Part 2

_Business done._--In Committee on Compensation Bill.

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AT HIS MAYERJESTY'S.

_Paris Fin de Siecle_, Mr. MAYER'S second transplantation from the Gymnase to Her Majesty's Theatre, is amusing from first to last--that is to say, from 8.15 to close on midnight. The Comedy rattles along, and carries the audience who understand French--who in their turn carry the audience who pretend to do so, but who don't--with it. The acting is excellent; and the dialogue is as bright as the looks and toilettes of the dozen or more ladies who have parts. It is not quite clear what "_fin de siecle_" means. If it is Paris of to-day that is pictured, it certainly cannot be the Paris of five years hence, and the century has yet ten years to run. But whatever is the purpose of the play, it satisfied the audience which, on the first night, included H.R.H. and the PRINCESS OF WALES, together with "all London."

The plot is simple. _Alfred de Mirandol_ (M. NOBLET), of the _tout Paris_ set, is engaged to the daughter of the _Marquis de Boissy-Godet_--so he tells everyone who chances to be breakfasting at BIGNON'S, where the first scene is laid--and, without anything particular happening to either of them during the next three Acts, he remains engaged to the young lady when the curtain falls. Then he has a _non fin de siecle_ friend, fresh from Brittany, who proposes to a charming widow, charmingly looked and played by Madame SISOS, who accepts him, and lands him in a duel with a Spanish Duke (cleverly played by M. PAUL PLAN) about her Milliner's bill. No one is hurt, but the incident--the only incident to speak of--furnishes a scene in which the four _fin de siecle_ seconds are continually forgetting the business on which they are met, and drift into baccarat. Then Madame DESCLAUZAS is a Marquise who is so busy with her various charitable institutions that she has not seen her husband for a week, and forgets all about her daughter's marriage.

To London 1890 the Marquise, though unquestionably inimitable, seems slightly loud. English Marchionesses do not as a rule wink. But _Paris Fin de Siecle_ is altogether beyond London 1890. English people do not know enough of the formalities attending the arrangement of duels to fully appreciate M. NOBLET'S forgetfulness of his duties; nor do English ladies, as yet, give Harlequin Balls, at which the gentlemen wear red evening coats,--it was not a hunt-ball of course; nor does London 1890 see any particular point in the _monde_ being shown as frivolous and dissipated, while the _demi-monde_ will not permit smoking in the drawing-room, and generally plays propriety. So _Paris Fin de Siecle_ may be true to nature, for all English people know about it. Whether it is or is not, it is just as amusing, and well worth seeing.

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OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

JAMES THE FIRST, of America, not to be confounded even by his enemies with the Old or Young Pretender, is bringing out his book entitled, _The Gentle Art of Making Enemies_, which line represents only a third of the entire title. The celebrated Butterfly signature flitters and flutters from leaf to leaf throughout the book, which in itself, in its binding, print, and arrangement, is a work of Art of which the publishers, Messrs. HEINEMANN, may be justly proud, and which must rejoice the soul of JAMES PRIMUS AMERICANUS, Ex-President, R.S.B.A. The BARON has great pleasure in drawing attention--(he is gifted is the BARON, "drawing" as well as writing, you'll observe)--to a rare specimen of the _Papilio Whistleriensis_ which adorns this paragraph, and hopes, on another occasion, to have a few remarks to offer on the many genuine Jacobean epistles contained in this dainty volume which is issued, as the short preface informs us, under the Ex-P.R.B.A.'s "immediate care and supervision," and as a counterblast from LE SIFFLEUR against "a spurious and garbled version" of his writings already put into circulation. It was about time for JACQUES LE SIFFLEUR to come out for a blow; which blow it is more blessed to give than to receive, _dicit_ the BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

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THE OPERA-GOER'S DIARY.

_Monday._--_Les Huguenots._ Madame NORDICA as our _Valentine_. She is _toujours riante_. Otherwise, vocally, charming. RAVELLI the Reliable as _Raoul_, much applauded and quite two inches higher in popular estimation. _Valentina_ NORDICA cannot take anything seriously. She smiles as she is wont to smile at the supreme moment of his great athletic window-jump, when he is shot out of window and killed so thoroughly that he cannot be produced for the last Act of all, which, therefore, is now never given. Simple-minded folk, not up to this, wait in their stalls, and wonder why everybody else is going. Members of orchestra disappear, lights extinguished, brown-holland coverings descend, the fireman enters, the box-keepers retire, and suddenly it bursts upon the inexperienced Opera-goer that it's all over, except shouting for carriages, and that's over too by now, and that there is to be no more Opera to-night.

L'entr'acte est long, Un peu d'espoir, There's no more song, Et puis bon soir.

M. LASSALLE as the French nobleman, whom some one described as "_Sam Bris_," excellent. Good house for the _Huguenots_.

_Tuesday._--Here we are _Lohengrinning_ again. _Lohengrin_ not a comic opera: the name being rather misleading. Melodious, mellifluous Mlle. MELBA as _Elsa de Brabante_. NED DE RESZKE as the _Great King_, FURSCH-MADI-GRAS unrivalled as _Ortruda_, DAN DRADY as _Freddy_, one of his most dramatic performances; Signor ABRAMOFF as the _Family Herald_--quite a volume--and JACK DE RESZKE as a _Knight on the Swannee River_, or perhaps a knightly visitor from Swansea. Poor JACK suffering from hoarseness. DRURIOLANUS comes forward to explain this. Audience imagines that DRURIOLANUS himself is going to take poor JACK'S place. Rather disappointed in consequence. "Could have done it, of course," says DRURIOLANUS afterwards, "but bad example for other members of the governing committee." JACK DE R.'S hoarseness scarcely noticeable. No one would have known it if DRURIOLANUS hadn't told us. Some people can't keep a secret.

_Wednesday._--_Vide_ last Wednesday's report. Only difference being that Signor PLUNKETTO GREENO is not _in statu quo ante_, the part of the _Commendatore, M.P. for Stony Stratford_, being taken by Signor DE VASCHETTI.

_Thursday._--Missed it. _Romeo et Juliette._ Believe it was performed, not having heard anything to contrary. Reported that Mr. and Mrs. G. were present. Remember he was there last season, when same Opera was played. Came up then, I think, from Dollis Hill. "All roads lead to Romeo," the G.O.M. is reported to have said to FLORAL HALL, the Covent Gardenia Box Office Manager and enthusiastic devotee of the G.O.M., or "Grand Opera Man."

_Friday._--_La Favorite_ in French. Evidently neither particular nor universal Favourite, as so many _habitues_, conspicuous when here by their noble presence, are now still more conspicuous by their noble absence. Mlle. RICHARD, her first visit to Royal Franco-Italian Opera at Covent Garden, is the Favourite to-night, and the Favourite wins. Opportunity for Mlle. BAUERMEISTER, who has one of the prettiest airs in the Opera to start with, but then "is heard no more," having only to exhibit, in sympathetic dramatic action, her deep distress at the sufferings of the unhappy Favourite, the victim of _Alfonse_, King of Castille. _King Alfonse_ gives a garden-party, with "gipsy revellers" of the period, led by small and early PALLADINO. Refreshments are probably served in an adjoining apartment, but _King Alfonse_, being, perhaps, a trifle dry, occupies his time in the chair of state by trifling with a lozenge. Great difficulty among audience as to whether _Fernand_ is MONTARIOL or YBOS. Having seen MONTARIOL as _David_ in the _Meistersingers_, I do not recognise him as Fernand; but having seen YBOS as _Raoul_, in the _Huguenots_, FERNAND'S legs seem familiar to me. If the voice is the voice of MONTARIOL, the legs are the legs of YBOS. DRURIOLANUS IBOSS says it is _not_ YBOS but MONTARIOL; while a distinguished Operatic Committeeman tells a despairing critic that it _is_ YBOS, and not MONTARIOL. Anyhow, Mons. YBOS-AUX-JAMBES-MONTARIOLIENNES is a good, though not great, _Fernand_. The chorus whether as Monks of one of the great Theatrical Orders, not-admitted-after-seven, or as members of the Castilian Aristocracy, are admirable. Signor GASPAR--a name that suggests a singer rather out of condition, and, like _Hamlet_, "scant of breath" (he should be appropriately attired in "pants")--keeps his eye on Signor BEVIGNANI, and Signor BEVIGNANI pulls him through. _Mem._ What an education in modern languages it must require to be a chorister of the R. I. O. C. G.! Italian, French, English, of course; and perhaps one night they'll come out with something of WAGNER'S in the original German. Everybody looking forward to the revival of _Le Prophete_ on Monday next.

_Saturday._--_Non adsum_, because 'ad sum-where else to go. Covent Garden, however, not closed in consequence. Hear that JEAN is to get L600 per week in America. Good interest this for one tenner.

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ONE TOO MANY FOR HIM.

SIGNOR SMITHINI _loquitur_:--

_Houp-la!_ Oh, it's all very fine That there whip to keep twirling and cracking, But with such a trio as mine There's no very great fun in "bare-backing." Two of them, I'm sure, were enough To keep--in _this_ Circus--in tether. A third you must thrust in!--what stuff! How _am_ I to keep 'em together? "Land Purchase" I had well in hand, And "Tithes" made a pretty fair second; But t'other? I can't understand How JOKIM could so have misreckoned. Of all awkward 'osses to hold The worst is his pet, "Compensation," And if in the tan I ain't rolled, 'Twill be thanks to my fine equitation! _Must_ get him along? Oh, of course! It will not do to fail, now we've started. But how? I'm a chap of resource, And I fancy I'm not chicken-hearted, Yet some lookers-on shouts out "Go!" Whilst others ejaculate "Drop him!" And, SOLLY, I'm hanged if I know How safely to drive him _or_ stop him. I may get him round,--'twill take time,-- To drop him would now raise derision; I'm tired, and not quite in my prime, And of failure have somehow a vision. Of course, I will still do my best; I am always devoted to "Duty," But oh! I should so like a rest. _Houp-la_ then! Oh, come up, you beauty!!

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IMPORTANT.--The Two Pins Club are going to have a race. Of course it will be "from point to point."

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LE 'OCKEY STICK-BALLE FIGHT.

_Contributed by Our Own "Sportings-Life" Man._

MON CHER MONSIEUR PUNCH,

I KNOW what interest profound and gracious you have always manifested towards the glorious efforts of the heroic youth of our regenerated athletic France, for have I not read your notices amiable and scientific of _les_ "doings" of our onze at the _jeu de Cricquette_, and still later of the murderous combat of the veritable "struggle-for-lifers" in _le scrimmage_ of your terrible contest of "Kicke-balle"? But now the valiant youth of our public seminaries have advanced still one more step, and the afternoon of last Tuesday saw, in the leafy arcades of our Bois, a true "stick-balle" fight--in one word, a _parti_ of "Le 'Ockey," played with _vrais batons_, clubs long and terrible, with cruel hooked finish, to the eye of the beholder, and the dangerous white ball, hard as iron, heavy as lead, between a 'ome team and a "side" of strangers, that would have done credit to an "Oxfor-Cambridge" battle or a fight royal, in which _Les Roverres de Peckham_ were themselves engaged.

The costume of the _'ome team_, of which I was the General, consisting, as it did, of "knickerbockerres" of pink velvet, jerseys of green and yellow satin in stripes, padded in front and behind, as a protection from _les coups de les "stickes,"_ with large feather pillows, and 'igh jack-boots, worn with the same motive, completed, together with a massive iron and wire mask, surmounted with a funereal plume, used to safeguard the head and neck, a costume at once striking and useful. The strangers were, perhaps, not quite so happily arranged, their legs being encased in chain-armour, and their bodies protected by large wicker clothes-washing-baskets; but, though this precautionary costume hampered in some respect the play of their arms, and impeded their swiftness in making "le rush," still, the hardest blow of the death-dealing "stickes" fell on them without pain, and they could meet the approach of the terrible iron-lead ball without the apprehensive tremblings of terror.

The contest, though fierce, was not of long duration, for, after the ninth goal, the iron-lead ball was driven with such furious _elan_ by the victorious side that it dashed into the middle of the spectators, and was swallowed, in the excitement, by the startled horse of an omnibus. Thereupon the Umpire, being appealed to, decided the contest terminated with victory, by three goals to nothing, to the 'ome team, and amidst the prolonged "hurrahs" of the assembled thousands, who represented all the _elite_ of the veritable 'igh and Sporting life of the best Parisian Society, the first day's _stick-balle_ fight that has now introduced "Le 'Ockey" into the arena of our rising National Athletics, came to a brilliant and inspiriting end. I beg you, _Mon cher Monsieur Punch_, be assured of my highest considerations, as I subscribe myself your very humble _serviteur_,

THE FIRST CHAMPION OF LES SPORTS.

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DEFINITIONS.

_Mater._--One who finds _mates_ for her daughters.

_Check Mate._--A husband with money.

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MRS. R. says:--"My nephew, who has just returned from a long voyage, tells me that in the Red Sea it is so hot that the gentlemen sleep on deck in their bananas."

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AFTER "THE MAY."

_A Cambridge Song of June._

OUT and alas! The "May" is o'er; The polish of the ball-room floor Is streaked and marred by heedless feet, The pretty convoys in the street Stir no more envy, nor make proud The escort of the dainty crowd. No more the archway dark and grim, No more the tortuous staircase dim Wake to a glow of living light, When JONES'S sisters, like a flight Of tuneful birds in plumage gay Come into College, in the May.

The little girl in grey is gone, Who like a silvery marsh-flower shone What time the long and strenuous train Of eights round Grassy pulled amain. Gone is the musical low voice That made the general heart rejoice, Mazing prim scholars with her wit, Or chattering simply, not a bit Above the sporting schoolboy's range. At that grave dinner, for a change, With just as flattering a charm, She took the formal Tutor's arm, With sparkling eyes, that scattered light On the dark Don's self-centred night.

Bare are the windows, flowering then, The cynosure of lingering men, Whence over the darkling court would float The chorus of the College boat; Not shouted with the tuneless zeal Which tells how Undergraduates feel; But by such sweet girl-voices given As might the strictest "gates" have riven, Drawn iron tears down Tutors' cheek, And made Deans grant what loafers seek.

And listening oarsmen softly swore To pull as men ne'er pulled before, And, let the next boat do its worst, To make to-morrow's bump, or burst.

Out, and alas! May follows May, And other little girls in grey, With hair as bright and eyes as blue, Will hold the torch, pass'd on by you, And none the bygone years recall; For even this May's College pride Will be as dead as flowers that died At some forgotten festival.

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RATHER SHIFTY.--"The Members of the Metropolitan Police Force," the Memorial stated, as quoted in the _Times_ of June 13, urged the Government to concede, among other demands, this, which sounds peculiar:--

"Duty to consist of eight hours (in one shift) out of _every_ twenty-four."

The words in brackets are a puzzle. Is "shift" a misprint for "shirt"? Is a Policeman now compelled to wear more than one of these in every twenty-four hours? Is it flannel or linen? We confess that we do not understand this, which we may fairly designate as "The Washerwoman's Clause."

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PEREGRINUS JOCOSUS writes thus:--"Sir,--I was visiting Tintern Abbey. Admission is by a gateway, close to which is an instruction to ring the bell. How much simpler and pleasanter if the proprietor had written up, 'Tinternabbeylate!'--Yours, much pleased, P. J."

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ON ARMY EXAMS.--As long as Examinations are what they are, cramming is a necessity. Therefore, _Mr. Punch_ has only one retort to present objections to cramming, and that is--"Stuff!"

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RECKING THE REDE LECTURE.

"His paramount aim was to make the world better by the humanising influences of literature."--_Professor Jebb on Erasmus._

FRIEND of COLET and of MORE, Genial wit and learned scholar, Never pedant, prig, or bore. Dulness and the Mighty Dollar Rule too much our world of books; Slang, sensation, crass stupidity; Talk of "oof" and prate of "spooks," Sciolism, sheer aridity; Smartness, which is folly decked In true humour's cast-off raiment, Clap-trap which has never recked Aught save chance of praise and payment; These our literature infest, No ERASMUS now arising, Style to purge and taste to test In the way of "humanising." Could you but come back to us, How you'd flay sensation-mongers, Gird at gush, and flout at fuss, Chasten morbid thirsts and hungers: Puncture philosophic sham, "Blugginess," the coarse erotic; Show up callow Cockney "cram," Logic shallow, thought chaotic; Lash our later Euphuism, And the pseudo-Ciceronian; Rottenness of "Realism," Battening in its bogs Serbonian. Thanks, O philosophic JEBB! In this age of advertising, Literature, at a low ebb, Needs a little "humanising."

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"ON, STANLEY!"--The officer whom the explorer did not take with him was his left TENNANT.

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"THESE ARE MY JEWELS."

TIMOUR-MAMMON'S triumph's full In this grace-abandoned creature. Look at her! A tawdry trull, Blear of eye and blurred of feature From the cult of her god--Drink! HEROD'S cruel self might shrink From a--Mother, calculating On her children's loss, awaiting With impatience their last breath, And the devilish gains of Death.

Such as she, her cronies cry, Are "In luck when children die!" Luck! The luck of willing loss. Children dead bring in the dross. Little SARAH'S pale and sickly; Death is near, but comes not quickly, Art may hasten his slow tread. Blows, exposure, hunger, pain, Are auxiliaries of gain, Gain that comes "when SARAH's dead," When to death her "friends" have done her. "We have got four pounds upon her," Babbles little SARAH'S brother, Echoing the modern Mother. WEMYSS the wise advises "thrift," As the only thing to lift Labour from the Sweater's slough. Laws, he swears, are wholly vain; Thought may scheme, and Love may strain Fruitlessly to raise the brow Of the poor above the slime Of starvation, suffering, crime. Thrift's the thing! Well, here is thrift! Children,--they are fortune's gift. Motherhood to rear them strives? Not so; it _insures their lives_! Burial Insurance comes As a boon unto the slums. The insurance love may fix At five pounds, or even six; A child's funeral costs a pound, And the balance means--drinks round!

Here's the luck of loss, a luck Care may hasten. Blows are struck, Raiment stinted, food denied, Hunger and exposure tried; Infants overlain--by chance! Is it not a Moloch dance? Modern Motherhood, plus Drink, Beats old MOAB, will not shrink From child-sacrifice to win, Not a false god's smile, but Gin! Children are possessions, truly, To be sold, and paid for, duly, Pledged like other property, Bringing interest--when they die.

Modern CORNELIA! That is she, With a semi-drunken glee Aping, all unconsciously, The proud Roman mother's vaunt. "See _my_ jewels! What I want-- Dress, and drink, and selfish ease, I can win at will--through these." What was it little BOBBY said? "We'll get four pounds when SARAH's dead!"

Golden-tongued PETERBOROUGH, flay The harpies with your burning breath; And you, brave WAUGH, assist to stay This plague of fiends who thrive on death. Cut short the course of callous crime Of this CORNELIA of our time!

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VOCES POPULI.

AT THE HORSE SHOW.

TIME--_About 3.30. Leaping Competition about to begin. The Competitors are ranged in a line at the upper end of the Hall, while the attendants place the hedges in position. Amongst the Spectators in the Area are--a Saturnine Stableman from the country; a Cockney Groom; a Morbid Man; a Man who is apparently under the impression that he is the only person gifted with sight; a Critic who is extremely severe upon other people's seats; a Judge of Horseflesh; and Two Women who can't see as well as they could wish._

_The Descriptive Man_. They've got both the fences up now, d'ye see? There's the judges going to start the jumping; each rider's got a ticket with his number on his back. See? The first man's horse don't seem to care about jumping this afternoon--see how he's dancing about. Now he's going at it--there, he's cleared it! Now he'll have to jump the next one!

[_Keeps up a running fire of these instructive and valuable observations throughout the proceedings._

_The Judge of Horseflesh._ Rare good shoulders that one has.

_The Severe Critic (taking the remark to apply to the horse's rider)._ H'm, yes--rather--pity he sticks his elbows out quite so much, though.

[_His Friend regards him in silent astonishment._

_Another Competitor clears a fence, but exhibits a considerable amount of daylight._

_The Saturnine Stableman (encouragingly)._ You'll 'ev to set back a bit next journey, Guv'nor!

_The Cockney Groom._ 'Orses 'ud jump better if the fences was a bit 'igher.

_The S. S._ They'll be plenty 'oigh enough fur some on 'em.

_The Severe Critic._ Ugly seat that fellow has--all anyhow when the horse jumps.

_Judge of Horseflesh._ Has he? I didn't notice--I was looking at the horse. [_Severe Critic feels snubbed._

_The S. S. (soothingly, as the Competitor with the loose seat comes round again)._ That's not good, Guv'nor!