_The Fly has just set down_ PHILLIPSON _and_ UNDERSHELL.
_Tredwell_ (_receiving_ PHILLIPSON). Lady MAISIE'S maid, I presume? I'm
the butler here--Mr. TREDWELL. Your ladies arrived some time back. I'll
take you to the housekeeper, who'll show you their rooms, and where
yours is, and I hope you'll find everything comfortable. (_In an
undertone, indicating_ UNDERSHELL, _who is awaiting recognition in the
doorway._) Do you happen to know who it is _with_ you?
_Phillipson_ (_in a whisper_). I can't quite make him out he's so
flighty in his talk. But he _says_ he belongs to some Mews or other.
_Tred._ Oh, then _I_ know who he is. We expect him right enough. He's a
partner in a crack firm of Vets. We've sent for him special. I'd better
see to him, if you don't mind finding your own way to the Housekeeper's
Room, second door to the left, down that corridor. (PHILLIPSON
_departs_.) Good morning to you, Mr.--ah--Mr.----?
_Undershell_ (_coming forward_). Mr. UNDERSHELL. Lady CULVERIN expects
me, I believe.
Tred. Quite correct, Mr. UNDERSHELL, Sir. She do. Leastwise, I shouldn't
say myself she'd require to see you--well, not _before_ to-morrow
morning--but you won't mind _that_, I daresay.
_Und._ (_choking_). Not mind that! Take me to her at once!
_Tred._ Couldn't take it on myself, Sir, really. There's no particular
'urry. I'll let her ladyship know you're 'ere; and if she wants you,
she'll send for you; but, with a party staying in the 'ouse, and others
dining with us to-night, it ain't likely as she'll have time for you
till to-morrow.
_Und._ Oh then, whenever her ladyship should find leisure to recollect
my existence, will you have the goodness to inform her that I have taken
the liberty of returning to town by the next train?
_Tred._ Lor! Mr. UNDERSHELL, you aren't so pressed as all _that_, are
you? I know my lady wouldn't like you to go without seeing you
personally; no more wouldn't Sir RUPERT. And I understood you was coming
down for the Sunday!
_Und._ (_furious_). So did _I_--but not to be treated like this!
_Tred._ (_soothingly_). Why, _you_ know what ladies are. And you
couldn't see _Deerfoot_--not properly, to-night, either.
_Und._ I have seen enough of this place already. I intend to go back by
the next train, I tell you.
_Tred._ But there _ain't_ any next train up to-night--being a loop
line--not to mention that I've sent the fly away, and they can't spare
no one at the stables to drive you in. Come Sir, make the best of it.
I've had my horders to see that you're made comfortable, and Mrs.
POMFRET and me will expect the pleasure of your company at supper in the
'ousekeeper's room, 9.30 sharp. I'll send the Steward's Room Boy to show
you to your room.
[_He goes, leaving_ UNDERSHELL _speechless._
_Und._ (_almost foaming_). The insolence of these cursed aristocrats!
Lady CULVERIN will see me when she has time, forsooth! I am to be
entertained in the servants' hall! _This_ is how our upper classes
honour poetry! I won't stay a single hour under their infernal roof.
I'll walk. But where _to_? And how about my luggage?
[PHILLIPSON _returns._
_Phill._ Mr. TREDWELL says you want to go already! It _can't_ be true!
Without even waiting for supper?
_Und._ (_gloomily_). Why should I wait for supper in this house?
_Phill._ Well, _I_ shall be there; I don't know if _that_'s any
inducement.
[_She looks down._
_Und._ (_to himself_). She is a singularly bewitching creature; and I'm
starving. Why _shouldn't_ I stay--if only to shame these CULVERINS? It
will be an experience--a study in life. I can always go afterwards. I
_will_ stay. (_Aloud._) You little know the sacrifice you ask of me, but
enough; I give way. We shall meet--(_with a gulp_)--in the housekeeper's
room!
_Phill._ (_highly amused_). You _are_ a comical little man. You'll be
the death of me if you go on like that!
[_She flits away._
_Und._ (_alone_). I feel disposed to be the death of _somebody!_ Oh,
Lady MAISIE MULL, to what a bathos have you lured your poet by your
artless flattery--a banquet with your aunt's butler!
* * * * *
[Illustration: ARTFUL.
_Mamma (to Johnny, who has been given a Pear with Pills artfully
concealed in it)._ "WELL, DEAR, HAVE YOU FINISHED YOUR PEAR?"
_Johnny._ "YES, MAMMA, ALL BUT THE SEEDS!"]
* * * * *
A BETTING MAN ON CRICKET.
Cricket may be a _game_, but I can't call it sport,
For "the odds" at it aren't to be reckoned.
There the last's often first ere you come into port,
While the first is quite frequently second.
There was Surrey, you see, slap a-top o' the tree,
While Sussex was bang at the bottom.
But, thanks to the in-and-out form of the three,
You _never_ know when you have got 'em!
For when I backed Surrey with cheerful content.
Why Kent walloped Surrey, and Sussex whopped Kent!!!
* * * * *
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
"There are, methinks," quoth the Baron, "two or three novels--one
certainly I can call to mind--wherein the interior domestic life of Jews
strict in the observance of their ancient and most touching religious
rites and ceremonies is more amply, as well as more minutely, described
than in Mr. FARJEON'S _Aaron the Jew_, which, be it my pleasing duty to
testify, is one of the best of this prolific author's works; a simple,
touching story, the interest being well kept up, as of course the
"interest" should be when dealing with the true history of one who
commenced as a pawnbroker." As to the rites above mentioned, no special
or intimate personal experience is shown to be possessed by the author,
who could very easily have obtained his materials from an interesting
work entitled, as I fancy, _The Jew at Home_, which has, the Baron
regrets to say, disappeared from its shelf in the Baron's library.
_Aaron_ is lively, is gay, is witty, a "_Jew d'esprit,_" and, like _Mr.
Peter Magnus_, he amuses a small circle of intimate friends; but his
story, and that of his sweet wife _Rachel_, as related by Mr. FARJEON,
will increase this friendly circle to a very considerable extent. The
Baron ventures to think that a good deal of the dialogue and of the
descriptive writing is unnecessary,--but Mr. FARJEON likes to give
everyone plenty for their money,--and, further, that the story would
have gained by the loss of what would have reduced the three volumes to
two. But altogether, the novel is "recommended" by the interested but
disinterested
BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.
* * * * *
A VOTE OF THANKS.
_By a Hard-up Journalist._
[A strange light has appeared on that part of the surface of
Mars not illuminated by the sun. The _Westminster Gazette_
of August 2 asks the question, "Is Mars signalling to us?"]
Oh, men of Mars, we thank you, your behaviour's really kind!
(Forgive us if you've lately slipped somewhat out of mind!)
For now the silly season's set in with all its "rot,"
You once more raise the question whether you exist or not.
No doubt the good old topics will trot out yet again:--
"Is Flirting on the Increase?" "Is Marriage on the Wane?"
Big gooseberries as usual with sea-serpents will compete,
To help the British Press-man his columns to complete!
But you, my merry Martians, have opportunely planned
A mild but new sensation for the holidays at hand;
Your planet's "terminator," it seems, is now ablaze--
'Tis, say the _cognoscenti_, a signal that you raise!
What is it that you're shewing terrestrial telescopes?
Is't pills you're advertising, or booming patent soaps?
How on earth can one discover what by this beacon's meant,
Whether news of Royal Weddings or Railway Strikes is sent?
Alas! We haven't mastered the transplanetic code;
Your canals are yet a riddle, in vain your fires have glowed!
Still, do not let your efforts each August-tide abate--
You furnish us with "copy," which maintains the Fourth Estate!
* * * * *
DISTINGUISHED VISITORS TO BOURNEMOUTH.--The Royal Bath Hotel announces
"Private Suites." Is "General Bitters" there also?
***
EDUCATIONAL MOTTO. (_For Mr. Acland's use._)--"A place for every child,
and every child in its place."
* * * * *
[Illustration: ON A CERTAIN CONDESCENSION IN FOREIGNERS.
_He._ "OH, YOU'RE FROM AMERICA, ARE YOU? PEOPLE OFTEN SAY TO ME, 'DON'T
YOU DISLIKE AMERICANS?' BUT I ALWAYS SAY 'I BELIEVE THERE ARE SOME VERY
NICE ONES AMONG THEM.'"
_She._ "AH, I DARE SAY THERE _may_ BE TWO OR THREE NICE PEOPLE AMONGST
SIXTY MILLIONS!"]
* * * * *
"MOWING THEM DOWN!"
["He (Sir WILLIAM HARCOURT) confessed that he was not
enamoured of these exceptional measures, and he resorted to
them with extreme regret. But if he were asked for a
justification of this motion, he would refer hon. gentlemen
to the Order Book of the House of Commons."]
_Gunner_ HARCOURT, _loquitur_:--
Exceptional measures I hate,
I'd rather not always be battling;
The good old "Brown Bess" I prefer, I confess,
To a new (Parliamentary) Gatling.
To fight in the old-fashioned way,
Good temperedly, fairly, politely,
Is more to my mind; but these fellows, I find,
Will not _let_ a leader be knightly.
If BALFOUR would only fight fair;
And impose that condition on BARTLEY;
If JOE would not ravage and shriek like a savage;
Did TOMMY talk less, and less tartly;
Were GOSCHEN less eager for scalps,
And kept a tight rein upon HANBURY;
Why then 'twere all right; we'd soon get through our fight
And hatred in love's flowing can bury.
But no, they're like Soudanese blacks,
All fury and wild ugly rushes.
They shriek and they shock, and they hack and they hock,
Till chivalry shudders and blushes.
And so the machine-gun, I find,
Is just the one thing _will_ arrest 'em.
They've quite lost their head, but a fair _rain_ of lead
Played on them will try 'em and test 'em!
_Whir-r-r-r!_ GEORGE! how it's mowing them down,
Their Advance-guard,--"Amendments" they dub them!
They swarm thick and thicker. The handle turns quicker!
'Tis dreadful; but then we _must_ drub them.
As COURTNEY so gallantly said,
'Tis "deplorable"; troubles _me_ sorely.
But if ARTHUR and JOE _won't_ make terms,
why, you know,
They really can't blame me and MORLEY!
* * * * *
AIRS RESUMPTIVE.
II.--THE LINKS OF LOVE.
My heart is like a driver-club,
That heaves the pellet hard and straight,
That carries every let and rub.
The whole performance really great;
My heart is like a bulger-head,
That whiffles on the wily tee,--
Because my love distinctly said
She'd halve the round of life with me.
My heart is also like a cleek,
Resembling most the mashie sort,
That spanks the object, so to speak,
Across the sandy bar to port;
And hers is like a putting green,
The haven where I boast to be,
For she assures me she is keen
To halve the round of life with me.
Some wear their hearts upon their sleeve,
And others lose 'em on the links;
(This play of words is, by your leave,
Rather original, one thinks;)
Therefore my heart is like to some
Lost ball that nestles on the lea,
Because my love has kindly come
To halve the round of life with me.
Raise me a bunker, if you can,
That beetles o'er a deadly ditch,
Where any but the bogey-man
Is practically bound to pitch;
Plant me beneath a hedge of thorn,
Or up a figurative tree,
What matter, when my love has sworn
To halve the round of life with me?
* * * * *
THE YELLOW AGE.
The poets sing of a Golden Age.
Are we trying to start its fellow?
The _Yellow Aster_ is all the rage;
The Yellow Races in war engage;
The Primrose League wild war doth wage,
And the much-boomed Book in cover and page
Like the Age itself is--Yellow.
Well, Yellow's the tint of Gold--and Brass!
Of the Golden Calf--and the Golden Ass!
Of the "livery" face and the faded leaf,
But 'tis tedious, very, beyond belief.
I own I am little inclined to smile
On the colour of age, decay, and bile
And mustard, and _Othello_;
I'm tired, I own, of it's very look,
And I feel compelled to cock a snook
At the Yellow Primrose, the Yellow Book.
Though an Age indeed
That runs to seed
Is like to run to Yellow!
[Illustration: "MOWING THEM DOWN!"
GUNNER H--RC--RT. "NOT MANY OF 'EM LEFT NOW!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: EARLY LOGIC.
_Little Girl (of inquiring mind, to Stud Groom, looking at a Mare in
field with Foal)._ "HOW OLD IS THAT LITTLE HORSE?"
_Stud Groom._ "WELL, MISSY, HE'S ONLY FIVE DAYS OLD."
_Little Girl (to her Governess)._ "OH, NANA, DID _I_ RUN ABOUT THE
FIELDS WHEN I WAS FIVE DAYS OLD?"]
* * * * *
A LITTLE HOLIDAY.
_Sunday._--How exhausting is London life! Up late, night and morning.
Club. See summer number of illustrated paper. Pictures of pretty girls,
reclining in punts, hammocks, or deck-chairs, doing nothing, men helping
them. True holiday for jaded Londoner. Perhaps better without pretty
girls. Even more reposeful. Must get right away. Secluded place. No
pretty girls. That tiny inn JONES told me about. Miles from everywhere.
_Monday._--At Tiny Inn. Fine afternoon. Feel quite happy. With summer
clothes, summer numbers, flannels, straw hat, and other suitable things.
Seven miles from station. Beautifully clean. Perfectly quiet. Weather
changing. Raining. Landlord says, "Soon over." Eggs and bacon for
supper. To bed early.
_Tuesday._--Wake at five. Up at six to enjoy morning air. Eggs and bacon
for breakfast. Still raining. Landlord says, "Very remarkable, since in
this place it never rains." Somehow the clouds always pass over
neighbouring village, following the course of the river, the ridge of
the hills, or something. Have noticed in all country places that the
clouds always do this, except when _I_ am there. Impossible to lounge
under a tree in this rain. Stop indoors, smoke, and read summer numbers.
Eggs and bacon for lunch. Rain going on steadily. Put on flannels, go
out. Drenched. Eggs and bacon for dinner. Landlord says they hope to
give me some meat to-morrow. Butcher calls once a week apparently. Wet
evening. Somewhat tired of sitting on horsehair sofa with damaged
springs. Know all the summer numbers by heart. To bed at ten.
_Wednesday._--Wake at four. Toss about till six. Then up. Still raining.
Breakfast,--eggs and bacon. Landlord says if I cross two fields I shall
find the river and a punt. Thanks. Will wait till rain stops. He says it
is sure to stop soon. Ask him if one can get a London paper. Says they
sometimes have one at the stationer's, four miles off, but generally
only when ordered. Lends me a local paper of last week. Reduced to
summer numbers again. Begin to wish there were some pretty girls here,
after all. They might enliven things. After lunch,--of eggs and
bacon,--resolve to go out. Ask landlord where one can go. Don't like to
ask "if any girls about anywhere?" Accidentally landlord _does_ happen
to mention Farmer MUGGERIDGE'S daughters. I pretend indifference, but
inquire as to direction of MUGGERIDGE'S farm. Lose my way. Wander
helplessly. Steady downpour. Return, drenched. Butcher has not been.
Eggs and bacon for dinner. Smoke, and read advertisements--plenty of
them--in summer numbers. To bed at nine.
_Thursday._--Wake at three. Toss about till seven. Then breakfast--usual
dish. Rain, not quite so heavy. With fuller directions as to road, start
hopefully for MUGGERIDGE'S farm. Arrive there. Heavy rain again.
MUGGERIDGE loafing about. Country people always loaf about in rain. They
seem to enjoy it. Chat with him. He asks me in to have some cider.
Accept. Chance of seeing charming daughters. They enter! Now!... Oh!
awful!... Cider acid. Obliged to drink it. Hurry back. Lunch. Usual
dish. Still raining. Call in landlord, and ask eagerly about trains to
London. The next is to-morrow morning, at 8.20. Give way to despair.
Refuse eggs and bacon for dinner. Bed eight.
_Friday._--Leave in landlord's cart at seven, after usual breakfast.
Still raining steadily. Gave landlord all those summer numbers to amuse
future weather-bound visitors with imaginary pictures of rural
happiness. London once more! Hurrah! Dinner--_not_ eggs and bacon.
Theatre. Smoke at club. Avoid JONES. Tell SMITH I know the sweetest
place for country peace and seclusion. He writes down the address
eagerly. Those summer numbers will amuse him. To bed--any time!
* * * * *
AT THE WINDOW.--Judging from the tone of JAMES PAYN'S delightful
_Note-Book_ this week, one fears that charming and cheery gossiper has
been "laid up," has been compelled to take his "Notes" from a sick-couch
at a window--has, in fact, for the time, become a window-PAYN! Well, a
window is no bad coign of vantage for an observant penman. "The World
from a Window" would make an excellent book, and JAMES PAYN would be the
very man to write it. Let Mr. PAYN think of it. _Mr. Punch's_ present
purpose, however, is to wish his good friend and favourite writer speedy
emancipation from the bonds of sickness and compulsory window-watching.
* * * * *
[Illustration: PREHISTORIC PEEPS.
THE NAVAL MANOEUVRES AFFORDED MUCH PLEASURABLE EXCITEMENT TO THOSE
CONCERNED!]
* * * * *
SATURDAY POPS.
NEW SERIES.
"RUSTICUS," who is clearly "RUSTICUS EXPECTANS," was moved to write to
the _Chronicle_ on July 31st, to say that, though not a rich man, he
lives in a pretty Surrey village within an eightpenny return railway
fare of the City; and has a fairly large and quiet garden, with field,
&c. "The trees are all at their finest," he proceeds, "the flowers
looking very gay and walking in the garden." Capital fun this, when
flowers actually walk about. But no! it's "walking in the garden to-day
the thought came to me," so it's a walking thought, comparable,
doubtless, to a running commentary. Anyhow. "RUSTICUS" is moved--by the
thought of a "tired working-man or band of City workers" who would find
in his garden pleasure on a quiet Saturday afternoon--to make an offer.
Here are his words:--
"I am a bachelor, therefore I say, men, you are welcome to
my very simple hospitality if it is of any use to you. I can
do with a limited number every or any Saturday. Any creed or
class is welcome. All I stipulate for is honest souls. Come
and smoke and talk under the trees and spend a quiet time
away from the town. I simply condition--no publicity or
fuss, the giving and acceptance of the invitation quietly,
honestly, brother to brother. Would you, Sir, forward any
letters on to me?"
This is of course an example which will be followed, and _Mr. Punch_ has
already had the following letter (amongst others), which he now prints
with pleasure.
SIR,--Owing to the Death Duties, I am no longer a rich man, but I have a
little house in Piccadilly, not more than a twopenny 'bus ride from
Charing Cross. It has occurred to me that some hungry working-man might
like to drop in to a quiet little dinner some night. I am a Duke,
therefore I say, comrades in depression, you are welcome to my roof, if
it's of any use to you. I can dine a hundred or so of you any or every
night. All I stipulate for is that there shall be no speaking, for
speaking bores me horribly.
D-V-NSH-RE.
* * * * *
[Illustration: A TOWN MOUSE.
_Jones._ "WELL, MY LITTLE MAN, WHAT ARE _you_ THINKING ABOUT?"
_London Boy (who has never been out of Whitechapel before)._ "I'M
THINKIN' IT'S TIME YER MOTHER PUT YER INTO _Trousers_!"]
* * * * *
LOWERED!
Rates, rates, rates,
Of an exigent L. C. C.!
And I'm glad they can't hear the language
We utter so frequentlee!
O well for the excellent Chairman
For trying to reduce them a bit!
O well for those Councillors wary
Who on costly "improvements" sit!
And "demand-notes" still go on,
And our pockets are steadily bled;
But "O (we oft sigh) for a tenpenny rate,
And the sins of a 'Board' that is dead!"
Rates, rates, rates!
Thanks, men of the L. C. C.!
We trust the farthing now taken off
Will never go back to ye!
* * * * *
"AFTER THE HEALTH CONGRESS IS OVER."
SCENE--_A Ball Room at the Mansion House._
_He. (resting)._ Good floor, isn't it?
_She._ Quite. But tell me, have you been attending the Congress?
_He._ Of course; that is why I received an invitation to-night.
_She._ And you found the lectures and all that most interesting?
_He._ Yes, very; and then there were the Opera and the theatres in the
evening.
_She._ But do let us talk about the Congress. Did you not discuss
sanitation?
_He._ Discussed it very much indeed. So fortunate too that we had the
meeting before everybody had left town.
_She._ Yes. But did you not inquire into microbes and all that?
_He._ Certainly; had a lot of talk about them, and finished them all up
just in time not to interfere with Goodwood.
_She._ And I suppose you found out the way to keep everyone in perfect
health?
_He._ That was the idea, and yet we floored Lords and the Oval.
_She._ But oughtn't every town to be in a satisfactory condition?
_He._ Why, yes. But that depends upon the season of the year. Of course,
some places are deadly dull when nothing's going on from a social point
of view.
_She._ I mean from a health point of view--oughtn't everything nowadays
to be simply excellent?
_He._ Yes, of course. That's the modern theory.
_She._ And yet, according to the papers, London is full of fever and
insanity.
_He._ I daresay; the Press men generally get their figures right.
_She._ But if, theoretically, everything is right, why should most
things be practically wrong?
_He._ You must really ask me another.
_She._ But you are strong upon health, are you not?
_He._ Very--in the lecture-room. And now, if you are rested, we will
have another turn.
[_Exeunt dancing._
* * * * *
ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.
EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.
_House of Commons, Monday, July 30._--Having settled Budget Bill, and,
incidentally, brought CHANCELLOR OF EXCHEQUER to Death's Door by
observations on Death Duties, TOMMY BOWLES has time to turn his
attention to another social question. Looks as if he were going to take
the Bicycle Fiend by the scruff of the neck. Herein he has opportunity
of deepening and enlarging his hold on affection and esteem of British
public. Bicycle Fiend has increased, is increasing, and, at least, ought
to be registered. He comes upon the hapless rider or pedestrian in quiet
country lanes, brushing him aside as if the earth were the Fiend's and
all the highways thereof. Bad enough in the country, where there is room
to get out of the way. In crowded streets of metropolis, Fiend pounces
round unsuspected corners upon elderly gentlemen, scattering streams of
peaceful passengers at peremptory sound of fearsome bell.
TOMMY B. got his eye on him. Not without suspicion that this new
departure has something to do with old, now closed, campaign against the
Budget. TOMMY warned the SQUIRE whilst in Committee that his Death
Duties would not reap the full harvest anticipated. Every little helps.
What with actual concussions and sudden frights, Bicycle Fiend leads in
course of financial year to considerable succession of property changing
on sudden death, with concurrent toll paid to Treasury. If the Bicycle
Fiend can only be placed on same footing as the common carrier, or the
harried hansom-cab driver, the death-rate would appreciably decrease,
and with it the flow of legacy and succession duties. TOMMY may or may
not look thus far ahead. No matter, if he only succeeds in restraining a
nuisance that is a disgrace to a civilised community.
The Member for SARK tells me he has a Short Way with the B. F., which
makes him to considerable extent indifferent to slower action of HOME
SECRETARY, who has evidently never had his shins barked by this agency.
SARK says when he takes his walks abroad he usually carries a stick or
umbrella. When, crossing a road, he hears the tinkle of the Fiend's
bell, insolently and imperatively ordering him out of the way on pain
of being run over, he, instead of flying for his life, as is the use of
the ordinary citizen, carelessly throws stick or umbrella lance-wise
across hollow of right or left arm, according as the Fiend approaches
from one direction or the other. Thus armed he leisurely pursues his
way. If the Fiend continues on the track, he will run with face or chest
on to the point of the umbrella. As that would be inconvenient to him,
he slows up or goes on another tack, and when he arrives home writes a
letter to the _Bicycling Blister_, indignantly denouncing a street
passenger who wouldn't get out of his way.
_Business done._--Vote on Account through Committee.
_Tuesday._--"PRINCE ARTHUR," said SARK, looking across at the Front
Opposition Bench whilst COURTNEY was speaking, "succeeds in hiding all
traces of storm behind a smiling countenance. JOSEPH, on the contrary,
more ingenuous, less acute in practice of worldly wiles, enables one to
realise, even at this long distance of time, what BALAK, the son of
ZIPPOR, King of Moab, looked like when he stood in the high places of
Baal, and listened to BALAAM'S remarks on the motion for the
time-closure to be applied to the Children of Israel, who had pitched
their tents in the plains of Moab beyond the Jordan at Jericho, and
declined to budge at the bidding of BALAK."
Appearance of Parliamentary BALAAM on scene dramatically effective.
Crowded House worked up to highest pitch of excitement by swift
encounter, in which JOHN MORLEY had followed PRINCE ARTHUR, and JOSEPH,
springing in from behind, had clouted the CHIEF SECRETARY on the head.
The SQUIRE had moved time-closure on Evicted Tenants Bill in speech the
studied tameness and provoking brevity of which had riled Opposition
much more than if he had belaboured them with Harcourtian phrase. SAGE
OF QUEEN ANNE'S GATE said a few words, preparatory to packing up for
holiday; then COURTNEY rose from JOSEPH'S side to continue debate.
Members, taking it for granted that he, possibly with some reservations
in favour of Eviction Bill whose second reading he had supported, was
about to say ditto to JOSEPH on question of Closure, began to move
towards door. Arrested by COURTNEY'S solemn tone, and his expression of
regret, evidently unfeigned, at deplorable condition in which the House
found itself. "Woe to those through whom offences come!" cried COURTNEY
in voice which, as he said, was of one crying in the wilderness, and
seemed for its perfect effect to lack only hirsute garb, stave and
honeypot. "Through whom did the offence come? Surely," continued the
Prophet, bending shaggy eyebrows upon the bench where the Busy B's hive,
"the offence lies with those Members who, disregarding the true uses,
functions, duties, and high mission of the House, abuse their powers,
intent to destroy possibility of the right conduct of public business."
Not Ministers, then, with the SQUIRE at their head, responsible for the
deadlock, as PRINCE ARTHUR had painted the scene, and as JOSEPH had
touched it up with stronger colour. It was the Busy Bees. They and "a
junta of irresponsible landlords enforcing their will upon those who
ought to resist them."
O BALAAM! BALAAM! M.P. for Bodmin. Was it for this JOSEPH led thee into
the field of Zophim, to the top of Pisgah? For this did PRINCE ARTHUR
build seven altars, and offer up the SQUIRE OF MALWOOD on every one of
them? Long time since such a scene was wrought in the House. SAUNDERSON
pished and pshawed, and looked anxiously round for LOGAN. BARTLEY
blushed; HANBURY was hushed; and a tear trickled down the pale cheek of
TOMMY BOWLES--Cap'en no longer, disrated and denounced.
_Business done._--Time-Closure resolution carried.
_Thursday._--Such larks! Yesterday time-closure came into operation in
connection with Evicted Tenants Bill. Arranged that if debate on Clause
I not finished by eleven o'clock to-night, all Amendments remaining on
paper shall be submitted to vote without further debate. Obstruction
scotched; wriggles helplessly, like eel in muddy depths of river,
smitten by the spear.
"Shan't play," whimper PRINCE ARTHUR and JOSEPH, mingling their tears at
this fresh evidence of tyranny, this last illustration of man's
inhumanity to man.
Strike ordered in Unionist lines. Men throw down the pick; hand in the
shovel and the hoe; put on their coats; hang about corners of Lobby in
approved strike fashion. If HANBURY and the Blameless BARTLEY could only
be induced to stick short clay pipe in side of mouth (bowl downwards),
fasten a leather strap outside their trousers just below the knee, and
drink four-half out of pewters at bar in the Lobby, scene would be
complete.
Strike only partial. Fully one half the men refuse to go out; stand by
the masters, turning deaf ear to blandishments and threats of pickets
outside. Strange thing is that, working at half strength, output more
than doubled. Time-closure, with all hands at work, proposed to complete
Committee by eleven o'clock next Tuesday night. At ten minutes past six
this afternoon the whole thing through. Not hurried either. Thoroughly
debated, divided on, and Bill, in more than one instance, amended.
"Fact is," said the SQUIRE, beaming with chastened delight at turn
events taken, "we are over-manned just as London is over-cabbed. Must
see if something can't be done to reduce numbers by refusing licenses
for fresh elections when vacancies occur."
_Business done._--Evicted Tenants Bill through Committee. Building
Societies Bill far advanced.
[Illustration: THE CARSON BANSHEE.
_John Morley._ "You see it's all right, my little man. I told you you
needn't be frightened of _him_. It was only his vapour. We're through
the Commons now! Come along, and I'll leave you at the door of the
Lords'. See how you get on there!"]
_Friday._--Back in the mud again. Strike operative only when Evicted
Tenants Bill under consideration. That standing over now for Report
Stage. Meanwhile take up again Equalisation of Rates Bill. Men on strike
stream in, tired of "playing." Wonderful their eagerness to get to work
again, their keen delight in sound of their own voices, so strangely
intermitted. BARTLEY, KIMBER, FISHER, JOKIM, and the WOOLWICH INFANT all
here again, with WEBSTER (of St. Pancras) wobbling all over the place,
like a hen that has laid an egg somewhere and can't for the life of her
just at the minute think where she left it.
_Business done._--Hardly any. As BARTLEY says, "must make up for lost
time when yesterday and day before work advanced by leaps and bounds."
* * * * *
CRYPTOGRAMMATIST WANTED.--After a plain matter-of-fact paragraph in the
_Daily Telegraph_, stating that "Lord GREVILLE leaves town to-day for
Harrogate" (to undergo the "tonic sul-phur" cure, of course, _i.e._, of
water-course), there appeared this mysterious announcement, "Lord ROWTON
_leaves London to-day for some weeks._" Now where is "some weeks"? Of
course as his Lordship has quitted town for "some weeks," he evidently
prefers "some weeks," wherever it is, to London. And that is all we know
at present. Strange disappearance. Weird.
***
THE COSTER KNIGHT.--There are pictures on almost all the hoardings, in
the suburbs especially, of the celebrated Mr. ALBERT CHEVALIER. This
chevalier "_sans peur et sans reproche_" is so busy a man that in the
best sense of the term he may well be considered as _the_ type of an
honest "_Chevalier d'Industrie_."
***
QUERY.--"The Lancashire Rubber Company"--is this something new in the
way of Massage? or is it a Company got up for the express purpose of
supplying Society with Whist-players?
***
THE LATEST MADE OF HONOUR AT RICHMOND.--SIR JAMES W. SZLUMPER, Knight.