SCENE I.--_Terrace in front of quaint old country house._ VIOLA

TRAVERS _and_ MURIEL VANE _on garden-chairs._ VIOLA _is twenty, dark-eyed, and animated; she holds a scarlet parasol._ MURIEL _is eighteen; she has very fair hair, parted with puritanical precision; the naïve innocence of her manner is not without a suggestion of artistic premeditation._

_Muriel_ (_embroidering_). It is a marvel to me, VIOLA, that you can ever have a discontented moment in a house so Elizabethan as this.

_Viola._ It _is_ lovely, MURIEL; a background for mystery and romance. And I have no romance. I have everything else; but I have not a romance.

_Muriel._ You have ALBERT.

_Viola._ You know that ALBERT is not a romance.

_Muriel._ Once----

_Viola._ Ah, when everyone opposed our marriage. I married him for love, and because he was poor and "unsuitable." How could I know that his uncle would die and leave him money and a country house? Everything has turned out so well! It is rather hard to have made "a good match," as they say, without intending it. Of course, I never reproach him.

_Muriel._ No; you have been very nice about it.

_Viola._ ALBERT is perfectly happy, playing at being a country gentleman. He was so amazed to find there were real ducks and fowls in the country--and buttercups! He tells me everything. He boasts we tell each other everything. Oh! I should _so_ like to have some little thing to conceal from him--some secret, just for fun! Of course I should tell him all about it afterwards, you know.

_Muriel._ I am sure you would, dear. You have dropped your handkerchief. (MURIEL _picks up handkerchief, book, and paper-knife, and gives them to_ VIOLA.)

_Viola._ Dear MURIEL, it is so nice to have you here. You are so calm, and soothing, and decorative, and you never take anyone away from anyone else!

_Muriel._ I think I _have_ been rather unfortunate lately, VIOLA. No one seems to like me but middle-aged married men--often, too, with whiskers!

_Viola._ You mean poor Mr. AVERIDGE? He has been married so long that he has forgotten all about it. To-night CLAUDE MIGNON is coming to stay with us. He is the most accomplished idiot in London. He sings, plays, paints, plays games, flirts--I think his flirting, though, has rather gone off. It is getting mechanical. By the way, have you an ideal, MURIEL? I wonder what is your ideal?

_Muriel_ (_promptly and cheerfully_). A man past his first youth, who has suffered; with iron-grey hair and weary eyes, who knows everything about life and could guide me, and would do exactly what I told him.

_Viola._ And _mine_ is a young man of genius, just beginning life, with the world before him, who would look up to me as an inspiration--a guiding star!

_Muriel._ You have dropped your handkerchief again, VIOLA. Who is this coming out?

_Viola._ It is only Dr. ROBERTS. He has been to see JANE, the housemaid. She has been rather ill.

_Muriel._ I suppose she had a housemaid's knee.

_Viola._ You are quite wrong. She had writer's cramp, poor thing!

_Muriel._ How absurd, VIOLA! How are you, Dr. ROBERTS!

[Dr. ROBERTS _has iron-grey hair and dark eyes. As he joins them_ MURIEL _leans down to pat a dog with all the graceful self-consciousness of youth._ Dr. ROBERTS _looks at_ VIOLA _admiringly_.

_Viola._ I hope poor JANE is better?

_Dr. Roberts._ Oh yes; she is quite out of the wood now, Mrs. TRAVERS. In fact, I don't think I need see her anymore. (MURIEL _looks up._) Perhaps though, I had better just look in--say--on Thursday?

_Viola._ Do; and stay and have some tennis.

[Dr. ROBERTS _accepts with evident enthusiasm, and takes leave with obvious regret_.

_Muriel_ (_watching him drive away_). Dr. ROBERTS admires you dreadfully. Is that a romance?

_Viola._ For him perhaps--not for me! And it isn't a mystery!

[_A telegram is brought in._

_Viola._ Oh, how delightful! ALAN ROY, the wonderful boy harpist, is coming down! He's coming by the early train! He'll be here directly!

_Muriel._ You never told me you had asked him! I suppose you forgot it--or remembered it. Doesn't he profess to be even younger than he is? I mean, when he was four, didn't he say he was three? I wonder if he'll come down in a sailor-suit.

_Viola._ He's quite nineteen. Here are those tiresome AVERIDGES again! I thought I got rid of them for a long drive. (_Aloud._) Ah! Here is dear Mr. AVERIDGE!

_Mr. Averidge_ (_ponderously, to_ MURIEL). And how is Miss VANE to-day? Looking as she always does, like a rose in June.

_Muriel_ (_coldly_). Yes, Mr. AVERIDGE?

_Viola_ (_to_ Mrs. AVERIDGE _and_ ALBERT, _who are coming up the steps of the terrace_). ALAN ROY is coming down, _the_ ALAN ROY. He will be here directly.

_Albert._ All right, though I don't approve of child artists. Poor little chap!

_Viola._ He is very nearly quite grown up, ALBERT! He has golden hair and any amount of _usage du monde_.

_Muriel._ ALBERT will call it _cheek_--I daresay!

_Mrs. Averidge._ He is most amusing. I met him at Lady BAYSWATER'S. He looks quite an angel playing the harp.

_Albert._ I hope he'll bring his halo in a hat-box. What is that text about "Young lions do lack----"

_Muriel._ Oh, ALBERT!

_Servant._ Master ALAN ROY!

_Albert_ (_aside_). Now, don't make the poor child shy.

_Enter_ ALAN ROY. _Tall young man, in light grey suit. He wears a turned-down collar, a pink button-hole, and carries a little stick._

_Alan._ How _are_ you, Mrs. TRAVERS? So sweet of you to ask me! Isn't it a _dear_ day!

[_Greetings._

_Mr. Averidge._ And how did the infant prodigy manage to get here all alone?

_Alan._ I pushed myself in a perambulator. Miss VANE, you look like a Botticelli in a Paris dress. I didn't bring my harp, _does_ it matter?

[_Chorus of sham disappointment and real relief._

_Alan_ (_smiling_). It was dreadful of me! But I have been keeping the poor thing up so late; I thought a rest----

[_Lunch is announced._ MURIEL _stoops to collect_ VIOLA'S _handkerchief, &c._

_Alan_ (_to_ VIOLA). Oh, what a _sweet_ scarlet parasol!

_Curtain. End of Scene 1._

(_To be continued._)

* * * * *

NEITHER FREE NOR EASY.--The Larne Town Commissioners cannot make up their minds whether they shall acquire the McGarel Town Hall which apparently (to judge from a report in the _Northern Whig_) appears to be in the market. The room, it seems, would be used for a free library. The Committee, after a very lengthy discussion, have adjourned the consideration of the question to some distant date for further information. In the meanwhile, no doubt, they will appropriately adopt for the municipal motto "Live and Larne."

* * * * *

CYNIC TO POET.

[The great lack of the Age is its want of distinction."

COVENTRY PATMORE.]

Alas, our poor Age! How against it we rage! In the seat of the scorner the critics ne'er sat more. If the pessimist bore would master her lore, We've only to send him to Coventry--PATMORE! The bards do not love it. But how to improve it? That question the poets, like that of the Sphinx, shun. Distinction my lad? If the Age is so bad, I think its "great lack" is not that, but _extinction!_ 'Tis easier far to abuse it than mend it, Must we try MORLEY'S other alternative--end it?

* * * * *

A MUSICAL NOTE.--Such has been the success of Mlle. YVETTE GUILBERT, that, _on dit_ (French must be used when speaking of this _lionne comique_), it is not improbable she will be engaged to appear in a part in the forthcoming Sullivan Savoy Opera, in which the relation of librettists to composer is to be as two to one. If this be so, then once more at the Savoy will there be a Sullivan-and-Guilbert Combination.

* * * * *

"WHITAKER."

[Mr. JOSEPH WHITAKER, founder and chief proprietor of _Whitaker's Almanack_, died on the 15th May, aged 75.]

Gone! His praises to rehearse Might engage a friendly verse. Time, for whom he did so much, Surely dealt with gentle touch With this man, of lucky star, Who the famous calendar, Schemed on an ingenious plan, Gave to ever-grateful man. Millions now would feel the lack Of the wondrous Almanack. To adapt BEN JONSON'S phrase To a worthy of our days, One might say of our lost brother, Death; ere thou hast slain another Good and useful as was he, "Time shall throw his dart at thee."

* * * * *

CHAMPIONS.--Sir EDWARD GREY, M.P., ought to be a great acquisition at a dance if his prowess as a tennis champion is any indication. "The power with which he often finished the ball" was recently highly praised. His opponent, Mr. GRIBBLE, seems a dangerous man among the ladies, having at Cambridge "won the singles." Quite a Pasha among the "Love sets!" But he could only take one single out of the singles he won.

* * * * *

ODD.--"Doctor GREEF" is advertised to give three pianoforte recitals. If his performance is equal to what we hear of his promise, then those will experience considerable pleasure who "come to GREEF."

* * * * *

SMALL BUT HARMONIOUS FOOTBALL TEAM FOR SUMMER.--"The Shinner Quartette."

* * * * *

* * * * *

ODE TO AN OVERCOAT.

(_By a Shivery Person, in Spring-time._)

"Cast ne'er a clout till May be out," The old Scotch proverb says. Thee, did I doff, "Immensikoff," For three most sultry days. But wind and dust, in gruesome gust, Search bosom, back and throat; And to my nose I button close My fur-lined Overcoat. The Merry May has such a way Of blowing hot and cold, That fur and cloth I'm always loth Away, in Spring, to fold. _Gr-r-r!_ There's a blast! I'll hold thee fast Dear friend on whom I doat; Nor lay thee by till--say--July, My own, my Overcoat!

* * * * *

LEGAL NOTE.--It is presumably unfortunate for the prisoner-at-the-bar when, as is constantly announced in the papers, "Mr. So-and-So, Q.C., will appear to defend SNOOKS." Hard on SNOOKS when his Counsel only _appears_ to defend him. But what a sweet surprise for the unhappy SNOOKS should the Counsel, who only "appears to defend him," _really_ defend him and be victorious!

* * * * *

"VOX CLAMANTIS."--The voice of the Claimant is heard once again. No joke; no Wagga-Waggery. He is publishing his "Entire Life and Full Confession" in the _People_ newspaper. According to his own statement, his claim to the Tichborne estates might be described, not only as a fraud, but as a "Wapping" one.

* * * * *

TO A COUNTRY HOST.

(_A Candid Answer to a Hospitable Invitation._)

You're kind enough to bid me spend The "week-end" at your country seat, You offer tennis and a friend You feel I'm sure to like to meet. I hope you will not think me rude-- You're very kind to ask me down-- But if the simple truth be told, I much prefer to stay in town.

You tell me that the ground is bare, And only gets by slow degrees Recovered from our Arctic spell, That leafless still are all the trees. Well, here, in spite of smoke and soot, And all the bustle and the hum Of men and things, we don't await The Spring--because the Spring has come.

Each morning as I go to work I take my 'bus to Marble Arch, And thence amid a wealth of flowers, And air perfumed with odours, march To Hyde Park Corner. Tell me where-- I honestly should like to know-- The much belauded "country" can Produce a comparable show?

Our grass is green, though yours is brown. On every tree the lovely bud Is bursting into lovelier leaf, The Spring runs madly in one's blood. To leave such joys I can't consent, Too great a struggle it would be, But just to show you don't resent These lines--come up and stay with me!

* * * * *

HOW (OF COURSE) IT IS NOT DONE.

(_Imaginary Sketch of impossible Incident._)

SCENE--_Editor's Room._ TIME--_Within measurable distance of publication._ Editor _discovered in consultation with his_ Chief Sub.

_Editor._ We can't find room for everything.

_Chief Sub._ Quite so, Sir; still it seems a pity to slaughter this telegram from the front.

_Editor._ Does it make very much?

_Chief Sub._ No, Sir. If you will allow me, I will run through it. (_Reads._) "Yesterday the Loamshire Regiment, headed by its Commander, Colonel SNOOKS, made one of the gallantest charges on record."

_Editor._ Sure it was SNOOKS?

_Chief Sub._ Oh yes. We verified it in the _Army List_. SNOOKS went out with the Second Battalion when they were ordered to the front. (_Continues reading._) "The soldiers dashed forward over the Tam-Tam river, and up the steep sides of the Yah-Yah mountains, carrying all before them."

_Editor._ Sure of those names?

_Chief Sub._ Yes, Sir; verified them on the map. (_Resumes reading._) "Nothing could withstand the rain of lead and the row of steel. The Chutnese attempted to use their 'pungarees'--a rude sort of pruning knife--but without the slightest effect. Uttering their weird yells of 'Tomata, tomata,' and beating their drum-like vessels known over here as 'bang-wangs,' they faltered, floundered and fled."

_Editor._ Sure that those names are correct?

_Chief Sub._ Quite, Sir. We verified the local colouring with MOKE'S _Six Months in Chutney on the top of a Camel_.

_Editor._ Very good. Is there much more?

_Chief Sub._ About a third of a column, describing the taking of the native village, the storming of the stockade, and the bivouac by moonlight after the victory at Pennavilla.

_Editor_ (_after consideration_). Well, it might give us an effective line for the bill. (_A whistle is heard:_ Editor _listens at a speaking-tube._) Afraid we must sacrifice it. Manager tells me there is another rush of advertisements, so space is more precious than ever. You had better boil it down into a three-line paragraph.

_Chief Sub._ No need to do that, Sir. If there's a scarcity of room we had better give the original telegram.

_Editor._ The original telegram?

_Chief Sub._ Yes, Sir; from which we have worked up the extended account. Here it is. (_Reads._) "Loamshire, after a skirmish, has reached Pennavilla." That, with a suitable heading, will just complete the column.

_Editor._ Quite so.

[_Scene closes in upon the arrangement._

* * * * *

* * * * *

A MOAN IN MAYTIME.

_By a Weary Waltonian._

Oh, Maytime is a gay time for the artist and the dangler, The pretty girl, the parson, and the scout; And it ought to be a time of rosy rapture for the angler, In the capture of the delicate May trout. But though SMUDGE, R.A., "feels fine" with his six upon the line, And the dangler "does" the galleries with delight; Though white-chokered clerics muster amidst eloquential fluster, And our girls salute the Season sweet and bright; Though the "Cattylog" vendors shout, and cab-runners scout and tout, The disciple of Old IZAAK is not gay, For although the "Grawnom" 's off, and the trout at "Alders" scoff, The May Fly--drat it, does _not_ rise in May!

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

_House of Commons, Monday, May 13._--"Well," said the Member for the Otley division of Yorkshire, "I suppose I've gone through as many vicissitudes as most men. First I was a BARRAN, now I'm a baronite. Really, I don't know but what, if they'd made me an earl, I wouldn't go and sit in the House of Lords. Not because, as good Radical, I don't despise them, but just to give them advantage of my company, and place in their way a useful example. Instead of which, here's WOLMER become Earl of SELBORNE, and insists upon continuing to sit with us!"

Incursion of the Pirate Peer effectively managed. Those old campaigners, GEORGE CURZON and ST. JOHN BRODRICK, took the business in hand. The thing was to be a great surprise. Accordingly, took the SPEAKER into confidence, also the SQUIRE OF MALWOOD (The Little Minister, MACFARLANE, who has just been reading BARRIE, calls him), PRINCE ARTHUR, JOSEPH, and a score or two others. The Pirate Peer was to come down in hansom at four o'clock, to be met by BRODRICK in Palace Yard; CURZON, armed to the teeth, standing at fifty paces nearer entrance to House of Commons.

BRODRICK, who likes to do the thing thoroughly, suggested that the Pirate Peer should fly a black flag out of port-hole at top of cab. CURZON liked idea, but thought it would attract inconvenient attention. Finally compromised by arrangement that cabby should tie bit of black ribbon on his whip. Effect symbolic without being obtrusive.

Everything went off excellently. Not a hitch in the arrangements. Whilst questions still going on GEORGE CURZON, with frock-coat lightly but firmly buttoned over a belt teeming with pistols, sauntered in from lobby. Glanced carelessly round House. Accidentally, as it were, placed himself between unsuspecting Sergeant-at-Arms and glass door giving entrance to House. If the armed official attacked Pirate Peer it should be across his (CURZON'S) body.

At preconcerted signal BRODRICK rapidly entered; bustled down to Front Opposition Bench. Attention of Members thus attracted, the Pirate Peer followed, strode with firm step down House. "Just as if he were walking the plank," said DONALD CURRIE, looking on admiringly. Before House knew what had happened, there he sat, smiling and blushing, between those pillars of Law and Order, JOE and COURTNEY. Never since Parliaments began had British Constitution received such a staggering blow. SAGE OF QUEEN ANNE'S GATE, whilst anxious to see destruction of House of Lords, is not disposed to have stray fragments incorporated with fabric of Commons. Called SPEAKER'S attention to presence in their midst of the Pirate Peer. Asked what they were going to do with him?

An anxious moment. GEORGE CURZON tugged nervously at the arsenal scarcely concealed under his frock coat. ST. JOHN BRODRICK involuntarily stretched forth his hand in direction of Mace. Suppose he were to seize it, sweep the Treasury Bench clear at a blow, whilst GEORGE CURZON, with pistol in either hand, and dagger between his teeth, let fly a volley or two? We might have had a revolution. Quieter counsels prevailed. SPEAKER directed Pirate Peer to withdraw below Bar whilst his case was being discussed.

SELBORNE obeyed the mandate, and the ground thus left clear, JOE and the SQUIRE OF MALWOOD had a tussle. JOSEPH accused the SQUIRE of acting in a fit of temper. The SQUIRE retorted that it was not only untrue, but that at the time of offering remark JOSEPH was perfectly well acquainted with its entire freedom from the trammels of truth.

"Dear me," said Pirate Peer, looking round uneasily. "I hope they don't talk like that in the House of Lords."

_Business done._--Clause I. Welsh Disestablishment Bill through Committee.

_Tuesday._--Pirate Peer in the offing again. Ran in, as before, under protection of guns of consorts, GEORGE CURZON and ST. JOHN BRODRICK. Lay to under gallery whilst question discussed at large. House never able to keep up interest in this kind of thing over successive days. Novel and exciting enough yesterday; steam not to be got up for second day. Only for JOE, business would have come to conclusion after formal proposal by SQUIRE OF MALWOOD to refer whole matter to Select Committee. JOSEPH'S interposition led to inevitable row. Wanted, for some inexplicable reason, to drag in CARMICHAEL. Quoted _Debrett_ to establish his claim to dormant Earldom of Hyndford.

JOE left alone in advocacy of this line. SQUIRE OF MALWOOD had rare good time. Read passage from JOE'S speech of last year, when question to succession of Coleridge Barony under discussion. Had said then exactly the reverse of what he to-day averred in respect of succession to Selborne Peerage, and status of new Peer in House of Commons.

"The fatal thing about JOSEPH," said SARK, "is that when he makes a statement on one side of a case or the other, he does it with such point, in such felicitous phrase, with such convincing emphasis, that it sticks in the memory. When, twelve months or nine years later, circumstances lead him to other side of question, he delivers himself on it with same incomparable gifts of point and lucidity. The bringing out of his former assertion is not so conclusive as you would think, because the two--affirming a thing is white one day, protesting on the next it is black--are so evenly balanced that the case stands exactly where it did. This sharp confronting of JOSEPH denying with JOSEPH affirming would be fatal to some men. To our JOE it is not even embarrassing. House roars with delight. He sits silent, apparently unconcerned, and somebody else will suffer by-and-by."

_Business done._--Committee appointed to inquire into case of the Pirate Peer.

_Thursday._--The longer Major RASCH lives, the fainter grows his faith in the nobility of human nature. To-night brought down with him a few carefully selected, choice specimens of the American pea-bug. Naturally expected everybody would welcome the little stranger. Especially interesting to Minister of Agriculture. Being a man of taste, Major had installed the insects in dainty _bon-bon_ box; swung it lightly between forefinger and thumb as he inquired what HERBERT GARDNER meant to do about it? "Will the right hon. gentleman," he said, "have consignments of peas coming from America marked as such, and put in bond, so that the bugs may develop there, and not in the British market garden?"

At this way of putting it, SQUIRE OF MALWOOD pricked up his ears. To quick instincts of CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER bugs in bond suggested new field of taxation. Made a note of it.

The GRAND YOUNG GARDNER smiled at the claims of long descent put forward by RASCH on behalf of the tenants of his _bon-bon_ box. "Nothing new in it," he said superciliously. "Known the creature all my official life. Your so-called American pea-bug is nothing more than the pea and bean weevil. Came over with the Conqueror. Agricultural Department even now publishing leaflet describing manners and customs of the early settler, and suggesting various ways of soothing its last moments."

This hard; sorer still conduct of Members immediately near the Major. Began to sheer off, putting him, so to speak, in quarantine.

"I don't care," said TOMLINSON, "whether its American pea-bugs or the pea and bean weevil. What I do say is that no man has any business to bring such things with him into the social circle."

"I may have been Rash," said the Major humbly.

"You are," said TOMLINSON tartly.

_Business done._--Coolness sprung up between TOMLINSON and Major RASCH. Budget Bill read second time.

_Friday._--"Pity the sorrows of the poor postman, whose wandering steps has brought him to your door." Thus KEARLEY, in a long speech, from which it appeared that if there is a down-trodden fellow-creature whose state looks hopeless, it is the postman. The story of the man in Wales who trudged seventy miles a day, including the diurnal ascent of a mountain 7,000 feet high, sent thrill of horror through House. KEARLEY subsequently explained he meant 700 feet high. But that a detail. Seven seems to be this man's fateful number, for his pay is seven shillings a week--a shilling a day, including the mountain.

ARNOLD MORLEY, on other hand, showed that the lot of the postman is truly idyllic. Handsomely paid when on duty; booted and uninformed; is accustomed to retire in the prime of life on pension amounting to two-thirds of his salary.

"Why," said WILLIE REDMOND, thinking regretfully of days that are no more, when JOSEPH GILLIS carried the bag, "as things go now, it's better to be a postman than an Irish Member." Finally decided to appoint Committee to inquire into truth of these conflicting statements.

_Business done._--Didn't get into Committee on Civil Service Estimates.

* * * * *

NEW VERSION OF AN OLD PROVERB. (_For the Use of Local Optionists._)--One Vetoist may keep a toper from his favourite pub; but fifty cannot make him drink--water.

* * * * *

"THE IMMORTAL WILLIAMS" ON THE ANTI-BRITISH MOVEMENT IN EGYPT.--"Oh, my prophetic soul, DELONCLE!"--_Shakspeare, adapted from the French._

* * * * *

Transcriber's Note:

Page 245: 'conseqeuntly' corrected to 'consequently'.

"... and Mr. HOWE was consequently appointed to the post."