her comic vocalism with a touch of sentiment that makes the whole world kin after it has had its grin. Miss MARIE MONTROSE, too, is winsome, and so are Misses AGNES HEWITT, EVA WESTLAKE, and MADGE LUCAS. In fact, the opening is well played by "all concerned." It is a wonder that, after the first innings of the morning performance, they should have scored so heavily in the evening's representation. But score they do, and are likely to continue the movement" until Easter.

66

The scenery must be seen. It baffles description. Who could paint the sun? Who could

report the wonders of the solar system? A first impressionist would declare that the gorgeous production of colour, light, and form, could only be adequately suggested by the word "HARRIS." So the entire andience thought on Boxing Night. Let it be known that after the wonderful "Feast of Lanterns" Scene, Sir AUGUSTUS was called to the front three or four times, and might have " gone on indefinitely so far as the house was concerned. Indeed, the enthusiasm showed no sign of diminution when the lessee had

made his exit. Still the Gallery called for "'ARRIS!" still the Stalls expressed their opinion by the gentle tapping of well-gloved hands. Nay more, there were members of the superior classes who not only rapped out their applause, but roared with laughter. From first to last, thanks to a thoroughly appreciative (and yet discriminating) audience, the play went admirably.

So the bells will ring for Whittington for a long time to come. And where the belles are there will be found the beaux. To continue the association of ideas, the shot of Sir AUGUSTUS has ended in a hit. It does not take a prophet to predict that Dick will not only

AUGUSTUS (with the assistance of his literary colleagues, Messrs. H. HAMILTON and WALTER RALEIGH, and his chief of the staff, Mr. ARTHUR COLLINS) has beaten his own record. Nothing better than the present show has been seen at Drury Lane within the recollection of the existing generation. And it is highly probable that the memory of man does not, anent times past, run to the contrary.

The ex-sheriff has begun a new lease of the old house, and seemingly has taken the success he has so long established on the premises as one of the fixtures. A most excellent commencement to a contract that should be highly satisfactory to both manager and public.

So much for pantomimic things in general, and now to turn to details in particular. The book of the words is decidedly a superior article. Hitherto when the Drury Lane Annual has contained a fault the mistake has been discovered in "the cackle." On former occasions it has been said (by the dyspeptic and consequently disappointed) that "the turns of the halls" have been too numerous. Those excellent comedians Messrs. DAN LENO and HERBERT CAMPBELL have sometimes been a little too much in evidence to suit every taste. In 1894-95 they have plenty to do, but only enough to satisfy the most fastidious. They are quite as amusing as usual, and when the curtain falls before "the transformation" people are rather inclined to ask for more than to say that they have had quite enough. This is the token of a good sign. Then the Brothers GRIFFITHS are particularly pleasing. That member of the brethren who plays the cat is at once comic and pathetic. He makes Malkin quite a loveable character. Then Miss ADA BLANCHE, as Dick, is altogether a hero of romance. She may sing the old songs of the halls, but she tempers

TALL TALES OF SPORT AND ADVENTURE. (By Mr. Punch's own Short Story-teller.)

INTRODUCTION.

Nor many living men, and even fewer in the ages that are past. have if I may use the word-sported with greater assiduity and success than I have during a life which is even now little past its middle period. At one time on horseback, at another on the bounding and impulsive elephant; now bestriding the matchless dromedary on his native prairie, now posted on foot in a jungle crowded with golden pheasants in all the native splendour of their plumage; sometimes matching my solitary craft against a host of foxes on the swelling uplands of Leicestershire, sometimes facing the Calydonian boar or the sanguinary panther in their woodland lairs, dealing showers of leaden death from a hundred tubes, or tracking my fearful prey by the lonely light of a wax vesta and despatching it at midnight with my trusty bowie -wherever there were leagues to be walked, risks to be run, or fastnesses to be rushed there not only have I been the first, but (paradoxical as it may appear) there also have I succeeded and have never been successfully followed. My experiences are therefore unique, and it is in the hope that they may to some extent profit a younger generation, less inured, I fear, to hardship and danger than my own, that I now set pen to paper and recount some of the exploits that have made my name famous wherever sport is loved and true sportsmen are revered.

A less modest man might have said more, but one whose deeds speak for him in every quarter of the world may well be content to leave to punier men the ridiculous trumpeting braggadocio that too often makes so-called sportsmen the laughing stock of society. For myself, I can never forget the lesson I learned at an early age from my dear father, himself a shikari of no common order, though to be sure, as he himself would be the first to admit if he were alive, the exploits of the son (I had no brothers) have now thrust the parental performances into the background. Still, it was my father who first inculcated upon my infant mind the daring, the ignorance of fear, the contempt of danger, and the iron endurance which have since made me a household word. Heaven rest the old man! He sleeps his last sleep far away in the Desert of Golden Sand, with no head-stone to mark his resting-place, and neither the roaring of his old enemies the tigers, nor the bellowing of the countless alligators who infest the spot can rouse him any more. Alas! it was trustfulness that destroyed him. He was gored to death by a favourite rhinoceros that he had rescued at a tender age when its mother was killed, and had brought up to know and, as he thought, to love him. But I have always thought myself that the rhinoceros was a treacherous brute, and though I have often been asked to tame one, for presentation to this or that Emperor, I have consistently declined.

But what I wished specially to relate about my poor father was the lesson of truthfulness which he inculcated upon me at an early age. He and I (I was then but a lad of twelve) had been hunting the ferocious Pilsener gemsbock through the wild Lagerland in which he makes his home. It happened one morning that we had parted company. To me was assigned the duty of beating through the Bier-Wald, the dense forest which stretches mile upon mile in unbroken gloom to the confines of the Boose-See. The Fates were propitious. Wherever I turned I saw a victim, and one after another I brought down with unerring aim twenty-four (as I thought) of these noble animals, whose horns are now worth a king's ransom, and might, even in those distant days, have rescued a minor German Prince from captivity. Hastening home with my booty loaded upon my back-I was a strong boy for my age, but of course nothing to what I have since become-I met my dear father just as I reached the door of the hut which served us for hunting

quarters. Joyously I cast down my
burden, and sprang to his side. But
my father wore an expression of
annoyance, and I soon discovered
that the luck had been against him.
He had indeed seen ten bocks, but
for some reason his aim had lacked
its accustomed deadliness, and he
had come back empty-handed. I
condoled with him in a boy's art-
less fashion, and proceeded to tell
him how fortunate I had been.
"How many have you shot ?"
he asked me.

66

Twenty-four," was my reply. "Count them," said my father.

I did so, and you may judge of my astonishment when I found that twenty-six had fallen to my gun. I counted again and again. Yes, there were twenty-six of them. With one of my shots I must have brought down three. In the agitation of the moment I had overlooked this. I told my father that I had made a slight mistake, and endeavoured to explain how it had arisen. But my father was inexorable.

"A lie," he said, "is a lie. You said you had shot twenty-four, you have actually killed twenty-six. You must suffer."

Over the rest of the painful scene I draw a veil. The shrieks of my mother, who implored pardon for me on her bended knees, still seem to ring in my ears. Since that time I have always respected not only the strict truth, but also the leather thongs which are in use in the Lagerland for the droves of untameable cattle that roam the prairies. This was my lesson, and I have never, never forgotten it.

Marvellous, however, as my father was in his day for his exploits and his variegated bags of game, he was perhaps even more wonderful for the unswerving accuracy with which he was accustomed to relate his adventures. Far and wide over the steppes of Central Asia, the burning regions of equatorial Africa, the precipitous baunts of the American Grizzly, and the wild retreats of the ferocious Albanian pig-everywhere, in short, where he had set foot or drawn trigger, this peculiarity of his was known and appreciated, and many a respectful sobriquet did it earn for him from the savage tribes amongst whom he spent the best years of his life. In Kashmir he was known as Peli Ton, that is, the man who cannot lie; amongst the swarthy Zambesians the name of Govun Bettir (the Undefeated and Veracious Man) was a name to conjure with even when in their moments of warlike passion the tribesmen rushed madly through their primeval thickets, shouting their terrible war-cry, Itzup ures Leeve," that is, "Death to the white-faced robbers."

VOL. CVII.

TO AN OLD FLAME.-(TWENTY YEARS AFteb.)

A LITTLE girl, a charming tiny tot,
I well remember you with many a curl,
Although I recollect you said, "I'm not
A little girl."

We parted. Mid the worry and the whirl
Of life, again, alas! I saw you not.

I kept you in my memory as a pearl
Of winsome childhood. So imagine what
A shock it was this morning to unfurl
My morning paper, there to see you've got
A little girl!

SOMETHING TO LIVE FOR.-The Pall Mall Gazette announced last Friday that "a bevy of head-masters will appear in the pulpit of St. Paul's this month." How many go to a "bevy" we are not aware, though perhaps we might ascertain it from Sir DRURIOLANUS, who could inform us, after several crowded houses, how many go to see the "bevy," and how many combine to make up a "hevy," of ballet beauties in the pantomime; but putting it say at a dozen, the bevy of head-masters in their caps and gowns would find the pulpit of St. Paul's rather a tight fit. Pretty sight though, anyway.

THE NEW YEAR'S DAY DREAM. A Tennysonian Fragment from the Popular

Pantomime of "Harlequin Harcourt, the
Sleeping Beauty, and the Financial Fairy
Prince."

"The Revenue Returns," says the Daily News, "for the expired three quarters of the financial year show that a sum of close upon £62,000,000 has been paid into the Exchequer. The CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER's estimated revenue for the whole year was a little over £94,000,000. This is regarded as an indication of the revival of trade, and the promise of a substantial surplus for the next Budget."]

THE ARRIVAL.

ALL blessed boons, though coming late,
To those who wait them issue forth,
For skill in sequel works with fate,

And draws the veil from hidden worth.

He comes, great keeper of our tin,

He is no Tory Hurlo-Thrumbo!
A fairy Prince, with triple chin,
And heavy-footed as poor Jumbo!
He comes, scarce knowing what he seeks,
Though he has heard of Sleeping Beauties.
He hath been dreaming many weeks
Of Income Tax, Stamps, and Death Duties.
He'd charmed the party with his talk
Of Graduation; now grey fear
Knocks at his ribs, his cheek's like chalk,
With thoughts of Revenue for the Year.

More close and close his footsteps wind,
The next year's Budget on his heart.

From Stamps and Liquor will he find

Here's sleeping Trade! "Lor! what a lark!"
He thinks. To wake her-were a spree!
A kiss may lift those lashes dark;

She can't resist a buss-from Me!"
THE REVIVAL.

A touch, a smack! A boxed ear.

There came the sound of a smart slap. The Fairy Prince, with cry of fear,

His hand unto his cheek did clap. The Sleeping Beauty gave a gape, A wide-mouthed yawn, a long drawn

stretch.

He rubbed his chins. "This is a jape!
I knew my style the girl would fetch!
"In spite of all that WILSON says,*
I trust those Revenue Returns.
She does revive! Be mine the praise!

By Jove, though, how my left ear burns! I told 'em that I'd do the trick

With my new fakement, the Death Duties. Come, Miss, wake up! Revive, dear, quick! You sleepiest of Sleeping Beauties !'"

At last sweet slumbering Trade awoke,

The Prince smiled, rubbed his chins, and spoke.
And on her couch her form upreared.
He swore that you would not revive,
"Ah, WILSON's prophecy is queered.

In his Cassandra-like Review,
But don't sit yawning! Look alive!
Or men will swear I've humbugged you!"
"All right!" said sleepy Trade. 'But still
My joints feel somewhat stiff or so.

Say, have you passed that Irish Bill
You schemed-how long was it ago ?"
The Chancellor subdued a curse,
Which scarce would serve for a reply,
But dallied with his well-filled purse,
And smiling, put the question by.

A TALL ORDER.

["The Emperor WILLIAM is to have the Grand Order of the Imperial Chrysanthemum (the Japanese Garter) to add to his collection, in recognition of the services rendered by German officers to Japanese officers in instructing them in military and naval science.'"-Daily Chronicle.]

Oн, the Fatherland, the happy Fatherland,
With fresh happiness will hum,
When their Emperor shall the Order wear
Of the Jap Chry-san-the-mum!
He's "a daisy" now, as the world doth
know;

But, oh. won't he be thrice happy,
When he sports the badge of the Golden
Of the cute and grateful Jappy? [Flower
If JOHN CHINAMAN in the little Jap
Has most surely caught a Tartar,
Jap learned to war 'neath the Teuton Star,
So will send him the Jap "Garter."
BULL has given him tips, and has built him
But the Jap don't badge J. B. [ships,
No! Peace and War, like most other things,
Are now "made in Ger-ma-ny"!

no Future!"