Chapter 2

It is unnecessary to add that his subscription-lists flourished, his bazaars prospered, his missions and retreats overflowed with feminine money, and his Church was overloaded with floral tributes. The brutal tribe of men, however, sneered at him, and perversely suspected his motives; nor were they reconciled to him when they saw him relieving the gloom of a generally (so it was understood) ascetic existence by dining at a smart restaurant with a galaxy of devoted women, whom he proposed to conduct in person to a theatre. Such, then, is, or was, the Adulated Clergyman. It is unnecessary to pursue his career further. Perhaps he quarrelled with his Bishop, and unfrocked himself; possibly he found himself in a Court of Law, where an unsympathetic jury recorded a painful verdict against him.

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

My faithful "Co." says he has been reading the latest novel by "JOHN STRANGE WYNTER," called, _The Other Man's Wife_, as the French would observe, "without pleasure." As a rule he rather enjoys the works of the Author of _Bootle's Baby_, and other stories of a semi-ladylike semi-military character; but the newest tale is one too many for him. The "man" is a mixture of snob and cad,--say "a snad,"--the "other man" a combination of coward and bully, the "wife" a worthy mate to both of them. The plot shows traces of hasty construction, otherwise it is difficult to account for the "man's" intense astonishment at inheriting a title from his cousin, and the farfetched clearing up of a sensational West-End murder. My "Co." fancies that the peerage given to the "man," and the _vendetta_ of the Polish Countess, both introduced rather late in Vol. II., must have been after-thoughts. However, the end of the story is both novel and entertaining. The feeble, fickle heroine is made to marry, as her second husband, the man who (as an accessory after the fact) has been the murderer of her first! And the best of the joke is--she does not know it! My "Co." has also been much amused by a brightly-written Novel, in one volume, called _A Bride from the Bush_. Mr. E. W. HORNUNG evidently knows his subject well, and has caught the exact tone, or rather nasal twang of our Australian cousins. My "Co." says that "the Bride" is a particularly pleasant young person, thanks to her youth, good heart, and beauty. However, it is questionable--taking her as a sample--whether her "people" would "pan out" quite so satisfactorily. On the whole it would seem that Australians who have "made their pile" by buying and selling land are better at a distance--say as Aborigines!

It is also the opinion of my faithful "Co." that the Clarendon Press series of _Rulers of India_, has never contained a better volume than the _Life of Mayo_, a work recently contributed by the Editor, Sir WILLIAM WILSON HUNTER. Admirably written, the book gives in the pleasantest form imaginable, a most eventful chapter in the History of Hindostan. But more, the pages have a pathetic personal interest, as the subject of the memoir was for many years misunderstood, and consequently, misrepresented. Even the _London Charivari_ was unfair to the great Earl, but as Sir WILLIAM hastens to say, "at his death stood first in its generous acknowledgment of his real dessert, as it had led the dropping fire of raillery three years before." The author has, by publishing this most welcome addition to a capitally edited series, added yet another item to the long list of services he has rendered to our Empire in the distant East.

Since Miss FLORENCE WARDEN'S _House on the Marsh_, says the Baron, I have not read a more exciting tale than the same authoress's _Pretty Miss Smith_. It should be swallowed right off at a sitting, for if your interest in it is allowed to cool during an interval, you may find it a little difficult to get up the steam to the high-pressure point necessary for the real enjoyment of a sensational story.

THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

* * * * *

SILENT SHAKSPEARE.

DEAR MR. EDITOR,

The great success that has attended the production of _L'Enfant Prodigue_ at the Prince of Wales's Theatre has encouraged me to make a suggestion in the cause of English Art. Why not SHAKSPEARE in dumb show? The Bard himself introduced it in "The Play Scene." Allow me to suggest it thus:--

SCENE--_A more remote part of the Platform in Elsinore Castle. Enter_ GHOST; _then_ HAMLET.

_Hamlet_ (_in dumb show_). "Where wilt thou lead me? Speak!" (_In dumb show._) "I'll go no further."

_Ghost, by kissing his hand towards the horizon, shows that his hour is almost come, when he is bound to render himself to sulphurous and tormenting flames. The latter part of his description is composed of his shrinking about the stage, as if suffering from intense heat._

_Hamlet buries his face in his hands, and sobs pitifully, expressing_ "Alas, poor Ghost!"

_Ghost repudiates compassion by turning up his nose, and throwing forward his hands; and then, by pointing from his mouth to his ear, demands_ HAMLET'S _serious attention._

_Hamlet touches his own lips, points to_ GHOST, _slaps his heart, and bows, intimating that the_ GHOST _is to_ "Speak!" _and he is_ "bound to hear."

_Ghost explains that he is his father's spirit by stroking_ HAMLET'S _face, and then his own, and then shrinks about the stage to weird music, descriptive of his prison-house. He concludes by appealing to_ HAMLET'S _love for him by pressing his clasped hands to his own heart, and then pointing towards the left-hand side of his son._

_Hamlet jerks his hands passionately upwards, as if saying_, "Oh Heaven!"

_Ghost then asks for revenge by touching his dagger, and pointing towards the sky. He acts the murder in the garden, showing the serpent who stung him by gliding about the stage on his chest, like the boneless man. He shows his murderer to be of his own blood by walking up and down as himself, and then in the same way, but with a slight limp, as if he were his brother._

_Hamlet might here exhibit_ "_Zadkiel's Almanack" as_ "prophetic," _and slap the sole of his shoe for_ "soul;" _for_ "my Uncle" _it would be sufficient to produce a pawnbroker's ticket_:--"Oh my prophetic soul! Mine Uncle!"

_Then the Ghost in great detail acts the murder in the orchard, imitating the apples and the singing birds, the setting sun, &c., &c. He shows the composition of the poison after its plucking from a bush, and its arrival in the laboratory. He represents the actual pouring of the poison in his ear. He hints too (by suggesting the action of the bell-ringer) that he was never really mourned, and concludes a most spirited Ballet d'Action by a rapid sketch of the paling of the ineffectual fires of the glow-worm. As he leaves to the music of_ "Then you'll Remember Me," HAMLET _imitates cockcrow, which brings the entertainment to an appropriate termination._

Surely this would be an improvement upon the conventional reading? In this case where speech is silvern, silence would be golden.

Trusting some Manager will take the matter up,

I remain, always yours sincerely,

A DUMB WAITER.

* * * * *

OPERATIC NOTES.

_Monday.--Faust_ and Foremost. Miss EAMES better even than she was last week. NED DE RESZKÉ not so diabolical a _Mephistopheles_ as M. MAUREL.

NEDDY RESZKÉ Not so goblineske,

and a stouter sort of demon, but of course a "_bon diable_."

_Wednesday._--_Roméo et Julietta._ JACK and NED DE RESZKÉ _Roméo_ and _The Friar_. Why the waltz alone, which ought to be on every organ besides Miss EAMES'S, but which, strange to say, isn't thoroughly popular, should be enough to make an Opera; but it's like the proportion of one swallow in the composition of a summer, and, however well sung, it does not do everything. It's a dull Opera.

_Thursday._--_Carmen_ again. House not immense. Persons "of note" chiefly on the stage. JULIA same as before; therefore refer to previous notice. Cab and carriage service after the theatres everywhere wants reforming altogether. We may not be worse off than in any other capital of Europe, but we ought to be far ahead of them.

Somebody or other complained of my writing "GLÜCK" instead of "GLUCK," He didn't like the two dots; one too many for the poor chap, already in his dotage, so to relieve him and soothe him, I'll write it "GLUCK," and then he can go to the proprietor of "DAVIDSON'S Libretto Books" and ask him to take the dotlets off the "Ü" in GLÜCK. I wonder if my strongly-spectacle'd fault-finder writes the name of HANDEL correctly? I dare say so correct a person never falls into any sort of error; or if he does, never admits it. I like it done down to dots, as "HÄNDEL," myself; it looks so uncommonly learned.

_Saturday._--_Tannhäuser._ Full and appreciative house to welcome the _rentrée_ of Madame ALBANI, who was simply perfection and the perfection of simplicity as the self-sacrificing heroine _Elizabeth_. From a certain Wagnerian-moral point of view, no better impersonator,--dramatically at least, if not operatically,--of the sensual Falstaffian Knight could be found than Signer PEROTTI; and, from every point of view, no finer representation of the Cyprian Venus than Mlle. SOFIA RAVOGLI. M. MAUREL was admirable in every way as the moral _Wolframo_, and Signor ABRAMOFF the gravest of Landgraves. The full title of this Opera should be _Tannhäuser; or, The Story of a Bard who sang a questionable kind of Song in the highest Society, and what came of it._

Fine effect at end of First Act, when prancing steeds, with secondhand park-hack saddles, at quite half-a-crown an hour, are brought in, and, on a striking tableau of bold but impecunious warriors refusing to mount, the Curtain descends.

Then what pleasure to see _Albani-Elizabeth_ receiving the guests in Act II., varying the courtesies with an affectionate embrace whenever a particular friend among the ladies-of-the-court-chorus came in view. My LORD CHAMBERLAIN, viewing the scene from his private box, must have picked up many a hint for Court etiquette from studying this remarkable scene. Then how familiar to us all is the arrangement of the bards all in a row, like our old friends the Christy Minstrels, _Tannhäuser_ being the Tambourine, and _Wolfram_ the Bones! Charming. Great success. Repeat it by all means.

* * * * *

* * * * *

"PLEASE GIVE ME A PENNY, SIR!"

A NEW SONG TO AN OLD TUNE.

_Poor Income-Tax Payer, loquitur_:--

Please give me a Penny, Sir! My hope is almost dead; You hold the swag in that black bag, And high you lift your head. Some years I have been asking this, But no one heeds my plea. Will you not give me _something_ then, _This_ year, good Mister G.? Oh! please give me a Penny!

Please give me a Penny, Sir! _You_ won't say "no" to me, Because I'm poor, and feel the pinch Of dreadful "Schedule D"! You're so high-dried, and so correct, So honest and austere! Remember the full "Tanner," Sir, I've stumped up year by year, And please give me a Penny!

Please give me a Penny, Sir! My Income is but small, And the hard Tax laid on our backs I _should_ not pay at all. But I'm too feeble to resist, And do not like to lie; And Sixpence, under Schedule D, Torments me till I cry, Do please give me a Penny, Sir!

Consols, or Dividends, or Rents Don't interest _me_ much; "Goschens," reduced or otherwise, Are things _I_ may not touch, Two hundred pounds per year, all told, Leaves little room for "exes;" And 'tisn't only _public_ men That "lack of pence" much vexes. So please give me a Penny, Sir!

The mysteries of High Finance I don't presume to plumb; So year by year my back they shear, Sure that they'll find _me_ dumb. But the oft-trodden worm will turn; "Demand Notes" never slack; And "Schedule D" fast at twice three, Breaks the wage-earner's back. So please give me a Penny, Sir!

The moneyed swells who make "returns," Much at their own sweet will, Don't gauge the poor clerk's scanty purse, The small shopkeeper's till, How hard 'tis to make both ends meet, When hard times tightly nip; Or how small incomes sorely feel The annual sixpenny dip. So please give me a Penny, Sir!

Please give me a Penny, Sir! 'Tis heard on every side, Muttered by poverty's pinched lip, Silent so long--from pride. Ah! listen to their pleadings, Sir, And pity the true poor, Whose life is one long fight to keep The wolf from the house-door. Oh, please give me a Penny, Sir!

* * * * *

"ROOSE IN URBE."--Dr. ROBSON ROOSE has returned to town after a trip to Madeira.

* * * * *

"SWEET STRIFE."

_By an Unionist M.P._

When PARNELL's mocked by HEALY, In strident voice and squealy; When HEALY'S snubbed by PARNELL, In voice as from the charnel-- I understand the windy Wild charm of WAGNER'S shindy. Discord _may_ be melodious, When Harmony sounds odious; Than _Israfel_ more dear is Old Erin's latest _Eris!_

* * * * *

THE _IN_-KERRECT KERR.

IT was once said that Pianos may now be had on "MOORE and MOORE" easy terms every day. Mrs. WALTER found that those "easy terms" involved such pleasures as returning the instrument she had paid many instalments on, getting an order from the masterful Mr. Commissioner KERR to pay costs as well, and committal to prison for three weeks on the charge of "contempt of Court"--for disobeying an order which Justices SMITH and GRANTHAM declare the genial Commissioner had no sort of right to make!!!

If this is the "hire-purchase system," a piano-less life is infinitely preferable to braving its manifold perils and penalties. Easy terms, indeed? Yes,--about as "easy" as "easy shaving" with a serrated oyster-knife! Mrs. WALTER'S fate should be a warning to would-be piano-purchasers, and, _Mr. Punch_ would fain hope, to exacting System-workers and arbitrary Commissioners.

* * * * *

* * * * *

FOR BETTER OR WORSE!

(_Two Views of the Same Subject._)

POSSIBLE ROMANCE.

SCENE--_A Dungeon beneath the Castle Moat. Wife chained to a post, with bread and water beside her. Enter Husband, with cat-o'-nine-tails._

_Husband._ And now, after ten days' seclusion, will you make over your entire property to me, signing the deed with your life's blood?

_Wife_ (_in a feeble voice_). Never! You may kill me, but I will defy you to the last!

_Husband._ Then die! [_He is about to leave the dungeon, when he is met by a Messenger from the Court of Appeal._

_Messenger._ In the name of the Law, release your prisoner!

_Husband._ Foiled! [_Joy of_ Wife, _and tableau, as the Curtain falls._

PROBABLE REALITY.

SCENE--_The Church-door of a fashionable Church. Wife bidding adieu to Husband._

_Husband._ Surely, now that my name and fortune are yours, you will reconsider your decision, and at least accompany me back to our wedding breakfast?

_Wife_ (_in a firm voice_). Never! You may kill me, but I will defy you to the last!

_Husband._ This is rank nonsense! You must take my arm. [_He is about to leave the Church-porch, when he is met by a Messenger from the Court of Appeal._

_Messenger._ In the name of the Law, release your prisoner!

_Husband._ Sold! [_Joy of Wife, and tableau, as the Curtain falls._

* * * * *

"WHAT'S IN A NAME?"

The "Cony" is feeble, the Bear's a rough bore. But CONYBEARE'S both, and perhaps a bit more!

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE OTHER MAN.

My health is good, I know no pain, I am not married to a wife; From all accounts I'm fairly sane, And yet I'm sick to death of life.

The path that leads to wealth and fame Cannot be traversed in a day; I find it twice as hard a game, Because a spectre bars the way.

It has no terrors such as his Away from which the children ran; It's not the Bogey, but it _is_ The Other Man.

I met a girl, she seemed to be A kind of vision from above. She wasn't--but, alas! for me, I weakly went and fell in love.

Her father was a _millionnaire_, Which didn't make me love her less. I thought her quite beyond compare, And gave long odds she'd answer "Yes."

She thrilled me with each lovely look She gave me from behind her fan, She took my heart, and then she took-- The Other Man.

Farewell to Love! I thought I'd try My level best to get a post; The salary was not too high, Two hundred pounds a-year at most.

Committeemen in conclave sat, Their questions all were cut and dried: Oh, was I this? And did I that? And twenty thousand things beside--

As did I smoke? and could I play At golf? or did I get the gout? And--most important--could I say My mother knew that I was out?

Then two were chosen. Should I "do"? Perhaps!--and, just as I began To hope, of course they gave it to The Other Man.

All uselessly I've learnt to swear And use expressions that are vile; In vain, in vain I've torn my hair In quite the most artistic style.

Yet one thing would I gladly learn-- Yes, tell me quickly, if you can-- Shall I be also, in my turn, The Other Man?

* * * * *

THE KEY TO A LOCK.

["A lock of ----'s hair, set in a small gold-rimmed case, and said to be an ancient family possession, was knocked down for forty pounds."]

Take yonder lock of tangled hair, A silver seamed with sable, Dim harbinger from dreamland fair Of reverie and fable;

Yes, grandson mine, the treasure take, A trinket loved, if little, And wear it, darling, for my sake, In yonder locket brittle;

Small, as my banker's balance, small And faint--a touching token; My luck, the lock, the locket, all Seem, child, a trifle broken.

Investments, boy, are looking glum; They flit and fade; in fine a Not inconsiderable sum Has gone to--Argentina.

Nay, chide me not; one day, refilled By these, may shine your pocket, And Fortune's resurrection gild The lock within the locket.

Because, you see, when strong and sage You grow, and all the serried Lights of the great Victorian age With me are quenched and buried;

When other men in other days Walk paramount--then shall you Submit the thing to such as praise The Past, its relics value.

The curl was worn, you'll tell your friends, By TENNYSON or BROWNING (The detail of the name depends On who is worth renowning).

You'll vaunt that one who knew the grand Victorian Stars, and rather Deserved himself to join the band (In fact your father's father),

Who, past expression, loved whate'er The market cottons _then_ to, Committed to your childish care This genuine memento.

You'll catalogue it, as befalls Your choice, my little gran'son; You'll bear it to the deathless halls Of CHRISTIE, WOODS, AND MANSON.

So, when the fateful hammer sounds, And you have cashed in rhino A cheque for, haply, forty pounds, You'll bless your grandsire, I know;

Who, while his fortunes failed, and much Was life's horizon o'ercast, _Created_ souvenirs with such A keen, commercial forecast.

* * * * *

* * * * *

BACCHUS OUTWITTED; OR, THE TRIUMPH OF SOBRIETY.

(_Fragment from a Romance founded upon evidence given before the Select Committee upon Dram-drinking._)

"I really think the experiment should be made," said the Professor. "Our knowledge on the subject is so imperfect, that nothing definite can be accurately pronounced."

"True enough," replied one of his friends; "but although the end to be attained is excellent, may not the means be termed by the scrupulous 'questionable?'"

"By the over-scrupulous, perhaps," returned the Professor, with a smile.

"And the expense," observed a second of his intimates, "will be no small consideration. If we put the matter to a thorough test, a large quantity--a very large quantity of the necessary liquid will have to be purchased and disposed of. Am I not right in hazarding this supposition?"

"Undoubtedly," responded the Professor, "and the cost will be enhanced by the fact that the necessary liquids will have to be of the best possible quality. As Dr. PAVEY observed before the Committee 'It is not the alcohol in itself that is injurious, but the by-products.' Our aim must be to eliminate the by-products."

"I think the idea first-rate," said the third friend; and then he paused and added, seemingly as an after-thought, "Pass the bottle."

So the Professor and his three companions decided to make the investigation in the cause of scientific research. It was resolved that after a week they should meet again, and that in the meanwhile they should in their own persons carry on the experiment continuously. When this had been arranged the friends parted company.

At the appointed time the contemplated gathering became a concrete fact. The Professor's friends were the first to appear at the rendezvous. They were unsteady as to their gait, their neckties were in disorder and their hair falling carelessly over their eyes, added a fresh impediment to an eyesight that seemingly was temporarily defective. They sank into three chairs regarding one another with a smile that gradually resolved itself into a frown. Then they filled up the pause caused by the non-appearance of the Professor by weeping silently. Their emotion was not of long duration, as the originator of the experiment was soon in their midst. He seemed to be in excellent health and spirits.

"My dear friend," he said, and it was noticeable that he was prone to clip his words, and to use the singular, in lieu of the plural, when the latter would have been more conventional, "My dear friend, glad see you all. Hope you well."

His comrades received the well-meant greeting with a resentful frown, which ended in further weeping.

"This very painful," continued the Professor, resting his hand somewhat heavily on the back of a chair; "very painful indeed! Fact is, you been taking wrong things!"

His friends sorrowfully shook their heads negatively.

"Yes you have! Sure of it! You, Sir--imbibed whiskey! No harm in good whiskey--excellent thing, good whiskey! But injuriverius--should say, injurious--if has too much flavour of malt! Your whiskey too much flavour of malt! You took brandy--bad brandy--too much taste of grapes! You took rum--bad rum--too much mo--mo--molasses! Now I took all three--whiskey, brandy, rum, but pure--no by-products. No, not at all. Result! See! Sober as judge!"

And, succumbing to a sudden desire for slumber, the Professor, at this point of his discourse, joined his friends under the table!

* * * * *

* * * * *

LEAVES FROM A CANDIDATE'S DIARY.