Chapter XIX

"A Late Symposium! Yet they're not engaged
In compotations. Argument hath raged
Four hours by the dial;
But zealotry of party, creed, or clique
Marks not the clock, whilst of polemic pique
There's one unvoided vial."

So smiled the Shade. Dusk coat and gleaming head,
Viewed from above, before my gaze outspread
Like a black sea bespotted
With bare pink peaks of coral isles; all eyes
Were fixed on one who reeled out rhapsodies
In diction double-shotted.

A long and lofty room, with pillars cold,
And spacious walls of chocolate and gold;
The solid sombre glory
Of tint oppressive and of tasteless shine,
Dear to the modern British Philistine,
Saint, sceptic, Whig, or Tory.

"No Samson-strength of intellect or taste
Shall bow the pillars of this temple chaste
Of ugliness and unction.
What is't they argue lengthily and late?
The flame of patriot passion for the State
Fires this polemic function.

"A caitiff Government has done a thing
To make its guardian-angel droop her wing
In sickened indignation:
That is, has striven to strengthen its redoubts,
Perfidious 'Ins,' to foil the eager 'Outs.'
Hence endless execration.

"Hence all Wire-pullerdom is up in arms;
With clarion-toned excursions and alarms
The rival camp is ringing.
Hence perky commoners and pompous peers,
'Midst vehement applause and volleying cheers,
Stale platitudes are stringing.

"The British Public--some five hundred strong--
Is here to 'strangle a Gigantic Wrong,'--
So MARABOUT is saying.
Watch his wide waistcoat and his wandering eyes,
His stamping boots of Brobdingnagian size,
Clenched hands, and shoulders swaying.

"A great Machine-man, MARABOUT! He dotes
On programmes hectographed and Party votes.
For all his pasty pallor
And shifty glance, he has the mob's regard,
And he is deemed by council, club, and ward
A mighty man of valour.

"A purchased henchman to a Star of State?
Perhaps. But here he'll pose and perorate,
A Brutus vain and voluble.
And who, like MARABOUT, with vocal flux
Of formulas, can settle every _crux_
That wisdom finds insoluble?

"'Hear! hear!' That shibboleth of shallow souls
Around his ears in clamorous cadence rolls;
He swells, he glows, he twinkles;
The sapient Chairman wags his snowy pate,
Whilst cynic triumph, cautious yet elate,
Lurks laughing in his wrinkles.

"And there sits honest zeal, absorbed, intent,
And cheerfully credulous. MARABOUT has bent
To the Commercial Dagon
He publicly derides; but many here
Will toast 'his genuine grit, his manly cheer,'
Over a friendly flagon.

"Look on him later! There he snugly sits
With his rich patron. Were it war of wits
That wakes their crackling chuckles,
They scarce were heartier. It would strangely shock
MARABOUT'S worshippers to hear him mock
The 'mob' to which he truckles.

"Truckles in platform speech. In club-room chat
With WAGSTAFF, shrewd wire-puller, flushed and fat,
Or DODD, the rich dry-salter,
You'd hear how supply he can shift and twist,
How BRUTUS with 'the base Monopolist'
Can calmly plot and palter,"

"Whilst MARABOUTS abound, O Shade," I cried,
"What wonder men are 'Mugwumps?'" Then my guide
Laughed low. "The æsthetic villa
Finds Shopdom's zeal on its fine senses jar;
Yet the Mugwumps Charybdis stands not far
From the Machine-man's Scylla.

"Culture derides the Caucus for its heat,
Its hate--its absence of the Light and Sweet,
So jays might flout the vulture.
Partisan bitterness and purblind haste?
Come, view the haunts of dilettante Taste,
The coteries of Culture!

"Here _Savants_ wrangle o'er a fossil bone,
CHAMPER, with curling lip and caustic tone,
At RUDDIMAN is railing.
CHAMPER knows everything, from PLATO'S text
To Protoplasm; yet his soul is vext,
His cheeks with spite are paling.

"Why? Because RUDDIMAN, the rude, robust,
Has pierced with logic's vigorous vulgar thrust
The shield of icy polish.
CHAMPER, in print, is hot on party-hate,
Here his one aim is in the rough debate
His rival to demolish.

"Sweet Reasonableness? Another host
Of sages see! The habits of the Ghost,
The Astral Body's action,
Absorb them, eager. Does more furious fire
The councils of the Caucusites inspire,
Or light the feuds of faction?

"And there? They argue out with toil intense
A 'cosmic' poet's esoteric sense,
Of which a world, unwitting,
Recks nothing. Yet how terribly they'd trounce
Parliament's pettifogging, and denounce
'Political hair-splitting'!"

"O Shade, the difference is but small, one dreads.
Betwixt logomachists at loggerheads,
Whether their theme be bonnets
Or British interests. Zealot ardour burns
Scarce fiercer o'er Electoral Returns
Than over SHAKSPEARE'S Sonnets.

"At MARABOUT the Mugwump sniffs and sneers;
Gregarious 'votes of thanks' and sheepish 'cheers'
Stir him to satire scornful.
But when sleek Culture apes, irate and loud,
The follies of the Caucus and the Crowd,
The spectacle is mournful."

"True!" smiled the Shade. "Yon supercilious sage,
With patent prejudice and petty rage,
Penning a tart jobation
On practised Statesmen, must as much amuse
As Statesmen-sciolists venting vapid views
On rocks and revelation."

(_To be continued._)

* * * * *

THE SOUTH-EASTERN ALPHABET.

A was the Anger evinced far and wide;
B was the Boat-train delayed by the tide;
C was the Chairman who found nothing wrong;
D was the Driver who sang the same song;
E was the Engine that stuck on the way;
F stood for Folkestone, reached late every day;
G was the Grumble to which this gave rise;
H was the Hubbub Directors despise;
I was the Ink over vain letters used;
J were the Junctions which some one abused;
K was the Kick "Protest" got for its crimes;
L were the Letters it wrote to the _Times_;
M was the Meeting that probed the affair;
N was the Nothing that came of the scare;
O was the Overdue train on its way;
P was the Patience that bore the delay;
Q was the Question which struck everyone;
R the Reply which could satisfy none;
S was the Station where passengers wait;
T was the Time that they're bound to be late;
U was the Up-train an hour overdue;
V was the Vagueness its movements pursue;
W stood for time's general Waste;
X for Ex-press that could never make haste;
Y for the Wherefore and Why of this wrong;
And Z for the Zanies who stand it so long!

* * * * *

STARTLING FOR GOURMETS.--"_Bisques_ disallowed." But it only refers to a new rule of the Lawn Tennis Association; so "_Bisque d'écrevisses_" will still be preserved to us among the _embarras de richesse_--(_i.e._ the trouble caused subsequently by the richness,--_free trans._)--of a thoroughgoing French dinner.

* * * * *

THE NEW TUNE.

_Le Brav' Général tootles_:--

Heroes bold owe much to bold songs.
What's that? "Cannot sing the old songs"?
Pooh! 'Tis a Britannic ditty.
Truth, though, in it,--more's the pity!
"_En revenant de la Revue._"
People tire of that--too true!
I must give them something new.
Played out, Frenchmen? _Pas de danger!_
Whilst you've still your _Brav'_ BOULANGER!

Do they think BOULANGER "mizzles,"
After all his recent "fizzles"?
(Most expressive slang, the Yankee!)
_Pas si bête_, my friends. No thank ye!
Came a cropper? Very true!
But I remount--my hobby's new,
So's my trumpet. Rooey-too!
France go softly? _Pas de danger!_
Whilst she has her _Brav'_ BOULANGER!

Cannot say her looks quite flatter.
Rather scornful. What's the matter?
Have you lost your recent fancy
For me and my charger prancy?
Turn those eyes this way, now _do_!
Mark my hobby,--not a screw!
Listen to my _chanson_ new!
BISMARCK flout you? _Pas de danger!_
_He's_ afraid of _Brav'_ BOULANGER.

Of your smile be not so chary!
The sixteenth of February
Probably will prove my care is
The especial charge of Paris.
Then you'll know that I am true.
"_En revenant de la Revue_;"
Stick to me, I'll stick to you.
Part with you, sweet? _Pas de danger!_
Not the game of _Brav'_ BOULANGER!

* * * * *

THE CAPTAIN OF THE "PARIS."

Captain SHARP, of the Newhaven steamer, _Paris, you_'re no craven;
Grim and growling was the gale that you from your dead reckoning
bore;
And, but for your brave behaving, she might never have made haven,
But have foundered in mid-Channel, or been wrecked on a lee-shore.
With your paddle-floats unfeathered, wonder was it that you weathered
Such a storm as that of Sunday, which upset our nerves on land,
Though in fire-side comfort tethered. How it blew, and blared,
and blethered!
All your passengers, my Captain, say your pluck and skill were
grand.
Much to men like you is owing, when wild storms around are blowing,
As they seem to have been doing since the opening of the year:
Howling, hailing, sleeting, snowing; but for captains calm and
knowing,
Passage of our angry Channel were indeed a task of fear.
Well, you brought them safely through it, when not every man could do
it,
And your passengers, my Captain, are inspired with gratitude.
Therefore, _Mr. Punch_ thus thanks you, and right readily enranks you,
As a hero on the record of our briny island brood.
Verily the choice of "_Paris_" in this case proved right; and rare is
Fitness between name and nature such as that _you_ illustrate.
Captain SHARP! A proper _nomen_, and it proved a prosperous omen
To your passengers, whom _Punch_ must on their luck congratulate.

* * * * *

ON BOARD THE CHANNEL STEAMER "PARIS" (_Night of Saturday, January 25, 1890_).--"SHARP'S the word!"

* * * * *

_Dr. Cockshure._ "MY GOOD SIR, WHAT _YOU_ WANT IS THOROUGH ALTERATION OF CLIMATE. THE ONLY THING TO CURE _YOU_ IS A LONG SEA VOYAGE!"

_Patient._ "THAT'S RATHER INCONVENIENT. YOU SEE I'M ONLY JUST HOME FROM A SEA VOYAGE ROUND THE WORLD!"]

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

The title of the second chapter of _The Days of the Dandies_, in _Blackwood_, is calculated to excite curiosity,--it is, "Some Great Beauties, and some Social Celebrities." After reading the article, I think it would have been styled more correctly, "A Few Great Beauties." However, it is discursively amusing and interesting. There is much truth in the paper on Modern Mannish Maidens. I hold that no number of a Magazine is perfect without a tale of mystery and wonder, or a ghost-story of some sort. I hope I have not overlooked one of these in any Magazine for this month that I have seen. Last month there was a good one in _Macmillan_, and another in _Belgravia_. I forget their titles, unfortunately, and have mislaid the Magazines. But _After-thoughts_, in this month's _Macmillan_, is well worth perusal.

My faithful "Co." has been looking through the works of reference. He complains that _Dod's Peerage, Baronetage, and Knighthood for 1890_ is carelessly edited. He notes, as a sample, that Sir HENRY LELAND HARRISON, who is said to have been born in 1857, is declared to have entered the Indian Civil Service in 1860, when he was only three years old--a manifest absurdity. As _Mr. Punch_ himself pointed out this _bêtise_ in _Dod's &c., &c., for 1889_, it should have been corrected in the new edition. "If this sort of thing continues," says the faithful "Co.," "_Dod_ will be known as _Dodder_, or even _Dodderer_!" Sir BERNARD BURKE'S _Genealogical and Heraldic Dictionary of the Peerage and Baronetage_ is, in every sense, a noble volume, and seems to have been compiled with the greatest care and accuracy. KELLY'S _Post Office Directory_, of course, is a necessity to every man of letters. _Whitaker's Almanack for 1890_ seems larger than usual, and better than ever. WEBSTER'S _Royal Red Book_, and GARDINER'S _Royal Blue Book_, it goes without saying, are both written by men of address. _The Century Atlas and Gazetteer_ is a book amongst a hundred. Finally, the _Era Almanack for 1890_, conducted by EDWARD LEDGER, is, as usual, full of information concerning things theatrical--some of it gay, some of it sad. "Replies to Questions by Actors and Actresses" is the liveliest contribution in the little volume. The Obituary contains the name of "EDWARD LITT LEMAN BLANCHARD," dramatist, novellist, and journalist, who died on the 4th of September, 1889. It is hard to realise the _Era Almanack_ without the excellent contributions of poor "E. L. B.!"

"Co." furnishes some other notes in a livelier strain:--

_Matthew Prior._ (KEGAN PAUL.) If you are asked to go out in this abominable weather, shelter yourself under the wing of Mr. AUSTIN DOBSON, and plead a prior engagement. (Ha! Ha!) You will find the engagement both prior and profitable. Mr. DOBSON'S introductory essay is not only exhaustive, but in the highest degree interesting, and his selection from the poems has been made with great taste and rare discretion.

_In the Garden of Dreams._ The lack of poets of the softer sex has been recently a subject of remark. Lady-novelists we have in super-abundance, of lady-dramatists we have more than enough, of lady-journalists we have legions--but lady-poets we have but few. Possibly, they flourish more on the other side of the Atlantic. At any rate we have a good example of the American Muse in the latest volume by Mrs. LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON. This little book is full of grace, its versification is melodious, and has the genuine poetic ring about it, which is as rare as it is acceptable. It can scarcely fail to find favour with English readers.

BARON DE BOOK-WORMS & CO.

* * * * *

EPIDEMIOLOGICAL.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,--The Camel is reported to be greatly instrumental in the spread of cholera. This is evidently the Bacterian Camel, whose humps--or is it hump?--have long been such a terror to those who really don't care a bit how many humps an animal has.

Yours faithfully, HUMPHRY CAMPBELL.

* * * * *

To THOSE WHO GET THEIR LIVING BY DYEING.--"Sweet Auburn!" exclaimed a ruddy, aureate-haired lady of uncertain age,--anything, in fact, after fifty,--"'Sweet Auburn!'" she repeated, musingly, "What does 'Sweet Auburn' come from?" "Well," replied her husband, regarding her _coiffure_ with an air of uncertainty, "I'm not quite sure, but I think 'Sweet Auburn' should be GRAY."

* * * * *

MR. PUNCH'S MORAL MUSIC-HALL DRAMAS.

No. V.--BRUNETTE AND BLANCHIDINE.

_A Melodramatic Didactic Vaudeville, suggested by "The Wooden Doll and the Wax Doll." By the Misses Jane and Ann Taylor._

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

_Blanchidine_,} By the celebrated SISTERS STILTON, the Champion _Brunette_. } Duettists and Clog-dancers.

_Fanny Furbelow._ By MISS SYLVIA SEALSKIN (_by kind permission of
the Gaiety Management_).

_Frank Manly._ By MR. HENRY NEVILLE.

SCENE--_A Sunny Glade in Kensington Gardens, between the Serpentine and Round Pond_.

_Enter_ BLANCHIDINE _and_ BRUNETTE, _with their arms thrown
affectionately around one another_. BLANCHIDINE _is carrying a large
and expressionless wooden doll_.

_Duet and Step-dance._

_Bl._ Oh, I do adore BRUNETTE! (_Dances._) Tippity-tappity,
tappity-tippity, tippity-tappity, tip-tap!

_Br_. BLANCHIDINE'S the sweetest pet! (_Dances._) Tippity-tappity, &c.

_Together._ When the sun is high,
We come out to ply,
Nobody is nigh,
All is mirth and j'y!

With a pairosol,
We'll protect our doll,
Make a mossy bed
For her wooden head!

[_Combination step-dance, during which both watch their feet with an
air of detached and slightly amused interest, as if they belonged to
some other persons._

Clickity-clack, clickity-clack, clickity, clickity, clickity-clack;
clackity-clickity, clickity-clackity, clackity-clickity-_clack_!

[_Repeat ad. lib._

_Bl._ (_apologetically to Audience_). Her taste in dress is rather
plain! (_Dances._) Tippity-tappity, &c.

_Br._ (_in pitying aside_). It _is_ a pity she's so vain!
(_Dances._) Tippity-tappity, &c.

_Bl._ 'Tis a shime to smoile,
But she's shocking stoyle,
It is quite a troyal,
Still--she mikes a foil!

_Br._ Often I've a job
To suppress a sob,
She is such a snob,
When she meets a nob! [_Step-dance as before._

[_N.B.--In consideration of the well-known difficulty that most
popular variety-artists experience in the metrical delivery of
decasyllabic couplets, the lines which follow have been written as
they will most probably be spoken._

_Bl._ (_looking off with alarm_). Why, here comes FANNY FURBELOW, a
new frock from Paris in! She'll find me with BRUNETTE--it's too
embarrassing!

[_Aside._
_To Brunette._ BRUNETTE, my love, I know _such_ a pretty game we'll
play at--
Poor TIMBURINA'S ill, and the seaside she ought to stay at.
(The Serpentine's the seaside, let's pretend,)
And _you_ shall take her there--(_hypocritically_)--you're such a
friend!

_Br._ (_with simplicity_). Oh, yes, that _will_ be splendid,
BLANCHIDINE,
And then we can go and have a dip in a bathing-machine!

[BLAN. _resigns the wooden doll to_ BRUN., _who skips off
with it_, L., _as_ FANNY FURBELOW _enters_, R., _carrying a
magnificent wax doll_.

_Fanny_ (_languidly_). Ah, howdy do--_isn't_ this heat too frightful?
And so you're quite alone?

_Bl._ (_nervously_). Oh, _quite_--oh yes, I always am alone, when
there's nobody with me.

[_This is a little specimen of the Lady's humorous "gag," at
which she is justly considered a proficient._

_Fanny_ (_drawling_). Delightful!
When I was wondering, only a little while ago,
If I should meet a creature that I know;
Allow me--my new doll, the LADY MINNIE!

_[Introducing doll._

_Bl._ (_rapturously_). Oh, what a perfect love!

_Fanny_. She ought to be--for a guinea!
Here, you may nurse her for a little while.
Be careful, for her frock's the latest style.

[_Gives_ BLAN. _the wax doll_.

She's the best wax, and has three changes of clothing--
For those cheap wooden dolls I've quite a loathing.

_Bl._ (_hastily_). Oh, so have _I_--they're not to be endured!

_Re-enter_ BRUNETTE _with the wooden doll, which she tries to
press upon_ BLANCHIDINE, _much to the latter's confusion_.

_Br._ I've brought poor TIMBURINA back, completely cured!
Why, aren't you pleased? Your face is looking so cloudy!

_F._ (_haughtily_). Is she a friend of _yours_--this little dowdy?

[_Slow music._

_Bl._ (_after an internal struggle_). Oh, no, what an idea! Why, I
don't even know her by name! Some vulgar child ...

[_Lets the wax doll fall unregarded on the gravel._

_Br._ (_indignantly_). Oh, what a horrid shame!
I see _now_ why you sent us to the Serpentine!

_Bl._ (_heartlessly_). There's no occasion to flare up like turpentine.

_Br._ (_ungrammatically_). I'm _not_! Disown your doll, and thrust me,
too, aside,
The one thing left for both of us is--suicide!
Yes, TIMBURINA, us no more she cherishes--
_(Bitterly.)_ Well, the Round Pond a handy place to perish is!

[_Rushes off stage with wooden doll._

_Bl._ (_making a feeble attempt to follow_). Come back, BRUNETTE; don't
leave me thus, in charity!

_F._ (_with contempt_). Well, I'll be off--since you seem to prefer
vulgarity.

_Bl._ No, stay--but--ah, she said--what if she _meant_ it?

_F._ Not she! And, if she did, _we_ can't prevent it.

_Bl._ (_relieved_). That's true--we'll play, and think no more about
her.

_F._ (_sarcastically_). We may _just_ manage to get on without her!
So come--(_perceives doll lying face upwards on path_)--you odious
girl, what have you done?
Left LADY MINNIE lying in the blazing sun!
'Twas done on purpose--oh, you _thing_ perfidious! [_Stamps._
You _knew_ she'd melt, and get completely hideous!
Don't answer _me_, Miss--I wish we'd never met.
You're only fit for persons like BRUNETTE!

[_Picks up doll, and exit in passion._

_Grand Sensation Descriptive Soliloquy, by_ BLANCHIDINE, _to
Melodramatic Music._

_Bl._ Gone! Ah, I am rightly punished! What would I not give now to
have homely little BRUNETTE, and dear old wooden-headed TIMBURINA back
again! _She_ wouldn't melt in the sun.... Where are they now? Great
Heavens! that threat--that rash resolve ... I remember all! 'Twas in
the direction of the Pond they vanished. (_Peeping anxiously between
trees._) Are they still in sight?... Yes, I see them! BRUNETTE has
reached the water's edge.... What is she purposing! Now she kneels on
the rough gravel; she is making TIMBURINA kneel too! How calm and
resolute they both appear! (_Shuddering._) I dare not look
further--but, ah, I must--_I must!_... Horror! I saw her boots flash
for an instant in the bright sunlight; and now the ripples have
closed, smiling over her little black stockings!... Help!--save her,
somebody!--help!... Joy! a gentleman has appeared on the scene--how
handsome, how brave he looks! He has taken in the situation at a
glance! With quiet composure he removes his coat--oh, _don't_ trouble
about folding it up!--and why, _why_ remove your gloves, when there is
not a moment to be lost? Now, with many injunctions, he entrusts his
watch to a bystander, who retires, overcome by emotion. And now--oh,
gallant, heroic soul!--now he is sending his toy terrier into the
seething water! (_Straining eagerly forward._) Ah, the dog paddles
bravely out--he has reached the spot ... oh, he has passed it!--he is
trying to catch a duck! Dog, dog, _is_ this a time for pursuing ducks?
At last he understands--he dives ... he brings up--agony! a small tin
cup! Again ... _this_ time, surely--what, only an old pot-hat!... Oh,
this dog is a fool! And still the Round Pond holds its dread secret!
Once more ... yes--no, yes, it _is_ TIMBURINA! Thank Heaven, she yet
breathes! But BRUNETTE? Can she have stuck in the mud at the bottom?
Ha, she, too, is rescued--saved--ha-ha-ha!--saved, saved, saved!

[_Swoons hysterically, amid deafening applause._

_Enter_ FRANK MANLY, _supporting_ BRUNETTE, _who carries_ TIMBURINA.

_Bl._ (_wildly_). What, do I see you safe, beloved BRUNETTE?

_Br._ Yes, thanks to his courage, I'm not even _wet_!

_Frank_ (_modestly_). Nay, spare your compliments. To rescue Beauty,
When in distress, is every hero's duty!

_Bl._ BRUNETTE, forgive--I'm cured of all my folly!

_Br._ (_heartily_). Of course I will, my dear, and so will dolly!

[_Grand Trio and Step-dance, with "tippity-tappity," and
"clickity-clack" refrain as finale._

* * * * *

(A FANCY SKETCH OF ITS STARTLING APPEARANCE.)

"The Regulations for the employment of the new German Infantry Rifle have just been published. With regard to the capabilities of the new rifle, the Regulations assert, that in this arm the German Infantry possesses a weapon standing fully abreast of the time with a range such as was heretofore held to be impossible of attainment."--_Standard, Jan. 25._]

* * * * *

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

COMMEMORATION BIRTHDAY CONCERT.--The programme you are preparing, after the fashion set the other evening in St. James's Hall, at an entertainment organised in honour of the birthday of the poet BURNS, for the purpose of paying a similar tribute to the memory of his great fellow-countryman, Sir WALTER SCOTT, certainly promises well. As you very truly point out that, as at the Concert which you are taking as your model, though the name of BURNS was tacked on to nearly every item in the programme, as if he had been responsible for the words, music and all, it did not seem limited to the Poet's work alone, you might certainly allow yourself the latitude you propose in arranging your own scheme. The fact that, at the Burns Celebration, M. NACHEZ played his own Hungarian dances, the connection between which and the Poet's birthday is not, at first sight, entirely obvious, and that another gentleman, with equal appropriateness, favoured the company with "_The Death of Nelson_," on the trombone, seems certainly to give you a warrant for the introduction you contemplate making, in commemoration of Sir WALTER, of the Chinese Chopstick Mazurka, and the Woora-woora Cannibal Islanders side-knife and sledge-hammer war-dance. It may of course be possible, in a remote way, to introduce them, as you suggest, into _Old Mortality_, but we should think you would be nearer the mark with that other item of your programme, that associates _Jem Baggs_ with _The Lay of the Last Minstrel_. Your idea of accepting and utilising the offer of the GIRALFI family to introduce their Drawing-room Entertainment into your programme seems excellent, and has certainly as much in common with the Birthday of Sir WALTER SCOTT as the "_Death of Nelson_," on the trombone, has with that of the distinguished Novelist's great brother Poet. There is no reason, as you further point out, why you should not organise a whole Series of Commemorative Birthday Entertainments, as you think of doing, on the same plan, and with BEETHOVEN, MACAULAY, Dr. JOHNSON, and WARREN HASTINGS, the celebrities you mention, to begin upon, you ought to have no difficulty in working in the solo on the big drum, the performance of the Learned Hyæna, the Japanese Twenty-feet Bayonet-jump, and the other equally appropriate attractions with which you are already in communication. Anyhow, begin with Sir WALTER SCOTT, following the St. James's Hall lead, and let us hear how you get on.

* * *

STRIKING WEDDING PRESENTS.--As you seem to think that a list of the presents made to your young friends who are about to be married will in all probability be published in some of the Society papers, "with the names of the donors," we think, on the whole, we would advise you _not_ to give them, as you seem rather inclined to do, those three hundred weight of cheap sardines of which you became possessed through a seizure of your agents for arrears of rent. You might certainly present them with the disabled omnibus horse that came into your hands on the same occasion. Horses are sometimes given as wedding presents. There were four down in a list of gifts at a fashionable marriage only last week. But, of course, it would not suit your purpose to appear as the donor of a "damaged" creature. We think, perhaps, it would be wiser to accept the five pounds offered you through the veterinary surgeon you mention, and lay out the money, as you suggest, in sixteen hundred Japanese fans. If it falls through, and you find the horse still on your hands, there is no need to mention its association with the omnibus. "Mr. JOHN JOHNSON--a riding horse," doesn't read badly. We almost think this is better than the fans. Think it over.

* * * * *

THE LUXURY OF PANTOMIME.

One day last week, after a struggle for life, Her Majesty's Theatre was shut up, five hundred persons, so it was stated, lost employment, and the _Cinderella_ family, proud sisters and all, nay, even the gallant Prince himself, were turned adrift. Smiling, at the helm of the Drury Lane Ship, stands AUGUSTUS DRURIOLANUS, who sees, not unmoved, the wreck of "Her Majesty's Opposition," and murmurs to himself as _Jack and the Beanstalk_ continues its successful course, "This is, indeed, the survival of the fittest," and, charitably, DRURIOLANUS sends out a life-boat entitled "Benefit Performance" to the rescue of the shipwrecked crew. _Ave Cæsar_!

From this disaster there results a moral, "which, when found," it would be as well to "make a note of." It is this: as evidently London will not, or cannot, support two Pantomimes, several Circuses, and a Show like BARNUM'S, all through one winter, why try the experiment? especially when the _luxe_ of Pantomime, fostered by DRURIOLANUS, is so enormous, that any competitor must be forced into ruinous and even reckless extravagance, in order to enter into anything like rivalry with The Imperator who "holds the field" for Pantomime, just as he holds "The Garden" for Opera, against all comers.

These rival establishments only do harm to one another, spoil the public by indulging their taste for magnificent spectacle, increasing in gorgeousness every year, until true Pantomime will be overlaid with jewelled armour, crushed under velvet and gold, and be lying helpless under the weight of its own gorgeosity. We should question whether the Olympian BARNUM has done much good for himself, seeing how gigantic the expenses must be; and certainly he can't have done good to the theatres. As to Shows, "The more the merrier" does not hold good. "The fewer the better" is nearer the mark in every sense, and perhaps the experience of this season may suggest even to DRURIOLANUS to give the public still more fun for their money (and there is plenty of genuine fun in _Jack and the Beanstalk_), with less show, in less time, and at consequently less expense to himself, and with, therefore, bigger profits. We shall see.

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"Mr. GLADSTONE desires that ALL LETTERS, &c., should be addressed to
him at 10, St. James's Square, London."--_Standard, Jan. 25._

Why should "all letters" be addressed to Mr. GLADSTONE? Isn't anybody else to have any? How about Valentine's Day? Will "_all letters_" be addressed to him then? If so--then the above Illustration conveys only a feeble idea of the result.]

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_Fair Hostess_ (_to Mrs. Masham, who is looking her very best_). "HOWDYDO, DEAR? I HOPE YOU'RE NOT SO TIRED AS YOU _LOOK_!"]

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"THANK GOODNESS, HE'S READY AT LAST!"]

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THE FINISHING TOUCH;

OR, PREPARING FOR MR. SPEAKER'S PARTY.

_Anxious Old (Legal) Nurses loquitur_:--

Ah! he's ready now, thanks be!
But a plaguier child than he
I am sure we Nusses three
Never dressed.
But at last we have got through;
Well-curled hair, and sash of blue!
Yes, we rather think he'll do,
Heaven be blessed!

Ah! the awful time it took!
Never mind; by hook or crook
We have togged him trimly. Look!
There he stands!
His long wailings nearly hushed,
Buttoned, pinned, oiled, combed and brushed,
And his tight glove-fingers crushed
On his hands.

Does us credit, don't you think?
How the chit would writhe and shrink,
Get his garments in a kink
Every way!
Awful handful, hot and heady,
Shuffling round, ne'er standing steady,
Feared we'd never get him ready
For the day.

Mr. SPEAKER'S Party,--yes!
Hope he'll be a great success;
His clean face and natty dress
_Ought_ to please.
But there'll be no end of eyes
On his buttons, hooks, and ties;
Prompt to chaff and criticise,
Tear and tease.

There'll be many an Irish boy
Who will find it his chief joy
To upset and to annoy
The young Turk;
And, with no particular call,
Try to make him squeal and squall,
Disarrange him, after all
Our hard work.

Not to mention other lads,
Regular rowdy little Rads,
Full of ill-conditioned fads,
And mean spite;
Who will pinch and pull the hair
Of our charge who's standing there,
After all our patient care
Right and tight.

For we know they don't like _us_,
And they're sure to scold and cuss
The tired three, and raise a fuss
And a pother
About Hopeful here. Heigho!
But he's ready, dears, to go.
Ah! they little little know
All our bother!

On our hands heaven knows how long
We have had him. 'Twould be wrong
To indulge in language strong;
But how hearty
Is our joy that we have done!
There now, REPPY, off you run!
Only hope you'll have good fun
At the Party!

* * * * *

TO AN OLD FRIEND WITH A NEW WIG.

Delighted to hear that our friend CHARLES HALL, A.D.C., Trin. Coll. Cam., and Q.C., is likely to be made a Judge. Where will he sit? Admiralty, Probate, and Divorce Court, where wreckage cases of ships and married lives are heard? Health to the Judge that shall be, with a song and chorus, if you please, Gentlemen, to the ancient air of "_Samuel Hall_," revived for this occasion only:--

His name it is CHARLES HALL,
A.D.C. and Q.C.,
His name it is CHARLES HALL.
In cases great and small
He's shone out since his call,
All agree.

In Court of Admiral_tee_
Did he drudge, (_bis_)
In Court of Admiraltee,
'Bout lights and wrecks,--will he
Henceforth be less at sea
As a Judge?

_Chorus._

(_To quite another tune, i.e., the refrain of_ GEORGE GROSSMITH'S _song, "How I became an Actor."_)

And each of his friends makes this remark,
(Retort he may with "Fudge!")
"Now wasn't I the first to say, you're sure
Some day to be a Judge!"

It will be a touching spectacle, as, indeed, it always is to the reflective mind, to see the new Judge sitting among the wrecks, like "Marius among the Ruins." Fine subject for Sir FREDERICK, P.R.A., in the next Academy Exhibition.

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"HULLO, JIM, WHATEVER MADE YOU COME OFF?"--"WHY, THE BRUTE BUCKED!"--"BUCKED! NONSENSE, MAN, SHE ONLY COUGHED!"]

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KICKED!

(_By the Foot of Clara Groomley._)

IN FOUR CHAPTERS.--III.

Nothing done! The whole Detective force of London, having nothing better to do, were placed at my disposal, and, after three weeks' search, they found a girl called SMITH; but it was the wrong one. My darling is _blonde_, and this was a dark, almost a black, SMITH. I came back to Ryde in a passion and a third-class carriage. I find from Mademoiselle that Miss SMITH has not yet returned.

JAMES seemed pleased to see me, but he noticed that in my anxiety and preoccupation I had forgotten to have my hat ironed. The hotel is quite full, and I am to sleep in the Haunted Room to-night.

* * *

I am not a hysterical man, and this is not a neurotic story. It is, as a matter of fact, the same old rot to which the shilling shockers have made us accustomed. I cannot account in any way for my experiences last night in the Haunted Room, but they certainly were not due to nervousness. I had not been asleep long before I had a most curious and vivid dream. I felt that I was not in the hotel, and that at the same time I was not out of it. I had a curious sense of being everywhere in general, and nowhere in particular.

I saw before me a gorgeously furnished room. On the tiger-skin rug before the fire was a basket with a crewel-worked chair-back spread over it. _What was in the basket?_ Again and again I asked myself that question. I felt like a long-division sum, and a cold shiver went down my quotient.

In one corner of the room stood a man of about thirty, with a handsome, wicked face. One hand rested on the drawer of a writing-table. Slowly he drew from it a folded paper, and read, in a harsh, raucous voice:--

"'To cleaning and repairing one----' No, that's not it."

He selected another paper. Ah, it was the right one this time!

"'Memorandum of Aunt JANE'S Will.' 'All property to go to ALICE SMITH, unless Aunt JANE'S poodle, _Tommy Atkins_, dies before ALICE SMITH comes of age. In which case, it all goes to me.' I remember making that note when the will was read. And now"--he glanced at the covered basket--"_Tommy_'s kicked the bucket. Well, he stood in my way. Who's to know? But there must be no _post-mortem_, no 'vet' fetched in. Happy thought--I'll have the brute stuffed." He knelt down by the side of the basket, and slowly drew back the covering. "Ah!" he said--"it's cruel work."

Did he refer to the chair-back? or did he refer to the way in which, for the sake of gain, an honest dog had been MURDERED? For there before my eyes lay the dead poodle, _Tommy Atkins_!

"ALICE loses all her money," he continued, "but that doesn't matter. She tells me that she's picked up no end of a swell down at Ryde, and he may marry her. The question is--will he?" Once more I felt like a division sum. I yearned to call out loudly, and answer with a decided negative; but no words came. My strength was gone. I was utterly worked out, and there was no remainder.

When I came to myself, I found JAMES, the waiter, standing by my bedside with a gentleman whom I did not know. JAMES introduced him to me as a Mr. ALKALOID, a photographer who was stopping in the hotel. Mr. ALKALOID had been woken up by a wild shriek for a decided negative, and had rushed down to see if he could do a little business. "Take you by the electric light," he said; "just as you are,"--I was in my night-dress and the old, old hat, the rim of which had been slightly sprained,--"perfectly painless process, and money returned if not satisfactory." I thanked him warmly, and apologised for having disturbed him.

I went to London on the following day. I felt it my positive duty to explain that I should always regard ALICE SMITH as a sister, but nothing more.

I had quite forgotten that I did not know the house where ALICE SMITH lived, and the poodle dog lay dead.

(_Here ends the Narrative of_ CYRIL MUSH.)

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(_Design for a Parliamentary Cartoon, illustrating the Life of a Country Member._)]

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_Irish Landlord_ (_boycotted_). "PAT, MY MAN, I'M IN NO END OF A HURRY. PUT THE PONY TO, AND DRIVE ME TO THE STATION, AND I'LL GIVE YE HALF A SOVEREIGN!"

_Pat_ (_Nationalist, but needy_). "OCH SHURE, IT'S MORE THAN ME LOIFE IS WORTH TO BE SEEN DROIVING _YOU_, YER HONOUR. BUT"--(_slily_)--"IF YER HONOUR WOULD JIST DROIVE _ME_, MAYBE IT'S MESELF THAT MOIGHT VENTURE IT!"]

* * * * *

"SWEET-MARJORIE!"

Take it all in all, _Marjorie_ at the Prince of Wales' is a very satisfactory production. The subject is English, the music is English, and the "book" is English too. So when we applaud the new Opera, we have the satisfaction of knowing that our cheers are given in the cause of native talent triumphant. This is appropriate to the "time" of the play (the commencement of the thirteenth century), which is the very epoch when the Saxons were beginning to hold their own in the teeth of their Norman conquerors. But leaving patriotism out of the question (a matter which, it is to be feared, is not likely to influence Stalls, Pit, and Gallery materially for a very lengthened period), the Opera _quâ_ Opera is a very good one. The company is strong--so strong, that it hears the loss of an accomplished songstress like Miss HUNTINGTON without severely suffering. It is true that an excellent substitute for the lady has been found in that tenor with the cheerful name, Mr. MARK TAPLEY, whose notes are certainly worth their weight in gold; but leaving the representatives of _Wilfred_ "outside the competition," the remainder of the _Dramatis Personæ_ are excellent. They work well together, and consequently the _ensemble_ is in the highest degree pleasing.

Assistance of rather a graver character than usually associated with comic opera is naturally afforded by Mr. HAYDYN COFFIN. Miss PHYLLIS BROUGHTON is introduced not only to sing but to dance, and performs the latter accomplishment with a grace not to be surpassed, and only to be equalled by Miss KATE VAUGHAN. Mr. ASHLEY, now happily returned to the melodious paths from which he strayed to play in pieces of the calibre of _Pink Dominoes_, seems quite at home in the character of _Sir Simon_--not "the Cellarer," but rather, "the sold one." Mr. MONKHOUSE, whose name and personality go to prove that a cowl does not preclude its occasional occupation by a wag, is most amusing as _Gosric_. Mr. ALBERT JAMES is a lively jester, whose quips and cranks might have been of considerable value to Mr. JOSEPH MILLER when that literary droll was engaged in compiling his comic classic. Miss D'ARVILLE and Madame AMADI both work with a will, and find a way to public favour. The dresses are in excellent taste, and the scenery capital.

That the _mise en scène_ is perfect, goes without saying, as this Opera has been produced by that past master of stage-direction, the one and only AUGUSTUS DRURIOLANUS. The dialogue is sufficiently pointed--not too pointed, but pointed enough. It does not require a knowledge of the niceties of the law, the regulations of the British army, or a keen appreciation of the subtlest subtleties of logic to fully understand it. It is amusing, and provocative of innocent laughter, which, after all, seems to be a sufficient recommendation for words spoken within the walls of a play-house. The music is full of melody--"quite killing," as a young lady wittily observed, on noticing that the name of the Composer was SLAUGHTER. So _Marjorie_ may be fairly said not only to have deserved success, but (it is satisfactory to be able to add) also to have attained it.

ONE WHO HAS PRACTISED AT THE MUSICAL BAR.

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STATESMEN AT HOME.