TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE.

Some pages of this work have been moved from the original sequence to enable the contents to continue without interruption. The page numbering remains unaltered.

MR. PUNCH'S LIFE IN LONDON

PUNCH LIBRARY OF HUMOUR

Edited by J. A. Hammerton

Designed to provide in a series of
volumes, each complete in itself,
the cream of our national humour,
contributed by the masters of comic
draughtsmanship and the leading wits
of the age to "Punch," from its
beginning in 1841 to the present day.

Fussy Old Lady. "Now, don't forget, conductor, I want the Bank of England."

Conductor. "All right, mum." (Aside.) "She don't want much, do she, mate?"

MR. PUNCH'S LIFE IN LONDON

AS PICTURED BY

PHIL MAY, CHARLES KEENE, GEORGE DU MAURIER, L. RAVEN-HILL, J. BERNARD PARTRIDGE, E. T. REED, G. D. ARMOUR, F. H. TOWNSEND, FRED PEGRAM, C. E. BROCK, TOM BROWNE, A. S. BOYD, A. WALLIS MILLS, STARR WOOD, DUDLEY HARDY, AND MANY OTHER HUMORISTS.

IN 180 ILLUSTRATIONS

PUBLISHED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH THE PROPRIETORS OF "PUNCH"

THE EDUCATIONAL BOOK CO. LTD.

THE PUNCH LIBRARY OF HUMOUR

Twenty-five volumes, crown 8vo. 192 pages
fully illustrated
LIFE IN LONDON
COUNTRY LIFE
IN THE HIGHLANDS
SCOTTISH HUMOUR
IRISH HUMOUR
COCKNEY HUMOUR
IN SOCIETY
AFTER DINNER STORIES
IN BOHEMIA
AT THE PLAY
MR. PUNCH AT HOME
ON THE CONTINONG
RAILWAY BOOK
AT THE SEASIDE
MR. PUNCH AFLOAT
IN THE HUNTING FIELD
MR. PUNCH ON TOUR
WITH ROD AND GUN
MR. PUNCH AWHEEL
BOOK OF SPORTS
GOLF STORIES
IN WIG AND GOWN
ON THE WARPATH
BOOK OF LOVE
WITH THE CHILDREN

SHAKESPEARE ON THE STREETS

(See "King Henry the Fourth," Act III., Sc. 1.)
Glendower (to Hotspur). Cousin of many men, I do not bear these crossings.

A Sketch in Regent Street.

Puzzle—On which side are the shop windows?

ROUND THE TOWN

In the sixty-six years of his existence Mr. Punch has at one time or another touched upon every phase of life in London. He has moved in high society; he has visited the slums; he has been to the churches, the theatres, the concert rooms; he has travelled on the railways, in the 'buses and the cabs; he has amused himself on 'Change; he has gone shopping; he has lounged in the clubs, been a shrewd watcher and listener at the Law Courts, dined in the hotels and restaurants, sat in Parliament, made merry in the servants' hall, loitered along the pavements with a quick eye and ear for the wit and humour of the streets, and dropped in casually, a genial and observant visitor, at the homes and haunts of all sorts and conditions of men and women.

Obviously it is impossible that the fruits of all this adventuring could be gathered into a single volume; some of them are garnered already in other volumes of this series, in books that deal particularly with Mr. Punch's representations of what he has seen and heard of Society, of the Cockney, of the Lawyers, of our Domestics, of Clubmen and Diners-out, of the Theatres; therefore, in the present volume, we have limited him in the main to his recollections of the actual civic life in London, to his diversions on the Stock Exchange and in the Money Market generally, his pictured and written quips and jests about London's businesses and business men, with glimpses of what he knows of the variously dazzling and more or less strenuous life that everywhere environs these.

Subject for a Decorative Panel.

Road "up." Time—in the height of the season. Place—everywhere.

MR. PUNCH'S LIFE IN LONDON

The City "Article."—Money.

From the Streets.—A street conjuror complained the other day that he couldn't throw the knives and balls about, because he did not feel in the vein.

"In what vein?" asked a bystander, weakly.

"The juggler vein, of course, stupid!" was the answer.

[The bystander retired.

A Light Employment.—Cleaning windows.

"The Model Ready Reckoner."—The man with his last shilling.

Money-Market and City Intelligence.—Operators for the rise—aeronauts; likewise anglers.

Just Off—the Bourse.—Stockbroker (to Client who has been pretty well loaded with certain scrip). Well, it just comes to this. Are you prepared to go the whole hog or none?

Client (timidly). I think I'd rather go the none.

What Colour should Parasites Dress in?—Fawn.

HOUSEHOLD HINTS FOR ECONOMICAL MANAGERS

How to Obtain a good Serviceable Light Porter.—Take a pint of stout, and add a quart of spring water. There you have him.

How to make Hats last.—Make everything else first.

How to Prevent Ale from Spoiling.—Drink it.

How to Avoid being Considered above your Business.—Never live over your shop.

How to make your Servants rise.—Send them up to sleep in the attics.

Bus Driver (to charioteer of broken-down motor-car). "I've been tellin' yer all the week to taike it 'ome, an' now yer wants to, yer cawn't!"

THE STREETS OF LONDON

The stately streets of London

Are always "up" in Spring,

To ordinary minds an ex-

traordinary thing.

Then cabs across strange ridges bound,

Or sink in holes, abused

With words resembling not, in sound,

Those Mrs. Hemans used.

The miry streets of London,

Dotted with lamps by night;

What pitfalls where the dazzled eye

Sees doubly ruddy light!

For in the season, just in May,

When many meetings meet,

The jocund vestry starts away,

And closes all the street.

The shut-up streets of London!

How willingly one jumps

From where one's cab must stop through pools

Of mud, in dancing pumps!

When thus one skips on miry ways

One's pride is much decreased,

Like Mrs. Gilpin's, for one's "chaise"

Is "three doors off" at least.

The free, fair streets of London

Long, long, in vestry hall,

May heads of native thickness rise,

When April showers fall;

And green for ever be the men

Who spend the rates in May,

By stopping all the traffic then

In such a jocose way!

Straphanger (in first-class compartment, to first-class passenger). "I say, guv'nor, 'ang on to this 'ere strap a minute, will yer, while I get a light?"

The Gas-Fitter's Paradise.—Berners Street.

Civic Wit.—A City friend of ours, who takes considerable interest in the fattening of his fowls, alleges, as a reason, that he is an advocate for widening the Poultry.

To Auctioneers.—The regulations regarding sales are not to be found in any bye laws.

Poetry and Finance.—Among all the quotations in all the money market and City articles who ever met with a line of verse?

Anything but an Alderman's Motto.—"Dinner forget."

A Gentleman who lives by his wits.—Mr. Punch.

Definition.—The Mansion House—A mayor's nest.

IN A TRAM-CAR

Lady (with smelly basket of fish). "Dessay you'd rather 'ave a gentleman settin' a-side of you?"

Gilded Youth (who has been edging away). "Yes, I would."

Lady. "Same'ere!"

Inquisitive Guardian. "By the way, have you any children?"

Applicant for Relief. "No."

Guardian. "But—er—surely I know a son of yours?"

Applicant. "Well, I don't suppose you'd call a child children!"

"Please, sir, tuppence worth of butter scrapin's, an' mother says be sure they're all clean, 'cause she's expectin' company."

UNCONSCIONABLE

Head of the Firm. "Want a holiday!? Why, you've just been at home ill for a month!"

THE FORCE OF HABIT

Traveller (suffering from the Heat of Weather, &c.). "Wesh Bromp'n—shingl'—cold 'th bit o' lemon—loo' sharp—'r else shan't kesh my train!"

THE EXILED LONDONER

I roam beneath a foreign sky,

That sky is cloudless, warm and clear;

And everything is glad but I;—

But ah! my heart is far from here.

They bid me look on forests green,

And boundless prairies stretching far;

But I rejoice not in their sheen,

And longing turn to Temple Bar.

They bid me list the torrent's roar,

In all its foaming, bounding pride;

But I, I only think the more

On living torrents in Cheapside!

They bid me mark the mighty stream,

Which Mississippi rolls to sea;

But then I sink in pensive dream,

And turn my thoughts, dear Thames, to thee!

They bid me note the mountains high,

Whose snow-capp'd peaks my prospect end;

I only heave a secret sigh—

To Ludgate Hill my wishes tend.

They taunt me with our denser air,

And fogs so thick you scarce can see;

Then, yellow fog, I will declare,

Though strange to say, I long for thee.

And everything in this bright clime

But serves to turn my thoughts to thee!

Thou, London, of an earlier time,

Oh! when shall I return to thee?

Customer. "That dog I bought last week has turned out very savage. He's already bitten a little girl and a policeman, and——"

Dealer. "Lor'! how 'e's changed, mum! He wasn't at all particular what he ate 'ere!"

Panic in the City

TIME—3.30 P.M.

Excited Stockbroker.—By Jove! it's serious now.

Other dittos. Hey? what?

Excited Stockbroker. Rothschild's "gone"—

Clients (new to City, thunderstruck). Gone! Rothschild!!—but—

Excited Stockbroker. Yes. Gone to Paris.

[Exit.

What to Expect at an Hotel.—Inn-attention.

A Question for Lloyd's.—Are sub-editors underwriters?

Incidents of Taxation.—Collectors and summonses.

What a City Company does.—It may not be generally known that the duty of the Spectacle-makers is to get up the Lord Mayor's Show. Glasses round, and then they proceed to business.

Impossible Phrase.—The happy rich, the happy poor, both quite possible. But, "the happy mean"—oh no—impossible.

Song for the Town-tied Sportsman.—"How happy could I be with heather!"

Progress.

(Overheard in Kensington. Time, 9 A.M.).

Fair Club Member (lately married, to friend). "Bye, bye! Can't stop! Must rush off, or I shall be scratched for the billiard handicap!"

Policeman (to slightly sober individual, who is wobbling about in the road amongst the traffic). "Come, old man, walk on the pavement."

Slightly Sober Individual. "Pavement! Who do you take me for? Blondin?"

SKETCHED IN OXFORD STREET

Inscription to be placed over the Stock Exchange.—"Bear and for-bear."

The Price of Bread.—Twists have taken a turn; and cottages have come down in some places, owing to the falls of bricks, which continue to give way rapidly. A baker near one of the bridges has not had a roll over, which is to be accounted for by his having come down in regular steps to a level with the lower class of consumers. Plaster of Paris is in some demand, and there have been some mysterious transactions in sawdust by the baker who liberally deals with the workhouse.

SYMPHONY IN BLACK

The vassal who does soot and service.

Official Order.—All cabmen plying within hail are to be supplied with umbrellas by Government.

HE DIDN'T MEAN TO LOSE THAT

"Miffins, the book-keeper, tells me that you have lost the key of the safe, and he cannot get at the books."

"Yes, sir, one of them. You gave me two, you remember."

"Yes; I had duplicates made in case of accident. And the other?"

"Oh, sir, I took care of that. I was afraid I might lose one of them, you know."

"And is the other all right?"

"Yes, sir. I put it where there was no danger of it being lost. It is in the safe, sir!"

IN A NOVEMBER FOG

Frenchman (just arrived on his first visit to London). "Ha, ha! my frien', now I understan' vot you mean ven you say ze sun nevaire set in your dominion, ma foi! It does not rise!"

"NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND"

Thirsty Soul (after several gyrations round the letter-box). "I sh'like t'know wha'-sh-'e good 'f gen'lem'n-sh turn'n tea-tot'ller 'f gov'm'nt (hic) goes-h an' cut-sh th' shpouts-h o' th' bumpsh off!"

THE LONDONER'S DIARY

(For August)

Monday.—Got up at nine o'clock. Lounged to the park. No one there. Went to bed at twelve.

Tuesday.—Got up at ten o'clock. Walked to the House of Commons. Closed. Went to bed at eleven.

Wednesday.—Got up at eleven o'clock. Looked in at Prince's. Deserted. Went to bed at ten.

Thursday.—Got up at twelve o'clock. Strolled to the club. Shut up for repairs. Went to bed at nine.

Friday.—Got up at one o'clock. Stayed at home. Dull. Went to bed at eight.

Saturday.—Got up at five a.m. Went out of town at six.

The Reverse of the School for Scandal.—A school in which very few members of society are brought up—a charity school.

PAST RECLAIMING

Brixton Barber. "Revival seems to be in the hair, sir."

Customer. "Not in mine!"

FOG

Thou comest in familiar guise,

When in the morning I awake,

You irritate my throat and eyes,

I vow that life's a sad mistake.

You come to hang about my hair,

My much-enduring lungs to clog,

I feel you with me everywhere,

Our own peculiar London fog.

You clothe the City in such gloom,

We scarce can see across the street,

You seem to penetrate each room,

And mix with everything I eat.

I hardly dare to stir about,

But sit supine as any log;

You make it torture to go out,

Our own peculiar London fog.

The End of Table-turning.—An inmate of a lunatic asylum, driven mad by spiritualism, wishes to try to turn the multiplication table.

"The Question of the Hour."—What o'clock is it?

Perpetual Motion Discovered.—The winding up of public companies.

Flies in Amber.—Yellow cabs.

'Bus Driver (to Cabby, who is trying to lash his horse into something like a trot). "Wot's the matter with 'im, Willum? 'E don't seem 'isself this mornin'. I believe you've bin an' changed 'is milk!"

A SKETCH FROM LIFE

Chorus (slow music). "We're a rare old—fair old—rickety, rackety crew!"

Scene—In a 'Bus.

Time—During the Hot Spell.

First City Man. "D——d hot, isn't—— I—I beg your pardon, madam, I—I quite forgot there was a lady pres——"

Stout Party. "Don't apologise. It's much worse than that!"

THE CAPITALISTS

(A Story of Yesterday for To-morrow and To-day)

"What, Brown, my boy, is that you?" said Smith, heartily.

"The same, and delighted to see you," was the reply.

"Have you heard the news, my dear fellow?" asked Smith.

"You mean about the position of the Bank of England? Why, certainly; all the City is talking about it."

"Ah, it is absolutely grand! Never was the Old Lady of Threadneedle Street in such a strong position. Marvellous! my dear friend; absolutely marvellous!"

"Quite so. Never were we—as a people—so rich!"

"Yes, prosperity seems to be coming back by leaps and bounds."

"You never said anything so true," observed Smith.

"Right you are," cried Brown.

And then the two friends shook hands once more with increased cordiality, and passed on. They walked in different directions a few steps, and both stopped. They turned round.

"Smith," said Brown, "I have to ask you a trifling favour."

"Brown, it is granted before I know its purport."

"Well, the truth is, I am penniless—lend me half-a-crown."

Smith paused for a moment.

"You surely do not wish to refuse me?" asked Brown in a tone of pained surprise.

"I do not, Smith," replied his friend, with fervour. "Indeed, I do not!"

"Then produce the two-and-sixpence."

"I would, my dear fellow, if in the wide world I could raise it!"

And then the ancient comrades shook hands once again, and parted in sorrow, but not in anger. They felt that after all they were only in the fashion.

A NEGLECTED INDUSTRY

"'Ow are yer gettin' on, Bill?"

"Ain't gettin' on at all. I'm beginnin' to think as the publick doesn't know what they wants!"

Too Common a Thing.

A member of a limited liability company in a bad way, said he should turn itinerant preacher. He was asked why? He said he had had a call.

Country Cousin. "Do you stop at the Cecil?"

'Bus Driver. "Do I stop at the Cecil!—on twenty-eight bob a week!"

Frightful Levity.

Bus-Driver. "Hullo, gov'nour; got any room?"

Policeman, Driving Van (with great want of self-respect). "Just room for one; saved a place a purpose for you, sir."

Bus-Driver. "What's yer fare?"

Policeman. "Bread and water; same as you had afore!"

A Misunderstanding.

Old Gent. (evidently from the Shires). "Hi! hoy! stop!"

Conductor. "'Old 'ard Bill!" (To Old Gent.) "Where are yer for, sir?"

Old Gent. (panting in pursuit). "Here!—let's have a—box o' them—safety matches!"

ON THE SPECULATIVE BUILDER

He's the readiest customer living,

While you're lending, or spending or giving;

But when you'd make profit, or get back your own,

He's the awkwardest customer ever you've known.

Favourite Song on the Stock Exchange.—"Oh! what a difference in the morning!"

The Real "Bitter" Cry of London.—The demand for Bass and Allsopp.

Cabby calls the new auto-cars his motormentors.

Thorough!

Hairdresser (to perspiring Customer during the late hot weather). "'Hair cut, sir?"

Stout Party (falling into the chair, exhausted). "Ye——"

Hairdresser. "Much off, sir?"

Stout Party. "(Phew!) Cut it to the bone!"

DIVERTING THE TRAFFIC!

The Thing to Throw Light on Spiritualistic Séances.—A spirit-lamp.

The Ruling Passion.—A great financial reformer is so devoted to figures that when he has nothing else to do he casts up his eyes.

Bubble Concerns.—Aërated water companies.

NEW LONDON STREET DIRECTORY

Adam Street.—Antediluvian anecdotes and traditions still linger here.

Air Street.—Doctors send their patients to this locality for change.

Aldermanbury.—Visited by numbers of bereaved relatives.

Amwell Street.—Always healthy.

Barking Alley.—To be avoided in the dog days.

Boy Court.—Not far from Child's Place.

Camomile Street.—See Wormwood Street.

Coldbath Square.—Very bracing.

Distaff Lane.—Full of spinsters.

Farm Street.—Highly sensitive to the fluctuations of the corn market.

Fashion Street.—Magnificent sight in the height of the season.

First Street.—Of immense antiquity.

Friday Street.—Great jealousy felt by all the other days of the week.

Garlick Hill.—Make a little détour.

Glasshouse Street.—Heavily insured against hailstorms.

Godliman Street.—Irreproachable.

Great Smith Street.—Which of the Smiths is this?

Grundy Street.—Named after that famous historic character—Mrs. Grundy.

Hercules Buildings.—Rich in traditions and stories of the "Labours" of the Founder.

Homer Street.—Literally classic ground. The house pointed out in connection with "the blind old bard" has long since disappeared.

Idol Lane.—Where are the Missionaries?

Ivy Lane.—This, and Lillypot Lane, and Woodpecker Lane, and Wheatsheaf Yard, and White Thorn Street, all sweetly rural. It is difficult to make a selection.

Lamb's Conduit Street.—Touching description (by the oldest inhabitant) of the young lambs coming to drink at the conduit.

Liquorpond Street.—See Philpot Lane.

Love Lane.—What sort of love? The "love of the turtle?"

Milk Street.—Notice the number of pumps.

Mincing Lane.—Mincing is now mostly done elsewhere, by machinery.

Orchard Street.—The last apple was gathered here about the time that the last coursing match took place in Hare Court.

Paper Buildings.—Wonderfully substantial! Brief paper extensively used in these buildings.

Quality Court.—Most aristocratic.

Riches Court.—Not a house to be had for love or money.

Shepherdess Walk.—Ought to be near Shepherds' Bush.

Trump Street.—Noted for whist.

Type Street.—Leaves a most favourable impression.

World's End Passage.—Finis.

A Qualified Guide.

Befogged Pedestrian. "Could you direct me to the river, please?"

Hatless and Dripping Stranger. "Straight ahead. I've just come from it!"

FASHIONABLE AND SEASONABLE.

Where to sup al fresco in the hottest weather. The "Whelkome Club">[

"The Round of the Restaurants."—Beef.

Sacrifice.

Good Templar. "Tut—t—t—really, Swizzle, it's disgraceful to see a man in your position in this state, after the expense we've incurred and the exertions we've used to put down the liquor traffic!"

Swizzle. "Y' may preash as mush as y' like, gen'l'm'n, bur I can tell y' I've made more persh'nal efforsh to (hic) purrown liquor than any of ve!"

A LONDON FOG

A fog in London daytime like the night is,

Our fellow-creatures seem like wandering ghosts,

The dull mephitic cloud will bring bronchitis;

You cannon into cabs or fall o'er posts.

The air is full of pestilential vapours,

Innumerable "blacks" come with the smoke;

The thief and rough cut unmolested capers,

In truth a London fog's no sort of joke.

You rise by candle-light or gaslight, swearing

There never was a climate made like ours;

If rashly you go out to take an airing,

The soot-flakes come in black plutonian show'rs.

Your carriage wildly runs into another,

No matter though you go at walking pace;

You meet your dearest friend, or else your brother

And never know him, although face to face.

The hours run on, and night and day commingle,

Unutterable filth is in the air;

You're much depressed, e'en in the fire-side ingle,

The hag dyspepsia seems everywhere.

Your wild disgust in vain you try to bridle,

Mad as March hare or hydrophobic dog,

You feel, in fact, intensely suicidal:

Such things befall us in a London fog!

The most Loyal of Cup-bearers.—A blind man's dog.

Not quite what he meant.

Joan (on her annual Spring visit to London). "There, John, I think that would suit me."

Darby (grumblingly). "That, Maria? Why, a pretty figure it would come to!"

Joan. "Ah, John dear, you're always so complimentary! I'll go and ask the price."

STARTING A SYNDICATE

A Serio-Comic Interlude
Scene—An Office in the City. Time—After Lunch.
Present—Members of a proposed Syndicate.

First Member. And now, gentlemen, to business. I suppose we may put down the capital at fifty thousand?

Second Mem. Better make it five hundred thousand. Half a million is so much easier to get.

Third Mem. Of course. Who would look at a paltry fifty?

First Mem. Perhaps you are right. Five pound shares, eh?

Fourth Mem. Better make them sovereigns. Simpler to manipulate.

First Mem. I daresay. Then the same solicitors as our last?

Fifth Mem. Yes, on the condition that they get a firm to undertake the underwriting.

First Mem. Necessarily. The firm I propose, gentlemen, are men of business, and quite recognise that nothing purchases nothing.

Second Mem. And they could get the secretary with a thousand to invest.

First Mem. Certainly. Our brokers, bankers, and auditors as before. Eh, gentlemen?

Fifth Mem. On the same conditions.

First Mem. That is understood. And now the prospectus is getting into shape. Is there anything else anyone can suggest?

Fourth Mem. Oughtn't we to have some object in view?

First Mem. Assuredly. Making money.

Fourth Mem. Don't be frivolous. But what I mean is, should we not know for what purpose we are going to expend the half million?

First Mem. Oh, you mean the name. Well, that comparatively unimportant detail we might safely leave until our next pleasant gathering.

[Meeting adjourned.

Curtain.

In Extremis.

That man is indeed hard up who cannot get credit even for good intentions.

"Walker!"

How unfair to sneer at the City tradesmen for being above their business, when so few of them live over their shops!

An early morning snapshot in the suburbs. Mr. Bumpus dresses his window.

METROPOLITAN IMPROVEMENTS

Proposed elevated roadway for perambulators

EXAMINATION FOR A DIRECTORSHIP

(From "The City Man's Vade Mecum")

Promoter. Are you a gentleman of blameless reputation?

Candidate. Certainly, and I share that reputation with a dozen generations of ancestors.

Promoter. And no doubt you are the soul of honour?

Candidate. That is my belief—a belief shared by all my friends and acquaintances.

Promoter. And I think, before taking up finance, you have devoted a long life to the service of your country?

Candidate. That is so. My career has been rewarded by all kinds of honours.

Promoter. And there is no particular reason why you should dabble in Stock Exchange matters?

Candidate. None that I know of—save, perhaps, to serve a friend.

Promoter. Now, be very careful. Do you know anything whatever about the business it is proposed you should superintend?

Candidate. Nothing whatever. I know nothing absolutely about business.

Promoter. Then I have much pleasure in informing you that you have been unanimously elected a member of the board of management!

[Scene closes in until the public demands further information.

"Perfeck Lidy" (who has just been ejected). "Well, next time I goes into a publickouse, I'll go somewhere where I'll be respected!"

RIDDLE FOR THE CITY

Oh! why, my friend, is a joint stock

Concern like, yet unlike, a clock?

Because it may be wound up; when,

Alas! it doesn't go again.

The Seat of Impudence.—A cabman's box.

Song of Suburban Householders awaiting the Advent of the Dustman.—"We always use a big, big D!"

A Floating Capital Joke.—When may a man be said to be literally immersed in business?—When he's giving a swimming lesson.

A Cheerful Investment.—A laughing-stock.

Baker. "I shall want another ha'penny. Bread's gone up to-day."

Boy. "Then give us one of yesterday's."

WHY I AM IN TOWN

Because I have long felt a strong desire to know by personal experiment what London is like at this season of the year.

Because the house requires some repairs, and I am anxious to be on the spot to look after the workpeople.

Because the progress of my book on Universal Eccentricity renders it necessary that I should pay frequent visits to the library of the British Museum.

Because I have been everywhere, and know every place.

Because the sanitary condition of the only place I at all care to go to is not altogether satisfactory.

Because my Uncle Anthony is expected home every day from Australia, and I am unwilling to be absent from town when he arrives.

Because my cousin Selina is going to be married from her stepfather's at Upper Clapton, and insists on my giving her away to the gentleman with whom she is about to penetrate into the interior of Africa.

Because I am desirous to avail myself of this opportunity of completing some statistical tables I am compiling, showing the comparative numbers of horses, carriages, and pedestrians passing my dining-room windows on the last Saturday in May and the last Saturday in August respectively.

Because my eldest son is reading with a private tutor for his army examination, and I feel I am of some use to him in his studies.

Because my Aunt Philippa is detained in town by an attack of gout, and expects me to call and sit with her three times a day.

Because I am determined to put into execution my long-cherished design of thoroughly exploring the British Museum, the National Gallery, the South Kensington Museum, St. Paul's, Westminster Abbey, the public monuments, and the City churches.

Because it is pecuniarily inconvenient to me to be anywhere else.

Notice.

The gentleman who, the other day, ran away from home, without stopping to take his breath, is requested to fetch it as quickly as possible.

Fogged.

Cabman (who thinks he has been passing a line of linkmen). "Is this right for Paddington?"

Linkman. "'Course it is! First to the right and straight on. 'Aven't I told ye that three times already? Why, you've been drivin' round this square for the last 'arf hour!"

Virtuous Indignation.

Betting Man (to his Partner). "Look 'ere, Joe! I 'ear you've been gamblin' on the Stock Exchange! Now, a man must draw the line somewhere; and if that kind of thing goes on, you and me will 'ave to part company!"

MISNOMERS

You start a company to make it go,

It fails, and so you drop it;

It didn't go but yet has gone, and so

You wind it up to stop it.

Stocks in your garden you will surely find

By want of rain are slaughtered;

Yet many stocks have languished and declined

Because they have been watered.

Suppose a company for brewing beer

Should come to a cessation—

That is—"dry up" 'tis curious to hear

It's called "in liquidation."

Prehistoric London.

Some archæologists have discovered an analogy between the druidical worship and a form of semitic idolatry. It has been surmised that the Old Bailey derives its name from having been the site of a temple of Baal.

The Rule of Rome.—An "Inquiring City Clerk," fresh from his Roman history, writes to ask if "S.P.Q.R." stands for "Small profits, quick returns."

A Temperance Public-house.—A slop-shop.

MELTING MOMENTS

(Temperature 95° in the Shade.)

Friend. "How does this weather suit you, old chap?"

Bankrupt Proprietor. "Oh, down to the ground! You see, I'm in liquidation!

The Original Cook's Tourist.—Policeman X on his beat.

"The Great Plague of London."—A barrel-organ.

The Latest Thing Out.—The night-light.

Johnny (who has to face a bad Monday, to Manager at Messrs. R-thsch-ld's). "Ah! I—want to—ah!—see you about an overdraft." Manager. "How much do you require?" Johnny. "Ah!—how much have you got?"

French Lady. "Picca-di-lee Circus." Obliging Conductor. "All right. One pence." French Lady (who rather prides herself on her English pronunciation). "I anterstond ze Engleeshe langue." Obliging Conductor. "Oh, all right. Keep yer 'air on!"

The Most Unpleasant Meeting.—Having to meet a bill.

What intimate connection is there between the lungs of London and the lights of the metropolis?

Saw for Slop Tailors.—Ill tweeds shrink apace.

A Tissue of Lies.—A forged bank-note.

A Nice Investment.—Amongst the advertisements of new undertakings we notice one of "The Universal Disinfector Company." Our broker has instructions to procure us some shares, if they are in good odour.

A Tight Fit.—Intoxication.

How to Supply St. Paul's with Bells and Chimes Cheap.—Melt down the canons.

A Thought from our Tub.—Respect everybody's feelings. If you wish to have your laundress's address, avoid asking her where she "hangs out."

Hard Lines.—Overhead wires.

Hotel for Bee-Fanciers.—The Hum-mums.

Unprecedented Trade Announcement.—The pig-market was quiet.

Money Market and Sanitary Intelligence.—The unsafest of all deposits is the deposit of the banks of the Thames.

The Place to Spend All Fools' Day.—Madame Tous-sots'.

Bus-driver. "All right, ladies! You're quite safe. They're werry partikler wot they eats!"

METROPOLITAN IMPROVEMENTS

The next sensational literary advertisement; or, things of beauty in our streets.

Solemn Jest.—Where should postmen be buried? In a post-crypt.

A Blunder-Bus.—One that takes you to Holborn when you want to go to the Bank.

Epitaph for a Stockbroker.—"Waiting for a rise."

Board Wages.—Directors' fees.

STOCK EXCHANGE

Illustrated by Dumb-Crambo, Junior

A NEW WAY TO GET A FRESH APPETITE

(A real bit from life at a City company's dinner)

Young Visitor. Really, sir, you must excuse me. I am compelled to refuse.

Old Alderman (with profound astonishment). What, refuse these beautiful grouse? It's impossible!

Young Visitor. It is impossible, I can assure you, sir. I cannot eat any more.

Old Alderman (tenderly). Come, come. I tell you what now. Just take my advice, and try a cold chair.

Design for a Paper-Weight.—The portrait of a gentleman waiting for the Times.

The Best "Financial Relations."—Our "uncles."

At the Angel Court Kitchen.—Stranger (to Eminent Financier). Why did you call that man at the bar "the Microbe"?
Eminent Financier. Because he's "in everything."

Ground Rents.—The effects of an earthquake.

Following the Fashion.

Baked-Tater Merchant. "'Ow's trade! Why fust-rate!! I'm a-goin' to conwert the bis'ness into a limited liability comp'ny—and retire into private life!!!"

SONGS OF THE STREETS

UPON THE KERB

Upon the kerb a maiden neat—

Her watchet eyes are passing sweet—

There stands and waits in dire distress:

The muddy road is pitiless,

And 'buses thunder down the street!

A snowy skirt, all frill and pleat;

Two tiny, well-shod, dainty feet

Peep out, beneath her kilted dress,

Upon the kerb!

She'll first advance and then retreat,

Half frightened by a hansom fleet.

She looks around, I must confess,

With marvellous coquettishness!—

Then droops her eyes and looks discreet,

Upon the kerb!

Definition of "The Happy Mean."—A joyful miser.

To People Down in the World.—Try the new hotels: they will give you a lift.

What is the best thing to do in a hurry? Nothing.

Sarah (to Sal). "Lor! ain't 'e 'andy with 'is feet!"

PUNCH'S COUNTRY COUSIN'S GUIDE

The Metropolis in the Morte Saison

8 a.m.—Rise, as in the country, and stroll round the squares before breakfast, to see the turn out of cooks and charwomen. Ask your way back of the first policeman you meet.

9 a.m.—Breakfast. First taste of London milk and butter. Analyse, if not in a hurry. Any policeman will show you the nearest chemist.

10 a.m.—To Battersea Park to see carpets beaten. Curious atmospheric effects observable in the clouds of dust and the language of the beaters. Inquire your road of any policeman.

11 a.m.—Take penny steamer up to Westminster Bridge, in time to arrive at Scotland Yard, and inspect the police as they start on their various beats. For any information, inquire of the inspector.

12 p.m.—Hansom cab races. These can be viewed at any hour by standing still at a hundred yards from any cabstand and holding up a shilling. An amusing sequel may be enjoyed by referring all the drivers to the nearest policeman.

1 p.m.—Observe the beauties of solitude among the flowers in Hyde Park. Lunch at the lodge on curds and whey. Ask the whey of the park keeper.

2 p.m.—Visit the exhibitions of painting on the various scaffoldings in Belgravia. Ask the next policeman if the house painters are Royal Academicians. Note what he says.

3 p.m.—Look at the shops in Bond Street and Regent Street, and purchase the dummy goods disposed of at an awful sacrifice.

4 p.m.—See the stickleback fed at the Westminster Aquarium. If nervous at being alone, ask the policeman in waiting to accompany you over the building.

5 p.m.—Find a friend still in town to give you five o'clock tea in her back drawing-room—the front of the house being shut up.

6 p.m.—Back to the park. Imagine the imposing cavalcades in Rotten Row (now invisible), with the aid of one exercising groom and the two daughters of a riding-master in full procession.

7 p.m.—Wake up the waiters at the Triclinium Restaurant, and persuade them to warm up dinner for your benefit.

8 p.m.—Perambulate the Strand, and visit the closed doors of the various theatres. Ask the nearest policeman for his opinion on London actors. You will find it as good as a play.

9 p.m.—A Turkish bath may be had in Covent Garden Theatre. Towels or programmes are supplied by the policemen at the doors.

10 p.m.—Converse, before turning in, with the policeman on duty or the fireman in charge of the fire-escape. Much interesting information may be obtained in this way.

11 p.m.—Supper at the cabmen's shelter, or the coffee stall corner of Hyde Park. Get a policeman to take you home to bed.

Benevolent Old Gentleman. "Poor little thing! Is it hurt?"

Amenities of the road.

Robert. "Now then, four-wheeler, why couldn't you pull up sooner? Didn't you see me 'old up my 'and?"

Cabby (suavely). "Well, constable, I did see a kind of shadder pass acrorst the sky; but my 'orse 'e shied at your feet!"

Q. What is the best sort of cigar to smoke in a hansom?
A. A Cab-ana.

The Wheel of Fortune.—It must have belonged originally to an omnibus, for it is continually "taking up" and "putting down" people.

Groom (whose master is fully occupied with unmanageable pair which has just run into rear of omnibus). "Well, anyway, it wasn't the guv'nor's fault."

'Bus Conductor. "No—it was your fault, for letting 'im drive!"

"The way we Build now."

Indignant Houseowner (he had heard it was so much cheaper, in the end, to buy your house). "Wh' what's the—what am I!—wha' what do you suppose is the meaning of this, Mr. Scampling!"

Local Builder. "'T' tut, tut! Well, sir, I 'spects some one's been a-leanin' agin it!!"

GETTING HIS ANSWER

Important Old Gent (from the country, who thinks the lofty bearing of these London barmaids ought to be "taken down a bit"). "Glass of ale, young woman; and look sharp, please!"

Haughty Blonde (blandly). "Second-class refreshments lower down, sir!!"

THE MEAT MARKET

Legs were freely walked off, and there was a pressure on ribs owing to the rush of beggars; but knuckles came down, while calves'-heads were looking-up steadily. At Smithfield, there was a rush of bulls, but the transactions were of such a hazardous nature as to appear more like a toss-up than firm business. Any kind of security was resorted to, and the bulls having driven a well-known speculator into a corner, he was glad to get out as he could, though an attempt was made to pin him to his position.

Pigs went on much at the old rates; and briskness could not be obtained, though the coupons were freely offered.

The weather having been favourable to slaughtering, calves have not been brought to the pen—but there is something doing in beef, for the "Last of the Barons" is advertised.

The Original Cab Radius.—A spoke of Phœbus's chariot-wheel.

Motto for the L.G.O.C.—Bus in urbe.

A CASE OF MISTAKEN IDENTITY

Old Gentleman (returning from City festivity). "Pleashm'n, where'sh M'sht'r Brown live?"

Constable (recognising him). "Why, dear me, sir, you are Mr. Brown!"

Mr. B. "Aw right! Bu'—where do I live?"!

Cheap Jack.

"I will make a present of this genooine gold watch—none of your carrots—to henny lady or gentleman for fifteen shillings an' sixpence. Why am I doin' this? To hencourage trade, that is why I am givin' it away for fourteen shillings an' sixpence. Look at it for yourselves, for fourteen shillings! If yer don't believe it's gold, jump on it?"

At the Diamond Jubilee.

First Doubtful Character. "My eye, mate, this is a squash!"

Second D. C. "Squash! Why, s'elp me, if I ain't 'ad my 'and in this cove's pocket for the larst twenty minits, an' can't get it out!"

BACK TO TOWN

Back to town, and it certes is rapture to stand,

And to hear once again all the roar of the Strand;

I agree with the bard who said, noisy or stilly,

By gaslight or daylight, he loved Piccadilly;

The wanderer's heart with emotion doth swell,

When he sees the broad pavement of pleasant Pall Mall.

Some folks like the City; wherever they range,

Their hearts are still true to the Royal Exchange;

They've beheld alpine summits rise rank upon rank,

But the Matterhorn's nothing compared with the Bank;

And they feel quite rejoiced in the omnibus ride,

As that hearse for the living rolls up through Cheapside.

The mind of a man is expanded by travel,

But give me my house on the Kensington gravel:

The wine of the Frenchman is good, and his grub,

But he isn't devoted to soap and the tub;

Though it may be my prejudice, yet I'll be shot,

If I don't think one Englishman's worth all the lot!

With Germans I've no disposition to quarrel,

Though most of their women resemble a barrel;

And, as for myself, I could never make out

The charms of their schnitzel and raw sauer-kraut;

While everyone owns, since the last mighty war,

Your average Teuton's too bumptious by far.

I think it's been stated before, that you roam

To prove to yourself that there's no place like home,

Though lands that are lovely lie eastward and west,

Our "tight little island," believe me, 's the best;

Through Paris, Berlin, and Vienna you've passed,

To find that there's nothing like London at last!

New Assistant (after hair-cutting, to Jones, who has been away for a couple of weeks). "Your 'air is very thin be'ind, sir. Try singeing!"

Jones (after a pause). "Yes, I think I will."

N. A. (after singeing). "Shampoo, sir? Good for the 'air, sir."

Jones. "Thank you. Yes."

N. A. "Your moustaches curled?"

Jones. "Please."

N. A. "May I give you a friction?"

Jones. "Thank you."

N. A. "Will you try some of our——"

Manager (who has just sighted his man, in stage whisper). "You idiot! He's a subscriber!!"

Mrs. R. was in an omnibus lately. The streets were so badly paved, she says, that the osculations were most trying to elderly people, though the younger ladies did not seem to object to them.

Signs of a Severe Winter in London

Early departure of swallows from Swallow Street.

Poet's Corner covered with rime.

Wild ducks on the Stock Exchange.

Coals raised.

Cynic's Motto for Kelly's Directory (by the kind permission of the Author of "Dead Men whom I have known.")—Living men whom I don't want to know.

Money Market—Shares, in Ascension Island Company, going up.

City Intelligence.—Should the proposed asylum for decayed bill brokers, jobbers, and others on 'Change be ultimately built, it will probably be at Stock-holm.

Convenient.

Lodger (who has been dining). "D' you have any 'bjecks'n t' my 'shcaping up into my rooms shec'nd floor? F'got my la'ch-key!!"

Advice to Smokers.—Cut Cavendish.

Fashionable Intelligence.—A new club, composed entirely of aristocratic literary ladies, is in course of formation; it is to be called "The Blue Lights."

NURSERY RHYME FOR THE TIME

Bye baby bunting,

Daddy's gone a hunting

On the Stock Exchange, to catch

Some one who is not his match;

If he has luck,

As well as pluck,

A coach he'll very likely win

To ride his baby bunting in.

The Deaf Man's Paradise.—The Audit Office.

"CASTING ACCOUNTS"

Our French Visitors.

(Scene—Royal Exchange.)

First Frenchman (his first time in London). "Tiens, Alphonse! Qui est cet homme-là?"

Second Frenchman (who, having been here once before is supposed to know all about it). "Chut! Plus bas, mon ami." (Whispers in reverential tone.) "Ce monsieur-là—c'est le Lor' Maire!"

A very much Over-rated Place.—London, under the County Council.

A Bill Acceptor.—A dead wall.

Site for a Ragged School.—Tattersall's.

Links that are no Sort of Use in any Fog.—Shirt-links.

The most Beautiful and Beautifying Tree in London.—The plane.

"Coigns of 'vantage."—£. s. d.

BULL AND BEAR

The "Bread of Idleness."—Loafing.

POEM ON A PUBLIC-HOUSE

Of this establishment how can we speak?

Its cheese is mitey and its ale is weak.

The Aristocrat's Paradise.—Quality Court.

"The Controller of the Mint."—The greengrocer.

Seasonable.—What sort of a bath would a resident of Cornhill probably prefer?
A Cit's bath.

The Tippler's Paradise.—Portsoken Ward.

MONEY MARKET

The Stockbroker's Vade Mecum.—A book of good quotations.

Epitaph on a Letter Carrier.—Post obit.

A Man in Advance of his Time.—One who has been knocked into the middle of next week.

The Lord Mayor's Residence.—The munching house.

A NEW TERROR FOR THE UNPUNCTUAL CLERK

[According to the Scientific American they have commenced making in Switzerland phonographic clocks and watches, which pronounce the hour most distinctly.]

The Best School of Cookery.—The office of a City accountant.

THE OBSTINACY OF THE PARENT

Emily Jane. "Yes, I'm always a-sayin' to father as 'e oughter retire from the crossin', but keep at it 'e will, though it ain't just no more 'n the broom as 'olds 'im up!"

THE MONEY MARKET

The scarcity of money is frightful. As much as a hundred per cent., to be paid in advance, has been asked upon bills; but we have not yet heard of any one having given it. There was an immense run for gold, but no one got any, and the whole of the transactions of the day were done in copper. An influential party created some sensation by coming into the market late in the afternoon, just before the close of business, with half-a-crown; but it was found, on inquiry, to be a bad one. It is expected that if the dearth of money continues another week, buttons must be resorted to. A party, whose transactions are known to be large, succeeded in settling his account with the bulls, by means of postage-stamps; an arrangement of which the bears will probably take advantage.

A large capitalist in the course of the day attempted to change the direction things had taken, by throwing an immense quantity of paper into the market; but as no one seemed disposed to have anything to do with it, it blew over.

The parties to the Dutch loan are much irritated at being asked to take their dividends in butter; but, after the insane attempt to get rid of the Spanish arrears by cigars, which, it is well known, ended in smoke, we do not think the Dutch project will be proceeded with.

"Letters of Credit."—I.O.U.

Capital Punishment.—Stopping in London in August.

Residence for the Clerk of the Weather.—"The clearing-house."

A MAN OF LETTERS

Most Assuring.