at which three of Ibsen's plays will be presented." This arrangement is carried out by "each guarantor receiving in seats at the current theatrical prices the full value of his subscription," as "the State will not subsidize a theatre, and no millionnaire seems inclined to endow one."