Chapter 2

_The Soldier_ (_who disapproves of useless expenditure_). Ain't you put in enough bloomin' pennies?

_Susan Jane_. This is the last. (_Reads Directions_.) Oh, you've got to set the finger on the dial to the question you want answered, and then put your penny in. What shall I ask her?

_Soldier_. Anyone would think you meant to go by the answer, to hear you talk!

_Susan Jane_. P'raps I do. (_Coquettishly, as she sets the index to a printed question._) Now, you mustn't look. I won't 'ave _you_ see what I ask!

_Soldier_ (_loftily_). _I_ don't want to look, I tell yer--it's nothing to me.

_Susan Jane_. But you _are_ looking--I saw you. [_A curious and deeply interested crowd collects around them._

_Soldier_. Honour bright, I ain't seen nothing. Are you going to be all night over this 'ere tomfoolery?

[_SUSAN JANE puts in a penny, blushing and tittering; a faint musical tinkle is heard from the case, and the little fairies begin to revolve in a solemn and mystic fashion; growing excitement of crowd. A pasteboard bower falls aside, revealing a small disc on which a sentence is inscribed._

_Person in Crowd_ (_reading slowly over SUSAN JANE's shoulder_). "Yus; 'e is treuly worthy of your love."

_Crowd_ (_delighted_). That's worth a penny to know, _ain't_ it, Miss? _Your_ mind's easy now! It's the soldier she was meanin'. Ah,_'e_ ought to feel satisfied too, after that! &c., &c. [_Confusion of SUSAN JANE._

_Soldier_ (_as he departs with S.J._). Well, yer know, there's something _in_ these things, when all's said!

IN DEPARTING.

_A Pleased Pleasure-seeker_. Ah, that's something like, that is! I've seen the 'Aunted Miser, and the Man with the 'Orrors, and a Execution, and a Dyin' Child--they do make you _larf_, yer know!

_Second P.P._ Yes, it's a pity the rest o'the Exhibition ain't more the same style, to my thinking!

_A Captious Critic_. Well, they don't seem to me to 'ave much to do with anything _naval_.

_His Companion_. Why, it comes under machinery, don't it? You're so bloomin' particular, you are! Wouldn't touch a glass o' beer 'ere, unless it was brewed with salt-water, I suppose! Well, come on, then--there's a bar 'andy!

[_They adjourn for refreshment._

* * * * *

PROVERBS PRO OMNIBUS.--Directly the Chairman of the General Omnibus Company observed that if the men's demands were conceded the fares would have to be raised, there was a rush to be the first out with the old proverb about Penny wise and Pound foolish. However, "In for a penny" remains as heretofore, the _employés_ having successfully gone "in for a Pound." Let them now "take care of the pence," and they may feel well assured that this particular POUND will be able to take care of himself. Well, farewell the tranquillity of the streets of last week! Henceforth not "chaos," but "'Bus 'os," has come again!

* * * * *

NOLENS VOLENS.

Dear MR. PUNCH,--I hear that some people are in a great state of mind lest some blessed Bill brought in by the Government, should "destroy Voluntary Schools." What howling bosh! Why, there _are no_ Voluntary Schools! No, they're all Compulsory, confound 'em! or who'd attend 'em? Not Yours disgustedly,

A HUMAN BOY.

* * * * *

MR. WELLER & CO., AND THE 'BUS STRIKE.--Mr. SUTHERST seems to occupy, as towards the 'Bus-drivers, a similar position to that filled by the eminent _Mr. Solomon Pell_, the general adviser, and man of business to the Elder _Mr. Weller_, and his professional coaching brethren. It is to be hoped that the _Solomon Pell_ of the 'Bus-drivers has been treated as liberally as was the real _Mr. Pell_, the friend of the LORD CHANCELLOR, by _Mr. Weller_ Senior, the Mottle-faced Man, and others.

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

The most interesting book, one of the Baron's Retainers ("blythe and gay,") has read this year is, _The Life of Laurence Oliphant_. If it were not written by a reputable person, and published by so eminently respectable a house as BLACKWOOD's, there would be difficulty about accepting it as a true story of the life of a man whom some of us knew, as lately living in London, wearing a frock coat, and even a tall hat of cylindrical shape. Such a mingling of shrewd business qualities and March madness as met in LAURENCE OLIPHANT is surely a new thing. A man of gentle birth, of high culture, of wide experience, of supreme ability, and, strangest of all, with a keen sense of humour--that such an one should voluntarily step down from high social position at the bidding of a vulgar, selfish, self-seeking, and, according to some hints dropped here and there, grossly immoral man, should, at beck of his fat forefinger, go forth to a strange land to live amid sordid circumstances, and with uncongenial company, to work as a common, farm-labourer, to peddle strawberries at a railway station, passes belief. With respect to Mr. HARRIS, one feels inclined to quote _Betsy Prig's_ remark touching one who may, peradventure, have been a maternal relation. "I don't believe," said _Betsy_, "there's no sich a person." But there was, and, stranger still, there was a LAURENCE OLIPHANT to bend the knee to him. Not the least striking thing in a book of rare value is the manner in which Mrs. OLIPHANT has acquitted herself in a peculiarly difficult task. No man would have had the restraining patience necessary to deal with the HARRIS episodes as she has done.

The Assistant Reader has been refreshing himself with _Lapsus Calami_, by J.K.S., published by MACMILLAN and BOWES. It is a booklet of light verse, containing here and there some remarkably brilliant pieces of satire and parody. The first of two parodies of ROBERT BROWNING is unsurpassable for successful audacity. The last poem in the book is "An Election Address," written for, but apparently not used by, the present POSTMASTER-GENERAL, when he was Candidate for Cambridge University, in 1882. He says of himself, after confessing to a dislike for literature and science,--

"But I have fostered, guided, planned Commercial enterprise; in me Some ten or twelve directors, and Six worthy chairmen you may see."

All the pieces are not so good as those cited--that would be too much to expect--but "get it," say

BARON DE BOOK-WORMS & Co.

* * * * *

MORTUARY.

ANDREW LANGUAGE--no, LANG!--who the classics is pat in, Suggests to our writers, as test of their "style," Just to turn their equivocal prose into Latin, As DRYDEN did. Truly the plan makes one smile! Reviewers find Novelists' nonsense much weary 'em. Writers of twaddle Take DRYDEN a model-- Turn your books into some great "_dead_ language"--and _bury_ 'em!

* * * * *

WHAT THEY HAVE BEEN TOLD DOWN EAST;

_OR, A MAUVAIS JEW D'ESPRIT._

Will you, if you please, point out to me the way to the streets which, I am told, are paved with gold?

Where shall I find the employer of labour who, I have been told, will instantly get me occupation at a wage of 60 roubles the week?

Dear me! in this, then, your "White Chapel"? I was told it was a luxurious quarter, famous for its Palaces.

Surely this horrid den is not one of your model work-rooms? I was told that such things existed only in Russia!

And are these people who are scowling at and cursing me your typical working population? Why, I was told that I should find them dear brothers, waiting to welcome us with open arms.

And is this pittance you offer me all that you pay for making a coat? I was told that it was quite twelve times as much as this.

Ah! I'm afraid I have been told, and have given credit to, a great many things to which I never should have listened at all.

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE FRUIT OF THE SESSION.

"To the bi-monthly exhibition of the Royal Horticultural Society the Marquis of SALISBURY sent a magnificent collection--of strawberries especially. Mr. W.H. SMITH showed specimens of the same luscious fruit, for which he received the thanks of the Society."--_Daily Telegraph_.

_Head-Gardener_ SM-TH _soliloquiseth_:--

OHO! my beauty! If _you_ don't get a fust prize, and "receive the thanks of the Society" I'm a cowcumber! "The Fruits of Early Industry and Economy." Title of a picture by that splendid sample of the industrious and the economical, GEORGE MORLAND, I believe. Yes, that's it. My Industry and G-SCH-N's Economy.

We are a moral family; We are, we are, we are!

All the cardinal virtues bound in--ahem! no matter.

Talk of the Gigantic Gooseberry! What is that apocryphal monstrosity compared with this Brobdingnagian Berry? [_Sings._

Bravo, my "British Queen"! Long live my "British Queen"! Brave "British Queen"! Send it victorious, First-Prizer glorious, Fill Rads censorious With envious spleen!

As you _will_, my Beauty! When did swaggering H-RC-RT's horticulture produce such goodly fruits? Or sour-mug'd M-RL-Y's? Or leary L-BBY's? Or Slawkenbergian M-ND-LLA's? Or even that of the Grand Old Grower, GL-DST-NE himself, with all his fluent patter about British Pomona, and the native Jam-pot?

I know the badly-beaten lot maintain that the plant is a "Sport" from an old purchase of their own. Bless you, they claim _all_ the good stocks--always did. Who cares? My young floricultural friend, JOE of Birmingham, who knows a bit about fruits as well as concerning orchids, let me tell you,--JOE, I say, laughs their preposterous pretensions to scorn. Look at G-SCH-N's own particular plant there--a bit late, but very promising, and probably destined to take a prize before the season's over. Didn't JOE recommend the stock to GL-DST-NE years ago? And didn't the haughty Hawarden horticulturist turn up his nose at it as an "Unauthorised" intruder upon his own Prize Programme? And, more by token, didn't JOE get the hump in consequence, cut the old connection, and set up on his own account in the forcing-house line, with a friendly leaning to our firm? Aha! "_Hinc illæ lachrymæ_," as the Guv'nor would say. Hence, also, this Colossal Strawberry!

Thanks of the Society? I should rayther think so! They may chaff "OLD MORALITY" as much as they like--but morality _pays_, even in strawberry-growing; and my duty to my (British) Queen has brought about _this_ triumph. Early Industry started it, and careful horticultural Economy brought it to its present pitch of perfection. Look at it! Size, shape, sweetness, scent, all superb! If the Season shouldn't produce another Prize-Winner, this alone ought to satisfy SOLLY. And if G-SCH-N's seedling, "Gratis," _should_ turn out a triumph later on, why we shall score tremendously. Wish G-SCH-N would "sit up and snort" less, and smile more. Patience and plenty of sun! That's the tip for a horticulturist. Standing at the door and shying stones at your neighbour's glasshouses, won't make your own fruit ripen, if GEORGE JOKIM could only see it. As H-RT D-KE says, _tu quoques_ are a nuisance, and want fumigating off the face of the earth. JOKIM and ARTHUR B-LF-R a bit too fond of 'em for _my_ fancy. However, all the "you're anothers" on earth can't affect my Strawberry now, thanks be! _The_ Fruit of the Season, though I say it who perhaps shouldn't.

(_Sings._) From "Greenlands" sunny garden, And vista'd vitreous panes, We mean to rival Hawarden, In glories and in gains. I have produced, Sweet WILL-I-AM, This Giant Strawber-ry, In horticultural skill I am A match for W.G.! [_Left chortling._

* * * * *

THE VERY LAST ON THE 'BUS STRIKE.--After the comparative quiet of last week, the streets of London will now be as 'bussy as ever.

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

MRS. GINGHAM ON THE GREAT 'BUS QUESTION.

"The demand for 'Buses is immensely stimulated by their presence, and when they are no longer there, the people who thought them indispensable get on very well indeed without them.... Under the influence of penny fares, Londoners are rapidly forgetting how to walk."--_The Times_.

Ah! it's all very fine, my good Sir, whosomever you are as writes such, But of decent poor folk and their needs it is plain as you do not know much. Which I ain't quite so young as I was, nor as light, nor as smart on my feet, And you may not know quite what it is to be out late o' night and dead beat, Out Islington way, arter ten, with a bundle, a child, and a cage, As canaries is skeery at night, and a seven mile walk, at my age, All along of no 'Bus to be had, love or money, and cabs that there dear, And a stitch in my side and short breath, ain't as nice as you fancy,--no fear! Likeways look at my JOHN every morning, ah! rain, hail or shine, up to town, With no trams running handy, and corns! As I sez to my friend Mrs. BROWN, Bless the 'Buses, I sez, they're a boon to poor souls, as must travel at times, And we can't _all_ keep kerridges neither, wus luck! Penny Fares ain't no crimes, If you arsk me, as did ought to know. Which my feelings I own it does rouge To hear big-wigs a-sneering at 'Buses. There may be a bit of a scrouge, And the smell of damp straw mixed with pep'mint ain't nice to a dalicot nose, Likeways neat "Oh be Joyful's" a thing as with orange and snuff hardly goes. But we ain't all rekerky nor rich, we can't all afford sixpence a mile, And when we are old, late, and tired, or it's wet, we can't think about _style_. The 'Bus is the poor body's kerridge, young feller--and as for your talk About not never missing a lift, or forgetting--dear sakes!--_how_ to walk, And the nice quiet streets and all that; why it's clear _you_ ain't been a poor clerk With a precious small "screw," in wet weather. Ah! you wouldn't find it no lark With thin boots and a 'ard 'acking cough, and three mile every day to and thro', Or a puffy old woman like me, out at Witsuntide wisiting JOE, (My young son in the greengrocer line); or a governess, peaky and pale, As has just overslep herself slightly, and can't git by cab or by rail. "Ugly lumbering wehicles?" Ah! and we're ugly and lumbering too, A lot of us poor Penny 'Bus fares, as isn't high-born or true-blue. But the 'Bus is our help. Wery like some do ride as had far better walk, Whether tip-toppy swells or poor shop-girls. But all that is trumpery talk. What I arsk is, why shouldn't the 'Buses be kept a bit reglar, like Cabs, In the matter of fares and of distances? Oh, a old woman it crabs To hear of Perprietors pinching pore fellers as drive or conduck, While the "Pirates" play up merry mag with the poor helpless fare, as gets stuck Betwixt Dividend-grinders and Strikers? It ought to be altered, _I_ say. Whilst they talk of what 'Bus-folk should earn, they forget the pore Publick--who _pay_!

* * * * *

LE PRINCE S'AMUSE.

_AN APOLOGETIC IDYL._

My life is held to be a round of Pleasures; All I can say is, they who thus would rate it, For life's delights have most peculiar measures: For though in plainest English they don't state it, 'Tis clear "no recreation" meets their views, Or why that sneering cry, "_Le Prince s'amuse?_"

Or do they think a Prince, without repining, Foundation-stones unceasingly is laying, Rewarded with a glut of public dining, The pangs of hunger ever to be staying, Is recreation such as he would choose? If so--I understand "_Le Prince s'amuse!_"

But how a world that notes his daily doings, The everlasting round of weary function,-- The health-returnings, speeches, interviewings. Can grudge him some relief, without compunction, Seems quite to me "another pair of shoes!" Dyspeptic is that cry, "_Le Prince s'amuse!_"

* * * * *

THE MODERN BRIGAND.

(_FRAGMENT FROM THE ADVENTURES OF A RANSOMED PRISONER._)

I must confess I was agreeably surprised at the treatment to which I was subjected by my capturers. Instead of being loaded with chains and confined in a cell beneath the castle's moat, I was given perfect liberty, and had quite a pleasant suite of rooms. I should scarcely have known that I was in durance had not one of the less refined of the brigands shown me a revolver, and playfully informed me that its contents were intended for me if I attempted to escape. The Chief was absolutely charming. He treated me in the most courteous manner, and ended his first interview with me by requesting "the honour of my company at dinner."

"You need not dress!" he observed, "although I like to put on a tail-coat myself. But I know that you have had some difficulty with my people about your luggage, and so I shall be only too delighted to excuse _grande tenue_."

The "difficulty" to which my host referred was the seizing of my portmanteau by the gang of thieves of which he was the acknowledged head. I suggested that I might possibly recover some of its contents.

"I am afraid not," returned the Chieftain. "You see my people are very methodical, and by this time I fear all the goods will have been sold. The motto of the Club is 'small profits and quick returns.' We find no difficulty in trading. As we carry on business on the most economical principles, we can quote prices even cheaper than the Stores."

And this I found to be the case. Although the brigands were very civil to me, I was unable to trace any of my property. However, as my host in the kindest manner had allowed me to dispense with ceremony, I ventured to appear at dinner-time in my ordinary tourist's dress.

"I am delighted to see you," said the Chief, speaking English for the first time, "as you are now my guest, I must confess that we are fellow countrymen."

"Indeed!" I replied, considerably astonished. "If you are really of British nationality, how is it that I find you a professional thief?"

"You are mistaken," returned the Chief. "I merely belong to a society for the redistribution of capital. You know we are all balloted for, and I was myself afraid that I might get pilled."

"Indeed!" I exclaimed, in a tone of surprise. "Surely your accomplishments--for I noticed, on my arrival, that you were a first-rate hand at lawn tennis, and played the flute--would have secured your admission?"

"Well," he returned with a smile, "I fancy they helped me with the Committee. But unhappily my antecedents were bad--I had made a fortune on the London Stock Exchange, and my books were scarcely as satisfactory as our bandit auditors could have desired them to be. However they took a kindly view of the case, and allowed me to pass through. But pardon me, I see your ransom has arrived. I am afraid I must say good bye. A pleasant journey."

And shaking me warmly by the hand, he helped me into the conveyance that was to take me back to home and freedom. I have never seen him since.

* * * * *

* * * * *

A COY COLOSSUS.

PARIS, _June 15_.--It is stated here, on no authority whatever, that when the CZAR was recently visiting the French Exhibition at Moscow, his Imperial Majesty was heard to remark, "This makes me desire to see the Boulevards again." A visit of the ruler of Russia to Paris during the Summer is therefore considered to be certain. An offensive and defensive Alliance between the two countries is said to be on the point of signature.

A few evenings ago, in a low _café_ in Belleville, M. NOKASHIKOFF, who left St. Petersburg lately to escape his creditors, and who conceived the happy idea of raising a little money by walking to Paris in a sack composed of the French and Russian national flags stitched together, was entertained to supper by his Gallic admirers. The proceedings, especially towards midnight, were very enthusiastic. Throughout the festivities, constant cries of "_Vive l'Alliance Franco-Russe!_" were raised. This incident is said to have placed the immediate signature of the Treaty between the CZAR and President CARNOT beyond a doubt.

Last evening a foreigner, who by appearance would have been taken for a Muscovite, was walking along the asphalte, when he was surrounded by a crowd of persons crying "_Vive la Russie!_" The foreigner seemed both surprised and annoyed by these attentions, and at length began to use his fists and his boots liberally on the ringleaders of the mob. This treatment, however, seemed only to increase their Russophil ardour, and the stranger was soon hoisted on to the shoulders of some of his foremost admirers, struggling violently. On the arrival of a gendarme, he explained that he was an English book-maker, and that "this bloomin' mob of boot-lickers had taken him for a bloomin' Russian!" The crowd shortly afterwards dispersed. The completion of the formal alliance between France and Russia is considered less certain than it was a few days ago.

The Frenchman, M. TÊTE-BOIS, who recently attempted to walk on his head from Paris to Moscow, in order to show the sympathy felt in France for the Muscovite Empire, did not succeed in carrying out his design. He was stopped shortly after crossing the Russian frontier, imprisoned, and heavily ironed. After suffering in this way for a week, he was told that he must leave Russian territory within twenty-four hours, or else continue his journey to Siberia. On being appealed to, the CZAR graciously extended the time given for quitting Russia to forty-eight hours. This Imperial clemency has caused the widest feeling of gratitude and satisfaction in France, and the signature of the definitive Alliance between the two countries is confidently expected at an exceedingly early date.

* * * * *

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.