Chapter 2

_Two Days later._--They crammed _forty_ Witnesses into that passage! No seats for half of them. We had one chair, and Usher took it away "as a lady wanted it in Court." Lady no doubt a spectator--did _she_ hunt in her pocket for half-a-crown? Anyhow, after two days in the passage, I have just given my evidence in Court, with fearful cold on my lungs, owing to the draught. Very hoarse. Ordered by Judge, sternly, to "speak up." Conscious that I looked a wretched object. Jury regarded me with evident suspicion. Severely cross-examined. Mentioned to Judge about my windows being smashed, &c.; could I receive anything for it? "Oh, dear no," replied the Judge; "we never reward Witnesses." Amusement in Court--at my expense. In fact, the course of Justice generally seems to be altogether at my expense. Home in a cab and a fever. Find ten more threatening letters, and an infernal machine under area-steps. Go to bed. Doctor says I am in for pneumonia and bronchitis, he thinks. Tells me I am thoroughly run down, and asks me, "What I've been doing to reduce myself to this state?" I reply that, "I have been assisting the course of Justice." Doctor shrugs his shoulders, and I hear him distinctly mutter, "More fool you!" I agree with Doctor, cordially. Am quite certain now that it _was_ unwise to tell Police that I could identify those criminals. If this is the way in which Witnesses are treated, let Justice in future assist itself!

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

My Baronite has been reading _Mona Maclean, Medical Student_. (BLACKWOOD.) "It is," he tells me, "a Novel with a purpose--no recommendation for a novel, more especially when the purpose selected is that of demonstrating the indispensability of women-doctors." Happily GRAHAM TRAVERS, as the author (being evidently a woman) calls herself, is lured from her fell design. There is a chapter or two of talk among the girls in the dissecting-room and the chemical laboratory, with much about the "spheno-maxillary fossa," the "dorsalis pedis," and the general whereabouts of "Scarpa's triangle." But these can be skipped, and the reader may get into the company of _Mona Maclean_ when she is less erudite, and more womanly. When not dissecting the "plantar arch," _Mona_ is a bright, fearless, clever girl, with a breezy manner, refreshing to all admitted to her company. The episode of her shopkeeping experience is admirably told, and affords the author abundant and varied opportunity of exercising her gift of drawing character. _Mona Maclean_ is, apparently, a first effort at novel-writing. The workmanship improves up to the end of the third volume; and Miss TRAVERS' next book will be better still.

To Mr. J. FISHER UNWIN comes the happy thought of issuing, in a neatly-packed box, the whole twenty volumes of the Pseudonym Library--and a very acceptable Christmas-Box it will make. The volumes, with their odd, oblong shape, are delightful to hold; the type is good, and the excellence of the literary matter is remarkably well kept up over the already long series. Mr. UNWIN promises fresh volumes, introducing to the British public Finnish and Danish authors, or Danish first, and the others to Finnish.

See how these Poets love one another! How touching is the dedication of ALFRED AUSTIN'S latest volume to GEORGE MEREDITH! May both live long and prosper, is the hearty wish of their friend,

THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

* * * * *

THE ROYAL ROAD TO COMFORT.--A DREAM.

The rival Steamboats were on the alert. It was a misty night, and it was a difficult matter to make out the lights of Calais Harbour.

"We shall catch him yet," said the Captain of the Blue Vessel.

"He will not escape us," observed the C.O. of the Red.

Suddenly the Blue started at full steam ahead, and was lost to sight in Calais harbour. She was quickly followed by the Red, moving with equal expedition.

The vessels reached the quay nearly at the same time. Then there was confusion and sounds of military music. Evidently the Illustrious Personage had embarked. Then the mist cleared away.

"He is safe on board," said the Captain of the Blue Vessel, and his Mate indulged in a short laugh of triumph.

"It does not matter," observed the Commanding Officer of the Red; "the Blue may have his person, but _we_ have his luggage!"

And then the cheers were renewed again and again, and the Illustrious Personage came to the conclusion that English enterprise was not without its disadvantages!

* * * * *

* * * * *

BOGEY OR BENEFACTOR?

_Timid Ratepayer loquitur:--_

O lor! O dear! What have we here? What a nondescript, huge NID-NODDY! None know, I'm sure, what _I_ have to endure. It's enough to frighten a body! They are always up to some queer new game, and a giving me some fresh master; But this one is a _crux_ from the sole of his foot to the crown of his comical castor.

He looks as big as all out-of-doors, and e'en BUMBLE was hardly as bumptious. He'd make my London a Paradise, which is a prospect that's perfectly scrumptious. But oh! he _is_ big, with the funniest rig; a Titan who, if he _should_ tumble, Might squelch me as flat as an opera-hat, and make me regret old BUMBLE.

Noodledom ruled me for many long years; this means, I am told, a new Era; But bad as a Booby may be as a Boss, what about a colossal Chimæra? I don't say he's that, but with body of goat, dragon's tail, and the head of a lion, A creature were hardly more "mixed" than _this_ monster, whose rule for the time I must try on.

A complex, conglomerate, Jack-of-all-Trades! Well, I trust he'll be master of some of them! _Largo al factotum_! He's game for all tasks, and--I wish I was sure what would come of them. Most representative? Palpable that! And his plans most sublime (so he says) are; But he looks just as motley a nondescript as the image of Nebuchadnezzar.

The elephant who can root up a huge oak, or handle a needle or pin, is Less marvellous much, and it may be, of course, that the folks who distrust him are ninnies. I hope so, I'm sure. There are evils to cure, and of room for improvement there's plenty; And all must admit that, whatever his faults, he cannot be called _far niente_.

He _does_ look a bit of a Bogey, but then he _may_ prove just a big Benefactor, And if he should work on the cheap, kill Corruption, and kick out the knavish Contractor, Without piling Pelion on Ossa (of rates) on my back, till my legs with the "tottle" limp, I _shall_ "learn to love him" as Giant Beneficent, not a big, blundering Bottle-Imp!

* * * * *

OPERA-GOER'S DIARY.--_Otello_ (the Grand Otello Company, Limited) was the feature last week. GIANINI a stout _Otello_, much and Moor. MELBA a charming _Desdemona_, but not a great part for her. DUFRICHE as _Iago_, good, but not good enough for _him_. Sir DRURIOLANUS gives _Carmen_ at Windsor Castle, before the QUEEN! Aha! Where now is LAGO Factotum and His Special Patronaged Royal Box at the Olympic? DRURIOLANUS Victor, with all the honours.

* * * * *

AT A RINK.

Round and round, and to and fro At a rink, Pretty girls, with cheeks that glow Rosy pink; Graceful, gleeful, gliding, go, Whilst they link Arms together, like the flow Past its brink Of a river's eddy--so Duffers think They can glide. See one start slow, Shyly shrink, Fearful lest his end be woe, Sheepish slink, Skates on unaccustomed toe Strangely clink, Hot and thirsty he will grow, Long for drink; All around amusement show, Laugh and wink, But they look as black as crow, Or as ink, If he fall against them. Oh, In a twink On the floor, not soft but low, See him sink! Whilst he murmurs gently, "Blow This old rink!"

* * * * *

LOGICAL AND ENGINE-IOUS.--Why object (though we do) to Advertisements of all sorts along our Railway lines? Surely, wherever the Locomotive goes, there is the very place for puffing.

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

CONVERSATIONAL HINTS FOR YOUNG SHOOTERS.

THE SMOKING-ROOM.

(_WITH WHICH IS INCORPORATED "ANECDOTES."_)

Let us imagine, if you please, that the toils and trampings of the day are over. You are staying at a comfortable country-house with friends whom you like. You have had a good day at your host's pheasants and his rabbits. Your shooting has been fairly accurate, not ostentatiously brilliant, but on the whole satisfactory. You have followed out the hints given in my previous Chapters, and are consequently looked upon as a pleasant fellow, with plenty to say for himself. After tea, in the drawing-room, you have had an hour or two for the writing of letters, which you have of course not written, for the reading of the morning papers from London which you have skimmed with a faint interest, and for the forty or eighty or one hundred and twenty winks in an armchair in front of the fire, which are by no means the least pleasant and comforting incident in the day's programme. You have dressed for dinner in good time; you have tied your white tie successfully "in once;" you have taken in a charming girl (ROSE LARKING, let us say) to dinner. The dinner itself has been good, the drawing-room interlude after dinner has been pleasantly varied with music, and the ladies have, with the tact for which they are sometimes distinguished, retired early to bed-rooms, where it is believed they spend hours in the combing of their beautiful hair, and the interchange of gossip. You are in high spirits. You think, indeed you are sure (and again, on thinking it well over, not quite so sure), that the adorable ROSE looked kindly upon you as she said good-night, and allowed her pretty little hand to linger in your own while you assured her that to-morrow you would get for her the pinion-feather of a woodcock, or die in the attempt. You are now arrayed in your smoking-coat (the black with the red silk-facings), and your velvet slippers with your initials worked in gold--a birthday present from your sister. All the rest are, each after his own fashion, similarly attired, and the whole male party is gathered together in the smoking-room. There you sit and smoke and chat until the witching hour of night, when everybody yawns and grave men, as well as gay, go up to their beds.

Now, since you are an unassuming youngster, and anxious to learn, you ask me probably, how you are to bear yourself in this important assembly, what you are to speak about, and how? The chief thing, I answer, is _not to be a bore_. It is so easy _not_ to be a bore if only you give a little thought to it. Nobody wants to be a bore. I cannot imagine any man consciously incurring the execration of his fellow-men. And yet there exist innumerable bores scattered through the length and breadth of our happy country, and carrying on their dismal business with an almost malignant persistency. Longwindedness, pomposity, the exaggeration of petty trivialities, the irresistible desire to magnify one's own wretched little achievements, to pose as the little hero of insignificant adventures, and to relate them to the whole world in every dull detail, regardless of the right of other men to get an occasional word in edgewise--these are the true marks of the genuine bore. He must know that you take no interest in him or his story. Even if you did, his manner of telling it would flatten you, yet he fascinates you with that glassy stare, that self-conscious and self-admiring smirk, and distils his tale into your ears at the very moment when you are burning to talk over old College-days with CHALMERS, or to discuss an article in the _Field_ with SHABRACK.

I remember once finding myself, by some freak of mocking destiny, in a house in which _two_ bores had established fortified camps. On the first night, we all became so dazed with intolerable dulness, that our powers of resistance faded away to the vanishing point. Both bores sallied out from their ramparts, laid our little possessions waste, and led, each his tale of captives back with him, gagged, bound, and incapable of struggle.

So next day, when the accustomed train Of things grew round our sense again,

we agreed together, those of us, I mean, who had suffered on the previous night, that something must be done. What it was to be we could not at first decide. We should have preferred "something lingering, with boiling oil in it," but at last we decided on the brilliant suggestion of SHABRACK, who was of the party, that we should endeavour by some means or other to bring the two bores, as it were, face to face in a kind of boring-competition in the smoking-room that very night, to engage them in warfare against one another and ourselves to sit by and watch them mutually extinguishing one another; a result that, we were certain, could not fail to be brought about, owing to the deadly nature of the weapons with which each was provided. Both the bores, I may observe, shot execrably during the day. In the evening, after a short preliminary skirmish, from which SHABRACK the hussar extricated us with but little loss, that which we desired came to pass. It was a terrible spectacle. In a moment both these magnificent animals, their bristles erect, and all their tusks flashing fiercely in the lamp-light, were locked in the death-grapple. Every detail of the memorable struggle is indelibly burnt into my brain. Even at this distance of time, I can remember how we all looked on, silent, awestruck, fascinated, as the dreadful fight proceeded to its inevitable close. For the benefit of others, let me attempt to describe it in the appropriate language of the Ring.

GREAT FIGHT BETWEEN THE KENTISH PROSER AND THE HAMPSHIRE DULLARD.

_Round I._--Both men advanced, confident, but cautious. After sparring for an opening, the Proser landed lightly on the jaw with,--"When the Duke of DASHBURY did me the honour to ask me to his Grace's noble deer-forest." He ducked to avoid the return, but the Hampshire Champion would not be denied, and placed two heavy fish-stories fair in the bread-basket. The Proser swung round a vicious right-hander anecdote about a stag shot at 250 yards, but the blow fell short, and he was fairly staggered by two in succession ("the tree-climbing rabbit," and "the Marquis of DULLFIELD'S gaiters"), delivered straight on the mouth. First blood for the Dullard. After some hard exchanges they closed, and fell, the Dullard underneath.

_Round II._--Both blowing a good deal. The Proser put up his Dukes, and let fly with both of them, one after another, at the Dullard's conk, drawing claret profusely. Nothing daunted, the Dullard watched his opportunity, and delivered a first-class Royal Prince on the Proser's right eye, half closing that optic. The men now closed, but broke away again almost directly. Some smart fibbing, in which neither could claim an advantage, ensued. The round was brought to a close by some rapid exchanges, after which the Proser went down. Betting 6 to 4 on the Dullard.

_Round III., and last._--Proser's right peeper badly swollen, the Dullard gory, and a bit groggy, but still smiling. Proser opened with a ricochet, which did great execution, but was countered heavily when he attempted to repeat the trick, the Dullard all but knocking him off his legs with a fifty-pound salmon. After some slight exchanges they began a hammer-and-tongs game, in which Proser scored heavily. Dullard, however, pulled himself together for a final rush. They met in the middle of the ring, and both fell heavily. As neither was able to rise, the fight was drawn. Both men were heavily damaged, and were carried away with their jaws broken.

There you have the story. The actual result was that these two ponderous bores all but did one another to death. So exhausted were they by the terrible conflict, that our comfort was not again disturbed by them during this particular visit. We were lucky, though at first we scarcely saw it, in getting two evenly matched ironclad bores together. If we had had only one, the matter would have been far more difficult.

* * * * *

* * * * *

UNDECIDED.

Goosey, Goose, Uganda, With whom will you wander, With the English, with the French? Or with King MWANGA?

* * * * *

ADVICE GRATIS (_by a Bill Poster_).--"Invest all your savings in hoardings."

* * * * *

THE COMPLIMENT OF COIN.

(_AN EXTRACT FROM MR. PUNCH'S PURELY IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS._)

SCENE--_Interior of a Palace._ Emperor _and_ Empress _discovered discussing the former's tour in foreign parts._

_Emperor_ (_finishing a good story_). So after I had made a hearty meal off the bread-and-milk, I gave the old woman a note for five thousand thalers, and told her to buy a three-sous portrait of myself so that she might see the Sovereign that she had saved from starvation. Ha! ha! ha! Wasn't it amusing?

_Empress_ (_smiling_). Very, dear; but wasn't it a little expensive? Surely you could have got the bread-and-milk for a smaller sum?

_Emperor._ Of course I could! But then, don't you see, it made me popular. It's in all the papers, and reads splendidly!

_Empress._ Yes, of course, dear. By the way, I found this volume (_producing book bound in velvet with real gold clasps_) in your overcoat. May I peep into it?

_Emperor_ (_doubtfully_). I don't think you will find it particularly interesting. I have just jotted down my petty cash disbursements.

_Empress_ (_opening book and glancing at contents_). Dear me! Why the total amounts to £15,000! I see it's put in English money.

_Emperor._ Yes, it saves trouble. When I am travelling I get rather confused with all coinage save that of Mother's Fatherland.

_Empress._ But surely £15,000 is a lot to expend upon extras?

_Emperor._ Depends on the view you take of things. I had a lot of things to buy.

_Empress._ But surely _this_ must be wrong? Shoeblack fifty guineas!

_Emperor_ (_lightly_). No, I think that's all right. You see, the fellow, after he had cleaned my boots, suddenly recognised me, called me Sire, and sang the "_Wacht am Rhein_." I couldn't, after that, give him less.

_Empress._ Well, you know best, dear; but I should have thought you could have got your boots cleaned for rather less!

_Emperor._ Possibly; but I should have lost the story. And you know it reads so well.

_Empress._ And here's another rather big item. £800 for a London cabman!

_Emperor._ I consider _that_ the cheapest item in the lot. He wanted more!

_Empress._ And here are several items of seventy pounds apiece. What were _they_ for?

_Emperor._ Oh, nothing in particular. Little girl picked up my handkerchief, and a little boy asked me for a kite. Was obliged to give them each a bundle of tenners. It would have been so mean if I had given them less. But there, I told you you wouldn't find the book at all interesting. If you will pass it to me, I will lock it up.

_Empress._ Oh, certainly, dear. (_Gives up volume._) And now, darling, I am going to ask you a favour. You never saw such a pet of a coronet as they have at Von ----'s. Now I want you to buy it for me particularly.

_Emperor_ (_embarrassed_). Certainly, dear--but you know, we are not too well off.

_Empress._ Oh, but it is simply charming. Rubies round the edge, and a cross of brilliants and emeralds. And, really, _so_ cheap. They only want £100,000 for it!

_Emperor._ Very nice indeed; but just at this moment it would be a little inconvenient to produce so large a sum.

_Empress._ Large sum! Why, the rubies alone are worth all the money.

_Emperor._ Yes, I know, dear. And now I must hurry away; duty, my love, comes before pleasure. See you soon.

[_Exit hurriedly, to attend a review. In the meanwhile, Coronet remains in the jeweller's shop-window. Curtain_.

* * * * *

* * * * *

AN EVENING FROM HOME.

There used to appear daily--and it may be appearing daily now, for aught I know, only, speaking on oath, I haven't lately noticed it--a question addressed by Everybody in General, or by Nobody in Particular to Everybody Else, which took this form: "Where shall we dine to-day?" I forget what the answer was, but, as a rule, the domesticated man, with a good cook in his own kitchen, could answer it offhand by saying to himself, "'_Where_ shall we dine to-day?' Why, at home, of course--where better?--and catch me moving out afterwards." But, if he were contemplating the unpleasant certainty of having post-prandially to leave his hearth and home in order to visit some theatre, opera, or concert, then it might occur to him that he could do the thing well, and give his party a novel treat, if, in French fashion, he took them somewhere to dine, previous to doing their play. Thus it occurred to Yours truly, Y TI-BULLUS BIBULUS, a day or two ago, when, dressed in his classical evening Togaryii in a _Currus Pulcher_ (with a _Cursor_ alongside anticipating _denarii_, and risking the sharp rebuke of a probable _Cursor_ inside the vehicle) he was passing the Oxford Music Hall, and a brightly decorated Restauration caught his observant eye. Was it new, or was it a Restauration restored? Its name, in large letters, "FRASCATI." This seemed at once to lend itself to a familiar jingle, and I found myself humming,--

Oh, did you never hear of Frascati? 'Tis not far from Rome, eh my hearty? The place looks so fine, I will there go and dine, And I'll bring with me all of my party!