PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. VOL. 146. JANUARY 7, 1914. [Illustration: "THE MONARCH OF THE GLEN:" A NEW _LAND-SEER_.] * * * * * _AMENDE DÉSHONORABLE_. Heavily dragged the night; the Year Was passing, and the clock's slow tick Boomed its sad message to my ear And made me pretty sick. "You have been slack," I told myself, "and weak; You have done foolishly, from wilful choice; Sloth and procrastination--" Here my voice Broke in a squeak. And deep repentance welled in me As I mused darkly on my sin; Yea, Conscience stung me, like a bee That gets her barb well in. "Next year," I swore, in this compunctious mood, "I will be energetic, virtuous, kind; Unflinching I will face the awful grind Of being good." I paused, half troubled by a thought-- Were my proposals too sublime? Vowed I more deeply than I ought? I glanced to see the time. It was 12.10 A.M. At once a thrill, A wave of manful resolution, sped Through all my being. "Yes," I bravely said; "_Next_ year I will!" * * * * * A PLAY OF FEATURES. [Being Sir GEORGE ALEXANDER'S production of _The Attack_ at the St. James's.] SCENE--Alexandre Mérital's _house_. ACT I. _Daniel Mérital_. My father is a wonderful man. Leader of the Social Party in the Chamber of Deputies, noted among his colleagues for his absolute integrity, supported by the millionaire newspaper proprietor, Frépeau, whose motives, between ourselves, are not altogether above-- Oh, are you there, Father? I didn't see you. I'm just off to play tennis. [_Exit_. _Enter_ Renée de Rould. _Renée_. Mr. Mérital, may I speak to you a moment? _Georges Alexandre Mérital (with, characteristic suavity_). Certainly. _Renée_, I love you. Will you marry me? _Mérital (surprised_). Well, really--this is--I--you--we--er, he, she, they--Frankly, you embarrass me. (_Apologetically_) This is my embarrassed face. _Renée_. But I thought you loved me. Don't you? _Mérital_. No. That is to say, yes. Or rather-- _Renée (tearfully_). I w-wish you could make it plainer whether you d-do love me and are pretending you don't, or you d-don't love me and are pretending you do. It's v-very unsettling for a young girl not to know. _Sir GEORGES ALEXANDRE (surprised and a little hurt_). Can't you tell from my face? _Miss MARTHA HEDMAN_. This is my first appearance in England, Sir GEORGES. _Sir GEORGES_. True. I was forgetting. Well, when you have been with us a little longer, you will know that this is my face when I adore anyone very much, but, owing to an unfortunate episode in my past life, am forced to hide my love. _Renée (alarmed_). Your past _wife_ isn't alive somewhere?