"COLOUR"-able Swindle (A), 1 Cabinet Council (The), 79, 188 Chrysanthemum Show (The), 110 Cockney's Evening Song (The), 154 Chaucer to his Child, 208 Castles in the Air, 228 ECONOMICS, 9 has a Dog brought Home, 167 makes herself Agreeable, 177 goes into the Country, 187 returns from the Country, 197 FROM Our Stall, 3, 13, 23, 33, 53, 69, 73, 89, 99, 101, 119, 121, 141, 151, 164, 178, 181, 191, 201, 218, 221, 253, 214, 254 Foreign Suns and English Daughters, 8 Fishy Story (A), 18 Figure on the Pier (The), 27 For, oh, it is such a Norrible Tale, 68 GAM-Gee-Wo, 62 Make your Hay while the Sun Shines, 118 Muscular Christianity, 120 My Balcony, 142 Motley's Kingdom, 198 Money Market (The), 211 My Lost Old Age, 231 Meating the Difficulty, 234 Man in the Mysterious Muffler (The), 218 Monsieur le Blond on London, 249 NEWSPAPER "of the Period" (A), 21 Night in a Workhouse (A), 203, 214 OZONE, 2 Out-of-Town Talk, 18, 29, 31, 49, 59, 61 Il n'est Jamais Trop Tard pour Raecom- One Arm v. One Leg, 20 moder, 72 In the Matter of Old Age, 79 In Re the Reade-er, 88 In the Name of the Profit-Figs, 99 JILTED Lover to a Forsaken Lady (A), John Bull in " Little France," 100 LITTLE Gay Deceiver (A), 38 Lesson in Heraldry (A), 67 Lay of the Lost Umbrella, 2 My Jubilee, 10 Mems. for Michaelmas, 24 Monkey in Trouble (The), 31 Modern Drama (The), 33, 41 Mr. Hazlitt's Novel, 62 Musings in a Music Hall, 69 Maiden's Plaint (The), 71 Out of "Luxe" way, 21 Our Patron Saint, 51 Our Library Table, 69, 78, 81, 109, 113, Over the Way, 191 PEOPLE'S Pleasures (The), 30 12 Patroclus, 74 Miss Goggle's Common Place Book, 101 111 Pantomimic Presentiments, 111 Parting Wish (A), 112 Plot of a Romance (The), 114 Paradise in the Waters (A), 125 Points of View, 129 SONGS for Music, 3, 61 Social Glasses and Social Asses, 9 8, 98, 118, 133, 163, 199, 239, 241, 253 Social Science Congress (The), 58 Sham Fight (A), 60 Sensible Idea (A), 102 Selections from the Howl, 109 Science of Fairy Tales, 123 Society, 128 Scotland in her Cups, 134 Vestigia Nulla Retrorsum, 182 WEATHER and the Parks (The), 4 Why will Men be such Fools? 151 Word with Shakespeare (A), 218 Wanted, a Railway Poet, 233 Separation of Emily and Brown Jones, 140 YOUNG Esculapius, 32 Serenade of the Present Day, 209 Spooney Philosophy, 179 St. Valentine's Day, 221 Yarn of the Nancy Bell (The), 242 LARGE ENGRAVINGS. A LITTLE behind the Times, 95 Brothers after all, 35 Britannia's Pets, 175 Belle of the Session (The), 195 Right" Christmas Number" (The), 155 Sunday Drains v. Sunday Trains, 55 SMALL ENGRAVINGS. ARRIVAL of Chang, 1 Ars Longa, 64 Artistic Conversazione (An), 190 Child is Father to the Man (The), 11 Cattle Market (The), 70, Chrysanthemum Show (The), 110 Consolations of the Hunting Field, 114 Foreign Suns and English Daughters, 8 High Art of Getting Good Servants (The), People's Pleasures (The), 30 Pretty Cyar-acter (A), 171 Physical Education Question (The), 194 Practising at the Bar, 244 Royal Exchange (The), 40 Sham Fight (A), 60 Something Like a Celebrity, 71; Tomkins Abroad, 74 Troubles of Livery, 108 24 There's a Medium in Everything, 163 From the commencement of the Third Volume will be published, in addition to the usual issue at One Penny, a Special Edition of each Number at Twopence, carefully printed on superfine ash-grey toned paper. 4 TO LUCY. ENDER tiny dove, Such a girl as tew see My love for little Lucy. 'S natural to Lucy. For one smile of Lucy's. Would become a Q. C., A VERY TRUE STORY. T has often been said, and truly, that if I am a shorthand writer. Ye ge itle- For a look from Lucy. Calipash so juicy, By her side to sit, Tempting little Lucy. The last Bishop made At the wish of Lucy. Rather than a scene By BEVERLY or BREW see, GATHERED HENRY J. BYRON. TREASURES. GATHERED roses. I gathered gold. I gathered them all in the times of old, I treasure the roses, but where is the gold? Oh, treasured roses! Oh, vanished gold! I gathered roses! I gathered gold! T. H. As a youth, my heart and mind were devoted to stenography and woman untrue. No Compelled by a sordid uncle to earn my living at the early age of twentytwo, I was forced to leave my home and the neighbourhood in which resided she on whom I had fixed my affections. It was one winter night that I stood on the frozen lid of the waterbutt, and whispered to EMMELINE that I was about to be severed from her, it might be for years and it might be for ever; but in the meantime there was a penny post, and I could write to her constantly. As the moon shone upon her, and was reflected on the water flowing in the waterbutt beneath, for it was only half the lid that was on, I thought to myself and I said to EMMELINE, "Why should souls like ours confine themselves to the trammels of long hand? Let us be above the ordinary modes of correspondence. As none have loved as we love, as nobody can love, might loye, shall love, or will love like ourselves, why not correspond in shorthand ?" Three months were to elapse before I left my native village. I proposed to EMMELINE to teach her stenography. She consented, and when I left the village we corresponded every day, and our love-letters were the shortest on record in point of character, and the longest in point of matter. Let me here say that my EMMELINE had a father; and, by the way, her name was JENNY and not EMMELINE, but I called her EMMELINE because it sounded more poetical. My EMMELINE had a father whom I hate; the remarks he has made upon my illness, which, as I have said, is entirely attributable to overwork, and not as he and my brother-in-law state-but these are family matters which had better be passed over. After serving a short sort of apprenticeship on a newspaper in the country, and corresponding with dearest EMMELINE, I came to London. I reported, reported, and reported. At first I wrote to EMMELINE daily, then every other day; then once a week, then once a month, then not at all. She wrote to me daily complaining of my silence, but the fact is I had no time to write. I had got among a lot of jolly fellows, and when one understands life in Londen and stenography, it is easily perceived that we have no control over circumstances, and that the ladies in the country, to whom one is engaged when one is young and foolish, must not be too particular or exacting. By this I do not mean to put any imputation on my wife, whose affection and attention to me during my illness-an illness entirely attributable to overworkwere a theme of admiration for many miles in the surrounding neighbourhood. Let me see, where was I? oh, yes, I came up to London and got among a set of jolly fellows. I reported in the House of Lords, and was a great favourite with the Lord Chancellors past and present. I had a row one night with the policeman who acted as doorkeeper, and who had the audacity to say that I looked overworked, and he would not permit me to go up into the gallery. This man afterwards had a severe attack of small-pox, which was doubtless attributable to his conduct to me. I forgave him freely; and, if this should meet his eye, he will know that I look over his conduct. I had not written to my EMMELINE for a year, when I fell very ill. The doctor pronounced it fever. My head was shaved, and I was told that in moments of unconsciousness I sang comic songs, addressed my nurse as the noble lord, and wished to waltz with the friendly skeletons who 1 crowded nightly round my bedside with enthusiastic acclamations. I grew worse and worse. At last I became unconscious; then I grew conscious; the skeletons dropped off in their attendance, and finally fused themselves into one skeleton. I remember sitting up in my bed with my head shaved, and seeing a skeleton sitting by my bedside. It was attired in a black stuff frock. It was a kaleidoscopic sort of skeleton, and changed frequently. First it changed into MRS. GRAMBOROUGH, my nurse, than whom a more wicked old woman, or one more denying of a drop of comfort to a poor fellow who wanted it never walked this earth in an unpleasant looking cap. From MRS. GRAMBOROUGH the skeleton changed to-yes-surely I was not dreaming-to EMMELINE! II. Let me explain. For two long weary years my EMMELINE had waited without receiving an amatory epistle from me; she had formed a resolution romantic, but feminine, of following me to London. Her father had fallen into trouble. Ah, woman in our hours of ease, uncertain, coy, and hard to please. In the midst of the old gentleman's troubles she took his best suit of clothes, and altering them so as to adapt them to the exigencies of her own figure, which was fine, she walked up to London in them. She had no money, but she earned an honourable, though precarious livelihood by teaching stenography to the cottagers by the way-side. The blessings of education had never before or since been so speedily conferred upon an agricultural and slightly brutal population. She found me out by the simplest means in the world. She discovered the address of the Lord Chancellor in the Court Guide. She called upon him, and stating her business asked him for my address. The Lord Chancellor, who always keeps an eye upon me, immediately gave it her. She informed Mrs. GRAM BOROUGH, and the skeletons-who so kindly assisted her in promoting my cure of an illness brought on, as I assure the reader, entirely by overwork-that she was my sister, which, her being attired in male habiliments only rendered more probable. For nights and days she watched by my bedside. She cooled my fever, and when money was short for grapes and oranges, of which I ate two barrels per diem-she, my EMMELINE, who was beautiful and fair, and understood stenography, and had really the finest head of hair ever seen in the shop of MR. TRUEFITT-and I trust that MR. TRUEFITT will not think it necessary to send me any balm of Columbia or other unguent for this mention of his name-cut off her hair and sold it, and the skeletons brought the oranges as before on payment of ready money. One night, when I lay senseless and unconscious, in a state of comaentirely attributable to overwork-a message came down from a journal newly started that my stenographic services were required at the House of Lords. No other stenographer was to be found. The addresses of the villagers, to whom my EMMELINE had taught the art of short-hand, were not available. The price offered for one night's services-it was a most important debate, and EMMELINE had no money left-was £50. Dareful and dauntless my EMMELINE walked to the office of the journal and boldly passed herself off as a stenographic reporter, which her habiliments, which I have said were the modification of her father's clothes adapted to the exigencies of her own fine figure-and such a figure!-rendered probable. She was shown by torchlight to the gallery of the House of Lords, and took her place among that brave band of stenographers, to whom the members of both Houses and the country at large, to say nothing of the newsvendors, are so much indebted. The debate was a furious one: the Ministry fought hard to keep their places; the Opposition fought hard to get them out-and victory hovered-I don't know where, but so it was. As my EMMELINE turned to her left, whom should she behold but her aged father, who, having failed in business as a furrier, had in his old age taught himself stenography in six weeks, and been engaged as a reporter on one of the principal daily papers. Unmindful of Parliamentary privilege, the old gentleman, who recognised his clothes, which I have before stated my EMMELINE had adapted to the exigencies of her own fine figureand such a figure! the old gentleman exclaimed, "My child!" "Silence!" said the Lord Chancellor, "I will commit the first man who speaks-nay, worse, I will make him a member of the lower house." 'My Jord," said my EMMELINE'S father, "I should be sorry to interrupt this honourable house, sorry to interrupt your lordship, whom I venerate and esteem." Here the Lord Chancellor burst into tears. "But the reporter," continued my EMMELINE'S father, "sitting by my side, is my own daughter." The commotion in the house is more easily imagined than described. "Privilege, privilege," cried the members, and my EMMELINE rose and addressed the house for three-quarters of an hour, at the same time taking down her own speech stenographically as she spoke. explained who she was, and what she was-that she was my plighted bride, and that I required oranges and grapes every five minutes. The house rose as one man, or, as I should say, one nobleman. The Lord Chancellor requested of my EMMELINE's father that he would permit him to adopt her, which he did on the spot close to the woolsack. Every nobleman then and there present immediately subscribed £1,000 as a wedding portion for myself and EMMELINE. My EMMELINE's father, melted by the entreaties of the Lord Chancellor, who went upon his knees to him, consented to our marriage. Stimulants of various descriptions-calves' foot jelly, Revalenta Arabica, soon brought me to a state of corporeal health. I recovered. I married my EMMELINE. We have lived happy ever since. Her father accepted the Chiltern Hundredsa post which was kindly given to him by the Lord Chancellor, to whom may the tribute of esteem here given be some balm when he is compelled to retire. Three months after EMMELINE and I were married at St. George's, Hanover-square, the Speaker of the House of Commons, through the indisposition of the Lord Chancellor, being kindly allowed to give the bride She away. We have been happy ever since, although at times the illness with which I am so often afflicted, and which has been remarked upon by my brother-in-law and my father-in-law in such invidious terms, has frequently revisited me. This is the story of my life. III. At the commencement of this paper I think that I remarked, but I have lost some of my notes, and the reader will kindly excuse errors entirely attributable to illness and overwork. I remarked that if any man wrote his life as it really happened it would make an interesting paper. I have done so. This is a plain unvarnished statement, and not the offspring of delirium tremens, as that brute my brother-in-law, if he will allow me to call him so, I will not mention my father-in-law, as being unworthy of notice, affirms. I have merely stated facts as they really happened, and for which my wife, who is now in the interior of Africa, can at any moment vouch. I have the Yours, honour to be, Mr. Editor, STENOGRAPH. [P.S.-Mrs. presents her compliments to the Editor of FUN, and encloses her husband's manuscript. She has not read it, but she trusts should the Editor see any objections to its publication, that he will whose health, mental and physical, has been so long impaired as to unfit him at times for the task of literary composition.] T. W. ROBERTSON. send it back to Mr. A GHOSTS. H, me, Time's foot goes far too fast, But other lips than mine must wind it. I raise my glass and idly see Strange visions in the bright Madeira, Old faces that were young with meThe phantoms of a bygone era. They come! they come! a changing host, Through memory's "practicable" panels, A stream of varied life, long-lost Amid a thousand winding channels. And if the well-known face looks cold, I wonder where the sod, smooth-shaven, And where "Hic Jacet" is engraven. Again I love with ardent rapture; Another yet!-I know the air, Mysterious, moody, and Byronic. A poet this-'ere worldly care, And debts and duns came like a tonic. The Bill of Life at last came due, He might have paid the interest longer; But, with the Beautiful and True, He loved-a something rather stronger. They come! they go! The Christmas chimes For noisy youngsters hardly thank us HENRY CLARKE. |