PUNCH,
OR, THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOLUME 98.

APRIL 5, 1890.

MR. PUNCH'S DICTIONARY OF PHRASES.

"The Prisoner, who was fashionably attired, and of genteel appearance;" i.e., An ill-got-up swell-mobsman.

"A powerful-looking fellow;" i.e., An awful ruffian.

"A rumour has reached us"—(in the well-nigh impenetrable recesses wherein, as journalists, we habitually conceal ourselves).

"Nothing fresh has transpired;" i.e., The local Reporter's invention is at last exhausted.

"The Prisoner seemed fully alive to the very serious position in which he was placed;" i.e., He occasionally wiped his mouth on his knuckles.

"The proceedings were kept up until an advanced hour;" i.e., The Reporter left early.

"I'm so sorry I've forgotten to bring my Music;" i.e., I'm not going to throw away my singing on these people.

"Dear me, this is a surprise to meet you here! I didn't, you see, know you were in Town;" i.e., By which I wish her to understand that I hadn't seen that prominent account of her Mid-Lent dance (for which I had received no invitation) that appeared in last Thursday's Morning Post.

"Never heard it recited better. Wonder you don't go on the Stage;" i.e., Then one needn't come and hear you; now one can't keep out of your way.

"Shall you have many Pictures in this year?" i.e., He'll jump for joy if he gets one in.

"Is your big Picture going to Burlington House or the Grosvenor?" i.e., They wouldn't have it at an East-End Free Art Show.

"By Jove, dear boy, Burne-Jones will have to look to his laurels?" i.e., Green mist and gawky girls, as usual!

"What I love about your pictures, dear Mr. Stodge, is their Subtle Ideal treatment, so different, &c., &c.?" i.e., 'Tisn't like anything on earth.

"Best thing you've done for years, my boy; and, mark my words, it'll create a sensation!" i.e., Everybody says it'll be a great go, and I may as well be in it.

"Entre nous, I don't think Millais' landscape is to be compared with it?" i.e., I should hope not—for Millais' sake.

"Fancy hanging him on the line, and skying you! It's too bad?" i.e., His picture is.

"Glad you haven't gone in for mere 'pretty, pretty,' this time, old man;" i.e., It's ugly enough for a scarecrow.

"My dear Sir, it's as mournfully impressive as a Millet;" i.e., Dull skies and dowdy peasants!

"Well, it's something in these days to see a picture one can get a laugh out of;" i.e., Or at!

"Every Modern Convenience;" i.e., Electric-bells and disconnected drain-pipes.

"Cheap and Commodious Flat;" i.e., Seven small square rooms, with no outlook, at about the rent of a Hyde Park mansion.

"A Desirable Residence;" i.e., To get out of.

"And thus bring to a triumphant issue the fight in which we are engaged;" i.e., Thank Heaven, I managed to get off my peroration all right.

"Our great Leader;" i.e., "That's sure to make them cheer, and will give me time to think."

SOCIAL ECONOMY.

Mrs. Scrooge. "I'm writing to ask the Browns to meet the Joneses here at Dinner, and to the Joneses to meet the Browns. We owe them both, you know."

Mr. Scrooge. "But I've heard they've just Quarrelled, and don't speak!"

Mrs. Scrooge. "I know. They'll refuse, and we needn't give a Dinner Party at all!"

"MY CURATE."

[The Law Times mentions that a photograph of a well-dressed and good-looking gentleman has been sent to it, with the words "My Advocate" beneath. On the back are the name and address of a Solicitor.]

The Vicar. I only advertised for a Curate in last Saturday's Church Papers, and already I have received more than sixty applications by the post, all of them, apparently, from persons of the highest respectability, whose views, too, happen to coincide entirely with my own! Dear me! I suppose these may be called the "Clerical Unemployed."

Elder Daughter (giddily). Pa! Have any of them sent photos?

Vicar. Yes, all of them. It seems to be the new method to inclose cartes-de-visite with testimonials.

Younger Daughter. Now I shall be able to fill up my Album!

Elder Daughter (who has been running her eye over the pictures). This is the pick of the lot, Pa. Take him! Such a dear! He's got an eyeglass, and whiskers, and curly hair, and seems quite young!

Younger Daughter (thoughtfully). It's a pity we can't lay in two Curates while we are about it.

Vicar. Hem! A rather nice-looking young man, certainly. Let's see what he says about himself. The new system saves a lot of trouble, as candidates for posts write down their qualifications on the back of their photographs.

Elder Daughter (reading). "Views strictly orthodox." Oh, bother views! Here's something better—"Very Musical Voice"—the darling! He looks as if he had a musical voice. "Warranted not to go beyond fifteen minutes in preaching." Delicious!

Vicar's Wife. I don't know if the parishioners will like that.

Both Daughters (together). But we shall!

Elder Daughter (continues reading). "Quite content to preach only in the afternoons. No attempts to rival Vicar's eloquence." What does he mean?

Vicar (cordially). I know! I think he'll do very well. Just the sort of man I want!

Elder Daughter. Ha! Listen to this! "Can play the banjo, and twenty-six games of lawn-tennis without fatigue." The pet!

Younger Daughter. Perfectly engaging! Oh, Pa, wire to him at once!

Elder Daughter (turning pale). Stop! What is this? "Very steady and respectable. Has been engaged to be married for past three years!" Call him engaging, indeed! No chance of it. The wretch!

Younger Daughter. A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing! Can't you prosecute him, Pa?

Vicar (meditatively). I might—in the Archbishop's Court. Really this new self-recommendation plan, though useful in some ways, seems likely to disturb quiet households. And I've fifty-nine more photos to look at!

[Retires to Study, succumbs to slumber.

She Stoops to Conquer has been announced as in preparation at the Criterion and the Vaudeville. Miss Mary Moore v. Miss Winifred Emery as Miss Hardcastle. Which is to "stoop," and which to "conquer?" Why not run it at both Houses?—and, to decide,