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    Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 105, July 15th 1893
    Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 105, July 15th 1893
    Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 105, July 15th 1893
    Ebook91 pages41 minutes

    Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 105, July 15th 1893

    By Various Various and F. C. (Francis Cowley) Burnand

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 26, 2013
    Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 105, July 15th 1893

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      Book preview

      Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 105, July 15th 1893 - Various Various

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 105,

      July 15th 1893, by Various

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

      Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 105, July 15th 1893

      Author: Various

      Editor: Sir Francis Burnand

      Release Date: March 24, 2011 [EBook #35666]

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON ***

      Produced by Lesley Halamek, Malcolm Farmer and the Online

      Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

      Punch, or the London Charivari

      Volume 105, July 15TH 1893

      edited by Sir Francis Burnand

      AN AFTERNOON PARTY.

      ... The room is full of celebrities. Do you see that tall woman in black, talking to the little old lady? That is Mrs. Arbuthnot—a woman of some importance—and the other is Charley's Aunt. The sporting-looking young man is Captain Coddington, who is 'in town' for the season.

      And who are the two men, exactly alike, tall and dark, who are smoking gold-tipped cigarettes, and talking epigrams? I asked. I like to know who people are, and the person in the silver domino seemed well-informed.

      The uninvitable in pursuit of the indigestible, murmured Lord Illingworth.

      Those are Lord Illingworth, and Lord Henry Wotton. They always say exactly the same things. They are awfully clever, and cynical. Those two ladies talking together are known as Nora and Dora. There's rather a curious story about each of them.

      There seems to be one about everyone here, I said.

      Well, it seems that Nora and her husband did not get on very well. He thought skirt-dancing morbid. Also, he forgave her for forging his name—in type-writing—to a letter refusing to subscribe to a wedding-present for Princess May. She said a man who would forgive a thing like that would forgive anything. So she left the Dolls' House.

      Quite right. Is that not the Comtesse Zicka? I seem to recognise the scent.

      It is—and the beautiful Italian lady is Madame Santuzza. One meets all sorts of people here, you know; by the way, there's Mrs. Tanqueray.

      Princess Salomé! announced the servant. A little murmur of surprise seemed to go round the room as the lovely Princess entered.

      "What has she got on?" asked Portia.

      Oh, it's nothing, replied Mr. Walker, London.

      I thought she was not received in English society, said Lady Windermere, puritanically.

      I can assure you, my dears, that she would not be tolerated in Brazil, where the nuts come from, exclaimed Charley's Aunt.

      There's no harm in her. She's only a little peculiar. She is particularly fond of boar's head. It's nothing, said Mr. Walker.

      The uninvitable in pursuit of the indigestible, murmured Lord Illingworth, as he lighted a cigarette.

      Is that mayonnaise?' asked the Princess Salomé of Captain Coddington, who had taken her to the buffet. I think it is mayonnaise. I am sure it is mayonnaise. It is mayonnaise of salmon, pink as a branch of coral which fishermen find in the twilight of the sea, and which they keep for the King. It is pinker than the pink roses that bloom in the Queen's garden. The pink roses that bloom in the garden of the Queen of Arabia are not so pink.

      Who's the jaded-looking Anglo-Indian, drinking brandy-and-soda? I

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