Volume 101 — TALK FOR TRAVELLERS.
Reading edition
["The German officials at the frontier, since the relaxation of the passport regulations, have been ordered to treat foreign passengers with every politeness."—Daily Papers.]
Mein Herr, will you do us the honour to descend from the railway-carriage? It will be merely a matter of form. We need not disturb those gracious ladies, your wife and daughters.
This is the best way to the Customs. You will notice that we have swept the path that leads to the door.
Certainly, these arm-chairs are for the use of passengers. We have placed them there ourselves, and can recommend them.
Is it asking too great a favour to beg you to lend me the keys of your boxes? A hundred thousand thanks.
Your explanation is absolutely satisfactory. You are bringing these sixteen unopened boxes of cigars home for your grandmother. It is a most proper thing to do, and, under the circumstances, the duty will be remitted.
And these three hundred yards of lace of various makes and ages? An heir-loom! Indeed! Then, of course, the packet must pass duty-free.
As we have found nothing of consequence in this portmanteau of yours, it will be unnecessary to search the nineteen boxes of that gracious lady, your wife. No doubt she has obeyed your instruction not to smuggle. We are absolutely satisfied with your explanations, and are greatly obliged to you for your kindness and condescension.
This is the way to the carriage. We have placed steps before the door, as without a platform it is difficult to ascend.
No, Mein Herr, it is utterly impossible! We are forbidden by the EMPEROR himself to accept a gratuity.
Yes, Madam, it is indeed without charge. Do not tempt us. Instant dismissal is the penalty.
Certainly, Mein Herr, you could get the same politeness before the EMPEROR issued his Imperial instructions.
But then the charge was a thaler!
THE GREAT TWIN BRETHREN.
["I do not wish to call Mr. GLADSTONE by a name which would be both tasteless and pointless."—Mr. A.V. Dicey's Letter to the Times.]
Tasteless and pointless, DICEY? Well, the time is out of joint, And you were born to set it right, though not with "taste" and "point." We cannot all do all things, Sir, and if you save the State (As the great Twin Brethren mean to in despite of HARCOURT's hate), What does it matter, DICEY, if your letters are not quite In that style epistolary, which our fathers called "polite"? 'Tis a little too meticulous—in you—and rather late, After giving Mr. GLADSTONE such a wholesome slashing "slate." Take heart of grace, dear DICEY, and don't let Sir WILLIAM's "point" In your tough (if tasteless) armour find a vulnerable joint. "Old Timbertoes" won't trouble, Sir, to wish that you were dead, And his taste (not point) forbids him to call you "Old Wooden-head!"
Keep Watch!
[A Visitor fishing off Deal Pier brought up a gold watch and chain on his hook. It is supposed to be one lost by a resident, but the lucky angler has not been seen since.]
Paradoxical portent! Most worthy of rhyme Is this fortunate angler who tried to kill time. Fate made him the offer, and, wisely, he book'd it; He not only killed time, but he caught it,—and "hook'd it."
MR. PUNCH VISITS SCARBOROUGH SPA.
BOULANGER.
So high he floated, that he seemed to climb; The bladder blown by chance was burst by time. Falsely-earned fame fools bolstered at the urns; The mob which reared the god the idol burns. To cling one moment nigh to power's crest, Then, earthward flung, sink to oblivion's rest Self-sought, 'midst careless acquiescence, seems Strange fate, e'en for a thing of schemes and dreams; But CÆSAR's simulacrum, seen by day, Scarce envious CASCA's self would stoop to slay, And mounting mediocrity, once o'erthrown, Need fear—or hope—no dagger save its own.
FROM BRIGHT TO DULL.—In an interesting article on artificial reproductions of Nature's treasures, the Standard remarked that "Real diamonds have been turned out of the chemist's retorts." What a brilliant chemist he must have been! Probably of Hibernian origin, as among conversational sparklers there are few on record more brilliant than "Irish Diamonds." Stay, though! If the real diamonds were "turned out of the chemist's retorts," then his retorts, without these flashes of brilliancy, must have been a trifle dull, and he is no longer the chemist we took him for. "But," to quote our KIPLING, "that is another story."
The New Evangel.
[M. ZOLA, in his new Novel, glorifies War, and the regenerative mission of human bloodshed.]
"ZOLA on War," intensifies the "Hola!" Of purists who are all for "war on ZOLA!" Well, he whose pen is touched with tints from Tophet, Is the right man to pose as Red War's Prophet!
A TRIFLE FOR THE BUILDER.—"When are houses like difficulties?" And the practical man replies, "When they have to be 'faced.'"
THE RULING PASSION STRONG AT DINNER.
Laconic Waiter (thoroughly familiar with Sporting Major's taste in Champagne). "SEVENTY-FOUR, SIR?"
Sporting Major (down on his luck, after a bad week at Newmarket). "SEVEN-TO-FOUR, SIR! DASH IT! WOULDN'T TAKE TEN TO ONE ABOUT ANYTHING!"