(_A Colourable Imitation._)
It was a splendid scarlet afternoon, and the little garden looked its
gayest in the midsummer sunshine which streamed down its tiny paths.
Yellow asters grew golden in the pale lemon light, whilst the green
carnations which abounded everywhere seemed so natural that it was
difficult to believe they had been wired on to the plants that morning
by a London firm of florists. That was a plan on which CECIL PARAGRAPH
always insisted. As he was so fond of saying, Nature was a dear old
thing, but she lacked inventiveness. It was only an outworn convention
which objected to gilding the lily, or colouring the carnation. So the
London florists always came each morning to convert the garden into a
pink rhapsody.
[Illustration]
Lord ARCHIE (he was not a Lord really, but CECIL always insisted that a
title was a matter of temperament) and CECIL were sitting out on the
lawn. Clever conversation always takes place on the lawn. CECIL and Lord
ARCHIE smoked high-priced cigarettes. The witty characters always do.
"My dear ARCHIE," said CECIL, "I have something important to tell you."
"If you were not CECIL PARAGRAPH, that would mean that the milkman had
called to have his account paid, or that MARY--or is it MARTHA?--had
given notice. It's like letters headed 'Important,'--a prospectus of a
gold mine, or a letter from a distant relative to say he's coming to
stay the week-end. Saying 'week-end' always reminds me of the BARON DE
BOOK-WORMS. I fancy myself haggling for a cheap ticket at a
booking-office."
"ARCHIE, you've prattled enough. Remember it is I who am expected to
fill the bill. ARCHIE, I am writing a book."
"A book? You will let me collaborate with you?"
"Collaboration is the modern method of evading responsibility. A genius
moves in a cycle of masterpieces, but it is never a cycle made for two.
It reminds me of the book by Mr. RIDER HAGGARD and Mr. LANG. Too late
Mr. HAGGARD found that he had killed the goose which laid the golden
eggs. He had lost the notices which his collaborator could no longer
write."
"But it is so much trouble to write a book. Would not a purple newspaper
article effect your purpose?"
"One would think I was Mr. ATHELSTAN RILEY, or the Independent Labour
Party, to hear you talk of effecting my purpose. But in any case the
book's the thing."
"Tell me, CECIL, tell me about your book," said Lord ARCHIE, with the
ardour of a disciple of CECIL'S.
"It will be called _The Blue Gardenia_. The title is one of the
unemployed; it has nothing to do with the story."
[Illustration]
"I fancy I remember that Mr. BARRY PAIN said that once before."
"No doubt. The clumsiness of acknowledgment is what makes the artist
into an artisan. I am like Mr. BALFOUR, I do not hesitate to shoot--into
my treasury the pearls of speech I have gathered from others, and then,
ARCHIE, I shall not lack the art of personal allusion. If my characters
go out into the village and see the village clergymen, I shall make him
the Archbishop of CANTERBURY. People like it. They say it's rude, but
they read the book and repeat the rudeness. I shall be frankly rude.
Minor poets and authors and actors will all be fair game. You suggest
the publisher may object. To tell you the truth, ANY MAN will publish
for me. The book will succeed--it is only mediocrities who indulge in
failure--and the public will tumble over one another in their mad rush
to be dosed with epigrams of genius."
"And I will write a flaming favourable notice in the _Dodo_."
"You will do me no such unkindness, I am sure, my dear ARCHIE. To be
appreciated is to be found out."
And so plucking as they went the green carnations of a blameless life,
they went in to dinner.
* * * * *
THE TALE OF J. B.; OR, "THE PRISONER OF SALTA."--"J. B. is sly,
Sir--devilish sly;" but the present J. B., not the _Major Bagstock_ of
_Dombey and Son_, but the minor JABEZ BALFOUR, has not yet, as reported,
managed to escape from the prison of Salta, the authorities having
contrived to put a little Salt-a'pon his tail. _Il y est, il y reste._
* * * * *
[Illustration: FELICITOUS QUOTATIONS.
_Hostess (of Upper Tooting, showing new house to Friend)._ "WE'RE VERY
PROUD OF THIS ROOM, MRS. HOMINY. OUR OWN LITTLE UPHOLSTERER DID IT UP
JUST AS YOU SEE IT, AND ALL OUR FRIENDS THINK IT WAS _LIBERTY_!"
_Visitor (sotto voce)._ "'OH, LIBERTY, LIBERTY, HOW MANY CRIMES ARE
COMMITTED IN THY NAME!'"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: "VESTED INTERESTS."
HOUSE OF LORDS CHARWOMAN. "WELL! THEM ROGEBERRIES, AND 'ERBERT
GLADSTINGS, AND HASKWIDGES, AND THE REST ON 'EM MAY TORK--AND THEY MAY
TORK--BUT THEY H'AINT TURNED _HUS_ OUT YET!!"]
* * * * *
"VESTED INTERESTS."
_Lady in Possession loquitur_:--
Ah, well! They keeps a rouging up, these papers, or a trying to,
But _I_ don't think they'll oust us yet, as hobvious they're a-dying
to.
Their ROGEBERRIES, and their HASKWIDGES and 'ERBERT GLADSTINGS 'urry
up,
As per wire-pulling horders; and they tries to keep the flurry up,
But somehow it's a fizzle, like a fire as keeps on smouldery,
And the public, when they'd poke it up, looks chilly and
cold-shouldery.
Drat 'em, what _do_ they want to do? Their "demmycratic polity"
Means nothink more nor less than sheer upsetting of the Quality!
They'd treat the Hupper Ten like srimps, pull off their 'eds and
swoller 'em;
And when they raves agin our perks, they only longs to collar 'em.
Down with all priwilege indeed? Wy, priwilege is the honly thing
As keeps hus from the wildernedge. I'm but a poor, old, lonely thing,
But if they mends or ends the Lords--wich 'evvin forbid they ever
do!--
They'll take _my_ livelyhood away! No, drat it, that will never do!
A world without no priwilege, no pickings, and no perks in it,
Wy--'twould be like Big Ben up there if it 'ad got no works in it.
These demmycratic levellers is the butchers of Society,
They'd take its tops and innards off and hout. _I_ loves wariety.
Them Commons is a common lot, as like all round as winkleses,
But Marquiges--lord bless 'em!--they is like bright stars as
twinkleses
And makes the sky _respectable_; and its a old, old story
As stars--and likeways garters--_must_ 'ave differences in glory.
Wy, even street lamps wary, and I says the harrystocracy
Is like to 'eavenly 'lectric lights outshining the democracy
As the Clock-tower's 'fulgence do the flare at some fried-fish
shop, Mum.
Oh, there's a somethink soothing in a Dook, or Earl, or Bishop, Mum,
As makes yer mere M.P.'s sing small, as may be taller-chandlerses.
Its henvy, Mum, that's wot it is, they've got the yaller janderses
Along o' bilious jealousy; though wy young ROGEBERRY ever did
Allow hisself to herd with them--well, drat it, there, I _never_
did!--
As long as I can twirl a mop or sluice a floor or ceiling for
The blessed Peers, I'll 'old with 'em, as I've a feller feeling for.
Birds of a feather flock--well, well! I 'ope I knows my place, I do;
Likeways that I shall _keep_ it. Wich I think it a 'ard case, I do,
This downing on Old Women!
'Owsomever, Mister MORLEY is
A long ways from his hobject yet. The House o' Lords, Mum, surely is
Most different from Jericho, it will not fall with shouting, Mum,
Nor yet no platform trumpets will not down it, there's no doubting,
Mum.
Their tongues and loud Rad ram's-horns do their level best to win it,
Mum.
But--they ain't got rid of Hus--not yet,--nor _won't_ direckly-minute,
Mum!
* * * * *
FROM THE BIRMINGHAM FESTIVAL.--An eminent musician sends us this
note:--Nothing Brummagem about the Birmingham Festival. Dr. PARRY'S
oratorio, _King Saul_, a big success. Of course this subject has been
Handel'd before; but the composer of _King Saul_, _Junior_, (so to be
termed for sake of distinction, and distinction it has certainly
attained,) need fear no com-parry-songs. Perhaps another title might be,
"_Le Roi Saul à la mode de Parry_." (_Private, to Ed._--Shall be much
pleased if you'll admit this as a Parry-graph.)
* * * * *
HOPE DISPELLED.--The music-hall proprietors must have been in high
spirits at the commencement of the sittings of the Licensing Committee
when they heard that "Mr. ROBERTS" was to be the chairman. Of course, to
them there is but one "ROBERTS," which his _prénom_ is "ARTHUR"--and
unfortunately there appeared as chairman "not _this_ ARTHUR, but
another."
* * * * *
In the course of conversation, the other evening, Mrs. R. remembered
that "The Margarine" is a German title. "Isn't there," she asked, "a
Margarine of Hesse?"
* * * * *
ANTI-FATNESS.--Excellent receipt for getting thin. Back horses, and you
will lose many pounds in no time. (_Advice gratis by one who has tried
it._)
* * * * *