Chapter 3

"HOW'S THAT FOR HY"-GIENIC?--In spite of the London Season being over, the Hygienic Congress had what 'ARRY would call a "'igh old time" of it in London last week. In anticipation of their next merry meeting, a distinguished member of the Association is already busily engaged in preparing a paper on "The Real and Apparent Connection between 'Hygiene' and 'High Jinks.'"

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UNDER THE SCREW.

(_BY A LIBERAL M.P._)

Oh, where shall I go, and what shall I do? Turn which way I will, I am under the screw. Every Voter must feel a tight clutch on the throat Of my conscience--poor thing!--ere he'll promise his vote. PAT late was my patron,--'twas only his fun! Now he's "three single gentlemen" _not_ rolled in one. There's PARNELL, MACARTHY, and SAUNDERSON! Phew! If I partly please one, I make foemen of two. Hang Ireland! And Scotland is getting as bad. The S.H.R.A. will insist on their fad; And their plan, too, is "pressure!" It's just nought but "squeeze." And the poor M.P.'s life is one long "Little-Ease." TAFFY too takes his turn at the merciless rack, And there isn't a faddist, fanatic, or quack But has his own Screw, which he wants to apply. The Temperance Man "Direct Veto" would try, And if I'm not found to accept it with glee, He's vicious, and puts direct veto on _me_. Ungenerous hot Anti-Jennerites claim My vote against vaccine, or howl at my name; The Working-Man wants his Eight Hours, or, by Jingo, _He_'ll give me--at polling--particular stingo. The Socialist wants me to do with the Land A--well, a dashed _something_ I can't understand; The Financial Reformer, 'tis little he "axes," _He_ only requires me to take off all taxes! And now, with the General Election in view, I'm dashed if a poor M.P. knows _what_ to do. How to live on the rack is a regular poser. By Jove, I'm half tempted to turn a--Primroser! The soft "Primrose Path" _may_ conduct to the fire, But 'tis easy at least, and of Screwing I tire!

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TOO FREE TO BE EASY.

SCENE--_Exterior of a Board School. Enter R. and L. well-meaning Philanthropist and long-headed Artisan. They greet one another with differing degrees of cordiality._

_Philanthropist_ (_heartily_). Ah, my good friend, and how are you taking advantage of this great boon--the enormous privilege of free education?

_Artisan_ (_doggedly_). By not sending my lad to school.

_Phil._ (_with pained astonishment_). You surprise me.

_Art._ I don't see why I should. I'm only following SAWNIE's lead. It's what they did in Scotland. They gave _them_ free education, and that's the way to read it, and a good way too!

_Phil._ Well, at least you ought to be grateful.

_Art._ Grateful! Grateful for what?

_Phil._ Why, for free education--for education, you know, that costs you nought.

_Art._ Oh, it costs nought, does it? Then thank you for nothing!

[_Exeunt--in very different directions!_

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MUSIC FOR THE PARLIAMENTARY MILLION.

MR. FARMER-ATKINSON, M.P., has announced that during the Recess he will deliver political addresses interspersed with songs and music. To assist him we have prepared a specimen "utterance," which, for the sake of convenience, we have thrown into a dramatic form.

_Enter Mr. FARMER-ATKINSON, M.P., with an assortment of musical instruments which he places on a table in front of him. Immense applause, during which the Hon. Gentleman picks up a Cornet and plays a solo. Enthusiasm._

_Mr. Farmer-Atkinson_ (_bowing after recovering from his exertions_). Ladies and Gentlemen. (_Hear, hear!_) Thank you, Ladies and Gentlemen, for your cordial reception. (_Applause._) And you must know, Ladies and Gentlemen, that although I have given you a solo on the cornet, I did not visit this flourishing town (_cheers_), this highly civilised town (_renewed applause_), this model town (_hearty cheering_), with the intention of blowing my own trumpet. (_He pauses--silence._) Don't you understand? I did not want to blow my own trumpet--joke, see? (_A laugh._) Thank you! And now about the Irish Question. Well everybody harps upon it. So will I. "_Come back to Erin._" (_Plays and sings the touching melody--a harp accompaniment--applause._) Thank you! And now about the Triple Alliance. Well, I think I can illustrate that, both musically and politically. Triple means three. Well, I will take this drum on my back, beating it with the sticks that are bound to my shoulders; then I will apply my mouth to this set of pipes, while I beat a triangle with my hands. There! (_Plays the musical instruments simultaneously--applause._) Thank you! You see I get some sort of music. A little unattractive possibly ("_No! no!_"), but still sufficiently pleasing to elicit your admiration. ("_Hear, hear!_") Thank you! Well, this effect reminds me of the Triple Alliance. We may take the drum to represent Italy, the set of pipes Germany, always fond of making a shrill noise, and the triangle will ably represent Austria. See? (_Great applause._) And now I am very unwilling to weary you further. ("_No, no!_") Thank you! But I myself have an appointment which I must keep, so therefore, I must conclude my entertainment--I should say speech. Otherwise you would grow weary of me? ("_No, no!_") Thank you! But before bidding you good-bye, I must sing you one more song that I think will please everybody. It is called "_Home Sweet Home_." (_Thunders of applause._) And now I will just get the right key and fire away. (_He tunes up harp, and prepares to play._) And now, Ladies and Gentlemen, silence please, while I sing the most touching song in my _répertoire_. (_Sings with immense feeling, "Home, Sweet Home."_) Now then, Ladies and Gentlemen, chorus, please--

"Home, sweet home! Where'er we wander, There's no place like ho--o--o--ome!"

[_The chorus is repeated as Mr. FARMER-ATKINSON disappears behind a curtain on the platform, and the audience fade away._

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A PENNY FRENCH--TWOPENCE BRITISH.

(_A FRAGMENT FROM A ROMANCE OF THE G.P.O._)

The youth, without a moment's hesitation, dashed manfully into the sea. He was watched by the excited spectators, who cheered him as he breasted the waves that beat against the head of the Admiralty Pier. It must, indeed, have been a great prize in view that could have caused such a daring feat. That was the thought of the old Coast-guardsman, as he watched the lad (he was scarcely more than a boy) as he took stroke after stroke for Calais. Now he rested on the back of a treacherous porpoise that soon cast him away.

"Will the steamboat lend him a helping hand, or rather rope?" muttered the veteran salt, as he watched the seemingly fragile figure of the swimmer. "Ah, by Neptune! well done! Strike me flat with a lubberly marling-spike, but a kindly act indeed!"

The action that had extorted the admiration of the aged seaman was a rope that had been thrown over the steamboat's bulwarks. The now weary swimmer gratefully accepted the boon. It saved his life.

"Will you pay the difference, and come on board, young Sir?" asked the Captain of the packet, facetiously.

"Were it not that I am very poor," gasped out the tired, and shivering lad, "I should not have undertaken this gigantic but necessary task."

He held on bravely, and in good time the coast of France was sighted, neared, and reached. Although as cold as stone, owing to the exposure to the waves, the swimmer was now refreshed. He threw away the rope, and once more struck out.

"Adieu!" he cried to the crew of the steamboat. "I can finish the rest of the distance without assistance."

He was as good as his word. Soon he was standing on French ground buying a post-card for India.

"And why have you come in this strange fashion?" asked an aged missionary of British extraction.

The weary lad replied in a faint voice, "Because at Calais a post-card to India costs a penny, at Dover twopence! Yet both posts surely are conveyed by the same mail. By swimming from Dover to Calais I have saved a penny!" And as he recorded this undoubted fact he fainted.

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