I know a man who manhood's name profanes,—Most Mayfair mothers own him rather wild;But, since he has more sovereigns than brains,Each tries to catch and tame him for her child.He knows enough Arithmetic to keepA Betting-book, and lose his little bets,And though his sense of honour is not deep,He always pays his "honourable" debts.Some scores of trowsers own him as their Lord,And endless ties and one unchanging sneer;He owes his tailor what would lodge and boardAnd wash a brace of curates for a year.His wit is not so pointed as his boots,Bright with the polish which his manners lack,Nor yet so chaste as those astounding suitsWhich deck his shrunken limbs and padded back.His stays are always,heis often, "tight,"His collar, like his birth, issans reproche;He seldom does a thing because it's right,But, on the other hand, is nevergauche.The Music Hall hath charms to soothe his breast,But tries in vain to tinge his pallid cheek;And yet the print he knows and loves the best,Is that which duly blushes once a week.He never dances since the law shut upHis native haunt, where he could really go it,And romp thepas-de-quatre, and shout and sup—(Of course the Mayfair mothers did not know it).He never dances—but he goes about,And you will always meet him "everywhere,"And sometimes after supper he'll sit outA dance or two, provided she is fair.Some day he'll stoop to raise her to his throne,Look tame and tired of wild oats—for a time;And, when They reap the whirlwind he has sown,We'll talk of his misfortune and her crime.
I know a man who manhood's name profanes,—Most Mayfair mothers own him rather wild;But, since he has more sovereigns than brains,Each tries to catch and tame him for her child.
I know a man who manhood's name profanes,—
Most Mayfair mothers own him rather wild;
But, since he has more sovereigns than brains,
Each tries to catch and tame him for her child.
He knows enough Arithmetic to keepA Betting-book, and lose his little bets,And though his sense of honour is not deep,He always pays his "honourable" debts.
He knows enough Arithmetic to keep
A Betting-book, and lose his little bets,
And though his sense of honour is not deep,
He always pays his "honourable" debts.
Some scores of trowsers own him as their Lord,And endless ties and one unchanging sneer;He owes his tailor what would lodge and boardAnd wash a brace of curates for a year.
Some scores of trowsers own him as their Lord,
And endless ties and one unchanging sneer;
He owes his tailor what would lodge and board
And wash a brace of curates for a year.
His wit is not so pointed as his boots,Bright with the polish which his manners lack,Nor yet so chaste as those astounding suitsWhich deck his shrunken limbs and padded back.
His wit is not so pointed as his boots,
Bright with the polish which his manners lack,
Nor yet so chaste as those astounding suits
Which deck his shrunken limbs and padded back.
His stays are always,heis often, "tight,"His collar, like his birth, issans reproche;He seldom does a thing because it's right,But, on the other hand, is nevergauche.
His stays are always,heis often, "tight,"
His collar, like his birth, issans reproche;
He seldom does a thing because it's right,
But, on the other hand, is nevergauche.
The Music Hall hath charms to soothe his breast,But tries in vain to tinge his pallid cheek;And yet the print he knows and loves the best,Is that which duly blushes once a week.
The Music Hall hath charms to soothe his breast,
But tries in vain to tinge his pallid cheek;
And yet the print he knows and loves the best,
Is that which duly blushes once a week.
He never dances since the law shut upHis native haunt, where he could really go it,And romp thepas-de-quatre, and shout and sup—(Of course the Mayfair mothers did not know it).
He never dances since the law shut up
His native haunt, where he could really go it,
And romp thepas-de-quatre, and shout and sup—
(Of course the Mayfair mothers did not know it).
He never dances—but he goes about,And you will always meet him "everywhere,"And sometimes after supper he'll sit outA dance or two, provided she is fair.
He never dances—but he goes about,
And you will always meet him "everywhere,"
And sometimes after supper he'll sit out
A dance or two, provided she is fair.
Some day he'll stoop to raise her to his throne,Look tame and tired of wild oats—for a time;And, when They reap the whirlwind he has sown,We'll talk of his misfortune and her crime.
Some day he'll stoop to raise her to his throne,
Look tame and tired of wild oats—for a time;
And, when They reap the whirlwind he has sown,
We'll talk of his misfortune and her crime.
Those Silent Boots! Those Silent Boots!When out upon our gay galoots,'Twill give us coves the bloomin' jumps,If we carn't 'ear the Copper's clumps!'Ave Bobby's Bluchers passed away?That there will bust the Burglar's lay!Wot,silent"Slops"—like evening swells?It's wus than them electric bells!No, no! I 'opes, tillIam gone,The Bobby's Boots will still clump on.Their warnin' sound our bizness soots,But bust the thought o'SilentBoots!
Those Silent Boots! Those Silent Boots!When out upon our gay galoots,'Twill give us coves the bloomin' jumps,If we carn't 'ear the Copper's clumps!
Those Silent Boots! Those Silent Boots!
When out upon our gay galoots,
'Twill give us coves the bloomin' jumps,
If we carn't 'ear the Copper's clumps!
'Ave Bobby's Bluchers passed away?That there will bust the Burglar's lay!Wot,silent"Slops"—like evening swells?It's wus than them electric bells!
'Ave Bobby's Bluchers passed away?
That there will bust the Burglar's lay!
Wot,silent"Slops"—like evening swells?
It's wus than them electric bells!
No, no! I 'opes, tillIam gone,The Bobby's Boots will still clump on.Their warnin' sound our bizness soots,But bust the thought o'SilentBoots!
No, no! I 'opes, tillIam gone,
The Bobby's Boots will still clump on.
Their warnin' sound our bizness soots,
But bust the thought o'SilentBoots!
Some Evill-minded Persons.—At the Royal Academy of Music the competition for the Evill Prize took place last Friday, which, to unsuccessful competitors was a day of Evill omen. This is one of the rare instances where "Out of Evill cometh good."
Scene—London. Time—any day of the Week between Show Sunday and Academy Sunday. Present—twoArt Criticsà la Mode.
First A. C.(after a pause). Yes, met a crowd of people last Sunday. Bad memory myself, but hanged if I can remember why I went out on Sunday.
Second A. C.(after consideration). And I too. I hate going out on a Sunday as a rule, but I went last week. However, might have been worse fun. MetPeacockgirls. Rather good form.
First A. C.Yes, Jolly. Going to meet 'em next Sunday,—Mulberry Road.
Second A. C.(lighting a cigarette). I'm going to the Mulberry Road too.
First A. C.(also lighting a cigarette). But why?
Second A. C.(after smoking for two minutes in silence). Haven't the faintest idea! Stay! Ah! (Producing tiny memorandum book.) Here it is, April 2nd—Mulberry Road—Academy Pictures.
First A. C.(with returning intelligence). Of course! Why, that's what we went about. To see the pictures!
Second A. C.(with further intelligence). Yes. Going next Sunday to Mulberry Road to see the pictures again. Rather fun, seeing pictures!
First C.(after a long pause). Yes, rather.
[Scene closes in upon their commencing to discuss some other subject.
FORTUNE'S FOOL.FORTUNE'S FOOL."Well, if that don't beat heverythink, 'Aven't set up 'ere in Business a Month, and they're goin' to Redrain the 'Ole Place!"
"Well, if that don't beat heverythink, 'Aven't set up 'ere in Business a Month, and they're goin' to Redrain the 'Ole Place!"
AGROUPof "World's Women" belonging to all races, has set out from Southampton in the steamshipParis,en routeto the World's Fair. There are English damsels, Scotch lassies, Tyrolese, Hungarian, Parisian, Chinese, and Japanese ladies. Instead of being called "World's Women," they ought, of course, to go as "World's Fair-ies." "Arrangements have been made for bringing them back;" but suppose they prefer to stay? America is a free country; Chicago is one of the freest parts of it. So, after their relative powers of fascinating the American male have been tested, their power of becoming his relatives may have to be counted with. Let us hope they will be accommodated with separate buildings at the Exposition; or a "Lady's Battle" may ensue, under Queensberry Rules. EuropeanversusAsiatic, or—say—FräuleinversusMademoiselle. This would be a great hit.
The most cursory eye it must surely strike,That VOTE and VETO look much alike.Yet rival ranters are straining throat,To VOTE the VETO—orVETO the VOTE!On a slight transposition thus hinges the quarrel'Twixt the fierce fanatics of Pump and Barrel.
The most cursory eye it must surely strike,That VOTE and VETO look much alike.Yet rival ranters are straining throat,To VOTE the VETO—orVETO the VOTE!On a slight transposition thus hinges the quarrel'Twixt the fierce fanatics of Pump and Barrel.
The most cursory eye it must surely strike,
That VOTE and VETO look much alike.
Yet rival ranters are straining throat,
To VOTE the VETO—orVETO the VOTE!
On a slight transposition thus hinges the quarrel
'Twixt the fierce fanatics of Pump and Barrel.
House of Commons, Monday, March 20.—"That's the best speechHarcourthas made this Session," saidGeorge Curzon, as we walked into Lobby to support Government against onslaught ofSage of Queen Anne's Gate, who disapproves its Uganda policy.
"Which speech?" I asked, eagerly, always anxious to learn.George Curzonjust back from far East; has sat astride the Wall of China, and taken five-o'clock tea with theQueen of Corea.Ulysses, with his twenty-years' tramp, not in it with him. "Which speech?" I repeated. "The speech he didn't make just now in reply toChamberlain," saidCurzon, in that sententious tone, and with that grave manner he has learned among the Apaches of the Ural Mountains.
Wants thinking over, this; but is quite true. A great temptation for theSquire; would have been irresistible at one time.Josephhad made a brilliant speech, scintillating with diamond dagger-points. Yielding to the habit of heredity, he had been more than usually disagreeable towards his Brethren. "The originalJoseph," as theSquireremarked, in a little aside, whilst the speech went on amid uproarious delight of the Gentlemen of England, "had one soft place in his resentful heart. But ourJoefinds noBenjaminamong us—unless, indeed, it beTrevelyan, and, I believe, if, after filling up his sack, he had put in any extraneous substance, it would not have been a cup of silver."
Time was when theSquirewould have jumped at this opportunity. Benches crowded with jubilant gentlemen in dinner dress; excitement of cheers and counter-cheers filled House. Few things delight it more than encounter between these two brilliant swordsmen. Only half-past eleven; Twelve-o'clock Rule suspended; plenty of time for business by-and-by; half an hour's sport hurt nobody.
Mr. G. (sings sotto voco), 'How happy could I be'Mr. G.(sings sotto voco), "How happy could I be with either!Were only Uganda away!"
Mr. G.(sings sotto voco), "How happy could I be with either!Were only Uganda away!"
WhenSquirerose, a ringing cheer went up from Ministerialists. Their turn now.Joewas "going to catch it." ButSquireknew better than that. Opportunity tempting; almost irresistible. But business first, pleasure after. With touching air of resignation,Squiresaid they had listened to a very good speech, and now he hoped the Vote would be agreed to; at which point he meekly sat down. Shock so sudden and unexpected that no one butNolanmoved, and he, finding himself on his legs, had no words ready. Whilst he was gasping in search of them, Closure moved; Chairman, who is getting well into the saddle, put question with lightning-like rapidity; before Committee quite knew where it was, it was dividing on the Uganda Vote.
Business done.—Supplementary Estimates concluded; Report of Supply agreed to; way cleared for Appropriation Bill.
Tuesday Night.—Henry Fowlerexplained Parish Council Bill in speech of equal force and lucidity. "Hands all round," asTennysonsaid, in applause of speech and approval of Bill.Jesse Collingsrather hinted that anything good in measure was conveyed fromRitchie'sBill, and everyone knows thatRitchiewas mere lay-figure behind whichJessecontrolled policy of Local Government Board under last Administration. Even this criticism meant as compliment. No harsher note disturbed chorus of approval.
Jokim, in effusion of moment, led into making interesting confession. As he says, only he put it stronger, general impression is that he is not particularly attached to Agricultural Labourer.Bobby Spencer, when he made his historic declaration—"Mr.Speaker, Sir, I am not an Agricultural Labourer"—understood to haveJokimin his mind; endeavouring to ingratiate himself with the statesman who, at the time, wasChancellor of Exchequer.Jokim, certainly, through long and honourable career, never lost opportunity of hustlingHodge. Deductions drawn from this attitude entirely erroneous. Only been dissembling his love. Made clean breast of it to-day. Clasping his hands with genuine emotion, tear plainly tickling through his voice, he exclaimed, "It has been the dream of my life to educate the Agricultural Labourer in Parish affairs!"
'CATCHING VOTES.'"CATCHING VOTES."(Suggested by the Picture "Catching Flies.")
"Well, I must say, I never would have thought it," saidGrandolph, regarding with new interest his Right Hon. friend.
Business done.—Parish Councils Bill brought in.
Thursday.—Pretty to watch Mr. G. in conversation with PrinceArthuron question of Vote of Censure. WhenCameron, "doing a bit of bounce," asBrodricksaid, askedPremierwhether, supposing Opposition resolved to move Vote of Censure, a day wouldn't be found for them, Ministerialists cheered and Opposition responded. House never more like public school than when a fight is being got up. Now spirit rose to bubbling point; cheering and counter-cheering incessant. Only Mr. G. sat silent, apparently so deeply interested in Orders that he had not noticed what was forward. But he saw it all, saw a foot or two further into futurity than the jubilant throng behind him.Cameronhad unwittingly dealt trump card to Opposition avowedly bent on obstructing Home-Rule Bill. Had a pretty good go to-day. Two hours for Questions; two hours more to be used up on Motion for Adjournment. That would serve to throw Registration Bill over sitting and spoil Mr. G.'s little programme. But this suggestion of Vote of Censure coming from other side, worth at least couple of days. Mr. G. saw it all, and once glanced quickly across table in search of sign that anyone on Front Bench opposite had made the discovery. Thought he saw a gleam of intelligence inGrandolph'seye. Hoped things might blow over; but there was inconvenient questioner behind, with Scotch persistency waiting answer. Ministerialists cheering like mad; Opposition truculently responding; all waiting for him. Must do or say something. Wouldn't commit himself by saying anything. Half rose from seat and bowed assent.
POPPING THE QUESTIONS;POPPING THE QUESTIONS;Or, Scene from old Burlesque of "Obstruction" as revived at St. Stephen's Theatre Royal.
By this time PrinceArthurbegan to see light. Some smart fencing followed; PrinceArthurpressed home Vote of Censure question; Mr. G., whilst carefully avoiding any movement that might seem like retreat, evaded the point. Later, whenGrandolphremarked thatPrime Ministerhad challenged them to move Vote of Censure, Mr. G. angrily retorted, "I did nothing of the sort." Too late now; Right Hon. Gentlemen on Front Opposition Bench having put their heads together, determined to ride in at gateCameronobligingly opened. Drew up Motion of Vote of Censure, and Mr. G. must needs, out of his diminishing hoard of days, find one for debating it; Opposition mean to make it two, or even three.
"I wish," said Mr. G., in those chest-notes that indicate profounder indignation, "my people would leave me to manage the business of House."
Business done.—Four hours wasted. Vote of Censure invited.
Friday Midnight.—Wonder to findSage of Queen Anne's Gatestill at post of duty. Business rather heavy work; think it would be well that so precious a life should be cared for. Say this to him.
"You're very kind,Toby," he answered, just a little wearily "but I never think of myself when the interests of myQueenand Country are at stake. Fact is, I have charge of a Bill drafted in the interests of our fellow-citizen the Sweep. He has thrown himself into my arms (of course I use the phrase in a Parliamentary sense) and I am resolved to do my best for him. I am told that the business which called the Judges into private consultation the other day was a proposal to place my bust, crowned with laurel, on a prominent pedestal in the Royal Courts of Justice. Well, I have done something in my time for justice; just now all my sympathies are with the Sweep. I receive deputations of them every day. No, they don't enter by the chimney, but come in by the front-door in ordinary fashion. When there are more than five of them, and they stay over twenty minutes, they leave a little smell lingering in the room. But that's nothing. I'm waiting now to move Second Reading of my Bill. Want Mr. G. to take it up. Have told him people really don't care for Home-Rule Bill, whereas, if he gave his mind to it, he might rouse the country on the question of the harmless necessary Sweep. But no use. He's too deeply rooted in his attachment to his Home-Rule scheme. Daresay I shall get my Bill through first."
Business done.—Patience of long-sufferingSpeakerbreaks down at last.Jemmy Lowtherdid it. On Appropriation Bill moved incomprehensible Amendment, in unintelligble speech;Speakercame down on him "like cartload of bricks," asJohn Burnsput it.Jamesonly temporarily subdued; will probably come up smiling on Monday.
Missing or illegible/damaged punctuation has been repaired.