Chapter 2

"CHIFFONNETTE! WHY, I'VE BEEN TO HER FOR YEARS! THE WRETCH! I WONDER WHY SHE SUITS YOU SO MUCH BETTER, NOW!"]

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A TALK OVER THE TUB;

_OR, LEGAL LAUNDRESSES IN COUNCIL._

["The whole legal machinery is out of gear, and the country is too busy to put it right."--_Law Times_.]

_A LEADING LAUNDRESS._

Wich I say, Missis 'ALSBURY, Mum, We are all getting into a quand'ry; You and me can no longer be dumb, Seein' how we're the heads of the Laundry: It is all very well to stand 'ere, Sooperintending the soaping and rinsing; Old pleas for delay, I much fear, Are no longer entirely conwincing. Just look at the Linen--in 'eaps! And no one can say it ain't dirty! Our clients, a-grumbling they keeps, And some of 'em seem getting shirty. Wotever, my dear, shall we do? Two parties 'as axed me that question; And now I just puts it to _you_, And I 'ope you can make some suggestion.

_HEAD LAUNDRESS._

My dear Missis COLEY, I own _I_ ain't heard from the parties you 'int at. But them Linen-'eaps certny _has_ grown, Wich their bulk I 'ave just took a squint at. We sud, and we rub, and we scrub. And the pile 'ardly seems to diminish. It tires us poor Slaves of the Tub, And the doose only knows when we'll finish,

_A LEADING LAUNDRESS._

Percisely, my dear, but it's _that_, As the Public insists upon knowin', Missis MATHEW 'as told me so, pat, Wich likeways 'as good Missis BOWEN. You can't floor their argyments, quite, 'Owsomever you twirl 'em or 'twist 'em; They say, and I fear they are right, There is somethink all wrong with our System!

_HEAD LAUNDRESS._

_Our_ System! Well, well, my good soul, You know 'twasn't _us_ as inwented it. We wouldn't have got into this 'ole, If _you_ and _me_ could 'ave perwented it. I know there's no end of a block, That expenses is running up awfully; The sight of it gives me a shock, But 'ow can we alter it--_lawfully_?

_A LEADING LAUNDRESS._

I fear, Mum, I very much fear, That word doesn't strike so much terror As once on the dull public ear; Times change. Mum, they do, make no error! Our clients complain of the cost, And lots of Commercials is leaving us. I think, Mum, afore more is lost, We had best own the block is--well grieving us!

_HEAD LAUNDRESS._

There can't be no 'arm, dear, in _that_. Let's write to the papers and 'int it. I know with your pen you are pat, And the _Times_ will be 'appy to print it. If we are to git through _that_ lot, We must 'ave some more 'elp--that's my notion! Let's strike whilst the iron is 'ot, The Public may trust our dewotion. We'll call the chief Laundresses round; Some way we no doubt shall discover. At least, dear, 'twill 'ave a good sound, If we meet, and--well _talk the thing over!_

[_Left doing so._

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A MENU FROM HATFIELD.

POTAGES.

Consommé de Neveu aux Balles de Golf. Au Jo poché.

ENTRÉES.

Suprême de Livres Bleus. Irlandais Sauvages en Culottes. Filou Mignon Randolph, Sauce Tartarin. Dégoût de Goschen à la Financière.

RÔTS.

Canards Portuguais. Entrecôte d'Afrique à l'Allemande.

RELEVÉS.

Terrine de Fermes Vendues à la Parnell. Pâté de Loi à l'Ordre Publique.

LÉGUMES.

Petits Soupçons Français, Sauce Égyptienne. Vêpres Ceçiliennes.

ENTREMETS.

Absorbé de Birmingham. Succès de Whitehall aux Affaires Étrangères.

DESSERT.

Amendes Parlementaires. Raisons de Plus en Défaites.

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"THE MUSIC IN OUR STREET."

(_A WORD FROM A GIRL WHO LIVES IN IT._)

Did you ever 'ear our music? What, never? _There_'s a shame; I tell yer it's golopshus, we do 'ave such a game. When the sun's a-shinin' brightly, when the fog's upon the town, When the frost 'as bust the water-pipes, when rain comes pourin' down; In the mornin' when the costers come a-shoutin' with their mokes, In the evenin' when the gals walk out a-spoonin' with their blokes, When Mother's slappin' BILLY, or when Father wants 'is tea, When the boys are in the "Spotted Dog" a 'avin' of a spree, No matter what the weather is, or what the time o' day, _Our_ music allus visits us, and never goes away. And when they've tooned theirselves to-rights, I tell yer it's a treat Just to listen to the lot of 'em a-playin' in our street.

There's a chap as turns the orgin--the best I ever 'eard-- Oh lor' he does just jabber, but you can't make out a word. I can't abear Italians, as allus uses knives, And talks a furrin lingo all their miserable lives. But this one calls me BELLA--which my Christian name is SUE-- And 'e smiles and turns 'is orgin very proper, that he do. Sometimes 'e plays a polker and sometimes it's a march, And I see 'is teeth all shinin' through 'is lovely black mustarch. And the little uns dance round him, you'd laugh until you cried If you saw my little brothers do their 'ornpipes side by side, And the gals they spin about as well, and don't they move their feet, When they 'ear that pianner-orgin man, as plays about our street.

There's a feller plays a cornet too, and wears a ulster coat, My eye, 'e does puff out 'is cheeks a-tryin' for 'is note. It seems to go right through yer, and, oh, it's right-down rare When 'e gives us "_Annie Laurie_" or "_Sweet Spirit, 'ear my Prayer_"; 'E's so stout that when 'e's blowin' 'ard you think 'e must go pop; And 'is nose is like the lamp (what's red) outside a chemist's shop. And another blows the penny-pipe,--I allus thinks it's thin, And I much prefers the cornet when 'e ain't bin drinkin' gin. And there's Concertina-JIMMY, it makes yer want to shout When 'e acts just like a windmill and waves 'is arms about. Oh, I'll lay you 'alf a tanner, you'll find it 'ard to beat The good old 'eaps of music that they gives us in our street.

And a pore old ragged party, whose shawl is shockin' torn, She sings to suit 'er 'usband while 'e plays on so forlorn. 'Er voice is dreadful wheezy, and I can't exactly say I like 'er style of singin' "_Tommy Dodd_" or "_Nancy Gray_." But there, she does 'er best, I'm sure; I musn't run 'er down, When she's only tryin' all she can to earn a honest brown. Still, though I'm mad to 'ear 'em play, and sometimes join the dance, I often wish one music gave the other kind a chance. The orgin might have two days, and the cornet take a third, While the pipe-man tried o' Thursdays 'ow to imitate a bird. But they allus comes together, singin' playin' as they meet With their pipes and 'orns and orgins in the middle of our street.

But there, I can't stand chatterin', pore mother's mortal bad, And she's got to work the whole day long to keep things straight for dad. Complain? Not she. She scrubs and rubs with all 'er might and main, And the lot's no sooner finished but she's got to start again. There's a patch for JOHNNY's jacket, a darn for BILLY's socks, And an hour or so o' needlework a mendin' POLLY's frocks; With floors to wash, and plates to clean, she'd soon be skin and bone ('Er cough's that aggravatin') if she did it all alone. There'll be music while we're workin' to keep us on the go-- I like my tunes as fast as fast, pore mother likes 'em slow-- Ah! we don't get much to laugh at, nor yet too much to eat, And the music stops us thinkin' when they play it in the street.

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"MARIE, COME UP!"--When Miss MARIE LLOYD, who, unprofessionally, when at home, is known as Mrs. PERCY COURTENAY, which her Christian name is MATILDA, recently appeared at Bow-Street Police Court, having summoned her husband for an assault, the Magistrate, Mr. LUSHINGTON, ought to have called on the Complainant to sing "_Whacky, Whacky, Whack!_" which would have come in most appropriately. Let us hope that the pair will make it up, and, as the story-books say, "live happily ever afterwards."

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NIGHT LIGHTS.--Rumour has it that certain Chorus Ladies have objected to wearing electric glow-lamps in their hair. Was it for fear of becoming too light-headed?

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POLITE LITERATURE.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,--Having seen in the pages of one of your contemporaries several deeply interesting letters telling of "the Courtesy of the CAVENDISH," I think it will be pleasing to your readers to learn that I have a fund of anecdote concerning the politeness--the true politeness--of many other members of the Peerage. Perhaps you will permit me to give you a few instances of what I may call aristocratic amiability.

On one occasion the Duke of DITCHWATER and a Lady entered the same omnibus simultaneously. There was but one seat, and noticing that His Grace was standing, I called attention to the fact. "Certainly," replied His Grace, with a quiet smile, "but if I had sat down, the Lady would not have enjoyed her present satisfactory position!" The Lady herself had taken the until then vacant place!

Shortly afterwards I met Viscount VERMILION walking in an opposite direction to the path I myself was pursuing. "My Lord," I murmured, removing my hat, "I was quite prepared to step into the gutter." "It was unnecessary," returned his Lordship, graciously, "for as the path was wide, there was room enough for both of us to pass on the same pavement!"

On a very wet evening I saw My Lord TOMNODDICOMB coming from a shop in Piccadilly. Noticing that his Lordship had no defence against the weather, I ventured to offer the Peer my _parapluie_.

"Please let me get into my carriage," observed his Lordship. Then discovering, from my bowing attitude, that I meant no insolence by my suggestion, he added,--"And as for your umbrella--surely on this rainy night you can make use of it yourself?"

Yet again. The Marchioness of LOAMSHIRE was on the point of crossing a puddle.

Naturally I divested myself of my greatcoat, and threw it as a bridge across her Ladyship's dirty walk.

The Marchioness smiled, but her Ladyship has never forgotten the circumstance, and I have the coat still by me.

And yet some people declare that the wives of Members of the House of Lords are wanting in consideration!

Believe me, dear _Mr. Punch_,

Yours enthusiastically, S. NOB.

_The Cringeries, Low Booington_.

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NOTICE--No. XXV. of "Travelling Companions" next week.

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THE JUDGES IN COUNCIL.

["All the judicial wisdom of the Supreme Court has met in solemn and secret conclave, heralded by letters from the heads of the Bench, admitting serious evils in the working of the High Court of Justice; a full working day was appropriated for the occasion; the learned Judges met at 11 A.M. (nominally) and rose promptly for luncheon, and for the day, at 1·30 P.M. Two-and-a-half hours' work, during which each of the twenty-eight judicial personages no doubt devoted all his faculties and experience to the discovery, discussion, and removal of the admittedly numerous defects in the working of the Judicature Acts! Two-and-a-half hours, which might have been stolen from the relaxations of a Saturday afternoon! Two-and-a-half hours, for which the taxpayers of the United Kingdom pay some eight hundred guineas! Truly the spectacle is eminently calculated to inspire the country with confidence and hopes of reform."--_Extract from Letter to the Times._]

SCENE--_A Room at the Royal Courts. Lord CHANCELLOR, Lord CHIEF JUSTICE, MASTER of the ROLLS, Lords Justices, Justices._

_L.C._ Well, I'm very glad to see you all looking so well, but can anyone tell me why we've met at all?

_L.C.J._ Talking of meetings, do you remember that Exeter story dear old JACK TOMPKINS used to tell on the Western Circuit?

[_Proceeds to tell JACK TOMPKINS's story at great length to great interest of Chancery Judges._

_M.R._ (_who has listened with marked impatience_). Why, my dear fellow, it isn't a Western Circuit story at all. It was on the Northern Circuit at Appleby.

[_Proceeds to tell the same story all over again, substituting Appleby for Exeter. At the conclusion of story, Great laughter from Chancery Judges. Common Law Judges look bored, having all told same story on and about their own Circuits._

_L.C._ Very good--very good--used to tell it myself on the South Wales Circuit--but what have we met for?

_Lord Justice A._ I say, what do you think about this cross-examination fuss? It seems to me--

_L.C.J._ Talking of cross-examination--do you fellows remember the excellent story dear old JOHNNIE BROWBEAT used to tell about the Launceston election petition?

[_Proceeds to tell story in much detail. L.C. looks uncomfortable at its conclusion_.

_M.R._ (_cutting in_). Why, my dear fellow, it wasn't Launceston at all, it was Lancaster, and--

[_Tells story all over again to the Chancery Judges._

_L.C._ Yes--excellent. I thought it took place at Chester--but really, now, we must get to business. So, first of all, will anyone kindly tell me what the business is?

_Mr. Justice A._ (_a very young Judge_). Well, the fact is, I believe the Public--

_Chorus of Judges_. The what?

_Mr. Justice A._ (_with hesitation_). Why--I was going to say there seems to be a sort of discontent amongst the Public--

_L.C._ (_with dignity_). Really, really--what have we to do with the Public? But in case there should be any truth in this extraordinary statement, I think we might as well appoint a Committee to look into it, and then we can meet again some day and hear what it is all about.

_L.C.J._ Yes, a Committee by all means; the smaller the better. "Too many cooks," as dear old HORACE puts it.

_M.R._ Talking of cooks, isn't it about lunch time?

[_General consensus of opinion in favour of lunching. As they adjourn, L.C.J. detains Chancery Judges to tell them a story about something that happened at Bodmin, and, to prevent mistakes, tells it in West Country dialect. M.R. immediately repeats it in strong Yorkshire, and lays the venue at Bradford. Result; that the whole of HER MAJESTY's Courts in London were closed for one day._

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THE LAY OF THE LITIGANT.

(_AFTER HOOD. ALSO AFTER COLERIDGE'S (C.J.) LETTER TO THE LORD CHANCELLOR ON THE DECAY OF LEGAL BUSINESS._)

I remember, I remember The Law when I was born, The Serjeants, brothers of the coif, The Judges dead and gone. The Judicature Acts to them Were utterly unknown; It was a fearful ignorance-- Oh, would it were my own!

I remember, I remember The worthy "Proctor" race, The "Posteas," and the "Elegits," The "Actions on the Case." The "Error" each Attorney's Clerk Did wilfully abet, The days of "Bills" in Equity-- _Some_ bills are living yet!

I remember, I remember The years of "_Jarndyce_" jaw, The lively game of shuttlecock 'Twixt Equity and Law. Tribunals then were "Courts" indeed That are "Divisions" now, And Silken Gowns have feared the frowns Upon a "Baron's" brow.

We remember, we remember The flourishing of trumps, When Parliament took up our wrongs, And manned the legal pumps. Those noble Acts (they said) would end Obstructions and delay, And ne'er again would litigants The piper have to pay.

I remember, I remember Expenses, mountains high; I used to think, when duly "taxed," They'd vanish by-and-by. It was a foolish confidence, But now 'tis little joy To know that Law's as slow and dear As when I was a boy!

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THE HERO OF THE SUMMER SALE.

(_BY OUR OWN PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL POETESS_.)

I would I loved some belted Earl, Some Baronet, or K.C.B., But I'm a most unhappy girl, And no such luck's in store for me! I would I loved some Soldier bold, Who leads his troops where cannons pop, But if the bitter truth be told-- I love a man who walks a shop! For oh! a King of Men is he-- With princely strut and stiffened spine-- So his, and his alone, shall be, This fondly foolish heart of mine!

On Remnant Days--from morn till night, When blows fall fast, and words run high, When frenzied females fiercely fight For bargains that they long to buy-- From hot attack he does not flinch, But stands his ground with visage pale, And all the time looks every inch The Hero of that Summer Sale! For oh! a King of Men is he-- Whom shop-assistants call to "Sign!" So his, and his alone, shall be This fondly foolish heart of mine!

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MONDAY, _Jan._ 18, 1892. "Bath and West of England's Society's Cheese School at Frome." Of this School, the _Times_, judging by results, speaks highly of "the practical character of the instruction given at the School." This is a bad look-out for Eton and Harrow, not to say for Winchester and Westminster also. All parents who wish their children to be "quite the cheese" in Society generally, and particularly for Bath and the West of England, where, of course, Society is remarkably exclusive, cannot do better, it is evident, than send them to the Bath and West of England Cheese School.

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ON THE TRAILL.--It is suggested that in future M.P. should stand for Minor Poet. Would this satisfy Mr. LEWIS MORRIS? Or would he insist on being gazetted as a Major?

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OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

One of the Baron's Deputy-Readers has been looking through Mr. G.W. HENLEY's _Lyra Heroica; a Book of Verse for Boys_. DAVID NUTT, London.) This is his appreciation:--Mr. HENLEY has tacked his name to a collection which contains some noble poems, some (but not much) trash, and a good many pieces, which, however poetical they may be, are certainly not heroic, seeing that they do not express "the simpler sentiments, and the more elemental emotions" (I use Mr. HENLEY's prefatory words), and are scarcely the sort of verse that boys are likely, or ought to care about. To be sure, Mr. HENLEY guards himself on the score of his "personal equation"--I trust his boys understand what he means. My own personal equation makes me doubt whether Mr. HENLEY has done well in including such pieces as, for instance, HERBERT's "_Memento Mori_," CURRAN's "_The Deserter_," SWINBURNE's "_The Oblation_," and ALFRED AUSTIN's "_Is Life Worth Living_?" If Mr. HENLEY, or anybody else who happens to possess a personal equation, will point out to me the heroic quality in these poems, I shall feel deeply grateful. And how, in the name of all that is or ever was heroic, has "_Auld Lang Syne_" crept into this collection of heroic verse? As for Mr. ALFRED AUSTIN, I cannot think by what right he secures a place in such a compilation. I have rarely read a piece of his which did not contain at least one glaring infelicity. In "_Is Life Worth Living_?" he tells us of "blithe herds," which (in compliance with the obvious necessities of rhyme, but for no other reason)

"Wend homeward with unweary feet, Carolling like the birds."

Further on we find that

"England's trident-sceptre roams Her territorial seas,"

merely because the unfortunate sceptre has to rhyme somehow to "English homes."

But I have a further complaint against Mr. HENLEY. He presumes, in the most fantastic manner, to alter the well-known titles of celebrated poems. "_The Isles of Greece_" is made to masquerade as "The Glory that was Greece"; "_Auld Lang Syne_" becomes "The Goal of Life," and "_Tom Bowline_" is converted into "The Perfect Sailor." This surely (again I use the words of Mr. HENLEY) "is a thing preposterous, and distraught." On the whole, I cannot think that Mr. HENLEY has done his part well. His manner is bad. His selection, it seems to me, is open to grave censure, on broader grounds than the mere personally equational of which he speaks, and his choppings, and sub-titles, and so forth, are not commendable. The irony of literary history has apparently ordained that Mr. HENLEY should first patronise, and then "cut," both CAMPBELL and MACAULAY. Was the shade of MACAULAY disturbed when he learnt that Mr. HENLEY considered his "_Battle of Naseby_" both "vicious and ugly"?

BARON DE BOOK-WORMS & CO.

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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.