(_QUITE AT THE SERVICE OF SOME OF MR. PUNCH'S CONTEMPORARIES._)
One of our Representatives called a few days since upon Mr. BROWN,
senior member of the well-known firm of Messrs. BROWN, JONES,
AND ROBINSON. The Eminent General Dealer was seated "in his
counting-house," as the nursery-song hath it, "counting out his
money."
"Come in, come in!" said Mr. BROWN, cordially, as he somewhat
hurriedly looked up the coin in a safe out of our reach. "I am
delighted to see you."
"Glad to hear it," we replied, rather drily. "We want to put a few
questions to you, in the interest of the public."
"As many as you please. I am, as you know, a man of business; still,
the resources of our establishment are so vast, that my place can be
supplied without inconvenience to our thousands, I may say millions of
customers. And now, Sir, what can I do for you?"
"Well, Mr. BROWN, speaking in the name of civilisation, I would wish
to ask you if you have much sale for SMASHUP's Concentrated Essence of
Cucumbers (registered), in the larger bottles?"
"Yes, Sir, we have; although the smaller sizes are, possibly, a trifle
more popular."
"What do you think of COTTONBACK's Fleur de Lyons Putney Satin?"
"A most admirable material for home wear, although we do not recommend
it for use at a party, a ball, or a reception. For festive occasions
we do a very large trade in GIGGLEWATER's Superfine Velvet South
American _Moiré Antique_ as advertised."
"Indeed! Perhaps, you can mention a few more articles that in your
judgment you believe it will interest our readers to learn about."
"Pardon me, but don't you put that sentence a trifle clumsily?"
Our Representative smiled and blushed. Then he admitted that Mr. BROWN
might be right.
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the Senior Partner, in great glee. "You see I
have my head screwed on the right way! But to answer you. GOTEMON's
Patent Alligator's Skin Braces are attracting much attention just
now, so is WIPE's Castle 2 Imperial William Champagne, which finds
(I may observe confidentially) a ready sale at thirty-two shillings
the dozen. Then there are AKE's Electric Tooth-brushes, and CRAX's
Stained-glass Solid Mahogany Brass-mounted Elizabethan Mantel-boards.
Then, of course, I must not forget BOLTER's Washhandstands and
BOUNDER's Anti-agony Aromatic Pills."
"And all these articles sell largely?"
"Very largely, indeed. And so they should; for they are well worth
the money they cost."
"Indeed they are, or I should not find them in your establishment."
"You are very good. And now, _à propos_ of your journal, will you
permit me to pay a return compliment?"
"Certainly," we replied. "You have noticed an improvement in our
columns?"
"Unquestionably I have," returned Mr. BROWN, emphatically. "I have
observed that of late you have given much interesting matter in the
body of your paper that heretofore used to be reserved for the pages
exclusively devoted to advertisements. I congratulate you!"
And with a courteous wave of his hand and a bow of dismissal, the
Eminent Pillar of Commerce delicately intimated to us that our
interview was at an end.
* * * * *
'ARRY ON THE SINCEREST FORM OF FLATTERY.
[Illustration]
DEAR CHARLIE,--Your faviour to 'and in doo course, as the quill-drivers
say;
Likeways also the newspaper cuttins enclosed. You're on Rummikey's lay.
Awful good on yer, CHARLIE, old chummy, to take so much trouble for me;
But do keep on yer 'air, dear old pal; _I_ am still right end uppards,
yer see.
You are needled along of some parties,--er course you ain't fly to their
names,--
As has bin himitating Yours Truly. Way-oh! It's the oldest o' games,
Himitation is, CHARLIE. It makes one think DARWIN was right, anyhow,
And that most on us did come from monkeys, which some ain't so fur from
'em now.
You start a smart game, or a paying one--something as knocks 'em, dear
boy,
No matter, mate, whether it's mustard, or rhymes, or a sixpenny toy;
They'll be arter you, nick over nozzle, the smuggers of notions and nips,
For the mugs is as 'ungry for wrinkles as broken-down bookies for tips.
Look at DICKENS, dear boy, and Lord TENNYSON--ain't they bin copied all
round?
Wy, I'm told some as liked ALFRED's verses at fust, is now sick of the
sound;
All along o' the parrots, my pippin. Ah, that's jest the wust o' sech
fakes!
People puke at the shams till they think the originals ain't no great
shakes.
'Tain't fair, CHARLIE, not by a jugful, but anger's all fiddle-de-dee;
They may copy my style till all's blue, but they won't discombobulate me.
Names and metres is anyone's props; but of one thing they don't get the
'ang;
They ain't fly to good patter, old pal, they ain't copped the straight
griffin on slang.
'Tisn't grammar and spellin' makes patter, nor yet snips and snaps of
snide talk.
You may cut a moke out o' pitch-pine, mate, and paint it, but can't make
it walk.
You may chuck a whole Slang Dixionary by chunks in a stodge-pot of chat,
But if 'tisn't _alive_, 'tain't chin-music, but kibosh, and corpsey at
that.
Kerrectness be jolly well jiggered! Street slang isn't Science, dear pal,
And it don't need no "glossery" tips to hinterpret my chat to my gal.
I take wot comes 'andy permiskus, wotever runs sliok and fits in,
And when smugs makes me out a "philolergist,"--snuffers! it do make me
grin!
Still there's fitness, dear boy, and unfitness, and some of these jossers,
jest now,
Who himitate 'ARRY's few letters with weekly slapdabs of bow-wow,
'Ave about as much "fit" in their "slang" as a slop-tailor's six-and-six
bags.
No, Yours Truly writes only to you, and don't spread _hisself_ out in the
Mags.
_Mister P._ prints my letters, occasional, once in a while like, dear boy;
For patter's like love-letters, CHARLIE, too long and too frequent, they
cloy.
I agree there with _Samivel Veller_. My echoes I've no wish to stop,
But I'd jest like to say 'tisn't _me_ as is slopping' all over the shop.
It do give me the ditherums, CHARLIE, it makes me feel quite quisby snitch,
To see the fair rush for a feller as soon as he's found a good pitch.
Jest like anglers, old man, on the river; if one on 'em spots a prime swim,
And is landing 'em proper, you bet arf the others'll crowd about _him_.
But there's law for the rodsters, I'm told, CHARLIE; so many foot left and
right;
And you'll see the punts spotted at distance, like squodrons of troops at
a fight.
But in Trade, Art, and Littery lines, CHARLIE, 'anged if there's any fair
play,
And the "cullerable himitation" is jest the disgrace of the day.
Sech scoots scurryfunging around on the gay old galoot, to go snacks
In the profits of other folks' notions, have put you, old pal, in a wax.
Never mind their shenanigan, CHARLIE; it don't do much hurt, anyhow;
I was needled a trifle at fust, but I'm pooty scroodnoodleous now.
I'm all right and a arf, mate, I am, and ain't going' to rough up, no
fear!
Becos two or three second-hand 'ARRIES is tipping the public stale beer.
The old tap'll turn on now and then, not too often, and as for the rest,
The B.P. has a taste for sound tipple, and knows when it's served with
the best.
If mine don't 'old its own on its merits, then way-oh! for someone's
as does!
All cop and no blue ain't my motter; that's all tommy-rot and buz-wuz.
The pace of a yot must depend on her lines and the canvas she'll carry;
If rivals can crowd on more sail, wy they're welcome to overhaul 'ARRY.
* * * * *
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