Part 2

MR. T. DOLLING BOLTON, M.P. for N.E. division of Derbyshire, has been explaining to his constituents at Eckington the reason for his voting against the Government on Mr. LLOYD-GEORGE'S amendment to the Welsh Church Bill. He was under no obligation to party leaders or party as a party. There was no subsidy by the party, no assistance given by party speakers, and he had to rely upon the electors alone. These elementary political principles endorsed by unanimous vote of continued confidence in esteemed member. Vote moved in eloquent speech by Mr. BODEN. No party assistance, no party voting, manly independence the thing for BODEN. Leaders say it ought to be a thing "verboten," and Mr. T. E. ELLIS filled with foreboding by latest revolt. BOLTON voting blue bad enough, but the enthusiastic approval of his constituency quite a bolt from the blue.

* * * * *

TO A LADY-JOURNALIST.

(_Written by Request._)

Great heav'ns! Here, where's my paper, pen, and ink! How _is_ it all this while I have omitted you? For _her_ I've rhymed, and Her, and HER; don't think, I beg then, that I'll from my duty shrink, A duty to a lady smart and witty due.

I'm really sorry for this painful lapse Of etiquette--_'twas_ careless, now you mention it. I thought--let's see, what _did_ I think?--perhaps You'd hardly time to read poetic scraps; Your leisure's precious, and I dared not trench on it!

Then ladies of the Press bar compliments (At least _I_ seldom find they will permit any!), So I'm impelled to write plain common sense, As near as may be, and on no pretence Aspire to high-flown ode or "lover's litany"!

But still you've _asked_ me, and I'd much regret Not to oblige you promptly, if I know a way; The more so, as you've just dropped in to get A cup of tea and smoke a c-g-r-tte. (By Jove, I hope I haven't giv'n the show away!)

Well, I've not _said_ much, but I've thought the more: If I were fulsome in your praise, why, "Drat it!" you'd Most probably remark, or "What a bore!" So, therefore, please between the lines explore-- 'Twas _you_ who bade me thus descend to platitude!

* * * * *

'ARRY says he was "much interested in 'earing of a nartickle in the _St. James's Gazette_ last week, 'eaded _The 'Aunt of the Otter_. He 'opes the writer will next give us _The Uncle of the Coolie_."

* * * * *

OPERATIC NOTES.

_Saturday._--Production of _Harold_. New Opera; music by COWEN, book by Sir E. MALET, British Representative man in service of Foreign Office, writing words for diplomatic, and words for musical notes. However good-tempered a composer may be, yet when he wants to write an opera he cannot get on without "having words." No time left to give full criticism on _Harold_, which achieved sufficient success to satisfy composer and librettist; it may be as well to state that there is nothing "old" in it, except in last syllable of name. Years ago favourite subject with artists was "the finding of the body of HAROLD." Sir EDWARD has found body; COWEN clothed it. ALBANI is its life and soul. Composer conducted. May probably be heard again this season; so no more at present.

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

My Baronite, constitutionally credulous, on reading the earlier works of JOHN OLIVER HOBBES, accepted the masculinity of the author as put forward on the title page. On reading _The Gods, Some Mortals, and Lord Wickenham_ (HENRY & CO.), he begins to doubt. No man, not the weakest-minded amongst us, habitually uses italics in writing a book. Moreover, none but a woman could draw such a creature as _Mrs. Anne Warre_. The more generous masculine nature could not imagine anything so unrelievedly undesirable. Doubtless she is made so bad the more strikingly to compare with _Allegra_, "whose charm was the charm of springtime and love, all the kind promises of the sunshine, the life, the tenderness, the warmth, the graciousness of nature." The book, the most ambitious, and, in point of length, the most important, that has come from the pen of JOHN OLIVER HOBBES, is marked by her gift of keen observation, that sees everything and sees through most people. Dialogue and narrative sparkle with felicitous turns, bubble over with epigram. There are boundless possibilities in JOHN OLIVER HOBBES; but she should turn her face more persistently to the sunlight. _Dr. Warre_ and _Allegra_ are so good and so pleasant, that the average reader would like a little more of them, and a little less of the almost impossible _Mrs. Warre_.

The proper study of mankind is man, and there could not be an apter tutor than Mr. SMALLEY. His _Studies of Men_ (MACMILLAN), have, as he tells us in a preface, appeared for the most part in the _New York Tribune_. Everyone conversant with newspaper work will know that for many years Mr. SMALLEY'S Letter from London to what, take it all in all, is the principal, certainly the weightiest, journal in the United States, has been its most prominent feature. A selection of these contributions have, happily, been rescued from the files of the newspaper, and are here presented. The Studies cover a wide range, but the subjects are all, in diverse fashion, interesting. One is struck with the extreme fairness of judgment displayed in dealing with men who stand so far apart as, for example, Mr. ARTHUR BALFOUR, Mr. PARNELL, Mr. SPURGEON, TENNYSON, Lord ROSEBERY, Sir WILLIAM HARCOURT, Mr. FROUDE, Mr. JOHN WALTER, and Lord RANDOLPH CHURCHILL. During his long residence in England Mr. SMALLEY has known these and others, personally and in their public aspect. He has stored a picture gallery in which posterity may see them as they lived, nothing extenuated nor anything set down in malice. By way of redressing afresh the balance between the Old World and the New, Mr. SMALLEY has turned his back on London, and, having all these years written about Europeans, for the edification of Transatlantic readers, is about to tell Europe, in the columns of the _Times_, something of the undercurrent of public affairs in the United States. He will find in himself a most damaging rival.

THE BARON DE B.-W.

* * * * *

A HOME-CURED TONGUE.--At a meeting of the "Gaelic League" in Dublin the other day, "the proceedings were conducted exclusively in Irish." Dr. DOUGLAS HYDE, the President, said that the movement was advancing in favour every day, and that, "if this regress continued, the future of the Irish language was assured." But how about the future of those who have to listen to it? He subsequently read a poem called "An Bhainrioghan Aluinn," and, after that had the hardihood to remark that "both young and old take a delight" in speaking the language. As _Mr. Pickwick_ would have said to _Dr. Peter Magnus Hyde_,--"It is calculated to cause them the highest gratification."

* * * * *

MEM. BY AN UNLUCKY AMATEUR DABBLER IN THE CITY.--To go in for "Specs" is short-sighted policy.

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE SHAHZADA ON THE THAMES.

"You will assist," quoth _Mr. Punch_ to TOBY, "in giving the SHAHZADA a cheery welcome on board the P. and O.'s _Caledonia_. And _these_," continued _Mr. P._, handing TOBY a packet and a purse containing untold gold "are your secret instructions."

"They shall be faithfully obeyed," replied the ever-faithful TOBY; adding, "_À bon_ SHAH, _bon hur-rah!_"

* * *

Day lovely; voyage perfect. Father Thames at his best. Sir THOMAS SUTHERLAND, M.P. and O., and all the goodly company, drank the SHAHZADA'S health most heartily. Then capital short speech from Right Honourable FOWLER about India. SHAHZADA satisfied with dinner, gratified by reception. On deck the SHAHZADA called TOBY aside. Interpreter intervened. "_Detnaw ton! Tuoteg!_" said the SHAHZADA, quietly, but authoritatively.

The interpreter retired, muttering to himself "Bow-strings for one." "Look here," said the SHAHZADA to TOBY ... and they discussed affairs (TOBY acting as _Mr. P.'s_ representative) of such importance that they cannot be even hinted at in this or any other place. "And now," said the SHAHZADA, still speaking in his native language, of which this is a translation, "is it not true that one of your national institutions at Greenwich is----"

"The Fair?"

"Bah!" laughed the SHAHZADA, "that has long since vanished; so have the Pensioners at the Hospital. But----"

"There is still hospitality," murmured TOBY, salaaming his very best.

"There is," returned the SHAHZADA, "and _you_ shall show it."

"What can I do for you, your Royal Highness?" asked TOBY.

The SHAHZADA drew him yet further apart from the envious crowd, and whispered in his ear.

"Your Royal Highness," answered TOBY, "it shall be done. Command that the boat be stopped at Greenwich."

So the boat was stopped at Greenwich, and the SHAHZADA, with TOBY, debarked. Great cheering.

* * *

8 P.M.--_Telegraphic Message from Toby to Mr. Punch, Fleet Street._

_Cannot come to dinner. Shahzada and self enjoying tea and shrimps. All gone--except the shrimps. No money returned. Did it for one-and-ten, shall pocket difference. Shahzada says best entertainment ever had. See you later. Larks._

TOBY.

* * * * *

THE WARS OF THE ROSES.

(_A Sheffield Cricket Song, by a True "Tyke."_)

["The fifty-fifth contest on the cricket field between the rival counties of Yorkshire and Lancashire ended yesterday (June 5) in a victory for the representatives of the Red Rose by 145 runs, and the record now reads--Yorkshire won 23, Lancashire won 23, and 9 drawn."--_The Leeds Mercury._]

Red rose and white! A pleasant summer sight, As a Midsummer Dream may well imagine it! How different far from the wild wordy fight 'Twixt furious SOMERSET and fierce PLANTAGANET! Bramhall Lane Ground presents a peacefuller scene Than that once witnessed in the Temple Garden. Here's war of wickets, on a sward as green And as unreddened as the glades of Arden. WARD, not hot SUFFOLK, fights for the Red Rose, JACKSON, not VERNON, battles for the White One. True York _v._ Lancashire are still the foes, Nor is the issue now at stake a slight one; But whether JACKSON be twice bowled by MOLD, Or twice PEEL give young ALBERT his _quietus_, The battle is as friendly as 'tis bold. PAUL, with his eighty-seven, helps defeat us, But brave Lord HAWKE, our Captain, makes his pile, And there is comfort in the score of WAINWRIGHT. If SUGG and BAKER make the Red Rose smile, HIRST his true "Yorkers" down the pitch will rain right. Some holiday-makers seek the grassy down, And some will bask by seashore, or on sunny cliff, Give me to watch the fine straight bat of BROWN, The bail of MILLIGAN, the catch of TUNNICLIFFE, Dead level now are Lancashire and York, The Red Rose and the White bear equal blossoms. Now comes the tug of war! Now must we work, Active as catamounts, and sly as 'possums. But this we know--that at _our_ noble game, With HAWKE the hearty, and with stout MCLAREN, The White Rose shall not have to blush with shame, Nor the Red Rose, through funk, blanch and grow barren!

* * * * *

HIS NEW TITLE.--Dr. GRACE, C.B. ("Companion of the Bat").

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

'ARRY AND THE BATTERSEA PARK LADY CYCLISTS.

DEAR CHARLIE,--You know I'm a "biker." I told yer a good bit ago 'Ow I learnt to cavort on the cycle; and now, from Land's End to Soho, There isn't a scorchinger Scorcher than 'ARRY, when fair on the spin. Some _might_ do me for pace, but for style, and for skylark, I'd jest about win.

LIL JOHNSON--you know little LIL with the copper-wire fringe and rum lisp! 'Er as flower-mounts Clerkenwell way, an' wos donah to young IKY CRISP! She's blue sancho on learnin' to "bike," so I took 'er to Battersea Park, As I'd 'eard wos _the_ pitch for a spry lydy cyclist as longed for a lark.

Larks, CHARLIE! It's spruce, and no pickles! You know I fly cool without fidge, But I wosn't prepared for the toppers as treddle it nigh Chelsea Bridge. No slow Surrey-siders, my pippin, but smart bits o' frock from Mayfair; It took _me_ aback for a jiff, tho' of course I wos speedy all there.

"Lor, 'AWWEE!" lisped LIL, "thith _ith_ thplendid! But 'adn't _we_ better sthand by? Thee 'ow thpiffing they thpinth, thoth sthwell lydith! No,'AWWEE, I don't _like_ ter twy. Fanthy me in my cotton pwint wobbling among thuch A-wonnerth ath thoth! Look at 'er in the kniekerth and gaiterth, and thpot t'otherth Balbriggan hoth!"

Poor LIL! She's no clarss, not comparative. Ain't got no savvy, yer see; And carn't 'old 'er own among quolity, not with a flyer like me. Don't like to be done, _I_ don't CHARLIE; and so I sez "Jest as yer like. Ony, if _I_ meant biking, in Battersea, dash it old girl, _I_ should _bike_!"

"Oh, 'AWWEE," sez she, "you're a 'ot 'un! But let uth look on, dear, _thith_ go; Yer thee I carn't balanth, or pedal. I don't want ter myke _you_ no show." "All right," I sez, 'orty an' airy. But _ontry noo_, CHARLIE, old pal, When I stocked up them beauties on bikes, I wos most arf ashymed o' _my_ gal.

One young piece in grey knicks and cream cloth, and a sort of soft tile called a _toke_, Took my fancy perdigious, dear boy. I'd ha' blued arf-a-bull to 'ave spoke, But a stiff-bristled swell in a dog-cart 'ad got a sharp eye upon _'er_; And _I_ couldn't ha' done the perlite without raising a bit of a stir.

If I could ha' got rid o' LIL, I'd ha' mounted my wheel, and wired in, Balloon-tyred smart safety, old man! _I_'d ha' showed Miss GREY KNICKS 'ow to spin. One tasty young thing wos in tears, 'cos the bike she'd bespoke wosn't there, I hoffered 'er mine, but the arnser I got wos a freeze-me-stiff stare.

"Thtuck-up cat, my dear 'AWWEE!" sez LIL. "Well," sez I, "she _may_ be a Princess, As a lot o' them hexercise here. Lydy B. and a young Marcherness Do paternise Battersea Park on a bike; leastways so I've bin told; And the breakfusts and five-o'clock teas give by dooks is a sight to behold."

"Garn, 'AWWEE," snigs LIL, "you're a kiddin'. But, thithorth! it ith a rum thing. To thee Batterthea Park, ath wath onth all kid-cwicket and kith-in-the ring, Now the pet-pitch of thwell lydy thyclists!" "It shows yer," I sez, "'ow things move. From hansoms and bus-tops to bikes! Oh, the lydies _must_ keep on the shove.

"They borrow their barnies from _hus_, arter all, LIL. Toffs want a new lark, So they straddle the bike _ah lah_ Brixton, and tumble to Battersea Park. 'Divideds' and 'Knickers,' my dysy, are sniffed at out Hislington way, But when countesses mount 'em at Chelsea, they're trotty and puffeck O K!"

World shifts it, old man, that's a moral! We'll soon 'ave some duchess, on wheels, A-cuttin' all records, and showing young ZIMMY a clean pair of 'eels. Hadvanced Women? Jimminy-Whizz! With the spars and the sails they now carry They'll race us all round, pooty soon, and romp in heasy winners! Yours, 'ARRY.

* * * * *

RATHER A HANDFUL!

There seems to be a feeling among lady writers that they also should have been remembered in the Birthday-honour distribution. That is all very well, but quite a new demand has been started by the _Cork Constitution_, which remarks,--

"It would not of course be regular to bestow a knighthood upon a lady; but the rule in the case of Mrs. DISRAELI might be observed, and a Baroness be conferred upon the author of _Lady Audley's Secret_."

What would MISS BRADDON do with a Baroness when she got her? Work her up into her next plot? Peeresses must be "cheap to-day," if they can be given away in this generous style.

* * * * *

A LAMENT.

(CHEAPSIDE, JUNE 6, 1895.)

Oh, princely guest from Afghan clime, The poet's lot is hard! Ah! When he would find the proper rhyme, To balance with Shah-_zada_!

I see the guardsman ride erect, The bugle sounds! Aha! _My_ part should be, in verse correct, To greet the Shahza-_da_!

Thy quantities have kill'd my song! Despair! I'm off to Mada- gascar, or anywhere! I long To have it right. Shah-_z[)a]d[)a]?_

* * * * *

A FAIR Correspondent adds the letters "L. C. C." after her signature. She is _not_ a member of the London County Council, but of the "Lady Cyclists Club."

* * * * *

* * * * *

A KIND INQUIRY.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,--A touching epitaph has lately come under my notice. It runs as follows:--

"HIC JACET ANONYMA.

She dwelt among the untrodden ways, Where yellow asters throve, A maid whom there were few to praise And fewer still to love.

She lived unknown, so none can know The hour she ceased to be, Enough to know she has, and oh! Pray, all men, R. I. P."

Is it possible that our old friend, the New Woman, that quite "impossible she," has left us for "another place"? It seems almost too good to be true.

Yours unfeelingly,

A. MISONEOGYNIST.

P.S.--You will observe that she died a spinster, of uncertain age.

* * * * *

A sportsman, not particularly literary, but very fond of theatricals, says that he hears there is a play going on called _Don Quickshot_. He thinks the first syllable may have been accidentally omitted, but feels certain that the _London Quickshot_ ought to make a hit.

* * * * *

Scoring for DR. GRACE.--"A Running Commentary."

* * * * *

* * * * *

TOWN AND GOWN.

The _Standard_, giving its account of "Speeches," at Eton, on Fourth of June, said, "The speakers were attired in Court dress, the Oppidans wearing their black school gowns." Since when have Oppidans worn "gowns," black or otherwise? Those who used to wear gowns were the Collegers. Surely the custom, sanctioned by some centuries, has not been changed. The "Oppidans," or Town Boys, could not possibly be metamorphosed into Gown Boys--at least so writes to us

THE TUG OF WARRE.

* * * * *

GOOD EVANS!--The _Daily Telegraph_ reported "The Heroism of a Lady." The act and deed was that of Miss EVANS, of Hythe, near Southampton, who, after rescuing a man and a woman from drowning, plunged in again, dived, and rescued a girl, who was sinking for the third and last time. The girl saved will ever gratefully remember Miss EVANS as the lady who "brought her up by hand," and in finishing her education she will not neglect the extra-accomplishment of swimming. Honour to Miss EVANS, who is a real female champion, not of the Salvation Army, but of a Nautical Salvage Corps!

* * * * *

A NOCTURNE IN NOODLEDOM.

(_What the Heart of the Young Masher said to the Music-hall Singer._)

(A LONG WAY AFTER LONGFELLOW.)

AIR--"_The Day is Done._"

The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the brow of night, Like a crape-mask drifting downward From a burglar in his flight.

I see the lights of "the village" Gleam through the evening mist, And a feeling of dryness comes o'er me, And a tiddley I can't resist.

A feeling of blueness, and longing For a spree, and another drain; It resembles sorrow only As gooseberry does champagne.

Come, tip me some snappy poem, Some iky and rorty lay, That shall banish this chippy feeling, And drive dull care away.

Not from the slow old stodges, Not from the smugs sublime, Who hadn't a notion of patter, And were slaves to tune and time:

For, like chunks of WAGNER'S music, They worrying thoughts suggest, Dull duty, and dry endeavour, And to-night I long for rest.

Tip a stave from some Lion Comique, Whose songs are snide and smart, And who makes you roar, like ROBERTS, Till tears from your optics start.

Who, without thought or labour, And "on his own," with ease, Can whack out the ripping chorus Of music-hall melodies.

Such songs have power to quicken The pulse that beats low with care; And come like the "Benedictine" That follows the bill-of-fare.

So pick from the cad, or the coster, Some patter--slang for choice; And lend to the rhymes of the Comique The tones of a stentor voice.

And our feet shall thump tune to the music, And the bills that I cannot pay Shall be folded up, like my brolly, And as carefully put away.

* * * * *

THE GOOSE AND THE EAGLE.

(_A Fable._)

A Goose that had miss-spent a long life, and, in addition to being old and ugly, was of a sour, ill-natured disposition, in despair of rendering herself any longer agreeable to her male acquaintances, conceived the desperate design of emancipating her female friends.

"It is intolerable," she declared to a large assemblage of the latter who flocked together directly the news of her design was noised abroad, "it is intolerable that, whilst all the good things of this life are reserved for the exclusive use and enjoyment of our male tyrants, we poor female creatures should be put off with feeble bodies and dowdy, unattractive plumage. I will go immediately to the King of Birds and demand the instant redress of these grievances under pain of my serious displeasure."

Scarcely had the Goose received the thanks of her audience for this valiant speech, when an Eagle, which chanced to be soaring at that moment in the heavens above them, and was attracted by the clamour that reached him, dropped suddenly to the earth in order to discover the cause of it; to whom the Goose, so soon as she was sufficiently recovered of her fears, humbly addressed her complaint.

"Foolish bird!" exclaimed the Eagle, when the Goose had made an end of her complainings, "know you not that what is fixed by Nature cannot possibly be altered by birds; and that if your sex have weaker bodies and a less attractive plumage than belong to us of the male gender, it is because Nature wills it so, and must be obeyed? Learn to be content with what you have, and cease envying those to whom Nature has been more prodigal of certain favours than she has been to you. Remember, also, foolish bird! that strength of mind is not the same thing with strength of body, and that though you may possess the one and pretend to despise the other, yet is Might the foundation of nearly all Right in the animal world, and must remain so because Nature will have it so and must be obeyed."

* * * * *

SHAKSPEARIAN CHARACTERS AT MANCHESTER,--Last Friday H.R.H. the Prince of WALES'S horse _Florizel II._ took the cake, or, rather, the Manchester Cup. _Florizel II._ is now _Florizel I._ In this new illustration to a Summer's not _A Winter's Tale_, _Perdita_ should represent the race from the point of view of those who didn't win.

* * * * *