Part 2

_Mr. Cockcr. (reddening)._ I 'ope I'm above being affected by the opinion any man may express of my conversation--especially a cantankerous feller, who can't keep his temper under decent control. A feller who goes and breaks his umbrella over an unoffending official's 'ead like that, and gets, very properly, locked up for it! Jerrymere society isn't good enough for him, it seems. He won't be troubled with much of it in future--_I_ can assure him! Upon my word, now I come to think of it, I'm not sure he shouldn't be called upon for an explanation of how he came to be travelling without a ticket; it looks very much to me as if he'd been systematically defrauding the Company!

_Mr. Filk._ Well, I didn't like to say so before; but that's been _my_ view all along!

_Mr. Balch._ And mine.

_Mr. Sibb._ Now perhaps you understand why we'd rather leave it to you to give him the arm-chair.

_Mr. Cockcr._ _I_ give a man an arm-chair for bringing disgrace on the 'ole of Jerrymere! I'd sooner break it up for firewood! Whoever it was that first started all this tomfoolery about a testimonial, I'm not going to 'ave _my_ name associated with it, and if you'll take _my_ advice, you'll drop it once and for all, for it's only making yourselves ridiculous! [_His companions, observing that he is in a somewhat excited condition, consider it advisable to change the subject._

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OPERATIC NOTES.

_Tuesday, June 27._--_Faust_, in French. JEAN DE RESZKE was to have been _Faust_, but the "vaulting ambition" of the eminent Polish tenor led him to attempt a high jump with another Pole--the leaping-pole--and whether he had not his compatriot well in hand, or whether, "with love's light wings," _Romeo_ did _not_ manage to "o'ertop" the highest note above the line, deponent sayeth not, but this much is known, that he fell at the high jump, and, feeling the pain first in the under part of his foot, and then in the leg, he exclaimed, with _Hamlet_, "O my prophetic sole, my ankle!" the result being that he appeareth not to-night as _Faust_. If Frere JEAN DE RESZKE is going on by "leaps and bounds" in this manner, he will be known as "Brother JOHN the Risky." Madame NORDICA happy as _Marguerite_--at least she looked it, for even in the most tragic scenes there is always a sweet smile on her dimpled cheeks. Mlle. BAUERMEISTER makes a _Marta_ of herself as the merry old dame; Mlle. GUERCIA, as _Siebel_, is a Siebeline mystery; LASSALLE, as _Valentine_, pleases _la salle_; but Brother EDWARD "_prends le gateau_" as _Mephistopheles_.

_Wednesday._--_Tristan und Isolde_, which may be rendered _Triste 'un und I solde-not-so-many-tickets-as-usual_, or _Triste 'un und I'm Sold_. "The fourth of the WAGNER Cycle." If there are eight of them then this is the Bi-Cycle, but there's more woe than weal in it, and though extracts may be relished by the learned amateur, yet, as a whole, WAGNER'S _Tristan_ does not attract our opera-going public.

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MEM.--No Nursery of Music can possibly be complete without "Leading-Strings."

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TO THE FRENCH OARSMEN.

(_From Mr. Punch, at Henley._)

Here's a hand, my fine fellows; in friendship you come, And _Punch_, who likes courage, would scorn to be dumb. He greets you with cheers; may your shades ne'er diminish, Though you row forty-four from the start to the finish. You will bear yourselves bravely, and merit your fame, For brave man and Frenchman mean mostly the same. We shall do what we can--it's our duty--to beat you, But we know it will take a tough crew to defeat you. And whatever the upshot, howe'er the race ends, You and we, having struggled, shall always be friends. So accept, while we cheer you again and again, This welcome from Thames to his sister, the Seine.

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SKINNERS AND SKINNED.--One portion of the ancient award of Sir ROBERT BILLESDON, Lord Mayor of London, in settling a dispute between the Skinners and Merchant Taylors, was, that these two Companies should dine together once a year. Mr. Justice BRUCE, alluding to this at the banquet on Skinners Day, when, as was natural, many lawyers were present, suggested that it would be a good thing if power were given to judges to "condemn litigants to dine together, and to order that the costs of the dinner should come out of the Consolidated Fund"--a very good notion. The idea might be extended to entertaining Wards in Chancery, of whom two unhappy infants the other day were had up at the Police Court for picking and stealing, in order to feed themselves and keep themselves alive until they should reach the age when they would come into their Chancery-bound property of something like L20,000. The magistrate ordered an inquiry, but of "subsequent proceedings" we have not as yet seen any record.

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"HYMEN HYMENAEE!!!"

JULY 6, 1893.

["Bid her awake; for Hymen is awake!"

_Spenser's Epithalamion._

"A contract of true love to celebrate; And some donation freely to estate On the bless'd lovers."--_The Tempest._]

Hymen, the rose-crowned, is in sooth awake, And all the world with him! Shall drowsy opiate dim The eyes of Love to-day? No, let all slake A loyal thirst in bumpers, for Love's sake, Full beaded to the brim!

Like the Venusian's "mountain stream that roars From bank to bank along, When autumn rains are strong,"[A] A deep-mouthed People lifts its voice, and pours Its welcome forth, that like a Paean soars In strains more sweet than song.

More sweet than song, in that it straightway comes, Unfeigned, from frank hearts; From loyal lips it starts, Unprompted, undragooned. The highway hums With the full sound of it. Fifes, trumpets, drums Bravely may play their parts.

In the Imperial pageant, but the swell Of the free English shout Strikes sweeter--who dares doubt?-- On Royal ears. Music of marriage bell Clang on, and let the gold-mouth'd organ tell Of love and praise devout!

But the crowd's vigorous clamour has a voice Finer and fuller still; A passion of goodwill Rings, to our ears, through all the exuberant noise, Which the recipient's heart should more rejoice Than all Cecilia's skill.

So rivals for Apollo's laurel wreath May loudly strike the lyre, "To love, and young desire;"[B] But "bold and lawless numbers grow beneath"[B] The people's praise, and give the crowd's free breath A "mastering touch of fire."[B]

"Hymen, O Hymen!" beauteous ladies cry, "Hymen, O Hymen!" loud Shout forth the echoing crowd The city through; patricians perched on high, And the plebeian patient plodding by, Raise incense like a cloud.

And Hymen's here, kind eye on all to keep, Hymen, with roses crowned, Leads on the Lion, bound In floral bonds and blossom-bridled, deep In scattered flowers. Your lyres ye laureates sweep, And marriage measures sound!

Not Una's guardian more gladly bare Burden more pleasant--pure! With footing gently sure Leo on-paces. Hymen's torch in air Flames fragrantly. Was ever Happy Pair So served, or so secure?

Take the rose-reins, young bridegroom; bridled so Leo's not hard to ride. Sweet MAY, the new-made bride, Will find her lion palfrey-paced. And lo! The genial god's unfailing torch aglow Burns bravely at her side!

Epithalamia seem out of date; Hymen cares not to-day To trill a fulsome lay, Or hymn High Bridals with Spenserian state. Goodwill to goodness simply dedicate,-- Such homage _Punch_ would pay.

"Hymen, O Hymen!" Like this torch's flame, Bright be your wedded days! May a proud people's praise, Well earned, be your award of honest fame; And on each gracious head, Light may it lie, the crown you yet may claim, As rest these roses red!

[Footnote A: HORACE, "Ad Iulum Antonium," Ode 2, Book IV.]

[Footnote B: HORACE--_ut supra._]

* * * * *

A TALE OF THE ALHAMBRA.

Mons. JACOBI is a wonderful man. The undefeated hero of a hundred ballets--there or thereabouts--still beats time and the record with his baton at the Alhambra; and his music, specially composed for _Fidelia_, is to be reckoned among his ordinary triumphs. _Fidelia_ is "a new Grand Romantic Ballet," in four tableaux, and its performance justifies its promise. It is "new," it is decidedly "grand," it is absorbingly "romantic," and there's no denying that it is a _Ballet d'action_. But, as in the oft-quoted reply when little _Peterkin_ asked "what it was all about," so will the ballet-case-hardened spectator say, "'Why that I cannot tell,' quoth he, 'But 'twas a splendid victory!'" Somebody, possibly one _Tartini_, played by Signorina CORMANI, is in love with _Fidelia_, Signorina POLLINI, as naturally anyone would be; when a comic servant, Mr. GEORGE LUPINO, is frightened by a Demon Fiddler with his fiddle (both being played by PAGANINI REDIVIVUS) who either assists the lovers or does his best to prevent their coming together, I am not quite clear which. Up to the last it seemed doubtful whether the Demon Doctor was a good or bad spirit, or a little mixed. His appearance is decidedly against him, as he looks the very deuce. But I am inclined to think that he was a "_bon diable_," and was doing everything, as everybody else on the stage and in the orchestra does, for the best. After all, and before all, the show is the thing, and this will rank, as it does now, among the best of the greatest attractions hitherto provided by the Alhambra Company for an appreciative public and for

YOUR REPRESENTATIVE.

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OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

Madam DARMESTETER'S _Retrospect and other Poems_ is turned out by FISHER UNWIN in that dainty dress with which he has made attractive his Cameo Series. We used to know Madam DARMESTETER as Miss MARY F. ROBINSON, a writer of charming verse. That in her new estate she has not lost the old touch is witnessed by several pieces in this volume, notably the first, which supplies the title. The penultimate verse of this little lyric is most musical. There are several others nearly as good. But occasionally Madam writes sad stuff. Of such is _The Death of the Count of Armaniac_, of which this verse is a fair sample:

"ARMANIAC, O ARMANIAC, Why rode ye forth at noon? Was there no hour at even, No morning cool and boon?"

My Baronite, though not yet entered for the Poet Laureateship, thinks that kind of thing might be reeled off by the mile. Why not

My Maniac, O my Maniac, Why rode ye forth at eve? Was there no hour at morning tide, No water in the sieve?

Three years ago an American firm issued a princely edition of _The Memoir of Horace Walpole_, written by AUSTIN DOBSON. It was too expensive for mere Britishers, and only a small number of copies found their way to this country. But the literary work was so excellent, that it was pronounced a pity it should be entombed in this costly sarcophagus. Messrs. OSGOOD, MCILVAINE, & CO. have now brought out an edition, in a single handsome volume, at a reasonable price. HORACE WALPOLE has often been written about since he laid down the pen, but never by a more sympathetic hand than Mr. DOBSON'S, nor by one bringing to the task fuller knowledge of WALPOLE'S time and contemporaries. The charm of style extends even to the notes, usually in books of this class a tantalising adjunct. Mr. DOBSON'S are so full of information, and so crisply told, that they might with advantage have been incorporated in the text. The volume contains facsimiles of HORACE WALPOLE'S handwriting, an etching of LAWRENCE'S portrait, and a reproduction of the sketch of Strawberry Hill which illustrated the catalogue of 1774. Altogether a delightful book that will, my Baronite says, take its place on a favourite shelf of the library that has grown up round the memory of one of the most interesting figures of the Eighteenth Century.

THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

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WEAR AND TEAR IN AFRICA.

[In the report on the proposed Mombasa Railway, it is suggested that the station-buildings should be enclosed with a strong live-thorn palisade, impenetrable to arrows.]

SCENE--_A Station on the Mombasa Railway._

_New Station-Master_ (_to_ Telegraph Clerk). Did you send my message this morning, asking for a consignment of revolvers and arrow-proof shields?

_Telegraph Clerk._ Yes, Sir. I can't make out why we haven't had an answer. Something may have gone wrong with the wires. I sent one of the porters to examine them. Ah, here he comes.

_A Porter arrives._

_Porter._ Just as I thought, Sir. Them blessed niggers have run short of cash, and they've bin and took a mile of our best wire.

_Station-Master._ Taken a mile of wire? What the deuce do you mean?

_Porter._ Ah, Sir, you're new to this 'ere job. Fact is, they can all buy theirselves a wife a-piece for two yards of our wire; and as there was a raid last week, and all their wives was made off with, they've just bin and took our telegraph wire to buy theirselves a new lot.

_Station-Master._ Dear me, how very provoking. I must make a report of this occurrence immediately! But what does this crowd in the distance mean?

_Porter._ Why bless my heart, it's a Wednesday, and I'd quite forgotten all about it. They always attacks us of a Wednesday, but they're a good half hour earlier than last week.

_Station-Master._ This is very strange, very strange indeed. I doubt if the directors will approve of this. (_An arrow pierces him in the calf of the leg._) Oh, I say, you know, this will never do. Close the points--I mean shut the doors and barricade the windows. Let us at least die as railway men should.

_Porter._ Lor' bless you, Sir, we shan't die. We've only got to pick off two or three dozen of 'em, and the rest will skip in no time.

[_They retire within the palisade, and during the next half hour fight for their lives._

_Telegraph Clerk_ (_plucking three arrows out of his left leg_). Things are getting a bit hot. Hurrah! here's the 5.30 down express with revolvers and ammunition. Now we shall settle 'em.

[_Arrival of the express. Retreat of the natives._

_Station-Master._ I don't think I quite like this life. I'm going to off it.

[_Offs it accordingly._

* * * * *

AN OLD MAN'S MUSINGS.

(_After an Afternoon Pipe, at Nazareth House, Hammersmith._)

["Here again, clustered close round the fire Are a number of grizzle-lock'd men, every one is a true 'hoary sire.' Bowed, time-beaten, grey, yet alert and responsive to kindness of speech; And see how old eyes can light up if you promise a pipe-charge to each. For the comforting weed KINGSLEY eulogised is not taboo in this place, Where the whiff aromatic brings not cold reproval to Charity's face."

"_An Autumn Afternoon at Nazareth House._" _Punch, Nov. 5, 1892._]

I don't just know who KINGSLEY was, but he was a good sort, I reckon! When nerves are slack and spirits low, the glowing pipe-bowl seems to beckon Like a good ghost or spirit kind to the fireside where age reposes. Yes! bacca makes an old man's chair as easeful as a bed of roses.

Bad habit! So the strict ones say; expensive, wasteful, and un-Christian! I cannot argue of it out; I'm only a poor old Philistian. But oh the comfort of a pipe, the company it lends the lonely! It seems the poor soul's faithful friend, and oftentimes the last and only.

Thanks be, they're not the hard sort _here_, in Nazareth House. The gentle sisters Take on a many helpful task; some of 'em, I misdoubt, are twisters. I don't suppose our "shag"-fumes seem as sweet to them as to us others; But--well, they do not treat us here as badged machines, but human brothers.

Stranded, alone, at seventy-five, after a life of luckless labour, One feels what 'tis to be esteemed not as a nuisance, but a neighbour; A neighbour in the Good Book's sense; a poor one, and a helpless, truly, But--_not_ a plague, who'll live too long, if he is cossetted unduly.

Lawks me, the difference! Don't you know the chilly scorn, the silent snubbing Which makes a man, as _is_ a man, feel he'd far rather take a drubbing? Old age and workhouse-duds may hide a deal of nature--from outsiders; But do you think old "crocks" can't _feel_, when they're shrunk from, like snails or spiders?

After my dinner, with my "clay," stringed round the stem, that gums, now toothless, May grip it firmer, here I sit and muse; and memory's sometimes ruthless In bringing up a blundering past. We own up frank, me and my fellows, Where we've gone wrong, and, in regrets employ our wheezy, worn old bellows.

What might have been, if--if--ah, _if_! That little word, of just two letters, Stops me worse than a five-barred gate. I wonder if it does my betters? We never tire round Winter's fire, or settle-ranged in Summer weather, Of telling of the wandering ways by which we gathered _here_ together.

If some who prate of paupers' ways, their tantrums, or their love of snuffing, Their fretting at cold, hard-fast rules, their fancy for sly bacca-puffing, Could only scan the paupers' past a little closer than their mode is, They'd learn that still some sparks of soul burn in those broken-down old bodies.

And soul does kick at iron rules, and icy ways. Old blood runs chilly, And craves the heat, of love, fire, pipe, to warm it up like. Very silly, No doubt, from BUMBLE'S point of view! _Here_ we're held human, though so humble; And, Heaven be blessed!--at Nazareth House we've never known the rule of BUMBLE.

The very old and very young are much alike in many a matter; Comfort and cheeriness we want, play or a pipe, romps or a chatter. The Nazareth Sisterhood know this, and what is more, they work according. 'Tis love and comfort make a Home, without 'em 'tis bare roof and boarding!

Bitter-sweet memories come sometimes; but a gay burst of baby-laughter,-- For we all _laugh_ at Nazareth House!--will banish gathering blues. And after? Well, there's the free-permitted whiff, the "old-boy" gossip, low but cheery; Rest and a Sister's sunny smile soon drive off whim and whig-maleery.

And so laid up, like some old hulk that can no more hope for commission, I sit, and muse, and puff; and wait that last great change in man's condition That shifts us to that Great High House to which the Sisters point us daily; Awaiting which in homely ease, Old Age dwells calmly if not gaily.

* * * * *

INTELLIGENCE A L'AMERICAINE.

_Telegram No. 1._--Nothing could have been more terrible than the scene following upon the earthquake. The houses sank through the ground, and immediately a number of lions, tigers, and poisonous serpents, attracted by the unusual occurrence, sprang upon the poor inhabitants, and by their fierce attacks increased their misfortune. But this was not all. Men and women, using swords, battle-axes, and revolvers, fought amongst themselves, until the commotion created by the landslip assumed the appearance of a pandemonium. At this moment, to make confusion worse confounded, a heavy storm broke over the fast-disappearing village, and thunderbolts fell like peas expelled through a peashooter. As if this were not enough, several prairie fires crept up, and the flames augmented the general discomfort. Take it all and all, the sight was enough to make the cheek grow pale with terror and apprehension.

_Telegram No. 2._--Please omit lions, tigers, poisonous serpents, swords, battle-axes, revolvers, thunderbolts, prairie fires and cheek. They were forwarded in Telegram No. 1 owing to a clerical error.

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MRS. R. STARTLED.--"Most extraordinary things are reported in the papers!" observed Mrs. R. "Only the other day I either heard or read that there was a dangerous glazier somewhere about in the Caucasus, that he was using horrible language, and threatening to d---- you'll excuse my using such a word--the Terek (whoever he may be), and that then he was going to amuse--no, the word was 'divert'--somebody. Clearly a lunatic. But who can be diverted by such antics? And why don't they lock up the glazier?" [_On referring to the report, her nephew read that "A glacier was causing great alarm." &c., &c., that it was expected temporarily to "dam the Terek, and divert a vast body of water_," &c.]

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ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

_House of Commons, Monday, June 26._--Hardly knew House to-night. Benches mostly empty; few present seemed to have no fight in them. Little round at outset on Betterment principle. Members roughly and not inaccurately illustrated it by staying outside. "In principle," said PHILIPPE EGALITE, "the Terrace is Better meant for this weather than the House." Mr. G. in his place, listening eagerly to speeches by KIMBER, FERGUSSON, and other oratorical charmers. Generally believed that he had gone off to Hatchlands for holiday; nothing for him to do here; Home-Rule debate postponed till Wednesday; Supply, in meantime, might well be left to Minister in charge.

"The fact is, TOBY," said Mr. G., when I remarked upon the pleasurable surprise of finding him in his place, "I really did think of making a little holiday, staying away till Wednesday. But when I got up this morning, looked round at green fields and lofty trees, they irresistibly reminded me of benches in House of Commons, and the pillars that support the gallery. Then the sunlit sky is very nice in its way; but do you know anything softer, more translucent or attractive than the light that floods the House of Commons from the glass roof? The more I thought of these things the more restless I grew amid tame attractions of rural life. This morning it might have been said of me, in the words of the poet,

Although my body's down at Hatchlands My soul has gone aloft----