Hark! 'tis the knell of the Browning Society,Wind-bags are bursting all round us to-day;FURNIVALL fails, and for want of his diet hePines like a love-stricken maiden away.Long has he fed upon cackle and platitude,FURNIVALL sauce to a dish full of dearth,Still, in the favourite FURNIVALL attitude,Grubbing about like a mole in the earth.Now must he vanish, the mole-hills are flat again,(Follies grow fewer it seems by degrees);Lovers of BROWNING may laugh and grow fat again,Rid of the jargon of Furnivallese.
Hark! 'tis the knell of the Browning Society,Wind-bags are bursting all round us to-day;FURNIVALL fails, and for want of his diet hePines like a love-stricken maiden away.
Hark! 'tis the knell of the Browning Society,
Wind-bags are bursting all round us to-day;
FURNIVALL fails, and for want of his diet he
Pines like a love-stricken maiden away.
Long has he fed upon cackle and platitude,FURNIVALL sauce to a dish full of dearth,Still, in the favourite FURNIVALL attitude,Grubbing about like a mole in the earth.
Long has he fed upon cackle and platitude,
FURNIVALL sauce to a dish full of dearth,
Still, in the favourite FURNIVALL attitude,
Grubbing about like a mole in the earth.
Now must he vanish, the mole-hills are flat again,(Follies grow fewer it seems by degrees);Lovers of BROWNING may laugh and grow fat again,Rid of the jargon of Furnivallese.
Now must he vanish, the mole-hills are flat again,
(Follies grow fewer it seems by degrees);
Lovers of BROWNING may laugh and grow fat again,
Rid of the jargon of Furnivallese.
NEW AND OLD TERMS.—"Slate, Slite, Slote, Slitten," is the title of an amusing article in theSaturday Review, on the derivation of the verb "to slate." How "slote" comes in is not quite evident, but that when the pages of a dull book are "slitten" by the paper-knife, it will be read and slated by a critic, and then "slited" (or "slighted") by the public, is quite sufficient without "putting a penny in the 'slote'" on the chance of getting something better.
SO LIKE HIM!—Tuesday last week was the seventieth birthday of Professor VIRCHOW. He has refused all titles and emoluments, observing that "VIRCHOW is its own reward."
VERY POP-ULAR!—Through theTimescame the information that, since the famine, the Russian Officers have given up drinking champagne. Their conduct is really quite Magnuminous!
'GRANDOLPH AD LEONES.'"GRANDOLPH AD LEONES."
["He (Mr. GOSCHEN) was in favour of giving the agricultural labourer every opportunity of becoming more attached to the soil."—Mr. Goschen at Cambridge.]
["He (Mr. GOSCHEN) was in favour of giving the agricultural labourer every opportunity of becoming more attached to the soil."—Mr. Goschen at Cambridge.]
Attached to the soil! Pretty optimist phraseWe are so, and have been, fromGurth'ssimpler days,Though now platform flowers of speech—pleasant joke!—May wreath the serf's ring till men scarce see the yoke.Attached to the soil! The soil clings to our souls!Young labour's scant guerdon, cold charity's doles,The crow-scarer's pittance, the poor-house's aidAll smell of it! Tramping with boots thickly clayedFrom brown field or furrow, or lowered at lastIn our special six-feet by the sexton up-cast,We smack of the earth, till we earthy have grown,Like the mound that Death gives us—best friend—for our own.We tramp it, we delve it, we plough it, this soil,And a grave is the final reward of our toil.Attached? The attachment of love is one thing,The attachment of profit another.Gurth'sringIsourform of attachment at bottom, Sir, still,And to favourthatbond HODGE doubts not your good will.But when others talk of improving our lotBy possession of more than a burial plot,By pay for our toil, and by balm for our troubles,You ban all such prospects as "radiant bubbles."Declare "under-currents of plunder" run throughAll plans for our aid save those favoured by you,Attached to the soil! Ah! how many approveThatattachment, when founded on labour and love!But about "confiscation" they chatter and fussAt all talk of attaching the soil to poor us!
Attached to the soil! Pretty optimist phraseWe are so, and have been, fromGurth'ssimpler days,Though now platform flowers of speech—pleasant joke!—May wreath the serf's ring till men scarce see the yoke.Attached to the soil! The soil clings to our souls!Young labour's scant guerdon, cold charity's doles,The crow-scarer's pittance, the poor-house's aidAll smell of it! Tramping with boots thickly clayedFrom brown field or furrow, or lowered at lastIn our special six-feet by the sexton up-cast,We smack of the earth, till we earthy have grown,Like the mound that Death gives us—best friend—for our own.We tramp it, we delve it, we plough it, this soil,And a grave is the final reward of our toil.Attached? The attachment of love is one thing,The attachment of profit another.Gurth'sringIsourform of attachment at bottom, Sir, still,And to favourthatbond HODGE doubts not your good will.But when others talk of improving our lotBy possession of more than a burial plot,By pay for our toil, and by balm for our troubles,You ban all such prospects as "radiant bubbles."Declare "under-currents of plunder" run throughAll plans for our aid save those favoured by you,Attached to the soil! Ah! how many approveThatattachment, when founded on labour and love!But about "confiscation" they chatter and fussAt all talk of attaching the soil to poor us!
Attached to the soil! Pretty optimist phrase
We are so, and have been, fromGurth'ssimpler days,
Though now platform flowers of speech—pleasant joke!—
May wreath the serf's ring till men scarce see the yoke.
Attached to the soil! The soil clings to our souls!
Young labour's scant guerdon, cold charity's doles,
The crow-scarer's pittance, the poor-house's aid
All smell of it! Tramping with boots thickly clayed
From brown field or furrow, or lowered at last
In our special six-feet by the sexton up-cast,
We smack of the earth, till we earthy have grown,
Like the mound that Death gives us—best friend—for our own.
We tramp it, we delve it, we plough it, this soil,
And a grave is the final reward of our toil.
Attached? The attachment of love is one thing,
The attachment of profit another.Gurth'sring
Isourform of attachment at bottom, Sir, still,
And to favourthatbond HODGE doubts not your good will.
But when others talk of improving our lot
By possession of more than a burial plot,
By pay for our toil, and by balm for our troubles,
You ban all such prospects as "radiant bubbles."
Declare "under-currents of plunder" run through
All plans for our aid save those favoured by you,
Attached to the soil! Ah! how many approve
Thatattachment, when founded on labour and love!
But about "confiscation" they chatter and fuss
At all talk of attaching the soil to poor us!
SCENE—Manager's Room of the Ideal Theatre. Present—Committee of Taste.
SCENE—Manager's Room of the Ideal Theatre. Present—Committee of Taste.
Manager. Now, you fellows, I think we have settled what to do next. Carry out the notion of an afternoon performance of the Ideal Drama. We have got the moderate guarantee, and the good stock company, and hope to receive the cooperation of the leading artists from other theatres. Isn't that so?
Auditor. Yes, I can answer for the moderate guarantee—about £20—in the bank.
Stage Manager. And the good stock company was imported early this morning from Ireland. All very good Shakspearian actors with a taste of a brogue to give their remarks pungency.
Manager. That's all right. And what is the play?
First Member of the Committee of Taste. "Demons," by the Master.
Second Ditto. No, let us have something newer. Why not an adaptation (by myself) of that charming work by SODALA—I call itBlood and Thunder?
Manager(producing halfpenny). By the rules of the Company we toss for it. (Throws up coin.) Heads!—Blood and Thunderwins. We will doBlood and Thunder. Well, now as to casting it. Anything for IRVING in it?
Second Mem.Oh, yes—if he would play it. A Policeman who dies by cutting his throat in Scene 1. Not the sort of part he usually selects, but capital.
First Mem.It is not for Mr. IRVING to pick and choose, it is the cause of Art we serve.
Second Mem.Well, yes. We might telephone and learn his views on the subject.
[Subordinatetakes instructions.
[Subordinatetakes instructions.
Manager. All right! Ah, here we have the piece! Rather long, but the parts seem mild enough. Who's to do this soldier—a sort of heavy dragoon, with a cold, who dies in the First Scene of the Second Act?
Second Mem.Oh, anybody! KENDAL or FARREN; or if they can't, then HARE or LIONEL BROUGH.
Manager. But do you think they will like it? You see they each have their line, and—
First Mem.In the cause of Art they will be prepared to do anything. At least, they ought to be.
Manager. Well, we will telephone to them too. (Subordinatetakes further instructions.) And now, how about the Ladies?
Second Mem.Oh, there are a lot of school-girls, and a woman who dies by degrees of general paralysis. The girls, of course will be all right with—say, Miss EMERY, Miss LINDEN, Miss ALMA MURRAY, and Mrs. KENDAL. But we want two people to play the woman. First Act, Miss ELLEN TERRY; second and third, Miss GENEVIEVE WARD. To be properly played, both should be in it.
Manager. But how will that do? I do not think that Miss TERRY will care to—
First Mem.Nonsense! She is a most charming person, and will do anything in the cause of Art.
Subordinate(returning from telephone). Beg pardon, Gentlemen, but Messrs. KENDAL, FARREN, BROUGH and HARE say they are very sorry, but they are not at home; and Mr. IRVING presents his compliments, and would be delighted to do what we wish, but he fears he will be otherwise engaged. However, he says you have his sympathy, and his heart goes out to you. [Exit.
Manager. Well, what shall we do?
Second Mem.Oh, there's VEZIN, and TERRIS, and PAULTON, and a heap more!
Subordinate(returning). Just heard from the Ladies, Gentlemen, and they send their kindest regards, but they are out too!
Acting Manager(entering). Well, how about the performance?
Members of the Council(together). Oh, it's nearly arranged!
Acting Man.Well, if I might suggest, as a person of considerable experience, it doesn't matter a jot whether you get a company together or not.
Members(as before). Why?
Acting Man.Because you won't get an audience!
[Scene closes in upon farther consultation.
[Scene closes in upon farther consultation.
MODEST AMBITION.MODEST AMBITION.The Squire(to his Eldest Son, just home from the 'Varsity). "WELL, MY BOY, AND WHAT HAVE YOU SETTLED TO BE?"The Squire's Son. "JUST APLAIN COUNTRY GENTLEMANLIKE YOU, FATHER!"
The Squire(to his Eldest Son, just home from the 'Varsity). "WELL, MY BOY, AND WHAT HAVE YOU SETTLED TO BE?"
The Squire's Son. "JUST APLAIN COUNTRY GENTLEMANLIKE YOU, FATHER!"
The Theosophic Boom, its wordy strifeAnd futile fuss are fading out in "fizzle."They talk a deal about their "planesof life,"'Tis plain to me the fitter term were "chisel."
The Theosophic Boom, its wordy strifeAnd futile fuss are fading out in "fizzle."They talk a deal about their "planesof life,"'Tis plain to me the fitter term were "chisel."
The Theosophic Boom, its wordy strife
And futile fuss are fading out in "fizzle."
They talk a deal about their "planesof life,"
'Tis plain to me the fitter term were "chisel."
"A nod is as good as a wink to a blind horse," says the old saw, and a wink is no doubt as good as a smile to a purblind ass. But the wink is indeed one of the worst uses to which the human eye can he put. It signifies usually the vulgarisation of humour, and the degradation of mirth. It is the favourite eye-language of the cynical cad, the coarse jester, the crapulous clown, and—above all—the chuckling cheat.
The Muse of the Music Hall.
It must be admitted, that the Muse of the Music Hall—in her Momus mood—has a strong leaning towards the glorification of cynical 'cuteness of theAutolycussort. It is a weakness which she seems to share with party scribes and Colonial politicians. If she had any classic leanings, which she has not, her favourite deity would be Mercury, the "winking Cyllenian Argophont" of the Homeric Hymn, the "little cradled rogue," the Apollo-cheating babe, "the lord of those who swindle, house-break, sheep-steal and shop-lift," under whomAutolycusprided himself upon having been "littered."Autolycus'scomplacent self-gratulation, "How bless'd are we that are not simple men!" would appeal to the heart of the Music-hall votary. "Ha, ha! what a fool Honesty is! and Trust his sworn brother, a very simple gentleman" is, virtually, the burthen of dozens of the most favourite of the Music-hall ditties.
Sly-scheming Hermes "winked" knowingly at Jupiter when he was "pitching his yarn" about the stolen oxen, and Jupiter "according to his wont,"
"Laughed heartily to hear the subtle wittedInfant give such a plausible account,And every word a lie."
"Laughed heartily to hear the subtle wittedInfant give such a plausible account,And every word a lie."
"Laughed heartily to hear the subtle witted
Infant give such a plausible account,
And every word a lie."
So the Music-hall Muse "winks" knowingly, and knavishly, at her audience, and her audience "laugh heartily," in Jovian guffaws, at her winks. What wonder then that she should lyrically apostrophise "The Wink" in laudatory numbers?
"Say, boys, now is it quite the thing?"
"Say, boys, now is it quite the thing?"
"Say, boys, now is it quite the thing?"
she cries in sham deprecation, but all the while she "winks the other eye" in a way her hearers quite understand. "Cabby knows his fare," and the Music-hall Muse knows her clients. What, we wonder, would be her reception did she really carry out her ironically pretended protest and sing to the chuckling cads who applaud her, the following version of her favourite lay?
Say, boys, whatever do men meanWhen they wink the other eye?Why, when "sharps" say the world is "green,"Do they wink the other eye?The Radicals and Tories both tell stories, not a few,About Measures falsely promised, and reforms long overdue;And when the simple Mob believes that every word is true.Then they—wink the other eye!Chorus.—Say, boys, now is it quite the thing!Say, should we let them have their fling?Ah, when they get us "on a string"Then they wink the other eye!Say, boys are Leaders to be loved,When they wink the other eye?By artful speech the Mob is moved,Tillitwinks the other eye;The optic Wink's the language of the sly and sordid soul,The mute freemasonry of Fraud, sign-post to Roguery's goal.When Circe sees her votaries swine ready in sludge to rollThenshewinks the other eye!Chorus.—Say, boys,isit so fine a thing,Low Cunning, which Cheat's laureates sing,The Comus of the Mart and Ring,Who—winks the other eye?Say, boys, is Cunning's promise good,When she winks the other eye?Noodledom seeks her neighbourhood,And winksitsother eye.For no one winks so freely as a fool whothinkshe's sly;The dupe of deeper knavery smirks in shallow mimicryOf the smirking JERRY DIDDLER who is sucking him so dry,And who winks the other eye.Chorus.—Say, boys, now is the Wink a thingWorthy of worship; will you flingYour caps in air for the Knave-KingWho—winks the other eye?The Politician plucks his geese,Then he winks the other eye.Brazen Fraud steals Trade's Golden Fleece,Then he winks the other eye.Autolycuspipes ballads; public pockets are his aim;Rabagasraves of "liberty"; advancement is his game;And when their dupes aren't looking all these rogues do just the same,They—wink the other eye!Chorus.—Say, boys, pæans will you singTo winking harpies all a-wingTo prey on fools; who steal, and sting,And—wink the other eye?Wisdom may smile, but Cunning can't,She winks the other eye.Humour shall chortle, Mockery shan't,She winks the other eye.The stars above us twinkle and the dews beneath us blink,All the eyes of Nature sparkle, and from merriment do not shrink,The Language of the Eye of Cynic Knavery is—the Wink!Roguery"winks the other eye!"Chorus.—Say, boys, is it quite the thing?"Ducdàme"1to fools the Diddlers sing;Trust me 'tis Rascals in a RingWho wink the other eye!
Say, boys, whatever do men meanWhen they wink the other eye?Why, when "sharps" say the world is "green,"Do they wink the other eye?The Radicals and Tories both tell stories, not a few,About Measures falsely promised, and reforms long overdue;And when the simple Mob believes that every word is true.Then they—wink the other eye!
Say, boys, whatever do men mean
When they wink the other eye?
Why, when "sharps" say the world is "green,"
Do they wink the other eye?
The Radicals and Tories both tell stories, not a few,
About Measures falsely promised, and reforms long overdue;
And when the simple Mob believes that every word is true.
Then they—wink the other eye!
Chorus.—Say, boys, now is it quite the thing!Say, should we let them have their fling?Ah, when they get us "on a string"Then they wink the other eye!
Chorus.—Say, boys, now is it quite the thing!
Say, should we let them have their fling?
Ah, when they get us "on a string"
Then they wink the other eye!
Say, boys are Leaders to be loved,When they wink the other eye?By artful speech the Mob is moved,Tillitwinks the other eye;The optic Wink's the language of the sly and sordid soul,The mute freemasonry of Fraud, sign-post to Roguery's goal.When Circe sees her votaries swine ready in sludge to rollThenshewinks the other eye!
Say, boys are Leaders to be loved,
When they wink the other eye?
By artful speech the Mob is moved,
Tillitwinks the other eye;
The optic Wink's the language of the sly and sordid soul,
The mute freemasonry of Fraud, sign-post to Roguery's goal.
When Circe sees her votaries swine ready in sludge to roll
Thenshewinks the other eye!
Chorus.—Say, boys,isit so fine a thing,Low Cunning, which Cheat's laureates sing,The Comus of the Mart and Ring,Who—winks the other eye?
Chorus.—Say, boys,isit so fine a thing,
Low Cunning, which Cheat's laureates sing,
The Comus of the Mart and Ring,
Who—winks the other eye?
Say, boys, is Cunning's promise good,When she winks the other eye?Noodledom seeks her neighbourhood,And winksitsother eye.For no one winks so freely as a fool whothinkshe's sly;The dupe of deeper knavery smirks in shallow mimicryOf the smirking JERRY DIDDLER who is sucking him so dry,And who winks the other eye.
Say, boys, is Cunning's promise good,
When she winks the other eye?
Noodledom seeks her neighbourhood,
And winksitsother eye.
For no one winks so freely as a fool whothinkshe's sly;
The dupe of deeper knavery smirks in shallow mimicry
Of the smirking JERRY DIDDLER who is sucking him so dry,
And who winks the other eye.
Chorus.—Say, boys, now is the Wink a thingWorthy of worship; will you flingYour caps in air for the Knave-KingWho—winks the other eye?
Chorus.—Say, boys, now is the Wink a thing
Worthy of worship; will you fling
Your caps in air for the Knave-King
Who—winks the other eye?
The Politician plucks his geese,Then he winks the other eye.Brazen Fraud steals Trade's Golden Fleece,Then he winks the other eye.Autolycuspipes ballads; public pockets are his aim;Rabagasraves of "liberty"; advancement is his game;And when their dupes aren't looking all these rogues do just the same,They—wink the other eye!
The Politician plucks his geese,
Then he winks the other eye.
Brazen Fraud steals Trade's Golden Fleece,
Then he winks the other eye.
Autolycuspipes ballads; public pockets are his aim;
Rabagasraves of "liberty"; advancement is his game;
And when their dupes aren't looking all these rogues do just the same,
They—wink the other eye!
Chorus.—Say, boys, pæans will you singTo winking harpies all a-wingTo prey on fools; who steal, and sting,And—wink the other eye?
Chorus.—Say, boys, pæans will you sing
To winking harpies all a-wing
To prey on fools; who steal, and sting,
And—wink the other eye?
Wisdom may smile, but Cunning can't,She winks the other eye.Humour shall chortle, Mockery shan't,She winks the other eye.The stars above us twinkle and the dews beneath us blink,All the eyes of Nature sparkle, and from merriment do not shrink,The Language of the Eye of Cynic Knavery is—the Wink!Roguery"winks the other eye!"
Wisdom may smile, but Cunning can't,
She winks the other eye.
Humour shall chortle, Mockery shan't,
She winks the other eye.
The stars above us twinkle and the dews beneath us blink,
All the eyes of Nature sparkle, and from merriment do not shrink,
The Language of the Eye of Cynic Knavery is—the Wink!
Roguery"winks the other eye!"
Chorus.—Say, boys, is it quite the thing?"Ducdàme"1to fools the Diddlers sing;Trust me 'tis Rascals in a RingWho wink the other eye!
Chorus.—Say, boys, is it quite the thing?
"Ducdàme"1to fools the Diddlers sing;
Trust me 'tis Rascals in a Ring
Who wink the other eye!
Footnote 1:(return)Amiens. What's that "ducdàme"?Jaques. 'Tis a Greek invocation to call fools into a circle."As You Like It,"Act II., Sc. 5.
Amiens. What's that "ducdàme"?Jaques. 'Tis a Greek invocation to call fools into a circle.
Amiens. What's that "ducdàme"?
Amiens. What's that "ducdàme"?
Jaques. 'Tis a Greek invocation to call fools into a circle.
Jaques. 'Tis a Greek invocation to call fools into a circle.
"As You Like It,"Act II., Sc. 5.
1.A rough draught, written by the under-master, who certainly has had rather a trying week withTOMMY.
"I am unable to speak highly of either his intelligence or his industry; but occasionally he works well, and has undoubtedly made some progress this term. His conduct is not always good."
2.Second rough draught; TOMMYin the meantime has missed a repetition and accidentally knocked down the black-board.
"Exceptionally stupid and idle. Cannot be said to have made any progress whatever this term, although he has had every effort made with him. His conduct is abominable, noisy and unruly in the extreme."
3.Fair copy to be submitted to the principal; of course, TOMMYhad not intended to be overheard when he spoke of the under-master as"Old Pig-face,"but this is the result.
"A more idle and utterly worthless boy it has never been my misfortune to teach. Seems to have gone steadily backward all the term. Is most objectionable in his manners, and has no sense of honour."
4.Fair copy, as amended by the principal; how wasTOMMYto know that stone would break the conservatory window, and drive the principal to alter the report to this?
"Would be better suited in a reformatory than in a school of this standing. Utterly depraved, vicious and idle, with marked criminal instincts. In intellect verges on the imbecile. Unless there is a marked improvement next term, I cannot keep him."
5.Principal's final copy; itwasfortunate thatTOMMYhappened to remark that he had four cousins who were, perhaps, coming next term. One can't lose four pupils, even if it makes it necessary to write like this.
"A singularly bright and high-spirited boy; a little given to mischief, as all boys are, but quite amenable to discipline. My assistant speaks most highly of his progress this term, and of his general intelligence. He seems well suited by our system. His conduct is, on the whole, admirable. He is truthful and conscientious."
"Poetry does not sell!" cry plaintive pleaders.Alas! most modern Poetrydoes—its readers!
"Poetry does not sell!" cry plaintive pleaders.Alas! most modern Poetrydoes—its readers!
"Poetry does not sell!" cry plaintive pleaders.
Alas! most modern Poetrydoes—its readers!
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.