Mr. Punch's Life in London Part 15

TOWN IMPROVEMENT.--There is, we hear, a winter garden to be opened at Somer's Town.

THE DUMMY-MONDE.--Madame Tussaud's wax-work.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SO INVITING!]

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Pa.s.senger_ (_rising politely_). "Excuse me, mum, but do you believe in woman's rights?"

_New Woman._ "Most certainly I do."

_Pa.s.senger_ (_resuming seat_). "Oh well, then stand up for 'em!"]

DESPERATE RESOLVES OF THE LAST MAN LEFT IN TOWN

To visit the National Gallery (for the first time), as an Englishman should really know something about the art treasures of his native country.

To spend an hour at the Tower (also for the first time), because there you will be able to brighten up your historical recollections which have become rather rusty since you took your B.A. degree just fifteen years ago.

To enter St. Paul's Cathedral with a view to thinking out a really good plan of decoration for the benefit of those who read letters addressed to the editor of the _Times_.

To take a ride in an omnibus from Piccadilly to Brompton to see what the interior of the vehicle in question is like, and therein to study the manners and customs of the English middle cla.s.ses.

To walk in Rotten Row between the hours of twelve (noon) and two (p.m.) to see how the place looks without any people in it.

To have your photograph taken in your militia uniform, as now there is no one in town to watch you getting out of a cab in full war paint.

To stroll into Mudie's Library to get all the new novels, because after reading them you may suddenly find yourself inspired to write a critique that will make your name (when the article has been accepted and published) as a most accomplished reviewer.

To read all the newspapers and magazines at the hairdresser's while your head is being shampooed (for the fourth time), as now is the time for improving your mind (occupied with so many other things during the season) with popular current literature.

To walk to your club (closed for repairs, &c.) to see how the workmen are progressing with the stone sc.r.a.ping of the exterior, as you feel yourself responsible to hundreds of your fellow-creatures as a member of the house committee.

To write a long letter to your friend Brown, of the 121st Foot, now in India with his regiment, to tell him how nothing is going on anywhere, because you have not written to him since he said "Good-bye" to you at Southampton.

To go home to bed at nine o'clock, as early hours are good for the health, and because there is really nothing else to do.

And last, but not least, to leave London for the country by the very first train to-morrow morning!

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING IN THE CITY

Sigh no more dealers, sigh no more, Shares were unstable ever, They often have been down before, At high rates constant never.

Then sigh not so, Soon up they'll go, And you'll be blithe and funny, Converting all your notes of woe Into hey, money, money.

Write no more letters, write no mo On stocks so dull and heavy.

At times on 'Change 'tis always so, When bears a tribute levy.

Then sigh not so, And don't be low, In sunshine you'll make honey, Converting all your notes of woe, Into hey, money, money.

"THE DESERTED VILLAGE."--London in September.

THE CLOCKMAKER'S PARADISE.--Seven Dials.

[Ill.u.s.tration: STUDIES IN EVOLUTION.--Alderman Brownjones senior explains to his son, Alderman Brownjones junior, that there is a lamentable falling-off since _his_ day, in the breed of aldermen-sheriffs--not only in style and bearing, but even in "happet.i.te"!]

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Gent_ (_rushing out of club in a terrific hurry_). "I say, cabby, drive as fast as you can to Waterloo--Leatherhead!"

_Cabby._ "'Ere, I say, not so much of your _leather'ed_, if you please!"

[_Goes off grumbling._

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Mrs. Sn.o.bson_ (_who is doing a little slumming for the first time and wishes to appear affable, but is at a loss to know how to commence conversation_). "Town very empty!"]

NEW EDITION OF WALKER

The baker rolls.

The butcher shambles.

The banker balances himself well.

The cook has a mincing gait.

The livery-stable keeper has a "_musing_ gait."

The excursionist trips along.

The fishmonger flounders on.

The poulterer waddles like a duck.

The gardener does not allow the gra.s.s to grow under his feet.

The grocer treads gingerly.