SCENE--_A Private Room in a well-known Dining Hotel. Eminent
Politicians discussing "shop" over their walnuts before
dispersing for the Christmas holidays._
_First Eminent Politician_. I say that recent speech of yours at
Skegness was a little strong. Preferring the Navy to the Army!
Although the Army is of course the "Best possible Army," and all that!
Eh? I say it was a little too thick!
_Second Em. Pol._ (_quickly_). Not a bit of it! You don't know how
well we are getting on at Pall Mall. I give you my word everything's
first-rate. Department working splendidly. You can't say that at
Whitehall and Somerset House?
_First Em. Pol._ (_warmly_). Not say it! We do! Everything's most
satisfactory. Discipline splendid. Never had such a fine Fleet. And
the fireworks we had at the Royal Naval Exhibition all through the
Summer! Well you ought to have seen them!
[Illustration]
_Second Em. Pol._ (_carelessly_). Yes, I daresay. But what have
fireworks got to do with the Navy?
_First Em. Pol._ Why they increased our recruiting awfully. Fellows
went to the Royal Naval Exhibition and saw all sorts of good
things, automatic weighing machine, a fishing-smack, and Nelson
wax-works--and--and that kind of thing you know, and joined the Navy!
Precious good thing for the Service, I can tell you.
_Second Em. Pol._ Well, to go back to an old story--you can't defend
the bullying on board _The Britannia_.
_First Em. Pol._ Oh, that's all bosh. Those newspaper fellows got
hold of it for the Silly Season and ran it to death, but it's the best
possible place in the world. No end of good training for a fellow to
command other fellows.
_Second Em. Pol._ Well, they were down upon you pretty smartly.
_First Em. Pol._ (_airily_). May be. But it's because they didn't know
what they were writing about. How can a fellow become a good naval
officer unless he has been robbed of his pocket-money, and taught how
to lie for his seniors. Thing's too ridiculous! Hallo, JIMMY, they
tell me things are in a dreadful mess at St. Martin's-le-Grand!
_Third Em. Pol._ (_promptly_). Then they tell you wrong. Never saw
anything like it--most perfect organisation in the world! Absolutely
marvellous, Sir--absolutely marvellous! And the clerks so civil and
obliging. Everybody pleased with them.
_Second Em. Pol._ Come, that won't do. Your statement is as hard to
digest as too-previous turkey and premature plum-pudding. The papers
are full of complaints all through the Autumn, and have only stopped
recently to make room for those descriptive and special law reports.
You will have them again, now Term is over.
_Third Em. Pol._ Who cares for the papers? I tell you we are
absolutely inundated with letters of thanks from Dukes and Duchesses
upwards. No; if you had said that the Colonies were in a mess, why
then--
_Fourth Em. Pol._ (_angrily_). What _are_ you talking about? Why, we
are absolutely romping in! Never knew the Colonies so prosperous as
they are now! And we have had to put on half-a-dozen extra clerks to
open and answer the letters of congratulation we receive hour by hour
from every part of the Empire. Why, everything's splendid--absolutely
splendid!
_Second Em. Pol._ Well, matters have decidedly mended since
transportation was prohibited. But to return to our muttons. Waterloo
was won--
_Fourth Em. Pol._ (_interrupting_). Yes, I know, by the Militia and
the dregs of the population! By the way, though, the gaols have had
better company than now.
_Fifth Em. Pol._ Hold hard! Don't you abuse my Prisons. As a matter of
fact, the present convicts are the finest, cleverest, most trustworthy
fellows that ever existed. It is quite an honour to get into a prison
nowadays. (_With a sudden burst of anger_.) And if any of you doubt
my word, hang me, I will have satisfaction! (_Looking round for
opponents_.) Come now, who will tread on the tail of my coat!
_Chief and Most Eminent Politician_. Gentlemen! Gentlemen! Come
it's getting late, and if we are to see the dress-rehearsal of the
Pantomime, we must be off at once!
[_The Party breaks up to meet later on in the neighbourhood of
Drury Lane._
* * * * *
FROM OUR SPORTING CITY MAN.--"_Pounded before the Start_."--Mr.
GOSCHEN's One-pound Note scheme.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE CHIMES.]
(FRAGMENTS OF A DICKENSIAN DREAM UP TO DATE.)
* * * * *
It was some time before the great-little old fellow could compose
himself to mend the fire, and draw his chair to the warm hearth. But,
when he had done so, and had trimmed his lamp, he took his "Extra
Special" from his pocket, and began to read--carelessly at first,
and skimming up and down the columns, but with an earnest and sad
attention very soon.
For this same dreadful paper re-directed _Punch's_ thoughts into the
channel they had taken all that day; thoughts of the sufferings of the
poor, the follies of the rich, the sins of the wicked, the miseries of
the outcast. Seasonable thoughts, if not exactly festive. For all is
not festive, even at the Festive Season.
Scandals in high life, starvation in low life; foul floods of
nastiness in Law Courts; muddy tricklings of misery in lawless alleys;
crimes so terrible and revolting; pains so pitiless and cureless;
follies so selfish and wanton, that he let the journal drop, and fell
back in his chair, appalled.
"Unnatural and cruel, _Toby_!" he cried. "Unnatural and cruel! None
but people who were born bad at heart--born bad--who had no business
on the earth, could do such deeds. We're Bad!"
The Chimes took up the words so suddenly--burst out so loud, clear,
and sonorous--that the Bells seemed to strike him in his chair.
And what was it that they said?
"_Punch_ and _Toby! Toby_ and _Punch_! Waiting for you, _Toby_ and
_Punch_! Come and see us! Come and see us! Come and see us! Drag them
to us! Haunt and hunt them! Haunt and hunt them. Break their slumbers!
Break their slumbers! _Punch, Toby; Toby, Punch; Toby, Punch; Punch,
Toby_!!" Then fiercely back to their impetuous strain again, and
ringing in the very bricks and plaster on the Sanctum's walls!
_Toby_ barked! _Punch_ listened! Fancy, fancy! No, no! Nothing of the
kind. Again, again, and yet a dozen times again. "Haunt and hunt them!
Haunt and hunt them!"
"If the tower is really open," said _Punch_, "what's to hinder us,
_Toby_, from going up to the steeple, and seeing for ourselves?"
"Nothing," yapped _Toby_, or sounds to that effect.
* * * * *
[Illustration: 'ARRY OUT 'UNTIN'.
_'Arry_ (_who goes to the Meet in a frost_). "'AVE THE 'OUNDS COME,
MY LADS?"
_Little Girl_ (_respectfully_). "IF YOU PLEASE, SIR, _OUR_ 'OUNDS DON'T
'UNT IN 'ARD WEATHER!"]
* * * * *
Up, up, up! and round and round; and up, up, up! higher, higher,
higher up!
There was the belfry where the ringers came. _Punch_ caught hold of
one of the frayed ropes which hung down through the apertures in the
oaken roof. But he started; other hands seemed on it; he shrank from
the thought of waking the deep Bell. The Bells themselves were higher.
Higher, _Punch_ and _Toby_, in their fascination, or working out the
spell upon them, groped their way; until, ascending through the floor,
and pausing, with his head raised just above its beams _Punch_ came
among the Bells. It was barely possible to make out their great shapes
in the gloom; but there they were. Shadowy, and dark, and dumb.
He listened, and then raised a wild "Halloa!" "Halloa!" was mournfully
protracted by the echoes. Giddy, confused, and out of breath, _Punch_
looked about him vacantly, and sank down in a swoon.
* * * * *
He saw the tower, whither his charmed footsteps had brought him,
swarming with dwarf phantoms, sprites, elfin creatures of the Bells.
He saw them leaping, flying, dropping, pouring from the Bells without
a pause. He saw them, round him on the ground; above him in the air;
clambering from him by the ropes below; looking down upon him from the
massive iron-girdered beams; peeping in upon him through the chinks
and loopholes in the walls; spreading away and away from him in
enlarging circles. He saw them of all aspects and all shapes. He saw
them ugly, handsome, crippled, exquisitely formed. He saw them young,
he saw them old; he saw them kind, he saw them cruel; he saw them
merry, he saw them grim; he saw them dance, he heard them sing; he saw
them tear their hair, he heard them howl. He saw the air thick with
them.
_Wh-o-o-o-sh!_ With what a wild whirr of startled wings the owls and
bats scurried away, dim spectral hiding things that love the darkness
and the silence of night, and shrink from light and cheerful sounds!
"Well rid of _you_!" murmured _Punch_, as _Toby_ barked at the flying
phantoms.
But among the other swarming sprites, and circling elfs, and frolic
phantoms of the Bells, _Punch_ beheld brighter things. That pleasant
pair, hand in hand, princely-looking both, and loving withal, bring a
music as of marriage-bells "all in the wild March morning." And those
other goodly and gracious presences, hint they not of Health and
Home Happiness, and Benignant Art, and Humanity-serving Science, of
Electric Sympathy, and Ready Rescue, of Mammon-thwarting Reform, and
Misery-staying Benevolence; of all the spiritual charities and fairy
graces that can bless and brighten country and hearth, Sire and
citizen, master and servant, employer and employed, struggling man,
suffering woman and helpless child? _Punch_ read in their whirling
forms and expressive faces the signs and promise of all the best and
brightest influences of the time, happy and opportune attendants upon
the auspicious hour of this the opening day of the New Year!
* * * * *
_Bim, Bom, Boom!!! Clang, Cling, Clang_!!! What are those hands
tugging at the ropes, swinging the Bells big and little, evoking the
stormy clashes and soothing cadences of the Chimes?
Surely those of the youthful New Year himself! An echo from the
long-silent lips of the great Christmas-glorifier and lover of poor
humanity seemed to ring in _Punch's_ ears:--
"Who hears in us, the Chimes, one note bespeaking disregard, or stern
regard, of any hope, or joy or pain, or sorrow, of the many-sorrowed
throng; who hears us make response to any creed that gauges human
passions and affections, as it gauges the amount of miserable food on
which humanity may pine and wither, does us wrong!"
"Right you are!" cried _Punch_, cordially, _Toby_ yapping assent.
He might have said more, but the Bells, the dear familiar Bells,
his own dear constant, steady friends, the Chimes, began to ring the
joy-peals for a New Year so lustily, so merrily, so happily, so gaily,
that he (like poor old _Trotty Veck_) leapt to his feet, and broke the
spell that bound him.
* * * * *
"Yes, that is still the true Spirit of the Chimes," mused _Mr. Punch_,
as he took pen in hand to open up his new Volume. "And that's the
spirit I hope to keep up right through the twelve months of just-born
Eighteen Hundred and Ninety-two, which I trust may be--with my willing
assistance,