Part 2

_Wednesday._--VERDI'S opera, _Falstaff_. Some charming music in it; otherwise dull opera. Impossible to put _Falstaff_ himself, singing or speaking, on any stage. Actor or singer invariably over-weighted. ZELIE DE LUSSAN, looking like _Jessica_, sings _Anne Page's_ music charmingly. SHAKSPEARE created "sweet ANNE PAGE" the daughter of _Mrs. Page_. Why then, in the opera, is she put into the FORD family? I refer to the "Characters" in the book of the opera, where I find "_Mistress Ford_," and "_Anne, her daughter_." GIULIA RAVOGLI a sprightly _Dame Quickly_; PAULINE JORAN a lively _Mistress Ford_; and Signor DE LUCIA an amiable _Fenton_, "with a song."

_Friday._--House not absolutely crowded to hear _Carmen_. Is _Carmen_ a bit "off"? Yet nothing better than performance of ZELIE DE LUSSAN as gay and wicked heroine. Little _Don José de Lucia_ first-rate, and ANCONA winning encore for old friend _Toréador_. MARIE ENGLE excellent goody-goody contrast to bold, bad _Carmen_. Police-constable BEVIGNANI, _bâton_ in hand, severe when on the beat. In honour of QUEEN'S Birthday, Sir DRURIOLANUS troupe-ing _Il Trovatore's_ operatic colours at Windsor Castle. It ought to have been, appropriately, _Falstaff_.

_Saturday._--_Faust._ "House full." _The_ Princess and Princesses present. MELBA'S "Jewel song" a gem. M. PLANÇON, whose name, Britishly pronounced, suggests "Mr. PLAIN-SONG," rather ecclesiastical than diabolical, a highly-coloured but generally effective _Mephistopheles_. Mdlle. BRAZZI appears to-night as "the new woman" in the part of _Siebel_. "She rouses enthusiasm," quoth WAGSTAFF, "no Siebil-lation." _Exeunt omnes._

* * * * *

THE DISCOVERY OF LONDON.

_Interviewer._ As a keen student of your fascinating works, permit me to render to you my respectful homage.

_Distinguished Foreigner in London._ Certainly. I observe that you speak the French of the capital with fluency.

_Int._ You flatter me. I am only an ordinary journalist. Possibly you prefer to converse in our local language?

_D. F._ On the contrary, I have only recently acquired the English word, "Yes." Curiously enough, this is my first voyage of discovery to your shores. I had, of course, often heard of England, and your literature is not unfamiliar to me. My secretary reads to me the works of your popular poet, ROBERT BROWNING.

_Int._ Do you not, with your--er--limited knowledge, if I may so say, of our language, find that writer's meaning somewhat obscure?

_D. F._ Oh no; for my secretary translates him into idiomatic French verse at sight.

_Int._ M. ZOLA has also only recently discovered us. How do your novelists find the necessary models for their English types?

_D. F._ Nothing simpler. Tradition, _voilà tout_. The Englishwoman, with her large feet, projecting teeth, and execrable French--we know her because we have always known her. It is not necessary to have seen her in the flesh. Indeed, it is only a marvel to me that I find the type so rare in its own country.

_Int._ Might I dare to ascribe such traditional views to the prejudice of ignorance? Your Press, I believe, does not educate itself by foreign travel.

_D. F._ I cannot speak for others, but personally, if I do not offend the laws of courtesy by saying this in the city whose hospitality I now enjoy, I detest your race. I regard you as insular.

_Int._ We cannot, of course, help being born on an island. But we correct this defect by constant visits to the mainland, and from these we have learnt a profound respect for the tastes of our neighbours.

_D. F._ I am greatly gratified by this. Nothing has impressed me so favourably here as your cordial appreciation of our people. I met a distinguished British novelist who was actually acquainted with the literature of my own Provence!

_Int._ May I ask what other features of our comparatively inaccessible island have attracted your notice?

_D. F._ Above all things else, the sinister silence of your city. On the Stock Exchange, down Cheapside, among vendors of journals, you can hear a pin drop. Everywhere the taciturnity of the tomb.

_Int._ And what of our institutions and types?

_D. F._ Nothing has impressed me so deeply as the Great Wheel at Earl's Court. It is a monument of national ardour and aspiration. This, and Mr. STANLEY, and your guardsmen, and your way of cooking meat, have left the most indelible impression upon my sentiment and constitution. I dislike the last two of them.

_Int._ In cooking, we freely yield you the saucepan. But how has our military given you offence?

_D. F._ I object to the size of its chest, and its manner of occupying the pavement. I have seen a guardsman in Whitehall against whom, in the heyday of my youth, I should indubitably have projected my person.

_Int._ It would have been a rash and perhaps irreparable act. But tell me more. Kindly hold up once again the veracious mirror, that we may see ourselves as others see us. We are so apt to be blind to our own national defects, unless the impartial observer, like yourself, throws a flood of light upon our idiosyncrasies.

_D. F._ I should like a few more days in which to complete my study, and verify my anticipations, of your interesting city. Meanwhile, let me refer you to M. GABRIEL MOUREY'S new work--_Passé le Détroit_. The Ulysses of our century, he has gained a wide knowledge of your race, having been a fearless traveller in _L'Underground_, and seen some of your most typical fogs. You may learn much from him. He is read eagerly at home, where the thirst for books of romantic travel and exploration grows hourly. I wish you the good day. _Yes._

* * * * *

A TEETOTAL TIP.--How to Live Long--Never take "something short."

* * * * *

* * * * *

'ARRY ON DERBY DAY.

DEAR CHARLIE,--Are _you_ going down? What a pooty blarmed world this 'as got, With its CHANTS, and its Anti-Sport Leagues, Local Hoption, and other dashed rot. Wot _is_ Libberty comin' to, CHARLIE? 'Ere's 'ARRY leg-lagged to his stool, Because his new Gaffer's a Hawkeite, as means a old-fossilised fool.

The young 'un whose crib I succeeded to skinned the old bloke's petty cash In backing of wrong 'uns last year, as of course was most reckless and rash. But wy should _I_ suffer along of it? Wy must he drop upon _me_ Who wanted the Derby Day off--for cremating my poor uncle G.?

Smelt a rat, the old Smelfungus did, and he lectured me, too, like old boots, Saying, Sport wos a Youpass tree, CHARLIE, and lying wos one of its fruits. He's a reglar front-row Anti-Gambler, a foe of Mirth, Music, and Malt, As would 'ave them lay Tattersall's level, and sow Hepsom race-course with salt.

I'd arranged with a sporting greengrocer, and BOODLE a smart local Bung, To tool down by road with a trotter. Us three would 'ave gone a rare splung, And _I_ ain't missed a Derby this five year. And now all along of old hunks Instead of sweepstaking for winners, I'm making out bills for hair-trunks.

It's beastly, dear boy, and no bottles. I landed on _Ladas_ last year, And I've got such a cert. for to-day, as I _couldn't_ go wrong on--no fear! Oh, laylocks and lemonade, CHARLIE! it do give yours truly the 'ump To think I must miss such a treat, all along of that precious old pump.

The whizz o' the wheels makes mad music, old man, in this dingy old den, Where only the tick of the clock, and the scrape of my spiky steel pen, Measure hout the monotonous 'ours, while friend Bung and young Greens are agog. 'Midst the clatter and clink of the course, and the yelp of the old Derby Dog.

I can smell the sweet whiff of their baccy, can taste the cold chickin' an' 'am, And see the fine salmon-hued sparkle of Bung's Jerryboam of Cham. I _know_ Greens will do it to rights; I am _sure_ a safe winner I'd spot, And my anti-gambling old Gaffer 'as spiled the whole splurge! _Ain't_ it rot?

Them plaguey philanterpists, CHARLIE, are turning the world upsidown! A cove musn't lap arf-a-pint, and a cove mustn't lay arf-a-crown! It's Weto all over the shop, CHARLIE! But wot _I_ always remarks,-- Philanterpy seems to shine mostly in Wetoing _other_ folks larks!

Well, I'm off down the road, mate, to Clapham, or wot not, to see 'em return. My cert. 'asn't come off, I 'ear, so I've dropped arf the screw as I earn By my six days of nose-to-the-grinstone of Gaffer. He'd larf if he knowed. But if it ain't _his_ bloomin' fault for his sport-'ating 'umbug, I'm blowed.

_Sport?_ Sport's in the blood of a gentleman! Cocktails ain't fly to the fun Of landing a bit off a pal. Lor! a bet, on a 'orse or a gun, Mykes friendship and life reglar flavoursome! 'Ow could your true sportsman care For a drive through green lanes to the Derby without a small flutter when there?

Too late for the flutter to-night, but the Clapham laburnums are out; There are plenty of pubs on that road, to the Wetoist's 'orror, no doubt. I am sure to meet lots of old pals, full of fun and good stuff as they'll carry, And if we don't 'ave Derby larks, spite o' Gaffers and HAWKES, I ain't, 'ARRY.

* * * * *

Derby Dampers.

Having no invitation to join a company on a drag. Having no money to pay for a railway ticket to the course. Having no friends rich enough or rash enough to advance a trifle on account. Having no notion of the betting and no knowledge of the horses engaged. Having no time, no money, and last, but not least, no inclination.

* * * * *

"ALL NODDIN'."--The _Western Daily Mercury_ records that the New Woman has broken out in a new place--as A Lady Auctioneer. Woman at all times has known how to go it hammer and tongs. Advanced Femininity drops the tongs, but sticks to the hammer. Formerly man was often gone on fair woman--rather expected of him. The lady now prefers to do the "Going, going, gone," herself. Awful vistas opened up. Will a wink be as good as a nod to the Lady Auctioneer? Will "dinner eyes" have to yield to "auction winks"? A for-bidding prospect.

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE SCARLET PARASOL.

SCENE II.--_Drawing-room. Windows opening on to Terrace. Ladies alone._

_Muriel_ (_to_ VIOLA). CLAUDE MIGNON has been saying that I am the only woman he has ever loved!

_Viola._ Exactly what he says to me!

_Muriel._ Is it a boast--or a confession?

_Viola_ (_quietly_). It is a lie, that's all. But what did ALAN ROY say? He didn't speak to me.

_Muriel._ He says you have a far-away look in your eyes.

_Viola_ (_eagerly_). Yes? I did my best!

_Muriel_ (_simply_). So I told him you wanted to have a secret in your life--a romance. He seemed very much interested.

_Viola._ Oh, MURIEL! How could you? _How_ silly of you! I am very angry indeed.

_Muriel_ (_calmly_). Why, VIOLA? ALBERT is getting accustomed to his being grown-up, and CLAUDE to his being so young. They all like him immensely. But I think they will be glad when he goes away.

[_Enter gentlemen._

_Claude_ (_talking to_ ALAN). Yes, I felt I had something to say--and I said it--in one volume.

_Alan._ There is no mistake so fatal as to write because one has something to say.

_Claude._ How about _Robinson Crusoe_, _Don Quixote_----

_Alan._ I am afraid I never read them. I couldn't read till I was ten--and then I read dear HERBERT SPENCER.

[_He tries to join_ VIOLA _and passes_ Mrs. AVERIDGE, _who moves to leave room for him on the sofa, and smiles_.

_Alan_ (_standing by the sofa_). Weren't the flowers quite sweet on the table to-night, Mrs. AVERIDGE?

_Mrs. Averidge_ (_trying to be original_). I can't bear flowers.

_Alan._ What _do_ you like, Mrs. AVERIDGE?

_Mrs. Averidge_ (_looking out of the window_). Oh--trees, I think.

_Alan._ What! on the table! (_He escapes, and joins_ VIOLA.) Is that the moon outside, Mrs. TRAVERS?

_Viola_ (_gazing at it intensely_). I think it is.

_Alan._ Shall we go and see?

[_They move out on to the terrace._

_Muriel_ (_sitting next to_ Mrs. AVERIDGE). Isn't ALAN ROY a little dear?

_Mrs. Averidge_ (_spitefully_). So your sister seems to think. I had no idea she was so fond of children.

_Muriel._ He has such pretty ways! That new shade of blue is very fashionable, Mrs. AVERIDGE. But it's a little _trying_ to you, do you know? You don't mind my saying so, do you? [_Amenities continue._

_Mr. Averidge._ It's perfectly amazing! That boy knows everything. He talks politics----

_Claude._ He's a staunch Tory!

_Mr. Averidge._ Literature----

_Claude._ He tells me he's not a Romanticist; he cares only for the Classics.

_Mr. Averidge._ Art----

_Claude_ (_resigned_). He dismisses Symbolism with a word, smiles at Impressionism as old-fashioned, but speaks most kindly both of MILLAIS and WHISTLER. He calls them "poor dears." I _think_ that was the phrase. I won't be sure, but I think so.

_Mr. Averidge._ Yes, he's astounding.

[_Ponders._

_Claude_ (_to_ MURIEL). Aren't we going to have some music? How I should like you to play those chants to me again! Won't you, Miss VANE? I _love_ sacred music so.

_Muriel._ Yes; with pleasure. VIOLA has had my organ put in the billiard-room, to be out of the way.

[_Rises._

_Claude_ (_as he and_ MURIEL _go into the billiard-room_). The worst point about these clever boys is that they are so cynical! No sentiment--no heart!

[_Continues ad lib._

_On the Terrace._

_Alan_ (_to_ VIOLA). You have very wonderful eyes, Mrs. TRAVERS, haven't you?

_Viola._ Have I?

_Alan._ You know you have. Do you believe in palmistry?

_Viola._ I think I do. Do you?

_Alan._ I don't know whether I believe in it, I _like_ it.... Your line of life....

[_Continues ad lib._

_In the Drawing-room._

_Albert._ That boy is bewildering! He flits over every subject under the sun! Have a game of piquet, AVERIDGE?

[_They play piquet._

_In the Billiard-room._ MURIEL _playing the organ_. CLAUDE _by her side trying to look like_ DICKSEE'S _picture, "Harmony."_

_Claude._ Do you ever have that curious feeling that you are doing exactly what you have done before, hearing--seeing something for the second time?

_Muriel._ Oh, yes! continually! I felt it during the whole of dinner!

_Claude._ Do you think it shows we knew each other in a previous existence, Miss VANE?

_Muriel._ No. I am afraid it only shows that you sometimes repeat yourself.

[_She smiles._

_Claude._ How can you be so unkind, and yet look such a perfect angel!

_Muriel._ I feel exactly like St. Cecilia when I am playing the organ.

_Claude._ And _I_ feel like St. Anthony, Miss VANE.

_On the Terrace._

_Alan._ To get right away from people, to take a drive together, and bathe our heads in the golden sunlight! In secret! Do--_do_ let us, Mrs. TRAVERS!

_Viola._ It _would_ be nice! ALBERT is going to town for the day, and the AVERIDGES are going for an excursion.... But what could we drive in?

_Alan._ Oh, _I_ will arrange that. I will hire a dog-cart in the village; and we must meet in a lane, or a field, or something. And you must say you have been to teach the orphan boy to sew or something. It would be too sweet!

_Viola._ But--Master ROY----

_Alan._ _Don't_ call me Master ROY. Call me ALAN--when no one is listening.

_Viola._ ALAN--wouldn't it be much simpler, merely to say we were going for a drive, and to order the carriage?

_Alan._ Then where's your mystery?

_Viola._ Very well! Then _mind_ you don't tell anyone!

_Alan._ Not tell anyone, Mrs. TRAVERS! But what's the use of a secret if one doesn't tell it to everyone?

_Viola._ Oh!

_Alan._ I was only joking, dear Mrs. TRAVERS. At three, then.... Sh-sh! (_He picks up her fan with the air of a conspirator._) If I think of anything else, I'll write a little note, and put it under the clock on that mantelpiece. Shall I?

_Viola._ What fun! But would it be safe?

_Alan._ Would you rather we corresponded in the _Times_ about it, Mrs. TRAVERS?

_Viola._ You're making fun of the whole thing.

[_She pouts, &c. He shows by her Line of Fate that all will be well._

_Mrs. Averidge_ (_to herself_). Well of all the dull houses I ever stayed at!... Piquet in the drawing-room, chants in the billiard-room, palmistry with Infant Phenomenons on the Terrace!... It's quite true, too, what that affected little VANE girl said--the colour _is_ trying.... I'll never come here again!

[_Retires to her room in disgust._

* * * * *

"HECKLING."--At a meeting of the supporters of Mr. MURRAY, Master of Elibank, the Liberal candidate for West Edinburgh, the following "heckle" took place:--

"_Mr. Guy._ Seeing you approve of Home Rule all round, what is the smallest number of Parliaments the United Kingdom would require? (_Laughter and a Voice:_ 'Send it back to Parliament Square.')

_The Master of Elibank._ I think that is a question which can be settled by an ordinary addition sum. (_Cheers and laughter._)"

Which shows that the Master is a real Master of Arts as well as of Elibank, and, as regards platform difficulties, good at getting out. But whether he is equally good at "getting in" the future must decide. A slippery customer, evidently, is Mr. MURRAY, and his title ought to be "the Master of Eely-bank!"

* * * * *

A REAL "MAN OF THE TIMES."--_Mr. Punch_ congratulates Dr. W. H. RUSSELL, endeared to his friends and companions-in-arms as "BILLY RUSSELL," on his becoming Sir WILLIAM HOWARD RUSSELL, Knight of the Pen. _Prosit!_

* * * * *

SCOTCH JUNKETING.--A "Curd Fair" has been held, as usual, at Kilmarnock, and the number of excursionists who left the town, both by road and rail, is said to have been very large. Well, of course a Curd Fair naturally leads to a number of whey-farers!

* * * * *

* * * * *

AFTER THE PLAY.

_Junior Playgoer._ Why is it called _The Prude's Progress_. I didn't see any Prude, did you?

_Elderly Playgoer._ No; and no Progress. Slow. CYRIL MAUDE and FANNY BROUGH quite the life and soul of the piece.

_Jun. P._ High premium wanted to insure its life, eh? RIGHTON good all round man?

_Eld. P._ Very much all round. PLAYFAIR'S part recalled WYNDHAM jotting down mems. on shirt-cuff.

_Jun. P._ Yes; somehow it all reminded me of various pieces I've seen.

_Eld. P._ Quite so. Remember old pantomime song?--

"A little piece here, and a little piece there, Here a piece, and there a piece, And everywhere a piece."

_Jun. P._ And it might finish with author--no (_refers to programme_)--authors, JEROME and PHILPOTT, singing--

"We are two merry, merry men, Nobody precisely can find us out."

_Eld. P._ Exactly. Good night old boy. Better luck next time.

[_Exeunt severally._

* * * * *

THAT TELEGRAM.

(_Some Yildiz Comments on a Recent Editorial Exploit._)

_Mashallah!_ Am I, the Full Moon That Blazeth in Heaven Like Anything, to be bested by a Penny Journalist, a Feringhee Writer of the Thing that is Not, a Gazetteer who is Ac-cust? Shall I, the Padishah Whose Piano-playing Edifieth the Distant Constellations, submit to be out-man[oe]uvred in my own particular line by an Unbelieving Dog, a Giaour of Giaours? What though he be Lord of Lo Ben and of a Hundred Press-carts, he shall learn that a Concocter of Copy is no match for The Unspeakable One! _Inshallah!..._ What ho! Summon the Grand Vizier, and let the Chief Bowstringer be in attendance! Bring in the medicated coffee for one, and _rahat lakoum_ for two!...

What saith the dog of a dragoman? The Infidel Frank refuseth the mark of My very distinguished Favour, the Medjidieh of the Fourth Class? Will not _that_ stop his accursed inquisitiveness? Or doth he wish for an Osmanieh, set in brilliants? Ingleez though he be, he must have his price!... No? He will _not_ take an Osmanieh, not even of the First Class!!

Ah, perhaps he will _give_, if he will not take? Times are hard, and there is that Russian indemnity. Nay, it need but take the form of an Irredeemable _Loan_, or a Mortgage on the flourishing revenues of Our most prosperous province of Arabia Felix. We sorely need a new ironclad or two, for Our boilers are rusting badly, and Our keels are rotting beyond repair at their anchorage in the Bosphorus....

_What!?_ The alien unbeliever neither giveth nor taketh? And doth not care one "snuff" (whatever that may mean) whether his telegram to Europe in general, and the _P-ll M-ll G-z-tte_ in particular, goeth or not? Verily, he knoweth not the rules of Oriental diplomacy. But though the telegram shall not go, if we know it, the Sublime Porte shall yet give the quill-driving outcast a lesson in shilly-shally and hanky-panky. He shall know that the Commander of the Faithful is not to be called an impotent Potentate (with a big P) in vain. We will sit up all night, pretending to re-draft his telegram, and really enjoying his discomfiture! "Impotent Potentate," indeed! Let the chief telegraph-clerk be beheaded on the spot!...

* * * * *

"WHEEL AND WOE."--"A Word of Warning" to women bicyclists appeared in the _St. James's Gazette_ last Friday, by "A Medical Man." Quite right. This Round of Wheel is overdone. Instead of "Wheel," the Medico cries "Woa!"

* * * * *

THE LOSS OF RICHMOND HILL.

AIR--"_The Lass of Richmond Hill._"

From Richmond Hill there is a view As fair as Tempe's morn; Its charms are such that sure by few Their loss were calmly borne. This view so sweet, no "Jerry" street Must intercept or kill; We all decline thus to resign, The view from Richmond Hill!

How happy would that builder be Who'd call that plot his own! His heart is fixed on lease and fee, Ours on the view alone. This view so sweet must rest complete, For not with our good will For villas fine will we resign That view from Richmond Hill!

* * * * *

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.