[Illustration]
Swig up this cup--you will find there's a spell in
Its depths for the ills and the aches of mortality.
Drink! Of dyspepsia's dire woes you'll be well in
A Yankee split second! (No fudge, but reality).
Would you forget wine, or whiskey, or gin?
Only skim off the film that will gather a-top of it,
('Tis merely the milk in coagulate skin,)
Then stir it up briskly and drain every drop of it!
Swig up this cup, &c.
Never was nectar-cup brewed with such power,
Or philtre; while _here_ nought to injure or hurt is meant.
Of Cocoa this is the pure pick and fine flower.
There's no starch or fat in it (_vide_ Advertisement!).
They who with this have their stomachs well filled,
Are proof against hunger, fatigue, and bad weather.
This wonderful draught is not brewed or distilled,
But it licks all the liquors and cordials together.
Swig up this cup, &c.
And though, perhaps,--but oh! breathe it to no one!--
'Tis stodgy and runs to obesity awfully.
If you've _no_ coat to your tum-tum, you'll grow one!
(The rival advertisements tell us so--jawfully.)
What though it tasteth insipid and tame?
When tea is taboo, and when coffee's forbidden,
Try cocoa from--well, let each fill up the _name_,
There are fifty at least, and their light is _not_ hidden!
Swig up this cup, &c.
So swig up the cup of--each "'Tiser" is telling
In every paper, with great actuality,
The fame of _his_ brand, with much swagger and swelling,
Other ads. may be fiction, but _his_ is reality.
So swig up the cup when you breakfast, tea, sup,
Of so-and-so's (string of superlatives) cocoa!
(I'd "give it a name," but I daren't try _that_ game,
For fear of severe (editorial) Toko).
Swig up this cup, &c.
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LATEST FROM PARIS.--"MOORE of Moore Hall, with nothing at at all,"
has _not_ "slain," nor has he "foughten with," nor given any kind of
"satisfaction" to, the Dragon of Wantley, represented (as the incident
is to be "relegated to the realms of comic opera") on this occasion
by the Wictorious "WHISTLER Coon." It is, however, reported that the
impressionist artist, animated by the sportsmanlike desire of getting
a shot at something or somebody, the MCNEIL, or JACQUES LE SIFFLEUR,
would like to engage a Moore for the shooting season. The most recent
wire reports, "No Moore at present. J. MCN. W." And, probably, here
closes the incident.
[Illustration]
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LAST WEEK'S BUSINESS.--Everything very much up in the City--especially
the pavement in Cannon Street.
* * * * *
"TO PARIS AND BACK FOR NOTHING."
(_To the Editor of "Punch."_)
SIR,--A most excellent institution, run on moral lines, has recently
been advertising "A tour on the Continent" for £5. This modest sum is
to cover travelling and hotel expenses, and no doubt has been worked
out on the most virtuous principles. In these days of rapid progress,
however, we can never stand still, and the question arises, Cannot the
holiday be cheapened? I contend it can, and as your paper represents
the human race in general and the British public in particular, I
desire to make known my discovery through your columns. Of course
"Trips for nothing"--the journeys I wish to organise--cannot be
managed without a little thought and arrangement. For my purpose it
is best not to insist too harshly upon the importance of truth and
honesty. After all, both these words represent abstract ideas, that
may be necessary for publication, but need not be absolutely accepted
as a guarantee of good faith.
Without further preface I jot down my programme. Say that a would-be
traveller without means desires to visit the Capital of France
gratuitously. I would have him present himself at the Victoria
Station garbed in the uniform of a guard. The necessary costume, on
application, would be supplied to him by one of the agents of
the Unprincipled Touring Company--the institution it is my aim to
establish. Just as the night mail was starting for Dover he would
enter the luggage-van, and then all would be clear until he reached
Paris. He would accompany the boxes and portmanteaus to Calais, and
be transferred (being registered) to the Chemin de Fer du Nord, and
remain undisturbed until he reached the terminus.
On coming out of the van he would be met by one of the agents of the
Unprincipled Touring Company, and be accused of being a spy. This
would immediately secure his arrest and safe custody in a Parisian
police-station. The agent, having played his part, would disappear. It
would now become the duty (and I trust the pleasure) of the would-be
traveller to look after himself without further assistance. He would
appeal to the British Ambassador. He would tell his simple tale,
how he had been drugged and conveyed in a state of coma to the
luggage-van; how he had no money, and had been so affected by the
narcotics, that his mind had become a perfect blank. The British
Minister would, doubtless, secure his release, and supply him with
funds. He would see some of the cheaper sights for which Paris is
celebrated, and then return home by an inexpensive route, highly
delighted with his adventures.
It will doubtless occur, in this practical age, to persons having even
the most moderate amount of brains, that hitherto the profits of the
Unprincipled Touring Company have remained unmentioned. "Where do they
come in?" will be the universal question. My answer is simply, "Hush
money." The would-be traveller, having availed himself of the
services of the proposed organisation, would, for the remainder of
his existence, be under an obligation to pay as much as he could
conveniently (or even inconveniently) spare to a society which had
secured for him so much semi-innocent recreation.
It may be advanced by ultra purists that the system of business that
would be inaugurated by the U. T. C. would be immoral. To this I
triumphantly reply, not more immoral than other systems in full
working order in many companies of the highest respectability
compatible with limited liability.
I remain, yours respectfully,
A PROMISING PROMOTER.
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