Part 2

Ninety-one in the shade, by NEGRETTI and ZAMBRA! 'Tis O that I dwelt in an ice-crevasse, Or rented a share in the _Mer de Glace_, Or hired (ere I melt and resolve to gas) That _patio_ cool in the chill Alhambra (Not "Lei-ces-ter Squarr," but Granada far), Where fountains sprinkle and plash and tinkle-- Ay me! that my dream can ne'er come to pass! "Fourteen hours of the sun!" says the "Jordan Recorder"-- Each day it grows hotter in London town! The plane-trees are withered and burnt and brown; Ere Lammas has come the leaves are down! The months have been mixed--they're out of order; We'd the weather of June six weeks too soon; And now we swelter and gasp for shelter-- We're grilled alive from toe to crown! There's drought in the fields, and drought in my gullet! I would that I sat in a boundless tank Of claret and soda, and drank and drank! My thirst with PANTAGRUEL'S own would rank-- Gargantuan draughts alone may lull it! A shandygaff "chute" _a la_ BOYTON would suit, Or of Pilsener lager a Nile or Niagara-- Would that it through my [oe]sophagus sank! I'd long to be NANSEN, that bold Norwegian, Who's off to the north like a sailor-troll; Dry land I prefer in my inmost soul, And his tub-like _Fram_ will pitch and roll, But she's bound at least for a glacial region! Or stay, to be sure! here's Professor D----R To cold can consign us untold degrees _minus_-- There's no need to visit the Northern Pole! With this decuman "heat-wave" I grow delirious, And babble a prayer to the Maid who sways The Weather-department (on working-days) Of the _Daily Graphic_--in crazy phrase-- The bale-fire to quench of far-distant Sirius! To the Man in the Moon at noon I croon For a lunatic boon, if that lone buffoon Can stay this canicular, perpendicular, Bang-on-my-forehead, horrid, torrid, Beaming, gleaming, and ever-streaming Blaze of rays that maze and daze!!

* * * * *

ROBERT AT THE MANSHUN HOUSE.

I have long nown as how as the present LORD MARE was one of the werry nicest, as well as one of the werry liberallists, of Lord Mares as we has had for many years, but I most suttenly did not kno, till larst Saturday, that, noticing, as he must have done, how shamefoolly the County Counsellors is a trying for to destroy the grand old Copperation, and take pusession of Gildhal and the Manshun House, he had the courage to assemble round his ospiterbel Table all the most princiblest of the great writers of our wunderful and powerful Press, and let them judge for theirselves whether sich a hinstitootion as he represented was worth preserwin or not! Ah, that was sumthink like a Bankwet that was! Why amost eweryboddy was there as was anyboddy. And the ony trubble as that caused was, that they was all so jolly glad to meet each other, under sitch unusual suckemstances, that nothink on airth coud keep em quiet, no, not ewen when the Amerrycan Embassader torked to em for about arf a nour!

One of the most distinguist of the skollars as I was waiting on told one of the most butiful Painters, in my hearing, as how he thort it wood be rayther a wise thing of all future Lord Mares if they himmitated the present LORD MARE'S exampel; and I wentur, with all umility, to say Ditto to the distinguisht Skoller. ROBERT.

* * * * *

GE-O-M-ETRICALLY CONSIDERED.--The illuminations were as good as they could be everywhere. The brilliant initials, "G. M.," wanted nothing to render them perfect. If that want had been supplied, then, as "nothing" is represented by a cipher, the initials would have commemorated the G. _O._ M.

* * * * *

FROM HENLEY TO THE OPERA ON THE NIGHT OF THE STATE PERFORMANCE.--"Rich and rare were the gems they wore;" and two ladies, with magnificent tiaras, if they had only shown up at Henley, would have won the prize for "_The Diamond Skulls_."

* * * * *

Mrs. R. caught sight of a heading in a daily paper--"Board of Trade Returns." Our old friend at once exclaimed. "Then where has the Board of Trade been to? Where is it returning from? I really don't call this attending to business."

* * * * *

* * * * *

FATHER WILLIAM.

(_Latest Anglo-Teutonic Version, as repeated to the Caterpillar of State by Alice, in Blunderland, from vague and mixed reminiscences of Southey, Lewis Carroll, and the Reports of the Debates in the British Parliament and the German Reichstag, concerning the Home-Rule Bill and the Army Bill respectively._)

"I'm afraid I am changed, Sir." said ALICE; "I can't remember things as I used--and I don't keep to the same author for ten minutes together!"

"Can't remember _what_ things?" said the Caterpillar of State.

"Well, I've tried to sing '_Rule, Britannia_', but it all came different, and got mixed up with '_The Watch on the Rhine_!'" ALICE replied, in a very melancholy voice.

"Repeat '_You are old, Father William_,'" said the Caterpillar of State.

ALICE folded her hands, and began:--

"Good-morrow!" the youth to the Woodcutter cried; "Father WILLIAM, you're 'sniggling,' I see!" With a smile of bland 'cuteness the Old Man replied, "Master WILLIAM, good morrow! I _be_!"

"You are old, Father WILLIAM," the young KAISER said, "And your hair, what there is of it, 's white; And yet you still stand at the Government's head-- Do you think, at your age, it is right?"

"Some twenty years since," Father WILLIAM replied, "I'd a passionate wish to retire; But as I grow younger each year, I have tried To subdue that untimely desire."

"You are old," said the youth, "yet your seat appears firm, You are still pretty good over timber; Your double back somersaults make your foes squirm. What keeps you so nimble and limber?"

"In my youth," said the Senior, "I kept all my limbs-- And some say my principles--supple; And that's why old age neither stiffens nor dims, And years with alertness I couple."

"You are old," said the youth, "and your 'jaw' should be weak, I've often heard BIZZY pooh-pooh it. Yet you polish off JOE, and tap GOSCHEN'S big beak; Pray, how do you manage to do it?"

"In _my_ youth," said the Sage, "Fair Debate was the law, And genuine Eloquence rife; And so in an age of mere Brummagem 'jaw' I can still hold my own in the strife."

"You are old," said the youth; "one would hardly suppose That your eye was as steady as ever; Yet you balance that eel on the end of your nose-- What makes you so awfully clever?"

"_You_ are young," smiled old WILL; "you don't yet understand. The point--of the eel--you'd be missing; But when you're an Old Parliamentary Hand You will find it as easy as kissing!"

"I've caught an eel, also," observed the young 'sniggler,' "_I_'m not, like you, beaked _a la_ Toucan; Mine's still smaller than yours, and a terrible wriggler; I wish I could work it as _you_ can!"

"The equilibrist's art," the Old Juggler replied, "Is not to be learned in a jiffy. With the help of your Eyes (_Ayes_), and your Nose (_Noes_), and good 'side,' You _may_ win--if you do not turn 'squiffy.'"

"That is not said right," said the Caterpillar of State.

"Not _quite_ right, I'm afraid," said ALICE, timidly; "some of the words have got altered."

"It is wrong from beginning to end," said the Caterpillar, decidedly; and there was silence for some minutes.

* * * * *

AN ORATOR "POUR RIRE."

(A STUDY IN HYDE PARK.)

_The Scene is that Forum for Fadmongers--the angle of the Park fronting Cumberland Gate. A large and utterly irreverent crowd is listening with cheerful intolerance to a Persevering Gentleman, of a highly respectable and almost scholarly appearance, who is addressing them from a three-legged stool on nothing in particular, though he has apparently committed himself by charging a certain Statesman with at least two political murders._

_The Orator_ (_haltingly_). We who are fighting the battle--(_uproarious laughter from_ Crowd, _which he endures with dignified resignation_)--I say--we who are fighting the battle!

_The Crowd._ 'Oo's talking about fightin' a battle?... _You_ wouldn't be 'ere if there was any battles about! 'E's a fair ole fraud, 'e is--that's about 'is sort! Shet up, you idiotic ole ass, do! (&c., &c.)

_The Orator_ (_patiently_). I say once more--we who are fighting the----(_Howls of derision, at which he smiles, but perceives, regretfully, that the battle must be abandoned._) One of my friends here has seen fit to describe me as an idiotic old ass. ("_So you are!_") Well, I am glad, at least, that he pronounced it _ass_ with the vowel short, and not ass, for it shows that he has at least a certain regard for the Queen's English (_The_ Crowd _hasten to give the vowel sound all the breadth in their power_). I think I was--(_here he consults a sheaf of notes_)--offering some remarks upon Mr. WILLIAM WOBLER. Now we are told, "Speak evil of no man!"

_The Crowd._ That's a good un! 'Oo spoke evil of Mr. BAGWIND jest now?

_The Orator_ (_mildly hurt_). I never said a single unkind word about Mr. BAGWIND!

_The Crowd._ Yer lie! Why, didn't you say as he murdered JETTISON and SCAPEGOAT? Wot yer call _that_, eh?

_The Orator._ I may have made some such observation--but far be it from me to speak evil of any man. If I spoke evil, it was on public grounds. I should scorn to attack any individual in his private character. I think I have satisfactorily answered _that_ matter. And I tell you this--it is largely owing to me that Mr. WILLIAM WOBLER owes his seat in Parliament to-day! (_His hearers receive this with frank incredulity._) Ah, but it _is_, though, and I denounce him, as I have denounced him before, and _shall_ denounce him while I have power to raise my voice, as a man who has proved himself utterly unworthy of the efforts I have made on his behalf. Some people are saying they want THOMAS TIDDLER in North Paddington. I say--_Never!_ Not as long as I've breath in my body shall THOMAS TIDDLER be returned for any constituency! No, gentlemen: here I stand before you, with no money, and only one lung. I have rich and high relations, to whom I might apply for relief if I condescended to do so; but I scorn to abase myself in any such manner. I prefer to appeal to you, the people of London. It's a disgrace--a public disgrace--that you people should allow such a man as myself to walk the streets without food! (_A voice._ "Why don't yer _work_?") Work? Am I _not_ working? Am I not in my proper place here to-night?

_The Crowd_ (_with hearty unanimity_). No!

_The Orator_ (_with exultation_). Then support me in the name of all you hold dear! I have my work to accomplish, and I _shall_ accomplish it by the aid of the People's pence, by the aid of the People's sixpences,--aye, and by the aid of the People's _shillings_! _Will_ you help me?

_The Crowd_ (_more heartily than ever_). No!

_The Orator._ Then I will now proceed to make a collection.

[_He descends from his stool, and circulates among the crowd proffering a highly respectable hat. A_ Rival Orator _mounts the stool; he has a straw hat, side whiskers, and a style of concentrated and withering invective_.

_The Rival Orator_ (_fluently, and with much enjoyment of his own eloquence_). I shall preface what I have to say by protesting in the strongest terms at my disposal against the most disgraceful attack we have had the pain of listening to to-night, against the character of a Statesman we all revere, by the unspeakably offensive and degraded individual with a black coat, a clean collar, and only one lung, who has just concluded his contemptible remarks, and is now debasing himself, if possible, still further by going round cringing, actually cringing, for the miserable halfpence which he hopes his foul-mouthed virulence will extract from the more foolish among his hearers! (_Applause at this spirited opening; the_ First Orator _imperturbably continues to protrude his hat_.) I have no hesitation in saying that if such language as he has favoured us with was uttered against a public man in any other community, in any other country, in any other hemisphere in the civilized globe, the audience would have risen in righteous indignation, and chased the cowardly aggressor back to the vile den from whose obscurity he would have done better never to emerge! Gentlemen, he has appealed to your sympathy on the ground, forsooth, that he has only one lung! I venture to assert that it is nothing short of a public calamity that he _is_ the possessor of one lung; for had he none at all, he would have been incapable of outraging the general intelligence by the utterance of such sentiments as he has disgusted you by this evening. When I first became acquainted with this man, before he had sunk into the besotted state in which he now wallows, he used, I remember, to condemn the practice of making a public collection. Now I've never been against that practice myself. _I_ hold that a man who is capable of attracting an audience by such gifts of oratory as he may possess, is perfectly justified in making a collection afterwards, whether he requires the money or not. But this person has become so degraded, so destitute of any sense of honour, so soaked and sodden with gin, that he now turns round on the principles he once professed, and is to be seen going round with a hat laden with the coppers of those who are infinitely worse off than--judging from his dress and prosperous appearance--he evidently is himself!

_The First Orator_ (_exhibiting his empty hat_). It don't look much like it at present, GABBITT!

_Mr. Gabbitt._ He has boasted to you of having rich relations, and said he scorned to apply to them. I want to know why, instead of coming here begging to you, he _don't_ go to them?

_The First Orator._ I've _been_, GABBITT.

_Mr. G._ (_triumphantly_). You hear? he's been to them. That proves they've found him out; they know him for the grovelling soaker he is, a wretch tottering on the verge of delirium tremens, and, rightly, they'll have nothing to do with him. It's very possible, gentlemen, that he _may_ have rich relations in the place where most of us have rich relations--I refer to the workhouse! (_Cheers and laughter._) And it is this wretch, this indescribable mixture of meanness and malignity, who has dared to come here and charge Mr. BAGWIND with crime! He asked you--and let him not deny it now--"What about Mr. SCAPEGOAT?" Well, there may be a good many things about Mr. SCAPEGOAT, but what I tell _you_ is--an observation like that is one that doesn't convey any concrete idea whatever; in short, it is the observation of a drivelling and confirmed lunatic!

_Voice in the Crowd._ With on'y one lung; don't forgit that, ole man!

_Mr. G._ (_magnanimously_). No, I've done with his lung, now; it doesn't do to carry personalities too far, and I've disposed of that already, and have no desire to return to it. And, as I observe that the wretched object of the strictures which I have felt it my duty to express, has concluded his efforts with the hat, and met with the freezing contempt and indifference which are only to be expected from intelligent and fair-minded men like yourselves, I will now bring my exposure of the sophistries, the base insinuations, and the incoherent maunderings which he had the effrontery to impose upon your understandings as argument, to a premature close, and proceed to make a collection on my own account, and thereby afford you the opportunity of showing on which side your real sympathies and your confidence are enlisted.

[_He goes round with the straw hat, which his delighted audience fill liberally with the coppers that the previous speaker has ignominiously failed to extract from them. But the tender-hearted Reader may be relieved to hear that, as soon as the crowd has dispersed, the victor shares the proceeds of his eloquence in the handsomest manner with his adversary, who shows a true elevation of mind in betraying no abiding resentment at his oratorical defeat. So may all such contests terminate--as, for that matter, they generally do._

* * * * *

"THE PLAY IS NOT THE THING."

(_A Farce which is running in most of the London Theatres, but which should not be tolerated for a single Night._)

SCENE--_Auditorium of the T. R.----during the performance of a Modern Comedy. Enter a party of four_ Playgoers _into private box_.

_First Playgoer._ Rather a pity it has begun! I always like to see a play from first to last. Don't you?

_Second P._ Quite. So much more interesting. Of course if you don't catch what they say at first, how on earth can you catch the idea of the plot?

_Third P._ Not that the plot matters much nowadays. All dialogue, don't you know? Smart hits at somebody, and all that sort of thing.

_Fourth P._ Quite. Really better fun than the other sort of thing. Much better fun to have to listen to epigrams and all that sort of thing, than to have to follow something or other with interest.

_Second P._ Quite. In fact, nowadays, you can come in when you like, and listen to what you like.

_Third P._ Yes, much better plan, than having to take it all in. Think it a first-rate idea to allow talking all through, instead of keeping that sort of thing until between the Acts.

_Second P._ Quite. Between the Acts a fellow wants to smoke. Much jollier to talk when the other fellows are talking too. Divide the labour with them--half the conversation on one side the Curtain, half on the other.

_Fourth P._ Capital idea, and much less fatiguing than the old style. Fancy having to take it all in! Why, ten years ago, one had to get up a play as if one had to pass an examination in it next morning! Awful bosh!

_Second P._ Quite. No, it's much jollier to chat. Is there anyone in the house you know?

_First P._ Only that Johnnie over there! The fellow in the dinner-jacket, who's gone to sleep. He's rather a sportsman. (_Applause._) Hallo! What's that row about?

_Third P._ End of the First Act. I say, you fellows, I don't think there's much in the piece, so far.

_Fourth P._ I am blest if I know what it's all about.

_First P._ More do I.

_Second P._ And I. Why should we stay any longer? Seems awful rot.

_Fourth P._ Quite. Let's go to a Music-Hall, where we can smoke and chat.

_First P._ Quite.

[_Exeunt the party, to the great relief of the remainder of the Audience._

_Curtain._

* * * * *

* * * * *

AN OMISSION IN LAST WEEK'S CEREMONIAL ACCOUNTED FOR.--It was first proposed to make a _detour_ from Piccadilly by way of Park Lane, Stanhope Street, and so forth, round again to Piccadilly. But as H. R. H. the Duke of YORK pointed out, there was no necessity for specially visiting May Fair, as from start to finish he took MAY Fair with him.

* * * * *

PUNCH'S "GOD-SPEED" TO THE POLE-SEEKERS.

[Dr. FRIDTJOF NANSEN'S Arctic Expedition sailed from Christiania in the _Fram_ on June 24.]

So Dr. FRIDTJOF NANSEN'S off! Cynics will chuckle, and pessimists scoff. What a noodle, that Norroway chap, Who'd drift to the Pole to--complete our map! Year after year in the broad-beam'd _Fram_, Far from Society's "Real Jam," Away from the fjords, and Five o'Clock Tea, Amidst the ice of the Kara Sea; Certain of darkness, discomfort, and frost, With an excellent prospect of getting lost, Crunched in the ice-pack, frozen, or starved, Whilst Mansion-House Banquets are being carved; Over the snow like pale ghosts flitting, Missing the sweets of an All-Night Sitting! Alone in a canvas-bottom'd bunk, When gossip is gabbled, and toasts are drunk, Where Good Society's geese gregarious, Hiss malignant, or cackle hilarious! Well, who knows? Those Arctic snows May bore _men_ less than our Social Shows; And utter aridity starve the soul More in the House than the Northern Pole! Here's to NANSEN! Here's to his crew! We know they'll venture what men may do. Good luck and good cheer be Heaven's gift To the _Fram_ and her men on that long, long drift! And if they win through the Polar pack, May _Punch_ be foremost to welcome them back.

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

_House of Commons, Monday, July 3._--The fat in the fire again. Who put it there? "I," said JOEY C., "with my ready ladle; I swooped it in." So he did, lighting up with sudden flame embers that seemed quite dead. At end of speech on WOLMER'S Amendment, seeing JOHN DILLON sitting opposite, asked him what about few remarks made at Castlerea, in which he had threatened, when Irishmen came to their own on College Green, they would have police, sheriffs, and bailiffs, under their control, and would "remember" their enemies? DILLON, amid scene of tumultuous excitement, admitted that phrase not in itself defensible, but pleaded that words had been spoken amid great provocation. The massacre at Mitchelstown had taken place just before; its memories were hot within him, and, out of the indignation of his heart, his tongue had spoken.

As DILLON urged this plea, T. W. RUSSELL made a hurried remark in JOSEPH'S ear. J. smiled grimly; the Lord had delivered the enemy into his hand. Some men would have maimed their chance, if not spoiled the game, by jumping up with hot interruption, and hurriedly exposed the blunder upon which DILLON had stumbled. JOSEPH never loses his head. He lay low, sayin' nuffin', but regarding the unconscious victim opposite with dangerously smiling face. When DILLON sat down, the crowded House plainly moved by his effective speech, JOSEPH literally leaped to his feet, and flung across the floor the most complete and dramatic blow ever dealt at a man in House of Commons. It was Mitchelstown, was it, that had rankled in DILLON'S breast when he uttered the phrase he now regretted? Would the House believe that the massacre at Mitchelstown took place on September 9, 1887, and this speech at Castlerea was made on December 5, 1886?

"Remember Mitchelstown!" JOHN DILLON had remembered it nine months and four days before it had taken place. Several moments the Unionists cheered, JOSEPH standing with accusatory finger pointed at JOHN DILLON, who sat silent with folded arms, the habitual pallor of his face changed to a ghastlier white.

"My dear JOHN," I said to him later, "how on earth could you make such a terrible mistake? The only amelioration it has is that it was so stupendous and obvious that it was plainly stumbled upon without intent or purport to deceive."

"Thank you, TOBY," said JOHN DILLON. "I suppose that is clear enough to the generous mind. But I know a blunder is sometimes worse than a crime. The fact is, about the time I spoke at Castlerea, things were so bad in Ireland, the police so little hesitating to shoot, that I got mixed up in my dates, and remembered Mitchelstown when I was thinking about something else."