Part 2

"With spur and rein, whip-stroke and strain, Jehu _plus_ artful jockey, You've kept your team in tow again, And you look blessed cocky. Wait till the way shows sludge and clay, And you the pace would quicken! Over you'll roll long ere the goal, And _then_ the fun will thicken!"-- BILL cocks his chins, and skips and grins Like any Jumping-Jingle. His loud Ha, ha! Tra-la-la-la! Sets ARTY'S blood a-tingle.

"Bah! You've done fairly well this half: Think you'll survive another As the school's 'Cock,' you great fat calf? Look out for my Big Brother! When _he_ gets hold of you,--my eye!-- You won't look quite so jolly. Think you've licked me! Wait till you try A round or two with SOLLY! He's waiting for a turn at you! _You_ think you're a smart smiter? 'Tra-la-la-la'? Yah! bully! yah! _He_'ll show you who's cock fighter!"

* * * * *

To Tara, My (Un-)Fair Neighbour.

(_"Moore"--where this comes from._)

"The harp that once through TARA'S walls" Poor me disturbed in bed, Is nightly twang'd to feline squalls That wrack my aching head. I sleep not as in former days, Her voice cries "Sleep no more!" Ah, would she hadn't got this craze, And did not live next door!

* * * * *

A NEW LITERARY VENTURE.--In distinct opposition to the "Key-note series" will be started a "Wed-lock-and-Key note series."

* * * * *

"PRIDE AND PREJUDICE."

["Canada, unlike the mother-country, has the sense to be proud of its minor poets."--_Mr. Le Gallienne in "The Realm."_]

Really this bitter and bold accusation of Conduct so culpable cannot be borne; Are we indeed but a barbarous nation of Philistines treating our poets with scorn?

Are we contemptuous, then, in reality, Of the effusions our lyricists write-- Singing sweet songs of the Modern Morality, Praising each other from morning to night?

Modesty, clearly, is somehow availing to Burke them of glory which should be their own, Modesty, morbid, excessive--a failing to Which, it's notorious, poets are prone.

Only, he tells us, in Canada's latitude Honour to singers is duly allowed: Nay, how can Britons be backward in gratitude, Having LE GALLIENNE, are they not proud?

Yes, when we Englishmen boast of our national Glories and deeds, though the scoffers deride, This is the greatest and really most rational Source of supreme and legitimate pride--

Not in the struggles or deeds of iniquity Wrought by our sires in desperate fray, Still less in SHAKSPEARE, or bards of antiquity, But in the poets amongst us to-day!

Might we suggest, though, if, in the opinion of Mr. LE GALLIENNE, England's to blame, He and his comrades should seek the Dominion of Canada, where they'll be certain of fame?

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

CONCERNING A MISUSED TERM;

_viz._, _"Art" as recently applied to a certain form of Literature_.

Is this, then, "Art"--ineffable conceit, Plus worship of the Sadi-tainted phrase, Of pseud-Hellenic decadence, effete, Unvirile, of debased Petronian ways?

Is _this_ your "Culture," to asphyxiate With upas-perfume sons of English race, With manhood-blighting cant-of-art to prate, The jargon of an epicene disgrace?

Shall worse than pornographic stain degrade The name of "Beauty," Heav'n-imparted dower? Are _they_ fit devotees, who late displayed The symbol of a vitriol-tinted flower?

And shall the sweet and kindly Muse be shamed By unsexed "Poetry" that defiles your page? Has Art a mission that may not be named, With "scarlet sins" to enervate the age?

All honour to the rare and cleanly prints, Which have not filled our homes from day to day With garbage-epigrams and pois'nous hints How æsthete-hierophants fair Art betray!

If such be "Artists," then may Philistines Arise, plain sturdy Britons as of yore, And sweep them off and purge away the signs That England e'er such noxious offspring bore!

* * * * *

THE CRY OF THE FREE LIBRARY FREQUENTER.--A Cheap Loaf.

* * * * *

"HOW TO CONTROL AND RECTIFY PUBLIC OPINION."

["It is impossible to bribe a French paper."--_Times, April 5, 1895._]

SCENE--_Sanctum of the_ Rédacteur en chef _of "Le Gamin de Paris."_ Rédacteur _discovered reading latest issue_.

_Rédacteur._ Dear me, this note about the pacific intentions of the GERMAN EMPEROR is most interesting! I wonder how it got in. I did not notice it when I glanced through the pages. Still, I have the most unlimited confidence in my staff. (_Quoting from his paper._) "There is no doubt that we can safely disarm, as Germany is our friend--the best of our friends." Dear me! Most interesting!

[_Enter menial, ushering in mysterious stranger._

_Stranger._ I trust I am not intruding?

_Rédacteur._ Certainly not. It is the duty of an editor to be always at the service of those who seek his advice. No doubt you desire my opinion upon some matter of importance?

_Stranger._ You have guessed rightly. Which do you prefer, a mansion in town or a castle in the country?

_Rédacteur_ (_smiling_). Well, I am scarcely qualified to judge, for I only possess a mansion in town. I have no castle in the country.

_Stranger._ Pardon me. You have one now.

[_Gives_ Editor _title-deeds_.

_Rédacteur_ (_glancing at the documents_). What, the Château de St. Querecs! One of the finest places in Brittany! You are really too amiable!

_Stranger._ Not at all. And now tell me, do you prefer WAGNER to VERDI, or MASCAGNI to MOZART?

_Rédacteur._ Again I am at a disadvantage. You see I go so seldom to the Opera. The expense is----

_Stranger._ The expense is inconsiderable when you possess a _loge_ on the grand tier. (_Giving paper._) Allow me to present you with a perpetual box.

_Rédacteur._ Your courtesy is simply charming! But why do you overwhelm me with these obligations? We are unknown to one another.

_Stranger_ (_with a bow_). Not at all. You are famous. As for me--why I am nothing. I am absolutely valueless.

_Rédacteur_ (_politely_). You do not do yourself justice. I will be bound you are most valuable.

_Stranger._ Well, perhaps you are right. At any rate I can fill in a cheque--yes, and with four or five figures! I will show you. Permit me.

[_Approaches writing materials, and rapidly completes draft._

_Rédacteur._ And for whom is that cheque?

_Stranger._ Read the name to whose order it is made payable.

_Rédacteur_ (_surprised but admiring_). Mine! This is simply marvellous. And are you clever enough to write a leader?

_Stranger._ Assuredly. See I will compose one at once. (_Sits at table, knocks off an article and hands it to_ Rédacteur). What do you think of it?

_Rédacteur_ (_smiling_). I will give you my opinion when I see it in type. You will find it in the _Gamin_ to-morrow. Good day!

[_Scene closes in upon a tableau suggesting at once delicacy and the right understanding of commercial principles._

* * * * *

HER LATEST.--"The silence was so great," said Mrs. R., "you could have picked up a pin!"

* * * * *

MINOR POETRY IN THE SERE AND YELLOW LEAF.

_A candid M.P. showeth cause._

Fair Waitress at the A. B. C., To which I most resort, Bring me a roll and cup of tea-- No longer bards drink port. No more the lusty, generous vine In bardic veins makes summer; That's why Apollo's lyre divine Knows but the sorry strummer.

No rich libation at the "Cock," Degenerate race, we pour, And tea, not port, at five o'clock, Is what we all adore. In coffee, tea, and lemon squash The Muse ne'er dips her laurel, So what we write is either "wash," Or hopelessly immoral.

When life, each quarter, is made out Of still more jaundiced hue, The needy bard must join the shout, His verse be jaundiced too: But tea's the spell, these latter times, As of some fell narcotic, That makes us weave our random rhymes All rotten, or neurotic.

We modern bardlets, tea-inspired, Condemn th' "old-fashioned gang," And yet we miss the spark that fired The songs our fathers sang: Their tastes were healthier than their sons', Their rhymes were "none so dusty," When bards ate beef instead of buns, And loved their fine old "crusty."

This sere and yellow poesy Faint draws its sickly breath, And--doctors say--Society Will soon acclaim its death: No stone upon its grave we'll place, But tea-pots at each corner-- Fair Waitress, you the scene shall grace As chief, and only, mourner.

* * * * *

"M. HANOTAUX, Minister of Foreign Affairs, will shortly have distributed in the Chamber and the Senate a _Yellow Book_ relative to the conventions recently concluded between France and Great Britain for the delimitation of their respective possessions on the West Coast of Africa."

_Our Artist could not be restrained from designing a Cover, which we respectfully offer to M. Hanotaux._

* * * * *

The Jabez is Coming.

The JABEZ is coming! Oh dear! how queer! Is JABEZ a-coming? What cheer? what cheer? There's nothing much left though to hear We fear. We'll believe he has come when he's here. Hear! Hear!

* * * * *

NOTE BY A HIGHLY CULTIVATED BUT UNSUCCESSFUL DRAMATIST.--About the most fatal opinion that can be given on any play is to say that "it _reads_ well." A play that is "a treat to read" is, as a rule, utter boredom to see; for in proportion to the success in the study is, in the majority of cases, the failure on the stage.

* * * * *

GAMP TRIUMPHANT, AND JUSTICE TO AN OLD FRIEND AT LAST!!--In the _Times'_ "Court Circular" lately appeared the information that "_Mrs. Harris had the honour of dining with the Queen yesterday_." Now, and henceforth, the immortal Mrs. GAMP, rising "morally and physically," can denounce any "bage creetur" who would dare to repeat Mrs. PRIG'S "memorable and tremendous words," spoken of Mrs. HARRIS, the dear friend of "SAIREY," "I don't believe there's no sich a person."

* * * * *

ANACREONTICS FOR ALL.

SWIG UP THIS (COCOA) CUP!

AIR--"_Drink of this Cup._"

Swig up this cup--you will find there's a spell in Its depths for the ills and the aches of mortality. Drink! Of dyspepsia's dire woes you'll be well in A Yankee split second! (No fudge, but reality). Would you forget wine, or whiskey, or gin? Only skim off the film that will gather a-top of it, ('Tis merely the milk in coagulate skin,) Then stir it up briskly and drain every drop of it! Swig up this cup, &c.

Never was nectar-cup brewed with such power, Or philtre; while _here_ nought to injure or hurt is meant. Of Cocoa this is the pure pick and fine flower. There's no starch or fat in it (_vide_ Advertisement!). They who with this have their stomachs well filled, Are proof against hunger, fatigue, and bad weather. This wonderful draught is not brewed or distilled, But it licks all the liquors and cordials together. Swig up this cup, &c.

And though, perhaps,--but oh! breathe it to no one!-- 'Tis stodgy and runs to obesity awfully. If you've _no_ coat to your tum-tum, you'll grow one! (The rival advertisements tell us so--jawfully.) What though it tasteth insipid and tame? When tea is taboo, and when coffee's forbidden, Try cocoa from--well, let each fill up the _name_, There are fifty at least, and their light is _not_ hidden! Swig up this cup, &c.

So swig up the cup of--each "'Tiser" is telling In every paper, with great actuality, The fame of _his_ brand, with much swagger and swelling, Other ads. may be fiction, but _his_ is reality. So swig up the cup when you breakfast, tea, sup, Of so-and-so's (string of superlatives) cocoa! (I'd "give it a name," but I daren't try _that_ game, For fear of severe (editorial) Toko). Swig up this cup, &c.

* * * * *

LATEST FROM PARIS.--"MOORE of Moore Hall, with nothing at at all," has _not_ "slain," nor has he "foughten with," nor given any kind of "satisfaction" to, the Dragon of Wantley, represented (as the incident is to be "relegated to the realms of comic opera") on this occasion by the Wictorious "WHISTLER Coon." It is, however, reported that the impressionist artist, animated by the sportsmanlike desire of getting a shot at something or somebody, the MCNEIL, or JACQUES LE SIFFLEUR, would like to engage a Moore for the shooting season. The most recent wire reports, "No Moore at present. J. MCN. W." And, probably, here closes the incident.

* * * * *

LAST WEEK'S BUSINESS.--Everything very much up in the City--especially the pavement in Cannon Street.

* * * * *

"TO PARIS AND BACK FOR NOTHING."

(_To the Editor of "Punch."_)

SIR,--A most excellent institution, run on moral lines, has recently been advertising "A tour on the Continent" for £5. This modest sum is to cover travelling and hotel expenses, and no doubt has been worked out on the most virtuous principles. In these days of rapid progress, however, we can never stand still, and the question arises, Cannot the holiday be cheapened? I contend it can, and as your paper represents the human race in general and the British public in particular, I desire to make known my discovery through your columns. Of course "Trips for nothing"--the journeys I wish to organise--cannot be managed without a little thought and arrangement. For my purpose it is best not to insist too harshly upon the importance of truth and honesty. After all, both these words represent abstract ideas, that may be necessary for publication, but need not be absolutely accepted as a guarantee of good faith.

Without further preface I jot down my programme. Say that a would-be traveller without means desires to visit the Capital of France gratuitously. I would have him present himself at the Victoria Station garbed in the uniform of a guard. The necessary costume, on application, would be supplied to him by one of the agents of the Unprincipled Touring Company--the institution it is my aim to establish. Just as the night mail was starting for Dover he would enter the luggage-van, and then all would be clear until he reached Paris. He would accompany the boxes and portmanteaus to Calais, and be transferred (being registered) to the Chemin de Fer du Nord, and remain undisturbed until he reached the terminus.

On coming out of the van he would be met by one of the agents of the Unprincipled Touring Company, and be accused of being a spy. This would immediately secure his arrest and safe custody in a Parisian police-station. The agent, having played his part, would disappear. It would now become the duty (and I trust the pleasure) of the would-be traveller to look after himself without further assistance. He would appeal to the British Ambassador. He would tell his simple tale, how he had been drugged and conveyed in a state of coma to the luggage-van; how he had no money, and had been so affected by the narcotics, that his mind had become a perfect blank. The British Minister would, doubtless, secure his release, and supply him with funds. He would see some of the cheaper sights for which Paris is celebrated, and then return home by an inexpensive route, highly delighted with his adventures.

It will doubtless occur, in this practical age, to persons having even the most moderate amount of brains, that hitherto the profits of the Unprincipled Touring Company have remained unmentioned. "Where do they come in?" will be the universal question. My answer is simply, "Hush money." The would-be traveller, having availed himself of the services of the proposed organisation, would, for the remainder of his existence, be under an obligation to pay as much as he could conveniently (or even inconveniently) spare to a society which had secured for him so much semi-innocent recreation.

It may be advanced by ultra purists that the system of business that would be inaugurated by the U. T. C. would be immoral. To this I triumphantly reply, not more immoral than other systems in full working order in many companies of the highest respectability compatible with limited liability.

I remain, yours respectfully, A PROMISING PROMOTER.

* * * * *

WHICH IS THE CORRECT CARD?

In _The Theatre_, a "review and magazine" most useful as well as entertaining to all interested in the drama at home and abroad, there appears, in the critical notice of what is just now successful on the Parisian stage, a short account of a piece called _M. le Directeur_. "_It is_," says the writer, "_an amusing but not very savoury skit upon the life of the petty official, and the advantage taken by the head of a public office to subserve his amorous propensities in the management of his department and the promotion of his subordinates_." Quite evident from this what sort of a farcical comedy it must be. This appears at p. 238. But at p. 246, among "The Echoes from the Green Room," we find that this piece, _M. le Directeur_, which is at present "drawing all Paris to the Vaudeville Theatre, is certainly one of the most amusing plays," &c. &c., "_and it depends for its success more upon genuine humour and innocently comic incident than upon salaciousness of situation or untranslatable wit_." Which of these accounts of the same play is the correct one?

* * * * *

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

_House of Commons, Monday, April 1._--There is about JOHN AIRD an artlessness of look and manner the price whereof is beyond rubies. SARK fancies it is the beard that has much to do with it. When you get a man light-hearted as a boy endowed with long grey beard, complications certain to ensue. AIRD'S beard has precisely same preternaturally proper look whether he is sitting in parish church listening to sermon, or dancing a hornpipe on the white deck of the P. & O. _Caledonia_. Only he dances better than the average rector preaches.

Just the man to take part in the old Parliamentary game known as asking friendly question. Usually played with Minister taking a hand. If Treasury Bench wants to bring out some fact or appearance of fact Whip gets Member on back bench to put question on subject. Pretty to see Minister on such occasions; his startled look on hearing himself addressed; his glance round to see if this is really his hon. friend who is presuming to trouble him with what might be awkward inquiry; then his slow, almost hesitating answer which effectually corrects a calumny or nips a slander i' th' bud.

To-night, in view of pending division on second reading Welsh Disestablishment Bill it was felt desirable to produce effect of overwhelming national indignation at threatened spoliation of the Church. Since Bill introduced petitions against it been dribbling in from teeming population of English hamlets sternly saying This thing shall not be. Apart from political importance of question, petitions have peculiar interest as revealing existence of unknown clusters of cottage homes. THOMAS HARDY never invented such quaint, charming names as the industry of compilers of petitions against this Bill have brought to light. St. Dogmaels, St. Twynnel's, Pattiswick, Neen Sollars, Chittlehamholt, Hampton Poyle. Woodeaton, Pawler's Pury, Abbey Dore, Penwortham, Lillingstone Lovell, Crockham Hill, Weston-under-Penyard, Itchen Stoke, Dunton Green--names musical with the sound of church bells, sweet with the scent of newly mown hay, the breath of cowslips.

This upheaval of the people on behalf of Mother Church loses its effect by reason of ordinary procedure whereby petitions presented at the Table are straightway thrust into a sack, and carted off to a lumber room. Thing to do was to get Member to publicly inquire from Chairman of Petitions Committee how the matter stood in the ledger; how many petitions against Bill, how many in favour. Who could do this better than JOHN AIRD? So he put question to DALRYMPLE, and learned with dramatically ill-concealed surprise that whilst over a thousand petitions against the Bill have poured in on the House, not one had been received in its favour. It is true that another question from opposite side of House brought out fact that at least one of these State documents was result of labours of wife of Clerk to Guardians of St. Asaph Union, who had been instrumental in obtaining the unbiassed opinion of the resident paupers on question at issue. But that a mere detail.

_Business done._--Second Reading Welsh Disestablishment Bill carried by majority of 44 in House of 564 Members. "_Clwych! Clwych!_" roared MABON, and was with difficulty restrained from singing "_The March of the Men of Harlech_."

_Tuesday._--Evidently in for another dull time. Welsh Disestablishment Bill off, enter Irish Land Bill. Time precious; business pressing; every quarter of hour worth a Chancellor of the Exchequer's ransom. Ministers anxious above all things to get along with business. JOHN MORLEY, accordingly, sets useful example by delivering speech an hour and twenty minutes long. This, as he mentioned, followed upon exorbitant demands on patience of House when he introduced the Bill. CARSON, not to be outdone, certainly not to be blamed, took up about as much time. Later came ST. JOHN BRODRICK, astonished at his own moderation in speaking for only seventy minutes.

"This is not debating," SARK says. "It is just making speeches by the yard. Hasn't the remotest effect upon the human mind, still less upon deliberate action of House. Isn't even pretence of a fight; second reading will be passed without division; Bill will go to Committee in precisely same state as would have been the case had it been read a second time before dinner, and Members spent rest of evening in bosom of their families. Towards end of Session there will be complaint of nothing done. At least Treasury Bench mustn't lift up its voice in reproach at such conclusion. If right hon. gentlemen set us such evil example, they mustn't complain if we follow it."

House in desolate state throughout spirit-sapping performance. TIM HEALY sat it all out. Contributed almost only token of life to the dull monotony. In dangerously explosive state. If anybody had sat on safety-valve would have burst to dead certainty. Happily got off a few life-saving grunts and groans. Played sort of chorus to CARSON'S speech and BRODRICK'S monologue. They severely ignored him--treatment which had no effect on his exuberance of spirits.