Chapter 2

Have you some nice houses to let furnished?--Here is our Catalogue, Sir.--I perceive that most of these are Queen Anne houses; "sanitation perfect;" where is the satisfactory explanation of the fine advertisement?--It is in Spain with the other castles (idiom).--What is "Queen Anne"?--Victoria comes first, Elizabeth second, but Queen Anne is (the) last.--Is then sanitation also something?--It is the little game of the big builder; it is all your (my, his, her,) eyes.--Can we have some nice furniture?--You can have (the furniture of) Chippendale, Sheraton, M'Adam, or Louis-Quinze.--It is too dear.--No, Sir; my brother bought it yesterday of the clever carpenter.--I was done by you or by your brother; I require a room for my mother-in-law (neuter).--The good mother-in-law sleeps in the chamber of boxes (box-room), but the evil mother-in-law prefers the best bed-room.--How many persons are you?--We are sixteen.--You are, indeed, suited, Sir; it is an eight-roomed house.--Is not the noble drawing-room smaller than we have a mind to?--On the contrary, it is very lofty. There is room near the chandelier.--Where is the "moderate-sized garden"?--It is on the leads with the broken flower-pots, the capital smuts, and the industrious cats (masculine or feminine).--Is it then much larger than a postage-stamp?--Decidedly not, Sir. It is also nearly as sticky. Much rain produces weeds.--Where are "the bath-rooms"? I only perceived a watering-pot.--Any rooms in which you put baths, are bath-rooms.--What is then the price?--The exorbitant client of the first-class agent demands four hundred guineas for the season.--It is too much.--He would take less in some minutes; but my commission will rest the same.--Here are "Commanding mansions," "Bijou maisonettes," and "Desirable residences."--It is not difficult; the mansion that has a back-staircase is commanding, the "Bijou" is for the newly-married, or the actress, but the "Desirable residence" is what you desire.--What is then the "square hall"?--It is neither round nor oblong; therefore it is square. It is likewise in a square.--Is it geometrically the same as the Bridge of Asses?--I do not know. Sir.--Where is the capital accommodation for the poor servants?--It resembles the dark kennel of the sad dog.--What are dilapidations and electric light?--The first, Sir, is what you break; the second is what breaks _you_.--If I were to let my own house, and then to myself take it, would it be on the same terms?--No, the buyer is usually sold, but the seller loves the first of April.--If another agent were to let my house, would you, likewise, expect commission?--Why not? I am the best friend of the little lawyer with the long nose.--I was inquiring of you about flats.--It were better that you should be _sharp_, Sir.--I was not born yesterday (proverb.)--Right (adjective) you are, Sir; we will write (verb) to you till you take or let something, not alone I, but also some others; if you refuse me something, I will be very discontented.--Have you ever let well alone? (idiom).--We have let many things alone (bare), but you must, notwithstanding, pay for the fixtures.--I think I will be going.--Here are pens, paper, and a form of an attorney.--No, I thank you.--We shall not charge for this interview, but one must live.--I do not see the necessity (_v_. Anecdotes in Appendix).--The Necessity is the mother of the inventory.--Who is the Caretaker?--She is the great-grandmother of the superannuated laundress. She becomes sleepy during the Winter. Shall we send her to your house?--Not if I know it (expletive). Receive the assurance (insurance) of my highest consideration. By the bye (interjection), which is the topmost storey?--The topmost story is the last thing you have heard me mention. I salute you, Sir.

* * * * *

TAKEN UPON TRUST.

(_A FAIR-AND-UNFAIRY STORY, FOUNDED UPON A MAGIC ACT._)

Once upon a time there existed two fatherless and motherless orphans, who were just old enough to work for their living. Unfortunately they did not know how to dig, were too proud to beg, and had conscientious scruples that prevented them from stealing. Besides, one of the two was a girl; and there were not many openings for her. And matters would have gone very hard with them, indeed, had not a distant, but benevolent relative, kindly died and left them as a legacy a sum of money, of which they were to have the interest until they attained their majority, when it was to be divided equally between them. They were overjoyed, and rushed to the executor, who happened to be a lawyer.

"Yes," said the man of costs, "I am indeed charged with the execution of the trust, and for your own sakes I hope you will not give me much trouble, as I shall, under the conditions of the will, have to make you pay for it."

And after he had entered their visit (which he called an attendance) in his diary, to be subsequently copied into a ledger, he bowed them out.

So the two orphans disappeared a little crestfallen; and they soon discovered that their legacy had the faculty of diminishing. The lawyer immediately transferred the money, which was invested in what he called "second-rate securities," into Consols, and this cost something, and considerably diminished their income. When the two orphans remonstrated, the lawyer said, that as he made scarcely more than out-of-pocket expenses in the matter, he did not feel justified in incurring the slightest risk.

"I am only a simple girl," murmured one of the orphans, with a nervous blush; "but does not a recent statute give trustees power to invest the funds of their _cestui que_ trusts in securities yielding a larger return than 2¾ Goschens?"

"Do not bandy words with me, Miss," replied the lawyer, angrily; "I shall act as I please, and if you or I ask for the estate to be administered, it will cost you a pretty penny."

"Which no doubt will find its way into your pocket," returned the maiden, simply. "But surely a 4½ mortgage on real property can be obtained without risk, if you do not act contrary to the provisions of the Trustee Relief Act?"

But the lawyer was very angry, and threatened her that if she made any further complaint he would appeal to the Chancery Division of the High Court of Justice, which would mean, probably, the absorption of the entire estate in a gigantic bill of costs.

So, with a sigh, the maiden and her brother retired. That night, as she was sitting over the fire, before retiring to rest, she had a dream, when a nice-looking old gentleman appeared before her, and asked her "why she was so sad?"

"Because we have a lawyer for our trustee, who is most unobliging, and expensive. I am afraid, kind Sir, _you_ cannot help us."

"Do not say so until you have perused this scroll," he replied, with a benevolent smile, and he gave her a paper. "To-morrow, if your trustee again threatens you, and offers to retire, take him at his word. If I replace him, I will do all you wish--enter into mortgages, invest your capital to the best possible advantage, and make myself generally amiable."

"But how shall we pay you for so much kindness?" asked the now overjoyed maiden.

"By a tariff fixed by the Government. It will be my duty to do my best for you, and I shall have no personal interest in running up costs like the common (or garden) kind of family Solicitor."

So the next day, when the lawyer began to threaten to resign, the orphans took him at his word, and all that the nice-looking old gentleman had foretold came to pass. And when the orphans were getting the best possible interest for their money, at a trifling expense, the maiden looked at the scroll which had been given to her, and found it was inscribed, "The Public Trustee Act."

And, so far as the lawyer, who had been discarded, knew (or cared), the maiden and her brother lived happily ever afterwards.

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

More about DICKENS. By the loving hand of PERCY FITZGERALD the Bookmaker,--not sporting, but literary. Of making books, with PERCY FITZ there is no end. He is the king of the Bookmakers, _Per se Fitz_. This time it is the _History of the Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club_, published by CHAPMAN AND HALL, and "inscribed"--why not "dedicated?"--to HENRY FIELDING DICKENS, son of "The Only One," the Master. _Interesting?_ Of course it is, anything about DICKENS, specially in connection with the immortal _Pickwick_, must be interesting, and for chatty, gossiping bookmaking we only say, "Give us Fitz." He is to the manor born. He is neither romancer nor poet: "_poeta nascitur non_ 'Fitz.'" Occasionally FITZ is aggravatingly reticent. For instance, at page 16 we read, "_Two or three years ago_"--which? two or three?--"_a curious and amusing coincidence brought the author's son, a barrister in good practice_"--Which son? His name? There were more sons than one: were they all barristers? And was this one the only one in good practice?--"_into connection with his father's famous book. It occurred at a trial on the Circuit._" Which Circuit? Which is "_the_ Circuit"? The Baron, who is now the Last of the Barons but one, only asks because the phrase "on Circuit" would not have required his query; but "on the Circuit" is another pair of shoes. "_A trial_." What trial? When? At p. 17, "_The Judge entered into the humour of the thing_"--what Judge? The Baron is of opinion that in the well-known advertisement about the Waverley Pen, quoted in a note at p. 25, the correct order should be, "_The Pickwick, the Owl, and the Waverley Pen_"--not Pickwick last. Did CHARLES DICKENS ever write to FORSTER that he was "_getting on like a house o' fire"?_ Surely this should be a "house a-fire," or "a house on fire"; for a "house o' fire" means a "house of fire," which is not what the expression is intended to convey. At p. 51, in a note, FITZ says, "'_Phiz, Whizz,' or something of that kind, was_ T. HOOD's _joke_." Was it? If so, where does the joke come in?

My friend, the late GEORGE ROSE, better known as "ARTHUR SKETCHLEY," used to say that DICKENS took _Sam Weller_ from (as I understood him) a character in one of O'KEEFE's comedies. This statement was given on the authority of Mr. BAYLE BERNARD. But I am bound to say I can find nothing like _Sam_ in O'KEEFE's; but I have found DICKENS there bodily. It is in Sc. 1, Act I. of _Life's Vagaries; or, The Neglected Son._ "'Oh!' exclaims FANNY, 'if my papa was to see me--oh!' (_Seeing_ DICKENS, _runs; he stops her._)" And, oddly enough, in this edition of 1798, frequently as the above-mentioned character appears, it is "on this occasion only" that the name is spelt with an "E."

Mr. FITZGERALD, at p. 136 of this book, says, that an actor named SAM VALE, appearing as _Simon Splatterdash_, in a piece called _The Boarding-House_, was in the habit of "interlarding his conversation with metaphorical illustrations"--and then follow the examples. _The Boarding-House_, however, is not by O'KEEFE, but, as appears from a note in _Sketches by Boz_, was being performed when DICKENS's short tale of _The Boarding-House_ appeared. For my part, I long ago came to the conclusion that _Sam Weller_ was absolutely an original creation, as far, that is, as anything outside the immaterial realms of fancy and fairyland can be an original creation. Our FITZ gives CALVERLEY's Examination Paper, and also an Oxford imitation of it, which, however, is not by any means up to the CALVERLEY-BLADES mark. There is also a preface to _Pickwick_, specially interesting, as not being found in later editions. Then our Fitz informs us how many dramatic versions of _Pickwick_ there have been, some with and some without music, bringing the list down to the latest "Dramatic Cantata" (it oughtn't to have been so described, as there was dialogue in it), the music of which will always hold a first place among the compositions of the Musical Baron's friend claiming to be the gifted descendant of the Wise and Musical King SOLOMON.

Altogether a vote of thanks should be presented to Mr. PERCY FITZGERALD for his entertaining, instructive, and most readable book on the immortal _Pickwick_, says THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

* * * * *

* * * * *

TALKING BY TIME.

The growing pressure of the business having already obliged the Belgium Postal Authorities to cut down the time allowed for a telephonic communication between Paris and Brussels, from five minutes to three, it is to be presumed that the rush of public patronage that may be expected when the wire is opened between London and the French Capital, will soon necessitate the substitution, in place of the promised ten minutes, of an allowance to each speaker of a minute, or at most a minute and a half for his interview, which it may confidently be expected will not unfrequently take the following shape:--

_Inexorable Official_. Now, Sir; your turn next.

[_Shuts intending London Talker in, and switches him "on."_

_London Talker_. Dear me! How quick they are, one hardly knows what one is about. I wonder how loud, now, one ought to speak. Better shout. Anyhow, I'll try that first. (_At the top of his voice through the tube._) Hullo! Hi! I say. Are you there?

_Paris Listener_ (_replying_). Oh! don't bawl like that. Of course I'm here, I've been waiting quite half a minute; thought you were never going to begin. But I suppose it is JONES I am speaking to?

_London Talker_. Oh yes, I'm JONES. It's all right. But can't you recognise my voice?

_Paris Listener_. Not when you bawl fit to break the drum of one's ear. But come, now, get on quick with what you want to say.

_London Talker_. All right--I'll get on. But now tell me, do I pitch my voice about right now? Can you catch distinctly all I say?

_Paris Listener_. Oh yes! Bother! But do get on. Timesgoifast.

_London Talker_. What? I didn't catch that last word. Time's what?

_Paris Listener_ (_very distinctly, with emphasis_). I said--that--time--was--going fast. Can you hear that?

_London Talker_. Oh yes, I can hear that, and most distinctly. Really, it is a most wonderful invention.

_Paris Listener_. Oh, bother the invention! Do come to business! What did you want me for?

_London Talker_. Oh. of course. Well, it was just this. I thought--

_Inexorable Official_. Time's up, Sir. Trouble you to make room for this Lady.

[_Switches him "off," and turns him out._

* * * * *

"THAT CON-FOUNDLAND DOG!"

Mr. JOHN BULL _loquitur_:--

"Love me, love my Dog!" Well, _I_ don't want to flog The fine but excitable fellow. With a nip on his tail e'en a Bull wouldn't fail To bounce round a bit, and to bellow. I'd do my square best with the greatest good will, If only he'd--just for a moment--stand still.

Stand still, with a nip like crocodile's grip On one's caudal appendage? Ah, just so! I know 'tis a task that seems _too_ much to ask. I'm reasonable,--or I trust so. But there _is_ the Lobster, it's holding on fast. And--hang it! this state of affairs cannot last!

How came it about? That's a matter of doubt, Which there isn't much use in discussing, To part them's my aim; I would manage that same Without either fighting or fussing. Newfoundland or not, there's no dog finds it nice To live very long with its tail in a vice!

I want to get near if I can, but, oh dear! The Dog to my call won't attend. I Conceive, if he would, it might be for his good, I'd hit on some _modus vivendi_. But if Dog _won't_ stand still, and if Lobster _won't_ loose, My heartiest help cannot be of much use.

One ANDROCLES bold eased a lion of old Of a thorn in his foot--a great worry! But ANDROCLES, sure, would have failed of a cure If poor Leo had kept on the scurry, As you, my dear Dog, do at present. _Verb. sap.!_ Do just let me _get at_ the Lobster, old chap!

While it's fast to your tail, and you wriggle and wail, And romp all around, the best master, And kindest of heart, Dog and Lobster can't part. _Don't_ think I deride your disaster! The pinch of it might make an elephant prance; No, all that I ask is--_just give me a chance!_

* * * * *

* * * * *

A TEN MINUTES' IDYL.

Life is a farce, a dreary round, A fraud--of that there's not a doubt, Although I've only lately found It out.

Bad boldly masquerades as good, Fruit turns to ashes in the taking, Unpleasant very is the rude Awaking.

'Tis Spring, when something, so one learns, Seems to affect the burnished dove, And when a young man's fancy turns To love.

With window open to the breeze, The tramp of passers-by unheeding, I sit reclining at mine ease, A-reading.

I've read enough--and not amiss I rather fancy now would be A little rest--ah! what is this I see?

A sight that's almost past belief, And makes me think I must be raving, For there a girl a handkerchief Is waving!

Like to a light that in the black And inky night shines o'er the main, It disappears, and then comes back Again.

I know the house quite well--I've heard Her father's something in the City, And she's a blue-eyed girl absurd- -ly pretty.

By Jove! she does it with a whirr, It's clear this inexpressive she Is given to the _fortiter_ _In re_.

Of course it's forward--and indeed It's worse--it's shockingly imprudent Thus to encourage me, a need- -y student.

Her form is shadowy--I must Get out my glasses, so to bring Her nearer. Yes--the range is just The thing!

* * * * *

Life is a farce, without a doubt! The cause of all this fuss and fluster Is just a housemaid shaking out Her duster!

* * * * *

IN THEIR EASTER EGGS.

_Lord Salisbury_.--Allegorical Cartoon representing BRITANNIA astonished at the success of her recent Foreign Policy.

_Mr. Gladstone_.--Pocket Edition of Cyclopædia of Universal Information, copiously illustrated, for the use of veteran Statesmen.

_The Emperor of Germany_.--Prize Homily on the Art of Governing, with special reference to the science as applied to the subordination of "temper."

_Mr. Parnell_.--Sculptured Group representing the Reptile of Egotism turning the tables on St. Patrick, and endeavouring to drive him out of Ireland.

_The President of the United States_.--An Italian Iron--over-heated.

_Ex-King Milan of Servia_.--A Monthly Cheque for amusement and travelling expenses, but not including a return ticket to Belgrade.

_The Post-Master-General_.--One hundred Receipts for getting into hot water.

_Mr. Sheriff Augustus Harris_.--Draft Proposal for buying up and working the British Government with duly audited Schedule, showing how the "takings" could be more than doubled by spirited management.

_Mr. Jackson of Clitheroe_.--Prize Farce entitled, "Lynch Law and Conjugal Rights."

* * * * *

MEN WHO HAVE TAKEN ME IN--

TO DINNER.

(_BY A DINNER-BELLE._)

NO. III.--THE GREAT UNKNOWN.

_He_ was a dapper, dumpy thing, With nought decisive on him graven But smiles, like footlights flickering O'er visage shaven.

And _it_, that kind of social myth Where every guest (and each a rum one) Is Somebody, because the kith Or kin of Someone.

The Great Siberian Victim's Aunt, The Godfather of Colonel CODY, And some affinity I can't Recall to DAUDET.

In fine, a Tussaud's once removed, Not waxworks, but their far connections; The names, the attitudes, approved, But mere reflections.

Our hostess, wont to pedigree Her portents, slurred his surname sweetly; So up my smiler tripped--to me Unknown completely.

Thus mystified, I needs must bruit The weather--"It was rainy, rather." "Yes," he rejoined, "It does not suit My Poet-father:

"Strange how the damp affects great men; My nephew, not the Wit, the Artist, You know paints always smartest when It rains the smartest."

"In _water_-colours?" feebly next I faltered, falling quite to pieces: "No, no," he murmured mildly vexed, "_You_ mean my nieces.

"Those delicate young paintresses Of Idyls in Cobalt and Bistre, Though for Impressionist success, Give me my sister.

"My nephew, he's inspired of course, Divine, quite _autre chose: en bref_ you-- Forgive an uncle's pride--perforce Adore my nephew."

Reeling with Relatives, I quite My compass lost: to shift our bearing, "Who is the Lady on your right?" Quoth I, despairing.

"That Beauty, like the portraits I've For sale beheld of Miss BELLE BILTON."-- "She? She's the representative, The last, of MILTON!"

This was too much: what _could_ I try To burst from such a tangled tether? The shops for neutral ground, thought I, Eclipse the weather.

The shops! The very thing. I dared The shops. "How wonderful was WHITELEY!" Dazed at the Wizard's name he stared, And shuddered slightly.

A silence froze his ready twang: No more he smiled--from that fell minute, HENRY THE FIRST--to speak in slang-- Was scarcely in it.

That smilelessness! What meant the curse? Who could the skein unravel? I did. This was the Diner "Univers- -ally provided."

Renowned, if nameless--hired to be Salvation of a banquet's ruin, "Monsieur Le Quatorzième" took me, And may take you in.

* * * * *

THE MERRY GREEN WOOD.

_AN "EPPING FOREST" CHORUS._

"For ever and again the Corporation of London send down their _protégés_, the young City sportsmen who may, or may not, know how to load a gun, but who are very keen on 'Sport.' Then the herds are driven by beaters towards the gallant huntsmen, the forest re-echoes with the report of guns, and next day you can trace the whereabouts of the wounded bucks and deer by tracks of blood among the bushes, and by impressions on the grass where the maimed creature has fallen in its flight for life."--_Pall Mall Gazette_.

_Chorus of Huntsmen._

Oh, we like,--we love the Merry Green Wood, As should Huntsmen bold of the proper sort! And we would hit the stag _if we possibly could_,-- As is meet with such palpable sons of Sport. Away to the forest we cheerily run, And wait for the beaters' welcome cry; And though we are new to the use of a gun, What matters? At anything we'll let fly! So Sing hey, sing ho, for the startled deer; We warrant we'll hit him, if _he_ comes near And we'll send him lame and limping away, With a shot he'll remember for many a day! For marry come up! But it would be absurd To expect a bold Sportsman to bag the whole herd! So he blazes away; and he hits one or two; And they hobble away in some thicket to lie, And, after a day or two's suffering, die; We don't see precisely what more we could do, Than shout that "we love the Merry Green Wood!" And would settle the stag,--_if we possibly could!_

* * * * *