ON THE WRONG SCENT.

ON THE WRONG SCENT.ON THE WRONG SCENT.Lord Salisbury, M.F.H."CONFOUND THOSE YOUNG HOUNDS!—THEY'RE TAKING A LINE OF THEIR OWN!!"

Lord Salisbury, M.F.H."CONFOUND THOSE YOUNG HOUNDS!—THEY'RE TAKING A LINE OF THEIR OWN!!"

PIG-HEADED ATTACK ON THE IMMORTAL BARD.PIG-HEADED ATTACK ON THE IMMORTAL BARD.

Dear Sir,—Mr.Donnelly'scryptogram, showingBaconto be the author of allShakspeare'splays, is a wonderful discovery. The principle only needs to be applied with sufficient ingenuity and perseverance, to revolutionise the whole field of literary history. I myself have only had time to apply it in a few instances, but have already got the really valuable result thatNegrettiandZambrawrote most of the works ofMilton.DayandMartin LutherwroteSandford and Merton, and SirWalter Scottwrote the ballad with the refrain "Two Lovely Black Eyes."Charles Thackeray'sworks were entirely written byWilliam Makepeace Dickens. Hence the cryptogrammatic name. I am working as hard at the theory as the somewhat unelastic rules of this establishment will permit, and this morning I caught a cryptogram crawling up the window-pane. Aha! excuse my glove, I must dissemble,

Colney-Hatchwell.Yours,The "B" in Both.

Sir,—You are performing a truly noble and philanthropic work in throwing open your columns to a subject which must inevitably seem "caviareto the general" (Bacon). To myself, personally, the raising of the controversy at the present time is annoying, because I happen to have hit independently on exactly the same idea as Mr.Donnelly's; viz., that there is an underground narrative running throughShakspeare.DarwinandWallace, you may remember, discovered the origin of species simultaneously, so why not I andDonnellythe origin ofShakspeare? But my cryptogram leads to an entirely different result from Mr.Donnelly's, who has, I am certain, being led off on a false scent. Instead of multiplying every 270th word, as he does, by the number of full-stops in the page, and then dividing the result by the number of years during whichAnne Hathawayis supposed to have resided at Stratford-on-Avon, he should first have discovered the total quantity of words in allShakspeare'splays and sonnets, and after that the quantity in theNovum Organon; then reducing the probable salary whichBaconreceived as Lord Chancellor,each year, down to farthings, he should have divided (notmultiplied) them all into each other, and brought them to decimals, and then appliedthatresult to the plays. The process is a little complicated, but I can't make it clearer at present. Anyhow, the entrancing interest of the story so obtained can be judged from the headings of the chapters.

"LordBaconarrives at Stratford disguised as a bargee. His midnight visit toShakspeare'shouse. The poaching plot hatched. In the churchyard. The Ghost among the tombs. The Ghost discovered to be QueenElizabeth, who had followedBaconto Stratford disguised as a Tilbury fish-wife. The Queen buried alive in Stratford churchyard byBaconandShakspeare. The good Vicar bribed. Their scheme to dress upAnne Hathawayas Queen. Its success.Anne Hathawayreigns twenty years, everybody taking her forElizabeth.Shakspeare(stricken with remorse) appears suddenly at the bedside ofBacon. Threatens to disclose all.BaconmurdersShakspeare. Takes allShakspeare'sPlays (hitherto unacted, having been rejected by the Managers of the period as 'wholly devoid of dramatic power') out of his pocket, and produces them next day as his own. Success of this plot also. HowBaconrepents at last. Invents the Cryptogram. Inserts it in the Plays on his deathbed."

You will see from this abstract that there are elements of far greater interest in my theory than in Mr.Donnelly's, and my publishers sincerely trust that you will insert this letter, as a gratuitous advertisement may help the sale of my forthcoming work, entitled,Who Killed Shakspeare and Queen Elizabeth?Your obedient servant,Artful Plodder.

Sir,—Surely it is impossible to doubt any longer thatBaconwroteHamlet. Why, in that play you find him actually confessing his cowardice in not claiming the authorship of his own plays! What elsecanthese words mean?

"What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven? We arearrant knaves all."

Then occurs this truly remarkable sentence:—

"God hath given you one face, and you make yourselves another."

Givenwhom? Why,Baconhimself! Did he not make his face into another's, namely,Shakspeare's? The case is as clear as noonday. Let the insular cavillers atDonnelly, just because he is an American, hide their diminished heads.Anti-Humbug.

Dear Sir,—Would one of your readers kindly inform me how FriarBaconcould have writtenShakspeare? I see byLittle Arthur's History of Englandthat the former lived three hundred years beforeShakspearewas born. This seems to be a conclusive proof that Mr.Donnellyis wrong; but though I am very fond of history, I do not profess to be a great historical critic.Tilly Slowboy.

Sir,—In looking overMacbeth, I have found a really remarkable confirmation of Mr.Donnelly'scryptographic story. The story relates how, whenCeciltold QueenElizabeththatShakspeare'splays were treasonable, she "rises up, beatsHaywardwith her crutch, and nearly kills him." In Act III., Scene 4, ofMacbeth, occurs this line,—

"It will have blood; they say, blood will have blood"—

i.e., QueenElizabeth, being a person of good blood, or high lineage,willhave blood,i.e., from the head of the person she beats with the crutch.

A few lines further on is a striking confirmation of this.

Macbethsays,—

"How say'st thou, thatMacduffdenies his personAt our great bidding?"

"How say'st thou, thatMacduffdenies his person

At our great bidding?"

Macduffhere is cryptographic forShakspeare. When summoned by the Queen to answerCecil'scharge,Shakspearediddeny his person at her bidding. Mr.Donnelly'sis a great discovery. The worlddoesadvance, in spite of LordSalisbury.Yours,Radical.

Dear Sir,—How long will the British public allow an impudent Yankee to lead it astray? Mr.Donnellyhas evidently never read my historical novel,A Tale of the Invincible Armada, which somehow failed to meet with the enthusiasm it deserved, or he would know thatCecilvaluedShakspearemost highly. In my book he never addresses the Bard without saying, "Marry, Gossip," or "I' faith, good coz." I am sure your readers will be glad of this information; also to hear that I am bringing out a cheap popular edition of the same book, price only three-and-sixpence. Order at once,Yours,M. Ainchance.

Sir,—Perhaps, after all, the best solution of theShakspeare-Baconpuzzle is one analogous to that suggested by a learned Don in theHomercontroversy—viz., that the person who wrote the plays was notShakspeare, but another man of the same name.Yours,Commonsensicus Academicus.

"'The policy of worry' shan't be strained;They'll drop it in my gentle reign next Session."

"'The policy of worry' shan't be strained;

They'll drop it in my gentle reign next Session."

AN OPPORTUNIST."AN OPPORTUNIST."He."Oh, Emil——Miss Crumpcher—can—have you ever Loved?"She."N—not this season!"

He."Oh, Emil——Miss Crumpcher—can—have you ever Loved?"

She."N—not this season!"

A Would-be "Literary Gent."—The following is from theDaily Telegraph:—

Literary.—A gentleman who erst wrote for recreation, is driven, through cruel misfortune, to resume his pen for a livelihood. Fugitive lines, reviews of English, French, and Italian literature, topics of the day.

What a condescension! How good of him! He "first wrote for recreation"—whose?—his own probably, and that of his friends who were as easily amused as were those of Mr.Peter Magnus,—who signed himself P.M., or afternoon, for the entertainment of his correspondents,—and now he is "driven through cruel misfortune to resume his pen." Very cruel! Perhaps already his friends are beginning to suffer from this spiteful freak of Fortune. But as he can knock off with ease a variety of literary work, he is rather to be envied than pitied; and already he may be on the high road to literary fame which he will despise, and solid wealth which he will appreciate.

The New Sixpence.—On the face is to be theQueen'seffigy with inscription, and on the reverse its value inscribed, surrounded by an olive-branch and an oak-branch. More appropriate for the face would have been theQueen'seffigy surrounded by olive-branches.

M.Pasteuris the man for the successful treatment of hydrophobia. Does the Australasian Government appeal to him for assistance because it finds itself in a rabbit state?

(Humbly imitated from Henry Luttrel's "Burnham Beeches.")A Bard, dear Muse, who pluck would sing,Your friendly aid beseeches.Help me to touch the lyric stringOn—braveO'Brien'sbreeches!What though the splendour of my linesToSwinburne'sheight ne'er reaches?The theme, if not the thrummer, shines;That theme's—O'Brien'sbreeches!They wouldn't letO'Brientalk,Or make "seditious" speeches.They quodded him, his plans to baulk,And—tried to bag his breeches!But braveO'Brien'sblood did burn(Say, who his pluck impeaches?)He up and swore in accents stern,"Iwon't—wear convict breeches!"Those gaolers deep about him hung,They stuck to him like leeches.But he, the eloquent of tongue,Stuck to—O'Brien'sbreeches!If "sermons be in stones," I'll betA prison patience teaches.The prisoner to bed must get;They watched—and boned his breeches!The captive of the cold complains,His breechless bones it reaches.But yield? No, rather he remainsIn bed—without his breeches!In vain the prison-clothes they show;Badge of dishonour each is.Patriots prefer to lie belowBed-clothes—without their breeches!But friends unto the dungeon hie,No gaoler marks (or peaches),They handO'Brien, on the sly,Anotherpair of breeches!BlackBalfour'smyrmidons are fooled!A lesson high this teaches:A plucky people is not ruledBy—stealing patriot's breeches!Brian Boruthey sang of yore,But when her goal she reaches,Erin will sing, from shore to shore,O'Brien—and his breeches!Her bards will praise the patriot true,His long and fiery speeches,His beardingBalfour'sbrutal crew;But, above all,—his breeches!Oh, ne'er may the potheen pass roundBut—Erin so beseeches—The Isle may with one theme resound,—O'Brien—and his breeches!Hold! Though I'd fain be jingling on,One rhyme, experience teaches,You can't ring on for aye! I've done.Farewell,O'Brien'sbreeches!

A Bard, dear Muse, who pluck would sing,Your friendly aid beseeches.Help me to touch the lyric stringOn—braveO'Brien'sbreeches!

A Bard, dear Muse, who pluck would sing,

Your friendly aid beseeches.

Help me to touch the lyric string

On—braveO'Brien'sbreeches!

What though the splendour of my linesToSwinburne'sheight ne'er reaches?The theme, if not the thrummer, shines;That theme's—O'Brien'sbreeches!

What though the splendour of my lines

ToSwinburne'sheight ne'er reaches?

The theme, if not the thrummer, shines;

That theme's—O'Brien'sbreeches!

They wouldn't letO'Brientalk,Or make "seditious" speeches.They quodded him, his plans to baulk,And—tried to bag his breeches!

They wouldn't letO'Brientalk,

Or make "seditious" speeches.

They quodded him, his plans to baulk,

And—tried to bag his breeches!

But braveO'Brien'sblood did burn(Say, who his pluck impeaches?)He up and swore in accents stern,"Iwon't—wear convict breeches!"

But braveO'Brien'sblood did burn

(Say, who his pluck impeaches?)

He up and swore in accents stern,

"Iwon't—wear convict breeches!"

Those gaolers deep about him hung,They stuck to him like leeches.But he, the eloquent of tongue,Stuck to—O'Brien'sbreeches!

Those gaolers deep about him hung,

They stuck to him like leeches.

But he, the eloquent of tongue,

Stuck to—O'Brien'sbreeches!

If "sermons be in stones," I'll betA prison patience teaches.The prisoner to bed must get;They watched—and boned his breeches!

If "sermons be in stones," I'll bet

A prison patience teaches.

The prisoner to bed must get;

They watched—and boned his breeches!

The captive of the cold complains,His breechless bones it reaches.But yield? No, rather he remainsIn bed—without his breeches!

The captive of the cold complains,

His breechless bones it reaches.

But yield? No, rather he remains

In bed—without his breeches!

In vain the prison-clothes they show;Badge of dishonour each is.Patriots prefer to lie belowBed-clothes—without their breeches!

In vain the prison-clothes they show;

Badge of dishonour each is.

Patriots prefer to lie below

Bed-clothes—without their breeches!

But friends unto the dungeon hie,No gaoler marks (or peaches),They handO'Brien, on the sly,Anotherpair of breeches!

But friends unto the dungeon hie,

No gaoler marks (or peaches),

They handO'Brien, on the sly,

Anotherpair of breeches!

BlackBalfour'smyrmidons are fooled!A lesson high this teaches:A plucky people is not ruledBy—stealing patriot's breeches!

BlackBalfour'smyrmidons are fooled!

A lesson high this teaches:

A plucky people is not ruled

By—stealing patriot's breeches!

Brian Boruthey sang of yore,But when her goal she reaches,Erin will sing, from shore to shore,O'Brien—and his breeches!

Brian Boruthey sang of yore,

But when her goal she reaches,

Erin will sing, from shore to shore,

O'Brien—and his breeches!

Her bards will praise the patriot true,His long and fiery speeches,His beardingBalfour'sbrutal crew;But, above all,—his breeches!

Her bards will praise the patriot true,

His long and fiery speeches,

His beardingBalfour'sbrutal crew;

But, above all,—his breeches!

Oh, ne'er may the potheen pass roundBut—Erin so beseeches—The Isle may with one theme resound,—O'Brien—and his breeches!

Oh, ne'er may the potheen pass round

But—Erin so beseeches—

The Isle may with one theme resound,—

O'Brien—and his breeches!

Hold! Though I'd fain be jingling on,One rhyme, experience teaches,You can't ring on for aye! I've done.Farewell,O'Brien'sbreeches!

Hold! Though I'd fain be jingling on,

One rhyme, experience teaches,

You can't ring on for aye! I've done.

Farewell,O'Brien'sbreeches!

An Actor's opinion on the Bacon v. Shakspeare controversy, expressed in a strictly professional cryptogrammatic style.

"Shakspearewritten by a chap calledBacon, my boy? Very likely; I always found 'lots of fat' in it."

Another (at Brighton, by an Ancient Mariner who sticks to the "Old Ship").

"BaconwroteShakspeare? Well, perhaps he did. He was a clever chap, was dear oldArthur Bacon; but still, somehow, I don't think he wroteShakspeare. At least not all of it."

INTERIORS AND EXTERIORS. No. 54.THE PARLIAMENTARY CATTLE-SHOW.THE PARLIAMENTARY CATTLE-SHOW.

Sir,—I used to be a very regular attendant at the Theatres. I am not so now, and I find that by staying away, I have time at my disposal, which I never had before, for reading, study, and social intercourse. I save my money and preserve my health. And for this I have most sincerely to thank the Managers of our London Theatres, who, within the last few years, have adopted a style of pictorial advertisement, which, though possibly attractive to simple-minded folk, or restless youth, exercises a singularly deterrent effect on the middle-aged playgoer, and on all imaginative and timid persons, especially of the feminine gender.

For example, speaking as a mediævalist, or one of the middle-ages, if I see a huge coloured picture on a hoarding representing several sensational situations which form a frame for the culminating horror of the play in the centre, as an old stager I know that play from beginning to end, and take in the whole plot at a glance. I can imagine the dialogue without doing much injury to the author, and, as I have seen the principal actors and actresses, I can, in my own mind, furnish the piece with a cast probably far superior to that at the particular theatre where the melodrama, thus pictorially advertised, is being performed. The scenery and costumes I have before me on the hoarding. This applies to several theatres. As to timid ladies they shrink from seeing the realisation of the terrible situations depicted on the picture-poster. They have seen quite enough: they will wait until something less startling shall be substituted for this display of crime, cruelty, and violence.

It is really very kind of the Managers to provide for outsiders in this way, but the outsiders remain outsiders, and have no desire to enter these chambers of Dramatic Horrors. As a supporter of shows and exhibitions, with considerable experience, I know well enough that the representation outside the booth is very much superior to the reality within; for example, the outside picture of a Fat Woman exaggerates the corpulence of the Lady on view inside the caravan; the Mermaid is most attractive in the picture, probably floating about playing a harp, while the reality is a dummy figure composed of a monkey's and cat's skin sewn together and stuffed. I hope the Managers will develop their pictorial advertisements still further; I speak selfishly, as if everyone takes my view, where will the audiences be?

The only advertisements that ever attract me, and cause me to say, "Ah! I should like to seethat!" are those which, on closer inspection, I find to be only the artistic trade-marks of some new soap, beetle-powder, peculiar whiskey, sewing machines, or soothing syrup. Pray, Sir, do all you can to encourage Theatrical Art in Mural Decorations, and save the time and money of,Yours,Pater Familias.

P.S.—I shall take my boys in holiday time the round of the hoardings, and tell them all about the plays. Cheap entertainment, eh?

Mr.Blundell Maple, M. P. elect for Dulwich—not by any means a dullidge sort of constituency in the opinion of the Conservative Candidate's Agent—is to be congratulated on attaining his majority. When he has prepared his maiden speech for the House, he may hum to himself:—

"Now I'm furnished, Now I'm furnished for my flight!"

"I am heartily glad you have come," said the Commander-in-Chief (patented), throwing down theFortnightly, "because this article upon the present condition of the Army, by the Author ofGreater Britain, has put me out completely."

En Retraite."En Retraite."

"I glanced at it, but could not get through it," repliedtheField Marshal. "What does he say?"

"Well, so far as I can make out, that in the time of war all the Militia will be drafted into the Army, and all the Coast Guards into the Navy, and both will disappear together with the Army and the Navy in the first battle."

"Anything else?"

"Well," continuedGeorge Ranger, re-opening the Magazine, "he seems to think that we have got enough men, if we can't get more, but that we must defend India with the aid of compulsory service, although, for various 'religious and commercial reasons, almost peculiar to England, the non-adoption of Conscription is certain.'"

"From this I take it the article is slightly mixed?"

"It is—and I am bothered entirely!" replied the poor Duke, who had a habit, when worried, of returning to the brogue he used as PrinceGeorgein Ireland, in his youth. "What will I do? Look there now, we have cut down everything to starvation proportions, to please LordGrandolph, to say nothing of upsetting the entire machinery of the War Office, to save the salary of the Surveyor-General of the Ordnance. Sure, what more will I do?"

"Read this," repliedtheField Marshal, giving to H. R. H. a packet. "If War is declared, open it, and act upon the orders contained in it."

And, with this,Punch, the greatest modern strategist, bowed, and retired.

Two months later Europe, shaken by the mightiest conflict of this century, was beginning to regain her composure. It would be unwise (for it might offend foreign susceptibilities) to give the names of the victories that had added fresh lustre to the British arms. Suffice it to say that not a single reverse had been recorded. Once moretheField Marshal entered the room of the Commander-in-Chief (patented).

"Well,George, how goes it?" asked the foremost soldier of the age. The Commander-in-Chief (patented) fell upon his knees and kissed the spurs of his master's boots.

"Nay, this show of gratitude is pleasing, but embarrassing. Remember,George, you are of Royal Blood," andtheField-Marshal gently and kindly assisted the Patented One to rise.

"I cannot help it," returnedGeorge, with a burst of almost painful emotion. "You have done so much for us."

"Not at all," observedPunchwith a smile, "that packet certainly contained a few suggestions of some value."

"Why, they saved the country! How should we have horsed the Cavalry and Artillery, if we had not entered on peace contracts with the Directors of Pickford's, the London General Omnibus Company, the Road Cars, the Tramways, and the Herne Bay Bathing Machine Owners. The last were not easily persuaded to act with us, as somehow the requisition of their quadrupeds seemed to interfere with the success of the Thanet Harriers."

"But they gave in at last?"

"Certainly, patriotism was the rule without exception. Then the compulsory service of theiremployésin the Volunteers, insisted upon by all the West End Tradesmen and employers of labour throughout the land, had the best effects. Why some of the finest troops in the world came fromSchoolbred's,Whiteley's, the Army and Navy Stores, andSmith and Sons."

"And the Inns of Court, the Universities, and the Medical Colleges also insisted upon continued efficient service in the Volunteer ranks to secure the advantage of audience in the Courts and Registration as Doctors, didn't they?"

"Certainly! Oh, it was grand! Then we got as much Cavalry as we required from the farmers, and the Yeomanry, and purchased the entire stock of guns from the Continent.—Just as you told me to do."

"Quite right," saidPunch, "after all, guns and ammunition are only a question of figures. I suppose the British Army in India was recalled home and distributed amongst the Colonies, as I suggested, and the Native Troops that were not quite trustworthy treated in the same manner?"

"Assuredly, yes, and they have given an admirable account of themselves in Australia and Canada." ThenGeorgehesitated. "But you would not tell me how you supplied their places in India. You merely asked for transport for your Army of Reserves."

"Quite so," saidPunch, with a smile. "But, now that peace is decided upon, and all but declared, I need keep silence no longer. The fact is, I fought the Russians with an Army of Germans and Italians, under the command of my friend SirFrederick Roberts."

"Germans and Italians! Wheredidyou get them from?"

"From places where they were ruining our working-poor and doing themselves no permanent good. I shipped them from Hatton Garden and Whitechapel. My country saved, the welfare of the world in general demands my restored attention. It shall have it."

And full of this truly benevolent intention,Mr. Punchreturned to Fleet Street.

Odd Volumes.Odd Volumes.

Odd Volumes.

FromThe Personal Remembrancesof SirFrederick Pollock(Macmillan & Co.) I had, I confess, expected a great deal more than I found in the two volumes. And I hold that I had a right to expect something more than usually interesting from the Remembrances of the Queen's Remembrancer. What SirFrederickremembers as Remembrancer to theQueenis very little, though quite sufficient for the office; but his own recollections as his own Remembrancer are very pleasant reading, being full of information given in an unpretentious conversational style, about Cambridge University life, the Bench and the Bar, and Literary Society generally. There is a good deal of eating and drinking recorded—not too much, perhaps, for the necessities of social life; and the "C. C. S.," or Cambridge Conversazione Society seems to have been very regular in its intellectual gatherings at various places where good food is provided. This Club, limited to twelve members, was called somewhat profanely "The Twelve Apostles," though of what they were Apostles I cannot make out. They have evidently an Apostolic Succession, as the Club is still in existence, I believe. Altogether, among this sudden glut in the market of literary confidences in the shape of ducal, journalistic, artistic, and egotistic recollections, this may be taken up as a chatty and readable book.

Woman's Worldfor December, edited by ourOscar Wilde, is full of woman's wit, and some of the illustrations, especially in the department of The Fashions, are charming. What a change from the old style of painted doll inanities, dressed up in a style never seen in real life! The picture of the three pretty women preparing for a ball is a candle to attract male moths—"male moths" being obviously the opposite to "ma'am—moths," as that undefeated punsterSamuel Johnsonwould have said under certain circumstances. Mrs.Campbell Praed'saccount of Royat is very amusing; but, though I have been several times up to La Charrade, yet never have I had the good fortune to come across MadameGrenon, who, if her portrait, as given in this number, is a genuine likeness, ought to be one of the attractions of the environs of Royat. Good, honest, kindly faces I saw at Charrade, but why this uncommonly pretty one hid herself, as she must have done whenever she saw this distinguished water-drinker coming to Charrade is a charade to me. The general remarks on the Stage by the lamented Authoress ofJohn Halifax, whose recent loss we all deplore, are very interesting, as recording the impressions of a good, pure-minded woman, whose acquaintance with thevie intimeof the Theatre was limited. The portraits of MissAndersonare not particularly flattering—rather shady, which is the one thing that no one shall ever unchallenged say of our sweet and gentlePerditain the hearing of your rather deafPolixenes, Baron de Book Worms.

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 Note:Punctuation normalized.Questionable spellings underlined with original spelling contained in "mouseover"* text box.[*] A Mouseover or hover box refers to a GUI event that is raised when the user moves or "hovers" the cursor over a particular text.

Transcriber's Note:

Punctuation normalized.

Questionable spellings underlined with original spelling contained in "mouseover"* text box.

[*] A Mouseover or hover box refers to a GUI event that is raised when the user moves or "hovers" the cursor over a particular text.

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