Part 3

_Two Ladies (from the country)._ Those Policemen is like so many parrots, with their "Keep moving;" they don't give you time for a good look! _That's_ a handsome pair of jugs the Crown Prince and Princess give her, a little like the pair old Mr. SPUDDER won with his Shorthorns at the Show, don't you think? Only more elaborate, p'raps. Tell me if you can see the Cake anywhere, my dear. I don't want to go away, and not see _that!_

_Intelligent Visitor._ That's a curious thing, now. Look at that label, "Presented by----" and the name left blank!

_A Jocular Visitor (seeing an opportunity)._ Too bad, MARIA! I'm sure we wrote our names plainly enough!

[_Sensation amongst bystanders, who regard the couple with respectful interest._

_Maria (who considers this trifling with a serious subject)._ If I had known you were going to be so _foolish_, GEORGE, I should not have come!

[_Collapse of_ GEORGE.

_A Practical Visitor._ Now, there's a neat idea--d'ye see? A crown, made all out of tobaccer. There's some _sense_ in giving a thing like that!

_The Jocular Visitor (reviving at sight of embroidered Child's Frock in case)._ Pretty costume, that, eh, MARIA? But do you think HER GRACIOUS MAJESTY will ever be able to _get it on?_

_Maria (horrified)._ I tell you what it is, GEORGE, if you go on making these stupid jokes, you will get us both turned out--if not _worse!_ I'm sure that Policeman heard!

_Loyal Old Lady._ They've given her scent, and little brass-nailed boots, and cotton reels enough to set her up for life. But there, she deserves it all, bless her!

_Party of Philistines (to one another.)_ You don't want to go in there--there's only a lot of water-colours presented by the British Institute. Let's see if we can find the Jubilee Cake!

FINAL TABLEAU.--AT THE GENERAL EXIT.

_Crush of enthusiastic Britons, gazing at a gigantic ornament from the Jubilee Cake. Various exclamations._ "All of it pure sugar, I shouldn't wonder!"--"What do you think of _that_ for a cake, JEMMY?"--"Lift JOEY up to have a look!"--"Well, I do call that grand!"

_Loyal Old Lady (forcing her way to the front--disappointedly)._ But that's only the _trimmings!_

_A Bystander (correctively)._ You can't expect any Cake to keep long, with so many in the family; and, even as it is, you get some ideer what it must have been!

_All (deeply impressed)._ Ah, you do, indeed--you get that! Well, I'm glad I came; I shan't forget this as long as I live!

[_Exeunt awestruck--their places are taken by others, who gaze long and respectfully on the Cake. Scene closes in._

* * * * *

BOB SAWYER REDIVIVUS.

(_At the Middlesex Hospital._)

Just been given what the newspapers call "the privileges and status of a true Collegian,"--in other words find I'm no longer to be allowed to live in the jolly old free-and-easy way, in one's own diggings, but am to be boxed up inside the Hospital instead! Hang the Authorities! Should like to cup them all.

Anyhow, got a decent room: can show it off to visitors. Visit from Oxbridge friend. Seems surprised at smallness of my apartment. Says it's "not _his_ idea of living in College: more like living in _Quad_," he adds, humorously. "Do I really mean to say," he asks, "that I am to sleep in same room I live in, with only a curtain between?" Have to confess such is the intention of the architect. He says, "if he was me, he'd complain to the Dean." Don't like to show ignorance--so don't ask him if he means Dean of WESTMINSTER or ST. PAUL'S. Oxbridge friend declines my invitation to "dine in Hall," and disappears.

Ah! They've given us a Smoking-room, anyhow. Is it a smoking-room? No--a "Library and Reading-room." Disgusting! Ring for brandy-and-soda. Nobody answers the bell! It seems the "Collegiate servants" go out of College between meals. Nothing to do, so amuse myself for an hour in Dissecting-room. Pine for freedom. Go to entrance and am stopped by Porter. Porter says, "Gentlemen not allowed to leave Hospital after dark without leave of House Surgeon." Tell Porter I'm a child of nature, and that I want to visit a dying relative. Porter incredulous--proposes sending one of the resident Physicians instead. No, thanks! Retire to room and think of old rollicking days. Nothing to do. Wonder if Porter would let me bleed him. No, perhaps he's not in the vein.

_Hall Dinner._--Hate dining in common--reminds one of the Zoo. Student next to me very sloppy. Brings a bone in with him, and puts it on table, studying it between courses. Tell him, pleasantly, it'll be a bone of contention if he does not remove it. He doesn't understand. Replies, quite seriously, that it's the "_os humeri_."

_After Dinner._--Tedious. Just the time when the "Lion Comique" is "coming on" at the Parthenon Music Hall. And I can't get out to hear him!

_Later._--Had jolly spree, after all--also after Hall. Tied new curtains together and let myself down into street, amid yells of large crowd. Rather damaged right scapula, but can't be helped. Went to Gaiety; jolly supper, met Ben Allen and a lot of chappies, who are at Bart's and haven't any of these ridiculous Collegiate regulations, and had high old time. How to get back, though? Ay, "there's the rub,"--worse than rubbing scapula, too.

Boldest plan best. Rap Porter up. Porter surprised to see me. Says it's "past one o'clock," and wants to know how I got out. Tell him I'm a child of nature, and if he reports me to House Surgeon I shall certainly cup him to-morrow. Porter asserts, quite untruly, that I am intoxicated.

_Next Day._--Authorities have heard how I escaped from Hospital last night. Also Porter--the idiot!--has complained that he goes in fear of his life because of my threats. On the whole, Hospital Authorities come to conclusion to ask me to leave, as "they think I am not fitted for Collegiate life," and I quite agree with them. Pack up, and pack off.

* * * * *

* * * * *

QUITE A LITTLE HOLIDAY.--The unfortunate Vacation Judge this year has been detained at Court or Chambers five times a week instead of (as in the olden days) thrice a fortnight. He must appreciate the meaning of "getting his head into Chancery"--and his wig too!

* * * * *

THE TWO GOATS.

AN OLD FABLE WITH A NEW APPLICATION.

(_For the benefit of Bolton._)

Two bellicose goats once encountered each other in the middle of a narrow bridge spanning a deep gulf and a raging torrent. To pass each other seemed (to them) impossible, at least without much more careful and courteous mutual self-adjustment than either was at all disposed for. For one or the other to make way by temporarily backing, was, of course--to bellicose goats--entirely out of the question. The only alternative was clearly a butting-match.

Our angry goats entered upon it with great gusto. Heads hotly encountered, horns angrily collided. The harder the hits the less did either feel disposed to give way.

But a narrow bridge over a deep gulf is a bad place for a battle _a outrance_. The infuriated animals quickly settled the point at issue, in a way as final as unpleasant, by butting each other over into the gulf, leaving the disputed path clear for the passage of creatures more conciliatory and less cantankerous.

APPLICATION.

Two objects cannot occupy the same space--even in Bolton. Battles upon bridges--even iron bridges--are bad things. A quarrel between two parties--even if they represent Capital and Labour--cannot be regarded as satisfactorily settled by the destruction of both--unless they are thieves, or Kilkenny cats. It is much easier to get into a gulf--even the gulf of Bankruptcy--than out of it. To parties expiring at the bottom of a gulf, into which they have hurled each other, it is small consolation to see more peaceful persons--though they be foreigners--making better use of the bridge which might have carried them both safely over.

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

_A Collection of Thackeray's Letters_ (1847 to 1855. SMITH & ELDER).--It must have cost Mrs. BROOKFIELD a good deal of mental anxiety before she decided upon giving publicity to this correspondence. But she has undoubtedly done well and wisely, as everybody interested in the personal THACKERAY, outside and away from his works, will gratefully acknowledge. THACKERAY was always fond of alluding to himself as the Showman with the puppets, or portraying himself as taking off the cap-and-bells when, from behind the grinning mask, peep out the sad eyes and the rueful countenance. Now in these Letters we are sometimes admitted behind the scenes, as, for instance, when he is just going to work; but, as a rule, we see him in his leisure, out for a holiday, amusing himself and others, and enjoying himself like an overgrown schoolboy full of fun and frolic, not a bit of a cynic, and there are no sad eyes and rueful countenance when the mask is off. The peculiar charm of these Letters is that they are so evidently private; there is nothing of the _poseur_ about them. They were never intended to be addressed _urbi et orbi_.

One favourite style of amusing himself in writing he had, which, by the way, rather calls to mind the way _Mr. Peter Magnus_ had of amusing his friends, and that was mis-spelling, and spelling in Cockney fashion. How he must have revelled in writing _Jeames's Diary!_ The burlesque element of humour was irrepressible in THACKERAY, and found vent through pen and pencil. Nearly all his sketches, with remarkable exceptions, are, more or less, grotesque. Many of his Vignettes, with which he illustrated his novels, cannot fail to suggest a kind of Dicky-Doyleian humour. Two characteristics of the man are brought out strongly in these letters; first, his humility as regards his own work (he was proud in other matters), and, secondly, his generosity as exhibited in his unaffected admiration for the work of CHARLES DICKENS.

Occasionally we catch a glimpse of his religious tendencies, which are at one time influenced by J. H. NEWMAN, at another by J. S. MILL; and it is interesting to read his _naive_ utterances about Scripture, showing that whatever lectures he may have attended at Cambridge, those on Divinity, or on the Greek Testament, could not have been among them. And this indeed is highly probable. His kindness of heart is evident throughout. His laughing at himself as a Snob when affecting the company of great people is delightful, though there seems to be in this self-ridicule something of the true word spoken in jest. He makes a burlesque flourish--so like him--about sending in "his resignation" to _Mr. Punch_. As a matter of fact, he remained an honorary member of _Mr. Punch's_ Cabinet Council, and retained his seat at _Mr. Punch's_ table, up to the time of his death. The present writer remembers WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY being frequently present in _Mr. Punch's_ Council Chamber, _Consule Marco_. A most interesting, amusing, and instructive book, especially to literary men--(some novelists must be delighted at finding THACKERAY reading over the previous portions of his own serial in order to recall the names of his characters, and his frantic joy at hitting on the title of _Vanity Fair_)--is this collection of THACKERAY'S Letters. To Mrs. BROOKFIELD our heartiest thanks are due.

_Like and Unlike_. By Miss BRADDON. Everybody who cares about a novel with a good plot so well worked out that the excitement is kept up through the three volumes and culminates with the last chapter of the story, must "Like" and can never again "Unlike," this the latest and certainly one of the best of Miss BRADDON'S novels. Miss BRADDON is our most dramatic novelist. Her method is to interest the reader at once with the very first line, just as that Master-Dramatist of our time DION BOUCICAULT would rivet the attention of an audience by the action at the opening of the piece, even before a line of the dialogue had been spoken. This authoress never wastes her own time and that of her reader, by giving up any number of pages at the outset to a minute description of scenery, to a history of a certain family, to a wearisome account of the habits and customs of the natives, or to explaining peculiarities in manners and dialect which are to form one of the principal charms of the story. No: Miss BRADDON is dramatic just as far as the drama can assist her, and then she is the genuine novelist. A few touches present her characters living before the reader, and the story easily developes itself in, apparently, the most natural manner possible. _Like and Unlike_ will make many people late for dinner, and will keep a number of persons up at night when they ought to be soundly sleeping. These are two sure tests of a really well-told sensational novel. _Vive_ Miss BRADDON!

YOUR OWN BOOK-WORM.

* * * * *

A LICHFIELD HOUSE OF CALL.

Shade of BOSWELL, awake, arise! Know that the Lord Mayor of Lichfield, Mr. A. C. BAXTER, has announced in the _Times_ that the house Dr. JOHNSON was born in is put up for sale by auction on the 20th inst. Now, then, is the time for a big brewer who would like to get bigger, or any licensed victualler, with command of a moderate capital, to invest it in the purchase of the premises in which the great Lexicographer and Moralist first saw the light, and in the conversion of them into a public-house, to be called and known by the sign and name of "The Johnson's Head." A likeness of Dr. JOHNSON, copied by a competent Artist from the best of Sir JOSHUA REYNOLDS'S portraits, and mounted on the signboard, would be sure to attract multitudes of respectable people, and others, besides forming a decoration of the tavern at Lichfield, and an ornament to that town. A pub. associated with one of the highest names in literature could hardly fail to be frequented by numerous bookmakers. The memory of Dr. JOHNSON might, however, be honoured by the preservation of his home for what many may consider a nobler purpose than that of a liquor-shop; and those who are of that opinion should look sharp and secure his birthplace by coming forward, and taking care that, when under the hammer, it shall be knocked down on their own account to the highest bidder. "The man who could make a pun would pick a pocket;" true, but he might prefer putting his hand in his own to commemorate the name of the great SAMUEL, by helping to stand Sam.

* * * * *

FAVOURITE SEASONING AT THE GUILDHALL BANQUET ON THE 9TH OF NOVEMBER.--_Sauce a la Maitre d'Hotel_.

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NOTICE.--Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.

Transcriber's notes:

P. 179. changed shoppy to sloppy.

p. 180. 'developes' (sic): probably not an error. "and the story easily developes itself"