I've got myself into a horrible mess,
Of that there can be no manner of doubt,
And my forehead is aching, because I've been making
A desperate effort to get myself out,
And I'm given away, so it seemeth to me,
Like a threepenny vase with a pound of tea.
I promised an actress to write her a play,
With herself, of course, in the leading part,
With abundance of bathos paraded as pathos,
And a gallery death of a broken heart—
It's a capital plan, I find, to try
To arrange a part where the audience cry.
So I quickly think of a beautiful plot,
The interest ne'er for an instant flags;
The sorrowful ending is almost heart-rending,
As the heroine comes on in tatters and rags.
It is better than aught I have thought of before,
And will certainly run for a twelvemonth or more.
Yet, alas! for my prospect of glory and gain,
She has strangled my play at its moment of birth,
For now she has written to say she is smitten
With the newest designs and creations of WORTH,
And to quote her own words—"As a matter of fact,
I've a couple of costumes for every act."
Then there follows a list of the things she has bought,
Though I'm puzzled indeed as to what it may mean.
She is painfully pat in her jargon of satin,
Alpaca, nun's veiling, tulle, silk, grenadine,
And she asks me to say if I honestly think
She should die in pearl-grey, golden-brown, or shrimp-pink?
So here I am left in this pitiful plight.
With nothing but dresses, what am I to do?
For I haven't a notion what kind of emotion
Is suited to coral or proper for blue;
And if, when she faints, but they think she is dead,
Old-gold or sea-green would be better than red.
Will crushed strawberry do for an afternoon call?
For the evening would salmon or olive be right?
May a charming young fellow embrace her in yellow?
Must she sorrow in black? Must I wed her in white?
Till, dazed and bewildered, my eyesight grows dim,
And my head, throbbing wildly, commences to swim.
'Twere folly and madness to try any more,
I know what I'll do—in a letter to-day
I will just tell her plainly how utterly vainly
I've striven and struggled to finish her play;
And then—happy thought!—I will mildly suggest
That she'll find for her purpose BUCHANAN the best.
I shall now write a play without dresses at all,
A plan, which I'm sure will be perfectly new.
Yet opposed to convention, why merely the mention
Of a thing so immodest will startle a few;
And, although it's a pity, I shrewdly suspect
The Lord Chamberlain might deem it right to object.
Better still! from the French I will boldly convey
What will be (in two senses) the talk of the town.
You insist on a moral? Well, pray do not quarrel
With the one that I now for your guidance lay down,
That of excellent maxims this isn't the worst—
Let the play, not the dresses, be settled the first!
SOMETHING IN A NAME.—What a happily appropriate name for the Chief Magistrate of so fashionable a watering-place as Brighton is Mr. SOPER! Whether he is soft SOPER, or Hard SOPER, or Scented SOPER, it matters not; it is only a pity that after his year of office, if the Brightonian Bathers can spare him, he should not be transferred to Windsor. Old Windsor SOPER—what a splendid title for the Mayor of the Royal town! No doubt he will show himself active and energetic during his Mayoralty, and that at Brighton henceforth a totally opposite meaning from the ordinary one will be given to the description of a speech as "a SOPER-ific." At east, it is 'oped so, for the sake of SOPER.
"AND ARE YOU GOING TO GIVE ME SOMETHING FOR MY BIRTHDAY, AUNTY MAUD?"
"OF COURSE, DARLING."
"THEN DON'T LET IT BE SOMETHING USEFUL!"
House of Commons, Tuesday Night, November 25.—New Session opened to-day. Remarkable gathering of Members in the Lords to hear Queen's Speech read. Unusual excitement, though heroically restrained in presence of LORD CHANCELLOR, supported on Woolsack by four figures in red cloaks and cocked hats, borrowed for occasion from Madame Tussaud's. HALSBURY lost his temper once when Commission being read. Tussaud's man, sent down to work the figures—make them take off their cocked hats and nod upon cue being given by Reading Clerk—was on duty for first time; much interested in arrival of Commons at the Bar; instead of lying low behind Woolsack and minding his business, kept poking his head round to peer forth on scene. At last, LORD CHANCELLOR in hoarse whisper threatened to send him to Clock Tower if he didn't behave properly.
After this all went well; figures bringing their right elbow up with a jerk, took off their hats at precisely right moment, and replaced them without a hitch. They were labelled "Lord LATHOM," "Earl of COVENTRY," "Lord BROWNLOW," and "Lord KNUTSFORD." LORD CHANCELLOR sat in the middle. The ladies on floor of House watched them with much interest.
"Such dear old things," said one, when the figure labelled "Earl of COVENTRY" cleverly pretended to sneeze. "I wish they'd do it all over again; but I suppose the springs have run down."
In the Commons, everyone on the look out for PARNELL. What would he do? Where would he sit? What would he say? Or, would he come at all? Nobody knew. Some suspected last guess most probable. Towards Three o'Clock whisper went round that he was here. SARK had seen him crossing Lobby, with green spectacles and umbrella, and his hair died crimson. Was now in room with Irish Party, arranging about Leadership. Understood before House met that he was to retire from Leadership till fumes from Divorce Court had passed away. Then alliance between Home Rulers and Liberals would go on as before, and all would be well. Ministerialists downcast at this prospect; Liberals chirpy; a great difficulty avoided. Soon be in smooth water again.
Waiting in House for business to commence. SPEAKER away for cause that saddens everyone; COURTNEY to take the Chair at Four o'Clock; meeting of Irish Members still going forward. When business concluded, PARNELL would quietly walk out; they would take their places, and things would go on as if no one had ever heard of Eltham, of alarums and excursions, of exits by fire-escapes, and entrances by back doors.
Thinking of these things, I was standing by Sergeant-at-Arms' chair; heard a scuffling noise behind; looked round, and lo! there was PARNELL entering House by Distinguished Strangers' Gallery, descending by swarming down the end pillar, which supports Gallery from floor of House.
"Good gracious!" I cried. "What are you doing?"
"I'm catching the last post," said PARNELL, smiling blandly, as, reaching the floor, he unclasped arms and legs from the pillar and quietly walked over to his ordinary place as if this were the usual way of an Hon. Member approaching his seat.
Direful news rapidly spread. PARNELL not going to retire from Leadership! On contrary, meant to stay, ignoring little events brought to light in the Divorce Court. Ministerialists jubilant; Liberals depressed; the whole situation changed; prospects of Liberal supremacy, so certain yesterday, suddenly blighted; talk of Mr. G. retiring from the fray; spoke on Address just now, but no fight left in him; the Opposition wrung out like a damp cloth; even GEORGE CAMPBELL dumb, and Dr. CLARK indefinitely postponed Amendment long threatened. By ten o'clock the whole thing had flickered out. Address, which of late has taken three weeks to pass, agreed to in three hours.
Mr. G. went off as soon as OLD MORALITY had finished his modest speech. Walked with him across the Park to Carlton Terrace. Haven't seen him to speak to since Midlothian. What a change! Then elate, confident, energetic, tingling with life to his finger-ends; to-night shrunken, limp, despondent, almost heart-broken.
"Don't you think, Sir," I said, "that, after to-day's experience, Home Rule has a new terror? You remember how, seven or eight years ago, the Irish Members used to stand up in the House and personally vilify you. Then, when you came round to their side, the very same men beslabbered you with fulsome adulation. Now, when there is another parting of the ways, when you pit yourself, your authority, and your character, against their chosen Leader, they rudely turn their backs on you, and tell you to mind your own business. How'll it be, do you think, when you've finally served their purpose, and made possible the accomplishment of their aim? When you have made them Masters in Dublin, will they care any more for the views and prejudices of you and your Liberal Party than they have done to-day?"
"TOBY, dear boy," said Mr. G., "you're a young dog yet. When you come to my age, you'll have learned that there is no gratitude in politics. But we won't talk of it any more. I'm a little tired to-night."
So we walked in silence up the steps, by the Duke of YORK's Column.
Business done.—Address agreed to. Mr. P. flouts Mr. G.
Thursday.—House up at twenty minutes to Six, having got through rattling lot of business. Prince ARTHUR been sailing up and down floor, bringing in Land Bills and Railway Bills. HICKS-BEACH depressed with legacy of Tithes Bill.
"Cheer up, BEACH," says CRANBORNE, tugging at his moustache à la GRANDOLPH; "you may depend upon me. Keep your eye on your young friend, and he will pull you through."
"Thank you," said BEACH, with something more than his customary effusive manner.
JACKSON toying round the table, packing and unpacking papers, looking at his watch and the clock, vaguely whistling, and absently rubbing his hands.
"What's the matter?" I asked. "You seem out of sorts."
"Matter!" he cried. "Why, twenty minutes to Six is the matter, and here's all the work done and the House up. It's absolutely demoralising; portends something uncanny. On Tuesday we got through the Address in a single short sitting; yesterday, after meeting at noon, had to adjourn for three hours and a half; filled up remainder of time with bringing in Bills; To-day we have an Irish Land Bill brought in and read a First Time, after a Debate confined to SAGE OF QUEEN ANNE'S GATE, and WILFRID LAWSON. Nothing like it seen for sixteen years. If this kind of thing goes on, you know, we'll get all the work of the Session done in three months, and perhaps done better than when it took nine. It's the suddenness that knocks me over, TOBY. They ought to be more considerate, and begin more gently."
Great commotion in Irish circles. Scene slightly shifted. It seems that Irish Members in re-electing PARNELL on Tuesday, thought he would relieve them of difficulty by forthwith resigning. Mr. P. doesn't take that view; thinks it would be rude, after having been unanimously elected, to appear to undervalue such remarkable, spontaneous act of confidence; doesn't care a rap for public opinion.
"J'y suis, et j'y reste," he says, smiling sweetly round the table, where his friends forlornly sit.
"Begorra!" says Mr. O'KEEF, indignantly, "it's bad enough to have him ruining us and the counthry, without using blasphaymious language."
Business done.—Everything on the paper.
Friday Night.—Louis JENNINGS made capital speech to-night on Motion challenging commutation of certain perpetual pensions. Seems, among other little jobs, we, the tax-payers of Great Britain, with Income-tax at sixpence in the pound, have been paying pension of £2,000 a year to descendant of the late ELLEN GWYNNE. Select Committee appointed by present Government to consider whole matter, recommended that no pension should be commuted at rate so high as twenty-seven years' purchase. JOKIM, generous with other people's money, flies in face of recommendation, and comfortably rounds off one or two of these little jobs with gratuity of twenty-seven years' purchase. Cheerful to hear this sort of thing denounced in breezy fashion from Conservative Benches. JENNINGS, amid loud cheers, hits straight out from the shoulder. WALTER FOSTER quite delighted. "Bless you, my child," he says, "you ought to belong to the Radical Party." Business done.—Agreed that, up to Christmas, Government shall have all the time.
CHRISTMAS CARDS.—"Here we are again!" as they come tumbling in, fresh from the hands of the publishers, HILDESHEIMER AND FAULKNER. More artistic than ever!
A NEW BANK OF ENGLAND NOTE.—"The force o' this 'ere observation lies in the Barings of it."—Cap'en Cuttle adapted.
PROBABLE PUBLICATION.—Correct to a Shade. (A book of ghostly counsel.) By the Author of Betrayed by a Shadow.
WORLDLY-WISE MOTTO FOR THE WRANGLERS ABOUT "DARKEST AFRICA."—"Keep it Dark!"
ANGLO-FRENCH MOTTO FOR A THOROUGHLY RAINY DAY.—"Pour Toujours."
A JOURNALISTIC CITY.—Pressburg.
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