Chapter 2

The Dull Roysterer, or, as he is termed by the slangiest of his intimates, the "Bluff Boozer," is ordinarily the son of a wealthy, but injudicious father, who, having sent him to a good public school, furnished him with an income that would keep a curate in luxury. He developes an early inclination for check trousers, and the pleasures of the table. Appalled by the difficulties of English spelling, he seeks comfort in Scotch whiskey, and atones for a profound distaste for the tongues of ancient Greece and Rome by cultivating an appreciative palate for the vintages of Modern France. His burly frame, and a certain brute courage, gain for him a place in the School Football team, and a considerable amount of popularity, which he increases by the lavish waste of his excessive allowance. He has a fine contempt, which he never fails to express, for those boys who attempt to cultivate their minds by the reading of books, and, naturally, does not hesitate to degrade his own by the immoderate absorption of strong drinks.

Having, however, been discovered in a state of intoxication, he leaves school hurriedly and betakes himself to an Army-crammer's where discipline is lax and dissipation easy. Here he keeps half-a-dozen fox-terriers, and busies himself about the destruction of domestic cats. Yet, by dint of much forcing on the part of his Coach, he succeeds in passing into Sandhurst, and eventually obtains a commission in a Cavalry Regiment. During this stage of his career he frequents race-courses and worships earnestly at the shrine of Bacchus. He entangles himself with the wife of a brother officer, and, after figuring as the co-respondent in an undefended case, marries her. In the meantime he sends in his papers, and retires from the Army. Shortly afterwards he enlists in the ranks of those who seek pleasure in the night-resorts of the town. He soon becomes the boon companion of shady sporting men, latter-day coachmen, pink and paragraphic journalists, and middle-aged ladies, who, having once been, or been once, on the stage, still affect the skittish manners of a ballet-dancer. He is a man of short speech, but his humour is as broad as his drinks are long. He affects a rowdy geniality and a swaggering gait, by which he seeks to overawe the inoffensive. Though he has but a small stock of intelligence, he passes for a wit amongst his associates by dint of perpetually repeating an inane catch-word. With this, and a stamp of the foot, he will greet a friend who may meet him before lunch. Amongst his intimates such a welcome is held to be intensely humorous. He scatters the same sort of stamp and the identical remark broadcast over the loungers who congregate in front of HATCHETT's; by these signs and tokens he announces his presence at a Sporting Restaurant, and to the same accompaniment he sups at the Camellia, or looks on, in a heavy, sodden sort of way, while others dance, at the ball of a _demi-mondaine_.

Yet his general ignorance leads him into perpetual pitfalls, and makes him the butt of those of his associates who are cleverer than himself. Having on a certain occasion been addressed as Falstaff, in delicate allusion to his size and capacity for drink, he is easily persuaded that the original owner of this name was celebrated in history for his grace and sobriety. He takes much pride in recounting the incident ever afterwards.

Though the Roysterer is generally fuddled, he is rarely glorious. Having once driven a tandem, he is credited with a complete knowledge of horses, which, however, he invariably fails to turn to any profitable account. He begins his day with whiskey cock-tails, continues it with a series of brandy-and-sodas, followed by unlimited magnums of _brut_ Champagne, and concludes it with more Champagne, a liberal allowance of liqueur brandies, and two or three tumblers of whiskey-and-seltzer to round off the night. As the hours advance, his face assumes a ruddier glow. With the progress of years, being compelled to conceal the increasing girth of his lower chest by the constant inflation of his upper, he wears frock-coats. The point which is lacking in his conversation is conspicuous in his boots, whilst his collars possess an elevation entirely denied to his manners.

He suffers from no restraint in consequence of his marriage. He is adored by a certain class of burlesque actresses. He flatters them by adoring himself. He owns a small house in Belgravia, but he frequently lives elsewhere. No pigeon-shooting matches, and few poker parties, amongst a certain set, are complete without him. Having benefited only to a limited extent under the will of his father, he is not generally reputed to be wealthy, but he is always extravagant. Yet he manages to steer clear of the painful consequences of writs with some astuteness. In middle-age he becomes obese, and cannot go the pace as formerly. His friends therefore abandon him, and he dies before he is fifty, in reduced circumstances, of an enlarged liver.

* * * * *

"JOHNNYKIN AND THE GOBLINGS."

Two hundred and fifty Goblings in the Grand Banquet room of the Hotel Métropole assembled, as all the world knows by this time, to bid "Farewell, but not good-bye," as CLEMENT SCOTT's admirable verses have it, to JOHNNYKIN; that is, to Mr. J. L. TOOLE, usually and popularly spoken of as "JOHNNIE TOOLE," and generally endeared to his private friends as, simply, "JOHNNIE." Quite the best specimen of a "JOHNNIE," among all the "Johnnies" of the present time. _Mr. Punch_, for the first time in his life, permitted his merry men, The Knights of His Own Round Table, to convert their usual Wednesday dinner into a "movable feast," and to transfer it to the day beforehand, in order to do honour to the unique occasion, and the exceptional guest of the evening. No wonder there were two hundred and fifty acceptances to the bill of fare, and two hundred and fifty more ready to sign, seeing that the invitations came in effect from the President, the Solicitor-General, who could not solicit in vain.

Mr. FRANK LOCKWOOD, Q.C., M.P., excelled himself in proposing the toast of "The Drama." He contemned the ancient Greek Drama, but was of opinion--Counsel's opinion--or, as he was speaking of the Romans, "Consul's opinion"--that there was "more money in the Latin Drama." _Mr. Punch_, regretted he was not at his learned friend's elbow to suggest, that an apt illustration of the truth of his remark might be found in the success of AUGUSTUS DRURIOLANUS, IMPERATOR.

Mr. HENRY IRVING proved, by his perfect recital of CLEMENT SCOTT's verses, how thoroughly "by heart" he had got them. HENRY's "heart is" _not_ "dead" when JOHNNIE is concerned. Sir EDWARD CLARKE, as we learnt from the speeches made by himself, Mr. IRVING, and Mr. TOOLE, seems to have been at school with all the leading Actors; and it was a miracle that he escaped the attractions of the sock and buskin. Pity that the song, "When we were boys, Merry merry boys, When we were boys together," had not been arranged as a trio for them. JOHNNIE was in his best form; very detached, casual, and uncommonly funny. Lord ROSEBERY apologised by letter for not being able to be in Scotland and London at the same time; and the Wicked Abbé BANCROFT in replying to the toast of the Drama, pathetically represented his hard case of being called upon to make an after-dinner speech, when he hadn't had any dinner. The Actor's lot is evidently, not always a happy one. He wanted a "feeding-part" and didn't get it. The dinner was excellent, and the waiting of the waiters was, as far as I could ascertain, exceptionally good. Certainly the Métropole, or the New "Holland" House,--as it might be termed, after its manager,--holds first rank for this sort of business. We present Mr. HOLLAND, the Métropole Caterer, with this suggestion:--

_The Only Condiment for a Farewell Banquet_--"Sauce Ta Ta!"

* * * * *

AVENUE THEATRE.--ALEXANDER the Growing, not yet the Great, finds that for some weeks to come there will be no necessity to doctor his Bill. He will be wise, however, not to reject any proffered assistance, as, from his present success, it is evident he cannot get on un-Aidé-d.

* * * * *

"OH, I SAY, OLD MAN, I WISH YOU'D RUN UPSTAIRS AND HUNT FOR MY AUNT, AND BRING HER DOWN TO SUPPER. SHE'S AN OLD LADY, IN A RED BODY, AND A GREEN SKIRT, AND A BLUE AND YELLOW TRAIN, WITH AN ORANGE BIRD OF PARADISE IN HER CAP. YOU CAN'T _POSSIBLY_ MISTAKE HER. SAY I SENT YOU!"

"AWFULLY SORRY, OLD MAN, BUT--A--I'M TOTALLY COLOUR-BLIND, YOU KNOW. JUST BEEN TESTED!" [_Exit in a hurry._

* * * * *

THE INCANTATION SCENE.

_Freely Adapted from "Der Freischütz."_

_Caspar_, Mr. L-B-CH-RE. _Zamiel_, Mr. P-RN-LL.

SCENE--_Stage in complete shadow. An Irish Glen surrounded by bare mountains covered with dwarf oaks, overhanging a big bog. The Moon is shining dimly._ CASPAR _discovered with a pouch and hanger, busily engaged in making a Circle of fairy lanterns, in the middle of which is placed a turnip-skull, a shillelagh, a bunch of shamrock, a crucible, and a bullet-mould. Distant mutterings heard._

_Chorus of Distant Party-Spirits._

Shindy now would be a boon, ("_Hear, hear! Hear, hear!_") Interest in M-tch-llst-wn hath died, ("_Hear, hear! Hear, hear!_") Mischief must be stirred up soon. ("_Hear, hear! Hear, hear!_") And Obstruction once more tried. ("_Hear, hear! Hear, hear!_") Ere this S-ss-n's course is run We must really have some fun. ("_Hear, hear! Hear, hear!_")

[_At the end of chorus, a Big Bell booms twelve times; the Circle being finished,_ CASPAR _within it, draws his hanger round the lanterns, and at the twelfth stroke strikes it into the turnip-skull._

_Caspar (kneeling, and raising the skull on the hanger at arm's length)_. ZAMIEL, ZAMIEL, hear me, hear! By this bogey-skull appear! ZAMIEL, rise, for things look queer!

[_A confused noise is heard, a Meteor (looking rather like a long-expected Blue-Book) falls on the Circle, and_ ZAMIEL, _looking coldly triumphant, appears._

_Zamiel._ Why callest thou?

_Caspar._ Well, hang it! I like that! But, by St. Patrick's beard, your advent's pat, Our foes boast three years longer they may live.

_Zamiel._ No!

_Caspar._ Then good reason you and I must give.

_Zamiel._ Who says so?

_Caspar._ One who hardly dared--till now-- To face thy really rayther freezing brow; But, moved by reason, and a late Report, He's on the job; and we shall have some sport.

_Zamiel._ What doth he seek?

_Caspar._ To be supplied With bullets which thy skill shall guide.

_Zamiel._ Six shall obey, The seventh--who'll say?

_Caspar._ Lord of the mystic League, I hope, by sly intrigue, To rule the seventh also, And let it kill--_you_ know!

_Zamiel._ Too risky.

_Caspar._ Oh, I say, Let's have no more delay. Three long years yet to sway? Pooh, ZAMIEL! It's child's-play.

_Zamiel._ Enough--no more! I'll tell thee now By this day month there'll be--a row?

[_More mutterings are heard and repeated in chorus. The skull and hanger sink, and in their place a hearth with lighted coals and faggots, rise out of the earth, within the Circle. The Moon becomes red._

_Caspar._ Well served! Bless thee, ZAMIEL! The day will be ours!

[CASPAR _moves to and fro, places faggots on the coals, blows the fire, which blazes and fumes. In the smoke certain cabalistic letters appear._

Now for it! Every moment is precious. "Every bullet hath its billet," saith the old saw. Rather! Black C-C-L, beware! Bland WILLIAM H., look out! Brutal B-LF-R, mind your eye! Shrewish G-SCH-N, be warned! Haughty H-RT-NGT-N, take care! Perfidious J-S-PH, watch it! That accounts for Six out of the fatal Seven. 'Twill suffice, even if the seventh--bah! that's silly superstition. Here goes! First this lead--heavy as SM-TH's speeches; then this glass, brittle as the bond between the Unionists; some quicksilver of Randolphian shiftiness; three charmed balls which have already hit their mark. See, they are marked. "P-G-TT," "P-RN-LL," "C-mm-ss-n"!!! _Probatum est!_ Now for the blessing of the balls.

[CASPAR _bowing down his head three separate times (as to three Judges) before he commences his incantation._

Thou who hast Fate's mystic dower, ZAMIEL, ZAMIEL, work thy power! Spirit of the evil dead (At Madrid), bless, bless the lead! May they be as featly sped As the one that pierced his head. I am sick of shilly-shally, May they--metaphorically, For, of course, I don't mean murder, Nothing could be--well, absurder-- May they spifflicate our foes. Neither progress nor repose, On Bench or in Cabinet, May they any of them get Till they get their last quietus From these bullets (That will seat us Comfortably in their places, To the rapture of three races) How the fire fumes! There'll be ruction. Characters _look_ like OBSTRUCTION! But they _mean_--and that's their beauty!-- Merely, simply, purely DUTY! Therefore, 'tis my occupation So at present, Incantation! G. O. M. won't take a part; He objects to the Black Art. Though he rather shirks my cult, He will relish the result. ZAMIEL! you're the chap I like, Charm the bullets that they strike. ZAMIEL, lend thy might to kill To each burning drop we spill! Now then for it! Out on fear! ZAMIEL, ZAMIEL, be thou near!

[_Sets to work at--THE CASTING OF THE BULLETS. Music._

* * * * *

* * * * *

_Squire Roadster._ "WHERE ARE THE HOUNDS, MY MAN?"

_Yokel._ "GAR ON WITH YER! DON'T KNAW WHEER THE 'OUNDS BE, AND GOT A RED COAT AND A BIG 'OSS! YER OUGHTER BE ASHAMED OF YERSELF!"

* * * * *

THE LATEST CATCH-LINE.--Good DAY! Have you read the Report of the Special Commission?

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

_Leaves of a Life._ So MONTAGU WILLIAMS, Q.C., and Worthy Beak, styles his Reminiscences. The Leaves are fresh, and will be Evergreen. Nothing in his Life has become him so well as his leave-ing it. I fancy that the most popular part of it will be the early days--his salad days--when his leaves were at their greenest. Certainly, to all old Etonians, the opening of Volume One must prove the most interesting part of the two books; and after this, in point of interest to the general reader, will rank all the stories about persons whose names, for evident reasons, the learned Reminiscenser cannot give in full. When you read about what enormities "C----" committed, and what an unmitigated scoundrel "D----'s" brother was, there is in the narrative a delightful element of mystery, and an inducement to guess, which will excite in many a strong desire for a private key, which, of course, could not be placed in any publisher's hands, except under such conditions as hamper the trustee of the _Talleyrand Memoirs_.

Mr. WILLIAMS has better stories of Sergeant BALLANTINE than the latter had of himself in his own book. But I should like more of the MONTAGU out of Court--more of the behind-the-scenes of the cases in which he was engaged or interested. All his book is written in a dashing style, and there would be an enormous demand for a third volume, which might be all dash--C---- D---- E----; every letter of the alphabet dash--a dash'd good book, in fact, giving us the toothsome _fond d'artichaut_ after the "leaves" have been disposed of. But that this should be the strong feeling expressed not alone by the Baron DE B.-W., but by very many readers, is proof sufficient of the art with which these Reminiscences have been compiled, so as, according to _Sam Weller's_ prescription for a love-letter, to make us "wish there was more of it." By the way, I doubt whether WHATELEY'S _Evidences of Christianity_ was the work that MONTAGU WILLIAMS was dozing over during "Sunday Private" in pupil-room; doesn't he mean PALEY's _Evidences_? Also, wasn't the old College Fellow's name spelt PLUMTRE, or PLUMPTRE, not PLUMPTREE? However, the Baron is less likely to be right than the Magistrate, who is evidently blessed with a wonderfully retentive memory.

My faithful Co. reports that he has read _On the Children_, a not very interesting novel, by ANNIE THOMAS, otherwise Mrs. PENDER CUDLIP. The story deals with a young girl, who, after serving in a village newspaper shop, marries the local nobleman, and no doubt lives happily ever afterwards. Persons who are interested in the doings of the class JEAMES calls the "hupper suckles," will perhaps be a little disappointed, as, truth to tell, the narrative is rather homely. Many of the characters seem to have that exaggerated awe of rank which used to be characteristic of the tales in the _London Journal_. The book should, however, be welcome in the homes of some of the lower middle class.

BARON DE BOOK-WORMS & Co.

* * * * *

MR. PARKER SMITH, the recently elected M.P., appeared in the House looking Partickularly happy.

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT, EXTRACTED FROM the DIARY of TOBY M.P.

_House of Commons, Tuesday, February 11._--"Rather slow this," said Commandant (of the Yeomanry Cavalry) Lord BROOKE to Admiral (in black velvet suit, with silver buckles) ROYDEN.

They were locked up in a room adjoining OLD MORALITY'S private apartment, at back of SPEAKER's chair. Both dressed in warlike costumes, both uniforms new, unaccustomed, and uncomfortable. Both warriors had waked in the morning full of joy and proud anticipation. "If you're waking call me early," Quartermaster-General Lord BROOKE had said to his man; "this is the happiest day of all the bright new year; for I'm to Second the Address. Yes, I'm to Second the Address."

Captain ROYDEN had made a remark of a similar purport to his body servant, though he had kept more closely to prose. Now here they were locked in, with a glass of sherry wine and a sponge cake, waiting for the signal that might never come. Ordinary course on opening night of Session is, for SPEAKER to take Chair; Notices of Motion to be worked off; Queen's Speech read; then Mover and Seconder of Address march into seats immediately behind Ministers, especially kept for them; dexterously dodge tendency of sword to get between their knees; sit down with the consciousness that they are the cynosure of every eye, including those of JOSEPH GILLIS, regarding them across House through horn-bound spectacles. To-day everything upside down. Instead of moving the Address, HARCOURT on with question of Privilege--HARCOURT, a plain man, in civilian costume! Worst of it was, they could not go away and change their clothes. No one knows what may happen from hour to hour in House of Commons; debate on Privilege might break down; Address brought on, and what would happen to British Constitution if Mover and Seconder were dragged in in their dressing-gowns?

"Dem'd dull," said Captain of Yeomanry Cavalry Lord BROOKE, toying with his sword-tassel.

"Trenormous!" yawned Bosun's Mate ROYDEN, loosening his belt, for he had been beguiled into taking another sponge-cake. "If they'd only let us walk about the corridors, or lounge in the House, it would be better. But to sit cooped up here is terrible. Worst of it is I've conned my speech over so often, got it mixed up; end turning up in middle; exordium marching in with rear-guard; was just right to go off at half-past six; now it's eight, and we won't be off duty till twelve."

Vice-Admiral ROYDEN feebly hitched up his trousers; sadly sipped his sherry wine, and deep silence fell on the forlorn company.

No one in crowded House thought of these miserable men. HARCOURT made his speech; GORST demonstrated that Motion was indefensible, being both too late and too soon; the Mouse came and went amid a spasm of thrilled interest; GLADSTONE delivered oration in dinner-hour; PARNELL fired up at midnight; House divided, and SPEAKER left the Chair. Then was heard the rattling of keys in the door by OLD MORALITY's room; two limp warriors were led forth; conducted to four-wheel cab; delivered at their own doorways, to spend night in pleased reflection on the distinction of Moving and Seconding the Address.

_Business done._--Charge of Breach of Privilege against _Times_, negatived by 260 Votes against 212.

_Wednesday._--House met at Noon as usual on Wednesdays; the two men of war in their places in full uniform, which looked a little creased as if they had slept in it. The eye that has sternly reviewed the Warwickshire Yeomanry Cavalry, lacks something of its wonted brightness; whilst ROYDEN's black velvet suit sets off the added pallor of a countenance that tells of sleepless vigil.

House nearly empty; Members won't turn up at Noon even to hear the thrilling eloquence clothing the original thoughts of the Mover and Seconder of the Address. Amid the dreary space the stalwart figure of GEORGE HAWKESWORTH BOND, Member for the East Division of Dorset, stands forth like a monument. Curious to see how BOND avoids vicinity of Cross Benches. Was standing there in contemplative attitude last night, whilst GORST was demonstrating that HARCOURT's Motion on Breach of Privilege was, (1) too late, and (2) that it was too soon. It was at this moment that the Mouse appeared on the scene, leisurely strolling down floor apparently going to join the majority. A view-halloa started him; doubled and made for Cross Benches; BOND, awakened out of reverie by the shout, looked down and saw the strange apparition. Never believed a man of his weight could get so high up into the air by sudden swift gyration. Mouse, more frightened even than the man, dodged round the Benches and disappeared. "All very well once in a way," said BOND this afternoon, sinking into a seat far removed from the Cross Benches; "but it is foolish unnecessarily to court danger; won't catch _me_ standing at the bar any more when GORST is orating."

And his word is as good as his Bond.

After Mover and Seconder had completed their story, Grand Old Man appeared at the table, and talked for nearly an hour. Few to listen, but that no matter. A rapt auditor in OLD MORALITY, sitting forward with hands on knees, eyes reverently fixed on orator, drinking in his honeyed words. Something paternal in his attitude towards Ministers. Here and there they had done not quite the right thing. The MARKISS, in particular, had been particularly harsh to Portugal; but, on the whole, things might have been worse.

"Bless you, my children; bless you!" were the last words of the Grand Old Man as he stretched forth his hands across the table. Not a dry eye on the Treasury Bench. OLD MORALITY deeply touched, but through his sobs managed to make acknowledgment of the unexpected clemency. _Business done._--Address Moved.

_Thursday._--The languor in which House steeped since Debate on Address opened, not varied to-night till, at ten o'clock, copies of Report of Parnell Commission brought to Vote Office. Then such a scrimmage as never before seen.