Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 99, July 5, 1890

Candour is at times inconvenient. A prominent member of a Metropolitan Vestry was informed two days ago by one of the permanent scavengers of the district, that he "wasn't worth the price of a second-hand boot-lace." On inquiring the meaning of this curious phrase, he was told that "his blooming head would be knocked off for two-pence." We understand that the Vestryman's vote on a question of salary is responsible for the indignation of the scavenger, a member of a class usually noted for their somewhat ceremonious courtesy.

Those who propose to travel this year will doubtless be glad to learn that the Hessian fly has been observed in unusual abundance in Westphalia. This succulent morceau is now eaten fried, with a sauce of devilled lentils and oil.

It appears, after all, that there is no very definite foundation for the report that Sir EDWARD WATKIN is said to be disappointed in the competitive designs sent in for his Tower, because none of them provide sleeping accommodation for 2000 people on the top storey. Of course something must have given rise to the rumour, but it is not easy to say exactly what. One competitor has already, however, it appears, intimated his readiness to make the required addition, by hanging his beds over the side of the Tower on "extended poles." The question is, "Would Sir WATKIN be able to induce his patrons 'to turn in' under such conditions?" There's the rub.

STANLEY'S Darkest Africa (SAMPSON LOW) swamps all other books just now, except, of course, the Other STANLEY book, called A Light on the Keep-it-Quite-the-Darkest Africa (TRISCHLER & Co.) which follows closely at its heels. The real STANLEY narrative is most interesting and exciting; it is a book that will make everyone "sit up"--at night to read it. The centre of attraction is in the answer to the question, "How did I find EMIN?" Which is, "Quite well, thank you."

My faithful "Co." reports that he has been doing his duty nobly as a novel-reader. He has already devoured Vol. III. of the Man with a Secret. He would attack Vols. I. and II. if he had not had (so he says) quite enough of the Man and his Secret. Innocent Victims is written in the temperance interest. "Co." has every sympathy with the cause of undiluted water, but fears that this "story of London Life and Labour" may end in drink. He found it himself a little dry, and was not cheered by the name of the author, HUGH DOWNE, which seemed to suggest he could not get up again. He is eagerly waiting for more fiction, as "_Expiation_" by OCTAVE THANET has scarcely satisfied his craving for the weird and the horrible. In the meanwhile, he has found a cheerful interlude in Sanity and Insanity, a text-book (written in a popular yet scientific strain) of the maladies of the mind. He says, that Dr. MERCIER, the author, is to be congratulated on having treated a rather "jumpy" subject in a manner that can offend no one. "Co." had no idea up to now, that "t'other was so like unto which."

All the Magazines for July are in, but the Baron has been unable to open them, and "Co." has cut them. BARON DE BOOK-WORMS & Co.

Dress well, sweet Maid, and let who will be clever. Dance, flirt, and sing! Don't study all day long. Or else you'll find, When other girls get married, You'll sing a different song!

SAD NEWS FROM ETON.--"Bever" is dead. Sorrowing boys followed the bier. The Bever-age has ceased to exist. What next? Will the characteristic Etonian top-hat follow the Bever?

C.C.-in-C. (severely). Be careful, Sir, and remember in whose presence you are! I believe about a month ago you asked for subscriptions in aid of the National Rifle Association?

H.R.H.G.R.. Yes, Mr. P.--I should say, your Excellency.

C.C.-in C. And I presume the N.R.A. have been put to very great expense in changing from Wimbledon to Bisley?

H.R.H.G.R. Yes, I am sorry to say so,--personally sorry. Although the bullets may have played the mischief with the adjoining property, still I think--

C.C.-in-C. (severely). We are not discussing Wimbledon now, Sir. Am I right in assuming that the reason funds were requested was to put Bisley in a proper condition for the reception of the Volunteers?

H.R.H.G.R. Of course. I am sure I am the best friend of the Volunteers, and--

C.C.-in-C. (interrupting). How comes it then that when the Volunteers (whose own ranges are being closed all round London) ask for permission to shoot at Bisley, they are told that they may not have it, because "the range is required for the regular troops."

H.R.H.G.R. Well, as Commander-in-Chief, of course I must consider the Army, and as--

C.C.-in-C. President of the N.R.A., you should consider the Volunteers--but you don't! Now see here, if I hear any more of this sort of thing, I tell you frankly that--

[_Scene closes in, as the threat is too terrible for publication_.]

"_A. Nobleman wishes particularly to recommend his Coachman, who is leaving his service, solely owing to domestic changes_;" i.e., Having been detected falsifying his stable accounts, and threatened in consequence with prosecution, he retaliates by a menace to disclose certain unpleasant family secrets, picked up in the servants' hall, to a Society journal.

TRADE EMBELLISHMENTS.

"_If applied but once gently with the palm of the hand, it will afford the sufferer delightful and instantaneous relief_;" i.e., It at once removes the skin, and if rubbed in with vigour will flay a horse.

PLATFORMULARS.

"_I feel that I have already trespassed upon your patience, and detained you an unconscionable time_;" i.e., "Your attention seems flagging. I want a moment or two for reflection, and a cue to go on again."

"Parochial Authorities have a way of their own in interpreting Acts of Parliament, and a very peculiar way indeed of dealing with the Valuation Act.... Overseers go their own way, and interpret the Act according to their knowledge and experience; and in many cases experience is lacking, and knowledge an altogether unknown quantity.... When dealing with leasehold property, overseers positively revel in the most delightful caprice. The leaseholder's property is dealt with kindly or the reverse, just as it is in this or that parish."--_James's Gazette_.

Tennyson talks of "gay quinquenniads." Yes, But he would mention them with less elation If he had my experience, I guess, Of the not gay Quinquennial Valuation! I am not now so young as once I was, I have arrived at the Golosh and Gamp Age, I am not equal to contend--that's poz-- With the Parochial Fathers on the rampage. Ah me, these Vestry vultures on the pounce! They scare me, skin me, bully me, and bilk me. Soon of my flesh they'll scarce have left an ounce, They so persistently maul, mulct, and milk me. Once in five years they send me papers blue, And papers white, and likewise papers yellow; They "want to know, you know," indeed they do. First the "First Clerk," a devil of a fellow! Challenges me to up and tell him all About gross value, also value rateable. It's all pure fudge. I am their helpless thrall, To an extent in civil speech unstateable. They will not take my word. If I appeal, They hale me up before a stern Committee, Fellows with brazen faces, hearts of steel, And destitute of manners as of pity. My solemn statement, or my mild demur, To them a subject of fierce scorn and scoff is; An honest citizen feels but a cur When snapped and snarled at by these Jacks-in-Office. They're sure to have the pull of me somehow; Oh! I've read "Handbooks." I've attended Meetings Where angry ratepayers raise fruitless row; But, bless you, these bold roarings turn to bleatings, When they the cruel inquisition face Of some austere Committee of Assessment. Until I found myself in that dread place I never knew what fogged and foiled distress meant. Between them and my Landlord I've no peace. I'm honest, but they treat me as "a wrong one." I'm a Shopkeeper, holding a short lease (My Landlord takes good care it's not a long one). Once in seven years the Landlord lifts my Rent, And once in five my Rates the Assessor raises, Values, Gross, Rateable, so much per cent.? Bah! the attempt to fathom them but crazes! The only regular rule is--Up! Up! Up! And any protest only brings upon you Your Landlord's wrath, and cheek from some sleek pup, Who bullies you; and laughs when he has done you. "Pay and look pleasant," is the official rule, And as to wife and child, and food and raiment, You may attend to them, poor drudging fool! When of your Rent and Rates you've made full payment. Yes, Rent and Rates! they are the modern gods, And Moloch's tyranny was not more cruel. With Landlord or with Vestry get at odds, And you're gone coon; they'll soon give you your gruel. Just now Vestrydom's victims are a-howl With rage at skinning; but their indignation Will fade, and they will feed the Official Ghoul Until the next Quinquennial Valuation. And then--well, Lord knows what may happen then, Unless--unless--and that is most improbable-- Ratepayers rise _together_--show they're men, And not mere sheep gregarious, warm-fleeced, robbable. Meanwhile the Vestry Vultures gorge their fill, And I am warned--by friends--"_Don't put their backs up!_" Their backs! And we sing "_Rule Britannia_" still!! Will no one chaw these fine official Jacks up?

One Pozdnisheff by name Played the matrimonial game; Pleased by a little curl, Which round his heart did twirl, And taken by a jersey (Exported from the Mersey); He felt, poor man, half-witted When he saw how well it fitted!

The mother, with her jersey-clad young daughter, Asked the lover to a party on the water. Soft things he now could say To the maiden all the way, Till she caught him--who imagined he had caught her!

Now there came a young musician, Troukachevsky, Who, at Petersburg, resided on the Nevsky; And to play with him the flighty wife was fated In the famed duet to KREUTZEE dedicated.

The husband who perceived things were not right, Home suddenly returned at dead of night. His boots he'd taken off; He was careful not to cough; And his plans so well were woven, That they still performed Beethoven. But, neither being deaf, They at last heard Pozdnisheff. Poor wife! He so affrights her, That she plays no more the Kreutzer.

If on each foot he'd had a slipper To Troukachevsky (who was saved) The husband would have p'rhaps behaved Much in the style of Jack the Ripper. He put to flight the dilettante (Who hadn't finished half the andante), But feared the servants' mockings Should they see him in his stockings, Racing along the corridor:-- Not that he thought it horrid, or Harsh to transfix him with a dagger, (He could not bear the fiddler's swagger), But felt quite sure so droll a figure Would make his rude domestics snigger.