Part 2

_Mr. L._ (_warmly_). My dear Madam, I can sympathise with you entirely. I've often thought that Parliament ought to pass a Bill for enforcing a close-time in domestic music. Of course it only matters to me in the evening, but we're troubled exactly in the same way as yourself. And my poor ETHEL finds her singing constantly interrupted by the disgusting row made by our next-door neighbour. I suppose he must take a pleasure in annoying us--anyhow he's jammed his wretched piano right up against our drawing-room wall, and bangs and thumps on it for about six hours a day. Of course it would be bad enough if the fellow played well; but you never heard such ghastly noises as he makes!

_Mrs. C._ How sorry I am for your poor daughter! Yes; people complain in the papers and grumble about street-bands and piano-organs; but at least one can send them away--which, unfortunately, one can't do in the case of next-door neighbours! However, I suppose I ought to be grateful that the people on the other side don't play at all.

_Mr. L._ Ah! I live in a corner-house. But I think a little opposition noise would almost be a relief--a kind of homeopathic cure, you know.

_Mrs. C._ One's quite enough for _me_. It's been getting worse, too, these last few weeks, and I'm delighted to meet a fellow-sufferer. Come; can't we concoct some joint scheme of deliverance? Do you think it would answer if I sent round a polite note--"Mrs. CRUMPINGTON presents her compliments to Mr."--whatever their name is--"and would be extremely obliged,"--and so on. How would that do?

_Mr. L._ (_decisively_). Wouldn't be the least use, I assure you, or I'd have tried that plan myself long ago. The only result would be that they'd make more row than ever, on purpose to score off you. No, I fancy I've got a better plan than that.

_Mrs. C._ (_eagerly_). Oh, do tell me what it is!

_Mr. L._ Well, I happened to notice in a shop in Holborn the other day one of these new American toys, it's a kind of small fog-horn, driven by a pair of bellows. And the noise it makes is something terrific, I assure you--loud enough to drown half-a-dozen pianos. So I've ordered one of these, and as soon as ever that scoundrel strikes up next door, I shall turn on the horn; then, directly he stops, I'll stop too, you see. Rather a good idea, don't you think?

_Mrs. C._ (_much amused_). It is, _indeed!_ If only the poor wretch next door knew what was in store for him! Oh, if only I could silence _my_ enemy in that way! But then, of course, I can't a blow a horn.

_Mr. L._ That isn't necessary; all you have to do is to work the bellows, and the thing goes by itself. Really, I strongly recommend you to invest in one.

_Mrs. C._ It would be a good plan, wouldn't it? Where did you say they are to be had?

_Mr. L._ I'll write down the address, if I can find a scrap of paper.

[_Takes out a card-case from his pocket, pencils address on back of visiting card, and hands it to_ Mrs. C.

_Mrs. C._ Thank you _so_ much, I'll certainly think about getting one (_looks absently at the other side of the card_) if they're not too dear, and----(_Gasping._) Good gracious heavens!

_Mr. L._ (_anxiously_). What's the matter? Are you ill?

_Mrs. C._ (_pointing to the printed side of the card in her hand_). Is this your real address?

_Mr. L._ (_much astonished_). "No. 1, Yarborough Gardens?" Yes, certainly it is. Why do you ask?

_Mrs. C._ (_faintly_). Because--because _I_ live next door at No. 3!!

[_Tableau! Curtain._

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THE OLLENDORF GUIDE TO KNOWLEDGE.

THE CARETAKER.

Is it time to leave town? Yes, it is time to leave town, because the good neighbours have put up their shutters (_i.e._, the shutters of the good neighbours). Do all the good neighbours put up their shutters? Yes, all put up their shutters, but one of them stays in town at the back of the house. Why does one of the good neighbours stay in town at the back of the house? To escape the expense of leaving town incurred by the other good neighbours who have put up their shutters. Is that expense a great one? Yes, a very great one. Have they any other drawbacks? Yes, they have the annoyances of a caretaker. What are the annoyances of a caretaker? The annoyances of a caretaker are her husband, her children, her cat, her dog, her mother, and all her relations. When a caretaker enters the house of one of the good neighbours, is she accompanied by her annoyances? Yes, the caretaker is accompanied by her annoyances. Does the caretaker lead a happy life in the house of one of the good neighbours? Yes, she leads a happy life, and so do her husband, her children, her cat, her dog, her mother, and all her relations. What do the relations of the caretaker do in the house of one of the good neighbours? They smoke in the drawing-room in the house of one of the good neighbours. If anyone calls to see the good neighbour, what does the caretaker do? The caretaker generally refuses to attend to the bell. Should the caretaker attend to the bell, what does she do? She tells the caller who wishes to see the good neighbour that she knows nothing of the master of the house's movements (_i.e._, the movements of the master of the house). Does the caller then retire under the impression that the house has been sold up, and that the good neighbour has entered the Court of Bankruptcy (_i.e._, the Bankruptcy Court)? The caller does leave the house under that impression. While this impression is being created in London, is the good neighbour unconsciously attempting to enjoy himself in Switzerland? Yes, the good neighbour is undoubtedly attempting to enjoy himself in Switzerland, in spite of the cookery, the lack of accommodation, the expense, and the weather. If the good neighbour ceased to be unconscious, and became aware of the damage that was being done to his credit by the caretaker, what would that good neighbour do? The good neighbour would probably swear. Then would the good language of the good neighbour change in its character? Yes; for it would become the bad language of the bad neighbour. Would the bad language of the bad neighbour have any immediate effect upon the caretaker, her husband, her children, her cat, her dog, her mother, and all her relatives? No, for the bad language would be uttered in Switzerland, and the caretaker, her husband, her children, her cat, her dog, her mother, and all her relatives would be in London. Then what would the caretaker, her husband, her children, her cat, her dog, her mother, and all her relatives do in the house of one of the good neighbours during the protracted absence of the good neighbour on the Continent? They would continue to smoke in the drawing-room.

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"HONOURS EASY."

Mr. TRELOAR wrote to the _Times_ the other day _à propos_ of Mr. WILLIAMSON'S peerage. Messrs. TRELOAR and WILLIAMSON are in the same business, _i.e._ the linoleum trade, and Mr. TRELOAR suggested that "_Lord LINOLEUM would not be a bad title_." Quite agree with him. Let persons take titles from some specialty of their trade or calling. Suppose peerages granted to

Chiropedist Marquis of CUTACORN. Soda-water Manufacturer Lord SODA AND BANG. Tailor Viscount VEST. Butcher (_Irish title_) Baron O'BEEF. Jeweller Duke of DIAMONDS. Grocer Lord SUGAR AND SANDS. Draper Earl of SUMMERGOODS AND WINTERSALES. Ditto Lord REMNANTS OF UNDERWEAR. Bootmaker (_with French polish_) Marquis DE SHOES ET AUTRES.

Numerous variations will occur to readers. They can be forwarded to our office as probably useful when the next "honours easy" are dealt out.

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"OH, THE IRONY OF IT!"--Last week, whilst reports of Tory successes in the boroughs daily reached London, the leading Liberal paper, regardless of expense, had the walls covered with large placards announcing that "the _Daily News_ has the best election intelligence." "If this is the best," said Sir WILLIAM HARCOURT, observing one of the placards on his way back from Derby, "I shouldn't like to know the worst."

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OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

_The Variety Stage_, by CHARLES DOUGLAS STUART and A. J. PARK (FISHER UNWIN), is a history of the Music-halls from the earliest period to the present time. And a very interesting history it is, admirably told withal. One comes upon names familiar in boyhood, and is a little shocked to find that the Great VANCE was really named ALFRED PECK STEVENS. The pages glow with pleasant peeps of London at midnight, as _Pendennis_ saw it, and as, once at least, it was looked upon by _Colonel Newcome_. It is sad to find how many of the old favourites of the music-hall fall upon evil times, and even die in the workhouse. SAM COLLINS was more fortunate. He was sumptuously buried in Kensal Green, where a marble pedestal carries his portrait and his epitaph. This last is notable as containing what, as far as my Baronite knows, is the most audacious rhyme in the English language. As it was admitted to consecrated ground, it may perhaps be quoted here. "A loving husband," so it runs--

"A loving husband and a faithful friend, Ever the first a helping hand to lend: Farewell, good-natured, honest-hearted SAM, Until we meet before the great I AM."

_Pro_ BARON DE B.-W.

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DIPLOMATIC INTELLIGENCE.--Mr. CHAUNCY DEPEW has arrived. On business, of course. De-pew-ted by American Government.

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THE LABOUR GALLIO.

Bah! Politics are a bad joke. To get up steam about 'em's silly. The Tory pabulum is stale "toke," The Liberal beverage sloppy "skilly." _My_ business, whilst they storm and splutter, Is to earn beer and bread-and-butter.

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THURSDAY, JULY 18. FOR TWO KNIGHTS ONLY!--Sir HENRY IRVING and _Sir John Falstaff_. Hitherto Windsor Shakspearianly associated with Merry Wives and washtubbing (with "brown Windsor") of Fat Knight. Henceforth memorable for Royal reception and dubbing (also with the best Windsor) of Thin Knight. Reported that Sir HENRY was invited to represent a Constituency! He _has_ represented two single gentlemen rolled into one, such as _Corsican Brothers_, and _Dubosc_ and _Lesurques_. But to represent a Constituency of some thousands!! No rapid act of "quickest change" could effect it. _Vive_ Sir HENRY!

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"IN NUBIBUS."--WRIGHT, the convict and ex-solicitor of the Liberator Building Society, said in the course of examination at the London Bankruptcy Court that he was "formerly tenant of Cloughton Castle in Ireland. That was only a small place, but it was customary in Ireland to call almost everything a castle." Quite Wright. Home Rule is now one of these _Châteaux d' Espagne_ in Ireland, and "to let."

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THE GENERAL ELECTION.

Oh pity an unhappy man Reduced to desperate dejection! There's nothing happening but an Election.

Eternally it worries me, Inducing cerebral affection, This never-ending topic the Election.

I don't love politics, or care A pin for Liberal defection, Or if the Tories gained in their Election.

Unworthy citizen, perhaps I need reproof and stern correction, Indifferent to any chap's Election.

Unless I flew beyond the sea, I'm certain that in no direction Could I escape at all from the Election.

For no one writes, and no one speaks, Of anything but in connection With some loquacious man who seeks Election.

I try my club; though men may come And men may go, there's this objection To all alike--they talk of some Election.

I go to bed; no rest for me, I'm roused by yells, with shrill inflection Of "Extry midnight speshul, the Election!"

The papers, taking any side, Of any party, any section, One sort of news alike provide--Election.

I'll go to see my love, and kiss Her pretty face, her sweet complexion, At least she will not talk of this Election.

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"YOU ARE MOST APT TO PLAY THE SIR."

_Othello_, Act ii., Sc. i.

Friday, July 19, 1895, memorable in annals of British stage as a day set apart for one of the greatest triumphs of the Drama. Sir HENRY IRVING, fresh from the honours of Royal Windsor, received a further distinction at the hands and hearts of his "brothers and sisters" in that profession for which he has done so much. Squire BANCROFT was the eloquent spokesman for the enthusiastic audience of comedians and tragedians which filled the Lyceum; yet before and behind the footlights there was not a suggestion of histrionics. Unlike, too, the great unpaying, who have the dulness of their _order_, the guests of Friday were remarkable for the tremendous energy of their goodwill. If this theatre had not long been seasoned to the sounds of vociferous cheering, the demonstration might "have brought down the house" literally. _Mr. Punch_ takes this opportunity of joining in the demonstration, and drinks to Sir HENRY IRVING. May the Knight of the cheerful countenance prosper according to his deserts. And, if that wish is realised, the lessee of the Lyceum will be one of the happiest men on record.

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STAMBULOFF.

Grim mockery of fate! The assassin's knife Once more hath power upon a patriot's life. One steel-armed miscreant, with one felon blow, May lay the moulder of a nation low. Masterful man and fiery patriot, still Is that strong heart, relaxed that iron will. Yet there's more honour for the brave at rest, After vain struggle and abortive quest, Than for the ungrateful herd who dare not rise To the full height of perilous destinies, The Northern Bear his distant quarry nosing, Or the Coburger in gay Carlsbad glosing.

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R. PEEL FROM MR. G.--Mr. GLADSTONE, writing to Sir ROBERT PEEL, who had been addressing the Fazeley branch Lodge of Oddfellows, said, "_In our small community we have four separate lodges, and I have associated myself with them all._" Mr. G. may now adopt as his signature, not the initials "G. O. M.," but the new one of "O. F. O.," or "Odd Fellow Out." No doubt, with his love of retirement and study, the Grand Old Odd-Fellow often says, sighingly, to himself, "O for a Lodge in some great Wilderness!"

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To Dr. W. G. Grace on his 47th Birthday.

Many happy returns of the day! Old Time on his record should nick it, Long, long may he umpire your play. Here's wishing you luck at the wicket, Long life,--for one "century," say,-- And a hundred more of 'em at Cricket!

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* * * * *

HOW THE TOPERS CAME DOWN TO THE POLLS.

(_A Song for the Drouthy, someway after Southey._)

_How did the Topers come down to the Polls?_

Here they came shouting, And there they came flouting, Teetotalers scouting, and HARCOURT mis-doubting, With banners, and big bills, and trumpets and song. With pint-pots and flagons, In drags, brakes and wagons, As valiant as lions, as fiery as dragons, They hastened along united and strong! 'Midst braying of brass and 'midst clouds of tobacco, With jubiliant shouts for "The Union Jack, O!" With jovial manners, and patriot banners, 'Midst bung-lauding boasters, with big scarlet posters, In Sunday-best garments superbly arrayed; 'Midst shoutings from "cadgers," with scarves and with badges, With rubicund faces, limp collars, loose braces, With dry-as-dust throttles, and handy case-bottles, With blonde buxom Beauty to aid 'em in duty, And bystanders funning, and little boys running, And stentor-toned shouts for "The Cause" and "The Trade"!!! All florid and torrid, Damp shirts and moist forehead, From near slum and far court, With railings at HARCOURT, And wit-aping WILFRID, and truculent CAINE. With shouts for Sir MICHAEL, By 'bus, and by cycle, Afoot, and well-mounted, by tram and by train. All glowing and blowing, Red cards about throwing, And rushing, and crushing, and flushing, And laughing, and chaffing, and quaffing; And jeering, and sneering, and "beering," And skipping, and tripping, and "nipping," And hasting, and pasting, and tasting; And hopping, and popping, and mopping, Perspiring, and wiring. But ever untiring. And drinking, and chinking, and blinking, and winking, And sometimes unthinking, but ever unshrinking, And gladdening, and maddening, And t'other side saddening, Friends brightening, foes frightening, interiors tightening, And warming, and forming, and storming; And flattering, and clattering, and battering, and shattering; Arising, surprising, all foes pulverising, And giving them "toko" on temperance "boko." And flashing, and dashing, and crashing, and smashing, and hashing, And propping, and stopping, and copping, and lopping, and topping, and whopping; And backing, and tracking, and blacking, and hacking, and smacking, and whacking, And "giving 'em beans." (You know what _that_ means!) And shouting, "We vote all against Cant Teetotal! We'll beat up each _Bardolph_, and _Pistol_, and _Peto_, To give its quietus to villainous Veto. And kick out the duffers The Trade who would queer And rob (big caps., please!) THE POOR MAN OF HIS BEER!!! Out, out on the foes of our Freedom--and Liquor! They'll follow their Leader--the sooner the quicker! The Lords they may floor, and the Church may assault, But they've met with their match in the Champions of Malt! All together, brave souls! See, our phalanx on-rolls!!!"

And _that_'s how the Topers came down to the Polls!

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MAINTAINING THE UNION.--The _Sheffield Daily Telegraph_, in referring to the success of Mr. G. H. ALLSOPP at Worcester, just prior to that eminent Unionist taking unto himself a wife, suggests that the newly-elected M.P. should follow the precedent set by Mr. GRIFFITH-BOSCAWEN in 1892, and give to each of his bridesmaids a brooch with the amount of his majority engraved upon it. This is all very well in its way. But the total at Tunbridge was 933, while that of Worcester extended to four figures. So to give room for labelling, the brooch should be changed to a bracelet. A man bearing the honoured name of ALLSOPP should be appropriately equal to the XX's.

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A QUESTION TO OUTSIDERS.--"Won't you come round?" was the invitation (as reported in the _Daily Graphic_) given by Sir HENRY IRVING (after his speech on Friday afternoon) to his "friends in front." But it is a question addressed to many outside the theatre and the theatrical profession; to all sorts and conditions of men and women who still regard the stage askance, and who look upon the ultimate fate of theatre-goers and actors as a melancholy certainty. To these persons, whether a minority or a majority,--in either case a "narrow" one,--Sir HENRY'S kindly invitation is publicly addressed, and it is "Won't you come round?"

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ROUNDABOUT READINGS.

To the philosophical mind of a Roundabout Reader the General Election ought to offer many points of interest, not because he is a politician, but because, in the interest of his reading, he has to occupy a position of detachment, and therefore perhaps sees more of the humours and absurdities which crowd the animated scene. Yet here, for instance, am I, a diligent turner over of every possible kind of newspaper, metropolitan and provincial, and all that I have carried away from my careful investigations is a confused sense that if electors on either side only "stand shoulder to shoulder," "leave no stone unturned," and "work as one man from now till the polling-day," why each tide is positively certain that "another nail will be driven into the coffin" of the other side, that "a resounding blow will be struck for the good cause," and that "the banner under which we have secured many a brilliant victory will once more float triumphantly in the breeze." As for the "moral victories" gained, they are almost overwhelming both in number and in result.

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Indeed, there is nothing so dangerously attractive to speaker and to audience as a fine old crusted political tag. Policies and programmes are as dust in the balance. As you listen to a speaker and watch his hearers, you may see a smile of perfect confidence and satisfaction spreading over the faces of the latter while the former winds himself up to the well-known, fondly-loved, and long-expected tag, which is the inevitable conclusion of the fiery oratorical period. "That," they say to themselves, "is the man for us. He says exactly what we should have said in the only appropriate words." Result--_Loud and enthusiastic cheers, amidst which_ Mr. PLATTIT-EWD _resumed his seat, having spoken for three-quarters of an hour._

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And the old familiar funny stories, the humorous allusions, the sparkling gibes, have they not been trotted out from Land's End to John o' Groat's House? Welcome have you been, oh ye kittens, born blind as Liberal (or Conservative) kittens, and converted, through the opening of your eyes, into Conservative (or Liberal) kittens; welcome also, ye hounds, who have devoured all your labels, and know not your destination. Many a time have I hunted with your sporting pack, and seen my friends ride gallantly at your tails. Also there is a wolf, and there is a lamb; and there was once a Sibyl who dealt in books, and there is an Italian who, having performed the most coruscating solos on the barrel-organ, failed miserably when asked to oblige upon the piano. All these have played their parts nobly. Not for long do I bid them farewell. They will return, I know they will, with the first mutterings of the next election.

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