Part 2

_'Arry_ (_with his characteristic eye for analogy--as the entire caravan parades past in procession_). There they _are_, yer see--_Comin' 'Ome from Southend!_

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SMALL BY DEGREES AND BEAUTIFULLY LESS.--Our excellent contemporary the _Northern Whig_ allows a correspondent to call attention to the nuisance of cycling in Malone Park. Apparently our "fellow-subjects of the sister kingdom" have followed the lead of "the beginners of Battersea," and "made themselves a source of annoyance to the majority of people resident in the locality." If "the nuisance" is permitted, the correspondent suggests the Park will soon be deserted. When this happens, the cyclist can appropriately alter his ride (by cutting off a letter) around Malone to Alone.

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OPERATIC NOTES.

Another two "turns" and PATTI is off. Delightful to see and hear her as _Zerlina_ in immortal Opera _Don Giovanni_. "_Patti Patti_" with "_Batti Batti_," "_La ci darem_," and all old friends admirably given and heartily encored. After one of the encores MAGGIE MACINTYRE walks off suddenly as if in search of lost pocket-handkerchief. In most serious moments ever a twinkle in MAGGIE'S eye, and twitch at the corners of MAGGIE'S mouth, as if giving audience clearly to understand that she is "only purtendin'."

Second Act. Enter PATTI; sings, pauses; wonders; sings note, like nightingale summoning mate; pauses; again wonders. "Some one had blundered!" BEVIGNANI beaming but bothered. "He cometh not," they said. Exit PATTI, shrugging shoulders. Curtain drops. Very short Act. Audience, amused, applaud. Curtain up again. BEVIGNANI brightens. Re-enter PATTI with merry _Masetto_, who privately explains that for a few moments he had lost his voice and had been looking for it. Fortunately, voice found; in chest; quite safe. Surely a little modern dramatic polish might be used to furbish up utterly idiotic old-fashioned stage-business of this ancient Italian Opera? Eh, Signor DRURIOLANUS?

In the trio at end of Act II. somebody got off the line, and audience, determined that they would be better for a little more practice, called Ma'am ADINI, Miss MAGGIE, and Master BROZEL before the curtain, and then made them go through their exercise once more. Nothing like practice, to make perfect.

The Statuesque _Commendatore_ to be highly commended as represented by aristocratic MANNERS. New Italian Opera proverb "Manners makes the Commendatore." PATTI at premium. Royalty Restored to Box. Brilliant night. Crammed, jammed house.

_In Lobby._--Much agitation among ancient Opera-goers on hearing report that MARIO is to sing here on Saturday afternoon. "MARIO!" they exclaim; "impossible!" Not at all: it turns out that _this_ "MARIO" is a character in a new Opera by "ALICK MACLEAN" (pretty name, but nicer if it were "A WASH MECLEAN"), entitled _Petruccio_ (not SHAKSPEAR'S _Petruchio_), in which one _Mario_ is "_Elvira's little brother_;" and so, possibly, he was quite an infant when sister _Elvira_ was cruelly treated by _Don Giovanni_. Also in this new Opera appears "_Elvira's mother_." In fact, it is rather lucky for _Don_ that he has gone below with Stony _Commendatore_ to Stony Stratford, or elsewhere, as the talented _Elvira_ family, with whom is associated _Rubino_, a gentleman "formerly betrothed to _Elvira_," would make it rather too hot for him.

_Tuesday._--GLÜCK'S _Orfeo_. "Gen'lm'n," if overtaken with wine, as was _David Copperfield_ on a notable occasion, would say, "G'luck t' you," that is, could any gentleman in such state be possibly admitted to Covent Garden, and could dare to address JULIA RAVOGLI, admirable as _Orfeo_, _Cavalleria_ to follow.

_Thursday._--Madame SEMBRICH nice as _Violetta Traviata_, "were t'other dear charmer away!" Very hot night. MANCINELLI must for once have wished himself a non-conductor? Result, MANCINELLI Melted.

_Friday._--_Adelina Zerlina Patti-cake_ and the Im-Maurel _Don G._ Why not in such hot weather give opera with ice in it; PATTI in skates "_en Patti-neuse_."

_Saturday._--Welcome to Madame ALBANI, our _Valentine_ in what WAGSTAFF calls "_Lay Hug-me-nots_." "Not bad title," he explains; "after crowd of ecclesiastics in swearing scene, pleasing to find two principal characters are 'lay': not 'lay-figures' but lovers not permitted by hard Fate either to embrace each other or any opportunity of eloping together; so '_Hug-me-not_' curiously applicable." So far, WAGSTAFF. Strong cast this with GIULIA RAVOGLI as _Urbano_ the page of music, MELBA as _Margherita_ the Queen with the top-notes in her air; JUPITER-PLANÇON as _Marcel_, TAM AGNO as _Hug-me-not Raoul_, and ANCONA as _Conte de Nevers-say-die_. Conducting orchestral army to victory, Marshal MANCINELLI is Merry and Meritorious.

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THE BOY AND THE BAT.

["Who may describe a small boy's passion for his bat?"--_Daily News._]

_Jemmy Bilkins, aged Thirteen-and-a-half, loquitur_:--

I've won it, BILL, I've won it! And it's pooty nigh full size! Leastways, anyhow, it _looks_ it. O, I tell yer, it's a prize. Yaller-backed, BILL, and cane-'andled, and its got a sort o' feel, As yer swing it wot reminds yer of a STODDART _or_ a STEEL. Last Saturday as ever wos I turned out afore six, And practised in our back yard, wiv three lumps o' deal for "sticks." Young POLLY she bowled to me, and I drove 'er, and I cut, And "swiped over the Pervilion"--which I mean our water-butt. POLL can do a fair round-armer _for_ a girl and no mistake, And she'll 'ave you, middle-stumpo, if yer don't look wide awake. 'Twos the day of our School Match, BILL, and our gaffer, Mister BLORE, 'Ad promised a cane-'andler to the boy as made top score. Oh I tell yer I meant 'aving it, if _practisin'_ would do, But _my_ bat 'ad split a lump off, and it seemed to 'it askew. 'Ow _can_ yer "keep a straight bat" when your bat itself aint straight? But we did our level best, BILL, me an' POLLY. At our _fate_ Out at Petersham I tell you as we done the thing to rights, None o' yer 'at-an'-coat piles for the wickets, as is sights A cricketer cocks snooks at, when 'e knows the _real_ game. No penny injy-rubber and a club! Though, all the same, Wiv a second-'and stripped tennis-ball, a little on the lop, Or even a ha'penny woodeny, an' the chump end of a mop, And my jacket on a stick for stump, I've 'ad a lot of fun, And wiv such on Gosling Green, BILL, I fust larned to 'it an' run. But to-day we did it different. Real stumps was pitched O. K., We'd a scoring-sheet, _and umpire!_ We'd a red new ball to play, As it seemed a sin to slog at, 'cos it took the pooty out; But I tell yer we forgot that wiv the fust good 'it and shout.

Lanky STEVE 'e made that 'it, 'e did. It scooted past long slip, At forty mile a hour or so. That STEVE _can_ make 'em skip. He tops me by a 'ed, too, and I feared he'd cop the bun. Yus, I thought the Bat was his'n when he'd piled up twenty-one! _I_ wanted fanning, BILLY, when I ups and takes my block, And the ball came thunderin' at me like a little earthquake shock. Seemed heverywhere, yet nowhere, if you understand me, BILLY. And pitched just in that orkud spot as always knocks yer silly. Coming off the pitch like pickles, as though aiming at yer heye; But I pulls myself together for a volley, an' let fly. And fust thing I knowed I heard it busting 'ard agin the fence; And I felt I'd scored a boundary, and the cheering wos emense.

Then BILLY I lammed into 'em! They came as easy then As little POLLY'S easiest lobs. BILLY, they called _hus_ "Men!" "The next man in wos BILKINS" the reporter sez--that's me!-- "An' e's a young phernomenon, a infant W. G. Who piled his quarter-century in fair Doctorial form!"-- Just fancy! But them scribbling chaps _can_ pile it thick and warm. I won that Bat 'owever with a score of twenty-five, And POLLY--in the Press-tent!--wos the 'appiest girl alive While as for _me!_ O BILLY, when I drawed it from the baize, Caught the whiff of the fresh willow!--well the world looked all a haze. If "the Doctor" feels much 'appier when _his_ Testimonial comes-- Well, though 'e's the pet of England, me a urchin from the slums, I jist guess he'll hunderstand me! Ony wish I'd got a bob To send the _Telygraft_, BILL. I should soon be on the job. _Ain't_ GRACE a 'Oly Stunner; and the Pride o' the Pervilion? Well I 'ope 'is Testymonial will run up to a Million!!! And when _he_ makes his next "Century" may _I_ be there to see!-- Wich the Master says he'll take me, now I'm called "Young W. G."

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HOW TO FIX THE HAPPY DAY.--_Q._ When's the best day for a wedding? _A._ Why, of course, "A _Weddin's day_."

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DRESS À LA PREMIÈRE MODE.

(_A Dialogue Pastoral and Sartorial._)

SCENE--_A Boudoir._ PRESENT--_A Lady and her Modiste._ TIME--_The passing hour._

_Modiste._ No, Madame, it is utterly impossible for you to wear silks and satins. They have quite gone out.

_Lady._ But hasn't alpaca come in a little?

_Modiste._ Scarcely. It may be used for divided skirts at Battersea Park, but it is not really recognised.

_Lady._ Then what am I to wear?

_Modiste._ Flowers, Madame, flowers. Of course they should be fixed on foundations, but they are the only materials used at the present time.

_Lady._ Are they not rather expensive?

_Modiste._ Well, no. I shall not charge more for them than velvet or brocade. And, of course, if you choose to wear your dresses more than once, your maid can get them renovated with new flowers at an almost fabulous reduction.

_Lady._ I do not think a gown ever looks well when worn a second time.

_Modiste._ Quite so, Madame; quite so. Well, would you like a charming dress of pink hyacinths, with bishop's sleeves of Gloire de Dijon roses? The skirt would be of variegated lilac.

_Lady._ But could you get the material for the floral combination?

_Modiste._ Oh dear yes, Madame! Since the fashion for real flowers has come in we are supplied daily from all parts of the world, and have a large stock always at hand on the premises. Why, our greenhouses are the finest in London. Will you want any other costume to-day?

_Lady._ Only one for a small dance to-morrow. I want something cool and quiet.

_Modiste._ You can scarcely do better than wear a costume _d'Eden_, or as it is facetiously termed in England, "a dress for EVE." It is an arrangement in oak leaves and apples _à la mode de la première femme du monde_.

_Lady._ Very well. Let me have it home by eleven.

_Modiste._ You can depend upon my punctuality, Madame. If you are careful not to dance too much it will last until 2 A.M., and permit of your partaking of supper. I would not say this with confidence of all the gowns I turn out, but in this instance you will find leaves stronger than flowers. And now, Madame, permit me to take your measure.

[_Scene closes in upon mysteries of the toilet._

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AFTER THE CONGRESS WAS OVER.

(_A Strange Fragment dealing with a Mystery._)

Every important question that could be considered had been thoroughly examined and decided. The delegates, who had come from North, South, East and West, had expressed their satisfaction with everything they had seen in London. As for the British Empire generally, their admiration knew no bounds. "It was magnificent." "It was beautiful." "It was grand." And yet when they prepared to take their departure there was a shade of disappointment upon their expressive countenances.

"I wish I could have understood it," said one.

"It would have been a triumph of ingenuity to have comprehended it," observed another.

"The queries of the Egyptian Sphinx were the easiest of conundrums in comparison," added a third.

And others chimed in to the same effect. But to the very last the delegates tried their best to solve the problem. At length the company departed. The hall in which the great assembly had been held was empty. There was one striking object in the deserted apartment. It was a book--a yellow-covered book. Evidently it had been much read. But, in spite of the fingering, there was no distinct evidence that the full meaning of its contents had been grasped by anyone.

In the quiet of the night the moonbeams illuminated the title-page.

The volume that rested so securely with its knowledge carefully concealed between its paper covers was _Bradshaw's Railway Guide_.

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WHO WOULDN'T BE AN ALDERMAN?--I have often wished to be an Alderman, and, after reading the following extract from the _Birmingham Daily Gazette_, I have fixed upon West Bromwich as the scene of my aldermanic labours. It must be glorious to joke with such ease:--

"A WEST BROMWICH ALDERMAN'S JOKE.--Yesterday morning when the West Bromwich guardians entered the Board Room at the West Bromwich Workhouse, the blinds were all drawn, and as a consequence the room presented a very gloomy appearance. The business was about to be commenced, when Alderman R. WILLIAMS objected to the blinds being lowered. He inquired whether their lowering had a political significance, and whether the house was in mourning for the death of the Radical Government. If his assumption was true he considered they should not commence the business until the blinds were raised (_Laughter._) Two of the largest blinds were then raised, but six others were allowed to remain down."

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ROUNDABOUT READINGS.

Some of us like our English short, others prefer it expanded. Some of us, for instance, might say that "NERO fiddled while Rome burnt." But this bald statement is obviously quite unsuited to the decorative instincts of the age, for in the _Daily Telegraph_, only last week, I read that "a notorious Roman Emperor is credited with the performance of a violin solo during the raging of a serious conflagration in the heart of his capital." The omission of NERO'S name gives to this sentence a delicate parliamentary flavour, which brings it absolutely up to date.

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But what a noble example it is! Henceforward, for instance, if it should ever fall to my lot to write about HENRY THE EIGHTH of England, I shall feel a mere fool if I state that he married seven wives. No, no. A British monarch, celebrated in the books of the historians as the Eighth, and hitherto the last of his name, is reported, on the authority of the Ecclesiastical registers of his time, to have entertained so warm and overpowering an affection for the connubial condition commonly known as matrimony, as to have entered into it with a comparatively light heart on as many occasions as would equal the sum total of predecessors bearing his name who have supported the burden of the crown of these realms. For a very slight increase of salary I am prepared to double the length of this sentence without adding a single fact to it.

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Here, too, is a delightful extract from a gorgeously illustrated volume issued by a firm of house-agents in praise of what they very properly term "an imposing structure in red brick." "It is difficult," they declare (and after reading their description one can well believe it) "to conceive a more replete Town Mansion, embodying such artistic and delicate schemes of decoration, one where wealth has wrought such a revelation of harmonious and fitly fitments, or where the studious consideration of the minutest detail contributing to health, enjoyment and comfort has been more completely manifested. This, combined with its advantageous position removed from any main thoroughfare with its accompanying turmoil, renders it a perfect dwelling and an idealistic London Home."

No more by White Star or by Guion I leave my native land to roam. I've purchased and I occupy an Idealistic London Home.

Last year my London I to quit meant; But now, with all an owner's pride, I gaze upon each fitly fitment, And, lo, desire for flight has died.

Place me where schemes of decoration Give both to Art and Health increase, Where Wealth has wrought a Revelation-- I ask no more, I rest in peace.

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Next let us contemplate a pure gem of descriptive English from a sporting contemporary. It occurs in an account of the athletic contest between Cambridge University and the United Hospitals:--

Scarcely a cloud flecked the blue heaven yesterday afternoon, and a dazzling sky burnished the Stamford Bridge grounds into an acre of reflected sunshine. What a pleasant spot the tryst of the premier athletic club on which to hold athletic revels! It was not to be expected that the people would show a front at the carnival. So much to do nowadays, what with cycling at Hurlingham, and the Beauty wheel show on the Row in Battersea Park. Equal to the occasion though proved many English girls, and it was pleasing indeed to note their presence in the pavilion and enclosures. Bold as Britannia as a rule in this, the nineteenth century. And don't forget this, innocent as a posy all the while.... Think of this now. W. MENDLESON (C.U.A.C.), but by birth a New Zealander, figuratively speaking, gazed on the ruins (long jump ruins, of course) of Britishers at Stamford Bridge. It was with a quickened pulse that one watched the Hurdle Race. 'Pon our soul 'twas a difficult problem to solve a few steps from home to tell which would win, PILKINGTON or LOWE. The flag went up for the visitor from the banks of the Cam. Nevertheless, no one can assert but that the medical banner remained hoisted at the truck in honour of their representatives. Gallant seconds!... Of course H. A. MUNRO gave us a taste of his quality in the Three Miles. Verily he ran as though able to keep up pacing from sunrise to sunset. 'Twas a glorious victory that he gained. Neither must the plucky bid made by HORAN be forgotten. Ah! if he had only been MUNRO! But he wasn't, so there was no use in thinking about that.

How melancholy are these might-have-beens. If NAPOLEON had only been WELLINGTON. But he wasn't. So there was no use in thinking about that.

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HENLEY Regatta, I understand, is to be an international festival this year. A Dutch crew has entered for the Thames Cup, but it is not stated that they carry a broom in their bows. Nor is it to be inferred that they will make a clean sweep of the prize. Besides many English crews they will meet a crew from France. Then from Toronto come four Argonauts sailing not for the Golden Fleece, but for the Stewards' Challenge Cap; and from Ithaca, N.Y., eight modern Trojans, undergraduates of Cornell University, have set out intent on the capture of the Grand Challenge Cup. To all of them _Mr. Punch_ extends the right hand of good fellowship, though, being British to the backbone, he cannot wish for their triumph over his own gallant oarsmen. And amongst these he especially welcomes Mr. C. W. KENT, the Hero of Leander, who, having four times stroked his crew to victory, is once more seated on the slide of honour to defend possession of the Grand,--KENT, the pride of joyous Moulsey, whom at his birth the Fates endowed with the triple gifts of cunning, resource and courage, bidding him wield an indomitable oar in undefeated crews. As when a fox, emerging from the tangled covert----But I cannot pursue the Virgilian method any further. Let the event next week speak for itself. Here's luck all round, and may the best crew be an English one. In any case, may the best crew win.

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The gentlemen from Cornell have brought over with them, in addition to their boats and oars, a terrible battle-cry, "Cornell, yell, yell, I yell Cornell." Manifestly the members of the London Rowing Club cannot model themselves on this, for to cry, "London, done, done, I'm done, London" would, I trust, be as inappropriate as it would certainly be discouraging.

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My recent investigations into the condition of some of our great provincial cities lead me to the depressing belief that something is always wrong with some of their streets. Here, for instance, is "NEMO" writing to the _Manchester Guardian_ to complain that "on Saturday evening the Bury New Road was filthy, whilst the odour was equal to that of the Ship Canal, but different. Formerly there seemed to be an effort made to have the road brushed up on Friday ready for Saturday and Sunday, when thousands of well-dressed and happy people--Jew and Gentile--promenade it on their way to breezy Kersal Moor." But why, may I ask, should there be no well-dressed and happy Christians promenading on their way to Kersal Moor? It may be that they have followed "our local representatives," who, "NEMO" suggests, "are enjoying their holidays, or are immersed in golf," which I take to be a delicate euphemism for bunkered.

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A LATE-AT-NIGHT RIDDLE.--_Q._ Why is it probable that the supper provided by the Royal Academicians for their guests at their _soirée_ would be chiefly or entirely vegetarian? _A._ Because all the dishes are "R. A. dishes."

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SCRAPS FROM CHAPS.

Is it well to temper justice with jokes? This important question has been settled in the affirmative in many courts of law, but it has been left for his Honour, Judge EDGE, to use his own name (instead of somebody else's) in the playful manner requisite to excite "laughter in the Court." A solicitor recently took upon himself to argue with his Honour in the Plymouth County Court a question of costs in respect of a case heard some months since. He conducted his argument with much warmth and inaccuracy. This combination of bad law and bad temper enabled the Judge to score an easy victory. "Stand down," said his Honour; "if you play with edged tools you must pay for it." Thus triumphed the Law and the Judge, and once more "unquenchable laughter arose amongst the blessed gods" up in the gallery.

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