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Page 11
* * * * *
THE PICK OF THE BASKETS.
The _Daily Graphic_ published a specific against cholera, alleged to
have been invented by Doctor PICK, a German. Evidently "Our pick'd
man of countries." As it is something to drink, and not to eat,
the inventor is under no necessity to be known henceforth as Dr.
PICK-AND-CHEWS. His remedy is to treat the _bacilli_ to Rhine
Wine. The result of experiments has been "so much the worse for the
_bacilli_." Substitute for the first vowel in "grapes" the third of
the vowels, and it is of that the poor bacillus suffers, and dies. As
the poet GROSSMITH sings of the German Rhine,--
"_That_ of the Fatherland,
The happy Fatherland,
Gives the greatest pain inside."
However, the Bacillus is an enemy, and if he can be got rid of by
_grape-shot_, pour it in and spare not.
* * * * *
NEW PUBLICATION.--"_The Dumb D._" Musical Novel. Companion to _The
Silent Sea_, by Mrs. MACLEOD.
* * * * *
INNS AND OUTS.
NO. IV.--THE WINDOW-SHUTTERS.
"And efery time _he_ gif a shoomp, _he_ make de winders sound."
I do not allude to the white wooden Venetian work that shades the
Grand H�tel windows. It is of the clique who insist on shutting the
windows that I write. Briefly speaking, the inmates of the Grand
H�tel may be divided into two classes--the window-openers and the
window-shutters. The former are all British. The same Britons who
at the Club scowl at a suspicion of draught, and luxuriate in an
asphyxiating atmosphere, band against "the foreigners" in this
respect. We have a national reputation to keep up. We are the nation
of soap, of fresh air, of condescending discontent; and when we are on
the Continent every one else, including the native, is "a foreigner;"
we carry our nationality about with us like a camp-stool; we squat on
it; we are jealous of it; it is a case of "_Regardez, mais ne touchez
pas!_"
[Illustration: COMMERCIAL INSTINCT.
_Original Genius_ (_soliloquising_). "Lor, it 'id bin a crool Shame to
miss an Opportunity like this 'ere. The gov'nor oughter lemme 'ave Ten
Bob on that job!"]
This patriotic obtrusiveness culminates in the Battle of the Windows.
It is an oppressive evening. The _Table d'H�te_-room is seething like
a caldron; a few chosen conspirators and myself open the campaign
early; we "tip" ADOLF "the wink." That diplomatist orders the great
window to be half-opened. If things go smoothly, he will gradually
open out other sources of ventilation. The Noah's Ark procession files
in--all shapes and all languages, like the repast itself; DONNERWITZ,
TARTARIN, SHIRTSOFF, SCAMPELINI; there is nothing in common
between them--save the paper collar; they would hail international
declarations of war to-morrow; but the sight of us, and that speck
of air leagues them. "_Mein Gott, Die Engl�nder!_" coughs DONNERWITZ;
"_Ce sont de fanatiques enrhum�s!_" hisses TARTARIN; SHIRTSOFF sneezes
the sneeze of All the Russias; "_Corpo di Bacco!_" cries SCAMPALINI;
still nothing is done; the "_Potage � la reine_,"--so called from the
predominance of rain-water--ebbs away in the commingled smacks and
gulps of the infuriated Powers; "_Saumon du Rhin, sauce Tartare_"
is being apportioned to the knives of all nations; it is perhaps
the sight of his knife, from which soup only is sacred, that nerves
the fuming DONNERWITZ to lead the attack. "Hst!" he shouts to the
studiously unheeding ADOLF; "'nother bottil Pellell--ver' well sare!"
chirrups ADOLF reassuringly to _me_; DONNERWITZ raises his knife;
I fear for the consequences; he brings it down with a clang on
the hardened tumbler of the Grand H�tel; the timid _pensionnaire_
of numberless summers starts and grows pale; SHIRTSOFF looks with
peremptory encouragement towards the Teuton; "_Ach, gr�sglich!_"
rattles out DONNERWITZ, and strikes again; the cobra-like gutturality
of that "_Ach_" is heart-rending; still no ADOLF; at a gold-fraught
glance from my companions, he has ordered another detachment to the
front; a fresh current of air invades the room. DONNERWITZ's knife is
now brandishing peas; his offended napkin chokes him; with the yell
and spring of a corpulent hyena, he rises and rushes to the windows.
The timid _pensionnaire_ and her shrinking sisterhood follow him,
under the misconception that he is summoning them to admire the
sunset; the sunset is their evening excitement, and DONNERWITZ can be
sentimental in his calmer moments; but no "_Wie wunder, wundersch�n!_"
escapes him; a Saxon word, that even they can understand, is on his
lips; the ring on his forefinger gleams luridly; bang, bang, bang; he
opens fire; down go the windows, and DONNERWITZ resumes his seat of
war, his napkin waving like a standard before him. It is now my turn;
I don't like it; but my co-conspirators expect me to maintain the
honour of our country: ADOLF cannot be trusted further; I advance
furtively; the eyes of Europe are upon me; one by one I open them
again and subside; a terrible silence supervenes. What next?--that is
the question!
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