STRIKES À LA MODE DE PARIS.
Reading edition
(From the Diary of a Pleasure-seeker of the Future.)
Rose early, intending to have a real good time of it, in spite of the recent disturbances. As a precautionary measure, wore my bullet-proof coat and shell-defying boots. Carried also my armour-plated umbrella, which can be used (on emergencies) as a shield to quick-firing guns. Looked out of window, and found the weather splendid. Firing, too (which I had heard every now and again during the night), seemingly all but ceased.
On reaching the street, representative of the Civil Power cautioned me to be careful. Thanked the representative for his courtesy, and asked why a squadron of hussars were trotting past with drawn sabres. Was told that the soldiers were engaged in the protection of a sweep journeying to his work in a donkey-cart.
Started for a stroll, but had to seek shelter in a doorway from a volley of bullets fired in the direction of the early milkman. From this demonstration I gathered that the food supply would be still further restricted owing to the action of the men on strike. After the purveyor had beaten a hasty retreat, advanced upon a strongly-fortified position, which turned out to be, as I expected it would, a doubly-entrenched cab-stand.
Only one vehicle on the rank. Engaged the cabman. Although I was unaccompanied by a relative or friend, found the space at my disposal distinctly limited. The top of the four-wheeler was, of course, occupied by the customary rocket party. The box had its usual sentry, carrying a couple of revolvers and a search-light. Three of the seats inside were occupied by sharpshooters, and I retained the fourth.
"We had better make for the river," said the officer in command, and we fell in with the suggestion.
Our progress was comparatively uneventful. Certainly at the corners of streets we had to run the gauntlet of a shower of projectiles of various dimensions; still, the armour-plated sides of the cab turned aside the flood of iron, and the custodians, by lying flat as occasion required, escaped without injury. Leaving the steel-protected cab, I embarked on board an armoured penny steamboat, and made my way down the river. Fortunately, the helmsman was able to avoid the submarine mines which had been laid by the Chairman of the Strike Committee. Our voyage was also rendered exciting by the torpedoes.
Having reached the last pier, I returned to land, and was sufficiently fortunate to catch an omnibus about to start on its exciting campaign. The route, which ran chiefly through main thoroughfares, extended to the length of four miles. Thanks to the exertions of all arms of the service, the distance was traversed in about three hours. Every inch of the ground was hotly contested, but the omnibus at length won the day. The losses on our side consisted of a colonel killed, and seventy-four rank-and-file wounded. The casualties on the side of the strikers were infinitely more numerous.
On reaching my destination, I made for home in a balloon, thus escaping any further molestation.
PRESENTED AT COURT.
Dear Mr. Punch,—I notice that "an original dramatic caricature" is being played at the Court Theatre, under the title of Vanity Fair. To prevent mistakes, I write to say at once that I am on the eve of constructing a three-volume novel, called Hamlet, Prince of Denmark; a poem, called Box and Cox; and a satire, called Macaulay's History of England. I merely mention this fact to protect my copyright in the names I have chosen for my new works. I have also in contemplation the writing of a book to be entitled Adam Bede, a novelette, to be known as King Solomon's Mines, and a story to be y'clept Treasure Island. May I add that I have also some pantomimes and eccentric ballets nearly ready that will be christened, when completed,—Esmond, The Virginians, The Newcomes, Philip, and last, but not least, Pendennis.
Yours truly, Nothing if not Original.
P.S.—I am thinking of adopting as a nom de plume the signature of "William Makepeace Thackeray."
HIS FAVOURITE SUBJECT.
Imperial Artist. "Wish I could have got it done in time for the Royal Academy. Sure to have been accepted."
[ *** The Emperor of Germany has recently painted a sea-piece.]
HIS FAVOURITE SUBJECT.
Distinguished Amateur soliloquiseth:—
There!!! Egotistic ways are my abhorrence; But if this masterpiece were only hung In the Uffizi Gallery at Florence, Where Leighton, like a god, ambrosial, young, And Millais, in immortal manhood, stand, Self-limned, for admiration of posterity, I fancy that this work of my right hand Would quite eclipse mere Genius, whose temerity In challenging comparison with Birth Is really getting something unendurable. Aha! It moves me to sardonic mirth! To dream of my position as securable By mere Bismarckian brain!!! Now, as the god, I come out admirably. Form and stature, The threatening eye, and the earth-shaking nod, All, all to me are simply second nature. Globe-trampling foot, and hand that grips the bolt,— Aye, and the lyre when I would play Apollo— Are mine! Will low-born Genius dare revolt, Or where I lead Greatness decline to follow? Absurd! I hardly know in what great guise To paint my greatness! I have sung of Ægir, But he was but a sea-god, and his size And strength compared with mine were small and meagre. I am a Joint-stock Deity, as 'twere, Olympus in a nutshell, Neptune, Mars, The Cloud-Compeller and the Sungod fair. Here I'm pure Jove. And yet somehow it jars Upon my spirit to be so restricted To one immortal guise, however grand. Hah! Gods by their own pencils thus depicted Would make a New Valhalla e'en my hand Need not disdain to add to. If Narcissus Had been a painter, now! There is no stream, Though clear as my own Rhine or the Ilissus, Could do me justice. I must paint my dream Of my Supernal Self. A mere reflection From Nature's mirror would but mar my beauty. No; I must limn myself for the inspection Of men and gods; it is a simple duty. This does not satisfy me. And it is Too late, I fear, for Grandmamma's R.A. Besides, those English journalists might quiz Even Imperial Art. They've their own way Too much by far in that ill-ordered isle, Those cheeky critic-fellows. Let me catch A Teuton quill-driver who'll dare to smile Upon a masterpiece he cannot match!!! [Left touching it up.
Literary.
A book is announced entitled Irish Humour through English Glasses. It will be followed, we hope, by a companion volume, entitled English (ill) Humour through Irish (Whisky) Glasses.