Chapter 2

The piece is well played all round, especially by the men. Mr. TREE is excellent, except in the ultra-melodramatic parts, where he is too noisy. The very best thing he does is the perfect finish of the Second Act, when, without a word, he sits in the chair before the fire lost in dismal thought. This is admirable: as perfect in its dramatic force as it is true to nature. It is without exception the best thing in the whole piece. Mr. F. KERR as _Reginald Slingsby_, achieves a success unequalled since Mr. BANCROFT played the _parvenu_ swell _Hawtree_. It should be borne in mind that Mr. KERR only recently played admirably the poor stuttering shabby lover in _The Struggle for Life. Il ira loin, ce bon_ M. KERR. Miss JULIA NEILSON looks the part to the life: when she has ceased to give occasional imitations of Miss ELLEN TERRY, and can really play the part as well as she looks it, then nothing more could be possibly desired. All the others as good as need be, or can be.

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THE BOGEY, MAN!

(_RETORT OF A LADY-PLAYER WHO PLAYS "FOR LOVE."_)

["No game was ever yet invented which held the female mind in thrall save by indirect means. Where would croquet have been, so far as the Ladies were concerned, without its Curates, or lawn-tennis without its 'Greek gods' ... If men played for nothing, they would find it dull enough."--JAMES PAYN]

'Tis mighty well for Menfolk at Womankind to gibe, And swear they do not care for games without some lure or bribe, But e'en in JAMES PAYN's armour there seems some weakish joints; He does not care for "glorious Whist" unless for "sixpenny points!" Whist! Whist! Whist! It charms the Bogey, Man: Whist! Whist! Whist! He'll play it when he can. But "pointless Whist," as PAYN admits, is not at all his plan; You must have "money on" to please the Bogey, Man!

Now, Ladies like to play "for love," a fault male hucksters blame, But only sordid souls deny _that_ is the true "grand game." Man's vulgarer ambition's not just to play well and win; His eye is ever on the stakes, his interest on the "tin." Whist! Whist! Whist! That blatant Bogey, Man! Whist! Whist! Whist! He'll flout us when he can. "Indirect means" though, after all, are portions of _his_ plan; For all his brag he loves the "swag," the Bogey, Man!

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MUM'S THE WORD!

[Mr. CHAMBERLAIN presided lately at a Deaf-and-Dumb Meeting.]

JOSEPH _reflecteth_:-- Deaf-mutes make the best audience, I see; _They_ gave me no rude flood of gibes to stem. True, they were deaf, and so could not hear _me_, But they were dumb, so _I_ could not hear them!

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MADAME ROLAND RE-EDITED (_from a sham-Japanese point of view_).--O LIBERTY! what strange (decorative) things are done in thy name!

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JACK'S APPEAL.

["It is impossible for warrant-officers in the Navy not to see that they are placed at a disadvantage as compared with non-commissioned officers in the Army, and it must be very difficult to persuade them that the two cases are so essentially different as to afford no real ground for grievance."--_The "Times," on "An Earnest Appeal on Behalf of the Rank and File of the Navy_."]

_Jack Tar to Tommy Atkins, loquitur_:--

TOMMY ATKINS, TOMMY ATKINS, penmen write pertikler fine Of the Wooden Walls of England, and likeways the Thin Red Line; But for those as form that Line, mate, or for those as man them Walls, Scribes don't seem so precious anxious to kick up their lyric squalls. Not a bit of it, my hearty; for one reason--it don't pay; There is small demand, my TOMMY, for a DIBDIN in our day. Oh, I know that arter dinner your M.P.'s can up and quote Tasty tit-bits from old CHARLEY, which they all reel off by rote; But if there _is_ a cherub up aloft to watch poor JACK, That there cherub ain't a poet,--bards are on another tack.

TOMMY ATKINS, TOMMY ATKINS, BULL is sweet on "loyal toasts," And he spends his millions freely on his squadrons and his hosts, But there isn't much on't, messmate, not so fur as _I_ can see, Whether 'tis rant or rhino, that gets spent on you and me. Still the _Times_ has took our case up,--werry handsome o' the _Times_!-- I have heard it charged with prejudice, class-hate, and similar crimes, But it shows it's got fair sperret and a buzzum as can feel When it backs us with a "Leader" arter printing our "Appeal." You are better off, my TOMMY, than the Navy Rank and File, You _may_ chance to get promotion,--arter waiting a good while-- But the tip-top of Tar luck's to be a Warrant Officer; We ain't like to get no further, if we even get _as_ fur. 'Tain't encouraging, my hearty. As for me, I'm old and grey, 'Tis too late now for promotion if it chanced to come _my_ way; And my knowledge, and my patter, and my manners--well I guess They mayn't be percisely fitted for a dandy ward-room mess. But the Navy of the Future, TOMMY ATKINS, is our care, We have gone through many changes, and for others must prepare. It will make the Navy popular, more prospect of advance; And what I say is, TOMMY,--_let the young uns have a chance!_ Some I know will cry "Impossible," and slate the scheme like fun. Most good things are "impossible," my TOMMY,--_till they're done!_ Quarter-decks won't fill from fokesels, not to any great extent; But, give good men a better chance! I guess that's all that's meant. As the _Times_ says, werry sensible and kind-like, preju_dice_, Though strong at first, dies quickly, melts away like thaw-struck ice; If every brave French soldier, with a knapsack on his back, _May_ find a Marshal's baton at the bottom of that pack, Why should not a true British Tar, with pluck, and luck, and wit, Find at last a "Luff's" commission hidden somewheres in his kit?

* * * * *

WAKING THEM UP.

_FLY-LEAF FROM AN ENERGETIC KAISER'S DIARY._

10 P.M.--Slip out of Opera and take somebody else's overcoat from cloak-room when nobody is looking, jump into a four-wheeler, and drive to station. Am recognised, and a special train is called out. Give them the slip, and get into a horse-box of third-class omnibus-train just about to start.

10.15 P.M. t_ 2.30 A.M.--Still in horse-box.

2.45 AM.--Stop at a big town. Hurry out. Stopped for ticket. Throw off disguise of somebody else's overcoat, and declare myself. Guard called out to escort me. When they are looking the other way, hide under refreshment-counter, and get out of station unobserved on all-fours. Am collared by a policeman. Again have to declare myself. Give policeman twenty marks, bind him to silence, and borrow his official cloak. Find out Burgomaster's address. Hammer at his front door till I have stirred up the whole household.

4 A.M. to 5 A.M.--Find out the Archbishop. Bang at his front door till he puts his head out of window, and wants to know "What on earth's the matter?" Hide round the corner. Repeat same business, with more or less success, at the residence of the Chief Justice, then at that of the Clerk of the Peace, and at those of any other officials I can call to mind, winding up by a regular good row at that of the General in Command. Trumpeter comes out. Take bugle from him, and give the call. General in Command rubs his eyes sleepily, and says he'll be down presently.

5 A.M.--Hurry back to station. Catch early cattle-train going back to Berlin. Jump on engine, and declare myself. Wire approach down line, and tear away with the cattle, at seventy miles an hour, getting back to Berlin just in time for breakfast. Fancy I woke them up! Altogether, a very enjoyable outing.

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* * * * *

"ROUGE ET NOIR!"

OR, JONATHAN'S PERPLEXING PROBLEM.

(_SOME WAY AFTER HOSEA BIGLOW'S "JONATHAN TO JOHN."_)

_Jonathan (who has been reading the Articles on "The Negro Question in the United States," in the English "Times") loq._:--

It may be ez you're right, JOHN, And both my hands _are_ full; _You_ know ez I can fight, JOHN, (I've wiped out "Sitting Bull"). Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess We see our fix," sez he. "The 'Thunderer's' paw lays down the law, Accordin' to J.B. To square it's left to _me_!"

Blood ain't so cool as ink, JOHN; Big words are easy wrote; The "coons"--well, you don't think, JOHN, I'll let 'em cut my throat. Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess Ghost-dance must stop," sez he. "Suppose the 'braves' and black ex-slaves Hed b'longed to ole J.B. Insted of unto me?"

Ten art'cles in your _Times_, JOHN, Hev giv me good advice. I mind th' old Slavery crimes, JOHN. I don't need tellin' twice. Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess, I only guess," sez he, "Seven million blacks on his folks' backs Would kind o' rile J.B. Ez much ez it riles me!"

The Red Man,--well, I s'pose, JOHN, We'll hev to wipe _him_ aout. Sech pizonous trash ez those, JOHN, The world kin do without. Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess Injuns must go," sez he. "COOPER's Red Man won't fit our plan, Though he once witched J.B. As once he fetched e'en _me_!"

The Black Man! Ah, that's wuss, JOHN. The chaps wuz right, ay _joost_, Who said the Slavery cuss, JOHN, Wud yet come home to roost. Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess The problem set," sez he, "By that derned Nig. is black and big, And fairly puzzles me, Ez it wud do J.B."

Your _Times_ would right our wrongs, JOHN, --Always _wuz_ sweet on us!-- But on dilemma's prongs, JOHN, To fix me don't _you_ fuss. Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess, Though physic's good," sez he, "It doesn't foller that he can swaller Prescriptions signed J.B. Put up by you for me!"

Thet swaggerin' black buck Nig., JOHN, Is jest a grown-up kid; Ez happy as a ---- pig, JOHN, When doin' wut he's bid. Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess He's hateful when he's free. Equal with _him_, that dark-skinn'd limb? No; that will not suit _me_, More than it wud J.B.!"

Emigrate the whole lot, JOHN? Well, that's a tallish task! In Afric's centre hot, JOHN, Send 'em to breed and bask? Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess _I_'d be right glad," sez he, "But--_will they go?_ 'Tain't done, you know, As easy as J.B. Wud settle it--for me!"

_Rouge_--there I see my way, JOHN. But _Noir_--thet's hard to front! It wun't be no child's play, JOHN, Seven million Nigs to shunt. Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess We've a hard row," sez he, "To hoe just now, but thet, somehow, I fancy, friend J.B., Your _Times_ may leave to _me_!"

[_Left considering it._

* * * * *

WELCOME BACK!

[Mr. SANTLEY, who has been long absent in Australia, reappeared at St. James's Hall on Jan. 19, and was received with great enthusiasm.]

Back from your Australian trip! _Punch_, my CHARLES, your fist must grip. You have lighted on a time When we're all chill, choke, and grime. 'Twere no marvel, O great baritone, Did you find your voice had nary tone. But there's none like you can sing "_To Anthea_," "_The Erl-King_." SCHUBERT, GOUNOD, English HATTON, Equally your Fine Art's pat on. _Punch_ can never praise _you_ scantly. _À votre santé_, good CHARLES SANTLEY!

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* * * * *

FOR _BETTER_--OR WORSE.

[At the Anti-Gambling Demonstration recently held in Exeter Hall, Sir RICHARD WEBSTER, the Attorney-General, said that it was supposed by many that it was impossible to enjoy athletic pursuits without becoming interested in a pecuniary sense. He should therefore like to add, not for the purpose of holding himself up as an example, that, during his entire interest in sports of all kinds, he had never made a bet.]

Ah! these are days when Recklessness, bereft of ready cash, Will strive to remedy the void by speculative splash; It is a salutary sight for Bankruptcy and Debt-- Our good Attorney-General who never made a bet.

His interest in manly sports, an interest immense, Was ne'er degraded to a mere "pecuniary sense;" His boyhood's love of marbles leaves him nothing to regret-- Our good Attorney-General who never made a bet.

Next, when a youth, the cricket-bat he first began to wield, And "Heads or Tails?" re-echoed for the Innings through the field. He sternly scorned to toss the coin, howe'er his friends might fret-- Our good Attorney-General who never made a bet.

And when, an Undergraduate, he swiftly skimmed his mile, And comrades staked with confidence on him their little pile, He'd beg them not on his account in gambling ways to get-- This good Attorney-General who never made a bet.

To play for money ruins whist: and seldom can his Club Persuade him to put counters (coins for Zulus!) on the rub; He _has_ been known for lozenges to dabble with piquet; He wasn't Chief Attorney then, nor was it _quite_ a bet.

His wise profession's ornament, he looks on all such games Far otherwise than RUSSELL does, than LOCKWOOD, HALL, or JAMES; For pure platonic love of play he stands, unequalled yet-- Our good Attorney-General who never made a bet.

St. Stephen's, too, thinks much of him; but ah! his soul it pains To know that Speculation o'er the lobby sometimes reigns; He's chided OLD MORALITY and RANDOLPH and the set, Beseeching them on bended knees to never make a bet.

We all are fond of him, in short, the Boxes with the Gods; That he's a first-rate fellow we would gladly lay the odds. But no!--himself would veto that. We must not wound our pet Precise Attorney-General who never made a bet.

* * * * *

THE ARISTOTELIAN TREASURE-TROVE.

All have heard of "a Manuscript found in a Bottle," But here is a waif with romance yet more fraught: A newly-found treatise by old ARISTOTLE Is flotsam indeed from the Ocean of Thought. Oh, happy discoverer, lucky Museum! Not this time the foreigner scores off JOHN BULL. Teuton pundits would lift, for such luck, their _Te Deum_! No SHAPIRA, _Punch_ hopes, such a triumph to dull! May it all turn out right! Further details won't tire us. We _may_ get some straight-tips from that Coptic papyrus!

* * * * *

ROBERT ON SKATIN'.

Well, I begins to agree with them as says, and says it too as if they ment it, that noboddy can reelly tell what is reel grand injiyment till they trys it, and trys it farely, and gives it a good chance. I remembers how I used to try and like Crikkit, when I was much yunger than I am now, and stuck to it in spite of several black eyes when I stood pint, and shouts of, "Now then, Butter-Fingers!" when I stood leg, till a serten werry fast Bowler sent me away from the wicket with two black and blew legs, and then I guv it up. I guv up Foot Ball for simler reesuns, and have never attemted not nothink in the Hathlettick line ewer since, my sumwat rapid increase in size and wait a hading me in that wise resolooshun.

But sumhow it appened, dooring the hawful whether we has all bin a shivering threw for this long time, that I found my atenshun direckted to the strange fack that, whilst amost ewerybody was busily engaged in a cussin and swarin at the bitter cold and the dirty slippery sno, ewerybody else seemed to be injying of theirselves like wun-a-clock. Now it so appened that when waiting one day upon the young swell I have before spoken of, at the "Grand 'Otel," he was jined by another swell, who told him what a glorius day's skating he had been avin in Hide Park! and how he ment to go agen to-morrer, "if the luvly frost wood but continue!"

So my cureosety was naterally egsited, and nex day off I gos to Hide Park, and there I seed the xplanation of what had serprised me so much. For there was hunderds and hunderds of not only spectably drest Gents, but also of reel-looking Ladys, a skatin away like fun, and a larfing away and injying theirselves jest as if it had bin a nice Summer's day. Presently I append to find myself a standing jest by a nice respectabel looking man, with a nice, cumferal-looking chair, and seweral pares of Skates; and presently he says to me, quite permiscus-like, "They all seems to be a injying theirselves, don't they, Sir?" which they most suttenly did; and then he says to me, says he, "Do you skate, Sir?" to which my natral pride made me reply, "Not much!" "Will you have a pair on. Sir," says he, "jest for a trial?" "Is there any fear of a axident?" says I. "Oh no. Sir," says he, "not if you follers my hinstrucshuns." So I acshally sets myself down in his chair, and lets him put me on a pair of Skates! The first differculty was, how to get up, which I found as I coudn't manage at all without his asistance; for, strange to say, both of my feet insisted on going quite contrary ways. Howewer, by grarsping on him quite tite round his waste, I at last manidged to go along three or four slides, and then I returned to the chair, and sat down again; and he was kind enuff to compliment me, and to say that he thort I was a gitting on fust-rate, and, if I woud only cum ewery day for about a week or so, he had no dowt but he shood see me a skating a figger of hate like the best on 'em!

Hencouraged by his truthfool remarks, I at larst wentured to let go of him and try a few slides by myself, and shood no dowt have suckseeded hadmerably, but my bootifal stick to which I was a trustin to elp me from falling, slided rite away from me in a most unnatral manner, and down I came on my onerabel seat, with such a smasher as seemed to shake all my foreteen stun into a cocked-hat, to speak, hallegorically, and there I lay, elpless and opeless, and wundring how on airth I shood ever get up again. But my trusty frend and guide was soon at my side, as the Poet says, but all his united force, with that of too boys who came to his assistance, and larfed all the wile, as rude boys will, coud not get me on my feet agen 'till my too skates was taken off, and I agen found myself on _terror fermer_ on my friend's chair. It took me longer to recover myself than I shood have thort posserbel, but at larst I was enabled to crawl away, but not 'till my frend had supplied me with jest a nice nip of brandy, which he said he kept andy in case of any such surprisin axidents as had appened to me.

So what with paying for the use of the skates, and the use of the Brandy, and the use of the too boys, and the use of a handsum Cab to take me to the "Grand," that was rayther a deer ten minutes skating, and as it was reelly and trewly my fust attemt at that poplar and xciting passtime, I think I may safely affirm--as I have alreddy done to my better harf--whose langwidge, when I related my hadwentur, is scarcely worth repeating, as it was most certenly not complementary--that it shall be my larst. ROBERT.

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* * * * *

A FREEZING POINT.

(_BY A FROZEN-OUT LOVER._)

They tell me thou art cold, my sweet-- A fact that scarcely odd is. Gales half so cruel never beat Against poor human bodies. Cupid's attire is far too light To weather Thirty Fahrenheit.

How can a glow the soul entrance, When frostbite nips the finger, And blushes quit the countenance To nigh the nostril linger! Warmth were a miracle, in sight And grip of Thirty Fahrenheit.

Chill! chill to _me_, my Paradise!! I'll not complain or curse on. One cannot well be otherwise To any mortal person. Mere icebergs ambulant, we fight Ferocious Thirty Fahrenheit.

Cold art thou? Not so cold as I-- Nought living could be colder. I'm far too cold to sob or sigh, Still less in passion smoulder. I'm turning fast to something quite As numb as Thirty Fahrenheit.

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INFORMATION REQUIRED.--"Sir, I see a Volume advertised entitled, _Unspoken Sermons_. I should be glad to know where these are preached, as that's the place for yours truly, ONE WHO SNORES."

* * * * *

NEW BOOK OF IRISH LIFE.--_The Bedad's Sons_. By the Author of the tale of Indian Life, _The Begum's Daughters_.

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* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

_House of Commons, Thursday, January 22_.--Both Houses met to-day after Christmas Recess. No QUEEN's Speech; no moving and seconding of Address; no Royal Commission and procession of SPEAKER to Lords. All seems strange, and spirits generally a little depressed. Only ROBERT FOWLER rises superior to circumstances of hour. Blustering about the Lobby "like Boreas," says CAUSTON.

"Only not so rude," says HARRY LAWSON, jealous for the reputation of Metropolitan Members, even though some sit on the Benches opposite. With folded hands thrust behind coat-tails, rollicking stride, thunderous voice, and blooming countenance, Sir ROBERT positively pervades the Lobby. Personally receives POPE HENNESSY; shakes hands with everybody; and finally halting for a moment under the electric-lit archway leading into House, presents interesting and attractive picture of the Glorified Alderman.

Scotch Members take possession of Commons to-night. LORD ADVOCATE brings in Bill, providing new machinery for private legislation; the Scotch Members with one accord fall upon proposal, and tear it to ribbons. Meanwhile other Members troop off to Lords, where spectacle is provided which beats the pantomimes into fits. Two new Peers to take their seats; procession formed in back room outside; enters from below Bar. First comes Black Rod, with nothing black about him; then Garter King-at-Arms, a herculean personage, fully five feet high, with a dangerous gleam in his eye, and the Royal Arms of England quartered in scarlet and blue and gold on his manly back. Behind, in red cloaks slashed with ermine, the new Baron and his escort of two brother Peers. There being no room for them to advance in due procession, they fall into single file, make their way to the Woolsack, where sits that pink of chivalry, that mould of fashion, that perfection of form, the LORD HIGH CHANCELLOR.