Part 2

"Zounds! Mr. HOLES," said the admiring Colonel, in the midst of the laugh that followed on HOLES'S last words, "you are an astounding fellow." And that is why, at the last Cambridge Commencement, the degree of LL.D. honoris causâ was conferred on PICKLOCK HOLES, together with a Fellowship at St. Baldred's, worth £800 a year. But my friend is modesty itself. "It is not," he said, "the honorary degree that I value half so much as the consciousness that I did my duty, and helped a Colonel in the hour of his need." And with these simple words Dr. PICKLOCK HOLES dismissed one of his finest achievements.

* * * * *

THE LAY OF THE "ANCIENT."

As I sit in my chambers, old and bare, That look on the busy street, And hear the roar of the town below, And the tramp of hurrying feet, I think, as I smoke my well-worn pipe, Ensconced in my old arm-chair, Of the days that have passed, like the sigh of the blast, When the world was fresh and fair.

Of the joyous time when I joined the inn, Nearly forty years ago, When the fire of youth was in my veins, Where the blood now runs so slow. 'Twas well in that far off happy time, That I could not see before, When we flirted and gambled, and sometimes worked, In the student days of yore.

When all was common to him in need, And nothing we called our own. Gone are those days, and can never return-- We reap the crop we have sown. Each of us thought that we should succeed, Though others of course might fail; And we went with the tide in our youthful pride, Like a ship without a sail.

Where are they now all these friends of our youth? Scattered abroad o'er the earth. Some few are famous and some are dead, And the world knew not their worth. Some, like myself, are still found in "Hall," Pitied by those we meet, And who pray that their end it may never be To sit in the ancients' seat.

* * * * *

NO GOT!

REICHEMBERG and GOT declare _La Maison de Molière_ They'll resign and leave for ever. Ah! SUZANNE, the sparkling, clever, Long the _Comédie's_ pride and pet, Don't desert your votaries--yet. Try a quarter-century longer, Years but make you brighter, stronger; And GOT'S "go" we can't spare. No, Chaos comes if GOT should go!

* * * * *

PEDESTRIAN POETRY.--"_The pleasures that lie about our feet_"--Comfortable slippers after a long walk.

* * * * *

HAUNTED!

The quarter where I linger, My square, is Fashion's acme; I'm conscious that the finger Of scorn may well attack me; At number six a Viscount Resides, in proper season; No wonder, then, that _I_ count As vulgar now, with reason.

To stay in London, here too!-- This neighbourhood majestic! Oh! what must it appear to A nobleman's domestic? I feel, I can't help stating, Each morn I feel (it tries me), His Lordship's lords-in-waiting Both pity and despise me.

His blinds are drawn sedately; Mine blazon low disaster; How desolate, how stately, That mansion mourns its master! His Lordship is at Como-- At least so folks are saying; His Lordship's Major-Domo Reproaches me for staying.

But, prowling, like a Polar Bear, up and down the pavement Last eve, and grinding molar Teeth over forced enslavement, A miracle I noted, A "spook," deserving quires Of commentaries quoted By "psychic" Mr. MYERS.

Upon his Lordship's hinges Revolved his Lordship's portal, Till thence, with stealthy twinges, Emerged what seemed a mortal; A lamp was nigh to show him,-- I'd not been quaffing toddy,-- I'm privileged to know him,-- It _was_--His Lordship's _Body_.

Now _if_ his Major-Domo Told truth--and who can doubt him? His Lordship was at Como, And number six without him. His Lordship, I reflected, Can earthly trammels o'erstep, And, "astrally projected" From Como, reach his doorstep.

'Twas very odd--I know that; But then the "spook"-deriding Must undertake to show that His Lordship was in hiding; That London still detained him-- Him one of Britain's leaders! And frank avowal pained him.-- Well, you must judge, my readers.

* * * * *

HER SAILOR HAT.

Oh, AMARYLLIS, in the shade Of Rotten Row, with ribbons, feather, And wide-spread brim your hat is made! Down by the sea, in windy weather, A sailor hat, So small and flat, Is far more natty altogether.

Down by, or on, the waves where swim The tribes which poets christen "finny," This hat might not, with narrow brim, Become a spinster sear and skinny-- Some say "old cat"-- Nor one too fat, Nor little brat, small piccaninny.

But, with it fixed upon your hair, When breezes blow your flapping dresses, You look, if possible, more fair; There's one beholder who confesses He dotes on that Sweet sailor hat, When gazing at those sweeter tresses.

* * * * *

BALFOUR'S BOON.

(_By an admiring M.P._)

After hours of dullard, rasper, ranter, Sweet an interlude of BALFOUR'S banter! JOSEPH'S venom, HARCOURT'S heavy clowning, Tired us, in a sea of dulness drowning; When, hillo! here is PRINCE ARTHUR chaffing Mr. G. and all the House is laughing! Never were such light artistic raillery, Nothing spiteful, naught played to the gallery; Finished fun, _ad unguem_, poignant, polished. Fled fatigue, and dulness was demolished. Even the great victim chortled merrily, That short speech should be "selected," verily, For the next edition of the _Speaker_. No coarse slogger, and no crude nose-tweaker Is PRINCE ARTHUR. GLADSTONE first is reckoned At gay chaff, but BALFOUR'S a good second.

* * * * *

* * * * *

TRYING HER STRENGTH.

["The one certain result of the elections will be to give increased stability to the Republic."--_Daily Chronicle._]

_Madame La République loquitur_:--

Ouf! What a pull! Who said my muscularity Was dwindling? It is truly Amazonian! _Ma foi!_ _Phraseurs_ are not all blessed with clarity, Even when their eloquence _is_ Ciceronian. How now, MILLEVOYE? How now, mad DÉROULÈDE? And what of the grim prophecies you made?

Both out of it--as prophets and as Strong-Men! Discredited, disqualified, defeated! The _Ralliés_ too! Results prove them the wrong men. How the _Gazette de France_ has blared and bleated! What lots of foes have I left in the lurch!-- Thanks largely to "the attitude of the Church"!

"_Cléricalisme, voilà l'ennemi?_" _Non!_ That phrase, oft-quoted, comes not now so readily. Perennially beautiful as NINON, I've proved my claim to power of pulling steadily; Just like my rowing lads upon the Seine, Who've shown big BULL that strength _can_ go with brain.

From Revolution round to firm Stability!! Upon my word, I think that pull is splendid. _Les dames_, long pooh-poohed, now display ability To do--most things as well as ever men did. Because I'm _gai_ and witty, fools--of course-- Fancied me destitute of sinewy force.

Ah, DELAHAYE, DRUMONT, and ANDRIEUX, verily You've found the game was hardly worth the--scandal! My firebrand foes played up that game right merrily; Against me _anything_ would serve as handle; Yet, after WILSON, Panama, (_and_ Siam), They find that if there is an athlete, _I_ am.

Babblers of "British Gold," canard-concocters, Reactionaries, _Ralliés_, Rowdies, Royalists-- All who would act as my exclusive doctors-- You find the Voters are the real loyalists, And, spite of partial failures in the past, I've pulled this State Machine right round--at last!

* * * * *

BRUTUS OF BRUMMAGEM. On a "False Foe" my venom I may spend, But what of my "Right Honourable Friend"? Ask "the ironic fiend." He'll give an answer, Neatly combining Scorpio with Cancer, As "Right" I'll prove him ever in the wrong; As "Honourable," trickiest of the throng; While as "my friend," well there, I would not swagger, But CÆSAR sharpest found the "friendly" dagger!

* * * * *

WORDS! WORDS! WORDS!

(_By an Unpaired M.P., who has "Sat it Out."_)

M.P.'s gagged? Why, tongues have wagged Seventy days, or eighty. Little said on any head Has been wise or weighty. Gag's all hum! How shall we sum Seven long weeks' oration?-- _Polyphrasticontinomemegalondulation!_

BARTLEY, BOWLES--loquacious souls!-- HANBURY and RUSSELL, Have kept going, seldom "slowing" In the talky tussle. SAUNDERSON went sparring on, JOE pursued jobation.-- _Polyphrasticontinomemegalondulation!_

Righteous causes, wicked clauses, All meant bleats and blethers. Beaming BOLTON had to moult on, Gone his old Rad feathers. "Yaller Jaunders" seized on SAUNDERS. All drew "explanation!"-- _Polyphrasticontinomemegalondulation!_

Grim MACGREGOR--dogged beggar!-- Had "ideas"--and told them; So had bores in tens and scores, Why should _they_ withhold them? What result from all this cult Of roundaboutation?-- _Polyphrasticontinomemegalondulation!_

With composure I the Closure Welcome--our sole saviour From the gabble of the rabble, And their bad behaviour. The Front Benches? Well, one blenches E'en from their "oration"-- _Polyphrasticontinomemegalondulation!_

* * * * *

* * * * *

MEETING OF THE ANTI-BIOGRAPHERS.

(_From Notes supplied by Superhuman Reporters._)

A meeting was recently held in the early dawn to consider "Biographies in General, and the lives of British Celebrities in Particular." The site chosen for the gathering was so indefinite, that it is impossible to give it accurate geographical expression. There was a large number of shades present, and Dr. SAMUEL JOHNSON was unanimously voted to the chair.

The President, in thanking those who had done him the favour of thus honouring him, observed that, although he appreciated the compliment that had been bestowed upon him, he could not express any particular esteem for the intelligence of those who had been the cause of his occupying his present position. (_Laughter._) He did not understand the reason which had prompted merriment as a fitting recognition of his remarks. If they were satisfied, he was content. He had been called to take the chair, he supposed, because he had nothing to do with his own biography. That had been written by a Scottish gentleman, with whom he had no sympathy.

Mr. BOSWELL: I hope, Sir, you do not mean what you say.

The President (with great severity): Yes, Sir, I do. I think that the man who would write the life of another without his sanction is unworthy---- (_Cries of "Agreed."_) The learned Doctor continued. He did not wish to force his sentiments upon any one. No doubt his opinions were considered behind the time. Everything had changed nowadays, and even his Dictionary was, more or less, superseded by an American Lexicon. He called upon the Emperor NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE to move the first resolution.

The Emperor NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE expressed his satisfaction that he should have been allowed to take the lead in this matter. It reminded him of old times, when he took the lead in everything. ("_Hear, hear._") He represented, he supposed, "Biographies in General,"--as he had not much sympathy with British worthies. He wished bygones to be bygones (_"Hear, hear"_), but he must say that the conduct of Sir HUDSON LOWE was---- (_Interruption._) Well, he did not wish to press the matter further. ("_Hear, hear._") There was no doubt that unless a man wrote his autobiography he was always misrepresented. (_Cheers._) It was high time that some control should be put upon the publication of the lives of those who had joined the majority. He had much pleasure in proposing the following resolution: "It is the opinion of this meeting of Shades assembled in council in Elysium that steps should be taken to prevent the dissemination of false information about their prior existences."

Sir WALTER SCOTT said that it gave him great pleasure to second a resolution moved with such admirable discretion by his imperial and heroic friend the last speaker. He had the greater satisfaction in doing this as it might lead to a new and amended edition of his own "_Life of Napoleon_."

A Shade, who refused to give either his name or address, begged to oppose the motion. In his opinion modern biographies were a great deal better than work of the same kind of an earlier date. ("_No, no._") But he said "Yes, yes." It was now quite the fashion to whitewash everyone. He would testify that he recently read a biography of himself without recognising the subject. Since then his self esteem had increased a hundred fold. (_Laughter._) He thought it would be a great mistake to interfere. They had much better leave things as they were.

Mr. WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE (who was received with applause) asked permission to offer a practical suggestion. Although he was a poet, he was also a man of business. (_Laughter._) He spoke smarting under a personal grievance. It was common knowledge that only a short while ago the bulk of his works was declared to have been written by Bacon. (Cries of "_Shame._") However, it was no use to pass resolutions unless they could carry them into effect. He would therefore move an amendment to the resolution already before them, to the following effect: "That to carry out any arrangement that may be considered necessary, those present pledge themselves to subscribe a crown a piece." He proposed this under the impression that, granted the requisite funds, it would be possible to communicate with the mundane authorities.

Sir ISAAC NEWTON had much pleasure in seconding the amendment. He might add, that it was quite within the resources of science to do all that was required. He would explain in detail how it could be done.

The learned gentleman then began a lecture, with the effect that the meeting rapidly dissolved. After he had been speaking for an hour and a quarter, he discovered that he had no auditors.

* * * * *

* * * * *

"BALLADE JOYEUSE."

(_Not by Théodore de Banville._)

Though you're pent up in town While you pant for the breeze Upon moorland and down, For the whispers of trees, And the hum of the bees Winging home to the hive, Drain your cup to the lees-- Aren't you glad you're alive?

Though you miss the renown Yonder dolt wins with ease, And you're mocked by the clown You've a fancy to squeeze. Though your blood boil and freeze When folk say he will wive With the maid you would please-- Aren't you glad you're alive?

Though with pout, or with frown, Or in shrillest of keys, Madam seek a new gown, And no less will appease, While your creditors tease, Or by dozens arrive, And behave like Pawnees-- Aren't you glad you're alive?

Though your argosies drown In the deepest of seas, And you lose your last crown, Not to say bread and cheese; Though you cough and you wheeze Till you barely survive, At existence don't sneeze-- Aren't you glad you're alive?

_Envoi._

O my friends, paying fees, The physicians still thrive, For your motto is "spes"-- Aren't you glad you're alive?

* * * * *

TEA AND TWADDLE.

["A somewhat mawkish sentimentalism, of which Germany is still the fountain-head in Art, and perhaps also in Letters."--_Illustrated London News, in obituary notice of Professor Carl Müller of the Düsseldorf School._]

A fountain-head--of weak and tepid tea, Æsthetic catlap, "bleat"--infused Bohea! A strange Pierian Spring for the stark Teuton! God Ph[oe]bus cannot play the German flute on. MARS-BISMARCK, TITAN-WAGNER, stalwarts these, Who would not twaddle at "Æsthetic Teas;" HERACLES-VIRCHOW is a valorous slayer, And JOVIAN GOETHE proves a splendid stayer; But the mild, mawkish, modern German muse Olympian nectar will for "slops" refuse. Submerged in sentimentalism utter, Asked for Art-bread she proffers--Bread-and-butter!

* * * * *

"HEAVY MARCHING ORDER" (IN AUGUST).--"Shirt-sleeves and Sherbet."

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM

THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

_House of Commons, Monday, August 21._--Some excellent speaking to-night. SQUIRE OF MALWOOD in fine form. Opportunity made to his hand. With JOSEPH, friend and ally of Conservative Ministry that had invented and applied Guillotine Closure, indignantly protesting against the "gag," there was room for obvious remark. Then there was J. C.'s article in monthly magazine of so recent date as 1890, in which, in his forcible manner, he had, with circumstance, demanded application of gag not only to successive stages in important measures, but to Supply.

"Oh that mine enemy would write an article in the _Nineteenth Century_!" exclaimed GEORGE CURZON. "Anyone could make a speech with such opportunity as the SQUIRE has."

"Exactly," said the Member for SARK; "but perhaps they mightn't do it so well."

Another good speech from unexpected quarter was WHITBREAD'S. WHITBREAD is the Serious Person of the Liberal Party. Whenever Mr. G. gets into difficulties on constitutional questions or points of Parliamentary practice, WHITBREAD solemnly marches to front, and says nothing particular with imposing air that carries conviction. To-day came out quite in new style; almost epigrammatic, certainly pointed. Quite a model of Parliamentary speech of the old stately, yet flexible style now little known.

Best of all, PRINCE ARTHUR. Never heard him to greater advantage. As a former Leader once said, the House of Commons, above all things, likes to be shown sport. PRINCE ARTHUR showed the way to-night, crowded House merrily following. It was ticklish ground, for he was chaffing Mr. G. Not a good subject upon which to expend wit or satire. The PRINCE did it so daintily, with such light, graceful touch, such shining absence of acerbity, such brimming over with contagious good humour, that the cloud vanished from the brow of Jove. Beginning to listen with a frown, Mr. G. presently beamed into a laugh. As for his colleagues on either hand, their merriment was as unrestrained as it was on remoter benches. Only MUNDELLA managed to keep a Ministerial countenance. The play was good, but the theme too sacred to be lightly handled. To him, seated on the left, Mr. G. gratefully turned in earlier stages of the speech and whispered his scathing comment. MUNDELLA behaved nobly. The SOLICITOR-GENERAL, who had his share in the genial roasting, might roar with Homeric laughter. MUNDELLA gravely shook his head in response to Mr. G.'s whispered remarks. Fancy, however, he was grateful when Mr. G. began to laugh and the President of the Board of Trade was free to smile. Speech as useful as it was delightful. Showed to whom it may concern that venerable age may be criticised without discourtesy, and high position attacked without insolence.

_Business done._--Settled that Report Stage of Home-Rule Bill shall close on Friday.

_Wednesday._--"Mr. SPEAKER, Sir. One or two ideas occur to me." It was the voice of MACGREGOR uplifted from back bench, where a retiring disposition (he retired from medical practice some years ago) leads him to take his seat. Moment critical; debate long proceeding on Amendment moved by NAPOLEON BOLTONPARTY, which had called down on Imperial head a fearsome whack from hand of Mr. G.; House growing impatient for Division; SPEAKER risen to put question, when THE MACGREGOR interposed. Evidently in for long clinical lecture. Hand partly extended, palm downwards; eyes half closed; head thrown back, and the voice impressively intoned.

"Mr. SPEAKER, Sir, a few ideas have occurred to me."

THE MACGREGOR got no further; a shout of hilarious laughter broke in upon his reverie. Opened his eyes, and looked hastily round. He, DONALD MACGREGOR, First Prizeman in Chemistry and Surgery; Second Prizeman in Physiology and Midwifery; Licentiate of both the Royal Colleges of Physicians and of Surgeons, Edinburgh; practised at Penrith, Cumberland, and in London; formerly Medical Officer and Public Vaccinator for Penrith and district; Resident Physician at the Peebles Hydropathic Institute; Medical Superintendent of the Barnhill Hospital and Asylum, Glasgow--yes, all this, and House of Commons was laughing at him!

"What--what," he gasped, making motion as if he would feel the SPEAKER'S pulse. "I don't understand. I very rarely speak; have said nothing before on this Bill. Now, when something occurs to me hon. members laugh."

House touched by this appeal; generously cheered. Doctor, resuming his oratorical attitude, proceeded.

"I think," he remarked, with hand again outstretched, eyes half closed, and head thrown back as before, "it was SYDNEY SMITH who said, When doctors differ who shall decide."

The Doctor was awakened out of his oratorical trance by another shout of laughter. What on earth was the matter now? Perhaps if he kept his eyes open he would see better where the joke came in. Took the precaution, but had not proceeded more than two minutes before SPEAKER down on him; after which he thought it best to resume his seat.

"I give it up, TOBY," he said; "as ASQUITH yesterday gave up that conundrum I put to him as to why, if repeated breaches of the vaccination law justify the remission of penalties, the same practice should not apply in case of breaches of the land laws. The House of Commons for pleasure, I suppose; but for "ordinary" sanity give me Peebles and its Hydropathic Institute."

_Business done._--Report Stage of Home-Rule Bill.