Part 2

Now they sound like wedding bells, Golden bells! Meaning mischief in their music to the Moderates and the swells! Their vibrations there's a vox in Which to me sounds like a tocsin. From their molten golden notes, All in tune, What a pleasant sound there floats Like a promise of Progressive Party Votes, Blessed boon! Oh, from Bow to Sadler's Wells, What a gush of Unity voluminously swells. How it swells! How it dwells On the Future! how it tells Of the Progress that impels To the swinging and the ringing Of the bells, bells, bells. From the Brixtons, Claphams, Southwarks, Islingtons and Clerkenwells, To the rhyming and the chiming of those bells!

Hear the Rate-Alarum bells-- Brazen bells!-- What base tarradiddles their loud turbulency tells! In men's startled ears in spite, How they scream out their affright! Too much horrified to speak They can only shriek, shriek, Through the fog, In a clamorous appealing to the voters to retire That much Progressive Party, which--much like the Rates, or fire-- Climbeth higher, higher, higher, With a desperate desire, And a bullying endeavour Now--now to sit, or never In the seat of Gog-Magog! Oh, those bells, bells, bells, What a tale their terror tells Of despair! What reactionary roar! What a horror they outpour On the bosom of the City and Mayfair. Yet the ear it fully knows By their twanging And their clanging How the voting ebbs and flows. Yet the ear distinctly tells In the jangling and the wrangling How Monopoly sinks or swells By the sinking or the swelling in the clangour of those bells-- Beastly bells!-- There is Landlordism, Ground-rents, Dirty Slums, and Drinking Hells In the clamour of those horrid Moderate bells!

Hear the rolling of the bells,-- Polling bells! What a world of solemn thought their monody compels. So DICK WHITTINGTON--poor wight!-- Heard them ringing, with delight At the fair prophetic promise of their tone! For every sound that floats May _I_ too hope my votes Will have grown? And the People--ah, the People!-- Is their verdict, from each steeple, All mine own? Does that tolling, tolling, tolling, Mean "Return again my DICK!" Or do they as they're rolling Mean "turn out" or "cut your stick!"? Shall _I_ be "Lord Mayor of London"? Or are we Progressives _un_done At the Polls? Pussy, _what_ is it that tolls From each belfry, as it rolls, Rolls? A pæan from the bells To the Party of the Swells? Or a message from the bells That Reaction howls and yells? Does that tintinnabulation Mean false JOE'S "Tenification" Or our own "Unification"? Sounds dear "Betterment" this time In the rolling Runic rhyme Of the bells? Does their throbbing mean that jobbing, And the London Landlord's robbing, Find their finish in these bells? That Monopoly is sobbing To the sobbing of those bells? That their knells, knells, knells, Ring out in Runic rhyme? Does the rolling of those bells Mean that _I_ turn out this time? Can they possibly mean _that_, Faithful, purring, Pussy-Cat, After all your sweet mol-rowing? Sounds the verdict "DICK is going" In the tolling of the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, In the moaning and the groaning of the bells?

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OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

Mrs. BONNER has done well to write a record of the life and work of her father, CHARLES BRADLAUGH, which FISHER UNWIN publishes in two volumes. If it had been one 'twould have been better. Mrs. BONNER has been assisted in her labours by Mr. J. M. ROBERTSON, who deals with Mr. BRADLAUGH'S political doctrine and work, and describes in detail his parliamentary struggle. The consequence is that the record runs into two closely-printed volumes, a proportion that somewhat overweights the interest of the subject. Mrs. BONNER is, naturally, indignant at the treatment her father received in the early days of his parliamentary life and in other public relations. But Mr. BRADLAUGH was a fighting man. He gave hard knocks and, to do him justice, did not unduly complain when knocks were dealt back to him. It is a pathetic story how the crowning triumph of his life came in the hour of his death. He never knew that the House of Commons had unanimously agreed to the motion which expunged from its journals the resolution excluding the junior member for Northampton from its membership. That confession, my Baronite says, was the completest justification of the action on Mr. BRADLAUGH's part that enlivened the Parliament of 1880-5 and was the immediate cause of the birth of the Fourth Party.

Mr. JOHN DAVIDSON'S _Earl Lavender_ is "pernicious nonsense," and the Aubrey Beardsley frontispiece--if, considering its subject, it can, with absolute correctness, be described _as_ a "_front_ispiece,"--might, a few years ago, have endangered its existence. But "I suppose," quoth the Baron, "I am becoming old-fashioned, and 'we have changed all that now.' But in view of this extraordinary illustration, is it a book that can be left out 'promiscuously-like' on the drawing-room table? I trow not," quoth the Baron. "And as to _The Great God Pan_ ('Key-note' series), well--infernally or diabolically clever it may be, but should I be informed," quoth the Baron, "that we should never look upon its like again, I, for one should not grieve."

Another Keynoteworthy book, _i.e._, one quite worthy to belong to such of the Key-note series as the Baron has read, is _The Dancing Faun_. Had a novel appeared some years ago in the palmy, but not less leggy, days of the drama at the Gaiety, entitled _The Dancing Vaughan_, when the elegant KATE of that ilk was the light and leading _danseuse_, what a vogue such a volume would have had among the patrons of the above-mentioned Temple of Burlesque-Extravaganza. "_Où sont les neiges d'antan?_" and "Where is dat barty now?"

B. DE B.-W.

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A DOUBLE APPLICABILITY.--"Intrigues which render stable government impossible," though a phrase applied by the _Times_ to Egyptian affairs, would, it is clear, be applicable to attempts to get at the jockey, or the stable assistants, guarding the loose box of the Derby favourite.

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]

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A SONNET OF SONNETS.

(_A Dreadful Object-Lesson._)

I've often thought I'd like to write a sonnet, I wonder, though, if I can find the way. Sometimes you muse upon your mistress--say Her eyebrow, then you poetise upon it. Maybe instead you celebrate her bonnet, A striking symphony in green or grey. And when it's done, for many and many a day, With eager eye, you ever scan and con it, Intent on seeing that it's quite correct, And free from all suspicion of defect, No inauspicious phrase, no halting line. And when the time of scrutiny is past Your thought is probably exactly mine-- Thank heaven! the horrid thing is done at last!

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A CABINET COUNCIL RECORD.

The _St. James's Gazette_, in giving the news of the Cabinet Council meeting last Thursday, said, "Mr. JOHN MORLEY left at 12.30, and Mr. FOWLER a few minutes later; but a messenger was almost immediately despatched to call the last-named Minister back, and he returned to the Council Room, and remained until 12.35, when the Council broke up."

12.30--Mr. MORLEY leaves.

12.33, _i.e._ "a few minutes later"--Mr. FOWLER leaves.

12.33-1/2--Messenger sent after Mr. FOWLER.

12.34-1/4--Messenger returns with Mr. FOWLER.

12.34-1/4--Discussion with Mr. FOWLER.

12.35--Cabinet Council breaks up.

So you see a good deal may happen in five minutes.

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SIGNS OF THE TIMES.

At the re-opening of the Royal United Service Institution last week by H.R.H. the Prince of WALES, in new premises at Whitehall, a novel and ingenious electrical instrument was exhibited. By means of this addition to the list of communicators a general in the field is able not only to send an autograph letter to a colleague or subordinate at a distance, but also to convey in _fac simile_ a drawing of his own composition. On the occasion to which reference is made, the Prince of WALES sent a message to his brother. To this despatch the Duke of CONNAUGHT was obliged to respond that he did not quite understand its full meaning. According to the reports some slight error was rectified, and then the machine worked to everyone's satisfaction. However, the fact remains that the initial attempt to convey intelligibly a message was not entirely successful. To impress upon those answerable for the perfect action of the instrument the importance of their task, we subjoin an imaginary scene of a nearly impossible situation. We will assume that a commander-in-chief is conversing with a general in the field some ten miles distant.

_Commander-in-Chief_ (_wiring_). We hear here that a force of twenty-five thousand infantry are advancing by the Dover road with a view to turning your left front.

_General in the Field._ Kindly repeat. (_Message repeated._) No, we do not want any more marmalade, as we have plenty of butter.

_C.-in-C._ I said nothing about marmalade, I was talking of the enemy. Twenty-five thousand men are advancing on your left front.

_Gen._ I think I now understand what you mean, but we can't get near Woolwich, because our gas has failed us. However, we will look out for the twenty-five thousand balloons you say are coming.

_C.-in-C._ I said nothing about balloons. Infantry, I spoke of. They are approaching by the Dover Road.

_Gen._ Thank you for your offer, but we have plenty of hammocks. We have just seen this. Can you identify her? I forward sketch.

_C.-in-C._ You have sent me what appears to be a drawing of either a grand pianoforte or a hippopotamus. Which is it?

_Gen._ It is very difficult to make out your messages. We think we understand your last. Yes, the mail to India did start without the elephants. We did not know that any had been ordered.

_C.-in-C._ I said nothing about elephants. What is the meaning of your drawing?

_Gen._ Very sorry; can't make out your message. Besides, have no more time for telegraphing. Twenty-five thousand infantry of the enemy have just been noticed on the Dover Road, threatening our left front. Why did you not tell us they were coming?

But of course, as we have already said, when the hour arrives everything will be in perfect working order. It is to be hoped that there will be a supplementary signal to be used in cases of extreme emergency, to decide promptly a line of action where two courses are open for adoption. It might signify "Toss up."

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Nursery Rhyme for the New Woman.

(_When Literary._)

I had a brutal husband, as is our sex's doom, I put him in a problem-novel; then I made it boom! I bought a little "Log-roller" who twaddled up and down, Discovered it, and slavered it, and made it take the town. But meaner beauties of my sex declared I wore blue hose, And at my Gospel of Revolt cocked each a pretty nose.

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"THE RIVALS" AT THE A. D. C.

Once again I salute you, oh actors of the Cambridge A. D. C., and congratulate you on your rendering of _The Rivals_--no mean task for a body of amateur actors. Specially do I note the admirably and grotesquely humorous impersonation of _Mrs. Malaprop_ by Mr. R. A. AUSTEN LEIGH. Will the elaborate Wildean paradoxes have to a future generation the freshness and the laughter-provoking qualities of _Mrs. Malaprop's_ derangements? I doubt it. At Cambridge the other day I saw a learned Doctor of Letters in convulsions over the Malapropian sallies. Will a Doctor of Letters towards the end of the next century be seen to smile over OSCAR'S inversions? Mr. R. BALFOUR made an excellent _Bob Acres_, broad in his characterisation, self-possessed and clear. I should have called him, however, a trifle too smart and modish in dress. Mr. GEIKIE was very effective in the rages of _Sir Anthony_, and Mr. WATSON played well as _Jack Absolute_. Admirable, too, was the _Fag_ of Mr. TALBOT. The leading ladies were, as usual, miracles of curls and divine complexions. Yet did their voices and their hands bewray them. We were fortunately spared the gloomy maunderings of _Julia_ and _Faulkland_. "Hearty congratters," as they say at the sister university.

A VAGRANT.

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HER PUZZLE.--"I recollect," quoth Mrs. R., "a sort of riddle that used to puzzle me when I was a child, and I can't say I quite see the answer now. It is this: 'If DICK'S uncle is TOM'S son, what relation is DICK to JOHN?'"

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"THE RIGHT MAN IN THE WRONG PLACE."--LABBY, M.P., in the Unionist Lobby, Monday, February 18.

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THE ADVISABILITY OF NOT BEING BROUGHT UP IN A HANDBAG.

A TRIVIAL TRAGEDY FOR WONDERFUL PEOPLE.

(_Fragment found between the St. James's and Haymarket Theatres_).

AUNT AUGUSTA (_an Aunt_). COUSIN CICELY (_a Ward_). ALGY (_a Flutterpate_). DORIAN (_a Button-hole_). THE DUKE OF BERWICK.

TIME--_The other day._ _The_ SCENE _is in a garden, and begins and ends with relations_.

_Algy_ (_eating cucumber-sandwiches_). Do you know, Aunt AUGUSTA, I am afraid I shall not be able to come to your dinner to-night, after all. My friend BUNBURY has had a relapse, and my place is by his side.

_Aunt Augusta_ (_drinking tea_). Really, ALGY! It will put my table out dreadfully. And who will arrange my music?

_Dorian._ _I_ will arrange your music, Aunt AUGUSTA. I know all about music. I have an extraordinary collection of musical instruments. I give curious concerts every Wednesday in a long latticed room, where wild gipsies tear mad music from little zithers, and I have brown Algerians who beat monotonously upon copper drums. Besides, I have set myself to music. And it has not marred me. I am still the same. More so, if anything.

_Cicely._ Shall you _like_ dining at WILLIS'S with Mr. DORIAN to-night, Cousin ALGY?

_Algy_ (_evasively_). It's much nicer being here with you, Cousin CICELY.

_Aunt Augusta._ Sweet child! I see distinct social probabilities in her profile. Mr. DORIAN has a beautiful nature. And it is _such_ a blessing to think that he was not brought up in a handbag, like so many young men of the present day.

_Algy._ It is such a blessing, Aunt AUGUSTA, that a woman always grows exactly like her aunt. It is such a curse that a man never grows exactly like his uncle. It is the greatest tragedy of modern life.

_Dorian._ To be really modern one should have no soul. To be really mediæval one should have no cigarettes. To be really Greek----

[_The_ Duke of BERWICK _rises in a marked manner, and leaves the garden_.

_Cicely_ (_writes in her diary, and then reads aloud dreamily_). "The Duke of BERWICK rose in a marked manner, and left the garden. The weather continues charming." ...

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ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

_House of Commons, Monday, February 18._--Debate on Address finished, at last. Been on the whole dreary business. Instead of sharp roar of honest artillery from Opposition camp at opening of campaign, series of squibs popped off; some of them damp. Novel idea at commencement of new Session for Opposition chiefs to lurk in the wood armed with blunderbusses, watching efforts of lesser villains to waylay and murder Ministers, they coming on scene when these efforts been repulsed. Novel, but on whole not so successful that we are likely to see repetition.

Odd thing is that in series of divisions Government had nearest squeak on motion for the Closure. S. WOODS had amendment on paper; wanted to have debate adjourned so that another day might be appropriated for his use; SQUIRE OF MALWOOD thought really been enough talk round Address. Moved closure. WOODS and two or three other good Radicals go into Lobby against Ministers; others abstain; Opposition seeing opportunity flock into Lobby; Ministry saved by eight votes.

"Yes," said the SQUIRE OF MALWOOD as we walked home together, after last division, "it is not exactly encouraging. But what distresses me most is the way some of our fellows talk about ROSEBERY. Used to be old constitutional maxim that the King can do no wrong. Modern reading on our side is that PREMIER can do no right. Speeches like DILKE'S to-night hurt me more than anything else." This conversation followed close on one I had earlier in day with the noble lord.

"How's the Squire looking?" he asked, anxiously. "Bearing up I trust, against the fatigues of a thankless task. What a few of our men say about me not the slightest consequence. Passes over me like fluttering of idle wind. Know all about it. Could, an' I would, describe animating motive in each case. What cuts me to the heart is their treatment of the SQUIRE. He manages admirably. Spares no labour; makes no mistake. Yet whenever some men returned to support us are not permitted to take in own hands direction of public business, they go over to the enemy. Great blessing the SQUIRE is endowed by nature with angelic temper. Otherwise, when this sort of thing happens, he would chuck up the whole business, and tell malcontents and deserters to manage matters for themselves."

So nice to have this state of things existing. Sufferers in common affliction, each thinks only of the other.

_Business done._--Address agreed to after ten days talk.

_Tuesday Night._--Every prospect of quiet evening, even talk of count out. After spending our nights and days with Address during last fortnight, small wonder if the hearts of Members, untravelled, fondly turn to home. Diversion created by appearance on scene of HOWARD VINCENT. Got up in extraordinary fashion. Round his waist a belt, in which slung miscellaneous assortment of brushes and other articles of domestic use. Pendent were hair brushes, hat brushes, tooth brushes, boot brushes (with case in solid leather), whisk brooms, carpet sweepers, wall brushes, chimney-sweeping machine (with whalebone head and chimney cloth), deck scrubbers, one venetian blind-duster, feather brushes (eight feet long with jointed handles), floor polishers, hearth brushes (white hair and black), lamp brushes, aid one hair waver patent for producing in a few minutes, without the use of heated irons, a natural wavy appearance in the hair. (FRANK LOCKWOOD much interested in this.)

Other brushes peeped out from every pocket save those at coat-tails, which, as being more roomy, were reserved for specimens of filters, fish-kettles, bread-platters, revolving boot-cleaners, specimens of boxes in which eggs may be safely sent through the parcel-post, and a lemon-squash stand (oak and nickel mounts complete, with four tumblers, corkscrew, lemon-knife, and glass sugar basin).

"Been to a bazaar?" I asked; "or are you going to give up military pursuits, and set up a stall somewhere on your own account?"

"No, TOBY," said the Colonel, severely--"would you just hitch round the handle of that frying-pan? Thank you; it might get in BARTLEY'S way whilst I am addressing the House--these few things you see only partially concealed about my person are the result of the labours of convicts and felons working in foreign prisons. A Government lost to all sense of public duty permits their free importation, to the detriment of honest British workman. You'd better stop and hear me broil BRYCE."

Colonel walked off with curious clatter, much more effective than the spurs he wears on field days with the Queen's Westminster Volunteers. Most interesting lecture, occasionally marred by Colonel, intending at particular point to produce a blacking-brush, fishing forth from his miscellaneous store a plated biscuit-box. But the moral all the same. The articles all made in Germany or elsewhere on Continent. BRYCE glad to get out of difficulty by offering Committee.

_Business done._--Motion carried for restriction of foreign prison-made goods.

_Thursday Afternoon._--"Hist!" said Sir HENRY JAMES to JOEY C. "A word in thine ear. PRINCE ARTHUR away to-night; ground clear; suppose we occupy it? show PRINCE ARTHUR how we would manage business, and let the MARKISS see that there are statesmen other than those who hail from Hatfield and its dependencies. Here's this import duty added on British yarn entering India. Lancashire members sore about it. Don't know much on subject myself, but can do simple rule in arithmetic. If we can detach seven or eight Lancashire Liberals and put on all our forces, the Government must go. Think how pleasant for PRINCE ARTHUR, sitting with his feet in hot water and his head out of the window, to hear the tramp of our messenger along Carlton House Terrace bringing news that Government is out. If we'd only time we might hire man with wooden-leg, like the party in _Treasure Island_, wasn't it? Sound of wooden-leg tramping along silent broadway where PRINCE ARTHUR lives, and is just now nursing his cold, would be most dramatic. That a mere detail. Thing is this, Indian cotton business is so much gun-cotton for Government; I apply torch; up they go--HARCOURT, FOWLER, ASQUITH (who was so rude to you the other night), and the rest of them. What do you think?"

JOEY C. is sly, de-vilish sly; said nothing. But he winked.

HENRY JAMES knew that all was well.

_Friday_, 12.10 A.M.--Not quite so well as it looked when House met at three o'clock yesterday afternoon. Ministerialists then in state of trepidation; Ministers assuming air of resignation. Odds distinctly in favour of defeat of Government. HENRY FOWLER, formally recognising situation, had declared they were prepared for the worst. Somehow things got mixed; explosion took place as arranged; gun-cotton went off with genial roar; but it was HENRY JAMES blown into the air, and with him JOEY C. 109 Members mustered under new Opposition Leadership; 304 going with Ministers. Majority, 195.