Chapter 2

There was at this time living in London an Italian artist, man of letters and musical _virtuoso_, who was the spoiled darling of Society. All the women raved about him, the men liked him, for he had fought bravely on the field of battle, was a sportsman and had about him that frank and abundant _gaieté de coeur_, which powerfully attracts the less exuberant Englishman. For his part CASANUOVA (that was his name) bore all his successes with good-nature and without swagger. Of course there were whispers about him. Where so many women worshipped, it was certain that two or three would lose their heads. Amongst this limited number was little Mrs. MILLETT, one of Lady CALLENDER's most intimate friends. She made no secret of her _grande passion_. She poured her tale into the ears of Lady CALLENDER, and asked for sympathy and help. Lady CALLENDER promised both, and at the self-same moment, made up her mind that she would withdraw from Mrs. MILLETT such affection as CASANUOVA had honoured her with, and bring him, not because she cared for him, but merely for the sport of the thing, to her own feet. She succeeded admirably. Under the pretence of bringing CASANUOVA and Mrs. MILLETT together (such things, you know, have been done in good Society) she invited him constantly to her house; she gave musical parties in his honour, she used all her fascinations, and finally, having fooled Ariadne to the top of her bent, she captured Theseus, and bore him off.

Mrs. MILLETT was a foolish and frivolous little woman. Rage and despair made her a demon. She resolved on revenge, and proceeded to it with a cool and astonishing persistency. Now I do not myself believe that Lady CALLENDER cared two straws about CASANUOVA. What she aimed at and enjoyed was the discomfiture of a friend. In order to obtain it, however, she committed a fatal imprudence. She wrote some letters which would have convinced even a French jury of her guilt. By a master-stroke of cunning wickedness, Mrs. MILLETT gained possession of them, and sent them to Sir CHARLES. It happened that about this time Sir CHARLES was in a very low state of health, and his friends were anxious about him. One afternoon, when Sir CHARLES was confined to his bed, Lady CALLENDER was playing the piano to her Italian slave. A message was brought to her that her husband desired to see her for a few minutes, and she tripped gaily away, saying to CASANUOVA, "Wait here; I shall return directly." In a quarter of an hour, however, her maid came to tell him that her Ladyship was suffering, and begged him to excuse her, and he departed. When the maid returned to Lady CALLENDER, she found her lying dead on the floor of her room, with a small phial, which had contained prussic acid, clasped tightly in her hand.

This is what had happened: Sir CHARLES had received the letters; they left no doubt in his mind that the wife he adored was betraying him, and he, too, resolved on revenge. He sent for his wife. When she came in, he at once confronted her with her letters, and taxed her with her guilt. A terrible scene of tears, entreaties, and bitter reproaches ensued, but Sir CHARLES was as adamant, and his wife retired to her bedroom in a state of nervous prostration, which immediately brought on a toothache. At this point she sent for her maid, and gave her the message to CASANUOVA.

The Coroner was sympathetic, and did what he could, but the evidence in favour of the suicide theory seemed overwhelming, and the jury returned a verdict to this effect, with a rider strongly commenting on the danger of selling such deadly poisons. But it was never explained how Lady CALLENDER obtained the prussic acid, nor why she had selected that particular moment for its use. I ought to add, that CASANUOVA left England before the inquest, and has never returned. On the mystery of the final catastrophe the manuscript throws no light. It ends abruptly. But the whole tone of it leads me to believe, that in some unexplained manner Sir CHARLES himself had been instrumental in causing his wife's death. But you, no doubt, know, and could tell us if you wished.

So there, my friend, you have the story. Sorry I couldn't make it more cheerful. Do you remember the part you played in it?

Yours, &c., DIOGENES ROBINSON.

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* * * * *

THE COMING OF NINETY-TWO.

(_WITH HUMBLE APOLOGIES, AND HEARTY NEW-YEAR GREETINGS, TO THE ILLUSTRIOUS AUTHOR OF "THE COMING OF ARTHUR."_)

And PUNCHIUS ever served the good Old Year Before his death-hour struck; and on the night When he, on twelve's last stroke must pass away, Room making for his heir, great PUNCHIUS-MERLIN Left the Old King, and passing forth to breathe, Then from the mystic gateway by the chasm Descending through the wintry night--a night In which the bounds of year and year were blent-- Beheld, so high upon the wave-tost deep It seemed in heaven, a light, the shape thereof An angel winged, and all from head to feet Bright with a shining radiance golden-rayed, And gone as soon as seen; and PUNCHIUS knew The oft-glimpsed face of Hope, the blue-eyed guest, Avant-courier of Peace and of Good Will, And herald of Good Tidings. Then the Sage Dropt to the cave, and watched the great sea fall Wave after wave, each mightier than the last. Till last, a great one, gathering half the deep And full of voices, slowly rose and plunged, Roaring, and all the wave was in a flame. And down the wave and in the flame, was borne A naked Babe, and rode to PUNCH's feet, Who stoopt, and caught the Babe, and cried "The Year! Here is an heir for Ninety-One!" The fringe Of that great breaker, sweeping up the strand Lashed at the wizard as he spake the word, And all at once all round him rose in light, So that the Child and he were clothed in light, And presently thereafter followed calm, Loud bells, and song! "And this same Child," PUNCH said, "Twelve moons shall reign, nor will I part with him Till these be told." And saying this the Sage, The Modern MERLIN of the motley coat, Wizard of Wit and Seer of Sunny Mirth, Took up the wave-borne youngster in his arms, His nurse, his champion, his Mentor wise, And bare him shoreward out of wind and wet, Into his sanctum, where choice fare was spread, And cosy comfort ready to receive Young Ninety-Two, and give him a "send-off" Such as should strengthen and encourage him To make fair start, and face those many moons Of multiform vicissitude with pluck, Good hope and patient pertinacity. And when men sought the Modern MERLIN's ear And asked him what these matters might portend, The shining angel, and the naked Child Descending in the glory of the seas, He laughed, as is his wont, and answered them In riddling triplets of old time, and said:

"Peace and good-will! Croaking is all my eye! A young man will be wiser by-and-by, An old man's wit should ripen ere he die.

"Patience and pluck! Fretting is fiddle-de-dee. And youth has yet to learn to act and see, And youth is well-advised that trusts to Me!

"Hope and good cheer! This youngster's fate who knows? Sun, rain, and frost will greet him ere life's close; From the great dark to the great dark he goes."

So MERLIN, riddling, answered them; but thou, Fear not to face thy fate, O sea-born Child! Young Ninety-Two! Great Bards of thee may sing Hereafter; and great sayings from of old Ranging and ringing thro' the minds of men, Of Progress, and Improvement, and of Peace, Of nobler Work, and a more ample Wage, Of wider culture, and of worthier joys, Larger attainments, and less coarse desires, And gentler tastes; these shall be heard of youth. And echo'd by old folk beside their fires, For comfort after _their_ wage-work is done-- No workhouse fires, but cosy fires of Home!-- These thee shall greet, PUNCH-MERLIN, in thy time, Shall voice them also, not in jest, and swear, Though men may wound Truth, that she will not die, But pass, again to come; and, then or now, Utterly smite foul Falsehood underfoot, Till, with PUNCH, all men hail her for their Queen!

* * * * *

CLIMATIC NOMENCLATURE FOR THE NEW YEAR.

(_SUGGESTED BY RECENT DEVELOPMENTS OF THE BRITISH SEASONS._)

Spring = The Clog Days. Summer = The Dog Days. Autumn = The Bog Days. Winter = The Fog Days.

* * * * *

ATRABILIOUS LIVERPOOL.--The City Council of Liverpool--notwithstanding the generous urgings of its more important members--refuses to bestow the "honour of" the freedom "of that City" upon its illustrious if--from their point of view--errant son, Mr. GLADSTONE. As Madame ROLAND _ought_ to have said:--O "Freedom," what liberties are taken (with common sense and good feeling) in thy name!

* * * * *

* * * * *

TO JUSTICE.

(_IN JANUARY._)

Just take a look round, most respectable Madam; New Year's Day is an excellent time for the task, When serious thoughts come to each son of Adam Who dares to peep under Convention's smug mask. Your sword looks a little bit rusty and notched, Ma'am; Your scales now and then hang a trifle askew; A lot of your Ministers need to be watched, Ma'am! _Punch_ isn't quite pleased with the prospect--are you? If one could but take a wide survey, though summary, Of _all_ the strange "sentences" passed in one year By persons called "Justices"--(yes, it _sounds_ flummery) Justice would look like Burlesque, Ma'am, I fear. Excellent subject for whimsical GILBERT, But not a nice spectacle, Madam, for me. Long spell of "chokee" for prigging a--filbert (Given, you bet, by some rural J.P.); Easy let-off for a bogus "Promoter," Helping the ruin of hundreds for gain; Six months for stealing a turnip or "bloater," Ditto for bashing a wife on the brain: Sentences cut to one-twelfth on appealing, Judges and juries at loggerheads quite! Really each day brings some curious revealing, Putting you, Ma'am, in a very strange light. Take my advice, Ma'am, this bright New Year's morning, Give a look up to your agents all round; To some give the sack, and to others a warning; The Public will back up your move, I'll be bound!

* * * * *

GREEK MEETS GREEK.--"What!" exclaimed an indignant scholar, who had not peeped into a Classic for some forty years, "no more compulsory Greek at our Universities! What are we coming to? All I can say is, '_Absit omen_'!" "'Scuse me!" replied his friend, who was all for the new learning, "but I should say, '_Absit Homer_'!"

* * * * *

SEASONABLE (AND SUITABLE) GOOD WISHES.

To a Card-player A Nappy } To a Smart Girl A "Snappy" } To a Flirt A "Chappy" } To an Old Maid A Cappy } To an Infant A Pappy } To a Pigeon-shot A Trappy } To an Explorer A Mappy } New Year to you! To a Student A Sappy } To a Cross Child A Slappy } To an aspiring Pugilist A "Scrappy" } To a Spiritualist A Tappy } To a Toper A "Lappy" } To _Toby_ A Yappy } To a Snuff-taker A Rappee }

* * * * *

GIFTS FOR THE NEW YEAR.

_H-r M-j-sty_.--The hearty congratulations of a loyal and united people.

_The Pr-nce and Pr-nc-ss_.--The most welcome of daughters-in-law.

_Prince Alb-rt V-ct-r_.--MAY in February.

_The Rest of the R-y-l F-m-ly_.--The best of wishes from everybody.

_L-rd S-l-sb-ry_.--A General Election.

_Mr. Arth-r B-lf-r_.--A Translation from the Irish.

_Mr. J. Ch-mb-rl-n_.--Promotion.

_Sir W-ll-m H-rc-rt_.--A Vision of the Woolsack.

_The Cz-r of R-ss-a_.--A Vision of another sort of Sack.

_The G-rm-n Emp-r-r_. New toys personally selected.

_President C-rn-t_.--The compliments of the Marquis of DUFFERIN.

_Herr Ibs-n_.--A tale without a plot.

_Mr. R-dy-rd K-pl-ng_.--Quite another story.

_The Corporation of L-v-rp-l_.--The Freedom of the Grand Old Man.

_The Gr-nd Old M-n_.--The loss of the Corporation of Liverpool.

_And Mr. P-nch_.--Tons of material (voluntarily contributed) for the Grand Old Waste Paper Basket.

* * * * *

BOS V. BOSS.

[One of the Delegates at the Conference on Rural Reforms said, "We do not want to be bossed by the Parsons"; another, "We don't want soup or blankets, but fair play."]

O GENEROUS gents, who have the "cure of souls," Learn hence that justice wins far more than doles. Blankets and soup Dames Bountiful may give, But what HODGE craves is a fair chance to live On labour fairly paid, not casual boons. SALISBURY's "Circuses," and smart buffoons, Won't move him, by "amusement," from that wish. Parties may mutually denounce or "dish;" But what will win the Labourer for a friend Is Home and Work, without the Workhouse end! Listen! Those who heed not will bide the loss, For _Bos locutus est,--against the_ "_Boss_"!

* * * * *

LAYS OF MODERN HOME.

NO. I.--"MY HOUSEMAID!"

Who, as our Dresden's wreck we scanned, Protested, with assurance bland, "It come to pieces in my 'and"? My Housemaid.

Who "tidies" things each Monday morn, And hides--until, with search outworn, I wish I never had been born? My Housemaid.

Who "turns" my study "out" that day, And then contrives to pitch away As "rubbish" (which it is) my Play? My Housemaid.

Who guards within her jealous care, Mending or marking, till I swear, The underclothes I long to wear? My Housemaid.

Who cultivates a habit most Perverse, of running to "The Post" To meet her brothers (_such_ a host!)? My Housemaid.

Who, _if_ she spends her "Sundays out" At Chapel, as she does, no doubt, Must be protractedly devout? My Housemaid.

Who takes my novels down (it must Be, as she vows, of course, "to dust"), And thumbs them, much to my disgust? My Housemaid.

Who "can't abide" a play or ball, But dearly loves a Funeral, Or Exeter's reproachless Hall? My Housemaid.

Who late returning thence, in fits Of what she terms "Histories," sits,-- _And this day month my service quits_? My Housemaid.

* * * * *

QUITE CLEAR.--"_Aha! mon ami_," exclaimed our friend JULES, during the recent murky weather in Town, "you ask me the difference between our Paris and your London. _Tenez_, I will tell you. Paris is always _très gai, veritablement gai_; but London is _toujours faux gai_--you see it is always fo-gay." And he meant "fog-gy." Well, he wasn't far wrong, just now.

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* * * * *

THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS.

NO. XXI.

SCENE--_The Steps of the Hotel Dandolo, about 11 A.M. PODBURY is looking expectantly down the Grand Canal, CULCHARD is leaning upon the balustrade._

_Podbury_. Yes, met BOB just now. They've gone to the Europa, but we've arranged to take a gondola together, and go about. They're to pick me up here. Ah, that looks rather like them. (_A gondola approaches, with Miss PRENDERGAST and BOB; PODBURY goes down the steps to meet them._) How are you, Miss PRENDERGAST? Here I _am_, you see.

_Miss Prendergast_t (_ignoring C.'s salute_). How do you do, Mr. PODBURY? Surely you don't propose to go out in a gondola in _that_ hat!

_Podb._ (_taking off a brown "pot-hat," and inspecting it_). It--it's quite _decent_. It was new when I came away!

_Bob_ (_who is surly this morning_). Hang it all, 'PATIA! Do you want him to come out in a chimney-pot? Jump in, old fellow; never mind your tile?

_Podb._ (_apologetically_). I had a straw one--but I sat on it. I'm awfully sorry, Miss PRENDERGAST. Look here, shall I go and see if I can buy one?

_Miss P._ Not now--it doesn't signify, for once. But around hat and a gondola are really _too_ incongruous!

_Podb._ Are they? A lot of the Venetians seem to wear 'em. (_He steps in._) Now what are we going to do--just potter about?

_Miss P._ One hardly comes to Venice to _potter_! I thought we'd go and study the Carpaccios at the Church of the Schiavoni first--they won't take us more than an hour or so; then cross to San Giorgio Maggiore, and see the Tintorets, come back and get a general idea of the exterior of St. Mark's, and spend the afternoon at the Accademia.

_Podb._ (_with a slight absence of heartiness_). Capital! And--er--lunch at the Academy, I suppose?

_Miss P._ There does not happen to be a restaurant there--we shall see what time we have. I must say _I_ regard every minute of daylight spent on food here as a sinful waste.

_Bob_. Now just look here, 'PATIA, if you _are_ bossing this show, you needn't go cutting us off our grub! What do _you_ say, JEM?

_Podb._ (_desperately anxious to please_). Oh, I don't know that I care about lunch myself--much.

[_Their voices die away on the water._

_Culch._ (_musing_). She might have _bowed_ to me!... _She_ has escaped the mosquitoes.... Ah, well, I doubt if she'll find those two particularly sympathetic companions! Now I _should_ enjoy a day spent in that way. Why shouldn't I, as it is? I daresay MAUD will--

[_Turns and sees Mr. TROTTER._

_Mr. T._ My darter will be along presently. She's Cologning her cheeks--they've swelled up again some. I guess you want to Cologne _your_ cheeks--they're dreadful lumpy. I've just been on the Pi-azza again, Sir. It's curious now the want of enterprise in these Vernetians. Anyone would have expected they'd have thrown a couple or so of girder-bridges across the canal between this and the Ri-alto, and run an elevator up the Campanile--but this ain't what you might call a _business_ city, Sir, and that's a fact. (_To Miss T. as she appears._) Hello, MAUD, the ice-water cool down your face any?

_Miss T._ Not _much_. My face just made that ice-water boil over. I don't believe I'll ever have a complexion again--it's divided up among several dozen mosquitoes, who've no use for one. But it's vurry consoling to look at _you_, Mr. CULCHARD, and feel there's a pair of us. Now what way do you propose we should endeavor to forget our sufferings?

_Culch._ Well, we might spend the morning in St. Mark's--?

_Miss T._ The morning! Why, Poppa and I saw the entire show I inside of ten minutes, before breakfast!

_Culch._ Ah! (_Discouraged._) What do you say to studying the Vine and Fig-tree angles and the capitals of the arcades in the Ducal Palace? I will go and fetch the _Stones of Venice_.

_Miss T._ I guess you can leave those old stones in peace. I don't feel like studying up anything this morning--it's as much as ever I can do not to scream aloud!

_Culch._ Then shall we just drift about in a gondola all the morning, and--er--perhaps do the Academy later?

_Miss T._ Not any canals in this hot sun for me! I'd be just as _sick_! That gondola will keep till it's cooler.

_Culch._ (_losing patience_). Then I must really leave it to you to make a suggestion!

_Miss T._ Well, I believe I'll have a good look round the curiosity stores. There's ever such a cunning little shop back of the Clock Tower on the Pi-azza, where I saw some brocades that were just too sweet! So I'll take Poppa along bargain-hunting. Don't _you_ come if you'd rather poke around your old churches and things!

_Culch._ I don't feel disposed to--er--"poke around" alone; so, if you will allow me to accompany you,--

_Miss T._ Oh, I'll allow you to escort me. It's handy having someone around to carry parcels. And Poppa's bound to drop the balance every time!

_Culch._ (_to himself_). That's all I am to her. A beast of burden! And a whole precious morning squandered on this confounded shopping--when I might have been--ah, well! [_Follows, under protest._

_On the Grand Canal. 9 P.M. A brilliant moonlight night; a music-barge, hung with coloured lanterns, is moving slowly up towards the Rialto, surrounded and followed by a fleet of gondolas, amongst which is one containing the TROTTERS and CULCHARD. CULCHARD has just discovered--with an embarrassment not wholly devoid of a certain excitement--that they are drawing up to a gondola occupied by the PRENDERGASTS and PODBURY._

_Mr. Trotter_ (_meditatively_). It's real romantic. That's the third deceased kitten I've seen to-night. They haven't only a two-foot tide in the Adriatic, and it stands to reason all the sewage--

[_The two gondolas are jammed close alongside._

_Miss P._ How absolutely magical those palaces look in the moonlight! BOB, how _can_ you yawn like that?

_Bob_. I beg your pardon, 'PATIA, really, but we've had rather a long day of it, you know!

_Mr. T._ Well, now, I declare I sort of recognised those voices! (_Heartily._) Why, how are _you_ getting along in Vernis? _We_'re gettin' along fust-rate. Say, MAUD, here's your friend alongside!

[_Miss P. preserves a stony silence._

_Miss T._ (_in an undertone_). I don't see how you _can_ act so, Poppa--when you know she's just as _mad_ with me!

_Mr. T._ There! Electrocuted if I didn't clean forget you were out! But, see here, now--why cann't we let bygones be bygones?

_Bob_. (_impulsively_). Just what _I_ think, Mr. TROTTER, and I'm sure my sister will--

_Miss P._ BOB, will you kindly not make the situation more awkward than it is? If I desired a reconciliation, I think I am quite capable of saying so!

_Miss T._ (_in confidence to the Moon_). This Ark isn't proposing to send out any old dove, either--we've no use for an olive-branch. (_To_ Mr. T.) That's "_Santa Lucia_" they're singing now, Poppa.

_Mr. T._ They don't appear to me to get the twist on it they did at Bellagio!

_Miss T._ You mean that night CHARLEY took us out on the Lake? Poor CHARLEY! he'd just love to be here--he's ever so much artistic feeling!

_Mr. T._ Well, I don't see why he couldn't have come along if he'd wanted.

_Miss T._ (_with a glance at her neighbour_). I presume he'd reasons enough. He's a vurry cautious man. Likely he was afraid he'd get bitten.

_Miss P._ (_after a swift scrutiny of Miss T.'s features_). Oh, BOB, remind me to get some more of that mosquito stuff. I _should_ so hate to be bitten--such a _dreadful_ disfigurement!

_Miss T._ (_to the Moon_). I declare if I don't believe I can feel some creature trying to sting me now!

_Miss P._ Some people are hardly recognisable, BOB, and they say the marks never _quite_ disappear!

_Miss T._ Poppa, don't you wonder what CHARLEY's doing just now? I'd like to know if he's found anyone yet to feel an interest in the great Amurrcan Novel. It's curious how interested people do get in that novel, considering it's none of it written, and never will be. I guess sometimes he makes them believe he means something by it. They don't understand it's only CHARLEY's way!

_Miss P._ The crush isn't quite so bad now. Mr. PODBURY, if you will kindly ask your friend not to hold on to our gondola, we should probably be better able to turn. (CULCHARD, _who had fondly imagined himself undetected, takes his hand away as if it were scorched._) Now we can get away. (_To Gondolier._) Voltiamo, se vi piace, prestissimo!

[_The gondola turns and departs._