Chapter 2

There are some with whom I play, who contrive to make me feel more at my ease than do others, and even look upon me in virtue of my playing with "those men at the Club" as one having authority; for among the blind the one-eyed man is king. There is my Mother-in-law for instance, now I really enjoy a rubber with _her_. We sit down after dinner at a table scant of cloth, and either much too small or so inconveniently large that I cannot see the trump at the other end of it. She usually begins operations by misdealing, which is precisely what always happens to me with a new pack; nor do I yet understand how it is that the expert manages to deal at about sixty miles an hour without a mistake, whereas when my turn comes every other card seems to get stuck to its neighbour by a very superior kind of glue, so that they all come out in batches of twos and threes as it were, instead of one by one.

But when the deal has come right, her next step is to sort her cards, which she does by placing all her trumps apart from the others between her third and fourth fingers; I can thus tell how many she has, and am further assisted by her generally dropping one or two in the process face upwards on the table. This would be punishable at the Club; but as she would consider it "mean" were any allusions made to it, nothing happens. Towards the end of the hand her attention is apt to wander, and owing to her abstraction play comes to a dead halt. When a hint is offered that we are waiting for her, with prompt and business-like alacrity but regardless of the rigorous formula, "Place your cards, please," she will say, "Who led a spade?" there being at the time a club, a heart, and a diamond on the table. Then, being the only one who has a card of the leader's suit left, she revokes but is not found out. When she leads out of turn, as happens on an average four or five times every rubber, if I am against her, I call a suit from her partner, upon which she says, flaring up, "Is _that_ the way you play at the Club? 'Cheats never thrive.'" Nor do we, for the simple reason, that she seldom holds less than three honours in each suit, and from five to six trumps besides!

This, as I said, is the sort of Whist I rather enjoy; but when it comes to playing in sober earnest at the Club, there is a different tale to tell.

(_This different tale will be told in the Duffer's next._)

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"AIRY FAIRY LILLY UN!"--One day last week, MR. W.S. LILLY--i.e. W. "SHIBBOLETHS" LILLY--delivered an excellent lecture on the Papal-Italian question, and although at Birmingham, it was by no means a brummagem discourse. But to quote the immortal ballad of _Billy Taylor_, "When the Captain he come for to hear on't, He werry much applauded what she'd done," and, to apply the lines to the present instance, "When the POPE he comes for to hear on't," _will_ he "werry much applaud," the opinions honestly and courteously enough expressed in this lecture? By the way, "LEO and the Lilly" would make a fine subject for a historical cartoon. The learned Lecturer took care to observe, with all the true modesty of the humble flower from which his name is derived, that he spoke only the opinion of a party, which party, whether small, considerable, or large, his audience could judge for themselves with the unclothed optic, as the party in question was, not to put too fine a point on it, Himself.

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"A LITTLE HOLIDAY!"

[It is proposed that 450,000 colliers belonging to the Miners' Federation should cease work for a week or a fortnight. This, it is said, is regarded as an "amicable" Strike, not against the Masters, but to raise the price of coal by producing an artificial scarcity, and thus avoiding a threatened reduction of wages consequent upon over-production. This the Miners call, "Going on Play."]

_Out-of-Worker to Out-on-Player_:--

Who talks of "Solidarity of Labour,"-- A favourite shibboleth in these our days?-- To recognise one's duty to one's neighbour Is that which all--in theory--will praise. And Unions are upheld, and "Blacklegs" scouted-- Friends of Fraternity _their_ heads must break To prove their loyal brotherhood undoubted!-- But _here_ there seems to be some slight mistake.

Going on Play, mate, you of the broad shoulders? Take holiday awhile from pick and lamp? Well your hard toil impresses all beholders, Sweating amidst black seams and choking "damp." A "holiday," for rest and recreation, None would begrudge you. But at the expense Of every other worker in the nation? I don't quite see it! Maybe I am dense.

A "friendly" Strike, you call it; "amicable"! Nice sounding words! Strikes mostly mean hot war. But in to-day's wild Socialistic Babel Blest if I always know just where we are. But if I'm out of work, or out of fuel, Me and a many thousand like me, mate, Your "friendly" conflict seems a _leetle_ cruel To us, with idle hands or empty grate.

I'd like to taste the sweets of "solidarity" In this connection; so would my pale friend; He's a poor Clerk. I fancy human charity, _All round_, a lot of bitter strife would end; And if _that_'s "solidarity," I'm for it; But in your "play" _are_ you considering _us_? No need for snivelling bunkum; I abhor it; But does fraternity shape itself _thus_?

Must fight for your own hand? Oh, ah! precisely. Only that's ISHMAEL, after all, right out. Maybe that for yourself you're acting wisely,-- Though even that seems open to some doubt,-- But if your self-advancement means a smasher To mill-hand, poor mechanic, labourer, clerk, Without a fire to fry his slender "rasher," Fraternity's outlook still looks rather dark.

With Coal two bob a hundred, and still rising, Poor folk who buy it by the fourteen pound, (Dukes at St. James's Hall, this sounds surprising, But if you'd understand it, just look round!) Dockers and Brickies, charwomen and "childer," With such small deer, mate, as my friend and me, Find one more "Social Question" to bewilder The small brains left us by chill poverty.

Fighting _our_ battle? Humph! A rather roundabout Way of so doing! P'r'aps your Masters, too, Would claim the same--there _are_ such Bosses found about; Westminsters, Liveseys, Norwoods, and that crew, All for our good, not only Strike-Committees, But Rate-payers' Defence Leagues, and the like! Oh, the poor Propertied Classes! How one pities Those victims of the School Board, Council, Strike!

If Miners and Mine-Owners pull together To raise the price of Coal--well, it may suit Both them and you. But, in this bitter weather, Your "Solidarity" brings _us_ bitter fruit. When our pinched fire dies down to its last ember, The picture of you "making holiday" thus Won't warm our wives and kids. Strike!--but remember That what is "Play" to you means death to us!

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A POSER FOR MR. WEATHERBY.--Mrs. RAM is not in the least astonished at its being said that certain horses turn out "regular flyers," because, she says, "she has often heard of mares' nests."

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"MINER PREMISES."--In the Coal Districts.

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CRIES WITHOUT WOOL.

NO. II.--THE GROWL OF THE BEAR.

(_BY A SINGER IN_ "_AIR_.")

["In consequence of the rumour that,... American stocks declined heavily.... The rumour proved totally without foundation."--_Any Money-article; any day._]

There is little that goads us with fiercer despair (Those who buy, you perpend, stock, debenture or share, Such as speculate mainly; investors are rare--) Than this growl ill-conditioned of pestilent Bear!

With a craftiness planned and a malice unfair, Improvising a scare unsubstantial as air-- Now it's "war," now "disease," and the world must prepare For the death of, say, GOULD, or a Chilian flare;

Or the "cutting of rates:" I am quite unaware What it means, I declare, but it's "cutting," I swear, To a person like me, not a flush millionaire Who must "realise" scrip,--and the canker of care.

It would seem, we could e'er so conveniently spare From a world too competitive, blarneyed with blare, Both the Yankee of Wall-Street, his London _confrère_, And all criers of "Lost!" when no losses are there;

All the wreckers, whose lair is secure past compare, All who batten on bones with a maw debonair, And the carcase of Poverty torture and tear With historical fraud, and benevolent glare.

Who will join me in sport that is novel--who'll dare In his prosperous pit to go baiting the "Bear," Who will lead him a dance, who his talons will pare, And make summary work of this ursine affair?

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"MUST IT COME TO THIS?"

SCENE--_The War Office. Present Mr. STANHOPE; to him enter Inspector-General PUNCH.

_Mr. Stanhope_. Ah, Sir, glad to see you. Can I do anything for you?

_Inspector-General_. Well, not for me--but you may and must do something for those I represent--the Volunteer Officers.

_Mr. Stan._ Oh, you have come about them, have you? Well, you saw what I said about them in my Memorandum the other day?

_In.-Gen._ I noticed what you did _not_ say--you hoped during the present year to see some practical proposals.

_Mr. Stan._ Well, what do you want more?

_In.-Gen._ The proposals themselves.

_Mr. Stan._ They will come in good time.

_In.-Gen._ No time in this matter will be good--except the present.

_Mr. Stan._ Oh, you leave it to me, you will see it will be all right.

_In.-Gen._ No--unless you attend to the matter at once--now--at this moment.

_Mr. Stan._ How you do take me up! What a hurry you are in!

_In.-Gen._ Shilly-shallying to the rear--action to the front. Now, then, produce your proposals.

_Mr. Stan._ (_reluctantly producing a paper from a pigeon-hole_). Well, here they are--(_giving them_)--what do you think of them?

_In.-Gen._ (_after a hurried perusal_). Humph! At any rate let them he published at once, that those interested may be able to come to an immediate decision as to their utility. Do you hear, Sir? Adieu! [_Exit._

(_And if the SECRETARY of STATE for WAR is a wise man, he will act upon the hint thus offered him._)

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DREAMS.

[Mr. JOHN MORLEY having said that he would be sorry for the country whose young men ceased to dream dreams, Lord RANDOLPH CHURCHILL twitted him with having described the Progressive party as young men who dream dreams, and added, "They are words which I will never let die."]

Dreams, my dear Lord? Well, there are dreams _and_ dreams, Are those of BURNS much worse than those of WEMYSS? Are WESTMINSTER's vain visions, though mature The dreamer, less absurd or more obscure Than those of some "young man" who dares to hope That he with crowded London's ills can cope? "Behold this dreamer cometh!" So of old The sons of JACOB, envious, scornful, cold, And fearful for their privilege of birth And of possession, in derisive mirth, Cried at young JOSEPH's coming. A "young man," O reverend oracle! Yet his wit outran, His wisdom far outsoared, for all their boast, The _nous_ collective of the elder host; And PHARAOH, when his "wise men" vainly schemed, Found statesmanship in a young man who dreamed. You will not let them die? Well, as you list! The words, Sir, with a Machiavellian twist, Tickle the ears of those smart word-fence blinds, And garbled catch-words win unwary minds, And, maybe, witless votes. Poor London dreams Of--many things most horrible to WEMYSS! The nightmare-incubus of old abuse Propertied privilege, expense profuse Of many lives for one, the dead-hand's grip On the slow generations, the sharp whip Of a compulsory poverty, the gloom Of that high-rated den, miscalled a Home! All these it knows, and many miseries more, And dreams of--Betterment! You'll "never let die. JOHN MORLEY's words?" You cannot, though you try. In vain 'gainst dreaming youth you feign to scream, Because you're yet a Young Man--and you Dream!

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ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

_House of Commons, Monday, February 29._--Mr. G. looked in to-night from the Riviera; greeted with rousing cheer from Opposition; didn't expect to see him to-day; just arrived from Mediterranean _viâ_ Paris; most men in such circumstances would have gone straight home, read their letters, had quiet dinner, "and so to bed," as the late Mr. PEPYS occasionally remarked.

"That's all very well for you elderly fellows, TOBY," said Mr. G., beaming with health and smiles. "ARMITSTEAD, for example, went straight off home. I was careful to see about that; he's a fine fellow, and I humoured him by letting him suppose he was looking after me as far as Biarritz, and on to Pau. In no other way could I have got him to make a holiday. Think I rather wore him out at St. Raphael. When a man gets over sixty he doesn't care about his ten or fifteen mile walk before luncheon. However, I brought ARMITSTEAD back all right, and, packing him off home at Charing Cross, just popped in here to see how you are getting on."

In respect of business, not getting on at all. Things going awry. Ministerialists won't come up to scratch in Division Lobby; Majority that used to flash forth a hundred-candlelight strong, now flickered down to a score. Opposition growing jubilant and aggressive; Irish Members, long quiescent, waking up as of yore. To-night Prince ARTHUR, stung to quick by remarks from JOHN DILLON, made rattling speech defending his Irish policy; poured contumely and scorn on heads of Irish Members.

"You," he said, with gesture of passionate scorn, "see no source of regeneration for Ireland but in refusal of tenants to pay their rent."

Lord ELCHO and other young bloods on Ministerial Bench cheered; old stagers looked grave.

"Ah, ah!" said CAMPBELL-BANNERMAN, looking on from the Front Opposition Bench, "I spy the beard of the Irish Secretary under the muffler of the Leader of the House."

"Dear me," said ESSLEMONT, who overheard the remark; "I don't remember BALFOUR with a beard when he was at the Irish Office. You're not mixing him up with GRANDOLPH?"

"Get thee to a nunnery, worthy draper," said CAMPBELL-BANNERMAN, "and in that leisurely retirement read your SHAKSPEARE."

"A nunnery!" cried ESSLEMONT, more than ever bewildered; "why they wouldn't let me in. I suppose you mean a monastery; but man and boy for fifty years I've gone to Kirk, and nothing would--" By this time CAMPBELL-BANNERMAN was out of hearing.

_Business done_.--One Vote in Committee of Supply.

_Tuesday_.--The MARKISS not in his place in Lords to-night. Looked in at Arlington Street to inquire if absence was due to illness.

"Not at all, TOBY," said the MARKISS who, indeed, looked quite fit. "There was nothing particular on the paper to-night, so I didn't go down. It's necessary for Nephew ARTHUR to be regular in his attendance on the Commons. But in the Lords it's different. A happy fortune places the Leader there in a position that relieves him from strain of unbroken attendance. With STRATHEDEN AND CAMPBELL looking after foreign policy, and DENMAN taking charge of home affairs, my post is really a sinecure. They talk about ending or mending of the House of Lords; but as long as we are blessed with this remarkable combination of legislative and administrative capacity we can laugh at the idle threats."

It was DENMAN who took the floor to-night; moved Second Reading of a Bill, the simple and comprehensive object of which was to repeal Local Government Acts of England and Scotland. These passed only a Session or two ago by continuous united effort of both Houses of Parliament. DENMAN been closely watching them in operation. Finds them disappointing, and so would have them repealed. House fully constituted, with LORD CHANCELLOR on Woolsack, Mace on Table, and quorum present; gravely listens, whilst tall, white-haired, sad-faced man rambles on in plaintive voice, urging proposition which, if carried out, would arrest machinery of Local Government throughout the Kingdom, leaving all to be gone over again. No one smiles, much less winks or wags the head. It is just as solemn and as orderly as if it were the MARKISS himself submitting a Resolution or making a statement. Only, when the plaintive voice ceases and the tall figure is reseated on the Bench, nobody proposes to continue the conversation. LORD CHANCELLOR rapidly gabbles shibboleth in which "content" stumbles over "not content."

"Notcontentshaveit," says LORD CHANCELLOR, by way of last word; leaves Woolsack; the few Peers slowly pass out. It seems the House has adjourned, DENMAN's Motion being negatived without Division, and Local Government in England and Scotland will proceed to-morrow as it has gone on to-day.

_Business done_.--House of Commons, having agreed to meet at two o'clock to-morrow instead of twelve, makes up for it by getting itself Counted Out at eight o'clock.

_Wednesday_.--Came across LOCKWOOD this afternoon in remote part of corridor, gesticulating whilst he recited some lines. Fancy he's getting up that lecture on the "Lawyers in _Pickwick_," announced for delivery in York on the 15th. Most interesting undertaking. As CHARLES RUSSELL says, "_Coke-upon-Lyttleton_ will have to take a back shelf in the Law libraries when _Lockwood-upon-Dickens_ is in circulation."

Wonder how he finds time for these excursions into the bye-paths of literature? Hands full at the Bar; frequent attendant here; and yet he has time to discover _Pickwick_! He tells me great secret of capability for this kind of work is plain living and regular habits.

"A chop or steak at eight o'clock with a potato (boiled in its jacket) and a tumbler of toast-and-water; that's my regular dinner; leaves me clear-headed and free for a couple of hours' work at my briefs before I go to bed. Except when kept down at House, rarely out of bed after eleven. Up at five; cold bath; dry toast; hot milk; another grind at my briefs; ride down to Court; at it all day, with intervals for Abernethy biscuit when Court adjourns; and so the mill goes round."

"Don't you think," said BOB REID, "it's a little unprofessional of LOCKWOOD going into this _Pickwick_ business? The cases were never, that I know of, reported in the _Law Journal_. Good fellow LOCKWOOD, but a little apt to stray outside the ropes. Now he's started lecturing, there's no knowing how far he'll go. We may see him on the stage bowling BEERBOHM TREE out as _Hamlet_, or even with his face corked, dancing a breakdown at St. James's Hall. What does he want to go a-lecturing for? Do you think he'll draw?"

"Draw!" I cried. "Why, he's always drawing; he's drawn for _Punch_." That shut up Master BOB. When you want to hear disparaging remarks about a man, nothing like going to his bosom friend. _Business done_.--Irish.

_Thursday_.--Mr. G. in fine form to-night; delivered two speeches, each in highest form of Parliamentary Debate. Infinite variety in manner. Before dinner, Prince ARTHUR moved to take Morning Sittings on Tuesdays and Fridays for rest of Session. That means virtual appropriation on very threshold of Session of time belonging to private Members. They furious; Mr. G. in benignest mood; shocked, he must confess, at Prince ARTHUR's unparalleled greed; but not disposed to turn a deaf ear to his importunity. "If you'd make it Easter, now," he said, with winning voice and manner, "limit the scope of resolution to that date, I'm not sure that I should feel disposed to say you nay."

Prince ARTHUR jumped at proposal. Sufficient unto Easter are the Morning Sittings thereof. If he wanted more he could ask again. Meanwhile he was in possession of what he wanted.

House looked on in amazement at this little scene. Opposition expected Mr. G. would have thundered forth denunciations of Prince ARTHUR's audacity. Here he was making terms with the enemy; doing it all, too, with imposingly judicial manner that was irresistible. Before House quite knew where it was, everything was settled.

"'Now I'm furnished, Now I'm furnished, for my flight'--of oratory."

It was BLUNDELL MAPLE chanting this line, sung in another place by _Hecate_. Flight didn't amount to more than asking question as to whether audiences at unlicensed places of entertainment (in neighbourhood of Tottenham Court Road or elsewhere) open for Radical or Liberal entertainments, are duly protected from fire? Members went off to dinner, pondering on this conundrum. Came back to find Mr. G. on his legs again, denouncing proposition to vote £20,000 for survey of railway from Mombasa to Nyanza. A splendid piece of invective; almost literally shrivelled up poor JOKIM, at whom some of the scorching flame was pointed with outstretched forefinger. For more than half an hour, at period of night when most gentlemen of his years are snugly tucked up in bed, Mr. G. held the audience entranced, thunderous cheers rolling forth in rapid succession from Liberal ranks, now and then answered by low growl from Ministerialists.