The country we now occupied was called New Pendy--no doubt because it
had never been written about before. It is not very necessary to
describe the lands or the people; and really the most remarkable thing
in the place was a staircase, of a very wonderful character. Let the
reader imagine, if he can, a splendid stairway, sixty-five feet from
balustrade to balustrade, consisting of two vast flights, each of one
hundred and twenty-five steps, of eight inches in height, by three feet
broad, connected by a flat resting-place sixty feet in length, and
running from the palace wall, on the edge of the precipice down to meet
a waterway or canal cut to its foot from the river. This was the great
staircase, the magnificence of which fairly took our breath away.[D]
Having described the staircase, it is only necessary to say that the New
Pendies were governed by two Queens, one of whom fell in love with Sir
HARRY and married him, quarrelled with her sister, and engaged in a
civil war which rent the country in twain. This naturally occasioned a
good deal of bloodshed. Never shall I forget the manner in which
TRYLEAPYEA (the lady who honoured Sir HARRY with her preference) wooed
that individual. When they first met they could not speak the same
language, so she took a pencil from me and made a delightful little
sketch, which I give in the margin. There is no difficulty in
recognising a bride expressing admiration at a wedding-cake.
[Illustration]
* * *
Need I say that after her marriage TRYLEAPYEA'S subjects had the most
terrible fight with the subjects of her sister SARAMARIAH, which was
chiefly waged on the staircase. This happened after I and UMBUGSOAPYGAS
had performed together a kind of "Turpin's Ride to York," from the
battlefield. ADOLPHE escaped to post these memoirs--UMBUGSOAPYGAS was
cut to pieces. Sir HENRY and BONG in his blue spectacles, were kept for
ever in the New Pendy country, and, finally, I myself was killed,
funeralled, and cremated.[E]
FOOTNOTES:
[A] _Editor._ Surely I have heard this title before, or one very similar
to it?
_Author._ No, I think not.
[B] _Editor._ Surely I have read this conversation, almost word for
word, somewhere?
_Author._ No, I think not.
[C] _Editor._ The description of the tunnel seems to have some reference
to a recent flooding of the Metropolitan Railway?
_Author._ No, I think not.
[D] _Editor._ Surely I have read this wonderfully graphic description of
a flight of steps somewhere before?
_Author._ No, I think not.
[E] _Author._ Stop, stop, this is disgraceful! Why into about a dozen
lines you have compressed two-thirds of my story! I had pages, and
pages, and pages of slaughter! If you do not print them in full, I am
sure the public will be disappointed!
_Editor._ No, I think not!
* * * * *
A RISE IN BALLOONS.--It would seem that Aerostation, with an eye to
affairs, has at length advanced to a possibility within the range of
practical enterprise. Messrs. JOVIS and MALLET, in their late balloon
ascent from Paris, were accompanied by two Guinea-Pigs. Had these
partakers of their voyage been deputed to attend that expedition in the
interest, as Directors, of an Aerial Navigation Company? And did they,
in their official capacity, get the customary guineas, and enjoy the
lunch provided as usual for their refreshment in the discharge of their
arduous duties? If so, of course, it can't be said that a balloon was a
place where those Guinea-Pigs had no business. The Balloon also
contained two Pigeons; but these perhaps were birds of a different
feather from Shareholders in a Joint-Stock speculation.
* * * * *
[Illustration: GETTING OUT OF IT.
"WHERE _ARE_ YOU GOING, GEORGE? THE OMNIBUS WILL BE HERE DIRECTLY, AND
WE'RE ALL READY TO START."
"YES, DEAREST! A--I FORGOT TO TELL YOU--I WAS TO MEET BROWN AT THE CLUB
ABOUT _THOSE SHARES_, YOU KNOW, _UNLESS HE TELEGRAPHED TO THE CONTRARY_.
MOST _IMPORTANT_! BUT DON'T TROUBLE ABOUT ME--I'LL GET DOWN BY A LATER
TRAIN, IN TIME FOR SUPPER."]
* * * * *
A "GOOD GUN."
[Illustration: A "GOOD GUN."
S-L-SB-RY. "I SAY, OLD FELLOW, I WISH YOU'D COME AND JOIN US, AFTER
LUNCH!!"
H-RT-NGT-N. "WELL--ER--FACT IS--I'M WAITING TO SEE IF MY PARTY'S COMING
UP!!"]
* * *
SCENE--_The Moors. A Shooting Party at Lunch._
_Sm-th (throwing himself down)._ Oh! I am so tired!
_B-lf-r (stretching himself languidly)._ So am I!
_Sm-th._ Oh, _you_ are _always_ tired, aren't you? Look so, anyhow.
Haven't been exerting yourself much, so far as I have seen, up to now.
_B-lf-r._ My dear fellow, you have yet to learn that hurry is not pace,
and that fuss is not business.
_S-l-sb-ry._ Well, boys, don't squabble, but lunch. We've _all_ done
pretty badly, up to now, and unless we do better before
sundown,----[_Sighs and sips._
_Sm-th (sorrowfully)._ Yes, that's very true. [_Sips and sighs._
_B-lf-r._ Well, I'm glad it's lunch-time anyhow, for I'm fairly baked.
_Sm-th._ Nip of Irish, B.?
_B-lf-r._ Irish be--_proclaimed_! Sick of the very name of Irish. _Do_
let's forget it for awhile, and hand me the J. J., there's a good
fellow.
_S-l-sb-ry (musing)._ Humph! Pretty pair of Sportsmen! Empty rotundity,
and linked languor long drawn out. Wonder what DIZZY would have thought
of such a pair of guns, especially of "his successor." _Tracy Tupman_
emulating _Mr. Winkle_.
_Sm-th._ Eh? What? Beg pardon, S-L-SB-RY, I'm _not_ forty-winking.
_S-l-sb-ry._ Not at all, not at all. I was--ahem!--saying what a
_Winkle_--ah--M-TTH-WS is!
_B-lf-r (disgustedly)._ Oh, M-TTH-WS! Missed every bird he's tried at.
Pity all burglars are not as bad shots as he. Couldn't hit a constable
at ten yards.
_S-l-sb-ry (drily)._ Not if he _tried_. I never feel safe at twenty. If
he hasn't peppered us all round, it isn't _his_ fault.
_Sm-th._ And--ahem--G-SCH-N hasn't turned out _quite_ the success we
expected, eh? That last miss of his was rather a bad one.
_S-l-sb-ry._ Humph! perhaps. Still, I wish he'd brought one or two of
his friends with him.
_B-lf-r._ Well, perhaps they'll join us later on.
_S-l-sb-ry (aside)._ I _hope_ so. Not much prospect of a decent bag if
they don't, I fear. Fact is, my party this year's a failure. Scarcely a
good gun among them. Finest and largest shooting-ground we've had for
years, and _yet_ we can't make a bag. Adjoining Moor supposed to be an
absolute failure, and yet the party who've taken it--on most Liberal
terms I hear, and with little hope of good sport--are picking up birds
like fun. Pop, pop, pop, pop! and every bang a bird. Old G. getting
quite cock-a-whoop about it. Fancies he'll top us at the end of the
shoot. Quite wrong, of course. Now that, at last, we've really dropped
upon that rascally gang of Irish poachers who had leagued themselves
together to play the mischief with our Moor, I guess we shall astonish
G.'s party a trifle. _They_ wink at the poaching Paddies. Most
unsportsmanlike conduct I ever heard of. What'll they do, _now_, I
wonder? Still we can't afford to go on muffing and missing _too_ long.
Bang! There goes another. And one of our birds, too, I'll be bound.
Hillo! by Jove, there's H-RT-NGT-N, sauntering this way, and by himself,
too. Something like a shot, _he_ is, and, if he'd join us--well, well,
we shall see. Looks, as usual, as though he didn't care a single tomtit
for things in general, and shooting in particular. Often lets a bird go
from sheer indifference, but seldom misses one from lack of skill. Sure
he can't be comfortable with _that_ lot--indeed, he owns it. And they
don't like his friendliness with us. Why can't he join us, and have done
with it?
_H-rt-ngt-n (approaching)._ Ah! there they are. And a jolly lot of
Sportsmen they look. Poor S-L-SB-RY, I pity him. Ought to have swept the
Moors. Birds plentiful, and lots of guns. But no shots. Doosed awkward.
Know what it is to shoot with a party one doesn't get on with. Our party
not the right sort now; awfully mixed--doesn't suit me a bit. G. has let
in too many outsiders. If they'd rally round me now, and let me pick
'em! But the picked rallyers are so precious few, and the rest, instead
of closing up to me, seem to be tailing off after GL-DST-NE, somehow,
confound 'em! One _Ch-mb-rl-n_ doesn't make a shooting party, even
with BR-GHT thrown in. Don't want to shoot against S-L-SB-RY, though,
I'm sure. Much rather drive the birds his way. But join him!--humph!
_S-l-sb-ry (hailing)._ Hillo, H-RT-NGT-N, old man, how are you? All
alone? Where's your party?
_H-rt-ngt-n._ Oh! they're along behind there, somewhere. How are _you_
getting on?
_S-l-sb-ry._ Oh, pre-e-t-ty well--considering. Hardly got our hands in
yet,--some of us (_significantly_). Birds a bit shy, too. But we shall
get among them presently, and then!----(_sotto voce_). I say old
fellow, why don't you join us--after lunch? _Capital_ shooting-ground,
but, ahem!--some of our fellows a _leetle_ wild, and one or two regular
cockneys. I wan't a real good gun or two badly, and then we should be
safe for a splendid bag. (_Aloud._) Come, old fellow, what do you say?
_H-rt-ngt-n._ Tha-a-nks. Awfully kind, I'm sure. But--ah--fact is, I'm
just waiting to see if my Party's coming up. [_Left waiting._
* * * * *
[Illustration: RAILWAY STATION PUZZLE. TO FIND A SEAT.]
* * * * *
RICHARD JEFFERIES.
LOVER of Nature, whom her lovers love,
Those who were dear to thee to them are dear:
The world's hard way to lift their lives above
Is a clear duty, welcome as 'tis clear.
And if for every page of pure delight,
Those fine and faithful fingers wrought for all,
There came the slenderest gift, the poorest mite,
More lightly on those stricken hearts might fall,
The weight of sore bereavement, hard to bear,
E'en when, as here, all men its sorrow share.
* * * * *
OGRES IN DAIRYLAND.--Everybody has heard of Fairy Rings, which have a
sweetly Arcadian sound. But "_Dairy_ Rings" do not savour of Arcadia,
save, perchance, in the sense suggested by the stock quotation,
"_Arcades ambo_--blackguards both." The function of "Dairy Rings," it
seems, is artificially and injuriously to keep up the cost of produce.
Not until they are broken up will people really get "Milk
Below"--monopoly prices.
* * * * *
RAPTURE.
(_By a Radical._)
MR. CHAMBERLAIN (in the debate on the Lords' Amendments to the Land
Bill) said, "he had never regarded the House of Lords as the special
representatives of the community, that he would very much have
preferred that an Amendment in the interests of the community should
have proceeded from another quarter, that they were Commons' House
of Parliament, and that it was they who had to look after the
interests of the community, and not the House of Lords."
(_Opposition Cheers._)
HOORAY! This is rather more like the old JOE,
Whom as pet of the Peers his old friends hardly know.
Does "cushioned ease" tire him already,--so soon?
Is "gentlemen" chumship no longer a boon?
Can zeal for the Union no longer determine,
The Birmingham champion to back up the ermine?
This snub to the Peers is decidedly handsome,
We'll soon have JOE talking once more about "ransom."
Oh! Spalding was splendid, and Bridgeton was brave,
And GROSVENOR'S defeat made the Unionists rave;
TOM SAYERS ne'er landed his foe such a "oner,"
As SALISBURY had at the hands of our BRUNNER;
But neither the news of Gladstonian gain,
Of TREVELYAN'S return, or the tantrums of CAINE,
To Radical bosoms such a rapture affords,
As Brummagem JOE once more smiting the Lords!
* * * * *
CON. FOR THE CONNUBIALLY INCLINED.--What is the difference between an
accepted and a rejected offer of marriage? The first leads to the
Matrimonial Knot; the second is the Matrimonial Not.
* * * * *
"Bon Voyage!"
MR. CAINE, who is tired Party knots of unravelling,
Is off, so 'tis said, round the world to be travelling.
Let's hope that much clearing of temper and brain
May result from this new sort of "Wanderings of CAIN(E)".
* * * * *
[Illustration: IN THE CAUSE OF ART.
_Patron._ "WHEN ARE YER GOIN' TO START MY WIFE'S PICTURE AND MINE?
'CAUSE, WHEN THE 'OUSE IS UP WE'RE A GOIN'----"
_Artist._ "OH, I'LL GET THE CANVASES AT ONCE, AND----"
_Patron (millionnaire)._ "CANVAS! 'ANG IT!--NONE O' YER CANVAS FOR ME!
PRICE IS NO OBJEC'! I CAN AFFORD TO PAY FOR SOMETHING BETTER THAN
CANVAS!!" [_Tableau!_]]
* * * * *
THE ARTIST'S HOLIDAY;
OR, A BRUSH WITH THE POLICE.
_Start for Isle of Wight._--Market for Pictures so depressed, can only
afford a fortnight away from Town this Summer. Never mind! Intend to
have a high old time while it lasts. Shall travel over the whole
Island--Cowes, Ryde, Ventnor, Shanklin, Alum Bay, and the Needles.
Travelling suggests that I'm my own "traveller"--in the Oil and Colour
line! Mustn't mention this joke to my aristocratic customers, however.
_On the Way Down._--Read in my favourite newspaper--"Art is a fanciful
and captious mistress, exacting many sacrifices from her servants, and
not infrequently putting them to considerable inconvenience." Sounds
unpleasant. Wish people wouldn't write like this. True, perhaps, but not
edifying. Writer goes on to say of Artists that "Respectability is
arrayed in arms against them, because their ways are not as those of its
smug and unimaginative votaries." (Rather a good hit that--"smug and
unimaginative;"--writer not such a fool as I thought.) "Mrs. GRUNDY
sniffs at them with righteous scorn, because their appearance, bearing,
and habits, are not measurable by the standards of propriety." (I should
hope not, indeed!) "The subaltern administrators of the law regard them
with suspicion"--Humbug! Throw paper down in disgust. Never been
interfered with by a policeman in my life. What is there in _me_ to
excite suspicion, I should like to know? Should write to Author of that
article, and tell him he's an ass, only can't afford to waste a stamp
just now.
_Southampton._--Go on board boat for Ryde. Curious. Three men following
me about everywhere! On stepping on to Ryde pier, they make a pounce on
me. Ask to see my luggage. It seems they are "subaltern administrators
of the law," disguised. I refuse to give up my keys; in order to mollify
them, make a joke, and tell them "they can't Ryde the high horse here."
Only reply they make is to break my bag open. Very objectionable. Crowd
evidently think I'm a London thief, and hoot at me.
Ask Detectives if they think I look like a Dynamiter? They say nothing,
and wink. Seem to look on my question as a "leading," or rather a
misleading, one. Thank Heaven! There's nothing suspicious in my
Gladstone bag. But, as these are Government emissaries, perhaps the mere
possession of a "Gladstone" bag is considered to connect me in some
mysterious way with Parnellism, and so with crime. Is there such a thing
as a "Salisbury" bag? Wish I'd got one if there is. Perhaps it would be
a good move to tell them I'm a Unionist. They reply (gruffly) "they
don't want none of my gab," and that _they_ intend to find out what I am
precious quick.
_At Police Station._--(To which I've been taken, through a howling mob!)
Bag opened. Several things appear to excite suspicion. Palette inspected
carefully. If it hadn't been for bad success of my last humorous remark,
should tell my captors that "I've no _palate_ for conspiracy." My box of
brushes regarded as highly questionable. Suggests obvious
sporting-riddle--Why do they think I've been in at the death (of
somebody or other?)--Answer: _because I've got the brush!_ Bottle of
Chinese White at once impounded. Considered to contain "an explosive
composition," it seems. Detectives convey it carefully to middle of
large field, and bury it, until Colonel MAJENDIE can come down from
Town. What, however, is regarded as greatest proof of my nefarious
tendencies is a picture of London Bridge in my portfolio. Detective asks
triumphantly--"What made you draw that there bridge if you ain't a
Fenian, now?" I reply "it's only a pot-boiler." Answer considered so
very incriminating that I am immediately handcuffed and put in a cell.
Never realised before what a very "fanciful and captious mistress," Art
is, or what idiots "the subaltern administrators of the law" are capable
of making of themselves.
_Three Days Later._--Liberated! Am told it was "all a mistake." Chinese
White bottle proved not to contain anything dangerous to human life.
Pot-boiler restored me, slightly soiled. No excuses or apologies
made--sent away with a "free pardon!" And this is England! Ah, they
manage some things better in France!
* * * * *
ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.
EXTRACTED FROM
THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.
[Illustration]
_House of Lords, Monday, August 15._--Some ordinary business on Agenda,
but importance dwarfed by imposing demonstration made by WEMYSS. Session
really coming to a close. WEMYSS has done his share of speech-making.
According to DENMAN has appropriated more than fair share. Nevertheless,
he finds in Mid-August quite an accumulation of odds and ends omitted
from speeches prepared during last two years. If he doesn't work them
off this Session will be out of date by next. That no insuperable
objection to delivering speech in House of Lords; still, freshness and
appropriateness not altogether without weight. How shall he dispose of
the accumulated treasure? Thought once of publishing it in single
Volume, call it "Jubilee Thoughts, by Earl of WEMYSS;" or "Peerless Wit
and Wisdom, by a Peer." Found publishers not anxious to undertake
proposal. Jubilee, they said, beginning to pall, too many books about of
Wit and Wisdom. Happy thought! Why not throw the scraps into form of
speech, and favour House of Lords with it? Some of the topics little
ancient and continuity of thought difficult to simulate; but propose to
"call attention to Socialistic legislation during the Sessions of 1886
and 1887." That will cover everything.
So arranged, and to-night, as soon as immaterial business disposed of,
WEMYSS rose, and began his speech. Audience of eighteen, to begin with.
Gradually diminished, till there remained, for fifth and final
peroration, only four. Was a tremendous speech--bloodcurdling,
convincing, and delivered with much animation. Never was a nation in
such peril. Before Great Britain lay only Black Night and Despair.
Might have been expected that, when WEMYSS sat down, there would have
been eager competition for precedence to take up the thread of debate so
solemnly launched. But he'd overdone it. So terrified the few Peers
present, that none could speak. Looked at each other with fitful,
fearful glances. One by one they rose, and tremblingly tottered out.
WEMYSS left in solitary possession of House, filled only with echoes of
his fearsome jeremiad. Thus closed this memorable one-speech debate.
LORD CHANCELLOR retaining presence of mind sufficient to adjourn the
House, WEMYSS picked up his notes, and went forth, probably to prepare
for his own flight from the doomed country.
_Business done._--In Commons, Mines Bill in Committee.
[Illustration: Columbus, M. P.]
_House of Commons, Tuesday._--JOHN MANNERS in his place to-night.
Everyone glad to see him back again; Liberals, Conservatives,
Dissentients, Unionists, whatever we be, all unite in saying a friendly
word to JOHN on his convalescence.
Another arrival greeted with more mixed feelings. BRUNNER, flushed by
his great victory in Northwich, comes up to be sworn in. Tremendous
cheering on Liberal side. Dead silence among Ministerialists. Old
Morality gazes up at glass roof with preoccupied air; thoughts far away
from Westminster or Northwich either. CAINE, looking on from Bar, turns
his back, and marches forth.
"Another blessing in disguise," says he. "I think now I'll go off to
Japan, and see how they're getting on with their projected Parliamentary
Institutions. Might get some hints for forming our National Party."
[Illustration: T. B-rt.]
Crimes Bill on again. Committee pegging away far into tomorrow. A good
business-like debate, but a little dull. Minority of between seventy and
eighty industriously tried to carry Amendments moved by BURT and others.
Majority, varying between 120 and 140, thinking matter over in privacy
of smoke-room, news-room, and terrace, come up with minds fully made up
on points of detail, and always vote with Ministers. BURT, beaten again
and again, comes back to scratch, looking, towards half-past two in the
morning, a little broken down, but still full of fight.
_Business done._--Mines Bill.
_Thursday._--House of Lords deserves well of its country. Is setting
Commons example it will do well to follow. On Monday, as noted, WEMYSS
made long speech, and, no one rising to follow in debate, House
forthwith adjourned. Same thing happened on Tuesday when DENMAN
introduced beneficent proposals for limiting speeches. Met with success
beyond his wildest expectations. Had asked that duration of speeches
might be strictly limited. Lords with one accord forthwith accepted
principle. Applied it so strictly that, as LORD CHANCELLOR in his
epigrammatic way put it, "speeches were limited to silence." In fact no
one spoke at all. DENMAN had debate all to himself, and House adjourned.
So pleased with this arrangement that it was carried a step further
to-night. Only one speech was made. Was delivered from Woolsack. So
brief may be quoted _verbatim_:--
"House will now adjourn," said LORD CHANCELLOR.
That was all, and noble Lords dispersed.
"Most pleasant, informing and useful sitting we've had for many
Sessions," said BUCKINGHAM to CHANDOS.
"_Allons!_" said STRATHEDEN to CAMPBELL, "let us go and visit those
foolish Commons who waste their time in much speaking."
Commons crowded and animated. Evidently no prospect here of foregoing
speech-making. Sixty-eight questions on paper to begin with. GEORGE
CAMPBELL, his mind athirst for information, wanted to know from
President of Board of Trade what was the meaning of "allotment."
RITCHIE, with elbow leaning negligently on box, and legs crossed,
mockingly referred the ingenuous Knight to _Johnson's Dictionary_.
Curiously reminiscent of _Mephistopheles_ bantering _Faust_, was RITCHIE
as he looked across at CAMPBELL.
Old Morality announced abandonment of various Government measures,
dropping tear over each. Emotion became monotonous towards tenth tear,
and Opposition rudely laughed. But Old Morality had his revenge later.
Quite a long time since he has "pounced." But as midnight drew on, and
little progress made, began to grow desperate. CHAMBERLAIN suddenly
turned upon his allies, attacked them in rattling speech. Even voted
against them when Division called. Government majority went down from
customary hundred to alarming forty-two. Then Old Morality, goaded to
madness, "pounced" right and left. HARCOURT stirred up GOSCHEN with long
pole; BALFOUR yawned ostentatiously when DILLON convicted him of
ignorance of Irish affairs; PARNELL pounded away; T. W. RUSSELL withdrew
from alliance with Government; TIM HEALY chuckled; JOSEPH GILLIS
alternately jeered and groaned. But Old Morality came out victor.
Whenever lull occurred he moved Closure, and so presently wound up
sitting.
[Illustration: Mephistopheles, M. P.]
_Business done._--Split between "Dissentient Liberals" and Government.
_Friday._--House not so full to-night. Rumour about that there was
something to fore in Lords. Members migrated thither. Only a few Peers
present. Markiss rose, and in matter-of-fact tone, as if offering
observation on state of weather, announced Proclamation of National
League. Fifteen Peers present successfully controlled emotion, and
passed on to ordinary business. Commons, penned in Gallery above, and
crowded at Bar below, rushed to own House, carrying news with them.
Arrived just in time to hear HANBURY question Government on quite other
subject. HANBURY'S hawk eye had discovered in the Estimates vote for
salary of Master of Hawks. Wanted to know who he was, what he did for a
living, and how many hawks he might have to deal with in course of year.
Frank and somewhat startling disclosure from Treasury Bench. The
existence of Master of Hawks admitted; regular payment of his salary
confessed. Only hitch was that there were no hawks. Still, there have
been hawks in time of STUARTS. An impecunious nobleman had obtained
office, with reversion to eldest son; and so, through the ages,
unsuspecting taxpayer had subscribed salary. House so ashamed to
discover its remissness as custodian of Public purse, that, by common
consent, subject dropped. But silent resolution taken that noble
Hawk-master shall have drawn his salary for last time.
Then BALFOUR confirmed statement made in other House about Proclamation
of National League. Announcement received, on the whole, in grim
silence, also not without its portent. House then took up Allotments
Bill, with which it wrestled in business fashion for rest of sitting.
_Business done._--National League Proclaimed.
* * * * *
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
(_Shakspeare adapted to "The Times."_)
"Oppression hath made up this League."
_King John_, Act iii., Scene 1.
_Angelo_ ... Lord S-L-SB-RY.
_Escalus_ ... B-LF-R.
_Escalus._ Every leader it hath writ hath disvouched other.
_Angelo._ In most uneven and distracted manner. Its actions show much
like to madness: pray heaven its wisdom be not tainted. Yet can we own
ourselves beaten, and redeliver our authority?
_Esc._ I guess not.
_Ang._ And why should we proclaim it a few days before our departure,
that if any crave redress of injustice, they must not exhibit their
discontent in the street?
_Esc._ It shows its reason for that: to have a despatch of complaints;
and to deliver us from devices hereafter, which shall then have no power
to stand against us.
_Ang._ Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaimed!
* * * * *
A TALE OF ARABI.--The recent unsuccessful effort to secure the release
of ARABI PASHA, recalls the trial of that unfortunate Egyptian when he
was so ably defended by a distinguished member of the British Bar. On
that occasion, to put it Broadley, he was more of a patriot than a
criminal.
* * * * *
"_ECLIPSE_ first, the rest nowhere," is a celebrated racing record. The
disappointed astronomers of Europe, last Friday, modified the
_mot_--"Eclipse nowhere" is the common burden of their reports.
* * * * *
MOTTO FOR AGRICULTURISTS.--Set a parasite (_the Chalcis fly to wit_) to
catch a parasite (_the Hessian ditto_).
* * * * *
A BURNING QUESTION.
_By Our Own Cricket Enthusiast._
"The four Counties in whose doings the interest of the Cricketing
public is centred, were all hard at work yesterday. [Friday, August
19.] Yorkshire doing very badly against Surrey at the Oval, and
Nottinghamshire showing to considerable disadvantage with Lancashire
at Old Trafford."--_Daily News._
OH, don't talk to me of the close of the Session, or who's to be
Premier, perchance, in the next one;
Those questions, no doubt, may excite party spouters, but there is a
far more important and vext one.
The Cricketing Season draws fast to a close; the rain's come at last
with inopportune bounty.
And there is a question eclipsing all others,--which, _which_ for this
year will be Premier County?
It's narrowing down,--oh, it's narrowing down, and it grows more
soul-harrowing every minute,
For Surrey and Lancashire, Yorkshire and Notts are the only four
Counties a man can call "in it."
Trent-Bridge is astir with a fever of fidgets, the Tykes are all hurry,
and worry, and flurry,
Old Trafford is all upon thorns, and, by Jove, what excitement there is
at the Oval in Surrey!
HORNBY and HAWKE cannot sleep of a night, and their nerves into coolness
in vain strive to tutor;
GLADSTONE and SALISBURY'S rivalry's child's-play compared with the ditto
of SHERWIN and SHUTER.
Plague upon Jupiter Pluvius! _Why_ did he not hang aloof just a week or
two longer?
Oh, don't talk to me of your turnips and things,--what are they to the
question which team is the stronger?
Glorious season for Cricket all round, as is proved by the lots of
Leviathan scoring,
And now, hang it all, at the very identical point when it comes to the
pinch, it is pouring.
Cockshies all chance, every average crabs, this detestable deluge.
Slow wickets and sticky.
Muck even the great ARTHUR SHREWSBURY'S play, and make WALTER READ'S
chance of top-average dicky,
ARTHUR'S two centuries _plus_ sixty-seven, falls off to a pitiful
seven-and-twenty,
And BARLOW and BRIGGS have it all their own way; three "ducks" in one
innings--of Notts men--seems plenty.
Look at poor Yorkshire again! MARTIN HAWKE did his best to choose right,
but caked wickets _plus_ LOHMANN,
Are far too long odds e'en for ULYETT and HALL; and who can foresee
English weather? Why, no man.
Wants a cool sticker like SCOTTON to stand it. Eh? Gives the poor
bowlers a look in? Oh, granted,
Good trundling's a part of the game to be sure, but you see at this
crisis it's _scoring_ that's wanted,
Dashes the 'gazers, this downing the wickets like nine-pins in swamp
with muck-moisture afloat all,
And then ninety-two for a tall-scoring team like our Notts, you must
own's a contemptible total,
Middlesex plays in and out; lots of scorers like WEBBE, STODDART, LUCAS,
O'BRIEN, and VERNON.
But ROBERTSON, BURTON, and WEST want assistance as bowlers, and
bowling's a thing wins will turn on.
Gloucester's slap out of it. Pity poor GRACE with a team he can seldom
bring up to the scratch, Sir,
So that, in spite of his own startling scores, the, at one time,
"Invincibles" scarce win a match, Sir,
Sussex,--well, QUAIFE is a promising bat, and you always may look for
some notches from NEWHAM,
Whilst J. and A. HIDE are a host in themselves; but good fortune this
season has failed to pursue 'em.
Kent, with Lord HARRIS, the family of HEARNES, and RASHLEIGH, with
credit should carry field matters on,
But this year they'll not be at top of the tree, 'spite the bowling of
WOOTON, the smiting of PATTERSON.
Leicester has got a good trundler in POUGHER, but one bowler won't
make a good (Cricket) summer,
Whilst Derbyshire's CHATTERTON, CROPPER, and RATCLIFF don't make her,
at present, the new (Cricket) comer.
As for game Essex,--well, evergreen GREEN, who has done in his day
some redoubtable cricket,
Will own he will not have a look in _this_ year, e'en with BUXTON,
and BISHOP, and BRYAN, and PICKETT.
No, we must still look to one of the four; and oh, what a lot hope that
one will be Surrey,
Fancy the spirits of GRIFFITH and SOUTHERTON--(chums of that "barn-door"
whom no one could flurry,
Stout little JUPP)--must just now haunt the Oval, or hold ghostly
confabulations at Mitcham,
Discussing the way in which SHUTER'S lot cut 'em and drive 'em, and
swipe 'em, and place 'em, and pitch 'em.
And oh! _if_ smart SHUTER, crack READ, steady LOHMANN, and
swift-footed MAURICE, and cat-like young ABEL
_Should_ once more put Surrey at top of the tree, won't the Oval
just be a tumultuous Babel?
[Illustration: Woo "Ton."]
[Illustration: "Baa low!"]
[Illustration: "'Ull yet?"]
[Illustration: "Hide!"]
[Illustration: The Family "Urn."]
[Illustration: Puffer.]
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