Chapter 1

FEBRUARY 15, 1890

* * * * *

UNTILED; OR, THE MODERN ASMODEUS.

"Très volontiers," repartit le démon. "Vous aimez les tableaux changeans: je veux vous contenter."

_Le Diable Boiteux._

XX.

Sweet odours, radiant colours, glittering light! How swift a change from the dusk sodden night Of London in mid-winter! _Titania_ here might revel as at home; Fair forms are floating soft as Paphian foam, Bright as an iceberg-splinter.

Dianas doubtless, yet their frost holds fire; The snowiest bosom covers soft desire, And these are snowy, verily. As blanched--and bare--as Himalaya's peaks, Light-vestured as a troop of dancing Greeks. Waltz-measures ripple merrily.

Merrily? Yes; the music throbs with mirth, Feet trip in time to it; yet what strange dearth Of glee midst all these graces! The quickening fire of spirit, passion, will, Seems scarce to move these dancing forms or thrill These irresponsive faces.

The Shadow smiled. "True, yet not true," he said. "Good Form demands that men should look half dead, And women semi-frozen. Yet Nature lives beneath these modish masks Somewhere, sometimes, with energy that tasks Caste's rigid rule to cozen.

"Pygmalion's prayer breathed life into the stone, But see yon graceful girl, with straitened zone And statuesque still bearing. You'd say in her the marble must invade The flesh, in so much loveliness arrayed, Such radiant raiment wearing.

"Whirled in the waltz's formal maze by one Who might be a broad-cloth'd automaton, For any show of pleasure, She moves with drooping lids, and lips apart, And scarce a flush to show that a young heart Throbs to the pulsing measure."

"Men meet to moon, and women whirl to wed, The cynic says. Is joy in life quite dead. Gladness in concourse banished From the parades of fashionable youth? Have maiden tenderness and manly truth From Vanity Fair quite vanished?"

"Soft!" sneered the Shadow. "Questionings like these Sound _gauche_ and gushing. Better far to freeze To the right social zero, Than stoop to zeal and frank display of zest, Notes of the vulgar glories that invest The housemaid-novel's hero.

"Nothing more useful than the surface-ice Of stiff stolidity. Vigour, aye, and vice, Therein find ready covert. Wickedness here may lurk, or even wit. Not to name happiness; but naught of it Is obvious and overt.

"How bored they look, the slim stiff-collared boys! Energy that is eager and enjoys They may anon make show of In some less honest haunt; here as in pain They creak and crawl, devoid of that _sans gêne_ That virtue seems sworn foe of.

"Languidly circumvolving, lounging lank, In scuffling circle or in mural rank, Of misery mechanic They look the wooden symbols; nought to show That even well-starched linen's sheeny snow Veils impulses volcanic.

"That straight-limb'd son of Anak circling there Much like a whirling semaphore, strange care His boyish forehead wrinkling? The season's catch! His sire, is great in Soap, His partner's mother yonder sits; with hope Her watchful eyes are twinkling.

"The twirling twain are silent. Silence sits Lord of the revel, incubus of wits Arch palsier of prattle Yet many a girl here mute's a chatterer sweet, And many a youth in circles less discrete Is an 'agreeable rattle.'

"Respectability's austere restraint Rules them relentlessly; smiles forced and faint And joyless facial spasms Their meetings and their mutterings attend. Jerky approximations quickly end In void unvocal chasms.

"Yet still they circle, and yet still they loll. A marionette wooing a wooden doll Would look more animated Than yonder pair, revolving interlaced, Exchanging commonplaces leaden-paced, Or repartees belated."

"Mammon by day and maundering at night Oh, Shade!" I cried, "can furnish scant delight, The Race for Wealth is rapid. How can the feverish rush find true relief In heartless intercourse, as bald as brief, Amusement vain as vapid?"

"Amusement? Intercourse? They scarce exist." The Shadow answered. "Some Boeotian mist Society blinds and muddles. True recreation in this joyless round? The sea's bright changefulness as soon were found In Pedlington's rain-puddles.

"The cliques and coteries know not how to mix. A barrier more impassable than Styx Is Philistine stupidity. Were mutual amusement meeting's aim, Mind _must_ move maidenhood inert and tame, Melt masculine rigidity.

"Concourse, not intercourse, is what you see: To mix, and sympathise, and to be free, Is the true sociality. These meet, like marbles mingled in a bag, And the net outcome, friend, is friction, fag, Boredom, and sheer banality.

"The strongest symptom of quick life crops out In watchful mutual mockery. Gibe and flout In low asides flow freely. Oh, bland elysium for the brave and fair, Whose pleasures are the snigger and the stare, Chill snub, and eye-glance steely!

"Prigdom's Philistia, though a polished State, Has not yet learned quite how to recreate. Gath in the ball-room gathers, Askelon haunts 'At homes,' but little joy Bring they to man or matron, girl or boy, To swells or City-fathers."

(_To be continued._)

* * * * *

AU REVOIR!

Mr. PUNCH _and_ Mr. J. L. TOOLE _discovered smoking a last cigar_.

_Mr. P._ And so, my dear JOHNNIE, you are leaving us at once?

_Mr. J. L. T._ Yes, Sir, but I hope soon to be back again. I am looking forward to the voyage as an excellent digestive to all the luncheons, dinners, and suppers I have been taking for the last five or six weeks.

_Mr. P._ I have no doubt they have been a little trying--eh, JOHNNIE?

_Mr. J. L. T._ And yet, as I have observed in the _Upper Crust_, "they were very welcome." But, Sir, how did I get through my oratory? Did you notice my speeches at the Garrick and the Savage? Which did you prefer?

_Mr. P._ I heard the first, and read a report of the second, and can conscientiously declare they were equally good.

_Mr. J. L. T._ I am glad to hear you say so, Sir. I confess I didn't think there was _much_ to choose between them. And now (_with deep emotion_), will you excuse my glove?

_Mr. P._ No; I won't say good-bye; for wherever you may roam, my dear JOHNNIE, you will have this consolation--you will find me there before you!

* * * * *

* * * * *

_A Song of a Strange Development._

Will you walk into my Congress? says the Emperor unto Labour; 'Tis the nicest little Congress; I'm inviting many a neighbour. The way into my Congress by this Rescript I prepare, And we shall have some curious things to show you--when you're there. Then won't you, won't you, little International Working-Man?

We've already done a little to improve poor Labour's lot, Shorten its hours, insure its life, and help to fill its pot. But the poorer and the weaker yet fall short of the reality Of "conformity to the principles of Chris-ti-an morality." Then won't you, &c.

'Tis one of the State's duties, friends, to regulate the time, The duration and the nature of your work,--a task sublime; And you'll find we'll do it better, if you only won't resist, Than that most obnoxious personage, the shouting Socialist. Then won't you, &c.

I'm an Emperor by profession, but I have my little plan For improving the position of the German Working-man. But the International Question stands a little in the way, So I've asked the Nations to convene--I only hope they may. Then won't you, &c.

And when they get together they will do--well, we shall see; But the Socialists shan't have _all_ their own way with Industry. _I_ recognise the justice of the Workmen's aspirations, And upon their wants and wishes I would start "negotiations." Then won't you, &c.

Oh, I know my plan will bring up all the fogies in full blast, And Coercion and Protection I see looking on aghast. But I'm game to turn deaf ear to them, if _you_ will only list, To that latest, strangest birth of time, the Imperial Socialist! Then won't you, &c.

* * * * *

HOW TO MAKE THE MOST OF IT.

_Hints from the Chancellor of the Exchequer's correspondence._

SIR,--If you wish to immortalise yourself as Chancellor of the Exchequer, now is your opportunity. You have a surplus, I believe, of eight or nine millions? This is about the figure required to provide the Members of the London County Council with a moderate-sized palace, not perhaps entirely suited to their exalted dignity, but, at least, sufficient to house them in something like proper and fitting style. A site should be secured on the Embankment, by clearing away Somerset House, and the intervening buildings, including the blocks of the Inner and Middle Temple, which could all be carted away and re-erected further down, say, at Millbank, and on the space thus secured a white marble structure could be reared with an adequately imposing façade facing the river, that would in some slight degree represent the majesty of the illustrious body destined to occupy it. I don't say that nine millions would be enough thoroughly to carry out the design I have in view, but your surplus might serve as a central fund to begin upon, to which Parliament, no doubt, would cheerfully add another five or six millions if required. Such an obvious use for your money, I feel, needs no further argument from yours encouragingly and suggestively,

A FULL BLOWN LONDON COUNTY COUNCILLOR.

SIR,--I have several near relatives in the Colonies, with whom I have, owing to the present exorbitant rates for postage, not communicated for many years. This fact has suggested to me that _the_ golden opportunity now offers itself to you of re-uniting family ties, re-opening closed correspondence, restoring natural affection in otherwise hardened breasts, and, in a word, consolidating the Empire, it may be, for countless ages yet unborn. Spend your surplus, Sir, in providing this country and all her dependencies with a _farthing postage_--mind, not a _penny_, but a FARTHING POSTAGE! I read somewhere that the actual cost to the Government for the transport of letters was at the rate of ten for a penny. Thus your four millions sunk in the enterprise ought to produce you an immediate profit, at least so I make it, of six millions a year. But, profit or no profit, think of the boon to thousands of Englishmen like myself, who could then stand a penny-worth of correspondence in the year, with children with whom now they are unable to communicate, owing to the cruel and crushing charge of fivepence for a single letter. Picture one who, though not close over money matters, and full of love for his offspring, must yet sign himself

A CIRCUMSPECT AND CAUTIOUS PARENT.

SIR,--Have you read Lord WOLSELEY's article in this month's _Harper_? He advises a higher rate of pay for the rank and file of the British Army? _Verbum sap._ You understand. It is clear what you must do with your surplus. Ensure TOMMY ATKINS six-and-six-pence a day, and you will have every Regiment in the Service thronged with real live Gentlemen. This is what is wanted (so I gather from Lord W.'s article) to make the British Army, if not the most costly, at least the most respectable in the world. Come, Sir, do not make it necessary that you should be reminded a second time of your plain and obvious duty by

A SANGUINE AND EXPECTANT PRIVATE.

SIR,--There can be no doubt in regard to the proper destination of those surplus millions, the fitting disposition of which, I am informed, is involving you in no little perplexity. They seem in a special manner to furnish the legitimate answer to the almost universal cry, now going forth, for "Free Education." Here then is your opportunity. And it is a magnificent one. Your surplus will enable a wise and paternal Government to give not merely education, free of cost, to every child in the three kingdoms, but will supply it with ample means to infuse the very highest culture attainable into the very dregs of the population. Spanish, Italian, German, Russian, French, Chinese, together with riding, dancing, painting in oil colours, hydrostatics, and the elements of Court etiquette, will, henceforth, comprise the curriculum of the veriest gutter-child.

Can you, Sir, contemplate such a brilliant, such a soul-stirring prospect unmoved? That you cannot, and will at once hand over your useful millions for the purpose of carrying into effect the above modest but magnificent scheme, is the firm belief of yours suggestively,

THE LATEST TEACHER OF THE YOUNG IDEA.

* * * * *

"IT SAYS 'ERE, AS YOUR OLD BOSS, COLONEL M'WHUSKEY, HAS BEEN TOOK ILL."--"AH! SO I 'ERD!"--"RUSSIAN EPIDEMIC?"--"NO,--SCOTCH."

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

"Bring me my Scotch Dictionary!" cried the Baron. "Alas, my Lord!" was the answer of the faithful servitor, "there is none such here." "I'fakins!" quoth the Baron, "then will I buckle to and read _A Window in Thrums_ without it, even though I break all my teeth and nigh choke myself, as indeed, I have well-nigh done in my gallant attempt to master the first two chapters." So I, the Baron, being convalescent and having a few hours to spare, lay me down and read, and read, and read, and stumbled over the Scotch words and phrases, until I hit on the plan of reading it aloud to two or three other convalescents; just to see how _they_ would like it. And as I read aloud, this book,--which on account of its apparent difficulty, and by reason of my education having been neglected, "lang syne," in respect to the Scotch language, an intimate knowledge of which I have not yet acquired "the noo,"--it gained my affection gradually, steadily, and increasingly. Though I could not have translated individual words and phrases, yet I instinctively understood them, and was delighted with the homely simplicity of the style, the keen observation, the shrewd wit, and the gentle pathos of _A Window in Thrums_. The BARON DE BOOK-WORMS is grateful to Mr. J. M. BARRIE; and when an opportunity is offered him, he is seriously thinking of re-reading some of the Scotchiest of Sir WALTER SCOTT'S Novels, and having a "Nicht or twa wi' ROBBIE BURNS."

I await the Reminiscences of Mr. MONTAGU WILLIAMS, Q.C. and P.M., with considerable interest.

Mr. KEITH FLEMING'S romance, _Can such Things be? or, the Weird of the Beresfords_,--no relation to Lord CHARLES of that ilk,--starts, and will make the reader start too, with a very creepy idea. The story would have been a genuine weird and eerie one but for the continual twaddling interruptions about "spookikal" research and metaphysical problems, which, however, the experienced skipper, who knows the chart, can easily avoid after the first two or three bumps, and even the inexperienced reader will be able, after an hour or two, to hop from point to point like a robin from twig to twig. But skipping and hopping is wearying, and the story is too long, and so we become familiar with the ghost, and we all know what the fatal consequence of familiarity is. The repetitions of the Spook's appearance are monotonous. Had _The Weird_ been condensed like milk in tins, or essenced like Liebig, and been presented to the public as a story in two numbers of _Blackwood_ (always such an appropriate title for a Magazine full of mysterious stories,--BLACK WOOD so like Black Forest) or _Macmillan_, or _Cornhill_ (where, somehow, a ghost-story always reads uncommonly well), this romance would have created a great sensation. As it is, it doesn't, at least not much. BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

* * * * *

MR. PUNCH'S MORAL MUSIC-HALL DRAMAS.

Our present Drama (No. VI.) represents an attempt to illustrate upon the Music-hall Stage the eternal truth that race _will_ tell in the long run, despite--but, on second thoughts, it does not _quite_ prove that, though it certainly shows the unerring accuracy of parental--at least, that is not exactly its tendency, either; and the fact is that _Mr. Punch_ is more than a little mixed himself as to the precise theory which it is designed to enforce. He hopes, however, that, as a realistic study of Patrician life and manners, it will possess charms for a democratic audience.

COMING OF AGE.

_A Grand Social Psychological Comedy-Drama, in One Act._

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

_The Earl of Burntalmond._ _The Countess of Burntalmond_ (_his wife_). _Robert Henry Viscount Bullsaye_ (_their son and heir_). _The Lady Rose Caramel_ (_niece to the Earl_). _Horehound._ } (_Travelling as "The Celebrated Combination_ _Mrs. Horehound._ } _Korffdropp Troupe," in their refined and_ _Coltsfoot Horehound._ } _elegant Drawing-room Entertainment._) _Tenantry._

SCENE--_The Great Quadrangle of Hardbake Castle; banners, mottoes, decorations, &c. On the steps, R., the Earl, supported by his wife, son, and niece, is discovered in the act of concluding a speech to six tenantry, who display all the enthusiasm that is reasonably to be expected at ninepence a night._

_The Earl (patting_ Lord BULLSAYE'S _shoulder)._ I might say more, Gentlemen, in praise of my dear son, Lord BULLSAYE, here--I might dwell on his extreme sweetness, his strongly marked character, the variety of his tastes, and the singular attraction he has for children of all ages--but I forbear. I will merely announce that on this day--the day he has selected for attaining his majority--he has gratified us all by plighting troth to his cousin, the Lady ROSE CARAMEL, with whose dulcet and clinging disposition he has always possessed the greatest natural affinity. [_Cheers._

_Lord Bullsaye_ (_aside to_ Lady R.). Ah, ROSE, would such happiness could last! But my heart misgives me strangely--why, I know not.

_Lady R._ Say not so, dear BULLSAYE--have you not just rendered me the happiest little Patrician in the whole peerage?

_Lord B._ 'Tis true--and yet, and yet--pooh, let me snatch the present hour! [_Snatches it._

_The Earl._ And now, let the Revels commence.

_Enter the_ Korffdropp Troupe, _who give their marvellous Entertainment, entitled, "The Three Surprise Packets;" after which--_

_Horehound._ This will conclude the first portion of our Entertainment, Lords, Ladies, and Gentlemen; and, while my wife and pardner retires to change her costoom for the Second Part, I should be glad of the hoppertoonity of a short pussonal hexplanation with the noble Herl on my right. [_Exit_ Mrs. HOREHOUND.

_The Earl_ (_graciously_). I will hear you, fellow! (_Aside._) Strange how familiar his features seem to me!

_Horeh._ The fact is, your Lordship's celebrating the coming of hage of the _wrong heir_. (_Sensation--i.e., the six tenantry shift from one leg to the other, and murmur feebly._) Oh, I can prove it. Twenty-one years ago--(_slow music_)--I was in your Lordship's service as gamekeeper, 'ead whip, and hextry waiter. My son and yours was born the selfsame day, and my hold woman was selected to hact as foster-mother to the youthful lord. Well--(_tells a long, and not entirely original, story; marvellous resemblance between infants, only distinguishable by green and magenta bows, &c., &c._) Soon after, your Lordship discharged me at a moment's notice----

_The Earl_ (_haughtily_). I did, upon discovering that you were in the habit of surreptitiously carrying off kitchen-stuff, concealed within your umbrella. But proceed with your narration.

_Horeh._ I swore to be avenged, and so--(_common form again; the shifted bows_)--consequently, as a moment's reflection will convince you, the young man on the steps, in the button-'ole and tall 'at, is my lawful son, while the real Viscount is--(_presenting_ COLTSFOOT, _who advances modestly on his hands_)--'ere! [_Renewed sensation._

_The Earl._ This is indeed a startling piece of intelligence. (_To_ Lord B.) And so, Sir, it appears that your whole life has been one consistent imposition--a gilded _lie_?

_Lord B._ Let my youth and inexperience at the time, Sir, plead as my best excuse!

_The E._ Nothing can excuse the fact that you--you, a low-born son of the people, have monopolised the training, the tenderness and education, which were the due of your Patrician foster-brother. (_To_ COLTSFOOT.) Approach, my injured, long-lost boy, and tell me how I may atone for these years of injustice and neglect!

_Coltsf._ Well, Guv'nor, if you could send out for a pot o' four arf, it 'ud be a _beginning_, like.

_The E._ You shall have every luxury that befits your rank, but first remove that incongruous garb.

_Colts_, (_to_ Lord B.). These 'ere togs belong to _you_ now, young feller, and I reckon exchange ain't no robbery.

_Lord B._ (_with emotion, to_ Countess). Mother, can you endure to behold your son in tights and spangles on the very day of his majority?

_Countess_ (_coldly_). On the contrary, it is my wish to see him attired as soon as possible, in a more appropriate costume.

_Lord B._ (_to_ Lady R.). ROSE, _you_, at least, have not changed? Tell me you will love me still--even on the precarious summit of an acrobat's pole!

_Lady Rose_ (_scornfully_). Really the presumptuous familiarity of the lower orders is perfectly appalling!

_The Earl_ (_to_ Countess, _as_ Lord B. _and_ COLTSFOOT _retire to exchange costumes_). At last, PAULINE, I understand why I could never feel towards BULLSAYE the affection of a parent. Often have I reproached myself for a coldness I could not overcome.

_Countess._ And I too! Nature was too strong for us. But, oh, the joy of recovering our son--of finding him so strong, so supple, so agile. Never yet has our line boasted an heir who can feed himself from a fork strapped on to his dexter heel!

_The E._ (_with emotion_). Our beloved, boneless boy!

[_Re-enter_ COLTSFOOT _in modern dress, and_ Lord B. _in tights_.

_Colts._ Don't I look slap-up--O.K. and no mistake? Oh, I _am_ 'aving a beano!

_All._ What easy gaiety, and unforced animation!

_The E._ My dear boy, let me present you to your _fiancée_. ROSE, my love, this is your _legitimate_ lover.

_Colts._ Oh, all right, _I've_ no objections--on'y there'll be ructions with the young woman in the tight-rope line as I've been keepin' comp'ny with--that's all!

_The E._ Your foster-brother will act as your substitute there. (_Proudly._) _My_ son must make no _mésalliance_!

_Rose_ (_timidly_). And, if it would give you any pleasure, I'm sure I could soon learn the tight-rope!

_Colts._ Not at _your_ time o' life. Miss, and besides, 'ang it, now I'm a lord, I can't have my wife doin' nothing low!

_The E._ Spoken like a true BURNTALMOND! And now let the revels re-commence. [_Re-enter_ Mrs. HOREHOUND.

_Horeh._ (_to_ Lord B.). Now then, stoopid, tumble, can't you--what are you 'ere _for_?

_Lord B._ (_to the_ Earl). Since it is your command, I obey, though it is ill tumbling with a heavy heart!

[_Turns head over heels laboriously._

_Colts._ Call that a somersault? 'Ere, 'old my 'at (_giving tall hat to_ Lady R.) _I'll_ show yer 'ow to do a turn.

[_Throws a triple somersault._

_All._ What condescension! How his aristocratic superiority is betrayed, even in competition with those to the manner born!

_Mrs. Horeh._ (_still in ignorance of the transformation_). Halt! I have kept silence till now--even from my husband, but the time has come when I _must_ speak. Think you that if he were indeed a lord, he could turn such somersaults as those? No--no. I will reveal all. (_Tells same old story--except that she herself from ambitious motives transposed the infants' bows._) Now, do with me what you will!

_Horeh._ Confusion, so my ill-judged action did but redress the wrong I designed to effect!

_The E._ (_annoyed_). This is a serious matter, reflecting as it does upon the legitimacy of my lately recovered son. What proof have you, woman, of your preposterous allegation?

_Mrs. H._ None, my lord,--but these--

[_Exhibits two faded bunches of ribbon._

_The E._ I cannot resist such overwhelming evidence, fight against it as I may.

_Lord B._ (_triumphantly_). And so--oh, Father, Mother, ROSE--dear, dear ROSE--I am no acrobat after all!

_The E._ (_sternly_). Would you were anything half so serviceable to the community, Sir! I have no superstitious reverence for rank, and am, I trust, sufficiently enlightened to discern worth and merit--even beneath the spangled vest of the humblest acrobat. Your foster-brother, brief as our acquaintance has been, has already endeared himself to all hearts, while you have borne a trifling reverse of fortune with sullen discontent and conspicuous incapacity. He has perfected himself in a lofty and distinguished profession during years spent by _you_, Sir, in idly cumbering the earth of Eton and Oxford. Shall I allow him to suffer by a purely accidental coincidence? Never! I owe him reparation, and it shall be paid to the uttermost penny. From this day, I adopt him as my eldest son, and the heir to my earldom, and all other real and personal effects. See, ROBERT HENRY, that you treat your foster-brother as your senior in future!

_Coltsf._ (_to_ Lord B). Way-oh, ole matey, I don't bear no malice, _I_ don't! Give us your dooks. [_Offering hand._

_The C._ Ah, BULLSAYE, try to be worthy of such generosity!

[Lord B. _grasps_ COLTSFOOT'S _hand in silence._

_Lady Rose._ And pray, understand that, whether Mr. COLTSFOOT be viscount or acrobat, it can make no difference whatever to the disinterested affection with which I have lately learnt to regard him.

[_Gives her hand to_ COLTSFOOT, _who squeezes it with ardour_.

_Coltsf._ (_pleasantly_). Well, Father, Mother, your noble Herlship and Lady, foster-brother BULLSAYE, and my pretty little sweetart 'ere, what do you all say to goin' inside and shunting a little garbage, and shifting a drop or so of lotion, eh?

_The E._ A most sensible suggestion, my boy. Let us make these ancient walls the scene of the blithest--ahem!--_beano_ they have ever yet beheld!

[_Cheers from Tenantry, as the_ Earl _leads the way into the Castle with_ Mrs. HOREHOUND, _followed by_ HOREHOUND _with the Countess and_ COLTSFOOT _with_ Lady ROSE, Lord BULLSAYE, _discomfited and abashed, entering last as Curtain falls_.]

* * * * *

KICKED!

(_By the Foot of Clara Groomley._)