Chapter II: Part 2

_It is the summer of 189-. The scene is a road skirting Victoria Park, Bethnal Green, which Society's leaders have recently discovered and appointed as the rendez-vous for the Season, and where it is now the correct thing for all really smart people to indulge, between certain prescribed hours, in sports and pastimes that have hitherto been more characteristic of the masses than the classes. The only permissible mount now is the donkey, which must be ridden close to the tail, and referred to as a "moke." A crowd of well-turned-out spectators arrives from the West End every morning about eleven to watch the brilliant parade of "Mokestrians" (as the Society journalist will already have decided to call them). Some drive slowly up and down on coster-barrows, attended by cockaded and disgusted grooms. About twelve, they break up into light luncheon parties; after which they play democratic games for half an hour or so, and drive home on drags._

MR. WOODBY-INNETT (_to the DONKEY PROPRIETOR_). Kept a moke for me? I told you I should be wantin' one every mornin' now.

The DONKEY PROPRIETOR (_after consulting engagement book_). I've not got it down on my list, Sir. Very sorry, but the Countess of Cumberback has just booked the last for the 'ole of this week. Might let you 'ave one by-and-by, if Sir Hascot Goodwood brings his in punctual, but I can't promise it.

MR. WOODBY-INN. That's no good; no point in ridin' after the right time. (_To himself, as he turns away._) Nuisance! Not that I'm so keen about a moke. Not a patch on a bike!--though it don't do to say so. Only if I'd known this, I'd have turned up in a tall hat and frock coat; and then I could have taken a turn on the steam-circus. Wonder if it would be any sort of form shyin' at cocoa-nuts in tweeds and a straw hat. Must ask some chap who knows. More puzzlin' what to put on this year than ever!

LADY RANELA HURLINGHAM (_breathlessly to DONKEY PROPRIETOR_). That's mine, isn't it? Will you please put me up, and _promise_ me you'll keep close behind and make him run. (_Suppliantly._) You will, _won't_ you?

The DONKEY PROPRIETOR (_with a due sense of his own value_). Well, I dessay I can come along presently, Lady 'Urlingham, and fetch 'im a whack or two; jest now I can't, having engaged to come and 'old the Marshiness of 'Ammercloth on _'er_ moke; but there, you orter be able to git along well enough by yourself now--_you_ ought!

CAPTAIN SONBYRNE (_just home on leave from India--to MRS. CHESHAM-LOWNDES_). Rather an odd sort of idea this--I mean, coming all the way out here to ride a lot of donkeys, eh?

MRS. CHESHAM-LOWNDES. It used to be rather amusing a month ago, before they all got used to riding so near the tail; but now they're all so good at it, don't you know.

CAPT. SONB. I went down to Battersea Park yesterday to see the bicyclists. Not a soul there, give you my word!

MRS. C.-L. No; there _wouldn't_ be _this_ season. You see, all sorts and conditions of people began to take it up, and it got too fearfully common. And now moke-riding has quite cut it out.

CAPT. SONB. But why ride donkeys when you can get gees?

MRS. C.-L. Oh, well, they're democratic, and cheap, and all that, don't you know. And one really can't be _seen_ on a horse this year--in town, at least. In the country it don't matter so much.

FIRST MOKESTRIAN (_to second ditto_). Hullo, old chap, so _you_'ve taken to a moke at last, eh? How are you gettin' on?

SECOND MOKESTRIAN. Pretty well. I can sit on his tail all right now, but I can't get into the way of keepin' my heels off the ground yet, it's so beastly difficult.

_Fragments from_ SPECTATORS. That's rather a smart barrow Lady Barinrayne's drivin' to-day.... Who's the fellow with her, with the paper feather in his pot-hat? Bad style, _I_ call it.... That's Lord Freddy Fugleman--best dressed man in London. You'll see everybody turnin' up in a paper feather in a day or two.... Lot of men seem to be using a short clay as a cigarette-holder now, don't they?... Yes, Roddie Rippingill introduced the idea last week, and it seems to have caught on. [_&c._, _&c._]

_After Luncheon; at the Steam-Circus and other Sports._

_Scraps of Small-talk._ No end sorry, Lady Gwendolen; been tryin' to get you a scent-squirt everywhere; but they're all gone; such a run on 'em for Ascot, don't you know.... Thanks; it doesn't matter; only dear Lady Buckram has just thrown some red ochre down the back of my neck, and Algy Vere came and shot out a coloured paper thing right in my face, and I shouldn't like to seem uncivil.... Suppose I shall see you at Lady Brabazon's "Kiss in the Ring" at Bethnal Green to-morrow afternoon?... I believe she _did_ send us cards, but we promised to look in at a friendly lead the Duchess of Dillwater is giving at such a dear little public she's discovered in Whitechapel, so we may be rather late.... You'll keep a handkerchief-throw for me if you _do_ come on, won't you?... It will have to be an _extra_, then, I'm afraid.... Are you goin' to Lord Balmisyde's eight o'clock breakfast to-morrow? _So_ glad; I hear he's engaged five coffee-stalls, and we're all to stand up and eat saveloys and trotters and thick bread and butter.... Oh, I wanted to ask you, my girls have got an invitation to a hoky-poky party the Vavasours are giving after the moke-ridin' next Thursday, and I'm told it's quite wrong to eat hoky-poky with a spoon--do you know how that is?... The only _correct_ way, Caroline, is to lick it out of the glass, which requires practice before it can be _attempted_ in public. But I hear there's quite a pleasant boy-professor somewhere in the Mile End Road who teaches it in a single lesson; he's _very_ moderate; his terms are only half a guinea, which includes the hoky-poky. I'll send you his address if I can find it.... Thanks _so_ much; the dear girls _will_ be so grateful to you.... I _do_ think it's _quite_ too bad of Lady Geraldine Grabber, she goes and sticks her card on the only decent wooden horse in the steam-circus and says she's engaged it for the whole time, though she hardly ever takes a round! And so many girls standing out who can ride without getting in the _least_ giddy!... Rathah a boundah, that fellow, if you ask me; I've _seen_ him pullin' a swing boat in brown boots and ridin'-breeches!... How wonderfully well your daughter throws the rings, dear Lady Cornelia, I hear she's won three walking-sticks and five clasp knives.... You're very kind. She is quite clever at it; but then she's had some private coaching from a gipsy, don't you know.... What are you going to do with yourself this afternoon?... Oh, I'm going to the People's Palace to see the finals played off for the Skittles Championship; bound to be a closish thing; rather excitin', don't you know.... Ah, Duchess, you've been in form to-day, I see, five cocoa-nuts! Can I relieve you of some of them?... Thanks, they _are_ rather tiresome to carry; if you _could_ find my carriage and tell the footman to keep his eye on them. [_&c._, _&c._]

LADY ROSEHUGH (_to MR. LUKE WALMER, on the way home_). You know I _do_ think it's _such_ a cheering sign of the times, Society getting simpler in its tastes, and sharing the pleasures of the Dear People, and all that; it must tend to bring all classes more _together_, don't you know!

MR. LUKE WALMER. Perhaps. Only I was thinking, I don't remember seeing any of the Dear People _about_.

LADY ROSEHUGH. No; somebody was telling me they had taken to playing Polo on bicycles in Hyde Park. So extraordinary of them--such a pity they haven't some higher form of amusement, you know!

AN IDEAL INTERVIEWER.

_Den of Latest Lion._

LATEST LION (_perusing card with no visible signs of gratification_). Confound it! don't remember telling the Editor of _Park Lane_ I'd let myself be interviewed. Suppose I must have, though. (_Aloud to SERVANT, who is waiting._) You can show the Gentleman up.

SERVANT (_returning_). Mr. Walsingham Jermyn!

[_A youthful Gentleman is shown in; he wears a pink-striped
shirt-front, an enormous buttonhole, and a woolly frock-coat,
and is altogether most expensively and fashionably attired,
which, however, does not prevent him from appearing somewhat
out of countenance after taking a seat._

The L. L. (_encouragingly_). I presume, Mr. Jermyn, you're here to ask me some questions about the future of the British East African Company, and the duty of the Government in the matter?

MR. JERMYN (_gratefully_). Er--yes, that's what I've come about, don't you know--that sort of thing. Fact is (_with a burst of confidence_), this isn't exactly my line--I've been rather let in for this. You see, I've not been by way of doin' this long--but what's a fellow to do when he's stony-broke? Got to do _somethin'_, don't you know. So I thought I'd go in for journalism--I don't mean the drudgery of it, leader-writin' and that--but the light part of it, _Society_, you know. But the other day, man who does the interviews for _Park Lane_ (that's the paper I'm on) jacked up all of a sudden, and my Editor said I'd better take on his work for a bit, and see what I made of it. I wasn't particular. You see, I've always been rather a dead hand at drawin' fellows out, leadin' them on, you know, and all that, so I knew it would come easy enough to me, for all you've got to do is to sit tight and let the other chap--I mean to say, the man you're interviewin'--do all the talking, while you--I mean to say, myself--keep, keeps--hullo, I'm getting my grammar a bit mixed; however, it don't signify--_I_ keep quiet and use my eyes and ears like blazes. Talking of grammar, I thought when I first started that I should get in a regular hat over the grammar, and the spellin', and that--_you_ write, don't you, when you're not travellin'? So you know what a grind it is to spell right. But I soon found they kept a Johnny at the office with nothing to do but put all your mistakes right for you, so, soon as I knew that, I went ahead gaily.

The L. L. Exactly, and now, perhaps, you will let me know what particular information you require?

MR. J. Oh, _you_ know the sort of thing the public likes--they'll want to know what sort of diggings you've got, how you dress when you're at home, and all that, how you write your books, now--you do write books, don't you? Thought so. Well, that's what the public likes. You see, your name's a good deal up just now--no humbug, it _is_ though! Between ourselves, you know, I think the whole business is the balliest kind of rot, but they've got to have it, so there you are, don't you see. I don't pretend to be a well-read sort of fellow, never was particularly fond of readin' and that; no time for it, and besides, I've always said _Books_ don't teach you knowledge of the world. I know the world fairly well--but I didn't learn it from books--ah, you agree with me there--_you_ know what skittles all that talk is about education and that. Well, as I was sayin', I don't read much, I see the _Field_ every week, and a clinkin' good paper it is, tells you everythin' worth knowin', and I read the _Pink Un_, too. Do you know any of the fellows on it? Man I know is a great friend of one of them, he's going to introduce me some day, I like knowin' literary chaps, don't you? You've been about a good deal, haven't you? I expect you must have seen a lot, travellin' as you do. I've done a little travellin' myself, been to Monte Carlo, you know, and the Channel Islands--_you_ ever been to the Channel Islands? Oh, you ought to go, it's a very cheery place. Talkin' of Monte Carlo, I had a rattlin' good time at the tables there; took out a hundred quid, determined I would have a downright good flutter, and Jove! I made that hundred last me over five days, and came away in nothing but my lawn-tennis flannels. That's what I _call_ a flutter, don't you know! Er--beastly weather we're havin'! You have pretty good weather where you've been? A young brother of mine has been out for a year in Texas--he said _he'd_ very good weather--of course that's some way off where _you_'ve come from--Central Africa, isn't it? Talkin' of my brother, what do you think the young ass did?--went out there with a thousand pounds, and paid it all down to some sportsmen who took him to see some stock they said belonged to them--of course he found out after they'd off'd it that they didn't own a white mouse among 'em! But then, Dick's one of those chaps, you know, that think themselves so uncommon knowing, they _can't_ be had. I always told him he'd be taken in some day if he let his tongue wag so much--too fond of hearing himself talk, don't you know, great mistake for a young fellow; sure to say somethin' you'd better have let alone. I suppose you're getting rather sick of all these banquets, receptions, and that? They do you very well, certainly. I went to one of these Company dinners some time ago, and they did me as well as I've ever been done in my life, but when you've got to sit still afterwards and listen to some chap who's been somewhere and done somethin' jawin' about it by the hour together without a check, why, it's not _good_ enough, I'm hanged if it is! Well, I'm afraid I can't stay any longer--my time's valuable now, don't you know. I daresay yours is, too. I'm awfully glad to have had a chat with you, and all that. I expect you could tell me a lot more interestin' things, only of course you've got to keep the best of 'em to put in your book--you _are_ writin' a book or somethin', ain't you? Such heaps of fellows are writin' books nowadays, the wonder is how any of 'em get read. I shall try and get a look at yours, though, if I come across it anywhere; hope you'll put some amusin' things in,--nigger stories and that, don't make it too bally scientific, you know. Directly I get back, I shall sit down, slick off, and write off all you've told me. I shan't want any notes, I can carry it all in my head, and of course I shan't put in anything you'd rather I didn't, don't you know.

The L. L. (_solemnly_). Mr. Jermyn, I place implicit confidence in your discretion. I have no doubt whatever that your head, Sir, is more than capable of containing such remarks as I have found it necessary to make in the course of our interview. I like your system of extracting information, Sir, very much. Good morning.

Mr. J. (_outside_). Nice pleasant-spoken fellow--trifle long-winded, though! Gad, I was so busy listenin' I forgot to notice what his rooms were like or anythin'! How would it do to go back? No, too much of a grind. Daresay I can manage to fox up somethin'. I shall tell the Chief what he said about my system. Chief don't quite know what I _can_ do yet--this will open his eyes a bit.

[_And it does._

SATURDAY NIGHT IN THE EDGWARE ROAD.

_For over half-a-mile the pavement on the East side of the road is thronged with promenaders, and the curbstone lined with stalls and barrows, and hawkers of various wares. Marketing housewives with covered baskets oscillate undecidedly from stalls to shops, and put off purchasing to the last possible moment. Maids-of-all-work perambulate arm-in-arm, exchanging airy badinage with youths of their acquaintance, though the latter seem to prefer the society of their own sex. A man with a switchback skittle-board plays gloomy games by himself to an unspeculative group of small boys. The tradesmen stand outside their shops and conduct their business with a happy blend of the methods of a travelling showman and a clown._

BURLESQUE BUTCHER. Now then, all o' _you_ there! Buy, buy, buy! Just give yer minds to spendin' yer money! (_In a tone of artless wonder._) Where _does_ the Butcher git this _luverly_ meat? What can I do fur _you_ now, Marm? (_Triumphantly, after selling the scrag-end of a neck of mutton._) _Now_ we're busy!

FARCICAL FISHMONGER (_with two Comic Assistants_). Ahar! (_To crowd._) Come 'ere, you silly young snorkers! I've the quali_tee_! I've the quali_tay_! _Keep_ takin' money!

FIRST COMIC ASSISTANT. Ahye! Foppence a pound nice plaice! Kippers two fur three 'apence. _We're_ the Perfeshnul Curers! What are yer all goin' to _do_? Sort 'em out cheap!

SECOND C. A. I don't mind! What care I? (_Bursting into song._) "'Ow, she rowled me 'ed, and rumbled in the 'ay!" On me word, she did, ladies!

[_He executes a double shuffle, and knocks over several boxes
of bloaters in the gaiety of his heart._

A HAWKER OF PENNY MEMORANDUM BOOKS (_to an audience of small boys_). Those among you 'oo are not mechanics, decidedly you 'ave mechanical _hideers_!

[_He enlarges upon the convenience of having a notebook in
which to jot down any inspirations of this kind; but his
hearers do not appear to agree with him._

A LUGUBRIOUS VENDOR. One penny for six comic pypers. Hevery one different!

A RUDE BOY. You ain't bin _readin'_ o' any on 'em, 'ave yer, guv'nor?

A CROCKERY MERCHANT (_as he unpacks a variety of vases of appalling hideousness_). _I_ don't care--it's self-sacrifice to give away! Understand, you ain't buyin' _common_ things, you're buyin' suthin' _good_! It 'appens to be my buthday to-night, so I'm goin' to let you people 'ave the benefit of the doubt. Come on 'ere. I don't ask you to b'lieve _me_--on'y to jedge fur yerselves. I'm not 'ere to tell you no fairy tales; and the reason why I'm in a position to orfer up these vawses--all richly gilt, and decorated in three colours, the most expensive ever made--the reason I'm able to sell them so cheap as I'm doin' is this--(_he lowers his voice mysteriously_)--'arf the stuff I 'ave 'ere we git _in very funny ways_!

[_This ingeniously suggestive hint enhances the natural charm
of his ware to such a degree that the vases are bought up
briskly, as calculated to brighten the humblest home._

A SANCTIMONIOUS YOUNG MAN (_with a tongue too large for his mouth, who has just succeeded in collecting a circle round him_). I am only 'ere to-night, my friends, as a paid servant--for the purpose of deciding a wager. Some o' you may have noticed an advertisement lately in the _Daily Telegrawf_, asking for men to stand on Southwark Bridge and orfer arf-suverings for a penny apiece. You are equally well aware that it is illegal to orfer the Queen's coinage for money: and that is _not_ my intention this evening. _But_ I 'ave 'ere several pieces of gold, guaranteed to be of the exact weight of arf a suvering, and 'all-marked, which, in order to decide the wager I 'ave spoken of, I shall now perceed to charge you the sum of one penny for, and no more. I am not allowed to sell _more_ than one to each person----

[_Here a constable comes up, and the decision of the wager is
postponed until a more favourable opportunity._

FIRST "GENERAL" (_looking into a draper's window_). Look at them coloured felt 'ats--all shades, and on'y sixpence three-fardens!

SECOND "G." They _are_ reasonable; but I've 'eard as felt 'ats is gone out of fashion now.

FIRST "G." Don't you believe it, Sarah. Why, my married sister bought one on'y last week!

COSTER (_to an old lady who has repudiated a bunch of onions after a prolonged scrutiny_). Frorsty? So would _you_ be if _your_ onion 'ad bin layin' out in the fields all night as long as these 'ave!

FIRST ITINERANT PHYSICIAN (_as he screws up fragments of candy in pieces of newspaper_). That is Frog in your Froat what I'm doin' up now. I arsk you to try it. It's given to me to give away, and I'm goin' to _give_ it away--you understand?--that's all. And now I'm going to tork to you about suthink else. You see this small bottle what I 'old up. I tell you there's 'undreds layin' in bed at this present moment as 'ud give a shillin' fur one of these--and I offer it to you at one penny! It corrects all nerve-pains connected with the 'ed, cures earache, toothache, neuralgy, noomonia, 'art-complaint, fits, an' syhatica. Each bottle is charged with helectricity, forming a complete galvanic-battery. Hall _you_ 'ave to do is to place the bottle to one o' your nawstrils, first closing the other with your finger. You will find it compels you to sniff. The moment you _tyke_ that sniff, you'll find the worter comin' into your heyes--and that's the helectricity. You'll say, "_I_ always 'eard helectricity was a _fluid_." (_With withering scorn._) Very _likely_! You _'ave_? An' _why_? Be-cawse o' the hignirant notions prevailin' about scientific affairs! Hevery one o' these bottles contains a battery, and to each purchaser I myke 'im a present--a _present_, mind yer--of Frog in 'is Froat!

SUSAN JANE (_to LIZERANN, before a stall where "Novelettes, three a penny," are to be procured by the literary_). Shall we 'ave a penn'orth, an' you go 'alves along o' me?

LIZERANN. Not _me_. I ain't got no time to go improvin' o' _my_ mind, whatever _you_ 'ave!

A VENDOR OF "'ORE'OUND TABLETS" (_he is a voluble young man, with considerable lung-power, and a tendency to regard his cough lozenges as not only physical but moral specifics_). I'm on'y a young feller, as you see, and yet 'ere I _am_, with my four burnin' lamps, and a lassoo-soot as belonged to my Uncle Bill, doin' _wunnerful_ well. Why, I've took over two pound in coppers a'ready! Mind you, I don't deceive you; you may all on you do as well as me; on'y you'll 'ave to get two good ref'rences fust, _and_ belong to a temp'rance society, like I do. This is the badge as I've got on me at this minnit. I ain't always bin like I am now. I started business four year ago, and was doin' wunnerful well, too, till I got among 'orse-copers an' dealers and went on the booze, and lost the lot. Then I turned up the drink and got a berth sellin' these 'ere Wangoo Tablets--and now I've got a neat little missus, and a nice 'ome, goin' on wunnerful comfortable. Never a week passes but what I buy myself something. Last week it was a pair o' noo socks. Soon as the sun peeps out and the doo dries up, I'm orf to Yarmouth. And what's the reason? I've _enjoyed_ myself there. My Uncle Bill, as lives at Lowestoft, and keeps six fine 'orses and a light waggon, _he's_ doin' wunnerful well, and he'd take me into partnership to-morrow, he would. But no--I'm 'appier as I am. What's the reason I kin go on torkin' to you like this night after night, without injury to my voice? Shall I tell yer? Because, every night o' my life, afore I go to bed, I take four o' these Wangoo Tablets--compounded o' the purest 'erbs. You take them to the nearest doctor's and arsk 'im to analyse an' test them as he _will_, and you 'ear what _he_ says of them! Take one o' them tablets--after your pipe; after your cigaw; after your cigarette. You won't want no more drink, you'll find them make you come 'ome reglar every evening, and be able to buy a noo 'at every week. You've ony to persevere for a bit with these 'ere lawzengers to be like I am myself, doin' _wunnerful_ well! You see this young feller 'ere? (_Indicating a sheepish head in a pot-hat, which is visible over the back of his stall._) Born and bred in Kenada, _'e_ was. And quite _right_! Bin over 'ere six year, so, o' course he speaks the lengwidge. And _quite_ right. Now I'm no Amerikin myself, but they're a wunnerful clever people, the Amerikins are, allays inventin' or suthink o' that there. And you're at liberty to go and arsk 'im for yourselves whether this is a real Amerikin invention or not--as he'll tell yer it _is_--and quite right, too! An' it stands to reason as _he_ orter know, seein' he introdooced it 'imself and doin' wunnerful well with it ever since. I ain't come 'ere to _rob_ yer. Lady come and give me a two-shillin' piece just now. I give it her back. _She_ didn't know--thort it was a penny, till I told her. Well, that just shows you what these 'ere Wangoo 'Ore'ound Tablets _are_!

[_After this practical illustration of their efficacy, he
pauses for oratorical effect, and a hard-worked-looking matron
purchases three packets, in the apparent hope that a similar
halo of the best horehound will shortly irradiate the head of
her household._

LIZERANN (_to SUSAN JANE, as they walk homewards_). On'y fancy--the other evenin', as I was walkin' along this very pavement, a cab-'orse come up beyind me, unbeknown like, and put 'is 'ed over my shoulder and breathed right in my ear!

SUSAN JANE (_awestruck_). You _must_ ha' bin a bad gell!

[_LIZERANN is clearly disquieted by so mystical an
interpretation, even while she denies having done anything
deserving of a supernatural rebuke._

THE "MODEL HUSBAND" CONTEST.

_Scene the First--At the GALAHAD-GREEN'S._

MRS. G.-G. Galahad!

MR. G.-G. (_meekly_). My love?

MRS. G.-G. I see that the proprietors of _All Sorts_ are going to follow the American example, and offer a prize of L20 to the wife who makes out the best case for her husband as a Model. It's just as well, perhaps, that you should know that I've made up my mind to enter _you_!

MR. G.-G. (_gratified_). My dear Cornelia! really, I'd no idea you had such a----

MRS. G.-G. Nonsense! The drawing-room carpet is a perfect disgrace, and, as you can't, or won't, provide the money in any _other_ way, why----Would you like to hear what I've said about you?

MR. G.-G. Well, if you're sure it wouldn't be troubling you too much, I _should_, my dear.

MRS. G.-G. Then sit where I can see you, and listen. (_She reads._) "Irreproachable in all that pertains to morality"--(and it would be a bad day indeed for you, Galahad, if I ever had cause to think _otherwise_!)--"morality; scrupulously dainty and neat in his person"--(ah, you may well blush, Galahad, but fortunately, they won't want me to _produce_ you!)--"he imports into our happy home the delicate refinement of a _preux chevalier_ of the olden time." (Will you kindly take your dirty boots off the steel fender!) "We rule our little kingdom with a joint and equal sway, to which jealousy and friction are alike unknown; he, considerate and indulgent to my womanly weakness"--(You need not stare at me in that perfectly idiotic fashion!)--"I, looking to him for the wise and tender support which has never yet been denied. The close and daily scrutiny of many years has discovered"--(What are you shaking like _that_ for?)--"discovered no single weakness; no taint or flaw of character; no irritating trick of speech or habit." (How often have I told you that I will _not_ have the handle of that paper-knife sucked? Put it down; do!) "His conversation--sparkling but ever spiritual--renders our modest meals veritable feasts of fancy and flows of soul.... _Well_, Galahad?"

MR. G.-G. Nothing, my dear; nothing. It struck me as, well,--a trifle _flowery_, that last passage, that's all!

MRS. G.-G. (_severely_). If I cannot expect to win the prize without descending to floweriness, whose fault is _that_, I should like to know? If you can't make sensible observations, you had better not speak at all. (_Continuing._) "Over and over again, gathering me in his strong, loving arms, and pressing fervent kisses upon my forehead, he has cried, 'Why am I not a Monarch that so I could place a diadem upon that brow? With such a Consort am I not doubly crowned?'" Have you anything to say to _that_, Galahad?

MR. G.-G. Only, my love, that I--I don't seem to remember having made that particular remark.

MRS. G.-G. Then make it _now_. I'm sure I wish to be as accurate as I _can_.

[_MR. G.-G. makes the remark--but without fervour._

_Scene the Second--At the MONARCH-JONES'._

MR. M.-J. Twenty quid would come in precious handy just now, after all I've dropped lately, and I mean to pouch that prize if I can--so just you sit down, Grizzle, and write out what I tell you; do you hear?

MRS. M.-J. (_timidly_). But, Monarch, dear, would that be quite _fair_? No, don't be angry, I didn't mean that--I'll write whatever you please!

MR. M.-J. You'd _better_, that's all! Are you ready? I must screw myself up another peg before I begin. (_He screws._) Now, then. (_Stands over her and dictates._) "To the polished urbanity of a perfect gentleman he unites the kindly charity of a true Christian." (Why the devil don't you learn to write decently, eh?) "Liberal, and even lavish, in all his dealings, he is yet a stern foe to every kind of excess"--(Hold on a bit, I must have another nip after that)--"every kind of excess. Our married life is one long dream of blissful contentment, in which each contends with the other in loving self-sacrifice." (Haven't you corked all that down _yet_!) "Such cares and anxieties as he has he conceals from me with scrupulous consideration as long as possible"--(Gad, I should be a fool if I _didn't_!)--"while I am ever sure of finding in him a patient and sympathetic listener to all my trifling worries and difficulties."--(_Two_ f's in difficulties, you little fool--can't you even _spell_?) "Many a time, falling on his knees at my feet, he has rapturously exclaimed, his accents broken by manly emotion, 'Oh, that I were more worthy of such a pearl among women! With such a helpmate, I am indeed to be envied!'" That _ought_ to do the trick. If I don't romp in after that!----(_Observing that MRS. M.-J.'S shoulders are convulsed._) What the dooce are you giggling at _now_?

MRS. M.-J. I--I wasn't giggling, Monarch dear, only----

MR. M.-J. Only _what_?

MRS. M.-J. Only crying!

_The Sequel._

"The judges appointed by the spirited proprietors of _All Sorts_ to decide the 'Model Husband Contest'--which was established on lines similar to one recently inaugurated by one of our New York contemporaries--have now issued their award. Two competitors have sent in certificates which have been found equally deserving of the prize; viz., Mrs. Cornelia Galahad-Green, Graemair Villa, Peckham, and Mrs. Griselda Monarch-Jones, Aspen Lodge, Lordship Lane. The sum of twenty pounds will consequently be divided between these two ladies, to whom, with their respective spouses, we beg to tender our cordial felicitations."--(_Extract from Daily Paper, some six months hence._)

THE COURIER OF THE HAGUE.

He is an elderly amiable little Dutchman in a soft felt hat; his name is BOSCH, and he is taking me about. _Why_ I engaged him I don't quite know--unless from a general sense of helplessness in Holland, and a craving for any kind of companionship. Now I have got him, I feel rather more helpless than ever--a sort of composite of SANDFORD and MERTON, with a didactic, but frequently incomprehensible Dutch BARLOW. My SANDFORD half would like to exhibit an intelligent curiosity, but is generally suppressed by MERTON, who has a morbid horror of useful information. Not that BOSCH is remarkably erudite, but nevertheless he contrives to reduce me to a state of imbecility, which I catch myself noting with a pained surprise. There is a statue in the Plein, and the SANDFORD element in me finds a satisfaction in recognising it aloud as William the Silent. It is--but, as my MERTON part thinks, a fellow _would_ be a fool if he didn't recognise William after a few hours in Holland--his images, in one form or another, are tolerably numerous. Still BOSCH is gratified. "Yass, dot is ole Volliam," he says, approvingly, as to a precocious infant just beginning to take notice. "Lokeer," he says, "you see dot Apoteek?" He indicates a chemist's shop opposite, with nothing remarkable about it externally, except a Turk's head with his tongue out over the door.

"Yes, I (speaking for SANDFORD and MERTON) see it--has it some historical interest--did Volliam get medicine there, or what?"

"Woll, dis mornin dare vas two sairvans dere, and de von cot two blaces out of de odder's haid, and afderwarts he go opstairs and vas hang himself mit a pedbost."

BOSCH evidently rather proud of this as illustrating the liveliness of The Hague.

"Was he mad?"

"Yass, he vas mard, mit a vife and seeks childrens."

"No, but was he out of his senses?"

"I tink it was oud of Omsterdam he vas com," says BOSCH.

"But how did it happen?"

"Wol-sare, de broprietor vas die, and leaf de successor de pusiness, and he dells him in von mons he will go, begause he nod egsamin to be a Chimigal--so he do it, and dey dake him to de hosbital, and I tink _he_ vas die too by now!" adds BOSCH, cheerfully.

Very sad affair evidently--but a little complicated. SANDFORD would like to get to the bottom of it, but MERTON convinced there is _no_ bottom. So, between us, subject allowed to drop.

SANDFORD (now in the ascendant again) notices, as the clever boy, inscription on house-front, "Hier woonden Groen Van Prinsterer, 1838-76."

"I suppose that means Van Prinsterer lived here, Bosch?"

"Yass, dot vas it."

"And who was he?"

"He vas--wol, he vos a Member of de Barliaments."

"Was he celebrated?"

"Celebrated? oh, yaas!"

"What did he _do_?" (I think MERTON gets this in.)

"Do?" says BOSCH, quite indignantly, "he nefer do _nodings_!"

BOSCH takes me into the Fishmarket, when he directs my attention to a couple of very sooty live storks, who are pecking about at the refuse.

"Dose pirts are shtorks; hier dey vas oblige to keep alvays two shtorks for de arms of de Haag. Vhen de yong shtorks porn, de old vons vas kill."

SANDFORD shocked--MERTON sceptical.

"Keel dem? Oh, yaas, do anytings mit dem ven dey vas old," says BOSCH, and adds:--"Ve haf de breference mit de shtorks, eh?"

What _is_ he driving at?

"Yaas--ven _ve_ vas old ve vas nod kill."

This reminds BOSCH--BARLOW-like--of an anecdote.

"Dere vas a vrent to me," he begins, "he com and say to me, 'Bosch, I am god so shtout and my bark is so dick, I can go no more on my lacks--vat vas I do?' To him I say, 'Wol, I dell you vat I do mit you--I dake you at de booshair to be cot op; I tink you vas make vary goot shdeak-meat!"

Wonder whether this is a typical sample of BOSCH'S _badinage_.

"What did he say to that, Bosch?"

"Oh, he vas vair moch loff, a-course!" says BOSCH, with the natural complacency of a successful humorist.

We go into the Old Prison, and see some horrible implements of torture, which seem to exhilarate BOSCH.

"Lokeer!" he says, "Dis vas a pinition" (BOSCH for "punishment") "mit a can. Dey lie de man down and vasten his foots, and efery dime he vas shdrook mit de can, he jomp op and hit his vorehaid.... Hier dey lie down de beoples on de back, and pull dis shdring queeck, and all dese tings go roundt, and preak deir bones. Ven de pinition was feenish you vas det." He shows where the Water-torture was practised. "Nottice 'ow de vater vas vork a 'ole in de tile," he chuckles, "I tink de tile vas vary hardt det, eh?" Then he points out a pole with a spiked prong. "Tief-catcher--put 'em in de tief's nack--and get 'im!" Before a grim-looking cauldron he halts appreciatively. "You know vat dat vas for?" he says. "Dat vas for de blode-foots; put 'em in dere, yaas, and light de vire onderneat."

No idea what "_blode-foots_" may be, but from the relish in BOSCH'S tone, evidently something very unpleasant, so don't press him for explanations. We go upstairs, and see some dark and very mouldy dungeons, which BOSCH is very anxious that I should enter. Make him go in _first_, for the surroundings seem to have excited his sense of the humorous to such a degree, that he might be unable to resist locking me in, and leaving me, if I gave him a chance.

Outside at last, thank goodness! The Groote Kerk, according to BOSCH, "is not vort de see," so we don't see it. SANDFORD has a sneaking impression that I ought to go in, but MERTON glad to be let off. We go to see the pictures at the Mauritshuis instead. BOSCH exchanges greetings with the attendants in Dutch. "Got _another_ of 'em in tow, you see--and collar-work, _I_ can tell you!" would be a free translation, I suspect, of his remarks. Must say that, in a Picture-gallery, BOSCH is a superfluous luxury. He _does_ take my ignorance just a trifle too much for granted. He _might_ give me credit for knowing the story of Adam and Eve, at all events! "De Sairpan gif Eva de opple, an' Eva gif him to Adam," BOSCH carefully informs me, before a "_Paradise_," by Rubens and Brueghel.

This rouses my MERTON half to inquire what Adam did with it.

"Oh, _he_ ead him too!" says BOSCH in perfect good faith.

I do wish, too, he wouldn't lead me up to Paul Potter's "_Bull_," and ask me enthusiastically if it isn't "real meat." I shouldn't mind it so much if there were not several English people about, without couriers--but there _are_. My only revenge is (as MERTON) to carefully pick out the unsigned canvases and ask BOSCH who painted them; whereupon BOSCH endeavours furtively to make out the label on the frames, and then informs me in desperation, "it vas '_School_,'--yass, _he_ baint him!" BOSCH kindly explains the subject of every picture in detail. He tells me a Droochsloot represents a "balsham pedder." I suppose I look bewildered, for he adds--"oppen air tance mit a village." "Hier dey vas haf a tispute; dis man say de ham vas more value as de cheese--dere is de cheese, and dere is de ham." "Hier is an old man dot marry a yong vife, and two tevils com in, and de old man he ron avay." "Hier he dress him in voman, and de vife is vrighten." "Hier is Jan Steen himself as a medicine, and he veel de yong voman's polse, and say dere is nodings de madder, and the modder ask him to trink a glass of vine." "Hier is de beach at Skavening--now dey puild houses on de dunes--bot de beach is schdill dere."

Such are BOSCH'S valuable and instructive comments, to which, as representing SANDFORD and MERTON, I listen with depressed docility. All the same, can't help coming to the conclusion that Art is _not_ BOSCH'S strong point. Shall come here again--alone. We go on to the Municipal Museum, where he shows me what _he_ considers the treasures of the collection--a glass goblet, engraved "mit dails of tobaggo bipes," and the pipes themselves; a painting of a rose, "mit ade beople's faces in de leafs;" and a drawing of "two pirts mit only von foots."

Outside again. BOSCH shows me a house.

"Lokeer. In dot house leef an oldt lady all mit herself and ade sairvans. She com from Friesland, yassir."

Really, I think BOSCH is going to be interesting--at last. There is a sly twinkle in his eye, denoting some story of a scandalous but infinitely humorous nature.

"Well, Bosch, go on--what about the old lady?" I ask eagerly, as MERTON.

"Wol, Sir," says BOSCH, "she nefer go noveres."...

That's _all_! "A devilish interesting story, _Sumph_, indeed!" to quote Mr. Wagg.

But, as BOSCH frequently reminds me, "It vas pedder, you see, as a schendlemans like you go apout mit me; I dell you tings dot vas not in de guide-books." Which I am not in a position to deny.

FEELING THEIR WAY.

(A STUDY IN THE ART OF GENTEEL CONVERSATION.)

_The Drawing-room of a Margate Hotel. TIME--Evening. MRS. ARDLEIGH (of Balham), and MRS. ALLBUTT (of Brondesbury), are discovered in the midst of a conversation, in which each is anxious both to impress the other, and ascertain how far she is a person to be cultivated. At present, they have not got beyond the discovery of a common bond in Cookery._

MRS. ALLBUTT. You have the yolks of two eggs, I must tell you; squeeze the juice of half a lemon into it, and, when you boil the butter in the pan, make a paste of it with _dry_ flour.

MRS. ARDLEIGH. It sounds delicious--but you never can trust a Cook to carry out instructions exactly.

MRS. ALL. I never _do_. Whenever I want to have anything specially nice for my husband, I make a point of seeing to it myself. He appreciates it. Now _some_ men, if you cook for them, never notice whether it's you or the Cook. My husband _does_.

MRS. ARD. I wonder how you find time to do it. I'm sure _I_ should never----

MRS. ALL. Oh, it takes time, of course--but what does that matter when you've nothing to do? Did I mention just a small pinch of Cayenne pepper?--because that's a _great_ improvement!

MRS. ARD. I tell you what I like Cayenne pepper with, better than anything--and that's eggs.

MRS. ALL. (_with elegant languor_). I hardly ever eat an egg. Oysters, now, I'm _very_ fond of--_fried_, that is.

MRS. ARD. They're very nice done in the real shells. Or on scollops. We have silver--or rather--(_with a magnanimous impulse to tone down her splendour_), silver-plated ones.

MRS. ALL. How funny--so have we! (_Both women feel an increase of liking for one another._) I like them cooked in milk, too.

[_The first barrier being satisfactorily passed, they proceed,
as usual, to the subject of ailments._

MRS. ARD. My doctor _does_ do me good, I must say--he never lets me get ill. He just sees your liver's all right, and then he feeds you up.

MRS. ALL. That's like _my_ doctor; he always tells me, if he didn't keep on constantly building me up, I should go all to pieces in no time. That's how I come to be here. I always run down at the end of every Season.

MRS. ARD. (_feeling that MRS. ALLBUTT can't be "anybody very particular" after all_). What--to Margate? Fancy! Don't you find you get tired of it? _I_ should.

MRS. ALL. (_with dignity_). I didn't say I always went to Margate. On the contrary, I have never been here before, and shouldn't be here now, if my doctor hadn't told me it was my only chance.

MRS. ARD. (_reassured_). I only came down here on my little girl's account. One of those nasty croupy coughs, you know, and hoops with it. But she's almost well already. I will say it's a wonderful air. Still, the worst of Margate is, one isn't likely to meet a soul one knows!

MRS. ALL. Well, that's the charm of it--to me. One has enough of that during the Season.

MRS. ARD. (_recognising the superiority of this view_). Indeed one has. What a whirl it has been to be sure!

MRS. ALL. The Season? Why, I never remember one with so little doing. Most of the best houses closed--hardly a single really smart party--one or two weddings--and that's positively all!

MRS. ARD. (_slightly crushed, in spite of a conviction_ _that--socially speaking--Balham has been rather more brilliant than usual this year_). Yes, that's very true. I suppose the Elections have put a stop to most things?

MRS. ALL. There never was much going on. _I_ should rather have said it was Marlborough House being shut up that made everything so dull from the first.

MRS. ARD. Ah, that _does_ make such a difference, doesn't it? (_She feels she must make an effort to recover lost ground._) I fully expected to be at Homburg this year.

MRS. ALL. Then you would have met Lady Neuraline Menthol. She _was_ ordered there, I happen to know.

MRS. ARD. Really, you don't say so? Lady Neuraline! Well, that's the first _I've_ heard of it. (_It is also the first time she has heard of her, but she trusts to be spared so humiliating an admission._)

MRS. ALL. It's a fact, I can assure you. You know her, perhaps?

MRS. ARD. (_who would dearly like to say she does, if she only dared_). Well, I can hardly say I exactly _know_ her. I know _of_ her. I've met her about, and so on. (_She tells herself this is quite as likely to be true as not._)

MRS. ALL. (_who of course does not know Lady Neuraline either_). Ah, she is a most delightful person--requires _knowing_, don't you know.

MRS. ARD. So many in her position do, don't they? (_So far as she is concerned--they all do._) You'd think it was haughtiness--but it's really only _manner_.

MRS. ALL. (_feeling that she can go ahead with safety now_). I have never found anything of _that_ sort in Lady Neuraline myself (_which is perfectly true._) She's rather odd and flighty, but _quite_ a dear. By the way, _how_ sad it is about those poor dear Chutneys--the Countess, don't you know!

MRS. ARD. Ah (_as if she knew all the rest of the family_), I don't know _her_ at all.

MRS. ALL. Such a sweet woman--but the trouble she's had with her eldest boy, Lord Mango! He married quite beneath him, you know, some girl from the provinces--not a county-family girl even.

MRS. ARD. (_shocked_). Dear, dear! _not_ a county family!

MRS. ALL. No; somebody quite common--I forget the name, but it was either Gherkin or Onion, or something of that sort. I was told they had been in Chili a good while. Poor Mango never had much taste, or he would never have got mixed up with such a set. Anyway, he's got himself into a terrible pickle. I hear Capsicums is actually to be sold to pay his debts.

MRS. ALL. You don't say so! Capsicums! Gracious!

MRS. ALL. Yes, _isn't_ it a pity! Such a lovely old place as it was, too--_the_ most comfortable house to stay at in all England; so beautifully _warm_! But it's dreadful to think of how the aristocracy are taking to marry out of their own set. Look at the Duke of Dragnet--married a Miss Duckweed--goodness only knows where he picked her up! but he got entangled somehow, and now his people are trying to get rid of her. I see so many of these cases. Well, I'm afraid I must wish you good evening--it's my time for retiring. (_Patronisingly._) I've quite enjoyed the conversation--such a pleasure in a place like this to come across a genial companion!

MRS. ARD. (_fluttered and flattered_). I'm sure you're exceedingly kind to say so, and I can say the same for myself. I hope we may become better acquainted. (_To herself, after MRS. ALLBUTT has departed._) I've quite taken to that woman--she's so thoroughly the lady, and moves in very high society, too. You can tell that from the way she talks. What's that paper on the table? (_She picks up a journal in a coloured wrapper._) "_Society Snippets, the Organ of the Upper Ten. One Penny._" The very thing I wanted. It's such a comfort to know who's who. (_She opens it and reads sundry paragraphs headed "Through the Keyhole."_) Now how funny this is! Here's the very same thing about the dulness of the Season that she said. That shows she must be really in it. And a note about Lady Neuraline being about to recruit at Homburg. And another about her reputation or eccentricity, and her "sweetness to the select few privileged to be her intimates." And here's all about Lord Mango, and what a pleasant house Capsicums is, and his marriage, and the Duke of Dragnet's, too. Her information was very correct, I must say! (_A light begins to break in upon her._) I wonder whether----but there--people of her sort wouldn't require to read the papers for such things.

[_Here the door opens, and MRS. ALLBUTT appears, in some
embarrassment._

MRS. ALL. (_scrutinising the tables_). Oh, it's nothing. I thought I'd left something of mine here; it was only a paper--I see I was mistaken, don't trouble.

MRS. ARD. (_producing Society Snippets_). I expect it will be this. (_MRS. ALLBUTT'S face reveals her ownership._) I took it up, not knowing it was yours. (_Meaningly_.) It has some highly interesting information, I see.

MRS. ALL. (_slightly demoralised_). Oh, has it? I--I've not had time to glance at it yet. Pray don't let me deprive you of it. I dare say there's very little in it I don't know already.

MRS. ARD. So I should have thought. (_To herself, after MRS. ALLBUTT has retired in disorder._) Fancy that woman trying to take me in like that, and no more in Society than I am--if so much! However, I've found her out before going too far--luckily. And I've a good mind to take in this _Society Snippets_ myself--it certainly does improve one's conversation. She won't have it _all_ her own way _next_ time!

A TESTIMONIAL MANQUE.

(A SKETCH FROM THE SUBURBS.)

_THE ARGUMENT.--Mr. Hotspur Porpentine, a distinguished resident in the rising suburb of Jerrymere, has recently been awarded fourteen days' imprisonment, without the option of a fine, for assaulting a ticket-collector, who had offered him the indignity of requiring him to show his season-ticket at the barrier. The scene is a Second-Class Compartment, in which four of Mr. Porpentine's neighbours are discussing the affair during their return from the City._

MR. COCKCROFT (_warmly_). I say, Sir--and I'm sure all here will bear me out--that such a sentence was a scandalous abuse of justice. As a near neighbour, and an intimate friend of Porpentine's, I don't 'esitate to assert that he has done nothing whatever to forfeit our esteem. He's a quick-tempered man, as we're all aware, and to be asked by some meddlesome official to show his season, after travelling on the line constantly for years, and leaving it at home that morning--why--_I_ don't blame him if he _did_ use his umbrella!

MR. BALCH (_sympathetically_). Nor I. Porpentine's a man I've always had a very 'igh respect for ever since I came into this neighbourhood. I've always found him a good feller, and a good neighbour.

MR. FILKINS (_deferentially_). I can't claim to be as intimate with him as some here; but, if it isn't putting myself too far forward to say so, I very cordially beg to say ditto to those sentiments.

MR. SIBBERING (_who has never "taken to" Porpentine_). Well, he's had a sharp lesson,--there's no denying that.

MR. COCKCR. Precisely, and it occurs to me that when he--ah--returns to public life, it would be a kind thing, and a graceful thing, and a thing he would--ah--appreciate in the spirit it was intended, if we were to present him with some little token of our sympathy and unabated esteem--what do you fellers think?

MR. FILK. A most excellent suggestion, if my friend here will allow me to say so. I, for one, shall be proud to contribute to so worthy an object.

MR. BALCH. I don't see why we shouldn't present him with an address--'ave it illuminated, and framed and glazed; sort of thing he could 'ang up and 'and down to his children after him as an _heirloom_, yi-know.

MR. SIBB. I don't like to throw cold water on any proposition, but if you want _my_ opinion, I must say I see no necessity for making a public thing out of it in that way.

MR. COCKCR. I'm with Sibbering there. The less fuss there is about it, the better Porpentine'll be pleased. My idea is to give him something of daily use--a _useful_ thing, yi-know.

MR. BALCH. Useful _or_ ornamental. Why not his own portrait? There's many an artist who would do him in oils, and guarantee a likeness, frame included, for a five-pound note.

MR. SIBB. If it's to be like Porpentine, it certainly won't be _ornamental_, whatever else it is.

MR. FILK. It can't be denied that he is remarkably plain in the face. We'd better, as our friend Mr. Cockcroft here proposes, make it something of daily use--a good serviceable silk umbrella now--that's _always_ appropriate.

MR. SIBB. To make up for the one he broke over the collector's head, eh?--that's _appropriate_ enough!

MR. COCKCR. No, no; you mean well, Filkins, but you must see yourself, on reflection, that there would be a certain want of--ah--good taste in giving him a thing like that under the circumstances. I should suggest something like a hatstand--a handsome one, of course. I happen to know that he has nothing in the passage at present but a row of pegs.

MR. SIBB. I should have thought he'd been taken down enough pegs already.