SCENE XV.--_The Verney Chamber.__Punch, or the London Charivari Volume 107, August 25, 1894

_Spurr. (to himself)._ My word, what a room! Carpet all over the

walls, big fourposter, carved ceiling, great fireplace with blazing

logs,--if this is how they do a _vet_ here, what price the _other_

fellows' rooms? And to think I shall have to do without dinner, just

when I was getting on with 'em all so swimmingly! I _must_. I can't,

for the credit of the profession--to say nothing of the firm--turn up

in a monkey jacket and tweed bags, and that's all _I_'ve got except a

nightgown!... It's all very well for Lady MAISIE to say "Take

everything as it comes," but if she was in _my_ fix!... And it isn't

as if I hadn't _got_ dress things either. If only I'd brought 'em

down, I'd have marched in to dinner as cool as a----(_he lights a

pair of candles._) Hullo! What's that on the bed? (_He approaches

it._) Shirt! white tie! socks! coat, waistcoat, trousers--they _are_

dress clothes!... And here's a pair of brushes on the table! I'll

swear they're not _mine_--there's a monogram on them--"U.G." What

does it all mean? Why, of course! regular old trump, Sir RUPERT, and

naturally he wants me to do him credit. He saw how it was, and he's

gone and rigged me out! In a house like this, they're ready for

emergencies--keep all sizes in stock, I daresay.... It isn't "U. G."

on the brushes--it's "G. U."--"Guest's Use." Well, this is what I

call doing the thing in style! _Cinderella_'s nothing to it! Only

hope they're a decent fit. (_Later, as he dresses._) Come, the

shirt's all right; trousers a trifle short--but they'll let down;

waistcoat--whew, must undo the buckle--hang it, it _is_ undone! I

feel like a hooped barrel in it! Now the coat--easy does it. Well,

it's _on_; but I shall have to be peeled like a walnut to get it off

again.... Shoes? ah, here they are--pair of pumps. Phew--must have

come from the Torture Exhibition in Leicester Square; glass slippers

nothing to 'em! But they'll have to do at a pinch; and they _do_

pinch like blazes! Ha, ha, that's good! I must tell that to the

Captain. (_He looks at himself in a mirror._) Well, I can't say

they're up to mine for cut and general style; but they're passable.

And now I'll go down to the Drawing Room and get on terms with all

the smarties!

[_He saunters out with restored complacency._

[Illustration: "I say, you know, that's rather smart, eh?"]

* * * * *

SOCIETY FOR THE ADVANCEMENT OF LITERATURE

[Illustration]

The first annual meeting of this society, which, as our readers will

remember, has been in process of formation for some years past, was

held yesterday. We cannot congratulate the society on its decision to

exclude reporters. It is true that our representative, on seeking

admission, was informed that his presence would be unnecessary, as

members of the society, having for some time past done their own

reviewing, intended for the future to report themselves. The public,

however, whose eager interest in literature is sufficiently attested

not only by the literary page of democratic newspapers, but by the

columns which even reactionary journals devote to higher criticism

and literary snippets--the public, we say, will not brook this absurd

plea, and will refuse to accept any but an impartial report of a

gathering such as was held yesterday. This we have obtained, and we

now proceed to publish it for the benefit of the world.

The meeting opened with a prayer of two thousand words specially

written for the occasion by Mr. RICHARD L- G-LLI-NNE in collaboration

with Mr. ROBERT B-CH-N-N. As this is shortly to be published in the

form of a joint letter to the _Daily Chronicle_ it is only necessary

to say at present that it combines vigour of expression with delicacy

of sentiment and grace of style in the very highest degree. By the

way, we may mention that the new Prayer-book of the Society is to be

published by Messrs. E-K-N M-TTH-WS and J-HN L-NE, at the "Bodley

Head," before the end of the year. It will be profusely illustrated

by MESSRS. A-BR-Y B-ARD-L-Y and W-LT-R S-CK-RT, who have also

designed for it a special fancy cover. Only three hundred copies will

be issued. To return, however, to the meeting.

After harmony had been restored, Mr. W-LT-R B-S-NT asked leave to say

a few words. His remarks, in which he was understood to advocate the

compulsory expropriation of publishers, were at first listened to

with favour. Happening incautiously to say a word or two in praise of

a Mr. DICKENS and a Mr. THACKERAY he was groaned down after a sturdy

struggle. Mr. DICKENS and Mr. THACKERAY were not, we understand,

present in the room at the time.

Mr. H-B-RT CR-CK-NTH-RPE rose and denounced the previous speaker.

Literature, he declared, must be vague. What was the use of knowing

what you were driving at? What was the use of anyone knowing

anything? Personally he didn't mean to know more than he could help,

and he could assure the meeting that he could help a great deal; yes,

he could help his fellow-creatures to a right understanding of the

value of patchwork and jerks. That was the religion of humanity.

Mr. N-RM-N G-LE said he wasn't much good speaking, but he could do

something in the dairy and orchard style. He then gave the following

example:--

Enter CELIA, robed in white,

CELIA'S been a-milking.

CELIA daily doth indite

Praises to the Pill-king.

CELIA'S flocks and CELIA'S herds

(Only she can teach 'em)

All produce their cream and curds,

Helped by Mr. B-CH-M.

A loud cheer greeted the recital of this charming pastoral, and one

editor, who is not often a victim to mere sentiment, said it reminded

him of his happy childhood, when he used to take Dr. GREGORY'S

powders after a day spent in the neighbouring farmer's orchard.

The next speaker was G-ORGE EG-RT-N. All women, she said, must be

GEORGES. GEORGE SAND and GEORGE ELIOT were women she believed. GEORGE

MEREDITH was an exception, but that only proved her rule. Women were

a miserable lot: it was their own fault. Why marry? ("Hear, hear,"

from Mrs. MONA CAIRD.) Why be born at all? She paused for a reply.

At this point Mr. W. T. ST-AD entered the room and offered to talk

about "JULIA in Chicago," but the meeting broke up in confusion,

without the customary vote of thanks to the Chair.

* * * * *

HOW IT WILL BE DONE HEREAFTER.

(_A Serene Ducal Romance of the Future._)

His Highness was smoking a pipe at the close of the day in the fair

realm of Utopia. He had finished dinner, and was discussing his

_lager_ beer, which had quite taken the place of coffee.

"Dear me," said the Duke, rather anxiously, as he noticed the Premier

was seating himself in a chair in his near neighbourhood; "I am

afraid I am in disgrace."

"Not at all, Sir," replied the Minister, graciously. "On the

contrary, in the name of the people of Utopia, I beg to offer you my

sincere thanks."

"For what?" queried the Duke.

[Illustration]

"For doing your duty, my liege. Not that that is a novelty, for, as a

matter of fact, you are always doing it."

"I am pleased to hear you say so," observed His Highness; "as I was

under the impression that I had rather shirked my engagements."

"Not at all, Sir--not at all. If you consult your memory, you will

find you carried out to-day's programme to the letter."

"Had I not to lay a foundation stone, or something, this morning?"

"Assuredly; and you touched a cord as you were getting up, and

immediately the machinery was set in motion, and the stone was duly

laid. Much better than driving miles to have to stand in a drafty

marquee."

"And had I not to open an exhibition?"

"Why, yes. And you opened it in due course. Your equerry represented

you and ground out your speech from the portable phonograph."

"Well, really, that was very ingenious," remarked His Highness. "But

was I not missed?"

"You would have been, Sir," returned the Premier, "had we not had the

forethought to send down the lantern that gives you in a thousand

different attitudes. By revolving the disc rapidly the most life-like

presentment was offered immediately."

"Excellent! and did I do anything else?"

"Why your Highness has been hard at work all day attending reviews,

opening canals, and even presiding at public dinners. Thanks to

science we can reproduce your person, your speech, your very presence

at a moment's notice."

"Exceedingly clever!" exclaimed His Highness. "Ah, how much better is

the twentieth century than its predecessor!"

And no doubt the sentiment of His Highness will be approved by

posterity.

* * * * *

[Illustration: HOLIDAY CHARACTER SKETCHES.

LITTLE BINKS LOVES CLARA PURKISS, WHO LOVES BIG STANLEY JONES, WHO

LOVES HIMSELF AND NOBODY ELSE IN THE WORLD!

WHICH IS THE MOST TO BE PITIED OF THE THREE?]

* * * * *

COUNTING THE CATCH.

_A Waltonian Fragment._

_First Piscator_, R-S-B-RY. _Second Piscator_, H-RC-RT.

_First Piscator._ Oh me, look you, master, a fish, a fish!

[_Loses it._

_Second Piscator._ Aye, marry, Sir, that was a good fish; if I had

had the luck to handle that rod, 'tis twenty to one he should not

have broken my line as you suffered him; I would have held him, as

you will learn to do hereafter; for I tell you, scholer, fishing is

an art, or at least it is an art to catch fish. Verily that is the

second brave Salmon you have lost in that pool!

_First Piscator._ Oh me, he has broke all; there's half a line and a

good flie lost. I have no fortune, and that Peers' Pool is fatal

fishing.

_Second Piscator._ Marry, brother, so it seemes--to you at least!

Wel, wel, 'tis as small use crying over lost fish as spilt milk; the

sunne hath sunk, the daye draweth anigh its ende; let us up tackle,

and away!

_First Piscator._ Look also how it begins to rain, and by the clouds

(if I mistake not) we shal presently have a smoaking showre. Truly it

has been a long, rough day, and but poorish sport.

_Second Piscator._ Humph! I am fairly content with _my_ catch, and

had all been landed that have been hookt--but no matter! "Fishers

must not rangle," as the Angler's song hath it.

_First Piscator._ Marry, no indeed! (_Sings._)

O the brave fisher's life

It is the best of any!

He who'd mar it with mere strife

Sure must be a zany.

Other men,

Now and then,

Have their wars,

And their jars;

Our rule stil

Is goodwill

As we gaily angle.

We have hooks about our hat,

We have rod and gaff too;

We can cast and we can chat,

Play our fish and chaff too.

None do here

Use to swear,

Oathes do fray

Fish away.

Our rule still

Is goodwill.

Fishers must not rangle.

_Second Piscator._ Well sung, brother! Oh me, but even at our

peaceful and vertuous pastime, there bee certain contentious and

obstructive spoil-sports now. These abide not good old Anglers' Law,

but bob and splash in other people's swims, fray away the fish they

cannot catch, and desire not that experter anglers should, do muddy

the stream and block its course, do net and poach and foul-hook in

such noisy, conscienceless, unmannerly sort, that even honest angling

becometh a bitter labour and aggravation.

_First Piscator._ Marry, yes brother! the Contemplative Man's

Recreation is verily not what it once was. What would the sweet

singer, Mr. WILLIAM BASSE, say to the busy B's of our day; DUBARTAS

to B-RTL-Y, or Mr. THOMAS BARKER, of pleasant report, to TOMMY

B-WL-S?

_Second Piscator._ Or worthy old COTTON to the cocky MACULLUM MORE?

_First Piscator._ Or the equally cocky BRUMMAGEM BOY?

_Second Piscator._ Or Dame JULIANA BERNERS to B-LF-UR?

_First Piscator._ Or Sir HUMPHREY DAVY to the haughty autocrat of

H-TF-LD?

_Second Piscator._ Wel, wel, I hate contention and obstruction and

all unsportsmanlike devices--when I am fishing.

_First Piscator._ And so say I. (_Sings._)

The Peers are full of prejudice,

As hath too oft been tri'd;

High trolollie lollie loe,

high trolollie lee!

_Second Piscator._ The Commons full of opulence,

And both are full of pride.

_Then care away_

_and fish along with me!_

_First Piscator._ Marry, brother, and would that I could always do

so. But doomed as we often are to angle in different swims, I may not

always land the big fish that you hook, or even----

_Second Piscator._ Wel, honest scholer, say no more about it, but let

us count and weigh our day's catch. By Jove, but that bigge one I

landed after soe long a fight, and which you were so luckie as to

gaff in that verie snaggy and swirly pool itselfe, maketh a right

brave show on the grassie bank! And harkye, scholer, 'tis a far finer

and rarer fish than manie woule suppose at first sight!

[_Chuckleth inwardly._

_First Piscator._ You say true, master. And indeed the other fish,

though of lesser bigness, bee by no manner of meanes to be sneezed

at. Marry, Master, 'tis none so poor a day's sport after

all--considering the weather and the much obstruction, eh?

_Second Piscator._ May bee not, may bee not! Stil, I could fain wish,

honest scholer, you had safely landed those two bigge ones you lost

in Peers' Pool, out of which awkward bit of water, indeed, I could

fain desire we might keep _all_ our fish!

* * * * *

[Illustration: COUNTING THE CATCH.

ROSEBERY. "NOT SUCH A BAD DAY AFTER ALL!"

HARCOURT. "NO! WISH YOU'D LANDED _THOSE OTHERS_ ALL THE SAME!!"]

* * * * *

TO A WOULD-BE AUTHORESS.

Though, MAUD, I respect your ambition,

I fear, to be brutally plain,

No proud and exalted position

Your stories are likely to gain;

[Illustration]

And, frankly, I cannot pretend I

Regard with the smallest delight

The vile _cacoëthes scribendi_

Which led you to write.

Your talk is most charming, I know it,

You readily fascinate all,

But yet as a serious poet

Your worth, I'm afraid, is but small;

Your features, though well-nigh perfection,

Of the obstacle hardly dispose

That you haven't the faintest conception

Of how to write prose!

You think it would be so delightful

To see your productions in print?

Well, do not consider me spiteful

For daring discreetly to hint

That in this too-crowded profession,

Where prizes are fewer than blanks,

You'll find the laconic expression,

"Rejected--with thanks."

And so, since you do me the pleasure

To ask for my candid advice,

Allow for your moments of leisure

Some other pursuit to suffice;

And, if you would really befriend me,

One wish I will humbly confess,--

Oh, do not continue to send me

Those reams of MS.!

* * * * *

A MODERN TRAGEDY.

Our hostess told us off in pairs,

I had not caught my partner's name,

But learned, when half way down the stairs,

She long had been a Primrose Dame;

And, ere the soup was out of sight,

She'd found, and left behind, her text on

A speech, if I remember right,

Attributed to Mr. SEXTON.

And I--I sat and gasped awhile,

And only when we reached the pheasant,

Assuming my politest smile,

And with an air distinctly pleasant,

Attempted firmly to direct

Her flow of talk to other channels,

Books--shops--the latest stage-effect--

The newest ways of painting panels.

I tried in vain. "Ah, yes," she said,

"And that reminds me--this Dissent"--

And thereupon began, instead,

Discussing Disestablishment!

The case was clearly hopeless, so

I hazarded no more suggestions,

But merely answered Yes or No

At random, to her frequent questions.

Yet, while that gushing torrent ran,

I made a solemn private vow

That, though no ardent partisan,

Those Ministers I'll vote for now

Who'll introduce a drastic bill

To bring about her abolition,

To banish utterly, or kill

The modern lady-politician!

* * * * *

THE OYSTER AND THE SPARROW.

_A Pessimistic Tale._

At Whitstable one summer day,

An oyster gave his fancy wings;

He very indolently lay

In bed, and thought of many things;

Of what his life had been; of weeks

All spent in having forty winks--

You know an oyster never speaks,

But lies awake in bed, and thinks.

He thought, with pardonable pride,

That he had never worked--a plan

Which showed, it cannot be denied,

That he was quite a gentleman.

He lived more calmly in his sea

Than any Bishop; never crossed

In any sort of wishes, he

Had never loved, and never lost.

No cruel maid had ever spurned

His heart, such grief no oyster knows;

Nor hatred ever in him burned

Against the rival whom she chose.

[Illustration]

Yet, when considered, all appeared

Too softly calm, too free from strife;

He thought, and, sighing, stroked his beard,

"There does not seem much use in life."

By chance, upon this very day

A London sparrow, for a minute,

Was thinking somewhat in this way

Of life, and what the deuce was in it,

And how he fluttered up and down,

Like Berthas, Doras, Trunks, or Yankees--

His nest was far above the town,

Upon the buildings known as Hankey's.

He thought, with pardonable pride,

Unlike a pampered, gay canary,

He worked--it cannot be denied

That "_Laborare est orare_."

He worked with all his might and main,

Yet now he chirped with some misgiving,

"Shoot me if I know what I gain,

There does not seem much use in living."

Soon after this the bird and fish

Were slain by old, relentless foes,

When death was near, each seemed to wish!

To keep his life--why, no one knows.

The bird was knocked upon the head--

A crack no gluing could repair;

The oyster rudely dragged from bed,

Died from exposure to the air.

They helped in one great work, at least,

To make some greedy beings fat;

The oyster graced a City feast,

The bird was eaten by the cat.

[Illustration]

Thus, though they led such different lives,

One fat from sloth, from work one thinner,

Their end was that for which man strives,

And mostly ends his days with--dinner!

* * * * *

VERSES TO THE WEATHER MAIDEN.

Lady, the best and brightest of the sex,

Whose smile we value, and whose frown we fear,

Let me proclaim the miseries that vex

The numerous throng who all esteem you dear;

'Tis not that you habitually appear

Serenely contemplating the Atlantic

In raiment which, if fashionable here,

Would greatly shock the properly pedantic,

Make Glasgow green with rage, and Mrs. GRUNDY frantic;

Your classical costume a true delight is

To all who study you from day to day,

And even if it hastens on bronchitis

It serves your graceful figure to display:

But now your thousand fond admirers pray

Amid the tumult of the London traffic

And in each rural unfrequented way--

"O weather-goddess, look with smile seraphic

And prophesy 'Set Fair' within the _Daily Graphic_!"

Too long, too long, each worshipper relates,

You've told of woe with melancholy glance,

Predicted new "depressions" from the States,

Or "V-shaped cyclones" nearing us from France;

Our summer flies, oh, herald the advance

Of decent weather ere its course be ended,

Put your umbrella down, and if by chance

PISCATOR grumble, let him go unfriended,

Heed not his selfish moan, but give us sunshine splendid!

Our confidence towards you never flinches,

Let others be unceasingly employed

In working out the barometric inches,

Or tapping at the fickle aneroid,

Wet bulb and dry we equally avoid,

In you, and you alone, our hopes remain,

Then be not by our forwardness annoyed,

Nor let our supplications rise in vain,--

Oh, _Daily Graphic_ maid, smile, smile on us again!

* * * * *

THE YELLOW RIDING-HABIT.

Chang, he had a yellow jacket

Fitting rather nice and slick;

When the garment got the sack, it

Made him simply deathly sick;

And he swore, with objurgations,

It was due--or he'd be hung--

To the fiendish machinations

Of a man who rhymed with Bung.

But his lord in mild, celestial,

Manner moralised and said--

"There are other really bestial

Things I might have done instead;

Might, in point of fact, have tied you

To a poplar with a splice,

And explicitly denied you

Every claim to Paradise.

Nay, I even wondered whether

I should play another card,

And reduce your dorsal tether

By a matter of a yard;

Or curtail your nether raiment,

(This I waived as rather coarse,)

Or appropriate your payment

As a marshal of the force.

But I gave you just a gentle,

If humiliating, shock,

Much as any Occidental

Castigates the erring jock,

Who in place of freely plugging

At a reasonable rate,

By irregularly lugging

Lets a rival take the plate.

Thus I delicately hinted

It was time to jog your gee;

And the proper view is printed,

In the pagan _P. M. G._,

Namely, that you might be chary

Of a deal of sultry dirt,

And do better in an airy

Waistcoat with a cotton shirt.

Doubtless habits have a lot to

Do with character as such,

Yet the prophet warns us not to

Trust in colour very much;

And indeed your yellow custard

Came to smack of rotten cheese,

Since they took to making mustard

Books and Asters over-seas."

* * * * *

[Illustration: PEARLS BEFORE SWINE.

_The Vicar._ "WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THAT BURGUNDY? IT'S THE

LAST BOTTLE OF SOME THE DEAR BISHOP GAVE ME. IT COST HIM _EIGHTEEN

SHILLINGS A BOTTLE_!"

_The Major._ "VERY NICE! BUT I SHOULD JUST LIKE YOU TO TRY SOME

_I GAVE TWELVE SHILLINGS A DOZEN FOR_!"]

* * * * *

Noble Half Hundred!!!

"We mean to keep our Empire in the East!"

So sang the music halls with noisy _nous_,

Well, one thing now is very clear at least,

Our Empire in the East can't keep--a House!

Is our Indian Government fairly cheap? men ask

Are Anglo-Indian rulers wise and thrifty?

The Commons meet to tackle that big task,

And FOWLER'S speech is listened to by--_Fifty_!

* * * * *

ROBERT AT GRINNIDGE.

[Illustration]

How werry particklar sum peeple is in having it adwertised where they

have gone to spend their summer holliday. I wunce saw it stated,

sum years ago, that the Markis of SORLSBERRY had gone with the

Marchoness to Deep, I think it was, and then follered the staggering

annowncement that Mr. Deputy MUGGINS and Mrs. MUGGINS was a spending

a hole week at Gravesend! I'm a having mine at Grinnidge, and had the

honner last week of waiting upon the Ministerial Gents from

Westminster, and a werry jowial lot of Gents they suttenly seems to

be.

I likes Grinnidge somehow; it brings back to fond memmory the appy

days when I fust preposed to my Misses ROBERT in Grinnidge Park, and

won from her blushing lips a fond awowal of her loving detachment for

me!

Ah! them was appy days, them was, and never cums more than wunce to

us; no, not ewen in Grinnidge Park.

I'm told as how as Appy Amsted is not at all a bad place for this

sort of thing; but I cannot speak from werry much pussonal xperience

there myself.

Having a nour or two to spare before the Westminster Dinner, I took a

strol in the butiful Park. Not quite the place for adwenters, but I

had a little one there on that werry particklar day as I shant soon

forget.

I was a setting down werry cumferal on a nice cumferal seat, when a

nice looking Lady came up to me, and setting herself down beside me

asked me wery quietly if I coud lend her such a thing as harf a

crown! I was that estonished that I ardly knew what to say, when to

my great surprise she bust out a crying, and told me as how as she

had bin robbed, and had not a penny to take her home to London! What

on airth coud I do? I coudn't say as I hadn't no harf crown coz I had

one, and I carnt werry well tell a hunblushing lie coz I allers

blushes if I tries one, so I said as how as it was the only one as I

had, and so I hoped as she woud return it to me to-morrow, and I told

her my adress, when she suddenly threw her arms round my neck and

acshally kist me, and then got up and ran away! and I have lived ever

since in a dredful state of dowt and unsertenty for fear as she shoud

call when I was out and tell Mrs. ROBERT the hole particklers! and

ewen expect her to believe it!

ROBERT.

* * * * *

THE NEXT WAR.

(_Fragment from a Romance of the Future._)

[Illustration]

The successful General, after winning the great victory, acted with

decision. He cut all the telegraph wires with his own hands, until

there was but one left in the camp--that which had its outlet in his

own tent. He called for the special correspondents. They came

reluctantly, writing in their note-books as they approached him.

"Gentlemen," said he, with polite severity, "I have no wish to deal

harshly with the Press. I am fully aware of the services it does to

the country. But, gentlemen, I have a duty to perform. I cannot allow

you to communicate to your respective editors the glorious result of

this day's fighting. For a couple of hours you must be satisfied to

restrain your impatience."

"It will yet be in time for the five o'clock edition," murmured one

of the scribes.

"And I shall be able to get it into the Special," murmured another.

Then the General bowed and retired to his own tent. At last he was

alone. Over the receiver to the telephone was a board inscribed with

various numbers, with names attached thereto. He saw that 114 stood

for "Wife," 12,017 for "Mother-in-law," and 10 for "Junior United

Service Club." But he selected none of these.

"No. 7," he cried, suddenly applying his lips to the receiver and

ringing up, "are you there?"

"Why, certainly; what shall I do?"

"Why, buy 30,000 Consols for me," was the prompt reply. And then the

General a few minutes later added, "Have you done it?"

"I have--for the next account."

And then the warrior smiled and released the Press-men. Nay, more, he

ordered the telegraph wires to be repaired. All was joy and

satisfaction. The glorious news was flashed in a thousand different

directions. The name of the general received immediate immortality.

And the great commander was more than satisfied. His fortune was

assured. Before allowing the news to be spread abroad he had taken

the precaution to do a preliminary deal with his stockbroker!

* * * * *

AN ALPINE RAILWAY.

Abominable work of man,

Defacing nature where he can

With engineering;

On plain or hill he never fails

To run his execrable rails;

Coals, dirt, smoke, passengers and mails,

At once appearing.

To Alpine summits daily go

The locomotives to and fro.

What desecration!

Where playful kids once blithely skipped,

Where rustic goatherds gaily tripped,

Where clumsy climbers sometimes slipped,

He builds a station.

Up there, where once upon a time

Determined mountaineers would climb

To some far _châlet_;

Up there, above the carved wood toys,

Above the beggars, and the boys

Who play the _Ranz des Vaches_--such noise

Down in the _Thal_, eh?

Up there at sunset, rosy red,

And sunrise--if you're out of bed--

You see the summit,

Majestic, high above the vale.

It is not difficult to scale--

The fattest folk can go by rail

To overcome it.

For nothing, one may often hear,

Is sacred to the engineer;

He's much too clever.

Well, I must hurry on again,

That mountain summit to attain,

Good-bye. I'm going by the train.

I climb it? Never!

* * * * *

[Illustration: "FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD."

_Tourist from London (to young local Minister)._ "HOW QUIET AND

PEACEFUL IT SEEMS HERE!"

_Minister._ "EH, FRIEND, IT SEEMS PEACEFU'. WHA WAD THINK WE WERE

WITHIN SEVEN MILES O' PEEBLES!"]

* * * * *

AN ANGLO-RUSSIAN ECHO.

[At Baku, on the Caspian, a Society has been formed to abolish

hand-shaking and kissing, on the ground that bacilli are propagated

by such personal contact. The ladies, however, have protested

against this to the Governor-General.

_Daily Telegraph._]

Baku is a place that is pretty well Grundyfied,

Where the good folks have all frolic and fun defied,

Where I'd be shunned, if I'd

Play at Whit-Mondayfied

Games such as "Catch-can" and Kiss-in-the-ring!

For the greybeards, it seems, of this naptha-metropolis

(Really, their reason about to o'ertopple is)

All o'er the shop'll hiss,

Hollering, "Stop! Police!

Hi, there! hand-shaking the mischief will bring!"

And kissing, they think, only leads to diphtheria--

Well, I should say, such a dread of bacteria

Quite beyond query, amounts to hysteria!

No, it won't "wash"--they don't either, I fear!

But SONIA and OLGA and VERA are mutinous,

Rightly, I think, at such nonsense o'erscrutinous.

"_This_ rot take root in us?

No, keep salutin' us!"

Echo our MABELS and MAUDS over here!

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TORY, M.P.

_House of Lords. Monday, August 13._--Sorry I didn't hear the Duke of

ARGYLL. Have been told he is one of finest orators in House; a type

of the antique; something to be cherished and honoured.

"Were you ever," SARK asked, "at Oban when the games were going on?

Very well then, you would see the contest among the pipers. You have

watched them strutting up and down with head thrown back, toes turned

out, cheeks extended, and high notes thrilling through the shrinking

air. There you have Duke of ARGYLL--God bless him!--addressing House

of Lords. He is not one piper, but many. As he proceeds, intoxicated

with sound of his own voice, ecstatic in clearness of his own vision,

he competes with himself as the pipers struggle with each other until

at last he has, in a Parliamentary sense of course, swollen to such a

size that there is no room in the stately chamber for other Peers.

Nothing and nobody left but His Grace the Duke of ARGYLL. Towards end

of sixty minutes spectacle begins to pall on wearied senses; but to

begin with, it is almost sublime. For thirty-two years, he told

ROSEBERY just now, he had sat on the opposite benches, a Member of

the Liberal Party. He sat elsewhere now, but why? Because he was the

Liberal Party; all the rest like sheep had gone astray. Pretty to see

the MARKISS with blushing head downcast when ARGYLL turned round to

him and, with patronising tone and manner, hailed him and his friends

as the only party with whom a true Liberal might collogue. In some

circumstances, this bearing would be insupportably bumptious. In the

Duke, with the time limit hinted at, it is delightful. He really

unfeignedly believes it all. Sometimes in the dead unhappy night,

when the rain is on the roof (not an uncommon thing in Inverary) he

thinks in sorrow rather than in anger of multitudes of men hopelessly

in the wrong; that is to say, who differ from his view on particular

subjects at given times."

_Business done._--Second Reading of Evicted Tenants Bill moved in

Lords.

_Tuesday._--For awhile last night, whilst LANSDOWNE speaking,

CLANRICARDE sat on rear Cross Bench immediately in front of Bar where

mere Commoners are permitted to stand. Amongst them at this moment

were TIM HEALY, O'BRIEN, and SEXTON, leaning over rail to catch

LANSDOWNE'S remarks. Before them, almost within hand reach, certainly

approachable at arm's length with a good shillalegh, was the bald

pate of the man who, from some points of view, is The Irish Question.

CLANRICARDE sat long unconscious of the proximity. SARK, not usually

a squeamish person, after breathlessly watching this strange

suggestive contiguity, moved hastily away. This is a land of law and

order. Differences, if they exist, are settled by judicial processes.

But human nature, especially Celtic nature, is weak. The bald pate

rested so conveniently on the edge of the bench. It was so near; it

had schemed so much for the undoing of hapless friends in Ireland.

What if * * *

To-night CLANRICARDE instinctively moved away from this locality.

Discovered on back bench below gangway, from which safe quarter he

delivered speech, showing how blessed is the lot of the light-hearted

peasant on what he called "my campaign estates."

The MARKISS and CLANRICARDE rose together. It was ten o'clock, the

hour appointed for Leader of Opposition to interpose; in anticipation

of that event the House crowded from floor to side galleries

garlanded with fair ladies. Privy Councillors jostled each other on

steps of Throne; at the Bar stood the Commons closely packed; TIM

HEALY, anxious not again to be led into temptation, deserted this

quarter; surveyed scene from end of Gallery over the Bar. The MARKISS

stood for a moment at the table manifestly surprised that any should

question his right to speak. According to Plan of Campaign prepared

beforehand by Whips now was his time; ROSEBERY to follow; and

Division taken so as to clear House before midnight. CLANRICARDE

recks little of Plans of Campaign: stood his ground and finally

evicted the MARKISS; cast him out by the roadside with no other

compensation than the sympathy of HALSBURY and of RUTLAND, who sat on

either side of him.

When opportunity came the MARKISS rose to it. Speech delightful to

hear; every sentence a lesson in style. Hard task for young Premier

to follow so old and so perfect a Parliamentary hand. MARKISS spoke

to enthusiastically friendly audience. ROSEBERY recognised in himself

the representative of miserable minority of thirty; undaunted,

undismayed, he played lightly with the ponderous personalities of

ARGYLL, and looking beyond the heads of the crowd of icily

indifferent Peers before him, seemed to see the multitude in the

street, and to hear the murmur of angry voices.

_Business done._--Lords throw out Evicted Tenants Bill by 249 votes

against 30.

_Thursday, Midnight._--Spent restful evening with Indian Budget.

There is nothing exceeds indignation with which Members resent

postponement of opportunity to consider Indian Budget, except the

unanimity with which they stop away when it is presented. Number

present during FOWLER'S masterly exposition not equal to one per ten

million of the population concerned. Later, CHAPLIN endeavoured to

raise drooping spirits by few remarks on bi-metallism. Success only

partial. CLARK did much better. Genially began evening by accusing

SQUIRE OF MALWOOD of humbugging House. That worth at least a dozen

votes to Government in Division that followed. TIM HEALY, who can't

abear strong language, was one who meant to vote against proposal to

take remaining time of Session for Ministers. After CLARK'S speech,

voted with and for the SQUIRE.

CLARK closed pleasant evening by insisting on Division upon Statute

Law Revision Bill running through Committee.

"Will the hon. Member name a teller," said Chairman, blandly.

"Mr. CONYBEARE," responded CLARK, instinctively thinking of Member

for Camborne as most likely to help in the job he had in hand.

But CONYBEARE is a reformed character. Even at his worst must draw

line somewhere. Drew it sharply at CLARK. Appeared as if game was up.

On the contrary it was WEIR. Deliberately fixing a pair of

cantankerous pince-nez that seem to be in chronic condition of

strike, WEIR gazed round angered Committee. With slowest enunciation

in profoundest chest notes he said, "I will tell with the hon.

Member."

Committee roared with anguished despair; but, since procedure in case

of frivolous and vexatious Division seems forgotten by Chair, no help

for it. If there are two Members to "tell," House must be "told." But

there tyranny of two ceases. You may take horse to water but cannot

make him drink. Similarly you may divide House, but cannot compel

Members to vote with you. Thus it came to pass that after Division

CLARK and WEIR marched up to table with confession that they had not

taken a single man into the Lobby with them. They had told, but they

had nothing to tell.

"They're worse off by a moiety than the Squire in the _Canterbury

Tales_," said SARK--

"Him who left half told

The story of Cambuscan bold."

"Yes, poor needy Knife-grinders," said the other SQUIRE; "if they'd

only thought of it when asked by the Clerk, 'How many?' they might

have answered, Members, God bless you, we have none to tell.'"

_Business done._--Indian Budget through Committee.

_Friday._--Something notable in question addressed by BRYN ROBERTS to

HOME SECRETARY. Wants to know "whether he is aware that the Mr.

WILLIAMS, the recently appointed assistant inspector, who is said to

have worked at an open quarry, never worked at the rock but simply,

when a young man, used to pick up slabs cast aside by the regular

quarrymen, and split them into slates; and that, _ever since_, _he

has been engaged as a pupil teacher and a schoolmaster_."

Shall put notice on paper to ask BRYN ROBERTS whether the sequence

therein set forth is usual in Wales, and whether picking up slabs and

splitting them into slates is the customary pathway to pupil

teachership.

Long night in Committee of Supply; fair progress in spite of WEIR and

CLARK. TIM HEALY sprang ambush on House of Lords: moved to stop

supplies for meeting their household expenses. Nearly carried

proposal, too. Vote sanctioned by majority of nine, and these drawn

from Opposition.

_Business done._--Supply.

* * * * *

A HAWARDEN PASTORAL;

_Or, The Grand Old Georgic._

["The whole care of poultry, the production of eggs, care of bees,

and the manufacture of butter--of itself a most important branch of

commerce--are really included within the purposes of this little

institution."--_Mr. Gladstone on "Small Culture," at the Hawarden

Agricultural and Horticultural Fête, August 14, 1894._]

[Illustration: _G. O. Meliboeus sings:_--]

What am I piping about to-day?