PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

Vol. 103.

September 17, 1892.

HEARING HIMSELF.

(Mysterious Mem. from a Hawarden Note-Book.)

Exceedingly kind and flattering of MAX MÜLLER! "I hope there are but few here present who have never enjoyed the privilege of listening to Mr. GLADSTONE." Ha! ha! He little thought there was one there who had not "enjoyed that privilege." Have enjoyed most privileges in my time, but never that of "hearing myself as others hear me"—more or less. "Unavoidable absence of Mr. GLADSTONE!" Ho! ho! Then my disguise was perfect. Get myself up as a Liberal Unionist, with wig and eye-glass. Not likely anybody would recognise me in that rig.

Rather enjoyed myself—and my paper, "Phœnician Elements in the Homeric Poems." Most seductive title! Such a popular touch about it! Think I shall have it printed as a "leaflet" for distribution among Workmen's Clubs and Radical Associations. Might conciliate those well-meaning but illogical Eight-Hour Men. Wonder if KEIRHARDIE would like a copy. What more nicely calculated to cheer the scant leisure of Labour?

Funny to hear my own sinuous sentences coming back to me from mouth of another. Not quite sure MAX is so "fascinating in his voice, and so persuasive in his delivery" as—but no matter. Can't say—as MAX did—"I felt myself carried away, and convinced almost against my will." Not at all! Wonder what he meant by that? Why "against his will"? That's what Liberal Unionists, and other preposterous and illogical opponents of mine say in House, when they compliment me on my "eloquence," and then vote against me! Absurd! Wish they'd drop their compliments and vote straight.

"Small and exotic contribution" to Oriental Congress! Neat description of paper running to nearly four columns of Times. "Intense sentiment of nationality, which led the Greeks of later days to covet the title of Autochthones." Wonder if that reminded MAX, or anyone else, of another race with "an intense sentiment of nationality," and a passionate love of the land from which they sprang. Wonder whether, if Nationalists were to call themselves "Auctochthones" instead of Home-Rulers, we should get along better? Must consult JUSTIN on this point. Should have to teach some of them to pronounce their new name, though. "Autochthones," spoken in wrath, with a rich brogue, after dinner, would, I should think, beat Phillippopolis, or "Ri' l'il, ti' li'l Isl'l" hollow.

Anax andrōn, too, might be useful. Say, as substitute for that everlasting G.O.M., of which I admit I'm heartily sick, Lord of Men! Not King of Men, of course. LABBY might kick at latter. "Nothing can be simpler than the meaning of the two words." Exactly. Must get HARCOURT to popularise these. Applied to AGAMEMNON. Why not to "strong men" who live after AGAMEMNON? "Evidence from extraneous sources of connection between title of Anax andrōn and great Egyptian Empire." Aha! I may yet have to play the Anax andrōn in Egypt as before. Allegory—I mean Anax andrōn on banks of Nile! Good—and not a Malapropism, whatever WOLSELEY may say. "Title of Anax andrōn descendible" (good word, "descendible") "from father to son, and accorded in the poems to personages altogether secondary, viz., EUMELOS and EUPHETES." Wonder what my EUMELOS—HERBERT—will say to that!

Enjoyed it much whilst MAX was "mouthing out" (as Mrs. BROWNING says) my eulogy of that man of "Phœnician stamp," the "universal ODYSSEUS," who expressed the many-sided, the all-accomplished man; the polutropos, the polumetis, the tlemon, the polutlas, the polumekanos, the poikilometis, the poluphron, the daïphron, the talasiphron. (What a peck of p's!) In battle never foiled! In council supreme! His oratory like the snow-flakes of the winter storm. Superbly representative Phœnician! "But over and above this universality of ODYSSEUS in the arts of life, he bears the Phœnician stamp in what may be termed his craft." Aha! The "Old Parliamentary Hand" of his period plainly. Wonder if MAX thought of that! Hellas and Phœnicia combined! As a Statesman of classical culture, commercial instincts and craft, what a shining success ODYSSEUS might have been in these days!

as the ribald doggerelist has it. Sounds a little "predatory," perhaps, as SALISBURY would say. But quite capable of being "spiritualised" into a sound Liberal policy, directed against the purblind Poluphemos of Property and Privilege.

On the whole, I had a high old time among the Orientalists. But when discussion ensued, I longed to throw off my disguise and rush, Achilles-like, into the fray. But MAX might have thought that inconsistent with my "colossal humanity;" so, very unwillingly, I refrained.

UP ALOFT.—The most elevated title in the Peerage, and belonging to the upperest part of the Upper House, is "Lord MOUNTGARRET." There can be but one higher, and that will have to be created in the person of a future "Lord TOPOCHIMNEPOT." Though, perhaps, the title of "Lord COWLEY," if it were altered into Lord CHIMNEPOT-COWL-Y, would be the highest of all.

ANGLICE-FRENCHIE EXCLAMATION (on any of the recent many showery days when, after an interval of ten minutes, the next bucketful descended).—"POUR une autre fois!"

NATURE'S SECRETS.

"HERE ARE SOME NEW LAID EGGS FOR YOU, GEORGIE!"

"OH, THANKS! HOW NICE! I HAVEN'T SEEN A NEW LAID EGG FOR WEEKS! HOW DO YOU MANAGE TO GET THEM? OH, OF COURSE—YOU'VE GOT AN INCUBATOR!"

INNS AND OUTS.

No. III.—The Porter.

I had intended to have written, this week about "Loggosh"—including that mysterious canvass hand-box which contains all that a foreigner cares to carry about with him by day, and often pillows him when travelling by night; but the very mention of luggage brings me back to the Porter. I abominate him. I am "one who has suffered." So here goes!

"Imposing," best describes the Hôtel porter; a very Grand Hôtel has at least two of these impositions—the House Porter and the Omnibus Porter. The latter you only see twice in your Hôtel existence, but he is the most futile and the deadliest fraud of the two.

This Porter is part and parcel of that horrible deep-red-plush nuisance, the Hôtel-omnibus. He and it are inseparables, and make up a sort of Centaur between them. Once outside the Railway-station, I am besieged by a babel of these Porter-omnibuses—"Bear Hôtel, Sor;" "Grand Hôtel, Sor!"—This, from a very dilapidated specimen, which, on inspection, turns out to be "Grand Hôtel Du Lac;" a pirate porter-omnibus in fact; at last I find The Grand Hôtel vehicle, and functionary. The latter is of gigantic stature; quite a "chucker-out;" in a uniform between that of a German bandsman and a Salvation Captain—"Certinly, Sar. Dis Grand Hôtel; I see your Loggosh, Sar; gif me se empfangschein." "Do you speak English?" I retort.—"Certinly; spik Ingleese—empfangschein!"—"Empfangschein" baffles me, and I am about to hand my keys to the monster, when a