dy B._ Wretch!--then you have disobeyed me? You leave this day month!

_Elfie_ (_pleading_). Nay, Grandmother, bear with him, for has not his
disobedience spared you from acts that you might some day have
regretted?... There, Mr. Butler, Granny forgives you--see, she holds out
her hand, and here's mine; and now----

_Lady B._ (_smiling tenderly_). Now you shall sing us "_Woa, Lucinda!_"

[_Little_ ELFIE _fetches her banjo, and sings, "Woa, Lucinda!" her
Grandmother and the aged Steward joining in the dance and chorus, and
embracing the child, to form picture as Curtain falls._

* * * * *

MODERN TYPES.

(_By Mr. Punch's Own Type-writer._)

No. II.--THE CORINTHIAN LADY.

[Illustration:]

The Corinthian Lady is the latest resultant of the two forces of _ennui_
and dissipation acting on a Society that is willing to spend money and
desires to kill time. She has played many parts, some (of infinitesimal
proportions), on the burlesque stage, others in the semi-private life of
her own residence in the South-west district of London. Her versatility
has gained for her many admirers and a precarious income, but so long as
she possesses the former she scorns to live upon the latter. Being
unquestionably a real lady, she has been elected an honorary member of a
night club to which undoubted gentlemen resort. There she occasionally
consents to dance; more often she sups to an accompaniment of Viennese
music, loud and mirthless laughter, jests which are as fatuous as they
are suggestive, and wine which, unlike the humour of the plated youths,
her companions, is always sparkling and sometimes dry.

Her real name is a mystery, which, however, she did not find attractive.
Having, therefore, abandoned it, she generally substitutes for it the
patronymic of a Norman peer, but, lest this should be thought too
strong, she dilutes it by the addition of a pet name drawn from the
nursery. By this title her fame is celebrated amongst many foolish young
men who singe themselves at the flame of her friendship, and many others
who, wishing to be thought wise, pretend to know her. Like all doves,
she plumes herself on her good looks. Unlike them, she is proud of her
bad habits; but she is a stern censor, and shows scant mercy to those
colleagues who, surpassing her in the former, lack means or chances to
attain to the splendour of the latter. Should one of these happen to be
admitted to a club she frequents,