Part 2

Yet _I_ didn't dare say that I felt it to be Pseudo-sphinxian fudge, and sheer Belial bosh; Or that after Art-babble at five o'clock tea, I felt that the thing I most craved was--a wash; Because in the view of the Mystical School, That would just write you down a mere Philistine fool.

I am not _quite_ sure that I _quite_ understand How they've suddenly found all our fads are degenerate; Why MAETERLINCK, IBSEN, VERLAINE, SARAH GRAND, TOLSTOI, GRANT ALLEN, ZOLA, are "lumped"--but, at any rate, I know I'm relieved from one horrible bore,-- _I need not admire what I hate any more_.

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BLIND ALLEY-GORIES.

BY DUNNO WÄHRIAR.

(_Translated from the original Lappish by Mr. Punch's own Hyperborean Enthusiast._)

NO. IV.--SIGNS AND WONDERS.

I sat on the beach one forenoon in midsummer. A great number of people were doing much the same. The rhapsodists and orators, the blameless Ethiopians with their barbaric instruments of music, the itinerant magicians with their wands, the statuesque groups posed before the tripod of the photographer, the snow-white sea-chariots with crimson wheels, the bare-legged riders on antique steeds, made me fancy I was gazing at a scene of Southern Hellenic life. Why I know not--for it was not in the least like.

Then I saw an enormous black hand stretch down over the fjord. I was not alarmed, for I am becoming accustomed to apparitions of this kind.

It set weird signs and black marks upon the railings of the jetty, and on the white sides of the bathing machines, and on the sails of the fishing-boats, and when I turned about, the parade itself was plastered with tablets.

And on all things had the New Lawgiver incised in letters of gold and azure and purple upon shining tables the new commandments: "Use Skäuerskjin's Soap!"; "Try Tommeliden Tonic!"; "Buy Boömpvig's Pills!"; "Ask for Baldersen's Hairwash!"

And I heard the voice of the wild waves saying, as they lapped up over the cheap sandshoes and saturated paper bags full of gingerbread nuts:

"This is the new moral law. That men should cherish the outside and insides of their bodies, and keep them clean, like precious vessels of brass and copper. Rather to let the picturesque perish than forget for a moment which is the best soap for the complexion, and which will not wash clothes. Never to see a ship spreading her canvas like a sea bird without associations of a Purifying Saline Draught or a Relishing Pickle. To ask and see that ye procure!"

Then I looked into the heavens above me, and behold, high above the esplanade hung a hand, enormous as the one that had set its marks on everything below, but white, white; and it held a brush and wrote until the sky was full of signs, and they had form and colour, but not of this world, and those who ran could read them.

And I bought a shell-box and a bath bun, and closed my eyes, and lay musing in an agony of soul. Suddenly I felt the pain snap, and something grow in me, and I saw in my soul's dawning the great half-opened shell of a strange oyster.

And this oyster has its bed on my very heart, and it is _my_ salt tears that nourish it, and it grows _inside_, invisible to all but me.

But I know that, when the oyster opens, I shall find within its shell, like a gleaming dove-coloured pearl, the great Panacea of the To Be; and, if you ask me to explain my meaning more fully, I reply that the bearings of this blind allegory lie in the application thereof, and that ye are a blow-fly brood of dull-witted hucksters.

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A FIRST STEP

TOWARDS HISTRIONICS.--II.

(_Under the guidance of Herr Goethemann._)

_Questioner._ You were good enough to promise me at our next meeting a specimen of the Author-publisher's dramatic manner.

_Answer._ With pleasure. I will read it to you.

"_Afternoon. Two-pair suburban back. Upright piano. High-minded table._ HENRY (_dramatic author and host_) _under it, heavy with wine._ ROMEO (_his friend and Town Blood_) _communing with_ MARY ANN (_local ingénue_). ELIZA (_her sister and hostess_) _outside just now, making coffee. She will come in presently, and realise_ DRAMATIC MOMENT.

_Mary Ann._ Get up, Henry, and give us a regular old rousing tune.

_Henry_ (_huskily, emerging from retreat_). What shall it be?

_Romeo._ Oh, anything. WAGNER for choice.

[_Gifted musician obliges with a pot pourri of 'Parsifal,'_ ROMEO _absently whistling the trombone part_.

_Mary Ann._ Ripping! Now something classical. Let's have '_After the Ball_.' Come on, ROMEO, we'll waltz; push back the fire-place. (_They push back the fire-place;_ ROMEO _grasps_ MARY ANN, _and they revolve. He kisses her on the cheek_ L. C.) Well, I never did! For shame! I decline to dance with you. There!

[_Declines to dance with him._

_Henry._ One for _you_, my buck! Cheer up, MARY ANN; _I_'ll give you a turn.

[_Pirouettes twice with her, humming suitable air._

_Mary Ann_ (_rendered completely breathless_). It's not like real dancing when you only _hum!_

_Henry._ Can't play and dance at same time, you know. Piano too stationary. So you must take ROMEO on again, or go without.

_Eliza_ (_entering with coffee-tray and realising situation_). Well, I declare! Having high jinks while I was making the coffee. What dramatic irony!

[ROMEO _gallantly invites her to join the giddy throng. They dance._

_Eliza_ (_rendered completely breathless_). My soul! I'm in bad training!

_Mary Ann_ (_having got her second wind_). Have a turn with _me_, ELIZA! ROMEO 's no good; he misses out every other bar.

_Eliza._ Want my coffee. No wind left.

[HENRY _spontaneously sings a Lullaby of_ BRAHMS'. _Stops in middle to see what they all think of it. They all think a lot of it. Goes on singing. Only_ ELIZA _goes on thinking a lot of it. Others talk quite loud_, ROMEO _being a Town Blood._ HENRY _finishes, under conviction that they have no manners to speak of. Mind wanders off to the leading lady in his new piece, and he drops inadvertently into 'Daisy' waltz._ ELIZA _waits for second wind._ ROMEO _grapples with_ MARY ANN, _the latter reluctant. She is rapt away in mazy whirl, kicking feebly. He again kisses her on the cheek, this time_ R. C.

_Eliza._ Man! I saw you! It was a wanton act.

_Henry_ (_casually_). Anything broken?

_Eliza._ Oh, HENRY! He went and kissed my MARY ANN, my own sister!

_Romeo_ (_with easy bravado_). A mere nothing, I assure you. She's so provoking, don't you know? Had to do it in self-defence.

_Eliza._ It is contrary to established etiquette in _our_ circles. MARY ANN, how _could_ you?

_Mary Ann._ I didn't. It was him. I shall scream another time.

_Eliza._ Man, you will oblige me by treating my sister as you would your own.

[_Exit with crushing expression which leaves_ ROMEO _intact._

_Mary Ann._ ELIZA talks rot. (_To_ ROMEO.) Not that you're not a beast, all the same.

[_Exit in two frames of mind._ HENRY _laughs and makes light of osculation. The men converse. The plot becomes even more intricate. The end is nigh._"

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_Question._ Do I miss the purpose of the Author-publisher?

_Answer._ I should think it highly improbable.

_Q._ But why did he write it?

_A._ It is a "problem-play," and that, as I said, is the problem.

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CHEERING.--Liberal Party much encouraged by East Wicklow and East Leeds. "Wisdom from the East," they call it.

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FROM CORINTO TO HERNE BAY.

(_An Anglo-Nicaraguan Parallel._)

The young Midshipman looked towards Corinto. The public buildings were still within range of the monster guns. The select army of one hundred and fifty had retired before the advance of the blue jackets and marines. All was tranquil, and, as he gazed upon the Nicaraguan capital, his eyes closed, and he dreamed a dream.

He was once more in England. He was at the seaside. Here in front of him were bathing-machines. There, to his right, was a circulating library. He could see a clock-tower and a shortened pier. Then he laughed in his glee. He was at Herne Bay! Close to the Isle of Thanet--within sight of the Reculvers!

He had scarcely realised his happiness, when he noticed on the ocean a flotilla. Three gigantic ironclads were approaching the tranquil town!

"The Nicaraguan fleet!" he murmured in his sleep.

It, alas! was too true! The Central American Admiral had sent an ultimatum. The news had run from one end of Herne Bay to the other that, unless the sum demanded were paid at once, the as-yet-unconquered watering-place would be "ploughed," as the Poet BUNN would have put it, "by the hoof of the ruthless invader."

Then there was a hurried consultation. What could be done with that overpowering fleet? It was useless to defend the bathing-machines; the donkeys and their drivers were no match for heavy ordnance. What could the few coast-guardsmen do when threatened by five hundred Nicaraguans?

"Herne Bay must surrender!" murmured the Midshipman in his sleep. "There is no help for it."

And then came a strange sight. The search-lights of the Nicaraguan fleet played upon the sea front, and the little garrison of Herne Bay retired towards Birchington and Margate. The Band (lent from the Militia) marched away, followed by the heavy cavalry of the bathers, and the Uhlan-like donkeys of the sands. The representatives of the Navy (carrying their look-out telescopes) brought up the rear.

Then, when all had gone, the sailors and marines of the Nicaraguan fleet landed. The British flag was hauled down, and replaced by the colours of the enemy.

Herne Bay was conquered!

At this point the Midshipman awoke with a start. He looked round, and sighed a great sigh of relief.

"How fortunate it is that the English fleet have conquered Corinto and not the Nicaraguan fleet Herne Bay!" he cried in an ecstacy of patriotic fervour. Then he performed for hours the duties of his command. Towards the close of day he again casually glanced at Corinto and once more was involuntarily reminded of Herne Bay. And as he gazed upon the Central American town he came to the conclusion that it was about as formidable and about as well defended as the Kentish watering-place. And having arrived at this opinion he determined in his own mind that the taking of Corinto, as a feat of arms, was scarcely on a par with the Victory of Trafalgar.

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TO A GRAND OLD MANNS.

(_On his Seventieth Birthday._)

To MANNS of Crystal Palace fame, _Punch_ sends his kindly greeting. The ever keen, the never tame, Time may he long be beating (For Time it seems cannot beat him). Time's darts may he resist all With _bâton_ brisk and eyes un-dim. Beneath that dome of Crystal-- For many a year! And decades hence _Punch_ hopes it may befa' that He'll shout, before that choir immense, "A _Manns'_ a Man for a' that!"

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A CLASSIC CANDIDATE.--Mr. HOMER in West Dorset is the Independent Farmers' Candidate. He is, of course, more than a positive "Home Ruler," being a comparative hopeful "HOMER Ruler." But surely the language of HOMER must be Greek to most of his hearers, even at Bridport, and in view of the _poluphoisboio thalasses_.

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THE RAD TO THE CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER.

(_On the Humdrum Budget._)

Just "As you were"! Ingenious, fair, And all that, I've no doubt; But titled swells you do not scare, Nor rich monopolists flout. I tolerate where I would praise. Reform _is_ a slow grower! _My_ spirits, WILL, it will not raise, To see _your_ spirits lower! Free Breakfast Table? Graduation?-- Chances seem getting fewer: Well WILL, my only consolation Is this--you've "copped the brewer!"

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In the title of his new book, "ANTHONY HOPE" has taken the Roman _prénom_ which evidently by right belonged to him. There is no comma, nor introduction of "by," and so straight off we read in golden letters on the back, "_A Man of Mark Anthony Hope_." O Brave MARK ANTHONY! His readers have great faith in HOPE.

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PARLIAMENTARY.--The nearest approach to a dead-lock is a live (J. G.) WEIR.

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NEW GALLERY QUERIES.

Is Mr. HITCHCOCK'S "_Flight into Egypt_" a view of Dartmoor? and what are all those blue flowers? Borage, blue currants, corn-flowers, "new broom," gorse dyed blue for this occasion only, or what? I have been offered all these random suggestions by distinguished critics, but they somehow don't seem convincing.

Why are the competitors in the charming swimming-match between Mermaids and Tritons so remarkably _dry_ in the upper parts? I always get decidedly damp when I enter the sea, but these ladies take to it like ducks--"_Dux f[oe]mina facti_" (as said an ancient poet in anticipation)--and so I suppose the water rolls off their backs.

Will "_Her First Offering_" of grass and daisies go far towards softening the heart of a statuette? Her sister, last year, had a much more tempting "_Gift for the Gods_," but there is no accounting for divinities' tastes.

What does Mr. KPOFFNH--dear me, I can _not_ get his name right?--mean by "_Sous les Arbres?_" Is it a man or a statue, a spook or a symbol? Why does he wear a marble wig? Why does his brown hair show underneath it? Why has he got a wall eye? Why is he "under the trees?" Why is he at large at all? Why---- But there, I give it up! I don't believe there are any answers to these conundrums!

How is it I've been looking at "_Kit_" for two whole minutes before realising that there's a Persian cat in the composition? But she's a real beauty, when you _do_ coax her out of this "puzzle picture."

Why (this is no new query!) have Sir EDWARD BURNE-JONES' Luciferians and Sleeping Beauties and peeresses and children and brides one and all the same world-weary expression? Why do they, without exception, look as if they were off to a funeral, or had just seen themselves in the glass? Are there no other colours in the land but dull green, steel-blue, ink-purple, and brick-red? Why do I immediately want to commit suicide after studying these masterpieces? Why doesn't Psyche cheer up a bit, even though she _is_ going to be married? _She_ wasn't a _[Greek: nea gunê]_, I'm sure!

Why does the dog in Mr. HOLMAN HUNT'S picture look as if it had softening of the brain? and why do I pass on hurriedly to the next picture?

Will Miss REHAN'S left shoulder hold up her dress much longer, I wonder, in Mr. SARGENT'S portrait? I don't know, but I _have_ fears!

Is the lady in Mrs. SWYNNERTON'S "_Sense of Sight_" preparing to catch a cricket ball, or cutting an acquaintance, or going to recite something? I _should_ like to know.

Why couldn't some enterprising dentist supply the ladies in "_Echoes_" with false teeth, and why weren't they taken away quietly home, and not allowed to exhibit their other anatomical innovations? Echo answers to these and all my queries, "Why, indeed?"

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The Chester Cup.

The _Rock Dove_ don't pooh-pooh, A dove can make a _coup;_ The odds? You yet may nobble 'em. 'Tis four to one 'Gainst _Son of a Gun_, But _Euclid_ is a problem.

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ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

_House of Commons, Monday, April 29._--When _Mr. Toots_, in agony of perturbed bashfulness, sat down on _Florence Dombey's_ best bonnet, he murmured, "Oh, it's of no consequence." SQUIRE OF MALWOOD does not resemble _Mr. Toots_ in any respect, not even that of bashfulness. But he has a way, when taking important move, of studiously investing it with appearance of "no consequence." Thus to-night, asking for lion's share of time for remaining portion of Session, he could hardly bring himself to uplift his voice: mumbled over phrases; coughed at conjunctions; half paralysed by prepositions; looked round with pained astonishment when Members behind cried, "Speak up!" Why should he trouble to speak up on so immaterial a matter? Still, to oblige, he would say all he wanted was to take for Government purposes, for rest of Session, all the time of House, save the inconvenient Wednesday afternoon sitting, and the inconsiderable Friday night.

More marked this cultured mannerism when announcing immediate introduction of Bill prohibiting plural voting. This a genuine surprise. Not been talked of since House met. Nobody thinking of it. SQUIRE in almost whisper announced its introduction to-morrow. Astonished beyond measure at commotion created; the boisterous cheers of Liberals, the uneasy laughter of Opposition.

"Most remarkable place this House of Commons," he said afterwards, gazing over my head into the infinite horizon, where shadowy figure of Local Veto Bill is visible to the eye of faith. "Always full of surprises even for old practitioners like you and me."

PRINCE ARTHUR, much relishing this subtle humour, was himself in sprightliest mood. The whole business of Session, he protested, was an elaborate joke. If they were there to work, he would take off his coat and ding on with the best of them. But they were there to play. "Well, let us play," he said, holding out both hands with gesture of invitation to Treasury Bench.

Proposal irresistible. House divided forthwith; SQUIRE'S motion carried by majority of 22; then, whilst half a dozen naval men talked water-tube boiler, PRINCE ARTHUR, SQUIRE OF MALWOOD, and picked company from either side went out behind SPEAKER'S Chair to play. Such larks! To see PRINCE ARTHUR take in a stride "the backs" given him by the SQUIRE OF MALWOOD, with CAWMEL-BANNERMAN next; to see JOHN MORLEY seriously whipping a top; to watch BRYCE breathless behind the nimble hoop; to look on while EDWARD GREY, forgetful of China and Japan, thinking nothing of Nicaragua, played a game of marbles with HART DYKE; to see LOCKWOOD trying a spurt with DICK WEBSTER, the course being twice round the Division Lobby, ASQUITH, fresh from the Cab-arbitration, having handicapped them--to see this, and much else, was a spectacle wholesome for those engaged in it, interesting for the solitary spectator.

_Business done._--Shipbuilding Vote in Navy Estimates agreed to.

_Tuesday._--Odd thing that on this particular night, when Government bring in Bill prohibiting plurality of voting, BILL should bring in a Bill. His first and only Bill. Of course he might argue if we have one man one vote, one BILL one Bill is all right. Yes; but, as SARK with his keen mathematical instinct points out, this is a case of two Bills--BILL, the Member for Leek, and a Bill to empower magistrates to prohibit the sale of intoxicating liquors to persons previously convicted of drunkenness. That is obviously a plurality of Bills. But we are getting hopelessly mixed. The only man among us who sees clear is JOHN WILLIAM. Deep pathos in his voice as he says the time is near at hand when a tyrannical Government will attempt to enforce principle of "One Man One Drink."

Cap'en TOMMY BOWLES had best of dreary evening. Mentioned yesterday, with tears from his honest blue eyes coursing down his rugged, weather-beaten cheek, fresh infamy on part of SQUIRE OF MALWOOD. Had announced on Thursday that, at Monday's sitting, Naval Works Loan Bill would be proceeded with. TOMMY accordingly clewed up, and ran for port; laying to for forty-eight hours, prepared speech on Naval Works. Now SQUIRE calmly announced that Shipbuilding Vote was to be taken. What was TOMMY to do with speech prepared on Naval Works Loans?

In despair yesterday; to-day bright idea struck him. SHAW-LEFEVRE had moved to introduce One Man One Vote Bill. Why shouldn't TOMMY, flying that flag, run in and deliver his speech on Naval Works? A bold experiment; only hope of success was that House, being in almost comatose state, wouldn't notice ruse if cleverly managed. Trust TOMMY for clever management. Holding sheaf of notes firmly in left hand, deftly turning them over with the hook that serves him for right hand, the old salt read his speech on Naval Works Loan Bill. Here and there, when he observed restless movement in any part of House, fired off phrase about "forty-shilling freeholder," "occupation votes," "rural constituencies," "re-distribution," "country going to the dogs," "jerrymandering," and "right hon. gentleman opposite." Scheme worked admirably; speech reeled off, and SQUIRE OF MALWOOD'S knavish trick confounded.

_Business done._--One Man One Vote Bill brought in.

_Thursday._--House not to be moved to evidence of excitement even by prospect of Budget night. On such occasion in ordinary times attendance at prayer-time most encouraging to Chaplain. Begins to think that at last his ministrations are bearing fruit. This afternoon congregation not much above average. No rush for tickets for seats. When _Squire_ rose to open his statement, great gaps below Gangway on Ministerial side. The SQUIRE, recognising situation, refrained from heroics, content to deliver plain business speech. No exordium; no peroration; no flight into empyrean heights of eloquence as was the wont of Mr. G. Some sympathetic movement when SQUIRE, with momentarily increased briskness of manner, spoke of snap of cold weather in February, with its accompaniment of influenza, increased death-rate, and fuller flow of death duties into National coffers. The quality of this mercy was not quite unstrained. Not dropping, like the gentle dew from heaven, till February, increased death rates will not come into account till succeeding year. Still, there was rum. As thermometer fell rum went up with a rush.

Fifteen men on a dead man's chest. High ho! and a bottle of rum.

What with comforting the mourners, and imbibed as a preventive, rum brought a windfall of £100,000 into the Treasury.

That was well in its way. But then there were those 75,000 mean-spirited people who ought to have died last year, their estates paying tribute to CHANCELLOR OF EXCHEQUER, and who positively insisted upon living. The long-trained fortitude of the SQUIRE nearly broke down when he mentioned this circumstance. Pretty to see how it also touched JOKIM. The wounds of riven friendship temporarily closed up; the rivalry of recent years forgotten in contemplation of these 75,000 reckless, ruthless people, who, in defiance of law of average, didn't die in financial year ending March 31, 1895. The past CHANCELLOR OF EXCHEQUER and his successor in office mingled their tears. But for intervention of table they would probably have flung themselves into each other's arms and sobbed aloud.