Chapter 3

ESSEX. F. L. Fane c. Hendren b. Kidd 57 Russell run out 51 Major Turner b. J. W. Hearne 1"

Probably the Major got his step during lunch; and it was no doubt richly deserved, though not on account of the score he had made in the morning as a Captain.

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"John Charles Edmund Carson were the names which Lord Gillford, the infant heir of Lord and Lady Clanwilliam, received yesterday afternoon."

_Daily Mail._

If only this were a misprint for John Charles Redmond Carson.

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"The anniversary of the Cattle of the Boyne was celebrated with unusual enthusiasm throughout Canada."

_"Times" Toronto Correspondent._

These were the original Irish bulls, we suppose.

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"Plant strawberry runners with grouse on Aug. 12th."--_R.H.S. Gardener's Diary._

"Plant daffodils between grouse and partridges."--_R.H.S. Gardener's Diary._

The daffodils should make good cover, but the runners will stand no chance against the Cockney sportsman.

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Illustration: THE OLD, OLD PROBLEM.

IS THE BATSMAN OUT OR NOT?

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EXERCISE 1.

I must confess that at one time I had little regard for collectors of cigarette cards; it seemed a feeble pursuit, though perhaps I should add I am of a somewhat intellectual nature.

Some little time ago, however, I happened to glance at one of these cards and was surprised to see a picture of a gentleman attired in white flannels and a vest of white, decorated with red embroidery. He was grasping a towel in both hands and appeared to have two or three sets of arms. The label said, "Scarf or Towel Exercises 4." A perusal of the instructions on the back of the card made everything clear.

Ten minutes later I entered the shop of an athletic outfitter. Unfortunately he had no white vests with red edges: I had to purchase one with blue. A scarf or towel I could find at home.

Then I entered a tobacconist's.

Four days later I had collected Scarf or Towel Exercises 2 and 3.

"We can," I said, "now make a start." As a matter of fact it was not altogether a foolish proceeding. Deep thinkers are apt to overlook the need for physical culture. This error I decided to remedy.

Every morning I (1) stood in position illustrated, (2) raised arms above head in manner indicated by the instructions, (3) straightened right arm and lowered right hand so that towel (_still taut_) sloped to right, (4) returned to Position 1. I then changed towel for scarf (my own idea) and continued with Exercises 3 and 4.

I was very happy; my only worry was the absence of Scarf or Towel Exercises 1.

Every morning I called at the tobacconist's and purchased packets of cigarettes, eagerly searching them for the missing card. Every afternoon I called again.

For a week I bore my disappointment bravely; then I became cynical.

"Perhaps," I said, "there is no Exercise 1. It may be a joke on the part of the makers."

My consumption of cigarettes increased. Packet followed packet with extraordinary rapidity, and still no Exercise 1.

I began to get worried. "Is it safe," I asked myself, "to do 2, 3 and 4 without 1? The omission may have a serious effect on 2, 3 and 4."

Then I returned to the attack with renewed vigour. In a week I got through twenty tens--with no result.

Disappointed and weary I was walking to the office one morning when suddenly I had an attack of giddiness. By the end of the day I was beginning to wonder if I was very ill. I felt it. Usually the clearest of thinkers, I was dizzy and dazed.

The evening saw the arrival of my doctor, and a thorough examination followed, at the end of which he shook his head gravely.

"'M," he murmured. "Ah."

"Tell me," I said with extraordinary calmness--"tell me the worst. Brain fever, I suppose?"

"Oh, dear no," he replied. "What I'm worrying about is the heart. It's in a bad state--a really bad state. Heaven knows how many cigarettes you've been consuming lately. You'll have to stop it altogether."

I looked at him blankly; then, with a bitter laugh, I (1) stood in position illustrated, (2) raised arms above head in manner indicated by the instructions, (3) straightened right arm and lowered right hand so that handkerchief (_still taut_) sloped to right, and (4) returned to sofa.

* * * * *

The Latest Style in Strikes.

"Engineers and firemen on the western railways of the United States have threatened to strike unless their demands for increased wages and other reforms are not granted."

_The Times._

They seem very hard to please.

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Illustration: Mr. H. B. IRVING (_Sir Hubert Lisle_).

"Pomfret will fall in another two seconds if I don't ride over and raise the siege. Still, my first duty is to Mr. STEPHEN PHILLIPS, and he wants me for a few dialogues and a brace of soliloquies before I start."

* * * * * AT THE PLAY.

"THE SIN OF DAVID."

This is not, like the plays in which JOSEPH has recently figured, an adaptation from the Hebrew. Mr. STEPHEN PHILLIPS has given a seventeenth-century (A.D.) setting to the BATHSHEBA motive, transplanting it from the polygamous East into the England of one-man-one-wife. His object, no doubt, was to emphasize one aspect of his borrowed theme, which is further enforced by his choice of _milieu_--the camp of the Puritans.

Lest this fairly obvious note of irony should escape us, Mr. PHILLIPS accentuates it at the start by making his DAVID (_Sir Hubert Lisle_, Commander of the Parliamentary Forces in the fenland) condemn a young officer to be shot for a "carnal" offence. The delinquent's answer--

"Thou who so lightly dealest death to me Be thou then very sure of thine own soul;"

and _Lisle's_ prayer--

"And judge me, Thou that sittest in Thy Heaven, As I have shown no mercy, show me none!... If ever a woman's beauty shall ensnare My soul into such sin as he hath sinned"--

these passages, even if the title of the play had not prepared us, afford fair warning of the way in which things have got to go. In fact it is all very simple and straightforward, and (on the constructive side) Hellenic. Perhaps indeed the treatment is a little too direct, and the tragedy moves too quickly to its consummation (thirty or forty minutes suffice for the reading of it). It might serve its publisher (of the Bodley Head) as one of a series to be entitled: "Half-hours with the Best Sinners."

As a poem _The Sin of David_ cannot compare for beauty with _Paolo and Francesca_, though it contains isolated lines which recall Mr. PHILLIPS'S earliest drama, such as the plea of _Joyce_, the condemned officer--

"Her face was close to me, and dimmed the world."

or _Lisle's_--

"Thou hast unlocked the loveliness of earth."

But then, of course, the exotic manner would here have been an impropriety. This is not Rimini; it is the English Fenland; and all the characters, with the exception of _Miriam Mardyke_ (the BATHSHEBA of the piece), who was bred in France and had its sun in her blood, were of the Puritan pattern that does not accommodate itself very easily to the language of passion.

But all this we knew ten years ago, when _The Sin of David_ was first published; and the only new interest was the question of its adaptability to the theatre. Poetic drama seldom gains much by presentation on the stage, unless it is full of action; and there is little action in this play except of the inward kind. In almost the only case where quick movement is here demanded one becomes conscious of the intrusion of words. When he knows that the relief of Pomfret depends upon his instant action, _Lisle_ still finds time for conversations with his servant, with _Miriam_ and with the doctor, and for a couple of well-sustained soliloquies.

Certain lines, again, whose literary flavour, when read, makes us overlook their inherent improbability in the mouth of the character that utters them, take on, when spoken, an air of artifice. Such are the lines in which _Miriam_ describes her old sister-in-law, to her face, as

"living without sin And reputably rusting to the grave."

And there is always the danger that actors will be content with a rather slurred and perfunctory recitation of lines that have no bearing on the action but are just inserted for joy as a rhetorical embroidery.

It may be a trivial criticism, but I think the play suffered a little from the appearance of the love-child whose death was to be the punishment for _Lisle's_ sin in sending _Mardyke_ to his death in a forlorn hope. The instructions in my book are contradictory. The time of Act III. is described as "five years later," and we are then told that "four years are supposed to have elapsed since Act II." Anyhow, the boy should be only three or four years old. Actually he is a girl (the stage must have it so) of some ten summers. You may say that all those years during which the lovers' passion has been purified by worship of the child's innocence, and "God has not said a word," add a dramatic force to the blow when at last it falls. But for myself--a mere matter of taste--I feel that the vengeance of Heaven has been nursed too long.

As for the interpretation, I must honestly compliment Mr. IRVING and Miss MIRIAM LEWES on their performance. It is true that I should never have mistaken Mr. IRVING for a fighting Roundhead, and he might well have sacrificed something of his personality for the sake of illusion. It is true, too, that he was more concerned about dramatic than poetic effects; yet, within the limitations of a very marked individuality, he did justice to the author by a performance that was most sincere and persuasive. Miss LEWES played her more difficult part with great charm and delicacy. Her manner, even under stress of passionate feeling, still kept the right restraint that _Miriam_ had learnt from her environment; but always we were made to feel that under the prim Puritan gown was a body that had been "born in the sun's lap," and held the warmth of the vinelands in its veins. Perhaps it was from France, too, that _Miriam_ had caught her strange habit of pronouncing "my" (a perfectly good word) as "me."

There is little so worth seeing on the stage to-day as _The Sin of David_, and I very sincerely hope that both the play and its interpreters may win the wide appreciation they have earned.

O. S.

* * * * *

It is unfortunate that Mr. ARTHUR ECKERLEY'S ingenious little farce, _A Collection will be made_, was only introduced into the bill at the Garrick two days before the withdrawal of the _Duke of Killicrankie_, and that, like the melancholy _Jaques_, it has had to share the ducal exile. I look forward to its early reappearance under happier auspices, and with Mr. GUY NEWALL again in the leading part.

* * * * *

"The father of a young lady, aged 15--a typical 'FLAPPER'--with all the self-assurance of a woman of 30, would be grateful for the recommendation of a seminary (not a convent) where she might be placed."--_Times._

"Coaching required for Cambridge Little Girl."--_Times._

Is it the same little girl?

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Illustration: A PROPOSAL FOR THE PURCHASE OF DONKEYS FOR PRACTISING AMMUNITION-SUPPLY IN THE FIELD HAS BEEN APPROVED BY THE WAR OFFICE.

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RETROSPECTIVE.

[_The armbone of a prehistoric lion has been discovered in Fleet Street during the excavations for the new offices of "The Daily Chronicle." Remains of other prehistoric animals were found some years ago near the same spot._]

READER, when last you went down Fleet (Wait half-a-second. Thank you.) Street, And gazed upon it from your seat, Perched on a motor-bus, Did you, I wonder, guess that there, In ages long ago, the bear Contended for the choicest lair With the rhinoceros?

Where now the expectant taxis prowl, And growlers, still surviving, growl, And agonised pedestrians howl, Seeing the traffic skid, There lions roamed the swampy glade, There the superb okapi brayed, And many a mighty mammoth made Whatever noise it did.

It pleases me to pause and think That where to-day flows printing-ink All sorts of beasts came down to drink Clear waters from a spring. I like to reconstruct the scene; I feel existence must have been, Before the rotary machine, A more delightful thing.

I like to think how, westward bound, Tigers pursued their prey and found The Strand a happy hunting ground, Seeking tit-bits by night. Reader, will you come there with me When London lies asleep? Maybe Their phantoms still prowl stealthily Down by the Aldwych site.

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SOCIETY NOTES.

Lady Diana Dingo was in the Park yesterday, walking with Lancelot, her new ant-eater, and the latter, who has happily recovered from his severe attack of measles, is now quite tame, and was wearing bronzed toe-nails and a large blue ribbon under the left ear.

The Countess of Torquay and her sister, Mrs. Pygmalion Popinjay, were at the Earl's Court Exhibition on Wednesday. The Countess's crested toucan, Willy, was much admired.

The Ladies' Park Pet race at Ranelham next Friday is expected to prove an exciting event, especially as Stella, Lady Killaloo, has entered her large crocodile, Horace--called after her late husband--who is known to prove rather fractious at times.

Mrs. Halliday Hare is in deep mourning for her bandicoot, Maud Eliza, who was unfortunately set upon and eaten last week by the Hon. Mrs. Joram's young jaguar during an afternoon call at the house of a mutual friend of their mistresses. Mrs. Hare is leaving town at once, and her house will be closed until late in the autumn.

The iguana worn by Miss Bay Buskin in the second Act of _The Belle of Bow Street_ is a delightful little creature, and accompanies his mistress everywhere. While on the subject of the theatre, we are glad to learn that the cages now being erected behind the stage at Galy's Theatre will soon be ready, when there should be no further cause for complaint about the rapacity of some of the larger carnivora owned by certain ladies of the chorus.

The recent fashion of having one's pet emu coloured to match one's frock is dying out, and armadilloes with gilded trotters are becoming the vogue.

* * * * *

COMPULSION.

"Very well," said the lady of the house, "don't let's do it. Nobody can force us to go to the seaside if we don't want to."

"It's too late," I said, "to begin to agree with me now."

"It's never too late to realise how reasonable you are."

"Yes, it is. The agreement is signed; half the rent has been paid; Sandstone House has got us by the legs, and, whether we like it or not, we've got to go there next week."

"We might try the effect of a death-bed repentance."

"No," I said, "we're dead already. We died when the blessed agreement was signed."

"Well, then, let's write and say our aunt from British Columbia is about to arrive here unexpectedly on a visit to us, and that sand and seaweed and prawns and star-fish are simply death to her. We can wind up with a strong appeal to the landlord's better nature. No true landlord can wish to be responsible for the death of anybody's British Columbian aunt."

"You're quite wrong," I said. "Landlords just revel in that kind of thing. Besides, he will not believe in our aunt. He will say that she is too thin."

"But the aunt I'm thinking of is stout and wheezy. She is a widow; her name is Aunt Wilhelmina; except ourselves there's nobody in the world left for her to cling to. No marine landlord can dare to separate us from Aunt Wilhelmina."

"It's no good," I said. "I'll admit that your Aunt Wilhelmina----"

"She's only mine by marriage, you know; but I love her like a daughter."

"I admit," I continued, "that Aunt-by-marriage Wilhelmina may some day be useful to us. We will put her by for another occasion. But she can't help us now."

"Well, go ahead yourself and suggest something, then."

"I could suggest a thousand things. Suppose we just pay the rest of the rent and don't go."

"The man," she said with conviction, "is mad."

"I thought you'd say that, and I know you'd say the same about any other suggestion of mine, so I shan't make any more."

"You mustn't be sulky," she said.

"I never am. I'm reasonable, but, as usual, you'll realise it too late. Besides," I added, "it's you who've brought us into this fix."

"I?" she said with an air of wonder. "How can I have done that?"

"I'll tell you," I said firmly, for I saw that my chance had come. "For weeks and weeks past you have been engaged in shutting up avenues and closing loop-holes. Wherever there was the tiniest way of escape from the seaside, there you were with your walls and your fences, until at last you'd got me safely penned in."

"You didn't struggle much, did you?"

"No, I was like the man in _The Pit and the Pendulum_, and you were--whoever it was that made the walls close in on him."

"I refuse," she said, "to be called a Spanish Inquisition."

"You may refuse as much as you like, but that's the sort of thing you've been. How you worked on my domestic affections and my household pride! When Helen forgot to go to her music-lesson you said the poor child was evidently run down and wanted a breath of sea-air. When Rosie lost her German exercise-book, and when Peggy fell off her bicycle, you worked both these accidents round into an imperative demand for salt water. When John was bitten by a gnat you said the spot was bilious and things would never be right with him until he got into a more bracing climate; and when Bates tripped up in the pantry and broke a week's income in plates and dishes you said he needed tone and would get it at the sea. Seaside, seaside, seaside! I couldn't get away from it."

"Oh, but you haven't been there yet, you know. You're shouting before you're hurt."

"No," I said, "I am not--I mean I am hurt, but I'm not shouting. I'm just whispering a few salutary truths."

"And there's another thing," she said; "it must be terrible for you to know what a designing person your wife is."

"Madam," I said, "my wife is as heaven made her. I will not permit her to be abused. She has good impulses. She means well. Her plain sewing is quite excellent."

"Spare me," she said, "oh spare me. I will never go to the sea again."

"But you _shall_ go to the sea," I said. "Everything is settled. The agreement is signed; the tickets are all but taken. John and Peggy are panting for pails and spades. Do you think I want to stand in the way of their innocent pleasures? We will all try for shrimps while you sit on a heap of sand and tell us not to get too wet, or that it's time for tea, and have I forgotten the thermos-flask again."

"Horatio," she said, "I can see you paddling in my mind's eye."

"But tell me," I said, "when do we start."

"We start on Tuesday. The whole lot of us together, you know, servants and all. Won't that be fun?"

"Ye--es," I said, "it will--I mean it would if I could go with you, but unfortunately----"

"_What!_" she said, "you mean to desert us?"

"No, no, I can never desert you, but I've got two solemn engagements on Tuesday--meetings in the City."

"Then I'm to take the whole party, am I?"

"Yes, dear," I said. "And I'll join you next day."

"You've won," she said.

* * * * *

KITTY ADARE.

Sweet as a wild-rose was Kitty Adare, Blithe as a laverock and shy as a hare; Mid all the grand ladies of all the grand cities You'd not find the face half so pretty as Kitty's; "'Tis the fine morning this, Kit," says I; she says, "It is," The day she went walking to get to the Fair.

She was bred to give trouble, was Kitty Adare, For she had my heart caught like a bird in a snare; O, her laugh was the ripple of quick-running water, And--the seventh-born child of a seventh-born daughter-- She wore the green shoes that the fairies had brought her To help her go dancing that day at the Fair.

She'd the foot of a princess, had Kitty Adare, And the road fell behind her like peel off a pear; She was into the town with the lads and the lassies, And the shouting of showmen and braying of asses, And on to the green where the best of the grass is, With the sun shining bright on the fun of the Fair!

She was light as a feather, was Kitty Adare, And she danced like a flame in a current of air; O, look at her now--she retreating, advancing, And stepping and stopping, and gliding and glancing! There wasn't a one was her marrow at dancing Of all the young maidens who danced at the Fair.

O Kitty, O Kitty, O Kitty Adare, Till the music was beaten you danced to it there; And the fiddler, poor fellow, the way that he was in, Him sweating for six and his bow wanting rosin, He was put past the fiddling a month--all because in A pair of green shoes Kitty danced at the Fair!

* * * * *

Illustration: _Cheerful Householder (to burglar)._ "BY THE WAY, WHEN YOU GO DOWNSTAIRS YOU MIGHT LET THE CAT IN; SHE'S BEEN SPOILING MY SLEEP."

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

(_By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks._)

If memory serves me, the publishers of _World's End_ (HURST AND BLACKETT) described its theme as one of unusual delicacy, or words to that effect. I should like to reassure them. The particular kind of marriage of convenience which it concerns (marriage for the convenience of the wronged heroine, by which the virtuous hero gives his name to the child of the villain) may be, indeed is, a delicate matter, but--in fiction at least--by no manner of means unusual. Nor can I see that its present treatment by AMÉLIE RIVES (Princess TROUBETZKOY) lends it any degree of novelty. No, let me be just; perhaps _Richard Bryce_, the wicked betrayer, does strike a somewhat new note, at least in his beginnings. _Richard_ was the product of art superimposed upon dollars. He was so cultured that the humanity in him had dwindled to a negligible quantity; and thus, when poor _Phoebe_ wanted him to "do the right thing by her," he sent her instead some charmingly modern French verse--which she could not understand--and finally took ship for Europe in mingled alarm and boredom. You will have gathered that the scene is laid in America. Perhaps this explains the hero. _Owen Randolph_ was one of the strong and silent. He was so silent that, though he knew perfectly well all that had happened, he married _Phoebe_, and allowed that unhappy lady to suffer chapters of agonized apprehension as to his attitude, when half-a-dozen words would have set her at ease on the subject. He was, moreover, so strong that, when eventually the theme of their relations with _Phoebe_ did crop up between himself and _Richard_, the latter spent some months in hospital as a consequence. However, he recovered, and things were thus able to reach the kind of ending which was expected of them. There are parts of _World's End_ that are worthy of a better whole, but that is the best I can say for it.

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