advice.
During a lull Puffin spoke.
"_Let_ Mr. Gasper have his solo in the first part. I flatter myself I
can face the inferior position without any fear."
"You are _so_ modest," retorted the delighted Gasper. "Put it down,
Basscleff. SOLO (_Cornet_) 'The Wind from the Sea,' _Vulvini_--George
Gasper, Esq."
"That's _my_ solo," shouted Puffin; "and I'll play it!"
* * * * *
Spare me the recital of the ensuing scene.
"Listen to _me_," said the Triangle, maliciously. "We must come to hard
facts, I plainly see. The truth is, the difference between Mr. Gasper
and Mr. Puffin (both admirable performers) has assumed the aspect of
direct rivalry; I may go so far as to say, antagonism. Laudable, so far
as art is concerned; lamentable for the ill-feeling promoted. I suggest
that, for the setting at rest of the unfortunate dispute, and the better
spirit of the Society, it be arranged that the two gentlemen _do_ play
the same solo at the same concert."
Loud shouts, of varied sentiment, followed this daring speech.
"A moment, please," cried the Doctor; "as Treasurer of this Musical
Society I may state that our financial condition is not so satisfactory
as it might be: if this competition gets wind--I mean, of course, if
people get to know of it, we shall have an enormous house."
After some disputing, it was agreed that there was cogency in the
Doctor's suggestion.
Other members were appeased with situations in the programme more or
less prominent, but when the twenty-four items had been satisfactorily
arranged, and the club separated, the general feeling was that the
interest of the concert, and the stake at issue, were the competitive
performances of Messrs. Puffin and Gasper.
The evening of the concert arrived: so did Doctor Martel at my rooms:
the little man was suffused with delight.
"My dear fellow!" he chuckled, "it'll be the funniest thing you ever
saw. I've been running to and fro all the week. Now to Gasper, now to
Puffin. 'You should hear Puffin phrase that passage about the 'wind
moaning,' said I to Gasper, 'it's tiptop,' and Gasper grinds his teeth.
Then I go to Puffin and say, 'Gasper's devoting himself to making a hit,
old man; the way he imitates the surge of the wave in the passage 'The
wild wave answers the winds,' will 'fetch' them, and no mistake!' and
Puffin turns pale."
"What does it all portend?" asked I.
"Wait and see, my lad," said the sly Doctor. "Wait and see."
* * * * *
Eight o'clock! and I meet Puffin as I enter the "Artists' Room." I play
the _violino secondo_. I am nobody.
"Well," say I, "how do you feel?"
"Never mind," says the astute Puffin; "I bide my time! _Only_ (mark my
words), Gasper won't score as heavily as he expects." With these dark
words he vanishes.
The next moment I am face to face with Gasper.
"How do you feel?" I ask of _him_.
"Don't worry about _me_," replies Gasper. "I'm not afraid that Puffin
will cover himself with glory, after all." And Gasper retires.
We had a wonderful "house" that night. The "competition" _had_ been
noised abroad, and the wily doctor's surmises were fulfilled. There was
a Puffin and a Gasper faction ready to do battle for its respective
champion when the clarion of defiance rang out from the platform.
I pass the overture, a solo on the clarionet, which reduced the pug-nose
of Lipsey to a severe aquiline during its performance; a flute and
violin _duo_, and etc. The time had come for "The Wind from the Sea"
(_George Gasper Esq._). The favourite performer was hailed with shouts
of delight. The Puffin faction smiled silently.
The opening bars of the symphony were played by the pianist.
Gasper advanced with a half-restrained smile of self-satisfaction, and
after some singular contortions of his lips began to play the _scena_
for the cornet.
But no sound followed his laboured effort! Again, and again, red in the
face, and furious, he essayed to produce a note from his silver
instrument. It was dumb!
Not so the Puffin section of the audience; the titter soon became a
laugh, the laugh a shout, and finally with a stamp, and a diabolical
expression, Mr Gasper gave up the game, and retreated amidst a howl of
displeasure.
Meanwhile where was Puffin? Never mind.
Slowly went on the programme, till the item for which Mr. Puffin was
"set down" arrived in its place.
More sensation in the audience. Puffin section cock-a-hoop. Similar
symphony on the part of the pianist, and the placid Puffin, a foregone
victory shaping his lips into a half-concealed smile, put his cornet to
his mouth, and----
Well! while the audience was fighting its way out, half hysterical with
laughter (for the performance of Mr. Puffin had only reproduced Mr.
Gasper's failure), I was the unwilling witness of a "set-to" between the
rival cornet-players, who, having discovered that each had,
respectively, placed a cork up the principal tube of his opponent's
instrument, so far agreed, as to differ as to the justice of the
process. From the appearance of their upper lips, I am sure no solos
were to be apprehended for weeks to come. But, before our next club
meeting, Messrs. Gasper and Puffin had retired.
I don't belong to any musical clubs now.
(_By permission of the Author._)
THE PROVINCIAL LANDLADY.
H. CHANCE NEWTON.
Oh, dear Mister Editor, sir, if you please, they say you're a kind and
humanious gent, sir,
Which listens attentive to troubles and woes sech as worry an
'ard-working woman like me;
I'm worrited dreadful from morning to night with working and toilin'
and sech,--which the rent, sir,
Is not always quite so forthcoming as I, with my fam'ly, would wish
it to be!
Which I keeps a big house in the square, sir, not five minits' walk
from the R'yal Theaytre,
Jest oppersit Muggins's Music-hall, sir, which its "public" is known
as the "Linnet and Lamb"--
But I am a lamb, sir, to stand it as I do, a-working away up till
midnight, or later,
For a lot of purfessional folks, which the best of the bunch, sir, is
nothing but sham!
From them music-hall people as lodges with me is a set which I'm sure,
sir, is simply outragious,
A-rushin' all over the house when I've scrubbed it and cleaned it jest
like a new pin;--
And as for them second-floor folks (which is niggers) believe me their
conduct is something rampagious,
A-larkin' all over the landing, a-spoilin' the paper,--it's really a sin!
And the party wot sings comic songs, sir, goes in and out shouting
whenever he pleases,
And the next floor (the serio-comic)--well, there, she's a stuck-up,
impertinent miss,
Which the last ones as had them apartments wos folks as performed on
the "flyin' trapeeses,"
And went away two pun' thirteen in my debt, and I've never beheld 'em
from that day to this.
Than there's that ventrillikist party, as imitates different voices,
and that, sir,--
He frightens me out of my wits, which I'm sure as I haven't too many
to spare;
And as for that Muggins's chairman, I frequently finds him asleep on
the mat, sir,
Which I characterises behaviour like that as werry disgraceful and
shocking--so there!
Then the Sisters Mac-Jones (them duettists) comes bouncin' all over
the place, quite disdainful,
A fault-findin' day after day, sir, dressed up in their fal-de-rals,
looking like guys;
And the party that sings sentimental goes on in a way as to me, sir,
is painful,
He smokes a long pipe in the garding, which dreadful proceedings I
can't but despise.
Then a troop which I think is called ackribacks, knocks my best parlour
to rack and to ruin,
A-chucking of summersets over my splendid meeogany tables and chairs;
Why to-day they all stood on their heads in the passage: "Good gracious,"
I shouted, "why what are you doin'?"
When they twisted their legs round their necks, sir, made faces, and told
me to toddle downstairs!
Which I don't wish to make a remark, sir, that might be unpleasant, but
while I was at it
I thought as I'd mention the matters that cause me continual worry and
din,
For if you excuse the expression, I ses, as for lettin' of lodgins',--oh,
drat it!
"_If it wasn't for makin' it out of their board_," sir,--by jingers, I'd
never let lodgins' agin!
(_From_ "THE PENNY SHOWMAN," _by permission of the Author and_
MR. SAMUEL FRENCH.)
MY MATRIMONIAL PREDICAMENT.
LEOPOLD WAGNER.
I dare say a great many men in my situation would think themselves
highly honoured; but, however this may strike others, I fell bound to
confess that I am far from happy. The truth is, I have become so
entangled in the meshes of a really romantic love affair, that I can see
no possible hope of freeing myself. Let me hasten to explain.
About twelve months ago I engaged myself to a pretty young girl, who,
out of sheer fickleness--it could have been nothing else--jilted me. I
was much cut up at the time, since I had learnt to grow very fond of
her. A little while after, I began to take an interest in another pretty
girl whom I came in contact with almost daily; but, as I had no means of
getting properly introduced to her, I never spoke. By-and-by she
disappeared, and I soon forgot her. Things went on with me in the usual
way until, suddenly growing tired of my lonely existence, I advertised
for "a nice young girl, thoroughly domesticated, able and willing to
make a good-looking young bachelor happy;" adding, "Previous experience
not necessary." In this way I actually found one who answered my
expectations to the letter. We met, took the usual walks; and in the
course of a week or two, I could see she loved me with her whole heart.
The arrangments for our wedding were soon made. I procured the ring and
keeper; then put up the banns. Now the house I live in is peculiarly
situated. When I lie in bed, my head is in Blankshire, while my feet
extend over the boundary-line into Chumpshire. This may appear a slight
matter enough; and yet, I fancy, that if hard times should ever overtake
me, I would have two different parishes to fall back upon. However, I
found it necessary to publish the banns in both parishes; added to which
my _fiancee_, who is, or rather was, a lady's maid, a mile or two away
in another direction, must needs put them up in her own parish also. So
that I ought to reckon myself very much married, when it's all over. But
here comes my predicament.
I forgot to mention that the girl who jilted me is godmother to my
landlady's new baby. This slight relationship enables my landlady to
take the liberty of corresponding with her; and the other day, as it
transpires, she let slip the news of my approaching marriage. About the
same time, I not only met, but had the pleasure of being introduced to,
the second pretty girl at a concert. She, too, had heard of my marriage;
and presently confessed that she loved me herself; that, in fact, she
would never have left the neighbourhood if I had only once spoken to
her. This put me about considerably; and I heartily wished my wedding
was not so far advanced. Arrived home, I found a letter from the first
girl imploring me to pause before it was too late, and begging my
forgiveness for her past conduct. I took no notice of it; but the next
day brought her over, to stay, invited by my landlady. It was impossible
for me to offer any objection, as I was only a lodger myself. Still, the
girl's manner was convincing. She threw herself into my arms, and begged
I would postpone the ceremony, until she could really prove her devotion
to me. This was rather awkward; for, almost on the instant, all my old
love came back to me again, and I could not let her go.
The following day I took her about a bit, when I fell in love with her
more than ever. In the afternoon I even went so far as to write to her
mother, asking her to drop over to tea on Sunday afternoon. That night
I also introduced her to the second pretty girl--whom I must now speak
of as Miss No. 3. To my great surprise, the two became fast friends. On
the Sunday morning, when the little godmother heard my banns called out
in church, she fainted right away, and had to be carried outside. For
myself, I felt like listening to my own death-warrant. At tea-time the
mother came over; so she and my landlady soon settled it between
themselves, that the little godmother had the greatest right to me. In
the middle of all this, my _fiancee_ turned up, when a lively scene
ensued. Eventually I left the house with her, to explain matters. But
nothing would satisfy her short of my marrying her, as she had the right
to demand. She swore that if I did not go through with the ceremony, she
would make away with herself. No; she had no intention of bringing up a
breach of promise case, for she loved me too much. Poor girl; I pitied
her from the bottom of my heart, and went straight back to my place to
give the little godmother her _conge_. But when we reached the house, I
found the latter stretched upon the floor in a dead faint; and my
courage completely gave way. I could not make up my mind which of the
two girls I liked the best, so begged for a little time to decide. My
_fiancee_ went into the back parlour to cry, while I, in a frenzy of
distraction, rushed first to one girl, then to the other; and at last
into the open air, full butt against the third girl, who, brokenhearted,
was coming to see me. I thought the best thing I could do would be to go
for a walk and try to console her. I did; but this little walk turned
out so delightful, that I forgot all about the other two girls, and fell
madly in love with _her_! On our way back to my place, we met my
_fiancee_ just leaving. I introduced and saw them both home. When I
reached home myself, Miss. No. 1 had been put to bed; her mother had
gone, while I was left to reflect upon my singular position. In the
morning at breakfast, the girl came to me crying; hanging round my neck,
and telling me how much she loved me. "Don't marry her, marry me!" she
pleaded, as I left the house on business. During the day I redeemed a
promise exacted from me by No. 3 to visit her, when she told me the same
tale. I also received a letter from my _fiancee_, demanding whether or
not I intended to go through the ceremony; failing which she would end
her life by poison. This was very dreadful; I went to see her, and
begged time for consideration.
The fact is, I could not--nor can I yet--make up my mind which I like
best. I love them all, and am convinced they each love me. Position has
nothing whatever to do with it, for I am only a poor man. Had I money, I
might perhaps square the difficulty with the mothers; but the girls
themselves are above mercenary ideas. I am sure, nay, _positive_ that
they love me for myself alone. They are not even unfriendly disposed
towards each other, which is the most awkward part of the business. If
they would only consent to be locked up in a room together and fight it
out amongst themselves, I might be able to marry whichever one was left
alive. But no such thing. Each swears she will not stand in the others'
way, yet vows suicide if I do not individually marry _her_. The other
morning, because I would not give her a decided "Yes," No. 1 ran out of
the house to drown herself, and I arrived on the scene just in the nick
of time to pull her back at the water's edge, by the bustle. A day or so
afterwards, No. 3 put the same question to me, and noticing my
hesitation, had well-nigh leapt upon the railway metals before I could
prevent her. I didn't see my _fiancee_ that night: but at six o'clock
the next morning, my landlady knocked me up to say that according to a
message left with her late at night Miss No. 2 had poisoned herself. For
an hour or so I was completely stunned; but after that time I dressed
and ran to the house, to find that the whole affair was a hoax. I intend
to be even with the fellow who played it on me, yet.
This kind of thing has been going on for more than a week, and I feel
worried to death. The latest is that, in addition to No. 1, both the
other girls have taken up their residence with my landlady. I would fly
if I could, but my business compels me to remain on the spot. The three
girls follow me about everywhere. I never have a minute's peace. Though
the greatest of friends, they are at the same time jealous of trusting
each other alone with me, lest I should commit myself to any rash
promise. I suppose I am one of those susceptible fellows who falls in
love with any girl who may encourage him. It must be so. Yet these girls
are every bit as nice as they are loving and _different_. No. 1 is very
young and pretty; my _fiancee_ has a splendid figure, and is thoroughly
domesticated; No. 3 is my counterpart in everything. I love them all,
and can't for the life of me tell which I like the best. Whatever I do,
it will be a case of suicide for two of them, or a couple of breach of
promise actions for me. I ought to have stated before that the mothers
have taken lodgings in the house as well, so that I am in for a nice
thing! I would marry all three if the law allowed me; but though the
girls themselves might not object, yet the prospect of _three_
mothers-in-law is too much for one man to contemplate. The most sensible
arrangement would be, I think, not to marry anybody, but to go on loving
all three in a perfectly platonic manner until something happened to
make two of them throw the game up. I dare say the girls would be
willing enough--one of them even suggested it herself yesterday; but the
mothers won't hear of such a thing, their purpose being to bring me to
the point at once. I am a great favourite with the mothers too; and
their solicitations that I should marry their respective daughters are
almost as pressing as are those of the girls themselves. Really I am in
a most uncomfortable position. Out of doors, as I walk along followed by
these three young creatures, I am regarded as a noted character, and
the people everywhere whisper, "There goes the young man with his three
wives!" I shouldn't mind this in the least if only the mothers would
pack up their traps and go about their business. But they won't; here
they stick at my very elbow, calmly waiting for me to say whose daughter
I really mean to marry. So long as I refuse to give an answer to all
three, I am safe; but the business is getting just a little bit
tiresome, and I should heartily like to see my way out of it.
Was there ever anybody in such a predicament before! What shall I do?
What can I do? Is there any charitably-disposed person here who can
advise me? No? Then I am a doomed man, and must meet my fate resignedly.
However, I vow and declare that if by any chance I _should_ get over
this, I'll not repeat the experiment as long as I live.
(_Copyright of the Author._)
ETIQUETTE.
W. S. GILBERT.
The _Ballyshannon_ foundered off the coast of Cariboo,
And down in fathoms many went the captain and the crew;
Down went the owners--greedy men whom hope of gain allured:
Oh, dry the starting tear, for they were heavily insured.
Besides the captain and the mate, the owners and the crew,
The passengers were also drowned excepting only two:
Young PETER GRAY, who tasted teas for BARBER, CROOP, AND CO.,
And SOMERS, who from Eastern shores imported indigo.
These passengers, by reason of their clinging to a mast,
Upon a desert island were eventually cast.
They hunted for their meals, as ALEXANDER SELKIRK used,
But they couldn't chat together--they had not been introduced.
For PETER GRAY, and SOMERS too, though certainly in trade,
Were properly particular about the friends they made;
And somehow thus they settled it without a word of mouth--
That GRAY should take the northern half, while SOMERS took the south.
On PETER'S portion oysters grew--a delicacy rare,
But oysters were a delicacy PETER couldn't bear.
On SOMERS' side was turtle, on the shingle lying thick,
Which SOMERS couldn't eat, because it always made him sick.
GRAY gnashed his teeth with envy as he saw a mighty store
Of turtle unmolested on his fellow-creature's shore.
The oysters at his feet aside impatiently he shoved,
For turtle and his mother were the only things he loved.
And SOMERS sighed in sorrow as he settled in the south,
For the thought of PETER'S oysters brought the water to his mouth.
He longed to lay him down upon the shelly bed, and stuff;
He had often eaten oysters, but had never had enough.
How they wished an introduction to each other they had had
When on board the _Ballyshannon_! And it drove them nearly mad,
To think how very friendly with each other they might get,
If it wasn't for the arbitrary rule of etiquette!
One day when out hunting for the _mus ridiculus_,
GRAY overheard his fellow-man soliloquising thus:
"I wonder how the playmates of my youth are getting on,
MCCONNELL, S. B. WALTERS, PADDY BYLES, and ROBINSON?"
These simple words made PETER as delighted as could be,
Old chummies at the Charterhouse were ROBINSON and he!
He walked straight up to SOMERS, then he turned extremely red,
Hesitated, hummed and hawed a bit, then cleared his throat, and said:
"I beg your pardon--pray forgive me if I seem too bold,
But you have breathed a name I knew familiarly of old.
You spoke aloud of ROBINSON--I happened to be by.
You know him?" "Yes, extremely well." "Allow me, so do I."
It was enough: they felt they could more pleasantly get on,
For (ah, the magic of the fact!) they each knew ROBINSON!
And MR. SOMERS' turtle was at PETER'S service quite,
And MR. SOMERS punished PETER'S oyster-beds all night.
They soon became like brothers from community of wrongs:
They wrote each other little odes and sang each other songs;
They told each other anecdotes disparaging their wives;
On several occasions, too, they saved each other's lives.
They felt quite melancholy when they parted for the night,
And got up in the morning soon as ever it was light;
Each other's pleasant company they reckoned so upon,
And all because it happened that they both knew ROBINSON!
They lived for many years on that inhospitable shore,
And day by day they learned to love each other more and more.
At last, to their astonishment, on getting up one day,
They saw a frigate anchored in the offing of the bay.
To PETER an idea occurred, "Suppose we cross the main?
So good an opportunity may not be found again."
And SOMERS thought a minute, then ejaculated, "Done!
I wonder how my business in the City's getting on?"
"But stay," said MR. PETER: "when in England, as you know,
I earned a living tasting teas for BARBER, CROOP, AND CO.,
I may be superseded--my employers think me dead!"
"Then come with me," said SOMERS, "and taste indigo instead."
But all their plans were scattered in a moment when they found,
The vessel was a convict ship from Portland outward bound;
When a boat came off to fetch them, though they felt it very kind,
To go on board they firmly but respectfully declined.
As both the happy settlers roared with laughter at the joke,
They recognised a gentlemanly fellow pulling stroke:
'Twas ROBINSON--a convict, in an unbecoming frock!
Condemned to seven years for misappropriating stock!!!
They laughed no more, for SOMERS thought he had been rather rash
In knowing one whose friend had misappropriated cash;
And PETER thought a foolish tack he must have gone upon
In making the acquaintance of a friend of ROBINSON.
At first they didn't quarrel very openly, I've heard;
They nodded when they met, and now and then exchanged a word:
The word grew rare, and rarer still the nodding of the head,
And when they meet each other now, they cut each other dead.
To allocate the island they agreed by word of mouth,
And PETER takes the north again, and SOMERS takes the south;
And PETER has the oysters, which he hates in layers thick,
And SOMERS has the turtle--turtle always makes him sick.
(_By permission of the Author._)
A LOST SHEPHERD.
FRANK BARRETT.
Winklehaven was once a very bad place. Roads, trade,
drainage--everything was as bad as it could be. The fishermen were bad,
and beat their wives, and their wives were bad and deserved all the
beating they got, and more. The fish caught there was bad before it went
to market. The very parson was bad, and preached the excisemen to sleep
whilst Red Robert and Black Bill ran their cargo of smuggled bad brandy.
Families who should have been respectable were not. Parents whipped
their children into rebellion and then cut them off with shillings--bad
ones, of course. Wards defied their guardians, and invariably fell in
love contrary to the arrangements of their seniors. All the young men
ran away with all the eligible young women.