The Elysian Fields, a flower-gemmed bank, by a flowing stream, beneath the sylvan shade of unfading foliage. Mr. Punch—who is free of all places, from Fleet Street to Parnassus—discovered, in Arcadian attire, attempting "numerous verse" on a subject of National importance—to wit, the approaching Royal Marriage. Mr. Punch. Propt on this "bank of amaranth and moly,"Beneath the shade... more...

"SOME DAY!" (Latest Egyptian Version of Milton Welling's popular Song.) Mr. Bull to Miss Egypt, sings:— I know not when the day shall be, I know not when we two shall part; What farewell you will give to me, Or will your words be sweet or tart? It may not be till years have passed, Till France grows calm, young Abbas grey; But I am pledged—so, love, at last, Our hands, our hearts must... more...

'ARRY AT 'ARRYGATE. (Second Letter.) DEAR CHARLIE,—The post-mark, no doubt, will surprise you. I'm still at the "Crown," Though I said in my last—wot wos true—I was jest on the mizzle for town. 'Ad a letter from nunky, old man, with another small cheque. Good old nunk! So I'm in for a fortnit' more sulphur and slosh, afore doing a bunk. Ah! I've worked... more...

AT A HYPNOTIC SÉANCE. SCENE—A Public Hall in a provincial town. The Hypnotist—a tall, graceful, and handsome young man, in well-fitting evening clothes—has already succeeded in putting most of his subjects to sleep, and is going round and inspecting them critically, as they droop limply on a semicircle of chairs, in a variety of unpicturesque attitudes. The only Lady on the platform is evidently... more...

LETTERS TO ABSTRACTIONS. No. XVII.—TO FAILURE. A Philosopher has deigned to address to me a letter. "Sir," writes my venerable correspondent, "I have been reading your open letters to Abstractions with some interest. You will, however, perhaps permit me to observe that amongst those to whom you have written are not a few who have no right whatever to be numbered amongst Abstractions.... more...

THE MAN WHO WOULD. II.—THE MAN WHO WOULD PLAY GOLF. Bulger was no cricketer, no tennis-player, no sportsman, in fact. But his Doctor recommended exercise and fresh air. "And I'm thinking, Sir," he added, "that you cannot do better than just take yourself down to St. Andrews, and put yourself under Tom Morris." "Is he a great Scotch physician?" asked Bulger; "I... more...

December 31, 1892. (A Characteristic Welcome to the Coming Year.) It was on the 31st of December that they met. It had been arranged that at the final hour of the last day of the expiring year they should compare notes, and not one of them had failed to keep the appointment. It would be scarcely right to say they were cheerful, but merriment was not included in the programme. The Military Man... more...

THE MAN WHO WOULD. III.—THE MAN WHO WOULD GET ON. "I dreamed," said the Scotch Professor, "that I was struggling for dear life with a monstrous reptile, whose scaly coils wound about my body, while the extremity of his own was lost in the distance. At last I managed to shake myself free, and setting my foot on his neck, I was preparing to cut his throat, when the animal looked up at me... more...

YULE-TIDE—OLD AND NEW. At the Commencement of the Century. And they made merry in the good old fashion. The pictures on the walls were covered with holly and mistletoe. They had come from British woods. Then the tables groaned with Christmas cheer. The baron of beef was flanked with plum-pudding and mince-pies. There never was a more jovial crew. The compliments of the season were passed round, and... more...

I may assume, that after the terrible example given in my last chapter, you have firmly made up your mind never on any account to take service in the great army of bores. But this determination is not all that is necessary. A man must constantly keep a strict guard on himself, lest he should unconsciously deviate even for a few minutes into the regions of boredom. Whatever you do, let nothing tempt you... more...