Chapter 2

At 9:10, appears _Faithful James_, represented by Mr. WEEDON GROSSMITH. It is a finished and quietly droll performance. The author, Mr. B.C. STEPHENSON ("B.C." makes him quite a classic--date uncertain, so his plot may have been done in collaboration, with PLAUTUS or TERENCE) has reproduced from the French a neatly-constructed One-Act piece, in which are all the possibilities of a Three-Act Criterion or Palais Royal Farcical Comedy. So rapid is the action, all over in about forty-five minutes, and so much to the point of the plot is the dialogue, that an inattentive auditor would soon lose the thread of the argument, never to pick it up again anywhere. Miss ELLALINE TERRIS is just that very _Mrs. Duncan_. BRANDON THOMAS is a breezy, brusque, and Admirable Admiral; and Mr. DRAYCOTT a hearty husband, very much in love with his pretty little wife. Mr. LITTLE makes much, perhaps almost a Little too much, of his small but essentially important part,--they are all important parts,--and of Miss SYBIL GREY can be said "_Nous savons Gré à Mlle. Sybil_." Mr. SIDNEY WARDEN's Character Sketch of the young and rather raw German Waiter, is excellent; the Waiter being "raw," is not overdone. Not a dull second in the farce. Will our B.C. Author give us some of his adaptations from PLAUTUS, TERENCE (some good old Irish plots of course, in the writings of this author), and a few other ancients with whom he was, it is most probable, personally and intimately acquainted. To think that the _Wandering Jew_, who can only sign himself "A.D.", is "not in it" in point of time with our STEPHENSON "B.C."!

After this comes the _Pantomime Rehearsal_, which everybody should see, and which nearly everybody must have seen by this time. Success to the Triple Bill, which, in the political world, might mean Sir WILLIAM HARCOURT and WILLIAM GLADSTONE, the latter WILLIAM "counting two on a division."

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EXACT.--"He is something in the Church," said Mrs. R., trying to describe the social position of a clerical friend of hers. "I forget what it is, but it's a something like 'Dromedary;' only, you needn't smile, of course I know it couldn't be that, as a Dromedary has two humps on his back. Or, stop!" she exclaimed, suddenly, "am I confusing him with a Minor Camel?"

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VOLUNTEER VITTICISM.--Definition of "Marksmen"--Writers on the _Financial News_.

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ALONE IN LONDON!

I found her crouching in the lonely street; Scarce six years' old she was: Her little feet Were worn with endless pacing, up and down, And round and round the cruel thoughtless town. Her limbs were shrunk, and in her large round eyes The light of coming madness seemed to rise. No word she spoke, but sat, a prey to scorn, Forsaken, friendless, feeble and forlorn.

And, as I pondered on her sorry tale, One weird, unearthly, melancholy wail, Broke from her lips:--a cry of agony, Of hopeless, mad, despairing misery: Then grim starvation on her little head Laid his cold fingers, and she fell back dead!

I raised her tenderly with pitying arms, And in a garden, far from Life's alarms, I buried her, and left her all alone, And wrote this epitaph upon the stone:-- "Peace to her ashes, but not peace to those, Her erewhile friends, the cause of all her woes, Who fondled and caressed her for a space, Who loved to stroke her soft, confiding face, Who gave her food and shelter from her birth, Who joined in all her harmless youthful mirth; But, when they went for holidays to roam, Shut-to the door of what had been her home, And thoughtless left to die upon the mat, Their faithful but forgotten Tabby-cat."

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ROBERT LOWE, VISCOUNT SHERBROOKE.

BORN, 1811. DIED, JULY 27, 1892.

Great fighter of lost causes, gone at last! A meteoric course, by shade o'ercast Long ere its close, was thine. A star that slips At brightest into shadow of eclipse, Leaves watchers waiting for its flaming forth In a renewed refulgence. Wit and worth, Satire and sense, courage and judgment keen, Were thine. What flaw of weakness or of spleen, What lack of patience or persistence, doomed Thee to too early darkness? Seldom bloomed So sudden-swift a flower of fame as thine, When BRIGHT and GLADSTONE led the serried line Of resolute reformers to the attack, And dauntless DIZZY strove to hear them back. Then rose "White-headed BOB," and foined and smote, Setting his slashing steel against the throat Of his old friends, and wrung from them applause. The champion was valiant, though the cause Was doomed to failure, and betrayal. Yes! The subtle Chief thus aided in the press By an ally so stalwart, turned and rent The flag he fought for, and the valour spent In its defence by thee, was wasted all. Yet 'twas a sight when, back against the wall, White-headed BOB would wield that flashing blade, That BRIGHT scarce parried, and that GLADSTONE stayed Only with utmost effort. Yes, 'twill live In record, that fierce fight, and radiance give Through Time's dense mist, when lesser stars grow dim, And though the untimely ermine silenced him, The clear and caustic critic, though no more, That rhetoric, like the Greek's, now "fulmined o'er" Democracy's low flats, but silent sank In those dull precincts dedicate to Rank; Still its remembered echoes shall resound, For he with honour, if not love, was crowned, Whom those he served, and "slated," like to know, Less as Lord SHERBROOKE than as "BOBBY LOWE."

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LADY GAY'S SELECTIONS.

_"The Yacht" Jersey._

DEAR MR. PUNCH,

You will see _par mon adresse_ that I am _encore une fois_ on my travels! At present, in fact, the Channel Islands "claim me for their own," as _Lord Marmion_ says in BULWER LYTTON. _Pardonnez-moi_, if I occasionally lapse into French, for _vraiment il y a_ such a mixture of tongues that we might almost rename them the Babel Islands--even my noted Parisian accent is scarcely understood. _C'est étonnant_! and were it not for EULALIE, I should _quelquefois_ be in a fix _agaçant_.

I told you in my last letter that I should be unable to brighten Goodwood with the sunshine of my smile. But what is _Goodwood_ compared to racing at _Jersey_? Indeed, it was unfortunate for Goodwood that the meetings clashed, and it should be avoided in future.

It has been blowing hard for some few days, and we had rather a rough passage, and though the yacht was not a wreck, _I_ was I am afraid, in spite of the compliment paid me by Mr. SPOOPENDYKE K. SIDNEY, the well-known American Four Millionnaire, who said he thought me "a real smart sailor!"--and he was very near the truth, too, for the salt water got in my eyes and they _did_ smart; but I resolutely declined to go "below," and hung on to "the shrouds," I think they called them--a most unpleasantly suggestive name, when you are dreading a watery grave every moment. However, we got to our "moorings" at last (as _Othello_ would call them), and having chartered the inevitable "sharry-bang" started for the course.

By the way, _en passant_ (I have not dropped into French for a long time), what a strange thing it is, that the moment you land at one of these islands you are immediately advised to proceed to another.

I was told at Guernsey that I must on no account miss seeing "Sark." so I didn't--but was careful to observe it from a distance--for really, in these days of eruptions one doesn't know what might happen on such a volcanic-looking island!--and besides, I _always_ carry a pocket "Ætna" in my dressing-bag, so that I can have a flare-up whenever I like. But let me see, where was I? Oh, yes! sharry-banging out to the races at Jersey. Well, really now, judging from some of the lovely toilettes worn by the Jersey "Daughters of Eve" (an old-established journalistic expression, and to my mind, most idiotic and insulting--we are _not_ all tempting!)--they are in front of a good many of their Main-land sisters!--and the Hospitality--(always a capital H, I believe)--shown by the 1st South Lancashire Regiment is not to be beaten anywhere! The Lawn was well patronised, and the enthusiasm was tremendous--seven events--_all_ over two miles, and _two_ over hurdles, where _one_ came down! What more _could_ you want--together with a glorious day, "and all the fun _for_ the Fair!"

The great event of the day was "Her Majesty's Cup," for three years' old and upwards--(_one_ went _downwards_)--and it was won, for the --th time in succession by _Jersey Lily_ (I won't tell the exact number of times, as it is rude to hint at a lady's age)--amid a scene of excitement almost as big as the Eclipse at Sandown!--she was "followed home"--(racing expression--patented)--by _Lady Westhill_ and _Lady Steephill_--so you see we were quite among the _haut-ton_--though some of us had never heard of these aristocratic thorough-breds before!

And so the Jersey Goodwood is once more over!--and we have again from the springy turf of the Solent--(a most insecure footing)--caught in the flush of the sunlight the gleaming white sails of the vessels on the Goodwood Downs!--(this _may_ sound a little wrong--but I prefer it to using a more stereotyped and matter-of-fact description).

As to the racing of next week--I have not the faintest idea _where_ it is, _what_ it is, or _why_ it is!--but such trifles do not disturb me, and I will proceed to my usual prophetic utterance on the event of the week!

Yours devotedly, LADY GAY.

THE BANK HOLIDAY STAKES SELECTION.

In the sweet month of August no longer I choose, By the river or seaside to tarry! Preferring, in depths of the country to lose All chance of encounter with "'ARRY!"

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"MINIME!"--The other day the SPEAKER admitted that he couldn't remember the Latin for "Yes." What a lot of time, trouble, and money our own countrymen would be spared could they only occasionally forget that there is such a word as "Yes" in English! How many marriages, which have ended in misery, would never have come off but for this mischievous monosyllable! But to continue this is to be Hamletising, and to consider too curiously. For the SPEAKER to own it, stamps him as the genuine article, a Candid PEEL.

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THE WAIL OF A PESSIMIST POET.

O lift me out of this weary world, And put me on a tree, For life is all noughts And crosses, or thoughts That are busy for brawl and spree!

For where is the man would strike the lyre, Or spurn with his foot the thief, Or melt all day, In a Midsummer way, At the sight of repentant grief?

No! Lift me up to a leafy bough, Where my feet may play in the breeze, If my hot head there Still singe my hair, My heels may be ready to freeze!

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MINOR MISERIES.

NO. II.--THE WINGED HAT.

My hat, my hat--away it flew-- The Strand was damp, the wind blew strong-- My tall silk hat, so bright and new; Ye Bishops, tell me was it wrong That, in that moment's agony, My language, like my hat, flew free?

Away in swift pursuit I dashed, The hat went scudding fast before; By Busmen mocked, by Hansoms splashed, The more I ran, it flew the more. While boys screeched forth, in chorus vile, "I'll lay the toff don't catch 'is tile."

On, on--at last it seemed to tire Of pavements and pursuing feet. It soared, then settled in the mire, Full in the middle of the street, A mud-stained, shattered relic--not The bright new hat I bought from SCOTT.

Now was my time; I rushed--but no-- Fate ever mocks an ardent man; Even as I rushed, unwieldy, slow, Bore down a ponderous Pickford-Van, And under two broad wheels crushed flat My loved but suicidal hat.

Have hats got souls, and can they hate? Are street-boys higher than the brute? Avails it to discuss of fate, Free-will, fore-knowledge absolute? Nay, why of all created things Should new silk hats be made with wings?

I know not. Wherefore, oh ye powers, Speed me to some deserted land, Where blow no winds and fall no showers, Far from the street-boys and the Strand. There all unfriended let me dwell, A hatless hermit in a cell.

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THE CYCLE-RIDING DUSTMAN.

A VERY NEW SONG TO A VERY OLD TUNE.

AIR--"_THE LITERARY DUSTMAN_."

["A resolution on the Agenda of the Greenwich Board of Works runs as follows:--'That, in order to enable the foreman of the dustmen in the Parish of St. Paul, Deptford, to get about that parish with more expedition, and so superintend the work of the men under his control to greater advantage than is now possible, a tricycle be obtained for his use, at a cost not exceeding £21 1s. 6d.'" _Daily Chronicle_.]

BUMBLE will ope his eyes, egad, In hutter consternation. He'd think as soon of a park-prad For covies in my station. Our Board o' Works knows wot is wot, And has a feller-feeling. About the parish must I trot? No, hang it! I'll go Wheeling!

_CHORUS_.

Out o' the road! The highway clear! OSMOND's the Cyclist's fust man; And I, by co-in-side-ance clear, Am the fust Cycling Dustman! The happy foreman Dustman! The Cycle-riding Dustman! Yes, by a co-in-side-ance queer, I'm the fust Cycling Dustman!

Old fogies to the papers write, Grumbling about their dust, Sirs. They says we're scarce and imperlite, Unless we're well tipped fust, Sirs. When I wheels round on my machine, Like ZIMMERMAN on hisn, If we don't keep their dustbins clean, Wy, pop me into prison!

_CHORUS_.

Their refuse-pails we'll promptly clear, When on the wheels I'm fust man; And even sour old maids shall cheer The Cycle-riding Dustman! &c.

Cycles for Dust-hos! Arter that, It's Hosborne to my hattic That Dusty BOB of the flap 'at Will turn haristocratic. BUMBLE, old buck, I cannot tell 'Ow bloomin' proud I feel, man, Old Shanks's mare I once knew well, But now I'm turned swell Wheelman.

_CHORUS_.

Good Greenwich Board o' Works! Hurroo! Elated? Ain't I just, man! Show the Big D! 'Twill bring to you The Cycle-riding Dustman! &c.

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_Written after an indefinite Period._--This is a most useful memorandum, as it gives an idea of what has been done hitherto. Our firm seems to have wisely kept the action open by paying the term-fee. As our late respected client's heir has for a son a young Barrister not in very large practice, I am not surprised that we are requested to continue the action. Of course, the son of our late respected client's heir, is to be briefed. Well, I dare say we shall be able to do something. Have perhaps quite a pleasant time of it. At any rate, we have made a move by taking out a summons before the Chief Clerk. (_Signed_) JAMES TOMPKINS, _Surviving Partner of Messrs._ ROE & Co.