Chapter 2

Dr. ROBERTS, as quoted by his _confrère_, ROBSON ROOSETEM PASHA, appears to be a very sensible person. Dr. ROBERTS--he is not Dr. ARTHUR ROBERTS, we believe--recommends the liqueur to be judiciously taken at meal-times. And, by the way, as the knowledge of when to cry, "Hold, enough!" is most useful, here is another test of sobriety in this very word "judicious," which some, after a couple of glasses (or more) of fine old cognac, will pronounce as though 'twere spelt "seducious," and some will swear it ought to be "jusidious." When nobody can pronounce "judicious" correctly, the _arbiter bibendi_, if himself absolutely sober as a judge ought to be,--a man quite "above-board," i.e., not yet under it,--such a one may pronounce that the guests have had quite enough. It is a pity that so excellent a writer on temperance should have the singular disadvantage of a plural name. If, after dinner, a worthy convivialist observed, "I see ROBERTS," would not the question naturally be, "How many of 'em?" The Doctor can omit the "s," and, as perhaps he is already a little singular in his carefully-advanced theories, why should he not de-pluralise his surname? Do the Doctors R.R. and R. differ on this? Then we must decide. In the meantime, to show our approval of this particular article of Dr. ROBSON ROOSTEM PASHA's faith, we, as a jovial company, drink his health, and then depart for our annual Alcoholiday trip.

* * * * *

LAWN TENNIS INTELLIGENCE.--BADDELAY has taken the cake.

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* * * * *

OUT OF IT!

(_THE LAY OF THE NON-ELECTED._)

Then a warm-faced functionary read the "Declaration"--when A sort of sinking sickness took SMITH in the abdomen; And he smiled a sickly sort of smile, and stalked out at the door, And the subsequent proceedings interested _him_ no more!

_Bret Harte adapted._

Pheugh! His poll was taken early (it was _not_ on Saturday), And he lost by seven hundred, and is out of the fierce fray; And whether he rejoices, or internally repines, May be clear to the wiseacres who can "read between the lines."

It was hot, too, while it lasted, and of epidemic ills The Election Fever "takes the cake." 'Tis true it seldom kills, But for far and wide contagion, and for agony acute, Its supremacy is certain as its sway is absolute.

And he had it very badly. He looks convalescent now, But the frenzy of the meeting brought the crimson to his brow, And his thorax is still husky with his eloquent appeal To the mustered working-men at the hour of mid-day meal.

How they swarmed about his waggon! How their oily fustian filled The summer air with fragrance that his fine olfactories thrilled! How very loud their shouts were, and how very rude their jeers, And how very strong the _bouquet_ of clay pipes and bitter beers!

His arguments amused them, and his peroration fine, About "standing for old England stoutly all along the line," Would have surely proved impressive, but for some sardonic ass, Who produced an anti-climax with the shouted comment "Gas!"

Then the mob broke up in laughter, to return to pipe and can, And--plumped for his opponent pretty nearly to a man; For of all ungrateful cynics, and of all impervious clowns, Commend me (says our wanderer), to the workmen of our towns.

Well, _experientia docet_. That confounded "local Club" (Blend of Institute and Chapel with a savour of the pub.) Where the pallid-faced cheesemongers, and the clammy-handed snobs, Swarmed around to "patronise" him, was the toughest of tough jobs.

Its rooms were wondrous stuffy and its members scarce "good form," For they mostly dropped their aitches, and they always looked _so_ warm. Why political enthusiasts so run to noise and heat, And crude manners, and bad grammar, is a _crux_ that's hard to beat.

But he bore it,--yes, he bore it; he shook heaps of 'orny 'ands, Heard the shindy of their shoutings, and the braying of their bands; Stood their "heckling," which was trying, and their praises, which were worse, All the claims upon his time, and taste, his patience, and his purse.

Then they "chucked" him by three figures! Well, he's "out of it," thanks be! And he "offs it by the Special" to the river or the sea. He heard the "Declaration," _and_ the rival Party's roar, And--"the subsequent proceedings interested him no more."

"'_Latest Results! Helections!!_' Oh, confound the boy! Get out! Let the winners sum their winnings, let their blatant backers shout. What have I to do with pollings? Cease, cacophonous urchin, cease! I am going to read _The Wrecker_, and possess my soul in peace!"

* * * * *

"D.G." and MRS. R.--_Mr. Punch_ begs to congratulate the _Daily Graphic_ on the electioneering ladder showing every day the position of the Parties. Very "Happy Thought." His ancient friend, Mrs. RAM, in speaking of this journal, observed, that "_Daily Graphic_ was not by any means a new name, and the paper ought to have been purely theatrical, as the person after whom it is evidently called was the celebrated actor, you know, my dear, in the last century, whom Dr. JOHNSON used to call 'Little Daily Graphic.'"

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THE END OF HENLEY.

(_FRAGMENT FROM A HISTORICAL SKETCH YET TO BE WRITTEN._)

It was shortly after the middle of July, 1892, that the Great Representative of the British Race stood upon the Victoria Embankment, watching the river-steamers as they passed to and fro. There were few persons about, for the General Election was over, and civilised London was out of Town. Some of civilised London had gone abroad, some were in Scotland, some by the Sea. So the Great Representative expected to see no one.

"_Mr. Punch_, I believe!" said some one, approaching the Great Representative. The speaker was a person who wore a garb peculiarly suitable to the autumnal sultriness of the weather. He had about a couple of yards of calico, and one good coating of serviceable paint. The Great Representative bowed his head, and by a gesture, invited further explanation.

"I am connected with the literary world, and am a Colonist. I am known, or used to be known (for I am getting a trifle out of date), as Lord MACAULAY's New-Zealander."

Again the Great Representative bowed. He knew his visitor, and bade him welcome. Then he asked him the cause of his visit.

"Well, I really don't know," replied the New-Zealander, with a short laugh. "I am afraid I must have been hoaxed. I was told that England was absolutely ruined, and was looking for a comfortable seat amongst the remains of London Bridge."

"You see you are slightly premature," returned the Great Representative, pointing towards a more or less majestic pile in the offing. "There was some talk of rebuilding the structure some short while ago, but a viaduct near the Tower was considered preferable. When it is opened, there will be Knighthoods for the Sheriffs, and a Baronetcy for the Lord MAYOR."

"And yet," pondered the New-Zealander, "I was certainly informed by wire, that the glory of Britain had vanished for ever."

"Very likely an Election cry," observed _Mr. Punch_, "In the midst of a contested polling, both sides think the success of their rivals must be followed by immediate disaster. But somehow or other, things settle down afterwards, and nothing comes of it. Whichever side wins, the old flag floats in the wind as gaily and as prosperously as ever."

"And yet I was certainly told that the sun of England had set never to rise again," persisted the Aboriginal, who seemed to be of an obstinate turn of mind. "Now I remember--the cause was something to do with Diamonds and Henley. Stay, the bright brains of the nation had disappeared. I recollect, the Diamond Sculls of the nation (once so great) had passed to foreigners."

"Ah, now I take your meaning." said the National Representative, with a smile, "and you must have heard of the result of the race for the Diamond Sculls at Henley."

"That must be it," acquiesced the New-Zealander. "I had forgotten to take into account possible errors in transmission. But tell me, has there been a national defeat?"

"Well, yes," admitted _Mr. Punch_, with a sigh--"we did not come out altogether satisfactorily. Even the second man was a Frenchman--albeit, his name was suggestive of dear old Scotland."

"And do you mean to say," said the New-Zealander, "that the best scullers of England were beaten by a boating-man from the Seine?"

"It is too true, and the Frenchman himself succumbed to a Dutchman--yes, we confess it, and with shame."

"I don't see why you should," returned the other, changing his tone to one of greater satisfaction. "As a New-Zealander, I observe nothing degrading in the superiority of Old Holland." And considering the prowess of VAN TROMP in the past, there was perhaps nothing so strange in the triumph of OOMS in the present.

* * * * *

"TO PAY OR NOT TO PAY, THAT IS THE BISLEYNESS."

MY DEAR MR. PUNCH,--I see that the receipts of the National Rifle Association have fallen off, and that there is a proposal to make the Bisley Meeting this year rather more attractive than its predecessors. The Camp is to be open, and there are to be Concerts and other distractions. But is this enough? Once confess that Rifle-shooting is not the sole business of the gathering, and the way is cleared for more amusing items. All that is wanted to convert a semi-failure into a triumphant success, is a Manager who could combine entertainment with instruction, thus:--

6 A.M.--Gun-fire. The Camp awakes, and, to the music of the band, gets up. Reserved seats in band-enclosure, sixpence extra.

7 A.M.--Balloon Ascent. Firing at the sun with revolvers by trained aëronauts. Seats in parachutes, five shillings a-piece.

8 A.M.--Early performance of BUFFALO BILL before his departure for Earl's Court. Prices as usual.

9 A.M.--Sham Fight, augmented by Menagerie from Travelling Circus. Cards to visit the stables, half-a-crown.

10 A.M.--Representation of Siege Scene from Venice in London, under the title of "The Bridge of Sighs within measuring distance of Woking Cemetery." Season tickets, half-a-guinea.

11 A.M.--Performance of the Battle of Waterloo by veterans, late of Astley's Theatre. Families and schools half-price.

12 NOON.--Visit of Royalty, and Presentation of Purses. No Purse accepted containing less than two pounds ten.

1 P.M.--Grand Luncheon, with speeches by the leading Military Authorities, followed by a Smoking Concert. One-and-sixpence.

2 P.M.--Variety Show, including several of the best Lion Comiques, and the astounding performances of the Bounding Brothers of Bohemia. Stalls, ten shillings. Soldiers in uniform admitted at a considerable reduction.

3 P.M.--Cricket Match between the famous Clown Eleven _versus_ the Ladies' Sixteen. Grand Stand, three-and-six.

4 P.M.--Comic Carnival, entitled, "Rollicksome Riflemen, or the Vicissitudes of the Volunteers." Reserved Seats, ninepence.

There, my dear Sir, I think I have written enough. If there was any time to spare, the shooting programme might still be carried out; but business is business, and only by the means I have indicated (in my opinion) can Bisley be made to pay. Trusting that my suggestion may be accepted in the spirit in which it is offered, I remain,

Yours truly, DIVIDEND BEFORE DEFENCE. _The Money Grubberies, the Twenty of Shillingsworth-in-the-Pound._

* * * * *

ON THE THRESHOLD OF THEMIS.

(_A Sketch in the New Law Courts in anticipation of the very next "Cause Célèbre" that may have the good fortune to enlist the sympathies of the British Public._)

SCENE--_A Corridor outside the Courts appropriated to the Common Law Division of the High Court of Justice. At each of the doors of the Court where the Great Trial of Arkass v. Arkass and Ambo--which abounds in "scandalous revelations in High Life"--is proceeding, a group of would-be auditors has collected, waiting with the patience of respectable Peris for a chance of admission to the forensic Paradise within. The Paradise, at present, is full to overflowing, and the doors are guarded by a couple of particularly stern and stolid attendants. Each Peri is trying to wear out the endurance of the rest, and to propitiate the doorkeepers by exemplary behaviour._

_A Meek Man_ (_to Doorkeeper, after standing in hopeful silence for three-quarters of an hour_). I suppose there'll be a chance of getting in presently, eh?

_The Doorkeeper_ (_placidly_). None whatever, Sir.

_The M.M._ But they'll be rising for luncheon in an hour or so, and some will be coming out then, surely?

_Doork._ Not many; them as _are_ in stays in, mostly.

_The M.M._ (_with a sudden recollection that he is acquainted with one of the Counsel engaged in the case_). Couldn't you take in my card to Mr. TANFIELD? I'm sure he'll do anything he could for me.

[_The rest regard him with extreme disfavour, as one guilty of unsportsmanlike behaviour._

_Doork._ It won't be no use--there ain't room in there as it is for a billiard-cue--leastwise (_conscientiously_), a stoutish one--but I'll get it taken in for you, if you _like_.

[_He opens the door a very little, and passes the card to an attendant within._

_Junior Members of the Junior Bar_ (_in very clean white wigs, with hauteur_). Thought you had orders to let Counsel in before the general public? There _ought_ to be some rule about that, if there isn't.

_Doork._ So we do, Sir; but if this gentleman's a friend of Mr. TANFIELD's, and he _arsks_ me to admit him, why you see--

_Junior Junior_ (_witheringly_). The convenience of mere Members of the _Bar_ must give way, naturally!

[_The inside Attendant returns with card, which the Doorkeeper unlocks the door to receive, and then shuts it to with a sharp click, like a wild-beast-tamer._

_Doork._ (_to the M.M., after perusing card by the dim light_). I _told_ you it wouldn't be no use, Sir. "Please wait," it says.

[_General movement of virtuous satisfaction at this well-merited rebuke._

_The M.M._ (_wishing he had not put his trust in TANFIELD_). I--I _have_ waited--but it don't matter. (_Addressing First White Wig, from a timid social impulse_). The--er--Plaintiff made some remarkable admissions in the box yesterday--his cross-examination seemed pretty severe.

_First White Wig_ (_after a stare at his audacity_). Cross-examination not unfrequently _is_. (_To the other W.W._) See that extraordinary decision of old JUBBER's in _Biling_ v. _Bulgin_? Of course they'll appeal!

[_The couple converse in highly technical terms for some minutes._

_The M.M._ (_at the next pause_). It struck me that Colonel ARKASS rather contradicted himself on one or two points.

_Second W.W._ Very likely. (_To First W.W._) What do _you_ do when you're before one of these confounded Common Law Judges, and see he's looking up a point of Equity in a text-book during your argument? Do you wait for him?

_First W.W._ (_with all the decision of a Counsel who was called the Term before last_). Wait for him? No--go on talking about anything you like, till he's ready to listen to you again. That's what _I_ always do!

_An Important Stranger_ (_bustling up; to Doorkeepers_). Here, I say, let _me_ in, will you!

_Doork._ You a Witness in this case, Sir?

_The Imp. S._ (_after a tell-tale pause_). Er--yes--in a sort of way, y'know.

_Doork._ Then _your_ entrance is down below, Sir, in the Central 'All--you'll see it written up there.

_The I.S._ Haw--well, I'm not _exactly_ a witness, but I'm interested in the case, y'know.

_Doork._ So are all these Gentlemen, Sir--but they can't get in.

_The I.S._ No--but look _here_. I _know_ the criminals--'tleast I don't mean to call 'em _that_, y'know--hope they're all innocent, I'm sure. I like 'em all; _danced_ with 'em, and all that, lots of times.

_Doork._ Ah, well, you see they ain't dancin' to-day, Sir. (_The I.S. bustles away; there is a stir within; the portion of the crowd in Court that is visible through the glass-doors heaves convulsively, and presently produces a stout and struggling Q.C._). Make way there! Stand aside, gentlemen, please. Counsel coming out!

[_Q.C. comes out, puffing, followed by his Clerk and a Client._

_First W.W._ (_as the chasm in the crowd closes again_). _Now_ you can let us in!

_Doork._ (_stolidly_). Not yet, Sir. (_To other Doork._) I see that party agen last night--_you_ know--him as was here making all that shindy day afore yesterday. I went and 'ad a drink with 'im.

_Second Doork._ (_interested_). Ah, and 'ow _was_ he?

_First Doork._ Oh, same as usual--boozed. Told me he'd come up from Glasgow for a week's spree--and he seems to be _'aving_ it, too. Going 'ome Saturday, so he sez.

_Second Doork._ (_grimly_). He'll be lucky if he gets there Saturday fortnight!

_Murmurs_ (_from the lucky Peris who can just see the witness-box through the glass panel_). Who's that in the box? That's Colonel ARKASS--finishing his cross-examination.... Doesn't seem to be enjoying himself.... See how he's tugging at his moustache.... Got a nasty one just then, I expect.... I'd as soon believe 'im as I would 'er--_now_.... She ain't been in the _box_ yet.... No, but she's a reg'lar bad lot, from what was said in the opening speech. They won't change my opinion of _'er_, whichever way the case goes! Well, I 'aven't followed it closely myself.... Oh, no more have I--but still I've made up _my_ mind long ago about it, (&c., &c.)

_The I.S._ (_suddenly returning, indignant_). I say, they're letting in all _sorts_ of people--barristers, and so on--at that _other_ door!

_Doork._ Can't 'elp that, Sir; _this_ ain't the other door--you should speak to _them_ about it!

_The I.S._ (_naïvely_). Well, I _have_--and they told me to come here!

[_General snigger, amidst which he departs in disgust._

_A Small Office-Boy_ (_with a strip of paper, tied with red tape_). Kin I see Sir HALFRID ALLABYE a moment?

_Doork._ Sir ALFRED ain't in this Court--he's engaged in another case.

_The O.B._ 'Is Clurk'll do--it's 'ighly important--you better lemme _in_, I tell yer!

_Doork._ Send in a message for yer, if that'll do. (_The O.B. says it doesn't signify, and bolts._) Young Artful! thinks he'll sneak in, and spend his dinner-hour there--but he _don't_!

_The M.M._ (_who has been examining his card under a gaslight_). I say, I've just found out that it wasn't "Please _wait_" that Mr. TANFIELD wrote on my card--it's "Please _Admit_!"

[_A general titter of incredulity._

_First W.W._ (_to Second W.W._). Ingenious--but a trifle transparent that, eh?

[_His friend smiles knowingly._

_The M.M._ (_roused_). Do you mean to suggest that I--

[_He chokes._

_First W.W._ Oh, not at all--I was speaking to my friend here. But you really must allow that, if any preference is shown at all, it should be given--equitably, and of right--to Members of the Bar!

_Chorus from the other Peris._ Yes, they've stood here nearly as long as you have. You must wait your turn, like the rest of us! No preferences _'ere_! We've got as much right to go in as you.... If Mr. TANFIELD wants you admitted over our heads, let him come and let you in himself! If _any_ one goes in first, it ought to be Barristers! (&c., &c.)

_Doork._ (_impartially_). Well, it ain't o' much consequence, Gentlemen, for I can't let _none_ of you in at present!

[_The M.M. simmers with suppressed rage; wonders if it is worth while to mention that he happens to be a Barrister himself, and wishes to enter for the serious and legitimate purpose of collecting material for an Essay he is contributing on "The Abuse of Cross-Examination" to the "Nineteenth Century." On reflection, he thinks he had better not._

_Doork._ (_as the crowd in Court is again convulsed_). Clear the way there! Court rising--Counsel coming out! Ah, this _is_ Mr. TANFIELD.

_The Peris_ (_White Wigs and all_). Now we shall _see_!

[_They regard the M.M. with anticipatory triumph._

_Mr. Tanfield_ (_passing out, and recognising the M.M._). Why, my dear MUTTON, won't they let you in? Here, come along with me!

[_He passes his arm through the M.M.'s, walks with him to the other door, murmurs a request for his admission, and the next moment the M.M. is safe in the haven of his desire._

_The other Peris_ (_looking after him enviously_). Well, of all the brazen impudence!

[_They are swept aside by the current of emerging Counsel, Spectators, &c. and re-assemble, to find the doors as pitilessly closed against them as ever. The White Wigs threaten to write to the "Law Times" on the subject, and are regarded with admiration by the rest as Champions of Popular Rights._

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* * * * *

RACINE, WITH THE CHILL OFF.

Baffled by official prudery in the production of his poetic episode from Holy Writ, yet resolved that the names of SARAH and OSCAR shall be bracketted together on the muster-roll of genius, Mr. WILDE has undertaken to re-write RACINE's _Phèdre_ for that distinguished actress. In his version the smoothly-chaste and insipidly-correct verses which our grandmothers learnt to recite, and our grandfathers pretended to admire on the lips of the classic RACHEL, will give place to the school of BAUDELAIRE and VALLES. We have been fortunate in obtaining an _échantillon_ of this great work.

ACTE I., SCENE 3. _PHÈDRE, OENONE._

_Phèdre._ Je me meurs d'ennuie. Mon éventail, et vite!

_Oenone._ Madame, je devine votre mal. Vous aimez HIPPOLYTE!

_Phèdre._ HIPPOLYTE! Imbécile, ce que j'aime est le vice, La rime sans raison, l'audace, l'immondice, L'horrible, l'eccentrique, le sens-dessus-dessous, La fanfaronnade, la réclame, le sang, et la boue; La bave fétide des bouches empoisonnées; L'horreur, le meurtre, et le "ta-ra-boum-de-ay!" Crois-tu que pour HIPPOLYTE j'ai le moindre estime? Du tout! C'est mon beau fils, et l'aimer est un crime, C'est un fat odieux, OENONE. Homme je le déteste, Mais comme fils de mon mari l'aimer c'est l'in--

_Oenone._ Peste! Que veut dire Madame?

_Phèdre._ L'inconnu l'inconvenable.[2] Tu me coupe la parole d'une façon exécrable-- Le vice, OENONE, sais-tu ce que c'est que le vice? Que la rose n'est pas rose avant qu'elle pourrisse? Esprit terre-à-terre, âme bornée d'épicier, Non, tu ne les connais pas, les délices du fumier. Tu ne sais pas trouver tes étoiles dans l'égout, Tes ivresses dans la fange, ton amour dans la boue.

_Oenone._ Madame radote. C'est Vénus à sa proie attachée.