_(A piece of extravagance faintly suggestive of a Scene from "The
Critic.")_
Lord GEORGE PUFF _and_ Sir JOHN BULL _discovered attending a rehearsal
of the Naval Estimates._
_Lord George._ And now I pray your particular attention, Sir JOHN, as
this is the best thing in my play--it is a spectacular effect called
the Summer Manoeuvres.
_Sir John._ And no doubt costly, Lord GEORGE?
_Lord George._ You are right, Sir JOHN, as you will have an
opportunity of finding out--hereafter. But to the argument. It is
supposed that the British Fleet is at war with, indeed, the British
Fleet.
_Sir John._ A very clever idea.
_Lord George._ I flatter myself it is, and novel too. It is true that
occasionally the ships comprising the British Fleet have run into one
another in the past just as if they had been at war, but then they
were avowedly at peace, and now they are undoubtedly the reverse. Do
you take my meaning?
_Sir John._ Well, not clearly. How do you show that the British Fleet
is at war with the British Fleet?
_Lord George._ Ah, there comes in my art, and I think you will confess
I have a very pretty wit. You see I divide the British Fleet into two
parts--one part represents the enemy and the other part represents
itself like the House of Commons, a most representative body. That is
clear, I hope?
_Sir John._ Certainly--one is the British Fleet, and the other is not
the British Fleet. But is there no bond of union?
_Lord George._ Most assuredly there is--you pay for both. But, pardon
me, I beg you will not further interrupt me. So, now that we have the
two Fleets face to face, or, I should say, bow to starn, we proceed
exactly as if there were a real quarrel between them. We spend money
on coal, we spend money on pay, we spend money on ammunition. Nay,
by my life, we spend money on everything--just as we should do if war
were really declared! That's simple enough.
_Sir John._ I confess your plan _does_ seem simple.
_Lord George._ And there is more behind. We are not satisfied with
merely spending money--we learn a lesson as well. Come, you must
confess _that_ surprises you?
_Sir John._ Well, I admit that generally, where there is any spending
of money, it is _I_ who learn the lesson.
_Lord George._ Good--distinctly good! But let us be serious. Well,
when we are carrying on a war by every means in our power, we fancy
that one Fleet is chasing the other. They both have equal speed, and
we give one Fleet twenty-four hours' start of the other, and will you
believe me that, although the first follows the second as fast as may
be from the beginning to the end of the manoeuvring, they never see
one another! On my life--never! They never see the British Fleet,
because it's not in sight!
_Sir John_. But could you not have learned all this without so great
an expenditure of money?
_Lord George._ Well, no, Sir JOHN--not at the Admiralty!
_Sir John._ And how do you end the farce?
_Lord George._ In the usual fashion, Sir JOHN _(ignites blue
fire)_--in smoke!
_[The characters are lost in the fog customary to the occasion.
Curtain._
* * * * *
[Illustration: A SEVERE SABBATARIAN.
_Mr. Bung (Landlord of "Ye Pygge and Whistle")._ "SUNDAY LEAGUE,
INDEED! _I'D_ SUNDAY LEAGUE 'EM, IF I'D A CHANCE!--BREAKIN' THE
LORD'SD'Y, AND HINTERFERIN' WITH MY TRYDE!"]
* * * * *
"SHADOWED!"
Shadowed! Ay, even in the holiday season,
The Statesman, in his hard-earned hour of ease,
Is haunted by forebodings, and with reason.
What is that spectre the tired slumberer sees?
The foul familiar lineaments affright him;
Its pose of menace and its pointing hand
To caution urge, to providence invite him,
To foil this scourge of the Distressful Land.
Who does _not_ fear to speak of Forty-Seven,
When that same Shadow darkened all the isle?
Is _it_ abroad once more? Avert it, Heaven!
On Order's lips it chills the dawning smile;
Awakener of hushed fears and hatreds dying,
Blighter of more than Nature's genial growth,
Herald of hungering lips, of children crying,
To hold thee imminent all hearts are loth.
Vain holiday nepenthe, sport's unbending,
The Statesman's burdened brain may not forget.
His cares are ceaseless and his toils unending,
Memories embarrass and forebodings fret.
The gun, the golf-club, and the rod avail not
In his tired heart to make full holiday;
E'en amidst pastime he must watch, and fail not,
Approaching ills, the shadows on the way.
Shadowed! And not by common gloom, poor Minister!
The passing shades that chequer every course.
This spectral presence is as stern and sinister
As _atra cura_ on the rider's horse.
Before, the vision of the helpless peasant!
Behind, the famine phantom black and grim!
How should the holiday-hour, to all so pleasant,
Bring gladness true or genuine rest to him?
Wake! There is need for provident prevision,
For watchful eye, and for most wary hand.
In mellow Autumn's interlude Elysian
The old grim Shadow strikes across the land.
May Heaven arrest its course, avert its terror,
And keep the Statesman who this foe must fight
From careless blindness and from blundering error,
Such as of old lent aid to the Black Blight.
* * * * *
"JACK SHEPPARD REVERSED."
This is the title of an amusing article in last week's _Saturday
Review_. It is not the story of JACK SHEPPARD once more done into
rhyme. The title so happily selected is thoroughly justified by the
doings of an eccentric and original burglar, who, broke _into_ a
prison! This certainly was JACK SHEPPARD reversed with a vengeance!
The hero of the escapade is said to be a tinted native of
Barbadoes--his portrait should be published as a companion to the
"penny plain" of his prototype as "twopence coloured."
* * * * *