Chapter 2

The _Guardian_ is of course jubilant. "Never," it says, "has it been our lot to hear the magnificent principles of our cause expounded with an eloquence so convincing. Mr. CARDEW spoke, as he always does, with that sturdy good sense which has not only made him a redoubtable foe in the House of Commons, but has endeared his name to the masses of the English people. Mr. VULLIAMY again showed himself a master of the great questions of finance, and held his audience enthralled while he contrasted the futile extravagance of Liberal Governments with the wise, but generous economies, established by those who now hold the reins of Government. Our popular and eloquent young Candidate, Mr. PATTLE, showed himself not unworthy to take his place side by side with the two great men we have mentioned upon the Government benches. Rarely has any meeting displayed greater enthusiasm and unanimity. Our wretched opponents may well hide their diminished heads. Another nail has been struck into the coffin of the CHUBSONS, and the rest of the gang whom the unfortunate apathy of the Conservatives, at the last election, permitted to rise to high places in Billsbury politics. They have earned their doom. _Sic semper tyrannis!_"

There's a curious paragraph in a little weekly sort of Society rag published in Billsbury. It says:--"Mr. PATTLE has prolonged his stay in Billsbury for some time. Can it _all_ be politics? I say nothing. But others have been heard to whisper nothings which are sweet. What price bonnets?" I suppose the idiot means to hint that there's something between me and Miss PENFOLD? Hope MARY won't hear of this rubbish.

* * * * *

MODERN TYPES.

(_By Mr. Punch's Own Type Writer._)

NO. XXVI.--THE LADY SHOPKEEPER.

Ladies who, in order to correct the inequalities of fortune, or to counteract a spendthrift husband, have betaken themselves to the keeping of shops, form a large and rapidly-increasing body. In times so ancient as to be scarcely within the memory of a juvenile dowager, it was held by the high dry exponents of aristocratic privilege that to touch trade, even when it proffered a bag of money in a well-gloved hand, was to be defiled beyond the restoring power of a Belgravian Duchess. To be sure, even the highest and the driest of these censors contrived to close an indulgent eye when a moneyless scion of nobility sought to prop his tottering house by rebuilding it upon a commercial foundation, and cementing it with the dower of a "tradesman's" daughter. But if these blameless ones, whose exclusive dust has long since been consigned to family vaults with appropriate inscriptions, could have foreseen the dreadful inroads of the trading spirit, if in a moment of prophetic rapture they could have watched the painful decay of caste which permits a lady to dabble in bonnets, to toy with the making of fancy frames, to cut dresses almost like a dressmaker, and, horror of horrors, to send in bills to her customers, surely they would have refrained from the tomb in order to stem the tide of advancing demoralisation. But they are dead, and we who remain are left to deal as best we may with the uncompromising spirit of the age.

It is absolutely essential to the proper production of a Lady Shopkeeper that she should have been at one time both affluent and socially distinguished. If to these qualities she can add the supreme advantage of good looks and a modest demeanour, her career is certain to be a prosperous and a rapid one. If, finally, she has been mated to a husband who, having long ago spent his own cash, contrives in a short time to run a best on record through hers, if he is a good fellow of a sort, with a capacity for making friends which is as large as his generosity in staking money, she may be sure that no element will be wanting to her success. It is of course unnecessary that she should have served any apprenticeship to the trade that she ultimately adopts. When, after some glittering seasons of horses and footmen and brilliant parties, the crash comes upon the little household, her friends will be called into council. Some will recommend a retired life in a distant suburb, where it is currently reported that £250 a year may be made to play the part of £2,000 in the heart of May Fair. Others will hint that governesses have been known, after years of painful labour, to lay by a sufficiency for a short old age; others, again, will dive into the storehouse of their reminiscences, in order to produce for inspection the well-known example of a colonel and his wife, who defied both the fates and the rheumatism in the modest _pension_ of a Continental watering-place. All these suggestions, however, are eventually put aside in favour of the advice that a shop should be started, a _nom de commerce_ adopted, and a circle of friendly customers be acquired by discreet advertisement. After these matters have been decided, but not till then, it becomes necessary to determine to what special branch the talents of the prospective Shopkeeper are to be devoted. At last even this is accomplished, and in a few months more the world of fashion may learn by private circular or public paragraph, that a new competitor for its favours has been launched into commercial activity under a sweetly symbolical name.

After this everything depends upon the Lady herself. At first everything will go swimmingly. Friends will rally round her, and she may perhaps discover with a touching surprise that the staunchest and truest are those of whom, in her days of brilliant prosperity, she thought the least. But a _succès d'estime_ is soon exhausted. Unless she conducts her business on purely business lines, delivers her goods when they are wanted, and, for her own protection, sends in her accounts as they fall due, and looks carefully after their payment, her customers and her profits will fall away. But if she attends strictly to business herself, or engages a good business woman to assist her, and orders her affairs in accordance with the dictates of a proper self-interest, she is almost certain to do well, and to reap the reward of those who face the world without flinching, and fight the battle of life sturdily and with an honest purpose. Some painful moments may fall to her lot. It may be that in a crowded assemblage of wealth and fashion she may see one of her masterpieces in the dress-making art, torn into shreds under the clumsy heel of a Cabinet Minister, or a Duchess may speak unkindly in her hearing of her latest devices in floral decoration. Or, some brainless nincompoop may, in his ignorance of her profession, cast aspersions on the general character and behaviour of all who keep shops. And it may be that friends, after a prolonged period of non-payment, will desert her, and speak ill of her business. But she will be able to console herself for those and similar bitternesses by the knowledge that on the whole the world honours those who battle against ill-fortune without complaint far above the needy crowd of spongers who strive to batten without effort on the crumbs that fall from the tables of the rich.

* * * * *

ROBERT ON THE HEMPERER'S VISIT TO THE CITY.

Well, we are jest a going for to have a fine time of it in the old Citty, we are! On the werry tenth of next month, which this year happens for to be Jewly, we are a going for to receive to Lunshon, quite in a frendly way, the Hemperer and the Hempress of all GERMANY, not forgitting Hellygoland which we so kindly guv 'em larst year, and, in addishun, about twenty other princes and princesses from differing forren parts, as has all agreed for to cum at the same time to do 'em honour, and as if that wasn't quite enuff for one day, the noble Prince of WHALES, and the butiful Princess of WHALES, and all the Royal Family, will be werry much "hall there" for to receeve 'em and shew 'em praps the luvlyest site in Urope, wiz., the butiful Gildhall made into a bower of roses, and covered with reel dammarsk tablecloths from top to bottom, and them all covered with such a fairy-like Lunshon as makes my pore old mouth water ony jest to think upon! There's one thing as I'm afraid as His Himperial Madjesty will be werry angry at, and that is, as they ain't a going for to make him free of the Citty, which is one of them grate honners as all the celibryties of the World pines for. BROWN says it ain't _commy fo_, as the French says, but BROWN don't know everythink, tho' he is a trying his werry best to learn a few German words in case the Hemperer asks him for sumthink to eat, such as a little sour krowt. The best of the fun is that he acshally spells sour, _sauer!_ I ain't not a pertickler good speller myself, but I reely shoud be artily ashamed of sich a blunder as that.

The pore Committee, as has to see to hewerythink, begins for to look jest a little pail and worryed--and who can wunder at it, for I'm told as they is amost torn to peaces with applications for Tickets, tho they ony has two a-peace for their friends, and won't have one for theirselves, but will have to walk about all the time of the Lunch, with their long sticks of office, to see as ewerybody xcept theirselves is nice and cumferal, and got plenty to eat and drink. And, torking of drink, jest reminds me of the tasting Committee, pore fellers! who has got for to go to all the werry best Wine sellers in the Citty, to taste all their werry best wines, and decide which, of every kind and description, they shall select for their himperial royal gests. Why it's amost enuff to give 'em all hedakes for the rest of their nateral lives.

I don't know of any further arrangements as is quite finally settled, so praps I may have jest a few lines to add nex week.

ROBERT.

* * * * *

QUEER QUERIES.--A FIRST READING.--Would some person kindly inform me of a good Recitation for a Smoking Concert? I have been asked to recite "something telling" after the annual banquet of a Club of local Licensed Victuallers. I am thinking of the First Book of _Paradise Lost_. Or would parts of _The Excursion_ be more likely to create a _furore_? I have never recited in public before, and feel rather doubtful of my ability to "hold" the Victuallers.--WILLING TO OBLIGE.

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* * * * *

"THE DILEMMA."

(_An old Irish Story newly applied._)

["On which horn of the dilemma will the Gladstonians elect to stand?"--_Mr. Chamberlain, in his controversy with Sir W. Harcourt on the place of Home Rule in the Gladstonian programme._]

_Faithful Unionist Sentry, loquitur_:--

Faith! yes, a dilemma, no doubt, is _the_ thing To stagger Big Bounce, in a fashion Socratic. I fancy I know now to plant a sharp sting, The success of my bayonet-play is emphatic. Remember a picture I once chanced to see, A Pompeian sentinel posed at a portal, And "faithful to death" though fire threatened. That's Me! As my country's defender, my fame is immortal.

Yes, the Sentinel's _rôle_ suits my style passing well; The enemy won't find me napping or nodding. But what I _most_ like as I do sentry spell, Is the fine opportunity offered for--prodding! I watch like a lynx, as a sentry should do, With an eye like a hawk, and a smile sweet as syrup; But when there's a chance for 'a thrust--whirraroo! My bayonet-point is agog for a stir up! JOE, the Sentry, you know, like _Joe Bagstock_, is sly, Ay, "devilish sly,"--if I may speak profanely. That swashbuckler H-RC-RT now, swaggering there--why, The big burly Bobadil's acting insanely. I _do_ like to draw him. These ramparts are mine, But because we're old comrades he cheeks me. "Woa, EMMA!" As cads used to shout. I extremely incline To tickle him up with--a two-horned Dilemma!

"Well, WILLIAM, what cheer?" He is struggling out there With a--Snark; 'tis a Boojum which shortly may vanish. Like _Frankenstein's_, his is a Monster, I fear, He would--did he dare--be delighted to banish. That big "Home-Rule" Bogey, my Bobadil, seems A "handful" with which you are destined to struggle, Which darkens your days as it haunts all your dreams; Which you cannot get rid of by force or by juggle.

_You've got him, you say?_ Well, then, bring him along! Ha! ha! Says _"he can't!"_ That's exceedingly funny! It _is_ very hard when your "captive"'s so strong, He won't do your bidding for love or for money. Like SAMSON he leads his DELILAH a dance. Like PAT'S prisoner--all know the old Irish story-- He won't give his captor a ghost of a chance. Such "prisoners" _do_ mar their conqueror's glory.

_"Well, leave him behind, then, and come on alone!"_-- Eh! "Captive won't _let_ you?" That's just what I told you! Your trophy, "Home Rule," has an incubus grown; He's got _you_, my friend, and, my faith, he will _hold_ you. 'Tis PADDY'S Dilemma all over again, Only you're the true PAT. You can't take it _or_ leave it. Your triumph was futile, your struggles are vain; Mine's the Sentinel's eye, and you cannot deceive it.

[_Left chortling, but still "on duty."_

* * * * *

"NOTHING SUCCEEDS LIKE"-- SUCCESSION?

"Supply--Army Estimates."

General FRASER--not a _phraser_ clearly-- Military grumbling vents sincerely; House won't listen, and the cruel _Times_ Summarised his tale of woes and crimes, As--great CÆSAR!--"a few observations." TANNER, always great on such occasions, Intimates that it is his impression Soldiers are "succeeding in succession" In the interest of more Expense. Well, "economists" make stir immense, But in spite of most Draconic manner, Hardly ever seem to _save_--a "tanner." So that one is prone to think indeed, In succession they do _not_--"succeed!"

* * * * *

"A LEGGE UP."--The new Bishop of LICHFIELD.

* * * * *

* * * * *

VOCES POPULI.

DILATORY DINNERS.

SCENE--_The Grounds of a certain Exhibition. On this particular evening, there has been a slight hitch in the culinary arrangements, and the relations between the Chef and the Waiters are apparently strained. Enter an Egotistic Amphitryon, followed by a meek and youthful Guest._

_The Egotistic Amphitryon_ (_concluding an harangue_). Well, all _I_'ve got to say is I've been here half-an-hour--(_with a bitter sense of the anomaly of the situation_)--waiting about for _You!!_ (_They seat themselves at one of the little tables under the verandah._) Oh, you're going to sit _that_ side, are you? It's all the same to me, except that there's a confounded draught here which--well, you're young, and these things don't affect you--or oughtn't to. (_They exchange sides._) We shall have to hurry our dinner now, if we mean to hear anything of the music. That was the reason I expressly told you seven sharp. Here, Waiter! (Waiter _presents a carte, and stands by with a proud humility._) Now, what are you going to have? (_To_ Guest.) You don't mind? I hate to hear a man say he doesn't care what he eats--he _ought_ to care, he _must_ care. What do you say to this--"Potage Bisque d'écrivisses; Saumon Sauce Hollandaise; Brimborions de veau farcis à l'imprévu; Ducklings and green peas; New Potatoes; Salad"? Simple and, ah, satisfying. (_To_ Waiter.) Let us have that as sharp as you can; do you hear?

_Waiter_. Quick? Yes, I dell zem. [_He hurries off._

_The E.A._ Hang the fellow, he's forgotten the wine! (_To_ Guest.) What will you drink?

_The Guest_ (_thinks it will look greedy if he suggests champagne_). Oh--er--whatever _you're_ going to drink.

_The E.A._ Well, I'm going to have a glass of champagne myself. I want it after all this worry. But if you prefer beer (_considerately_), say so. (_The_ Guest, _in a spirit of propitiation, prefers beer._) Well, we could have managed a bottle of Pommery between us, and it's never so good to my mind in the pints--but please yourself, of course. [_The_ Guest _feels that his moderation has missed fire, but dares not retract; they sit in silence for some time, without anything of importance happening, except that a strange Waiter swoops down and carries away their bread-basket._

_A Meek Man_ (_at an adjoining table, who, probably for family reasons, is entertaining his Sister-in-law, a lady with an aquiline nose and remarkably thick eyebrows._) You know, HORATIA, I call this sort of thing very jolly, having dinner like this in the fresh air, eh? [_He rubs his hands under the table._

_Horatia_ (_acidly_). It may be so, AUGUSTUS, when we _do_ have it. At present we have been sitting here fifteen minutes, and had nothing but fresh air and small flies, and, as I don't pretend to be a Chameleon myself, why-- [_She fans herself vigorously._

_Augustus_. Well, you know, my dear, we were warned that the trout _en papillotes_ might take some little time. I suppose (_with mild Jocularity_)--it's a fashionable fish--wants to come in with a "little head sunning over with curls," as the poet says.

_Horatia_. Please don't make jokes of that sort--unless you wish to destroy the little appetite I have left!

_Augustus_ (_penitently_). Never mind--I won't do it again. Here 's our Waiter at last. _Now_ we're all right! [_The_ Waiter _puts a dish down upon another table, and advances with the air of a family friend who brings bad tidings._

_Horatia_. Will you kindly let us have that trout at once?

_The Waiter_ (_bending down to_ AUGUSTUS _with pity and sympathy_). Fery sôry to dell you, esbecially after keebin you so long vaiting, bot (_thinks how he can break it most gently_) ve haf zo many beople hier to-day, and zey haf shust dold me in ze gitchen zere is no more drout. Zis hote vedder ze drout, he vill nod stay!

_Augustus_ (_mildly_). No, of course not--well, let me see, now, what can you--?

_The E.A._ Here, you Kellner, come here, can't you? What the--

_Waiter_ (_to_ AUGUSTUS). Von minute. I gom back bresently. (_To_ E.A.) You vant your pill, Sir, yes?

_The E.A._ (_exploding_). My bill! Confound it! I want something to eat first. When is that Bisque coming?

_Waiter_. Ach, peg your bardon, ve haf peen so pusy all day. Your Bisque vill pe retty diregly. I go to vetch him. [_He goes._

_Horatia_. Now we're farther off from getting any food than ever! I suppose you mean to do _something_, AUGUSTUS?

_Augustus_. Of course--certainly. I shall speak very strongly. (_Bleating_.) Waiter!

_Horatia_ (_with scorn_). _Do_ you imagine they will pay the least attention to a noise like a sixpenny toy? Lot them see you _insist_ upon being obeyed.

_Augustus_. I am--I mean, I will--I am very much annoyed. (_Fiercely_.) Wa-ai-ter!

_A Stern Waiter_ (_appearing suddenly_.) You vant somsing, Sir?

_Augustus_ (_apologetically_). Yes; we should--er--like something to eat--anything--so long as you can bring it at once, if you don't mind. "We--this Lady is rather in a hurry, and we've waited some little time already, you see.

_The Waiter_. Peg your bardon, zis is nod my daple. I send your Vaiter. [_He vanishes._

_The E.A_. Scandalous! over twenty minutes we've been here! Ha! at last! (_A_ Waiter _appears with a tureen, which he uncovers._) Here, what do you call _this?_

_Waiter_. Groûte au Bot--you order him, yes? No? I dake him away! [_He whisks it away, to the chagrin of_ Guest, _who thought it smelt nice._

The E.A_. I ordered Bisque--where is it? and I want some wine, too--a pint of Pommery '84, and a small lager. If they're not here very soon, I'll--

_The Guest_ (_trying to make the best of things_). Nothing for it but patience, I suppose.

_The E.A._ (_with intention_). I had very little of _that_ left before I sat down, I can tell you!

_A Sarcastic and Solitary Diner._ Waiter, could you spare me one moment of your valuable time? (_The_ Waiter _halts irresolutely._) It is so long since I had the pleasure of speaking to you, that you may possibly have forgotten that about three-quarters of an hour ago I ventured to express a preference for an Entrecôte aux pommes de terre with a half-bottle of Beaune. Could you give me any idea how much longer those rare dainties may take in preparing, and in the meantime enable me to support the pangs of starvation by procuring me the favour of a penny roll, if I am not trespassing too much upon your good-nature? [_The_ Waiter, _in a state of extreme mystification and alarm, departs to inform the_ Manager.

_The E.A.'s Waiter_ (_reappearing with a small plated bowl, champagne bottle and glass of lager._) I regred fery moch to haf to dell you zat zere is only shust enough Bisque for von berson. [_He bows with well-bred concern._

_The E.A_. Confound it all! (_To_ Guest.) Here, _you'd_ better take this, now it's here. Afraid of it, eh? Well, Bisque _is_ apt to disagree with some people. (_To_ Waiter.) Give it to me, and bring this gentleman some gravy soup, or whatever else you have ready. (_He busies himself with his Bisque, while the_ Guest, _in pure absence of mind, drinks the champagne with which the_ Waiter _has filled his glass._) Here, what are you doing? _I_ didn't order lager. (_Perceives the mistake_.) Oh, you've changed your mind, have you? (_To_ Guest.) All right, of course, only it's a pity you couldn't say so at once. (_To_ W.) Another pint of Pommery, and take this lager stuff away. (_Exit_ W.; _the unfortunate_ Guest, _in attempting to pass the bottle, contrives to decant it into his host's soup._) Hullo, what the--there--(_controlling himself_). You might have left me the _soup_, at all events! Well--well--it's no use saying any more about it. I suppose I shall get something to eat some day.

[_General tumult from several tables; appeals to the_ Waiters, _who lose their heads and upbraid one another in their own tongue_; HORATIA _threatens bitterly to go in search of buns and lemonade at a Refreshment Bar. Sudden and timely appearance of energetic Manager; explanations, apologies, promises. Magic and instantaneous production of everybody's dinner. Appetite and anger appeased, as Scene closes in._

N.B.--_Mr. Punch_ wishes it to be understood that the above sketch is not intended as a reflection upon any of the deservedly popular restaurants existing at present in either exhibition.

* * * * *

LEGAL AND MILITARY.--"Ancient Lights."--Retired Lancers.

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* * * * *

MEDICINAL MUSIC.

(_A Growl from a "Quiet Street."_)

["There is a disposition just now to revive discussion upon a very old subject, namely the curative influence of Music in cases of mental and bodily disease."--_Daily Telegraph_.]