Chapter 2

_Podb._ Can't say--but a pleasanter one than Venice will get of you _without_ it. You don't mean to face the fair Miss TROTTER while you're like _that_, do you?

_Culch._ (_with dignity_). Most certainly I _do_. I am much mistaken in Miss TROTTER if she will attach the slightest importance to a mere temporary--er--disfigurement. These swellings never do last long. _Do_ they now?

_Podb._ Oh, not more than a month or so, I daresay, if you can keep from touching them. (_He laughs again._) Excuse me, old chap, but I just got you in a new light. Those mosquitoes have paid you out for that pastille--by Jove, they have!

_Landing-steps entrance of the Hotel. Nine A.M._

_Culch._ (_coming out a little self-consciously, and finding Mr. TROTTER_). Ah, good morning! What are your--er--impressions of Venice, Mr. TROTTER?

_Mr. Trotter_ (_thoughtfully_). Well, I'm considerable struck with it, Sir. There's a purrfect freshness and novelty about Vernis that's amusing to a stranger like myself. We've nothing just like this city out West. No, _Sir_. And how are--(_Becomes aware of CULCHARD's appearance._) Say, _you_ don't look like your slumbers had been one unbroken ca'm, either! The mosquitoes hev been powerful active makin' alterations in you. Perseverin' and industrious insects, Sir! Me and my darter have been for a loaf round before breakfast. I dunno if you've seen _her_ yet, she's--.

_Miss T._ (_coming out from behind_). Poppa, they've fixed up our breakf--(_Sees CULCHARD, and turns away, covering her face_). Don't you turn your head in _this_ direction, Mr. CULCHARD, or I guess I'll expire right away!

_Culch._ (_obeying, wounded_). I confess I did _not_ think a few mosquito-bites would have quite such an effect upon you!

_Miss T._ You're vurry polite, I'm sure! But I possess a hand-mirror; and, if you cann't bear to look me in the face, you'd better keep away!

_Culch._ (_takes a hasty glance, and discovers, with a shock, that she is almost as much disfigured as himself_). Oh, I--I wasn't--(_With an effort of politeness._) Er--I hope _you_ haven't been inconvenienced at all?

_Miss T._ Inconvenienced! With haff-a-dozen healthy mosquitoes springing a surprise party on me all night! I should guess _so_. (_Noticing C.'s face._) But what in the land have _you_ been about? Well, if that isn't real _tact_ now! I reckoned I'd been dealt a full hand in spots; but now I've seen you, I guess there's a straight flush against me, and I can just throw up. But you don't play Poker, _do_ you? Come along in, Poppa, do. [_She goes in with Mr. T._

_Culch._ (_alone, disenchanted_). I could _not_ have believed any amount of bites could have made such a terrible difference in her. She looks positively _plain_! I do trust they're not _permanent_, or really--! [_He gazes meditatively down on the lapping water._

* * * * *

"WILLIAMS ON WHEELS."

[At Bridgend County Court, on the 16th inst., Judge WILLIAMS had to hear an action in which 50l. was claimed as compensation for damages caused by careless driving. The evidence of one important witness having still to be heard when the hour arrived for the Judge to leave by train, his Honour, with the legal advocates and the remaining witnesses, travelled together to Llantrissant, the witness giving his evidence _en route_. On reaching Llantrissant, Judge WILLIAMS gave his decision in the station-master's office, finding for the plaintiff.--_Daily Paper_.]

SCENE--_Interior of a Saloon Carriage, shortly after the innovation started by Judge WILLIAMS, has come into general favour. Judge seated on portmanteau at one end. Parties to suit glare at each other from opposite sides. Usher, Witnesses, Counsel, &c.

_Judge._ Usher, that is the third time the engine-driver has blown his whistle! Tell him that on the very next occasion I shall send him to prison for contempt of court.

_Usher._ Yes, m'lud. [_Exit Usher._

_Facetious Counsel._ The noise is so deafening, we might even call it a "part-heard case." [_Laughter._

_Judge._ Well, let's get on. (_To Witness._) You say you actually saw the prisoner mix the arsenic with the Madeira?

_Witness._ I did, m'lud.

_Judge._ Well, Gentlemen of the Jury, perhaps we had better, as a matter of form, have the prisoner before us. By the bye, where _is_ the prisoner?

_Usher_ (_returning_). I believe he's in the dog-box, m'lud. They had to put him there, he was so refractory in the guard's van.

_Judge._ That shows the advantages of this new way of going Circuit. A dog-box is just the sort of receptacle for a person accused of murder in the first class--I mean in the first degree. When do we get to Blankchester Junction?

_Foreman._ In a quarter of an hour, m'lud, by my time-tables. And I should like to say that most of the Jury wish to get out there--they feel the oscillations of this carriage so much. If your Lordship would sum up now--

_Judge_ (_with alacrity_). Quite so. Blankchester is a convenient place for _me_ to alight, I think.

[_Sums up lucidly in about five minutes, and Jury at once brings in verdict of Guilty of Manslaughter._

_Judge_ (_surprised_). Manslaughter, Gentlemen! Perhaps, after all, I was wrong in not summing up in the Booking-Office. It would have given time for more consideration. [_Awful collision occurs._

_Judge_ (_at bottom of an embankment_). Usher, Usher! I haven't pronounced sentence yet! Bring the prisoner before me!

_Usher_ (_wounded_). Beg your Lordship's pardon--prisoner's escaped!

_Judge._ Escaped? Well, I can sentence him in his absence quite as well. Oh, dear, my back _is_ bad! Those law-books came down on the top of me, I believe. The sentence of the Court is that the prisoner be imprisoned, when found, for three years.

_Facetious Counsel_ (_turning up from a heap of wreckage_). As a _First Class_ misdemeanant, of course?

_Judge_ (_catching the spirit of the joke_). First Class! No--Third Class, for Portland! [_Left on Circuit._

* * * * *

ONLY FANCY!

Members of the House of Commons have read with a thrill of interest Lord HENRY BRUCE's letter to his constituents, announcing his intention not to offer himself for re-election in North West Wilts. Full five years Lord HENRY has sat in the House. He has rarely joined in debate, but the manner of his occasional interposition was always notable. He slowly rose, placed one hand in his trousers' pocket, looked round the House and said nothing. Then, when the SPEAKER was about to call on someone else, Lord HENNY blurted forth a few sentences, the end generally coming first, and having apparently said about half what he meant to say, abruptly sat down. But the House, with keen instinct, always recognised the heaven-born orator, and knew his time would come. It has come with the opportunity of writing this letter, which is full of beautiful things. "I deprecated," says Lord HENRY, reviewing his distinguished Parliamentary career, "the surrendering of an ancient dependency like Heligoland, and which has since been strongly fortified, to satiate a shadowy claim of the GERMAN EMPEROR to the Island of Zanzibar." To satiate a shadowy claim is good. Space forbids quotation of more than one additional sentence from this masterpiece. "Let me conclude by saying, that I trust whoever may succeed me in North-West Wilts will wear ELIJAH's mantle with the same pleasure as I have already done." What that means no man can say.

* * * * *

We are glad to learn that Lord HENRY BRUCE's retirement from Parliamentary life does not imply absolute withdrawal from public affairs. Since the appearance of his letter, there has been a rush upon him by able Editors and Magazines. He has undertaken to write to the _Twentieth Century_ an Article on "Recent Ministerial Appointments." Mr. BOWEN ROWLANDS, M.P., Q.C., has also been in communication with him. "The very man for the _Welsh Review_," says the enthusiastic Editor.

* * * * *

We learn from a reliable source that LORD HENRY BRUCE has intimated to Mr. AKERS-DOUGLAS that, in the event of his being selected to Move or Second the Address at the opening of the New Session, he will appear in Elijah's mantle. It is to be hoped Lord SALISBURY, offended, as he is understood to be, at Lord HENRY's frank criticism, will not ignore this proposal. The House of Commons will be much gratified to find itself relieved from the monotony of the uniform--alternately Militia Colonel and Post-Captain--which mars the success of an interesting ceremonial.

* * * * *

The heading, "The Royal Engagement," which appears daily in two of the morning papers does, not, as appears at first sight, indicate warlike preparations in Royal circles. The allusion meant is to the Royal Betrothal.

* * * * *

NAME WANTED.--There are a considerable number of Ladies' Clubs, where matrons and spinsters can commingle. Now 'tis proposed to start a Spinsters' Club, only Spinsters eligible. What shall it be called? Spinning is associated with Spinster, but recent events at Cambridge make the use of the word somewhat objectionable. How would "The Arachne" do? Or as Omphale assumed the attire of Hercules, and tried to wield the club, why not call one of these the Omphale?

* * * * *

OLD SONG, ADAPTED TO THE OCCASION (_by one who wasn't asked to the Marquis of Salisbury's party_).--"_I dreamt that I supp'd in Marble Halls_," &c., &c.

* * * * *

* * * * *

AWAKENING FATHER CHRISTMAS

OR, THE CALL TO ALMS.

_A TOPSY-TURVEY VERSION OF THE TENNYSONIAN DAY-DREAM._

THE SLEEPING BEAUTY.

All through the year, towards his feet, He slumbering in his place alone, Waiting December days to greet The "Beauty's" snowy beard has grown; Whilst all about his bulky form Fir-hedge and holly sprout and twirl. Sleeping he snoreth, snug and warm, His breath scarce stirs his beard's crisp curl.

He sleeps: the jolly, brave Old Bird, Ruddy of phiz as warm of heart, Who, when he's annually stirred, Is always good, and game to "part." He sleeps: all round his cosy cell His long-stored gifts are waiting use; And--till awaked--he there doth dwell, A cosy form in cosy snooze.

THE ARRIVAL.

All precious things, discovered late, To those who seek them turn up trumps. Charity works with kindly fate, The heart in her soft bosom thumps. She travels under winter skies-- She stayeth not for storm or shocks-- Celestial Grace with tender eyes, And loving lips, and golden locks.

She comes, well-knowing what she seeks; She breaks the hedge, she enters there: Love's flush illumes her maiden cheeks; She hears Yule's chimes upon the air: She holds aloft that mystic stalk, With white globes decked, to lovers dear; "Now, Father Christmas, wake and walk!" She whispers in the "Beauty's" ear.

THE AWAKENING.

A touch, a kiss! the charm was snapt. There came a noise of striking clocks. Twelve strokes! Aroused from slumber rapt, The "Beauty" shook his silvery locks. "What you again? My yearly call! By Jove, how soundly I have slept!" Then, with a laugh that shook the wall, Unto his feet Old Christmas leapt.

"What! Twelve! 'Tis time that I awoke, And to the waiting world appeared." He yawned, and cracked his annual joke, And ran his fingers through his beard. "How say you? Is it slop or snow?" She answered, "Come along, old chap! We've much to do and far to go, Ere you resume your annual nap."

THE DEPARTURE.

And on the Old Sire's arm she leant, And round her waist his arm did fold; And forth into the world they went, To glad the grieved, to warm the cold. Across the town, and far away, Of kindness full, and frolic whim, To cheer all hearts went Christmas Day, That white-wing'd Presence following him.

Near Nineteen Hundred times hath she, The gentle goddess, free and fair, Awaked with kiss Old Father C. To make the wintry world their care. O'er town, o'er country far away, Where'er hearts ache, or eyes grow dim, His annual round makes Christmas Day, Sweet Charity attending him.

MORAL.--So, British Public, take my lay, And _if_ you find no moral there, Then _Mr. Punch_ must sadly say His ministry is fruitless care. Nay! To good uses you will put The Legend _Punch_ doth thus transpose. Your pockets sure you will not shut, Your hearts to his appealings close!

For e'en the man who runs may read The lesson with this lay entwined. (If Topsey-turvey thus succeed, The noble Laureate will not mind!) And liberal applications lie In this quaint Legend, good my friend. So, put the song and picture by, And hook it--to some useful end!

* * * * *

CARMEN CULINARIUM.

If you're anxious to eat without any repining, Read THEODORE CHILD upon "Delicate Dining." This sage gastronomic full soothly doth say, That no mortal can dine more than once in the day; Then he quotes LOUIS QUINZE, that the art of the cook Must be learnt most from practice, and not from a book; While you also will find in the readable proem, Doctor KING said a dinner resembled a poem.

We shall next see a cook can have only the dimmest Of notions of art, if he isn't a chemist. So we learn here the names and the separate uses Of muscular fibre, albumen and juices. We are shown the right methods of roasting and boiling, Of frying and stewing, decocting and broiling; While our author in words there can be no mistaking, Is dead against "roasting" in ovens--or baking.

Our asparagus then we are heedfully told, [Greek: Iostephanos] should be like Athens of old: With a violet head and a stalk very white While this CHILD thinks that tepid it yields most delight. On the artichoke too with affection he lingers, And also advises you eat with your fingers, _Petits pois à la Française_ are here, the receipt That he gives is a good one but haply too sweet.

Our author is great upon salads and sauces, To cool our hot palates, or tittivate _fauces_; Here is all you need learn about GOUFFÉ'S _Béarnaise_, And a charming receipt for the _Sauce Hollandaise_. In England we know that in sauces we're weak, And we've never attained to the _cuisine classique_; But French Seigneurs of old gave full rein to their wishes, And live on immortal in delicate dishes.

We are told how to give and receive invitations, And eke how a table may need decorations. We agree with the author who says when you dine, It is very much better to stick to one wine, Be it ruddy Bordeaux or the driest Champagne, Let the latter be cool but your ice is no gain. While on coffee and tea he is sound as a bell, With all dexterous dodges for making them well.

No man ever escaped--to a cook who did wrong, For his art ranks so high, said MENANDER's old song. And the ancients we know loved both oysters and pullets, When the [Greek: oinos kekramenos] slipped down their gullets. While here is a man to have joined them when roses, In classical fashion, were cocked o'er their noses. So we'll take leave of CHILD and his capital book, With a "Bon appetit" to the _gourmet_ and cook.

* * * * *

A CHRISTMAS CAROL.--(BY A DISAPPOINTED CHURCH-DECORATOR.)

When rustic woman stoops to folly, And finds too late that Curates flirt; It pains, ah! sharper than the holly Whose spikes her pretty fingers hurt.

Pleasant is pulpit-decoration, And altar-ornamenting's sweet, When girls get lost in contemplation Of parson-whiskers, trim and neat.

Most pleasant too the cheery chatter Of woodland parties, in the snow, When gathering--well, well, no matter! No more _I_'ll hunt for mistletoe.

No more I'll stand and hold the ladder For reverend gentlemen to mount. Ah me! Few memories make me madder, Though merrier ones I may not count.

Goose! How about those steps I'd linger! Muff! How I bound my handkerchief Last Christmas Eve, about his finger, Pierced by that cruel holly-leaf!

And now he's going to marry MINNIE, The wealthy farmer's freckled frump, A little narrow-chested ninny! Into Pound's pond I'll go and jump!

Yet no, Miss MIGGS and he might chuckle, I know a trick worth two of that; I'll up and take that fool, BOB BUCKLE, I hate him, but his farm is fat.

When rustic woman stoops to folly, And finds e'en Curates can betray, What act can aggravate the "dolly" Whose wealth has won his heart away?

The only art her grief to cover, Enable her to lift her head, And show her false white-chokered lover _She_ won't sing "_Willow_," is--to wed!

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

There is one line in our Mr. DU MAURIER's fascinating and fantastic novel, _Peter Ibbetson_, which every author should frame and hang up before his eyes in his study. 'Tis this, and 'tis to be found at page 217, Vol. ii.:--

"Write anyhow! Write for the greatest need and the greatest number."

"This is business," quoth the Baron, "and _Peter_ who passed so much of his life asleep seems, when not dreaming, to be uncommonly wide awake."

A dainty book indeed for a Christmas present is _The Vision of Sir Launfal_, by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL, published by GAY AND BIRD--lively names these--but ought to have been GAY AND LARK. There is an interesting portrait of the Author as he was in 1842.

"My 'CO.,'" quoth the Baron, "deponeth thusly, as to Calendars generally,--not, however, including the one-eyed Kalendar of the Arabian Nights,--that MARCUS WARD, mark us well, comes out uncommonly strong, specially in the 'Boudoir' and also in the 'Shakspeare' Calendar, which latter hath for every day in the year 'a motto for every man.' Methinks this pretty well wipes off the Christmas score, which includes New Year gifts.

"Now as to books,"--continues the Baron, "here let me say that my favourite pocket-books, not specially for Christmas, but for all times and seasons, are those excellent travelling companions provided by CASSELL's _National Library_, BRADBURY AND AGNEW's _Handy Volume Scott_ and _Shakspeare_, and ROUTLEDGE's _Pocket Library_, all really portable, and printed in the clearest type. These be welcome presents to 'constant readers.'" The Baron presents his "many grateful thanks," to quote our worthy ROBSON ROOSTUM PASHA, to a kind friend, poet, scholar and judicious critic, who, from the North, sends the Baron a seasonable present of a small volume of poems, published by HOLDEN, of St. Andrew's, N.B. (Quoth Mr. WAGG, "quite a new 'un, published by a _h_old 'un"--_passons_), entitled _The Scarlet Gown_, written by Mr. R.F. MURRAY. His verses are in the Calverley vein, the rhyming and rhythm easy, the jingle pleasant, the lines witty, and the subjects fresh. The local hits will be specially appreciated by St. Andrew's men. Everyone will enjoy "The City of Golf, the Adventures of a Poet." Cantabs especially will sympathise with the humour of "The Delights of Mathematics." "So here's to the poet in the wassail bowl; a Happy New Year and a Murray Christmas to him," says

THE JOVIAL BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

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NOTICE.--Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.

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Adscriptus Glebæ, 203 Advertisement Extraordinary, 195 After Lunch, 70 After the Season, 61 "After You!" 198 Alice in Thunderland, 27 All Berry Well, 255 Ancient Milliner (The), 241 "Angels and Ministers of Grace!" 135 "Annals of a Very Quiet Family," 161 Annals of a Watering-Place, 131, 141, 192 Another Strike threatened, 145 Answers to Correspondents, 57, 72, 253, 268 Anti-Hiss-trionic Bird (An), 301 Apparently Hard Case (An), 234 Appropriate Location, 138 Armada from the Spanish (The), 159 Arming the Amazons, 270 'Arry in Rome and London, 293 'Arry on a 'Ouse-Boat, 76 'Arry on Arrius, 302 "As Good as a Better," 133 "As he'd Like it," 162 Atropos and the Anthropoids, 169 At St. James's Hall, 2 At the Close of the Summer, 168 At the Door; or, Paterfamilias and the Young Spark, 90 At the Italian Opera, 209 "Audi Alteram Partem!" 185 Auld-(er)-man Gray, 72 Aunt at Will (An), 281 Author! Author! 25 Automatic Physiognomist (The), 181 Awakening of Father Christmas (The), 306

Bacon and a Mouthful, 61 Balder the Fair, 245 Ballade of Evening Newspapers (A), 23 Bard _v._ Bard, 213 Beggar's Petition (A), 165 "Below the Belt!" 227 Between the Acts, 219 "Big Big D" encored (The), 293 Birds of a Feather, 193 Bishop and the Sea-Serpent (The), 303 Bitter Cry of the British Bookmaker (The), 155 Bitter Cry of the Outcast Choir-Boy (The), 141 Blackfriars to Sloane Square, 57 Blendimus! 215 Board on Both Sides (The), 263 Board-School Christmas (A), 287 "Book of Burlesque" (A), 16 Bouillabaisse, 174 Boulanger, 179 Boy the Father of the Man (The), 192 British Association (The), 106 Broadly Speaking, 17 Browning Society Verses, 201 Bumble brought to Book, 110 Bumbledom's Big Opening, 170 Busy Bisley (The), 35 By George! 300 "By Jingo!" 249

Canadian "Search-Light" (The), 114 Cancel, or Recall, 241 Canine Sagacity, 108 Capless Maid (The), 63 Carmen Culinarium, 309 Caught by the Classics, 215 Chantrey Bequest à la Mode de Lisle (The), 1 Charlemagne and I, 161, 185 Chili Pickle (A), 219 Christmas Carol (A), 309 Christmas Numbers, 291 Civil Service Exhibition, 257 Common Complaint (A), 21 Compulsory Greek, 117 Conquered "Worth" (The), 153 Contribution towards Nursery Rhymes, 225 Coquette of the Period (The), 117 "Correct Cards, Gents!" 205 Creditable Incident in the Next War (A), 117 Cricket Paradox (A), 133 Cutting Remarks, 231

Defeat--or Something Near it, 21 Demographic Vade Mecum (The), 95 "Dick" Power, 279 Difference (The), 63 "Dilemma" (The), 6 "Disappointment of December" (The), 180 Doctor Laurie, 165 Doggerel by a "Disher," 147 Domestic Cookery, 168 Drawing the Badger, 230 Dwarfs in and about London, 155

Echoes from the Labour Commission, 240 "Egyptian Pet" (The), 246 Election Echo (An), 258 Elevating Exhibition (An), 251 "England, Home, and Beauty!" 294 English as she is Sung, 288 English Opera as she isn't Sung, 257 "Entertainment," 120 Enthusiasm à la Russe, 50 Essay in Reviewing (An), 189 Essence of Parliament, 11, 23, 35, 47, 59, 70 Evolution of Tommy's Private School Report, 204 Exit la Claque, 84 Extremes Meet, 153