Chapter 2

_Reply to above from Pythias._--"Very sorry to hear you have been playing at the Tables. Sure to end in ruin. By the bye, what system do you use? The subject interests me merely as a mathematical problem, of course. Wish _I_ could pay expenses of my Devonshire hotel so easily. But then one ought to have _some_ reward for visiting such a dreary place as the Riviera, with its Mistrals, and diseased olive-trees, and all that."

_Latest from Damon._--"Since writing my last letter, my views of the Riviera have altered. The climate, I find, does not suit me. Sun doesn't shine as much as I expected--not at night, for instance. Then the existence of an olive disease anywhere near is naturally very _dégoûtant_ (as they say here). And the Casino at Monte Carlo is simply an organised swindle. It ought to be put down! After staking ten times in succession on "Zero," and doubling my stake each time, I was absolutely cleared out! Only just enough money to take me home. Shall follow your example, and try Torquay for the rest of the winter."

_Latest from Pythias._--"Just a hasty line to say--_don't_ come to Torquay! I am leaving it. Since I last wrote, my views of Devonshire have also altered. Can't conceal from myself that the climate is a mistake. Damp, dull, and depressing. Your account of Monte Carlo--_not_ the Casino, of course--so enchanting, that I've determined to try it. Just off to London to catch '_train de luxe!_'"

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THE MISSING WORD.

(_By a much-badgered Barmaid._)

Each boobyish bar-lounger calls me "dear," And "Misses" me in manner most absurd. I should not miss _him_! But the boss, I fear, Would miss his custom; so I still must hear His odious "Miss-ing" word! But oh! I'd sooner bear a monkey's kisses, Than some of these cheap mashers' mincing "Misses"! And there is one young ape!--I'd stand "two d" Could I hit him each time he "Misses" me!

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QUEER QUERIES.

AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL.--I should be glad to know whether it would be advisable for me to write a book of "Reminiscences," as I see is now the fashion. My life has been chiefly passed in a moorland-village in Yorkshire, so that it has not been very eventful, and I have never written anything before; still the public might like to hear my opinions on things in general, and I think I could make the anecdote of how our kitchen chimney once caught fire--which would be the most important incident chronicled--rather thrilling. Among interesting and eminent persons I have met, and of whom I could give some account in my forthcoming work, are Mr. GLADSTONE (who passed through our station in a train going at fifty miles an hour while I was on the platform), Lord SALISBURY whom I met (under similar circumstances, and the back of whose head I feel confident that I actually saw) and the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE of England, who ordered an Usher to remove me from his Court at the Assizes as I was (incorrectly) alleged to be snoring. I should be glad to hear of any leading Publisher who would be likely to offer a good price for such a book.--RUSTICUS EXPECTANS.

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"CHRISTMAS IS COMING!"

"Christmas _is_ coming!" Pleasant truth To all--save the dyspeptic! To most in whom some smack of youth Hath influence antiseptic. Pessimists prate, and prigs be-rate The time of mirth and holly; But why should time-soured sages "slate" The juvenile and jolly? "Though some churls at our mirth repine" (As old GEORGE WITHER put it), We'll whiff our weed, and sip our wine, And watch the youngsters foot it. They did so in quaint WITHER'S time, When wassail-bowls were humming, And still girls laugh, and church-bells chime, Because--"Christmas is coming!"

"Christmas is coming!" Let him bring Mirth to the toiling million. What is't he bears--a gracious thing-- Behind him on the pillion? Her snowy garb, and smile benign, Make sunshine in dark places; The gentlest, rarest, most divine Of all the Christian graces. Her eyes are full of loving light, Her hands with gifts are laden; True Yule-tide Almoner, of right, This _Una_-pure sweet maiden! She smiles on all, full-feeding mirth, Young love, mad motley mumming; There is loss dearth of joy on earth, Because--"Christmas is coming!"

A Merry Christmas? Round each room That's writ in leaf and berry; But there be those, alas! to whom There's mockery in the "Merry." Merry?--when sorrow loads the heart, And nothing loads the larder? In the world's play the poor man's part At Yule-tide seems yet harder. Good cheer to him who hungry goes, And mirth to her who sorrows, Lend bitter chill to Christmas snows. Small joy care's bondsman borrows. From jollity he may not share, Despair is darkly drumming At his dull breast, whose hearth won't flare, Because--"Christmas is coming!"

Good Greybeard Sire, you would not tire Gay youth with tales of trouble; World-gladness is your heart's desire, And so you're--riding double! Pleasant to see dear Charity Close pillion-poised behind you, Eager to bid her gifts fly free, We're happy so to find you. Ride on, and scatter largesse wide! Sore need is still no rarity, For all our Progress, Power, and Pride, We can't dispense with Charity. Ride on, kind pair, and may the air With happiness be humming, And poverty shake off despair, Because--"Christmas is coming!"

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RATHER TOO PREMATURE.--We see "_Christmas Leaves_" advertised everywhere in glaring colours. This announcement is too early. "_Christmas Comes_," it should be, and then, any time after the 25th, will be appropriate for the announcement of his departure.

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THE PORTER'S SLAM.

[A meeting at Manchester has raised a protest against the nuisance caused by the needlessly loud "slamming" of railway carriage doors.]

The porter has a patent "slam," Which smites one like a blow, And everywhere that porter comes, That "slam" is sure to go. It strikes upon the tym-pa-num Like shock of dynamite; By day it nearly makes you dumb-- It deafens you at night. When startled by that patent "slam," The pious pas-sen-jare, Says something else that ends in "am," (Or he has patience rare.) Not only does it cause a shock, But--Manchester remarks-- "Depreciates the rolling stock," Well, that is rather larks! _That_'s not the point. The porter's slam Conduces to insanity, And, though as mild as MARY's lamb, Drives men to loud profanity. If Manchester the "slam" can stay By raising of a stir, All railway-travellers will say, "Bully for Man-ches-ter!"

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_Kelly's Directory for_ 1893.--Invaluable, and considered as "portable property" (to quote _Pip's_ friend), admirably suited for the pocket of any individual who should happen to be about twenty-five feet high. _How to use it?_ Why--see inside--it is full of "Directions."

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MIXED NOTIONS.--No. II. UGANDA.

SCENE--_As before, a Railway-carriage in a suburban morning train to London. Persons also as before--namely, two_ Well-informed Men, _an_ Inquirer, _and an_ Average Man.

_First Well-informed Man_ (_laying down his paper_). So the Government's going to stick to Uganda, after all. I had a notion, from the beginning, they wouldn't be allowed to scuttle.

_Average Man._ Ah--I don't know that I'm particularly enthusiastic about Uganda.

_Inquirer._ Why not?

_A. M._ What are we going to get out of it?--that's the question. We go interfering all over the world, grabbing here, and grabbing there, merely in order to keep other people out; and then some nigger King, with a cold in his head, sneezes as he passes the Union Jack. That's an insult to the flag, of course; so off goes an expedition, and, before you know where you are, we've spent about ten millions, and added a few thousand acres of swamp to the Empire. Why can't we leave things alone? Haven't we got enough?

_First W. I. M._ That's all very well, I daresay; but you forget that the Berlin Conference made Uganda one of our spheres of influence.

_Inquirer._ When was that?

_First W. I. M._ Why, just after the Franco-Prussian War. They all met in Berlin to settle up everything--and we got Uganda.

_Inquirer._ I thought it was later than that, somehow.

_First W. I. M._ Well, anyhow, it was somewhere about that time. I don't pledge myself to a year or two. But what I say about Uganda is this. We're there--or rather the Company is--and we should simply disgrace ourselves before the whole world if we chucked up the sponge now. And, if we did, we should have France or Germany nipping in directly.

_Second W. I. M._ They can't.

_First W. I. M._ Why not?

_Second W. I. M._ Why not! Because it's our sphere of influence whatever happens.

_Inquirer_ (_timidly_). I'm afraid you'll think me very ignorant, but I don't quite know what a "sphere of influence" is. I've read a lot about it lately, but I can't quite make it out.

_Second W. I. M._ (_condescendingly_). Yes, I know it's deuced difficult to keep up with these new notions, unless you're in the way of hearing all about them. Spheres of influence mean--well, don't you know, they mean some country that's not quite yours, but it's more yours than anybody else's, and if anybody else comes into it, you're allowed to make a protocol of it. Besides, it gives you a right to the Hinterland, you know.

_Inquirer_ (_dubiously_). Ah, I see. What's the Hinterland?

_Second W. I. M._ (_stumped_). I fancy it's about the most fertile part of Africa. (_To First W. I. M._) Isn't it?

_First W. I. M._ Yes, that's it. It's the German for Highlands.

_Inquirer._ Of course, so it is. I might have thought of that.

_Average Man_ (_to First W. I. M._). Seems to me you've none of you got hold of the right point. What I want to know is, does Uganda pay? LUGARD says it don't; the Company hasn't made anything of it, and they've got to go whether they like it or not; though I daresay they're deuced glad to be out of the hole. But, if it don't pay, what on earth are we going to do with it?

_Second W I. M._ (_triumphantly reinforcing him_). Yes, what on earth are we to do with it?

_First W. I. M._ (_calmly, but contemptuously_). Ah! I see you're both little-England men. From your point of view, I daresay you're right enough. But I'm one of those who believe that we must stick on wherever we've planted the flag. I agree with MOLTKE, that the nation that gives up is in a state of decay.

_Second W. I. M._ It wasn't MOLTKE who said that; it was VICTOR HUGO, or (_after a pause_) Lord PALMERSTON.

_First W. I. M._ Well, it doesn't matter who said it. The point is, it's true. Besides, what are you going to do about the slaves and the Missionaries?

_Average Man._ Oh, bother the Missionaries!

_First W. I. M._ It's all very well to say "bother the Missionaries!" but that won't get you any further. They're our fellow-creatures after all, and what's more, they're our fellow-countrymen, so we've got to look after them.

_Average Man._ I should let the whole lot of Missionaries fight it out together. They only keep quarrelling amongst themselves, and trying to bag one another's converts; and then France and England get involved.

_Inquirer._ By the way, where is Uganda, exactly?

_First W. I. M._ Just behind Zanzibar--or somewhere about there. You can get to it best from Mashonaland. Didn't you see that RHODES said he was going to make a telegraph-line through there? It used to belong to the SULTAN OF ZANZIBAR. Don't you remember?

_Inquirer._ Of course; so it did.

[_Train draws up at Terminus._

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"'TWAS WHISPERED IN HEAVEN, 'TWAS MUTTERED IN H----." _À propos_ of the much-discussed article written by Dr. ST. GEORGE MIVART in _The Nineteenth Century_, on "Happiness in Hell."--begging pardon for uttering a word "unmentionable to ears polite,"--our old friend 'ARRY writes thusly:--"Sir,--We 'ave all of us been familiar for years with the well-known 'Mivart's 'Otel.' If the clever Professor is correct, this name ought to be changed, as there ain't no such a place; and, in future, when alluded to, it ought to be called _Mivart's Cool 'el._ Am I right?

"Yours truly, THE 'ARRY OPAGITE."

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In "Lucky Shoes," baskets, and in other dainty trifles, does RIMMEL arrange his beautiful bottles of scent. RIMMEL is not a Head Centre, but our Chief Scenter, "and," exclaims Mr. WAGSTAFF, the Unabashed, "what a great day will be his Scentenary!"

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"THE SILENT BATTLE."--See this charming piece at the Criterion. Of course it is brought out by Mr. CHARLES WYNDHAM in illustration of the old proverb, "_Acts, not words._"

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CHOOSING CHRISTMAS TOYS.

(_A Sketch in the Lowther Arcade._)

_Between the sloping banks of toys, and under a dense foliage of coloured rosettes, calico banners, and Japanese-lanterns, the congested Stream of Custom oozes slowly along, with an occasional overflow into the backwaters of the shops behind, while the Stall-keepers keep up a batrachian and almost automatic croak of invitation._

_Fond Grandmother._ So you've chosen a box of soldiers, have you, FRANKY?--very well. Now what shall we get for little ELSIE and Baby?

_Franky (promptly)._ Another box of soldiers would do nicely for ELSIE, Grandmamma, and--_I_ know, a fort for Baby!

_Grandm. (doubtfully)._ But they're such _little_ tots--they won't know how to play with them.

_Franky._ Oh, but I can _teach_ them, you know, Grandmamma.

_Grandm._ That's right--I like to see a boy kind to his little sisters.

[_She adopts_ Master FRANKY'S _disinterested suggestion._

_A Mother._ Now, PERCY, it's all nonsense--you _can't_ want any more toys--those you've got are as good as new. (_To her Friend._) He's such a boy for taking care of his things--he'll hardly trust his toys out of their boxes, and won't allow anyone else to _touch_ them!

_The Friend._ Dear little fellow--then I'm sure he _deserves_ to be given a new toy for being so careful!

_The Mother._ Well, he'll give me no peace till I _do_ give him something. I know--but mind this, PERCY, it's only to keep you quiet, and I'm not going to buy EDDIE anything. _(To Friend.)_ He gives all _his_ things away as it is! [Master PERCY _takes both these valuable moral lessons to heart_.

_Mrs. Stilton (to her less prosperous Sister-in-law_, Mrs. BLOOMOLD). Nonsense, VINNIE, I won't _hear_ of it! REGGIE has more toys already than he knows what to do with!

_Mrs. Bloom. (apologetically)._ Of course, my dear SOPHIA, I know your children are born to every----but still, I have no one but myself _now_, you know--and if I _might_--it would be such a _pleasure_!

_Mrs. Stilton._ I have already told you there is not the slightest occasion for your spending your money in any such foolish manner. I hope that is enough.

_Mrs. Bloom._ I'm sure he would like one of these little water-carts--now _wouldn't_ you, REGGIE? [REGGIE _assents shyly_.

_Mrs. Stilton._ Buy him one, by all means--he will probably take the colour out of my new carpets with it--but, of course, _that_'s of no consequence to _you_!

_Mrs. Bloom._ Oh dear, I _quite_ forgot your beautiful carpets. No, to be sure, that might----but one of those little butcher's shops, now!--they're really _quite_ cheap!

_Mrs. S._ _I_ always thought cheapness was a question of what a person could _afford_.

_Mrs. Bloom._ But I _can_ afford it, dear SOPHIA--thanks to dear JOHN'S bounty, and--and _yours_.

_Mrs. S._ You mustn't thank _me_. _I_ had nothing to do with it. I warned JOHN at the time that it would only----and it seems I was right. And REGGIE has a butcher's shop--a really good one--already. In fact, I couldn't tell you what he _hasn't_ got!

_Reggie._ _I_ can, though, Aunt VINNIE. I haven't got a train, for _one_ thing! (_To his Mother, as she drags him on._) I _should_ like a little tin train, to go by clockwork on rails so. Do let Auntie----what's she staying behind for?

_Mrs. Bloom. (catching them up, and thrusting a box into_ REGGIE'S _hands)._ There, dear boy, there's your train--with Aunt VINNIE'S love! (REGGIE _opens the box, and discovers a wooden train_.) What's the matter, darling? Isn't it----?

_Mrs. S._ He had rather set his heart on a clockwork one with rails--which I was thinking of getting for him--but I am sure he's very much obliged to his Aunt all the same--_aren't_ you, REGINALD?

_Reggie (with a fortunate inspiration)._ Thank you _ever_ so much, Auntie! And I like this train better than a tin one--because all the doors open really--it's _exactly_ what I wanted!

_Mrs. S._ That's so like REGGIE--he never says anything to hurt people's feelings if he can possibly help it.

_Mrs. B. (with meek ambiguity)._ Ah, dear SOPHIA, you set him such an _example_, you see! (REGGIE _wonders why she squeezes his hand so_.)

_A Vague Man (to Saleswoman)._ Er--I want a toy of some sort--for a _child_, don't you know. (_As if he might require it for an elderly person._) At least, it's not _exactly_ a child--it can _talk_, and all that.

_Salesw._ Will you step inside, Sir? We've a large assortment within to select from. Is it for a boy or a girl?

_The Vague Man._ It's a boy--that is, its name's EVELYN--of course, that's a girl's name too; but it had better be some thing that doesn't--I mean something it can't----[_He runs down._

_Salesw._ I _quite_ understand, Sir. One of these little 'orses and carts are a very nice present for a child--(_with languid commendation_)--the little 'orse takes out and all.

_The V. M._ Um--yes--but I want something more--a different _kind_ of thing altogether.

_Salesw._ We sell a great many of these rag-dolls; all the clothes take off and on.

_The V. M._ Isn't that rather----and then, for a boy, eh?

_Salesw._ P'raps a box of wooden soldiers _would_ be a more suitable toy for a boy, certainly.

_The V. M._ Soldiers, eh?--yes--but you see, it might turn out to be a girl after all--and then----

_Salesw._ I see, you want something that would do equally well for either. _Here_'s a toy now. (_She brings out a team of little tin swans on wheels._) You fix a stick in the end--so--and wheel it in front of you, and all the little swans go up and down.

[_She wheels it up and down without enthusiasm._

_The V. M. (inspecting it feebly)._ Oh--the swans go up and down, eh? It isn't quite--but very likely it won't--May as well have that as something else--Yes, you can send it to--let me see--is it Hampstead or Notting Hill they're living at now? (_To the_ Saleswoman, _who naturally cannot assist him._) No, of course, _you_ wouldn't know. Never mind, I'll take it with me--don't trouble to wrap it up!

[_He carries it off--to forget it promptly in a hansom._

_A Genial Uncle (entering with Nephews and Nieces)._ Plenty to choose from here, eh? Look about and see what you'd like best.

_Jane (the eldest, sixteen, and "quite a little woman")._ I'm sure they would much rather _you_ chose for them, Uncle!

_Uncle._ Bless me, _I_ don't know what boys and girls like nowadays--they must choose for themselves!

_Salesw. (wearily)._ Perhaps one of the young gentlemen would like a dredging-machine? The handle turns, you see, and all the little buckets go round the chain and take up sand or mud--or there's a fire-engine, _that's_ a nice toy, throws a stream of real water.

[TOMMY, _aged eleven, is charmed with the dredging-machine, while the fire-engine finds favour in the eyes of_ BOBBY, _aged nine._

_Jane (thoughtfully)._ I'm afraid the dredging-machine is rather a _messy_ toy, Uncle, and the fire-engine wouldn't do at all, either--it would be sure to encourage them to play with fire. BOBBY, if you say "blow!" once more, I shall tell Mother. Uncle is the best judge of what's suitable for you!

_Uncle._ Well, there's something in what you say, JENNY. We must see if we can't find something better, that's all.

_Salesw._ I've a little Toy-stige, 'ere--with scenes and characters in "_Richard Cured o' Lyin'_" complete and ready for acting--how would that do?

[TOMMY _and_ BOBBY _cheer up visibly at this suggestion._

_Jane._ I _don't_ think Mother would like them to have _that_, Uncle--it might give them a _taste_ for theatres, you know!

_Uncle._ Ha--so it might--very thoughtful of you, JANE--Mustn't get in your Mother's bad books; never do! What's in these boxes? soldiers? How about these, eh, boys? [_The boys are again consoled._

_Jane (gently)._ They're getting _rather_ too big for such babyish things as soldiers, Uncle! I tell you what _I_ think--if you got a nice puzzle-map for TOMMY--he's so backward in his Geography--and a drawing slate for BOBBY, who's getting on so nicely with his drawing, and a little work-box--not an _expensive_ one, of course--for WINNIE, that would be _quite_----

[_These sisterly counsels are rewarded by ungrateful and rebellious roars._

_Uncle._ TOMMY, did I hear you address your sister as a "beast"? Come--come! And what are you all turning on the waterworks for, eh? Strikes me, JANE, you haven't _quite_ hit off their tastes!

_Jane (virtuously)._ I have only told you what I know Mother would _wish_ them to have, Uncle; and, even if I _am_ to have my ankles kicked for it, I'm sure I'm right!

_Uncle._ Always a consolation, my dear JENNY. I'm sure no nephew of _mine_ would kick his sister, except by the merest accident--so let's say no more of that. But it's no use getting 'em what they don't like; so suppose we stick to the fire-engine, and the other concern--theatre is it, JOHNNY?--Very well--and don't you get _me_ into trouble over 'em, that's all. And WINNIE would like a doll, eh?--that's all right. Now everybody's provided for--except JANE!

_Jane (frostily)._ Thank you, Uncle--but you seem to forget I'm not _exactly_ a child! [_She walks out of the shop with dignity._

_Uncle._ Hullo! Put my foot in it again! But we can't leave JENNY out of it--_can_ we? Must get her a present of some sort over the way.... Here, TOMMY, my boy, you can tell me something she'd like.

_Bobby (later--to_ TOMMY). What did you tell Uncle to get for JANE?

_Tommy (with an unholy chuckle)._ Why, a box with one of those puff-things in it. Don't you know how we caught her powdering her nose with Mother's? And Uncle _got_ her one too! _Won't_ she be shirty just!

[_They walk out in an ecstasy of anticipation, as Scene closes._

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