But ane who blaws up strife like this, Wisdom deems not a wise man. Scot business may be out o' tune, Let toilers not, like snarling tykes, Till foreign Trade, which marks our Steps in, and we're derided. Be Scotland still to Scotland true, 'Tis not by firebrands, JOHN, like you The knave who'd crush the toilers doun, And him, his true-born brither, Who'd set the mob aboon the Crown, Should be kicked out together. Go, JOHN! Learn temperance, banish spleen! Scots cherish throne and steeple, We won't forget the People. A LENGTHY NOVEL.-A Thousand Lines of Her Own, in 3000 vols., by the Authoress of A Line of Her Own, in 3 vols. N.B.-What a long THINGS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE LEFT UNSAID. line this must be to occupy three vols. A work of and for a life- Small Stranger (to Master of the house). "Ow MY! THE GENTLEMAN AS OPENS THE DOOR WILL GIVE time. IT YER, IF YER RING THAT BELL!" OPERATIC GOSSIP. 66 66 66 A REMINISCENCE OF C. K. DURING the preparation of Sir ARTHUR SULLIVAN's new Opera, THE excellent article in the Times on the 6th inst. upon CHARLES Ivanhoe, a grave objection to the subject occurred to him, which KEENE was worthy of its subject. The writer in the P. M. G. of a was, that one of the chief personages in the dramatis persone must day earlier performed his self-imposed task with a judicious and loving be "Gilbert"-i.e., Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert. True, that Sir Brian hand, and, as far as I can judge, his account of our lamented colleague is the villain of the piece, but this, to Sir ARTHUR'S generous dispo- seems to be correct. As to our CARLO's Mastership in his Blacksition, only made matters worse. It was evident that he couldn't and-White Art, there can be but one opinion among Artists. Those change the character's name to Sir Brian de Bois-Sullivan, and who possess the whole of the Once a Week series will there find Mr. D'OYLEY CARTE refused to allow his name to appear in the bill admirable specimens of CHARLES KEENE in a more serious vein. His except as Lessee. "I can't put him in simply as Sir Brian," said most striking effects were made as if by sudden inspiration. I the puzzled Composer, unless I make him an Irishman, and I remember a story which exactly illustrates my meaning. An artistic don't think my librettist will consent to take this liberty with friend was in KEENE's studio, while CARLO was at work, pipe in SCOTT's novel." "But the name in the Opera isn't pronounced the mouth, of course. "I can't understand," said his friend, "how same as W. S. G.'s," objected D'OYLEY. "It will be outside the you produce that effect of distance in so small a picture.' "0Opera by ninety out of a hundred," answered Sir ARTHUR. But," "um-easy enough," replied KEENE. "Look here,"-and- - he did continued D'OYLEY, persistently, "it isn't spelt the same.' 99 "No," "it. But when and how he gave the touch which made the effect, his replied Sir ARTHUR, "that's the worst of it; there's 'u" and friend, following his work closely, was unable to discover. F. C. B. "i" in it; we're both mixed up with this Guilbert." Fortunately, the Composer and the Author made up their quarrel, and as a memento PARS ABOUT PICTURES.-There is always something fresh coming of the happy termination to the temporary misunderstanding, Sir out at Messrs. DOWDESWELL'S Articultural Garden in Bond Street. ARTHUR, in a truly generous mood, designed to call the character Their latest novelty is the result of a caravan tour from Dieppe to "Sir Brian de Bois-Gilbert-and-Sullivan." Whether the myste- Nice ("Dieppend upon it, he found it very nice!" said Young PAR, rious librettist, whose name has only lately been breathed in the regardless of propriety and pronunciation) by Mr. C. P. SAINTON. public ear, insisted on SCOTT's original name being retained or not, CHARLES COLLINS utilised such an expedition from a literary point of it is now pretty certain that there will be no departure from the view in his inimitable "Cruise upon Wheels," and this young artist great novelist's original nomenclature. has turned similar wanderings to good artistic account. His cartes de visite-no, I beg pardon, his caravans de visite-are numerous and for Mr. SAINTON, in addition to returning with his caravan and himvaried. Verily, my brethren, all is caravanity! Not altogether, self, has brought back an interesting collection of original and delicate works in oil and silver-point-in short, taken every caravantage of his special opportunities. Yours parlously, A BREACH OF VERACITY. According to the papers, the Chief Secretary's Lodge in Dublin is blocked with parcels of clothing designed for the poor in the West of Ireland, sent in response to the request of Lord ZETLAND and Mr. ARTHUR BALFOUR. We understand there is no truth in the report, that amongst the first arrivals was a parcel containing Mr. O'BRIEN's br- -s, with a note explaining, that as he was about to go to prison again, he had no further use for the article. NEW IRISH DRINK.-The Parnellite "Split." OLD PAR. ships, 118 guns, and 3,000 men; six British ships, 52 guns, 1,229 "MAY IT PLEASE YOUR WARSHIPS.'"-Twenty-three American men; and seven German ships, 42 guns, and 1,500 men-all in "Pacific" waters! Looks like Pacific, doesn't it? MR. PUNCH'S PRIZE NOVELS. No. XI.-THE BOOK OF KOOKARIE. By READER FAGHARD, Author of "Queen Bathsheba's Ewers," Yawn," Guess,' Me," "My Ma's at Penge," "Smallun Halfboy," "General Porridge, D.T.," "Me a Kiss," "The Hemisphere's Wish," &c., &c. [IN a long communication which accompanied the MS. of this novel, the Author gives a description of his literary method. We have only room for a few extracts. "I have been accused of plagiarism. I reply that the accusation is ridiculous. Nature is the great plagiarist, the sucker of the brains of authors. There is no situation, however romantic or grotesque, which Nature does not sooner or later appropriate. Therefore the more natural an author is, the more liable is he to envious accusations of plagiarism Humour may often be detected in an absence of leg-coverings. A naval officer is an essentially humorous object...... As to literary style, it can be varied at pleasure, but the romantic Egyptian and the plain South African are perhaps best. In future my motto will be, Ars Langa Rider brevis,' and a very good motto too. I like writing in couples. Personally I could never have bothered myself to learn up all these quaint myths and literary fairy tales, but LANG likes it."] CHAPTER I. · My name is SMALLUN HALFBOY, a curious name for an old fellow like me, who have been battered and knocked about all over the world from Yorkshire to South Africa. I'm not, much of a hand at writing, but, bless your heart, I know the Bab Ballads by heart, and I can tell you it's no end of a joke quoting them everywhere, especially when you quote out of an entirely different book. I am not a brave man, but nobody ever was a surer shot with an Express longbow, and no one ever killed more Africans, men and elephants, than I have in my time. But I do love blood. I love it in regular rivers all over the place, with gashes and slashes and lopped heads and arms and legs rolling about everywhere. Black blood is the best variety; I mean the blood of black men, because nobody really cares twopence about them, and you can massacre several thousands of them in half-a-dozen lines and offend no single soul. And, after all, I am not certain that black men have any souls, so that makes things safe all round, as someone says in the Bab Ballads. CHAPTER II. I WAS staying with my old friend Sir HENRY HURTUS last winter at his ancestral home in Yorkshire. We had been shooting all day with whole a very favourable view of the situation, and by its light I saw six fine mallard, four teal and three widgeon come hurtling down, as dead as so many door-nails, and much heavier on the top of my prostrate body. When I recovered Sir HENRY was bending over me and pouring brandy down my throat. COODENT was sitting on the ground binding up his legs. "My dear old friend," said Sir HENRY, in his kindest tone, this Yorkshire is too dangerous. My mind is made up. This very night we all start for Mariannakookaland. There at least our lives will be safe." CHAPTER III. WE were in Mariannakookaland. We had been there a [month travelling on, ever on, over the parching wastes, under the scorching African sun which all but burnt us in our treks. Our Veldt slippers were worn out, and our pace was consequently reduced to the merest Kraal. At rare intervals during our adventurous march, we had seen Stars and heard of Echoes, but now not a single Kopje was left, and we were trudging along mournfully with our blistered tongas protruding from our mouths. Suddenly Sir HENRY spoke "SMALLUN, my old friend," he said, "do you see anything in the distance ?" I looked intently in the direction indicated, but could see nothing but the horizon. "Look again," said Sir HENRY. I swept the "Then a strange thing happened." distance with my glance. It was a sandy, arid distance, and, naturally enough, a small cloud of dust appeared. Then a strange thing happened. The cloud grew and grew. It came rolling towards us with an unearthly noise. Then it seemed to be cleft in two, as by lightning, and from its centre came marching towards us mighty army of Amazonian warriors, in battle-array, chanting the war-song of the Mariannakookas. I must confess that my first instinct was to fly, my second to run, my third, and best, to remain rooted to the spot. When the army came within ten yards of us, it stopped, as if by magic, and a stout Amazon, of forbidding aspect, who seemed to be the Commanderin-Chief, advanced to the front. On her head she wore an immense native jelibag, tricked out with feathers; her breast was encased in a huge silver tureene. Her waist was encircled with a broad girdle, in which were stuck all manner of deadly arms, stuhpans, sorspans, spihts, and deeshecloutz. In her left hand she carried a deadly-looking kaster, while in her right she brandished a massive rolinpin, a frightful weapon, which produces larly armed, save that, in their case, the breast-covering was made of inferior metal, and they wore no feathers in their head-dress. The Commander held up her hand. Instantly the war-song ceased. Then the Commander addressed us, and her voice sounded like the song of them that address the butchaboys in the morning. And this was the torque she hurled at us, CHAPTER IV. indifferent results, and were returning home fagged and weary with internal wounds of the most awful kind. Her regiments were simiour rifles over our shoulders. I ought to have mentioned that COODENT-of course, you remember Captain CooDENT, R.N.-was of the party. Ever since he had found his legs so much admired by an appreciative public, he had worn a kilt without stockings, in order to show them. This, however, was not done from vanity, I think, but rather from a high sense of duty, for he felt that those who happened to be born with personal advantages ought not to be deterred by any sense of false modesty from gratifying the reading public by their display. Lord, how we had laughed to see him struggling through the cling- "OH, wanderers from a far country, I am She-who-will-nevering brambles in Sir HENRY's coverts with his eye-glass in his eye Obey, the Queen of the Mariannakookas. I rule above, and in nether and his Express at the trail. At every step his unfortunate legs had regions, where there is Eternal Fire. Behold my Word goes forth, been more and more torn, until there was literally not a scrap of and the Ovens are made hot, and the Kee-chen-boi-lars are filled sound skin upon them anywhere. Even the beaters, a stolid lot, had with Water. Over me no Mistress holds sway. All whom I meet I roared when old VELVETEENS the second keeper had brought up to keep in subjection, save only the Weeklibuks; them I keep not down, poor COODENT a lump of flesh from his right leg, which he had found for they delight me. And the land over which I reign is made glad sticking on a thorn-bush in the centre of the high covert. Suddenly with fat and much stored up Dripn. Who are ye, and what seek Sir HENRY stopped and shaded his eyes with his hand anxiously. here? Speak ere it be too late!" And as she ceased the whole army We all imitated him, though for my part, not being a sportsman, I broke forth into a chorus, "She-who-will-never-Obey has spoken! had no notion what was up. "What's the time of day, Sir The Word is gone forth! Speak, speak!" I confess I was alarmed, HENRY?" I ventured to whisper. Sir HENRY never looked at me, and my fears were not diminished when two of the Skulrimehds but took out his massive gold Winchester repeater and consulted it (a sort of native camp-follower) came up to COODENT and me, and in a low voice. "Four thirty," I heard him say, "they are about actually began to make love to us in the most forward manner. due." Suddenly there was a whirring noise in the distance. "Duck, But Sir HENRY maintained his calm demeanour. "She-who-willduck!" shouted Sir HENRY, now thoroughly aroused. I im-never-Obey," he said, we are peaceful traders. We bring no mediately did so, ducked right down in fact, for I did not know Commission- ." how his sentence would have ended will never be what might be coming, and I am a very timid man. At that moment known. Certain it is that what he said roused the Amazons to a I heard a joint report from Sir HENRY and COODENT. It gave on the frenzy of passion. They yelled and danced round us. "He who 66 ye brings no Commission must die!" they shouted; and in a moment we found ourselves bound tightly hand-and-foot, and marching as prisoners of war in the centre of the Mariannakookaland army. CHAPTER V. Ir is unnecessary to go through the details of our marvellous escape from the lowest dungeon of the royal Palace of SURVAN TSAUL, where for months we were immured on a constant diet of suet pudding. Of course we did escape, but only after killing ten thousand Mariannakookas, and then swimming for a mile in their blood. COODENT brought with him a very pretty Skulrimehd who had grown attached to him, but she drooped and pined away after he lost his false teeth in crossing a river, and tried to replace them with orange-peel, a trick he had learnt at school. Sir HENRY's fight with She-who-will-never-Obey is still remembered. He will carry the marks of her nails on his cheeks to his grave. I myself am tired of wandering. Home, Sweet Home," as the Bab Ballads have it, is the place for me. 66 THE END. AN UNREHEARSED EFFECT. I WENT to see the Pantomime this Christmas in our town. ER NOT INSIDE OUT. FAIR Maiden, you're looking a vision of beauty, To whisper a word of advice in your ear. Now, the word would be this-when the daylight is dawning, You reck not at all of the hours that are fleeting, But though, doubtless, soft nothings may set your heart beating, OUR BOOKING-OFFICE. THE Publisher of The Century Illustrated Monthly Magazine, earnestly requests the reviewer, appealing to his heart in the reddest of red ink, on a slip of paper pasted on to the cover of the Magazine, not to extract and quote more than one column of "Talleyrand's Memoirs," which appear in this number for January. The Publisher of the C. I. M. M. does Fairy Starlight, Little Pop-not appeal personally to the Baron sey, and the Demon of the Glen. The Supers were collected from the local talent round, And for Burley bumbo's servant the Blacksmith, JOHN, they found: A stalwart varlet was required to carry off his foes To Burleybumbo Castle, His minions, who wore On this eventful night the house was packed from roof to pit, The unsuspecting wayfarers. Alas! now came the blunder: "Not if I knowsh it, jolly old pal! I've only just come on!" No doubt about the matter-Burleybumbo's man is drunk! He tried to push him down the glade, but here again JOHN sold him Ah! such a shindy ne'er was seen, such riot and such rage— who is now the last, bar one, of the Barons, and that bar one is one at the Bar,-but, for all that, the Baron hereby and hereon takes his solummest Half-a-Davey or his entire Davey, that he will not write, engrave, or represent, or cause to be, &c., for purposes of quotation, one single word, much less line, of Tallyho-beg pardon, of Talleyrand,-extracts from whose memoirs are now appearing in the aforesaid C. I.M.M. But all he will say at present is this, that, if the secret and private Memoirs haven't got in them anything more thrilling or startling, or out of the merest common-place, than appears in this number of the C. I. M. M., then the Baron will say that he would prefer reading such contributions as M. de BLOWITZ'S story of "How he became a Special," or The Pigmies of the African Forest by HENRY M. STANLEY in the same number of this Mag. What the Baron dearly loves is, ELLIOT STOCK-IN-TRADE S The Book-worm, always most interesting to Book-worms, and almost as interesting to Book-grubs or Book-butterflies. By the way, the publishing office of The Book-worm ought to be in Grub Street. For what sort of fish is The Book-worm an attractive bait? I suppose there are queer fish in the Old Book trade that can take in any number of Book-worms, as is shown from a modern instance, well and wisely commented upon in this very number for January, No. 38, which is excellent food for worms; the whole series, indeed, must be a very Diet of Worms. Success to the Book-worm! May it grow to double the size, and be a glow-worm, to enlighten us in the byepaths of literature. "Prosit!" says the Baron. I would that some one would write of BROWNING's work as HENRY VAN DYKE has written of TENNYSON'S. To the superficial and cursory reader of the Laureate, the Baron, sitting by the fire on a winter's night, the wind howling over the sea, and the snow drifting against the window, and being chucked in handfuls down the chimney, and frizzling on the fire, says, get this book, published by ELKIN MATHEWS: ça donne à penser, and this is its great merit. "Come into the Garden, Maud "-no, thank you, not to-night; but give me my shepherd's pipe, with the fragrant bird's-eye in it, with TOY Yрoyov, while I sit by the cheerful fire, in the best of good company-my books. Our Mr. GRIFFITHES (CHESTER, MAYHEW, BROOME, AND GRIFFITHES) has been all the way From Bedford Row to Swazieland, and has written a lively narrative of his perilous journey. He went on a professional retainer. You don't catch Bedford Row in Swazieland on other terms. Being there, he kept his eyes open, saw a good deal, and describes his impressions in racy fashion. He did not like the coffee served en route, and was disappointed with the Southern Cross; but on the whole enjoyed the trip. One would naturally expect that the price of his book would be six-and-eightpence, or, regarding it in the form of a letter, three-and-fourpence, but BRADBURY, AGNEW, & Co. issue it at a shilling. THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS & Co. WHAT OUR ARTIST HAS TO PUT UP WITH. Our Artist. "WELL, HOW DO YOU LIKE THE PORTRAITS, MISS BUNNY! THE SITTERS ARE ALL OLD FRIENDS OF YOURS, I BELIEVE?" Miss Bunny (triumphantly). "YES; AND, ONLY THINK, I'VE ACTUALLY MANAGED TO GUESS THEM ALL!" If 'twere not for me, Mates, this cold Behring's Sea, Mites, Do grant your poor prey, if I may make so free, Mates, I'm worried and walloped without intermission Quite fail, whilst your countrymen cudgel and fish on. My poor wife and children have not half a chance, Mater. Cease shindy, and on a new course make advance, Mates, There's not much of either in cruelly clubbing And if you are bent upon mutual drubbing, Morning Mineral and Parl. General Edinburgh 7 A.M. to 11 A.M. A Noon F 9 P.M. L 9.30 Carlisle 12.15 Hawick 4:30 B ... Galashiels A-Takes delayed pig-iron and third-class passengers. B-Half of train stops here through breaking an axle-pin. C-Passengers, for protection, get under seats of carriages. D-Stops for repairs. E-Having had a collision at the junction for Aberfeldy, will come on, if there are any passengers equal to finishing the journey. F-Starts under the management of a Director, and, owing to a misunderstanding, dashes off to Aberdeen, without stopping. G-Doesn't stop, but knocks over a station-master. H-Is pelted as it tears through the station by ex-employés. I-Knocks over Mare clausum, be blowed! That's all BLAINE's big bow-wow, another station-master. J-Meets a pilot-engine, which it splits in half. K-Goes at full speed through the end of the terminus, depositing the passengers in a heap in the middle of the town. L-Train starts, made up of horse-boxes and luggage-vans full of three weeks' arrears of parcels, first-class carriages, Post-office van, fifty coal-trucks, and a wild beast show, the Directors wishing to make up for lost time. M-Train breaking down here, mail and passengers only forwarded. N-Train attacked by rioters. Pitched battle with the passengers. O-Telegram from Motherwell saying, that owing to [Dives under. police intervention, train starts the day after to-morrow. |