"Silence!" said the Ailment, with great dignity. "You must learn to treat me with the respect due to my exalted station. And please don't call me 'Cold-in-the-head,' for I am known as 'The Russian Influenza!'"
Then the Ailment turned towards Mr. Punch, who (as was his wont) was smiling, and bade him do homage.
"Not a bit of it," exclaimed the Sage of Fleet Street, raising a glass of Ammoniated Tincture of Quinine to his lips, and quaffing merrily a teaspoonful. "I defy you! You are puffed up with conceit, my poor little Illness, and when, in a few weeks' time, we have another sensation to talk and think about, you will sink back into your native obscurity."
And Mr. Punch (as the event will prove) was—as he always is—entirely right!
At the Porte St. Martin.—If there were ever any question as to the genius of Sara Bernhardt, she has now settled it by appearing as Jeanne d'Arc, and showing us what she is Maid of. By the way, as of course she wears golden or auburn hair, Jeanne d'Arc must appear as Jeanne Light. Irreverent scoffers may say this is historically correct, as from their point of view Joan was rather light-headed. Of course, Joan is coming over to London. Why not to Mr. Hare's Theatre, and finish the evening with a prime Garrick Stake.
