Musical Note.—The title of a song, "Come where the Booze is Cheaper," has become widely known owing to a recent trial. We believe we are correct in saying that this song about "the Booze" is not published by the well-known firm of "Boosey & Co."
TALL TALES OF SPORT AND ADVENTURE.
(By Mr. Punch's own Short Story-teller.)
I.—THE PINK HIPPOPOTAMUS. (continued.)
I ought to mention that the Ranee, the aunt of my darling Chuddah, was as susceptible as she was haughty and ferocious. During my stay in the capital I had had several interviews with her, and I could not disguise from myself—why should I?—that she regarded me with no common favour. Indeed, she had taken the somewhat extreme step of informing me semi-officially (so that she might afterwards, if necessary, be at liberty to disavow it) that, if I would only consent to marry her, she would undertake to poison Sir Bonamy Battlehorn. I should thus be elevated not only to the supreme command of the British forces, but also to the throne of the Diamond City. But I withstood her blandishments, captivated, as I was, by the tender maidenly loveliness of Chuddah, and the wicked old woman had sworn to have her revenge. I had, of course, a staunch ally in her brother, the Meebhoy, but in his disabled condition, that veteran warrior could be of little real use to me. Still he knew of my love for his niece Chuddah, and, knowing all my worth, he had already consecrated with his blessing our prospective union. On this particular evening I found Chuddah in her cosy little boudoir alone, save for the presence of her stout and comfortable old Ayah or Nana. The darling girl sprang up as I entered the room and threw herself into my arms in a passion of affection. I gently disengaged her arms from about my neck, and proceeded, as best I could, to inform her that I had come to take leave of her for a short time. Her grief was terrible to witness.
"Oh, my own!" she sobbed (I translate her language); "my very, very own, my tall and gorgeously beautiful son of the fair-faced English, my moon of radiant splendour, my star of aspiring hope, say not thou art come to say farewell, say it not my dearest Duffadar, for Chuddah cannot bear it."
"Hist! What is that sound?"