Part 2

_The Dream._--I was seated opposite a lady, popular alike in the social and political world, whom I will designate as "Lady JAY." It was at a dinner-party, I _think_, though it might have been some other sort of entertainment, as there seemed to me to be, between Lady JAY and myself, the narrow width of a very long table, the ends of which were out of sight. This table was covered with a white cloth, not too clean; and there were no knives, forks, plates, or dishes. The room was inconveniently crowded by persons, inextricably mixed up, none of whom, however, incommoded us in the least, or, indeed, seemed to take the slightest notice of our presence. Somehow, this struck me as delicate conduct on _their_ part. Lady JAY was insisting that an Archimandrite could, or could not, do something or other officially. But, having more than once demonstrated to Lady JAY that this act, whatever it was, had no essential bearing on his clerical position, I continued to take very slight interest in the discussion; at least, I thought I did not, until, on Lady JAY suddenly becoming dreadfully in earnest, and most positive as to her being in the right, a Whip of the late Government, whose name I could not recall, but with whose lineaments I was perfectly familiar, interposed some conciliatory remarks. Then Mr. GLADSTONE, in the absence, unaccountably sudden, of both Lady JAY and the Government Whip, strode up and down on the hearth-rug, rubbing the back of his head with his left hand; whereupon I became aware that we were no longer wherever I had been until the appearance of Mr. GLADSTONE on the scene, but that we were in the library of the Prime Minister's official residence in Downing Street. I was seated in an odd sort of spider-legged arm-chair. Mr. GLADSTONE, bringing himself to a halt, turned round, and asked me, pointedly, "Whether I could play the piano." Being rather nettled at the tone of this inquiry, which seemed to imply a doubt of my proficiency as a pianist, I replied, somewhat testily, "Certainly; rather better than BEETHOVEN." Apparently satisfied with my answer, Mr. GLADSTONE said that "if I would oblige _him_ by not continuing my discussion with Lady JAY, in which I had been," he admitted, "absolutely right"--and here he made some facetious allusion as to ladies in general, of which I could not catch one word--"I should," he went on, "_have a seat in the Cabinet_." Oddly enough, this offer of his did not strike me as anything so very extraordinary; and I at once replied, "No, thank you, I'd rather not." But Mr. GLADSTONE would take no refusal; he said, "I have come to a decision on this subject," and then abruptly disappeared, through the wall. Whether it was a few minutes, or hours, afterwards, I could not for the life of me determine, being only conscious of some time having elapsed, before I found myself in an avenue on the Bayswater side of Hyde Park, walking up and down with Mr. JOHN MORLEY. Our conversation there was, I suppose, on the subject of Bulgaria, as this topic was continued by us in a kind of narrow box-room, with hat-pegs on the walls, on which bathing-towels were suspended; there were also trunks on the floor, and school-desks all about, on one of which Mr. MORLEY rested his elbow, swaying himself backwards and forwards like a pendulum, while always talking to me (I was seated on a box), and uttering platitudes about Bulgaria. I interrupted him by saying curtly, "It is no use talking to me like that, as _I am in the Cabinet_." Mr. JOHN MORLEY was staggered; but, recovering himself, he turned to HERBERT GARDNER (to whom I apologised for not remembering his title, while he, sitting on a smaller box, smilingly refused to enlighten me), and asked for corroboration of my statement. Whereupon I produced _an autograph letter of_ Mr. GLADSTONE'S _to me_, which entirely satisfied Mr. JOHN MORLEY, who, having handed it to HERBERT GARDNER, now candidly disclosed the schemes of the Government on the subject in question, putting forcibly before me "_how we are going to deal with Bulgaria_." Not a single word of what he said could I understand. Still, as a member of the Cabinet, I felt bound to give his explanations my gravest attention, my difficulty being not to expose my hopeless ignorance by any inappropriate question. It was with some new-born sense of importance that I found we were once again in Lady JAY'S company, this time in her drawing-room, and seated in a low chair, while JOHN MORLEY had brought with him the school-desk, on which he was still leaning his elbow, and still swaying and swinging like a pendulum. Lady JAY was all for resuming her discussion about the Archimandrite, refusing to credit the assurances given by Mr. MORLEY (balancing himself on his elbow) and myself as to my being in the Cabinet secrets. At this point rushed in someone, who was alternately HERBERT GARDNER and a PONSONBY, until he settled down into being HERBERT GARDNER for certain, who exclaimed excitedly, "I have just seen Mr. GLADSTONE! He says, '_It is absurd to suppose that his letter ever meant anything of the sort!_'" I quietly demanded the restoration of Mr. GLADSTONE'S letter to me; so did Mr. JOHN MORLEY. The protean representative of HERBERT GARDNER or PONSONBY, or anybody else, replied simply, "I haven't got it." This seemed to perfectly satisfy everybody, and no further questions being forthcoming, Lady JAY seized the opportunity to declare triumphantly, addressing me personally--JOHN MORLEY and the protean representative having disappeared--how she had "ascertained from a Cardinal that".... But what was the solution of the difficulty, or what was the original difficulty itself, I shall never know in this world, though I may do so in the World of Dreams, as here I awoke, and was so impressed with the reality of the events that had passed, and with the present necessity for recording them, that I at once entered them in my note-book, and here they are.

* * * * *

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

(_By "Hansom Jack."_)

No. III.--SPORT--THE OVAL--GOOD OLD W. G.

_Sportsman?_ You bet! Where's the Cabby as isn't? It's born in the bones of us, somehow, I fancy. 'Ighly improper, I s'pose; but life's dull, and it's livened by something a little bit _chancey_. Trying your luck's a temptation to most of us, own it or not. Wy, there's old BILLY BARLOW Got as excited at winning a pig in a raffle as though 'e 'ad broke Monty Carlow.

Wot did _'e_ want with a pig? But 'twas pickings. Fifty-to-one chance pulled off; that's wot done it. BILL swears 'is crock once run third in some 'Andicap. Wouldn't 'e like to 'ave owned it, _and_ run it? I 'ave drove cast-offs myself before now, broken-down old bits of blood. Ah! it's rummy How "cracks"--of all sorts--come down in this world. It's fur easier, p'r'aps, to be cocktail or dummy.

Still I like "form," and I cannot help backing it, when there's a chance, in a oss most pertikler. But all kinds o' sport cum excitin' to me, down from racin' to crioketin',--_I_'m not a stickler. Few things more nicer, when summer sets in, than a chance fare out Kennington way in the day-time. Bless yer. I've sit by that old Oval hoarding two hours by St. Mark's--ah! and more, during play-time.

Perched on my box with a heasy leg cock-over, _I_'m quite at 'ome in my private pavilion, (That's wot _I_ call it), a puffing my briar. Ah! cricket's the sport, after all, for the million. Slap over from 'Arleyford Road to the Gasworks, I sweep the whole field and pay nothink. Wy, bless yer, Young THORNTON once slogged a hoff-ball through my winder as cost me two bob,--and I stood it with pleasure.

Seen Grace spank up more than one of 'is centuries, done "while I waited," most kind, like boot-soleing, _I_ know the old "Surrey Ring," and its chaff; and I'm not a bad judge of a bit of good bowling. Lor! when the Mayblossom's out, and GRACE in, with young RICHARDSON pounding away at 'is wicket, JACK isn't eager for no blooming fare as will take 'im away from the pick o' the cricket.

Well I remember that blue-gilled old buffer as wanted "King's Cross, and look sharp!" quite stercato As TENOR TIM calls it. 'E weighed sixteen stun, and 'ad got a round face like a blooming tomato. "Engaged, Sir!" I arnswers, quite heasy and haffable. Lor! 'ow 'e fumed, did that angry old josser, Talked to me like a Dutch uncle, 'e did, or some Hemperor snubbin' a fourpenny dosser.

"Engaged, Sir, who by?"--"_Mister Grace_," I sez, artful, a-tipping the wink on the sly to the Peeler. "Hordered me sharp for six-thirty, hay, constable?" "Right," _sez_ the Slop. "Better try a four-wheeler. Afternoon's 'ot, and you're not a light weight, Sir!" Oh lor! 'ow old crumpet-face slanged me _and_ cricket. Swore 'e'd ask W. G. if 'twos true, and 'e _wanted to call 'im away from the wicket!_

"Oh, shut your face and eat snuffers!" I sez; for the bowling just then was a-bein' fair collared, And I 'ad missed two or three boundary 'its, all along o' this "fare," as 'e floundered and hollered. "_You_ ain't no sportsman!" That finished 'im proper, for 'e was a deacon, it seemed, out by Stockwell; And didn't know _Ladas_ from lucky _Sir Visto_, or SHREWSBURY'S "cut" from the "drive" of young BROCKWELL.

Well, I _do_ get cricket-cracks for my fares. How the crowd gathers round with their eyes all a-glisten! And 'ow big I feel; and lor! wot a temptation to look through the trap for a squint or a listen. I've often druv Bishops and Premiers and such; but I doubt if the whole 'Ouse o' Lords took together, Would match--say, TOM SAYERS, or STODDART or GRACE after one of their six hours' slambanging the leather.

_Sportsman?_ Oh yes, in my own 'umble way. But I ain't got the fever like JERRY-GO-NIMBLE! Poor JERRY! 'E _carn't_ resist no sort of gamble, from Derby or Oaks to the pea and the thimble. Mad on it, JERRY is. Bad when it's _that_ way, the mischief in fack I like sport and a flutter A bit within bounds; and if t'aint the _best_ biz,--well there, life, after all, isn't _all_ bread-and-butter!

* * * * *

"Hail, divinest Melancholy!" Decidedly the town of Penarth must adopt this Miltonian line as its motto. At a meeting of the Public Works Committee of the District Council, a letter was read in which a citizen complained bitterly of the frivolous name given to the street wherein he had his habitation. Gay Street! How too shocking! "The whole neighbourhood objected to it," and not even the assurance that the thoroughfare had merely been thus designated out of compliment to a noble lady of the locality, whose Christian name was "Gay," served to allay the righteous indignation. Away with the demoralizing title and the base insinuation borne with it! It was proposed that the street--being in the vicinity of All Saints--be known for the future as "Amen Corner," a name suitable to the unswerving sobriety and solemnity of the city. The proposal was put to the vote and carried with only a couple of dissentients. Is it possible that there are even two Penarthians in favour of gaiety?

* * * * *

A MATTER OF "GORSE."--Why will picnicers persist in being so careless? The _Liverpool Courier_ reports that a party of them succeeded in setting fire to and destroying some 200 acres of gorse on land belonging to Lord CHOLMONDELEY and Sir PHILIP GREY EGERTON, at Broxton Hills, in Cheshire. Not only was the furze completely burnt, but a "valuable fox cover" was also destroyed. Shades of _Jorrocks, M.F.H._, and his huntsman, _James Pigg_, the "canny" Novocastrian! Pity, that these reckless _al fresco_ diners--ready enough with their indignant resentment if turned off any domain--could not be apprehended, and summarily dealt with. Sportsmen will echo the words--adapted to the case in point--in _Handley Cross_, "Cut 'em down, and hang 'em up to dry!"

* * * * *

* * * * *

STRICTLY ACCORDING TO PRECEDENT.

(_Fragment of a Romance found between Fleet Street and the Kaatskill Mountains._)

RIP VAN WINKLE had slept (thanks to a hypnotic trance) for a considerable time. On opening his eyes he called for a paper. He eagerly glanced through the columns, and was absolutely baffled by the nature of their contents.

"What is the matter?" asked a bystander, who had watched his movements, not without amusement. "Can I help you?"

"Well, yes," replied the sleeper awakened. "When I commenced my slumbers all the world was talking about the Armenian question. Pray tell me, are the Powers going to coerce the Turks?"

"No one knows, and no one cares," was the prompt reply.

"And then there was the excitement about our relation with the French in Africa. Will the matter lead to international complications?"

"My good fellow, the matter does not attract the smallest attention."

"Once more, there was the boom in gold mines. Surely that is a topic of interest to some one?"

"No, I fancy not," came the answer. "Perhaps a few stockbrokers think about it--but I doubt it."

"And how about the reserve of ammunition? Have we got enough Cordite powder or have we not?"

"Really I don't know, and don't care," smilingly replied the person RIP had accosted.

"And how about the SHAHZADA?"

"I believe His Highness has left England, but the movements of the Afghan Prince remain nowadays unreported in the daily papers."

"You astonish me!" exclaimed RIP. "Does nothing interest you?"

"Well, not such out-of-date matters as those to which you have referred. My good friend, you are talking of things that happened ages--or to be quite accurate, about three weeks--ago. They belong to the past."

"Then what is now engaging your attention?"

"Why, one subject to the exclusion of all others--how to spend the recess!"

"Oh, indeed!" exclaimed RIP; and being a reasonable sort of person he again sought the good services of the hypnotist and went to sleep, hoping to return to consciousness when his countrymen had finished their holiday.

* * * * *

THE THREE CHOIRS.

_A Song of the 172nd musical meeting of the Three Choirs of Gloucester, Worcester and Hereford, which opens at Gloucester on Tuesday, Sept. 10._

AIR--"_The Three Ravens._"

There are Three Choirs--melodious three!-- _Down-a-down-a-down-hey-down!_ They are as fine as fine can be, _With a down!_-- They're going at Gloucester for to meet, By TUBAL CAIN, they're bad to beat. _With a down, derry, derry down!_

Gloucester--Worcester--Hereford! Three!!! _Down-a-down, &c._ Hear them perform the "Mass in C"! _With a down!_-- COWEN, SCHÜTZ, PARRY, LLOYD, MACFARREN! You bet your boots they won't be barren! _With a down, &c._

ALBANI strong, clear EDWARD LLOYD! _Down-a-down, &c._ BEN DAVIES--won't _he_ be enjoyed?-- _With a down!_-- And then there's clever W. HANN, A brick, as fiddler or as man; _With a down, &c._

Again, Miss ROSALIND ELLICOTT! _Down-a-down, &c._ That Bishop's daughter knows what's what, _With a down!_-- Then C. LEE WILLIAMS, Gloucester's pride, Conducts--himself and all beside. _With a down, &c._

They'll all go off, each Great Old Gun, _Down-a-down, &c._, HANDEL, BEETHOVEN, MENDELSSOHN,-- _With a down!_-- Nor, 'midst the old Titanic lot, Shall HENRY PURCELL be forgot, _With a down, &c._

Ah! well-a-day! London admires,-- _Down-a-down-a-down-hey-down_ This Festival of the Three Choirs. _With a down!_-- So heaven spare, music for to foster, Hereford, Worcester, "Good old Gloucester!" _With-a-down-derry-derry-derry-derry-down!_

* * * * *

NEWS FROM THE PROVINCES.--A gentleman who was trying to cut a joke hurt himself severely. He says he will never again attempt the experiment, and his family express themselves satisfied.

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

ANOTHER DIALOGUE OF THE NIGHT.

SCENE--_The Shades at Nightfall. Swiftian Interlocutors as before._

_Mr. Neverout_ (_reading_). "I cannot but with some pride, and much pleasure, congratulate with my dear country, which has outdone all the nations of Europe, in advancing the whole art of conversation to the greatest height it is capable of reaching."

_Colonel Alwit._ Ha! ha! ha! So wrote the Dean in the Eighteenth Century. I wonder what he would say now!

_Mr. Neverout_ (_continuing_). "The whole genius, humour, politeness, and eloquence of England are summed up in it."

_Miss Notable._ Oh la! Let anyone now take a matron down to dinner, or sit out a dance with a pretty girl!

_Lord Sparkish._ "The whole genius, humour, politeness, and eloquence of England" must have gone out with full-bottomed wigs and hooped petticoats.

_Lady Answerall._ I protest that a neat repartee, or a "smart turn of wit or humour," is the rarest of things nowadays.

_Lord Smart._ Save among cabmen and costers.

_Sir John Linger._ Faith, my Lord, your street Arabs and gutter-snipes have a smack of it. _They_ are the true NEVEROUTS and NOTABLES of the time.

_Miss Notable._ Sir JOHN, you do me proud!

_Mr. Neverout._ Out on this pestilent, levelling democracy, which brings even wit to its last refuge, the gutter!

_Colonel Alwit._ Better lie, like SHERIDAN, with Wit in the gutter, than perch, like H----Y, with Dulness on the Woolsack!

_Mr. Neverout._ Egad! Miss NOTABLE has wit at will.

_Miss Notable._ And Mr. NEVEROUT would be Echo, were he not Narcissus.

_Lady Smart._ Humph! We've had the "humour" and the "politeness," now for the eloquence.

_Mr. Neverout._

"CHLOE, of every coxcomb jealous, Admires how girls can talk with fellows."

_Miss Notable._

In dinner's blanks, in dancing's whirls, The fellows cannot talk with girls.

_Lord Sparkish._ Well capped, i' faith!

_Sir John Linger._ Will the New Woman talk, I wonder?

_Lady Answerall._ Nay; as she claims all Man's special privileges, from votes to cigarettes, from bicycles to latch-keys, she will hardly forego his most cherished and distinctive one--taciturnity!

_Mr. Neverout._ There was a travelling fellow awhile ago who hung himself up in a cage in the tropical forests, to study the language of--monkeys. Why did not he turn his attention to the equally scanty, inarticulate, and unintelligible utterance of that Society Simian, the haw-haw "Masher"--is not that the term for an up-to-date dandy, my Lord?--of the banquet and the ball-room?

_Lady Smart._ Ah! now the eloquence-tap is turned on!

_Mr. Neverout._ But not like the Mulberry One's, at the main, your Ladyship!

_Miss Notable._ Ah! if they had but companies to turn on talk at pleasure, as they do gas and water!

_Colonel Alwit._ As it is, it comes like fountains in the desert or Trafalgar Square--only in intermittent spurts and squirts, not like the water company's never-failing service, on the "constant supply" system.

_Sir John Linger._ Humph! An East-end fishmonger's comment might throw some light on that subject, Colonel.

_Lady Sparkish._ Well, Sir JOHN, we must admit that the growth of Science keeps pace with the spread of Stupidity. So doubtless the time will soon come when pocket-phonographs will obviate the necessity of individual vocal efforts, and leave men to give undivided attention to their dinners, matrons to their daughters' marriage-chances, maidens to the marriageable men, and marriageable men to their--moustaches!

_Mr. Neverout._ Unless, indeed, when we know all we shall be silent about everything.

_Lord Sparkish._ Quite likely, my dear NEVEROUT. Already talk--except in spurts and spasms--is confined mainly to childhood--first or second. Of the Seven Ages of Man--I say nought about Woman, ladies!--why, the first and last only are loquacious.

_Lady Smart._ In which of the two garrulous stages would you place Parliament, my Lord?

_Lord Sparkish._ The Commons in the former; the Lords in the latter.

_Colonel Alwit._ And the Hibernian Members?

_Lord Sparkish._ Oh, faith! an "iligant" blend of _both!!!_

_Lady Answerall._ Well, _I_ agree with sweet WILLIAM'S _Gratiano_, that--

"Silence is only commendable In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible."

_Mr. Neverout._ While your Ladyship speaks, speech will ever be silvern!

_Miss Notable._ And silence is not yet golden--in the Shades.

* * * * *

A BATTLE IN A SODA-WATER BOTTLE.

It appears that the enterprising commanders of the Royal Artillery stationed at Dover have recently been getting themselves disliked by the members of the National Alliance of Mineral Waters Associations (Limited), by producing gaseous waters at the canteen under their control, and offering them for sale to their comrades in garrison. According to a story laid before the Secretary of State for War, the representatives of the scientific branch of the army in question have had dealings with the gallant West Surrey and the equally gallant West Riding, much to the disgust of the trading producers of non-alcoholic compounds. The 3rd Battalion of the King's Own Rifle Corps (late 60th) are also at Dover, but there is no evidence to show that these warriors have preferred "R. A. aërateds" to brands as yet better known to the consumers of effervescing drinks. According to the _Daily Telegraph_, this labour, savouring more of peace than of war, enabled the controllers of the cannon to contribute some £40 in prizes to the garrison sports held at Dover on Saturday last. Whether the financial game was worth the athletic candle is a matter that must be decided by military experts qualified to weigh the respective advantages of burning "villainous saltpetre" and preparing that exhilarating liquid known amongst civilians as "fizzle." Admittedly, lemonade and its companion "ginger pop" when they scintillate are grateful drinks, but it would scarcely be advisable if through the, no doubt, well intentioned efforts of those concerned, the Royal Artillery gained an equally appropriate but less impressive designation. It would indeed be a sad thing if it ever became necessary for some General to have to sing out, "Here, you Sir, in command of those Royal Ginger Popgunners, limber up your soda-water manufacturing apparatus and retire at the gallop to the canteen in the rear!" Such a direction, if delivered in the piping time of peace would sound incongruous, and might predict disaster if uttered in the hideous hour of war.

* * * * * THE CRICKET THREE.