_Question._ Your duty, I believe, is to protect the public from
receiving impressions--from your point of view--of a pernicious
character?
_Answer._ Certainly; and this I accomplish by reading and rejecting
what I think the public should avoid.
_Q._ How long has the office been in existence?
_A._ About a century or so.
_Q._ How did the public get on before your office came into existence?
_A._ Fairly well, especially in the days of SHAKSPEARE.
_Q._ Had the Bard of Avon to obtain a licence for the production of his
plays?
_A._ No; they were then practically edited by the public.
_Q._ Could not the public edit plays in the reign of Queen
VICTORIA with the intelligence displayed in the days of "Good
Queen BESS"?
_A._ It is impossible to say, as the question has not been tested by
experiment.
_Q._ You say that your duty is to preserve the purity of the public
taste; was that also the object of the earlier of your predecessors?
_A._ Seemingly not, as the office was called into existence to serve
as a bar to the dissemination of opinions of an entirely political
character.
_Q._ But that is not now the _raison d'être_ of the appointment?
_A._ Oh, no; for nowadays, thanks to the newspapers, politics enjoys
free trade.
_Q._ But still, the right of interference exists?
_A._ Yes, but it is only used to prevent a performer from "making up"
as a Cabinet Minister, to the annoyance of the right hon. gentleman
favoured with the attention.
_Q._ Is there any rule to guide the use of the official blue pencil?
_A._ None in particular. That emblem of concrete authority may be
diligently used for a decade, and then be laid aside for a quarter of a
century.
_Q._ Then there is no policy in the office?
_A._ None to speak of. What was wrong in 1875 may be right in 1895, and
may be wrong again at the commencement of the next century.
_Q._ But purely such an office has not gained the entire applause of
the London Press?
_A._ On the contrary, the all but universal condemnation.
_Q._ And yet when the office became vacant there were many journalistic
applicants?
_A._ Because journalists accept the situation of the hour, and make the
best of it.
_Q._ Is it possible that the candidates who have failed may find their
objection to the existence of the office stronger than ever?
_A._ It is not only possible, but probable.
_Q._ And thus any non-journalist who accepts the appointment may not
have a very pleasant time of it?
_A._ So it would appear to the casual observer.
* * * * *
_MY_ INFLUENZA.
_Monday._--This is the day I promised to go with my aunt to the first
meeting of that new Society for the Propagation of Female Suffrage
amongst the Turks. Wish I'd never promised. Don't see how I can escape.
Why, yes, good idea--the influenza! I'll have it. Almost fancy I have
a slight pain in my back, which would certainly be a symptom. I will
decide that I have a pain in my back. Send note, saying, in uncertain
weather caution is necessary; fear that I'm attacked by the prevailing
epidemic; wish every success to the good cause, and so forth. Then,
relieved in my mind, down to the club, and forget all about the old
lady.
_Tuesday._--Shall have a melancholy time this evening. Mrs.
POGSON'S At Home, with recitations. Oh lord! Daren't offend
old POGSON by refusing. It would not be so bad if there were
not the five Miss POGSONS. Of all the awful, middle-aged young
women----! Ha, by Jove! Never thought of it. Of course. The influenza.
Telegraph at once. Deeply regret, illness, and so forth. I really have
a slight pain in my back. Wonder what it is. Put on my thickest coat
when I go out.
_Wednesday._--Awful joke this influenza. Shall escape old
BLODGETT'S dinner to-night. Should have been bored to death.
Now sixpenny telegram settles it all. The only thing is I really have
a pain in my back. Reminds me of boy crying "Wolf" in the fable. Shall
stay in this evening, and keep warm by the fire.
_Thursday._--Do not feel much worse, but pain still there. Shall not
venture out. Can therefore, quite truthfully, excuse my absence from
BOREHAM'S _matinée_. Good enough fellow, BOREHAM, but
can't write a tragedy at all. So shall escape the awful infliction of
his mixed imitation of IBSEN and SHELLEY. The worst
of it is that, with this beastly pain in my back, I begin to think
my influenza is no sham at all. Stop in all day in warm room. In the
evening feel headache, as well as pain in back. Fear the worst.
_Friday._--No doubt about it. In bed. Must see the doctor. Letter
from GADSBY. Wants me to go to the theatre to-night. Jolly
party. Supper after at his house. Little dance to finish with. Jolly,
lively fellow GADSBY. Knows lots of pretty actresses, and
has all sorts of larks. Would have been good fun. And here am I in
bed! Hang the influenza! But cannot risk anything. Get JONES
fetched--JONES, M.D., my old chum. Tell him how I feel, and
say I have the influenza. "Bosh!" says he, "you've been sitting in a
draught somewhere, and got a little lumbago in your back. It's nothing.
And you've stuck in a hot room till you've got a headache for want of
fresh air. Get up and go out as soon as you can." Feel better already.
Show him GADSBY'S letter. "The very thing," says he; "I'm
going. We'll go together. With that influenza of yours, you oughtn't to
go out without someone to watch the case."
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE "SEXO-MANIA."
"We think _Lips that have Gone Astray_ the foulest novel that ever
yet defiled the English tongue; and that in absolute filth its Author
can give any modern French writer six and beat him hollow!"--_The
Parthenon._
_Fair Author_ (_to her Publisher, pointing to above Opinion of the
Press quoted in his advertisement of her Novel_). "AND PRAY, MR.
SHARDSON, WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY INSERTING _THIS_ HIDEOUS NOTICE?"
_Publisher._ "MY DEAR MISS FITZMORSE, YOU MUST REMEMBER THAT WE'VE
PAID YOU A LARGE PRICE FOR YOUR BOOK, AND BROUGHT IT OUT AT GREAT
EXPENSE--AND WE NATURALLY WISH TO SELL IT!"]
* * * * *