"AUXILIARY ASSISTANCE" IN THE PROVINCES.

Q. E. D.Q. E. D."What's up wi' Sal?""Ain't yer erd? She's Married agin!"

Q. E. D.

"What's up wi' Sal?""Ain't yer erd? She's Married agin!"

(A Tragedy-Farce in several painful Scenes, with many unpleasant Situations.)

Locality—The Interior of Country Place taken for the Shooting Season. Preparations for a feast in all directions. It is Six o' Clock, and the household are eagerly waiting the appearance ofMontagu Marmaduke, the Auxiliary Butler,sent in by Contract. EnterMontagu Marmaduke,in comic evening dress.

Master(looking atMontaguwith an expression of disappointment on his face). What, areyouthe man they have sent me?

Montagu.Yessir. And I answers toMontagu Marmaduke, or some gentlemen prefers to call me by my real nameBinks.

Master.Oh,Montaguwill do. I hope you know your duties?

Mon.Which I was in service, Sir, with SirBarnaby Jinks, for twenty-six years, and——

Master.Very well, I daresay you will do. I suppose you know about the wine?

Mon.Yessir. In course. I've been a teetotaler ever since I left SirBarnaby's.

Master(retiring). And mind, do not murder the names of the guests.

[Exit.

[The time goes on, and Company arrive.Montaguushers them upstairs, and announces them under various aliases. SirHenry Eisterfoddis introduced asSir'Enery Easteregg,&c., &c.After small talk, the guests find their way to the dining-room.

Mon.(toPrincipal Guest). Do you take sherry, claret, or 'ock, my Lady?

Principal Guest(interrupted in a conversation). Claret, please.

[Montagupromptly pours the required liquid on to the table-cloth.

Master.I must apologise, but our Butler, who is on trial, is very short-sighted.

P. Guest.Evidently.

[The wine is brought round;Montaguinterrupting the conversation with his hospitable suggestions, and pouring claret into champagne glasses, and champagne into sherries.

Nervous Guest(in an undertone toMontagu). Do you think you could get me, by-and-by, a piece of bread?

Mon.Bread, Sir, yessir! (In stentorian tones.) Here,Nisbet, bring this gent some bread!

[The unfortunate guest, who is overcome with confusion at having attracted so much attention, is waited upon byNisbet.

Master(savagely). Can't you go about more quietly?

Mon.(hurt). Certainly, Sir. When I was with SirBarnaby—— (Disappears murmuring to himself, and returns with entrée, which he lets fall on dress ofPrincipal Guest). Beg pardon, my Lady, but it was my stud, whichwouldcome undone. Very sorry, indeed, Mum, but if you will allow me——

[Produces a soiled dinner-napkin with a flourish.

P. Guest(in much alarm). No thanks!

[General commiseration, and, a little later, disappearance of ladies. After this,Montagudoes not reappear except to call obtrusively for carriages, and tout for tips.

P. Guest(on bidding her host good-night). I can assure you my gown was not injured in the least. I am quite sure it was only an accident.

Master(bowing). You are most kind. (With great severity.) As a matter of fact, the man only came to us this afternoon, but, after what has happened, he shall not remain in my service another hour! I shall dismiss him to-night!

[ExitPrincipal Guest. MasterpaysMontaguthe agreed fee for his services for the evening. Curtain.

TO A PHILANTHROPIST.You ask me, Madam, if by chance we meet,For money just to keep upon its feetThat hospital, that school, or that retreat,That home.I help that hospital? My doctor's feeAbsorbs too much. Alas! I cannot beAn inmate there myself; he comes to meAt home.Do not suppose I have too close a fist.Rent, rates, bills, taxes, make a fearful list;I should be homeless if I did assistThat home.I must—it is my impecunious lot—Economise the little I have got;So if I see you coming I am "notAt home."My clothes are shabby. How I should be dunnedBy tailor, hatter, hosier, whom I've shunned,If I supported that school clothing fund,That home!I'd help if folks wore nothing but their skins;This hat, this coat, at which the street-boy grins,Remind me still that "Charity beginsAt home."

TO A PHILANTHROPIST.You ask me, Madam, if by chance we meet,For money just to keep upon its feetThat hospital, that school, or that retreat,That home.

I help that hospital? My doctor's feeAbsorbs too much. Alas! I cannot beAn inmate there myself; he comes to meAt home.

Do not suppose I have too close a fist.Rent, rates, bills, taxes, make a fearful list;I should be homeless if I did assistThat home.

I must—it is my impecunious lot—Economise the little I have got;So if I see you coming I am "notAt home."

My clothes are shabby. How I should be dunnedBy tailor, hatter, hosier, whom I've shunned,If I supported that school clothing fund,That home!

I'd help if folks wore nothing but their skins;This hat, this coat, at which the street-boy grins,Remind me still that "Charity beginsAt home."

On the cold cannon's mouth the Kiss of PeaceShould fall like flowers, and bid its bellowings cease!—But ah! that Kiss of Peace seems very farFrom being as strong as theHotchkiss of War!

[106]

QUALIFIED ADMIRATION.QUALIFIED ADMIRATION.Country Vicar."Well, John, what do you think of London?"Yokel."Lor' bless yer, Sir, it'll be a Fine Placewhen it's Finished!"

QUALIFIED ADMIRATION.

Country Vicar."Well, John, what do you think of London?"

Yokel."Lor' bless yer, Sir, it'll be a Fine Placewhen it's Finished!"

(With Mr. Punch's Compliments to the Gentleman who will have to design "that statue.")

"You really must join the Army," said the stern old Puritan to the Lord Protector. "The fate of this fair realm of England depends upon the promptness with which you assume command."

Oliver Cromwellpaused. He had laid aside his buff doublet, and had donned a coat of a thinner material. His sword also was gone, and hanging by his side was a pair of double spy-glasses—new in those days—new in very deed.

"I cannot go," cried the Lord Protector at last, "it would be too great a sacrifice."

"You said not that," pursuedIreton—for it was he—"when you called uponCharlesto lose his head."

"But in this case, good sooth, I would wish a head to be won, or the victory to be by a head;" and then the Uncrowned King laughed long and heartily, as was his wont when some jest tickled him.

"This is no matter for merriment," exclaimedIretonsternly. "Oliver, you are playing the fool. You are sacrificing for pleasure, business, duty."

"Well, I cannot help it," was the response. "But mind you,Ireton, it shall be the last time."

"What is it that attracts you so strongly? What is the pleasure that lures you away from the path of duty?"

"I will tell you, and then you will pity, perchance forgive me. To-day my horse runs at Epsom. With luck his chance is a certainty. So farewell." Then the two old friends grasped hands and parted. One went to fight on the blood-stained field of battle, and the other to see the race for the Derby.

AtTimbertoeshis Captain railsAs one in doleful dumps;Oft given "leg before"—the bails,Not bat before—the stumps.The Genevese ProfessorYungBelieves the time approachesWhen man will lose his legs, ill-slung,Through trams, cars, cabs, and coaches;Or that those nether limbs will beThe merest of survivals.The thought fillsTimbertoeswith glee,No more he'll fear his rivals."Without these bulky, blundering pegsI shall not fail to score,For if a man has got no legs,Hecan'tget 'leg-before.'"

Sir,—It struck me that the best and simplest way of finding out what were the intentions of the Government with regard to the veto of the Peers was to write and ask each individual Member his opinion on the subject. Accordingly I have done so, and it seems to me that there is a vast amount of significance in the nature of the replies I have received, to anyone capable of reading between the lines; or, as most of the communications only extended to a single line, let us say to anyone capable of reading beyond the full-stop. LordRosebery'sSecretary, for example, writes that "the Prime Minister is at present out of town"—at present, you see, but obviously on the point of coming back, in order to grapple with my letter and the question generally. SirWilliam Harcourt, his Secretary, writes, "is at Wiesbaden, but upon his return your communication will no doubt receive his attention"—receive his attention, an ominous phrase for the Peers, who seem hardly to realise that between them and ruin there is only the distance from Wiesbaden to Downing Street. Then Mr.Morley"sees no reason to alter his published opinion on the subject"—alter, how readily, by the prefixing of a single letter, that word becomeshalter! I was unable to effect personal service of my letter on theAttorney-General, possibly because I called at his chambers during the Long Vacation; but the fact that a card should have been attached to his door bearing the words "Back at 2p.m." surely indicates that SirJohn Rigbywillback uphis leaders in any approaching attack on the fortress of feudalism! Then surely the circumstance that the other Ministers to whom my letters were addressedhave not as yet sent any answershows how seriously they regard the situation, and how disinclined they are to commit themselves to a too hasty reply! In fact, the outlook for the House of Lords, judging from these Ministerial communications, is decidedly gloomy, and I am inclined to think that an Autumn Session devoted to abolishing it is a most probable eventuality.

Yours,Fussy-cuss Exspectans.

Sir,—The real way of dealing with the Lords is as follows. The next time that they want to meet, cut off their gas and water! Tell the butcher and bakernotto call at the House for orders, and dismiss the charwomen who dust their bloated benches. Ifthisdoesn't bring them to reason, nothing will.

High-minded Democrat.[107]

IN PRAISE OF BOYS.(By an "Old One.")["A Mother of Boys," angry with Mr.James Paynfor his dealings with "that barbarous race," suggests that as anamende honorablehe should write a book in praise of boys.]In praise of boys? In praise of boys?Who mess the house, and make a noise,And break the peace, and smash their toys,And dissipate domestic joys,Do everything that most annoys,TheBobsandBillys,RalphsandRoys?—Just as well praise a hurricane,The buzzing fly on the window-pane,An earthquake or a rooting pig!No, young or old, or small or big,A boy's a pest, a plague, a scourge,A dread domestic demiurgeWho brings the home to chaos' verge.Theonlyreason I can seeFor praising him is—well, that he,AsWordsworth—so his dictum ran—Declared, is "father to the man."And even then the better planWould be that he, calm, sober, sage,Were—born at true paternal age!Did all boys start at twenty-fiveI were the happiest "Boy" alive!

(By an "Old One.")

["A Mother of Boys," angry with Mr.James Paynfor his dealings with "that barbarous race," suggests that as anamende honorablehe should write a book in praise of boys.]

In praise of boys? In praise of boys?Who mess the house, and make a noise,And break the peace, and smash their toys,And dissipate domestic joys,Do everything that most annoys,TheBobsandBillys,RalphsandRoys?—Just as well praise a hurricane,The buzzing fly on the window-pane,An earthquake or a rooting pig!No, young or old, or small or big,A boy's a pest, a plague, a scourge,A dread domestic demiurgeWho brings the home to chaos' verge.Theonlyreason I can seeFor praising him is—well, that he,AsWordsworth—so his dictum ran—Declared, is "father to the man."And even then the better planWould be that he, calm, sober, sage,Were—born at true paternal age!Did all boys start at twenty-fiveI were the happiest "Boy" alive!

A LITTLE 'NEW WOMAN.'A LITTLE "NEW WOMAN."He."What a shame it is that Men may ask Women to Marry them, and Women mayn't ask Men!"She."Oh, well, you know, I suppose they can always give a sort ofHint!"He."What do you mean by aHint?"She."Well—they can always say, 'Oh, I doLoveyou so!'"

A LITTLE "NEW WOMAN."

He."What a shame it is that Men may ask Women to Marry them, and Women mayn't ask Men!"

She."Oh, well, you know, I suppose they can always give a sort ofHint!"

He."What do you mean by aHint?"

She."Well—they can always say, 'Oh, I doLoveyou so!'"

(Air—"The Low-backed Car.")

I rather like that Car, Sir,'Tis easy for a ride.But gold galoreMay mean strife and gore.If 'tis stained with greed and pride.Though its comforts are delightful,And its cushions made with taste,There's a spectre sits beside meThat I'd gladly fly in haste—As I ride in the Pullman Car;And echoes of wrath and war,And of Labour's mad cheers,Seem to sound in my earsAs I ride in the Pullman Car!

QUEER QUERIES.—"Science Falsely So Called."—What is this talk at the British Association about a "new gas"? Isn't the old good enough? My connection—as a shareholder—with one of our leading gas companies, enables me to state authoritatively that no new gas is required by the public. I am surprised that a nobleman like LordRayleighshould even attempt to make such a thoroughly useless, and, indeed, revolutionary discovery. It is enough to turn anyone into a democrat at once. And what was LordSalisbury, as a Conservative, doing, in allowing such a subject to be mooted at Oxford? Why did he not at once turn the new gas off at the meter?

Indignant.

FromHenry Sotheran & Co.(so a worthy Baronite reports) comes a second edition ofGame Birds and Shooting Sketches, byJohn Guille Millais. Every sportsman who is something more than a mere bird-killer ought to buy this beautiful book. Mr.Millais'drawings are wonderfully delicate, and, so far as I can judge, remarkably accurate. He has a fine touch for plumage, and renders with extraordinary success the bold and resolute bearing of the British game-bird in the privacy of his own peculiar haunts. I am glad the public have shown themselves sufficiently appreciative to warrant Mr.Millaisin putting forth a second edition of a book which is the beautiful and artistic result of very many days of patient and careful observation. By the way, there is an illustration of a Blackcock Tournament, which is, for knock-about primitive humour, as good as a pantomime rally. One more by-the-way. Are we in future to spell Capercailzie with an extra l in place of the z, as Mr.Millaisspells it? Surely it is rather wanton thus to annihilate the pride of the sportsman who knew what was what, and who never pronounced the z. If you take away the z you take away all merit from him. Perhaps Mr.Millaiswill consider the matter in his third edition.

The Baron de B.-W.

A Song of a Sloppy Season.

(By a Washed-Out Willow-Wielder.)

Air—"Titwillow."

In the dull, damp pavilion a popular "Bat"Sang "Willow, wet-willow, wet-willow!"And I said "Oh! great slogger, pray what are you at,Singing 'Willow, wet-willow, wet-willow'?Is it lowness of average, batsman," I cried;"Or a bad 'brace of ducks' that has lowered your pride?"With a low-muttered swear-word or two he replied,"Oh willow, wet-willow, wet-willow!"He said "In the mud one can't score, anyhow,Singing willow, wet-willow, wet-willow!The people are raising a deuce of a row,Oh willow, wet-willow, wet-willow!I've been waiting all day in these flannels—they're damp!—The spectators impatiently shout, shriek, and stamp,But a batsman, you see, cannot play with a Gamp,Oh willow, wet-willow, wet-willow!"Now I feel just as sure as I am that my nameIsn't willow, wet-willow, wet-willow,The people will swear that I don't play the game,Oh willow, wet-willow, wet-willow!My spirits are low and my scores are not high,But day after day we've soaked turf and grey sky,And I shan't have a chance till the wickets get dry,Oh willow, wet-willow, wet-willow!!!"

He said "In the mud one can't score, anyhow,Singing willow, wet-willow, wet-willow!The people are raising a deuce of a row,Oh willow, wet-willow, wet-willow!I've been waiting all day in these flannels—they're damp!—The spectators impatiently shout, shriek, and stamp,But a batsman, you see, cannot play with a Gamp,Oh willow, wet-willow, wet-willow!

"Now I feel just as sure as I am that my nameIsn't willow, wet-willow, wet-willow,The people will swear that I don't play the game,Oh willow, wet-willow, wet-willow!My spirits are low and my scores are not high,But day after day we've soaked turf and grey sky,And I shan't have a chance till the wickets get dry,Oh willow, wet-willow, wet-willow!!!"

INVALIDED!Deplorable Result of the Forecast of Aug. 23 on the "D. G." Weather Girl.INVALIDEDForecast.—Fair, warmer.Warnings.—None issued.Actual Weather.—Raining cats and dogs.Moral.—Wear a mackintosh over your classical costume.

INVALIDED!

Deplorable Result of the Forecast of Aug. 23 on the "D. G." Weather Girl.

Forecast.—Fair, warmer.Warnings.—None issued.Actual Weather.—Raining cats and dogs.Moral.—Wear a mackintosh over your classical costume.

"His Majesty King Grouse, noblest of game!"So toasted Host. Replied the Guest, with dryness,—"I think that inthishouse the fitter nameWould be His RoyalHighness!"

[108]

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

House of Commons, Monday, August 20.—Ashmead-Bartlett(Knight) is theCasabiancaof Front Opposition Bench. All but he have fled. Now his opportunity; will show jealous colleagues, watchful House, and interested country, how a party should be led. Had an innings on Saturday, when, in favourite character of Dompter of British and other Lions, he worried Under Secretaries for Foreign Affairs and the Colonies. Didn't get much out of them. In fact what happened seems to confirm quaint theorySarkadvances.

Says he believes those two astute young men,Edward GreyandSydney Buxton, "control" the Sheffield Knight. They are active and ambitious. Still only juniors. Moreover, things are managed so well both at Foreign Office and Colonial Office that they have no opportunity of distinguishing themselves. The regular representatives on the Front Opposition Bench of Foreign Affairs and Colonies say nothing; patriotically acquiescent in management of concerns in respect of which it is the high tradition of English statesmanship that the political game shall not be played. In such circumstances no opening for able young men. But, suppose they could induce some blatant, irresponsible person, persistently to put groundless questions, and make insinuations derogatory to the character of British statesmen at home and British officials abroad? Then they step in, and, amid applause on both sides of House, knock over the intruder. Sort of game of House of Commons nine-pins. Nine-pin doesn't care so that it's noticed; admirable practice for young Parliamentary Hands.

This isSark'ssuggestion of explanation of phenomenon. Fancy much simpler one might be found. To-nightBartlett-Ellisin better luck. Turns uponAttorney-General; darkly hints that escape ofJabezwas a put-up job, of which Law Officers of the Crown might, an' they would, disclose some interesting particulars.Rigby, who, when he bends his step towards House of Commons, seems to leave all his shrewdness and knowledge of the world in his chambers, rose to the fly; playedBashmead-Artlett'sobvious game by getting angry, and delivering long speech whilst progress of votes, hitherto going on swimmingly, was arrested for fully an hour.

Business done.—Supply voted with both hands.

Tuesday.—A precious sight, one worthy of the painter's or sculptor's art, to see majestic figure ofSquire of Malwoodstanding between House of Lords and imminent destruction. Irish members and Radicals opposite have sworn to have blood of the Peers.Sage of Queen Anne's Gateis taking the waters elsewhere. In his absence do the best we can. Sat up all last night, the Radicals trying to get at the Lords by the kitchen entrance;Squirewithstanding them till four o'clock in the morning. Began again to-night. Education Vote on, involving expenditure of six millions and welfare of innumerable children. Afterwards the Post Office Vote, upon which the Postmaster-General,St. Arnold-le-Grand, endeavours to reply toHenniker-Heatonwithout betraying consciousness of bodily existence of such a person. These matters of great and abiding interest; but only few members present to discuss them. The rest waiting outside till the lists are cleared and battle rages once more round citadel of the Lords sullenly sentineled by detachment from the Treasury Bench.

When engagement reopenedSquiregone for his holiday trip, postponed by the all-night sitting,John Morleyon guard. Breaks force of assault by protest that the time is inopportune. By-and-by the Lords shall be handed over to tender mercies of gentlemen below gangway. Not just now, and not in this particular way.Chief Secretaryremembers famous case of absentee landlord not to be intimidated by the shooting of his agent. So Lords, he urges, not to be properly punished for throwing out Evicted Tenants Bill by having the salaries of the charwomen docked, andBlack Rodturned out to beg his bread.

Radicals at least not to be denied satisfaction of division. Salaries of House of Lords staff secured for another year by narrow majority of 31.

Business done.—Nearly all.

Wednesday.—TheSquire of Malwoodat last got off for his well-earned holiday. Carries with him consciousness of having done supremely well amid difficulties of peculiar complication. AsJosephin flush of unexpected and still unexplained frankness testified, the Session will in its accomplished work beat the record of any in modern times. TheSquirebeen admirably backed by a rare team of colleagues; but in House of Commons everything depends on the Leader. Had the Session been a failure, upon his head would have fallen obloquy. As it has been a success, his be the praise.

"Well, good bye," saidJohn Morley, tears standing in his tender eyes as he wrung the hand of the almost Lost Leader. "But you know it's not all over yet. There's the Appropriation Bill. What shall we do ifWeircomes up on Second Reading?"

"Oh, damWeir," said theSquire.

John Morleyinexpressibly shocked. For a moment thought a usually equable temper had been ruffled by the almost continuous work of twenty months, culminating in an all-night sitting. On reflection he saw that theSquirewas merely adapting an engineering phrase, describing a proceeding common enough on river courses. The only point on which remark open to criticism is that it is tautological.

Business done.—Appropriation Bill brought in.

Thursday.—George Newneslooked in just now; much the same as ever; the same preoccupied, almost pensive look; a mind weighed down by ever-multiplying circulation. Troubled with consideration of proposal made to him to publish special edition ofStrand Magazinein tongue understanded of the majority of the peoples of India. Has conquered the English-speaking race from Chatham to Chattanooga, from Southampton to Sydney. Now lo! The poor Indian brings his annas, and begs a boon.

Meanwhile one of the candidates for vacant Poet Laureateship has broken out into elegiac verse. "Newnes," he exclaims,

"Newnes, noble hearted, shine, for ever shine;Though not of royal, yet of hallowed line."

That sort of thing would make some men vain. There is no couplet to parallel it since the famous one written byPopeon a place frequented by a Sovereign whose death is notorious, a place where

GreatAnna, whom three realms obey,Did sometimes counsel take and sometimes tea.

The poet, whose volume bears the proudly humble pseudonym "A Village Peasant," should look in at the House of Commons and continue his studies. There are a good many of us here worth a poet's attention.Sarksays the thing is easy enough. "Toss 'em off in no time," says he. "There's theSquirenow, who has not lately referred to his Plantagenet parentage. Apostrophising him in Committee on Evicted Tenants Bill one might have said:—

Squire, noble hearted, shine, for ever shine;Though not of hallowed yet of royal line."

Business done.—Appropriation Bill read second time.Weirturned up. SirWilfrid Lawsonand others said "Dam."

Saturday.—Appropriation Bill read third time this morning. Prorogation served with five o'clock tea.

"Parleyment!" said one of the House of Commons waiters loitering at the gateway of Palace Yard and replying to inquiring visitor from the country. "Parleyment's horff." So am I.

Business done.—All.

The Imperial Sheffield Nine-pin.The Imperial Sheffield Nine-pin.Invaluable to Budding Statesmen.

The Imperial Sheffield Nine-pin.

Invaluable to Budding Statesmen.

(My Four-year-old Sweetheart.)

To make sweet hay I was amazed to findYou absolutely did not know the way,Though when you did, it seemed much to your mindTo make sweet hay.We wandered out. It was a perfect day.I asked if I might teach you. You were kindEnough to answer, "Why,of course, you may."I kissed your pretty face with hay entwined,We made sweet hay. But what will Mother sayIf in a dozen years we're still inclinedTo make sweet hay?

To make sweet hay I was amazed to findYou absolutely did not know the way,Though when you did, it seemed much to your mindTo make sweet hay.

We wandered out. It was a perfect day.I asked if I might teach you. You were kindEnough to answer, "Why,of course, you may."I kissed your pretty face with hay entwined,We made sweet hay. But what will Mother sayIf in a dozen years we're still inclinedTo make sweet hay?

Transcriber's Note:Alternative spellings retained.Punctuation normalised without comment.Spelling regularised without comment.