Part 2

Of course, I should have destroyed the card at once--but I was out when it came, and MARIA read it first! What happened was a good instance of the monstrous way in which one man's sin is another man's punishment. In this case (1) it was my wife who had persisted in going away, and (2) it was an unknown post-cardist who had written the insulting doggerel. Yet I paid the entire penalty.

The great puzzle--who is the seventh councillor?--is still unsolved. All that has happened so far is that Mrs. LETHAM HAVITT and Mrs. ARBLE MARCH are no longer on speaking terms. It has leaked out that Mrs. MARCH had more plumpers than Mrs. HAVITT, whereupon ructions--as JACKY, who has just come home for the Christmas holidays says. I think he's quite right.

Our Parish Council meets next Monday--on the 7th. With the New Year we commence our reign of beneficent activity. I need hardly say that it is certain that I am to be Chairman. My position on the poll suggests it, common decency demands it, moreover I expect it. I refuse to believe that I shall be disappointed.

* * * * *

A GLAD NEW YEAR.

_A Reflecting Roundel._

"A Glad New Year!" Why, bless my heart, how fast The time flies by! The year's no sooner here Than it is gone and numbered with the past-- A Glad New Year!

For some the sun shines bright, the sky is clear, No threatening clouds o'erhead exist to cast A single shadow. Yet, ah me, how drear The sad estate in which some lives are passed! The day when none are sad may not be near, But then--and not till then--there'll be at last A Glad New Year!

* * * * *

UP-TO-DATE VERSION FOR MATURE VIRGINS AND PREMATURELY GRIZZLED WORKING MEN.--They whom the gods _don't_ love, _dye_ young!

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE OLD FERRYMAN'S NEW FARE.

AIR--"_Twickenham Ferry._"

O-hoi-ye-ho! Ho-ye-ho! Who's for the ferry? (_The moon sails on high, and the snow's coming down_,) A light gleams afar, and the church chimes are merry, Their message goes pealing o'er country and town. The ferryman's grey, and the ferryman's old; But the passenger's young, and the passenger's bold; And he's fresh as a pippin, and brown as a berry, He laughs at the night, and he heeds not the cold. O-hoi-ye-ho, Ho-ye-ho, Ho-ye-ho-Ho!

O-hoi-ye-ho, Ho-ye-ho! "I'm for the ferry!" (_The moon rides on high, and the snow's coming down_,) "Sure it's late that it is, but I care not a penny; I'll brave the rough river and winter's grim frown." He'd his hands in his pockets, and oh! he looked brave As the toughtest old tar who e'er ventured the wave. With his cheeks like a rose, and his lips like a cherry, "Ah! sure, and you're welcome! _Your_ presence _all_ crave!" O-hoi-ye-ho, Ho-ye-ho, Ho-ye-ho-Ho!

O-hoi-ye-ho, Ho! One flits slow from the ferry, (_The moon rides on high, and the snow's coming down_,) With shadowy form, and with footfall unsteady; You'd think 'twas a ghost at the dawn-signal flown. The ferryman turns on the phantom a glance, But the eyes of the youngster there glitter and dance, And with youth like a star in the stern of the wherry There is but one watchword for Time,--tis "Advance!" O-hoi-ye-ho, Ho-ye-ho, Ho-ye-ho-Ho!

O-hoi-ye-ho, Ho-ye-ho! Old is that ferry, (_The moon rides on high, and the snow's drifting down_,) Still, older that steersman, though stalwart and steady, And many a journey and fare hath he known. For the Ferryman's Time, and his fares are the Years, And they greet him with smiles, and oft leave him in tears, And the youth who to-night takes his seat in that wherry, Knows not how 'tis freighted with hopes and with fears. O-hoi-ye-ho, Ho-ye-ho, Ho-ye-ho-Ho!

O-hoi-ye-ho-Ho! 'NINETY-FIVE tries the ferry, (_The moon rides on high, and the snow silvers down_,) There's a smile on his lips, and his laughter is merry; Right little he bodeth of Fortune's dark frown. But the Ferryman's old, and the Ferryman knows That River of Years, with its joys and its woes; But we'll wish the young fare a snug seat in Time's wherry, And sun on his way, though he starts 'midst the snows. O-hoi-ye-ho, Ho-ye-ho, Ho-ye-ho-Ho!!

* * * * *

THE WINTER ACADEMY OF 1995.

(_An Elegant Extract from a Future Development._)

The Committee this year has wisely been recruited from the Master Bill Posters' Guild; the old-fashioned method of "hanging" is abandoned, and advertisements are now "stuck" on the walls by the New "B" Gum Process (for which Sir J. MILLBOARD contributes a charming illustration No. 20,000). During a preliminary survey, we were astonished by the blatant excellence of the exhibition. "_A Bicycle Made for Five_," by Mr. LOWTHER R. CADE (No. 2006), is especially delicate and sudden; the tone is aluminium throughout, and although no children are represented as bodily on the machine, a Kineto-Phonograph inserted in the axle dexterously responds to a penny in the slot--when the youthful athletes are both seen and _heard_ in the adjacent horse-pond. "_Gregory the Grateful_" (No. 612) fully sustains Dr. UTTERSON'S reputation for historical advertisement; by pressing a spring the Pope actually swallows the powder, and seems to like it. It is quite equal to this Master's "_Columbus in Wall Street_" of last year. Mr. G. MORLAND'S "_Carter's Pill-gathering in the Old Kent Road_" (No. 69) is too realistic for modern taste; the fine oaks in the background are absolutely hidden by placards; but Lord BOXALL'S "_While there is Life there is Soap_" (No. 15,000z) is truly impressionist; the life is full of soap, and the soap full of life. In "_Glycerine_" (unnumbered), by Miss TOPSY TURVY (the Presidentess), we have a fine example of "_The Newer Symbolism_,"--a patent revolving motor displays its liquidity to equal advantage upside down.

Altogether the show is calculated to promote business--which is the true end of Art; it also opens out infinite possibilities for house-decoration.

* * * * *

* * * * *

AN "OLD MASTER'S" GROWL.

_Burlington House, January 1, 1895._

It's all very pretty to hang us up here, And pretend that you worship our genius and paint; You fancy it's "Cultchah" that rings in the year-- But it ain't!

You find us, you say, "a delight to the eye;" You exclaim that "such painting you never did see!" You "do" us--then scamper below with the cry-- "Cup o' tea!"

"Old Masters," indeed! It's "Young Students" with you-- To their show in your thousands you flock in the spring; But of Me you exclaim, as you come in my view-- "What a thing!"

Just six months ago in these rooms you'd declare It was "exquisite Art" that you saw; you forgot That you'd said that of us. Bah! What do you care? Not a jot!

Of course, there are some who are men of the day, Who belong to the band of the talented few; Right gladly we put forth our hand, as we say-- "How de do?"

For example, young RAPHAEL--my excellent friend-- And the later Italians and Germans as well, They consider Sir FREDERIC LEIGHTON no end Of a swell.

Then REYNOLDS declared, in the course of a chat, The "_Cherry Ripe_" picture of MILLAIS to be As good as "_Penelope Boothby_." What's that? "_So does he?_"

VAN DE VELDE asserts he knows less of a wave, It's colour and drawing, than MOORE at his best.-- But when of your COLES and your HUNTERS you rave, I protest!

Talk of TITIAN and WATTS in a breath--which you may; Young GILBERT and SWAN you may praise if you will; But the thought of the annual summer display Makes me ill!

Yet that's what the mass of the people enjoyed. And the few who come here, both the great and the small, Mostly come to be seen. What--you think I'm annoyed? Not at all!

We expect it.--I said just as much to VANDYCK-- There's but one in a hundred that comes who'll descry The beauty of Art. It's the sham I dislike. Well--good-bye!

* * * * *

HOW TO WRITE AN EXTRA NUMBER.

(_An Up-to-date fragment for Yuletide._)

The author was hard at work. He heeded not the snow that beat against the window, nor the wintry wind that whistled through the leafless trees. The fire burned brightly in the grate, and the shadows on the walls seemed to inspire him with seasonable tales. He wrote for dear life, as his copy was late, and he knew that the printers were clamouring for more and more from his facile pen. Every now and again he glanced at a volume of drawings (there were many sketches in the book on his desk), and, pausing for a moment, seemed to be lost in thought. Then he would resume his labours with fresh energy. Very rarely he would murmur to himself, and then his words would be few.

"Confusion!" he muttered on one such occasion; "how the Dickens (or should it be Thackeray?) am I to get in the Christmas waits?" He pondered for a moment, and then his eyes glistened with delight. "Eureka! I have it! They must appear in a dream. Yes, that will get over the difficulty, they must appear in a dream!"

And then he continued his writing. During the whole day he had been hard at work. His breakfast was scarcely touched. He waved away the servant girl who would have set before him his lunch. It was now close upon his customary dinner hour, but still he insisted upon isolation. Even the wife of his devotion did not dare to come near him. She knew that he would not speak to her, but only cast at her a glance. But such a glance! A terrible tirade compressed into a solitary look!

The short day waned and passed away. The evening quickly changed into night. There were cheery songs without, as it was Christmas Eve, when all men were thinking of wassail, and holly and mistletoe. Even the performers in the forthcoming pantomime were nearing the close of their last rehearsal, when they would go back to their homes to count the mince pies and glance for the last time at the cooking of the familiar plum pudding.

At length the writer was interrupted, and by his old familiar friend.

"I will not disturb you," said the caller, taking up a newspaper and commencing its perusal; "I know how busy you are, and will be silent as Cornhill on a Sunday."

The writer nodded and continued his work. His pen moved quicker and quicker until at length it stopped.

"Hurrah!" shouted the author. "At last my task is completed. I have brought in every cut and got through the necessary number of lines. Yes, my dear old comrade, I have done. The printer will be satisfied, and the publisher will cease to be alarmed. And now, my dear fellow, I can enjoy Christmas conscious of the fact that I have thoroughly earned a holiday."

"Ah!" observed the visitor glancing at the recently-written pages; "I see you have been writing something for Yuletide."

"Yuletide!" exclaimed the author. "Why, that was accomplished ages ago. No, my dear fellow, I have just finished a summer number timed to appear in August. I shan't think of touching the work of next year's Christmas until April!"

* * * * *

"YOU CAME TO TEA."

In spite of Fate invincible, Of lack of wit, and lack of gold, Of pictures that too cheaply sell, Or pictures never sold, Oh, yet, when I am old and grey, If old and grey I live to be, I shall recall one happy day, The day you came to tea!

You came. Of course I am aware You did not, could not, come alone. You were between the millionaire And a stout chaperon. My work they called to criticise, But what they said I do not know, For gleams of laughter in your eyes That seemed to come and go.

The hurrying moments how I rued! There flashed a scheme into my brain. With unexpected tea, I would My visitors detain. The ever-willing household slave Into my service I impressed; To her my tea, my gold I gave, She vowed to do the rest.

That tea was strong, for all my hoard, Some half a pound, two shilling tea, Into the teapot had been poured-- Only the milk--ah me! So pallid, comfortless a stream, Into your cup I saw it glide. For a true jug of country cream I felt I would have died!

But with the cake I was content, Its richness no one could mistake, For my whole store the slave had spent On a superior cake. 'Twas all in layers, almonded, And crowned with white and rosy ice: "What a delightful cake!" you said; "But, please, a smaller slice!"

I flushed and stammered. I suspect A pound I'd cut you unaware. On what I did could I reflect When you were sitting there? That revel, ah, how soon 'twas o'er! How swiftly came the moment when After my guests I shut the door, I mounted to my den.

Then down I sat beside the wall, And, feeling doubtful and amazed, I strove your accent to recall As at your chair I gazed. I heard your soft laugh echo through The dingy room grown dear to me, Where now was silence; and I knew That you had been to tea!

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE POLITE GUIDE TO THE CIVIL SERVICE.

(_By an Affable Philosopher and Courteous Guide._)

HOW TO RECEIVE A DEPUTATION.

It does not take very long to make yourself quite at home as Secretary of the Public Squander Department--the office I will suppose you to be filling. You will find everything ready to your hand. All you will have to remember is this--the golden rule of the Service--that what was done last year, should be followed this, and arranged for next. Ministries may come and Cabinets may go, but the P. S. D. continues for ever. The policy of the office must never be disturbed. If it has been the custom (say) to put orange-trees in the open spaces under the control of the Department out to bloom in February, under no consideration whatever must the date be changed. It may be advanced (generally in the newspapers when there is nothing more interesting ripe for discussion) that July would be the better month. It may be declared that an orange-tree taken from a hothouse and thrust into the uncertain atmosphere of the Metropolis, and indeed the provinces, stands less chance of weathering that climate in the second month of the year than it would in the seventh. That may be very true, but what has been done by the Public Squander Department once should be repeated for ever. If an alteration has to be made it must not be accomplished except "under-pressure." Questions must be asked in the House, returns moved for, and all the rest of it. So long as the alteration can be resisted, it is the duty of every member of the Department to stand shoulder to shoulder to oppose. You will find a case in point in the matter of your own pet grievance the condition of "Milestones." You will recollect (if you have a good memory) that "Milestones" were the steps of the staircase that led you from the hall of Parliament to the comfortable apartments reserved for the special use of the Secretary of the P. S. D.

"I do not think we need bother about those Milestones," you will say to the Chief Clerk after you have got accustomed to your messengers and have chosen your easiest of easy chairs; "I daresay there are many matters of more pressing importance."

The courteous official to whom you have made the suggestion will readily acquiesce, and then inform you that a deputation are anxious to see you upon the subject. And here you will find one of the disadvantages inseparably connected with making a question exclusively your own. The moment you come into power you are expected to do something. It is of course unreasonable, but none the less for that unavoidable.

"I think you had better see them, Sir," the Chief Clerk will observe. "They know the ropes fairly well, and I do not think we shall get much peace until you have got rid of them. Of course, we have sent them travelling a bit, but they have got back to us at last."

"Sent them a--travelling?" you will query.

"Well, yes. We have referred them to this department, where they have been asked to apply to that. They have been passed on from office to office until they have come back to us. It is the rule of the game. And now I think the time has arrived when you should see them in person."

Of course, you have nothing to do but to take your subordinate's advice. It is one of the regulations of the Civil Service that the tail wags the dog. It stands to reason that a man who has grown grey in the Department is more likely to know the business of the bureau better than you who have just joined. So the spokesman of the deputation receives a polite communication informing him that you will be pleased to see him and his friends at such and such a date. Of course, you are furnished with the names of the friends in advance, and your private secretary (your right-hand man) makes it his special business to post you up in all that is necessary about them. The day arrives, and with it the deputation. If the House is sitting, you can see the Members in your own room. It looks well if you can show your accosters how small a chamber you occupy, and how hard at work you have to be at all hours of the day and night. Failing a meeting in Parliament, you can receive them in the Department itself. In this case contrive, if possible, to see them in official uniform. Chat with them after you have been to a _levée_, or Cabinet, or something of that sort. It gives you a distinct advantage if you can overawe them with the glories of a well-feathered cocked-hat, and many yards (chiefly on the back of your coat) of gold lace.

You will have, of course, in attendance upon you several heads of departments. These gentlemen will say nothing, but will look wonders. If you are at loss for figures or facts, you will glance at them and make a bold statement. That daring declaration will, of course, be qualified with the announcement that it is made "to the best of your belief." You will turn your face towards the heads, and they will receive your mute appeal with sympathetic attention. They will not say anything, but will, I repeat, look wonders. They will not be comprehensible, but merely convincing.

Chairs will have been set for the members of the deputation. Some of your visitors will be personally known to you, and these you will greet with effusion. Remember that you must be nothing if not genial. Single out for special cordiality the spokesman. Not, of course, one of your parliamentary colleagues who is going to introduce your visitors to you, but the principal member of the deputation. If you have to contradict him in the course of the interview you will have the sympathy of his colleagues, and they will be glad to see one who has the pleasure of your acquaintance (why should he have it more than they?) soundly snubbed. After every one has got comfortably into their places, you will ask if the Press are to be present. If the reply is in the affirmative (as it most probably will be, as all deputations like to see themselves in print), continue your generalities, and say with a good-natured laugh, "that you must be on your guard." If the interview is not to be reported, then you require no further guide. You can say or do almost anything in reason. But assuming that the reporters are to be present (and here it may be observed that, if your private secretary knows his business, the gentlemen of the Press will to some extent be "selected"), you must be more careful.

You will listen to your parliamentary colleague's speech of introduction and the address of your friend the spokesman with many silent tokens of goodwill. When there is a trace of a compliment you will smile and bow, and if any figures are introduced you will ask to have them repeated, and make a note of them on a piece of paper. It does not matter what kind of paper you use, as the piece will subsequently disappear into the basket reserved for valueless documents.

You will ask several questions, and, when the spokesman has completed his harangue, you will look round to see if anyone desires to follow him. If there is any hesitation, commence your reply at once. But if anyone is ready, let him speak. It is far better that the eloquence of the deputation should come out (like the measles) rather than be suppressed. When your visitors have had their turn, then will come yours.

Of course the less you say the better. I do not mean in words, but in purport. If you have time you can chatter for an hour, but that chatter should be absolutely innocuous. Remember not to give yourself away. Mind, you are bound in office by nothing you have uttered out of it. Be genial. Indulge in small jokes. Let them be at your own expense. Complain that you are powerless. Explain that had you your way you would do all sorts of good things, but "that tyrant, the Chancellor of the Exchequer," interferes. It is not the fault of the Public Squander Department; but the crime of the Treasury. Wind up by assuring the members of the deputation of your personal sympathy, and assure them that you will take "an early opportunity of laying the representations they have made before your colleagues."

By following these directions you may be sure that you will gain golden opinions. You will be thanked with effusion for your courtesy, and your visitors will retire entirely satisfied with the reception that has been accorded to them.

* * * * *

* * * * *

TO ALTHEA.--(Out of Town.)

If ever this message should find you, I think that perhaps you will guess Who sent it, in hopes to remind you Of one who has not your address, And who if he had dare not use it, The chaperon's eye to offend. ALTHEA, yet do not refuse it, The humble good wish of a friend!

To give you a New Year's greeting, Explain, what I cannot explain, How your look, at our very last meeting, Is photographed firm on my brain. Without you, I'm twenty years older; And yet I'm glad you're away. For each day it grows darker and colder, The sky is a smoky brown-grey.

ALTHEA--I am weary of winter Without you! The fogs never clear. My missive I send to the printer To tell you how dull it is here. I hope you are faring far better, I trust, as I bid you adieu, That you may divine that this letter Is really intended for you!

* * * * *

"RICHARD HIMSELF AGAIN."