I was a takin of my favrit walk, larst Friday was a week, from Charing
Cross round to my own privet residence in Queen street, when a yung
lad tapped me on the sholder and said to me, "Please, Sir, are you the
sillybrated Mr. ROBERT, the Citty Waiter?" In course I replied, "Yes,
most suttenly;" when he said, "Then this yere letter's for you, and
I wants a emediat arnser." Concealing my wisibel estonishment, I took
him hup Healy Place, where the werry famous Lawyer lives, as can git
you out of any amownt of trubbel, and then opened the letter, and read
the following most estonishing words, wiz.:--"Mr. ROBERT,--can you
come _immediately_ to the ---- Club, as you alone can decide a very
heavy wager that is now pending between two Noble Lords who are here
awaiting your arrival. You will be well paid for your trouble. The
Bearer will show you the way.--J.N." I coud learn nothink from my
jewwenile guide, so I told him to lead the way, and off we started,
and soon arived at the Club.
I need ardly say that, being all quite fust-rate swells, they receaved
me in the most kindest manner, and ewen smiled upon me most freely,
which in course I felt as a great complement.
One on 'em then adrest me sumwot as follers, "I'm sure, Mr. ROBERT,
we are all werry much obliged to you for coming so reddily at my
request." At which they all cried, "Here! here!" "You of coarse
understand what we wish you to do." To which I at once replide, "Quite
so, my noble swells." At which they all larfed quite lowd, tho' I'm
sure I don't kno why. He then said that it was thort better not to
menshun the names of any of the Gents present, and he then presented
me with a little packet, which he requested I woud not open till I got
home, and then proseeded to xplain the Wager, somthink like this. Two
of the noble Lords present, it apeared, had disagreed upon a certain
matter, and, wanting a Humpire of caracter and xperience to decide
between them, had both agreed to a surgestion that had bin made, that
of all the many men in London none coudn't be considered more fitter
for the post than Mr. ROBERT, the sillybrated Citty Waiter!
I rayther thinks as I blusht wisibly, and I knos as I bust out into
a perfuse prusperashun, but I didn't say a word, but pulled myself
together as I can ginerally do when I feels as it's necessary to
manetane my good charackter. He then said, "The question for you to
deside is this: At a great and most himportant Dinner that is about
to be held soon, at which most of the werry grandest swells left in
Lundon will be present, we intends to hinterduce 'The Loving Cup;'
not," he added, smiling, "so much to estonish the natives, as to
stagger the strangers. The question, therefore, that you, as the
leading Citty Waiter of the day, have to settle, is, How many of the
Gests stand up while one on 'em drinks?" Delighted to find how heasy
was my tarsk, I ansers, without a moment's hezzitation, "Three!" One
on 'em turned garstly pale, and shouted out, "What for?" To which I
replied, "One to take off and hold up the cover, the second to bow,
and drink out of the Cup, and the third to protect the Drinker while
he drinks, lest any ennemy should stab him in the back."
The garstly pale Gent wanted to arsk more questions, but the rest
shouted, "Horder! Horder!" and the fust Gent coming up to me again,
thanked me for what he called my kindness in cumming, so I made 'em my
very best bow, which I copied from a certain Poplar Prince, and took
my departure.
Being, I hopes, a man of strict werassity, I never wunce took ewen
so much as a peep at the little packet as the Gent gave me, but I
couldn't help feeling ewery now and then to see if it was quite safe,
which of course it was, and ewen when I reached my umbel abode, I
still restrained my natral curiossity, and sat down, and told my
wundrus tail to the wife of my buzzom, and then placed the little
packet in her estonished ands, which she hopened with a slite flutter,
and then perdoosed from it _Five Golden Souverings!_ If any other
noble swells wants another Humpire on the same libberal terms, let 'em
send to ROBERT.
* * * * *
[Illustration: PHILOMELA AND AQUILA.
[It is stated that Madame PATTI presented Mr. GLADSTONE with a box of
voice lozenges.]
PATTI, take, PATTI, take, Grand Old Man!
Give him voice lozenges soon as you can.
Pack them, address them, as neat as can be,
And courteously hand them to W.G.!
Mellifluous Nightingale, melody's source
Our Golden (mouthed) Eagle hath grown a bit hoarse;
But though Aquila's husky with age and long fights,
His sweet Philomela will set him to-rights.
A cough-drop, a lozenge, a jube-jube, from _you_,
His larynx will strengthen and lubricate too.
His old "_Camp Town Races_" he'll pipe again yet;
Nay--who knows?--with you may arrange a duet!
The eagle is scarcely a song-bird, but still,
He may have a good ear for the nightingale's trill!
Fair Philomel comes to old Aquila's aid!!!
Faith! the picture is pretty, so here 'tis portrayed?
]
* * * * *
[Illustration: CLEOPATRA IN PARIS. The true History. Queen Cleopatra
dying from the effects of several Bites of Asp-aragus. Or is it truer
that Queen Cleopatra died from eating too much of something "_En
Aspic_"? Ask Sardou, Sara, & Co.]
* * * * *
AT THE ALHAMBRA.--_Claude Duval_, a new monologue, music by EDWARD
SOLOMON. Mr. FRANK CELLI has to "stand and deliver" the lines of
Messrs. BOWYER and MORTON. As the description "monologue" is not
suggestive of music, why didn't the authors invent a special name for
the entertainment, and call it the "Solomonologue"? Most expressive.
* * * * *