Squire Bounty, in the New Village as in the old one. We love the old country customs, but our country dance cannot for ever be to the same old tune—even the loved and time-honoured one of 'Sir Roger de Coverley'!"

"Sir," said the good old Knight, gladly, "you are doubtless right—as you always are—and I shall return to the Shades greatly solaced both by your good cheer and your good counsel!"

"Sorry to lose your company so soon!" cried the Fleet Street Amphitryon. "I perceive, Dr. Syntax, that your old grey mare, Grizzle, awaits you at the door. 'Vale! O Vale!' You ride pillion-wise, Sir Roger, I suppose. Well, to cheer your journey, brighten the Shades, and reassure ye both as to the safety of the New Village under the guidance of the Old Counseller, take with ye my

One Hundred and Seventh Volume!!"

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 107.

JULY 7, 1894.

MR. PUNCH AT WHITE LODGE, RICHMOND.

"Don't make a Noise, or else you'll wake the Baby"

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

About the reminiscences of George Augustus Sala there lingers a before-the-Flood flavour which abashes my Baronite. In Things I have Seen, and People I have Known, two volumes, published by Cassell, there is nothing merely modern. The only thing G. A. S. doesn't appear to have seen was the world in the state of chaos, and almost solitary among the people he has not known was Methuselah. That is an imagesion due to the art of the writer, for, as a matter of fact, his recollections commence in the year 1839, when he was a boy at school in Paris, snubbed, fillipped, tweaked, punched, and otherwise maltreated, by way of avenging Waterloo in his person, and redressing the petty injuries inflicted upon Napoleon at St. Helena by Sir Hudson Lowe. Mr. Sala has not only lived long, but, like Ulysses, has travelled much, and has had singular good fortune in being around when things were stirring. Thus, for example, in the year 1840, as he happened to be strolling down the Rue de la Paix, he saw a carriage draw up at a jeweller's shop, escorted by a troop of shining cuirassiers. In it were two handsomely-dressed ladies, "in cottage bonnets, with side-ringlets." There was also a Norman peasant-woman, and in her lap reposed a greatly glorified baby. One of the ladies was the Duchesse D'Orleans, Consort of the Heir Apparent, and the bundle of pink flesh was the Comte de Paris, who seemed at the time to have nothing to do but to grow up to man's estate, and take his place among the kings of France. Sixteen years later, in the Rue de Rivoli, Mr. Sala saw another carriage; more glittering cuirassiers; another little pink face; again two little pudgy hands, and a surrounding wave of lace. Baby number two was the Prince Imperial, and the scenes culled from the flowery field of the great journalist's memory mark two memorable epochs in French history. A mere list of the people Mr. Sala has known, and the things he has seen, form of themselves an enticing, even an exhilarating chapter. Thackeray and Dickens he knew, and worked with, and he throws some fresh light on their characters. Soldiers, actors, statesmen, kings, murderers, and habitats of debtors' prisons, have all come under his observation, and live again in his pages. He is careful to make it clear that this is not his autobiography. On that he is still engaged. This work, presented as a sort of hors d'œuvre, effectually serves to whet the appetite, and makes the world hope he will hurry up with the remaining dishes in the rare feast. "So says my Baronite, and the Court is with him."

In reply to a question, which is "not a conundrum," at least so says an Inquirer, as to "why the Baron spells 'sherbet' with two 'r's' instead of only one," the Baron would remind his interlocutor that, firstly, "genius is above all rules"; that, secondly, the Baron would rather err with two "r's" than have anything to do with a "bet" when it can possibly be avoided; thirdly, that being of a generous disposition, in this hot weather he loves prodigality in liquids; not ashamed of avowal. Finally, he states that he unconditionally withdraws the "r" in the second syllable of "sherbert," because in "sherbet" there is no 'ert to anyone. So here's to his eminent Inquirer's jolly good health, says

The Bountiful B. de B.-W.

NOBLESSE OBLIGE.

One of the most pleasing incidents at the opening of the Tower Bridge was the introduction by the Lord Chamberlain of the Recorder of London to H.R.H. the Prince of Wales. "Our Own Special" was not sufficiently near to hear the dialogue that passed between them, but he has reasons for believing that Lord Carrington observed to H.R.H., "Sir, I have the honour to present to your notice Sir Charles Hall." Not to be outdone in courtesy, the Recorder immediately added, "And I, Sir, am delighted to make known to your Royal Highness Lord Carrington." Then returned the Prince, with his customary gracious kindliness, "I am rejoiced to meet two officials of so much distinction; but, do you know,—I fancy we have met before! Indeed I am certain that the excellent make-up of Sir Charles' wig and the easy carriage of the Lord Chamberlain could only have been acquired by long practice on the boards of the Cambridge A.D.C. I congratulate you my Lord, and you Mr. Recorder upon the excellent use to which you have put the educational advantages that you and I have derived from our common Alma Mater." At this point the Tower guns began to be fired, and consequently the remainder of the conversation was lost in the reverberations of heavy artillery.

"OLD KASPAR."

(Vide Poem, "The Battle of the Budget.")

THE SOCIETY CRUSH AT HYDE PARK CORNER.

Constable (in foreground, regulating Carriages and Pedestrians going North and West, to comrade ditto going East and South). "'Old on that lot o' yourn, Bob, while I gits