Part 2

_Wednesday._--CALVÉ as _Carmen_ simply perfect. That is all I have to say; like the Raven (not _Barnaby Rudge's_, but EDGAR A. POE'S), I announce "Only this, and Nothing More." And ALVAREZ as _José_, "Gentleman JOE," who does not drive, but is driven to madness, first-rate; in last scene, struggle and assassination most thrilling, dramatically: even stall-by-the-season'd opera-goers holding breath, and clutching at backs of seats. Audience, ordinarily indifferent to fate of heroine in last act, wait till bitter end. They only quit when quite sure _Carmen_ cannot possibly sing any more. Madame MELBA, who, "_by request of the Management_"--how modestly is this put, O DRURIOLANUS OPERATICUS!--"_has kindly consented to play Michaela_," exceeded the terms of her amiable contract, as she not only "played" _Michaela_, but sang the music superbly, her singing being faultless, which her "playing" was not. Mossoo ALBERS rather out of it as _Escamillo_, and _Toréador_ was not an Encoreador, whereat _Toréador non contento_. All the principals sang in French, "knowing the language," but clever Chorus stuck to Italian. _Benissimo!_ BEVIGNANI beaming, and beating time. House crowded; elections and political parties disturb not the harmony of Covent Garden. Yet "last week but one" announced, and end in view. WAGSTAFF, seeing CALVÉ in first act with scarf or belt round waist, suggests riddle, "Why is CALVÉ a perfect _Carmen?_" Before you can break away from him, without damage to your button-hole, he answers, "Because she plays the part with _a-band-on_." _Exit_ WAGSTAFF.

_Friday._--_Pagliacci._--A new _Nedda_ in Mlle. ZÉLIE DE LUSSAN. _Nedda_ is rather a Loose'un, and Mlle. ZÉLIE is as good a _Nedda_ as you can get "when t'other dear charmer's away." Then to follow, CALVÉ in _Calvé-'lleria Rusticana_ admirably dramatic. Can't believe this Magdalenish saint-like woman can possibly be that deuce of a young woman, _Carmen_, of t'other night. But "_F[oe]mina varium et mutabile_ (also _cantabile_) _semper_." All the others good as ever, specially GIULIA RAVOGLI, as the gay _Lo-la-li-ety_.

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SCRAPS FROM CHAPS.

The hedgehog is sometimes accused of helping himself to a drink from a recumbent cow, but his larger relative, the domestic pig, is to be even still more commended for his enterprise. According to the _Western Daily Mercury_, in a farmyard in the parish of Uffculme a pig was observed to rear on his hind legs and suck milk from a cow. This sight must have enormously impressed the spectator. But it ought to have been a dog.

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Surely a Radical Unionist is a new departure in politics. Mr. STRAUSS, who is opposing Mr. CONYBEARE, M.P. for the Camborne division of Cornwall, in reply to a question at Cusgarne said that he was a Radical Unionist, but the name Liberal was good enough for him. Mr. STRAUSS is to be congratulated on his new political "Doctrinen"; but, if he should succeed in defeating Mr. CONYBEARE, he seems likely to lead the Whips a pretty dance.

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It seems a little hard on a Parliamentary candidate when he is seriously misrepresented by his own friends. This is what Mr. MICHAEL WILLIAMS has suffered in the St. Austell division of Cornwall at the hands of his friend Canon BUSH. With every intention of doing Mr. WILLIAMS a good turn, the worthy Canon fired off a letter in the local press containing a serious misquotation of a speech said to have been made by Mr. WILLIAMS about the false doctrines of the Nonconformists. The explosion of this shell in the Nonconformist camp has not improved Mr. WILLIAMS'S chance of success, and he probably believes in the truth of the old saying, that "Good wine needs no Bush."

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A PULL ALL TOGETHER.--What our forefathers would have called "seeking an explanation from one's representative," is now, in these days of political slang, known as "pulling your member's leg!" Witness what happened in West Fife:

"Mr. WEMYSS said, that if they returned him they would have the advantage of being able to run down to WEMYSS when he did anything wrong and pull his leg at the cost of a sixpence in train money, whereas, if they wanted to pull Mr. BIRRELL over the coals, it would cost them £3 to go to London."

The electors would certainly seem to "have the pull" by Mr. WEMYSS'S proximity; but why didn't some heckler retort by saying that in pulling a candidate's leg voters must be careful not to get hold of a calf?

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SLOW TRAINING.--The Cork County National Teachers' Association has passed a resolution that "for the sixth class" the geography of the British Isles is enough, and "that the British Colonies be held over till the examination in the second year." But how will the British Colonies like being held over? And is not Ireland itself going to be a self-governing British Colony--some day? But that idea, too, seems "held over" for the present. The National Teachers, however, are true Nationalists, because they also resolved that "Professors of Irish should be appointed in all the Training Colleges." If females, they will be expected to wear the Celtic fringe, of course.

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READY AND WILLING (_in the Cornell-Leander Fiasco_).--One crew wasn't "ready," but the starter was "WILLAN"--like _Barkis_. The Cornell crew was ready and willin'. So they had the starter with them at all events; and, they started. Angry partisans described the proceeding as "Willanous." So it was,--from one point of view.

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ELECTION PARADOXES.--Standing for a seat, and running against a sitting Member.

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THE GENERAL ELECTION CRY.--"Take your seats, Gentlemen!"

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IL "TRUE BLUE" INGLESE.

_All' illustrissimo Signor Punch._

ILLUSTRIOUSEST SIR,--I feel myself in duty of to write to her these few lines for to tell to her the my opinion of the of her country. Ah, the beautiful England! One speaks in Italy of the _cielo inglese_, when the sky is grey and overcast. For the first time I come now in the my ship to the of her country. _Ecco_, the sky is blue! In the our country so many things are blue--the sky, the sea, the lakes, the distant mountains, but in the our language not there is the word "blue." One says "azure" or "turquoise," but not the general term "blue." Therefore before I come to England I think, "We Italians see the colour blue, but not can say it, and these english have the word, but see never the colour." And _ecco_ I arrive, and the sky is blue! Not it is the blue of Napoli, not it is the blue of Geneva, and perhaps it is to-day only, but _veramente_ it is blue. It is much curious.

Also I have found other things blue. Some time the sea is pale blue. Some time the milk is pale blue. And one english says to me, "The sea was rough and the wind blue," but this not can I understand. The his friends say he likes chaff. _Diavolo_, what taste! But perhaps the chaff is much helpful for the digestion, like the english brown bread, which some brave men eat. The his friends say also, "He chaffs till all is blue." Perhaps when one eats the chaff the eyesight is altered. It is much curious. There are other things blue in England. There are "the blues." One my friend says to me that this phrase is the french _ennui_. Then I have not it seen yet, for it is always _festa_ since our arrival. I have heard that the blues are at Oxford and at Cambridge, above all at the College of Girton. But the evening past I saw the blue the most beautiful. Ah, the exquisite eyes! Ah, _la bellissima signorina inglese!_ so graceful, so courteous, so beautiful! And the her eyes were blue, so blue! Never have I seen a colour so sweet. The sea at Napoli, the sky at Palermo, the lake at Bellagio--it seems to me that they are grey and ugly when I think to the her eyes.

Ah, Signor _Punch_, Her is a man, Her can love, Her, I know it, admires the beauty of the women! So to her I tell that those blue eyes have hit the heart of the italian. Not in Italy, but in England, one sees the blue the most divine.

Her I beg to accept the my compliments and I have the honour to say myself.

Her Devotedest Servant,

ANDREA DORIA DANDOLO VESPUCCI-COLOMBO.

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ORDER! ORDER!

["Colonel NORTH bases his appeal for support on the plea that he will see to it that West Leeds gets its full share of whatever work may be going."--_Leeds Mercury._]

O "dark and true and tender is the NORTH!" And wondrous service to West Leeds he'll render; _He_'ll see, when Government work is going forth, West Leeds shall have its chance--at least to tender. "Orders are heaven's first law." That is the kernel Of the "dear Colonel's" creed; and it contents Those who to Governments raise the cry eternal Of "Give your orders, Gents!"

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ECHOES FROM THE POLLS.

Elected am I? Well, I am really much obliged.

Oh, certainly, shall be truly delighted to do anything in my power.

Fancy in these hard times that it is a little difficult to increase a subscription list.

Only too pleased, but must be rather careful not to infringe the Bribery Acts.

Truly intend to live up to my opinions. Would not alter them for worlds.

Cannot recall everything I said during the heat of the election, and probably was imperfectly reported.

Do not claim any more liberty of action than to obey the dictates of my conscience.

Afraid cannot adequately represent every phase of political opinion.

Will give as much satisfaction in Westminster as practicable.

Party arguments are rather superfluous after the contest, and therefore have to be avoided.

Sorry cannot stay longer in the Division itself, as my presence is required within the precincts of St. Stephen's.

Would have the greatest pleasure in life to discuss all these matters of controversy at another time.

Sorry cannot give exact date, but why not say just before the next General Election?

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MEMORABLE.--Wednesday, July 10th. Evening Fête at Botanical Gardens. _No Rain!!_

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EX-HON. PRIVATE A. BRIEFLESS, JUN., ON THE I. O. C. R. V. C. AT BISLEY.

It is scarcely necessary to say that during the sitting of the Courts I have little time for what may be termed recreation. So when I visited Bisley on the occasion of the competition for the Ashburnham Shield, it was in a semi-military and semi-forensic capacity. It was no doubt pleasing to see one's schoolfellows of a later generation maintaining the _prestige_ of a common _Alma Mater_; but the chief attraction in my eyes of the successor to Wimbledon was the presence under canvas of much that is left of the "Devil's Own." And here let me pause for a moment to discuss the traditional derivation of the alternative title of the Inns of Court Rifle Volunteer Corps. I believe His late Majesty King WILLIAM THE FOURTH (of marine memory) is usually believed to have been the first to call his lawyer warriors by the name that, to certain minds, has had since an unsympathetic significance. I am of opinion that the Sailor Sovereign merely confirmed a title that had already been obtained by usage. It is more than possible that the initial supporters of the I. O. C. R. V. C. were counsel seldom holding briefs of their own, but frequently appearing as "learned" but absent "friends." It is needless to hint to the Bench and Bar that I refer to "devils." If my assumption is correct, then indeed would the Battalion be justly known to fame as "the Devil's Own."

I wish I could deny the reports that have found their way into the papers that the I. O. C. R. V. C. is less prosperous than it was of yore. Personally, I have it on my conscience that I have not for many years appeared on parade. To the best of my belief I have only once joined the ranks. The occasion was a prize distribution in Lincoln's Inn Hall. As an honorary member I was posted in the front rank of "A" Company. Then came the perplexing command, "Fours right," which, so far as I was concerned, ended in disaster. A little later I retired from all active military service, and have remained in retreat ever since. Still, at the sound of the bugle my pulse quickens, and I feel that had I chosen the Tented Field instead of the Forum for the exercise of my professional duties my career would not have suffered in prosperity from the alteration. In fact, I believe that with the conditions changed I should have had just as good a chance of becoming Commander-in-Chief as Lord Chancellor. But these are regrets that are out of place in the columns of a periodical that guards the interests of the universe in general, while fostering the loftiest aspirations of the legal profession in particular. So I cast them aside as unworthy the attention of a counsel, a soldier, and a gentleman.

Let me return to the I. O. C. R. V. C. at Bisley. I found "those of the faithful who have been true to their trust" defending themselves--there was no trace of defiance in the action--from the fierce fire of the noonday sun by wearing straw hats and sporting flannels. It was a pretty picture, that made by the martial lawyers at their mid-day parade. The tents, the tubs, the kitchen utensils, and last, but not least, the mess-house, with its dining saloon and ante-room. Alas, that the stability of the latter should be inappropriate! Alas, that the corps, once the pride of the Volunteer Service, should be reduced to four companies, and (so I believe) have lost its adjutant! Ichabod! How the mighty have fallen!

As I watched the sad and yet impressive tableau old memories flocked upon me. Where was the private who caricatured his Colonel, and showed how a shako could be combined with a horse-hair wig, and yet look military and forensic? Where was the lance corporal who invariably confirmed his captain's commands with an "as your Lordship pleases?" Where was the rear-rank wag who, on being told to charge, said he "must leave that sort of thing to his clerk, who kept his fee-book?" Where was the vocalist who would sing the songs of J. L. MOLLOY, Barrister-at-Law, and knew the ins and outs of "The Maske of Flowers?" All of them gone, and their places scarcely filled by new comers! And, as I gazed upon an energetic private of the I. O. C. R. V. C., apparently preparing to meet the demands of an expected detachment of hungry lunchers, I wondered whether anything could be done to revive the fortunes of the Grand Old Battalion. Could the hours of leisure of the warriors be occupied by regimental trips down the river, regimental drags to the races, regimental dinners to one another, regimental visits to the play, regimental strolls in the Row, regimental bicycles in Battersea Park? I fancy something of this kind has already been suggested. Then, if Barristers do not flock in sufficient numbers to the banners of the Lamb, the Horse, and the Griffin, why not throw open the ranks to wealthy persons--so to speak--fond of the leaders of litigation? Again I imagine some such plan has already been under consideration.

And, as I thought the matter over, I became gloomier and gloomier. So sad was I that I had to visit the adjacent cemetery, to revive, under the modified merriment of the place, into comparative cheerfulness. The mere recollection of the I. O. C. R. V. C. unmans me. It is better that I should pause, for I can write no more.

_Pump Handle Court, July 12, 1895._

A. BRIEFLESS, JUN.

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THE CRY OF THE COUNTER.

(_By a Shopkeeper who had hoped better things of the Season._)

Great Scott! Sold again! It's all up with the Season, Though Summer _is_ Summer, and Goodwood's not gone! We Shopkeepers hoped for good luck, and with reason, For things did look bright. But once more we are done; Done, clean as a whistle! A General Election! Sprung on us, through BRODRICK, and cordite, and stuff! A plague on both parties, a curse on each section! Your M.P.'s a mooncalf, a muddler, a muff!

The weather was stunning; Death had not been busy With Royalties--bless 'em!--and London was full; And though of course ROSEBERY is not a DIZZY, He _did_ win the Derby, which gave him some pull. The Parties kept wrangling,--but nobody bothered; They didn't make progress,--but none of us cared; Though LABBY played tricks, or SILOM o pothered, We stuck to our counters, unshocked and unscared.

And now, betwixt grass-time and harvest, the duffers Fight over sheer fudge and kick over the show. And so once again the poor Shopkeeper suffers. A murrain on HARCOURT, a plague upon JOE! For policy BALFOUR sets forth "Dissolution," And thinks he has scored. Had I temper, and breath, _And_ his ear, I could smash up his smart elocution, _His_ game's Dissolution,--to us it means death.

The fat's in the fire, and the spark's in the powder, We're in for a long spell of wigs on the green. Our clients will scatter, and louder and louder Will swell the fool-chorus of partisan spleen. Sir BOTTLEBY SNIPE must be off beyond Humber, And sweet Lady SPENDWELL goes Primrosing, south, And I, poor shopkeeper, may just as well slumber, With rage in my heart and my thumb in my mouth.

Oh, slaves of the shop, from Pall Mall to far Peckham, Say, is it not time that _you_ rose and rebelled? The parties just play with us. Can we not check 'em? By Jove, if one chorus of shopdom but swelled, Like the working man's howl, on those Westminster wobblers, The sweet little game they all play it might stop. For Socialist dockers and Radical cobblers They've ears; but they're deaf to the Cry of the Shop.

The rents, rates and taxes pile higher and higher, The Stores undersell us--and cop ready cash! The Hebrew monopolist, fiercer and slyer Than tiger-cat, schemeth to send us to smash. The landlord rack-rents us, and then pops the profit He draws out of us into syndicate Stores! I tell you the shopkeeper's life is a Tophet, M.P.'s play at "Progress," and _we_ pay all scores.

And then they ask me for my vote!!! Why, what guerdon Have I for my votings these twenty years past? Continual addition to back-breaking burden! I say the last straw has been laid on, at last; At least upon this individual camel. To forward true Progress I don't think I'm loth, But sick of prolonged Party trick, trap, and trammel, If I had my wish, I would--_vote against both!_

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THE MODERN IXION.--This mythological character finds his present representative in a shareholder Bound to the Great Wheel at Earl's Court. However, Ixion and his wheel went on for ever! In which case Modern Ixion ought to be an exceptionally lucky person.

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THE NEW NORRIBLE TALE.

(_From a Philistinish Point of View._)

AIR--"_The Norrible Tale._"

'Tis a norrible tale I'm going to tell Of the frightful fortunes which befel A family who late resided In the same suburban street that I did. O it is a norrible tale! 'Twould make a Maëterlinck turn pale, With its frightful blend of the grim and glum, Of fiddle-de-dee, and fi-fo-fum!

O they were a decent Philistine lot Till they caught the contagion of "Tommy-Rot," That kind of mental, malarial fever, Which floors the foolish and foils the clever. O it is a norrible tale, &c.

This Influenza of the Soul Haunted their house like some gruesome "troll." (The family--which their name was GIBSON-- Knew all about such from the works of IBSEN.)

The father first felt the spell unholy, And the man's demeanour grew truly "trolly." He was--in Peckham--a Master Builder, And he "carried on" with a drudge named 'TILDER.

The slavey said it was truly thrilling, But struck for another--weekly--shilling. "She was ready to thrill till all was blue, But it _must_ be reckenised in her 'screw!'"

His wife declared he was most inhuman, And, for her part, she should turn New Woman! So she grew--to him--an emotional icicle, And mounted knickers, and rode a bicycle.

The eldest son, an athletic young fellow, Who had gained his "Blue," took at once to Yellow. "Muscle," he said, in a tone despotic, "Is beastly vulgaw; good form's Neurotic!"

The youngest daughter, a blue-eyed fairy-- (Her pies were prime, and her name was MARY--) Now took to cricket, and cigarette-smoking, And manly manners in togs--and joking.

The eldest one, of a statelier carriage, Conceived quaint notions about "Group-marriage:" "Since man's a satyr, and brings satiety, The only virtue is--in _variety!_"

Another girl took to writing novels On dirt in "dosses," and vice in hovels; Varying the same with Kiplingy verses, With ingenious rhymes to street-slang and curses.

The youngest boy, who was "only a nipper," Contributed "Art" to the "Sixpenny Snipper," Which his sisters said was "supremely delicious, As a blend of the infantile and vicious."

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The father died of his drudge and drink, The wife broke her back at a skating rink; And as to the slavey, whose name was 'TILDER, She "thrilled"--on street-preaching and rum--till they killed her.

The eldest son read NORDAU and LOMBROSO, Till his brain went shaky--'twas always so-so-- He imagines himself a pot of mustard, Of which egomaniacs are making a custard.

The youngest daughter's an "Amazon Queen" At the East-end Halls, and she's loud and lean; The eldest--whose freedom all bonds would sully-- Is tied to--and thrashed by--a pugilist bully.

The writer of sensuous snippety novels, In Grub Street gutters forlornly grovels; The "Boy Genius of Gehenna," of the babbling boasters, Turns a very poor penny by Stygian Posters! O it _is_ a norrible tale! And what do New Women and New Art avail? Egomania-Tommyrotica is all a hum, Half fiddle-de-dee, and half fi-fo-fum!

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BANDS AND BOMBS.--How many Hungarian Bands are there about? There's a "Real Blue Hungarian" (does this mean a "True Blue," good old Tory, Band?)--there's an "Anglo-Hungarian," and a "White Hungarian." In fact, Hungarian Band "with variations." The Real Hung'ry-an'-Thirsty Bands are to be seen every night in the Feeding Places of the Indian Exhibition, Earl's Court, where, specially within the bowers of the al fresco Welcome Club, _can_ be served a very good dinner which _may_ be bettered; and, if you are a Lucullus, you _comme gourmet_ will have to Look-ullus-where for it. [N.B.--To get this jest well received give the dinner yourself, and towards the middle of the feast try the jape. They'll all laugh _en--mais après?_]

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MISONEOGYNY.