Chapter 2

Curtain rises, shouts and laughs are heard without. A Village Maiden rushes in, as if pursued. She hides herself behind the sentry-box, and then escapes. FRANCISCO, who is on his post, looks about, and is surrounded by Danish Gallants, who have come in pursuit of the Maiden. He threatens them with his arms, and only one remains, who seems overcome by wine. The intoxicated Gallant is masked, and evidently very much the worse for liquor. He clumsily draws his sword. FRANCISCO is about to despatch him, when the mask falls, and in the dissipated reveller the Sentry recognises the bloated features of LAERTES. He immediately presents arms, as LAERTES is his superior officer. LAERTES, half-sobered by this suggestion of discipline, wishes to retire unseen, and gives largesse to FRANCISCO. The Sentry is greatly gratified, when to them enters BERNARDO._

_Ber._ Who's there?

_Fran._ (_sheltering LAERTES, who stealthily retires by a rope-ladder which falls from the battlements to the moat below_). Nay, answer me. Stand and unfold yourself!

By my version I really introduce a most interesting underplot, which, in my opinion, is equally pleasing and quite as defensible as Mr. BEERBOHM TREE's business with _Ophelia_.

Yours, A STICKLER.

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE ATTACK ON THE "CAPITAL."

_A LAY OF MODERN LONDON._

[Arrangements have been made for great political meetings in the Metropolis, at which the Liberal Leaders will be the principal speakers.]

HARCURTIUS of the triple chin, by the Nine Points he swore The Capital should suffer from Tory sway no more; By the Nine Points he swore it, and named a trysting day, And bade his messengers ride forth east and west, and south and north, To summon his array.

East and west, and south and north the messengers ride fast; From Kennington to Poplar they've heard the trumpet's blast. Shame on the false Caucusian who loiters in his Club When triple-chin'd HARCURTIUS prepares the foe to drub! Too long the Capital hath borne the stubborn Tory yoke, Too long the Liberals have failed to strike a swashing stroke. Betrayed to Tory clutches by traitors shrewd and strong, The banded foes have held it all too firmly and too long. SALISBURIUS and GOSCHENIUS have struck unholy pact, Foes long in dubious seeming, but ever friends, in fact, Devonian CAVENDUS, he of the broad and bovine jowl, Who smiled but coldly ever, now on our cause doth scowl. Cock-nosed CUBICULARIUS, once a Captain of our host, Now chums with bland BALFOURIUS, and makes that bond his boast. Oh, was there ever such a gang, so motley and so mixed, To garrison a Citadel on which all hopes are fixed? Oh, was there ever such a call to strike one mighty blow, To snatch the Capital once more, and lay the traitors low?

HARCURTIUS hurries onward, he waves the Grand Old Flag, And when that banner flouts the breeze, what slave so base as lag? GLADSTONIUS at his elbow,--not he the Old, the Grand,-- He shuns the fogs of winter in a far-off sunny land, Nursing his force for the great fray that may right soon come on,-- This is not he of Hawarden, but the old hero's son: There's OTTO, of the brindled beard, RUSSELLIUS swift of tongue, RIPONIUS and LEFEVRIUS into the fray have flung. Sleek-haired STANSFELDUS also, MUNDELLA of the Beak. That CORVUS of the legion, good both to fight and speak, LEO PLAYFAIRIUS follows, and brave BANNERMANUS bears The flag he's fond of flaunting, there gallant AUCEPS dares All that becomes a hero, whilst last, but oh, not least! KIMBERLEYUS fares forth to the fight as others to a feast. "Now, up!" cried stout HARCURTIUS, "Up! and we yet shall trap 'em! Kennington calls, and Hackney, with Fulham, too, and Clapham. I hear the cry of Chelsea, Islington North and West Raise wails that find an echo in this mail-covered breast. Bermondsey and Whitechapel upraise a piteous plaint: ('Wy don't our 'eroes wisit _hus_? We looks and there they ain't!') North Lambeth long neglected, and Wandsworth far South-West, (If I know where these places be I wish I may be blest!) Appeal to us for succour: then Peckham, gallant Peckham, Makes a far cry from her famed Rye. O brethren, shall we check 'em, These brave suburban stalwarts whose home is in the waste Afar from Pall Mall portals, swell Clubs, and homes of taste, But who have Votes, my brethren? Nay, shout ye men of pith, And strike for pining Poplar and hapless Hammersmith!" "Quite so!" cries 'cute MUNDELLA, the corvine chief and conky, "But he who maketh too much noise may show himself a donkey. The Capital seems quiet, Sir, the garrison is still, Suppose we try that old Gaul game!" HARCURTIUS cries, "I will!" Then silently and slowly, and all in single file, They climb towards the Citadel. HARCURTIUS, with a smile, Hath his head o'er the ramparts, when--Great CÆSAR, what is this? They're greeted with one loud, prolonged, and universal _hiss_! The sudden sibilation out of silence startles all, HARCURTIUS clangs his buckler, OTTO nearly hath a fall, "Great gods, the Geese are on us, those confounded Sacred Geese, See their long necks, twig their broad beaks! Cease, senile cacklers, cease!"

So gaspeth great HARCURTIUS, but gaspeth all in vain. The gaff is blown, the anserine guard gives tongue with might and main. A stir, a tramp of mailèd feet, a torch-flare! Whillaloo! "Say, is this MARCUS MANLIUS? No, hang it, there be two, SALISBURIUS and GOSCHENIUS, with a host, no doubt, behind, They're on their guard, whate'er may chance, we shall not 'catch 'em blind' Like gudgeon. No! there's not a chance of a surprise by night; If the Gauls take the Citadel, ye gods, they'll have to _fight_!" How history repeats itself! At least we must agree, The Geese have roused the Capital? And _saved_ it? We shall see!

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

"COME HITHER, HUBERT!"

We are able to present our readers with a few notes of a lecture to be given by Professor HUBERT HERKOMER, R.A. (by the kind permission of AUTHOR PINERO, Esq.), to all managers, actors, actresses, scene-painters, authors, composers, musicians, costumiers, and wig-makers who will honour him with their attention. On this occasion the Professor will (among other things) explain, by the aid of a Magic Lantern (an entirely new invention recently discovered by Professor H.H.) how to enlighten the stage darkness generally. The Professor will also combat the erroneous impression derived from the dark ages of SHAKSPEARE's time, that the Moon, or the Man in it,--probably a lime-lighterman,--ought servilely to follow the movements, in order to throw light upon them, of the Principal Performer. The Professor will observe--"Such a course, on the part of the Direction of the Moon, can only be considered beneficial to Art, when it is directed against 'The Star System.' As each theatrical Star has its own particular brilliancy, why lug in the Moon? SHAKSPEARE, no doubt, had the Stage Moon in full view when he makes _Juliet_ roundly exclaim, 'Oh, swear not by the Moon, the inconstant Moon!' as, of course, a Moon bound to illuminate the business of any one actor must follow him about, and so, though 'constant' to _him_ individually, would be open to a general charge of inconstancy from the spectators in front. Such a course for the Moon to take is, as some of the better instructed among you may possibly be aware, quite unwarranted by the lunar laws of Nature, &c., &c."

This interesting entertainment will wind up with a dialogue between _Arthur_ (JONES) and _Hubert_ (HERKOMER), of which we give an extract. It represents _Arthur_ as wishing to produce a piece, which _Hubert_ forewarns him will be a failure unless he (HUBERT) paints the scenery and manages it generally.

_Arthur._ Is there no remedy?

_Hubert._ None, but to use _my_ eyes.

_Arthur._ O HUBERT! If you will, cut down my 'lengths.' And I'll be merry as the day is long, So you don't interfere. You've other irons Hot in the fire.

_Hubert_ (_aside_). With his innocent prate He will awake my mercy which lies dead. (_Aloud._) Read this, young ARTHUR!

[_Gives him a Manuscript._

_Arthur_ (_opens it. Starts_). What! a play by YOU! To be produced by _me_! O HUBERT!! [_Faints._

We regret that want of space prevents our giving any more of this charming work at present, but no doubt it will not be long ere the Public has the gratification of hearing and seeing it all.

* * * * *

A PARAGON FRAME (OF MIND).

["I never took anybody's umbrella."--_Plaintiff (a Cook) in a recent Breach of Promise Case._]

Common are Cooks, professed, plain alike And common, youths their sustenance who feed on, Common (I'm told) a breach of promise suit, And common, damages, in courts agreed on; Common are briefs as blackberries; and fees Are common quite as "leather and prunella"; Common are "unprotected" witnesses ("_Credat_"--as HORACE somewhere sings--"_Apella_!") But most uncommon seems a lowly Cook Who with sincerity can kiss the book And swear (to shame her betters!) ne'er she took By sad "mistake or otherwise," by hook; Or, as will eventuate, by crook, Be it silk or gingham--any one's umbrella!

* * * * *

MRS. RAM ON CURRENT POLITICS.--"Politics," says Mrs. RAMSBOTHAM, "is one of the few things I know nothing about. But it does seem to me that Lord GRANDOLPH CHURCHILL is a white elephant tied round the neck of Lord SALISBURY."

* * * * *

"HEAVENS!"--Recently in the _Athenæum_, and copied elsewhere, appeared the most interesting intelligence that has been received on earth for some time. "The small planet No. 315"--no further address is given, an omission which will, no doubt, be rectified in the next issue--"which was discovered at Nice by M. CHARLOIS on the 4th September, 1891,"--the small planet, of course, not being out of the nurse's arms, was not responsible for being at Nice at an unfashionable time, but this, of course, is the fault of her parents and guardians--"has been named Constantia." Rather late to delay the christening for nearly five months. Of course, the brilliant infant will not stay at Nice, except by medical advice, but will probably return to No. 315, Milky Way (or elsewhere), on the first opportunity. _Sic itur ad astra_!

* * * * *

"A STUDENT OF HISTORY" writes to us:--"Sir--I have been reading a great deal lately on ecclesiastical subjects, and shall be very much obliged if you will explain to me briefly what 'Inclosed Orders' are." [If "A STUDENT" will send us, under cover to our office, two P.O. Orders for two pounds ten shillings each respectively, further explanation than that conveyed by our receipt for the same will be unnecessary.--ED.]

* * * * *

A RIDDLE.

I'm underneath your feet In the streets of London Town, From town take "t," Then give it to me, And you'll sell me for a crown.

* * * * *

MRS. R. AND THE PREVAILING EPIDEMIC.--Our excellent friend is now convalescent. "Like CÆSAR or CÆSAR's wife, I forget which it was," she says, "I have passed the Barbican!" Some one having suggested that probably she meant "the Rubicon," Mrs. R. thanked him politely, but added, that she perfectly well knew what she was talking about, and that everyone who was acquainted with history would understand her classical delusion.

* * * * *

PUZZLER FOR A COSTUMIER.--A Gentleman going to a Fancy Dress Ball wants to know how he can make up for Lost Time?

* * * * *

NAMES for the next pair of Tailed Monkeys sent to the Zoo--"Mr. and Mrs. CAUDAL."

* * * * *

N.B.--"Confessions of a Duffer," No. IV., next week.

* * * * *

* * * * *

TRUE AND TRUSTY.

(_A STORY OF THE LAW._)

I always liked LAWRENCE LUCKAPENNY, and shall never forget the first time I met him. He was leaving the County Court, where I had had myself a small matter of business, and knowing the same Counsel, we foregathered. He was in great spirits. He had just won his case.

"Yes," said he, "it was a hard fight, but we came off all right. His Honour was distinctly in our favour, so now I and my co-trustees will have the satisfaction of feeling that the estate has benefited, with no greater loss than a few months' delay. Eh?" and he turned to our Counsel, who smiled, and shook his head a little doubtfully.

"Can scarcely go so far as that," the man of law observed. "You see, these matters take time, and the other side may appeal."

"Appeal! What is that?"

"I am afraid you will have the full opportunity for learning, my dear fellow."

"Well, it's all right up to now," cried LUCKAPENNY, cheerfully, and we separated.

Two or three years after this I again met the litigant, but this time in the Royal Courts of Justice. There were streaks of white in his hair, but he was still cheerful.

I asked him how he was getting on with the matter, and he replied, "As well as might be expected." Our Counsel had been right, for the liquidators had appealed.

"But we have beaten them again, my dear Sir! Think of that,--beaten them again!"

"And now you will have no further difficulty, I suppose."

"I can't go quite so far as that," returned LUCKAPENNY, who I noticed was adopting legal phraseology. "You know they may take us up to the House of Lords, if they please!"

And again time went on. In the course of years I found that poor LUCKAPENNY _had_ been taken to Westminster, and their Lordships had decided to give themselves time to consider their judgment.

When I met LUCKAPENNY again, the House of Lords had decided against him.

"It is very awkward," he observed, "they will not allow my costs, and so I shall have to pay them out of my own pocket! And what makes it the more annoying is that, even had we won our cause, it would have led to nothing, as the estate we were fighting is practically bankrupt."

I offered my condolences, and we separated.

The last time, I saw poor LUCKAPENNY, he looked a very shadow of himself. He was haggard and thin, and was wearing clothes of an ancient cut and threadbare material. He smiled as he met me, and observed that he was still engaged on the trust matter.

"But I have come to the last stage," he said; "I have paid the costs in full. And now I am going home."

"Going home," I repeated, and noticing that he seemed feeble, offered him the support of my arm. "I will walk as far as your residence."

"You are very good," he replied, "but I am afraid that I cannot ask you to come in."

"Never mind that; but where do you live?"

"Where should I live after a lawsuit?" he returned, with a short laugh. "Why, in the Workhouse, to be sure--in the Workhouse!"

And as a ratepayer, I have assisted to support him ever since!

* * * * *

A MENU FROM BIRMINGHAM.

POTAGES.

Duchesse. Consommé de Déluge à l'Après Moi.

POISSONS.

Hors d'Eau à l'Appât convenable. Crevettes à l'Envie.

ENTRÉES.

Petits Programmes à la Robe de Joseph. Filets de Vis, Sauce Monopole. Pattes de Matou aux Griffes.

RÔTS.

Moi Même. Dinde Fidèle de Jessé.

LÉGUMES.

Orchis en Boutonnière. Hartijo Sauce Soumission.

RELEVÉS.

Monocle. Salmi de Paires Filants aux Lis.

ENTREMETS.

Gâteau Rossendale. Conserves d'Église Galloise. Boudin de Labouchère à la Lanterne.

DESSERT.

Bonbons de Famille. Hameçons de Flatterie. Oublis.

* * * * *

IN STATU,--QUO?

Should CROMWELL have a statue at Westminster was a burning question some years ago. We all know the result, and nowadays, who cares? At present, the question at Oxford is, Shall Cardinal NEWMAN have a statue? and, if so, Shall it be just opposite the Martyrs' Memorial? From one point of view, the situation is happily selected, as, of course, NEWMAN was on just exactly opposite ground to CRANMER, RIDLEY, and LATIMER. The Oxford Dons are right in supposing that no statue can be erected without a previous design; a design by a hand that has not lost its cunning. The proposed site is in Broad Street, a very suggestive name as opposed to narrowness of any sort; yet so eager are the illogical Dons in the matter of preservation of spaces, that before even the base of a clay model has been commenced, they have already prepared the ground for the reception of the statue by getting up any amount of railing about the proposed site!

* * * * *

* * * * *

LETTERS TO ABSTRACTIONS.

NO. X.--TO CROOKEDNESS.

OBLIQUE, BUT FORMIDABLE ONE,

You have frequently fixed your abode in high places. Are there not recorded in history the names of kings and statesmen whom an irresistible desire to scheme, and trick, and overreach, has brought to the block? The times were difficult--that much one may admit. Noble heads of honourable and upright men were lopped in profusion; and it may be argued, with some show of reason, that the man whose character was as flawless as pure crystal, was like to fare as badly as the muddiest rascal of them all, if his side sank in defeat. And yet I cannot help believing that, in some cases at least, a man might have had a happier end if he had abstained from acts of political turpitude, which were as irrational in their conception as they were ruinous in their effect; acts, that is, which, in the existing circumstances, no sane man could have undertaken unless the mere doing of these rogueries had been a supreme and a necessary pleasure to him. There was poor CHARLES THE FIRST. Surely, in spite of that melancholy, doomed face, he might have died in peace if he had only played the game fairly. JAMES THE SECOND, too, and MARLBOROUGH, the greatest Captain of his age, and BOLINGBROKE, the eloquent philosophiser, the grave moralist, how different might their ends have been had not you, O CROOKEDNESS, presided at their births, and ruled their lives. But, avaunt, History! Here I am straying into a treatise, when I merely intended to remind you of little PETER SHEEF, and of his adventures.

PETER and I were freshmen together at Cambridge in the remote past before "Johnnies," and "Chappies," and "Mashers" had been heard of, before the "oof bird" had been fledged in its pink and sporting nest, or the Egyptian cigarette had asserted its universal sway. I daresay we differed but little (by "we" I mean the freshmen of our year) from those who have lately appeared for the first time in King's Parade, or Jesus Lane. We were very young--we imagined Proctors to be destitute of human feeling; we ate portentous breakfasts of many courses, and, for the most part, treated our allowances as though they had been so much pocket-money. Also we had an idea that a man who had passed his thirtieth year was absurdly old, and that nobody could be called a boy whose name had been entered on the books of a College. In fact, we were freshmen.

PETER and I were a good deal thrown together during our first term. Like me, he had come up from one of the smaller schools, and we had not, therefore, a very large number of friends to start with. PETER was one of the pleasantest fellows in the world, always cheerful, good-tempered, and obliging. He always seemed to have plenty of money. Indeed, I know that his father made him an allowance of £800 a year, a sum which was considerably more than double that received by the majority of his fellows. The parental SHEEF I have since discovered was a Solicitor, who had made his mark and his fortune by the crafty defence of shady financiers in distress, of bogus company promoters, and generally of the great race who live in the narrow border-land which divides the merely disreputable from the positively indictable. But at that time I didn't trouble my head to inquire about PETER's father, and was content as most Undergraduates are, to take my friends as I thought I found them. PETER was musical; he played several instruments with skill, and sang a capital song. With all these qualities, he soon became, to a certain extent, popular. He then set up as a giver of good and expensive dinners, kept a couple of horses in the hunting season, devoted great attention to his dress, and made himself unobtrusively agreeable to the little gods of our miniature world. In his second year he had gained a position; most people spoke well of him, and liked him. It only rested with PETER himself to maintain what he had gained, and to enter on life with troops of friends. A few moments of purposeless folly were sufficient to shatter him.

I remember that in my first term I was not very agreeably impressed by something that PETER did. A dog-fancier happened to come through the street in which we both lodged, and PETER began to bargain with him for a fox-terrier, who, according to the fancier's account, had a pedigree as long and as illustrious as that of a Norman Peer. Eventually it had been agreed that the dog was to become PETER's property in consideration of thirty shillings in cash, a pair of trousers, and a bottle of brandy. The exchange was made, and the man departed. Thereupon PETER informed me with glee, that the trousers were a pair of his father's, which had been packed in his portmanteau by mistake, and that the brandy-bottle contained about fifty per cent. of water, that amount of brandy having been poured off before payment was made. As PETER put it, "I've done him in the eye, to prevent him doing me." I tried in vain to bring him round to the opinion that (let alone robbing one's father) cheating a cheat was one of the lowest forms of roguery. The dog-fancier soon afterwards returned, and protested, with tears in his eyes, that the shabby trick had wounded him in his tenderest feelings, but he seemed quite willing to begin a fresh bargain with "the only gen'lemen, s'help me, as ever bested pore little ALEC."

All this is, however, by the way. I merely mention it to illustrate PETER's character. At the University Steeple-Chase Meeting, which took place at the end of our third October term, SHEEF had entered his animals for several races. He was a good rider, and confidently anticipated success. To celebrate the occasion, he had arranged a big dinner-party, and had invited some twenty of us to dine with him. I had been unable to go to the races myself, but at the appointed hour I turned up at SHEEF's rooms. I found the table brilliantly laid, waiters hanging about, and dozens of Champagne in readiness. SHEEF was there, but, beside myself, no other guest had appeared. And not a single one came. I forget what excuse the miserable host made, but the result was that we two solemnly dined at a table laid for ten times our number. I think I shall remember that ghastly festivity as long as I live. The next day all Cambridge knew that SHEEF had not only pulled one of his horses openly and disgracefully, but had wilfully misled both his friends and the book-makers as to the horse he intended to ride in a race for which entries were made at the post. I never heard that he stood to win more than £50 by the transaction. And for this paltry sum (paltry, that is, to a man of his means) he had wrecked his reputation, and all the possibilities of his career.

I see him slinking about London sometimes. Last year he passed, with much discredit, through the Bankruptcy Court. He has been a Director of countless Companies, for the stock of fools seems to be inexhaustible. There can only be one end for such a man as SHEEF. The cool, callous, and calculating knave may get clear through to the end; but SHEEF always was stupidly good-natured, and good-nature hangs like a millstone round the neck of rascality. I cannot myself detest him as I ought to do. He was so near to completely successful respectability. But crookedness ruined him, in spite of his better wishes. Was it altogether his own fault?

That, as Mr. BRET HARTE observes, lets me out.

I remain as before, DIOGENES ROBINSON.

* * * * *

A DANGEROUS TITLE.

(_TO MR. JOSEPH HATTON, AUTHOR OF "CIGARETTE PAPERS."_)

Cigarette Papers, JOSEPH, when properly stuffed, Are meant, I suppose, to be zealously puffed. When we take them in hand, a consuming desire Attacks us to set the gay trifles on fire. Yet, the brand being good (here's the point of my joke), They are always enjoyed ere they vanish in smoke.

* * * * *

FROM AN X.J.P. TO LORD CHIEF JUSTICE PUNCH.--Sir,--Why complain of "the Licence of the Bar?" Of course it goes with, and is a part of, every Licence to a Public-house granted by the Middlesex Magistrates. I've retired some years myself, am a bit deaf, and don't read much; but I heard just enough to warrant me in writing to you at once on what appears to me so simple a matter.

ROBERT SHALLOW, X.J.P., M.M.

_At the Sign of the Pig and Pippin._

* * * * *

TO THE FUTURE A.R.A.--Better luck next time, Mr. SWAN. Be satisfied that, though at present unelected, you are Swan, R.A., i.e., _Rara Avis_. As you can plume yourself on this, so "_in hoc Cygno, vinces!_" Which we caninecally and not canonically for the nonce nonce-sensically render, "In this (matter), to the Swan (we say) you will (go in and) win!"

* * * * *

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.