September. 15, 1877.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHABIVAKL

109

here a bog
ng—
Court or King:
in a hag
through 'ev'ry

Flip, flop through the brake—
Sun our backs will surely bake !
Scrunch, scraunch, over shale—
Big stones flying down the dale:
Slip, slap—down we fall
From a boulder like a wall:

Crick, crack—there we go!
Something's given way I know!
Piff, puff!—winded, quite!—
Here 's a shady ghyl in sight.
Jump, bump—down we sit.
Let us—stop—and rest—a bit!

A WARNING TO THE PUBLIC.

{From the Hiding Representative to the Editor, for himself and his partner
Pig; a most important statement.')

Sin,

Silence gives consent; so, as I do not consent, I cannot hold my tongue.
" Break, break, my heart, for I won't hold my tongue," as that vacillating young
man Hamlet would have said if the Divine William s'had given him the pluck
of a Bumble Bee. Sir, in the Daily Telegraph for September 6th, I find in a
letter from an estimable Correspondent, writing from Eski-djuma—(I don't believe
in the place a bit—for don't I know every step of the country P Have I left a stone
of theroad unturned? No—and I do not find Eski-djuma on my map, though
there is Wickski-djumaand Mountin-djuma—but no matter—perhaps the names
have been changed for the worse since I left)—in Bulgaria, the following.para-
graph :—

" Outside the khan to which I have already alluded I noticed a wonderful daub, put
there with the view of ornamenting the wall. From the subject, the artist must have been
a Bulgarian, and as it was very characteristic, I take leave to describe it. First of all was a
gigantic building in bright blue, supposed to be a tank house ; next was a blue locomotive ;
then one carriage of the same hue, and after it a yellow one ; on each of these a yellow lion
was perched in what seemed to me a most uncomfortable position. Looking out of the
windows of the carriages were to be seen some very curious animals, who were gazing at
a Turkish officer who, hanging by his neck to the branch of a tree with red leaves and blue
trunk, had as executioner a Bulgar, who stood underneath in ecstacies at the fate of the
Moslem. Alongside the Bulgar was a pig, also blue, laughing gleefully at the expiring
Turk. I should add that the Bulgar had one arm round the trunk of the tree, while with
the other he was seemingly beckoning to more Bulgars to ' come on' and see the fun."

Observe, Sir, the details; one of 'which, about the Pig, I have italicised ;
for it is this Porous Ridens that is the very sign manual and warrant of my
picture. For that this is my picture, only shamefully altered, I will swear before
any three Magistrates in any three of the best shires of England. I painted it,
Sir, with a view, i.e., I painted the view with the prospect, or the prospect with
the view, (whichever you like, mon petit chert) of exhibiting it at Hawarden,

and making a pretty good hatful. But of course I had
not painted a Turk hanging and a Bulgarian laughing ;
no, it was vice versa.

But, to my tale. One evening, when crossing the track-
less desert (a very difficult job after dinner, with the snow
twenty feet deep at every step), I suddenly missed the
picture which 1 had been carrying under my arm. I
searched every hole and corner. I charged the Pig with
having taken it to his Uncle's (Song—" My Uncle's in the
Snow.'"—homely ballad for Christmas time), and popped
it as one of his " pignora cava," or "dear pledges ;" but
Here Gbuntz swore by the tomb of his grandmother,
and by his own honourable character as having come of
a littery stock, that such an idea had never for one
second entered into his Hog's head. I believed him then ;
but now—alas! my confidence in him is shaken. I found
him rolling on the floor, and regularly splitting his sides
of bacon over the above paragraph in the D. T. In fact,
had I not been acquainted with his abstemious habits, I
should have thought him under the influence of D. T.
But, no, he was as sober as a judge—it would be invidious
to say which judge, so I leave the particular example to
the imagination of your readers. Sternly, I took the
paper from under his snout.

Then I read the description.

No, Sir, the artist was not a Bulgarian; 'twas I! Alone
I did it! But who stole the pigture ? And who substi-
tuted a Ttirkish Officer for my hanging Bulgarian gentle-
man, and turned my unhung Turk in ecstacies, into a
Bulgarian ? Mutato nomine fabula narratur—D. T.
How could I have shown this at Hawarden ? Let the
Correspondent explain. Let him send me the picture,
carriage paid, and I will undertake, at my own expense,
to wash off the overdaub, and discover, below, the
original beauties of the Old Master, as the affectionate
Pig now calls me. I had intended to style this work of
art, "The Hanging Committee," and may do so still.
The Pig laughing is a wonderful likeness, only I didn't
paint him '' blue ;" the thief who stole him is guilty of this
vandalism, this atrocitiest atrocity. Every one knows the
Blue Boar as an old English ale-house sign. Is this a clue
to the identity of the thief ? Now mark, Sir, how very
nearly the truth came out. Here is the conclusion of
this most estimable Correspondent's account, the italics
being mine, and merely lent for the occasion :—

"Now this was a [direct insult to the Turks, especially as the
Pig in their eyes is very unclean, and I said as much to an old
Bulgar, who seemed to be watching me very anxiously, upon
which he said the man hanging on the tree was not a Turk,
and tried to turn the conversation. If some Turkish zaptieh
or soldier with an artistic eye were to pass by the khan, the
ancient Bulgar would probably feel rather sore next day."

Who was" the Bulgar old [man who was " watching so
anxiously ? " Is there not guilt in his anxiety ? How
did he know the hanging man was not a Turk ? Of course
in the original, in my design, he was not a Turk, and the
old man kneiv it. Just send that Bulgar old man over
here, and I '11 show him what it is to have an eye for
colour. I '11 colour it for him, the Bulgar old dog!

However, I only write to warn the public in case Mr.
Barnttm should turn up with it, at the Egyptian Hall, in
the course of next month, and advertise " The Missing
Picture."

I remain, Sir, yours most Pigturesquely,

The Atjthoe oe " The Ride to Khiva."

"De Mcrtuis," &c.

The Times quotes M. Veotllot on Thiees in the Uni-
vers, as follows :—

"He is a celebrity for the moment; he was busier than any-
body, but about nothing, bringing down everything to his own
level. This is a poor way of filling a coffin. He had not time
to know himself; God did not leave him time to die. Now see
him, perhaps, among those who wish they had never lived."

A delicate suggestion of a possibility. No one can
say that M. Yeuillot presumes to judge. See the differ-
ence between a reticent Ultramontane ande an outspoken
Ranter.

tooth and tait.

Mb. Tooth wishes to hear the living voice of the
English Church. Hasn't he a Tffe Parlante ?