Part 2

_Sanitary Engineer Blochdrähn_ (_enters by door_). Aha, so you've got your husband thoroughly in hand, as usual, eh, Mrs. FRÜYSECK? (_To the others._) I bring glorious news. I have just been called in to see to the Schoolhouse drains _again!_ I only laid them last Autumn; but there seems to be a leakage somewhere. Quite a big piece of new work, really!

_Mopsa._ And you are beaming with joy over _that?_

_San. Eng. Bloch._ I am indeed. And afterwards I have several important drains to disconnect at the great new hotel in Christiania, and the most tremendous scientific safeguards to grapple with and overthrow. What a glorious thing it is to be a plumber and make a little extra work for oneself in the world! Miss MOPSA, can I persuade you to take a little turn in the garden? Do!

[_Offers his arm._

_Mopsa_ (_takes it_). Oh, I don't mind--provided you don't talk either shop or sentiment.

[_They go out together._

_Spreta_ (_looks after them_). What a pity it is that MOPSA can't take more to that Mr. BLOCHDRÄHN, _isn't_ it, ALFRED?

[_Looks searchingly at him._

_Alfred_ (_wriggles_). Oh--er--I don't know. For then we should see so much less of her.

_Spreta_ (_vehemently_). Oh, come! So much the better! (_Clutching him round the neck._) I want you all to myself, ALFRED. I love you so much I could throttle you. I've a good mind to, as it is!

_Alfred_ (_choking_). You _are!_ My loyal, proud, true-hearted SPRETA, d-don't!

[_Gently releases himself._

_Spreta._ You have ceased to care for me. Don't deny it, ALFRED!

[_Bursts into convulsive weeping._

_Alfred._ I will frankly admit that, like most married Norwegians, I am--h'm--subject to the Law of Change.

_Spreta_ (_with increasing excitement_). I saw that so plainly last night. I sent out for some champagne, ALFRED, expressly for _you_. And you didn't drink a drop of it!

[_Looks bitterly at him._

_Alfred._ I knew the brand. (_With a gesture of repulsion._) Gooseberry, my dear, gooseberry!

_Spreta._ You never even kissed me, either. But you can kiss _MOPSA!_ ALFRED, if you imagine _I_ am the kind of person to play gooseberry----

_Alfred._ Need dramatic dialogue descend to these sordid details? Really this is verging on a mere vulgar row! And when you know, too, how I have always regarded MOPSA almost as a sort of sister!

_Spreta._ I know that sort of sister, ALFRED. She comes from Norway! But I am none of your fish-blooded Mrs. SOLNESSES, or half-witted BEATA ROSMERS, and I'm not going to _stand_ it! I decline to share you with anything or anybody--whether it's a thick fat book that never gets even begun, or a designing minx that helps you in your precious "vocation," or a gorging little mongrel, with his evil red and green eyes, that I'm often tempted to wish at the bottom of the fiord!

[_Confused cries and barks are heard outside._

_Alfred_ (_shocked_). SPRETA! When I am going to bring all his desires into harmony with his digestion! _How_ unkind of you! (_Looks out for a moment._) What in the world are all the dogs barking at down there?

_San. Eng. Bloch._ (_re-entering with_ MOPSA, _by glass door_). Only some organ-grinder's monkey. They have just frightened it into the fiord. _Such_ fun!

_Alfred_ (_in an agony of dread_). Can it be our Little----? But he is burying bones in the back garden. And he is not a _monkey_, either. And if he were, monkeys can all swim.... What are they saying now?... Hush!

_San. Eng. Bloch._ (_leans over verandah railings_). They say, "He is still shouldering the little musket!"

_Alfred_ (_almost paralysed_). The little----it _is_ MOPSËMAN! I taught him to do it so thoroughly! (_With outstretched arms._) He cannot shoulder a musket and swim too! (_Glancing darkly at_ SPRETA.) Woman, you have your wish! Henceforth my life will be one long rankle of remorse!

[_Sinks down in the armchair._

_Mopsa_ (_with an affectionate expression in her eyes_). Not _alone_, ALFRED! We will rankle together--just you and I.

_Alfred_ (_rises, half distracted_). Oh, my gracious goodness!

[_He rushes down into the garden_

* * * * *

THE BATTLE OF EVESHAM.

WHO WON IT?

DEAR SIR,--The answer to this question is simplicity itself--my League did it. We got the Labourers Allotments and we gained our _quid pro quo_ (this phrase has kindly been supplied by a distinguished patron of ours) in votes. All efforts to prove that IMPEY'S the friend, not LONG, were in vain. But the credit that it was not so is ours.

THE SECRETARY OF THE TRULY RURAL LABOURERS' LEAGUE.

DEAR SIR,--From careful inquiries made in London, I'm convinced that the principles underlying our League resulted in Colonel LONG'S return. Englishmen are, after all, sportsmen; and Worcestershire is an integral portion of England. If more proof is wanted, I need only mention that only one day before the polling we received an application from Evesham for the formation of a local branch.

THE SEC. OF THE SPORTIVE LEAGUE.

DEAR SIR,--_We_ did the trick. We had five canvassers per man in the division, and during the contest we paid 53,219 visits, leaving 2,159,549 leaflets. We've learnt our tactics from organ-grinders who are paid to go into the next street. Rather than keep us with them, the electors promise us their votes. Next please!

THE SECRETARY OF THE IRISH ULSTERICAL BRIGADE.

DEAR SIR,--I believe some were foolish enough to imagine that South Worcestershire men were going to abandon their COLLINGS to follow Home Rule. But, as I knew, it _could_ not be, and it was not. The agricultural labourer knows his friend when he sees him; and Colonel LONG is M.P. to-day because of the unceasing efforts of the Labourers' Friend,

J-SSE C-LL-NGS.

DEAR SIR,--It is very good of you to ask me my opinion. I think that the Evesham contest ended in the way it did because of (_a_) the Register, (_b_) the Floods, (_c_) the Out Voters, and (_d_) the Independent Labour Party. The connection with the last named may not be obvious. In point of fact, it isn't. But, as a true Liberal, I feel bound to allege it.

THE MAN WHO DID NOT GET IN.

DEAR SIR,--I gladly find time to answer the question,--"How did I win Evesham?" I won it because, whilst my opponent got only 3,585 votes, I polled 4,760. As 3,585 is, even to the naked eye, distinctly less than 4,760, I was declared elected. In my humble judgment--though I freely admit that I am an interested party--the Returning Officer took the only course that was open to him.

THE MAN WHO DID GET IN.

* * * * *

DERBY AND JOAN.

MODERN MIDLAND VERSION.

(_As Sung by Sir W-ll-am H-rc-urt._)

DERBY, dear, I am old and grey, Fifteen years since our wedding day! Shadow and shine for every one, As the years roll on. DERBY, dear, 'tis in vain they try To chill your heart, or to lure your eye. Ah! dear, we stick, now as then, The tenderest wife to the best of men. Always the same, DERBY my own. Always the same to your old Wife JOAN!

DERBY, dear, but I did feel riled When the Party on PRIMROSE smiled Until men whispered, the young Scotch lord, Has he greatly scored? DERBY, dear, I to Malwood went, My ain fireside, with a heart content. Ah! dear! though the Cause look queer, I feel so much better when you I'm near. Always the same, DERBY my own, Always the same to your old Wife, JOAN

Hand-in-hand we still go to-day, Hand-in-hand, spite what JOE can say. There comes a chance for every one, As the years roll on. Hand-in-hand, though the _Times_ may sneer. (Once to its columns my pen was dear.) Ah! dear! I'm sure of you, Though Scots go wrong, or the Welsh look blue. Always the same, DERBY my own, Always the same to your old Wife, JOAN! _Always_ the same to devoted JOAN!

* * * * *

* * * * *

"MEAT! MEAT!"

["We do not profess to assault every fortress and monopoly at the same moment. If we did we should get well thrashed for our pains. We take them one by one.... It must be left to those who have the responsibility of determining what is to be done, when it is to be done, and how it is to be done."--_Sir William Harcourt at Derby_.]

_Much-worried Cat's-meat Merchant loquitur:_--

Confound the cats and drat the dogs! _Sc-a-a-t, Mungo!_ Down, _Grimalkin!_ Ye jest carn't be all sarved at onst, an' so 'taint no use talkin'. I've lots o' stuff, ah! quite enough to give ye all yer dinners, If ye'll but kindly bide yer time, ye scurry-funging sinners! But not a mite! It's bark, yelp, bite; it's flurry, scurry, worry. Carn't use my knife upon my life! _Where_'s yer infarnal 'urry? At the big lump ye'd like to jump, each one o' ye, full gobble. If ye don't stop I'll shut up shop, and leave ye in a 'obble!

No time, I'm sure to slice and skewer. Ye're greedy, fierce, and narrer. Each wants fust glut, _and_ the best cut. Who'd keep a cat's-meat barrer? Bah! cat or dog, they're all agog, a-squabble and a-quiver For the best paunch, fust cut of haunch, or slice of shin or liver. Ye greedy brutes, beware my boots! Your yelping and your yow-ing, You scrub-haired pup, won't hurry me up; nor yet your shrill mol-rowing, You wild Welsh cat. What _are_ you at, you lurcher? Think you Labour Will benefit when you have bit or worried every neighbour?

Bless my old bones! your snarling tones, my angry Irish tarrier, Between you and the grub you'd grab will only raise a barrier. Your quarrelsome temper is your cuss, if you could only know it. You snap all round like some mad 'ound. Bite _your own tail_--ah! _go_ it! All cat-and-dog arter the prog, all savage, snappy, yappy, Upset the lot, and then I 'ope you'll all be bloomin' 'appy!

Yah! bust the pack o' ye, I says. Your shindy gives me dizziness. I'm arf inclined to chuck my "round," or else retire from bizziness. It's aggrawacious, that it is, arter such long years sarving ye, Picking ye out the chicest lumps, the primest slices carving ye, To be a-chivvied like this here! Here's lot o' fust-rate wittles, And with your chance of a blow-out you're jest a-playing skittles. Won't even give me time to carve, much less a chance to skewer. More 'aste less speed! You will not find a maxim wot's much truer, For dog, or cat. JACK, SANDY, PAT, _or_ TAFFY--whose first turn it is To-day by rights--your spitfire fights may go on for eternities, And bring no good, nor yet no food. _Wait_, and ye'll all 'ave suthink, But if you will _not_ take your turns, you'll none o' you get nothink!

* * * * *

"ABBEY THOUGHT!"--"_The Quest of the Holy Grail._"

These pictures are being exhibited just at the right time, when the Arthurian legend is attracting at the Lyceum. Mr. EDWIN A. ABBEY has been five years at work upon this most striking series. Their beauties are many: their faults very few, and when these are pointed out to the Anglo-American artist, he gaily replies, "What's the odds as long as I'm Abbey!" Which is true; as none but himself can be his parallel.

* * * * *

A WILDE "IDEAL HUSBAND."

Mr. OSCAR WILDE'S _Ideal Husband_, at the Haymarket, is an interesting play up to the end of the Third Act; and if this climax had been contrived more artistically, and less conventionally, the situation at the fall of the curtain in this act would have been a very powerful one. As it is it is frittered away in conventional dialogue, and the Fourth Act is decidedly weak. It is throughout excellently played by Miss JULIA NEILSON and Mr. WALLER in the two principal characters. Mr. HAWTREY'S performance, in spite of his curious habit of raising his voice to such a pitch as to suggest his playing to the cab-rank outside, is admirable. There are here and there sharp bits of dialogue in it, though scarcely a line in the lighter vein that rises above farcical comedy.

Mr. BISHOP'S _Earl of Caversham_ is a thoroughly natural piece of acting, and Mr. BROOKFIELD'S _Phipps_, the Butler, a bit of character so perfectly rendered that, like _Sam Weller's_ Valentine, it makes you "wish as there was more in it." Miss FANNY BROUGH, having plenty to say, but not much worth listening to, does her best with a poor part. Miss MAUDE MILLETT is nice, and Miss FLORENCE WEST as unsympathetic as her part was intended to be. That when _Sir Robert Chiltern_ proposed to retire from Parliamentary life no one suggested to him that he should take "the Chiltern Hundreds" is evidently an oversight of the author's, which no doubt he now deeply regrets. The play, though in sharp dialogue not up to Mr. WILDE'S high spirits-and-water mark, is an unmistakable success.

* * * * *

COY CLIENTS.

_In the new Commercial Court. A thin sprinkling of Juniors, one or two Q.C.'s, Ushers, and the usual contingent of people from the street who are glad of shelter and a seat, and who do not even pretend to take any interest in the proceedings._

_The Judge._ Odd, that the mercantile community does not even now seem attracted to this Court. You are sure, Mr. REDBAGGE, that the inducements which we offer to litigants are widely known?

_Mr. Redbagge, Q.C._ The officer of the Court tells me, m'lud, that he has sent round circulars to every mercantile establishment in the City.

_The Judge._ Our scale of commissions is surely generous enough! By the new Rules of Court which I have made, a bonus of £500 is offered to any merchant who swears, on affidavit, that he was about to resort to arbitration but decided to come here instead. Then I think the plan of giving his head clerk one year's rent of his dwelling and a free fortnight at Yarmouth for himself and his family, as a reward for influencing his principal to resort to us, was rather adroit--eh, Mr. REDBAGGE?

_Mr. Redbagge, Q.C._ Excellent! And the boxes of chocolate to his door-keeper, and free tickets to the music-halls for other subordinate members of his establishment, _ought_ to have brought a plethora of business to this court.

_The Judge._ Quite so. Not to mention the fact that we pay counsel's and solicitor's fees out of public funds, instead of looking to the litigants themselves to provide them. If _that_ isn't cheap justice, I should be glad to know what is.

_Mr. Redbagge_ (_deferentially_). And the mercantile classes must surely be aware that no Judge on the Bench has a greater knowledge of the law than your ludship.

_The Judge_ (_ignoring the flattery_). Unfortunately the mercantile classes seem also to have a knowledge of the law, and not to like what they know of it. So they resort to the ruinous--I repeat, the thoroughly ruinous--practice of arbitration.

_Mr. Redbagge._ It is really a serious state of things, m'lud--for us, not for your ludship. "Those who live to plead, must plead to live"--and it's a little difficult to plead when--(_breaking down_)--there are no clients.

_The Judge_ (_soothingly_). We must think of some other plan of attracting them, I suppose. How would it be if, instead of troubling them to come here, the Court offered to go to their offices and sit _there?_ Or perhaps a few baronetcies scattered about among them might have the desired effect. Well (_rising_) as there are no cases on our list, and no prospect of any, the Court is forced to adjourn!

[_Does so_.

* * * * *

LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES.

ON THE ICE.

When the sun was shining brightly, When the world was gleaming whitely, And Jack Frost held Nature tightly In a vice, It was joy supreme, though fleeting, Fair AMANDA to be greeting, When the country side was meeting On the ice!

Happy he whom smile the Fates on, Whom they shower _tête-à-têtes_ on, How I used to whip her skates on In a trice! And, as off we'd skim cross-handed, Leaving all my rivals stranded, I was glad, to be quite candid, On the ice!

How we gave evasive answers, When they praised our skill as dancers, And to skate a set of lancers Would entice; How we thought them crude and "crocky" Loving pairs to try and jockey Into wild delights of hockey On the ice!

To the figure-skating shilling Snug inclosure we were willing To subscribe--'twas cheap but thrilling At the price: Yet the busy scandal-riggers With sarcastic little sniggers Talked of people "cutting figures" On the ice!

All my heart, as I would hold her Little hands in mine, a-smoulder-- 'Twas a fact I nearly told her Once or twice: But, each time, what put a stopper On my declaration proper Was a sweet and timely cropper On the ice!

Then the thaw came. Oh, the bother! Oh, the words we had to smother! Ne'er again we'll find each other Half so nice: Now AMANDA'S always seizing Opportunities of teasing; Oh, she wasn't half so "freezing" On the ice!

* * * * *

Mrs. R. wants to know where that old quotation comes from, so applicable now--

"And Freedom shrieked when PADEREWSKI played!"

Of course Freedom went into the free seats (if any) and shrieked with delight.

* * * * *

ROBERT ON COUNTY COUNSELLERS.

Me and BROWN, and sum two or three of our most intimet frends, has had a most liberal offer made to us, rite in the werry art of Sent Pancras, to go out a canwassing for the County Counsellers when the elections begins shortly.

I need scarcely say as they havent made much effect upon me, as I knows em too well from what I hear about em at our own Gildall and the Manshun House, but the terrems is suttenly werry liberal, both in refreshments and in promisses, but they all depends upon their suckcess, and from what I hears that aint likely to be werry great. Of course in the grand old Citty that wont be not nothink, but ewen in Sent Pancras I hears as it wont be any think werry grate. I've bin up to their own Gildall at Charing Cross again, but they does make sitch dredful long speeches that they quite tires me out, and they are all about such dredful tiresome subjecs that I soon gits weary on em.

I was told down at Gildall that one of our most poplar aldermen had quite made up his mind to try and turn out the Prime Minister, Lord ROSEBERRY, I think his name is, from representing a County Council, but there must have been sum mistake sum where, for Prime Ministers aint exactly the sort of gents as is ginerally selected to represent her most gracious Majesty the QUEEN, as I spose as the PRIME MINISTER does, and to be a County Counseller as well. No, no, them sort of things dont exacly go together. Our Gildall peeple dont seem werry much alarmed about the fuss has has been made about their Unyfecation, as I think they calls it, which is supposed to mean that they are all to be turned out of Gildall, and all London to be created into one great body of Common Counselmen! And what is to become of all our numerous Aldermen and Deppertys, and settera, not none of us knows a bit! But of course that's all nothink but mere nonsence, that helps to keep our reel gentlemen in good humer. They dont seem in werry bad sperrits, for sum of the most importentest of em all had a grand meeting on Tuesday last, and laid the werry fust stone of a butiful new Manshun, werry close to Gildall, which I am told is to cost about thirty-five thowsand pounds, and will take a hole year to bild, so that didn't look as if they were quite fritened out of their wits; and just to show the principle gents among em as there wasn't not nothink to fear, the nobel Gent as took the chair inwited amost a hundred of em to dine with him in the most scrumpsheous way possible, and drunk their helths all round! There was only just about harf a dozen of County Counsellers present, and they was just about as quiet as they ginerally is when reel gents is with em.

BROWN tells me as how as he hears that the Prince of WALES is most strongly oposed to the Old Citty being interfered with, and that amost all the great House of Lords agrees with him, so there aint much fear of much being done, after all.

ROBERT.

* * * * *

AN APPROPRIATE QUOTATION TO BE PLACED ON THE URN OF THE ASHES OF ONE CREMATED.--"Well done!"

* * * * *

FROM THE QUEER AND YELLOW BOOK.

I.--1894

(_By Max Mereboom._)

"Linger longer, LUCY, Linger longer, LOO. How I'd like to linger longer, Linger longer, LOO!"--_Old Ballad._

I suppose there is no one that has not wished, from Time to Time, that someone else had lived in another Age than his own. I myself have often felt that it would have been nice to live in 1894; to have seen the "_Living Pictures_" at the old _Empire_, to have strained my Eyes for a glimpse of _Mrs. Patrick Campbell_, broken my Cane applauding _May Yohé_, and listened to the _Blue Hungarians_ while dining, on a Sunday, at that quaint old Tavern _the Savoy_. At that time the Beauties from New York had not quite lost their Vogue. CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS, who discovered the United States, left it to the Prince of WALES to invent their inhabitants: personally, I am more implected with their Botany; and am, indeed, at this moment, engaged in a study of the Trees in America. Much of this remote Period must remain mobled in the Mists of Antiquity, but we know that about then flourished the Sect that was to win for itself the Title of the "_Decadents_." What exactly this Title signified I suppose no two entomologists will agree. But we may learn from the Caricatures of the day what the _Decadents_ were in outward semblance; from the Lampoons what was their mode of life. Nightly they gathered at any of the Theatres where the plays of Mr. WILDE were being given. Nightly, the stalls were fulfilled by Row upon Row of neatly-curled Fringes surmounting Button-holes of monstrous size. The contrasts in the social Condition of the time fascinate me. I used to know a boy whose mother was actually present at the "first night" of _Charley's Aunt_, and became enamoured of _Mr. Penley_. By such links is one Age joined to another!

I should like to have been at a Private View of the "_New English Art Club_." There was _Crotchet_, the young Author of the _Mauve Camellia_; there were _Walter Sickert_, the veteran R.A.; _George Moore_, the romanticist; _Charles Hawtrey_, the tragedian, and many another good fellow. The period of 1894 must have been delicious.

Perhaps in my Study I have fallen so deeply beneath the Spell of the Age, that I have tended to underrate its unimportance. I fancy it was a Sketch of a Lady with a Mask on, playing the piano in a Cornfield, in a low dress, with two lighted Candles, and signed "_Aubrey Weirdsley_," that first impelled me to research.

But to give an accurate account of the Period would need a far less brilliant Pen than mine; and I look to JEROME K. JEROME and to Mr. CLEMENT SCOTT.

II.--TOORALOORA. A FRAGMENT.

(_By Charing Cross._)

* * *

"My hair?" she said. "It touches the ground."

As she spoke, she seized her fringe by the roots and flung it on the floor.

"A marvellous feat for a European," I murmured with some difficulty. "Will you have another drink?"

"Yes," said _Tooraloora;_ "I make it a rule always to get intoxicated in a public-house."