Of course I knew perfectly well what would happen after I had put forth the programme of my financial operations. I said at the time to my friend GUS BRUMMAGEM, "Mark my words," I said, "I shall have all the Crowned Heads of the world grovelling at my feet and imploring, actually imploring me to allow them to hand over their money and their ancestral regalia to me for investment. They're bound to do it. I know the beggars well, and a more grasping lot you couldn't find within a day's march of Holloway Gaol." Dear old GUS (Beau GUS he is always called on account of his singularly attractive appearance) went so far as to pooh-pooh what I said. I don't bear him any ill-will. Gus was always a bit of a courtier, and got his head turned for good, when the Japanese Prince CHI IKAH invited him to stay a week at his country house, and to act as godfather to the infant prince, KA CHOOKAH, the necessary ceremony haying been postponed for six months in order to allow GUS to get there in time. That, as I say, was the ruin of GUS, and since that time he has had an offensive way of giving himself not merely airs, but what I may call regular blasts in the company of men better than himself. He ought to recollect that he owes his start in life to the lucky chance that threw him in my way. If I hadn't appointed him Chairman of the Turp, Pin and Bolt Company, and Managing Director of the New Gatefringe Syndicate, Limited, he might still be engaged in sweeping out the tenth-rate office which was formerly the scene of his labours. But I never expect gratitude. I am content to do good to my fellow-creatures without the least hope of merely temporal reward. On this particular occasion I was right, as usual. Telegrams stamped with the coats-of-arms of all the principal dynasties of the world have been inundating me. For instance, H.R.H. the Hereditary Grand Duke of LEIBWEH has wired to me in the following terms, of which I have caused an accurate translation to be executed by my staff of paid short-hand clerks:—"Have on my faithful and with-joy-inspired subjects a tax of ten reichsgulden each after great on the part of my ministers reluctance imposed. Invest proceeds for me in the best to your wisdom known company, and without delay. Perfect confidence." Now I can assure His Royal Highness, who will look in vain for any other answer than this, that no power on earth, and least of all the cajoleries or menaces of the great and highly-placed shall induce me to depart by one jot or tittle from the course I have marked out for myself. And I take this occasion to assure all other potentates that I do not propose by any effort of mine to bring wealth to the foreigner. The welfare of the British people is my only care. For them, but for no others, my investments are open; to them alone I devote my unrivalled experience. And after this I trust I shall be troubled with no further importunities from abroad.
I have to announce this week that I have formed The Croesus Club Company. I have, at immense expense, secured a splendid site in the very heart of the fashionable quarter of London. Building operations will begin immediately, and within the next three weeks the members will be housed in a Club-house unrivalled for comfort and luxury. Ten French chefs will preside over the kitchen, and house dinners at a minimum price of £5 a-head will be served in the Ruby Hall to the strains of the Brass Potsdammer Buben Hussar Band, specially retained for the exclusive service of the Club. The first list of members will consist of 2000, and, in order to insure exclusiveness, the subscription will be fixed at £500 without any entrance fee. A list of the Provisional Committee, containing a Duke as Chairman and four Peers as ordinary members, will be issued at once. I have the authority of the Committee to receive subscriptions.
I may point with pride to the fact that all the investments recommended by me have prospered, and the list of British millionnaires has been heavily increased. Canadian Boodlers fairly firm, but with a tendency to cross the border-line. No returns. I say, "Sell." M.T. Coffer Co. not very promising. (294 stk.; lim. pref., 19; mortg. deb., 44.) Clear out, if possible. Tight Rates Ry. Co. must be bought. But enough of this. All that is necessary is that correspondents should send remittances. The rest may be left to me.
(Or what may be expected after a recent Verdict.)
SCENE—An Editor's Room. Editor and Chief Sub. discovered in conversation.
Editor. And I think you have asked the Solicitors who have threatened us with proceedings to be in attendance?
Chief Sub. Yes, Sir. They are below—shall I send them up?
Ed. If you please. One by one; and kindly impress upon them the value of my time.
Chief Sub. Certainly. But I think you will find they will get over their business pretty speedily. After they have gone, no doubt you would like to look at the Contents Bill, Sir?
Ed. Yes, please; and now send up the Lawyers.
[Exit Chief Sub., when the Editor returns to his writing, until interrupted by First Solicitor.
First Solor. Sorry to intrude upon you when you seem to be busy, but it was your own idea that I should look you up.
Ed. Entirely. And now, Sir, perhaps you will kindly explain of what your client has to complain.
First Solor. Certainly. You said of the senior member of the Bounding Brothers of Bohemia, that, "although a very marvel of strength and grace, he could scarcely, after fifty years service in the ring, be described as a trapèze-practising acrobat."
Ed. Well, surely that is a most complimentary allusion to his personality! What does he want more than to be "a marvel of grace and strength"?
First Solor. You say he can scarcely be described as a "trapèze-practising acrobat."
Ed. Well, can he? Does he ever practise on the trapèze?
First Solor. Well, no. But he might if he liked! You see his chief business is to stand at the base of the pyramid, at the apex of which is his smallest and lightest Bounding Brother. But he might use the trapèze, I repeat, if he liked.
Ed. If what I hear is correct—it would have to be a strong one?
First Solor. Certainly—an extra strong one. We don't deny that our client weighs over twenty stone. But there, as we can accept no explanation, will you kindly tell me the name of your Solicitor?
Editor. Certainly.
[Gives the requisite information, and returns to his work, until interrupted by Second Solicitor, who has taken the place of the First.
Second Solor. I am afraid this interview is absolutely useless. Our client can accept no apology. You announced that you believed that JOHN SNOOKS had ceased to be in the employment of the Universal Cab and Fly Company.
Editor. Who is John SNOOKS?
Second Solor. He is a driver in the service of the organisation I have just named—and we act for the organisation. We complain that you have seriously injured us by telling the public that you believed we had lost the services of one of our thousand drivers.
Editor. But if we did believe it?
Second Solor. That is your business and not ours; and so, Sir, we shall be glad of the names of your Solicitors.
[The information is afforded, and the Editor returns to his work, until interrupted by Third Solicitor.
Third Solor. Sorry to disturb you, but you have been libelling one of our clients. He objects to your putting his Christian name in the paper—says that even with another surname it will injure him with his neighbours. He doesn't want his Christian name to be figuring in the public prints.
Ed. And what is his Christian name?
Third Solor. ZOZIMUS.
Ed. Why, that is mine! I thought I was the only man in the world with that name, with the solitary exception of my godfather!
Third Solor. Very likely you are—your godfather is our client.
Ed. Then mustn't I print my own name?
Third Solor. Certainly not without running the risk of an action for libel. The address of your Solicitors, please?
[The Editor gives the desired information, and then sends up "the Pleasure of Editing" to the Composing Room as a line for the Contents Bill as the Scene closes in.
At the Alhambra, the Little GEORGIA MAGNET ought to attract thousands. Three heavy swells seated on a chair she can lift, chair and all, so that the little lady's exhibition of power must have a wonderfully elevating effect on all who come within the reach of her influence. At all events, there can be no doubt that her magnetic force will give the Alhambra itself a tremendous lift.
"I can't write seasonable verses," replied Our Festive Poet, "until I've had my Christmas dinner, and then I'm mincepie-r'd!"
She. "I DIDN'T KNOW YOU WERE A MUSICIAN; HERR MÜLLER.
He. "A MUSICIAN? ACH, NO—GOTT VORPIT! I AM A WAGNERIAN!"
Only in Play!
"GUILLAUME DEUX," says the Figaro, "prend très au sérieux sa tâche de moralisateur." He is his own Licenser of plays, and, it may be presumed, collars the fees for doing the official Licenser's work; that is, if there be a department of this nature in the Lord Chamberlain's Office. And His Imperial Highhandedness not only is his own licenser, but is a self-appointed Stage-Manager, for, continues the Figaro, "Il a préscrit que, dans une pièce moderne, LE NOUVEAU MAITRE, une scène un peu violente ne fût pas jouée à l'avant-scène, mais au fond du théâtre." If His Imperial Majesty should permit some of IBSEN'S plays to be performed, Ghosts for example, or Hedda Gabler, no doubt most of the dialogue would be given right at the back of the stage, out of ear-shot of the audience. In ordinary dramas the Villain who may have to use strong language, or in farce the Eccentric Comedian who frequently has to utter more or less playfully a meaningless "big big D," would by Imperial command be compelled to "retire up" to deliver himself of the expletive, and then would have to "come down to the front" and continue the stage-business. But, not satisfied with merely giving the above stage-directions, His Imperial Majesty "est allé samedi s'assurer en personne que ses ordres étaient bien exécutés." No dodging such an Emperor as this. How would Herr Von IRVING and Herr TOOLE like this personal supervision? And how about Herren JONES, PINERO, W.S. GILBERT and a few others, who would not particularly enjoy having their stage-directions upset by even an Imperial amateur. The next move of GUILLAUME DEUX will be to make himself honorary prompter, and it may be to cast himself for the leading parts.
"DICKENSII nihil à me alienum puto," quoth the Baron, taking up A Week's Tramp in Dickens-Land. By W.K. HUGHES, F.L.S., with Illustrations by F.G. KITTON, and Others, published by Messrs. CHAPMAN AND HALL. Ahem! The frisky KITTON, having several tales to play with (probably some relation to the Cat-'o-nine-tails, eh?), has done his work well; and the same may be said for Others. The work can be recommended as a book of pictorial reference for Dickensian students, but otherwise it is—ahem—superfluous. If this kind of trading on the name of DICKENS continues, we shall probably become HUGHES'd to seeing such announcements as, "Shortly to appear,—The Collected Bills of the Butcher and Baker of Charles Dickens; Upper Storeys of Houses in whose Neighbourhood Charles Dickens resided; Some Tradesmen's Accounts, Receipted and Returned with Thanks, Autographically, to Charles Dickens, &c., &c.
A sad story, picturesquely commenced, and powerfully ended, is RUDYARD KIPLING'S The Light that Failed. But, between these two extremes, the conversations have the deadly fault of being wearisome, and, as to the manner of their conversation, were the Baron compelled to listen to much of it, life would indeed not be worth living. The women-kind in it are all detestable; there is none of them that doeth good in the novel, no, not one. It becomes gradually gloomier and gloomier, and, indeed, it is well styled The Light that Failed. Since DAUDET'S Jack, the Baron calls to mind no book more pitiful, no characters more heartless, and no sadder ending. Clever, of course; artistic, equally so; but—well, the Baron's advice to his enemies is, Go in heavily for Christmas festivities, have an orgy of plum-pudding, creams, sweets, and mince-pies, and, on the day after Boxing Day, stay indoors, and read The Light that Failed.
The Light that Failed; or,
a Thief in the Candle.
In the Baron's office there are several departments, where SAM the Skipper for novels, CHILD HAROLD for children's books, and PETER the Salt for tales of the sea, are specially busy at Christmas time. To quote the ancient song of the "Mistletoe Bough":—
"The Baron's retainers were Blythe and Gay;"
and so are they now, as the Ladies BELINDA BLYTHE and GRISELDA GAY undertake a considerable proportion of such seasonable reviewing as is more or less expected from the BARON DE BOOK-WORMS about this season of the year. But the Baron reviews the reviewers, and presents the public with only the pick of the basket. Now, once for all, the Baron gives notice hereby and herewith nevertheless and all to the contrary notwithstanding, that neither he nor his retainers will take notice of Christmas puzzles, such as, for example, the bilious-looking "Spots Puzzle," which ought to be dedicated to Little Red Riding Hood, as it is brought out by "WOLF." The Baron cannot listen to "the cry of WOLF." Let that he understood. Now, in the way of Books, what is there for Christmas fare? There is friend BLACKIE, who doesn't keep himself dark, but comes out with Henty in Plenty, whose Dash for Khartoum will be appreciated even by those who don't ordinarily care a dash for anything. Ask for HENTY, and see that you get him. Mr. MANVILLE FENN ought long ago to have changed his name to BOYVILLE FENN, as he is so associated with Books for Boys, and his Brownsmith's Boy is more boyant than ever. "A capital book" says the Baron's chief adviser. Find out The Rover's Secret, by HARRY COLLINGWOOD; it is worth knowing, and make friends with ANNIE ARMSTRONG'S Three Bright Girls.
Blackie and Son introducing themselves to the Baron de Book-Worms.
Angling Sketches, by ANDREW LANG—Andrew L'Angler—are delightful reading. The Baron pictures to himself the thoughtful and Balfour-like ANDREW on a bank by the river, rod stuck into ground, pencil and note-book in his hand. "What is he doing, my boy?" inquires the Baron, of the hook-baiting boy. "He's ketching sumthink," whispers the urchin. Is it Historical Notes on the Diet of Wurms? Is it necessary to show that the fish have no consciousness of Pain? Or, is he composing Lines to my Rod? Or is it a disquisition on "ingratitude," showing how the stream goes on murmuring? And does he classically remind it how silent it ought to be,—Dumb defluit annis? Or does the stream murmur because our ANDREW the Fisherman has been "whipping" it? Should he betake himself to fly-fishing, let his motto be "Strike and spare not!" and if he would be wise above his fellows in the gentle art of catching fish, let him consult The Incomplete Angler, says, disinterestedly,
(Being a Report made to the "Royal Simian Society" by Professor Hairy Myas, F.R.S.S., with compliments to Professor Garnier, who continues his articles on "a Simian Language" in "The New Review" for this month.)
I have for some time past paid considerable attention to the sounds uttered by the Human Beings who are permitted to observe our movements, in the wire house which the Proprietor of these gardens has so obligingly placed at our disposal, rent free. My object has been to discover whether the Human Species, though belonging to a rather low form of animal life, can be said to have anything corresponding to the language which is the recognised means of communicating between Apes.
I have been much assisted in my investigations by the kind help afforded me by the great Anubis Baboon, who has frequently abandoned the consumption of nuts to come and make experiments on our human visitors; the elder members of the Chimpanzee Family have also been most useful, and have often restrained the young of their household from interrupting my inquiries by ill-timed pleasantries. Only once in the whole course of these scientific labours have I had seriously to complain of my tail being made use of as a swing.
It was not long before I came to the conclusion that men do really mean something by the extraordinary gibberings and chatterings in which they indulge. My first experiment was on a female of the species, with a blue feather in her bonnet. At a sign from me, a young Chimpanzee suddenly and adroitly snatched the bonnet from her head. The sound she uttered was, as nearly as I can put it, wh-oo-w! ending in a shrill scream. I therefore take the oo sound to indicate alarm, or dissatisfaction. Exactly the same vowels were used by the Male.
The mischievous young of the Human Species, we have discovered, also have this oo sound, and use it when they wish to frighten us.
The three conclusions which I have drawn from my inquiries are:—
1. That Human Beings understand the sounds they utter to each other, and therefore possess a language, as we do.
2. That Human Beings have, in a very imperfect and rudimentary shape, the faculty of reason.
3. That Apes have descended from Men! In other words, that a Monkey is only a highly-developed and more agile Man.
These, no doubt, are startling conclusions, and I expect them to excite controversy. In fact, an Ourang-Outang friend of mine, to whom I mentioned them, was so shocked, that he has declined all nourishment ever since. But I rely on the scientific spirit of this great society to do me justice; and I venture to add a request that it will see fit to endow research by voting an extra supply of apples and nuts to the Chimpanzees, the Anubis Baboon, and myself, while we are at work on this very fatiguing field of inquiry.
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.