[A meeting at Manchester has raised a protest against the nuisance
caused by the needlessly loud "slamming" of railway carriage doors.]
The porter has a patent "slam,"
Which smites one like a blow,
And everywhere that porter comes,
That "slam" is sure to go.
It strikes upon the tym-pa-num
Like shock of dynamite;
By day it nearly makes you dumb--
It deafens you at night.
When startled by that patent "slam,"
The pious pas-sen-jare,
Says something else that ends in "am,"
(Or he has patience rare.)
Not only does it cause a shock,
But--Manchester remarks--
"Depreciates the rolling stock,"
Well, that is rather larks!
_That_'s not the point. The porter's slam
Conduces to insanity,
And, though as mild as MARY's lamb,
Drives men to loud profanity.
If Manchester the "slam" can stay
By raising of a stir,
All railway-travellers will say,
"Bully for Man-ches-ter!"
* * * * *
_Kelly's Directory for_ 1893.--Invaluable, and considered as
"portable property" (to quote _Pip's_ friend), admirably suited for
the pocket of any individual who should happen to be about
twenty-five feet high. _How to use it?_ Why--see inside--it is full
of "Directions."
* * * * *
[Illustration: "CHRISTMAS IS COMING!"]
* * * * *
MIXED NOTIONS.--No. II. UGANDA.
SCENE--_As before, a Railway-carriage in a suburban morning train to
London. Persons also as before--namely, two_ Well-informed Men, _an_
Inquirer, _and an_ Average Man.
_First Well-informed Man_ (_laying down his paper_). So the Government's
going to stick to Uganda, after all. I had a notion, from the beginning,
they wouldn't be allowed to scuttle.
_Average Man._ Ah--I don't know that I'm particularly enthusiastic about
Uganda.
_Inquirer._ Why not?
_A. M._ What are we going to get out of it?--that's the question. We go
interfering all over the world, grabbing here, and grabbing there,
merely in order to keep other people out; and then some nigger King,
with a cold in his head, sneezes as he passes the Union Jack. That's an
insult to the flag, of course; so off goes an expedition, and, before
you know where you are, we've spent about ten millions, and added a few
thousand acres of swamp to the Empire. Why can't we leave things alone?
Haven't we got enough?
_First W. I. M._ That's all very well, I daresay; but you forget that
the Berlin Conference made Uganda one of our spheres of influence.
_Inquirer._ When was that?
_First W. I. M._ Why, just after the Franco-Prussian War. They all met
in Berlin to settle up everything--and we got Uganda.
_Inquirer._ I thought it was later than that, somehow.
_First W. I. M._ Well, anyhow, it was somewhere about that time. I don't
pledge myself to a year or two. But what I say about Uganda is this.
We're there--or rather the Company is--and we should simply disgrace
ourselves before the whole world if we chucked up the sponge now. And,
if we did, we should have France or Germany nipping in directly.
_Second W. I. M._ They can't.
_First W. I. M._ Why not?
_Second W. I. M._ Why not! Because it's our sphere of influence whatever
happens.
_Inquirer_ (_timidly_). I'm afraid you'll think me very ignorant, but I
don't quite know what a "sphere of influence" is. I've read a lot about
it lately, but I can't quite make it out.
_Second W. I. M._ (_condescendingly_). Yes, I know it's deuced difficult
to keep up with these new notions, unless you're in the way of hearing
all about them. Spheres of influence mean--well, don't you know, they
mean some country that's not quite yours, but it's more yours than
anybody else's, and if anybody else comes into it, you're allowed to
make a protocol of it. Besides, it gives you a right to the Hinterland,
you know.
_Inquirer_ (_dubiously_). Ah, I see. What's the Hinterland?
_Second W. I. M._ (_stumped_). I fancy it's about the most fertile part
of Africa. (_To First W. I. M._) Isn't it?
_First W. I. M._ Yes, that's it. It's the German for Highlands.
_Inquirer._ Of course, so it is. I might have thought of that.
_Average Man_ (_to First W. I. M._). Seems to me you've none of you got
hold of the right point. What I want to know is, does Uganda pay? LUGARD
says it don't; the Company hasn't made anything of it, and they've got
to go whether they like it or not; though I daresay they're deuced glad
to be out of the hole. But, if it don't pay, what on earth are we going
to do with it?
_Second W I. M._ (_triumphantly reinforcing him_). Yes, what on earth
are we to do with it?
_First W. I. M._ (_calmly, but contemptuously_). Ah! I see you're both
little-England men. From your point of view, I daresay you're right
enough. But I'm one of those who believe that we must stick on wherever
we've planted the flag. I agree with MOLTKE, that the nation that gives
up is in a state of decay.
_Second W. I. M._ It wasn't MOLTKE who said that; it was VICTOR HUGO, or
(_after a pause_) Lord PALMERSTON.
_First W. I. M._ Well, it doesn't matter who said it. The point is, it's
true. Besides, what are you going to do about the slaves and the
Missionaries?
_Average Man._ Oh, bother the Missionaries!
_First W. I. M._ It's all very well to say "bother the Missionaries!"
but that won't get you any further. They're our fellow-creatures after
all, and what's more, they're our fellow-countrymen, so we've got to
look after them.
_Average Man._ I should let the whole lot of Missionaries fight it out
together. They only keep quarrelling amongst themselves, and trying to
bag one another's converts; and then France and England get involved.
_Inquirer._ By the way, where is Uganda, exactly?
_First W. I. M._ Just behind Zanzibar--or somewhere about there. You can
get to it best from Mashonaland. Didn't you see that RHODES said he was
going to make a telegraph-line through there? It used to belong to the
SULTAN OF ZANZIBAR. Don't you remember?
_Inquirer._ Of course; so it did.
[_Train draws up at Terminus._
* * * * *
[Illustration: A SALVE FOR THE CONSCIENCE.
_Vegetarian Professor._ "NO, MADAM, NOT EVEN FISH. I CANNOT SANCTION THE
DESTRUCTION OF LIFE. THESE LITTLE ANIMALS, FOR INSTANCE, WERE BUT
YESTERDAY SWIMMING HAPPILY IN THE SEA."
_Mrs. O'Laughlan._ "OH BUT, PROFESSOR, JUST THINK IT'S THE FIRST TIME
THE POOR LITTLE THINGS HAVE EVER BEEN REALLY WARM IN THEIR LIVES!"]
* * * * *
"'TWAS WHISPERED IN HEAVEN, 'TWAS MUTTERED IN H----." _À propos_ of the
much-discussed article written by Dr. ST. GEORGE MIVART in _The
Nineteenth Century_, on "Happiness in Hell."--begging pardon for
uttering a word "unmentionable to ears polite,"--our old friend 'ARRY
writes thusly:--"Sir,--We 'ave all of us been familiar for years with
the well-known 'Mivart's 'Otel.' If the clever Professor is correct,
this name ought to be changed, as there ain't no such a place; and, in
future, when alluded to, it ought to be called _Mivart's Cool 'el._ Am I
right?
"Yours truly, THE 'ARRY OPAGITE."
* * * * *
In "Lucky Shoes," baskets, and in other dainty trifles, does RIMMEL
arrange his beautiful bottles of scent. RIMMEL is not a Head Centre,
but our Chief Scenter, "and," exclaims Mr. WAGSTAFF, the Unabashed,
"what a great day will be his Scentenary!"
* * * * *
"THE SILENT BATTLE."--See this charming piece at the Criterion. Of
course it is brought out by Mr. CHARLES WYNDHAM in illustration of
the old proverb, "_Acts, not words._"
* * * * *
[Illustration: HAPPY AND NOVEL COMBINATION! THE HARMONIOUS CHRISTMAS
"PARTY."]
* * * * *