iSNSM:^MS 6m^^»^Sis, CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Joseph Whitmore Barry dramatic library THE GIPT OF TWO FRIENDS OF Cornell University 1934 Cornell University Library PR 4729.G5M2 The man from Blankley's, and other sketc 3 1924 013 475 995 Cornell University Library The original of tiiis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013475995 THE MAN FROM BLANKLEY'S AND OTHER SKETCHES 'MONTAGUE, doiil SAY YOU WKNT AND ORDERED IIIM ! THE MAN FROM BLANKLEY'S AND OTHER SKETCHES \Reprinted from " Punch "] BY F. ANSTEY^^^, -^ AUTHOR OF "VICE VERSA," "VOCES POPULI," "THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS," I.l'C. WITH TWENTY-FIVE ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. BEKNABD PARTIttDCSE LONDON LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. AND NEW YORK ; 15 EAST i6th STREET 1893 \_AU rights reserved] Richard Clay & Sons, Limitet), London & Bi'ngay. THE CRITERION 44th St. and Broadway, venings at 8.30. Mat. Sat. at 2.15 ^ Ohas. Frohman, Manager, i-j,^ CHARLES FROHMAN Presents CHARLES HAWTREY , (Third American Tour) In the Comedy, in Three Acts, rheManfromBlankley's By F. ANSTEY. .ord StathpefEer Charies Hawtrey ilr. Montague Tidmareh Fred Thorne At. Oabriel Gihvatlle Mr. Henry Kemble ilr. Toomer B. A. Plompton tir. Jeremiah Ditchwaler Holman Clark rtr. Nathaniel BodflsU Henry Stepiienson i Hr Potney Herbert Rose aawes Arthur Playfair VIrs. Montague Tidmarsh Fannie Brough «rB. Gilwattle Maude Shelton Vtrs. Dilchwater Adie Burt Mrs Bodlsh Lydia Rachel Miss Bugle Mabel Henry Miss Cecilia Flinders Vere Gerald Swendoline Tidmarsh Beatrice Terry: Miss Marjory Seaton Alice De Winton Tane Faith Reynolds! Hannah Ethel Hollingshead CRITERION THEATI^^ CHARLES PROHMAN, Manager Al«o Manager of the Empire, Garrlck, Savoy, Herald Square and Garden Theatres, New York City, and tbe DUKE OF YORK'S and VAUDEVILLE THEATRES, LONDON, ENG. Eyenlngg.8.a0. ^^\^>^^ V^AOlO^b Matine es Saturday. 2.80. CHARLES FROHMAN Presents CHARLES HAWTREY (THIRD AMERICAN TOUR) IN THE COMEDY, IN THREE ACTS, THE MAN FROM BUNKLEY'S By F. ANSTEY. CAST OF CHARACTERS. LORD STRATHPEFFER Mr. CHARLES HAWTREY MR. MONTAGUE TIDMARSH, in the city Mr, FRED THORNE MR. GABRIEL GILWATTLE, his wife's uricle Mr. HENRY KEMBLE MR. TOOMER Mr. E.A. PLUMPfON MR. JEREMIAH DITCHWATER... Mr. HOLMAN CLARK MR. NATHANIEL BODFISH Mr. HENRY STEPHENSON MR. POFFLEY Mt. HERBERT ROSS DAWES, butler to the Tidmarsh's for one evening Mr. ARTHUR PLAYFAIR MRS. MONTAGUE TIDMARSH Miss FANNY BROUGH MRS. GILWATTLE Miss MAUDE SHELTON MRS. DITCHWATER Miss ADIE BURT MRS. BODFISH Miss LYDIA RACHEL MISS BUGLE Miss MABEL HENRY MISS CECILIA FLINDERS Miss VERE GERALD GWENDOLINE TIDMARSH, aged twelve JVIiss -BEATRICE TERRY MISS MARJORY SEATON, her governess Miss ALICE DE WINTON JANE, parlormaid Miss FAITH REYNOLDS HANNAH, housemaid ; Miss ETHEL HOLLINGSHEAD SCENE — At the Montague Tidmarsh's, No. 93 Ledbury Square, Bayswater. ACTS I. and HI.— The Drawing Room. A^T TT — ThfLXUrtULor Room. RESERVED FOR SMITH.GRAY (H CO. GENUINE IMPORTED Swiss Milk CHOCOLATE 861 BROADWAY Between 17tli and ISihSta. j^T AZilj SISAZjXIKS. ^ Fall Opening Bays September IS, 16, 17, 18, 19 MORNING AND ArTERNOON CONCERTS By Metropolitan Symphony Orchestra Ross JUNCNicKEL, Conductor 4th Floor . Ladles' Symphony Orchestra 6th Floor , Szakvary String Orchestra 8th Floor Hufgariitn Gypsy Band basement "WiM:^ French people eat 580 pounds of bread a head per year. Eight million pounds of caviar are exported from Russia in a year. Our Neiv and Handsome , MAIN RETAIL STORE ^e*'* is Now Located at ^^6 rifin AVENUE, ' Bet-ween 31st and 32d Streets., Downtown Branch: 155-157 BROADWAY, below Cortlandt. DR. JAEGER'S SANITARY WOOLEN SYSTEM CO. PREFACE. The Author wishes to express his acknowledgments to Messrs. Bradbury and Agnew, to whom he is indebted for their permission to republish the present collection of sketches, which made their first appearance in the pages of Mr. Punch ; and also for their leave, as the sole proprietors of the copyright, to reproduce Mr. Bernard Partridge's admirable illustrations, without which the volume would have lost its principal attraction. CONTENTS PAGE THE MAN FROM ELANKLEY's I ONE SIDE OF THE CANVASS . . 42 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE CANVASS . . 48 ON THE THRESHOLD OF THEMIS . . 53 BOAT-RACE DAY 59 PRESERVED VENICE 64 AT A VEGETARIAN RESTAURANT 70 AT A HYPNOTIC SEANCE 76 WRESTLING WITH WHISTLERS . . . . . . . . .81 DILATORY DINNERS 85 MATINEE MANIA 90 MORE " POT-POURRI " FROM THE PARK 95 THE AUTOMATIC PHYSIOGNOMIST lOO " HAIR-CUTTING, SINGEING, AND SHAMPOOING " 105 THE MENAGERIE RACE. , Ill BEFORE THE MECHANICAL MODELS II7 AT THE WILD WEST 122 TELEPHONIC THEAIUE-GOERS I28 ART IN THE CITY I34 AT THE confectioner's 140 CHOOSING CHRISTMAS TOYS , . . . ..... I46 ILLUSTRATIONS PACE "" MONTAGUE, doiit SAY YOU WENT AND ORDERED HIM ! " . . ■ • 6 "MR. AND MRS. DITCHWATEr!" • . lO "l LOOK UPON HIM SIMPLY AS A HUMAN BEING" . . • . . l6 ^' don't make a FUSS YOU CAN TAKE One GLASS, AS HE WISHES IT " . 21 "LET ME ADVISE YOU TO BE VERY Caveful" . . . . . .27 MRS. GILWATTLE RISES SLOWLY, BRISTLING WITH INDIGNATION ... 35 " DOUGLAS ! " 40 "" I WONDER WHETHER I OUGHT TO kt'ss IT — SOME FELLOWS WOULD ! " . 43 " You KNOW 'OW TO DO IT ! " -5° "no — BUT LOOK Aere. i know the criminals!" ..... 56 "i'm OLE BILLY FAIRPLAY, I AM ! " . 6l " i'm sure i'm 'IGHLY FLATTERED, MUM, BUT i'M ALREADY SUITED" . . 67 "A LA COCOTTEI" 72 "l DO. LOVELY creature!" 80 "WAITER, COULD YOU SPARE ME ONE MOMENT OF YOUR VALUABLE TIME?" 88 "SIR, A ROUGHLY-DRESSED STRANGER . . . REQUESTS A FEW WORDS'' . 92 "YER MAY SOMETIMES HENTERTAIN A ANGEL UNAWARES!" . . 97 "YOU 'ave BEEN LOSIN' YOUR 'aIR ! " . . . . . . .108 "it makes me feel too ABSURDLY YOUNG ! " . . . . . -113 "I AM PERFECTLY AWARE OF t/iat, EUPHEMIA ! " I25 "HOW VERY DISTINCTLY YOU HEAR THE DIALOGUE, SIR, DON't YOU?" . 131 EARNEST YOUTHS WITH LONG HAIR 135 "i MUST HAVE MORE THAN THAT somewhere I" . . . . . .142 '" ER — I WANT A TOY OF SOME SORT — FOR A cMd, DON't YOU KNOW ! " . 149 THE MAN FROM BLANKLEY'S A STORY IN SCENES. Scene I. Jireakfast-room at No. 92a, Porchester Square, Bays-water. Rhubarb- green and gilt paper, with dark olive dado ; curtains of a nondescript brown. Black, marble clock on grey granite mantelpiece ; Landseer engravings ; tall book-case, containing volumes of " The Quiver" '^Mission-Work in Mesopotamia',' a cheap Encyclopcedia, and the " Popular History of Europe!' Time, about 9.45 A.M. Mr. Montague Tidmarsh is leaving to catch his omnibus. Mks. T. is at her davenport in the window. Mr. T. [from the door). Anything else you want me to do, Maria? Mrs. T. Don't forget the turbot — and mind you choose it yourself — and the lobster for the sauce — oh, and look in at Seakale's as you pass, and remind him to be here punctually at seven, to help Jane wit^ the table, and say I insist on his waiting in clean white gloves ; and be home early yourself, and— there, if he hasn't rushed off before i remembered half (Mr. T. re-appears at the door.) What is it now, Montague ? I do wish you'd start, and have done with it, instead of keeping Jane at the front door, when she ought to be •clearing away breakfast ! The Man from Blankley s. Mr. T. Very sorry, my love-^I was just going, when I met a. telegraph-boy with this, for you. I hope there's nothing wrong with Uncle Gabriel, I'm sure. Mrs. T. Don't stand there holding it — give it to me. {She opens- it^ "Regret impossible dine to-night — lost great-aunt very suddenly. — Buckram." How provoking of the man ! And I particularly wished him to meet Uncle Gabriel, because he is such a good listener, and they would be sure to get on together. As if he hadn't, all the rest of the year to lose his aunt in ! Mr. T. That's Buckram all over. Never can depend upon that, fellow. {Gloomily^ Now we shall be thirteen at table ! Mrs. T. Nonsense, Montague — we carit be! Let me see — Uncle Gabriel and Aunt Joanna, two ; the Ditchwaters, four ; Bodfishes,. six ; Toomers, eight ; Miss Bugle, nine ; Mr. Poffley, ten ; Cecilia Flinders, eleven, and ourselves — we are thirteen ! And I know uncle will refuse to sit down at all if he notices it ; and anyway,, it's sure to cast a gloom over the whole thing. We must get some- body ! Mr. T. Couldn't that Miss— what's her name.? — Seaton dine^ for once ? Mrs. T. The idea, Montague! Then there would be one lady too many — if you can call a governess a lady, that is. And I do so- disapprove of taking people out of their proper station ! Mr. T. I might wire to Filleter or Makewayt— but I rather think they're both away, and it won't do to run any risk. Shall I bring home Sternstuhl or Federfuchs } Very quiet, respectable- young fellows, and I could let one of 'em go off early to dress. Mrs. T. Thank you, Montague— but I won't have one of your German clerks at my table— every one would see what he was in, a minute. And he mightn't even have a dress-suit ! Let me think . ! . T know what we can do. Blankley supplies extra guests for parties- and things, I remember seeing it in the paper. We must hire a man. there. Go there at once, Montague, it's very little out of your way,, and tell them to be sure and send a gentlemanly person— he needn't The Man from Blankleys. talk much, and he won't be required to tell any anecdotes. Make haste, say they can put him down to my deposit account. Mr. T. I don't half like the idea, Maria, but I suppose it's the only thing left. I'll go and see what they can do for us. [He goes out. Mrs. T. I know he'll make some muddle — I'd better do it myself! {She rushes out into the passage^ Jane, is your master gone? Call him back — there, I'll do it. {She calls after Mr. T.'s retreating form from the doorstep.) Montague! never mind about Blankley's. I'll see to it myself Do you hear 1 Mr. T.'s Voice {from the corner). All right, my love, all right ! I hear. Mrs. T. I must go round before lunch. Jane, send Miss Seaton to me in the breakfast-room. {She goes back to her desk; presently Miss Marjory Seaton enters the room : she is young and extremely pretty, with an air of dejected endurance) Oh, Miss Seaton, just copy out these menus for me, in your neatest writing, and see that the French is all right. You will have plenty of time for it, as I shall take Gwendolen out myself this morning. By the way, I shall €xpect you to appear in the drawing-room this evening before dinner. I hope you have a suitable frock .-" Miss Seaton. I have a white frock with blue velvet sleeves, if that will do — it was made in Paris. Mrs. T. You are fortunate to be able to command such luxuries. All my dresses are made in the Grove. Miss Seaton {biting her lip). Mine was made when we — before I \She checks herself. Mrs. T. You need not remind me quite so often that your cir- cumstances were formerly different, Miss Seaton, for I am perfectly aware of the fact. Otherwise, I should not feel justified in bringing you in contact, even for so short a time, with my relations and friends, who are most particular. I think that is all I wanted you for at present. Stop, you are forgetting the menus. [Miss Seaton collects the cards and goes out with compressed lips as Jane enters. The Man from Blankleys. Jane. Another telegram, if you please, m'm, and cook would like to speak to you about the pheasants. Mrs. T, Oh, dear me, Jane ! I wish you wouldn't come and startle me with your horrid telegrams — there, give it to me. {Reading) "Wife down, violent influenza. Must come without her. — TOOMER." {Resent- fully.) Again! and I know she's had it twice since the spring — it's too tiresomely inconsid — no, it isn't — it's the very best thing she could do. Now we shall be only twelve, and I needn't order that man from Blankley's, after all. Poor dear woman, I must really write her a nice sympathetic little note — so fortunate ! Scene II. Mrs. Tidmarsh's Bedroom. Time, "/.it, p.m. Mrs. T. has just had her hair dressed by her maid. Mrs. T. You might have given me more of a , fringe than that^ Pinnifer. You don't make nearly so much of my hair as you used to 1 (PiNNlFER discreetly suppresses the obvious retort) Well, I suppose that must do. I shan't require you any more. Go down and see if the lamps in the drawing-room are' smelling. (Pinnifer ^(?^j; sounds of ablutions- are heard from Mr. T.'s dressing-room.) Montague, is that you > I never heard you come in. Mr. T.'s Voice {indistinctly). Only just this moment come up, my dear. Been putting out the wine. Mrs. T. You always will leave everything to the last. No, don't, come in. What .' How can I hear what you say when you keep on splashing and spluttering like that.' Mr. T.'s V. {from beneath a towel). That dozen of champagne Uncle Gabriel sent has run lower than I thought — only two bottles and a pint left. And he can't drink that Saumur. Mrs. T. Two bottles and a half ought to be ample— if Seakale manages properly — among twelve. Mr. T.'s V. Twelve, my love } you mean fourteen ! The Man from Blankley s. Mrs. T. I mean nothing of the sort. Mrs. Toomer's got influenza again — luckily, so of course we shall be just twelve. Mk. T.'s V. Maria, why didn't you tell me that before ? Because I say, look here ! \He half opens the door. Mrs. T. I won't have you coming in here all over soap, there's nothing to get excited about. Twelve's a very convenient number. Mr. T.'s V. Twelve ! Yes — but how about that fellow you told me to order from Blankley's .' He'll be the thirteenth ! Mrs. T. Montague, doiit say you went and ordered him, after I expressly said you were not to mind, and that I would see about it myself! You heard me call after you from the front door? Mr. T.'s V. I — I understood you to say that I was to mind and see to it myself; and so I went there the very first thing. The manager assured me he would send us a person accustomed to the best society, who would give every satisfaction. / couldn't be ex- pected to know you had changed your mind ! Mrs. T. How could you be so idiotic .' We simply can't sit down thirteen. Uncle will think we did it on purpose to shorten his life. Montague, do something — write, and put him off, quick — do you hear ? Mr. T.'s V. {^plaintively). My love, I can't write while I'm like this — and I've no pen and ink in here, either ! Jane {outside). Please, sir, Seakale would like a word with you about the sherry you put out — it don't seem to ta — smell quite right to him. / Mrs. T. Oh, never mind sherry now. {She scribbles on a leaf from her pocket-book.) Here, Jane, tell Seakale to run with this to Blankley's — quick There, Montague, I've written to Blankley's not to send the man — they're sure to keep that sort of person on the premises ; so, if Seakale gets there before they close, it will be all right .... Oh, don't worry so ... . What .' White ties ! How should / know where they are? You should speak to Jane. And do, for goodness' sake, make haste ! I'm going down. Mr. T. {alone). Maria ! hi ... . She's gone — and she never told ' MONTAGUE, dotit SAY YOU WENT AND ORDERED HIM ! " I^he Man from Blankley s. j me what I'm to do if this confounded fellow turns up, after all! Hang it, I must have a tie somewhere ! [He pulls out draiv:r after drawer of his wardrobe, in a violent flurry. Scene III. Mrs. Tidmarsh'S Drawing-room. Wall-paper of big grey peonies sprawl- ing over -a shiny pale salmon ground. Overmantel in black and gold. Large mirrors ; cut-glass gaselier, supplemented by two standard lamps tvitli yellow shades. Furniture upholstered in yellow and brown brocade. Crimson damask hangings. Parian statuettes under glass, on walnut " What-nots " / cheap china in rosewood cabinets. Big banner-screen embroidered in beads, with the Tidmarsh armorial bear- ings, as recently ascertained by the Heralds College. Time, twenty minutes to eight. MRS. TiDMARSH is seated, flushed and expectant, near the fire ; her little daughter, GWENDOLEN, aged seven, is apparently absorbed in a picture-book close by. MiSS Seaton is sitting by a side-table, at some distance from them. Enter Mr. TiDMARSH, who, obeying a sign from his wife, approaches the hearth-rug, and lowers his voice to a cautious under-tone. Mr. Tid. It's all right. Seakale got in at Blankley's just as they were closing. They said they would send round and stop the person, if possible — but they couldn't say, for certain, whether he mightn't have started already. Mrs. Tid. Then he may come, even now ! May I ask what you intend to do if he does, Montague ? Mr. Tid. Well, that's what I rather wanted to ask_yo«, my dear. We might tell Seakale to send him away. Mrs. Tid. If you do, he'll be certain to send away the wrong person — Uncle Gabriel, as likely as not ! Mr. Tid. Um — yes, I never thought of that — no, he must be shown up, I suppose. Couldn't you explain to him, quietly, that we have made up our party and shan't require his — hem — services } 8 The Man from Blankley s. Mrs. Tid. I ? Certainly not, Montague. You hired him, and you must get rid of him yourself! Mr. Tid. {uneasily). Ton my word, Maria, it's an awkward thing to do. I almost think we'd better keep him if he comes — we shall have to pay for him anyhow. After all, he'll be quite inoffensive — nobody will notice he's been hired for the evening. Mrs. Tid. He may be one of the assistants out of the shop for all we can tell. And you're going to let him stay and make us thirteen, the identical thing he was hired to avoid ! Well, I shall have to let Miss Seaton dine, after all — that's what it comes to, and this creature can take her down — it will be a little change for her. Gwennie, my pet, run down and tell Seakale that if he hears me ring twice after every- body has come, he's to lay two extra places before he announces dinner. (Gwennie departs reluctantly ; Mrs. T. crosses to MisS Seaton.) Oh, Miss Seaton, my husband and I have been thinking whether we couldn't manage to find a place for you at dinner to-night. Of course, it is most unusual, and you must not expect us to make a precedent of it ; but er— you seem rather out of spirits, and perhaps a little cheerful society —just for once I don't know if it can be arranged yet, but I will let you know about that later on. Miss Seaton (to herself). I do believe she means to be kind ! '{Aloud) Of course, I shall be very pleased to dine, if you wish it. Seakale {at door). Mr. and Mrs. Gabriel Gilwattle, and Miss Bugle ! [Enter a portly old Gentleman, with light prominent eyes and a crest of grizzled auburn hair, in the wake of an imposing Matron in ruby velvet; they are followed by an elderly Spinster in black and silver, who rattles with jet. Miss Bugle {after the usual salutations). I hope, dearest Maria, you will excuse me if I am not quite in my usual spirits this evening J but my cockatoo, whom I have had for ages, has been in convulsions the whole afternoon, and though I left him calmer, done up in warm flannel on the rug in front of the fire, and the maid promised faithfully to sit up with him, and telegraph if there was the slightest change, I can't Jielp feeling I ought never to have come. The Man from Blankleys. 9 Aunt Joanna {to her host). Such a drive as it is here, all the way from Regent's Park, and in this fog — I told Gabriel that if he escapes bronchitis to-morrow Seakale. Mr. and Mrs. Ditchwater ! Mr. Toomer ! Mr. Ditch. Yes, dear Mrs. Tidmarsh, our opportunities for these festive meetings grow more and more limited with each advancing year. Seven dear friends, at whose board we have sat, and they at ours, within the past twelve months, carried off — all gone from us ! Mrs. Ditch. Eight, Jeremiah, if you count Mr. Jaunders — though he only dined with us once. Mr. Ditch. To be sure, and never left his bed again. Well, well, it should teach us, as I was remarking to my dear wife as we drove along, to set a higher value than we sometimes do on such hospitalities as we are still privileged to enjoy. Mr. Toomer {to Mrs. Tid.). My poor wife would, I am sure, have charged me with all manner of messages, if she had not been more or less delirious all day — but I am in no anxiety about her — she is so often like that, it is almost chronic. Seakale. Mr. and Mrs. Bodfish ! Miss Flinders ! Mr. Poffley ! Mr. Bode, {after salutations). Mrs. Bodfish and myself have just been the victims of a most extraordinary mistake ! We positively walked straight into your next-door neighbour's house, and if we had not been undeceived by a mummy on the first landing, I don't know where we should have found ourselves next. Mrs. Tid. A mummy ! How very disagreeable ; such a peculiar thing to have about a house ! But we really know nothing about the people next door. We have never encouraged any intimacy. We thought it best. Mrs. Bodf. I told their man-servant as we came away that I con- sidered he had behaved disgracefully in not telling us our mistake at once ; no doubt he had a motive ; people are so unprincipled ! Little Gwendolen {drawing Miss Seaton into a corner). Oh, Miss Seaton, what do you think } Mother's going to let you dine down-stairs with them — won't that be nice for you ? At least, she's " MR. AND MRS. DITCHWATER ! ' The Man fro7n Biankleys, \ i going to, if somebody comes, and you're to go down with him. He isn't like a regular dinner-guest, you know. Papa hired him from Blankley's this morning, and mother and he both hope he mayn't come, after all ; but / hope he will, because I want to see what he's like. Don't you hope he'll come .' Don't you. Miss Seaton, dear 1 Miss Seaton {to lierself). Then that was why ! And I can't even refuse ! {Aloud^ My dear Gwennie, you shouldn't tell me all these things — they're secrets, and I'm sure your mother would be very angry indeed if she heard you mention them to anybody I GWEN. Oh, it was only to you, Miss Seaton, and you're nobody, you know ! And I can keep a secret, if I choose. I never told how Jane used to [Miss Seaton endeavours to check these disclosures. Uncle Gab. {put of temper, on the hearth-rug). Seven minutes past the hour, Monty — and, if there's a thing I'm particular about, it's not being kept waiting for my dinner. Are you expecting somebody else .■' or what is it .' Mr. Tid. {nervously). Well, I half thought — but we won't wait any longer for him — he is not worth it — ha ! there he is — I think I heard the front door — so perhaps I may as well give him eh ? Uncle Gab. Just as you like — my dinner's spoilt as it is. {Catching sight of the banner-screen^ What have you stuck this precious affair up for, eh? Mr. Tid. To — to keep the fire off. Maria's idea, uncle — she thought our — hem — crest and motto would look rather well made up like this. Uncle Gab. {with a snort). Made up ! I should think it was ! Though what you want to make yourself out one of those good-for- nothing aristocrats for is beyond me. You know my sentiments about 'em — I'm a thorough-going Radical, and the very sound of a title Seakale {with a fine combination of awe and incredulity). Lord Strathsporran ! \There is a perceptible flutter in the company, as a ruddy-haired and rather plain young man enters with an apologetic and even diffident air, and pauses in evident uncertainty as to his host and hostess. 12 The Man from Blankleys. Uncle Gab. {to himself). A lord ! Bless my soul ! Monty and Maria are getting up in the world! Guests {to t/temselves). A lord! No wonder they kept the dinner back! Miss Seaton {after a hurried glance — to herself). Good Heavens ! Douglas Claymore ! — reduced to this ! {She lowers Iter head. Mr. Tid. (to himself). They might have told me they were going to send us a lord — / never ordered one ! I wonder if he's genuine — he don't look it. If I could only find out, quietly ! Mrs. Tid. {to herself. Gracious ! And I was going to send hini in with the governess! {To her husband in a whisper^ Montague, what are you about ? Go and be civil to him — do ! \She rings the bell twice ; Mr. Tidmarsh advances, purple with indignation and embarrassment, to welcome the new-comer. Scene IV. Mrs. Tidmarsh's Drawing-room ; Mr. Tidmarsh has just shaken hands with the latest arrival, and is still in the utmost perplexity as to the best manner to adopt towards him. The other guests are conversing, with increased animation, at the further end of the room. Lord Strathsporran {to Mr. Tidmarsh). Afraid I'm most abomin- ably late^-had some difficulty in getting here — such a fog, don't you know! It's really uncommonly good of you to let me come and see your antiquities like this. If I am not mistaken, you have got together a collection of sepulchral objects worth coming any distance to study. \He glances round the room, in evident astonishment. Mr. Tid. {to himself). Nice names to give my dinner-party ! Impudent young dog, this — lord or no lord ! {Aloud, with dignity.) I — ha — hum — don't think that's quite the way to speak of them, sir — my lord, I suppose I ought to say. Lord Strath. Oh, I expect a most interesting evening, I assure you. Mr. Tid. Well, I — I dare say you'll have no cause to complain, so 772^ Man fro7n Blankleys. 13 far as that goes, Lord — er — Strath — you'll excuse me, but I haven't quite got accustomed to that title of yours. Lord Strath, ismilmg). Not surprised at that — much in the same position myself. Mr. Tid. Ha — well, to tell you the honest truth, I should have been just as pleased if you had come here without any handle of that sort to your name. Lord Strath. Quite unnecessary to tell me so — and, you see, I ■couldn't very well help myself. Mr. Tid. {to himself). Blankley sends 'em all out with titles — then his is bogus ! {Aloud.) Oh, I don't blame you, if it's the rule ; onl}' — irritably) — well, it makes me feel so devilish awkward, you know. Lord Strath. Extremely sorry — don't know why it should. {To himself.) Queer little chap my host. Don't look the Egyptologist exactly. And where does he keep all his things ? Down-stairs, I suppose. {He turns and recognises MiSS Seaton.) Marjory Seaton — ■ here ! and I've been trying to hear something of her ever since I came back from Gizeh — this is luck ! {To her.) How do you do. Miss Seaton ? No idea we should meet like this ! Miss Seaton {in a low constrained voice). Nor I, Mr. Claymore. [Mr. Tidmarsh catches his wife's eye, and crosses to fier. Mrs. Tid. {sotto voce). Montague, isn't it time you introduced me to this Lord Whatever-it-is ? As the person of highest rank here, he certainly ought to take me in ! Mr. Tid. He's done it, Maria. He's no more a lord than I am. Miss Seaton knows him — I just heard her call him "Mr. Clayton," or some name like that ! Mrs. Tid. {aghast). So this is the sort of person you would go and engage ! He'll be found out, Montague, I can see uncle edging up towards him already. And anyhow, you know what his opinions are. A pretty scrape you've got us into ! Don't stand gaping — bring the man up to me this minute — I must give him a hint to be careful. (Lord S. is led up and presented?) Sit down here, please, in this corner. Lord — {ivith a vicious emphasis) — Strath-Blankley. (LORD S. ob^ys in 14 The Man from Blankhy s. mild amazement.^ Really, my husband and I were hardly prepared for so aristocratic a guest — we are such plain humdrum people that a title — a real title like your lordship's — ahoo ! — {with an acid titter') — is, well — rather overwhelming. I only hope you will be able to — er — sustain it, or otherwise Lord Strath, {lifting his eyebrows). Am I to understand that you did not expect me, after all .■' Because, if so — I Mrs. Tid. Oh, yes, we expected you, and of course you will be treated exactly the same as everybody else — except — I don't know if my husband warned you about not touching the champagne 'i No ? Oh, well, you will drink claret please, not champagne. I dare say you prefer it. Lord Strath. Thank you, I should indeed — if you have any misgivings about your champagne. Mrs. Tid. We must draw some distinction between you and our regular guests, as I'm sure you'll understand. Lord Strath, {to himself). Poor devils — if they only knew ! But what an unspeakable snob this woman is ! I'd give something to get out of this house — if it wasn't for Marjory. I must have a word with her before dinner — strikes me she's put out with me about something or other. Mrs. Gilwattle {to her husband). Did you ever see anything hke the way Maria's talking to that young nobleman, Gabriel .' as easy and composed as if she'd kept such company all her life — it's a wonder how she can do it ! Uncle Gab. Look at the finishing she's had ! and after all, he's flesh and blood like ourselves. She might introduce you and me to him, though — it looks as if she was ashamed of her own relations. I shall go up and introduce myself in a minute, and do what I can to make the young fellow feel himself at home. {Intercepting LORD S. in the act of moving towards MisS Seaton.) Excuse me, my lord, but,, as the uncle of our worthy host and hostess, I should like the honour of shaking you by the hand. {He shakes hands) My name's Gilwattle, my lord, and I ought to tell you before I go any further that I've no The Man from Blankley s. 15 superstitious reverence for rank. Whether a man's a lord or a linen- draper, is exactly the same to me — I look upon him simply as a human being. Lord Strath. Quite so ; he — ah — generally is, isn't he ? Uncle Gab. Very handsome of your lordship to admit it, I'm sure — but what I mean to say is, I regard any friend of my niece and nephew's as a friend of mine — be he a duke or be he a dustman. Lord Strath. Unhappily for me, I'm neither a duke nor a dust- man, and — er — will you kindly excuse me ? (To himself as he passes on.) That old gentleman makes me quite ill. Ah, Marjory at last! {To Miss Seaton.) You've scarcely spoken a word to me yet! I hoped somehow you'd look a little pleased to see me — after all this time ! Miss Seaton. Pleased .' I can hardly be that under the circum- stances, Mr. Claymore ! Lord Strath. Well, I only thought — we used to be such friends once. You seem so changed ! Miss Seaton. I am not the only one who is changed, I think. You seem to have changed everything — even your name. What ought I to call you, by the way, I didn't catch it exactly ? " Lord Somebody," wasn't it .' Lord Strath. Never mind the confounded name, I have heard quite enough of it already ! It's not my fault if I'm what I am. / never wanted to be Strathsporran I Miss Seaton. Then you really are Lord Strathsporran ! Oh, Douglas, how could you ? Lord Strath. I didn't. It was all that accident to my poor uncle and cousin. And I'm about the poorest peer in Scotland ; if thafs any excuse for me ! Miss Seaton. How can it be any excuse for your coming here .' Have you no pride, Douglas .' Lord Strath. My goodness, what is there to be proud about.!* Why shouldn't I dine with anybody, provided ? Miss Seaton. Please don't excuse yourself — I can't bear it. You know it is unworthy of you to be here ! " I LOOK UPON HIM SIMPLY AS A HUMAN BEING, The Man from BlankUys. 17 Lord Strath. I don't indeed. I came here simply as a Miss Seaton. Don't trouble to tell me — I know everything. And — and you ought to have died rather than descend to this ! Lord Strath. Ought I ? Died, eh ? That never occurred to me ; and, after all, Marjory, you're here ! What's wrong ? What have I let myself in for? Miss Seaton {bitterly). What have you let yourself out for, you mean, don't you ? Lord Strath, {mystified). Do I ? / don't know ! I believe my man let me out ; and, anyway, what does it matter now I've come ? There's dinner announced. Marjory, before we're separated, just tell me what on earth I've done to deserve this sort of thing ! Miss Seaton {with a little gesture of despair). Is it possible you want to be told how Iwrribly you have disappointed me } [The couples are forming to go down. Lord Strath, {stiffly). I can only say the disappointment is mutual ! [He moves away, and awaits his hostes£s directions. Little Gwennie {stealing up to her governess). Oh, Miss Seaton, Itaverit I been good ? I've kept quite quiet in a corner, and I haven't said a single word to anybody since he came. But what nice gentlemen Blankley does send, doesn't he ? Mrs. Tid. {on Uncle Gabriel's arm). Oh, I quite forgot you, Lord — ah — Strathporridge. As you and Miss Seaton seem to be already acquainted, perhaps you will have the goodness to take her down ? You will sit on my left — on the fireplace side — and — {in a whisper) — the less you say the better ! Lord Strath. I am guite of your opinion, {To himself.) Can't make my hostess out — or Marjory either, if it comes to that ! This is going to be a lively dinner-party, I can see ! \He gives his arm to MiSS Seaton, who accepts it without looking at him : they go down-stairs in constrained silence. 1 8 The Man from Blankleys. Scene V. The Dining-room ; walls distempered chocolate ; gaselier with opal-tinted globes ; two cast-iron Cavaliers holding gas-lamps on the mantel- piece. Oil-portrait, enlarged from photograph, of Mrs, TiDMARSH, over sideboard; on other walls, engravings — "Belshaszars Feast" " The Wall ' of Wailing at Jerusalem" and Bard's " Christian Martyrs." The guests have just sat down ; LORD Strathspqrran is placed between MiSS SeatoN and his hostess, and opposite Mr. GiLWATTLE. Lord Strath, {to himself). Deuced quaint-looking people — wish they wouldn't all eat their soup at me ! Why can't somebody say something .' Wonder who's the lady in black, all over big silver tears — like a foreign funeral. Don't feel equal to talking to Marjory again till I've had some sherry. {After sipping it.) Wormwood, by Jove! Champagne will probably be syrup — touch old Gilwattle up if he isn't careful — ah, he jibs at the sherry ! Uncle Gab. Where the dickens did Monty get this stuff, Maria? Most 'strordinary bitter taste! Mrs. Tid. {to herself, in an agony). I knew that bottle of Gwennie's quinine wine had got down into the cellar somehow! {Aloud.) Don't drink it, uncle, please, if it isn't quite what you like! Uncle Gab. I'll take his lordship's opinion. What do j>ou think of this sherry, my lord ? Don't you find it rather — eh ? Lord Strath, {observing his hostess frown at him imperiously). Oh, excellent, sir — very mellow and agreeable ! Uncle Gab. Ha — ^yes — now your lordship mentions it, there's a sort];of nuttiness about it. [He empties his glass. Lord Strath, {to himself). There is— a rotten-vinttmtss\ I'm hanged if he hasn't bolted it ! Wonderful old Johnny ! Mrs. Tid, {to him, in an under-tone). You said quite the right thing. Lord Strath, {ambiguously). Oh, not at all! \Turbot and lobster-sauce are taken round, and conversation becomes general. Conversational Scraps. Assure you if I touch the smallest The Man from Blankley s. 19 particle of lobster it instantly flies to my . , . Yes, alive. A dear friend of mine positively had to leave her lodgings at the seaside — she was so disturbed by the screams of the lobsters being boiled in the back kitchen ... I was reading only the other day that oysters' hearts continue to beat down to the very moment they are being assimilated . . . What they must suffer, poor dears ! Couldn't there be a law that they should only be eaten under chloroform, or something ? . . . I never get tired of turbot — cod, now, I dont care for, and salmon I like — but I can't digest — why, is more than I can tell you (&c.). Miss Seaton {to herself). To see Douglas here a — a paid parasite — and actually seeming to enjoy his food — it's like some dreadful night- mare — I can't believe it ! But I'm glad he hasn't the face to speak to me ! Lord Strath, {to Seakale offering hock). If you please. {To himself, after tasting^ Why, it's quite decent ! I begin to feel up to having this out with Marjory. {Aloud.) Miss Seaton, isn't it rather ridiculous for two such old friends as we are to sit through dinner in deadly silence .' Can't you bring yourself to talk to me ? we shan't be overheard. You might tell me why you think me such a ruffian — it would start us, at any rate ! Miss Seaton. I don't want to be started — and if you really don't know why I hate your coming here in this way. Lord Strathsporran, it's useless to explain ! Lord Strath. Oh, we got as far as that up-stairs, didn't we? And I may be very dense, but for the life of me I can't see yet why I shouldn't have come 1 Of course, I didn't know I was in for this exactly, but, to tell you the truth, I'm by way of being here on business, and I didn't care much whether they were cheery or not, so long as I got what I came for, don't you know ! Miss Seaton. Of course, that is the main thing in your eyes — but I didn't think you would confess it ! Lord Strath. Why, you know how keen I used to be about my Egyptian work — you remember the book on Hieroglyphs I always meant to write ? I'm getting on with it, though of course my time's a good deal taken up just now. And, whether I get anything out of 20 The Man from Blankkys. these people or not, I've met you again, Marjory— ^I don't mind any- thing else ! Miss Seaton. Don't remind me of — of what you used to be, and — and you are not to call me Marjory any more. We have met — and I only hope and pray we may never meet again. Please don't talk any more ! . , , Lord • Strath, (to himself). That's a facer ! I wonder if Marjory can have had that infernal influenza lately > Mrs. Tid. {to him in an under-tone). You and Miss Seatoh appear to be on very familiar terms. I really feel it my duty to ask you when and how you made the acquaintance of my daughter's governess. Lord Strath, {to himself). The governess ! That explains a lot. Poor little Marjory! {Aloud.) Really.? I congratulate you. I had the honour of knowing Miss Seaton in Scotland a year or two ago, and this is the first time we have met since. Mrs. Tid. Indeed ! That is so far . satisfactory. I hope you will understand that, so long as Miss Seaton is in my employment, I can- not allow her to — er — continue your acquaintanceship — ^it is not as if you were in a position — Lord Strath, {with suppressed wrath). Forgive me — but as Miss Seaton shows no desire whatever to renew my acquaintance, I don't see that we need discuss my position, or hers either. And I must decline to do so. Mrs. Tid. {crimsoning). Oh, very well. I am not accustomed to be told what subjects I am to discuss at my own table, but {scathingly) no doubt your position here gives you the right to be independent — ahoo ! Lord Strath. I venture to think so. (7> himself) Can't make this woman out — is she trying to be rude, or what.' Uncle Gab. Hullo, your lordship's got no champagne! How's that? It's all n^f/^/— « Fizzler, '84," my lord! Lord Strath. Many thanks— but the fact is, I am strictly for- bidden to touch it. Uncle Gab. Pooh I — if your lordship will excuse the remark this won't do you any harm — comes out of my own cellar, so I ought to know. {Ta Seakale.) Here, you, fill his lordship's glass, d'ye hear ? The Man from Blankley s. 21 Mrs. Tid. {in a rapid whisper). Don't make a fuss — you can take cne glass, as he wishes it ! ■'UON'T make a fuss — YOU CAN TAKE one GLASS, AS HE WISHES IT." Lord Strath, {to himself). Can I though \ If she imagines I'm going to poisbn myself to please her confounded uncle ! (Seakale gives him half a glass, after receiving a signal from MRS. T.) I suppose I must just {After tasting^ Why it's dry ! Then why the deuce was I cautioned not to ? 22 The Man from Blankley s. Uncle Gab. That's a fine wine, isn't it, my lord ? Not much of that ip the market now-a-days, I can tell you ! Lord Strath, {to himself). Precious little here. (Aloud.) So I shoul4 imagine, sir. UfJCLE Gab. Your lordship mustn't pass this entree. My niece's cook knows her business, I will say that for her. Lord Strath, {as he helps himself). I have already discovered that she is an artist. Mrs. Tid. {in displeased surprise). Then you know my cook too ? An artist ? and she seems such a respectable person ! Pray what sort of pictures does she paint } Lord Strath. Pictures? Oh, really I don't know — potboilers probably. [Mrs. Tid. glares at him suspiciously^ Conversational Scraps. And when I got into the hall and saw them all sitting in a row with their faces blacked, I said, " I'm sure they can't be the Young Men's Christian Association !".... Hysteria t my poor dear wife is a dreadful sufferer from it — I've known her un- able to sleep at all except with one foot curled round her neck! .... (&c. &c.) Lord Stratpi. {to Idmself). There's no doubt about it — this woman is trying to snub me — hardly brings herself to talk at all — and tlien she's beastly rude ! What did she ask me here for if she can't be civil! If she wasn't my hostess — I'll try her once more, she may know something about antiquities. {Aloud') I suppose Mr. Cartouche keeps his collection in a separate room ? I was told he has some hunting scarabs of the Amenhoteps that I am very curious to see. Mrs. Tid. {stiffly). Mr. Cartouche may keep all sorts of disagree- able pets, for anything / know to the contrary. Lord Strath, {to himself in amazement). Pets ! I'm hanged if I let myself be snubbed hke this ! {Aloud) I'm afraid you have very little sympathy with his tastes .' Mrs. Tid. Sympathy, indeed ! I don't even know if he has any tastes. I am not in the habit of troubling myself about my next-door neighbour's affairs. Lord Strath, {with a gasp). Your next-door ! {He pulls him- The Man from Blankley s. 23 self together^ To be sure — of course not — stupid of me to ask ! {To himself^ Good Heavens ! — these areiit the Cartouches ! I'm at the wrong dinner-party — and this awful woman thinks I've done it on purpose ! No wonder she's so confoundedly uncivil ! . . . . And Marjory knows it too, and won't speak to me ! Perhaps they all know it . . . What on earth am I to do ? ... I feel such a fool ! Miss Seaton {to herself). How perfectly ^/««J^/;/ Douglas is looking! Did he really think he was at the Cartouches' ? . . . Then — oh, what an idiot I've been ! It's a mistake — he doesn't come from BlankJey's at all ! I 7nust speak to him — I must tell him how no, I caiit — I forgot how horrid I've been to him ! I should have to tell him I believed that — and I'd rather die ! No, it's too late — it's too late now ! [Miss Seaton and Lord Strathsporran sit regarding the table-cloth with downcast eyes, and expressions of the deepest gloom and confusion. Scene VI. Lord Strath, {to himself). Don't want to make a fuss, but I suppose I ought to do something. Good little chap, my host — didn't like to tell me I'd made a mistake ; but his wife's a downright vixen. Better make it right with her. {To Mrs. TiD.) I — I'm afraid I ought to have found out long before this what an intruder you must consider me ; but your husband Mrs. Tid. Pray say no more. Mr. Tidmarsh chose to act on his own responsibility, and of course / must put up with the consequences. Lord Strath, {to himself). It's hard lines to have to leave Marjory like this ; but this is more than I can- {Aloud.) After that, of course I can only offer to relieve you of my presence as soon as Mrs. Tid. {horrified). Not for worlds! I can't have my party broken up now. I insist on your staying. I — I have no complaint to make of your conduct — so far ! Lord Strath. Very kind of you to say so. {To himself) Pleasant woman this ! But I don't care — I will stay and see this out ; it's too late to go in to the Cartouches now, and I won't leave Marjory till 24 The Man from Blankhy s. i {Aloud.) Miss Seaton — Marjory — I'm in a most awfully difficult position — do let me tell you about it! Miss Seaton {penitently). Oh, Douglas, I — I know — I heard. . . . I'm so sorry — I mean, I'm so glad ! Please forgive me for treating you as I did ! ' • Lord Strath. You did let me have it pretty straight, didn't you, Marjory .' But, of course, you thought me an impudent cad for calmly coming in to dinner uninvited like this — and no wonder! Miss Seaton {to herself). He doesn't know the worst — and he shan't if I can help if! {Aloud.) It doesn't matter what I thought — I — I don't think it now. And — and — do tell me all you can about yourself! {^They converse with recovered conjideuce. Uncle Gab. {to himself). For all the notice that stuck-up young swell takes of me, I might be a block of wood ! I'll make him listen to me. {Aloud.) Ahem ! My lord, I've just been telling my niece here the latest scandal in high life. I dare say your lordship has heard of that titled but brainless young profligate, the Marquis of Manx .' Lord Strath. Manx .? Oh, yes — know him well — sort of relation of mine. Never heard a word against him, though ! Uncle Gab. {in confusion). Oh, I — I beg your lordship's pardon — I wasn't aware No doubt I got the name wrong. Lord Strath. Ah— or the facts. Great mistake to repeat these things — don't you think .? Generally lies. \^He resumes his conversation with MiSS S. Uncle Gab. {nettled). It's all Very well for you to stand up for your order, my lord ; but it's right I should tell you that the Country doesn't mean to tolerate that den of thieves and land-grabbers— I need hardly say I refer to the House of Lords — much longer! We're determined to sweep them from the face of the earth. I say so, as the— ah— mouthpiece of a large and influential majority of earnest and enlightened Englishmen ! Lord Strath, {to himself). Fancy the mouthpiece has had quite enough champagne. {Aloud) My dear sir, you can begin sweeping to-morrow, so far as I am concerned. I'm no politician. Uncle Gab. {warming). No politician ! And yet you sit in the The Man from Blankleys. 25 Upper House as one of our hereditary legislators, obstructing the will of the People ! Do you mean to tell me there's no incongruity in that ! [Consternation among the company. Lord Strath. A good deal, I dare say, if 1 sat there— only I don't — haven't had the honour of being elected at present. Mrs. Tid. {hastily). He means he — he has other things to do, uncle — don't excite yourself so ! {To Lord S. in a whisper.) You're only exposing yourself by talking of what you know nothing about. Surely you know that Peers areii't elected ! Lord Strath. I was under the impression they were — in Scotland ; but it's not worth arguing about. Uncle Gab. You're evading the point, my lord. I'm trying to put plain sense Lord Strath, {wearily). I know — but — a — why try.' Wouldn't plain nonsense be rather more amusing — at dinner, don't you know .■' Uncle Gab. {stomiily). Don't think you're going to ride roughshod ■over me, my lord ! If you think yourself above your company Lord Strath. I assure you I've no idea what I've said or done to offend you, sir. It was perfectly unintentional on my part. Uncle Gab. {relaxing). In that case, my lord, no further apology is needed. I — ah-^accept the olive-branch ! Lord Strath. By all means — if I may trouble you for the olives. Uncle Gab. {effusively). With all the pleasure in life, my lord. And, without withdrawing in any sort or kind from any of my general opinions, I think I express the sentirnent of all present when I say how deeply we feel the honour Lord Strath, {to himself). Good Lor-d — he's going to make a speech now ! {Little GWENDOLEN enters demurely and draws up a chair ietiveen his and her tnother's.) Saved, by Jove ! Child to the rescue ! {To her^ So you're going to sit next to me, eh.' That's right! Now ^vhat shall I get you — some of those grapes .' GWEN. No, a baby orange with silver paper round it, please. Miss Seaton {to herself). If only Gwennie doesn't — {Aloud) Jes' you lishen er wharri'm goin tell you. {Here he punctuates his remarks by poking Mr. C.-J.'S ribs with a clay pipe.y ^6 One Side of the Canvass. Workin' man's gettin' more and more 'telligent every day^ — hie'sh qui' capable lookin' after his own Interests. What he wantsh is, One Man .One Vote, Redooced Hours o' Labour, 'Ome Rule for London, an' the Control of the Liquor Traffic! What did Misher Glashtone say? Educated and 'telligent clashes alwaysh wrong — mashes always ri' ! An' hain't I 'telligent an' educated ? Very well, then. There you 'ave it. Mr. C.-J. But — er — don't you see, my friend, that; according to Mr. Gladstone, the more intelligent and educated you are, the more you're likely to be wrong } Mr. B. Nothing of — er — kind. Don' you make any mishtake. I ain't wrong. I gommy 'pinions — my p'litical 'pinions, and the prinshiples I go 'pon are — Down with — er — Tories 1 Mr. C.-J. In that case, Mr. Bulcher, I need not occupy your time any longer, so I'll say Mr. B. {buttonholing him). Don' you go 'way, guv'nor, 'fore I've finished torkin. I've lishened all you gorrer say — now itsh my turn talk, and I teW you er Conshervative Gov'men ish a downri' {&"€., &c.'). Mr. C.-J. {escaping, after ten minutes' incoherence^ I'm afraid he was not quite in a condition to be argued with, but perhaps I shall do better with Mr. Moleskin, next door. {To a small boy in passage) Mr. Moleskin in, my lad .■' The Boy. Father — is in. Go right up the stairs, and you'll ■find 'im. Mr. C.-J. flounders up the narrow stairs, and is met at the top by a very burly and surly mechanic. Mr. Moleskin. Now, then, what do you want 'ere.? (Mr. C.-J. explains his object, in some confusion). Oh, that's it, is it? And what right ha' you got comin' up my stairs as if they belonged to you ? Jest you tell me that ! Mr. C.-J. {meekly). I'm really very sorry — but I was — er — shown up. Mr. M. It's 'igh time you and the likes o' you were shown up, in my opinion. 'Ow would you like to 'ave me comin^ bustin' up your ■stairs, eh ? One Side of the Canvass. 47 Mr. C.-J. {thinking that he wouldn't like it at all). I assure you I quite feel that this is an unwarrantable intrusion on my part — I must ask you to accept my best apologies — but I should be very glad to know that we might count on your — er — support at such a national crisis. Mr. M. I dessay yer would. But what I ask you is — where does the secrecy of the Ballot come in, if I'm to tell you which way I'm goin' to give my vote .'' Mr. C.-J. {in distress). Pray believe that I should not dream of — er forcing any confidence from you, or dictating to you in any way ! I merely Mr. M. {mollified). Well, I don't mind tellin' yer this much : — I've made up my mind long ago, and, when the time comes, I shall vote to please myself and nobody else ; and that's as much as you've got any right to know ! Mr. C.-J. (with a feeling that he would give much the same answer' himself under similar circumstances). Then I'm afraid it would be of no use if I said any more .' Mr. M. Not a bit o' use. \He goes into his room again. Mrs. Moleskin {coming out and addressing her son from landing). 'Ere, Jimmy, you come in orf o' that doorstep, and don't you go showin' any more folks up, or you don't know oo' you may let in next ! Mr. C.-J. {sadly to himself as he descends). I'd no idea canvassing was such exhausting work.. I — I really think I've done enough for one afternoon ! {Leaves Little Anna Maria Street— for ever ! THE OTHER SIDE OF THE CANVASS, (A PURELY IMAGINARY SKETCH.) 'Scene — A Portico in Portman Square. Mr. Benjamin Gulcher {an ardent Radical Artisan, canvassing the district on behalf of a "pal" of his, who is putting up as a Labour Candidate^ discovered on the doorstep. Mr. Gulcher {to himself— after knocking). Some might think it was on'y waste of time me callin' at a swell 'ouse o' this sort — but them as lives in the 'ighest style is orfen the biggest demmycrats, Yer never know ! Or p'raps this Sir Norman Naseby ain^t made his mind up yet, and I can tork him over to our way o' thinking. {The doors are suddenly flung open hy two young men in a very plain and sombre livery^ Two o' the young 'uns, I s'pose. {Aloud.) 'Ow are yer .' Father in, d'yer know .' First Footman {loftily). I don't know anything about your father, I'm sure. Better go down the airey-steps and inquire there. Mr. G. {annoyed with himself). It's my mistake. I didn't see yer were on'y flunkeys at first. It's yer guv'nor I want — the ole man [ First Footman {with cold dignity). If you are illewding to Sir Norman, he is not at home. Mr. G. {indignantly). 'Ow can yer tell me sech a falsehood, when I can see him myself, a-dodgin' about down there in the passage ! {Forces his way past the astonished men into the hall, and addresses a stately BuTLER in plain clothes) 'Ere, Sir Naseby, I've come in to 'ave a little tork with you on the quiet like. The Butler {not displeased). I don't happen to be Sir Norman -himself, my good fellow. Sir Norman is out. The Other Side of the Canvass. 49 Mr. G. Out, is he ? ^/i«^'i- a pity ! I wanted to see him on important business. But look 'ere — pVaps his missus is in — Shell do 1 {To himself^ I gen'ally git along with the wimmin-folk — some 'ow ! The Butler. I can't say if her ladyship is at home. If you like to send up your name, I'll inquire. Mr. G. You tell her Mr. Benjamin Gulcher is 'ere, if she'll step down a minnit. She needn't 'uny, yer know, if she's 'aving her dinner or cleanin' herself. {To himself, as the Butler departs noiselessly) Civil- spoken party that — one o' the lodgers, seemin'ly. Roomy sort o' crib this 'ere. Wonder what they pay a week for it ! Butler {returning). Her ladyship will see you, if you will step this way. [Mr. G. is taken up a staircase, and ushered into the presence of Lady Naseby, who is seated at her writing-table. Lady N. {still writing). One moment, please. My husband is out just now — but if you will kindly state the nature of your business with him, I dare say I could {She looks up) Good Heavens ! What could have possessed Clarkson to show such a person as that in here? {To herself) Mr. G. {in his most ingratiating manner). Well, mum, in the absence of his lordship, I am sure you'll prove a 'ighly agreerble substitoot ! Lady N. {freezingly). May I ask you to tell me — in two words— what it is you wish to see him about. Mr. G. Certingly you may, mum ! It's like this 'ere. I want your good gentleman to promise me his vote and influence for Mr. Joe Quelch, as we're runnin' for a Labour Candidate this Election. Lady N. I really cannot answer for my husband's views on political matters, Mr. — a— Squelcher ; I make it a rule never to interfere. Mr. G. Jest what my old woman sez. I've learnt her not to argy with me on politics. But, yer see, a deal depends on the way a thing is done, 3,x\d— {insinuatingly)— a. good-lookin' woman like yourself— (Lady N. gasps out a faint little "Oh!" here)— oh, I'm on'y tellin' yer what yer know already— 'ud find it easy enough to get her better 'alf to vote her way, if she chooses. You take him some evenin'— say a Saturday, now— when ^o The Other Side of the Canvass. he's jest 'ad enough to feel 'appy, and coax him into giving his vote to Quelch. You If now 'ow to do it! And he's the right man, mind yer, Quelch is — the right man ! '• You KNOW 'ow TO DO IT ! " Lady N. {almost inaudibfy). How — how dare you come into my house, and offer me this impertinent advice ! How ? The Other Side of the Canvass. 51 Mr. G. {good-temperedly). Easy there, lady — no impertrinence intended, I'm sure. I shouldn't come in 'ere, intrudin' on the sacred privacy of the British 'Ome, which I'm quite aware an Englishman's 'Ouse is his Castle — and rightly so — if . I didn't feel privileged like. I'm canvassing, I am ! Lady N. You are taking a most unpardonable liberty, and, if you have the slightest sense of decency — — Mr. G. {imploringly). Now look 'ere — don't let us 'ave a vulgar row over this ! I ain't goin' to lose my temper. Strike — but 'ear me ! If we don't think alike, there's no reason why you and me should fall out. I put that to_j'o«. It's likely enough you don't >^«oz« Joe Quelch ? Lady N. {with temper). I never heard of the man in my life ! Mr. G. {triumphantly). See there, now. That's where canvassing comes in, d'yer see ? It's our honly way of combating the hignirance and hapathy of the Upper Classes. Well, I'll tell yer somethink abcmt 'im. Quelch worked as alighteniian on a barge fourteen years for eighteen bob a week. Ain't that a Man of the People for yer ? And if he gits into Parliament^ he'll insist oil Labolir bein' served fust, he's in favour o' Shortened Hours of Labour, Taxation o' Ground Rents, One Man one Vote, Triaiiniial Parliaments and Payment o' Members, Compulsory Allotments, Providin' Work by Gov'ment for the Unemployed, Abolition o' the 'Ouse o' Lords, and a Free Breakfest Table. Ah, and he m&^.ns'aving it too. That's what Joe is. But look 'ere, why not come and 'ear what he's got- to say for yerself? He's 'oldin' a small j open-air meetin' in Kipper's Court this evenin', ar-past eight percisely. You come and bring .yer 'usban', and I'll guarantee you git a good place close to the cheer. I'll interdooce yer to him arterwards, and, he'll answer any questions yer like to arsk him — fair and straight ! Lady 1^. {feebly). Thank you very much; but — but we are un- fortunately dining out this evening, so I'm. afraid— — - Mr. G. {more in sorrow than in anger). There it is, yer see. Yer afraid. Afraid o' 'earing the truth. Carn't trust yerself to listen to both sides. But I don't despair of yer yet. See 'ere ; is it 'Ome Rule that separates us ? 'Cos, if so, it needn't. Quelch don't care no more for 'Ome 52 The Other Side of the Canvass. Rule than that 'ere- penwiper do, between you and me ! On'y, yer see, he carn't say so at present, d'yer ketch my meanin' ? (LADY N. rings the. bell in despair) Oh, thankee, mum, if you are so kind, I'll take whatever yer goin' to 'ave yerself, / ain't partickler. Lady N. {as the Butler appears). Clarkson, show this — this gentle- ma.n the way out. Mr. G. Don't you trouble, old pal, I can find it for myself. {To Lady N.) I believe, if the truth was known, you're co'min' round already, mum. I'll tell yer what I'll do. I'll leave some o' these 'ere little pam- phlJcks, as you might get your good man to 'run his eye overl " Why I am a Ra'dikil," "The Infamy of Tory Gov'ment," "'Ow we are Robbed !" &c. And 'ere's a picter-poster — "The 'Orrers of Coercion under the Brutal Balfour ! " Yer might put it up in yer front winder — it don't commit yer to nothing, yer know ! — it'll amuse the kids, .if you've any family. Clarkson {in his ear). Will you walk down-stairs quietly, or shall I have to pitch you .' Mr. G. {roused. at last). What, I'm to cop the push, am I ? An' what for, eh .'' What 'ave I done more than you swells ha' bin doin' ever since the Elections started .■• {To Lady N.) You come pokin' into our 'onse$, without waitin' to be invited, arskin' questions and soft-sawderin', and leavin' tracks and coloured picters — and we put up with it all. But as soon as one of us tries it on, what do yer do ? — ring for the Chucker-out ! 'Ah, and reason enough, too — yer know yer'll get beaten on the argyi- ments ! {Here he is gently but firmly led out by ClArkson, and concludes his observations on the stairs outside) Stuck-up, pudden'-'eaded fossils ! . . . battenin' on the People's brains ! . . your time '11 come some day! . . . Wait till Quelch 'ears o' this ! {&c., &c.) Lady N. {alone). Thank goodness he's gone ! — but what an ordeal ! I really must part with Clarkson. And — whatever the Primrose League Council may say — I shall have to tell thera I must give up canvassing. I don't think t can do it any more — after- this ! ON THE THRESHOLD OF THEMIS. (A SKETCH IN THE NEW LAW COURTS IN ANTICIPATION OF THE VERY NEXT " CAUSE C^L^BRE " THAT MAY HAVE THE GOOD FORTUNE TO ENLIST THE SYMPATHIES OF THE BRITISH PUBLIC.) Scene — A Corridor outside the Courts appropriated to tlie Common Law Division of the High Court of Justice. At each of the doors of the Cottrt where tJie Great Trial of Arkass v. Arkass AND AmbO — wMch abounds in " scandalous revelations in High Life '' — is proceeding, a group of would-be auditors has collected, waiting with t/te patience of respectable Peris for a chance of admission to the forensic Paradise within. The Paradise, at present, is full to overflowing, and the doors are guarded by a couple of particularly stem and stolid attendants. Each Peri is trying to wear out the endurance of ' tlte rest, and to propitiate the doorkeepers by exemplary behaviour. A Meek Man {to Doorkeeper, after standing in hopeful silence for three-quarters of an hour). I suppose there'll be a chance of getting in presently, eh ? The Doorkeeper {placidly). None whatever, sir. The M. M. But they'll be rising for luncheon in an hour or so, and some will be coming out then, surely? DooRK. Not many ; them as are in stays in, mostly. The M. M. {with a sudden recollection that lie is acquainted with one of the Counsel engaged in the case). Couldn't you take ,in my card to Mr. Tanfield 1 I'm sure he'll do anything he could for me. \TIu rest regard him with extreme disfavour, as one guilty of un- sportsmanlike behaviour. 54 On the Threshold of Themis. DOORK. It won't be no use— there ain't room in there as it is for a biUiard-cue — leastwise {conscientiously) a stoutish one — but I'll get it taken in for you, if you like. [He opens the door a very little, and passes the card to an attendant within. Junior Members of the Junior Bar iin^ very clean white wigs,. with hauteur). Thought you had orders to let Counsel in before the general public ? There ought to be some rule about that, if there isn't, DoORli. So we do, sir ; but if this gentleman's a friend of Mr. Tanfield's, and he arsks me to admit him, why you see -The Junior Junior {wither ingly). The convenience of mere Members of the Bar must give way, naturally! \The inside attendant returns with card, which the DOORKEEPER unlocks the door to receive, and then shuts it with a sharp click, like a wild-beast tamer. DoORk. {to the M. M., after perusing card by the dim lighi). I told,yo\x it wouldn't be no use, sir. " Please wait,'' it says. - [General movement of virtuous satisfaction at this well-merited rebuke. The M. M. {wishing he had not put his trust in Tanfield). I — I have waited — but it don't matter. {Addressing FIRST WHITE WiG, froni- a timid social impulse^ The — er — Plaintiit made some remark- able admissions in the box yesterday — his cross-examination seemed pretty severe. First White Wig {after a stare at his audacity). Cross-examin- ation not unfre^uefitly is. {To the other W. W.) See that extraordinary decision of old Jubber's in Biling v. Bulgin ? Of course they'll appeal! , :.^ . [The couple converse in highly technical terms for some minutes. The M. M. '{at the tiext pause). It struck me that Colonel Arkass rather contradicted himself on one or two points. Second W. W. Very likely. {To First W. W.) What do you yS At a Hypnotic Seance. The Youth {with a sleepy candour). Beer, when I can get 'old of it ! A Friend of his [in audience). Jim's 'aving a lark with him — he said as 'ow he meant to kid him like — he ain't 'ipnotised, bless yer! Hyp. But you like water, too, don't you ? (JiM admits this — in moderation^ Try this. {He gives him. a tumbler of water) Is that good water } Jim {smacking his lips) That's good water enough, sir. Hyp. It's bad water — taste it again. [Jim tastes, and ejects it with every symptom, of extreme disapproval. Jim's Friend. Try him with a drop o' Scotch in it— '/ll get it down ! Hyp. {to Jim). There is no water in that glass — it's full of sovereigns, don't you see ? (JiM agrees that this is so, and testifies to his conviction iy promptly emptying the contents of the glass into his trousers' pocket) What have you got in your pocket .'' Jim {chickling with satisfaction). Quids — golden sovereigns ! Hyp. Wake up ! Now what do you find in your pocket — any sovereigns .' Jim {surprised). Sovereigns ? No, sir ! {After putting his hand in his pocket, bringing it out dripping, and dolefully regarding tJte stream of water issuing from his leg) More like water, sir. \IIe makes dismal efforts to dry himself, amidst roars of laughter. His Friend. Old Jim didn't come best out o' that ! Hyp. {to Jim). You don't feel comfortable >. {Emphatic assent from Jim.) Yes, you do, you feel no discomfort whatever. [Jim resumes his seat with a satisfied expression. An Open-Minded Spect. Mind yer, if this yere 'Ipnotism can prevent water from being wet, there must be something in it ! Hyp. I will now give you an illustration of the manner in which, by hypnotic influence, a subject can be affected with an entirely imaginary pain. Take this gentleman. {Indicating the unfortunate Mr. Midgelly, who is slumbering peacefully) Now, what pain shall we give him ? A Voice. Stomach-ache! \This suggestion, however, is so coyly advanced that it fortunately escapes notice. At a Hypnotic Seance. 79. Hyp. Toothache ? Very good — we will give him toothache. \The audience receive this with enthusiasm, which increases to rapturous delight zvhen Mr. Midgelly's clieek begins to ttvitch violently, and he nurses his jaw in acute agony ; the toothache is then transferred to another victim, who writhes in an even more entertaining manner, until the unhappy couple are finally relieved from torment. A Spect. Well, it's better nor any play, this is — but he ought to ha' passed the toothache round the lot of 'em, just for the fun o' the thing ! Mrs. Midgelly. I should ha' thought there was toothache enough without coming here to get more of it, but so long as Midgelly's enjoyin' himself, /shan't interfere! [The Hypnot. has impressed his subjects with the idea that there is an angel at the other end of the hall, and they are variously affected by the celestial apparition, some gazing with a rapt grin, while others invoke her stiffly, or hail her like a cab. Mr. Midgelly alone exhibits no interest. Mr. Budkin [to Mrs. M.). Your 'usband don't seem to be putting himself out, angel or no angel. Mrs. M. {complacently). He knows too well what's due to me, Mr. Budkin. Vni angel enough for him ! Hyp. I shall now per.suade this gentleman that there is a beautiful young lady in green at the door of this hall. {To Mr. M.) Do you see her, sir.? Mr. M. {I'ising with alacrity). I do. Lovely creature ! \He suddenly snatches up a decanter of water, and invites his invisible charmer, in passionate pantomime, to come up and share it with him — to the infinite delight of the Audience, and disgust of his Wife. After the Performance. Mr. Midgelly {as he rejoins his Wife). I felt the influence more strongly to-night than what I have yet ; and the Professor says, if I only keep on coming up every night while he's here, I shall soon be- completely susceptible to Why, whatever's the matter, my dear ? ■8o At a Hypnotic Seance. Mrs. M. Matter ! You're quite susceptible enough as it is ; and, now I know how you can go on, you don't catch me letting you get ""ipnotised again. You and your young lady in green indeed ! I DO. LOVELY CREATURE ! Mr. M. {utterly mystified). Me and my— I don't know what you're alluding to. It's the first I've heard of it ! Mrs. M. {grimly). Well, it won't be the last by a long way. Oh, ■the insight I've had into your character this evening, Midgelly ! [Mr. M. is taken home, to realize that Hypnotism is not altogether luithout its dangers. WRESTLING WITH WHISTLERS. (A REMINISCENCE OF A RECENT EXHIBITION.) -Scene — The Goupil Gallery. Groups of more or less puzzled Britons discovered, conscientiously endeavouring to do justice to the Collection, having realized that Mr. WhisTLER's work is now considered entitled to serious consideration, but feeling themselves unable to get beyond a. timid tolerance. In addition to these, there are FRANK PHILISTINES li'ho are here zuith a fixed intetition of being funny, MATRONS with a strongly domesticated taste in Art, SERIOUS ELDERLY LADIES, Literal Persons, 6-c., &-c. A Ladv {after lookhig at a representation of Old Battersea Bridge — in -i/ie tone of a person who feels she is making a liberal concession). Well, do you know, I must say that isn't so bad. I shouldn't so much mind having that in the room, should you ? Her Companion {dubiously). Well, I don't know. He's put a steamer in. Should you think there were steamers in — a — {vaguely) — those days 1 First Lady {evidently considering Mr. Whistler capable of any eccentricity). Oh, I don't suppose he would mind that much! First Literal Person {coming to the portrait of Miss Alexander). Well — {plaintively) — he might have put a nicer expression on the child ! Second Do. Do. Yes^very unpleasing. {Refers to Catalogue) Oh, I see it says — " It is simply a disagreeable presentment of a disagreeable young lady." First Do. Do. {rejoicing that the painter has vindicated himself this time). Ah — that explains it, then. Of course if he 7neant it ! A Serious Elderly Lady. There's one thing I must say I do like, my dear, and that's the way he puts down all the unfavourable criticisms •on his pictures. So, straightforward and honest of hini, / call it. M 82 Wrestling with Whistlers. Her Companion. Yes, but I expect he can't help seeing how right and sensible the critics are, you know. Still — {charitably) — it shows he would do better if he could I An Advanced Nephew {who is endeavouring to convert a Philistine Uncle to the superiority of the Modern School). Now here, uncle, look at this. Look at the way the figure looms out of the canvas, look at the learning in the simple sweep of the drapery, the drawing of it, and the masterly grace of the pose — you don't mean to tell me you don't call that' a' magnificent portrait } His Uncle. Who's it of.' That's what /want to know first. Nephew {coldly). You will find it in the Catalogue, no doubt — No. 41. Uncle {looking it tip). " Arrangement in Black. La Dame an Brodequin Jaune" — the lady in a yellow something or other. Tchah ! And not a word to tell you who she's supposed to be ? If I pay a shilling- for a Catalogue, I expect to find information in it. And let me ask you — where's the interest in looking at a portrait when you're not told who- it's intended for 1 [The Nephew, not being prepared to anstver this difficult query,_ leads his relative gently up to a " Nocturne in Opal and Silver'." The Uncle conveys his opinion of it by a loud and ex- pressive snort. First Prosaic Person {before No. 28). Valparaiso, is it >. {Hopefully). Well, come, I otight to recognize this — I've been there often enough. {Inspecting it closely) Ha — um ! Second P. P. {with languid interest). Is it like ? First P. P. I could tell you better if he'd done it by daylight. I can't make out this in the front — looks to me like the top of a house, or- something. Don't remember that. Second P. P. I think it's meant for a jetty, landing-stage, or that sort of thing, and, when you look into it, there's something that seems intended for people — most extraordinary, isn't it ? The Domesticated Matron {who is searching for a picture with a subject to it). There, Caroline, it's evidently a harbour, you see, and ships,. Wrestling with Whistlers. 83 and they're letting off fireworks — probably for a regatta. Does it tell you what it is in the Catalogue ? Caroline (after consulting it). It only says, "^4 Nocturne in Blue ■and Gold" — oh, yes — (reading) — "a splash and splutter of brightness, on a black ground, to depict a display of fireworks." Her Mother (gratified at her ozvn intelligence). I thought it must •be fireworks. He seems quite fond oi fireworks, doesn't he.' First Facetious Philistine. Hullo, what have we got here .' " Crepusculc, in Flesh-colour and Green'.' Very like one, too, I dare say — ■when you know what it is. Second F. P. As far as I can make it out, a Crepuscule's either a Harmony inside out, or a Symphony upside down — it don't much matter. A Lady (who is laboriously trying to catch the right spirit). " The Blue Wave at Biarritz'.' Now I do admire that. And what I like even better than the Blue wave is this great Brown one breaking in the .foreground — so exactly like water, isn't it, Dick .' Dick (not a Whistlerite). Y — yes — ^just. Only it's a rock, you know. The Lady. But if that's the way he saw it, Dick ! Dick. Here's a thing ! " St. Mark's, Venice." I'll trouble you ! "What's he done with the flagstaffs and the bronze horses and the pigeons .? J never saw the place look like that. The Lady. Because it didn't happen to he foggy while we were there, that's all. First Pros. Person. Ah, there's old Carlyle, you see ! Dear me, •what a very badly fitting coat — see how it bulges over his chest 1 Second P. P. Yes ; I dare say he buttoned the wrong button — .philosopher and all that sort of thing, y'know. First P. P. (sympathetically). Well, I do think Whistler might have .told him of it ! In the Second Room. The Matron in Search of a Subject. Ah, now, this really is more .my idea of a picture. Quite a pretty cretonne those curtains, and there's- a little girl reading a book, and a looking-glass with reflections and all, and a young lady in a riding-habit — ^just going out for a ride. 84 Wrestling with Whistlers. Caroline. Yes, mother. Or just come in from one. Her Mother. Do see what it's called. " The Morning Canter" or " Back from the Row" — something of that kind, I expect it would be. Caroline. All it says is, "^ Harmony in Green and .Rose!' The Mother {disappointed). Now, why can't he give it some sensible name, instead of taking away all one's interest ! The Phil. Uncle {whom a succession of Symphonies and Harmonies has irritated to the verge of fury). Don't talk to me, sir ! Don't tell me any of these things are pictures. Look at this — a young woman in an outlandish dress sitting on the floor — on the bare floor! — in a litter of Japanese sketches ! And he has the confounded impertinence to call it a '^Caprice" — a "Caprice in Purple and Gold!' I'd purple and gild him, sir, if I had my way ! Where's the sense in such things .■" What do they teach you .■' What story do they tell ? Where's the human interest in them? Depend upon it, sir, these things are rubbish- — sheer rubbish,^ according to all my notions of Art, and I think you'll allow I ought to know something about it ? His Nephew {provoked beyond prudence). You certainly ought to know more than that, my dear unc Are you going.' The Uncle {grimly). Yes — to see my solicitor, sir. {To himself savagely^ That confounded young prig will find he's paid dear enough for his precious Whistlers — if I don't have a fit in the cab ! \He goes: the NEPHEVVr wonders whether his attempt at proselyt- izing was quite worth while. A Serious Elderly Lady. I've no patience with the man. Look at Gustave Dore, now. I'm sure he was a beautiful artist, if you like. Did he go and call his "Leaving the Prmtorium" a "Symphony" or a. " Harmony," or any nonsense of that kind } Of course not — and yet look at the difference ! An Impressionable Person {carried away by the local influence — to the man at the wicket, blandly). Could you kindly oblige me by ex- changing this " Note in Black and White " for an " Arrangement in Silver and Gold " ? [Finds himself cruelly misunderstood, and suspected of frivolity. DILATORY DINNERS. Scene — The Grounds of a certain ExJiibition. On this particular evening, there has been a slight hitch in the culinary arra?igements, and the relations between the Chef and the Waiters arc apparently strained. Enter an EGOTISTIC AMPHITRYON, followed by a meek and youthful GuEST. The Egotistic Amphitryon icojicluding an harangue). Well, all 7Ve got to say is, I've been here half-an-hour — {with a bitter sejise of the anomaly of the situation) — waiting about {or you ! I {They seat themselves at one of tlie little tables under tJie verandah?) Oh, you're going to sit that side, are you? It's all the same to me, except that there's a confounded draught here which — well, you're young, and these things don't affect you — or oughtn't to. {They exchange sides!) We shall have to hurry our dinner now, if we mean to hear anything of the music. That was the reason I expressly told you seven sharp. Here, waiter ! (Waiter prese7its a carte, and stands by with a proud humility) Now, what are you going to have.' {To GUEST.) You don't mind } I hate to hear a maa say he doesn't care what he eats — he ought to care, he must care. What do you say to this — " Potage Bisque d'ecrevisses ; Saumon Sauce Hollandaise ; Brimborions de veau farcis a I'imprevu ; Duckhngs and Green Peas ; New Potatoes ; Salad " .' Simple and — ah — -satisfying. {To Waiter.) Let us have that as sharp as you can ; do you hear >. Waiter. Quick ? Yes, I dell zem. \He hurries off. The E. A. Hang the fellow, he's forgotten the wine! (T'o Guest.) What will you drink? The Guest {thinks it will look greedy if lie suggests champagne). Oh — er — whatever you're going to drink. S6 Dilatory Dinners. The E. a. Well, I'm going to have a glass of champagne myself. I want it after all this worry. But if you prefer beer {considerately), say so. {TJie Guest, in a spirit of propitiation, prefers beer.) Well, we could have managed a bottle of Pommery between us, and it's never so good to my mind in the pints — but please yourself, of course. [The Gv EST fee/s that his moderation has missed fire, but dares not retract ; they sit in silence for some time, without anything of importance happening, except that a strange Waiter swoops down and carries away their bread-basket. A Meek Man {at an adjoining table, who, probably for family reasons, is entertaining his Sister-in-law, a lady with an aquiline nose and remark- ably thick eyebrozvs). You know, Horatia, I call this sort of thing very jolly, having dinner like this in the fresh air, eh ? \He rubs his hands under the table. Horatia -{acidly). It may be so, Augustus, when we do have it. At present we have been sitting here fifteen minutes, and had nothing but fresh air and small flies, and, as I don't pretend to be a chameleon myself, why ■ \_She fans herself vigorously.. Augustus. Well, you know, my dear, we were warned that the trout' en papillotes might take some little time. I suppose {with mild jocularity) — it's a fashionable fish — wants to come in with a "little head sunning over with curls," as the poet says. Horatia. Please don't make jokes of that sort — unless you wish "to destroy the little appetite I have left ! Augustus {penitently). Never mind — I won't do it again. Here's •our waiter at last. Now we're all right ! {The Waiter puts a dish down upon another table, and advances with the air of a family friend, who brings bad tidings. Horatia. Will you kindly let us have that trout at once } The Waiter {bending down to Augustus with pity and. sympathy). Pery s6ry to dpll you, esbecially after keebin you so long vaiting, hot {thinks how he can break it most gently) ve haf zo many beople hier to-day, and zey haf shiist dold me in ze gitcheh zere is no more drout. Zis liote vedder ze drout he vill nod shtay ! Dilatory Dinners. 87 Augustus ijnildly). No, of course not — -well, let me see, now, what can you ? The E. a. Here, you Kellner, come here, can't you ? What the Waiter {to Augustus). Von minute. I gom back bresently. {To E. A.) You vant your pill, sir, yes .' The E. a. {exploding). My bill ! Confound it ! I want something to eat first. When is that Bisque coming ? Waiter, Ach, peg your bardon, ve haf peen so pusy all day. Your Bisque vill pe retty diregly. I go to vetch him. \He goes. HORATIA. Now we're farther off from getting any food than ever ! I suppose you mean to do something, Augustus ,' Augustus. Of course — certainly. I shall speak very strongly^ {Bleating) Waiter 1 HoRATiA {ivith scorii). Do you imagine they will pay the least attention to a noise like a sixpenny toy ? Let them see you insist upon being obeyed. Augustus. I am — I mean, I will — I am very much annoyed. {Fiercely.) Wa-ai-ter ! A Stern Waiter {appearing suddenly). You vant somsing, sir ? Augustus {apologetically). Yes; we should — er — like something to eat — anything — so long as you can bring it at once, if you don't mind. We — this lady is rather in a hurry, and we've waited some little time already, you see. The Waiter. Peg your bardon, zis is nod my daple. I send your vaiter. \He vanishes. The E. a. Scandalous ! over twenty minutes we've been here ! Ha ! at last ! {A Waiter appears with a tureen, which lie uncovers) Here, what do you call this ? W^aiter. Groute au Bot — you order him, yes } No ? I dake him. avay ! \He whisks it away, to tJie chagrin of the GUEST, who thought it smelt nice. The E. a. I ordered Bisque — where is it ? and I want some wine, too — a pint of Pommery '84, and a small lager. If they're not here very- soon, I'll 88 Dilatory Dinners. The Guest {trying to make the best of things). Nothing for it but patience, I suppose. The E. a. {with intention). I had very little of that left before I sat down, I can tell you! A Sarcastic and Solitary Diner. Waiter, could you spare me -one moment of your valuable time ? {The Waiter halts irresolutely.) It is so long since I had the pleasure of speaking to you, that you- may possibly have forgotten that about three-quarters of an hour ago I ventured to express a preference for an Entrecdte aux pommes de terre, with a half-bottle of Beaune. Could you give me any idea how much longer those rare dainties may take in preparing, and in the meantime enable me to support the pangs of starvation by procuring me the favour •of a penny roll, if I am not trespassing too much upon your good-nature ? [The Waiter, in a state of extreme mystification and alarm, departs to inform the MANAGER. The E. A.'s Waiter {reappearing with a small plated bowl, champagne Dilatory Dinners, 89 bottle, and glass of lager). I regred fery moch to haf to dell you zat zere is only shust enough Bisque for von berson. \He bows with well-bred concern. The E. a. Confound it all! (7b Guest.) Here,j/ou'd better take this, now it's here. Afraid of it, eh ? Well, Bisque Is apt to disagree with some people. (To Waiter.) Give it to me, and bring this gentleman some gravy soup, or whatever else you have ready. (He busies himself with his Bisque, while the GuEST, in pure absence of mind, drinks the champagne with which the WAITER has filled his glass^ Here, what are you doing ? / didn't order lager. [Perceives the mistake) Oh, you've changed your mind, have you ? {To GuEST.) All right, of course, only it's a pity you couldn't say so at once. {To W.) Another pint of Pommery, and take this lager stuff away. {Exit W. ; the unfortunate Guest, in attempting to pass the bottle, contrives to decant it into his host's soup) Hullo, what the — there — {controlling himself). You might have left me the soup, at all events 1 Well — well — it's no use saying any more about it. I suppose I shall get something to eat some day. [General tumult from several tables ; appeals to the WAITERS, who lose their heads and tipbraid one another in their own tongue ; HORATIA threatens bitterly to go in search of buns and lemonade at a refreshm.ent bar. Sudden and timely appear- ance of energetic Manager ; explanations, apologies, promises. Magic and instantaneous production of everybody' s dinner. Appetite and anger appeased, as Scene closes in. N MATINEE MANIA. (A SKETCH AT ANY THEATRE ON MOST AFTERNOONS.) Scene — The Front of the House. In the Boxes and Dress-circle are friends and relations of the AUTHOR. In the Stalls are a couple of Stray Critics who leave early, actors and actresses " resting" more friends and relations. In the Pit, the front row is filled by the AUTHOR'S domestic servants, the landladies of several of the performers, and a theatrical charwoman or two, behind them a sprinkling of the general public, whose time apparently hangs heavily on their hands. In a Stage-box is the Author herself with a sycophantic COMPANION. A murky gloom pervades the Auditorium; a scratch orchestra is playing a lame and tuneless Schottische for the second time, to compensate for a little delay of fifteen minutes between the first and second Tableaux in the Second Act. The orchestra ceases, and a Checktaker at the Pit door whistles " Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay I " Some restless spirits stamp feebly. The Author. I wish they would be a little quicker. I've a good mind to go behind myself and hurry them up. The audience are beginning to get impatient. Her Companion. But that shows how interested they are, doesn't it, dear ? Author. I think it ought to interest them, but I did expect they would have shown a little more enthusiasm over that situation in the last tableau — they're rather a cold audience ! Comp. It's above their heads, dear, that's where it is — plays are such rubbish now-a-days, people don't appreciate a xQzWy great drama just at first. I do hope Mr. Irving, Mr. Hare, and Mr. Beerbohm Tree will come in — I'm sure they'll be only too anxious to secure it ! Author. I don't know that I should care for it to come out at the Matinee Mania. 91 Lyceum, but of course if the terms were very — oh, they're beginning at last ! I hope this h'ght comedy scene will go well. {Curtain rises : Comic dialogue — nothing whatever to do with the plot — between a Footman and a Matinee Maidservant in short sleeves, a lace tucker, and a diamond necklace ; depression of Audience. Serious characters enter and tell one another long and irrelevant stories, all about nothing. When the auditor remarks, " Your story is indeed a sad one — but go on," a shudder goes through the Jiouse, which becomes a groan ten minutes later when the listener says : " You have told me your history — now hear mine I " He tells it ; it proves, if possible, duller and more irrelevant than the other mans. A love- scene follows, characterised by all the sparkle and brilliancy of " Temperance Champagne " : the House witnesses the fall of the CiLvtain with apathy^ Author. That love-scene was perfectly ruined by the acting ! She ought to have turned her head aside when he said, " Dash the tea-pot ! " but she never did, and he left out all that about dreaming of her when he was ill with measles in Mashonaland ! I wish they wouldn't have such long waits, though. We timed the piece at rehearsal, and, with the cuts I made, it only played about four hours; but I'm afraid it will take longer than that to-day. COMP. I don't care how long it is — it's so beautifully written ! Author. Well, I put my whole soul in it, you know ; but it's not till this next act that I show my full power. [Curtain rises on a drawing-room, furnished with dingy wrecks from the property-room — the home of JASPER, the Villain, who is about to give an evening party. Enter a HoODED Crone. "Sir Jasper, I have a secret of importance, which can only be revealed to your private ear ! " {Shivers of apprehension amongst the audience) SiR J. " Certainly, go into yonder apartment, and await me there." {Sigh of relief fro7n spectators^ A FoOTMAN. "Sir, the guests wait ! " Sir J. {with lordly ease). " Bid them enter 1 " {They troop in unannounced , and sit down against tJie wall, entertaining one another in dumb-show. FoOTMAN {re-entering). " Sir, a roughly-dressed stranger, who says he knew you in Norway, under an alias, requests a few words." Sir J. " Confusion ! — one of my former accomplices in crime^ my guests must not be present at this interview 1 " {To Guests.) " Ladies 92 Matinee Mania. and gentlemen, will you step into the adjoining room for a few minutes, and examine my collection of war-weapons ? " {Guests retire, with amiable anticipations of enjoyment. The Stranger enters, and tells another •SIK, A ROUGHLY-DRESSED STRANGER . REQUESTS A FEW WORDS. long story.) " I smile still," he concludes — " but even a dead man's skull will smile. Allow me then the privileges of death!" (At this an irreverent Pittite suddenly guffaws, and the Audience from, that moment perceives that the piece possesses a humorous side. The Stranger goes ; the Matinee Mania, 93 Guests return. Re-enter Footman.) " Sir, an elderly man, who was acquainted with your family years ago, insists on seeing you, and will take no denial ! " VILLAIN {witli presence of mind — to Guests). " Ladies and gentlemen, will you step into the neighbouring apartment, and join the dancers?" {The Guests obey — The ELDERLY Man enters, and denounces Jasper, who mendaciously declares that Jie is Ids own second cousin JOSEPH ; whereupon the visitor turns down his coat-collar, and takes off a false beard.) ■"Do you know me now, Jasper Shoppun?" he cries, "/am Joseph — your second cousin." .... " What, ho, Sir Insolence ! " the Villain retorts. "And so you come to deliver me to justice?" . . . "Not so," says Joseph. " Long years ago I swore to my dying aunt to protect your reputation, even at the expense of my own. I come to warn you that " (&c., &c.). {The Audience, "mho are now in excellent spirits, receive every ificident with uncontrollable merriment till the end of the Act. Another long wait, enlivened by a piccolo solo?) Author. Lavinia, it's too disgraceful — it's a deliberate conspiracy to turn the piece into ridicule. I never thought my owjt relations would turn against me — and yet I might have known ! COMP. It wasn't the play they laughed at, dear— that's lovely — but it's so ridiculously acted, you know ! Author. Of course the acting is abominable — but they might make allowances for that. It is so unfair ! \The Play proceeds. The Heroines jealousy has been excited by the Villain, for vague purposes of his own, and the Hero is trying to disarm her suspicions. She. " But why are you constantly going from Paris to London at the beck and call of that man.'" He (aside). "If she only knew that I do it to shield my second cousin, Jasper — but my oath ! — I cannot tell her ! (To her.) The reason is very simple, darling — he is my Private Secretary ! " (Roars of inextinguishable laughter, drowning the Wife's expressions of perfect satisfaction and confidence. The Hero wants to go out ; the Wife begs him to stay ; she has ■" a presentiment of evil — a dread of something unseen, unknown!' He goes : the Villain enters in evening dress!) VILLAIN. "Your husband is false to you. Meet me in half-an-hour at the lonely hut by the cross-roads, and you shall have proof of his guilt." ( The Wife departs at once, just as she 94 Matinee Mania. is. Villain, soliloquising^ " So— my diabolical schemes prosper. I have got Joseph out of the way by stratagem, decoyed his wife — my early love — to a lonely hut, where my minions wait to seize her. Now to abduct the child, destroy the certificate of vaccination which alone stands between me and a Peerage, set fire to the home of my ancestors, accuse Joseph of all my crimes, and take my seat in the House of Lords as the Earl of Addelegg ! Ha-ha — a good night's work! a good " Joseph {from back). " Not so. I have heard all. I will 7ioi have it. You s/iall not !' (&c., &c.) Villain. " You would thwart my schemes ? " JOSEPH (Jirmly). "1 would. My wife and child shall noi " (&c., &c.). Villain {slowly). " And the oath you swore to my mother, your dying aunt, would you break that ? " JOSEPH {overcome). " My oath ! my aunt !' Ah, no, I cannot, I mitst not break it. Jaspfer Shoppun, I am powerless — you must do your evil will ! " {He sinks on a settee. Triiimph of Villain, tableaux, and Ctirtain) Author. I wouldn't have believed that a modern audience would treat heroic conduct like that as if it was laughable. It's enough to make one give up play-writing altogether ! COMP. Oh, I wouldn't do that, dear. You mustn't punish Posterity !' \The Play goes on and on ; the Villain removes inconveniently repentant tools, and saddles the Hero with his nefarious deeds. The Hero is arrested, but reappears, at liberty, in the next Act {about the Ninth), and no reference whatever is made to the past. Old serious characters turn up again, and are welcomed with uproarious delight. At the end of a conversation, lasting a quarter of an hour, the Lady's-maid remarks that " her Mistress has been very ill, and must not talk too much!' Cheers from Audience. General joy ivhen the Villai7t returns a hopeless maniac. Curtain about six, and loud calls for Atithor) Author. Nothing will induce me to take a call after the shameful way they've behaved ! And it's all the fault of the acting. When we get home, I'll read the play all through to you again, and you'll see how it ought to have been done ! A hundred and twenty pounds simply thrown aw'ay ! [Retires, consoled by her COMPANION, and the consciousness that true genius is invariably unappreciated. MORE POT-POURRI FROM THE PARK. Scene — The Park, near Cumberland Gate, 07i almost any fine afternoon. Behind the rails separating the turf from the paths. Orators, Preachers, and Reciters' are holding forth, for the delectation of small groups, zvho are mostly engaged in discussing some totally different subject. A set debate, with a time-limit, and a purely ornamental Chairman, is in progress between a Parnellite and an Anti- Parnellite. The Reader will kindly imagine himself to be passing slowly along the line. A Youthful Socialist {haranguing the usual crowd of well-to-do loungers, and working himself up to the requisite white-heat of factitious fury). And what are these Capitalists ? I'll tell yer. Jest a lot o' greedy gobblers and profit-mongering sharks, as eat up the smaller fry. And what are you ? Why, you're the small fish as eat mud — and let yourselves be gobbled ! {The crowd accept this definition of themselves with perfect gaiety and good-hicmour.) Some will tell yer that these lazy, idle loafers work as hard as what we do ourselves. {Derisive laughter at this ridiculous idea^ Mind yer, I'm not saying they don't. Honly, the 'arder they work, the worse it is for us ; because the more they work tha more they rob ! That's what they send their sons to Oxford and to Cambridge — as was built and endowed for the benefit of us, the labourin' classes — for. They send 'em there to learn 'ozi> to rob ! [Here a discussion breaks out between a SCEPTIC and a SPIRIT- UALIST, who, with half-a-dozen ititerested atcditors, have been putting their heads together in a corner. The Sceptic. No, — but keep to the point, — you're shufflin' the question. I want to argue this out on logical grounds. I know as well as 96 More ' Pot-Pourri ' from the Park. you do that, if only I 'ave 'armony and a round table in my family, I can make that table dance the poker — but what I'm puttin' to you is {triumphantly), 'ow does that prove to me as I'm in communication with the Bogie Man ? That's what j/t^a'z/^ got to answer. The Y. S. We Soshalists 'ate the Tories as we 'ate sin. Why, young polertician as I ham {fyc., &£.). The Sviryt\]A'L\?,t: {an elderly and earnest person). All I can reply to you is, we Spiritualists do not think — we know that these phenomena appear — yes, as surely as I know I am 'olding this stick in my 'and. The Sceptic {pityingly). There you go again, yer see — that stick ain't the point. / can see the stick. A stick ain't a phenomena — you're confusin' two different things. Now I'm goin' to offer you a fair challenge. You perdooce me a Spirit — not in a back room, with the lights out, but 'ere, in broad daylight, in this Park — you get that Spirit to naturahze itself, or whatever you call it, and I'll believe in 'im. Come now ! A Bystander. Ah, that's the way to corner 'is sort. 'E knows 'e carn't do\\.\ The Spiritualist {with a smile of sad superiority). Ridicule ain't argyment. \The discussion continues. The Young Socialist. Don't tork to me of Patriotism! What have the likes of you and me got to be patriotic about t I'm a Universalist, I am, and so long as a man rallies round our glorious Red Flag {here he waves a dingy scarlet rag on a stick), it's all one to me whether his own colour is black, yeller, green, brown, or white ! {Applause. Reciter Number One {in the midst of a thrilling prose narrative about a certain "'Arry," who has apparently got into legal difficulties for having thrown a cocoa-nut stick at a retired Colonel). Well, I went into the Court 'ouse, and there, sure enough, was my pore mate 'Arry in the dock, and there was hold Ginger-whiskers {laughter) a setting on the bench along with the bother beaks, lookin' biliouser, and pepperier, and more happerplecticker nor ever ! " Prison-ar," he sez, addressin' 'Arry {imitation of the voice and manner of a retired Colonel), " Prison-ar, 'ave you — har — hanythink to say in your beyarf — har .' " And then, hall of a sudden^ More ^ Pot-Pourri' fro?n the Park. 97 I sor a flash come into my dear 'ole comride 'Arry's heyes, as he ■strightened 'imself in the dock, and gave the milingtery sloot, and then, in a voice as sounded as true and sweet and clear as a bell, he sez A Dingy and Unprepossessing Preacher (jinctuously). Well, beloved friends, as I was telling yer, I went 'ome to the 'ouse of that pious ]\Iethodist lady, and she told me as 'ow she 'ad two dear unconverted sons, " YER MAY SOMETIMES HENTERTAIN A ANGEL UNAWARES ! " an' I knelt down {&€., &-c.), an' after that we 'ad our tea, and then I preached a sermon — ah, I well remember I took my tex from i&c., &c!) — an' then she gave me supper {more unctuously still), as nice a bit o' cold beef and 'ome-brewed ale as ever I wish to taste, and I slep' that blessed night in a warm comfortable bed — and this (drawing the inevitable moral) this brings me round to what I started on, inasmuch as it proves {with a forbidding smile) as 'ow yer may sometimes hentertain a angel unawares ! o 98 More ' Pot-Pourri ' from the Park. Reciter Number Two {^giving his own private version of " The- Ticket of Leave Man"). Fourpence 'ap'ny, gentlemen, is not a very- 'arty nor corjial recognition of my talent ; 'owever, I will now perceed with, the Drarmer. The curtain rises upon the Second Hact. Hover thr-ee years 'ave elapsed since Robert Brierley {^c). We are in May Hedwardses lodgings. She is torkin' to 'er goldfinch. If you boys don't, give over larkin' and stand back, you'll get a cuff on some of your 'eds^ " Goldie," she sez, " I've 'ad a letter from 'Im this morning ! " And the bird puts his little 'ed a one side, and a'most seems as if he compre'ended 'er meanin' ! Mrs. Willoughby is 'eard outside sayin', " May I come in i '" I will now hendeavour to give you a imitation of Mrs. Willoughby. \He cocks his hat rather more on one side, to indicate feminine- garrulity, and continues. Anti-Parnellite Irishman {warmly). Is it kape to the point .' 01 till that white-feeced an' black-hearrted loiar, Tim Murphy, that if he- interrups me wance more whoile oi'm in possession o' the chair, oi'll stip' down an' call 'um to orrder by landin' 'um a clump on the conk ! Reciter Number Three {who is working his way through a blood- curdling poem, with a hat on the ground before him) — And on came them maddened 'orses, with their foiery, smokin' breath ; As were bearin' the woman I lurved to a crule and 'orrible death ! {Pathetically.) 'Ow could I save my darlin' from layin' a mangled 'eap On the grorss below where the buttercups blow, along of the innercent sheep 1 {Wildly.) I felt my brine was a-reeling — I 'adn't a minnit to lose ! [He strains forward, in agony. With a stifled prayer, and a gasp for air, I {Here he suddenly becomes aware of an overlooked penny on the grass, and replaces it carefully in the hat before proceeding. First Bystander {discussing Physical Courage with a friend). No, I never 'ad no pluck. I don't see the use of it myself — on'y gits you into- rows. {Candidly^ I'm a blanky coward, I am. His Friend {admiringly). Give us yer 'and. Yer can't be a blankier coward than me ! More * Pot-Pourri ' from the Park. 99 The a. p. i^ith just pride). Oi've been wan o' the biggest libertines in this or anny other city in me toime — there's no blagardhism oi'd have put beyant me — but oi tell ye this. If Parnell was to come up to me here, nov/, and ask me to sheek um by the hand, oi'd say, " Shtand back, ye d — d scoundrel ! " Ah, oi would that ! Belated Orator (perorating to an embarrassed stranger on a seat before him, under a muddled impression that he is addressing a spell-bound multitude). I tell yer — yes, hevery man, and hevery woman among yer — ijiere he bends forward, and touches his liearer's right and left elbow im- pressively) — don't you go away under the impression I'm talking of what I don't understan' ! {The Stranger shifts his leg and looks another way.) I speak sense, don't I ? You never 'eard nothin' like this afore, any of yer, 'ave yer ? That's because I read between the lines ! ( Waving his arm ■wildly.) An' I want each man and boy of you to 'member my words, and Jiact upon them when the time comes ! \Here he staggers off with a proud and exalted air, to the immense relief of his liearer. THE AUTOMATIC PHYSIOGNOMIST. Scene — The Grounds of an Exhibition, near an ingenious machine con- structed to reveal the character and future of a person according to the: colour of his or her hair, for the small consideration of one penny. A party of Pleasure- Seekers are examining it. First Pleasure-seeker {a sprightly young lady of the name of Lottie). "Put in a penny and get a summary of your character from the colour of your 'air." I wonder what they'll have next I Second Pl.-S. {her admirer, a porridge-faced young man with pink eyelids and flaming hair, addressed as 'ECTOR by his intimates). Ah, it's surprising how far they've got, it reelly is. And beginning with butter- scotch, too ! Aunt Maria. Come on, do — you don't want to waste no more time over that rubbidge ! Fourth Pl.-S. {a lanky youth, with pale hair and a receding chin, to his fiancee). Hadn't we better be making a move if we're going to 'ear the band, Carrie t Carrie. I shall move on when I like, without your leave, Freddy ; so- make no mistake. Freddy. Oh, /'m in no 'urry. I only thought your aunt was getting — but don't mind me. [Carrie does not mind him. DOLPH {the funny man of the party). 'Old on a bit ! I've got some coppers. I'm going to sample this concern. I'll put in for all of you — it's my treat, this is. We'll begin with Aunt Maria. What colour do you ca.ll your 'air now ? I don't see any slot marked " cawfy-colour.'' Aunt Maria, l^ieveryou mind what colour my 'air is — it's a pity yoit can't find a better use for your pennies. The Automatic Physiognomist, loi DOLPH {inserting a penny in a 'slot marked "Light Brown"). 'Ere goes, the oracle's working. {The machine emits a coloured card.) Listen to what it says about Aunt-Maria. She is — " tender-'arted." Jest what I've always said of her! "A little 'asty in her temper" — 'ullo, must be a 'itch in the machinery, ^/j^re / — "neither obstinate nor 'aughty ' — {A s7tort from Aunt Maria at. this) — "her inclination to love never unreasonable." 'Ow like her J "Frolicsome, inclined to flirt, and some- times mischievous." You giddy little thing ! Up to all your little tricks, this machine is ! " Fertile in imagination, domesticated, thoughtful and persevering " — There's Aunt Maria for yer ! General Chorus, Good old Aunt Mairia ! DoLPH. There's a prophecy on blue paper from Napoleon's Book of Fate, graliis. {Reads!), "Thy 'oroscope forewarns thee of a loss if thou lendest thy money." Just when I was going to borrow 'arf-a-crown off of her too ! Aunt Maria. Ah, I didn't want no machine for that. 'Ow you can patronize such rubbidgef, / don't know ! Tellin' characters by the colour of your 'air, indeed — it's told mine all wrong, anyhow ! DOLPH. Well, you see, your 'air's so natural it would deceive any machine ! ^Movement on part of AUNT Maria. Lottie. Put in for_'Ector next, Dolph, do. I want to hear what it says about him. DOLPH. They don't keep his colour in stock — afraid o' losing their insurance policy. " Red or orbun's " the nearest they can get to it. {He puts in a penny in the "Red" slot^ Here's old 'Ector. {Reads.) "^The gentleman with long red hair is of a restless disposition, constantly roving." Keep your eye on him, Lottie ! " Impatient and fiery in temper " — 'Old 'im, two of yer i" — " but for all that, is kind and loving." You needn't 'old him — it's all right. " He is passionately fond of the fair sex." What, all of 'em, 'Ector ? I'm ashamed of yer ! , " He is inclined to timidity " — Oo'd ha' thought it ?: — " but by reflection may correct it and pass for a man of courage." You start reflecting at once, old chap ! 'EcTOR {ominously, to Lottie). If Dolph don't mind what he's about, he'll go too far some day ! [He breathes hard, tlun thinks better of it. I02 The Automatic Physiognomist. DOLPH. Now it's Carrie's turn. " Leave you out " ? Couldn't think of It. Brown 'air, Carrie's is. {He puts, in a penny.) " A lady with 'air of a medium brown colour, long and smooth" — Is your 'air long though, Carrie ? Carrie {with pride). I should hope so — I can set on it. DoLPH. That's nothing ! So can Aunt Maria set on hers ! ( With a glance at that lady's very candid "front'') Can't you, auntie, eh ? If you make an effort .' Aunt Maria {with dignity). I'll thank you to have the goodness to drop your sauce, Mr. Adolphus Gaggs ; it's out of place and not appreciated, I can assure you ! \She walks away. DoLPH {surprised). Why, there's Aunt Maria got the 'ump — for a little thing like that ! Let me finish with Carrie. {Reads.) " She is of an intellectual turn of mind." {"'Ear, 'ear/" frpm Freddy.) "Very fond of reading." — Takes in Slopers 'Alf 'Oliday regular ! — " Steadfast in her engagements." 'Ullo, Carrie ! Carrie {firing up). Well, have you anything to say against that .? You'd better take care, Mr. Gaggs ! DoLPH, I was only thinking. Sure you haven't been squaring this machine .' Ah, it tells you some 'ome truths here — " Although inquisitive and fond of prying into the secrets of others " Now however did it know that ? Carrie, It isn't there — you're making it up ! \She snatches the card, reads it, and tears it up. DOLPH. Temper — temper! Never mind. Now we'll try Freddy. What's his shade of 'air ? I should say about the colour of spoilt 'ay, if I was asked. Carrie {with temper). You're not asked, so you needn't give your opinion ! DoLPH. Well, V.&f^your 'air on, my dear girl, and we'll call Freddy's ^' Fair." {Reading card) " A gentleman with this colour of hair will be assiduous in his occupation- " Carrie {warmly). What a shame! I'm sure he isn't. Are you, ^■"^^^y ? [Freddy smiles vaguely. The Automatic Physiognomist. 103. DOLPH. " Not given to rambling," — Except in his 'ed, — " very- moderate in his amorous wishes, his mind much given to reflection, inclined to be 'asty-tempered, and, when aroused," — 'Ere, somebody, rouse Freddy, quick! — "to use adjectives.'' Mustn't use 'em 'ere, Freddy! " But if reasonably dealt with, is soon appeased." Pat his 'ed, Carrie, will yer .' " Has plenty of bantering humour." {Here FREDDY grins feebly^ Don't he look it too ! " Should study his diet." That means his grub, and he works 'ard enough at that ! " He has a combination of good com- mercial talents, which, if directed according to the reflection of the sentiments, will make him tolerably well off in this world's goods." Carrje {puzzled). What's it torking about now ? DoLPH. Oh, it on'y means he's hkely to do well in the cats'-meat line. Now for your fortune, Freddy. " It will be through marriage that your future will be brightened." Carrie {pleased). Lor, Freddy, think o' that ! DoLPH. Think twice of it, Freddy, my boy. Now we'll be off and get a drink. Carrie. Wait. We haven't got your character yet, Mr. Gaggs ! DoLPH. Oh, mine — they couldn't give that for a penny. Too good^ yer know ! Carrie. If they haven't got it, it's more likely they're afraid it would break the machine. I'm going to put in for you under "Black." {She does) Here we are. {Reads.) "The gentleman will be much given to- liquor." Found out first time, you see, Mr. Gaggs ! DOLPH {annoyed). Come, no personalities now. Drop all that ! Carrie. " Somewhat quarrelsome and of an unsettled temper ; more decorous and less attentive in his undertakings, and consequently meets with many disappointments. Such gentlemen " — now you listen to this, Mr. Gaggs ! — " will now know their weaknesses, which should induce them to take steps to improve themselves.'' (" 'Ear, 'ear ! " from the rest of the party) " Knowledge is power, and enables us to overcome many obstacles we otherwise should have fallen prey to." This is your fortune. " Thou art warned to be careful what thou drinkest ! " Well, they do seem to know you, I must say ! 104 The Automatic Physiognomist. DoLPPi \in a white, rage). I tell you what it is, Miss Carrie .Bickerton, you appear to me to be turning a 'armless joke into a mejium for making nasty spiteful insinuations, and I, for one, am not going to put up with, it, whatever others may ! So, not being, partial to being turned into redicule and made to look a fool in company, I'll leave you to spend the rest of the evening by yourselves, and wish you a very good night ! \He turns majestically upon his heel and leaves the party stupefied. 'Ector {with mild regret). : It do seem a pity though, so pleasant as we were together, till this, come up ! Freddy. And Carrie's Aunt Maria gone off in a tantrum, too. We shall have a job to find 'er now ! Lottie and Carrie. Oh, do hold your tongues, both of you. You and your automatic machines ! 'Ector and Freddy, Our automatic machines ! Why, we never Lottie and Carrie. If you say one word more, either of you, we'll go home ! [Freddy and 'Ector follow t/tem meekly in search of Aunt Maria as the Scene closes in. "HAIR-CUTTING, SINGEING, AND SHAMPOOING." (A SKETCH IN A HAIR-DRESSER'S SALOON.) Scene — A small but well-appointed Saloon, with the usual fittings. As the Scene opens, its only occupants are a LOQUACIOUS ASSISTANT and a Customer with a more than ordinarily sympathetic manner. The Loquacious Assistant. No, sir, we're free to go the minute the clock strikes. We've no clearing up or any think of that sort to do, not bein' required to pufform any duties of a menial nature, sir. 'Ed a little more to the left, sir . . . Sundays I gen'ally go up the river. I'm a Member of a Piskytorial Association. I don't do any fishin', to mention, but I jest carry a rod in my 'and. Railway Comp'ny takes anglers at reduced fares, you see, sir . . . No, sir, don't stay 'ere all day long. Sometimes the guv'nor sends me out to wait on parties at their own residences. Pleasant change, sir ? Ah, you're right there, sir ! There's one lady as lives in Prague Villas, sir. I've been to do her 'air many a time. [He sighs sentimentally^ I did like waitin' on 'er, sir. Sech a beautiful woman she is, too, — with 'er face so white, ah ! 'Awkins her name is, and her 'usban' a stockbroker. She was an actress once, sir, but she give that up when she married. Told me she'd 'ad to work 'ard all her life to support her ma, and she did think after she was married she was goin' to enjoy herself — but she 'adiit ! Ah, she -was a nice lady, sir ; she'd got her 'air in sech a tangle it took me three weeks to get it right ! I showed her three noo ways of doin' up her 'air, and she says to me, "What a clever young man you are!" Her very words, sir! Trim the ends of your moustache, sir .■■ Thankee, sir. Yes, she was a charmin' woman. She 'ad three parrots in the room with 'er, swearin' orful. I io6 * Hair-cutting, Singeing, and Shampooing^ enjoyed going there, sir ; yes, sir. Ain't been for ever sech a while now, sir. I did think of callin' again and pertendin' I'd forgot a comb, sir, but I done that once, and I'm afraid it wouldn't do twice, would it, sir? Sixteen her humber is — a sweet number, sir! Limewash or brilliantine, sir ? . . . And I know 'er maid and her man, too ; oh, she keeps a grand 'ouse, sir! {Observing that the SYMPATHETIC CUSTOMER is gradually growing red in the face and getting hysterical^ Towel too tight for you, sir .'' Allow me ; thank you, sir. {Here two fresh CUSTOMERS enter.) Ready for you in one moment, gentlemen. The other assistant is down- stairs 'aving his tea, but he'll be up directly. \_The two fresh CUSTOMERS watch one another suspiciously, after the manner of Britons. The first, who is elderly, removes his hat atid displays an abundance of strong grizzled hair, which he surveys complacently in a mirror. The second, a younger man, seems reluctant to uncover until absolutely obliged to do so. The Grizzled Customer {to the Other Customer, as his natural self-satisfaction overcovies his reserve).. 'Stonishing how fast one's hair does grow. It's not three weeks since I had a close crop. Great nuisance, eh .' The Other Customer {with evident embarrassment). . Er — oh, yes — quite so, I — I dare say. \He takes up a back number of " Punch," and reads the advertise- ments with deep interest. Meanwhile, the LOQUACIOUS Assistant has bowed out the Sympathetic Customer, and touched a bell. A Saturnine Assistant appears, still masticating bread-and-butter. The SECOND CUSTOMER re- moves his hat, revealing a denuded crown, and thereby causing surprise and a distinct increase of complacency in the Grizzled Gentleman, who submits himself to the Lo- quacious Assistant. The Bald Customer sinks re- signedly into the chair indicated by the Saturnine Operator, feeling apologetic and conscious that he is not affording a fair scope for that gentleman's professional talent. The other Assistant appears to take a reflected pride in his subject. * Hair-cuttings Singeing, and Shafnpooing! 107 The Loq. Ass. {to the Grizzled Customer). Remarkable how some parties do keep their 'air, sir ! Now yoxixs-^{with a disparaging glance at the Bald Customer's image in the mirror') — yours grows quite remarkable strong. Do you tise anythink for it now ? The Gr. C. Not I. Leave that to those who are not so well protected ! The Loq. Ass. I was on'y wondering if you'd been applying our Rosicrucian Stimulant, sir, that's all. There's the gentleman next door to here — a chemist, he is — and if you'll believe me, he was gettin' as bald as a robin, and he'd only tried it a fortnight when his 'ed come out all over brustles ! The Gr. C. Brussels what ">. Sprouts^ eh .' The Loq. Ass. Hee-hee ! no, sir ; brustles like on a brush. But you can afford to 'z.veyour laugh, sir ! The Sat. Ass. {to the Bald Customer, with withering deference). Much off, sir ? The B. C. {weakly thinking to propitiate by making light of his infirmity). Well, there isn't much on, is there .■" The S. a. {taking a mean advantage). Well, sir, it wouldn't be a very long job numberin' all the 'airs on your 'ed, cert'nly ! {Severely, as one reproaching him for carelessness}^ You 'ave been losin' your 'air ! Puts me in mind of what the poet says in 'Amlet — "Oh, what a fallin' off!" if you'll excuse me, sir I The B. C. {with a sensitive squirm). Oh, don't apologize — I'm used to it, you know ! The S. a. Ah, sir, they do say the wind's tempered to the shorn lamb so as he can't see 'imself as others see 'im. But what you ought to 'ave is a little toopy. Make 'em so as you couldn't tell it from natural 'air now-a-days ! \TIie Bald Customer _^^5/;' declines this meretricious adornment. The Loq. Ass. {to his subject). Know Mr. Paris Patterton of the Proscenium Theatre, sir.' 'E's 'ad to call in our guv'nor, sir. 'Is 'air's comin' off, sir, dreadful, sir. The guv'nor's been tryin' a noo wash, on his 'ed. io8 ' Hair-cutting, Singeing, and Shampooing.^ The Gr. C. Ha, poor beggar ! Wash doing it any good ? The Loq. Ass. {demurely). That I can't tell you, sir ; but it 'as a very agreeable perfume. "you 'ave BEEN losin' your 'air!" The S. a. I think I've taken off about as much as you can spare, sir ! ' Hair-cutting, Singeing, and Shampooing^ 109 The Gr. C. {^ith a note of triumpJi). Look here, you know, there's a lot more to come off here — won't be missed, eh ? The Loq, Ass. No, sir, you've an uncommon thick 'ed — of 'air, I mean, of course ! The S. a. If you'll take my advice, you'll 'ave yours singed, sir. The B. C. [dejectedly). Why, think it's any use ? The S. a. No doubt of that, sir. Look at the way they singe a 'orse's legs. [The Bald Customer yields, convinced by this argument. The Gr. C. No singeing or any nonsense of that sort for me, mind ! \TJuy are shampooed sitnultaneously. The B. C. {piteously, from his basin). Th — that's c-cold enough, thanks ! The Gr. C. {aggressively, from his). Here, colder than that — as cold as you can make it — / don't care ! The B. C. {drying his face meekly on a towel). A — a ^a«^-brush, please, not the machine ! The S. a. No, sir, machine-brush would about sweep all the 'air off your 'ed, sir ! The Gr. C. Machinery for me — and your hardest brush, do you hear .■' ( {together, to \ Shall I put anything on your 'ed, y tlieir respec- , sir .■■ ^' ■ ( tive patients). ' Like anything on your 'air, sir .' The B. C. {hopelessly). Oh, I don't know that it's much good ! The S. a. Well, you may as well keep what little you 'ave got, sir. Like to try our 'Irsutine Lotion, capital thing, sir. Known it answer in the most desprit cases. Keep it in 'alf-crown or three-and-sixpenny sizes. Can I 'ave the pleasure of puttin' you up a three-and-sixpenny one, sir ? {The Bald Customer musters up moral courage to decline, at which the Assistant appears disgusted with him.) No, sir .' Much obliged, sir. Let me see — {with a touch of sarcasm) — you part your 'air a one side, I think, sir .' Brush your 'at, sir ? Thankee, sir. Pay at the counter, ^you please. Shop— there! no ''Hair-cuttings Singeing, and Shampooing^ The Loq. Ass. Think your 'air's as you like it now, sir ? Like to look at yourself in a 'and-glass, sir ? Thank you, sir. • \The Bald Customer puts on his hat with relief, and instantly recovers his self-respect sufficiently to cast a defiant glare upon his rival, and walk out with dignity. TJie Grizzled Customer, after prolonged self-inspection, follows. Tlie two Assistants are left alone. The Loq. Ass. Pretty proud of his 'air, that party, eh ? Notice how I tumbled to him ? The S. a. {with superiority'). I heard you, o' course, but, as I'm always tellin' you, you don't do it delicate enough ! When you've been in the profession as long as I have, and seen as much of human nature, you'll begin to understand how important it is to 'ave tact. Now you never 'eard me stoop to flattery nor yet over-familiarity — and yet you can see for yourself I manage without 'urting nobody's feelings — however bald ! That's tact, that is ! THE MENAGERIE RACE. Scene — The terrace in front of Hauberk Hall, which the LARKSPURS have taken for the summer. TiME — An August afternodn. MiSS STELLA Larkspur — a young lady with great energy and a talent for organiza' tion — has insisted upon all the Guests taking part in a Menagerie Race. The Rev. Ninian Headnote {the Local Curate — to Mr. Plumley Duff— a/if«r uneasily regarding MiSS STELLA, as she shakes up some pieces vf folded paper in a hat). Can you give me any idea of the precise nature of this amusement — er — nothing resembling a gambling transaction, I suppose i" — or I really^ — Mr. Plumley Duff. Well, I'm given to understand that we shall each be expected to take an animal of some sort, and drive it along with a string tied to its leg. Sounds childish — to m.e. The Curate (relieved). Oh, exactly, I see. Most entertaining, I'm sure ! {He coos.) What wonderful ingenuity one sees in devising ever- fresh pastimes, do we not .' Indeed yes ! Miss Stella. There, I've shuffled all the animals now. {Presenting the hat!) Mr. Headnote, will you draw first? The Curate. Oh, really. Am I to take one of these ? Charmed ! {He draws?) Now I wonder what my fate {Opening tlie paper^ The Monkey! {His face falls.) Zf there a Monkey here ? Dear me,ho\v -very interesting ! Dick Gatling {of H.M.S. " Weasel"). Brought him over my last cruise from Colombo. No end of a jolly little beast — bites like the like blazes, you know ! Miss Stella {to her cousin). Now, Dick, I won't have you taking away poor Jacko's character like that. He's only bitten Binns — and. ii2 The Menagerie Race. well, there was the gardener's boy — but I'm sure he teased him. You won't tease him, will you, Mr. Headnote? The Curate. I — I shouldn't dream of it, Miss Stella, — on the contrary, I {To himself^ Was it quite discreet to let myself be drawn into this } Shall I not risk lowering my office by publicly associ- ating myself with a — a Monkey .' I feel certain the Vicar would disapprove strongly. Dick {to Colonel Kempton). Drawn your animal yet, sir .' The Colonel {heatedly). Yes, I have — and I wish I'd kept out of this infernal tomfoolery. Why the mischief don't they leave a man in peace and quietness on a hot afternoon like this .' Here am I, routed out of a comfortable seat to go and drive a confounded White Rabbit, sir t Idiotic, / call it ! The Curate. Pardon me, Colonel Kempton ; but if you object to the Rabbit, I would not at all mind undertaking it myself — and you could take my Monkey The Colonel. Thanks — but I won't deprive you. A Rabbit is quite responsibility enough for me ! The Curate {to himself, disappointed). He's afraid of a poor harm- less Monkey — and he an Army man, too ! But I don't see why / Miss GusSIE Grissell. Oh, Mr. Headnote, isn't it ridiculous ! They've given me a Kitten ! It makes me feel too absurdly young ! The Curate {eagerly). If you would prefer a — a more appropriate animal, there's a Monkey, which I am sure {To himself, as MisS G. turns away indignantly:) This Monkey doesn't seem very popular— there must be some one here who— I'll try the American lady — they are generally eccentric. (To Mrs. Heber K. Bangs.) I hope Fortune has been kind to you, Mrs. Bangs .' Mrs. Bangs. Well, I don't know; there are quadrupeds that can trot faster over the measured mile than a Tortoise, and that's my animal. The Curate {with sympathy). Dear me ! That is a trial, indeed, for you! But if you would prefer something rather more exciting, I should be most happy, I'm sure, to exchange my Monkey Dick Catling {bustling up). Hallo, what's that? No, no, Mrs. The Menagerie Race. 113 Bangs — be true to your Tortoise. I tell you he's going to romp in— .iEsop's tip, don't you know ? I've backed you to win or a place. I say, what do you think /'ve drawn } — the Mutton ! Just my luck ! " IT MAKES ME FEET. TOO ABSURDLY YOUNG ! ' The Curate. Er — Mr. Gatling, just come this way a moment — I've a proposition to make ; it's occurred to me that the Monkey would feel more — more at home with you, and, in short, I Mr. Plumley Duff {plamtively, to Miss Cynthia Chaffers). I Q 114 The Menagerie Race. shouldn't have minded any other animal— but to be paired off with a goose ! Miss Chaffers {consolingly). You're better off than / am, at all events — I've got a Puppy ! Mr. Duff. Have you .' {After a pause — sentimentally') Happy Puppy ! Miss C. He'll be anything but a happy Puppy if he doesn't win. Mr. Duff, Oh, but he's sure to. I know I would, if / was your Puppy ! Miss C, I'm not so sure of that. Don't they lodge objections, or something, for boring ? Mr. Fanshawe. Can anybody inform me whether I'm expected to go and catch my Peacock ? Because I'll be hanged if The Curate. Oh, Miss Stella, it's all right— Mr. Gatling thinks that it would be better if he undertook the Monkey himself ; so we've arranged to Miss Stella. Oh, nonsense, Dick ! I can't have you taking ad- vantage of Mr. Headnote's good-nature like that. What's the use of drawing lots at all if you don't keep to them .' Of course Mr. Headnote will keep the Monkey. {The unfortunate CuRATE accepts his lot with Christian resignation. Dick. Well, that's settled — but I say, Stella, where's my Mutton's moorings — and what's to be the course ? Stella. The course is straight up the avenue from the lodge to the house, and I've told them to get all the beasts down there ready for us ; so we'd better go at once. The Start. The Competitors. Stella, my dear, mustn't Miss Grissell tell her Kitten not to claw my Tortoise's head every time he pokes his poor nose out .' It isn't fair, and it's damping all his enthusiasm ! . . . Now, Colonel Kempton, it isn't the Puppy's fault — you 'know your Rabbit began it ! ... Hi, Stella, hold on a bit, my Mutton wants to lie down. Mayn't The Menagerie Race. 115 I kick it up ! . . . Duff, old chap, your Goose is dragging lier anchor again, back her engines a bit, or there'll be a foul. . . . Miss Stella, I — I really dorCt think this Monkej' is quite well — his teeth are chattering in such a very . . . All right, padre, only his nasty temper — ^jerk the beggar's chain. More than that! Chorus of Spectators at Lodge Gates. My word, I wonder what next the gentry '11 be up to, I dew. Ain't Miss Stella orderin' of 'en about! Now she's started 'en. They ain't not allowed to go 'ittin' of 'en —got to go just wheeriver the animiles want. Lor, the guse is takin' his genlm'n in among the treeses ! Well, if iver I did ! That theer tartus gits along, don't he .'' Passon don't seem com'fable along o' that monkey. I'll back the young sailor gent — keeps that sheep wunnerful stiddy, he do. There's the hold peacock puttin' on a bust now. Well, well, these be fine doin's for 'Auberk 'All, and no mistake. Make old Sir Halberd stare if he was 'ere {Src, &c^. The Colonel {wrathfully to his Rabbit, which will do nothing but run round and round him). Stop that, will you, you little fool .' Do you want to trip me up .' Of all the dashed nonsense I ever 1 Mrs. Bangs. My ! Colonel, you do seem to have got hold of a pretty insubordinate kind of a Rabbit, too ! The Colonel [looking round). Well, you aren't getting much pace out of your Tortoise either, if it comes to that ! Mrs. Bangs. He puts in most of his time in stoppages for rest and refreshment. I'm beginning to believe that old fable's a fraud. Anyway, it's my opinion this Tortoise isn't going to beat any hare — unless it's a jugged one. Dick Gatling {in front, as his Sheep halts to crop tlie turf in a leisurely manner). We've not pulled up — only lying-to to take in supplies. We're going ahead directly. There, what did I tell you .' Now she's tacking ! The Curate {in the rear). Poo' little Jacko, then — there, there, quietly now ! Miss Stella, what does it mean when it gibbers like that ? {Sotto voce) I wonder, if I let go the chain Mr. Duff {hauling his Goose towards MisS Chaffers). It's no use — / can't keep this beast from bolting off the course ! 1 16 The Menagerie Race. Miss C. Do keep it away from my Puppy, at all events. I know it will peck him, and he's perfectly happy licking my shoe — he's found out there's sugar-candy in the varnish. Mr. Duff (solemnly). Yes, but I say, you know — that's all very well, but it's not making him race, is it .' Now I am getting some running out of my Goose. Miss C. Rather in-and-out-running, isn't it ? {Cries of distress from the rear.) But what is the matter now .' That poor dear curate again ! The Curate {in agony). Here, I say, somebody ! do help me ! Miss Stella, do speak to your monkey, please ! It's jumped on my back, and it's pulling my hair — 'ow ! [Most of the competitors abandon their animals and rush to the rescue. Dick Catling {coming up later). Why on earth did you all jack up like that .? You've missed a splendid finish' ! My Mutton was forging ahead like fun, when Fanshawe's Peacock hoisted his sail, and drew along- side, and it was neck and neck. Only, as he had more neck than the Mutton, and stuck it out, he won by a beak. Look here, let's have it all over again ! [But the Monkey being up a tree, and tJte COLONEL having surrep- titiously got rid of his Rabbit among the bracken, and the Tortoise liaving retired within his shell and firmly declined to come out again, sport is abandoned for the afternoon, to the scarcely-disguised relief of the CURATE, who is prevented from remaining to tea by the pressure of parish work. BEFORE THE MECHANICAL MODELS. (A SKETCH AT THE ROYAL NAVAL EXHIBITION.) Scene — The Grounds. A string of Sightseers discovered passing slowly in front of a roiv of glazed cases containing small mechanical figures, which are set in motion in the usual manner. Before a Scene representing a Dying Child. A Gallant Swain. That's the kid in bed, yer see. Like to see it die, Polly, eh .-' A penny does it. Polly {with a giggle). Well, if it ain't too 'arrowing. {The penny is dropped in, and the mechanical motJier is instantly agitated by the deepest maternal anxiety?) That's the mother kneeling by the bed, I suppose — she do pray natural. There's the child waking up — see, it's moving its 'ed. {The little doll raises itself in bed, and then falls back lifeless.) Ah, it's gone — look at the poor mother 'idin' her face. The G. S. Well, it's all over. Come along and see something more cheerful. Polly. Wait a bit — it isn't 'alf over yet. There's a angel got to come and carry her away fust — there, the door's opening, that'll be the angel come for it, I expect. (Disappointed.) No, it's only the doctor. {A Jerky and obviously incompetent little medical practitioner puts his head in at the door, and on being motioned back • by the bereaved mother, retires ■with more delicacy than might have been expected from mere machinery?) Well, he might ha' seen for himself if the child was dead! {The back tf tlie bed disappears, disclosing a well-known picture of an angel flying upwards with a child.) I did think they'd have a real angel, and not ii8 Before the Mechanical Models. only a picture of one, and any one can see it's a different child — there's the child in bed just the same. I call that a take-in ! The G. S. I dunno what more you expect for a penny. A Person on the Outskirts {eagerly to Friend). What happened ? What is it ? I couldn't make it out over all the people's shoulders ? His Friend. Dying child — not half bad either. You go and put in a penny, and you'll see it well enough. The p. on the O. {indignantly). What, put in a penny for such rubbish ? Not me ! \He hangs about till some one else provides the necessary coi?i. A Soft-hearted Female. No, I couldn't stand there and look on. I never can bear them pathetic subjects. I felt just the same with that picture of the Sick Child at the Academy, you know. {Meditatively.) And you don't have to put a penny in for that, either. Before another Bedroom Scene, representing " The Drunkard's Delirium." First Woman. That's 'im in bed, with the bottle in his 'and. He likes to take his liquor comfortable, he do. Second Woman. He's very neat and tidy, considerin', ain't h&> I wonder what his delirium is like. 'Ere, Rosy, come and put your penny in as the gentleman give yer. (RoSY, aged six, sacrifices her penny, under protest^ Now, you look — you can't think what pretty things you'll see. \The little wooden drunkard sits up, applies the bottle to his mouthy and sinks back contentedly ; a demon, painted a pleasing blue, rises slowly by his bedside ; the drunkard takes a languid interest in him ; the demon sinks. A Gentleman with a Bloated Complexion {critically). 'Ooever did that — well, I dessay he's a very clever man, but — {compassionately) — he don't know much about 'errors, he don't ! Before the Mechanical Models. 119 A Facetious Friend. You could ha' told him a thing or two, eh, Jim? The Bloated Gentleman {contemptuously). Well, if I never 'ad them wuss than that I \A small skeleton, in a shroud, looks in at the door. The F. F. 'Ullo, 'ere's the King o' Terrors for yer! (ROSY shows signs of uneasiness ; a pink demon comes out of a cupboard?) 'Ere's another of 'em — quite a little party he's 'aving ! A Gentleman in a White Tie {as the machinery stops). Well, a thing like this does more real good than many a temperance tract. The Bloated G. Yer right there, guv'nor — it's bin a lesson to me, 1 know that. 'Ere, will you come and 'ave a whisky-sour along of me and my friend 'ere ? Before a [Model representing an Execution. A Daughter. But why won't you put a penny into this one, father .' The Father {firmly). Because I don't approve of Capital Punish- ment, my dear. A Cultivated Person. An execution—" put a penny in ; bell tolls — gates open — scaffold shown with gallows. Executioner pulls bolt — black flag" — dear, dear — most degrading, shocking taste! {To his Friend^ Oh, of course, I'll wait, if you want to see it — not got a penny .' Let me see — yes, / can lend you one. {He does ; the penny is put in — nothing happens') Out of order, I suppose — scandalous ! and nobody to speak to about it — most discreditable ! Stop — what's this .■" {A sort of li'oolly beat is audible inside tJie prison ; the C. P. beams) That's the bell tolling — it's all right, it's working 1 [// zvorks. Another Spectator. Very well done, that was — but they 'urried it over a little too quick. I scarcely saw the man 'ung at all ! His Companion. Put in another penny, and p'raps you'll see him cut down, old chap. I20 Before the Mechanical Models. Before tije Fairy Fortune-teller's Grotto. Susan Jane {to her Soldier). Oh, ain't that pretty .' I should like to know what my fortune is. [She feels in her pocket. The Soldier {who disapproves of useless expenditure). Ain't you put in enough bloomin' pennies } Susan Jane. This is the last. {Reads directions^ Oh, you've got to set the finger on the dial to the question you want answered, and then put your penny in. What shall I ask her ? Soldier. Any one would think you meant to go by the answer, to hear you talk ! Susan Jane. P'raps I do. {Coquettishfy, as she sets the index to a printed question:) Now, you mustn't look. I won't 'ave you see what I ask ! Soldier {loftily). I don't want to look, I tell yer— it's nothing to me. Susan Jane. But you are looking — I saw you. > \_A curious and deeply-interested crowd collects around them. Soldier. Honour bright, I ain't seen nothing. Are you going to be all night over this 'ere tomfoolery .? [Susan Jane puts in a penny, blushing and tittering ; a faint musical tinkle is heard from the case, and the little fairies begin to revolve in a solemn and mystic fashion; growing excitement of crowd. A pasteboard bower falls aside, reveal- ing a small disc on which a sentence is inscribed. Person in Crowd {reading slowly over Susan Jane's shoulder). " Yus ; 'e is treuly worthy of your love." Crowd {delighted). That's worth a penny to know, ain't it, miss > Your mind's easy now! It's the soldier she was meanin'. Ah, V ought to feel satisfied too, after that! {&c., &c.) {Confusion of SusAN Jane. Soldier {as he departs with S. ].). Well, yer know, there's something- in these things, when all's said ! Before the Mechanical Models. 121 In Departing. A Pleased Pleasure-seeker. Ah, that's something like, that is! I've seen the 'Aunted Miser, and the Man with the 'Orrors, and a Execution, and a Dyin' Child — they do make you larf, yer know ! Second P. P. Yes, it's a pity the rest o' the Exhibition ain't more the same style, to my thinking ! A Captious Critic. Well, they don't seem to me to 'ave much to do with anything naval. His Companion. Why, it comes under machinery, don't it ? You're so bloomin' particular, you are ! Wouldn't touch a glass o' beer 'ere, unless it was brewed with salt-water, I suppose ! Well, coroe on, then — there's a bar 'andy! \They adjourn for refreshment. AT THE WILD WEST. (A SKETCH AT EARL'S COURT.) The Orator's Opening Discourse {as heard in tJte back rows)^ Ladies and gentlemen, I desire to draw your attention to an important fact. It will be my pleasure to introduce to you. . . . (" The real American popcorn, equally famous in Paris a?id London, tuppence each packet!" from Vendor in gangway) . . . history and life of the . . . (" ' Buffalo Bill Puzzle', one penny ! " from another vendor behind ) . . . impress one fact upon your minds ; this is not . . . {roar and rattle of passing train) ... in the ordinary or common acceptation of . . . (" Puff- puff-puff 1" from engine shutiting trucks) . . . Many unthinking per- sons have said. . . . {Piercing and prolonged scream from, same engine^ This is not so. On the contrary . . . {Metallic bangs from trucks!) Men and animals are . . . (" Programmes ! Opera glasses on hire I ") . . , purely the creatures of. . . . {Remainder of remarks hopelessly lost amidst the clank of coupling chains, whistles, snorts, and puffs from shunting engine. An Old Lady in Audience. He has such a beautiful clear voice, we ought to hear every word. If / were Buffalo Bill, I should positively insist on the trains keeping quiet while the orator was speaking. Orator {during the Grand Processional Review). A Troop of Arapahoe Indians ! [Band strikes up ; a party of painted Indians gallop into arena, uttering little puppy-like barks. An Artistic Lady {shuddering). Look at that creature with a raw pink body, and a pea-green face— it's too frightful, and such crude- At the JFild West. 123 yellows ! I ivish they could be taught to paint themselves some decent colour ! Her Sister. Really, dear, as far as decency is concerned, I don't exactly see what difference the mere colour would make. Her Husband. That isn't quite what Emily meant. She'd like to enamel 'em all in Art shades and drape Liberty scarves round 'em, like terra-cotta drainpipes or wicker-chairs-^eh, Emily .'' Emily (loftily). Oh, my dear Henry, I wasn't speaking to you. I know what a contempt you have for all that makes a home beautiful ! Henry. Meaning Indians.' My love, I respect them and admire them — at a distance ; but, plain oi' coloured, I cannot admit that they would be decorative as furniture — even inyour drawing-room ! [Emily endures hitn in silence. Orator. A party of women of the Ogallalla Tribe ! \Three mounted Indian ladies in blankets — walk their horses slowly round the arena, crooning " Aye-eia-ha-ya-liee-hi-ya ! " with every sign of enjoying their oivn performance. A Poetical Lady. What strange wild singing it is, John ! There's something so creepy about it, somehow. John (a prosaic but frivolous person). There is, indeed. It explains /)ne thing I never quite understood before, though. The Poetical Lady. I thought it would impress you — but what does it explain .■■ John. The reason why the buffalo in those parts has so entirely died out. A Rigid Matron (during the Emigrant Train Scene). I don't care "to see a girl ride in that bold way myself. I'm sure it inust be so un- sexing for them. And what is she about now, with that man } They're actually having a duel with knives — on horseback too ! not at all a nice thing for any young girl to do. There ! she's pulled out a pistol and shot him — and galloped off as if nothing had happened ! I have always heard that American girls were allowed a good deal of liberty — but I'd really no idea they went as far as this! I should be sorry, indeed to see any girl of mine {here she glances instructively at three dumpy and dough- 124 ^^ ^^^ Wild West, faced daughters) acting in that forward and most unfeminine manner. {Reassuringly^ But I'm very sure there's no fear of that, is there, dears ? \The daughters repudiate with gratifying unanimity any desire to shoot strange gentlemen on horseback. A Bloodthirsty Boy (as the hostile Indians attack the train). Will the Indians scalp anybody, uncle ? His Uncle. No, my boy, they don't let 'em get near enough for that, you see ! {The Indians are ignominiously chased off by Cowboys. The Boy {disappointed). They'd a splendid chance of scalping the Orator that time — and not one of them even saw it ! Orator. Captain Jack Burtz, of the United States Army, will now give you an example of his phenomenal Lightning Drill. \The Captain takes up his position with an air of fierce resolution, and proceeds to do wonderful things with a rifle and fixed bayonet, which he treats with a familiarity bordering on contempt. A Lady {to a Military Friend— «i- the Captain twirls the .rifle rapidly round his neck). Have you ever seen any one drill like that before 'i The Mil. F. Saw Cinquevalli do something very like it at the Empire. But he had a cannon-ball as well. The Lady. Look at him now — he's making the gun revolve upside down with the bayonet on the' palm of his hand ! Could you do that drill ? The Mil. F. Not without drilling a hole in myself. The Lady. It really is wonderful that he shouldn't feel the point,, isn't it now ? The Mil, F. Well, I don't see much point in it myself— but so long as it amuses him, I dare say it's all right. \The Captain discharges the gun in the air and retires at the double, feeling that his country's safety is secure for the present. Johnny Baker, -^'Z?^ young ■ American marksman, appears, and exhibits his skill in shooting upside down. At the JFild JFest. 125 The Rigid Matron. He missed one that time — he's not quite such a good shot as the girl was. One of the Daughters. Oh, but, mother, you forget ! Miss Annie Odkley didn't stand on her "l AM PERFECTLY -AWARE OF that, EUPHEMIA!" The R. M! {in an awful voice), I am perfectly aware of that,^ Euphemia ; so pray don't make such unnecessary remarks ! [EUPHEMIA subsides in confitsion. An Unsophisticated Spectator {as Master Baxer, after rubbing his forehead, discovers a brickbat under tlte mat tvhere his head liad beeii). Now, how very odd ! He found a brick in exactly the same place 126 At the Wild West. when I was here before ! Some one must have a grudge against him, poor boy ! But he ought to look before he stands on his head, next time ! Mr. Timmerman {carelessly, to his wife, as the Deadwood Coach is introduced). It would be rather fun to have a ride in the coach — new experience and all that. Mrs. T. {who doesn't intend him to go). Oh, do be careful then. Mr. T. {feeling quite the daredevil). Pooh, my dear, what is there to be careful about .'' Mrs. T. It does look such a ramshackle old thing — it might break down. Accidents do happen so quickly, Mr. T. {reflecting that they certainly do). Oh, if it wasn't perfectly safe, they wouldn't Mrs. T. Well, promise me if you go on the box to hold on tight round the corners, then ! Mr. T. {^ho doesn't see much to hold on by). I shan't go on the box — I shall go inside. Mrs. T. There mayn't be room. There are several people waiting to go already. You'll have to make haste to get a seat at all. I shall be miserable till I see you safe back again ! Mr. T. {^ho is not sure he doesn't sJiare her feelings). Oh, well, if you feel like that about it, I won't Mrs. T. Oh, yes, do, I want you to go— it will be so exciting for you to see real Indians yelling and shooting all round. Mr. T. {thinking that it may be more exciting than pleasant). Might bring on one of my headaches, and there'll be such a smell of gunpowder too. I hardly think, after all, it's worth while. Mrs. T, If you feel in the least nervous about it. (Mr. T. denies this indignantly') Then go at once— you may never have the chance again ; only don't stay talking about it — go ! Mr. T. {pulling himself together). Very well, if you really wish it. ... Confound it! Most annoying, really! {Sits down relieved) They've started! It's all your fault,— if you hadn't kept me here talking ! ■ _ At the JFild West. 12^ Mrs. T. {Immbly). I am so sorry — but there's another performance in the evening ; we might dine here, and then you could easily go on the coach afterwards, if you're so anxious to ! Mr. T. And sit through the show twice in one day .' No, good as it is, I really — and I've some letters I must write after dinner, too. [Mrs. T. smiles to herself discreetly, satisfied at having gained her point. TELEPHONIC THEATRE-GOERS. (A SKETCH AT THE ELECTRICAL EXHIBITION AT THE CRYSTAL PALACE.) 'Scene— 77^^ Exterior of the Telephone Music-Room in the Egyptian Vestibule. The time is about eight. A placard announces, " Manchester Theatre now on " ; inside the wickets a small crowd is waiting for the door to be opened. A Cautious Man comes up to the turnstile with the air of a fox examining a trap. The Cautious Man {to the Commissionnaire). How long can I stay in for sixpence ? The Commissionnaire. Ten minutes, sir. The C. M. Only ten minutes, eh 1 But, look here, how do I know there'll be anything going on while I'm in there .' COMM. You'll find out that from the instruments, sir. The C. M. Ah, I dare say — but what / mean is, suppose there's nothing to hear — between the acts and all that ? CoMM. Comp'ny guarantees there's a performance on while you're in the room, sir. The C. M. Yes, but all these other people waiting to get in — how'm I to know I shall get a place ? COMM. {outraged). Look 'ere, sir, we're the National Telephone Comp'ny, with a reputation t-o lose, and if you've any ideer we want to swindle you, all I can tell j/ou is — stop outside ! The C. M. (suddeiily subdued). Oh — er — all right, thought I'd make sw'ie first, you know. Sixpence, isn't it ? \He passes into the enclosure, and Joins the crowd. A Comic Man (in an undertone to his fiancee). That's a careful bloke, Telephonic Theatre-goers, 129 that is. Know the value o' money, /ie does. It'll have to be a precious scientific sort o' telephone that takes 'i!n in. He'll 'ave h's sixpennorth, if it bursts the machine ! Hullo, they're letting us in now. [TAe door is slightly opened from within, causing an expectant viovement in crozud — the door is closed again, A Superior Young Lady (to her Admirer). I just caught a glimpse of the people inside. They were all sitting holding things like opera-glasses up to their ears — they did look so ridiculous i Her Admirer. Well, it's about time they gave us a chance of looking ridiculous, their ten minutes must be up now. I've been trying to think what this put me in mind of. / know. Waiting outside the Pit doors ! doesn't it you .' The Sup. Y. L. {languidly, for the benefit of the bystanders). Do they make you wait like this for the Pit .■" Her Admirer. Do they make you tvait ? Why, weren't you and I three-quarters of an hour getting into the Adelphi the other evening ? The Sup. Y. L. {annoyed with hint). I don't see any necessity to bawl it out like that, if we were. [The discreetly-curtained windows are thrown back, revealing persons inside reluctantly tearing themselves away from their telepJwnes. As the door opens, tliere is a frantic rush to get places. An Attendant {soothingly). Don't crush, ladies and gentlemen — plenty of room for all. Take your time! \The crowd stream in, and pounce eagerly on chairs and telephones ; the usual FusSY FAMILY waste precious minutes in trying to get seats together, and get separated in tJte end. Undecided persons flit from one side to another. Gradually they all settle down, and stop their ears with t/te telephone-tubes, the prevailing expression being one of anxiety, combined with conscious and apologetic imbecility. Nervous people catch tJie eye of complete strangers across the table, and are seized with suppressed giggles. An IRRITABLE PERSON finds himself between the CoMic Man and a Chatty Old Gentleman. 130 Telephonic Theatre-goers, The Comic Man {to his -fiancee, putting the tube to his ear). Can't get ^ny telephone to tork yet ! {Shakes it^ I'll wake 'em up I {Puts the other tube to his mouthy Hallo — hallo ! are you there ? Look alive with that show o' yours, guv'nor — we ain't got long to stop ! {Pretends to listen, and reply.) If you give me any of your cheek, I'll come down and punch your 'ead ! {Applies a tube to his eye!) All right, Polly, they've begun. — I can see the 'ero's legs ! Polly. Be quiet, can't you ? I can't hold the tubes steady if you will keep making me laugh -^o. {Listening.) Oh, Alf, I can hear singing — can't you ? Isn't it lovely ? The Com. M. It seems to me there's a bluebottle, or something, got inside mine — I can 'ear 'im ! The Irr. P. {angrily, to himself). How the deuce do they expect — and that infernal organ in the nave has just started booming again — they ought to send out and stop it ! The Chatty O. G. {touching his elbow). I beg your pardon, sir, but can you inform me what opera it • is they\e performing at Manchester .' The prima donna seems to be just finishing a song. Wonderful how one can hear it all ! The Irr. P. {snapping). Very wonderful indeed, under the circum- stances ! {He corks both ears with the tubes!) It's too bad — now there's a confounded string band beginning outs {Removes the tube.) Eh, what ? {More angrily than ever!) Why, it's in the blanked thing ! {He fumbles with the tubes in trying to readjust them. At last he succeeds, and, after listening intently, is rewarded by hearing a muffled and ghostly voice, apparently from the bowels of the earth, say — " Ha, say you so ? Then • am I indeed the hooshiest hearsher in the whole of Mumble-land ! ") The Chatty O. G. {nudging him). How very distinctly you hear the dialogue, sir, don't you .' {The Irritable Person, without removing the tubes, turns and glares at him savagely, without producing the slightest impression. Another Ghostly Voice {very audibly). " The devil you do ! " Telephonic Theatre-goers. 131 A Careful Mother. Minnie, put them down at once, do you hear ? I can't have you listening to such language. Minnie. Why, it's only at Manchester, mother ! Ghostly Voices and Sounds {as they reach the Irritable Person). ■" You cursed scoundrel ! So it was you who burstled the billiboom, was "how very distinctly you hear the dialogue, sir, don't you?' it .' Stand back, there, I'll hork every gordle in his ! " (. . . founds of a scuffle . . . A loud female scream, and firing . . .) " What have you done ? " The Ch. O. G. Have you any sort of idea what he has done, sir ? \To tlie Irritable Person. The Irr. P. No, sir, and I'm not likely to have as long as;^ \IJe listens with fierce determination. First Ghostly Voice. " Stop ! Hear me — I can explain every-' thing!" • • ■ . . - Second Do. Do. " I will hear nothing, I tell you ! " , 132 Telephonic 'Theatre-goers. First. Do. Do. " You shall — you must ! • Listen. I am the only surviving mumble of your unshle groolier." The Ch. O. G. (as before). I think it miist be a Melodrama and not an Opera after all — from the language ! An Innocent Matron {who is listening, with her eyes devoutly fixed on the libretto of " The Mountebanks" under the firm conviction that she is in direct communication with the Lyric Theatre). I always understood The Mountebanks was a musical piece, my dear, didn't you .' and even as it is, they don't seem to keep very close to the words, as far as I can follow ! Ghostly Voices {in tJie Irritable Person's ear as before). "Your wife?" "Yes, my wife, and the only woman in the world I ever loved!" The Irr. P. {pleased, to himself). Come, now I'm getting accustomed to it, I can hear capitally ! The Voices. "Then why have you >. ... I will tell you all. Twenty-five years ago, when a shinder foodie in the Borjeezlers, I " A Still Small Voice {in everybody's ear), time, please. Everybody {dropping tlu tubes, startled). Where did that come from ? The Com. M. They've been and cut it off at the main— just when it was getting interesting! His Fiancee. Well, I can't say I made out much of the plot myself. The Com. M. I made out enough to cover a sixpence, -anyhow. You- didn't expect the telephone to explain it all to you goin' along, and give you cawfee between the acts, did you } The Ch. O. G. {sidling affably up to the Irritable Person as he is moving out). Marvellous strides science has made of late, sir ! Almost incredible. I declare to you, while I was sitting there, I positively felt inclined to ask myself the question — ^ — The Irr. P. Allow me to say, sir, that another time, if you will obey that inclination, and put the question to yoUrself instead of other people, Telephonic Theatre-goers. 133 you will be a more desirable neighbour in a Telephone-Room than I confess I found you ! \He turns on his heel, indignantly. The Ch. O. G. {to himself^. 'Strordinary what unsociable people one does come across at times ! Now I'm always ready to talk to anybody, I am — don't care who they are. Well — well \He walks on, musing. ART IN THE CITY. (A SKETCH IN THE CORPORATION GALLERY AT THE GUILDHALL.) The Gallery is crowded, and there is the peculiar buzz in the air that denotes popular interest and curiosity. The majority of the visitors are of the feminine sex, and appear to have come up from semi-detached villas in the less fashionable suburbs ; but there is also a sprinkling of smart and Superior Persons, prosperous City Merchants, who regard pictures with respect, as a paying investment, young Commercial Men, whose feeling for Art is not precisely passionate, but who have turned in to pass the time, and because the Exhibition is gratuitous, earnest Youths with long hair, soft hats, and caped ulsters, &c., &c. Before Delaroche's "Drowned Martyr." First Villa Resident (appreciatively). Such a death-like expression^ isn't it >. Second Ditto Ditto. Yes, indeed! And how beautifully her halo's done ! Third Ditto Ditto. Will those two men on the bank be the executioners, should you think 1 Fourth Ditto Ditto {doubtfully^ It says in the Catalogue that they're two Christians. An Intelligent Child. Then why don't they jump in and pull her out, mother ? [ Tlie child is reproved. A Languid Young Lady. Is that intended for Opheliah ? \The rest regard her with shocked disapproval, mingled with pity, before passing on. Art in the City, 135 Before Roll's " Fatherless Family." First Matter-of-Fact Person. They're just come back from the "uneral, I expect. EARNEST YOUTHS WITH LONG HAIR. Second Ditto Ditto. I shouldn't wonder. {Feels bound to show 136 Art in the City. that she too can be observant^ Yes, they're all in mourning — even the servant. Do you see the black ribbon in her cap ? I do like that. An Irrelevant Person. Its just a little melancholy, though, don't you think ? — which reminds me — how much did you say that jet trimming was a yard — ninepence three-farthings ? Her Friend. Ninepence halfpenny at the shop in St. Paul's Church- yard. The child has her frock open at the top behind, you see — evidently 2^ poor family ! The I. P. Yes, and the work-basket with the reels of cotton and all. (Looking suddenly down) Don't you call this a handsome carpet ? A Frivolous Frenchman (afresh from " The Casual Ward" and " The Martyr" to his companion). Tenez, mon cher, encore des choses gaies ! \He passes on with a shrug. A Good Young Man {with a train of three Maiden Aunts in tow, halting them before a picture of Sir f. Noel Futons'), Now you ought to look at this one. \They inspect it with docility. It represents a Knight in Armour riding through a forest and surroimded by seductive Wood- nymphs. First Maiden Aunt. Is that a guitar one of those girls is playing^ or what ? Second Ditto Ditto. A mandolin more likely ; it looks like mother-o'-pearl — is it supposed to be King Arthur, and are they fairies or angels, Robert .' The G. Y, M. (a little at sea himself), " Oskold and the Elld-maids" the title is. Third Aunt. Scolding the Elements! Whds scolding them, Robert ? Robert (in her ear), " Oskold and the ElU-ms\A?, \ " it's a Scandinavian legend. Aunt Tabitha, Aunt Tabitha (severely). Then it's a pity they can't find better subjects to paint, in my opinion ! (They move on to Mr. Pettie's "Musician!) Dear me, that young man looks dreadfully poorly, to be surel Art in the City, 137 Robert {loudly). He's not poorly, aunt ; he's a musician — he's apposed to be {quoting from Catalogue) "thinking out a composition, nagining an orchestral effect, with the occasional help of an organ." First Aunt. I see the organ plain enough — but where's the rchestral effect .'' Robert. Well, you zvouldn't see that, you know, he only imagines it. Second Aunt. Oh, yes, I see. Subject to delusions, poor man ! I hought he looked as if he wanted some one to look after him. First Loyal Old 'Lady {reading from Catalogue). "No. 35. Lent y Her Majesty the Queen." Second Ditto Ditto. Lent by Her Majesty, my dear! Oh, I on't want to miss that — which is it — where .' \_Ske prepares herself to regard it with a special and reverent interest. Among the Pre-Raphaelite Painters. Matter-of-Fact Person. (^0 her Irrelevant Friend). Here's a .lillais, you see. Ophelia drowning herself The Irrelevant Friend {who doesn't approve of suicide). Yes, dear, ery peculiar — but I don't quite like it, I must say. Do you remember whether I told Sarah to put out the fiddle-pattern forks and the best ruet-stand before I came away .' Dear Mr. Homerto;i is coming in to upper to-night, and I want everything to be nice for him. The Good Young Man. There's Ophelia again, you see. {Searches 'or an appropriate remark^ She — ah — evidently understood the art of latation. First Aunt. She looks almost too comfortable in the water, /think, ^er mouth's open, as if she was singing. Second Av'S'T {extemiatingly). Yes — but those wild roses are very laturally done^and so are her teeth. A Discriminating Person. I like it all but the figtire. A Well-Informed Person. There's the "Dream of Dante" d'ye ee ? No mistaking the figure of Dante. Here he is, down below, having lis dream,— ^that's the dream in that cloud. — and up above you get the Iream done life-size— queer sort of idea, isn't it ? 138 Art in the City. A Ponderous Person {Jinding himself in front of " The Vale of Rest "). Ha ! — what are those two nuns up to ? His Companion. Digging their own graves, I think. The Pond. P. {with a supreme mental effort). Oh, Cremation, eh ? [Goes out, conceiving that he has sacrificed at the shrine of Art sufficiently for one afternoon. Young Discount (to Young Turnover — before " Claudia and Isabella "). Something out of Shakespeare here, you see. Young Turnover, Yairss. {Giving Claudia a perfunctory attention^ Wants his hair raking, don't he 1 Not much in viy hne, this sort of subjects Young Disc. Nor yet mine — takes too much time making it out, y'know. This ain't bad — " Venetian Washerwomen^' — is that the way they get up linen over there } Young Turn, {who has " done " Italy). Pretty much. {By way of excuse for them) They're very al fresco out in those parts, y'know. Here's a market-place in Italy, next to it. Yes, that's just like they are. They bring out all those old umbrellas and stalls and baskets twice a week, and clear 'em all off 4gain next day, so that you'd hardly know they'd been there ! Young Disc, {intelligently). I see. After Yarmouth style. Young Turn. Well, something that way — only rather different style,. y' know. Before " The Huguenot." An Appreciative Lady. Ah ! yes, it is wonderfully painted ! Isjit it lovely the way that figured silk is done .' You can hardly tell it isn't real, and the plush coat he's wearing ; such an exquisite shade of violet, and the ivy-leaves, and the nasturtiums and the old red brick ; yes, it's very beautiful — and yet, do you know (meditatively), I almost think it's- prettier in the engravings ! Before the Burne-Joneses. A FiANci;. This is the " Wheel of Fortune" Emily, you see. {Reads.) " Sad, but inexorable, the fateful figure turns the wheel. The Art in the City. 139 ;eptred King, once uppermost, is now beneath his Slave. . . . while eneath the King is seen the laurelled head of the Poet." His Fiancee (wJio would be charming if she would not try — against Tature — to be funny). It's a kind of giddy-go-round then, I suppose ; or is ; Burne-Jones's idea of a revolution — don't you see — revolving? Fiance (ic/w makes a practice — even already — of discouraging these allies). It's only an allegorical way of representing that the slave's turn as come to triumph. Fiancee. Well, I don't see that he has much to triumph about — he's ied on like the rest of them, and it must be just as uncomfortable on the op of that wheel as the bottom. \Her Fiance recognizes that allegory is thrown away upon her, and proposes to take her into the Hall and show her Gog and Magog. A Niece (fo an Impenetrable Relative — whom site plants, like a heavy 'iece of ordnance, in front of a particular canvas). There, aunt, what do 'ou think of that now ? The Aunt {after solemnly staring at it with a conscientious effort to dke it in). Well, my dear, I must say it — it's very 'ighly varnished. {She is taken liome as hopeless. AT THE CONFECTIONER'S. (A SKETCH ON SATURDAY AFTERNOON.) Scene — A Confectioner's Shop in a fashionable West-End thoroughfare^ , Close to the window is a counter, with the usual urns and appurtenances y laden with an . assortment of richly-decorated pastry, and presided over- by an alert and short-tempered MANAGERESS. The little tables are dose together, and crowded with CUSTOMERS, the, majority of whom are ladies. A couple of over-worked WAITRESSES are endeavouring, with but indifferent success, to satisfy everybody at once. Cries FROM Customers. Yes, two teas and c^^ roll and butter — no,. I mean, one roll and butter and two teas ! . "Have I ordered?" Why, the last time you said it was coming directly ! Isn't that chocolate ready yet ?" We shall never catch our train 1 I say, waitress, I ordered coffee and cakes a quarter of an hour ago, and all we've got yet is two empty cups and a bowl of sugar ! Do make haste with that tea ! I didn't say a cup of tea — I said 3. pot of tea, as plain as ! {frc, &-c.) Duet of Waitresses. Yes, sir, attend to you in one moment. Are- you the cup of tea, madam .' Oh, I'll bring you a fork for your pastry directly. There'll be some milk coming in a minute, sir. Bread-and- butter .' No, sir, you can have a roll and butter, or cakes, if you prefer them. Excuse me, madam, when I've done attending to this lady. No, sir ; it was the other young lady who took your order — not me. WoulS you mind letting me have the milk-jug, if you've finished with it, madam > We're rather short of them. I'll see if I can get you a teaspoon, sir {&c., &-C). The Manageress {all in one breath, without any stops). Now thea At the Confectioner s. 141 Miss Simpson don't you see these cups standing here ready to be taken and there's that gentleman in the corner waiting to b-; attended to and tell Mrs. Binks we shall want more milk and there put out those fancy cakes do two chocolates Miss Jones well you can't have them yet because I've used all the hot water what does the girl want next butter it's no use coming to me for butter here take those cups to be washed up will you you leave me to look after everythink myself and customers leaving because they can't get served I declare I never saw such girls as you are in all my born days 1 A Man from the Lyceum. I'm not sure, after all, that Irving's finest moment wasn't in that last scene. I mean, when Fitzurse and those fellows came in, and he First Lady {at adjoining table^rom the Aquarium Theatre). Sat up on his dear tail, and struck out with those long hind legs of his, siceet thing ; he took such an interest in it all, didn't he .' Second Lady {on opposite side of table — ivho has been to '■^ Hypatia"). Oh, and didn't she look distractingly lovely just after she had finished lecturing ? — -you know, when she Third L. {close by, fresh from " Charley's Aunt"). Stepped out of the gown, and walked about in the old lady's cap and false front ! I quite cried with laughing ! Second L. I liked the Proconsul — dear me, what zcas his name .' So stupid of me — but it doesn't matter ! I thought he looked so perfectly Byzantine when he came in with his lictors in the litter Third L. And played the piano so beautifully ! Second Hypatian L. And didn't you think Tree was very good ? — that part where he found out about his daughter, and stood towering over her with a knife in his hand, and Third L. That enormous cigar stuck in his mouth — he \\as simply too killing ! [And so on. '.Miss Camille!Le0N {by voiceless motion of her lips, and expressive pantomime, for tJie guidanceof Iter fiance, Mr. Fred Forridqe, who has gone to t/te counter to select dainties for her refection). No, not thSse — in the next dish — with chocolate outside ... no, the lo7ig on&s-^oh, how stupid 142 At the Confectioner s. you are ! Yes, if those are preserved cherries on the. iced sugar. Vei\ well, the pink one, then — that will do. Mr. Porridge {returning with a loaded plate). I hope I've got wha you wanted? "l MUST HAVE MORE THAN, THAT somewhere!' Miss C. L. Just what I like — how' A&v^r of you ! {She helps herself, after dainty deliberation^ Quite delicious ! Aren't you going to have any yourself ? Mr. Forr. (engaged in surreptitiously exploring his left-hand pocket. At the Confectioner s. 143 with a troubled expression). Oh, thanks — presently, perhaps. {To himself.) I must have more than that soincn'hcrc ! jMiss C. L. (£ai'y). 1 advise you to make haste — or there'll be none left. They're too seductive for words. \_She chooses another. Mr. Forr. (to himself). It is one-and-sixpence. Fool I was to go and forget my sovereign-purse ! However — (Jiopefully) — two cups of tea at fourpence — eightpence ; say three cakes at twopence — one-and-twopence — oh, I shall manage it easily, and leave a margin ! {Aloud ^ I think I won't have anything to eat — not hungry, don't you know, IMlSS C. L. Oh, more am /.' {S/ie takes a third cake}) This has got cream inside — aren't you tempted ? Mr. Forr. {to himself). Only fourpence to the good now — mustn't risk it ! {Alottd^ Couldn't indeed — spoil my appetite for dinner. jNIiSS C. L. {with superiority). Oh, I never have any appetite for dinner. I loathe the very sight of food, somehow ! But I do wish you'd eat something — it's so piggish of you not to — really it is ! You must take just this weeny little one — to please me ! {Slie places it on his plate.) Now you caiit say no ! Mr. Forr. {to himself). She is the dearest darling ! {Aloud) I'd do anything in the world to please you, Camille ! {To himself) After all, there's still twopence! Miss C. L. Good boy ! {As he eats.) Well, is it a success .' Mr. Forr. {munching). It isn't bad — got Marchpane, or something of the kind on it. Miss C. L. How nice ! I adore Marchpane ! You may go and get me one just like it, if you're very good. Mr. Forr. {to himself as lie obeys Iter behest). That cleans me out ! Thank goodness, no gratuities are allowed here, or else — and this must be the last — she's had three already! If I'd only had another sixpence, I shouldn't care, but this is running it devilish close ! {Aloud, as Jie returns^ This is the nearest I could get. Miss C. L. Thanks, ever so much. Awfully nice tea this is. {Suggestively^ They might give one bigger cups, though ! Mr. Forr. {to himself, with patJios). I'd give my life for her, cheerfully 144 ^^ ^^^ Confectioner s. — and I've got to deny her a second cup of tea ! But hang it, I must. I can't ask her to lend me fourpence to pay the bill ! (Aloud.) It's — er— ^ just as well they don't. My sisters have sworn off afternoon tea altogether ; some medical Johnny told them it — er — had a tendency to make the nose red ! . . Miss C. L. {to herself). Fred's sisters ! Very likely ! {Aloud, coldly^ If you think there is any danger of that in my case, of course I won't risk another cup. Mr. Forr. Oh — er — well, you never know, don't you know. I — er — wouldn't. ( To himself.) Narrow shave that, by Jove ! Miss C. L. I think we'd better take a cab back, don't you .' Mr. Forr. {horrified). M — much jollier walking. Streets as dry as a bone ! Miss C. L. But I want to get home and arrange the table for dinner to-night. Mother always likes me to do the flowers. Mr. Forr. Lots of time for that. You c — can't judge of the effect till it's dark, can you .■' And it will be light for hours to come. Miss C. L. Yes, that's true. Then suppose we go and see the Burne-Joneses, now we're so near ? They don't close till six. Mr. Forr. {to himself). It would have been jolly ; but, half-a-crown, when I can't even run to a catalogue ! No ! {Aloud) It — ;it's getting so dark — can't do 'em justice by artificial light, do you think .? And — well, to tell you the honest truth, Camille, after the Old Masters, you know — I -■- — I don't feel — and I have seen them, you know ! Miss C. L. {pouting). I thought you might have cared to see them again — with me — but it doesn't in the least matter . . . Fred, I don't care about this cake you got me — it's dull. I think I shall leave it, and try one of these white- and-green ones instead. \^She does. Mr. Forr. {to himself, with a beaded brow). Broke ! ! And for an extra twopence ! As likely as not, she hasn't even got her purse with her. And she'll think I'm so beastly mean ! Why on earth didn't I let her go to the Aerated Bread-shop, as she wanted } It would have , been all right then. At the Confectioner s. 145 Miss C. L. I'm afraid you're rather bored, Fred — you don't seem to be enjoying yourself quite ; do you ? Mr. Forr. {in agony). Oh, I am — I'm all right, Camille, only I — I'm always like this after the Old Masters, you know. Miss C. L. So sorry I made you bring me — don't you think we had better pay, and go home ? Mr. Fork, (to himself). Now for it! {He pulls himself toget/ter.) W — waitress, w — what have I to pay, please .' Waitress. Two teas, eightpence ; one, two^-j2> cakes you've had, I think, sir } One-and-eightpence altogether. Mr. Forr. {with a gasp). Oh! {He fetches up tzvo coins abjectly from his pocket). I — I'm sorry to say that I — I've o — only one shilling and {with a start of intense relief) half-a-sovereign, so {with recovered dignity) I'm afraid I must ask you to give me change. {To MiSS C. L.) I — I was only joking about the Burne-Joneses, darling. I'd Hke to see them awfully — with you. And we can walk home through the park, or take a cab afterwards, just as you feel about it. Do say you'll come ! (Miss Leon graciously consents, and Mr. Forridge follows her out of the shop with restored equanimity, as Scene closes in. V CHOOSING CHRISTMAS TOYS. (A SKETCH IN THE LOWTHER ARCADE.) Between the sloping banks of toys, and under a dense foliage of coloured rosettes, calico banners, and Japanese-lanterns, th^ congested Stream of Custom oozes slowly along, with an occasional overflow into the back- waters of the shops behind, while the Stall-keepers keep up a batrachian and almost automatic croak of invitation. Fond Grandmother. So you've chosen a box of soldiers, have you, Franky } — very well. Now what shall we get for little Elsie and baby .' Franky {promptly^ Another box of soldiers would do nicely for Elsie, grandmamma, and — /know, a fort for baby! Grandm. {doubtfully^. But they're such little tots — they won't know how to play with them. Franky. Oh, but I can teach them, you know, grandmamma. Grandm. That's right — I like to see a boy kind to his little sisters. \^She adopts MASTER Franky's disinterested suggestion. A Mother. Now, Percy, it's all nonsense — you carit want any more toys — those you've got are as good as new. {To her Friend.) He's such a boy for taking care of his things — he'll hardly trust his toys out of their boxes, and won't allow any one else to touch them I The Friend. Dear little fellow — then I'm sure he deserves to be given a new toy for being so careful ! The Mother. Well, he'll give me no peace till I do buy him something, I know — but mind this, Percy, it's only to keep you quiet, and I'm not going to buy Eddie anything. {To Friend.) He gives all his things away as it is ! {Master Percy takes both these valuable moral lessons to heart. Choosing Christmas Toys. 147 Mrs. Stilton {to Jier less p7-osperous Sister-in-law, MRS. Bloomold). Nonsense, Vinnie, I won't hear of it ! Reggie has more toys already than he knows what to do with ! Mrs. Bloom, {apologetically). Of course, my dear Sophia, I know your children are born to every but still, I have no one but myself now, you know— and if I might — it would be such ^ pleasure I Mrs. Stilton. I have already told you there is not the slightest occasion for your spending your money in any such foolish manner. I hope that is enough. Mrs. Bloom. I'm sure he would like one of these little water-carts — now wouldn't you, Reggie .'' [REGGIE assents shyly. Mrs. Stilton. Buy him one, by all means — he will probably take the colour out of my new carpets with it — but, of course, thai^s of no consequence to you ! Mrs. Bloom. Oh dear, I quite forgot your beautiful carpets. No, to be sure, that might but one of those little butcher's shops, now! — they're really quite cheap ! Mrs. S. / always thought cheapness was a question of what a person could afford. Mrs. Bloom. But I can afford it, dear Sophia — thanks to dear John's bounty, and — and yours. Mrs. S. You mustn't thank me. I had nothing to do with it. I warned John at the time that it would only and it seems I was right. And Reggie has a butcher's shop — a really good one — already. In fact, I couldn't tell you what he hasn't got ! Reggie. / can, though, Aunt Vinnie. I haven't got a train, for one thing ! {To his mother, as she drags him on) I should like a little tin train, to go by clockwork on rails, so. Do let auntie what's she staying behind for .' Mrs. Bloom, {catching them up, and thrusting a box into Reggie's hands). There, dear boy, there's your train — with Aunt Vinnie's love ! (V^EGGIE opens the box, and discovers a woodeti train) What's the matter, darling .' Isn't it } Mrs. S. He had rather set his heart on a clock-work one with rails — 148 Choosing Christmas "Toys. which I was thinking of getting for him — but I am sure he's very much obhged to his aunt all the same — aren't you, Reginald ? Reggie {with a fortunate inspiration). Thank you ever so much, auntie ! And I like this train better than, a tin one — because all the doors open really — it's exactly what I wanted ! Mrs. S. That's so like Reggie— he never says anything to hurt people's feelings if he can possibly help it. Mrs. B. {with meek ambiguity). Ah, dear Sophia, you set him such an example, you see ! [REGGIE wonders why she squeezes his hand so. A Vague Man {to Saleswoman). Er — I want a toy of some sort — for a child, don't you know. {As if he might require it for an elderly person) At least, it's not exactly a child — it can talk, and all that. Salesw. Will you step inside, sir ? We've a large assortment within to select from. Is it for a boy or a girl ? The Vague Man. It's a boy — that is, its name's Evelyn — of course, that's a girl's name too ; but it had better be something that doesn't — I mean something it can't \He runs down. Salesw. I quite understand, sir. One of these little 'orses and carts are a very nice present for a child — {with languid commendation) — the little 'orse takes out and all. The V. M. Um — yes — but I- want something more — a different kind of thing altogether. Salesw. We sell a great many of these rag-dolls ; all the clothes take off and on. The V. M. Isn't that rather and then, for a boy, eh >. Salesw. P'raps a box of wooden soldiers would be a more suitable toy for a boy, certainly. The V; M. Soldiers, eh .?— yes — but you see, it might turn out to be a girl after all — and then Salesw. I see, you want something that would do equally well for either. Here's a toy now. {She brings out a team of little tin swans on wheels) You fix a stick in the end — so — and wheel it in front of you, and all the little swans go up and down. \She wheels it up and down, without enthusiasm. ER— I WANT A TOY OF SOME SORT — FOR A chUd, DON'T YOU KNOW ! " 150 Choosing Christmas 'Toys. The V. M. (inspecting it feebly). Oh — the swans go up and down, eh ?• It isn't quite — but very likely it won't — may as well have that as some- thing else. Yes, you can send it to — let me see — is it Hampstead or Netting Hill they're living at now ? {To the SALESWOMAN, who naturally cannot assist him^ No, of course, you wouldn't know. Never mind, I'll take it with me — don't trouble to wrap it up ! \^He carries it off — to forget it promptly in a hansom^ A Genial Uncle [entering with Nephews and Nieces). Plenty to choose from here, eh .'' Look about and see what you'd like best. Jane {the eldest, sixteen, and"' quite a little woman"). I'm sure they would much rsithei you chose for them, uncle 1 Uncle. Bless me, / don't know what boys and girls like now-a-days — they must choose for themselves 1 Salesw. {wearily). Perhaps one of the young gentlemen would like a dredging-machine ? The handle turns, you see, and all. the little buckets go round the chain and take up sand or mud — or there's a fire-engine, thats a nice toy, throws a stream of real water. [Tommy, aged eleven, is charmed with the dredging-machine, while the fire-engine finds favour in the eyes of BOBBY, aged nine. Jane {thoughtfully). I'm afraid the dredging-machine is rather a messy toy, uncle, and the fire-engine wouldn't do at all, either — it would be sure to encourage them to play with fire. Bobby, if you say " blow ! " once more, I shall tell mother. Uncle is the best judge of what's suitable for you ! Uncle. Well, there's something in what you say, Jenny. We must see if we can't find something better, that's all. Salesw. I've a little toy-stige, 'ere — with scenes and characters in "Richard Cured 0' Lyin' " complete and ready for acting — how would that do ? [Tommy and Bobby cheer up visibly at this suggestion. Jane. I dont think mother would like them to have that, uncle — it might give them a taste for theatres, you know ! Uncle. Ha — so it might — ^very thoughtful of you, Jane — mustn't get in your mother's bad books ; never do 1 What's in these boxes ? soldiers > How about these, eh, boys } {The boys are again consoled. Choosing Christmas Toys. 151 Jane {gently). They're getting rather too big for such babyish things ■as soldiers, uncle ! I tell you what / think — if you got a nice puzzle-map for Tommy — he's so backward in his geography — and a drawing-slate for Bobby, who's got on so nicely with his drawing, and a little work-box — not an expensive one, of course — for Winnie, that would be quite \These sisterly counsels are rewarded by ungrateful and rebellious roars. Uncle. Tommy, did I hear you address your sister as a " beast " ? Come — come 1 And what are you all turning on the waterworks for, eh ? Strikes me, Jane, you haven't quite hit off their tastes ! Jane (virtuously). I have only told you what I know mother would ivish them to have, uncle ; and, even if I am to have my ankles kicked for it, I'm sure I'm right ! Uncle. Always a consolation, my dear Jenny. I'm sure no nephew of mine would kick his sister, except by the merest accident — so let's say no more of that. But it's no use getting 'em what they don't like ; so suppose we stick to the fire-engine, and the other concern — theatre, is it, Johnny ? — Very well — and don't you get me into trouble over 'em, that's all. And Winnie would like a doll, eh .' — that's all right. Now every- body's provided for — except Jane ! Jane {frostily). Thank you, uncle — but you seem to forget I'm not exactly a child 1 \She walks out of the shop with dignity. Uncle. Hullo ! Put my foot in it again ! But we can't leave Jenny out of it — can we ? Must get her a present of some sort over the way . . . Here, Tommy, my boy, you can tell me something she'd like. Bobby {later — to Tommy). What did you tell uncle to get for Jane ! Tommy (with an unholy chuckle). Why, a box with one of those puff-things in it. Don't you know how we caught her powdering her nose with mother's ? And uncle ^o^ her one too ! Wont she be shirty just ! \They walk out in a ecstasy of anticipation, as Scene closes. THE END. BY THE SAME AUTHOR. VOCES POPULI. (Reprinted from Punch.) First Series. With 20 Illustrations by J. Bernard Partridge. Fcap. 4to, 5j. Second Series. With 25 Illustrations by J. Bernard Partridge. Fcap. 4to, 6s. THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS. (Reprinted from Punch.) With 25 Illustrations by J. BERNARD Partridge. Post 4to, 5^. THE BLACK POODLE, and Other Stories. Crown 8vo, 2s. boards ; 2s. 6d. cloth. LONDON": LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.