THE BOOMPJE PAPERS.

THE CLUB VISITS THE QUEEN OF HOLLAND.

HAT's the time for seeing the Palace?" asks the Commander-in-Chief and Paymaster BUND.

Four o'clock," JöмP answers, "vill be the best time for to see the Palace."

"La Reine est-elle chez elle?" asks GooсH in his usual momentary obliviousness of his native tongue, adding his translation: "The Queen, is she at home?"

JÖMP believes that the QUEEN OF HOLLAND is at home. He has been all the morning making inquiries, and the above represents the result. GooCH thinks that, under such circumstances, "to call would be an intrusion." He emphasises " call," as if ours was going to be a visit of friends who had been hospitably asked to come in a general way when they liked, and who had (as is invariably the case) taken advantage of the invitation at the most inopportune moment.

Pooh!" says BUND, fresh from Murray, "it's the regular thing to see.'

MUNTLEY, FINTON, and GOOCH, the Opposition, object to it solely on the grounds that, being the regular thing, it is so British-touristy and snobbish.

Maullie, who has been spending his morning in two private collections which he found out for himself without JöMP, votes for the Palace, with a view to probable pictures.

The Commodore has the casting vote, the Opposition gives in, and BUND, relying upon Murray, decides upon the visit of inspection. "Not in that hat!" GOOCH implores MAULLIE. Not in that hat -to the Palace!"

French? asks Gooch, anxiously, "silk, glossy, that you can wear in the day-time ?"

To which MAULLIE replies that GooсH will see. As MAULLIE gets into the carriage, I hear GOOCH telling his friends, sotto voce, "Il a un chapeau-he has a hat."

You are sure," asks BUND of JöMP, "that the Palace is open at four ?" "O yes," answers JöMP, expressing by his manner that he is utterly astonished at BUND's doubting his accuracy even for a second. "O yes-um-um-um-it is open at four. O yes!"

We drive through an avenue-very pretty this-and enter the courtyard of the Palace. A pair-horse carriage, and a Victoria, are waiting. Some servants in Royal liveries are chatting with other servants (belonging to the aforesaid carriages) at the door.

Some one's making a call," observes GooсH, pulling up his wrist

bands, and settling his hat, under the impression, apparently, that the Queen may be looking out of the window, and might be induced, by his distinguished appearance, to ask him in (not us, of course, and certainly not MAULLIE, except on sufferance in the character of "any friend of yours, MONSIEUR GOOCH, of course," &c.), perhaps to dinner.

"It doesn't look like sight-seeing time," says MAULLIE. Even he is a little oppressed by the proximity to Royalty, and makes a concession to propriety by cramming his sketch-book into his pocket, and pulling his tie down under his coat, its tendency during a drive generally being to "ruck up" and obliterate his shirt-collar.

BUND bashfully produces black kid gloves, but as they have weathered several storms of rain, and the middle fingers are arranged on ventilating principles, this addition to his costume only induces Gooch to say, in a rapid under-tone, as we draw up at the portico, "Do put those things in your pocket, or you'll look like a respectable begging-letter writer." He casts his eyes up to the front windows, to see if, by any chance, the Queen is looking: but no one is visible.

JÖMP, in his Boomp-je hat and livery, unintelligible to the servants, commands instant respect: at first.

Two servants in gorgeous coats and knee-breeches, six foot high each of them, let down the steps, and open the door.

A bell is rung.

Instantly we see the hall within lined on either side by tall servants, all in the same sort of costume, and standing bolt upright like theatrical nobles at a shilling a night in an opera chorus.

MUNTLEY in the rumble leans over and says, "Isn't it just as if they were going to say, 'Hail to the something or other,' eh?

GOOCH silences him with a frown. We are all seated in the carriage, not liking to get out, as no one is certain what may happen next, and there is among us a latent, undefined feeling that the Queen is coming to receive us.

"There's some mistake somewhere," murmurs BUND, who has got his gloves out again, as if the display of these would set right any misapprehension as to our being noblemen-"In disguise," adds GOOCH, looking first at MAULLIE's hat, then at BUND's gloved the JÖMP is wholly incompetent, and utterly flabbergasted by situation. He stands helplessly by the steps, staring at the tall men in liveries, but has nothing to say. Another five minutes like this would send JoMP to a lunatic asylum, where he'd be shown as the "Idiot Courier" for the remainder of his life.

Two bells more. "Like on board a ship," says the Commodore, faintly, wishing he was at home with his violoncello.

In answer to these two bells appear two footmen in more resplendent liveries than the others, and about two inches taller.

They walk down to the door, and take their places, as if by clockwork arrangement or previous rehearsal, by the door. They don't notice us, except by a glance, having evidently enough to do to attend to their own deportment at the present juncture.

Another bell, this time more distant, as if some way down a passage; a slight delay, and then one grander and more gorgeous footman, a sort of Swiss from a cathedral, topping by an inch all the rest, walks slowly forward, and approaches our carriage. He waits by the steps, inviting us (in Dutch we fancy) to descend. The Swiss gracefully removes his hat. The two by the door having a second before put on their hats, now politely, but stiffly, take them off. We all take ours off, and that part of the ceremony, whatever it means, is over.

BUND addresses JöMP. "Ask," he says, "if the Queen is in, and whether we can see the palace ?"

In such Dutch as he can manage, JöMP inquires as to Royalty being at home. The Giant looking down with some curiosity on JÖMP, does not comprehend the question at first. Then on JöMP trying it again, he grasps it.

Yes, the Queen is at home. We will descend, of course.

Now comes a ticklish point. We have to explain that we want to see-not the Queen, but the palace. The Swiss cannot understand. "The Queen is waiting to receive us," he explains through JöMP, who gives us a very vague translation. Finding that we don't move "There'll be a row," cries GOOCH in despair, "and letters in the Times about Cockney Tourists. Let's go back"), and being tired of standing with his hat off (all the other lesser giants being fatigued too), he pulls a small door-bell, which is responded to by a little wizened man in black, like the shade of a departed butler. ("Good effect among all the liveries," says MAULLIE under his breath, making a mental note of it.) N.B. He has subsequently put the whole thing into a picture full of halls in perspective, grandly costumed nobles with flambeaux in their hands, and a secretary in black. He calls it Reception of the Dutch Republican Ambassadors at the Court of the King of Spain. All our likenesses are there, and it has been on his easel some considerable time. Everybody says it's a very fine picture, but nobody has bought it, as yet.)

The Butler's Ghost receives some information from the Chief Giant. He glides towards us along the carpeted hall noiselessly. He is at our carriage-door. He salutes BUND, fixing upon him instinctively as the Commander, and ignoring JöMP altogether.

"Her Majesty," he says, "is within. Your Excellency". We

look at one another. In an instant the Butler's Ghost sees a mistake somewhere. BUND takes the opportunity, and informs him that we wish to see the Palace.

The vision of greatness is dispelled. At a word from the Butler's Ghost, three of the Giants replace their hats on their heads superciliously, and disappear. After them disappear, in perfect order, and without any show of confusion, their hatless but equally gorgeous brethren-in-livery. Then we are all alone with the Shade and one giant, the tallest. It is explained to us: this is the time for private receptions. Not the time, ob, dear, no, for seeing the Palace. Up to four o'clock the Palace is open to sightseers, but after that closed. Everyone here knows that. JöMP wishes to make a personal explanation, but is called to order, and stands by the carriage-door, discomfited.

Butler's Ghost declares that, the Queen being at home, sight-seeing is impossible utterly out of the question. BUND puts it to him that we are going very early to-morrow, that he (BUND) has only to call on his friend the Ambassador that moment, and he would return (in effect) with orders to see every room in the Palace, from the attics to the cellar. That he (BUND) and party are most distinguished people, representing Literature, Science, and Art (Science being, perhaps, MUNTLEY and FINTON in the rumble, who have been hitherto taken for our valets), and that, to sum up, if the Butler's Ghost will only break through rules, and show the Palace, the Butler's Ghost 'shall find that we will make it well worth his while;" and therewith BUND, having craftily got a large coin of the realm out of his waistcoat pocket, presses it upon the little man's acceptance, much to Gooch's horror, who exclaims, "I say! Hang it! You might as well tip the LORD CHAMBERLAIN at home," evidently under the impression that the Butler's Shade holds that office.

The tip has its effect. The Butler's Shade takes the giant into his confidence, shares (probably) with him, or makes arrangements for future sharing, and finally announces to us, after disappearing into and reappearing (for mere form's sake, I am sure) from, a dark passage, that the Queen has graciously permitted us to see the Palace.

I don't believe the Butler's Ghost ever went near the Queen. This is strongly borne out by his subsequent conduct.

He shows us through the rooms hurriedly, and as quickly as possible, as if he was doing something wrong. He stops now and then to describe, but his descriptions are abbreviated, and his eye wanders from one door to another as if to intimate at the shortest notice that, as the Pantaloon says to the Clown when he's stealing sausages, There's somebody coming!" We're all, so to speak, stealing sausages, as Clowns, and he's the Pantaloon.

We enter a drawing-room beautifully and curiously furnished with Japanese hangings and coverings. JöMP, who follows in our wake, and who has been rather snuffed out by our wizened little cicerone here explains to us that "Dese come from Japan," but on receiving a severe reproving look from the Butler's Ghost, he retires into himself (he can't go very far, I should say, on such a journey), and is satisfied with corroborating with gloomy nods the various points of our cicerone's information.

"Hush!" says the little man, suddenly stooping down, and looking through a keyhole. We now discover that we are hunting the unfortunate Queen from room to room. Royalty flees before us. Royalty, for what we know, may be concealed behind a screen or a window-curtain, as we pass. A sort of hide-and-seek. The Guide ascertains, as far as he can by the aid of the keyhole, that the Queen is not in her boudoir, and we enter. Evidently she has not long left it. There is her book open, and music on the piano.

A servant, in livery, suddenly appearing, motions to Butler's Ghost to pause before rashly visiting the next apartment. "It's too bad," says GOOCH. "Hush!" says our mysterious attendant. We halt, looking dubiously at one another, and then, on a sign from our leader, who has again satisfied himself through the keyhole, we proceed stealthily, like conspirators in an opera. We only want daggers, to complete the resemblance. But our "sticks and umbrellas have been left" in the carriage.

breathe again.

We talk, when we do talk, under our breath. We hurriedly admire furniture and imitation bas-reliefs on the wall. We wonder at paintings on the ceiling, and we are hurried on to the ball-room, where, it being a very large place and only used on State occasions, we, as it were, The breathing time is very short, however, and we are once more hurried along a passage, then a corridor, where more pictures are explained to us, in a sort of patter-song, as fast as ever it can be given, by the Butler's Ghost, who, evidently very much to his own satisfaction, brings us out on a landing which leads by the back stairs and servants' offices to the front hall, and so we are smuggled ignominiously out of the building, and into our carriage.

Here we resume our dignity, and largesse is bestowed by JöMP (on our behalf, but we ignore the process, as not dealing in such dirty matters) upon our Guide and the tall Swiss.

Then we are driven through some lovely avenues, where all the

peasants take off their hats to us ("They think we're the Queen, or something," says GoосH, much pleased), and at last we reach the hotel. "Vell," says JöмP, perfectly satisfied with his arrangements, "you 'ave seen the Palace." And so we have; and agree that we won't see another in the land of Boomp-je. "Dere is not another," says JöMP, which settles the matter at once.

GLEN-(BATTLE)-FIELD STARCH.

"WHEN you ask for Berlin, see that you get it, as another capital may be substituted as the capture." Mutatis mutandis, most readers will recollect something like this as a perpetual advertisement. Mr. Punch has been amused to see the proprietor of the article advertised has actually issued a War Map (really a pretty little one), and where the title should be is the above recommendation, in its original form. The appropriateness of Starch on a battle-field was not clear to Mr. Punch until he remembered that, by taking the slightest liberty with SIR WALTER SCOTT (a thing that beautifully tempered man would have smiled at), Starch-scientifically called AMIDON, might be introduced nobly. Remember the end of Bannockburn, in the Lord of the Isles:"Each heart had caught the patriot spark, Old man and stripling, priest and clerk, Bondsman and serf; even female hand Stretched to the hatchet or the brand; But, when mute AMIDON they heard Give to their zeal his signal word, A frenzy fired the throng

and the English came to grief.

until the good days shall come when those abominations shall cease [N.B. We expect to have all our collars starched gratis, henceforth, from out the land, and nothing shall hurt the British neck unless its owner forgets the British law.]

SENSIBLE SUFFOLK.

THE inhabitants of "Silly Suffolk" will deserve to have their county coupled with a less obnoxious epithet, if they act up to the letter of the sensible advice, which lately has been given to them by their Lord Lieutenant :

"BEGGARS AND VAGRANTS.-NOTICE.-Wherever begging and vagrancy are greatly on the increase in this county, and indiscriminate almsgiving is believed to be the main cause of this evil, the public are strongly urged to know nothing; but are requested to hand such persons over to a policeman or abstain from giving to beggars or vagrants, of whose circumstances they can parish constable, who, after due inquiry, will either take them before a Magistrate, or see that they are temporarily relieved in a proper manner."

Idleness, say the copy-books, is the root of evil: and indiscriminate almsgiving very greatly aids the growth and cultivation of this noxious root. As one of the best cultured of our agricultural counties, Suffolk has no ground to spare for such a kind of root-crop. Beggars who encumber the land whereon they live should be hoed out, or be toed out, with all possible despatch. If Suffolk, wisely acting on the hint of its chief constable, leaves its police to deal with the vagrants that infest it, Silly Suffolk will be setting such a sensible example as all the other counties would do well forthwith to imitate.

The Worst Gang Going. Ir e'er there was gang That deserves to go hang, In France's débacle of fate, 'Tis the Paris Press-Gang, That scream slander and slang, And lie, with the foe at the gate!

Shaftesbury's Characteristics.

LORD SHAFTESBURY stated his belief that "the next census would AT Ryde, the other day, in a speech on behalf of the City Mission, show a population in London of nearly four millions, a Serious proportion of whom were in a state of social and moral degradation so great that, in his opinion, unless something were done to improve them, the British Constitution would not be worth a quarter of a century's purchase." Goodness gracious! Who ever expected to hear such a statement concerning "serious" people from the EARL OF SHAFTES

BURY?

'HERE (MAY) BE TRUTHS."

ONE change in the French Ministry will be approved by all. As Director of Telegraphs we have M. STEINWACKERS, vice M. TELLWHACKERS.

Sir John. Bother maps and telegrams! I won't read any more until the Germans are before Paris.

The Colonel. Wish we had a VON MOLTKE, though.

Lady Jane. I don't. You men are longing to be in war as it is, and if you had a General like that, you would drive him into the field directly.

Mrs. Theydon. It is dreadful to hear the calm way in which such horrors are spoken of. Like SIR JOHN, I will read no more of them. When I came on the story of that town in which the women and children were burned alive, I was made quite ill. Was it the fault of those poor things that the doctors were fired at?

Sir John. It is War, and that's all that can be said.

or if it can't, no matter. Think of the mothers and babies crouching in the cellars of Strasbourg, to be out of the way of shells, and perhaps other mothers rushing down among them with babies killed in their arms!

Mr. Theydon. Don't make yourself ill again, dear. Perhaps no such thing has happened. If it has, it can't be helped.

Mrs. Theydon. Don't talk in that way, CHARLES. You don't mean it. You were nearly killed yourself the other day in saving the child that fell down crossing the street, among the horses.

Mr. Theydon. Well, don't throw my folly in my face. If I had been killed I wonder what you'd have said about saving a ragged brat that was nothing to me, while I had children of my own at home. And I should have deserved it, too.

Mrs. Theydon. That has nothing to do with the War.

Sir John. I honour your honesty, MRS. THEYDON. You are too sincere to say that you would not have thought he had done an uncalled-for thing.

Mrs. Theydon. Ah! you shan't get me away from Strasbourg. I repeat that it is a wickedness.

Captain Dersingham. Here, I say! My paper's a second edition. There's been an affair at another place-new name to me-French

Sir John. What can we do, my dear lady?

Lady Jane. At least you might protest, with one heart and voice, against the wickedness of War.

one

Captain Lynne. Yes, and then see that our gun-boats are ready to smash up the Pigtails, the next time they object to, our sending 'em opium.

Miss Cookham. That's quite different, the Chinese are heathens and savages-these Germans and French are civilised Christians.

The Colonel. Strasbourg Cathedral is a proof and monument of that. Mrs. Theydon. Fuss about a Cathedral, that can be built over again;

Lady Mary. Hear that man! He carried a wounded beater on his back two miles in a burning sun, last Tuesday.

Captain Dersingham. It was nothing like two miles, LADY MARY, I assure you, and the lad was lighter than you.

Lady Mary. I know better, and you ought not to speak of the French as if they were partridges. Is it a new horror?

Captain Dersingham. No, not much-about a thousand killed and wounded-stop-that was only the first of it-fighting resumed in the afternoon, and lasted till dusk-there must have been some hot work.

Lady Jane. It is dreadful. That is the thirteenth battle in one month, while we have been at croquet and organising pic-nics, and