Part 3

There is much humour in dogs. Your own retriever, whom you have broken yourself, is of course the quietest and best-behaved dog in the world. He also possesses the surest nose and the softest mouth. Why, then, does he choose a moment when everybody is looking to run in wildly and disturb every bird in the field? Or why, when you have sent him in pursuit of a runner, does he lie down and pant, while the keeper's dog, a tangled door-mat of the poodle species, solidly, and without ostentation, tracks down the wounded bird, and finally deposits it at the keeper's feet, just as you are assuring everybody that there is not a vestige of scent, and that no dog could possibly be expected to work in such weather.

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Then, again, I want to know this about partridges. How is that, when they are driven to the guns, they always select a novice and unanimously fly over his head? There is an unerring instinct about them. Your novice may disguise himself in all the sport-stained paraphernalia of a veteran shooter. Bless his simple heart, he can't deceive the birds. They come to him and court the death that never comes with a heroic persistency. When he has attained to the status of a veteran, and the birds about him are scarcer, he will look back with a fond regret to the days of his bird-frequented novitiate.

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The long and the short of it is that partridges possess a cunning amounting to genius. Under a soft and guileless exterior the partridge hides a store of deceitful wiles that might put SHERLOCK HOLMES or any of his countless imitators to shame. His one object is not to be killed, and this he pursues with a ferocious pertinacity against which keepers, beaters, dogs and guns match themselves in vain. Here, then, is a ballad of the cunning partridge.

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The partridge is a cunning bird. He likes not those who bring him down: From age to age he has preferred The shots who blaze into the brown, Whose stocks come never shoulder-high, Who never pause to pick and choose, But on whose biceps you descry The black, the blue, the tell-tale bruise.

Or should a stubborn cartridge swell, And jam, as it may chance, your gun, The sly old partridge knows it well, "Great Scott!" he seems to chirp "here's fun." He gathers all his feathered tribe, They leave the stubble or the grass, And with one wild and whirling gibe Above your silent muzzles pass.

Your scheme you carefully contrive, And, while each beater waves his flag, Your fancy, as they duly drive, Already sees a record bag. But, lo, they baulk your keen desire, For, though with birds the sky grows black, Not one of them will face the fire, And every blessed bird goes back.

For partridges I'll try no more; Why should I waste in grim despair? Take me to far Albania's shore, And let me bag the woodcock there. Or on the Susquehanna's stream I'll shoot with every chance of luck The gourmet's glory and his dream, The canvas-back, that juicy duck.

Yea, any other bird I'll shoot, But not again with toil and pain I'll tramp the stubble or the root, Nor wait behind a fence in vain. For of all birds you hit or miss (I've tried it out by every test), Again I say with emphasis The partridge is the cunningest.

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So much for the partridge. Before many weeks are over it is quite possible that I may have to promote the pheasant to the top rank of cunning. And this I know full well about my friend the pheasant, that, although he is a large bird and seems to fly slowly, he is a very hard bird to hit, as he ought to be hit. And most of us find it much easier to hit the immeasurable space by which every bird on the wing is surrounded.

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RAILWAY TRAVELLING.

SIR,--Whenever I find a Pullman car I invariably travel in it. It is only a shilling or two over the ordinary fare, but oh the luxury! So, with the ancient Roman, who knew all about it, I exclaim:--

"_Pullman qui meruit ferat._"

The translation is evident, and I present the motto to the Company generally.

A TRAVELLING FELLOW.

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RECULER POUR MIEUX SAUTER.--The thermometer (according to the _Daily Chronicle_) about ten days ago "went back a little in order to make a bigger spring." It succeeded in making a second summer.

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"SIC TRANSIT GLORIA HOODI."

A traditional relic of the picturesque poacher prince of Sherwood Forest, were it even "no bigger than an agate-stone on the forefinger of an alderman," would, we presume, be worthy of jealous preservation. It is, therefore, the more surprising that Yorkshiremen have not taken adequate means for the protection of "a _massive_ piece of millstone grit which, from time immemorial, has stood on a rising ground overlooking the Aire Valley." Reclining in the shade of this historic stone--named after him--"bold ROBIN HOOD would, with his Maid MARIAN, sup and bowse from horn and can," using it as a kind of half-way house, so to speak, on his journeys to York. But oh, shade of Friar TUCK, thou genial exemplar (dare we hint it?) of what is known as the "sporting" parson--a type, alas! rapidly becoming as extinct as thyself--the Vandal hordes, in the shape of the Bradford Corporation, have come with their destroying trail of dynamite, and, under base pretence of making way for a water conduit, _have cloven the Robin Hood stone into four parts!_ Not until the blasting powder was in position did the people realise the full horror of the dread deed about to be wrought; and then, to save that which once sheltered an outlaw, they sent for a policeman, who, of course, arrived "after the blast was over." "The occurrence has caused a feeling of indignation throughout the district," says the _Yorkshire Post_, adding, "and it is unlikely that the incident will be passed over in silence." It certainly was not accomplished "in silence"! Yorkers! why did you not shut the stable door _before_ the steed was stolen?

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THE THREE WEIRD WRITERS OF DRURY LANE.

SCENE--_Somewhere in the neighbourhood of Drury Lane. Any time before the production of "Cheer, Boys, Cheer."_

_First W. W._ (_Sir Druriol nus_). When shall we three meet again? In thunder, lightning, shine, or rain?

_Second W. W._ (_C. Raleigh_). When the hurly-burly's done, When by play we've lost or won.

_Third W. W._ (_H. Hamilton_). 'Twill be settled by the run!

_First W. W._ Where the scenes?

_Second W. W._ (_happily_). From Polo go

_First W. W._ (_excitedly_). To Matabele!

_Third W. W._ (_grandly_). Rotten Row!

_First W. W._ To WORTH of Paris!

_Second W. W._ (_receiving a note from the Musical Director_). GLOVER calls!

_Third W. W._ (_having had a line from a Costumier_). What! BOSCH!

_All three_ (_solemnly dancing round the cauldron_).

Polo, gold mines, Rotten Row, Costumes grand, comedian low, Round about the country go! The Weird Writers hand in hand Posters stick throughout the land. Us they'll write about, about! Three to one, it will be fine! Writers three we thus combine! Piece! The curtain's up!

[_They vanish._

And the melodrama,--showing how a match was broken off at a Polo gathering, and how many times in one evening Mr. HENRY NEVILLE can take off his hat in a wonderful variety of courteous ways, and how he gets taken off himself by a Matabelian shot; showing, too, how funny Mr. GIDDENS and Mr. LIONEL RIGNOLD can be, and how admirably Miss FANNY BROUGH behaves as an eccentric lady of fashion in exceptionally trying circumstances; how good as a villain CHARLES DALTON is; how strikingly DRURIOLANUS has managed stage effects, and how admirably his auxiliaries have done their work,--the melodrama, containing all this and very much more, achieves a distinct success.

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Poor Mrs. LANGTRY! "What all my pretty chicks at one fell swoop!" "The pretty chicks" would be represented by "a pretty _cheque_." Lots more where they came from, and their fair owner may yet sing about them triumphantly to the tune of "_Lillie-bulero_," or any other that takes her fancy if she objects to the original air as being out of date. Why not a new version of "_Ti-a-ra Boom-de-ay_"?

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"AN INTOLERABLE NUISANCE."--The _Pall Mall Gazette_ is to be felicitated upon a praiseworthy but, unfortunately, unsuccessful attempt to institute a campaign against the organ fiends haunting our streets. But the letters which, under the heading "An Intolerable Nuisance," poured in briskly at first, have finally "ceased and determined." We have been told of a village, "in the Ausonian hills," peopled by retired organ-grinders who, having amassed a fortune--resulting from bribes, given by the despairing citizen, as an inducement to the torturer to remove himself "to the next street"--repair thither to enjoy an _otium cum dignitate_, untroubled by any qualm of conscience for the suffering inflicted by them upon patient Britons. Will some _Novum Organon_ tell us the whereabouts of this Utopia, and let us thither banish in shiploads these "intolerable nuisances."

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CABBY; OR, REMINISCENCES OF THE RANK AND THE ROAD.

(_By "Hansom Jack."_)

No. VI.--FARES AND FINDS.

_The Mistery of a Hansom Cab?_ Oh yes, _I_'ve read it; or leastways dipped into it. Rayther perlice-newsy sort of a story; strong flaviour of murder and unsweetened gin to it. "Less cab than _license_," young MULBERRY sniggers. Young MULBERRY fancies 'imself as a joker. Still, we do 'ave some rum finds in our cabs, from a set o' false teeth to a red-ended poker.

Give me a shiver the latter thing did, I 'ad just dropped one fare and 'ad took up a foller. First was a gloomyish kind of a cove with a oystery heye and cheeks saller and oller; Second as smart a young minx as you'd meet. I 'ad 'ardly whipped up when I 'eard such a squeaking, And sharp through the trap shoved a scarlet-hued _summat_. It give me a turn, in a manner o' speaking.

Parties are wonderful partial to prodding with brolly or walking-stick, ah yes, _and_ rifles. Fares when they want you to pull up 'ave got little thought for your eyes and they don't stick at trifles. But this was a rayther unusual prodder! "'Old 'ard, Miss," I says. "Wot's this 'ere little caper?" "Oh, Cabby!" she squeals, "put me down! It's a 'orror--I found in the corner 'ere--wropped in brown paper!"

Out she would git; when, a puffin' and wheezin', up came the old buffer who'd left it behind 'im. "That's _mine!_" 'e gulps, and 'e grabs it like winking. "Ah, my poor JOEY! I wish I could find _'im_ One 'arf as easy. The cleverest clown, Miss, in England; and this was 'is favrit hot poker. All 'e 'as left to remember 'im by!"--an' 'e 'ugged it. I pitied the saller old joker.

But Miss, she turned rusty, and cut up 'er didos. "You ought to know better," she sniffed. "It's just ojus To leave 'orrid objecks like that in a cab; though I own it's well fitted, and 'ighly commojus; But lor', _'ow_ it scared me!" "Well, lydy," I says, being roughed up a bit by 'er stuckuppy manner, "It wouldn't 'a' bit you, or burnt you, if you 'adn't _opened_ it, I'll bet a quid to a tanner."

Whereon she flounced off without paying no fare. "Humph!" snorts the old gent, and forks over a shilling. Talk about 'onesty! Give the respectables charnce of a _safe_ bite, and ain't they just willing? 'Onesty's scarcer than millions, I reckon. You just leave a purse or a pencil-case 'andy For fares to lay 'old on, and see if there's much of a choice 'twixt poor Cabby and polished-up dandy.

But t'other evening, a 'igh-nosed old dowager tipped me bare fare, and away she was sailing When I twigged a smart seal-skin bag in 'er 'and as I _knew_ my last fare--who seemed toddly and ailing-- Had carried before, and it chinked as she shook. "Excuse _me_," I says, "but that bag, mum--I'll trouble you!" Lord, if you'd seen 'er flush up and go fluttery! 'Taint only snobs as'll dodge you and double you.

Nobs very often are spry on the nick. Klepto-something or other they call it in _their_ case. Old BILLY BOGER 'as told me that once 'e was landing a 'eavyish trunk up a staircase, And 'eard the young lady fare whisper 'er Ma, "Oh, _see_ wot I've found in the cab!"--"_'Ush_, my darling!" The old dutch garsps out. And old BILL did'nt get it--the bracelet--without lots o' sniffing and snarling.

Yah! They are dreadfully down on poor Cabbies who don't toe the mark in the matter o' pickings, But what with the Burlington bilks, and the toffs as you can't trust too fur when there's prospeck of nickings, And all the mean fakes that a cabby is fly to, in fares who're well-off and did ought to know better, The rank doesn't think much of hupper-class 'onesty, give you _my_ word. Now I'm off for a wetter!

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GOOD REASON FOR NOT QUARRELLING LAST WEEK.--"It was too hot for 'words'!"

Transcriber Notes:

Passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_.

Small caps were replaced with ALL CAPS.

Throughout the document, the oe ligature was replaced with "oe".

Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of the speakers. Those words were retained as-is.

The illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up paragraphs and so that they are next to the text they illustrate.

Errors in punctuation and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected unless otherwise noted.

On page 160, "calving heifers £12 12_s_ 6_d._" was replaced with "calving heifers £12 12_s._ 6_d._".

On page 160, "heviots, 38_s._ 9_d._ to 41_s._ 9d." was replaced with "heviots, 38_s._ 9_d._ to 41_s._ 9_d._".

On page 161, "cacoèthes" was replaced with "cacoethes".

On page 161, "Ulyssess" was replaced with "Ulysses".

On page 161, "oderous" was replaced with "odorous".

On page 162, the quotation mark after "a whisky-and-soda, says BILL, brutally." was moved to after "a whisky-and-soda,".

On page 165, "_Mr. P. s_ own prophet" was replaced with "_Mr. P.'s_ own