PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

Vol. 102.

January 16, 1892.

LES FRANCAIS PEINTS PAR EUX-MÊMES (ET ILLUSTRÊS PAR NOUS).

"O JULIETTE!" S'ÉCRIA OSCAR, EN S'ASSEYANT À COTÉ D'ELLE SUR LA PIERRE TUMULAIRE, "ÉPOUSE DE MON MEILLEUR AMI! JE JURE QUE JE T'ADORE! JE JURE ICI, SUR LA TOMBE DE MA SAINTE MÈRE, QUI BÉNIT NOS AMOURS DE LÀ HAUT!"

CABITAL!

SIR,—The proposal to extend the Cab Radius to five miles from Charing Cross is good in its way, but it does not go far enough. My idea is that the cheap cab-fare should include any place in the Home Counties. Cabmen should also be prevented by law from refusing to take a person, say, from Piccadilly to St. Albans, on the plea that their horse "could not do the distance." All assertions of that kind should be punished as perjury. Cabmen are notoriously untruthful. Why should not Cab Proprietors, too, be obliged to keep relays of horses at convenient spots on all the main roads out of Town in case a horse really proves unequal to going fifteen miles or so into the country, in addition to a hard day's work in London?—Yours unselfishly,

St. Albans. NORTHWARD HO!

SIR,—Why will people libel the Suburbs, and keep on describing them as dull? I am sure that a place which, like the one I write from, contains a Lawn Tennis Club (entrance into which we keep very select), a Circulating Library, where all the new books of two years' back are obtainable without much delay, a couple of handsome and ascetic young Curates, and a public Park, capable of holding twenty-six perambulators and as many nursemaids at one and the same time, can only fitly be described as an Elysium. Still, we should be grateful for better facilities for getting away from its delights now and then, and this proposal to extend the Cab Radius has the warmest support of Yours,

EASILY SATISFIED.

SIR,—By all means let us have cheaper Cabs in Greater London! The County Council should subsidise a lot of Cabs, to ply exclusively between London and the outskirts. Or why not a Government Cab Purchase Bill, like the Irish Land Purchase one? We want a special Minister for Public Locomotion—perhaps Lord RANDOLPH CHURCHILL would accept the post?

Yours, spiritedly, HAMPSTEAD HEATHEN.

"HARD TO BEER!"

(Advance-sheet from a projected Anti-Bacchanalian Tragi-farce, to be called "By Order of the Kaiser.")

SCENE—A Market Place in Berlin. German Students carousing. Emissary of the Emperor seated at table apart watching them. Apprehensive Waiters nervously supplying the wants of their Customers.

First German Student. Another flagon of beer, Kellner!

Waiter. Here, Mein Herr! (Brings glass and, as he places it on the table, whispers aside.) Oh, beware, my good Lord—this is your second glass.

First Ger. Stu. (with a laugh). I know what I am about! And now, my friends, I give you a toast—The Liberty of the Fatherland!

Chorus of Students. The Liberty of the Fatherland! [They all drink.

Em. of the Emp. (apart). Ha!

[He makes an entry in his note-book.

First Ger. Stu. And now fill another glass. Fill, my comrades—I pray you, fill! Kellner! glasses round—for myself and friends.

Kellner (as before—supplying their wants and warning them). Oh, my gracious Lord, be careful! Your third glass—mind now, your third glass; you know the risk you are running! But one false drop and you are lost!

First Ger. Stu. (as before). Well, my good friend, be sure you supply us with no drop that is not good! Ha, ha, ha! Eh, KARL! eh, CONRAD! eh, HANS! Did you hear my merry jest?

[They all laugh.

Em. of the Emp. (as before). Ha! (making an entry in his note-book). And they laugh at a witless joke! Good! Very good!

First Ger. Stu. (joyously). And now, my comrades, yet another toast—The Prosperity of the People!

Chorus of Ger. Stu. (raising their glasses). The People!

[They all drink.

Em. of the Emp. (apart) Ha!

[He makes an entry in his note-book.

First Ger. Stu. And now, a final flagon! Kellner!

Kellner (as before). Oh, high-born customer, beware! This is your fourth glass! You know the law!

First Ger. Stu. (as before). That indeed I do! And I also know that my daily allowance is—or rather was—twelve quarts per diem! And now, comrades, our last toast—The Freedom of the Press!

Chorus of Ger. Stu. (raising their glasses). The Freedom of the Press!

[They all drink.

Em. of the Emp. (apart). This is too much! (He rises, and approaches the Students.) Your pardon, Gentlemen! But do you really believe in the toasts you have just drunk?

Chorus of Stu. Why, certainly!

Em. of the Emp. What, in the Liberty of the Fatherland?

Chorus of Stu. To be sure—why not?

Em. of the Emp. And the Prosperity of the People—mind you, only the People?

Chorus of Stu. Exactly—don't you?

Em. of the Emp. And further. You wish well to the Freedom of the Press?

Chorus of Stu. That was our toast! What next?

Em. of the Emp. (producing staff of authority). That, in the name of His Majesty, I arrest you!

Chorus of Stu. (astounded). Arrest us! Why?

Em. of the Emp. Because, if you believe in the Liberty of the Fatherland, ask for the Prosperity of the People, and admire the Freedom of the Press, you must be drunk!—very drunk! In virtue of the new law (which punishes the crime of intoxication), away with them!

[The Students are loaded with chains, and imprisoned, for an indefinite period, in the lowest dungeon beneath the castle's moat. Curtain.

OUR HUMOROUS COMPOSER.—What Sir ARTHUR SULLIVAN said or sung before deciding on taking a Villa at Turbie, on the Riviera,—"Turbie, or not Turbie, that is the question." He is now hard at work writing a new Opera (founded, we believe, on Cox and Box), and "I am here," he says, in his quaint way, "because I don't want to be dis-turbie'd."

Returned Prodigal sings, to the tune of "Randy Pandy, O!":—