Chapter 4

"My faith," said Lord JOHN, "I am getting tired of this. Shall we never reach the Sun?"

"Courage, my friend," was the well-known reply of the brave little Doctor. "We deviated from our course one hair's-breadth on the twelfth day. This is the fortieth day, and by the formula for the precession of the equinoxes, squared by the parallelogram of an ellipsoidal bath-bun fresh from the glass cylinder of a refreshment bar, we find that we are now travelling in a perpetual circle at a distance of one billion marine gasmeters from the Sun. I have now accounted for the milk in the cocoa-nut."

"But not," said the Philosopher, as he popped up through a concealed trap-door, "for the hair outside. That remains for another volume." With that, he rang a gong. The iceberg splintered into a thousand pieces. The voyagers were each hurled violently down into their respective countries, where a savage public was waiting to devour them.

* * * * *

TOLSTOI ON TOBACCO.

[Count TOLSTOI has been declaiming against Tobacco in _The Contemporary Review_, and this in no way exaggerates his views.]

TOLSTOI fuming, in a pet, Raves against the cigarette; Says it's bad at any time, Leads to every kind of crime; And the man who smokes, quoth he, Is as wicked as can be.

TOLSTOI knew a man who said He cut off a woman's head; But, when half the deed was done. Lo, the murderer's courage gone! And he finished, 'tis no joke, Only by the aid of smoke.

TOLSTOI asks us, when do boys First essay Nicotian joys? And he answers, quite aghast, When their innocence is past. Gamblers smoke, and then again Smoking pleases the insane.

TOLSTOI, when he writes this stuff, Swears he's serious enough; Lately Marriage earned his sneers; At Tobacco now he jeers; Proving that, without the weed, Some folks may be mad indeed.

* * * * *

"Replying to Sir JOHN MACDONALD's manifesto, Mr. MERCIER said it was ridiculous to say that reciprocity was veiled treason, and meant annexation to the United States."--_Times' Montreal Correspondent_.

_Uncle Sam (twangling his patent Reciprocity Banjo) sings_:--

Oh, my love my passion can hear--and see, Over the garden wall; She is sighing, and casting sheeps' eyes at me, Over the garden wall: Miss CANADA muses; look at her there! My wooing and BULL's she is bound to compare, And she pretty soon will to join me prepare, Over the Garden Wall!

_Chorus_ (_pianissimo_).

Over the garden wall, O sweetest girl of all! Come along do, you'll never regret; We were made for one another, you bet! 'Tis time our lips in kisses met, Over the Garden Wall!

Your father will stamp and your father will rave, Over the garden wall; And like an old madman no doubt will behave, Over the garden wall. M'KINLEY has riled him, he's lost his head. MAC's Tariff is stiff, but if me you'll wed, I'll give Reciprocity, darling, instead, Over the Garden Wall!

_Chorus_ (_piano_).

Over the garden wall! MACDONALD is bound to fall. 'Tis MAC against MAC, my Canadian pet. And M'KINLEY is bound to win, you bet! So join _me_, dear; we'll be happy yet, Over the Garden Wall!

One day you'll jump down on the other side, Over the garden wall; There's plenty of room, and my arms are wide. Over the garden wall: JOHNNY may jib, and Sir JOHN may kick, I have an impression I'll lick them--slick; So come like a darling and join me quick, Over the Garden Wall!

_Chorus_ (_forte_).

Over the garden wall! Dollars, dear, rule us all. Patriot sentiment's pretty, and yet Interest sways in the end, you bet! MERCIER's right; so pop, my pet, Over the Garden Wall!

Where there's a will there's always a way, Over the garden wall! MACDONALD's a Boss, but he's had his day, Over the garden wall! Tariffs take money, but weddings are cheap, So wait till old JOHNNY is snoring asleep, Then give him the slip, and to JONATHAN creep. Over the Garden Wall!

_Chorus_ (_fortissimo_).

Over the garden wall! _Your_ "Grand Old Man" may squall, And swear Miss CANADA's loyal yet. But loyalty bows to Dollars--you bet! 'Tis time our lips in union met Over the Garden Wall!

[_Left twangling seductively._

* * * * *

QUEER QUERIES.

DOMESTIC SERVICE.--My General Servant has just left me suddenly, on the ridiculous excuse that she was being "killed by overwork." She was not required to rise before 5 A.M., and she was generally in bed by twelve. Our house is not large, though rather lofty, and there are only fifteen in family. Of course I shall not pay her any wages, and shall retain her boxes; but how can I _really_ punish her for her shameful desertion?--CONSIDERATE.

HAIR FALLING OFF.--My hair is coming off, not slowly, but in one great circular patch at the top of the head. A malicious report has in consequence been spread abroad in the neighbourhood that I have been _scalped_! What course ought I to adopt to (1) recover damages against my traducers, and (2) recover my hair?--LITTLE WOOL.

* * * * *

THE LIGHTS O' LONDON.

"The first practical constructive step towards lighting the City of London by means of electricity, was taken yesterday (Feb. 3), when the LORD MAYOR placed in position the first stone of the main junction-box for the electric conductors, at the top of Walbrook, close under the shadow of the western walls of the Mansion House."--_Times_.

_Mr. William Sikes, Junior, loquitur_:--

Well, I _ham_ blowed! I say, look 'ere, you NANCY! Old Gog and Magog _is_ woke up at last! Goin' to hilluminate the City. Fancy!! When this yer 'Lectric light is fairly cast On every nook and corner, hole and entry Of London, you and me is done, to-rights. A Slop at every street-end standin' sentry, Won't spile our game like lots o' 'Lectric Lights.

The Lights o' London? Yah! That's bin all boko. Were London _lighted_, how could you and me Garotte a swell, or give a tight 'un toko? We ain't got arf a chance where coves can _see_. 'Tis darkness plays our game, and we've 'ad plenty, But this means mischief, or my name ain't BILL. Wy, not one pooty little plant in twenty Could we pull orf if _light_ spiled pluck and skill.

It's beastly, NAN, that's wot it is. Wy, blimy, Narrer ill-lighted streets is our best friends. Yer dingy nooks and slums, sombre and slimy, Is gifts wot Prowidence most kyindly sends To give hus chaps a chance of perks and pickins; But if the Town's chock-full of "arc" and "glow," With you and me, NAN, it will play the dickens. We must turn 'onest, NAN, and _that_'s no go!

'Ang Science! Ile lamps and old Charlies--bless 'em!-- Wos good for trade, _our_ trade. Ah! if my dad Could see 'ow Larnin', Law, and Light oppress 'em, Our good old cracksmen-gangs, he'd go stark mad. As for the _Hartful Dodger_ and old _Fagin_, Ah! they're well hout of it. Wot could they do With Science and her bloomin' fireworks plaguin' Their hartfullest little games the whole Town through?

Our only 'ope, my NAN, is in the Noodles, There's still some left in London I'll be bound. To lurk a crib, prig wipes, sneak ladies' poodles, Gits 'arder every day; we're watched all round. Many a programme wot looks vastly pooty, Mucked by the mugs, leads on to wus and wus. But if they _do_ light up the dim, cramped, sooty. Gog-ruled old Town--_wot's_ to become of _hus_?

* * * * *

MOST APPROPRIATE.--The Bishop of DURHAM has appointed Mr. T. DIBDIN Chancellor of the Diocese of Durham. He already holds the Chancellorships of Exeter and Rochester. Three Chancellorships, all on the high sees too! "THOMAS DIBDIN" is the right man in the right place.

* * * * *

PROVERB "UP TO DATE."--"Cumming events cast their shadows before." And let's hope the shadows will be speedily dispelled.

* * * * *

HOW IT'S DONE.

(_A HANDBOOK TO HONESTY._)

NO. VIII.-"SOLD AGAIN!"

SCENE--_An Auction-room, breathing an air of solid, if somewhat Philistinish suburban comfort and respectability. Amidst a labyrinthine accumulation of household furniture, a number of people are dispersed, many of them substantial-looking middle-class male and female "buyers," with lists and lead-pencils, on the look-out for "bargains," a sprinkling of the ancient race, and an outer fringe of casual, lounging, lookers-on. The gentleman in the rostrum is a voluble personage, with a rapidly roving eye, of preternatural quickness in picking up "bids." Attendants, shaggy men, in soiled shirt-sleeves, with saw-dusty whiskers, and husky voices. A pleasant-faced Paterfamilias, and his "Good lady," are discovered inspecting a solidly-built, well-seasoned, age-toned chest of mahogany drawers._

_Paterfamilias_ (_sotto voce_). Just what you want, my dear, as far as I can see. What do _you_ think?

_Materfamilias_. _I_ like the look of them much, JOHN. None of your new, cheap, thinly-veneered, blown-together rubbish, smelling of shavings and French-polish. Solid ma'ogany, every bit; the drawers run as smoothly as could be wished, and--see! if there ain't actually some sprigs of dry lavender still a laying in 'em!

_Paterfamilias_ (_decidedly_). Just so, my dear, I shall certainly bid for them. [_Marks his catalogue vigorously._

_Auctioneer_ (_dropping his hammer smartly_). Sold! Remove the first-class feather-bed, SAM. Buyer o' _that_ has a bargain! (_Nodding blandly to pleased purchaser_). Really the prices at which things are going to-night are ruinous! 'Owever, there's no reserve, and the lucky public gets the pull. The next article, Ladies and Gents, No. 471, is a very superior, well-made, fully-seasoned, solid Spanish, ma'ogany chest of drawers. Chest o' drawers, SAM! (_To Paterfamilias._) _Would_ you mind standing a inch or so aside, Sir? Thanks! There they are, Ladies and Gentlemen, open to hinspection, and warranted to bear it. An unusually excellent lot, fit for the sleeping-apartment of a prince, at a price within the means of a pork-butcher. (_Laughter._) Oh, it's righteous, Gents. No 'umbug about _me_. There's quality, if you like. Well worth a ten-pun note. What shall I have the pleasure of saying for this very superior article? 'Ow much for the chest o' drawers? Who bids for the ma'ogany chest? Thirty shillings. Thank you, Sir! Any advance on thirty shillings? Thirty-five! _And_ six! Thirty-five-and-six for this very desirable little lot! Worth five times the amount, Ladies, as _you_ know! What do you think. Mum? [_To Materfamilias, who smiles vaguely, and looks at her husband._

_Paterfamilias_. Two pounds! [_Feels he has made an impression._

_Auctioneer_. Two pounds! (_Confidentially to_ P.) _Your_ good lady knows a good bit o' stuff when she sees it, Sir! Two pounds for the chest! Two pounds! Any advance on a couple o' pounds? All done at two pounds? Going at two pounds! (_Meeting silence, pretends to hear another bid_). Two-pun-ten! Quite right, Sir! Very foolish to lose such a superior harticle for a pound or two. Going at two-pun-ten! Larst time, two-pun ten! Going--going--g--

_Paterfamilias_ (_hastily_). Two-fifteen!

_Auctioneer_ (_cheerily_). Two-fifteen! (_Taking other imaginary bids_.) Three-pounds! Three-five! (_Thank you, Madam_). Three-ten! Going at three-ten! Last time, three-ten! (_To Paterfamilias._) Are _you going to lose it, Sir?_ Worth double, I assure you! Ask your good lady!

_Materfamilias_ (_aside_). Bid three-fifteen, JOHN, but not a penny more!

_Paterfamilias_ (_weakly_). Three-fifteen!

_Auctioneer_. Three-fifteen! Four! Going at four! Last time at four! All done, four! Going, going--gone! (_Drops hammer_.) Sold at four pounds, SAM! (_Looks round_.) Who bid four? [_No response, as the last bid was imaginary._

_Sam_ (_huskily_). Gen'l'man as bid four jest slipped hout, Sir.

_Auctioneer_ (_tartly_). Tut--tut--tut! _Too_ bad, really. Well, Sir, then I must take _your_ bid. Sold to this Gentleman, SAM, at Three-fifteen!

[_Paterfamilias, highly pleased, pays deposit, and arranges to send for his bargain in the morning. As he and his "good lady" leave, they notice close by, three men with barrows, each bearing a blazingly red and strongly-smelling chest of drawers. Materfamilias complacently remarks on the manifest superiority of the article they have purchased, to "that red rubbish." Next morning they receive, instead of their own "bargain," one of those identical brand-new, badly-made, unseasoned, thinly-veneered "shop 'uns," which are "blown together" by the gross for such purposes. They protest, but vainly, notwithstanding their true assertion that the drawers they received contain "fresh shavings" instead of the "sprigs of blooming lavender" they had observed in those they thought they had purchased. Paterfamilias, a week later, looking in at the Auction-room, sees what he could swear to be the very chest of drawers he had purchased being "sold again" in a similar fashion._

* * * * *

"MY PRETTY JANUS, OH NEVER LOOK SO SHY!"

AUGUSTUS DRURIOLANUS is greater than ever. It is the penitential season of Lent; some excellent persons renounce all worldly amusements; others, not quite so excellent, and both lots thinking, it may be, no small beer of themselves, we may term the first lot Treble Excellent and the second Double Excellent--the latter division think that concerts possibly, sacred concerts certainly, and certain other forms of mild and non-theatrical entertainments, are of a sufficiently severe character to constitute, as it were, a form of discipline. Then there are the larger proportion of those "who," as _Mrs. Malaprop_ would say, "'care for none of these things,' like GALILEO, my dear," and who inquire. "What is the state of the odds as long as we think we're happy?" and who would indulge in balls and theatres, and in every other form of amusement, while such pursuits afforded them, or seemed, to afford them, any pleasure. To the first section, i.e., the "unco guid," DRURIOLANUS has nothing to offer, not even a course of sermons by popular preachers; but to the two others he has much to say. For these, last Saturday, he commenced the first of his series of Lenten Oratorios at Covent Garden--it was the 14th of February, and this was his Valentine--and on the 17th, i.e., the Tuesday afterwards, having made, so to speak, a clean sweep of everything serious, out he comes with his Fancy Dress and Masked Ball. _Elijah_ the Prophet, on Saturday, in the Covent Garden Calendar, must be reckoned among the "minor profits," seeing that the biggest profit would be found in the _Bal Masqué_ on Tuesday. Over the doors should be the motto, "_Festina Lente_," whereof the Druriolanian translation must be, "Keep it up in Lent." _Ave Janus Druriolanus!_

* * * * *

OLD TIMES REVIVED.

What! when _London Assurance_ is going off so well every night, isn't it a pity that it should go off altogether? CHARLES WYNDHAM as _Dazzle_ is delightfully flashy, and FARREN as the old beau, _Sir Harcourt_, admirable. Miss MOORE charming, Mrs. BEERE bright and sparkling; BOURCHIER quite up to "the Oxonian" mark of _Tom and Jerry_; BLAKELEY delicious, and GIDDENS as good a _Dolly Spanker_ as you'd wish to see. It's too good to be "taken off." Not that the piece itself is a perfect gem, but the acting! _Tout est là._ Oddsfish, your Majesty, CHARLES REX, Merry Monarch of the Cri, don't remove it altogether, but let us have it just once or twice a week during the season. CHARLES, "our friend," do! It's worth while, if but to see you sitting carelessly at the end of the piece in that chair, R.H., as if you didn't care for anything or anybody. Only--cut the tag and come to the Curtain.

* * * * *

THE ETHICS OF MATCH-BOXES.

BY COUNT DOLLSTOI.

(_INTENDED FOR A CONTEMPORARY, BUT FOUND TO BE TOO SHORT._)

I.

What is the true explanation of the use which people make of matches--of safety matches, wooden matches, wax matches, and, less commonly, of fusees? Ask any man why he uses such things, and he will tell you that he does it to get a light, or because others do it.

Is this true? You will probably think so. Let us examine the question. Why does a man hold his hand in front of a match when he lights it in the street? To screen it from the wind, or _to hide it from the sight of passers-by?_ Why do ladies leave the dinner-table before the men begin to smoke? To avoid the smell of tobacco--which is well known to be aromatic, healthy, and delightful--or _because the natural modesty of women shrinks from witnessing the striking of a match?_ Why, in a railway-carriage, do you hold your fusee out of window when you light it? Is it because you do not care about being half-choked--a paltry plea--or is it to conceal from young persons who may be in the carriage the sparkle which must inevitably remind them of wicked and alluring eyes?

"_To get a light, or because others do it._" Is that true? Do not trifle with the question. Read all my works. Do not get them from a contemptible circulating library, but buy them.

II.

Some may not yet be convinced that the striking of matches is suggestive and immoral. To me nearly everything is suggestive, but there are some stupid persons in England. I will be patient with them, and give them more evidence.

A wax match is called a vesta. Who was Vesta? But this is too horrible. I cannot pursue this point in a periodical which is read in families. I can only refer you to the classical dictionary, and remind you that everything must infallibly suggest its opposite. Again, there are matches which strike _only_ on the box. It distresses me to write these words. The idea of "onlyness," of restriction, must bring matrimony to the mind of everyone. If you do not know what I think about marriage, buy _The Kreutzer Sonata_. It is not customary to have more than one wife. Consequently, anything which has _one_ in it--as, for instance, the date of WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR--reminds me of marriage, and is, therefore, degrading. Why, the very word "match" suggests marriage: and yet we allow young children to sell whole boxes of them in the streets. Horrible! Do you think our lower orders would become discontented, and strike, if they had not seen matches doing it first? Still more horrible!

Finally, you strike a match that never struck you, that never offended you in any way. Is that just, or even manly? Yet, in nine cases out of ten, the law takes no notice of the offence.

"_To get a light, or because others do it._" Are you not convinced now that, when you use these words, you are not speaking the truth?

III.

I do not think I ever met anybody who was quite as moral, or quite as original, as I am. You should give a complete set of my works to each of your children. I might have generalised on the ill-effects of those vices from a special case--my own case. Had I done so, I could have got it printed. I can get anything printed that I write. I preferred to take a newer line, and to show you how vile you are when you use matches. Everything is vile. But you are wondering, perhaps, how a great novelist becomes a small faddist. You must wait till next month, and then read my article on the immorality of parting one's hair with a comb. A common table-fork is the only pure thing with which one can